Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers or its characters.
A/N: I know it isn't a lot, but I've been trying to find the right way to write this one for a while now. It is meant to be the first part in a little series, so there will be one more one-shot and then (I hope) one multi-chapter story. But we'll see how it goes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Pardon the present tense, but it was the only way I wrote it that truly felt how I wanted it to be. Thanks for reading!
He Remembers
He remembers a look. A look in her eyes. It had been a mixture of triumph, disappointment, pity, and understanding. The emotion in her eyes had spoken volumes when her words had remained tucked underneath her tongue.
It was not just a one time occurrence, that look. There was the first time as they all hovered above and around him, trapping him. He had seen it then. And then it had appeared once more as she had closed the cuffs around his wrists. It had amused him how the honors of doing so had fallen into her hands. Nobody else had trusted themselves to be the one to do it; there was a slight fear amongst them, like he could cause one of them to break in an instant. All he had to do was catch their gaze and captivate them. But when Natasha's eyes had flashed up to look at his own, he was caught off guard. Her eyes bore the same expression as before, and it confused him too much for him to focus on trying to get into her head. Instead, she had gotten into his. She hadn't even tried to hide the emotion in her eyes; she had wanted him to know exactly how she had felt.
That look haunts him. It causes him to lose sleep. It causes him to pace his cell incessantly. When he isn't pacing, he is fidgeting. When he isn't fidgeting, he is silently cursing to himself.
Damn her, he thinks. Damn that woman for crawling under my skin.
He hates that she is the only one to have figured out his plan. She had beaten him at his own game. She had tricked the ultimate trickster. It was quite an accomplishment, Loki had to admit, but all the same, he was still bitter that he had slipped up in his moment of feeling superior. What was worse was instead of flaunting it in his face that she had guessed his grand scheme for the helicarrier, she had been coy and silently satisfied. She had smirked. With a simple smile and quip, she had let him know that she was capable of figuring him out.
Those giant blue eyes bear into his soul even on Asgard. Every day and every night, he feels them fixed on him. When he turns around quickly to catch her in the act of watching him, he realizes he is alone. They are worlds apart, yet he can't seem to shake her from his mind.
He is conflicted. Part of him hates her for fooling him, for beating him at his own game. And yet, part of him is fascinated by her. He feels he must congratulate her for being clever enough to outsmart the God of Mischief, which in turn creates a feeling of respect. But the thought of respecting a human, or feeling anything other than disdain for that matter, creates a storm of fury inside of him. He feels weak and foolish and full of sentiment.
Thor is the sentimental one, he thinks. He's the one who cares for mortals as if they were one of us.
No, he will not be like Thor. He will not allow himself to feel anything for a mortal. The only emotion he allows himself to have about the human race is hatred. But then those eyes stare at him and make him feel guilty for hating her.
He slams his fist against a wall of his cell and growls so loudly, it is almost a roar. The image of her face is projected in his mind and he can't seem to wipe it away. Those eyes, that smile, the red curls that frame her face. It's all he can see when he closes his eyes. He's losing sleep and sanity. He paces the floor, attempting to think of something else, anything else.
"Brother," Thor's voice booms in the doorway.
Loki turns his back to the golden-haired god. "I'm not your brother," he seethes through gritted teeth.
He can feel the slump in Thor's step; he knows his words have hurt him.
"Something troubles you, Loki. May I ask what it is?"
"Defeat. Capture. Imprisonment. Take your pick," Loki snaps back. He is in no mood to be analyzed, or worse, pitied.
Thor is silent a while before asking, "Is it Natasha?"
Loki's breath leaves his body at the sound of her name. A surge of anger, frustration, and longing builds up inside him. He clenches his fists and catches his breath.
"So, you've been speaking to Heimdall about me," he responds, his voice shaking with fury. He isn't sure whether it is directed toward Thor or Natasha.
Behind him, Thor sighs. He searches for the right words to say that will convince Loki to open up to him, but all he can say is, "I was worried, brother."
Loki finally turns around to face him. "I don't need your concern, brother," he spits, the last word dripping with mockery and disgust.
He is hurting Thor and he knows it, but his selfish desire to be alone and angry overpowers any kindness he might feel toward the older Asgardian.
Thor turns to leave, a hurt expression on his face. As he reaches the door, he turns and says, "I will ask Heimdall what he sees of her. Maybe you would like to know."
Loki silently sneers at the God of Thunder as he leaves, but he is also secretly thankful for his promised actions. Alone again, he begins to pace his cell, thoughts still swimming in Natasha's blue eyes. All he can see is the look he is trying so hard to forget.