Loki Misses the Asgardian Prison System

Chapter 52

Tony Stark is the single most annoying person on the planet.

That's the takeaway from Natasha's return to Stark Tower. She should have known coming back alone was a bad idea, but Fury called Clint off on another mission and she really felt like her time would be better spent checking on Tony than extending her Christmas celebration with the Bartons. (Obviously, she was wrong.)

She never thought that talking to Loki would be a reprieve from spending time with her friends, but with how unbearably annoying Tony has been for the last hour about how she and Clint supposedly "didn't care that he was dead," she finds herself actually looking forward to talking to the god — if, of course, he'll let her. She's never actually tried to talk to him in his room before. Steve never seems to have any issue with it, but she's not sure she expects the same treatment.

She knocks on the door. Is she knocking too loud? She probably doesn't have to be very loud, right? She's not competing with any noise right now. It's eerily silent up here.

But she doesn't get an answer.

She knocks again, a little louder. "Loki?" She knows he's awake. She asked JARVIS before she came just in case so she didn't have to risk waking him up and catching him in a bad mood. If he's awake, why isn't he answering?

She knocks again. "Loki? You in there?"

There's a pause, long enough that Natasha begins to think she's not going to get an answer. Then a piece of paper appears, taped to the door, and on it is written in beautiful flowing cursive, "Yes."

Natasha raises an eyebrow. Okay. Weird. "Can we talk?"

The piece of paper doesn't move, but the writing on it changes. "You can talk."

Natasha snorts. "What, you're giving me the silent treatment?"

Loki sighs from inside his room, loudly and dramatically enough that she can hear it from outside.

"If you have something to say, say it."

Natasha purses her lips. This isn't quite how she imagined this going down. She'd kind of hoped to talk with him, not to him, but who knows if he's ever going to change his tune on this? This might be the only way he's willing to talk to her.

So she goes along with it. "Tony and Pepper told me what you did." She pauses, hoping he'll have something to add.

The writing on the paper changes. "Does it matter?"

Natasha raises her brows. Is that supposed to sound defensive? It sounds kind of defensive, but she can't imagine why. Does he think she's referring to something bad? Because it sounds to her like he didn't do anything wrong while he was here — even when he was here alone, and she was convinced she'd come back to find the tower on fire.

"It kind of matters," Natasha says. "It sounds like they really appreciated it." Just to make sure he knows what they're talking about. There's no reason to be defensive about it. It doesn't get a response this time, so she keeps talking. "I didn't take you for a team player."

"I'm not."

"Kinda sounds like you are," Natasha says. "And Clint and I would have helped if you'd told us what was going on."

"Okay."

Natasha lolls her head back, exasperated. These are such nonresponsive responses.

"But I'm glad you were there," Natasha says. "And I'm glad you tried to help."

There's no response to that one, either. Or maybe the "Okay" doubles as a response to this, too. She's not quite sure. This isn't the most effective method of communication.