Crimson and Clover
Prompt: Loki is captured by SHIELD
Disclaimer: I do not own Thor
He reaches out, pulling her into his arms. She cannot be real, he thinks, rather some figment of his imagination, telling him that he has finally lost touch of reality. Yet, there she stands.
"How?" He asks, keeping her in his arms, wishing that she were not really here. She shouldn't be here, he knows. She's only pressing herself into more danger, too much danger. "My magic-"
"They have defenses against your magic," she says calmly. "Not mine."
He laughs, kissing her, trying to push back the worries that threaten to overtake him. She isn't safe here. He has no power to defend her and he's not sure that any of them will take her as innocent when she's clearly allying herself to him in this moment.
"You shouldn't be here."
"You needed rescuing. And I'm your knight in shining armor."
He wonders how many cameras are on them, exactly how many screens are flickering with their images. He pulls her tighter against him, wishing to shield her from them if nothing else.
"And how exactly do you intend upon saving me?"
"With this," she says, an amulet on a chain tangled on her fingers. "It's how I came here."
She is dressed like a mortal, thin pastel-colored clothes that reflect the summer weather, that ultimately clash with his Aesir attire. He kisses her. "My clever wife."
He doesn't tell her that his ears are straining for the sounds of rustling, shouting, attacking. Surely, he thinks, they must have seen them by now. Someone must have glanced up at the screens, saw the pretty mortal girl and sounded the alarm. He prays that they think that he's captured her, using her for bait.
"Lets go home," she says.
Home is her apartment, the little flat that she has taken up residence in as she masquerades as a mortal, a simpleton. Kathryn, that was what she called herself, who the people called asked for.
"Lets," he says, kissing her again.
She takes his hand, a smile on her face. But before she can call up the incantation inscribed in runes, he hears the rustling, the shouting. His body tenses and he lets go of her hand, pushing her behind him. He knows he cannot do anything to save her aside from hope that she isn't foolish enough to stay. He wills her to leave, prays that she'll vanish and he can be left to toy with those so-called avengers.
"Leave," he says through clenched teeth.
"Not without you."
If Thor recognizes her, he thinks, maybe he would save her. But, perhaps he would help incriminate her. Maybe, Thor would spare his wife and let her go. Yet, he feels it is more likely that Thor would take her, imprison her.
"Please," he says, hearing it all grow closer, seeing the men in suits flood in.
"No," she says, taking his hand in hers, fingers tracing the runes, beginning the incantation.
He fears it will take too long, that they will have her before she has finished. He sees the avengers filter in behind the suits, the one with arrows, the one with a suit of metal, Thor. They file in, all prepared to attack him. The one who is colored red, white and blue shouts for the release of the girl, calling her innocent. As they cross the length of the room, they're demanding answers and he realizes that Thor hasn't recognized her and for that he is thankful.
His hand clenches around hers, fearing for her. He can feel the warmth of her magic radiating from her fingertips, hears the way her mouth forms the ancient words and speaks them as though they were common language. Thor is approaching the glass that they are encaged in and he prays that she abandon him. It wouldn't take so long to simply transfer herself, no, it's because she's trying to save him that she'll risk herself.
Thor's hand is on the glass when she says the last word and he feels his body grow light. He laughs when he disappears from them. When he opens his eyes, he sees the plain apartment that she calls home, that they call home. She leans against him, their fingers still laced together.
"We're safe," she says, body slumping against his, eyelids closing from exhaustion.
He gathers her into his arms, kissing her forehead. "You shouldn't do things like that," he says, laying her on their bed. How many times has she saved him? Too many, he believes. Too often, when he should be doing the protecting, she is the one who is actually defending him. She has given him refuge, healed his wounds, intervened when she can. One day, he thinks, she will hurt herself and he won't be able to do anything to save her.
"I had to," she says, thin fingers wrapping around his wrist, drawing him towards her. He lays across from her, brushing strands of hair from her face.
"I would have escaped eventually. I always do."
"I needed you," she says, eyes closed, griping at his hand.
The words are vaguely familiar, similar to the ones he told her when he asked to marry her. She had been someone for him to talk to, to tell everything to. Yet, there had been an underlying sense of guilt that overwhelmed him, the idea that their private relationship broke propriety. She had deserved better, he had thought and it had been with that notion that they had privately married in the land of the Vanir. He had found the customs foreign but more endearing than the way that the Aesir did it. With the Aesir, there remained the underlying theme that the man would have the final say, that there would always be inequality in the marriage. Yet, the Vanir had stressed balance, a sense of parity that he felt reflected them well. Instead of solely her pledging everything to him, he had been made to give everything to her as well. They had promised their lives, bodies and souls to each other. They would be equals throughout life.
"You do well without me," he says, kissing her.
They had been so good at keeping their marriage quiet, better than they had with their relationship. She would sneak into his bed, telling him that she liked the thrill she got from alluding guards and the matrons that kept their hawk eyes on her. He would keep her in his arms until the first rays of light when she would pull away from him, promising to return. It had been Thor's fault, he thinks, that everything had fallen out in the open. Though, he thinks, he had been to blame as well. It was the morning that he had promised to go train with Thor when he tried to keep her longer, holding her hands, kissing her even when she repeated, through giggles, that she should go. He had known that Thor had always enjoyed going early, relishing the cooler weather of the mornings. He should have realized that Thor would barge in when he wasn't there waiting.
"No," she says quietly. "I need you."
Thor hadn't given him time to explain, to beg him to keep his secret. He had simply turned and gone to their father and mother, telling them what he had come across. His mother had been kind but his father had stared at him. He had never regained his father's trust after that. He didn't have her after that, they had sought to have her kept away from him, ordered her to remain with her people. His father had brushed off the marriage, pretending that his second-born son had never wed. Thor had apologized to him after that, eventually giving up when he refused to accept it. Only his mother had turned a blind eye and gave excuses when he vanished, finding refuge in Sigyn's arms.
When he had fallen to Midgard, the bridge broken, he had assumed that he would never see her again. Yet, she had, finding a way to him. The first night they had been together, when he refused to let her go out of fear that it was all an illusion, he had asked her how she had known and she had smiled at him and said she felt he needed her. While he went about his ways, planning the taking of a world, she had remained constant, establishing a life for herself, a cover for herself. She had assimilated, made friends. She never questioned him and he didn't question her. There had only been one request made by her and it had been simple: to come home every night. He had laughed when she told him, insisting there was no where else he rather be. Their evenings were private, he wanted to make up for lost time. Some days he spent with her, met her friends, was quiet and made observations while she easily conversed with them.
"Why?" He asks, edging closer to her, wondering if she's already fallen asleep.
"Because," she says, taking his hand. She presses it against the breezy fabric of her shirt. "I'm pregnant."