Author's Notes: This fic is known affectionately as "the best dysfunctional sitcom ever" or possibly "help I've fallen into writing sitcoms about serious characters with serious issues."

This thing came out of my burning need for a fic in which Clint and Loki 'hang out' and by that I mean 'are ruthlessly awkward and unkind to each other.' I really have...no other justification. That's about it. Also I promised myself I wouldn't post two WIPs at the same time, but I'm really excited about this one and I just Want to Share.

I'm so sorry. But not that sorry.

With much love to my beta, zaataronpita; she makes a much more obedient hawkling than Clint Barton.

Another day, another supervillain.

Sometimes Clint really missed SHIELD work. Simpler, for one, and he didn't remember ever dragging himself back from a mission feeling quite this beat, though Nat claimed that was his faulty memory at work. She might have a point.

Either way, it was barely even five and all he really wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a good fourteen hours.

He fumbled with the lock on his apartment door and blinked when it swung open, already unlocked. Tensing as he reached for his backup knife, he wished he hadn't left the throwing knives with Tony, even if they were too blunt to be much good. He never left the door unlocked. Which meant that someone had been here. And might still be.

"All right," he said, in a loud voice. "Five seconds to say something or I stab first and ask questions later."

Silence. After a moment, Clint shoved the door open the rest of the way, but the lights were off and he couldn't see anyone. "Two seconds," he said, loudly. "Fair warning, I don't miss." He stepped in cautiously, reached for the switch, and flicked it on.

"I know," said the nightmare on the couch, lounging casually on his furniture as though he belonged there. "Though that knife is weighted all wrong for throwing."

All of Clint's muscles froze at once. His fingers spasmed around the hilt of his knife. He's here, he thought wildly. He's here to take me back.

Loki smiled thinly at him, green eyes remaining cool and unaffected. He wasn't wearing his armor, just light linen that made him look smaller. Not much less threatening, though. "Good afternoon."

Clint flung the knife. Loki moved just slightly at the last minute, and looked back at him, apparently unperturbed by the blade embedded in the couch barely an inch from his head. He groped for his communicator (he's supposed to be in prison, he's not even supposed to be on this planet) and had it in hand when Loki shifted.

"Fair warning," he murmured, "That should you summon anyone, Miss Romanova's life will rapidly become very uncomfortable. There are all kinds of things I know she would rather the public did not know. And of course there is the matter of the location of her residence."

"You're bluffing," Clint said flatly, but he fell still. At least some of that – was shit that could get Nat in hot water for treason. Or worse. And Loki knew it because Clint had told him. There was a growing cold pit in his stomach.

"Am I?" Loki didn't sound amused. His gaze was cold and calm. Clint let go of the communicator, slowly.

"What do you want," he asked, harshly. "If you're here for another attempted takeover, I'm – we're – happy to make sure it ends the same way as the last one."

A flicker of some emotion around the corner of Loki's mouth, but Clint couldn't quite pin it down, and he didn't want to go hunting back through carefully ignored memories of what he'd gotten from Loki when he'd been his puppet. "Charming as ever. No."

"How did you give your dad the slip?" Clint asked harshly, thinking fast. An energy signature like Loki's would show up on Stark's monitoring equipment, and if he could just stall long enough… Loki's expression cracked for a moment into a snarl but smoothed again in moments.

"I have no father, Barton, to give 'the slip' to." Loki shrugged. "I have my ways."

There was something going on. Clint could feel it nagging at his instincts, something different, something that he was just missing. He took a step forward, then back, circled around the couch leaving plenty of room between himself and his unwanted guest. He could strike first, but that would likely just provoke him into a fight Clint knew he'd lose. So. Stall. Play for time.

"Your ways, huh? That's cryptic."

Loki smiled thinly. "I'm not inclined to inform you. Is that better?"

"Not really, no." He itched to reach for a weapon. To do something. At least to leave. Loki's eyes followed him, flat and reptilian. It made his skin crawl. He could feel his muscles winding tight. Kill him, a voice at the back of his mind said, and Kneel, murmured another. He fought them both down. Stop looking at me, he wanted to snap, and held that back too.

"Why are you here?" Clint asked bluntly, giving up on subtlety. How long would it take the others to notice? Not that long, JARVIS would alert Tony and…

Loki's mouth tilted up at the corners. "Why, I thought I would visit an old friend."

Clint felt himself twitch. "Uh huh."

"Why not?" Loki leaned back, sprawled loose-limbed and comfortable over most of the couch. "You were so eager to help me before."

Don't attack him, Clint reminded himself. You can't win.

Loki's smile widened very slightly. "You were wonderfully obedient, Clint Barton. My favorite…pet. So willing to do what needed to be if you're going to be coy, perhaps Romanova would give me a better reception."

Clint's lips peeled back from his teeth. She was safe, of course she was safe, she could take care of herself, but- "Shut up."

"Touchy subject?" Loki said lightly, and leaned forward a little. "Why, concerned she might find me a more appealing altern-"

Clint made an inarticulate snarling noise and lunged. He grabbed the knife with one hand and Loki's tunic thing with the other, hauled him off the couch and slammed the blade in under his ribs. Worth it, he thought, savagely. So goddamn-

He let go. To his surprise, Loki stayed down, kneeling on the carpet with one hand as a brace. "What," Clint said belligerently, "that it, you done?" Get out, his thoughts screamed. Get out now, but the urge to stay – and the rage – was stronger.

A moment more of silence, then Loki reached for the knife with the other hand, pulled it out, and pressed his palm over the wound. Then he took a couple ragged breaths and looked up. Clint recoiled.

"Go on," Loki said, baring his teeth up at Clint, a faintly mad glint in his eyes. "How long have you wanted this? How long have you yearned, so very desperately, to have me at your mercy-"

His voice wormed into his head, stirring up a tangle of feelings that made his stomach turn, longing and need and a vague feeling of loss. Clint lashed out almost blindly, felt the satisfying crunch of Loki's nose breaking under his fist. The surge of sick, hot satisfaction almost made him reel, and he struck again, again, hatred boiling up like bile, like he could get rid of all of it if he could just-

Loki was laughing, Clint realized. Laughing.

He hauled himself back, forced his hand to release the handful of cloth he'd seized at Loki's throat and looked at his face. Blood dripped from his nose and he swayed as Clint released him, still laughing. His eyes gleamed, almost feverish. "Why stop?" Loki said, voice sickeningly smooth. "Do you think I would? I wouldn't. Let it out, hawkling. Let it all out."

Clint took a sharp step back, his head spinning. Hawkling. Violence surged again, break him, make him beg—

"Or are you too weak to even do what you want? Too broken-"

"Shut up," Clint snarled.

"Or what?" That voice, needling at his brain, cruel, mocking. He needed it to stop. "What are you going to do?" Clint took a step forward, and that ghostly white face streaked with red grinned at him like a death's head. "What will you do? What can you, helpless, wretched, pathetic-"

Useless, weak, broken-

He lunged, blood pounding in his ears, his fingers around the throat of this specter of his own thoughts, choking off that voice, that awful, pervasive, constant, violating voice that never left him alone-

Clint blinked, his head clearing in the sudden silence. His fingers dug into the pale flesh of Loki's throat, clamped squeezing around his neck, and he was suddenly acutely aware of the pulse jumping under his fingers, the faint choking sound as he struggled for air. Loki's hands groped at his wrists, wrapped around them, but didn't pull even as his body began to convulse forlack of air, and his eyes, wide, laughing, a flicker of satisfaction-

He let go violently and shoved himself back, almost stumbling away. "I'm not your weapon anymore," he snarled. "I don't know why you're trying to – but you can't use me. You can't – you can't-" Clint swallowed convulsively.

Loki coughed, chest heaving, but his eyes glittered in his too pale face. "Can't do it, hawkling?"

"I could," Clint snapped. "I'm just not-"

Wait.

"What are you waiting for?" Loki asked, tone thick with mockery. "Or have you changed your mind and decided to come back to me after all?"

Clint pushed down the surge of temper and bile, tried to focus. Loki's nose was slightly crooked. Clint had felt it break. A glance down showed that the stab wound was still bleeding. And this close, he was aware of what he'd felt to be missing. It was that indefinable presence that Thor radiated constantly and that he remembered from being near Loki, a sense of power humming just under the skin. But Loki was just…

"You're human," he said blankly.

Loki's teeth bared. "Very good. You've puzzled it out. Cunning, clever hawkling. Let no one say the All-Father does not have a sense of irony."

Clint felt hysteria bubbling up in him. "That's all? This is your punishment? Everything you did and you just get sent to have a time out on Earth?"

Loki's expression twisted. "Make no mistake. This is not leniency. Still, if you like, you ought to go complain to him. It was not my choice."

"Wasn't your-" Something was beginning to come together. This is not leniency. The deliberate way Loki had goaded him into a rage when he had to know how vulnerable he was without god-strength. Clint took another step back. "Hold on," he said. "Was this some sort of – fucked up attempt at suicide by Avenger?" The anger was coming back.

Loki's face stretched in a grotesque grin. "Rather nicely done, I thought." He wavered, very slightly, eyes glittering with a kind of desperate, manic mirth. "Odin denied me a quick death. I was always resourceful. Didn't I say you were always willing to do what needed to be done?"

"You fucker," Clint said savagely.

"Yes," Loki murmured. "Rather." Then he went limp and slid facedown to the floor with a quiet sigh.

~.~

The voice in his head that urged dumping former god Loki Whateverson in a dumpster and forgetting about the whole thing was more than just a quiet one. There weren't a whole lot of reasons not to, either. It wasn't like he wouldn't deserve it.

On the other hand, Loki had barged back into Clint's life looking to die, and for that reason alone Clint was tempted to spite him. Because letting the bastard bleed to death in some back alley would be giving him exactly what he wanted, and would be proving that he still was just Loki's weapon, and it just wasn't…

Fuck him. If he thought living life as a lowly human was that bad, then he could enjoy it.

Loki was lucky he hadn't been aiming for anything vital. He was still breathing, if shallowly, once Clint made up his mind. Clint left Loki on the floor while he threw together the shittiest sewing job he'd ever done, slapped gauze over it, and sat back on his heels. He wasn't going to lie. It was pretty satisfying seeing His Highness's pretty face messed up with bruises.

At least until his eyes strayed a little down and he saw the fingermarks around his throat. His stomach did a funny uneasy lurch and he stood up hurriedly, turning his back.

Though he did go back, after a moment, to cuff Loki's hands. And then his ankles, just in case. Human didn't, after all, necessarily mean defenseless, and he had a feeling Loki was going to wake up pissed.

Loki did.

The first thing he said was a long string of what were definitely profanities in what was definitely not English. The second was something directed more particularly at Clint – perched on his couch with his bow to hand – and Clint suspected that it would have blistered the skin off his face if Loki weren't depowered. He stayed where he was.

"What do you think you are doing," he snapped.

"Saving your life," Clint said blandly. "Sorry to disappoint."

Loki thrashed wildly against the restraints, snarling like he was going to rip Clint's throat out with his teeth. He looked frantic, feral. "Weakling," he said savagely. "Coward. What kind of Avenger are you when you cannot even avenge yourself?"

"I don't know," Clint said, "I'm feeling pretty good about my life choices." Loki's eyes blazed with hate and his whole body writhed in impotent rage. "Careful. You'll pop your stitches. That hurts us mortals, you know."

"I'll rip your filthy tongue out of your mouth," Loki promised. Clint shrugged.

"Somehow I don't think so." Loki snarled, and Clint raised his eyebrows. "Keep doing that I might have to slap a muzzle on you."

"I don't need magic to kill you. And I will. If you do not-"

"Try to push me again and I'll just cripple you. No super healing anymore. You want that? Want to spend the rest of your pathetic little life broken, helpless, crawling for scraps…"

Loki's eyes flashed. His face was drawn tight with pain, Clint noticed. Too bad. (Deep down, Clint felt a little twinge of unease.) "Pathetic, puling, insect," Loki spat.

"Yeah," Clint said, "You too." He stood up. "You know, there's honestly no point in calling in anyone to deal with you, huh. You're not a threat for the Avengers to handle."

Loki sneered. "Do you just intend to let me go free? I might wreak any amount of havoc. I will. Can you bear that on your fragile conscience?"

Clint shrugged again. "Way you are now…any policeman could take you out. So why not? You can't do much. You're basically neutered. Gelded. Whichever. So…"

"If you let me leave here I will see to it Romanov suffers. And the others. All of them. A few words in the right ears – I can do that much still, don't mistake me." Loki's voice was low and fierce and, Clint heard, desperate. Huh.

He took a step forward and crouched down next to Loki, who fought the cuffs again. There were already swelling welts under the metal Clint hadn't bothered to pad. Looking at the reddening marks on slender wrists, he made himself push down the first response. Leftovers. That's all. "Wow. Is being human really that bad? Or are you just that quick to give up? You're practically begging me."

Loki's jaw clenched visibly. "You have no idea. I would rather take a clean death than linger in this decaying flesh."

It could have been true. Clint almost believed it. The disgust in Loki's voice was certainly genuine. But some small part of him whispered lie.

He leaned in. "Uh huh. What're you scared of, Loki?"

Loki's hands flashed up very suddenly, cuffs dangling from one wrist – shit, of course he could get out of those – pulled Clint down and rolled them both over, pinned Clint on his back. Fingers dug into his throat, cut off his air. "You should have taken my first offer," he said, low and vicious. "Now – if I kill you, I don't doubt your friends will rush-"

Clint regathered himself and slammed his fist up into the gauze covering fresh stitches under Loki's ribs. He made a strangled sound and his hands loosened just enough for Clint to suck in a breath and strike again, this time grinding two knuckles directly into the wound. He felt the stitches pop under the pressure.

Loki let out a short, harsh scream and jerked away. Clint shoved him off and scrambled to his feet. "Try a stunt like that again and I'll make damn sure-"

"Kill me or I kill you," Loki rasped harshly. "Those are your options, Clint Barton." His face was white, tight with pain. "Your only options."

"Or I could just beat your ass up and call your brother down here, let him-"

"Do you think I can't enact my failsafe from a cage? Anything but the options I've given you and I swear to you that it will not be an hour before your lover is crucified for her past misdeeds. Another hour and I'll undo the rest. Do you doubt me?"

Loki's voice was fervent, harsh. He meant every word. Just do it, Clint thought. Who cares if it's what he wants? Kill him and it's over for good.

He doesn't own me. "No," Clint said. Loki shoved himself partially upright. There was fresh blood on the bandaging. "I don't like your choices."

"That's a pity. They're the choices you get." Loki's teeth bared, but it looked more like pain than anything else.

"What about a counteroffer?" Clint said, voice deliberately casual. "You can't win a fight right now. I'm not going to kill you. I could just dump you back on the street. I have a feeling that's what you're trying to avoid. You're running from something big, and you've got no chance and you know it."

"I don't hear an offer."

"You turn yourself in. Maybe you can talk Fury into giving you enough rope to hang yourself with."

Loki's laugh was harsh. "You're not a very good bargainer."

"Good enough. You want a time limit to decide? How about-"

"Fine," Loki said, his expression a rictus. "Fine, if you are so weak that you refuse to enact your own desires – I will simply stay here until you change your mind."

"You – what?"

Loki smiled thinly and unpleasantly. "As you pointed out, I have nowhere else to go." Clint's stomach started churning. Kill him, said the rational voice, again. You'll do it anyway before the week is out, if he actually…

"No," he said, flatly. "No, and if you don't back down right now-"

"Remember Miss Romanova, hawkling."

"Don't call me that," Clint hissed. Kill him kill him kill him. No. He could figure this out without doing what Loki wanted him to. It would just take a little bit of thinking. A little bit of time. Loki might be bluffing about his threat. Of course he might. Was he willing to take that risk? Just do it. Just kill him. Loki's eyes bored into him.

"Well?"

"You're not staying here. You can't actually think that I'll agree to this."

"It's your choice, Barton. You refused my generous initial offer." His lips curled up at the corners. "Should you change your mind, of course…"

"You being so attached to the idea of dying makes it far less appealing," Clint said. This wasn't happening, he thought hopefully. Any minute he would wake up and…

"Contradiction for the sake of contradiction? How mature." Loki's stare was cold. "Choose, hawkling."

Choose. What else could he do? All else fails, Clint thought grimly. You can always change your mind. That didn't seem comforting.

"You sleep on the couch," Clint snapped, "and the minute you pull anything…"

"What," Loki said, with obvious amusement. "You'll kill me?"

God, Clint hated him. Just not enough. Or maybe too much. He turned his back. "You can fix your own stitches. Don't bleed on my furniture."

~.~

Clint slept spottily and poorly, waking at the slightest noise. None of them were Loki creeping into his room in the middle of the night, though, so he woke up cranky and overtired rather than with any new holes in his body. For about a half a minute stumbling out of his room to scrounge up some coffee, he thought the whole thing had been some kind of bizarre, surreal, fucked up dream.

Loki was sitting at the table already, back ramrod straight and peeling the shell off of a hard boiled egg. He glanced up briefly as Clint entered, looked him over, and then looked back down in clear dismissal. Clint set his teeth to ignore it.

"You look terrible," his voice floated out as Clint went fishing for the coffee grounds. "I hope you didn't sleep poorly." Loki looked pale, but other than that and the stiff way he held himself there was no obvious sign that he was hiding a stab wound under his clothes. Clint supposed he probably knew how to do a field dressing, and was just stubborn enough to pretend it wasn't bothering him. He was tempted to poke him just to see what would happen.

"Fuck off," Clint said bluntly. The grounds were in the breadbox, for some reason. Clint would have suspected Loki, except that it was fairly likely he'd put them there himself. He dug out the coffee pot, eyed it, gave it a cursory rinse and stuck it in the machine. Tony fucking Stark probably didn't have to make his own coffee, Clint thought resentfully. Probably had a gadget to do it for him. Maybe he could poach that.

"Such vehemence, only for expressing a wish for your well being?" Loki clicked his tongue. "For shame."

Clint's lips pressed together. "How about you? Nice, restful nap? Nightmares all gone?" He didn't see Loki twitch, but he almost heard it. "Did you think I'd forget that little detail?"

"I'm touched by your concern." Loki's voice was perfectly level, unperturbed. "Unnecessary though it may be. But if I was the cause of your restlessness, I would like to assure you that I would never kill you in your sleep."

"Sure." Clint started up the coffee and turned around. "You're just a good guy that way."

"Of course not," Loki said placidly, and took a bite out of his egg. "I would kill you looking into your eyes, making sure that you knew that to strike you down was an act of mercy that meant you wouldn't have to see the ruin of all you love."

Clint just stared at him for a moment, then said, "How are you going to pull that off?"

"I shall be sure to let you know the moment it becomes my intention." Loki's eyes returned to his plate. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Clint felt himself bristle.

"You're helpless," Clint said, viciously. "Powerless. So yeah, that's something I'd like to hear. Make for a good laugh."

Loki's eyes flashed, very briefly. It was still satisfying. "I might say the same of you. Yet you served your purpose…adequately."

More than adequately, Clint wanted to snap. You said so, you told me I was the best, but even just thinking about admitting any of that made him want to throw up on Loki's plate. "Yeah, well, difference is that I'm not a failure." He heard Loki's teeth click together and turned around as the coffeepot beeped. "So, you know."

"This must be so enjoyable for you," Loki said after a moment, almost spitting the words. Clint poured himself a mug and blew on it, half hoping Loki would lunge at him.

"Yeah," he said blithely, turning back to face him. "A little. If you get tired of it, you're welcome to leave." Loki's teeth flashed, and Clint watched his right hand flex and then forcibly relax.

"Yes. I'm sure that would suit you very well." Loki said, his voice not quite harsh but definitely acidic. "I'm so sorry I am not more accommodating."

"And I'm sorry you're in my apartment. So I guess that makes two of us." Clint swallowed another gulp of coffee. "I've gotta be out today. Work stuff. You can stay here and not touch anything."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Awfully trusting of you."

Clint shrugged. "Not so much. I just know you're not going to be able to do much without keeling over, and if you do pull anything I'll beat the shit out of you, tie you to a lamppost and leave you for SHIELD. So."

His jaw did that little spasm again. "Clear enough," he said smoothly, and stood with his empty plate. Clint just caught the wince as he straightened too fast.

"If you're really good," Clint said, with a slightly nasty smile, "Maybe I'll stop by and pick up some painkillers."

Loki slipped past him and over to the sink, turned on the water. Clint could almost hear his teeth grinding. When he spoke, though, his voice was back to amiably pleasant. "I am curious. 'Work,' you said. For your Avengers, or SHIELD?"

"None of your business," Clint said. His fingers tapped an irregular rhythm against the counter until he made them stop.

"I merely wondered if SHIELD had you back in the field again already."

Don't answer that. Clint stared at the back of his neck and pictured putting one of the steak knives through Loki's spine, and waited. As the silence stretched out, he imitated a start. "Oh – were you waiting for an answer?"

Loki shut off the water. His voice didn't alter in the slightest. "How many weeks did they test you before they allowed you back in the field?" Clint didn't let himself tense. "What sorts of trials did they put you through, to ensure there was none of me left?"

Clint made himself shrug. "A few. I cleared them all easy, though. Didn't stick very well, did it?"

"Oh, I don't know. The working hooked into you like there was a hole in your soul just made for me." For a ghastly moment, Clint could almost see it, his – soul, whatever, squirming on a fishhook made of blue light.

"It wasn't even yours," Clint burst out. "You could only pull that off because they let you. The Chitauri. Because they gave you the power, and you couldn't even keep that. You were powerless then too, remember? I'd think you'd be used to it by now."

Loki's teeth flashed as he turned, plate still in hand. "You have no idea what I can do."

"Could," Clint said, ruthlessly. "Used to be able to. Remember? You're just regular old mortal now." Loki made a sharp move in his direction, only to stop, free hand going to his side with a sound not quite a hiss. Clint raised his eyebrows. "What," he said, "hurts? Get used to it. You'll be feeling that for a while."

Loki subsided. Slowly. Clint watched him rein himself back in and control his expression back to brutal neutrality.

"Better face it," Clint said. "This is what your life looks like now. Forever. Cause I'm guessing you don't have a get out of death free card like your brother." The noise Loki made was somewhere between a hiss and a snarl.

"This must be why I liked you," he said, voice smoothed back to even. "You are like me. Vindictive. Cruel."

"Yeah?" Clint leaned a little forward. "Maybe. But I'm an Avenger. You know what you are?" He grinned. "Nothing. You've got nothing, and no one. The only person in the world you thought you could come to is me, and I hate your guts so much I'm leaving you alive to spite , I'm vindictive. You know what else? I'm still better than you." He drained the rest of his coffee and set the mug down, turned his back to go and get dressed. He needed out of here. "You can wash my mug. I've got places to be."

"You haven't answered my question."

Clint didn't even glance over his shoulder. "Am I supposed to feel like I have to?"

"What did it take to prove to them that you were – how might they put it – clean?"

"Is there some kind of point to this? Or are you just talking to listen to your own voice, cause-"

"What did it take to prove it to yourself?"

Clint went rigid. Unable to sleep except with Natasha right there, reassuring him when he woke, it's still you. You're still you. The times he still caught himself checking the mirror for specks of blue, for some kind of wrongness… "I know the difference," he said, harshly. "It's pretty clear when I'm in charge of my own mind."

He could hear the smile in Loki's voice. "Is it?"

"Yeah," Clint said firmly. "It is."

"So certain. Although in truth…I don't think you are."

"Good thing your opinion doesn't matter," Clint said harshly, and headed back down the hallway. "Keep talking and I'll see about picking up a replica of that muzzle Thor put on you. Looked pretty good."

"Does it bother you because I'm wrong, or because I'm merely voicing what you're afraid to say?" Clint turned at the door to his bedroom.

"Honestly? Mostly it bothers me because I have to listen to you talk and it's too early for me to deal with your bullshit." He opened the door. "So go ahead. Keep bugging me. I'd love an excuse to hogtie you and leave you in the bathtub for a day."

He managed to not slam the door behind him. Barely.

This was never, he thought, breathing a little raggedly, going to work. He might as well just put a bullet through Loki's head now, or he'd end up putting one through his own.

Maybe if he just told Natasha, explained what was going on…

She'd just kill him. Probably gladly. Problem solved, no more Loki in his apartment, no more threat to Nat, everything good, peachy. Why didn't he just do that?

If Thor found out there would probably be a serious problem. That was one reason. He didn't know how Loki's failsafe was activated, and if he didn't disable that first, Natasha would be in trouble. There was another one. The satisfaction of watching Loki squirm. And the other one…

The last reason Clint didn't look at too closely. At least not now.

He took a quick shower, threw on some clothes and grabbed his equipment before reemerging. Loki was not, as he'd half hoped, gone, but merely migrated back to the couch, where he was sitting looking disappointingly not in pain. Clint headed for the door without looking too hard in his direction.

"Have fun," Loki's voice wafted after him. Clint ignored it.

~.~

Natasha noticed something was wrong, of course. He didn't quite manage to settle his jitters quickly enough. The look she gave him at team briefing was sharp, but she didn't say anything until they had a moment to talk quietly.

"What's up," she asked, barely more than a murmur. For a moment, he considered again telling her everything, but at the last minute changed his mind. Clint smoothed his face and shrugged.

"Nothing new."

Nat's mouth tightened and the little flash of anger in her eyes was…probably inappropriately pleasing. "Would you like me to come over tonight?" she asked, plainly and without pity, but Clint still felt his shoulders tense up. He forced them not to.

"Nah," he said. "I need to sleep. If you're over…" he waggled his eyebrows at her and she swatted his shoulder with a sharp backhand that just made him grin wider. She made a disgusted noise, but seemed to accept his answer.

No one else bothered to ask. Clint looked closely at Thor, and wondered if he looked a little melancholy. He couldn't be sure, though. Maybe he was projecting. He sure felt a little melancholy. His thoughts kept floating back to his apartment, what kind of havoc Loki might be wreaking, if he'd killed Mrs. Brustein's yappy dog (all right, he might not mind that one so much) or maybe Mrs. Brustein…

Fortunately, it was a publicity day, so he didn't really have all that much to do. Stand around and look pretty, basically, and he could slink away with fairly thin excuse after it was over. He felt more than a twinge of resentment at needing to, though. Maybe he should have just tied Loki up in the bathtub anyway for his peace of mind.

He got back to his apartment and paused to listen at the door for a moment before going in. He couldn't hear anything inside, though, and while he was standing there of course his landlord walked by to see him with his ear pressed to the door. Clint straightened quickly.

She gave him a powerfully suspicious look.

"Just making sure my friends aren't trying to throw me a surprise party," Clint said, with a smile that felt too tight. She raised her eyebrows, apparently unimpressed. For some reason she always seemed to think he was likely to do something criminal. What, Clint wasn't exactly sure.

"Uh-huh."

Clint was suddenly very sure Loki was going to come to the door and say something inopportune, right then. The door stayed shut, though. "Yep," Clint affirmed. "Seems safe, though." She raised her eyebrows a little further, and Clint gave up on trying to be convincing, threw out an, "Afternoon," and let himself into his apartment.

Loki was stretched out on his couch, turning something over in his hands. When the door opened, he held it up without glancing over. "What is this?" he asked, and it took Clint a moment to realize that it was – had been – his alarm clock. Now thoroughly gutted, definitely unusable, and probably unsalvageable.

For a moment, Clint just stared at him, almost disbelieving. Six, maybe seven hours. That was all. And one day. "What the hell," he snarled. Loki didn't look impressed and turned his head to glance at him. "What are you – why did you take it apart?"

Loki shrugged. "I wanted to see how it worked. I was bored."

"You wanted to-" Clint swore. "Are you trying to irritate me into offing you?"

Loki's eyes returned to the alarm clock. "Is it working?"

"No," Clint snarled, though inwardly he was pretty sure the answer was yes. "Do you realize how pathetic you sound? You're practically begging me-"

"Desperate times, desperate measures," Loki said easily, and Clint wanted very devoutly to haul him off the couch and punch him in the face. "It is hardly as though my situation can get very much worse."

"Maybe I can help with that."

"Mm." Loki set the remnants of the alarm clock aside. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"

"It was my alarm clock. And you're going to owe me for a new one." Loki gave him a thoroughly dry smile.

"To be paid in what, exactly?" He stretched his arms over his head and closed his eyes. "I suppose I could offer sexual favors, but I don't think that's what you mean." Clint just stared at the ex-god and made a violently disgusted noise, unable to summon any other response.

"How's the stab wound," he said, finally, for lack of any other response.

"What would you do if I said it was festering?" Clint opened his mouth, then closed it. He didn't have a ready answer for that one.

"Wait until you got sick enough I could kick you out," he said, finally. Loki seemed faintly amused.

"I see." He opened one eye. "I have been remiss, however. How was your day? Your motley band of heroes still clinging together?"

"My day was fine, thanks, and you're just going to have to live in curiosity." Clint strode across the room and kicked Loki's leg. "Get off."

Loki's eyebrows rose. "Is that any way to ask?"

"I don't have to kill you to make your life miserable," Clint said flatly. A smile bloomed on Loki's face, and he pushed himself up on his elbows.

"Oh, is that the way it's to be? You push me, and I push you. Who do you think will give first, oh my hawkling?" Clint felt his lips peel back from his teeth before he could control his face. "I know you. I know exactly how brittle you are. Play any game against me and I will win." He sat up a little further. "I have you, as you might put it, by the balls. How long do you think you can tolerate that?"

"A lot longer," Clint said, "knowing that you've fallen far enough that me killing you is the best option you can come up with." His smile felt ugly. "You're not a threat anymore, Loki. You're a nuisance. That's all."

Loki moved sharply like he was going to stand, and stopped almost at once with a sharp inhale, one of his hands going to his side. His eyes were full of hate and Clint held himself ready, prepared if Loki made a move, but he didn't.

Clint stepped around him and flopped onto the couch, deliberately casual as he reached for the remote. "Thanks for moving," he drawled, and turned on the TV, turning up the volume. Loki stayed there, breathing hard, until he finally turned and retreated back into the apartment. "If you touch my stuff I'm not giving you any dinner!" Clint called after him, and imagined he could almost hear Loki's teeth grind.

~.~

He didn't see any more of Loki until the evening, which suited Clint just fine. He imagined vaguely – and without much hope – that Loki had just fucked off already and things could get back to their usual level of crazy as opposed to the current level of crazy.

Of course, he wasn't quite that lucky. If he were that lucky, he wouldn't be in this situation to begin with.

"What is this?"

The audible disdain in Loki's voice made Clint grit his teeth. "Dinner," he said, flatly. "For me."

Loki scoffed. "That is a relief. It smells like swill."

"Good thing I made enough for two, then," Clint said, not looking up though he felt his shoulders tense. It smells fine, he wanted to snap, defensively. You ate what I made you happily enough before. You used to say, but he didn't want to bring that up even a little bit. "Go ahead, sit down. Swill's waiting."

Loki made a faint and elegantly exasperated sound. "Haven't you anything else?"

"Not for you," Clint said easily. "And if you go digging around in my fridge I will tie you down and force feed you fish sauce. Okay?"

Loki's lip curled. "If you think I am going to begin to find your impudence entertaining…"

"Oh no," Clint said, and took a generous bite of his food. "I'm not trying to entertain you. I am entertaining me." He cocked his head a little to the side. "Also…wouldn't impudence require that you were actually on a level above me? As opposed to where you are, which…"

Loki made a sound like he'd tried to swallow a snarl. "I am not going to put up with this sort of – humiliation. From you, of all people. And whatever that is, I will not eat it."

"Literal beggars can't be choosers," Clint said, keeping his eyes on Loki. Loki's hands twitched like he was considering trying to put them around Clint's throat. "And that's what you are, isn't it?"

"I will go out, then," Loki said, tersely. "You have plenty of restaurants at which I may find something acceptable-"

"With what money?" Clint gave him a patronizing smile. "Generally people are going to expect you to pay. And that's if they don't peg you as a war criminal and call the police on your sorry ass."

"I'll use yours," Loki said, through his teeth. Clint laughed.

"Uh huh. Even if you could – you do that and I will make your life even more miserable than it already is. And that still doesn't get rid of the problem where you're pretty distinctive, even in the bedraggled version."

Loki was breathing shallowly and rapidly. His face flickered between emotions too quick to catch, but there was definitely fury, and Clint felt a warm, almost hot feeling of satisfaction. He'd backed Loki into a corner, and they both knew it. How's it feel, he thought, eyes boring into Loki. Being on the other end of it?

"You eat whatever I'm willing to let you," Clint said, keeping his voice level and calm, hoping none of his triumph was coming through. "Or you don't eat. And that's not going to work out too well for you now that you're a sickly mortal, in case you didn't know." While he was waiting, he took a bite from his own plate, chewed it with exaggeration. "Honestly, you should be grateful I do feel like feeding you. I'm not rolling in money."

Loki's lips peeled back from his teeth. "I dearly hope that I live long enough to watch you choke on your own blood as you die," he said, perfectly flat. Clint gave him a smile.

"That'd leave you kind of fucked, wouldn't it?" He said, pleasantly.

Loki sat down, at length, a tic twitching in his jaw. He picked up the fork delicately, his eyes looking straight through Clint. Clint didn't bother to suppress a smirk.

"Good call," he said, and lifted his glass in a mock toast. "Cheers."

The look Loki gave him could have burned through metal, and Clint had to fight himself not to flinch back. A moment later it was wiped away, though, Loki's expression perfectly blank, and he ate in absolute silence.

Clint tried not to let it get to him, and did not, in the least, feel guilty.