Loki really does not want to do this.
It's been a shitty day, and the last thing she wants to do is play dress-up with Natasha and Wanda. Even if she is feeling somewhat feminine today, she doesn't want to play this game. She just wants to sit on the couch with her brother in silence and be vaguely aware of her femininity in the most non-committal way possible.
With that said, there are two reasons she agreed to do this.
The first is that she feels like a woman anyway. She has no problem using her male form even if it doesn't match her identity because it's her standard form: it's the one that people know her as, and she learned a long time ago that it's the form she gets the most respect in. But she is feeling like a woman, so she might as well be a woman, inside and out.
The second reason is simply her curiosity. They really wanted her to join them. They said they'd be content with just twenty minutes of her time. She wants to know why. They're doing this for a reason, and she wants to know what it is. (Also, she's not sure what a girls night entails, and she will admit that she's curious about that, too.)
They're on their way to Natasha's room, she's told, and though she's been here once before, it still feels strange to her. She's allowed in Natasha's room. Not only that, but she was practically begged to go to Natasha's room. She can hardly make sense of it. Maybe it's her own misunderstanding of Midgardian culture, but in her mind, bedrooms are a private place; a sacred place, almost. She doesn't feel like she should even be allowed near it.
But Natasha doesn't seem to mind, so Loki tries not to think too hard about it. She was invited; that's what matters. She's allowed to be here. She's wanted here. It's fine. She's fine. It's all fine.
Natasha opens the door to her room and steps inside, and Wanda doesn't hesitate to follow her. Loki does hesitate, but only for the briefest moment, and she's only taken a single step inside when everything starts to make sense.
"Oh, hey!" Darcy greets her with a grin. "I almost didn't recognize you without your boobs out!"
If it had been a different day, that might have gotten a laugh out of her, but Loki's not quite in the mood to laugh right now. Still, she gives the girl a small smile. It was a somewhat amusing comment. She must admit that much. It's more amusing than anything that's been going on in the common room with Thor these last few hours.
To the other women, Loki says, "I presume this 'girls night' was to get me away from my brother so that Dr. Foster could see him." He knew there was something more going on. This would explain it.
Natasha huffs. "That obvious?"
"You're not exactly subtle," Loki says. She's just glad she figured it out. It was going to bother her all evening if she couldn't puzzle out what they were planning. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble. I have a handful of books left to read. I will gladly spend the rest of the day with them." She's long since processed that Thor hasn't been murdered, that he will not be murdered, and that this won't change just because Loki's not right next to him at all times. Sitting with him is not so much a comfort now as it is good company on a bad day.
"You better not," Darcy says immediately.
"You already agreed to a girls night," Natasha reminds her. "You can't back out now."
Loki shakes her head. "You really do not have to–"
"Yeah, well, Wanda wants a girls night," Natasha interrupts, "and you are a girl and it is a night – kind of; the sun's kinda starting to set – so you're stuck with us."
"You did promise me twenty minutes," Wanda adds.
Loki rolls her eyes. "Why does it matter whether I stay?" she asks, exasperated. "There are three of you here. Even without me, there are certainly enough of you for a 'girls night.'"
"Because you need something to do," Natasha tells her. "You've been moping around and watching TV all day. That's not good for you – not on a day like this."
Loki cocks an eyebrow. "A day like what?" she asks, almost a challenge.
Natasha just looks at him. "You are not a quiet person," she deadpans. "Everybody heard you last night. Everybody."
Loki frowns.
Maybe she shouldn't have asked.
Wanda shoots her friend a look, then says to Loki, "We are worried about you. And we know that this is something you do not like to talk about, so we will not push you to. But I think this will be good for you, and I think it will be fun. And if you decide it is not, you can leave, but I think you should at least give it twenty minutes."
Loki's frown deepens. This is just so arrogant. They really think they know what's best for her? They think they know better than Loki herself does? That's ridiculous – absolutely, positively ridiculous. And yet, she doesn't even have it in him to be annoyed. She's just... tired.
So she sighs. "Alright," she concedes, "I will stay for twenty minutes, only because I promised I would, but I assure you, I will not be good company." Even on a good day, she can't imagine she'd been all that much fun. She really has come to like the Avengers (and it does feel like they've come to like her, too, even if she's not quite one of them), but she doesn't know how to just hang out with them – especially if Thor, Steve, and Bruce aren't around.
Natasha waves that off. "Of course you will be," she says. "'Cause we're all boring, so if you're boring, you'll fit right in – and if you're not boring, you'll be the life of the party. It's a win-win."
Loki shakes her head to herself. She's sure it's only a matter of time until they realize just how boring and emotionally drained she is. She still feels like she hasn't quite recovered from last night's dream. She's quite literally spent every moment since she woke up with her brother. She knows he's alive. She knows he's going to stay alive. But she just can't get that image, that feeling, out of her head.
"What're we actually doing, anyway?" Darcy asks. "Are we just kinda hanging out, or...?"
"I actually did not get that far," Natasha admits. Jokingly, she adds, "We could be cliché and braid each other's hair."
Darcy huffs. "Not if you want it to look good."
"Can we?" Wanda asks. "I've never braided anyone else's hair before."
Natasha shrugs. "If you want to, sure," she says. "Whose hair do you want to braid?" She pauses, then adds, "I'm not trying to volunteer anyone; my hair's just too short to braid."
Loki can already tell exactly where this is going to go. Her hair is by far the longest in the room. If anyone's hair is going to be braidable for a beginner, it's going to be hers. (Curse her younger self for deciding that her female form must have nearly ass-length hair, and curse her present self for never changing her mind.)
Wanda looks at her. "You always wear your hair down," she remarks. "Can I braid your hair? I think it will look nice."
Loki fights back a sigh. "I suppose." At least she kind of enjoys having her hair done. There are certainly worse things they could be doing.
"Yay!" Wanda gestures to Natasha's bed.. "Sit down."
Loki glances at Natasha uncertainly. She doesn't just want to invite herself to sit on somebody else's bed. She doesn't even really want to sit on Natasha's bed. They're not nearly close enough of friends for her to feel comfortable doing that.
Natasha gestures subtly for her to go ahead, so reluctantly, Loki sits down. Wanda sits down behind her, and she runs her fingers through Loki's hair. She's probably trying to get out the knots, Loki reasons, not that there are any. Sometimes she forgets that long hair tends to get knotted easily. She can't imagine not having magic to keep her hair untangled. Being human sounds exhausting.
Wanda combs her fingers through her hair again, this time to separate it into three sections. Loki just sits there, hands clasped in her lap, and waits for her to finish. She will admit that it feels nice. Wanda's hands lack the confidence and the thousands of years of practice that Frigga's had, but the feeling is similar. She enjoys it, in a weird way.
"Ooh, what're the pictures on the wall?" Darcy asks, already making her way over to look at them. She props one knee up on the bed and leans in, peering over the other girls' heads.
"Just random things," Natasha answers. "I'm pretty sure half of them have at least one Barton in them."
Loki looks at them out of the corner of her eye, careful not to move her head as she does. She's already seen them, of course. She looked at them the last time she was here. But the wall looks denser than she remembers. There must be some new photos to check out. Is it worth the mental anguish she'll doubtlessly feel when she sees that picture? Probably not. Is that going to stop her? Of course not, because she's never made a good decision in her life and she's not about to start now.
It seems she finally did get a picture of Pietro, though possibly against his will because he's in the middle of throwing an apple at the camera. There's no photo of her with him, but it's only a matter of time, she's sure. Natasha if nothing if not determined. If she wants that photo, she's going to get it.
Apparently, the twins get a lot of wall space, because there's a new photo with Wanda, too. If the dresses are any indication, it's from the last party Tony hosted, and Wanda's laughing while Natasha kisses her cheek. They look cute. They look happy.
There's a picture of Sam Wilson as he flies past her, holding up two fingers in what Loki has learned from her countless hours watching television is a "peace sign."
There's another new picture with Wanda, this one of the two of them curled up on the common room couch together in their pajamas, Wanda's head resting on Natasha's shoulder. Somebody else must have taken this picture for them. She wonders who it was.
There's a new picture of Natasha and Steve that gets a small smile out of her. They're just sitting on the Quinjet – after a mission, she has to assume, judging by Natasha's messy hair – and smiling for their selfie. It's simple, but it's cute. She really does just take out her phone at random times for random pictures, doesn't she? There's a part of Loki who finds that strange, but there's a much bigger part of her that wishes she felt comfortable enough to do the same. She'd like to document her life, too. It will be all she has left of this life soon enough.
Somehow, her thoughts always circle back to that.
But then one picture really catches her eye. It's Loki at the last party, definitely drunk off her ass because she does not remember a moment of it, beaming at the camera as she dances around in her tap shoes. She almost can't believe her eyes. She's on the picture wall. She is on the picture wall. Natasha liked this picture of her enough to put her on her picture wall.
She can't help but smile at that. The Avengers never cease to amaze her like this. She doesn't always realize just how far they've come. She doesn't always realize how much they like her. And they shouldn't, really. They shouldn't like her; not after what she's done, but they do. Especially recently, ever since she started leaving her room again, they've been so... welcoming. She still feels like she doesn't belong – because of course she doesn't; she's just the resident ex-supervillain who eats all their ice cream – but it's not their doing. Not anymore. Certainly not on purpose.
"Perfect," Wanda declares, pinching the ends of Loki's new braid beneath her fingers.
A part of Loki wishes she could see the braid, but she already knows what it looks like: a simple, boring braid down her back. Still, Natasha and Darcy gush about how amazing it looks and how impressive it is that this is Wanda's first time braiding someone else's hair. Loki doesn't understand it – it's probably the simplest hairstyle to do on another person – but she'll let her have this.
"I want to try a french braid," Wanda says. "Can I try a french braid?"
Unfortunately, Loki has to assume that's directed toward her. She looks back at the girl over her shoulder, careful not to pull too hard on her hair as she does. "I don't know what that means." How is a braid French? She feels like she's missing something. She frequently is.
"Oh, it's this one!" Wanda lets go of Loki's hair and turns her attention to her own hair. Loki watches, dumbfounded, as Wanda braids her own hair with ease. Her hands almost seem to work on their own, twisting and shifting and switching around the strands of hair as if it's second nature. Loki hasn't seen this kind of hair-braiding prowess since... Well, Frigga, probably.
Darcy scoffs. "Oh, wow, sure. Go and show us up. That's fine."
Wanda just laughs. She finishes french braiding a small portion of her hair, then lets it go for Loki to see. "It's this kind of braid."
Loki blinks at that.
But...
Where's the Frenchiness?
Still, she lets Wanda go ahead and do the same to her hair, because she has nothing better to do. She has twenty minutes to kill. She might as well kill it by having her hair done. It's the closest she'll ever get to feeling like a child in Asgard. She might as well make the most of it.
Wanda kneels taller so that she can start the braid at the top of Loki's head, and Loki tilts her head back slightly to help her. This one really feels nice. It really is like a little head massage.
"I feel like we need music," Natasha decides.
"I agree," Wanda says.
Loki doesn't particularly want to listen to their music, but as long as it's not as bad as Tony's "music" – if that banging and screaming can truly be called "music" – she's okay with it. She just has twenty minutes to kill. She can handle listening to their music for twenty minutes.
"Alright," Natasha says, "what do we want to listen to?"
"Hamilton," Darcy answers immediately.
Natasha huffs. "You want to listen to Hamilton?"
"I sure do want to listen to Hamilton," Darcy says, both proud and sassy. "What, you think you're too good for Hamilton?"
"Well, considering we're not in a middle school history class," Natasha says teasingly, "yes, I do think we're too good for Hamilton."
"What's Hamilton?" Wanda asks, voicing Loki's own thoughts aloud.
"It's this musical about Alexander Hamilton," Natasha explains. "He was, like, one of the first presidents or something."
Darcy scoffs. "He was not president!" she says incredulously.
Natasha scoffs, too. "Then why is he on one of the dollar bills?"
"Because he founded the National Bank!"
"Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that?"
"By listening to the musical!"
Natasha groans dramatically, and Loki can't help but laugh to herself, shoulders shaking silently as she tries not to draw attention to herself.
"Now I want to listen to Hamilton," Wanda decides, and her hands slow to a pause. "Can we listen to Hamilton?"
"No," Natasha says immediately.
"Why not?" Wanda asks.
"Because it's a rap musical," Natasha says, "and that sounds like a great way to get Loki to leave when her twenty minutes are up."
There are three things about that sentence that stick out to her.
One: Natasha just casually referred to her as "her" with seemingly no thought given to it.
Two: Natasha is choosing the music based on Loki's music preferences.
Three: Natasha naively thinks there's a chance that Loki will stay beyond the twenty minutes she reluctantly said she would.
It's the third one she chooses to comment on, because acknowledging the other two would involve sentimentality and she doesn't do sentimentality. "You are more than welcome to play your own music," she says. "I don't plan to stay any longer than I promised."
"You don't plan to," Natasha says, "but you will. We're gonna sucker you in. You'll see."
Loki huffs. No, they won't, but they're welcome to try.
Wanda goes back to braiding Loki's hair, and Loki goes back to looking at the pictures on the wall.
"Hey, give me your phone," Natasha says.
With her back to the woman, she can't tell who that's directed toward, so she ignores it.
"Loki, hey." Natasha's hand appears in front of her face. "Give me your phone."
Loki looks up at her out of the corner of her eye. "Why?"
"Taylor Swift's music isn't on Spotify but I know Tony downloaded all her songs for you so I'm stealing your phone to play it."
Loki doesn't actually know what a Spotify is, but she does like Taylor Swift, so she slips her phone out of her hoodie pocket. She types in her password (which is just four random numbers; she's not sure if that's how passwords are supposed to work) and hands Natasha her phone.
Natasha disappears from view again, and Loki's almost starting to become suspicious about what phone-related activities she's up to when the familiar drum beat of "State of Grace" begins and she relaxes.
This is nice.
This is great, actually.
She's having her hair done; she's listening to Taylor Swift; she's staring at a wall.
Perfect.
Although, speaking of the wall, it's come to her attention that something's missing from it...
"You took some pictures down," she remarks.
"Eh, yeah," she says dismissively. "I've only got so much wall space. Some of 'em had to go to fit the new ones up."
Like the only photo of Phil Coulson.
A part of her feels like that's her fault, which is ridiculous. Natasha couldn't have possibly known how much it hurt to see that photo; that reminder of what she took from them for no reason other than to feed her own ego. Sometimes, she forgets just how awful she's been to the Avengers. Phil Coulson is always a sharp reminder.
Seeing that photo of them all smiling together would hurt. It did the first time, and it would hurt again. But somehow, knowing that it's gone is worse. She killed him. She took him from his friends, and now Natasha has to live without him — and now she is living without him, so easily that she doesn't even want a photo of him on her wall. She would rather have a photo of Loki – a murderer; a terrorist – on her wall than the man who used to be one of her dearest friends.
Fuck.
She swallows hard and forces herself to take a deep breath. It's okay. It's fine. Everything is fine. She's fine. Natasha is fine. Everything's fine.
Except Phil Coulson.
Phil Coulson's not fine.
She squeezes her eyes shut, just for a few seconds, just long enough to force herself to try to regain her composure. When she opens them, Natasha is in front of her, and if the sympathy in her expression is any indication, Loki must not have been as subtle as she would have liked.
"You noticed the Coulson picture's gone, didn't you?"
Loki presses her lips into a firm line and gives a small, barely perceptible nod. Was she really that obvious? She used to be so much better at this – at concealing her emotions; at accepting that what she'd done was necessary and not worth the grief of the guilt. What happened to her? Why is this so hard now?
Natasha sighs and sits down with her, and as Wanda subtly drops Loki's hair, Natasha puts an arm around the goddess's shoulders. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I took it down before we went to get you. I thought if you didn't see it..."
Loki just shakes her head. She has nothing to apologize for. It's not her fault that Loki murdered her friend in cold blood. It's selfish, really, that Loki's upset about this. She did this. It was her choice. Coulson pissed her off, and she chose to murder him. She has no right to be upset by her own actions. It should be Natasha that's upset, and to make her comfort her friend's murderer is selfish. It's awful. It's unfair to her.
How the Avengers put up with her, she'll never understand. They must truly be good people, to have sympathy for a monster like Loki.
Loki closes her eyes once more, though not before a single tear slips out. Natasha squeezes her shoulders comfortingly. It's a side of her that Loki's not used to seeing. It's a side of her that she should never have to use, where Loki's concerned. It's one thing when Thor does it. He's her big brother; it's his job to comfort her. Natasha should never have to be put in a situation where she has to do the same – especially over this.
Loki takes another deep breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She's not going to make Natasha do this. It's not fair to her. Loki just has to pull herself together and pretend to be okay – or as okay as she was before this – and she's going to force herself to get through these next fifteen minutes and then she's going to go to her room and sob into her pillow for at least half an hour before she even thinks about picking up a book to read.
Loki opens her eyes again and leans away a little, just enough for Natasha to get the hint that she can stop now.
She doesn't.
Loki forces herself to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry," she says quietly. "I don't believe I've ever said it before, but I truly am sorry. I never should have..."
"I know," Natasha says softly. "I know you are." She gives the goddess a small smile, but Loki can see the sadness in her eyes.
Loki lets out a long breath and shakes her head to herself, trying to rid herself of the thought. With a somewhat sarcastic, self-deprecating huff, she says, "I did warn you that I would not be good company."
"And I told you we didn't care," Natasha reminds her. "Now cheer up. We're gonna make you have fun with us if it kills us all."
"I wish you the best of luck with that," Loki says. "I haven't had the best of days, so 'fun' seems rather unattainable right now."
"'Right now,'" Natasha repeats. "Fifteen minutes from now is a whole different story."
Loki doesn't believe that for a moment. Between last night's dream and this evening's reminder that he's an awful person, she's going to be very difficult to cheer up. But if they'd like to try, she'd like to let them. She could really use the help.