I've been working on this for a few days now and personally I like it. This pairing has been eating at my soul for days and this is what happens when I listen to music. This is entirely based off of the Foxboro Hot Tubs song, Mother Mary. I'd also like to point out that this is my first dive into this fandom. Hopefully I've got their characterizations done right. If not please do let me know.
WARNING: I touch a bit of religion here, but there's no bashing. Unless you're really sensitive. This in no way reflects my own beliefs.
DISCLAIMER: I own no one.
Con-crit is love. Just saying~
The night was cold. It had started to rain two weeks after the incident. She clutched onto her blanket for warmth as she tossed and turned. It was like a few of the other missions she had been assigned to; always ending with the same emotional turmoil. She could handle herself in the heat of the moment in any given situation, but her humanity made it sometimes difficult to deal with certain things afterwards. This time it had been the taking of her best friend.
Clint had said he was okay in the few conversations they'd had, but it still ate at her. Various nights she would awake, horrid nightmares of what she had been told in that helicarrier room had robbed her of sleep. Those things, they came from someone who had also been plaguing her dreams. The set of green eyes that would follow her in her dreams as she slept, they bore those words.
"Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear." He whispers. Those forest eyes gazing into her own.
Then Clint appears, and she runs for her life only to find that the ground beneath her is nonexistent. She falls and sits up in her bed panting, sweating, with eyes wide open. She stares into the eyes of the man that sits at the foot of her bed, into the emeralds that appear to glisten in the moonlight, for just a split second. Rapidly, without averting her gaze, she removes the weapon that is hidden beneath her pillow and in a matter of seconds he is held at gunpoint.
"You have thirty seconds to tell me exactly what you're doing here or else in another ten seconds every SHIELD agent will know you're here." she speaks rapidly, he only replies with a small smirk.
A few moments pass, and he finally speaks, "Hello, Agent Romanoff."
"Fifteen seconds."
"Now, now." He whispers, gesturing to his lanky figure. He wears a white shirt that contrasts with the black blazer and black slacks he wears as well. A dark green scarf hangs loosely from his neck. Very human, very sharp; like a switchblade knife, "I am of no threat to you. At least not like this."
Never softening her rigid expression, she nods her head for him to continue. He shifts his body to sit cross legged at the foot of her bed. She holds onto the weapon tightly, finger ready to pull the trigger if necessary, "You're supposed to be in prison." It comes out as more of a choked reply than a firm statement.
"Ah." He says. He runs a hand through his raven hair and suddenly there are two more of him beside her. She jumps back at the sight but never removes the barrel of the pistol from the original's direction.
"You forget I am not of this world. You forget I possess powers of a god." He speaks softly.
"You are no god." She replies bluntly.
"And you are no saint to be judging my actions." He replies with a smirk.
She can only stare into his eyes; no words come to her. A cricket chirps in the distance, and he raises a hand. She grips the pistol, expecting an attack. He does nothing of the sort, with a flick of his wrist the two copies disappear and he slowly grazes his right index finger down from the outer edge of left her eye down to the edge of her jaw. With that movement, her mind is clogged with memories of past missions. Blood, so much blood. His smirk never faltering, he retreats his hand back into his lap.
He is playing her, and she knows it. But none of what is running through her mind is untrue. She recalled everyone's faces. They were all people she had assassinated for one reason or another.
"Give me a reason not to put a bullet through your head right now."
At this, his smirk fades and is replaced by a stoic expression. He lowers his gaze and then looks back up to her, "My brother…" he begins, "he spoke of something known to us a child's tale, but to you humans as something called religion. He says it is what you people follow in order to liberate yourself from sin. It's a very interesting concept despite the fact that it is all untrue."
She raises an eyebrow at him before slightly loosening her grip on the gun, "You can't be serious."
"Oh, but I am." He grimaces "How do you people do it?"
"You have to be a good person." The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself.
He draws back, "A clean ledger." She nods.
Her arms are beginning to grow tired. Luckily for her at that moment he takes a hold of her wrist and the world around her begins spinning. She loses control of the gun and soon finds herself on the ground clutching her upset stomach. She dives for a nearby trash bin and empties her stomach before realizing that there are people watching her. She kneels frozen, staring only at the wall. The people behind her could easily be people out to kill her. And where was her gun? It didn't matter; she could take them out without it.
Before she can process every possible outcome of the situation a pair of skinny arms snake around her small form and a familiar voice is speaking out to the people behind her.
"That is enough. Nothing has occurred here, continue with your doings. She is unharmed." She turns to see him waving the people off.
In a matter of seconds his left arm, the one that had been nearest to her stomach, is twisted into an uncomfortable position. He grunts as she moves back slightly.
"Where are we?" She hisses.
"Take a look for yourself." He untangles his arm from her grasp fairly easily and stands. She turns to find herself on the floor of what could only be an expensive night club. Or possibly one of Tony's many homes, but she doubts that. Bright green cloth is wrapped around her now partially revealed legs; she looks to her midsection to find that the rest of the dress clings to her small frame tightly. He reaches for her once more, but she stands before his hand can go near her.
"Why are we here?" She pats herself down, no weapons. Okay.
"Why else do people in your realm attend these places? Come," he gestures to a small table, his arm linking with hers, "this way."
Reluctantly she follows, taking a seat across from him and finally taking a good look at Thor's younger brother. His jet black hair is firmly styled back, and his eyes; the bright emeralds that haunt her dreams are not the ones she is seeing. These, although still bright, have a dark lining under them. He appears extremely tired. Her eyes trail down his defined jawline, past his mouth and back to her own hands. She knows one thing. The man she is with is not the man the Avengers took down two weeks ago.
He raises an arm and gestures for a waiter. A small man approaches and a bottle of wine is ordered. The same man returns with the wine and two glasses. He sets them down on the table and bows before retreating to the back of the room, back behind the granite bar.
She stares at the man across from her, a serious look on her face, as he pours her a drink which she promptly refuses. It has to be poisoned. Who did he think he was? Did he honestly think he was going to get her that easily?
With a shrug he takes the glass meant for her and downs it in one gulp. He pours another glass and pours some of the drink in the second glass, "Are you sure? It is the best wine your realm has to offer."
She shakes her head once more. With another swift movement he downs his glass, placing hers in front of her. She takes a small sip only to rid her mouth of the foul taste of stomach acids. A few awkward moments later he's downed most of the bottle and is smiling at her.
She has no idea where she is, and if it wasn't for those factors she would be long gone. Not at an elegant place having drinks with the likes of him. His hand waves in front of her face.
"Hello."
She snaps back into her current reality, ready to attack if necessary. He stares at her curiously before gesturing to the couple sitting to their left who are openly discussing the events that had happened the previous night. He snickers and she stares at him judgingly. Demi-God or not he was still a male.
With a flick of his wrist the glass that was filled with a bronze liquid is filled with a small fire. The man isn't aware of his new drink until he attempts to bring the glass to his mouth, he yells, dropping the glass to the floor and the small fire disappears. Loki laughs.
"Just a bit of fun," he explains, offering her the wine bottle that she refuses again. He scoffs, "Oh come on, woman. Do you really think if I had any intentions to kill you I would have not done so already?"
She stares expressionless at him, and he stares right back. She analyzes his words. He makes a good point, however he could easily be lying. Then again, she doubts that he is stupid enough to actually ingest alcohol with an enemy. But he is not of earth, and Midgardian alcohol might not have any effect on him. The blank stare he gives her assures her of this. His voice snaps her out of her thoughts.
"Thor spoke of Saints. He told his friends the story of whom you all know as Jesus Christ. The woman who birthed him-"
"The Virgin Mary." She says, raising a confused eyebrow.
He smiles and lifts a correcting finger, "Mother Mary. Pure of any sin. So pure..." he trails off, his hand wrapping itself around his wine glass once more.
She crosses her arms, "I don't think you're exactly sin-free." She replies, a hint of amusement in her tone.
"And neither are you." He takes a sip of the wine, "However beside me, you very well could be."
Her eyebrow furrow as she tries to read between the lines of his words. What was he even by trying to say? Before she can answer to him however, he stands and moves to be at her right, his hand outstretched to her.
"Mother Mary, take my hand."
Her eyes widen slightly as she stares up at him, his face is still, practically unreadable except for his eyes. Those bright emeralds, there is something in them, but she cannot tell what it is. Absentmindedly she puts her hand in his and he helps her stand from her chair.
"Close your eyes," he whispers, gently wrapping an arm around her waist. She does, and her world spins for a moment before she's told to open them. Expecting an army of sorts, she prepares for a fight as she opens her eyes.
What she opens her eyes to is nothing near an army of anything. It is a body of water. They stood on the pier of a lake, its dark waters reflecting the shine of the moon. She recognizes the area from somewhere, but she is too tired to think of the name. She looks up to a night sky filled with stars and then down to her reflection in the water.
"If you were gonna dress me up like this," she gestures to her dress, "you could have at least touched up my face. God, I look so dead."
He shakes his head, "You are in no need of it. Amongst the powdered and false faces at the gala, your beauty was the only thing of any value."
She blinks, and watches as he stares down beside them into the water. They are standing very close together; his arm had not detached itself from her waist. His gaze slowly goes from the lake to her own eyes below him. His serious expression softens and no matter how much she wills herself not to feel anything, she found herself staring up at him, unable to move.
His eyes twinkled and she could have sworn she saw tears in each of them as he leaned forward. Her eyes widen as she expects his mouth upon hers, however she gasps when his head moves towards her shoulder. For the seventh time of the night, she is surprised.
He sobs, leaning his head on her shoulder and she stands there dumbfounded. The arm on her waist slides up her back to grab a hold of her entirely. His slender frame shakes against hers as he holds back cries. After a few moments she takes her own arms and hugs as much of him as she can. Her index finger traces circles around his back and he lifts his head slightly, allowing room for his hands to come rest atop of her shoulders. He moves her away from him and her arms fall down to her sides. His arms are shaking and his vision is blurry.
She watches his bottom lip tremble as he looks her in the eyes. She takes in the sight before her. There he stands, a self-proclaimed god, weeping in the arms of a mortal. She debates on either pulling away completely or pulling him close but before she can make any move he hangs his head and shakes it, loose tears flying out of his eyes.
It is then that lowers his head just a bit more and kisses her. His hands rush upward and he holds her shocked face. She stares wide-eyed at the few tears that escape his closed lids and only slightly responds to the force pressed upon her lips. A few moments pass, and he backs away. His eyes still shut, he speaks softly,
"Do not worry over the blood on your ledger. Beside a monster, anyone is worthy of being called a Saint."