Reluctantly Reverent
A/N: So this is a one-shot that I was inspired to write after reading a few Loki/Natasha stories. It will be from Loki's perspective, covering the infamous interrogation scene. Mild one-sided BlackFrost is your looking for it. T for safety.
Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Marvel. I write for fun, not for profit.
.o.
He was pacing back and forth within the cage meant for the green beast, taking in his surroundings with a cold, impassive gaze. He forced his face to appear in a scowl, while in reality he was smirking inside. Oh how every single plan of his was falling perfectly into place. He was still mentally congratulating himself when he felt a presence. He paused his relentless walking, taking in the pulsing energy radiating not ten feet behind him. So she had finally come. He let his smirk briefly appear on his face. "There's not many people who can sneak up on me." He nettles, each word crafted so as to seem uninterested.
He spins around slowly, intending to give the impression that he was nervous about the confrontation. The woman before him shows no distinct emotion, yet her eyes glint with malice. "But you figured I'd come." Her voice is low, with almost a husky quality to it.
The woman was of a medium build, slender and curvy, with hair the color of a flickering flame, and eyes that put even the bluest of ice to shame. Her pale, heart-shaped face was desirable, and, if he were so inclined as to care for women as more than distractions, he may have even thought beautiful. Her black cat suit clung to her body like a second skin, showing off her lithe build.
He met her eyes and instantly grew curious, as his intimidating sneer had no effect on her. He'll admit to wanting to meet this woman, Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow, ever since the archer had spoken her name in reverence. But now, face-to-face with her, he is oddly surprised to find she is more than he had guessed, despite knowing quite a lot about her life. In that moment he realized he had found a similar soul. In her impossibly ice-blue eyes, he saw remnants of betrayal, sadness, and a fierce determination. He also saw intelligence, distrust, and caution, coated with a calculating gaze.
A part of him, buried deep within his very soul, recognized this woman as being someone who had been through experiences better suited for a child's horror story, someone who knew loss and betrayal, pain and love, truth and deception, and was strong enough to come out mostly whole on the other side. That same part of him, the one who still yearned for the praise of his father, and adored his older brother, cried out in seeming anguish, nearly weeping at the sight of the eyes that held more story and pain than even the All-Father's.
He studied her full coral lips, catching the underlying stealth that was held inside her clever words, intrigue growing stronger as he clearly saw the silver-tongue hidden within their depths. His smile grew broader as he realized he had found someone to rise to the challenge of a verbal sparring match, one that even he wasn't quite sure he could win. He could tell that she was well-versed in the intricate dance of lies. For when you pit one silver-tongue against another, war is abound.
If there was one thing he out-reached his dear brother in, it was the art of speaking with one's enemies. It was a different sort of war, one where there was no holding back, where danger lurked beyond each silver word, and danger and deceit waited at every turn. It was battle, a dance of wills and wit, all hidden behind coy smiles and empty gazes.
Eventually he answered, rising to her veiled challenge. "After. After whatever tortures Fury could concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm, and I would cooperate." He let his words fall from his lips, poisonous and mocking.
She met his gaze squarely, eyes cold and unyielding. "I wanna know what you've done to Agent Barton." She said slowly, precisely, hidden intentions lying underneath every syllable.
He walked backwards slowly, spreading his arms wide, as if to show off his environment, which was little more than a glass prison. "I'd say I've expanded his mind." He purred towards her. He found her dedication to the Hawk amusing, and strange. What could a woman as grand as she possibly see in a man who fell through his magic so easily?
She tilted her head slightly, giving the unconscious appearance of being vulnerable. He enjoyed unsettling her, clawing down her carefully constructed walls. Walking towards him slowly with all the grace and poise of a dancer, but with the underlying fluidity that came with a warrior's stance, she crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes dangerously. "And once you've won, once you're king of the mountain, what happens to his mind?"
He smiled knowingly, seeing her reluctance at asking him for information she deemed personal. He chose his next words carefully, wanting to throw her off balance. "Is this love Agent Romanoff?" He had to resist the urge to whisper her given name, Natalia.
She responded unblinkingly, apparently expecting his question. "Love is for children I owe him a debt." Her words were a mantra, one repeated to herself to delude herself into being above those she declared weaker, compromised. He could easily see the falsehood within her answer, seeing through the lies she convinced even herself of.
"Tell me." He whispered delicately.
She pursed her lips, searching his face for signs of treachery. He let a feline smile play across his lips, daring her to raise the stakes. She glared at him sharply for a moment, eyes flashing with barely restrained anger, and he internally smiled at himself in triumph.
She stalked towards a simple metal chair, sinking into it, yet remaining carefully poised and on edge. "Before I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D I uh, well, I made a name for myself. I have a very specific skills set." She began cautiously. Her eyes darkened as she saw the demons of her past laid out in front of her, ones only she could see. "I didn't care who I used it for. Or on. I got on S.H.I.E.L.D's radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me. He made a different call."
He rolled her response over in his mind, matching it with the words of Barton. It astounded him somewhat that she was willing to come forth with such information in a conscious decision. "And what will you do if I vow to spare him?" He knew her answer before he had even completed the question. He knew she would never yield to an empty promise.
"Not let you out." She smirked wryly.
He leaned forward in his seat, letting an ounce of humor creep into his voice. "Oh no but I like this. Your world in the balance and you bargain for one man?" He delivered his words, weighed for maximum impact.
She sat up straighter, defending herself as her eyes hardened briefly, catching the hint of mockery in his voice, taunting her with the truth she didn't dare to admit to herself. "Regimes fall every day. I tend not to weep over that, I'm Russian." She paused for a sliver of a second. "Or, I was."
He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow, openly showing his curiosity. "And what are you now?" He asked softly.
She stood up, stance demanding and invasive. "It's really not that complicated. I've got red in my ledger; I'd like to wipe it out."
He mentally applauded her, thanking her for the perfect opportunity to twist her will to his intents. He walked up to the glass, standing not centimeters from the enchanting woman. "Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Draykov's daughter? Sao Paulo? The hospital fire?"
She pales, lips parting as she reels, eyes stormy with shock and fear as she tried to find purchase within her mind. "Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?" He laughs cruelly, taunting her. "This is the basest sentimentality; this is a child a prayer, pathetic." The words drip from his mouth like venom, rushing through her veins and chilling her. With each word, she turns paler. "You lie and kill, in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something to make up for the horrors. But they are part of you, and they will never go away."
He stills for the barest moment, saving his tortuous words for a moment, reviling in their power. He slams his hand into the glass for emphasis, causing her to take an instinctive step backwards, hands falling to her sides. "I won't touch Barton, not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear. And he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull. This is my bargain you mewling quim." He bites out.
She whirls around, bowing her head as her body is wracked with tremors. When she speaks, her voice is shaky, hoarse with terror. "You're a monster."
He chuckles lowly, ignoring the slight clench of his frigid heart at her words. "Oh no, you brought the monster."
And abruptly she changes. Her head snaps back up and she turns to face him, a victorious glint in her blue eyes. There is no trace of fear or horror on her youthful face, her voice smooth and clear once more. "So, Banner? That's your play?"
He froze, blinking at her wildly. "What?" He breathed.
She just smirks, raising a hand to her ear, speaking through her miniscule communication device. "Loki means to unleash the Hulk. Keep Banner in the lab, I'm on my way. Send Thor as well." She stalks off, but before she leaves the room, she turns back to him, a hint of an honest smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Thank you, for your cooperation."
And like that he was alone again.
He sits down heavily, pondering what just happened. She had completely played him, never once losing her high-grounds. Her act had been pulled off without a hitch, and she had gotten answers he hadn't even realized she'd been asking. She outwitted him, making him believe she was there for Barton, when she was honestly trying to figure out his intentions, his strategy. And it had worked flawlessly, seeing as she had guessed correctly his plan. He shook his head in disbelief. He, the God of Deception, had just been deceived by a mere mortal.
Well, he thought idly as he heard the welcoming explosion of Barton blowing up one of the engines, if he were to lose, he had found himself a willing opponent. Even if he didn't triumph over this meager race, he felt honored having gone up against such a worthy foe, and a formidable one at that.
A small, slightly twisted smile formed on his lips. How he admired the woman.
(In years to come, as he served his sentence in the Isle of Silence, contemplating an escape, he reflected on his unhealthy fixation of the red-headed Russian. He couldn't help himself. He was Loki of Asguard, and he was reluctantly reverent.)
.o.
A/N: So what do you think?