Gatsby: Wren/Loki
She didn't notice him immediately. Once upon a time, she'd been vigilant about every male, distrusting of every single one that came within reach. Those days were gone, and strange men, their hands and the way they smelled, those things were a memory. They were the fodder of nightmares, no longer real, and she hadn't slept in a closet in months. She didn't notice him immediately, even with the knowledge that someone would be approaching her. Once, she would've seen him coming. Now, she didn't even see him until he spoke, when she turned to look at him.
"Hi." It didn't occur to her that he was disguised. She'd never been very smart, and trust had bloomed like flowers in Spring. She felt safer now than the ever had in her life, and she looked at him with pale grey eyes that only showed a hint of careful trepidation.
She looked down at her dress, and she smoothed it down with her fingers, assuming the comment about looking out of place referred to it. She didn't like the sleeveless New York fashions of the day as much as she liked the quiet whimsy preferred overseas, and her entire wardrobe in Marvel was hats and dresses in soft prints that clung to curves that hid no muscle at all.
She gave him a clear look when he offered his arm, and she had the fleeting thought that Luke would really, really hate this. But she was doing it for him, and so she took the stranger's arm and nodded. "Okay."