A/N: Yeah I might have fallen asleep midway through proofreading...
Turn
by Flaignhan
"We need you to remove a threat, before the situation gets out of hand." Fury's voice is heavy, his hands clasped together on his desk, his expression sombre.
"I didn't realise we were in the business of removing threats," Natasha replies, arms folded, eyebrow raised.
"We tried to remove you," Fury says. "Although, that's probably not the best argument for you to accept the assignment."
"I have a choice?" Natasha asks, genuinely surprised.
"You've always had a choice, and you always will. But if you take it, I need to know your head is going to be in the game one hundred percent. This is level seven, you're not gonna receive any aid from us, and should the worst happen, we can't claim you, obviously."
Natasha feels a familiar weight in her chest. "That bad?" she asks.
"We're talking human experiments," Fury tells her. "Our guy is so heavily involved with politicians, big businesses, that the authorities can't touch him. He can't be extradited, but he is creating monsters."
"Monsters like Bruce?" Natasha asks carefully. "Because -"
"Not like Bruce," Fury assures her. "We're talking stripped of everything that makes them human."
"What kind of shitty place are you sending me into?" She's encountered some awful things in her years working for various organisations, but judging by unusually Fury's solemn gaze, this is a big deal. It's an especially big deal if it's not been cleared by the powers that be, which it doesn't sound like it has, if they're refusing to claim her.
"You're the only one I trust not to get caught. Whoever I send out, I want them to come back, and you…you'll be fine. And you'll get the job done too, I know." There is a hint of pride in his eye as he leans back in his seat and looks at her, and that takes some of the pressure off of that weight in her chest, but it does sound like a kamikaze mission, despite Fury's (perhaps exaggerated) faith in her.
"How long d'you think I'll be gone for?" she asks, not even bothering to tell him that yes, she accepts the assignment, and yes, she understands that should she be captured, they can't claim her, they can't send help, and they can't even say her name aloud ever again.
"Well we're getting flights booked now -" Fury begins, but Natasha cuts him off, hauling herself forward in her seat, her heart pounding in her chest.
"You can't! Not yet, I need to go back to Asgard before I leave. I have to."
"I'll speak to Thor, I'm sure you've earned a leave of absence after all the hours you've spent up there. Don't worry about it." He smiles, in what Natasha assumes Fury believes is a comforting manner, but it doesn't relax her at all. If anything, it just makes her feel worse, like everything's being taken out of her control, Loki's fate resting in the hands of Fury, who probably wouldn't bat an eyelid if Loki keeled over and died.
"No," Natasha argues, "You don't understand. I need to see Loki, not Thor. Thor knows I've got things coming up, but Loki doesn't."
"So?" Fury says with a light chuckle. "What difference does that make?"
Natasha opens her mouth to speak but no words present themselves. How does she explain to her boss - her boss who is the walking, talking, definition of badass - that actually, she really gives a damn about the guy who tried to kill them all and take over the world not so long ago?
"What's going on, Natasha?" Fury says in that stern voice that's usually reserved for Tony. "Has something happened? You've been spending more time on other worlds than you have with us these last few weeks. What's he done to you?"
"He hasn't -" Natasha starts, but she breaks off, slumping in her seat and letting out a heavy sigh. She rests her forehead on the tips of her fingers and considers her next words carefully. "He's in a transitional period," she says at last.
Fury laughs, softly at first, then it builds and builds until it becomes a deep, booming chuckle. Natasha scowls at him until he runs out of steam, and his laughter dies down, one of his large hands resting on his stomach as he tries to catch his breath.
"A transitional period," he says, wiping at his eye with the back of his hand. "You know, for a Russian, you come out with some funny shit sometimes."
Natasha's scowl deepens, and Fury manages to regain his composure.
"Oh," Fury says, suddenly resolute. "You're actually serious."
"Yes," Natasha responds stiffly, her voice tight and clipped. "I'm serious."
"Enlighten me," Fury says, waving a hand towards her, inviting her to speak. "How does a murderous demi-god end up being in a transitional period?"
"I'm going back to Asgard before I leave for the assignment," Natasha tells him, refusing to indulge his humour and curiosity until that particular details is laid out and understood.
"You do what you want," he says. "You can go today if you like, and we'll book flights for tomorrow night. Whatever you want."
At this news, Natasha relaxes a little, her arms unfolding, the stiffness leaving her spine. "When I was first hired," she says, resting her head on her hand, her eyes focused on the desk as the words slowly make their way up the inside her throat and out of her mouth. "I was a wreck, as you well know."
"Yeah, I remember Clint had to bust your apartment door down in the end, didn't he?" All of his humour has vanished now, his tone solemn. He knows how big a deal it is for Natasha to talk about herself, especially her past, and she appreciates that he doesn't employ some sort of nervous, defence mechanism to deal with it. He meets it head on, and better than that, he doesn't judge.
"Exactly," she says with a sigh. "After something like…what I went through." She refuses to give it a label. It will forever be a dark cloud that she buries in the back of her mind, and manages to ignore ninety nine percent of the time. "You get kind of…agoraphobic, I guess? Or maybe it's a little bit like Stockholm Syndrome. You get used to your surroundings when you're in captivity. The real world is so much bigger than one room. So much bigger, and so much fucking scarier."
"Yeah," Fury says softly. "Yeah I can imagine."
"I dealt with it by locking myself away, spending a lot of time in the bathroom, because it's pretty much cell-sized and was the only place I felt safe. No windows either, no world outside. Beautifully insular." She smiles, though the muscles in her mouth feel dry as they stretch, and she can't maintain the smile for long. "You're in this crazy headspace where you think everybody's an enemy, but the reality is, nobody gives a shit about you. The pizza guy doesn't care so long as you tip well, the neighbours couldn't give a fuck, and if they do wake up in the middle of the night because you're screaming your way out of a nightmare, the chances are they're too shit scared to say a god damn thing."
"So, not that I wanna sound insensitive or anything," Fury says gently. "But how does this relate to Loki?"
"They broke him," Natasha sighs. "He pretends not, but they got to him in the end. Thanos laid the groundwork, they just…finished him off."
"Right…"
"So," Natasha continues, taking a deep breath. "He's been locked up, forgotten about, barely seen daylight for months, and now, suddenly, because he's been talked into not killing people because it's just not worth it, he's gotten his old quarters back and is expected to just be fine with that. And nobody will understand if he's not fine with that, which of course he won't be, because it's too overwhelming and too much of a culture shock after everything, and I just don't want him to fuck it up because I'm not there."
"And do you not want him to fuck it up because you'll see it as a personal failure if your side project has a setback? Or do you actually, you know, give a shit about the asshole?"
Natasha purses her lips, unable to confirm, one way or the other.
"Or a little bit of both?"
"I guess you could say that," Natasha concedes. "Maybe."
Fury doesn't say anything, and she looks up at him, expecting an expression of disbelief, or concern, or something other than that plain, contemplative stare.
"You know how Clint cares about me?" Natasha says, trying to justify it to him even though he hasn't asked her to do any such thing. "You know how he will fight for me until his last breath, because he's the one who lifted me up and brushed me off?"
"I know, Natasha, I know."
She falls silent, chewing on her lower lip, fingers tapping against the arm of her chair. "He's not like you think," she says in a rush. "He's not -"
"Like other guys?" Fury asks, eyebrow raised.
"Well, I think that's a pretty safe assumption but that aside, he's just…he could be so much more." She's not sure she can explain the complexities of Loki and all of his layers to Fury, not if he wants her on a plane by tomorrow night, and so she trails off, leaving her words hanging in the air sounding foolishly optimistic. She twists a loose lock of hair around her finger, and after she's spent enough time coiling it, she lets it spring free, then tucks it behind her ear. She wonders what Loki's up to right now, whether he's reading, or playing cards against himself, or if he's just sleeping to pass the time.
She hopes he hasn't locked himself in the bathroom. It wasn't her finest hour and she wouldn't wish it upon him. She wouldn't wish it upon anyone, actually.
"Make sure you're back by lunch time tomorrow," Fury says at last, a finality to his tone that ensures Natasha knows her time is up. "I need to brief you. You'll be flying out tomorrow, chartered plane, not private."
"Fine."
"Now, go and deal with this transitional period, all right?"
Natasha smiles briefly and stands, not wanting to waste a single second of the few hours she has left.
He's curled up in an armchair and halfway through his novel when she arrives. The moment he realises it's her, he ditches the book and stands up, before awkwardly remaining in the same spot as she draws closer. The situation is different now. Before, her sitting down next to him in his cell was their greeting. It was strange, but it worked. It just seemed to say I'm here now, everything's fine, and that was perfectly appropriate, no words exchanged, no uncomfortable, formal social gestures, just a sense of togetherness to which she gives a lot of the credit for Loki's progress. Now, however, the space is so open, and so regal, that perhaps he feels he has to return to his more princely demeanour, and behave in a way that's appropriate to his surroundings. If that's the case, then he's handling the transition better than anticipated. Or at least he's pretending he is.
Thor slips out quietly, and Natasha smiles wryly at his quick disappearance. He knows what's coming and he's making himself scarce, the coward. Loki, still blissfully unaware of his impending solitude, is far more interested in the bulging contents of Natasha's bag, the straps of which are cutting into her shoulder due to the weight of it. She dumps it on the sofa and sits down, Loki taking his seat in his armchair once more, his eyes still on the bag.
"Are you staying again?" he asks casually, his eyes meeting hers.
She shakes her head, chewing on the inside of her lower lip.
"Then what's that?" he asks, gesturing to the bag.
"I've been given an assignment," she says in a hurry, the words mashing together in a mess of syllables. He hears her loud and clear though, because the smile drops from his face and he slowly sinks back in his chair, the words filtering through his brain.
"And?" he says, his fingers tracing patterns on the arm of his chair. He's refusing to look at her, and Natasha knows this is just the tip of the iceberg. She hasn't even mentioned that she'll be away for weeks, yet, and she wonders whether he'll tell her to leave anyway when she breaks the news. She hopes not, but it's the sort of drastic reaction that she has come to expect from him when it comes to sensitive subject. She knows that she's a sensitive subject, especially after he revealed his fear that Odin might take her away from him.
"I'm gonna be out of contact for a while."
"So you won't be coming to see me?" The words are carefully pronounced, and Natasha swallows, trying to ignore the building tension.
"No, but you don't need me, right? You've got your room back, you can head out to the woods with Thor…"
For the first time, Loki looks at her. It's a withering gaze and she stops trying to find silver linings to the cloud that is her assignment.
"Why you? Why not one of the others?"
"Loki, they pay me a couple of hundred thousand dollars a year, I have to do some work. I've not done a single thing except spend time with you, lately."
"Is it going to be dangerous?" he asks, his voice a little quieter.
"It's nothing I can't handle," she says vaguely. She won't tell him the nature of things, nor will she tell him that there's a pretty good chance she won't be coming back. She knows Fury was putting a brave face on things, but if he's refusing to send in Captain America, because he can't afford to lose the guy whose face is on the lunch boxes, then it's a big deal. It's been bothering her, how disposable she must be in comparison to the others, but then, she supposes, she's got so much red in her ledger that she's always going to be the obvious choice for the suicide missions. The others don't deserve that, they're superheroes.
"That means it's dangerous, doesn't it? That means you're worried."
Natasha laughs and shakes her head, but Loki doesn't buy it.
"I'm trained to handle these things," she assures him. "If I start worrying about myself, I lose focus."
"But it's getting to you, I can tell. This one's getting to you. You didn't give a damn when I attacked New York, but this, you're concerned over."
"It's a very high clearance level," Natasha concedes. "It's a little bit…"
"What?"
"It's not what I got into SHIELD for," she confesses at last.
"I thought you got into SHIELD to save your own skin," Loki replies.
Natasha allows herself a small smile. "Sort of. But also, it was less…questionable, morally. I'm not so much of a piece of meat to them."
"Except for now when they're sending you on a suicide mission," Loki says sourly. "Why can't one of the others go? Why not Banner? They can't kill him."
Natasha feels a chill run through her at his callous words. Shoot the monster, he can take it, it's fine. It doesn't matter that Bruce hasn't received any training in combat, stealth, weapons, surveillance or any of the other things that are needed for this assignment. He's bullet proof and he can smash stuff, and that's all that really matters.
"None of the others have the appropriate clearance level. And besides, they're too easily recognised. This is what I'm trained in, this is my area of expertise. If they wanted someone to hack a computer, they'd get Tony, if they wanted some thunder, they'd ask your brother. As it is, they need someone who can kill a man without making a sound."
"More red in your ledger then?"
Natasha ignores him and unzips her bag. "I have no idea how long I'm gonna be gone for, so I brought you these." She turns the bag upside down and a dozen paperbacks fall out onto the sofa. Loki gets up from his armchair and joins Natasha on the sofa, the books scattered between them, and starts sifting through the novels, frowning at covers and titles and occasionally reading the blurbs.
"I'm enjoying the one you brought last time," he says, glancing over to it. "It helps the time pass, anyway."
"Well I've got quite a range," Natasha tells him. "Some you might not like, others you will…" she trails off as she notices him staring at a particularly battered orange and beige paperback, the pages yellowed, corners dog-eared, spine bent and colour peeling.
"Are you trying to be funny?" he asks, turning the book around. She knows what it is before she sees the title. That particular copy came from the bookshelf in her apartment. It's one of the few personal effects she has. It was a last minute decision, grabbing it and shoving it into her bag just before she left. She can still remember the day she stole it, with crystal clear clarity. She was young, had no money, and it was a time when her head was all over the place. She'd been scraping by on manipulation tactics alone (mostly married men were her victims) and she had pilfered enough crumpled bank notes from unsuspecting pockets to be able to afford a hotel room for the night. She had gone to the book store to browse, to pass the time and look at all the things she could never afford, and then, on impulse, she had hidden the book under her jacket and walked out of the store, even having the audacity to smile at the owner as she passed.
She had stayed up all night reading, ignoring her heavy eyelids and frequent yawns. She had finished it by sunrise, and the following day, she was tracked down by a new organisation, who gave her food and a place to stay, and whispered ideals into her ear. She was so hungry, she hadn't even noticed how flawed their reasoning was, so tired that she hadn't questioned their motives, and so pleased to have the familiar feeling of a gun in her hand again, that she allowed herself to fall into the trap of believing she was a hero.
"It's a Russian classic," Natasha informs him. "Look after that copy, it's mine."
He blinks at the knowledge of this detail, and looks down at the book again, his eyes scanning the back cover. When he looks up at her, he's no longer smirking.
"Were you influenced by this?" he asks, holding the book up when he's finished reading. "Is this what you base yourself on?"
Natasha's words catch in her throat. "I…was in a bad place, and I was surrounded by bad people. It won't affect you like it affected me." Her eyes linger on the title, and she can't help but consider the weeks ahead. She's removing somebody. Somebody of power, which ultimately means removing those around him as well, simply because they're in the way. Loki's right, more red in her ledger, even though she's just following orders. How much good will she need to do in order to wipe this particular blot out?
"So apart from Crime and Punishment," he says the title pointedly, apparently still on the fence as to whether she's trying to be a jerk or not. "What else do we have? Anymore from your own personal collection?"
Natasha shakes her head and stares into the fire, trying to focus on something that isn't the long list of sins in her ledger that she's still seeking redemption for. The flames lick the stone walls and crackle loudly, perhaps a little too much wood has gone on, or maybe Loki gave it a decent stoke before she arrived, but the more she loses herself in the orange flickers, the more she remembers the unpleasant, overly sanitary smell that goes hand in hand with hospital corridors. She remembers the thrill of seeing the coverage on the news later that day, can recall the taste of the champagne that was pushed upon her after a job well done.
"There's chocolate in there as well," she says, blinking a couple of times and looking away from the flames, She takes the bag and pulls out the large bars from the bottom, handing them to Loki. "Few different flavours too, just to mix it up a little. You should be good, right?"
Loki hesitates and puts the chocolate to one side, He looks down at his hands, now clasped in his lap, one leg jogging nervously as he chews on the inside of his lower lip.
"Yesterday was hard," he says softly. "As was today. And the only thing that kept me going was…" he trails off, but Natasha doesn't speak. Instead she waits for him to continue, and after he's pulled a loose thread out of the hem of his shirt, flicked an imaginary speck of dust from the arm of the sofa, and apparently found a selection of words that he doesn't consider to be too offensive, he says, "the knowledge that you'd be coming back."
"I was worried about you," she says quietly. "I know how hard it is to adjust, but you seem to have done a better job than I did."
"I'm in familiar surroundings," Loki reasons. "But they're still…" he shakes his head, unable to find the right word. Natasha knows exactly what he means however. In large spaces especially, the sheer size is overwhelming and yet, contradictorily, everything feels far too close. Even the air feels close, which is a ridiculous notion, she knows. It takes a while for the eyes to adjust as well, after months upon months of staring at the same four walls, everything still, everything soundproofed, and then suddenly, there's a huge world full of colour and movement and noise and it's just nauseating and scary and it left Natasha shut in a bathroom when she was going through it.
At least Loki's managing to make proper use of his surroundings. Even if he's going stir crazy on the inside, his mask is one of calm.
"Can we play poker?" he asks, his voice rather small.
Natasha nods, and Loki pushes himself up from the sofa, heading over to his desk to collect the cards. Natasha clears the books away and creates a space on the cushion in between them large enough for a game. When Loki returns, he hasn't bothered bringing the jewels. She doesn't question it. He's a little subdued, perhaps because of the news she'll be gone for a while, or perhaps because of his transition back into the real world. Perhaps the poker is just a way to take his mind off of things, and can't be attributed to a rather childish desire to win at something before the day is out.
He begins to deal, but before he lays down their last cards, he says, "If I win, you have to come back."
"Loki, I'm coming back, no matter what, I'm coming back."
Loki eyes her disbelievingly then deals the last cards.
Natasha groans inwardly when she picks up her hand. Somehow, miraculously, she's been dealt a full house.
They eat in silence. When Thor brought the food, he didn't linger, not for a moment. He placed the silver tray on the table, exchanged a couple of words, his eyes flicking between Natasha and Loki, probably trying to judge whether she's broken the news to him yet, and then he departed, Loki's narrowed eyes focused on him until the door was closed and the sound of his footsteps had disappeared into the distance.
"While I"m gone," Natasha says, having decided that she can't handle any more tension. "I think you should head out with Thor, into the woods, some place else, I don't care. But I think it'd be good for you to get out at least every other day."
Loki pushes his food around his plate with his fork. He's not eaten much, and it concerns her, a strange, uncomfortable feeling swirling in her chest. She hates the idea that his appetite will dwindle to the point that Thor will have to get involved, and then a huge argument over nothing will ensue and set all of their progress back weeks.
"He's so boring though," Loki sighs. "I don't enjoy going outside with him."
"But don't you enjoy going outside?" Natasha asks. "He's only boring to you because he wants what's best for you and you're too stubborn to appreciate that."
Loki glowers at her comments, and sets down his fork. Whether he does this knowing that it will bother Natasha, or because he's simply had enough of his food, she can't quite put her finger on. She doesn't retract her comments however, because it's true, and it's something he needs to hear.
"Whether you like it or not, while I"m gone, he's gonna be your best friend. He fights your corner more often than you realise, so don't make it difficult for him. If you don't wanna go out, don't go out, but I think you ought to. Even if you just skip some stones for half an hour and come straight back. I'm not saying you have to go on a god damn family picnic."
Loki shudders at her last words, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Deciding that she's said enough, and unprepared to let her own food go cold just because Loki still can't get on with his big brother, she spears a piece of lamb on her fork and pops it into her mouth. After a few more mouthfuls, Loki, apparently deciding he's fighting a losing battle, picks up his own fork once more, but barely consumes anything, choosing instead to nibble at small morsels. Natasha refills his goblet with wine, hoping it will alleviate some of his anxiety about the coming weeks. After he gives up on his food entirely, he wraps his fingers gently around the stem of the goblet, running his index finger along the intricately designed ridges and swirls.
Natasha doesn't know whether she's hardening to the potency of Asgardian wine, or whether she's at the point where she's just stopped caring because this is, for all intents and purposes, her last supper, but it doesn't seem to go to her head as quickly as it used to. Maybe she's just got bigger things on her mind, and as she sips her wine, feeling the gentle heat wash through her from head to toe, she keeps her eyes on Loki, wondering whether she'll be coming back to the confident Loki from the cell, or the fractured, out-of-his-depth Loki that he's become since Odin's visit got the ball rolling on his transition back into his old life.
She hopes it's the former. But obviously, not in the cell.
For a moment, she foolishly pictures a return featuring two brothers who have managed to bond over some common interest, some old, fond memory, a dumb joke or something, anything over which they can find common ground. It's a stupidly optimistic idea, but it's something to hope for, something to work towards. She doesn't believe Loki is so broken that it can't be achieved. It might take years, decades, or even centuries, but the bonus of immortality is that they really do have all the time in the world to work on it. And, as long as Thor hangs on to the belief that Loki is worth saving, which Natasha knows he will, no matter what, then maybe, one day, things will be okay.
"You're quiet," Loki comments, resting his chin on the heel of his palm.
"Just thinking," Natasha replies, putting her goblet down and placing the plates back on the tray before pushing it to one side.
"About?"
"How nice it'd be to come back and discover that you don't need me."
"Why?" Loki demands. "Are you getting sick of me? Go back to your precious Midgard if I'm boring you."
"You not needing me is a good thing. Just because you don't need me, it doesn't mean I'll stop coming. It just means that I won't need to worry about you when I'm not here. It'll mean that you're happier, it'll mean that things with your family will be better, it'll mean that you'll be on track to becoming a free man sooner, rather than later, if at all." As she speaks, Loki's glare softens, and he slumps back in his seat, his expression still sulky. She knows he hates it when people want what's best for him, but she finds that she can't help it. She'd be so happy if that door was unlocked for good, if he could come and go as he pleases, if he could head into the woods and skim stones any time he likes, without the need for a chaperone.
"Do you really have to go?"
"Yes."
"Tonight?"
"I have to be at headquarters by lunchtime tomorrow," she sighs. "And I need to pack. But I guess I can stay tonight if you really want me to."
"Not if you've got better things to be doing," he says, looking away from her and folding his arms across his stomach.
"I'm not saying that…"
"Then what are you saying?"
"If you want me to stay, I'll stay."
"Fine."
"That doesn't sound much like you want me to stay," Natasha says, taking another sip of her wine.
"I don't want you to if you'd rather be elsewhere." He says each word carefully, heavily weighted, as though it's taking every ounce of his patience to have this conversation civilly. It's almost the same tone he uses when he's forcing himself to get along with Thor.
"I never said that I'd rather be elsewhere. You're jumping to conclusions, again."
"Well maybe you should go then," Loki says sulkily. "If I"m being so unreasonable."
Natasha rolls her eyes and doesn't indulge him any further. He's just being argumentative because he's upset that she's leaving, and is torn between the idea of keeping her around as long as possible to stave off just a few more hours of boredom, or kicking her out now, and tearing off the proverbial plaster and getting used to the idea of being alone.
Minutes pass with silence hanging in the air between them. The fire continues to crackle gently on the other side of the room, colouring everything around it with a cosy tint of amber. She'll miss this place when she's away. She doesn't know what her assignment will entail, whether it'll be living it up in five star hotels and parading around in diamonds and low cut dresses in order to gain favour, or whether she'll be roughing it in harsh terrain, fighting off extreme weather, and scraping by on dehydrated food packs.
She hopes for the former. She's always looked good in diamonds.
Loki gets up and wanders back over to the sofa, curling up on one end of it, and opening his book. For a while, Natasha stays where she is, drinking enough wine so that her head starts swim, just a little, and she finds herself not caring about what lays ahead for her. Occasionally, she hears him turn a page, and when she grows tired of the hard wooden chair that she's on, she rises, refilling both her goblet and Loki's with the last of the wine, then goes to join him on the sofa. She passes him his goblet, and he takes it without looking up, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown, apparently engrossed in a particularly absorbing scene. It's perhaps ten minutes later when he seems to acknowledge the goblet in his hand, his eyes meeting Natasha's briefly over the top of his book, then murmurs a word of thanks, taking a sip and setting his goblet down on the floorboards. He flips over another page, and Natasha decides to stretch out, making herself comfortable, the base of her goblet resting on her stomach, her head propped up on the arm.
She decides, despite Loki's argumentativeness, that she will stay. If this is to be her last night in comfort, then she'd rather do it in style, than go back to her cold, empty apartment. Maybe she really will move this year, maybe she'll get somewhere with a fireplace, with smaller, more separate rooms. Maybe she'll get herself a home. She's never really had one of those before. The idea of being rooted has always intimidated her, though she would never admit it. She can adapt to all kinds of circumstances, and comfort's never really been an issue for her, but now she's older, now she has people in her life who care about her, and she cares about in return, the idea of settling (to an extent) doesn't seem as terrible. She doesn't feel like she'll be on the run from SHIELD at any point, so maybe, at long last, she's found her place in the world.
Between the heat of the fire and the effects of the wine, as well as Loki's preference for silence while he reads, Natasha soon finds herself dozing off, her eyelids heavy, the grip on her goblet becoming fainter and fainter.
When she wakes, she's managed to slither even further down the sofa, her top having ridden up to reveal a narrow strip of skin just above the waistband of her jeans. Her goblet is on the floor, next to Loki's, and somehow, her legs have ended up stretched out across his lap, one of his hands resting just above her ankle. She tugs her top down and sits up, resting her elbow against the arm of the sofa and frowning as she looks around.
"How long was I out for?"
"About six chapters," Loki murmurs, his hand leaving her ankle momentarily to turn his page before returning to the exact same spot. She considers moving, conscious of how irritating he must have found it to have her spreading herself out across his sofa and encroaching on his space, disturbing his reading, but there is something in his touch that makes her stay. It's a strange sensation, and even stranger still when she considers that it's Loki, of all people causing it, but right now, she can't think of a single place she'd rather be. Maybe she loves the escapism of being in Asgard, or maybe it is just that Loki is…Loki, and not in the way that they'd all assumed. Either way, she feels almost happy, and to have that constant, physical connection sets her at ease a little more about the coming weeks. On the surface, she's sure he'll be fine. A few hiccups, perhaps, a few arguments with Thor, but nothing major. Deep down though, she's worried. If one thing sets him off in a big way and she's not there to talk sense into him, to pull him back from the edge, if his initial reaction is to do the thing that will cause the most upset to Thor and/or Odin, (as is likely, should anything bad happen) then he could be back in that cell before he can blink.
It only takes him another half an hour to finish off the book, and when he does, he closes it carefully and places it on the floor, next to the wine goblets.
"Good read?"
He nods. "We don't have anything like that here. We have tales that have been handed down the generations but nothing…"
"Nothing for fun?"
"No," he says. "Fun certainly isn't allowed."
"Sounds lame," Natasha says, sitting up and trying (and failing) to reach for her goblet. Loki rolls his eyes at her and gets it for her, pressing it into her hand, his fingers warm as they brush hers.
"Did you know the book featured a beautiful Russian spy?" he asks, smiling coyly.
"Really?" Natasha sighs. "They're still writing about those kinds of girls?"
"This one, apparently, had an exterior as cold as iron, but a face that resembled that of a perfect, porcelain doll."
Natasha rolls her eyes. "I'll get you something a little classier next time," she tells him, taking a sip of her wine. "I bet the guy's never even met a Russian girl, let alone a spy. He's probably done all of research by watching James Bond movies."
Loki gives her a blank look at this, and she realises that any pop culture references are even more lost on him than they are on Steve, as if that were possible.
"Never mind," she says quickly. "It's all bullshit though, it's not really like that."
"So you've never used your feminine wiles to manipulate a man in a position of power?"
Natasha smiles wryly at this. "If they have a weakness, I admit, I'll exploit it to its fullest potential."
"But how far do you go in the line of duty? Because in that story -"
"It all depends entirely on who you work for and how good at your job you are," Natasha says, cutting him off before he can spill any of the details. She's not entirely keen on him having this idea of gorgeous Russian femme fatales drinking vodka and sleeping with the enemy (or the hero, depending on which side you're reading from) in order to get the job done. Not since she actually became herself, an almost-human in her own right, has she ever had to go that far. She's preyed on those whose eyes and hands wander far too often for her liking, but if she hadn't used the oldest trick in the book to gain information, she would have ended up using knives, and that's always messier.
"So," Loki says, before taking a sip of his wine and then placing the goblet back down on the floor. "This mission. Is it top secret?"
Natasha can't help but smirk at his phrasing. Clearly he's enjoyed the book, but she hopes he realises the line between fiction and reality, and that apart from the fact that hardly any of the spy novel classics are based on any real knowledge of spying, they're all set in the picturesque fifties and sixties, back when espionage was a classy occupation, reserved only for those head hunted from the top academies. These days, it's all dirty, hacky, computer work. All about who's got the biggest guns and who can fire them from furthest away. It's not like the old days, when she could walk into a bar in any city in the world and wind up sitting next to the richest man in the room just because of her posture and her dress. Now, people want to know every detail; there are finger print and retina scans to get around, electronic pass codes, photo recognition software and those few shaky youtube clips with a couple of million hits that just so happen to show someone who looks very much like herself somersaulting onto a flying Chitauri bike.
There are hardly any secrets anymore, which means she has to work harder, and that's fine, she's always happy to up her game. But for things to get messed up by some nerd interrupting her mid conversation and saying hey, aren't you that chick in the Avengers? can be quite irritating. She hopes that wherever she's going, it's the middle of nowhere, that the Avengers are an unknown force. She knows there's a slim chance of that happening, and if it's human experimentation going on at this place, then the Avengers were probably a great source of inspiration. She shudders at the thought, and is just glad that Bruce doesn't have the clearance to know about this. He'd tear those responsible into shreds without a moment's hesitation.
"You know I can't tell you anything," Natasha replies, her eyes focused on the hand that is so comfortable on her calf. She can feel the warmth of him through the thick material of her jeans, the constant changes in pressure as he fidgets, fingers tracing patterns, or tapping absentmindedly, or his thumb running back and forth along the stitching on her inside leg. It's distracting, or maybe she's just had too much wine. Either way, she finds it difficult to keep on track with the conversation, his words fading in and out of focus.
"Not even a little something?"
"I don't know anything," Natasha tells him. "My briefing's not until tomorrow."
"You have a briefing?"
"Yes."
"Do you have to shred the files after you've read them?"
Natasha sighs and has another glug of wine, far too tired to indulge his overactive imagination. "You know it's nothing like what you just read. Nothing at all."
"Well I hope not, the beautiful Russian girl gets executed by her ex-comrades."
Natasha closes her eyes and ignores him. She slides even further down on the sofa, not caring that her top gets caught again and bares some of her stomach, By the time she's comfortable, Loki's hand is resting on her knee. She smiles, carefully places her wine back on the floor and folds her arms across her stomach.
"You could just not go."
Natasha shakes her head.
"Why not? You could just stay. Fury can't reach you here."
"And who would bring you chocolate?" she asks.
"Thor. If you tell him it'll make me happy."
Natasha opens her eyes and scowls at him. "You really are a little shit sometimes, you know that?"
Loki smirks, but doesn't hold it. Apparently he realises she didn't mean it in an endearing way, and his amusement soon fades. "The point still stands. You could stay here. With me."
"No."
Loki huffs, his hand stilling on Natasha's knee.
"Why does it matter so much?"
"I know two things about this assignment," Natasha says, pushing herself up, realising that he's not going to leave the subject alone. "One, I know I'm gonna kill a guy."
At this, Loki's expression darkens.
"Two, I'm gonna make sure he suffers." She holds his gaze, refusing to blink and let him win the impromptu stare down. She will not feel bad about doing her job, especially when that same job has continued to pay her a full wage while she lazes about in another realm eating fine food and getting drunk on seriously strong wine.
"What about that blot on the blank piece of paper? What about everything you said to me?"
"It all still stands. But you should know, that given we let Thor take you back to Asgard, that we're not in the business of killing people in their sleep. However, sometimes, there are people who are so abhorrent, who cause so much suffering to innocent people, and who are so well protected by law that the only possible way to stop the red filling up their own ledger is to close the book on them."
"But -"
"What I said to you wasn't a lie. It's when it comes down to your own choice that you have to consider things, and because you don't work for a government agency, you always have a choice."
"But you have the choice to not go," Loki argues. "You don't have to kill, they can't force you."
"They're not forcing me. I accepted the assignment. This guy is scum, and by dealing with him, we'll be saving the lives of innocent people. That's what matters, to me, at least."
"Is that definite? Or is that just what they've told you?"
"Let it go, Loki. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'll be back when I'm done. End of story."
He doesn't say another word on the matter, and instead, lifts Natasha's legs off of him, stands, then heads towards his sleeping quarters, pulling the door open roughly. It hits the wall noisily and rebounds as he strides through it, and Natasha rolls her eyes. She downs the last of her wine, sighs, then follows him. He pulls his shirt off, throws it onto the nearest chair, then climbs into bed, pulling the covers up high around him.
"Do you want me to go?" she asks, leaning against the doorframe. It's the last time she's prepared to ask, and she really doesn't want to leave things on a sour note with him. She knows it's all just because he can't convince her to stay, and he's taking it as a personal insult, as though she'd much rather be killing billionaires who think it's fun to experiment on human beings, rather than spending time with him.
"No," he says, his voice sulky and muffled by the pillows.
"You know I'm not going because I prefer to be there. I'm going because it's my job, okay? That's the reason."
"If you say so."
"I'll come back as soon as I can. You know I will."
Loki doesn't say anything, but he pulls down the covers on the other side of the bed, revealing the soft white sheets beneath. She doesn't need any more of an invitation than that, and so she goes to join him, toeing off her shoes then she slides into bed next to him. Before she realises what he's doing, he's got his arms around her, pulling her close, her back against his chest, his chin resting against her shoulder. His arms are locked fast around her, his breath warm and ticklish against her neck.
"It's just so awful when you're not here," he says, and Natasha can feel his lips form the words against her neck. She bites her lip, trying not to react, knowing, in her heart of hearts that she is just his current distraction, and he doesn't want anybody else to play with her. That's why he was so upset when he thought there was something going on with her and Thor, and that's why he's so upset now, because he thinks his favourite play thing is going to be fucking her way to the top of the shadiest research centre in the world in order to kill the guy in charge.
"I know," she says softly, placing her hand on top of his. "But you need to learn to handle it. Thor's here to help you, it has never been more important that you understand that. He is here because he cares about you. I know you don't like it, but it's true. So maybe just let him a little closer."
Loki sighs. "It'll just make the days go slower," he tells her. "He won't let me sleep through it and he'll insist that we do things and somehow, we'll be out for hours and hours and hours and when we get back, it won't even be lunch time. It's horrendous. And yet," he pulls her even closer, until she is flush against him. "When you're here, the day speeds by and before I know it, you're gone again."
"Maybe I can stay a while when I come back?" Natasha suggests. "Make up for lost time?"
"Maybe," Loki says, and then he presses his lips gently against the skin of Natasha's neck. She freezes, her breath catching her throat, and when she doesn't protest, his lips graze against her jaw. Natasha bites her lip and closes her eyes, trying to think straight. It's not easy, the wine, while very intoxicating, isn't affecting her half as much as the sensation of his lips brushing against her, and combined the two are completely impeding her judgement.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she breathes, suppressing a sigh as one of his hands slides under her top, caressing her waist, his movements fluid, expert, but at her words of doubt, he pauses.
"I don't know about that," he says silkily. "But I'm sure it'll be good."
She smiles at his honesty for a second, then whispers one word.
"Okay."
