Spying is the Loneliest Profession Part 1
By Cadet Deming
I don't own the rights to the Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Takes place after the events of the movie. Natasha-Clint-Loki love-hate triangle. PG-13 for adult content, language and violence.
Spying had to be the loneliest profession in the world, Natasha thought. Hell, serial killers on death row were less lonely. They at least got fan mail from women who knew what monsters they were and loved them despite that knowledge, or perhaps because of it.
No one truly knew who a spy was, even the spy herself. Natasha hid the monster at her core under whatever disguise of the moment was required. Her survival depended on her ability to erase her true identity.
Hiding was going to be a problem, now that her face had been plastered across every news station and cell phone for her part in the Avengers. She hadn't been thinking of the ramifications in the heat of the moment. She had been in job mode, focused on literally saving the Earth. The career suicide of suddenly becoming the most famous spy in the world was starting to creep into her brain.
Creep into her brain, the way Loki had.
Clint Barton poked his head through the hotel suite's bathroom door: "Do you want anything from room service, Nat?"
He smiled, but it was forced, like he was trying to pretend to be happier and calmer than she could sense he felt. She knew Clint so intimately he couldn't hide his true mood from her.
Natasha remembered all the missions where she had gone undercover as a room service attendant to gain access to assassinate her marks. How so many men had opened the door to her expecting filet mignon, champagne or hotel-quality coffee and feasted on death at her hands instead.
She said: "I don't trust room service."
"You don't trust anyone, not even Fury."
"I trust you."
His eyes darkened. "Except for the whole me trying to kill you while possessed by an egotistical God wannabe bent on world domination."
"I didn't know Tony Stark used mind-control on you," she deadpanned.
She joked because she was afraid to have the conversation they needed to have.
Clint sighed: "Speaking of Tony…I need a drink."
He turned his back to her, and picked the lock on the hotel mini-fridge. He didn't even need to break into it as they had a key and were recuperating on SHIELD's dime, but she assumed he was either rebelling or sliding back to his shady past.
They both had so much blood on their hands it must be permanently caked under their fingernails. Clint always took long showers for a warrior, but after he was freed from Loki's influence they grew even longer. Water couldn't wash away guilt.
A bead of sweat travelled down his firmly muscled back. He was taking too long to turn around and face her.
Natasha said: "I know you don't want to talk about…what happened. But you need to, or it'll eat you alive."
Clint sat on the bed beside her, the bedspread pooling around his solid weight: "Was I really even alive then? Because I can't remember it. How come Doctor Selvig could remember when he was under the spell but I can't?"
"Dr. Selvig has an IQ of 167 according to SHIELD files."
"Oh great. I can't remember because I'm just dumb muscle. Just dumb muscle with a great aim."
"You're more than that. You have a great heart. It sets you apart."
"A heart is just another muscle. Besides, who wants an assassin with heart?"
She took his hand and placed it over her own heart. "I do. I want him right now."
They kissed with a combination of passion and soothing familiarity.
Clint pulled back from her. "I remember something now. Loki said I had heart."
"Stop thinking about Loki. He can't hurt either one of us anymore."
"Are you sure?"
Asgard
Loki stewed in silence in the depths of his latest prison. It was quiet because he couldn't even speak, as Thor had literally muzzled him. The leather straps chafed at his skin.
The solitary confinement reminded him of when he fell through the wormhole. Physically, it may only have taken hours, but mentally, it lasted an eternity. An eternity of nothingness, with no one to talk to. He had no audience.
Loki had always craved an audience, the validation of the crowd to mirror back his own ego. On Asgard his brother Thor had always hogged the adulation for himself. Loki was the smarter of the two, but the other gods worshipped brawn over brains, blond lightness over his darker hair and personality, brashness over cunning.
Trapped in the portal between galaxies with only his memories and thoughts for company, his resentment and lust for power magnified. Getting revenge against Thor became his obsession. Thor's new comrades called themselves: "The Avengers." Loki wanted to teach them what vengeance truly felt like.
A door creaked in the distance. Loki sat up, straining to hear the footsteps of an approaching Asgardian. He smiled through his muzzle. He finally had an audience.
To be continued.