Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
Chapter 4: On The Run
It was maddening, sitting there at the table, staring out the window in hopes that those tempting gray clouds would pour their hearts out and drown the world again. But they didn't, and that made this all the worse. Then again, it could have been the fact that the room was hot from the heat of the oven and the coffee that Loki had refused to touch. Well, that and the fact that, each time he heard the sound of a car alarm go off in the parking lot nineteen floors below, he shut his eyes. From the start of the shrill beep right down to the chorus of wailing, he'd grit his teeth and flinch, certain that the metallic bodies of the Chitauri would show up to drag him away. And Natasha, though she had no idea what was going on, kept laughing at him.
Eventually, she made some remark that he didn't hear, still shaken from enduring an alarm that had lasted for the past fifteen minutes, and grabbed him by the sleeve. Loki growled and pulled away.
"Here," she said, and got up to fetch a glass from the kitchen. The faucet went off for a few moments before the woman returned. "Since you won't touch anything else I give you."
The god stared at it a minute, sorely tempted to ignore the thing just because of that last comment. Rather, he reached for it, touched the side of the glass and turned the water to a solid chunk of ice. Natasha groaned.
"I know you're not stupid," she said, leaning forward. "Quite the opposite. But you do know you're supposed to drink it, right?"
Loki scowled and bristled, telling her with his eyes that he didn't take orders from a woman. Especially not from her.
"Is this supposed to be a tea party?" he quipped, and the assassin slammed a hand on the table. Loki shrugged, pleased that, at the very least, he wasn't wet anymore. Being cold was one thing, certainly something that he couldn't help, but consistent amounts of moisture sticking to one's skin were just irritating. "I would hope not." Loki flicked the glass of ice. "It is, in a word... lousy."
"Like your attitude," came the biting retort. And the god could have sworn that she called him a "fucking megalomaniac" under her breath.
Promptly, Natasha straightened up and smiled, a notion which Loki knew to be forced. The god scowled and leaned back in the chair, knocking over the frozen glass on purpose. Sadly, it didn't roll to the floor the way he'd wanted it to.
"Who's coming?" she said, and the trickster wished she hadn't asked. Why, he'd almost been comfortable before she'd brought it up again. Almost. "And why? Are you bringing another battle-crazed army?" Natasha pounded the table again, caused the iced glass to move and hit the floor. It cracked. "If you say yes, I'll kill you now."
The god blinked several times. He didn't owe her a damn thing, least of all an explanation. Loki began to wonder, as he turned to stare out the window at the fresh rain, why in all the Nine Realms he'd decided to come back to Midgard to find Natasha. Right now, he was debating whether or not it would have been wise to take his chances with Odin. Perhaps that would have been best, considering that his mother would have...
"Damn."
Frigga had been all but forgotten in the past three years, save for those short moments in which he passed between wakefulness and sleep wherein she dominated his thoughts. She hadn't been the least bit pleased with him when last they had met, and hadn't done a thing to hide it. It rankled, the knowledge that, in all of Asgard, the only hope Loki had was to rely upon his idiot brother. And Thor, as many knew, couldn't talk his way out of a wet paper bag, let alone stand up to the Allfather.
Loki scoffed as she dipped a hand in her drink and flicked the droplets at him. Reaching across the table, the god grabbed the cup and pulled it away from her. He was really starting to think that he should just leave and go back to Asgard. At least he wouldn't have to put up with this manner of abuse. But the instant Loki moved to stand, Natasha sighed.
"What are you so afraid of?" Silvertongue froze. "Don't try to tell me that you're not," Natasha laughed, and Loki shook his head hurriedly. This was just getting worse. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be shying at every sound, looking over your shoulder like a prisoner on the run."
She told him that he behaved as though the car alarms outside were the sounds of alien spacecraft, and that made the God of Mischief feel suddenly dizzy.
There was a big black spot, a shape that, the more he stared at it, manifested as one of the Chitauri craft, likely the one that had been meant to carry Thanos to Midgard. The stars seemed to fade into nothing then, as though they were being swallowed whole by the expanse of the ship, never to be seen again. He'd be one of those, Loki thought, and didn't dare to think on what misery had been endured when they had found him, thought him to be an invader, a threat to the workings of their leader. That unspeakable hell had been more than Odin, with all his rage, would have courage to conjure.
"You better not be having a stroke!" Natasha shouted, and she was hovering above him on the floor, painted mouth twisted into a grimace. Her hand moved, and the assassin pointed a finger at the thermostat on the opposite wall. "It's sixty-three in here!"
"Thanos," he murmured, and felt his heart begin to race. Was this what true terror felt like? Was this what the iron grasp of power could force into the hearts of men, of ants?
The woman's fiery hair bobbed as she leaned forward, confusion evident upon her face. "Thanos?" she repeated, and Loki flinched. It sounded worse when he wasn't the one saying it. "What the hell is Thanos?"
Pushing her aside, the god shook his head and stood, looked to stare out the window as the rain began to pour. Thunder roared in the distance. Was that the only choice left for him now? To run and find his false brother, beg for his help? What a sickening thought it was, even more that he'd dared to create it himself.
Loki didn't hear her, pushed the assassin's voice from his head as he swept his coat off the back of the chair, found himself standing out on the balcony as the world went about its business far below. It wouldn't last long, the peace. It never did. The God of Mischief had interrupted the monotonous hum of the mortals' temporary complacency twice now, writ himself into the pages of their history as an enemy, the hated brother of their beloved hero. But none of that would matter soon. Perhaps not in days or even weeks. But, soon enough, the Chitauri would come for him, and it was certain that Midgard would suffer as well.
"Where are you going?!" Natasha shouted, and Loki stood on the railing of the balcony.
"Outside. Where else?"
