Report # 58NZ-PrisLoki
Date: Unspecified
Location: Stark Towers
Transport of Prisoner L. to Stark Towers from the realm of Asgard is complete, under supervision of the captive's brother.
Captive is in possession of no extra powers, beyond the ability to morph into several forms: Humanoid, female, and an unknown alien known as "Frost Giant." Ability is necessary to allow captive to maintain humanoid form while under control of SHIELD.
Captive's guardian assures SHIELD captive is rendered powerless and is no longer a threat. Captive has no communication with other realms.
Captive is sent as form of punishment; SHIELD is paid undisclosed amount to care for Captive. (See Mission Costs 2012 – )
Captive is under orders to provide as much assistance to SHIELD as needed during recoup period from recent events (see: Chitauri Invasion, Report# 49JC-Chit.)
Any observed irregularities of the above on part of Captive are to be made known to entity "All-Father Odin" and will result in removal of captive to the realm called Asgard.
The fact that Loki was a genius with computers surprised everyone, and none more so than the God of Mischief himself. He had dismissed the laptop assigned to him by SHIELD as a mortal device fit only for a doorstop, but when he was crushed with boredom and started to play on the flimsy machine he found it had a system of logic that made sense to him. Furthermore, separated as he was from the bulk of his magic, it was a way to control things, to make things happen the way he wanted them to.
"What are you doing?" Tony peered curiously at the screen, and Loki slid it away from him.
"I believe it is called 'tweeting'," he replied in a cold tone.
"Tweeting? You? Really?" Tony had been about to shove an entire croissant into his mouth, but he put the pastry down. "I'm just trying to imagine summing up your life in 140 characters. What hash tags do you send out? Don't answer; let me guess – '#GloriousPurpose,' '#ThanosSucks'…"
"Hang on." Banner leaned over his shoulder, where they sat around a long table, waiting for Fury to start the meeting. "Just how many followers do you have?"
Loki frowned and looked behind him. "No one followed me here from my room. I made certain of it."
"No, I'm talking about … oh, just look at your profile." Banner clicked a key on Loki's board and whistled. "Holy cow – over 590,000!"
"What?" Tony, who had taken a bite of the croissant, breathed out crumbs and started coughing. "I don't have that many! Jarvis, take a memo: Buy me more followers."
"So what? Lots of followers, big deal." Clint drank a long swallow of iced coffee.
"When Velociraptor sends out a message, over half a million people read it. You do the math." Tony spread out his hands in simulated dismay.
"Are we comfortable with this?" Clint asked.
"The god of memes is being monitored, you know. Jarvis will alert us if anything take-over-the-world-y or raise-an-army-ish comes from that keyboard." Tony ate the remaining end of his croissant.
"The god of memes sits next to you and can hear every word," Loki snapped. Secretly, however, he was a bit proud of his accomplishments on the Midgardian computing device. To catch the attention of the people in the room with his number of followers was somewhat gratifying.
There was one person, however, who hadn't acknowledged his new Twitter army or even his presence. One red curl fell across her face as she bent over her own computer, intent on something on the screen. It miffed Loki, and he decided to catch her attention.
Before he could speak, however, Fury entered the room. "Any progress with the Clerkenwell Syndicate? I've about had it with those assholes."
"Do they still have those stolen airjets?" Clint asked.
"Yeah, in their underground lair."
"…Called the SNAKE." Steve interrupted Nick. Loki glanced at him; the tall man looked pleased with himself that he recognized the reference.
"Yeah. I wish someone would get those motherfucking planes out of that motherfucking SNAKE," Fury snapped.
"I'm on it." Natasha spoke without looking up from the screen. "I've narrowed down their location to ten possibilities worldwide…"
Loki stopped listening, already bored, and focused on his new program designed to create and send out provocative tweets and tumblr blogs at five-minute intervals.
After the meeting Loki folded up his laptop, left the room, and slid around the corner. He knew the way Agent Romanoff took to return to her quarters. He pressed his body to the wall and waited; in a few minutes the sight of her slim figure topped by the usual wild red curls rewarded him.
"Agent Natasha." He stepped out of a doorway, and she looked up in surprise.
"What do you want?" Her tone wasn't angry, but it wasn't forthcoming, either.
"I merely wondered why you didn't speak to me today in the meeting."
Her face was usually expressionless, he had learned that much, but a slight frown creased her forehead. "I was doing my job – in fact, I'm still on the job, if you'll excuse me."
She stepped to one side to continue, but he stepped in front of her. "Narrowing the possibilities, you mean? Wouldn't you rather widen them?"
"Sometimes it's the same thing." She seemed to dismiss him and turned away.
He took a long stride to stand in front of her again and folded his arms. "Just a moment."
"What is it?"
He tilted up his chin. "Your dedication and intelligence intrigue me. I have made the decision to take you into my bed. Let us pleasure each other."
That did get her attention. She turned back to him, and he was gratified to see her eyes widen, presumably with gratified desire. At least it would mean an hour or two of diversion…
Those thoughts were knocked out of his head by a black leather boot heel to the left side of his head. In the next second, he found himself on the ground, her foot on the side of his face. "I can't tell you how much that is not going to happen," she growled, "not if you were the last demigod on this or the other end of an Einstein-Rosen bridge."
He could have easily gripped her ankle, flipped her onto the floor, and crushed her head beneath his own boot, but he suddenly realized something.
He was no longer bored.
He had been given a challenge.
And it was worthy and entertaining enough to keep him occupied for at least three days and seventeen hours, according to his mental calculations.
Her eyes still blazed with anger, but a certain wary expression crossed her face. She knows, he thought. She knows she just upped this game and piqued my interest. He added two more days to the time she would entertain him and began to grin.
Natasha withdrew her foot. "Know something? You're not worth it."
He bounded to his feet, taking care she noticed how lithe and smooth his movements were. "May I ask why not?" His voice was calm, and he dropped the tone lower, into what he liked to call the 'purring' range. "I assure you I am extremely skilled at all forms of copulation."
There was an instant when her cheekbones seemed to register amusement – a split second. Then it was gone. "May I remind you of the little name you had for me the last time we spoke?"
"What little name?"
She waved one hand in an impatient gesture. "Don't. You're too intelligent to pretend you have forgotten."
"Ah." He tipped back his head again so he could look down at her from under his eyelids. "I dared to tell you the truth – you should be on your hands and knees to thank me…"
"No," she interjected. "It's not that. I dissected the phrase you used, actually, word by word. 'Mewling' means a series of repeated cries, as would be made by a kitten, for example. And you don't need to explain it - I got your point. From a very twisted system of logic, it makes sense that turning from one code to another does not negate the past, even if my new system of thinking is more honorable. No. It was the other word…"
A delighted grin spread over his features, and he added still more days to his mental Romanova As Entertainment sum. "Quim," he breathed.
"I was going to call it the Q-word, but yes. When you called me that, you reduced everything I am – intellect, personality, and energy – to one small part of my body."
"You do have one, you know," he reminded her in a gentle voice, "and I am certain it is glorious. But I see I offended you, and I suppose I should make reparation. Please tell me how I may bring it about."
"'Make reparation' – my Asgardian translator tells me by that you mean 'get into my pants'. And I repeat – not going to happen." She swiveled and walked away from him.
Loki was able to hold back for a few seconds before he burst into laughter. Delicious! It had been tasty, the entire conversation, so ripe, so pregnant with meaning, he wanted to prolong it. A series of retorts sprang into his mind, along with several of her answers to each riposte; it was like a bright, twisting tunnel before him, and he knew exactly how to bring it about and where it would lead.
With a quick leap he ran after her, calculating the rate of her movements, air pressure, and his own speed. As he turned the corner, he prepared to shout the comment most likely to win her to his bed…
And stopped.
The corridor was empty, devoid of everything except for the lights overhead.
The Black Widow had disappeared.