Chapter Text
3 months after Ragnarok
Loki can do this.
Today is the weekly Avengers Team Dinner. It’s almost dinner time, and from Loki’s continuous observations of The Mortal, he knows that she will almost always be the one to cook, and that she will take a bath just before serving it. He just has to sneak into the bathroom before her, and—
‘You know, Loki, I would really appriciate it if you stop messing with my things.’
Loki’s breath hitches. He quickly looks down to his body to still be greeted with nothing but the floor. He’s still invisible. So how can she sense his presence? Some kind of technology? He swears, humanity was advancing unnaturally fast the past several years.
‘Your breathing’s very loud, you know?’ The Mortal adds nonchalantly, as if she hasn’t just insulted Loki’s masterful pranking abilities.
He sighs before dropping the illusion. There is no point in hiding now.
Loki then stalks closer to the mortal, adding an extra flourish to each step, just to show that he isn’t bothered by her ruining his plans for the twentieth time. Not at all.
At his purposefully loud footsteps, the Mortal tenses, but still doesn’t turn away from whatever evil concoction she is stirring on top the kitchen stove. Loki scowls.
‘Dear, you make it very hard to have fun. Why do the others keep you here anyway? They should realize you have nothing to offer, after all, you’re just another liability. An expendable pawn.’
The words are sharp like needles, intended to break skin and cause pain. And it seems like something of his finally worked, as the mortal’s teeth grinds hard and loud as the ladle she is holding shake from the sudden increase of pressure.
The Mortal has fallen from her pedestal, and Loki is about to rejoice silently in victory when he suddenly notices the mortal’s entire body shaking like the ladle.
Loki feels his stomach sink, something annoyingly similar to regret simmering deep within. Has his words really hit the mark?
Suddenly, the Mortal lets out an ear piercing sound that Loki has only ever heard from dogs.
But then, another quieter one came, and another, and soon, the Mortal is vibrating so hard that Loki is genuinely worried about her, no, HIS own future wellbeing.
Loki is about to abandon the scene, when the Mortal finally turned around, eyes harbouring such a crazed glint, smile stretching just a bit too wide that Loki, who wis an all powerful, immortal god, feel something squirming in his gut like a parasite, urging him to run, run and run.
‘Oh,’ she cackles, ‘You think they can function without me?’
Oh. So that is what the parasite was. Confusion. Because Loki cannot think of another reason why his legs has frozen in place.
‘Uh,’ Loki flounders, which is impossible because Loki is the epitome of perfection.
And perfect people do not get triumphed by others.
‘What?’ The mortal smirks, shoulders still shaking with uncontrollable laughter.
‘Did you really think that, gods forbid, Tony, without Pepper here, could take care of himself?’
‘I…,’ Loki tries to defend his partner, but just knowing him for a week, he knows it is a lost cause. Tony’s eating habits are truly egregious. So, he decides to switch tactics.
‘What about Banner, then?’
The mortal fixes him with a tired stare.
Bruce is literally in his lab every minute of the day. He never comes out to eat unless l remind him.’
Loki is not about to lose this battle of righteousness.
‘How about the Captain?’
‘Steve is too busy caring for his shield to care about anything else. Clint isn’t always here, and Wanda, well, she’s still dealing with… things. The point is, the Avengers will fall apart without me.’
Loki decides on a tactical retreat.
‘Well, it seems that I cannot change your mind, and it is futile to waste more of my time to correct your insignificant opinion. Now, run off. Stir your horrendous concoction.’
As Loki turns away for his tactical retreat, the mortal’s hand lashes out like a whip, holding him in place with a staggering amount of pressure on his shoulder. Loki felt the warm hand spread frostbite from his shoulder to his spine, making him straight up almost instinctually. And the voice of the mortal that follows is just as ice cold, expression as empty as the corpses from Hell.
‘I don’t care about your opinion too, Loki. But don’t treat me like a rag under your foot, or else, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.’
Despite it all, Loki shudders under the empty threat.
Then, the mortal let go of his shoulder, and just as sudden as before, the mood changes again, with the mortal humming shakily as she returned her attention to her potion.
Loki has never felt so flummoxed.
Suddenly, the mortal speaks again, voice now laced with the heat of an emergency.
‘Shit, the salt— Loki, can you get the salt? It’s just over on the counter. See it?’
Loki nods reflexively.
‘Get that,’ she half yells, voice tight, with a hastily added ‘please’ as an afterthought.
Before Loki can even anger at the obvious subordinate implication, his body automatically reached for the salt shaker, throwing it nimbly between his hands before finally passing it to the mortal. Just like how he always did helping his…
No.
What is it that he read back in the Avengers library? Let the past be bygones.
Knuckles white and stomach turning, Loki is ready to leave again, once and for all, prank long forgotten, lost to the fog in his mind. And then—
‘Pepper, please?’
And because Loki’s fate is entwined with pain, his right foot halts mid step, then abruptly changes direction. Several seconds later, he is now holding the pepper shaker, emotionlessly handing it to the mortal.
The mortal takes it quickly, shooting him a thankful glance before returning her full attention to the concoction, and Loki is left standing there like a fool, and as seconds slowly ticked by, the dangerous thoughts he has been keeping at bay started creeping in.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, he doesn’t have to stew in them for much longer, as the next request comes in, followed by even more, and Loki allows himself to slip into a robotic state, mind blissfully blank as he fulfils them one by one.
The cooking goes on smoothly, and if Loki isn’t redirecting all his energy to anywhere but his mind, he will lament at how far he’s fallen, taking orders from a mortal. Yet now, all he can feel is a pleasant buzz of bizarre appreciation, derived from the simple work and the quiet, peaceful environment.
And somehow, them working together like a well oiled machine, efficient, smooth and easy, only intensifies the buzzing of contentment.
Soon enough, a waft of delicious tanginess drifts from the concoction, and he knew he should feel accomplished, but Loki only feels the buzzing fade slightly to give way to something significantly more sour curdling in his stomach.
Sadly, the distraction is seemingly coming to an end, as the first syllables of ‘done’ formed on the mortal’s curved lips, as blood the same colour of the concoction flashes in his mind, and as Tony’s voice rings out from the corridor.
‘Hey! Is that Borscht I smell?’
Just like that, Loki is snapped back into reality.
And the reality is that he is about to be seen working with, no, working for, his sworn enemy. He has to leave.
‘Wait.’
Then, for the second time that day, the mortal grabs Loki by his hand, and maybe because of his troubled state, or the lingering buzz of confusing contentment, he can’t find it in himself to care.
Instead, he finds himself replying with a single, flat, flippant ‘What’.
Truly, pathetic.
However, this time, instead of ice cold anger, Loki finds himself face to face with overwhelmingly warm eyes, something that could almost be described as motherly, and something weak buried deep inside starts wiggling out of it’s tomb, reaching out desperately like a light derived plant welcoming a old friend after days of cloudiness.
Oblivious to his inner struggle to uproot the plant, the mortal shoves a bowl into the hand she is holding captive.
‘As a thanks.’
Loki can barely register himself nodding in gratitude out of trained politeness, before the door creaked and he turns invisible instinctively, sneaking back the way he came.
And much later, in the comfort of his own space, tentatively sipping at the blood red soup, saliva triggering sour notes tingling in his throat, Loki can’t help but wonder how it has somehow diminished the lingering bitterness that coats his tongue every time he saw the colour.
And that is what Loki told himself every time he is at the Avengers compound on the night of team dinners, drifting closer and closer to the kitchen until Natasha saw him, and subsequently beckoned him over.
Really, it’s all just a means to get rid of a weakness, and as a side benefit, he can make sure that she isn’t going to poison his idiotic brother and friend.
It isn’t because of the stupid plant. He has already kicked that into the depths of hell to rot with his sister.
And it definitely isn’t because of the weird, warm, nostalgic feeling he gets every time he helps her cook.
Plus, they are just on a truce. And every time someone comes into the kitchen, he still hid. So, just acquaintances with benefits. Nothing more.
Especially not friends.
And if Natasha notices Loki’s sudden change in attitude, she wisely doesn’t comment.
And five weeks after their first cooperation, it is the third time Natasha made her refreshing borscht that Loki had admittedly gorged on every time in the most polite way possible.
However, as much as Loki wants to keep feeding his growing addiction, he is now helping her wash the dishes, sneering venomously at the horrible state of the leftovers in the bowl his brother has eaten in.
Natasha is right beside him at a respectable distance, hands still working mechanically to wash her portion of the dishes, all while routinely humming.
Why she seems to enjoy this so much, Loki can’t fathom out the reason.
And as Loki finally gets over his disgust of his brother’s way of eating, he started washing alongside her, their rhythm syncing up with one another.
It was horribly domestic. Just like how back then, he is the only one who bothered to stay up and accompany… Freya. Stitching.
The bittersweet memories hits him hard and unexpected, the tart taste of his mouth that has been suppressed by the sourness of the borscht now comes back with a vengeance, accompanied by a new saltiness.
Loki hasn’t even realised how hard he was scrubbing a plate, cold, soapy water splashing everywhere from the force until something warm, solid lands on his wrist, sliding down to his fingers, and finally pried the plate from his white knuckled grip.
That, at last, shakes Loki out of his memories, and in a daze, he stupidly tried to keep washing the non-existent plate in his hands, only to find Natasha just staring at him, holding the plate he has been washing in her hands, eyes wary yet sparkling with concern.
‘You’re crying.’
‘No, I’m not, ‘ Loki replies, all deflection skills being reduced to a mere child’s.
Natasha cocks her perfectly arched eyebrow, calculating eyes surveying the soap covered kitchen before landing on him again.
‘Yes, you are.’
Then, after a lengthy pause— ‘We’re taking a break.’
‘No, we aren’t, ‘ Loki shoots back out of instinct. His wording is truly skyrocketing in childishness.
‘Yes we are.’
Without waiting for a response, the plate in Natasha’s hand is swiftly put down, and it found its home looped around Loki’s elbow, the contact being used to bodily pull him out of the kitchen.
Speaking of, why isn’t Loki putting his powers into good use?
In response, Loki’s power flares strongly, lime green light bursting from his entire arm, turning it bright and scalding to the touch. Natasha’s hand quickly retracts. However, the resultant glare caused his power to wilt and hide under his skin, like a scolded child.
Right after it he thinks of the comparison, Loki tries burying it deep, deep under to no avail.
Besides, whatever his power is trying to protect him from, it is too late. They have arrived in front of the library, which, filled to the brim with dusty smelling books, it is Loki’s favourite room in the Avengers compound.
Wait, what?
Loki whips around, eyes narrowing, but Natasha has already gone in, fiery red hair falling gracefully over her shoulders as she bends down to pull out two chairs beneath the table, a strange expression on her face.
‘What are you planning?’
Natasha shrugs before sauntering towards the shelves, patting a chair as she passes by, beckoning him forward, face remaining deliberately blank.
‘Nothing. Just what I said, thought you needed a break.’
‘With all the things I’ve done? I don’t believe you.’
‘Well, you paid it all back. Now’s my time to help.’
Loki carefully walks forward, metal boots making nary a sound on the soft purple carpet, and sits down on a chair, hands twitching uselessly in anticipation. He doesn’t bother asking what she thought she was helping with. They both know that he has broken down in the kitchen, and Loki’s tired of pretending.
Of what specifically, he himself doesn’t know either. Maybe of a lot of things.
‘Fine. What are we doing?’
‘Reading, of course.’
And suddenly, a stack of yellowing books, falls down with a crash, stirring up such a dust cloud that Loki, for a second, could barely see through.
And even though Loki likes books, he knows that probably wasn’t the reason his heart was jumping up to his throat.
‘I’m fine,’ Natasha calls out from somewhere behind the fallen books, only coming into view once the dust settled.
‘Of course you are,’ Loki said, trying to discretely pry his tense hands from the stool.
Natasha frowns while brushing away the dust from her clothes.
‘What was that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’
And Natasha frowns even harder at that, but this time, instead of replying, she walks over to Loki, setting down the two books she is holding down to the table beside them.
Loki looks at the titles incredulously.
‘Little Women?’
Natasha rolls her eyes at the tone of his voice, yet sits down beside him, the uneven stool still rocking with the sudden weight while she takes one of the books and starts flicking through the pages.
‘I like it. And it’s just a recommendation. Try not to judge a book by its cover, again?’
Loki grumbles half heartedly and snatches the book up.
Natasha’s doubting him? Well, Loki just has to read it so throughly, word by word, that he will eventually know so much more about the story than her. Easy.
And then, in the companionable silence, minutes passed, and the more he reads, the more Loki’s surprised by Little Women, like the fact that it wasn’t about tiny women at all.
Instead, in it, he finds a lot of hard work, perseverance and love. It is dramatic, yes, but so is Loki.
In fact, Loki is so entranced by the story, a pleasant, joyful buzz dancing beneath his skin, that when he finally finished it, at least an hour later, he only then remembered Natasha’s presence.
Loki quickly turns his head, a weird but unforced “sorry” right on the tip of his tongue, when he notices her slumped on the table, eyes closed.
Sleeping.
Loki sighs, resigned, conjuring up a blanket and dripping it over her shoulders, before sitting back down and basking in the quiet, only broken sometimes by the not quite snores Natasha made in her sleep.
He’s reminded of moments like this with Freya, of those uncomfortably warm, loud nights that Thor and Odin seems to thrive in, and how he and Frigga always retired early, her reading stories to him until sleep gently takes him away from his mother’s embrace.
It also reminds him of all the bad ones, in which they get into fights, and ugly, sharp words are thrown around carelessly like they were just greetings, tiny cuts that makes him bleed all over, inside and out.
Most importantly, Loki remembered feeling his mother dying and the way it teared ravenously into his soul, more painful than all those cuts, turning him hollow with a vengeance.
Oddly enough, this time, the need to shove it away was nonexistent, and as Loki looks at Natasha, he feels the electric buzz slowly shift and fade into something softer, more at peace, if anything.
Something swells inside him then, soothing and reassuring and filled with nothing but promises of hot, homey meals.
Just like that, everything slots into place.
And while Loki is walking back to the spaceship, he feels his mother in the form of a ghost, smiling warmly somewhere above. He used to think that it was a curse, a reminder of all his past mistakes. But now?
Now, Loki thinks of Thor, Valkyrie, Tony, and begrudgingly, Natasha. Mother, he wants to say, I’m not alone now, I have people to care for me. You can rest, now.
Now, as the cold breeze caressing his face slowly faded away, as his body pulsed with residual warmth, he can’t help but feel like he was blessed, to not actually be alone back then, when everything was just a giant blur of emotions, when he thought everything was against him.
At that moment, Loki, for the first time in four years, lets himself mourn a little too.
‘So…I’ve noticed that you’ve been quite close to Nat lately.’
‘We’re on a truce.’
‘Are you two…’
‘No Tony. I will never be so foolish as to subject myself to any kind of romantic relationships.’
‘Okay, okay, fine. Friends, then. Are you guys friends?’
‘Maybe.’