The talk
As soon as the door closes behind them, Natasha corners Thor.
“What was that?”
Confusion rests on his face.
“What was what? The look on your face tells me I have done something wrong…”
“What do you mean something wrong? You don’t even know what you did? That! The whole thing about-” Natasha makes her voice gruff, imatateing Thor.
“You are my brother! You are never to be anything more! Magic is womanly so it is weak! That’s a real douchebag thing to say man.”
“What is a douche, and why is it in a bag?”
“That's not- it was just a really mean thing to say. Loki, and I can’t believe I’m defending him as only a couple days ago we all hated his guts, but he even demonstrated to us the fact that he can be whatever he damn well wants to be. If sometimes he’s a girl, what exactly is the matter with that?”
Thor’s nose scrunches up and his eyebrows lower.
“Loki is a PRINCE of Asgard. If he was some lower riff-raff maybe, just maybe would that be looked over, but he is not. It’s bad enough that he's not of Asga-“
Thor stops himself before he says anything more. He’s obviously begun talking about something he didn’t mean to, and Natasha can tell it’s upsetting him but she’s not sure she cares. He continues.
“What I do, I do for his own good. He cannot have any kind of future at my fathers side, at my side if he does not drop these stupid notions of fluidity. The crown isn’t fluid, it is solid, and it will do him well to finally accept that. He will see in due time that I say these things for him.”
Natasha sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s had enough discussions like this to know Thor means well, but he can’t see past his own golden future far enough to understand what that means for Loki.
“Thor. Have you ever, even once, thought to ask Loki how he feels about you planning his future for him? I’ve barely seen him awake for a day and even I can see he doesn’t want anything to do with you or a place at your side, much less your fathers. I think all he truly wants is the apology that you have found every way to avoid giving him. Just… next time you open your mouth to try and dictate who or what Loki is, think about how you're affecting him now rather than how it will affect you, yeah?”
Natasha walks away and leaves Thor standing outside of the medbay doors, annoyed and confused. How dare a woman he has known for a mere couple of days talk to him, an Asgardian prince next in line for the throne that way! And about familial matters no less? Utter nonsense. But again, that sinking feeling in his gut is telling him to drop this, that somehow it’s his fault and he doesn’t know why.
It has always been his right to tell people who they are, where they fit in the tight knit blanket of Asgard where if one thread was pulled out of line, the whole blanket came undone. But Loki has always fit in like a knot, a step that was either missed or done one more time than it was supposed to, and even the Allfather struggles to find out which had gone wrong. Loki was always blamed for this. But is it the knots fault that the craftsman didn’t follow the directions? And now when a thread is pulled, the blanket will have to stop unravelling when it gets to the knot. Loki may cause chaos, but he never receives as much credit as he should for keeping the land of gold together, and as Thor stomps away in confusion, for the first time in his life he’s thinking of issuing an apology.
Back in the medbay, Bruce is having a problem. Loki was all for getting the checkup out of the way as soon as possible, but when Bruce had picked up a syringe to take Loki’s blood for testing, Loki had clammed up and shied away as far as he could from the needle. As soon as he realised what he was doing he stopped, but it was hard for him to allow any sort of needle to pierce his skin voluntarily after…
He asks Bruce how necessary the blood taking is, and Bruce answers truthfully that it will be crucial to making sure Loki is free of any diseases or problems that may slip away from their notice if they don’t take the blood. Loki nods solemnly, and steel himself for the pain. But his hands shake however hard he tries to clench the fabric of his pants and he can’t exactly stop Bruce, who's all too aware of what it feels like to have to shove down fear, from noticing. So, the doctor offers some advice.
“If I may, it could help to focus on something happy. Or something far separated from what's making you fear the needle. I’ve found it to be… it’s not much, but it helps. It really does.”
Loki nods again and takes a deep breath. Then another. Slowly, little blurbs of movement show up in front of Loki’s face. Screen-like green projections move past his eyes, and in them Bruce can see little blurry figures. A strange moment of contentment, a snake and a wolf and a little girl, their faces almost blurry and their figures almost fading, but there nonetheless. In the next, two horses. One large and dappled and proud, flanked by a smaller horse. A foal, happy and trotting around the other. Its legs jumble and it falls with a snort, and Bruce realises the reason for its clumsiness. It has eight legs. The taller of the two nudges it up with its snout, and the horse shakily gets back on its feet and resumes prancing around, the larger whinnying in enjoyment.
Loki seems to melt a little watching the images go by, and as he watches Bruce positions the needle and draws the blood. The transfixed god flinches slightly when the needle slips under his skin, but he doesn’t turn or divert his attention from the flashes of green and white in front of him. Bruce becomes mesmerised watching them flit past.
“What are they?” He asks, watching the blood drain into the vile. All Loki says is,
“Memories.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“Yes.”
“They seem… sad.” Once again, a one word answer, except this time accompanied by a sorrow Creeping into the lines on Loki’s face.
“….”
“Yes.”