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Natasha had taped her hands before going to the hotel gym. She had bound them in a way that was almost entirely foreign to her, as rarely did she ever fight so up close and personal. Punching and walloping her opponent to death had never and would never be her style for obvious reasons, and still it had felt nice to stand in front of the weighted, heavy punching bag and drive her fist into it again and again. She’d only sent it rocking, never outright swinging, as it was perhaps too heavy for her. She had wished for the strength of someone like Steve Rogers, who could’ve knocked it across the room and put a nice split down the side with a single punch. That had to be nice and satisfying.

All that being said, she wasn’t glum or even angry, but instead restless in a way that was both foreign and alarming to her. She didn’t want to run through another door and she didn’t want to drink. She had put the Valentine’s Day roses that had been sent to her in a vase together and had spent too long thinking on them, which was far less her style than even anything she’d decided to go do to the punching bag immediately after. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do or where she wanted to go, and she found herself then freshly showered in the gardens of the Nexus, sitting in a bit of sunlight with her hands aching only a bit and a half eaten club sandwich from the bistro sitting beside her.

She felt not at all at home amongst the flowers and greenery, but she liked it all the same.

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He had slept, he had eaten, and he still felt absolutely awful. The hotel was not a sanctum of peace so much as it was some sort of retreat where he might try to regain his strength. There was some anger and bitterness at how the stones were wearing him down - at the same time, he knew that if he wielded them without break, then he would find himself becoming acclimatized... which would be even worse. He was proud, but he was also wary. If he was used to the stones, then it was more likely they would work away at him in ways that would be impossible to fix.

He liked the gardens if only because he was his mother's son, and Frigga was a queen whose magic had been reflected in the very plants that had bloomed around the palace. Finding Natasha there was a bit of a bonus. He wasn't looking for company, but she was an acceptable distraction.

"Hello, beautiful," he said, idly, collapsing down on the ground next to her without bothering to ask if he might join her. He was beyond that level of politeness with her. He moved to stretch out on the grass beside her, not caring if it was a particularly vulnerable position. It wasn't like she was about to stab him - or if she was, it wasn't like it would do much.

The flux of men currently in her life were amongst those that could cast long shadows in both the literal and the figurative sense, and when the sun was momentarily blocked out by what she suspected to be a broad-shouldered form, she felt both a sense of anticipation, and relief. She didn’t always like being alone, though she felt most of the time that was exactly her due or at the very least what she needed, as it was then. However, company that found her, instead of that she sought out, hardly counted, right?

She turned her head to watch as Loki settled himself in beside her, his form so much longer and broader than hers as she watched his limbs unfold in a very graceful and impressive manner. He looked tired, as he had each time she’d seen him recently, and she tore a strand of grass from the ground beside her hip and began to shred it between her fingers, the action giving her something else to look at as he settled in.

“Hello yourself,” she said over the gentle ripping sound of the long blade of grass. “You’re looking appropriately sleepy this afternoon. Have you been up all night taking over the world again?”

Loki stretched out, comfortable. After Tokyo, Natasha certainly wasn't a stranger, and she was an enjoyable companion, even if they both clearly had different agendas. That didn't matter, though; she was still someone who, outside of his childhood friends, was still closest to his private life.

"Maybe," he said. In actual fact, he had been sleeping for almost a day; before that, of course, he had definitely been wreaking a little bit of havoc.

He slightly opened his eyes, so that he might gently poke her knee. "You got my rose?" he asked.

“Maybe,” she repeated in a teasing, dry tone, her lips curling slightly as she flung the bits of shredded grass in her fingertips at him. Since they were light they did not travel far, mostly dusting the sleeve of his coat instead of his face, which she’d intended. “My world, or some other poor bastard of a planet you stumbled upon? It’s no wonder you get so little sleep at a place like this. All these worlds to conquer and all.”

She looked down at her knee when he poked it, then turned to face him in full, smiling a bit more earnestly as she did. “I did,” she answered. “It was lovely. Thank you. It has pride of place in a vase by the window.” Natasha was, predictably, horrible at keeping plants alive, but the roses she’d received had seemed special to her, and she wanted to prolong their stunted lives for as long as possible.

She ripped up another piece of grass, then dragged it gently over the bones of his wrist nearest to her, hoping it was more ticklish and itchy than anything else. “Did you get mine?”

He had sent her a white rose almost as a crude joke - a symbol of purity and innocence that, really, neither of them were. But he was also aware that there was something else to it, in a language outside of flowers. He knew even while he picked it that it was also a white flag of, not surrender, but perhaps parley. He would not disrespect her. If you disrespected your allies, there was no point in having them, or they didn't stick long. He certainly held little love or respect for Thanos these days, who did nothing but order mayhem and terror from a throne he never budged from. God of Death? Loki scoffed - at least while he was a good dozen worlds away from the man.

He didn't even bother trying to brush the grass from his sleeve. That would require movement. "I did, thank you," he murmured.

"What are you doing in the gardens, all alone?" He asked, almost teasingly. "Doesn't seem like your usual scene. There's no bar, for a start."

"It seems as though we were thinking along the same lines when it came to those," she said, as she'd recognized the message he'd conveyed through the language of his rose, and had shared similar sentiments when she'd chosen the white for him as well. There was little white between the two of them, at least in terms of ledgers and hearts and all of the other nonsense one could bring up, but she thought, at least this time, she was not in the wrong, but how could she really know? She didn't think clearly around him, or at least it was easy to get tripped up in her own thoughts. Whenever she'd fallen into that unfortunate habit in the past, things had never worked out well.

"Well, I was thinking," she said after a moment. "Seemed like a nice, serene place to do that. But what about you?" She shifted and leaned back on the palms of her hands, stretching her legs out before her and crossing them at the ankle. "Did you just come out here to find a new place to nap?"

"I came here, certainly not to think," Loki replied, his voice gentle, though he knew that would not truly lull her. "Hm. A nap sounds good, though maybe later." He slept too much already; he wasn't sure if it was even doing any good.

He gave her a slight side-eye, as a lazy cat might when it was doubly suspicious of its owner - or completely comfortable in its situation. Cats were mysterious creatures. "What were you thinking about, then?" he asked. Of course, that was an opening to discuss his proposition with her that she aid him, but he knew it was just as likely she might start talking about what she might have for dinner. Familiarity bred those kind of topics, unfortunately.

She turned to look at him again, so close she could see the slight, blue hue of a vein that ran along his neck beneath the pale of his skin. She noticed random details about him, sometimes, and couldn’t decide if that habit was indicative of admiration or alertness when he was around. It was probably best to not think too much of it as she likely wouldn’t like the answer she came up with. That was becoming her habit, as of late.

“I was thinking about flowers, actually,” she said, “along with several other random things. I suppose this is how I know I’ve become lazy and compliant. Usually when I had something to think over I’d go do something about it. Now I’ve been reduced to walloping punching bags in the gym and contemplating the mysteries of flowers and their meanings.” She smiled. “Though you’re here now, and you always create an interesting twist within my thoughts. So, I say we pick something more intellectual to discuss, yes?”

"Oh, I don't want to be intellectual," Loki complained, lolling back against the grass. "No, I want to see what life is like without a brain. My brother seems to enjoy it so greatly. Have you ever experienced such a thing yourself?"

Honestly, he would probably have to undergo a lobotomy to even get close to thinking along the same veins as Thor, these days. His brother was even more difficult than normal. Loki still could follow his brother's thoughts, to an extent, but it seemed like more and more they were less logical and increasingly befuddling. It looked like Midgard had had the opposite effect on him than it had on Loki.

"No?" She said, arching one brow and smiling at him over her shoulder where he flopped back against the grass. He'd done so gracefully, and with an air of dignity that she was sure only those of royal lineage could manage. "But you seem to take such joy in it the rest of the time. If you're asking have I ever experienced a lack of intellect in Thor, I would have to say only when it comes to you. He's defensive of you, for all that he admits you're a pain in the ass sometimes. And he didn't kill you at a time when most would claim that you'd deserved it."

She lay down on her side beside him, keeping the upper half of her body propped on one elbow as she looked at him. "I can never tell if you two love or hate each other at any given time, but I'm guessing that's common enough with brothers. I wouldn't know. As for myself, some would claim I'm suffering a lack of intelligence where you're concerned as well. Is this a common thing you inspire in people?

"Would you kill your own blood, Natasha?" Loki asked, curiously. "Should you ever have any? If you want to speak of something more substantial than the flowers and the trees and the weather, we could always start with good, old-fashioned fratricide."

He was silent for a moment, though, considering. "The heart is just as complicated as the brain," he said, at last. "And for that reason it is possible to be more or less intelligent, fully formed and expansive, with it. Our feelings cannot be parceled out like a physical thing. You can love two people and then love a third, and it does not diminish from the previous two. You can love and hate the same individual in equal measure, in the same why you can think a collection of varied thoughts. I don't think my brother hates me. I don't think he has the capacity to understand what it is I bring out in him. It may not even have anything to do with me, and everything to do with himself. Who can tell? It's better to wash my hands of him. He gives me nothing but accusations and suspicion. I had a brother once and I feel like he has died. Perhaps grieving nothing but love and hate?"

He reached out and twitched a strand of her hair back from her face. "How about you?" he asked. "How layered and responsive is your heart, Natasha? Maybe you're right. Maybe I am a catalyst for this. But if it gives you any consolation, you have never struck me as a fool."

Angelica crept across the garden, slithering under bushes and hiding in the shadows of tree trunks. Rushing across an open area while no one was looking, and diving to the safety of a hidden space behind a bench.

This was a game that Angelica played with Tonino Montana, running and hiding from an imaginary enemy like children everywhere. But when Angelica played with Tonino, it was different, because the two of them had played that game for real, running and hiding from a real enemy.

Now that the Duchess had been defeated, and Tonino was away in England, Angelica played alone. Usually she played alone in Casa Petrocchi, pretending she was hiding her movements from her numerous family, but then she'd discovered the magical doorway that led here -- the perfect place to run and hide.

Angelica peeked over the top of the bench, planning her next move, and then froze when she caught sight of the red-haired woman sitting so still that Angelica hadn't noticed her. Angelica held her breath and stared, trying to decide whether the game was up. Had the woman noticed Angelica?

She supposed it was her history in knowing firsthand the ways of some children that brought her to her awareness of the girl that darted in and out of her line of sight. Natasha watched her casually, never obviously, wondering at the motivations behind her actions for a few moments before realizing that the girl was simply playing. Natasha had lived out in the world long enough to well know that the majority of children were not trained soldiers, and still she could not stop that being the first thought that sprung to her mind when she was unguarded and facing a child who was also by themselves.

Natasha’s gaze flicked around, searching for a parent who might be looking for the little girl peering at her from over the bench, but when she saw no one she returned to looking at the girl, and smiled. “Hello,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. “What were you playing there?”

Angelica straightened up, faintly embarrassed to be caught playing like that. She'd been quite serious about it, but of course a grownup would never understand.

She quickly tugged up one of her stockings that had begun to droop with all that running -- she was a Petrocchi, and had a duty to present herself well -- and stepped out from behind the bench. "Hello," she said.

"I'm very sorry if I was bothering you," she continued politely, her English spoken with a trace of an Italian accent. "I was just playing." She hesitated. "It seemed like a good place to play," she added. She raised her chin a tiny fraction, but her expression was uncertain.

Then, remembering the question the woman had asked, she hesitated again, but it was a fair question after she'd been caught. "I wasn't really playing anything especially. It's just a game I used to play with a friend. We'd try to not be seen." She shrugged expressively to indicate her clear failure at that.

It occurred to Natasha belatedly that she might’ve ruined the girl’s game by noticing her. That, had she been more aware of children and how they liked to play, she might’ve realized what the girl was attempting and played along with her somehow. She felt a pang of regret at that, not because she didn’t know anything about children, really, but because she might’ve ruined the game. Just because Natasha herself currently wasn’t having much fun didn’t mean that those around her could not.

“Oh, no I’m sure you were doing very well,” she said, smiling. “My job just makes me extra aware of things sometimes.” She watched the way the girl tugged up her stockings, taking in the note of her accent for the first time. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game. I apologize for that. It is a good place to run and play, you’re right about that, so you don’t have to stop playing because of me.” She brought her legs up, crossing them Indian-style and letting her forearms rest casually on her thighs as she smiled once more. The accent was enough of a giveaway, but in the Nexus one could never be too certain, so she asked, “Where do you come from?”

"What job is that?" Angelica asked politely, drifting a few steps closer to the woman as they talked.

"No, no, you didn't interrupt it," she said quickly. She wasn't used to adults apologizing to her, especially not over games. "I spoiled it when I didn't notice you. Besides, it's not as much fun to play alone, so I don't mind."

She shrugged again, as if to say you know how it is. "I'm from Caprona." Since they were speaking English, she felt obliged to add, "It's a city-state in Italy." And for good measure: "World Twelve-A."

"I work for the government," Natasha replied easily. A lie, especially now, but it was an easy out and she took it. Natasha did not underestimate children, and she was sure that this girl could've followed along at least to a point if Natasha had attempted to explain her current employment (or lack thereof) but why bother a little girl at play with treacherous details?

"Are you here alone?" Natasha asked, looking around for a supervisor yet again. That had to have been somewhat alarming for the girl, she would think, unless she came from a world the likes of which Natasha didn't know. When the girl went on to say she came from 'World Twelve-A' her suspicions were confirmed.

"I've heard of Italy," she said, "but World Twelve-A is new. What's it like?"

Angelica laughed. "Really?" She knew people who worked for the Duke, but working for 'the government' seemed much more dignified. "Are you like Chrestomanci... I mean, are you very powerful? You must be, to travel between worlds."

It was odd that Natasha didn't know about World Twelve-A, but perhaps she only knew it by a different name. "Italy is made up of city-states, and there are no English Alps in England like they have in some worlds. There's quite a bit of magic -- I'm a Petrocchi, I should know -- but we don't have native dragons or mermaids. Umm..." She'd learned most of what she knew about the Related Worlds from letters from Tonino Montana, and it really was rather muddled. "There are trains and automobiles, especially if you want to go somewhere very far away, but in Caprona we use carriages more often."

She couldn't think of anything else. "Is that anything like where you come from?"

Which left the question about being alone. Angelica couldn't think of a good way to answer, because she knew what it meant when an adult -- or anyone older, really -- asked that. So instead of answering exactly, Angelica sat down a few feet away from Natasha and looked at her appealingly. "You're not going to make me go back, are you? I just got here! I haven't had time to look around!"

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