Loki materialised in Gwen's office as per usual, and followed the sounds of loud and enthusiastic singing to her recently refitted bathroom (neither of them could so much as glance in its direction after he had found her passed out in there).
"Don't bother knocking or anything," she said cheerfully as he walked in, cheerfully due to the fact there was a half-empty bottle of wine on the floor beside her. She was sat in the bath which had been filled to the brim with bubbles and lined with candles, and was reading the Asgardian history book he had given her with it propped up on a makeshift shelf.
"Please don't stop with the ballad on my account," he smirked, and she blew a handful of soap suds at him.
"Feel free to join me in here," she said, as he sat down on the floor facing her and held out his hand to allow Algernon to run up his arm.
"As delightful as that sounds," he replied, and she rolled her eyes. "I'll have to decline. Unless you happen to enjoy bathing in freezing cold water."
"You are so weird," she said, "would you like to hear about the terrible day I've had?"
"No, but I'd be happy to tell you about mine," he replied, taking a swig from the wine bottle himself as Algernon curled up in a fold of his tunic.
"Right, so there was this big syndicate meeting today and there's this new capo, yeah…"
"I never realised how many soul-baring conversations Odin had with his favourite son before I had to take his place," Loki began bitterly as Gwen continued to babble, neither of them paying each other any heed.
"…And Martoni, the arrogant bastard, takes his side! I bet it's because he's got a dick…"
"… Of course, Thor, you're right in that I cannot possibly imagine how hard it is for you to have a mortal lover, no please, tell me more about her mother…"
"… The son of a bitch tells me to shut up! Well, obviously, I told him to suck my metaphorical."
"… that a bathroom rota is really none of my concern." They both finished talking at the exact same time, which made Gwen snigger.
"I love you," she smiled, and he raised an eyebrow.
"Understandable," he grinned, and this time she kicked the bath water at him. "I do believe you're drunk, mouse."
"Just a little." Her smile faded and she leaned forward, took Algernon from him and cupped the creature in her damp hands. "I think I've really fucked up this time, Loki. I pissed off the most dangerous man in the state."
"What do you intend to do about it?"
She snorted. "Asgard's probably too close for a hiding spot. How's Jotunheim this time of year?"
"Cold," he said, "obviously. What are you truly planning?"
"I dunno. Plans don't really work out that well for us, in case you hadn't noticed. I don't wanna die, Loki. I really, really like my life."
"Then neutralise the threat before it manifests," he said, and her narrow eyes widened.
"Loki, this isn't some greasy old bloke who pissed me off, this is Martoni. He's got the entire New York mob under his thumb, from the big mafia boys down to anyone who's so much as smoked a joint."
"My impression was that they all switch allegiances as the wind changes," he shrugged, "of course, if you don't believe yourself capable…"
He had expected those last words to incite her into arguing she was perfectly capable of anything, but they had the opposite effect. "No, I'm not! This is like you trying to overthrow Thanos, posh boy. It's not that I don't want to- of course I want to, imagine what I could do with that power- it's that I can't." With a decidedly miserable expression, she deposited Algernon on the side of the bath and drew her legs up to her chest so she could rest her chin on her knees. "And don't offer to help. This is my business."
"I believe you could overtake him even if you don't," he said, which made her half-smile.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Indulge me. What would you do with that power?"
Her eyes glazed over. "Give the profit that gets generated to those who actually need it, instead of hoarding it all myself like every other big suit does."
"Ever the Socialist," he murmured under his breath.
"Expand our contacts in legitimate areas too, since corruption in the forces dropped massively since the Avengers when they got all scared. But even though there's more of 'em now it's a new team, they're not so heavily based in the centre of New York, SHIELD's lost both its legs and besides, people have been less than impressed with them since Ultron- if I could get the men to cut back on proving how rich they are, which I could if I was in charge, we could effectively double our remit. I could leave Bobby in charge of the Rats if I were to do it, easy. Stop grinning at me, Lejemand, I know what you're doing."
"And what would that be?" he asked, all innocence.
"Trying to tempt me. But I'm not thick and besides, why do you care? It's none of your business."
"It would be useful to know the woman who has half of Midgard's most powerful city under her thumb," he said. "And frankly, I don't see what's preventing you."
"Respect," she said, "and fear." And he could see it in her face, that fear- an unfamiliar and somewhat unsettling expression.
"You really are scared, aren't you?" he asked her, and she nodded and looked away.
"It would take a lot more than him shutting me up or refusing to listen to me every now and then to make me want to take him down," she mumbled. "Sorry to disappoint you."
"You've done worse," he said lightly, and she glared at him. His scooping up of foam in the crook of his finger and covering her nose in it didn't help.
"Arsehole. Y'know," she added, wiping the bubbles away and readjusting her septum piercing, "I'll have known you exactly thirty months, come tomorrow."
"A mere blink of an eye to an immortal like myself."
"I knew you were gonna say something like that. But it feels like longer, dunnit? What with everything that's happened."
He opened his mouth to contradict her, then thought better of it. "Yes," he admitted, "although thirty months is hardly what one would call an anniversary."
"Well, I thought it was worth bringing up. Besides, we probably spent the year milestones arguing."
"I wouldn't be surprised." He glanced up at the clock, even though it didn't really mean much to him. "I must go, there is a war council at midnight."
"Exciting," she said sarcastically, as he kissed her forehead.
"Enjoy being content with not having as much power as is easily within your reach," he said, dragging the conversation back to Martoni.
"Oh, go and stab some orcs or something, posh boy."
%
All Loki wanted to do was sleep uninterrupted for a night. But it appeared that the Allfather considered slumber an activity for tomorrow while Loki rather preferred being able to blot out the rest of the world when it became too incessantly annoying, albeit only for a few hours. After the war council he was desperate enough for rest that he created a shade of Odin to lie in bed on his behalf so that the advisors and servants could disturb that instead, grabbed a purple crystal and collapsed, half-undressed, into bed next to bed. It was a mark of how desperate he was, that he was actually seeking refuge on Midgard. Still, at least nobody was expecting it.
But once he had resumed his old familiar place next to the little human, he found that sleep evaded him and merely watched her steady breathing, instead. Gwen had said to him once, when she was so close to falling asleep herself that thoughts were almost as nonsensical as dreams themselves, that her favourite kind of silence was "the one made up of noise". She had said it was because she had slept on the streets for so long; she said it was why she now always had her bedroom window open. Loki had brushed it off as one of the countless stupid things she often said- how could silence be made of noise?
Now, as he listened to her dream, he understood. Jotunns had good ears, and he could hear for miles; different layers of sound, get gradually closer and quieter, balancing each other out into a noise so level and constant it became a form of silence. Farthest away was the roar of primitive aircraft in the pollution-stained sky, nearly but not quite drowned out by the higher, less powerful growl of the gridlocked cars. Then there was the babble of people, their voices and other sounds, in turn balanced out by the low rumblings of the burrow's heating system and the distant, murmuring voices of the Rats downstairs. And then, finally, there was inside the bedroom itself; the scritch-scratch noises of a mouse in its cage and the soft, near-silent breathing of the room's other two occupants, Gwen's much more shallow than his own.
The room she took up in the bed was tiny, curled up as tightly as possible and pressed into his side despite not even knowing he was there. It made sense, he supposed, since for years of her life she must have had to sleep in any nook and cranny she could find. But still, she looked so young and fragile when she slept, and he instinctively wrapped his own body around hers in some pointless attempt to protect her. If she knew that was why they slept so tightly wrapped, she would probably go on some mad rant about not needing to be protected, but she was asleep and therefore he could do what he wanted. And, in this case, what he wanted was to show that he cared about her, even if she would never know about it.
She twisted round so she was facing away from him and, in her sleep, pulled his arm further across her and murmured something about dynamite. "Gwen," he whispered, "wake up before something explodes."
"Mmnhnn," she mumbled, "no. 'M busy."
"Doing what?"
"Butch Cassidy needs me, Lo. 'M'is only hope." She rolled back over and opened one bleary eye. "I was having a really nice dream, and you had to go and ruin it. There's no Martoni in the dream world, Loki. No misogynist crime lords."
"I apologise profusely."
"'S fine." He felt her hands press against his chest, small and cold from bad circulation. "Aren't you in a war council, or summat?"
"I ran away."
Her laugh was so soft he barely even heard it. "I wish we could always be like this. Like, if Asgard and New York were just next door. I wanna sleep with you every night."
"I understand," he said, it being far too late at night/early in the morning for two-facedness. "Contact is... pleasant."
"It makes sleeping easier. I don't like it when I wake up and you're gone, or if I have to get up before you. I mean, as much as I like my life, I kinda just wanna..."
"Stay here forever?"
"Mhm."
He left a kiss on her cheekbone. "Laziness does not become you, little mouse."
"It's been years since you last called me that. And I don't exist to be becoming, either."
"And yet you so often are." Another kiss, this one on her temple. "To me, at least."
"You're pretty biased, to be fair. Also surprisingly cute in the middle of the night. Loki?"
"Yes?"
"You're nicer than you let on."
"No, I'm not."
"You are to me."
"Well," he murmured, "you are somewhat biased."
"That's my line."
He watched her for a while, playing with spider-skein fine strands of hair, before speaking again. "The first time I ever took you to bed," he said, "and by bed, I of course mean stone bench in the middle of a museum, you were... silent."
"Well, it was pretty much all new to me," she replied. "Especially that feeling, like all your nerve endings are exploding at once, but in a good way, like… a not painful way."
"Did I strike you speechless?" he asked with a grin.
"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction."
"Ah, but you did then and many times since," he replied, and she pinched his side.
"Don't be crass. And it's very embarrassing to talk about this, for me."
"I think it rather sweet," he said, "without a mote of sarcasm, for once."
"I'll mark this moment down on the calendar, then. But honestly, it was like... Like I couldn't believe it was happening. My, admittedly scant, past experience wasn't exactly a raging success, was it? But with you, it was… shut up."
"I didn't say anything!"
"No, but you were about to." She kissed him. "It was a good night. I always thought… from past experience… it was supposed to be painful." She had never sounded so human, so easily broken, than in that moment.
It had been the kind of silence made up of noise; of the rustling of discarded clothes and knocking of limbs and sharp, soft intakes of breath. Now on an actual bed they recreated it seamlessly, bodies once foreign to each other now well-traversed territory. This tiny, broken little human somehow fitted perfectly to his form, as though they had been made for each other and not destined for different worlds. Everything she felt in that moment, every dart of pleasure, was echoed in his own body. He was gentle with her for once, too, and she with him (not that she could ever hurt him).
This was the stolen love of secret lovers, quiet and tender, old and new all at once, like it was the first time all over again, like it was the last time it might ever happen. They would never say aloud to each other that it was stolen, that they fought to keep each other; they were too proud. But they told each other with the lilting rhythm of their bodies instead, with fingers slipping on sweaty skin and muscles tautening against each other. It was no grand declaration, no thought-out gesture, but just another night, just another melding of forms, just another background murmur in the white noise of kisses and quips and arguments that made them them. Love was best conveyed without words; it was the kind of silence made up of noises.