Silk

“So,” Loki begins, trying to prompt conversation, “Where are you from?”

“Here and there,” she replies automatically as if prepared for the question.

“And what exactly is it you do?”

“You know, this and that.”

“You ever—“

“Now and then,” quite obviously enjoying herself.

“Well, you’re just full of information, aren’t you?”

Chloe grins, her head thrown back slightly as she chuckles.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“I see you’re very cheeky.”

“Cheeky?!” She raises her eyebrows incredulously which earns a confused look from Loki. “God, you’re so British.” 

“On the contrary,” he corrects, “I’m Asgardian.”

“And Norse supposedly,” she brings up, in a questioning sort of tone.

“Yes, Asgardian and Norse. And Jotun,” adding in the last sentence softly. He turns his head to glimpse at her as they continue walking. 

“But British? Not in the slightest.”

“Well, you sure do a great impression of a Brit then.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah yeah,” she responds, unconvinced. After a moment of silence, she snickers again. 

“On the contrary,” she mocks in a teasing sort of way. 

”Hey! It’s not my fault I actually had an expensive education, and you were raised in a…” He stops himself. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Rude. He thinks, not necessary. 

Looking over to her, dreading she’ll hate him now, he sees her eyes crinkle at her temples as she lets out a breathy laugh.

“Don’t be. That's a good one. Would’ve used it myself if you hadn’t beat me to it.”

"Well, nevertheless, I apologize," though Loki smiles slightly, relieved. Guess she was one for dark humor. Anyone living a life like hers would have adapted to it with jokes by now. He knows he certainly had.

She had a way of carrying herself, he saw.

She seemed light, almost weightless, even through this disconnecting change in her life. Even after all the tragic stories he had only recently found out about. How could someone suffer so greatly and not collapse with every breath?

“What’s this room?” 

He awakens out of his thoughts and back to the realization that he’s the tour guide, ostensibly.

He looks over to where Chloe has gestured. 

“Oh! This is my favorite one,” he beams brightly, and the thrill makes him look like an innocent child and she smiles.

She follows him into the room as he pushes open the light brown double doors. 

Absorbing the scene, she notices every little detail. There are magazines clippings, paint stains lain casually all over the counters, and canvases lined up against the wall. There are beads of every shape and color separated carefully in each compartment of its box, old reused yogurt cups holding Ikea stamps, and unusual postcards strewn along the walls. 

The art room.

This is his favorite room, she thinks.

“I can see why,” she breathes out, still mindlessly exploring.

“Sorry?”

“Huh- oh, I said I see why it’s your favorite,”

“You like it?”

”Of course. It’s beautiful,” she says in awe and catches his posture slightly soften, his shoulders not as stiff as earlier now. 

He doesn't know why he feels, if anything, so comfortable in her presence now, but it's as if she understands. Placing his attention on it now, he realizes; they share similar hardships. Issues deriving from the father, cast out, manipulated. Maybe that's why he presently feels drawn to her; as she, so open-eyed, preciously studies the room. Like she's reeling him in. Like she's trudging bravely through the pain. 

Walking over to one counter, she brushes her hand over the crayons. 

Just like when she was a kid. Back when things were simpler. 

Just like when she was stuck there. Back when things were worse.

“Are you alright?” 

He wants to know.

She nods in a daze, not sure why she’s even here.

“Well then. We still have plenty of the compound left to see, so if you don’t mind,” holding out his arm, and motioning to the door.

She gradually pulls her hand away from the crayons and looks back up at him. The room has large, well-placed windows with plants lining the windowsill making the walls sunny in a juxtaposition sort of way. 

She squints him into focus and walks on through the doors, leaving the room. 

“If Stark decides on your living here, we can certainly return to that room,” he assures her, noting how much she lit up at the sight of it. “If you wish,” he adds quickly. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be good.” 

She smiles again, no longer harboring that nostalgic mark in her eyes. 

What was it about the crayons that entranced her so completely? Had it triggered her? Did she actually like the room or was she just being polite? Was he being too pushy? She only just got out, and he's already being insensitive. Some impression. 

Maybe he should ask her if she-

“What do you make in there?”

She startles him again and he jumps at the sound of her intrigued voice. He has to stop zoning out.

“Oh, well. Everything. Whatever I’m in the mood to make, really. Us Asgardians are cultured," nudging her softly with his elbow yet he notices her wince, so he just smiles instead. "We paint and write and create just as your people do,” 

"You'll have to show me sometime,”

"Yes, I imagine I'd like that," He breathes in deep, remembering his place. "Ok, so over here, we've got the downstairs gymnasium. And recently, Rogers' been tormenting us with…”

A half hour later, they’re back up to the floor they originally started on. The ground floor has too many people, walking fast, coming in and out, too much noise. You’d think people would go home for Sunday but there’s always work to be done. People don’t relax nearly enough in this realm. Loki figures it’ll be good to skip that floor, at least for now. No need to startle her more.

“These are the rooming quarters, as you’ve seen already,” Loki reports, rubbing his neck as Chloe just nods her head at everything he says. Is he talking too much? 

“Wanda’s, Vision’s, Peter, yours, James on this wall and over here,” he continues, pointing to each room separately with each name, “Sam, Rogers, Natasha, Pietro, my insufferable brother, and… mine,” 

They get quiet as she looks into the cracked open doorway, wondering what’s in it. Surely, some of his art. Maybe she’ll find out later.

“And Stark, our great superior, lives apart from us unworthy ones. Afraid of affiliating with the poor, I assume,” he jokes with light hostility.

“I HEARD THAT,” Tony’s muffled but yelling voice comes from some vague indistinguishable room around them.

They chuckle, and Chloe whispers, “You’re the rich one here, a prince for god’s sake,” 

“My word, you really do know everything,” he teases, touching his chest with mock surprise.

“You’re insane!” someone whines, their voice getting closer.

Peter walks in dripping wet, dragging his feet and obviously irritated. 

“Peter, it was merely an amusing joke,” Thor says.

“This isn’t amusing!” Peter squeals, pouting like a child.

“I beg to differ!” Pietro starts, and then begins walking toward Peter.

“AAHHH!” Peter screams as he runs away from Pietro. 

“This happens daily, you’ll get used to it,”

Thor catches Loki and Chloe’s lively eyes and waves with a large smile. 

Pietro stops and when his eyes land on Chloe, his demeanor noticeably lessens. 

“Let’s go in here,”

“Wonder what prank this one was, can’t believe they didn’t at least include me, though.” 

“Disappointed, are we?” Chloe asked, though her voice is empty as all her focus is on looking around his room.