A/N: So I wrote this quite some time ago, but after making some major edits to the plot and characters, I've decided to more or less rewrite and re-post all the chapters! It's pretty different from the original, especially later on, so hopefully my changes have made an improvement!
Aleksandra frowned up at the sky as a rather imposing looking aircraft circled slowly overhead, the roar of its engines intruding on the quietness of the deserted street. She paused for a moment, but a gust of wind replaced her curiosity with a strong desire to return home. She pulled her jacket closer around her middle and continued across the square, stalking past the Arts Center before turning down her street. Upon reaching her door, Aleksandra tucked her newly purchased Russian newspaper under her arm and fished in her jacket pocket for her keys. Noticing the glow from the second-story window, she cursed her roommate under her breath as she jerked at the wonky knob before shouldering open the door.
"Stop leaving all the lights on, you wasteful little bitch," she called out in angry Russian, shouting the abuse in the direction of her American roommate's bedroom as she shrugged off her jacket. The rosy-cheeked undergrad Aleksandra shared the second floor with couldn't tell the difference between even the most contrasting languages, and most of the more qualified students studying abroad had taken advantage of this disability from day one. One of Aleksandra's favorite hobbies was shouting insults at the girl in Russian and then reveling in the far less impressive responses her roommate returned in unintelligent English.
"Kelsey has just left," Isolda, her petite elderly landlady, said gruffly in German as she emerged from the kitchen. "But don't worry, I gave her an earful before she left about wasting my electricity," she added with a wag of her rolling pin, and Aleksandra felt some of the tension vacate her shoulders.
"Thank you," she said tiredly, and the old woman merely shrugged before returning to her baking. Aleksandra locked the front door behind her before tossing her keys on the coffee table, then began her ascent up the stairs to her bedroom.
She'd managed to jog halfway up the staircase before a deep rumbling sent the ground shuddering beneath her feet and caused her to trip on the slightly uneven stairs. She unsteadily lifted herself from the ground, batting away her dark hair in annoyance as she turned to see a bright light flash through the window.
"What on earth was that?" she cried as the walls trembled, and she gripped onto the banister for support. It sounded distinctly like a bomb, but Aleksandra couldn't think of a single reason for there'd be explosions going off in this relatively upscale area of town. She'd spent hours researching the province's various neighborhoods for her dissertation on civil unrest in Germany, and she was sure there were no active rebel groups in the area, or even groups of teenagers fed up with governments they didn't really understand. All was well in this neighborhood—so why had four explosions sounded in half as many minutes?
"They'd better not be starting another war out there," she heard Isolda mutter as the old woman hobbled over to the window and peeked around the sheer curtains. "Dear lord," Isolda breathed a moment later, and Aleksandra hurried down the stairs to crowd behind her.
"What is it?" she asked, trying to tug the curtain from Isolda's grasp to get a view of whatever had made the least impressionable woman in all of Germany gape in disbelief.
"It's him," Isolda replied simply, finally releasing the fabric so that the entire view of the street was on display. Aleksandra sucked in a startled gasp as she caught sight of a human-shaped metal red and yellow suit hovering over a man dressed in blue. Hordes of finely dressed civilians shrieked as they fled the square. "It's the Defender," Isolda said in a whisper, and Aleksandra pulled her gaze away from the fray to frown down at the woman.
"Sorry the what?" she asked, and Isolda's wrinkled brow furrowed as she gave her an odd look.
"The Defender," Isolda repeated, but Aleksandra merely continued to stare blankly. "He saved my people from the tyranny of the Third Reich; in the states they called him Captain America or something ridiculous like that," she added, and Aleksandra's blue eyes widened in recognition.
"But I thought he fought in the second world war—what on earth is he doing in Germany now?" she asked, her heart rate increasing as she wondered what his presence might mean; was this a sign that America was planning to enter another war with Germany? That would be supremely stupid and completely unfounded, she knew, but stranger things had happened.
"Whatever his reason is, I just hope he's still on our side; he was a deadly weapon if ever there was one," Isolda muttered. The two of them instinctively jumped back as a blue light surged towards the soldier's red white and blue shield only to bounce off of the metal surface. "And it looks as if he's partnered up with that Iron fellow, Anthony Stark," she added.
"Who's that man? Who're they fighting?" Aleksandra asked as she caught sight of a man in a horned helmet wielding the spear that had sent out the streaks of deadly light.
"Overlord of the reindeer?" Isolda offered, and despite the fact that she normally would have laughed at a comment like that, Aleksandra shot the woman an annoyed look. Aleksandra didn't quite know why, but she felt wrong making fun of the man in the green cape, like she should defend him rather than poke fun at his unusual outfit.
"Ah, looks like Kris Kringle lost the fight," Isolda said a moment later as Iron Man and Captain America moved to stand before the green-caped man who now resided on the ground beneath them. "I suppose they've got it all under control," the older woman said as Captain America moved to grab the helmeted man's arm, and she let the curtain fall shut. Aleksandra stared after her in disbelief as the woman hobbled back into the kitchen.
"What, that's it? Don't you want to know what's going to happen next, why it happened in the first place?" she cried, following Isolda into the small room.
"Not particularly," she answered, pulling open the oven door and placing a tray laden with dough inside.
"Why on earth not?" Aleksandra asked incredulously, unable to comprehend how the woman couldn't be at least a little curious. "Something incredible just happened and you aren't even a little bit interested?"
Isolda sighed, her dark eyes serious as she looked up at Aleksandra. "Listen, child, incredible things happen every day. When you've lived as long as I have, you learn to see past smoke and mirrors and appreciate the real miracles instead," she said, holding up a hand when Aleksandra opened her mouth to protest. "What just happened out there was no different from a regular street fight, except the men had strange clothes, an airplane, and made a much bigger mess. Now, if you'd told me one of them managed to raise a family of nine on her own in just off of meager food rations during the Communist regime and now has six successful children, then maybe I might be impressed. Oh wait—I did that. So instead of gawking over the perfectly ordinary, I'm going to treat myself to some sweet bread and marvel over the truly impressive."
Aleksandra stared at the woman as her words sank in, then cleared her throat as she looked down at the ground. "You're right, Isolda," she said. "I guess I just got a little over excited," she admitted.
"There's nothing wrong with being excited," the woman assured her, coming over to place a wrinkled but strong hand on her shoulder. "You can swoon over Kris Kringle all you want—just don't try to drag me into it," she said, and Aleksandra's eyes widened as her pale cheeks flushed with color.
"Swoon? I wasn't swooning! No one was swooning over anyone!" she cried, and Isolda snorted.
"You were most definitely going moony over the reindeer man," Isolda said definitively, and Aleksandra let out an incredulous laugh.
"No, I wasn't," she insisted, but Isolda ignored her words.
"There's nothing to be ashamed of, Aleksandra; plenty of women have had their hearts stolen by superheroes! My older sister was so infatuated with the Defender during her teen years that she covered her room with drawings of him once the war ended and was sure he would return one day to marry her."
"I'm not some love-struck teenager!" Aleksandra reminded Isolda indignantly, crossing her arms over her chest, and Isolda outright laughed.
"Right, I'm sorry I forgot; you're a love-struck girl in her late twenties; my apologies for not making the distinction." Aleksandra glared at her, her red painted lips set in a firm line.
"Fine, deny it. But I know what I saw, and so do you," Isolda said. Aleksandra, always determined to have the last word, was just about to voice her disagreement once again when a shout sounded from outside.
"It's probably another one of Kelsey's drunk lovers looking for money to buy more heroin with," Aleksandra muttered darkly with a roll of her eyes. Of course, she'd rather have strung-out strangers interrupt her evening conversation than show up in the wee hours of the morning the way they usually did.
But even as she walked away from Isolda, Aleksandra continued the argument in her mind. What on earth made the woman think she was qualified to tell Aleksandra how she felt? Sure the man had appeared relatively handsome from her view down the street, but there was no way she'd ever admit that aloud. Plus it wasn't like she'd ever see him again—what was the point of fantasizing over a man she'd caught a distant glimpse of only to never encounter again?
A/N: I hope you guys liked it! Please don't hesitate to let me know what you thought of this chapter!
Next chapter: obviously this isn't going to be the only time Aleksandra sees Loki...