Loki and Natasha have their dinner date before the opera. It's
all over the place.
⚠
Lots and lots and lots of UST.
After conning a high level business man into loaning her his car — that Lamborghini she'd been eyeing — and card, Natasha went shopping. The clothes of the era had some charm, but 1983 was full of boxy, unflattering dresses and immense shoulder pads. She'd opted for Karl Lagerfeld. He might have been a shitbag, but he had good taste in clothes. Her hair, she'd done on her own because there was just no way in hell she was going to let anyone tease it into a rat nest or deplete the ozone with hairspray.
Lutèce closed before Natasha had a chance to get there. In the pre- and post-Cold War world, it had been the site of many a business dinner that other Widows spoke about. The food was, apparently, to die for, but then again they didn't exactly eat at world renown restaurants. What would they know? Oreos and milk while being indoctrinated and filled with endless Western Media to fit in did not qualify as high life.
And most of them did. Die for it. Maybe it wasn't the foie gras that killed them. The ones her age were mostly killed during that trip to Siberia, a good chunk of them at Natasha's hands. Most didn't get to be her age, and Melina — well, she was a goddamn miracle.
Last week had been rough. This week, Natasha was taking it fairly easy, doing things she missed or enjoyed and generally tried not to think about that scarred version of herself. She'd get no answers, but being on campus found her skittish. There were still ghosts around - a fact that unnerved her more than she cared to admit — and she wasn't certain anyone had been able to destroy that one.
Still. Better things to think about.
Dessert came out. Crème brûlée, as promised. Natasha was still sipping a glass of wine. It was her third glass, and she supposed she really had super tolerance now. It barely made a dent. Her eyebrows rose as she gestured to him with her glass.
"You lied about not knowing how to drive." She wasn't angry. It was such a strange thing to lie about that it was comical. At least in this context. "In the right setting, yeah, I'd lie about it too. For information. To get someone to take me somewhere. To make someone think I was helpless where I was. I don't see a reason." She laughed. "Explain!"
Maybe it was making more of a dent that she realized.
When it came to appearances — Midgardian appearances, at least — Loki preferred to err on the side of simplicity. In Asgard he enjoyed the flourishes and the gold, the elaborate royal dress and matching decorum. It made him stand out. It made him feel powerful. But over the years he’d learned that the exact opposite was true on Midgard. Less was more. And in this situation, that’s what Loki decided to go with. An attire that was decidedly less boisterous and vibrant than his traditional Asgardian leather, but no less effective at making him stand out.
It was a suit. A real suit, mind you. Actual fabrics woven together and not just an illusion covering his God of Mischief attire. Tailor fitted, of course. At first glance it looked black, but closer inspection would reveal that it was actually a very dark shade of blue. Something between midnight and twilight, when the sky couldn’t quite make up its mind about those last vestiges of color before plunging itself into darkness. Dress shirt. Tie. It was a little more modern than the average 1980s fashion. Or maybe it was actually older. Styles always reinvented themselves, after all. Regardless of the period, it suited Loki. Even with that preposterous hair.
He laughed into his wine glass when she circled back around to the driving. “Natasha. Really. I’m over a thousand years old and Midgard has always been my favorite planet. I’m also something of a hotshot pilot on Asgard. Do you really think I wouldn’t stop and take the time to learn how to drive a manual? Do you think I wasn’t around when the first automobile rolled off the assembly line?”
Loki took a sip and then set the glass back down. The waiter, always on top of his game, hurried around and refilled both of their glasses. Loki acknowledged him with a nod. Then he returned his attention to Natasha. His answer to her question? A simple shrug.
“Because lying comes naturally? Because I thought it was funny? Because I was flirting? Because I wanted to see how you’d react? Because I wanted you to try and teach me?” Loki twirled the small dessert fork in his fingers. He’d yet to try the crème brûlée. As much as he’d raved his adoration for sweets on the network, he still preferred the treats of his own realm. Was that a lie? Saying he enjoyed cakes and creams when he really just wanted a bowl of tree nuts? Perhaps.
Not that anyone, Natasha least of all, would be surprised.
“You’re an excellent teacher, by the way. Top marks across the board. Makes me even more excited to be attending your ballet class. Can’t wait to see what you do there.” Smirk.
"And here I thought I was actually teaching you something."
The mention of ballet, though, pulled deep breath from within her. She wasn't a teacher, but when Eliot asked her, she could remember fond memories of dancing — and one of her Derleth alternate's love of teaching. That one had been in a relationship with Vanya Hargreeves, which had been awkward since neither of them had really spoken since. The less said, honestly, the better.
"I don't know what I was thinking there. Probably that I'd like something to do for those rare times we actually get downtime." Like this week, but to be frank, she wasn't in the mood to begin teaching anything. The driving lesson was an anomaly; it wasn't really all that formal. "Who knows when we'll get time for those lessons. I'm not really that great with kids. Or, I guess, teenagers in this case."
There were about a hundred things that Natasha wanted to say, but she was determined to keep this evening as light as she could. No one could survive on angst all of the time, and having died (again), Natasha just wanted to eat some good food and have some fun. More wine was also on the menu.
"But this week, I kind of wanna fuck up Russia."
“You were teaching me something. Patience.” Loki smirked. “You have no idea how many times I wanted to say something! I held out as long as I could. Really quite proud of myself for letting it go as long as I could with a straight face. Oh, but you should have seen yourself. I thought you were going to hit me when you found out.”
Loki took the dessert spoon and scooped a small portion of the crème brûlée from the dish. He took a bite. He was meticulously slow with his movements. Not because he feared the taste, but because he wanted to savor it. He wanted to enjoy the subtleties of the flavor and texture. And because he knew he wasn’t going to eat the entire thing. So it was best to indulge in the few bites he did allow himself.
“I think it’s wonderful that you’re going to teach the kids something. Well, let me rephrase that. I personally think this random shot-in-the-dark attempt to make Derleth an actual school for all three teenagers that live here to be a complete and utter waste of time, both intellectually and emotionally.” Loki took another bite of the dessert before setting the spoon on the edge of the dish. “But since people are going along with the ridiculous idea of having classes, I’m glad that at least someone competent will be teaching something useful.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth, lapping up that sweet film from the crème brûlée that coated the enamel. Then he picked up his wine glass and took a measured sip. He was being careful not to overindulge too quickly. Not that there was enough wine in the restaurant to get him drunk, but pacing seemed appropriate for the setting. Although he did enjoy seeing the start of that rosy flush on Natasha’s cheeks.
“Do you want me to make you a portal in the ladies room? I can send you directly to the Palace Square in St. Petersburg.”
"You'd think that someone as old as you would have learned patience a long time ago," she retorted, referring to the fact that Asgardians (and Frost Giants) lived gargantuan lives compared to boring old human beings. There was a niggling in the back of her mind, a conversation she had about Midgardians, but she shoved it away for the time being. There would be time to ruminate when she wasn't entertaining.
The classes were less about making it a school and more about giving people something to do, and frankly, she never thought ballet classes would be anywhere on anyone's mind. Survival, hand-to-hand: those seemed to be the classes most important in Derleth. She would be remiss if she didn't think about just how many people really seemed to need those lessons.
Maybe one on common sense.
She'd offer that sex education might be needed, but given that you reset to your physical state at the beginning of each week, the subject of sexually transmitted diseases and pregnancies didn't seem to be much of a concern.
In the moment, however, Natasha faked looking at an invisible watch, turning her wrist over — the jewels she'd bought sparkling under the restaurant's lights — and then pulling a face. "Think we can make it to the opera in time?"
When she mocked his comment about learning patience, Loki merely pressed his lips together in a knowing smile. Compared to Thor, Loki actually did have a great deal of patience. More than many might expect of him. He’d always been the careful brother. The calculating one. The Odinson whose thoughts and plans and intentions were always three, four, sometimes five steps ahead of the game. Patience had never been his problem. No, his problem had always been failure. Failure and disappointment. And how he responded to both.
“We have more than enough time. I can always portal us directly into the box seats. No one will even notice. Especially if I time it directly before the curtain call. Relax, Natasha. We can comfortably finish off another bottle of wine without missing the opening overture.” As if to prove his point, Loki brought the wine glass to his lips and took another sip. “Besides, there are a few things I want to talk to you about before we’re cornered in a dark booth for three hours. A few serious things.”
Loki set his glass down and leaned closer towards the table. His finger traced the edge of the dessert dish. Then he looked Natasha directly in the eyes. The dramatic pause before he spoke wasn’t intended to make her nervous, but there was a delicate tension in the air.
They still hadn’t talked about the island, after all.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want for myself here. In Derleth, that is. Actually, it’s something that’s been on my mind ever since the quiet week. I’ve hinted at it in the past but was only ever met with disbelief and ridicule from the other residents. And I understand why. I don’t exactly have a track record of being the loyal, protective type. And I know most people don’t trust me.” Loki licked at his lower lip. “But it occurred to me that no one trusts me or my ideas because no one who is trustworthy has backed them up. And since you’ve been appointed the resident leader, I thought you might be that person.”
Loki tucked a thick strand of hair behind his ear. “I think there should be some form of organized protection at Derleth. Like the welcoming committee but focused on the potential dangers of each week. A group of people capable of assessing the safety of the locations we go to and providing help when things go amiss. A group that can help cohesively defend against threats and assist the less experienced or powerless residents on supply runs or whatever ancillary tasks are required.”
Loki paused. “A group that people can immediately go to for help when they need it instead of frantically searching for aid on the net board when it’s too late.”
That was not exactly what Natasha expected to hear coming out of his mouth. Honestly, she didn't know what to expect. There'd been some lingering expectation the way he'd drawn it out, and with the setting, Work had not been on her mind. Natasha's smile was crooked as she contemplated his suggestion, though her brow furrowed a little. She took another sip from her wine glass and thought over his proposition.
The Avengers who were here, they weren't the ones that Natasha had routinely worked with in the last year — Okoye and Rocket aside. She'd had a hard time wrangling people during the week the monsters with heightened sound had been around. In the wake of the Lokian invasion. Maybe people trusted her on a level they didn't trust Loki, but they weren't willing to actually listen.
That didn't mean his plan was without merit. A small group, properly chosen and trained, to go out and find out what each new reset is about would be a good idea. Would also keep a lot of people from wandering straight into gaping jaws and ghostly hands.
It also sounded a lot like a military which might not go over well with the residents. There was already strong anti-government mentions, which didn't particularly bother Natasha as she knew how to crumble those from the inside anyway. She also thought that a group would end up being an awful lot of people with the group they had.
"So you want me to back you when you suggest it? Or are you looking for someone else to broach the topic for you?"
Loki watched her carefully as she thought about his words and considered her response. He wouldn’t have understood her military comparison. He thought of it like the welcoming committee or the local physician. Another group with a purpose to make sure a week of slaughter didn’t happen. But perhaps the other people of Derleth didn’t have the same feelings about death that Loki did. Maybe they didn’t care because they knew they would come back. Maybe it didn’t linger with them in the same way it did with him. Maybe it was because Loki knew he couldn’t go back. That all he had in his realm and his universe was death. And thus more death was just a compounding factor for him, continuously reminding him that’s all he was good for.
Dying.
Dying so heroes could live.
“You don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said. There wasn’t any argument or discontent in his tone. No hurt. Loki could be practical and reasonable when he wanted to be. And he respected Natasha’s opinions. If she thought it wasn’t good, if she thought it wouldn’t work, then he’d drop it.
He took another bite from the crème brûlée. A slightly larger portion this time. It wasn’t fruit and nuts but it did taste good sliding down the back of his throat.
“I’m just getting frustrated by all of the needless death. And all of the unnecessary disorganization. I know, I know. God of Chaos can’t stand the chaos. It’s hypocritical. I get that. But my chaos is always masterminded. Manipulated. It’s part of the plan. But children not knowing who to look to for help when flesh-eating aliens appear. Or adults not knowing who can properly heal a magical wound. These things can be easily avoided. And they should be.”
Shouldn’t they? It was a good thing Loki was talking about doing, wasn’t it?
He set the spoon back down on the edge of the dessert dish. “I can’t bring it up. No one will listen to me on something like this. I’ve tried in the past, but I’ve bungled it both times. Perhaps it could be something someone brings to a vote? To see if there’s interest. If not then…”
Loki shrugged. “Then we keep doing it the way we’re doing it.”
"Ah, now I understand." And she did. He meant a group of resources for various things, not just a group for reconnaissance and potential fighting. That was a much better idea than a potential fighting group. Most of the people at Derleth seemed to have a history as a protagonist in their dimension. That is: someone who routinely fought bad people and ideals. Getting anyone to stand down and let a small group do that job would have taken some convincing.
She tapped her spoon against the top of her own dessert to crack the sugar, then took a small bite. She had to admit: this was so much better than a sad peanut butter sandwich in an office while she watched for any sign of Clint (or other dangers).
"You want a list of people who can do specific things that people might need in an easily accessible place so people can immediately turn there and not have to beg for help on the network." It seemed pretty obvious now that she thought about it, and then wondered why she hadn't thought of it herself.
"That's a good idea. I can do that."
“I mean … If it gets to a point where we’re in constant never-ending danger, then maybe you and the other Avengers would like to, I don’t know, reassemble or whatever it is you do. But in the meantime it would be good to know who can create dimensional portals, who has healing capabilities, who can take on someone like me, for example. Should another version of me who actually is intent on causing damage arrives. And maybe forming a small group of people who can comfortably work together to make sure a setting is safe. Or do some form of reconnaissance before those of us with less skill or experience run off and get themselves hurt. Or worse, killed.”
Loki wasn’t going to say it, but he felt that there was a lot of unnecessary death last week. True, he had not been as helpful as he could have been. Hel, he had barely been helpful at all. And his excuses weren’t good enough. He might have been emotionally distressed or unraveling, but those were still excuses. He could have helped more people. He could have used his magic against more ghosts. He could have tried harder to keep people in their dormitories. But he didn’t. And Loki felt bad about that now. He wanted to stop putting his drama before other people’s. He needed to.
“It’s not that I don’t think teaching everyone how to knife fight is a bad idea. I just don’t think it’s a practical idea. Not for the short term. And I know I’m going to sound like the biggest hypocrite when I say this, but…” Loki took a deep breath. “I think Derleth would be better suited by a class on teamwork than self-defense.”
Which might have explained why Loki thought dance was more useful than sword fighting.
He sipped his wine and gave a half shrug of his shoulder. “Anyway. You can think about it. Bring it up if you think it’s useful. Probably better not to mention my name. You’re the Boss Lady. I trust you to decide whether it’s a worthy idea or not. Or how to broach it with the others. I don’t even have to be directly involved in any of it. If a team is put together, I mean. I know there are more reliable people than me.”
Loki also knew that diplomacy wasn’t exactly in his repertoire. He knew that if he suggested starting a superhero team that people would simply see that as another ploy of his to gain control. To be in charge. To rule a kingdom. And that’s not what Loki wanted. He just wanted the death count to go down.
“Your gown is lovely, by the way. Looks like a spider’s web.” He paused. And then his tone changed a little. Still serious, but less somber. Perhaps even a little insecure. “We can skip the opera if you want. Go someplace else. Russia, if that’s what you’d prefer. It’s a seven hour time difference from here to Moscow. So, if we left at intermission we could see the sun rise over Saint Basil’s Cathedral on the Red Square.”
"It's useful. It's very useful."
There was a good cross section of people here. Some, like the magicians, were used to working together. She'd seen them when they were attempting to figure out the monolith. It may not have worked out, but it showed her they were able to handle cooperative magic without any one person having to be front and center. And that was when Julia didn't have her shade. She could only imagine how much better they worked when she did.
Then there were the wildcards, like the Lokis, Strange, and Murdock. They had certain sticks up their asses (at times), and those sticks often got them injured or killed. Sometimes, they just completely ignored things that Natasha asked for to keep things under control. Admittedly, she wasn't as forceful as she could be, and she and Steve had trained the newer Avengers in the wake of Ultron. Was that something she should consider here?
"I'll put together something in the next few days. The list would need to be updated as people came and went, and I could see if Eliot could add it to the welcome note. Where to find it on the network. I'd want it to be easily accessible." She thought about those who were hiding powers, like Billy, who might not want to be on the list. It might make things more difficult for some, but overall, she thought she could get this done.
Her head was now turned back to work, so when his tone changed, Natasha blinked. Was he a little anxious? Or was he lying about something again? "It's been a long time since I've seen the sun rise over the cathedral." Perhaps the wine had opened her tongue a little. "I'm not usually sentimental, but it's different seeing something after the fall."
“No rush. It appears as though this is going to be a relatively quiet week.” Fingers crossed.
Loki couldn’t tell if she was placating him or not about the team idea, but it didn’t matter. He only wanted to be heard. And Natasha was the only person he knew who would listen. Now she’d heard his opinion and it was in her hands. He knew she was better equipped than he was to decide whether it was something worth considering. He had heard snippets of what had happened following the events on the Statesman, both from her and from others. He knew that she had led the charge of Avengers in the past. Compared to that Derleth ought to have been a piece of cake.
The waiter came around again and Loki instructed him to simply leave the bottle of wine on the table. Then he refilled both his and Natasha’s glasses on his own. Not too indulging all at once, but a little bit more than restaurant courtesy. He took another sip and then tugged the collar of his shirt near the tie, loosening it around his neck. Was it warm in here?
“A sunset would be prettier, but we’re too late for that. There’s always tomorrow though. Or the next day. There’s still time to go anywhere or see anything. Or we could save it for the end. Assuming, of course, that nothing disastrous happens before then.” Loki didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he felt like even Derleth needed to give itself a break from the constant mad scrambling of chaos that befell it every week. “And you’re wrong, you know. You’re incredibly sentimental. Not overtly, but you have a distinct sentimental layer beneath your tough-as-nails Black Widow facade. It’s not bad. It’s actually quite endearing. It’s why you’re such a beautiful dancer.”
"More wine," she said, as she took a large gulp from her glass.
If they were going to discuss her flaws — or virtues? — she was definitely going to need more wine. Natasha knew that she had skills; she'd honed them over the years to a razor fine point. She had no issues discussing or being secure in those. When it came to her personality, there were few people she would speak the truth to. She had used her flaws to get information. Her shock and horror at Loki laying out her past — her red ledger — hadn't been fabricated. That's what made her so good at interrogating. None of it had been a lie, but she had compartmentalized those pieces and worked them the way she worked the physical aspects of a fight.
"Sunset's early in St Petersburg this time of year. If we saved that for the last day, we'd have another seven hours until the reset." She'd stayed away from the campus this week. The ghosts invading — and their consequential NON disappearance — had kept her from going back. She needed time away from them. Or the possibility of them. "You'd have to spend an awful lot of time with me."
“Oh, gods. Another seven hours? What could we possibly do with all that time?” Loki didn’t answer his own question. He merely ensured an appropriate — disproportionate? — amount of playfulness in his tone matched by a knowing smirk. The rest he’d leave up to Natasha’s imagination. Which was not to say that he was actually suggesting they spend their time together doing anything that might disrupt the delicate balance of the unexpected friendship they’d developed with each other, but he wasn’t not suggesting it. Loki was, in essence, testing the waters without actually stepping into the ocean.
His track record with these things wasn’t exactly on a winning streak, after all. And, odd as it might have seemed seeing as they were once on two completely different sides of the battlefield, Loki respected Natasha. He really enjoyed their friendship. It meant a lot to him. And after nearly bungling it all over Julia’s shade, he was extra cautious not to go too far in any direction.
Another sip of wine. Not enough to even bridge the gap of tipsiness for a Frost Giant, but Loki felt a warm flush to his face regardless. “Maybe the opera isn’t such a good idea. All those dark corners and quiet interludes. Not to mention the emotion. I, for one, am partial to exposing a tear or two in the presence of a good soprano. Fresh air and public spaces might be a wiser choice for the rest of the evening.”
His thumb and forefinger slid down the smooth stem of the wine glass, pausing to rub out a drop of red that had dripped on the base. Beneath the table his right leg stretched forward, inadvertently (perhaps) brushing against the outside of her calf. Then he pulled his leg back and finished off the rest of his wine.
Yes, fresh air was probably a wiser choice for the rest of the evening.
Or the rest of the week.
To Natasha's trained mind, there were several things going on. Loki's confession on the beach during the week the Derleth was a ship had shaken him. She'd seen his reaction — that he'd called her his best friend — over her death. Most people never got to see that, and while it had been reassuring that he thought of them as true friends, it also meant that it had caused him a whole lot of pain. When she'd gone out that day, she never thought she'd have run into a ghost version of herself, let alone one who played with their victims the way that she had.
That meant that Loki was entirely unstable right now.
His current conversations bounced between flirting and Derleth-related organization, two topics that didn't exactly go hand in hand.
His open conversation with Fandral left Loki drained. Natasha knew better than most that what Fandral and Loki talked about had cut both of them deeply, but Loki not knowing what exactly it was that he had done left him with a wound. A very deep one that played itself out right now in his interaction with Natasha.
His body language informed her that he was testing the waters, from the shallow end to the deep end. What did she want? That's what both conversations boiled down to. He left the ball in her court.
He really had no idea what it was that he wanted.
He was scared.
Natasha was not going to exploit that, no matter how much her emotional mind wanted to kiss him. No matter how much she wanted to show him that it was going to be okay. (And the truth was: she was more than a little terrified too. The one person she'd gone with her gut instinct had run away to space to get away from her.)
She did reach out to put her hand over his. Instead of addressing any of this, though, she simply said, "I've got a present for you."
If Loki could have looked into her thoughts he would have been able to confirm everything that was going through her mind. Natasha wasn’t wrong. (Was she ever?) Loki wasn’t well. He wasn’t even close to well. And he hadn’t been for a long time. He’d been holding it together because the rapid changes from one week to the next barely gave him a chance to breathe, let alone process the compounding traumas he’d endured—both before he arrived at Derleth and after. But the last two weeks had broken his spirit. The argument with Sylvie, Loki, and Alligator Loki was still fresh. Their truce was still tentative. The situation with Julia was complicated and unresolved. Natasha’s death was fresh in his mind. And then Fandral.
Fandral had been Loki’s last straw. Because Loki felt like he deserved to know what he’d done wrong. He wanted to be able to either accept his mistake so he could learn from it and change. Or he wanted to be able to defend himself if he was being misinterpreted. But Fandral didn’t give him that opportunity. Nine hundred years of ‘friendship’ — or of at least being cordial with each other — was simply flushed away for an unknown reason. And worse than that? Fandral had basically told Loki that he wasn’t worth caring about.
Which is exactly how Loki had always felt his entire life. Laufey didn’t want him. Odin didn’t want him. The people of Asgard didn’t want him. He was only wanted when he could be useful to someone else. When he could give them something they wanted. Loki was always the pawn in someone else’s game.
No one cared about pawns.
And he was nervous. He was scared. Terrified, really. Afraid that Natasha might give up on him like all the others. That she might also decide he wasn’t worth caring about. And so he tiptoed that swaying tightrope between friendship and something more. Sometimes he even put the brakes on the friendship, like when he didn’t reach out to her about where he was going. He put up some distance because he didn’t know what they were doing. He didn’t know what he was feeling. And, like her, he was trying to ignore his gut instinct, as well. Because it was equally as unreliable.
And then she placed her hand on his.
Loki’s entire arm stiffened. His hand froze in place, the skin literally dropping a few degrees in temperature from sheer surprise. He stopped breathing long enough to count his heartbeat. Then he released a slow breath, his hand quickly warming to her touch. All of this happened in a matter of seconds, but in his mind it felt like minutes.
“I didn’t know we were doing presents.” Loki’s forehead creased along with his frown. “I don’t have anything for you.”
Natasha had honed her skills so completely that she could see the muscle tense up in the way his shoulder and torso changed in just the slightest way. She could feel the muscle in his hand stiffen, then relax. That gave away his game utterly, and Natasha changed her demeanor to fit. Instead of the flirty date, she veered into warm friend mode. That was what he needed right now.
"It's a present, Loki. I'm not expecting anything back."
Although this present had some implications to it.
She retrieved the pouch from inside her purse. It wasn't anything particularly special. It didn't come in some ornate box to give away what it was, but it was the absolute height of 1980s fashion. If you didn't have one, did you have anything? Two (cheap) silver necklaces were pulled out, attached to a thin cardboard backing. She set them out so that the two sides of the heart were laid out on the table between them.
BEST FRIENDS.
The words were split between the necklaces, as was the custom, so that when you put them together, they formed the right words. As chintzy as they were, it did mean something that he'd called her that in front of the entire network.
Loki didn’t know if the diversion into complete friendship territory made him more or less comfortable. In many ways flirtation was easier. He could easily shake flirtation off as a joke if the person he was using it on didn’t respond positively. But with Natasha the lines were beginning to blur. Would he have been physically intimate with her if she made a move in that direction? Absolutely. He wouldn’t hesitate. It was clear that he had a physical attraction to her. Hel, that had been clear more than a decade ago when they first met. But Loki had recently learned the hard way that not everyone was like him when it came to sexual intimacy. Not everyone could have that without certain conditions. Conditions that Loki wasn’t ready for yet.
And he was worried about complicating another friendship after just destroying another.
Yes, he wanted Natasha. He wanted to take her by the hand, whisk her away to some private location, and strip away that wall they both kept up between each other. He wanted to feel her and taste her and show her the most intimate parts of himself.
But he didn’t want to lose her friendship. Hers was the only one he knew to be real.
Loki watched as she took out the small box and removed those hideous necklaces. Truly, they were awful. At first he didn’t even read them properly. He read them individually. BE FRI and ST ENDS. And that confused him even more than how ugly they were. Then he read them in conjunction and it made more sense. Which didn’t change the fact that they were cheesy and poorly made, but at least he understood the meaning.
“Oh hel, Natasha. I really hope you don’t expect me to wear that. First of all, it’s an eyesore. Secondly, it’s been a very long time since I was a thirteen-year-old girl.” But there was a tiny hint of sentiment in Loki’s voice. Because he knew this was proof that Natasha had gone back and read his comments about her. And that this was an acknowledgment of his feelings—that they were best friends. That might have seemed childish to most people. But Loki had never really had a friend, let alone a best friend. And so it meant something to him.
He cracked a crooked smile. “Which one is mine?”
She didn't actually expect him to wear it, though she did hope that he'd keep it. He had his magic; he could stick it in one of those magical pockets of his. Maybe if they went somewhere more modern, she could have something a little more custom made that wouldn't be quite so obvious to anyone but her. Like the arrow necklace. (Even if that was a little more obvious.) Maybe a dagger and a heart, because Melina had wondered how she'd kept hers. Or maybe just some sort of simple charm that the two of them understood.
"I thought I'd let you pick. Do you want to be fry (BE FRI) or be Stends?"
Loki's precarious state of mind superseded any wants or desires she had. She knew that her recent death had pushed her into a more reckless frame of mind, one that was seeking life affirmation, and that meant she might make decisions based on that. Things like sleeping with a close friend who had been pained by her death because she wanted to feel something.
She still wasn't convinced that moving past their friendship was the right step for them. Now. Too many traumas had built up, and — maybe that was an excuse not to go there. She wasn't sure because her emotions were tied up with him.
It was a gift and it was symbolic. Of course he would wear it.
“It’s Saint Ends. Not stends,” Loki said, picking up the second necklace. He ran his thumb over the engraving before carefully undoing the clasp. His posture relaxed quite a bit now that the conversation had returned to its playful banter. And now that he realized she wasn’t going to surprise him with a ring from a pirate treasure chest. Fandral had sent his already frazzled emotions into an almost uncontrollable spiral when he told Loki he wanted to give him a ring. Not simply because a ring had more weight than any other form of jewelry, but because it had been such a drastic shift from where they had been before Loki agreed to let bygones be bygones.
Loki might have been the god of chaos, but even he wasn’t so haphazard in his actions.
Not that it mattered. He never received the ring anyway.
Loki wrapped the chain around his neck and clipped the clasp back together. Thankfully it wasn’t a chain made for a thirteen-year-old girl. Otherwise it might have choked him. No, it was long enough for the charm to sit just below the divot at the bottom of his neck, just above the sternum. Loki tried to admire it, but it was too close. His chin too long. So he simply slipped it under his shirt and smoothed it down flat.
There. It was done. It was official.
Best friends approved by the standards of any Midgardian tween.
“Thank you, Natasha. I…” Loki’s voice trailed off, uncertain if he wanted to say more on that thought. When he continued it was in a different direction than instinct had wanted. “I’ll do my best to live up to this necklace’s expectations.”
She made a note to ask him some time why he stopped calling her Tasha. He was one of the few who was allowed or even understood that Nat was not the proper nickname for Natasha or Natalia. She could recall that he stopped about the time she found Julia's shade on him, but she wasn't sure why? A few options floated around, but nothing solid.
Natasha thought to tell him that from what she gathered, more people tossed these necklaces than adhered to them, but that wasn't helpful. And it didn't diminish the meaning behind it. It was meant to show him that she'd heard him and she agreed with his assessment. It was also meant to show him that she understood how hard a person's death could hit someone else.
"So I'm thinking we should still see that opera. You were so convincing yesterday, that I feel the need to see it." She'd been to a few operas in her time, but there were other things going on that had her attention. Natasha couldn't remember any of the stories and very little of the singing. "You can tell me what's going on." Which, of course, was unnecessary. Natasha spoke Italian, German, and French.
“In my experience, a good operatic performance doesn’t need any translation. You’re supposed to be able to feel the story through the emotions of the characters. If the performers are doing their job correctly then it shouldn’t matter what language it’s in. The response should be the same.” Loki leaned towards the table again, some of that earlier enthusiasm returning to his gaze. “Sometimes I tune it out. The voices. The language. It’s not easy, but sometimes I just try to hear the emotion and not the words.”
Loki had always struggled with emotions, his own in particular. He didn’t know if it was because he was a Frost Giant or because there was so much tension between him and Odin while he was growing up. Or if it was because he’d spent so much of his early life trying to prove himself to be as worthy as Thor. But something had happened that made him uncertain of his own feelings towards himself and others.
Performances, plays, music, art, literature. For a long time those were the only external devices capable of helping him experience emotions outside of loneliness, fear, and anger. True, an opera couldn’t teach him how to love. But it did give him a glimpse into what artists thought love should feel like. What it should look like. How it should make someone respond and react. It wasn’t real. Loki knew that. But for a few hours he could trick himself into believing it was. And for someone who’s always felt alone and isolated, never destined for those feelings, that was enough.
Loki picked up the other necklace — BE FRI — and held it out palm up. “You have to wear this, you know. At least for tonight. You started it.”
But instead of handing it to Natasha, Loki stood up and made his way around the table until he was standing behind her. He unfastened the clasp and brought the necklace around her neck. His motions were slow, careful not to catch her hair. His fingers touched the back of her neck just briefly as he clasped the necklace together. Then he adjusted it from behind so the charm fell center of her throat. It wasn’t perfect because the necklace wasn’t perfect. But anyone watching might have thought he was draping diamonds around her neck for all the care he took to do it properly.
Loki looked down at her. It didn’t go unnoticed to him that this was a provocative stance for him. And a potentially uncomfortable one for her. Clandestine agent. Trickster god. How often did either of them allow someone to stand behind them?
In another world all it would take was one quick jab with a dagger and—
Loki walked back around to his side of the table and sat down. “There. Now we’re evenly matched.”
This was where Natasha differed from Loki. She had learned to trust somewhere along the way. She was always ready for an attack, but she wasn't expecting one and so she never felt that unease. What she did feel was a shiver go up the back of her neck as his fingers brushed against her. It wouldn't go unnoticed, and she cursed herself mentally.
Natasha thought about that desert island, stranded on the beach, sitting beside Loki who was cursed. The curse hadn't mattered because she knew who he was. She knew that she was one of the few who knew about atrocities and family business, and she had accepted it. His suggestion for Derleth, that he didn't want credit, was a testament to just how much he had grown.
Her hand smoothed down the necklace, pressing it gently into her skin. She smiled genuinely at him. Natasha knew the necklace was cheesy and childish and all those things that seemed sappy and sentimental, but he was right. She was sentimental underneath it all, and she suspected that he was too. It was why he was hurt so badly by perceived wrongs. (Not that it gave him the right to try to murder people).
"Then I guess we'll see if these singers can make us feel what we're supposed to feel." Natasha paused, still smiling. "Have you seen Carmen before? What should I expect?"
Did Loki notice the nuanced shiver? Of course. But they were beyond the stage of surface-level mockery. Besides, Loki felt it himself. First when he saw her dancing in the gym. And again during their sparring match. On the island. And just now. Loki wasn’t naive. He was over a thousand years old. It was nothing for him to admit that he was attracted to Natasha. He was attracted to a lot of people. Normally it didn’t matter. He either leaned into that desire or he didn’t. But with Natasha it was complicated. Because he didn’t want to ruin the affection they had for each other simply because of fleeting sensations of lust. And lust was always fleeting. That’s why it was so easy for Loki to move on from one person to the next with very few attachments. Because there was a small window for physical desire between two people. And without anything else, that window closed.
He sensed the window was open now, but he wasn’t quite certain he wanted to climb through it. Not just yet anyway.
“I saw the 1883 revival in the Opéra-Comique. What can anyone say about Carmen? Everyone knows one of the songs even if they don’t know it. It’s a classic. It’s almost impossible to perform it poorly. The instrumentation is actually quite simple, but the music is a lot more upbeat and active. The entire story is about sexual passion and jealousy, so naturally the melodies follow suit. But like a good opera the music really brings out the suffering of the characters.” Loki refilled their wine glasses again. They were getting close to the bottom of the bottle. Then it would be time to go. He took a sip. Then he looked back at Natasha. He was trying to imagine how the next few hours would go, sitting together in the shadows with nothing but their thoughts drifting between the performance on stage and the one they were playing with each other.
He smiled. “It’s opera. You either love it or you hate it. And you never know until you experience it for yourself.”
Not unlike Loki himself.
She retrieved her glass and took a hearty sip. The superhero aspects of her tolerance (on top of just being Russian) really meant it took a lot to get her drunk. She was pleasantly loosened up, but not going to make a fool of herself by any means. She could get used to this.
"Sexual passion and jealousy sounds like almost every single relationship I've ever seen." She paused, lips over her glass. "Except for Clint's." Clint's and Laura's relationship was one Natasha had never seen before. They trusted one another implicitly, to the point that she wondered if they had an open marriage. Some women would be threatened by a woman like Natasha being so close to their husband, but not Laura.
Natasha was determined to keep this evening as chaste as possible. Not because she didn't want him, not because she was frigid, but because she respected him too much. He was emotionally fragile right now, and pushing for something — even though they both clearly wanted it — was a violation in Natasha's mind.
"I guess we'll see which it is for me. I sort of love and hate musicals. Dear Evan Hanson made me want to give up theater all together."
Loki’s expression faltered into contemplation when Natasha mentioned only ever seeing one relationship that wasn’t built on sexual passion and jealousy. He was trying to think back to all of the major relationships around him in his own life. Truth be told, there weren’t that many people in his life in long standing relationships outside of his parents. Asgardians would be Asgardians, after all.
“I think my parents had a good relationship. Or as good as it could be. I know my mother loved my father, but I know they had arrangements. You have to when you live as long as Asgardians do. They weren’t open about their passion, but they were king and queen. Being too open is generally frowned upon. Still, I’m certain they had it. She was always very lonely when he fell into the Odinsleep.” Loki took another sip of wine. A larger sip than the last one because nostalgia always made him feel guilty. It reminded him of all the things he’d done wrong and all the ways he could have been better.
He did a fairly good job at not twitching at the mention of Clint, however. Still a sore subject for Loki. And the fact that Clint had been in Derleth before and basically ignored Loki hadn’t helped circumstances any. But perhaps that was a situation he didn’t deserve to be forgiven for.
As for the musical she mentioned, well, Loki didn’t know that one. It was too modern. He hadn’t been around for Midgard’s Broadway season that year.
“Well, our relationship isn’t made up of sexual passion and jealousy. Not yet anyway.” A smirk. A joke. Another toe dipped in the ocean.
Natasha eyed Loki for several moments quietly while she sipped her wine. She listened to him talk about his parents, and she assumed that most relationships born of royalty had arrangements. Sometimes just 'normal' people needed a little variety, but monogamy had been thrust upon the world. Anything else was considered depraved. Natasha hadn't really thought about any of this until now.
Odinsleep. That was what helped Odin recharge his power. He was left vulnerable, and Loki had taken advantage of that years ago. She remembered Thor talking about it, and to be honest, there were times she'd enjoy a good Odinsleep. Alas, she had places to be and people to fight. Odinsleep would have to wait until she returned to her world.
"You keep making those jokes, and I'm going to call your bluff," she warned him with a wink of her own. Maybe the wine was making her a little brave, but she also knew that Loki was putting on a bigger, braver face than he could actually fulfill. Maybe that would temper them a little.
Or she'd have to have a serious talk with him about making decisions when his mental state was so delicate.
“Maybe that’s what I’m waiting for,” Loki replied without hesitation. Like her there was both a hefty dose of jest as well as seriousness entwined in his speech. He knew it. She knew it. But they also both seemed to know that now wasn’t the time to talk about what they were really doing. That was a Day 7 Conversation. The last day of the week was always safer. Something about the reset made it feel as though a do-over was possible. Make a mistake on the last day? That’s okay. The reset was a good excuse to wipe it all away. Of course, that didn’t mean it never happened. Nor did it mean it wouldn’t have lasting effects. But it was easier to sweep under the proverbial rug.
He finished off his most recent glass and set it to the side. For a brief moment he forgot where they were. The conversations of couples and waiters dulled down to a background drone. Loki wasn’t thinking about anything or anyone but Natasha. Natasha whose cheeks were a tad rosier than normal from the wine. Natasha whose skin at the back of her neck felt as smooth as the stem of his wine glass. Natasha who was, and always had been, completely and utterly out of his league.
Loki wanted to crawl across the table and—
His phone buzzed in his pocket, shocking him out of his daydream. The couple at the table next to him shot them both a peculiar glance as Loki turned his phone to silent.
“Sorry. I set an alarm. Just in case we were…” Awkward smile. “…distracted.”
Loki pushed out his chair and stood up. “I’ll settle the bill and get our coats.”
Natasha waited until he had disappeared to the coat room before she sank back in her chair. Her hand rose to rub the back of her neck as she exhaled a whole lot of unspoken tension. She closed her eyes to get her bearings and instead, found herself in a daydream in which they never made it to the opera. It had been a long time since she'd had any sort of frivolous or sexual daydreams, and it was good to know that she still could.
But it also meant that she had feelings for Loki.
She knew she felt for him and appreciated him, and it wasn't that she had never found him attractive. She had, which is why she'd had to go the honest route with him all those years ago. Now it was painfully obvious that she wanted more from him. She found herself just wanting to take him back to the grand apartment she'd 'borrowed' and not leaving it or wearing clothing for the next few days.
She clenched her jaw before forcing herself to release it under the pretense of a final sip of wine. "Bozhe moi," she uttered under her breath.
One of the couples near her heard the Russian and gave her a look, the one that said she was a dirty spy. Natasha simply smiled in return, which must have unnerved the woman because she immediately turned back to her date and her meal.
Spending several hours in the dark in a private box was going to take every ounce of skill she had.