Staff Sgt. Sauer staggered through the maintenance hatch and into a compartment she had never seen before, stopping long enough to secure the hatch door behind her. Big Ass might be weaponless at the moment, but she wasn't going to take any chances; he was twice her size, after all. She took a moment to listen at the doorway, and hearing nothing presumed to have lost him. The man couldn't sneak up on a glass of water; he stomped absolutely everywhere.
A quick glance down at her uniform tunic told her he wouldn't have trouble tracking her; she was dripping blood, probably from her nose, which still throbbed. She put her hand to it and it came away red.
Probably broken, she thought, but at least I gave as good as I got. Better, perhaps, since Big Ass will be walking with a limp for several days now.
Sauer pushed herself away from the hatch after locking it, and further into the dimly lit compartment. It was a large ship, to be sure, and she wasn't exactly sure where she was, but she had a vague notion she was somewhere near the middle. Hopefully she could find a maintenance closet and some rags to catch the blood that still poured out her nose and down her face.
She was in luck: there was a closet handy. A quick jimmying of the lock produced the needed rags, and she quickly wiped up most of her face and the front of her tunic. The remainder she held to her face in a vain attempt to halt the flow. She tilted her head backwards and looked around; surely there would be another hatchway leading out of this compartment, wherever she was, and she could find the nearest sickbay.
"Up here," came a smooth voice, startling her. Sauer hadn't known anybody else was in the compartment, and she twitched in surprise. At least it wasn't Big Ass. He never sounded that good, not even when he was drunk.
She found a stairwell after a brief search and walked up.
There was a man standing inside a large glass compartment, a rather handsome one at that: tall, with a regal bearing, sharp blue eyes and long black hair, wearing what looked like black leather armor with gold trim. He cocked his head at her curiously.
"Staff Sgt. Sauer," he finally said, as if remembering her from a long ago class. "This is a surprise."
Her brows knit in confusion. "We have never met," she finally said. "I would remember you." Her eyes swept over the containment chamber. "And I think this place is way over my pay grade. I probably shouldn't be in here, or even know it exists," she offered. "Who are you?" she finally asked, her words (unintentionally) muffled by the rags that covered her nose and mouth. To make matters worse, her adrenaline rush was wearing off, leaving her feeling shaky.
He noticed it at once. "Perhaps you should sit down," he said graciously, indicating a nearby bench with an open hand. "You look as if you have had some trouble."
"Thag you," she choked. Great. Now her nose was swelling up, and speech was becoming difficult. "I did. I pobably shouldn'g linger, dough. I need do fid sigbay ad ged dis dended," she pointed to her nose and the bloody rags that failed to stem the blood-tide, and tried tilting her head back again. She was rewarded by a gush of blood down the back of her throat, which made her gag and start coughing.
His brow wrinkled in something like concern. "Try tilting your head forward," he suggested. "Let the blood run out, and blow a little if you can. The air will encourage the clotting process." He scowled a little. "What happened?"
Sauer did tilt her head forward at his suggestion, and the blood ran eagerly out the front of her nose for a minute. Fortunately, she had grabbed extra rags from the maintenance closet, so this was not a problem for long. She finally looked up at the handsome stranger.
"Thag you, thad ith bedder," she fumbled through the rags and the blood. She looked at him again, curiously. "How do you gnow me, sir, when I do nod gnow you?"
"Forgive me," he said, putting a large right hand to his chest and inclining his head. "I am Prince Loki, son of Odin All-Father, God of Lies and Mischief, Prince of Asgard and Monarch Ascendant of Midgard. We have never met-you are correct-but we have a mutual acquaintance in Agent Clifford Barton of S.H.I.E.L.D. I know you as Staff Sgt. Sauer, keeper and smithy of the weapon's vault. He holds you in some regard." His head cocked to one side, curiously. "Sauer is a strange name for a girl," he finally said, frowning.
Sauer was surprised that he noticed. She keep her mouse-brown hair short-like Commander Hill's-and didn't fill out her uniform anywhere near as well as Agent Romonov. Other men had mistaken her for a boy before, especially after seeing her shoot. It was only when she spoke that they realized she was female.
She shrugged. "Sauer id my fambly name, your Grace," she informed him. "I rarely use my furst nabe; it's a ship joke I woold radher avoid, if yoo don'd mid."
"Majesty," he corrected. At her confused look, he explained further. "'Your Grace' is reserved for religious figures, such as a priest or a bishop. 'Your Majesty' is the proper term of address for royalty."
"Ah, by apologies," she said, nodding, then added "your Majesty," as an afterthought.
"Thank you," he nodded regally, then peered through the glass at her busted-up face. "So, what happened?" he pressed.
Sauer winced at the memory. "I had a differenth ob opinion wid Staff Sgt. Big Ass-sorry, your Majesty-Biggess, ad we came to blows ober it," she explained, not wanting to go into too much detail. She hoped the white-wash would be enough of an explanation, but apparently it did not satisfy his curiosity.
An eyebrow went up. "A difference of...opinion? My dear, I think you lie," he scolded.
Her spine stiffened. "Withhoding information id nod a lie, your Majesty. Bud id seemed inappropriate to gib you dhe whole sdory when I hab yed do repord dhe madder to my superior officer," she explained.
"Ah, I see," he nodded. He walked a few paces and peered at her through the glass again. "This Staff Sgt. Biggess: is he about twice your size, built like a large ape, with red stubble for hair?"
She nodded. "The sabe."
"Arrogant, conceited, incompetent, and thinks he is god's gift to women?"
She nodded again. "Correct." It was her turn to tilt her head. "Habe you met hib?"
"I have not. As I said earlier, I know Agent Barton, and Agent Barton holds him in contempt. But you," he pointed at me, "you he holds in high regard. I find that curious," he admitted, "especially considering the size ratio. Staff Sgt. Biggess would seem a more imposing warrior," he finished.
Sauer shrugged again. "Looks can be detheiving. I hab more hand-to-hand combat experience than Biggess, and since my fadder is a gunsmith, I am a better shot. I earned my stripth wid S.H.I.E.L.D.; Biggess inherited his."
"Ah, I see. Then I think I may deduce what happened." The prince scowled deeply. "Staff Sgt. Biggess suggested intercourse, and you refused him in no uncertain terms."
She nodded, but said nothing. The prince's eyes narrowed.
"And he tried to force the issue," he said darkly. His eyes swept over her bloody uniform, noticing at last the ruffled look and a few missing buttons.
"He did," she finally admitted. "Tried, thad is," she added when the prince's face darkened further, holding up a restraining hand. "I reliebed him ob his weapon and pard ob his manhood for good measure," she reassured the pacing monarch. "He will be walking wid a limp for de rest ob de day, I think," she added.
He gave a feral smile at that, seemingly amused. "Well done, then. It seems you deserve Agent Barton's regard after all."
Sauer shrugged. "I still owe him a lesson. Revenge is an art form where I come from," she added.
He smiled dangerously at that. "Then we have something in common, Sgt. Sauer. Tell me, how serious are you with your...art?"
She smiled a little. "Noding lethal, if dat is whad you mean. My perthonal betht involves high-quality explothives and expenthive pietheth of real ethtate or beloved property, but Biggess doeth not detherve my betht." Prince Loki's eyebrows went up at that declaration. "He needth to leard humility, ad the dead leard dothing," she explained.
"Ah, I see," the prince nodded again sagely. "Do you think you can teach the ass humility, then?"
"It ith not my first lesson, your Majesty," she shrugged. "I hab done dis before." She looked at him with some curiosity. "Where ith Midgard, if you don' mind my asking?"
"You are sitting on it," he said, raising his brows.
"Whad, the ship? Dat ith the Iolaus." He was so not making any sense!
"No," he corrected loftily, "the planet."
Her eyes flew wide at the suggestion. "You wand to be King of dhe World? I thoughd that James Cameron had already claimed that title?" she ended the phrase more like a question, not thinking him serious.
"If there is a King James Cameron, then he is about to lose his throne," Prince Loki said sternly. "I assure you I am quite serious, young lady. I shall usurp all who come before me."
"Thad will be difficult from inside a cell," she pointed out.
"A mere setback," he waved his hand grandly. "Think nothing of it." He looked at her curiously again. "Tell me: how did a smith's daughter come to join S.H.I.E.L.D.?"
She shrugged, embarrassed. "Dhere wath an altercation between some police officers and some terrorists outside our shop. The officers were outgunned and the terrorists threatened our cuthtomers, so I opened fire with a .50 caliber handgun. Dey surrendered soon after."
Prince Loki looked disappointed. "That is all? A little proficiency with a weapon bought you your post?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, apparently embarrassed. "No. Pithol-whipping Director Fury with the empty gun got me my post." She peeked at the Prince; he looked incredulous.
"You did not," he breathed, scandalized and pleased at the same time.
She nodded. "I did. Fury ran up behind me and tried to pull me out of the fray. I didn't know who he wad, and I wad out of ammunition, so I struck him. Knocked him out cold-the .50 caliber id a heavy weapon-and then hit two more agenth who tried to back him up. I was tho worked up I couldn't realize the real fight was over. Agent Coulthon finally Tathered me from a distance," she explained. "When Fury woke up in the medigal ward, apparently the furst thing he said to Agent Coulthon was 'Tell me you hired her,'" she finished, putting one hand over her eye and imitating a wilted Fury's voice.
Prince Loki threw his head back and laughed: laughed until a tear ran down a sculpted cheek. "I must thank you, Sgt. Sauer. That story was delightful," he finally gasped, nodding. He took another look at her swollen nose. "You really should get that looked at," he pointed to her face, shoulders still shaking with mirth.
"Thang you; I shall," she answered. The adrenaline rush and subsequent weakness had worn off, and she felt ready to stand. "If you will egcuse me, then, your Majesty, I mutht take my leave ob you. I have some revenge to plot, and you apparently need to try and conquer the world," she frowned at that, "although I don't understand the desire, and I live here," she finished.
"That story is much longer. Perhaps another time," he offered grandly.
She stood and bowed a little. "Another time then, your Majesty," she said, then made her way down the stairwell.
Loki watched her leave out another hatchway. He was still mulling over their conversation when another soft step behind him interrupted his thoughts. He smiled as he turned.
"Not many people can sneak up on me, Agent Romonov," he said smoothly.
TBC