Clint finds a Loki in a Library. Their beautiful friendship
continues.
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None
Maybe the library wasn’t the best pick. Clint wouldn’t consider himself to be a casual reader. His reading material was usually a mission brief, if it was anything at all, and even being stuck in a pocket dimension in the 1900s didn’t move him as far as trying to catch up on the classics. Which, most of this library was probably the classics by proxy of the age of the place. Classics that smelled a little musty. Classics that were largely some shade of brown or blue with gold leaf lettering.
He wasn’t designed for this place. A single book, subject matter of hunting and marksmanship, was tucked under his arm, but that was a choice made just to see what Derleth thought was worth having on its shelf. Shits and giggles, really. Also, it gave him a chance to scope out the library, which did seem like a good shelter in event of incursion. Lots of shelves. Lots of windows of space between books to aim from.
A long table of some sturdy wood stretched out down the middle of the library’s main chamber, and it wasn’t really noteworthy to Clint. Strewn with papers and books and the odds and end of academia, it looked like it belonged to this dusty building. What looked less seamless was a figure seated at the table. Long black hair, pale complexion.
Clint heaved a sigh. He could walk right out, but…
Nah.
He walked over, around the other side of the table and dropped his book on the wooden surface across from Loki. A puff of dust whirled out from underneath and the sound echoed off the high ceiling.
As far as Derleth weeks went this one wasn’t too bad. It was emotionally draining and Loki’s feelings, particularly those deep untouched thoughts about himself, were a little hysterical. But, in general, it wasn’t a bad week. In fact, on the whole, it was quite good. Loki was being offered an opportunity. An opportunity that he promised himself he wouldn’t squander. An opportunity to shed some of his guilt and grief and deplete a significant portion of that murky cesspool of self-loathing inside of him. But, as it was, this was not an opportunity that he could selfishly manage every second of the day for each day of what would no doubt be a very short week. Why? Because Frigga, Queen of Asgard, had more than one child in Derleth. Granted, yes, there was some wiggle room there. But Loki was consciously aware of the significance his mother represented for Sylvie and possibly Baby Horns and even the alligator. And, in a surprising twist of goodwill and selflessness, Loki made certain that he wasn’t hoarding all of the attention.
Which was how he found himself in the library. Because, truth be told, he wasn’t really in the mood to spend time with others. He knew that Natasha wanted to speak with him. Likewise Elsa had offered to take him ice skating this week. Hel, Loki even had this peculiar urge to have a moment with Strange in person. To better understand their odd evening together in New York. But all of that would have to wait until Loki had a better grip on his feelings concerning his mother.
Because there was a lot to unpack there.
He turned the page in the old book in front of him. Yes, one of those thick leather bound manuscripts with gilded edges. It was a book on magic, but not a form of magic he was familiar with. Something picked up from one of the many universes Derleth visited. There was no saying how long it had been tucked away in the dark corner of shelves Loki found it in. The words weren’t words exactly so much as symbols. The page that was open had an intricately hand drawn picture of two mirrored images of the same figure standing in front of what appeared to be a tree, bare of leaves. Loki had the distinct impression he’d seen that tree somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place it.
Did he notice Clint when he entered? Of course. But Loki pretended not to. Pretended, that is, until Clint dropped his book on the table in front of him, scattering a cloud of dust in his face. Loki glanced at the title before tilting his annoyed expression upwards. “Going on the hunt, Barton?”
“No, nothing like that. I’m checking out the school, see if I want to apply,” Clint replied, and because he knew Loki wouldn’t wish it, he grabbed the chair opposing Loki’s and spun it around so he could drape his arms over the back of it as he sat. Natasha said each week reset the campus, but it also reset all unwilling residents. In terms of risk, he could make a worse decision than to inflict his company on Loki. If that reset rolled along, they would both be physically back to square one.
Failing that, they apparently both shared a reason to at least play at civility. Clint could only vouch for his own thoughts, but upsetting Natasha a few days in wasn’t really on the top of his list of things to do. As for Loki’s thoughts…
Unknown. But he did have to trust that somewhere in that scheming vortex of a mind, Loki did see some reason to also not upset Natasha. She didn’t use the label of ‘best friend’ lightly. There had to be something valid to what she saw in Loki. Something valuable. He couldn’t buy that Natasha would give in without a good reason.
“I would ask you to write a letter of recommendation, but you were the worst boss. And I emphasize ‘worst.’”
“Not sure if the university caters to geriatric students, but maybe they’ll give you a senior citizen discount.” Loki brushed the dust off the open pages of his book. Then he turned to the next chapter which offered another detailed illustration and a facing page of tiny handwritten symbols. This time the text was in red. Hadn’t it been in black before? Perhaps that was merely a trick of the mind.
Loki didn’t really want to get into a battle of wit or banter with Clint because he knew he’d be incapable of keeping his mouth shut. It was only a matter of time before he said too much. Before he went too far. Before he broke that little pledge he’d made to himself not to start a fight with Clint. He’d made the same pledge about Steve Rogers, as well, but felt less inclined to abide by it. Probably because he knew that Natasha was closer to Clint. They had a longer history. They had a friendship. One that Loki knew about because Loki had seen it. Just as he’d seen so many things in Clint’s mind.
And Steve Rogers was less easily aggravated. That man was a wall of patience. Which made pestering him no fun at all. Clint, on the hand, well, his emotions were more malleable.
But Loki wanted to be on his best behavior. Not that it was easy when Clint went on the offensive. Of course, the ‘he provoked me first’ routine would hold up in a court of Romanoff, but at least it would be true.
Loki raised a brow. Then he playacted an expression of sheer shock. Almost mortified horror! A face that exclaimed ‘who? me?’ which was quickly swept away by a knowing smirk. “Really? Is that what you think? Because I saw it very differently. I thought we were a great match. An incredibly effective team, if you think about it. Me, the brains. You, the … well, not really brawn. You’re kind of scrappy for that. But the trick arrows were a nice touch. I liked the finesse. The spectacle. We were a good pair. And admit it, it was a relief finally finding someone who knew you inside and out. I bet you’ve missed me.”
Clint took a quick glance at the page Loki was looking at, but it was quick mainly because it was obviously something he wasn’t going to understand. He didn’t read ancient wingdings font. Which, really, made a stronger case to mistrust the god in his eyes. This was going to be an uphill battle, trying to make peace. Sure, taking a seat here and committing to antagonizing Loki wasn’t helping, but he could do worse.
He would have done worse.
This all could be much worse on both sides.
“You saw what you wanted to see. You were the worst. Did you even offer benefits? It was hard to focus on the small things like that with the brainwashing.” There was a dismissive wave on Clint’s part -- he was trying to make himself leave it at a quip. Trying.
He was failing at that. Apologies to Natasha. He just wanted to understand. “So, what? You went good now? You saw the legacy you were leaving and thought it wasn’t so great after all?”
“There was a very gracious retirement plan in place. Alas, you left before you had the opportunity to cash in. Unfortunately your share had to be divided up among others. Sadly, most of them are dead.” It was a game of tennis. Clint had served the start of the match and Loki was replying with a cautious backhand. It could have definitely been worse. More than worse, actually. And part of Loki wanted that. That tiny self-despising part of him that could be cruel to others in response to his own emotional pain. That part of him wanted Clint to push him further. To back him into a corner where Loki would be justified in his aggression.
Because it had been a long time since Loki had been able to get out his frustrations physically. And he had a lot of frustrations. A lot of anger that had been simmering just beneath the surface. Overshadowed by a thin layer of self-deprecating humor and smug narcissism.
It would definitely be a test to see whether either of them crossed that imaginary line. Playing it careful only lasted so long. And they were two people known for chaotic reactions. Lonely men with tempers. And the same redhead standing between them.
Funny how that worked out.
Loki laughed at Clint’s questions, but there was an uncomfortable hesitance in his mirth. As though he were hiding the truth or didn’t know the correct answer to the question. “Went good?”
Loki closed the book, his fingers tapping on the leather cover. “Good and evil are false concepts. Created by the moral majority to provide the masses with a sense of social safety and security. I am not, nor have I ever been, good or bad. And my legacy is far too complicated to explain to someone such as yourself.”
He licked his lower lip and looked at Clint with an expression of forced boredom. “But when in Rome, as they say…”
“Do you ever hear yourself?” Clint asked, voice exasperated. Posture exasperated. He had his chin sat atop the back of the chair and his arms were fiddling with some old fashioned pen that had been left on the table, possibly by a student or librarian whenever Derleth went webbed feet topside. There was an eerie parallel to what it looked like when half of the universe was vanished in a snap.
“Seriously. You hit the same points. ‘Your puny Midgardian brain cannot fathom my centuries of…’ What? Not getting to rule your own planet?” The pen was flipped up between Clint’s fingers with ease. He twirled it around, nimbly, between his knuckles in precise movements.
Clint’s eyes met Loki’s and he held onto that stare. The pen kept spinning. Round and round and round and round. “And that’s crap. Good exists. Bad exists. If someone can be a good person, then they can be a bad one, too. You don’t get to claim a place above it. I don’t. But I get your deal now. Talk big, Loki. Just don’t expect me to go for it unless I’m brainwashed, huh?”
Well, those jabs didn’t go as planned. Then again, Loki shouldn’t have expected any less. The moment Clint began his criticism — which to be fair was actually constructive and not far from the mark — Loki’s expression tightened into more of an irritated glare. It wasn’t easy to hear the truth, after all. Nor was it easy to argue. Not even for someone who spent their entire life hiding behind lies.
But there was no quick retort this time. Loki gritted his teeth together hard enough for the vein that traced along his temple to pulse. He was thinking. Did he really want to turn this into a thing? Did he really want to pick a fight with Clint? Yes, he did. But common sense was waving red flags in his face. Flags even he couldn’t ignore. Because picking on Clint wasn’t the same as aggravating Steve Rogers or Bruce Banner or Sam Wilson. Clint held a different place in Natasha’s life.
Clint was an old friend. Arguably — or maybe there wasn’t much of an argument — the best friend.
“You don’t know anything.” It was the weakest response Loki could give and he regretted it the moment it came out of his mouth. Why? Because it only proved part of Clint’s point. Big talk. Nonsense. Scrambling for straws.
Loki crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back into his chair. He watched the pen twirling in Clint’s hand and his first thought was to calculate how quickly he could snatch it out of his fingers and stab it in the archer’s eye.
Yeah, let’s not do that. It’s too early in the week for murder. He’d learned that from Julia.
“What do you want me to say? That I’ve given up on my ‘old ways’? That I’ve turned over a new leaf? That I want to be on the side of the superheroes? It’s simple math. We’re all stuck here together. I can either set aside some of my personal desires and make allies or I can spend every week looking over my shoulder for whichever Avenger is on the schedule to kill me.” Loki broke his stare and glanced off towards the door. “I don’t have a death wish.”
There. Clint caught the shift from feigned and haughty disinterest to annoyance. Struck a nerve. Good. Aim wasn’t only a physical skill, Clint had found, even if Natasha was always better at dealing with breaking someone’s mental barriers. There wasn’t too much finesse to this approach, not in her calculated way, but peeling up one edge of Loki’s facade felt like a win.
He stopped spinning the pen, pinched it between thumb and pointer and sent it on an airborne trajectory towards the book that was out in front of Loki. It neatly wedged, tip-first, into the stitched binding between the pages and stood upright.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t think there’s anything I want you to say, Loki.” As it went with the conclusion of any conversation, someone got up first. That was Clint, who made a smooth motion of backing off the chair and swiveling it back around. He reached to grab the book that, in all honesty, he probably wasn’t going to read unless things got that quiet. “You enjoy your cobwebs and math equations. Don’t overdo it,” was the last of his reply, given as he turned to start walking away.
Was it the best approach Loki could have taken with Clint? Probably not. Could he have been a little less brash and uncaring when it came to the fact that he’d done Clint wrong? Absolutely. Look. Loki was aware of the fact that even though he, too, was under the Titan’s control, that some of his choices were still his own. Had he treated Clint well? He could have treated him better. Could have been nicer. More understanding. And now there was no excuse for how he responded to Clint except for the same excuses Loki had clung to for years. It’s not my fault. Other people pushed me to this. Other people made me this way. They never left me any other choice. And on and on until he basically proved Clint right on all accounts. Worst of all? Loki knew that’s what he was doing. And yet he still struggled to do differently.
Lying was so much easier. And how did someone make amends when they were so deep in the wrong that there was no coming back?
The pen pitched it in the air and landed in the binding of his book, instantly drawing Loki out of his thoughts.
This was one of those crucial moments. The ones when he probably shouldn’t have said anything. When he ought to keep his mouth shut for fear that he’d dig himself a deeper hole. But crucial moments were tricky. Because this might have been the only opportunity he had to say something in his defense. Not an excuse or a rationalization for his behavior. But something honest. Assuming he could muster that kind of courage in the face of the one person Loki knew was capable of ruining everything he’d built since arriving in Derleth.
“I’m…” He cut himself off before he said it. Said what, exactly? That he was sorry? What good would that do? Why would Clint even care? “You’re right. About my legacy, that is. It wasn’t that great. It wasn’t even good.”
The voice made Clint turn a quarter of the way around again; he looked over his shoulder at Loki without pivoting fully. The lack of sting in those words, which largely sounded like words of forfeit…
It almost would have been better for one last insult so they could part ways understanding that their way of relating to each other was one of controlled animosity. Pocketing this confession as a win felt more like kicking a man who was already down. And even if that man maybe deserved it, Clint himself deserved some things,, but it was his advantage to know why and to not share it.
He gave Loki a shrug. He needed to keep walking. If he stuck around, this would probably become something that Natasha wouldn’t like.