Disclaimer: This story is based on characters of The Marvel Universe and all characters thereof belong to them. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended and no money is being made.
AN: And we come full circle, back to the beginning, or before the beginning to be honest. Loki's turn to have a voice. This point of view happens right before the roof scene in the first chapter. Sorry if it wasn't clear. Let me know what you think (good, bad and ugly – but remember to be constructive, not destructive). I do not have a beta reader, so obviously all mistakes are my own. (I attempted to put more space between the flashbacks, but I could not get it to work, even with html code, so I put the current thoughts in bold and his flashback in italics)
He drops the ebony chess piece in her lap.
She stopped to breath, and in the split second between insults he unexpectedly hurtled downward, hard and fast, shattering at her feet.
It was more painful this time around. Before, when he fell he remained whole; unorganized, chaotic, brittle, a lot insane, but all parts present and accounted for. Now it is different. With her own brand of wit, defiance and insouciance towards life she makes it different and in his own unique detachment he hates her for that. Yet, in that stillness of air, she unknowingly captured the strongest piece on the board.
His normal disdain must have been distracted by her chest. Well that is too crude and not fully true. He was distracted by her candor (though other parts of her were just as intriguing, loathe as he is to admit). For once, the wrath of verbal missiles was launched at the would-be lothario-of-the-arrows. Though his extensive vocabulary lacked the term "nerf," context of her barrage was simple enough to deduce. Don't use the lovely behind of Miss Lewis for target practice. And if said archer ever again uses her butt in lieu of the Archery Butts S.H.I.E.L. D. provided him, her taser will be used in lieu of words.
She looks over to the chess board. White marble surrounds a lone piece of obsidian stone, firelight flickering off its delicately carved angles and hollows.
He refuses to admit any staring on his own part; however he does understand how an uncouth gnat that crawls through piping could get it wrong. He desperately wants to call her out, but he derives too much enjoyment from the consternation in bow-boy's expression. Her way with words has always captivated his eccentric humor.
Sharp eyes cleave to his, her language failing at this critical point. They burrow into his mind, seeking what he will not voice with words.
As he observed her fierce rebuke, he remembers her opening in their own ceaseless competition of torment. A small, sphere of colorful candy ricocheted off his leather covered back end. When he turned around, her intelligence gleamed through her rich, blue eyes, before it was swiftly shuttered. Those that missed her mental dexterity have not played the game long enough. She smirked at his growl. His magic shimmered. Those bold red lips displayed pearlescent teeth moments before mocking fear painted her face. Her bellow of: "Thor! Your pet needs a shorter leash and a choke-collar," earns her a raised eyebrow and him a one trip ticket to the repeat lecture about playing nice with others. It also began their ritual contest of war. Her capacity to steal his queen as she parried his verbal joust is unmatched in his millennia of life.
Her eyes dart back to the chess board. They widen almost imperceptibly at the message mutely conveyed in timeless stone. One a metamorphosis of heat & pressure, the other tempered through fire and ice. Genuine distress etches through her face before it is hidden with a well practiced veneer of annoyance. Her eyes clash with his again. He is ready for the battle.
Her censure trickled to a close and the belittled man rushes out of the room before her tirade started again. He found it refreshing that this woman could send a grown assassin scuttling away like a roach in the light. His appreciative clapping drew a smirk and her eyes lit up in unholy glee before she deigned to acknowledge her witness.
They stare for an eternity and the master of lies conceals nothing. Her façade cracks, desperation seeps through. In sheer frustration she dashes the volcanic glass figurine to the floor. She runs.
Her gamine grin turns to his as she asked "Was it something I said?" She was the picture of innocence for a full three seconds before her infectious laughter reverberated through the space. In that final moment pieces of his splintered soul were forever bound to hers.
His thoughts break like that cool piece of obsidian strewn in fragments across the tile floor. He closes his eyes, gathering his reason and soothing his exasperation. He walks calmly across the room to stand in front of their game. With steady hands he gently lays the obsidian king on its side. The gesture is then reverently reflected with the marble. He stares for one long moment, before casting his gaze toward the roof. In an instant the room is vacant.
"Why do you relentlessly attack the queen," he asked, in deliberate violation of their normal mode of communication. His curiosity broke from its locked box in an impulsive need to be sated.
She paused in her pursuit of triumph. "Its historical strategy," she claimed, looking up at him through dark lashes. "The queen symbolizes the brains of the operation and protects the heart of the empire, the king. It's a classic warfare tactic. You conquer the mind and make vulnerable the heart. Everything else will fall." Her unvoiced "duh" echoes across the black and white board.
Magic swirls in the empty room. Both queens lay shattered on the floor.