A/N: I'm pretty impressed with Natasha as a fighter. And after re-watching her and Loki talk through the cage, I kinda think she got under his skin. (Not sure why – jealousy maybe? That she's as bad as he is but someone still gave her a second chance?). So, I think he might keep tabs on her afterwards. Hence this little piece of fluff (fluff?).

"Agent Romanoff."

Natasha was in the process of reaching for the orange juice but she didn't miss a beat. Instantly, before the words were even finished, her weapon was drawn and she was crouching behind the fridge door, calculating the likelihood that a bullet would pass through it.

(Likelihood: unknown. She really needed to learn more about the properties of her refrigerator. She knew her counter would provide cover from bullets, but as he was actually in the kitchen with her that wasn't going to help.)

(Besides, the intruder was fucking Loki and he didn't tend to use bullets.)

"What happened to facing Asgardian justice?" she said, as calmly as she could. Didn't come out of the refrigerator, though. "I thought you'd be locked up or killed."

Loki chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint."

"No no, not at all." She peeked around the edge of the door, checked his reflection in the glass of the oven door. Couldn't see much: no gleam of scepter, but the glance she'd gotten before ducking for cover had told her that he was armored. Not great. "It's no problem you're alive. Considering you're not here to harm me or anything… right?"

"Come out and let's talk about it."

She swallowed and crouched lower. If she was going to rush him, it had to be a dive for his knees. Bowl him over and snatch whatever he was packing; alien weapons had to be more effective against him than her sidearm. Stall for time. She had to think. "Um… thanks, but I'm good here." Slight tremor in her voice, pretend that she was afraid but playing tough. He'd like that.

"Do you really want to die in a refrigerator?"

Fuck. That was it. She sprung up and hurled a beer bottle at him, shot it for an explosion, and capitalized on Loki's flinch to tackle him.

She'd caught him by surprise, so with a few seconds of grappling in wet broken glass she managed to sweep him and get on top. She emptied the rest of her clip into his head, point-blank range, gun jammed against his eye because for all she knew Asgardians had incredibly thick skulls.

The shots stole her hearing…

…So she knew something was wrong when Loki tsked into her mind. "Is that how you greet all your guests, Agent?"

And the body under her just dissolved, leaving her straddling nothing.

Fuck.

Loki stood over her, nudging her head with his (armored) knee. "Don't do that again," he mind-said to her, quiet but dangerous. "It wouldn't have killed me, but it would have inflicted pain and injury I did not appreciate."

"Okay," she said, figuring he could hear her even if she could not. The gunshots – or the wrestling or the magic or maybe just the fear – had given her a sudden splitting headache. "I'm standing up now."

"Of course."

She did it with her hands raised. Harmless. "That wouldn't have killed you?" she asked, conversational.

Loki laughed inside her mind. Didn't sound very happy though. "Surely you've heard stories. I'm a survivor."

"Mmm. How about this?" she said, darting her eyes to his face and away again. Wetting her lips to telegraph. "Would this kill you?" And she arched up to kiss him.

He only froze for a second, but it was enough time for her to get one hand behind his neck and the other on his waist before he could murder her. From there she worked fast: he only had time to mmph in surprise, against her mouth, before she sucked his lower lip in hard and ground her crotch against his with authority.

His hips twitched in answer and one of his arms started to move – maybe to come around her? Or to shove her away? Regardless: he was too late.

Her waist-hand had found one of his knives. Her neck-hand fisted in his hair and yanked his head back, and she buried the blade in his throat.

She pulled away, shoved him back with a kick to the stomach, and watched him stagger.

She was watching his face. He looked put out, and definitely in pain, but she saw no dismay or fear. So this wasn't going to kill him, either – basically, nothing she had here in her kitchen would do the trick. Probably nothing would even come close.

Maybe it was time to stop fighting then; it was only going to piss him off.

She crossed her arms and waited for him to recover. It didn't take long: within a few seconds he had pulled the knife out and covered the wound with his hand. She could see glowing – was he healing himself?

"Why, Agent Romanoff," he purred, eyes wide with mock surprise. "Is this love?"

"What?"

"You'd have done better to cut. And you know it." He moved the hand, wiped at all the blood with his sleeve, and she could see that the wound was already entirely healed up. Dear fucking god. He really was a god. "I can only assume you were gentle with me on purpose."

"Gentle," she echoed, and gave him eyebrows. Then shrugged. "Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but I wasn't pulling punches. You scared me and I lashed out – that's all."

"Mm. How disappointing." He ran his hand idly along the counter and then said calmly: "Don't do it again. I will punish you next time."

She drew herself up. "If you're planning to kill me anyway I really don't see what I have to be afraid of."

He laughed – but when he looked up she saw that the smile was really, really dark. "We both know that it's when they're not planning to kill you that you have the most to fear."

She conceded that with a head-twitch.

"And what makes you think I'm planning to kill you?" he said, mock-curious. "I think I've been quite friendly thus far. I've even healed your fragile mortal ears for you."

He had indeed. But still. "You did say something about dying in a refrigerator…?"

He shrugged. "I was only making conversation." With his patented look of innocence. It was ridiculous to think that anybody ever trusted that look. (People said Thor generally did. Maybe he was even more of a mental midget than she'd thought.)

"Okay," she said, and matched his bland cool courtesy. "Then, please: make your conversation. I'm all ears."

He closed the refrigerator door. "I came here to give you some friendly advice."

"Mm." If she turned her back on him, then killing her would be too easy and he probably wouldn't do it. So she knelt and started picking pieces of broken glass up from the floor. "I wonder why I get the impression that it's not going to be friendly, and that I'd be way better off not taking it?"

"I have no idea. Here: let me." He knelt beside her and swept his hand over the mess. The glass and the beer all just disappeared.

"You could make a fortune as a cleaning lady."

He ignored her. "That mortal who's bedding you - and not well, if you want my opinion. Him. Are you very fond of him?"

He was spying on her in the bedroom? She arched eyebrows to demonstrate indignation, but that wasn't quite demonstration enough so she slapped him too. With her hand still full of glass.

Loki sighed and wiped the cuts away with a glittering stripe of magic. "I could swear I've asked you to stop attacking me."

She gave a saucy little shrug. "Oops." Maybe he would throw her around and spank her or something and then be on his way.

"I forgive you. That mortal," he insisted. "Are you close?"

He didn't sound jealous or seething. And if he ended up killing the guy it wouldn't be the end of the world anyway, so… why not give a true answer? "Close enough to fuck."

Nod. "Good: don't get any closer. He's dying."

"What?"

"He has the… the stench of an illness on him," Loki explained. "His body hasn't got more than a few years left. Probably less."

"Oh." Because that wasn't weird. Not at all. "So you've been going around smelling my dates."

He cocked his head. Fluttered his eyelashes. "That's more inappropriate than stabbing me in the neck?" he asked – an excellent impression of confusion.

She fluttered hers back. Are you… flirting with me?" He didn't answer. "Because… a piece of friendly advice: if you try flirting with me, the next time I stab you it'll be in the jewels."

He shrugged. "They'll heal too."

Now she was thoroughly off-balance. Couldn't even tell whether he was fucking kidding or not.

And finally, finally he was satisfied. "Have a good evening, Agent Romanoff."

"Yeah, uh, you too." She went back to the fridge to resume her snack. "And thanks for the heads-up about the fuckbuddy."

When she turned around, though, he was gone already.

(But he'd left the bloodstains for her to clean up.)

The End.

Sorry for the lack of updates recently. Work's been brutal. But stuff is coming. Stay tuned!