A/N: So because for me 'life' is really just another way of saying 'string of somewhat connected ironies', I actually have less time to write now that summer's here! So I'll update as often as I can but I can't promise it'll be regular. But don't worry- the story will go on! I'm not abandoning you guys, I just want you to know that the updates will be coming a little slower from now on. Anyway, on with the chapter!
Aleksandra sat slumped on the metal bench, her shoulders shaking with cold, anger, and fear as she stared out of the open hatch and into the darkness. Captain America had leaped out of the plane after Iron Man without so much as a parachute. Aleksandra knew they'd do their best to bring Loki back, but that knowledge did nothing to settle her nerves. Of course the Loki's safety wouldn't be their top priority, and Aleksandra knew that just because he'd come back didn't mean it would necessarily be in one piece.
To make matters worse, she couldn't even hope that the two superheroes would merely fail to rescue Loki. She'd seen the look of fury Thor's eyes, and was sure that 'brotherly love' wouldn't be enough to keep him from roughing Loki up a bit. Granted he did look sorrowful as well as angry, but if the stories she'd heard were true, then it wouldn't take much for Loki to rile him up to the point where annoyance outweighed sorrow. Aleksandra still feared for Loki, whether he was located by the Americans or left in the custody of his brother.
"Here, take this." Aleksandra was pulled from her thoughts as the leather-suited woman approached her, an aviator jacket in hand. Aleksandra lifted her bound wrists as if to say I'm not quite sure what you expect me to do with that, and the woman hesitated for a moment before she draped the jacket over her shoulders.
"Thank you," Aleksandra said, but the woman didn't respond as she kicked aside the bag full of spare pilot uniforms and returned to her seat. The woman's gesture may have been civil, but there wasn't even the slightest trace of kindness in her expression; clearly she regarded Aleksandra as someone to be wary of, someone potentially dangerous. But, although her wrists were bound, Aleksandra had no intention to behave or be treated like a prisoner.
"Were you born in Yekaterinburg?" she asked in her native tongue, and the woman glanced up at her but quickly looked away. "I can hear it in your voice; your English is perfect, but you undeniably grew up somewhere in Russia. You've got the same accent as my cousins who grew up there." Aleksandra waited patiently for a response but when none came she merely changed the topic.
"Despite my menacing appearance, I'm not dangerous, you know," she said, and the woman snorted.
"I suppose if you were, you'd let me know?" she asked in Russian, her tone mocking, and Aleksandra couldn't help but smile.
"I don't think I'd have to," she replied with a shrug. "I get the feeling you'd be able to judge my villainy for yourself." Something in the woman's gaze seemed to shift at Aleksandra's words, and she felt as if she'd managed to gain at least a little of this stranger's respect.
"What's your name?" the woman asked, and Aleksandra shook her head.
"You tell me first," she said, and the spandex-clad woman's eyes widened as an amused smile tugged at her lips.
"And why should I do that?" she asked, standing to cross her arms over her the swell of her chest. Aleksandra shrugged casually as the woman approached.
"I'm clearly the one at a disadvantage here; there's no harm in you telling me your name first," she said, and the woman squatted close before her. Aleksandra's eyes widened in surprise at her sudden proximity, the woman's green eyes studying her face.
"I can see why Loki's taken such an interest in you," she said, and Aleksandra wasn't sure whether she intended for her words to be taken as an insult or a compliment.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, and the woman smiled as she rose to her full height again.
"You can call me Natasha," she said in response, and Aleksandra snorted.
"Do you have a problem with my name?" she asked, and Aleksandra arched an eyebrow.
"Not at all, except for the fact that it's clearly fake; a mysterious Russian woman named Natasha? What an anomaly!" she said, and the woman merely shrugged.
"You asked for a name and I gave you one. Now, keep your side of the bargain and tell me yours," she said, and Aleksandra couldn't help but wonder why this woman suddenly seemed to take this little name-game so seriously.
"Aleksandra," she said, not giving her sir name. Of course, she knew that if this woman had the resources of the US government at her disposal, she could no doubt find it with ease.
"Oh yes, and your name is so original," Natasha quipped, and Aleksandra impulsively stuck her tongue out at her. Natasha looked surprised but thankfully not agitated, and Aleksandra wondered when the last time this woman had taken a moment to relax and enjoy herself had been. Probably far too long ago.
A mechanical whining noise sounded from beneath their feet, and as Aleksandra's metal bench began to vibrate she realized it must be the sound of the aircraft's wheels lowering. She quickly turned to look out of the open hatch, the closest thing to a window in the cabin area, but could still only see the cloudy night sky. Unable to hold onto the bench for support, Aleksandra was glad the plane didn't land the same way most commercial crafts did as she swayed with the movement of the ship.
As the plane lowered itself onto the landing pad she finally caught sight of a string of lights that formed a square border in the distance, although beyond the lights she could still only see clouds—no horizon. Aleksandra lifted her hands to rub at her eyes, but when she turned back to look at the hatch her gaze was instead focused on a swarm of very confused, very heavily armed men.
"Where is he—and where are Stark and Rogers?" the man nearest to the ship called as he and the other helmeted men jogged closer, and Natasha rose from her seat. "And who's she?" the man added with a jerk of his chin towards Aleksandra, but Natasha ignored him.
"Tell Coulson we've encountered a slight complication," she said calmly, and the man looked as if he wanted to protest if only to ask more questions. But when it became clear that Natasha expected her orders to be carried out immediately, the man lifted his sleeve to his face and dutifully conveyed her message.
A/N: Gotta love banter with Black Widow (I've got an alliteration addiction; see what I did there?) Anyway, next chapter: interrogation! Sounds delightful, right?
