Chapter 1
It’s the first day of summer and Loki has just saved Tony Stark’s life for the third time.
Stark is really not happy about this.
“I had him on the rocks,” the mortal grumbles, voice horribly distorted by his suit’s malfunctioning speakers. “You didn’t have to step in. I had him right where I wanted him.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” says Loki, who is not sorry at all. “I didn’t realise that you were planning on being torn in half today. Next time I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”
“Friend Stark, you are being most unreasonable,” says Thor reproachfully. Thor’s attitude to this whole mess has mostly been that of an incredibly overprotective mother hen. He spends most of his time torn between protecting Loki’s (nonexistent) virtue and protecting his (okay, slightly existent) fragile feelings. “It is not becoming for a warrior to display such bad sportsmanship.”
Stark makes an unintelligible noise, possibly just to be impolite or possibly because his speakers have finally given up the ghost. His suit looks rather like a tin can that has been run over several times. By a tractor.
Loki had agreed to consult for the Avengers on a temporary basis only, and at this point he’s seriously questioning why he’d bothered.
“We’re all very grateful for your help, Loki,” says Rogers, clapping him on the shoulder. Loki stares at his hand until he removes it, looking a little nonplussed.
“Yeah, we’re super grateful,” says Barton, voice hard. “Better that you’re here terrorising the giant magical murderous robots than out terrorising the streets of Manhattan, right?”
“Clint,” says Rogers wearily. Barton subsides, still glaring half-heartedly at Loki.
This is tiresome. Loki has better places to be than waiting around in the heat and the rubble with a bunch of snarky superheroes. The weather is making him antsy; frost giants just aren't meant to function at high temperatures. He's not sure if he can get sunburnt in his Jotun form, but he's not willing to test it.
He gathers magic to his fingertips, preparing to teleport home, when something pokes him in the small of his back with such force that he loses his balance and topples over.
Rogers lets out an exclamation of dismay, and Loki squirms onto his back to see the Hulk hovering over him with one huge green finger raised to poke him again. And that’s another thing that wasn’t in his contract, not even in the fine print. If he’d seen Hulk sneak-attacks anywhere on the extensive (and magically binding) documentation SHIELD had forced him to go through he’d be back on Jotunheim by now. Or Vanaheim. Or, hell, even Muspelheim. Isn’t that the whole point of not being banished anymore? Having the freedom to go where he likes and not be maltreated by ninja-poking Hulks?
The Hulk cocks his head, and Loki is vaguely surprised to note that there is no maliciousness in his gaze; only innocent curiosity. “Puny god sad,” he rumbles, mouth twisting. “Why sad?”
Loki gapes at him for a moment, then snaps his mouth shut. “You’re mistaken,” he says, after a moment. “I’m perfectly... happy.”
He stands up and runs his hands through his hair, brushing out the rubble-dust and bits of gravel.
The Hulk pokes him in the chest, this time with only enough force to make him stumble, and bares his teeth. For such a rambunctious creature he has surprisingly good dental hygiene. Loki is struck by a sudden image of the Hulk squashed in front of a tiny bathroom sink, dutifully brushing his teeth before bed, and suppresses the urge to laugh. One of the Avengers’ first edicts concerning his occasional consultancy had been that manic laughter after battles involving the slaughter of townspeople was Not Good.
“Sad puny lying god,” says the Hulk. “Try bubble bath.”
There is a silence.
Stark says something that comes out garbled.
“Sorry, big guy,” says Barton. “Think something got lost in translation there. Bubble bath?”
“Bubble baths good for soul,” says the Hulk. “Puny Bruce does science, says bubble baths good. Fix things. Fix angry Hulks and sad puny lying gods with strange hair.”
Loki lifts a hand to his hair self-consciously.
His image of a teeth-brushing Hulk has been replaced by a Hulk in an enormous tub filled to the brim with bubbles. He’s not sure which of these is more worrisome.
“Come,” says the Hulk decisively, and grabs Loki about the waist, ignoring his yelp of distress. “Hulk make bubble bath, fix sad god.”
“Unhand me this instant,” spits Loki, snarling and struggling to no avail.
“No,” says the Hulk stubbornly, clutching Loki tight to his chest like a particularly truculent ragdoll. “No. Hulk fix sad god. Bubble baths fix things. Now is bubble bath time.”
Barton is lying on the ground wheezing and crying with laughter, occasionally kicking his legs feebly. If he dies from laughing too hard Loki will certainly not arrange to resurrect him. He doesn’t know what he saw in the man; obviously Barton is a wholly unsatisfactory minion.
Thor looks baffled, like a small furred animal that has hit its head and doesn’t know where it is or what its name is.
“I’m allergic to bubble baths,” says Loki. “If you put me in a bubble bath you will kill me. Do you hear me? You will kill me dead.”
“Stop lying!” growls the Hulk, shaking him a little. “Now is not the time for lying. Now is time for bubble baths.”
“Okay,” says Loki. “How about this. If you put me in a bubble bath, I will kill you dead.”
“No-ooo,” says the Hulk slowly, as if explaining something to his child. That is most definitely his child-explaining voice. Loki is highly insulted. “Bubble baths are not for killing. Sad lying puny-haired god missing the point. Hulk will show you, then sad god understand.” And with that the Hulk leaps over the neighbouring buildings in a single bound. Well, not quite. But he certainly takes off at high speed, dragging Loki with him.
Ten blocks later Loki gets tired and teleports them both into SHIELD custody. This, he hopes, will end the madness and allow him to finally get home and order in Thai for dinner.
He’s wrong.
The Hulk somehow manages to convince the attending SHIELD agents that a bubble bath is highly important to Loki’s post-battle mental health. Loki suspects a conspiracy at work. None of the SHIELD agents actually giggle, but he manages to spot a few crinkled eyes, which is SHIELD-speak for raucous laughter.
With the anti-magic dampeners (that are only supposed to be used in case of emergencies; Loki is going to complain to his union) at work, they somehow manage to wrestle Loki and the Hulk both into a huge tub the size of Loki’s whole apartment. He's not sure if he wants to know why SHIELD feels such facilities are necessary. There are more bubbles than Loki has blood cells.
This is completely unacceptable, and also Loki is revising his decision not to invade and/or destroy Midgard.
And the bubble bath is not surprisingly relaxing.
Not surprisingly relaxing at all.