He can tell. When it's almost time. He's known her long enough, albeit the few months they've been since Thor'd dragged him down to Earth. Long enough to tell still. He'd heard her mutter once under her breath 'fucking cramps'. Her mood'd been uncharacteristically sour and she was snappier than usual.

Since then he'd been keeping count. He can tell when it's almost time. And it certainly was now. Though she tends to maintain the method of 'tough it out' in near every aggravating scenario, and Loki can appreciate the sentiment, she appears to be struggling this time. Her vexation she contains in the lab, not intently but she seeks escape from the world and everyone in here. Everyone but him.

Despite often snapping at the rest during this reoccurring time (for minimal reasons), she hardly snaps at him, rather hardly talks to him. She seems to think she should work it out alone. But she never tells him to leave.

He's always in the lab with her. She's loud and talkative and active; he can't seem to mind. It's easy to tune out the ruckus, read his book hear the playing tunes, watch her. When she's immersed in her work when she hums to the music and her hips sway, when she grins to herself when she puzzles out the problem. Distracting.

He hears her curse and looks up to catch the wrench hurled across the room. From where he lies top the sofa with the phone she'd bought him he calls out: "Maybe it's break time," aware the response will be:

"Shut up Loki," ineloquent. It's too sharp at the edge like it is when at the others she snaps. But he was not 'the others' so he won't have it. He gets up, phone vanishing into his multi-dimensional pocket.

Her breath hitches to turn and find Loki just before her, drawling slyly his voice silk: "Careful cookie," reusing those silly nicknames he does, when they're alone, thankfully. They stopped having an effect on her, she'd say. And dares:

"Or what?" like he knows she will.

"Or I'll sling you over my shoulder and out," like he knows how to catch her off-guard. "It's movie time," he decides because he decides he wants to do something about it. Because he knows that he can, because he knows how.

"I don't wanna watch a movie," she turns down petulantly. "And you're not seriousl-" He shuts her up with one step forth, a slow smirk.

"Guess again." Heat rapidly reddens her freckled cheeks, like he often makes so. Distracting.

"I'm working."

"Is that what's happening? My apologies I mistook it for raving madness." A giggle escapes her curved, chapped lips begging for moisture. Very distracting.

Her brown honey eyes hone in, cunning on his that he's certain emanate more than he wishes, or perhaps that he wishes they do, like his voice softening so when he says: "Come," inclining his head and stepping aside, patient to wait, till her decision is made.

A decision more weighed than necessary – she could tell him off, she thinks. Then again he could also literally, surely effortlessly, toss her over his shoulder. She swats promptly off, the appeal to such thoughts.

It'd been but a month since her break up with Patrick. It wasn't wise to pursue her burrowed, painful attraction to Loki so soon. Rather not at all.

They were friends, a strange word to reference the God of Mischief that'd tried to take over her planet but months ago yet that is what they are. Very fast very close friends despite it all.

Probably more, hadn't she been with Patrick up until she'd decided to confront him with the fact that they simply weren't working, surprising even herself that it'd been her to broach it, because she always thought he'd walk out and likely no sooner would have. Fed up with her and her antics and her inhospitable habits. Loki likely soon would.

She suppressed the dread bubbling in her chest. Her period's to blame for her dramatic thought-lines and exaggerated emotions, she's sure.