Loki has officially survived one night in Avengers Tower.

It was an awful night. He slept for maybe four hours, and the majority of that time consisted of nightmares, because he has had a really shitty few years and his brain will not let him forget it.

But he survived his first night in Avengers Tower nonetheless, and he revels in that. One night down, many more to go.

He retraced the steps to the kitchen in his head a dozen times at dinner, and a dozen times more once he returned to his room, just in case he forgot where he was going. So when he wakes up for the eighth time since the sun set the night before, he finally decides to give up and go get breakfast. (And, for the record, he does not understand why Thor dragged him out to dinner the night before. He hadn't necessarily believed that the Avengers wanted him there, but to hear that he hadn't even discussed it with them was a bit irritating.)

Unfortunately, because his luck is as it is, there's already someone in the kitchen when he arrives: Natasha Romanoff, munching on a bowl of grapes while she scrolls through her phone.

Loki debates the merits of leaving and pretending he was never here, but, really, if it's just Natasha here... Well, she's not quite as obnoxious as the others are – and she can be rather entertaining when she tries to be. He'll stay for now; he'll leave if anybody else comes in.

So instead, he greets her with a playfully annoyed, "Are you destined to be the only human I see in this tower?"

Natasha looks up from her phone, and he swears he sees the hint of a smile on her lips. "If you're lucky," is her only response, her tone as playful as his own. "Looking for something to eat?"

"Is there any other reason I'd be in the kitchen?" Loki counters.

"'Cause you missed me, of course." She flashes him a teasing smile, and he rolls his eyes goodnaturedly. "At least you're wearing a shirt this time."

Loki glances down at his Asgardian clothing – and he must admit, leather is not the best material to wear with a stab wound through the abdomen. "I'm sure you're dreadfully disappointed about that."

"Oh, yeah, so disappointed," she says sarcastically. She changes the subject, rather lightheartedly, and says, "Let me know if you need any help finding something to eat. I'm assuming gods eat very different breakfasts than we do on Earth."

"I assume the same," Loki says. "What does Thor like to eat for breakfast, do you know?"

Natasha huffs a laugh and makes her way to the pantry. "Oh, yeah, I know what he likes for breakfast." She digs around for a few moments, then emerges with a small cubic blue box, which she holds out to him. "Pop Tarts."

Loki furrows his brows and takes the box from him. He turns it around in his hands, looking over it curiously. Cookies and cream, it reads. Thor's told him good things about cookies, and he doesn't dislike creams, so that sounds interesting.

He looks over at Natasha. "Is it good? Am I going to regret this?"

Natasha just shrugs, a smirk on her lips that he can't quite read.

He can't deny that he really is curious about Thor's go-to breakfast, so he pulls out one of the silver-wrapped packages and sets the box on the counter. He rips the foil open, and in his hands are two of the dryest, most unappealing atrocities he's ever seen in his life. His face scrunches in disgust. This is what Thor eats for breakfast on Midgard?

Natasha chuckles. "You look ecstatic."

He looks over at her. "Is this really what Thor eats for breakfast?" Is this a joke? Is she just messing with him? This can't actually be what Thor likes to eat. Can it?

"It sure is," Natasha says. "I guess his girlfriend gave him one once? But he loves 'em."

Loki looks down at his poptarts distastefully. Well, if Thor likes them... He takes one out of the pack, turns it over in his hand as he tries to force himself to get used to the gross dryness, and then rather reluctantly takes a bite.

He doesn't hate it. He'd like to start there. It isn't the worst thing he's ever had in his life. But it tastes just as dry as it looks, and even the cream in the middle – its only redeeming quality – isn't enough to cover that.

"So?" Natasha prompts. "Is it the best thing you've ever eaten?"

"It wouldn't even rank in the top hundred," Loki replies.

"I take it you're not gonna eat it, then?"

"Ideally, no, but I suppose that would depend on what other options you have for me to try," Loki answers. "I assume there is something else in this building I could eat for breakfast?" He'd even just eat fruit like she is if it's the only other option. He'd like something with some more substance, but he's not sure he can afford to be picky.

"Oh, yeah, there's tons of stuff," Natasha says. "Want me to make eggs?"

Loki scoffs. "You have eggs, and yet you started with poptarts?" In what world would he rather eat poptarts than eggs for breakfast?

Natasha shrugs. "I just wanted to know if obsessing over Pop-Tarts was a god thing or just a Thor thing," she says. "So, eggs? I'm thinkin' scrambled."

"I can make my own scrambled eggs," Loki tells her. He may not habitually make his own food – he's a prince, after all; he's always had servants for that – but after a thousand years, one would hope he would know how to make something as simple as scrambled eggs.

"Yeah, but if I make them, I have an excuse to eat some," Natasha says, "and scrambled eggs sound so much better than grapes right now."

Loki chuckles and waves her on. "Then by all means, please, make some scrambled eggs."

Natasha gets up to do just that, so Loki heads over to the table. He doesn't sit – he'd feel strange, sitting while she makes his breakfast right in front of him – but he does lean against it while he munches on the grapes she left behind.

"So," Natasha says, rather conversationally given whom she's speaking to, "how's Earth treating you so far?"

"Arguably better than it did the last time," Loki says – though it's certainly hard to compare attempted world domination with the peace and quiet of having his own bedroom where he can stare at the ceiling for hours. "Certainly better than Asgard, though that doesn't take much."

"Yeah? How come?" She looks over her shoulder at him. "Thor said they took you out of prison after you got stabbed, right? Shouldn't you have been living the high life these last few months?"

Loki thinks back to the last few months, and all the awkward conversations he's had with Odin and the hiding behind pillars from the Warriors Three and the general air of discomfort that every Asgardian seems to have in his presence. He's not sure he'd call that 'the high life.'

All he says to that is, "Not quite," before swiftly changing the subject. "And I've had far fewer weapons pointed at me than I'd expected. That has been a nice surprise."

"Well, lucky for you," Natasha says, "Thor's been singing your praises these last few weeks, so you have a little bit of trust from us right now."

"I suppose I'll have to thank him, then," Loki says. "I rather enjoy not being threatened with every move." This may be going too far with the non-friendship they have going on that he's sure could fracture with one wrong movement, but then, he's never claimed to make smart decisions, so he adds, almost flirtatiously, "And I've certainly enjoyed our conversations, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but the smile on her lips says she's not nearly as annoyed as she may be letting on. Dare he even say, she looks... flattered? Not flustered, of course; it would take a lot more than that to fluster the Black Widow. But flattered? That might not be wrong.

Instead of acknowledging that aloud, though, Natasha says, "I don't suppose you came up with any magical solutions to finding your scepter overnight."

"Unfortunately not," Loki says. "I suspect finding the scepter will be your responsibility, given that you were the ones who lost it; retrieving the scepter will be mine."

"I don't think the team's gonna agree on that one," Natasha says, turning back to the stove. "You're more than welcome to beat up some bad guys for us, but you should probably leave the scepter to us."

Loki huffs. "What, you don't trust me?" he asks teasingly.

"Damn, how'd you figure that one out?"

Loki chuckles. "I can't fault you for that," he says, "but I assure you, I have no plans to use the scepter again. It was useful for a short time in a very specific situation, but not so much anymore."

"Sounds like something someone who wants the scepter would say," Natasha remarks.

"Maybe it is," Loki says, a smirk playing on his lips. "And what do you plan to do about that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

This is a ridiculous conversation, and he knows that. It's so ridiculous, he'd hardly even call it a conversation at all. Nothing is really being said. But it's so lighthearted, so unserious, that he can't help but smile to himself – only because she can't see it.

This isn't what he'd expected when he agreed to come to Earth, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying this. At least where Natasha's involved, this whole experience isn't that bad.