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“Do you miss it?” Rogers asked. “Being a prince?”
There were easy answers to the question: a simple yes or no, for starters. In the past, Steve had demonstrated that he was willing to let uncomfortable discussions go, and he was surprisingly canny at reading Loki’s moods in that regard. But this question wasn’t uncomfortable insomuch as it was simply too complicated to merit discussion. Not even with Thor, and certainly not with one of the Midgardians still in charge of holding Loki’s leash.
And yet, Loki found himself mulling over his response.
Thanks to some help Loki had given them in a recent scuffle with a would-be supervillain - at Thor’s request - the Avengers had loosened Loki’s restrictions. It didn’t make the fools in charge of SHIELD very happy, but, thankfully, the Avengers didn’t answer to anyone in particular, not even at SHIELD. Loki was still under house arrest, but Thor and Rogers had been successful in arguing that never being allowed outside was a form of torture. As long as he had a guardian, and as long as his anti-magic cuffs were in working order, Loki was free to wander the city.
It was late autumn. A hard chill sharpened the air, and the leaves of the park’s trees had turned from shades of green to a riot of turmeric and amber and carnelian. Loki would have expected his guardian to be nearly as comfortable in the cold weather as he himself was, being a super-soldier, but Rogers was bundled up in a long coat and a scarf, though the scarf was loose around his shoulders. His cheeks and the tip of his nose blushed in the cold.
They had walked a good distance of the park’s outermost path before Loki said, cautiously, “You’d have to be a fool to miss being royalty.”
Rogers gave him a sidelong glance. “Yeah?”
“Obviously.”
“You don’t sound too torn up about it.”
“Of course I am,” Loki said, indignant. “The lodgings here are pedestrian at best. Your buildings are ugly. Your food is… hit or miss.”
One corner of Roger’s mouth curled upward. “I knew you liked that Thai takeout.”
“Congratulations are in order, I see,” Loki said. “One establishment in the whole of this city prepares edible food. I’m sure you’re very proud.”
“Can’t believe you don’t like hot dogs,” Rogers grumbled.
“You’d need to be a super-soldier to digest them.”
“I had plenty of practice before the serum, believe me.”
“Disgusting.”
“Is that it?”
“I don’t know how else to describe what I’m sure was originally intended as poison for vermin.”
“No, I meant… about being royalty,” Rogers said, though he still wore that opaque little half-smile. The expression infuriated Loki near daily; it was so hard to see through it. Everyone thought it was the open, honest, simple-hearted expression of a stereotypically Midgardian hero. Loki could tell, though. Steven Rogers hid from everyone, including himself. “I’m not just asking for the hell of it, by the way. You’re halfway to being part of the team.”
“Huzzah,” Loki muttered.
“And Thor loves it here,” Rogers said, and Loki frowned at the non sequitur. “He’s easy to please. Knows how things work here now, mostly. But you’re… obviously not our biggest fan.”
Loki was starting to feel odd. It was similar to suspicion, but without the sense of impending potential death. “I suppose not,” he said, pitching it halfway as a question.
“We’ve just been thinking,” Rogers plowed on. “If you’re going to stay much longer, you should be comfortable.”
“Prisoners don’t often get to choose their cell’s decor.”
“You’re not a prisoner,” Rogers said. “And even if you were, you should still be comfortable. So… what would you ask for? Within reason.”
Loki tried to relax his deepening frown. “I’m not going to live in your tower forever.”
“No, of course not.” Rogers ducked beneath a tree branch that had reached itself out into the walking path, but the yellow leaves still brushed the top of his head. “But you’ll be here a while.”
Loki glanced away. The Allfather had agreed to withhold Asgardian justice as long as Thor’s earthbound friends meted out Loki’s punishment instead. It was a one-time offer - if Loki attempted to escape or start another war, it would be Odin’s responsibility - and, at the time, it had felt like a slap in the face. Odin didn’t even want to let Loki back on Asgard for as long as it took to throw him in a cell. But Loki doubted he’d be asked how to make his prison more comfortable on Asgard.
“I don’t know,” Loki said, intentionally breezy to mask the fact that he didn’t know what to ask for. “How much gold do you have available?”
Rogers snorted in surprise. “Pardon?”
“I assume you brought up both my royal background and my current chambers because you’ve noticed the distinct lack of gold in the latter. Asgard is the realm of gods and gold, Captain.”
It wasn’t meant seriously, but Rogers nodded after a moment of thought. “Tony can probably find some.” He reached out to pluck a leaf from another intrusive tree branch, spinning it between his thumb and middle finger. “You’re probably not looking for just a lump of gold, though. What, furniture? Art? Gold rug?”
Loki stared at him. “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Rogers held his gaze just long enough to make Loki feel exposed. Then he looked down at the yellow leaf between his fingers, spun it again, and opened one side of his coat, slipping the leaf into an inner pocket. “Good for drawing warmups,” he said, as if Loki had asked.
Loki was tempted to let the man think he did want a lump of gold. Just to know how much he could get, where the line of Rogers’s and the Avengers’ generosity fell and how far he could toe it. But Rogers saw through him, he knew that. He saw through Loki’s demands and agreed to them anyway. He wasn’t stupid - Loki had seen him in action more than enough times to determine that by now - so was this just a game of chicken? First to blink won their dignity back?
The sun was already starting to set. By now, there would be food waiting in the Tower: someone would have started, valiantly but fruitlessly, trying to cook, or there would be too much takeout, or everyone would be sequestered in their own floors with their own meals, but, no matter what, there would be the smell of pasta or curry or fish or popcorn drifting through the halls. The Captain would show Loki back to his small, heavily secured suite attached to Thor’s rooms, and the day would be over, and all Loki would have to show for it was the promise of a pile of useless gold.
He sighed. “I would be more comfortable if I could use my magic.” Rogers opened his mouth, and Loki went on, “But I know that’s out of the question for now. So what I would like to have, in order to be comfortable, is a kitchen.”
Briefly, Rogers stopped walking. True surprise flickered across his face, and Loki briefly exulted in getting the upper hand in the conversation. “You cook?”
“Very little. But no one in your ugly building knows how to prepare Asgardian food, including Thor, and I would like to be able to feed myself sometimes instead of risking another encounter with a hot dog, so I’ll learn.”
There was that curl at the side of his mouth again. “Hurtful, but fair. I’ll let Tony know. A kitchen and a spot on the grocery list. You have cookbooks on Asgard? Maybe Thor can bring one back sometime.”
“Perhaps.”
Without asking, Rogers aimed their path towards the park’s exit. The afternoon glow was fading into lavender, but there was enough light left to gild the trees and to catch in the Captain’s eyelashes. Loki turned away as soon as he realized he had looked long enough to notice.