Moving absently forth and Loki followed close and it was easy to fall into their familiar steps, from the lab to the lift to the common floor past-midnight, to the middle couch with Loki in the corner and she beside him despite plentiful space, despite now the lack of popcorn as the common excuse for proximity when really reasons run dry.
Of course Patrick'd brought Loki up, that day. And maybe yes she felt something towards him yet Patrick could fool no one for even before Loki they fought, even before they were together they fought. It was a mistake, maybe, thinking they could work past it, past her issues because at the end of the day it's her, and she's okay to admit this. In fact she'd praise him for putting up so long. She's stubborn and arrogant and self-centered, a workaholic, an insomniac, and has PTSD she likes to pretend isn't real.
Her eyes dart to the tv screen turning on bright, contrasting to the room's dim light and the quiet of their steady breaths. Loki has the remote he's sifting through the drive for Die Hard 2, where he stops and plays and it resumes where they'd stopped the night prior. She watches more of the plot unfold, amused and teased by Loki every now and then about where lacks common sense or basic physics or the cheesy one-liners.
Shortly after she hears clatter in the kitchen behind them, looks over her shoulder catching a glimpse of Barb. Likely doing dishes. Only later the robot rolls in with two plates, burgers in each and fries. She holds them out. Loki leans forth to take them, then back as Barb leaves.
He hands her one she automatically takes, the scent of a grilled, juicy patty floods her nostrils she's quick to lift the bun to her lips and take a mouthful, suppressing a moan as her tastebuds rejoice. She doesn't remember eating anything else the whole day. She empties the plate rather quickly. But now her stomach protests. Like it has been all day, althemore, making embarrassing whale noises but thankfully Loki's up, lifting her plate and rounding the couch, to the kitchen. She pauses the movie for him.
She hears him toggle the kettle on. She wants to ask for coffee cause she's getting sleepy. She doesn't feel like asking.
He comes back later with two mugs. She's not sure what he's made her but it doesn't smell like coffee. He hands her the black mug, tea-label dangling from the side. Chamomile. "You know I don't drink this shit," she protests.
"It'll help," is his answer obscure. It only started this morning. Was she making it so obvious? She doesn't like it being so obvious. She probes:
"With what?"
"The discomfort."
"What discomfort?" a challenge, Loki can tell. She wants him to spell it out, so she can snap about what she does and doesn't need and he knows better than to feed into that.
"Indulge me. You are making me watch this," a lighthearted taunt she doesn't take as well as he'd hoped.
"Die Hard is awesome. If you don't like it you're welcome to leave you know," quip as it sounds there's a bitterness to the last note. He switched tactics.
"But then who would point out every flaw in plot for you?" grinning wryly, matching her step and her eyes narrow annoyed. Obstinately she sets the mug on the coffee-table.
"I am not drinking this."
Loki shrugs. "Suit yourself," pulls out his phone, aggravating her althemore because he's not watching the very important car-chase. But he puts it away soon enough so her need to lash out dies down, as her eyes roll watching him sip the gross-smelling floral crap tea.
A few moments later Barb returns. Holding out a heating-pad. Toni stares at it, and her incredulously, anger flaring once more.
"Why are you bringing me this?" She faces Loki, gaze accusative. "Do you keep texting Jarvis for shit?"
"Yes," placidly said as he smoothly reached for the pad and Barb left. He smoothly shifts near and unprecedentedly plants it top Toni's lower torso. Then proceeds to lift her discarded tea and drink, as if what just happened was all but casual.
The pad warms her tense nerve-endings quickly. She scowls, bites: "Do you have period-sensing magic now?" and is promptly left quite stumped with Loki's response:
"I don't need magic to tell when you're upset or in pain," too surely said, too calmly. Like it's easy. Easy that anyone should be able to see the difference between her rage, and her pain – but it isn't and they don't. But he does.
She knows, how well, Loki understands, in a way that sometimes, scares her. In a way that leaves her uneasy how he looks at her sometimes like through her. But then soon enough it's like it, relieves her. Because when she looks at him she can tell, too easily, what he's thinking, what he's feeling, the difference between a smile of malice and one of content, the difference between a calmness frigid and a calmness of ease, the difference between acts to deflect, and acts calling out. Acts like staying in the library when she's out, avoiding everyone, vs. acts like staying with her in the lab, joining her for dinner despite the team's despise and his own towards them, joining her for movies despite the genre.
She knows he finds relief in the fact that she knows when not to probe, when not to poke at old wounds, when to let the past rest.
His inclination to be around her for respite, and his insight into her unsettlingly similar mindset was one thing, but his intention to take actions, in her favor, a whole other. Not wholly shocking for she catches fractions sometimes. When the team reprimands her when she's reckless and Loki retorts out of nowhere in kind. When her builds fall apart and his magic's quick to rebuild as he casually passed by. When he's up before her making coffee and pulls down a second mug.
He cares, in his own way. And that is reasonable; she cares too and she's okay to admit this.
She's been staring for a good two minutes – veers her gaze away, to the screen, scenes blurred with thoughts restless, a strange ache in her chest she's quick to identify and quick to loathe. Loathes to long to crave these miniscule petty things, things like Loki's arm that she registers's still on the backrest when her head falls back, like the pad and the burger she didn't ask for, like Loki's proximity and the warmth emanating from him and his stupid calmness and stupid tea he's still drinking. His soft long locks she wants to play with, his sharp, handsome features she wants to trace – she chides herself and looks away. She's so tired her eyes shut briefly. She could doze off like this. She smiles remembering how many times she has on nights with Loki just like this. He always later wakes her. He'll wake her.