Oh, goodness, allergies. I have horrible, aching allergies. The only good part is (please, God, let this continue to be so) I can BREATHE still. It's just I have a horrible, perpetual headache and aching chest. BUT NO FEVER! So I deem it just allergies. So, how am I going to take my mind off of the misery? Write of course!
Disclaimer: Own it not, sayeth I! (Aren't we glad Loki and Thor don't talk like that in the movies? Don't get me wrong, I love Shakespearean english #lololbachelorsinenglish# but yeah. So much easier to write and take seriously without all the "eth"s and "thou"s)
Chapter 10
Frigga was sleeping, soundly, in the corner of the room as Loki sat, stagnantly, at the small, wooden table that rested perpendicular to her bed. He had poured himself a drink but had scarcely touched it. He picked up the jar, swirled the amber liquid, watching it slosh, invitingly, against the glass walls of the container, and then set it down again, letting his head rest, heavily, against his arms.
So many thoughts and images flooded his mind, twisting and flipping through each of his neurotransmitters, taunting and tormenting him. Thor's face in the Jotun caverns. Logan's words about the heroes (how many thousands could Thanos call up at will?). But the image that taunted him most, despite his better judgment and the more pressing issues surrounding him, was the memory of that kiss with Natasha. Like a fool, he had let the emotions surrounding Thor's return, Natasha's confession of self, and his mother's breakdown get the better of him and, when Natasha had chased him to give him a piece of her mind, he just couldn't take it. He didn't need a lecture, nor did he want one. He had to stop her words before they could start.
It was not the reason under which he had wished to act upon their first kiss.
Nor had he meant to enjoy it so very much in a moment when everything appeared to be going to hell. And now, guilt gripped him from the very core, for as Thor suffered under Thanos' control and his mother slept in a disruptive sleep of anger and sorrow, he dwelt on the tingle which rose to his lips when he remembered Natasha's kiss.
She is truly the Black Widow. My lips tingle with her poison—a poison that dwells in the mind.
Clenching his jaw and slapping his hand down on the table, he lifted his head, quickly, when he heard Frigga groan and shift in her sleep. He took a deep, calming breath and then picked up the jar in front of him, letting the scent of stale alcohol fill his nostrils, before he downed the entire jar in one long drink.
"Sire."
Loki let the sour expression on his face from the alcohol wain and then turned his head. Standing in the doorway of his room was Heimdall. He was weighed down by a sparkling photon rifle reinforced with an adamantium shell and utilizing the identity tech that Fandrall had modified strapped to his back, two adamantium blades—one a dagger, the other a sword—tied around his waist, and a light-weight breastplate also fashioned from adamantium. The gleaming white-silver color of the metal contrasted starkly against the deep, dark color of Heimdall's smooth skin. He approached Loki, slowly.
Loki chuckled, bitterly. "You were correct, Heimdall. About Natasha."
"Sire?"
"She is a distraction to me—a vulnerability," he replied and then stood, turning to gaze at the Seer. "She has completely bewitched my mind. Even now, when I should be focusing on the eradication of my brother from Thanos' grip, my mind dwells on..."
He paused, letting his voice trail off as his fingers twisted into fists of deep impatience—impatience with himself for his foolish behavior. "...her."
"My liege," Heimdall said, ever the respectful servant—ever the strong warrior and friend. "I remember well what I said when you first allowed the Spider to settle here. I was fearful that her presence would affect you, yes. But moreso than 'distraction', my prince...I feared for your heart."
Loki's eyes snapped up from their position on the floor, to look into the Gatekeeper's face. "Heimdall?"
"I knew if you allowed that woman to remain, and she turned out to be merely a ploy of Thanos', you would not be able to save face." He paused, turned, allowing Loki only a view of his strong, chiseled profile. Loki knit his eyebrows together, a deep furrow creasing his forehead.
"You would crumble under the weight of your own emotions," he continued, after a long, silent moment. "And not just those to do with her...but all of them. You have shouldered so much, my lord. Your father's eternal sleep, your mother's well being, Thor's alleged death. To have the woman that you loved be merely the pawn of you undoing...I knew it would be the final crack in your already damaged heart. I knew it would destroy you."
Loki took deep, uncertain breaths, his green eyes searching the emptiness of the room beneath their feet—searching beyond said emptiness—for an appropriate response. His mind reeled, his body shuddering, and he let his slender fingers and wide palm rest against the wall nearby, so as not to stumble or fall.
Heimdall placed a hand on the Trickster's shoulder to steady him. "Loki," he began, and then closed his eyes, submissively, "I was mistaken. She has done nothing but proven herself exactly who you believed her to be. Even if she, herself, does not remember. And, though she may cause you to falter now, my liege, if there is something that I have learned from your mother and father—from Thor—it is that love can and will only make you stronger."
Loki slowly turned green orbs up to look at him, bewildered.
Heimdall continued: "Because, it gives you something to fight for."
The prince's eyes widened, and he realized, suddenly, that loving Natasha was the cause for everything. It had changed him, morphed his heart, given him the tools he needed to love his family again—to love Thor and Odin again. To act on Thor's ideals. To be the hero.
All that had transpired in the last century—all that he had accomplished, all those he had saved—was due to Natasha's friendship. Was due to his falling in love with her. And, perhaps, to her, love was for children. But, Heimdall was right. It gave him the strength to be a man.
A strength he would need to protect her and his mother. A strength he would need to save Thor. Her presence wasn't a distraction. It was determination.
And so, Loki let that determination settle over his face and picked up the spear settled, silently, in the corner of the room and turned to Heimdall, a finality in his expression. "What say you, good Heimdall?"
Heimdall gave his prince a strong smirk and bowed. "I will follow you to the ends of the universe, my king."
Loki smirked in return, and gave a small bow in return. "I thank you for your loyalty, my friend. Now, let us collect the rest of our party. We depart in twenty minutes."
With that, the men turned and moved, swiftly, toward the door, Loki pausing only once to turn and gaze upon his mother, softness painted in liquid green orbs. Be safe, Mother. I shall return. And then, he was gone.
Logan and Laura had already ascended to the top. Because of their healing factor and adamantium bones, they needed little else to keep them safe, moving back and forth within the dangerous realm. Fandral, like Heimdall, had loaded himself down with tech—weaponry, armor, a wrist-compass with a holo-screen, and subtle ear-bud communicators for all of them.
With his new spear and his magic, Loki, like Logan and Laura, needed little in the way of weaponry, but Fandral had fashioned an adamantium breastplate for the prince anyway. Runes similar to those on his spear were carved into the metal—most likely with Logan's claws—so as to enhance the protective quality of the plate.
Despite his silence, Loki gave Fandral a nod of thanks and then sent he and Heimdall on ahead of him. As he leaped onto the ladder to pull himself up, last, he felt the gentle touch of feminine fingers, calloused by years of trigger-pulling, touch his ankle, carefully, pausing him in his climb. He twisted and bowed his head a little, meeting blue eyes with green.
"Natal—ah, apologies, Natasha," he murmured and jumped down from the ladder, glancing up the tunnel at the his climbing companions to ensure they still climbed, cautiously, before turning his eyes again on her. "What is it?"
She was dressed in her white jumpsuit this time, and a small semblance of fear filled Loki's heart. Had she reverted? Yet, silent and still, she stood, looking at him.
"I'm coming with you," she replied. "I figured I'd blend with the surroundings better in this."
This was true. Each of his companions had dressed themselves in white garments under the silvery-white of their adamantium weapons. It would be impossible to spot them trekking through the snowy blizzard landscape. Still, despite Natasha's intelligence and skills, Loki shook his head.
"I have already told you. I will not concern you in this," he replied.
"You can't just leave me here. That's not who I am. That's not who I've ever been," she argued. "I've been under Thanos' thumb for...what did Logan say, a century? I want—I want—"
Loki reached out and pulled her into his arms, understanding her anger. Her rage. She wanted revenge. She wanted to reach out and break the necks of all of the people who had allowed Thanos to use her. She wanted to destroy his regime from the inside out.
"This is not a mission of revenge, little spider," he murmured. "We are simply looking for clues. And, as it stands, I know if you were to catch up with anyone involved with Thanos right now, you would end them. Your anger is that great, and I understand..."
He trailed off for a moment, before: "...but one of those puppets is my brother. My perrogative is not to end him. It is to save him."
Natasha inhaled his scent, listened, carefully, to his words, and tried to calm the heart-pounding rage that boiled within her. As she listened to him speak of his brother, she felt the tickle of memories in the back of her mind and closed her eyes against his shoulder, letting the images take over.
"Your brother would give up his life for that Jane Foster. You don't care at all?" Natasha hissed. Loki had only been on Earth for a month. His magic was limited and his close-minded ideals even more so. It was the first time he had ever witnessed Thor's attitude when around Jane. She was visiting Stark Tower. Thor was enthralled.
"And why would I?" Loki replied. "It is his life to do with what he wishes. I have never much cared what the Golden Prince of Asgard does with himself. If he wishes to throw away his potential kingship—his throne and all that entails—for the love of a human woman...for his precious Earth...why would I care?"
"Fine. You two obviously have two different views of humans. But he vouched for you. He's the reason your here. And he's just as soon give up his life for you as for her. So, tell me, Loki, would you do the same? What if he needed to be saved? What would you do?"
There was a pregnant silence between them for a long moment. Loki's expression was one of struggle. There was obviously a war going on within his heart. Then:
"I would not save him."
And she remembered, he got up and left before she could say another word.
"Why?" was her sudden question. "Why do you mean to save him? You told me you wouldn't."
"Well, yes, but that was-" Loki paused, suddenly, and looked down at her with shocked green irises. "Wait...you remember this?"
Natasha chuckled, a little bitterly. "Yeah. Been remembering bits and pieces of Natasha Romanoff's life for weeks now. I knew your name before I ever saw your face clearly. When I learned who you were though, it was like every memory that had you in it suddenly made sense."
She pulled herself, gently, out of his arms and brushed her trigger-calloused fingers through her long red curls. "The blur with green eyes and black hair was suddenly you. And it was like...it was right. Does that sound...crazy? And confusing? Ugh."
Loki watched her pace a few steps one way, pivot, and pace the other, before reaching out and grabbing her arm, softly. "I cannot say I understand not remembering who I am. But I can say I understand the feeling of being something I am not. And I am truly sorry."
Natasha's eyes studied him from scalp to toes and then back up into his eyes, searching. Searching for answers. Finally, she shook her head, smirking a little sardonically. "Don't be. Somehow, I get the feeling this isn't the first time this has happened to me. Guess I'm an easy target."
"No," Loki barked, causing the woman to jump and look at him, incredulously. Loki continued: "You have never been an 'easy target'. You are one of the strongest mortals I have ever met. Natasha..."
He paused and swung his other hand around to place on her opposite arm. He looked deeply into her blue eyes. "...you outsmarted me. You tricked me, Natasha. Me, the Trickster god. You are...limitless..."
His voice trailed off, the sound of it breathy and awed. Natasha furrowed her brow. This man—a god—was awed by her?
"Loki!" came a voice from above and Loki let his sharp jaw swivel up on his long, muscled neck (Natasha could not help but admire these features, discreetly) to see who was calling to him. Fandral's eyes gazed down at him questioningly from the top and Loki gave a firm nod to him, before he turned his head back to Natasha.
"Please, stay here," he asked.
Natasha blinked at the sudden statement and then gave him an unsatisfied expression. "What? You just said that I-"
"-was limitless. Yes, and strong, and intelligent, and by all means capable of taking care of herself, I have no doubt, but I have my reasons, Natasha. Please, trust me."
"Why should I-"
"My mother," Loki replied. "If you will not do it for me, do it for her. I am most uncomfortable leaving her here while I traverse into unknown danger. I need to know someone I can trust is protecting her."
Natasha glowered at him, immediately. "What a dirty play, using your mother that way." He knew she couldn't say no.
A sudden grin, reminiscent of a man in a glass cage, stretched across his face. "Well, I am the Trickster, my dear, am I not?" With that, he leaped onto the ladder again, ready to pull himself up.
"Loki!" Natasha called, and without waiting for him to acknowledge her, she asked, "Why did you kiss me?"
He faltered, pausing in his ascent. However, he did not turn, nor did he answer. He just hung on the ladder, silent, his eyes cast down, dwelling in the denseness of the moment with an understanding that now was not the time to have this discussion. Finally, he looked back at her, offered her an apologetic expression, and then turned back to the metal rungs of the ladder and continued his determined ascent.
Natasha watched him go, unsatisfied by the answer—or lack thereof—but she knew, for now, that it would have to wait. He had more important matters to attend to. And so did she.
With that, she turned, and made her way through the scaffolds and pathways of the compound, toward Loki and Frigga's room.
The caverns were dark, and quiet. Loki's entire being shuddered from the ugly silence that met his ears when he entered. Usually the sound of the Jotun language echoed through the icy halls. But, now?
Nothing.
As they shuffled through the chilly tunnels, Loki tried to imagine what happened here, as they traveled deeper and deeper. He didn't have to think long, however. When they reached the first of the many Jotun common rooms, they found out quickly.
Loki recognized it, immediately. Pieces of broken Jotun bodies, like a block of ice broken in pieces by an ice-pick, were strewn across the room. Men. Women. Tears sprung to Loki's eyes, because he knew that only one weapon could cause such damage and devastation to a Jotun body. However, he blinked them back and kneeled, running his fingers over the bludgeoned body parts, trying to discern what he could, allowing his digits to turn their natural frozen blue.
Fandral and Heimdall scouted the room, trying to find any survivors and as Logan and Laura entered, last, their faces denoted their shock. Logan looked at Loki. "Who did this?"
Loki stood up straight, watching his hand as it the color of cream returned to his skin, before he looked at Logan. "My brother. He is not of sound mind. Thanos' hold is deep. And dangerous."
"It is reminiscent of our first encounter with the Jotuns, isn't it?" Fandral murmured, sorrow veiling his eyes.
"Fearfully so," Loki replied. "Come. We must inspect the main throne room."
"There's no door out of this room," Laura said in response. "There's on in, but not one out."
"That is because no one is allowed in the throne room except the royal family and those invited for an audience," Loki replied. Then, hee moved, carefully, through the common room and approached the wall opposite him. Letting his Asgardian countenance fade to Jotun, he allowed the fullness of his Frost Giant lineage show. Then, closing his eyes, he let his magic wash over him, and flood from every one of them runes carved into his flesh.
Letting his (now) red eyes fly open, he reached out and touched his glowing skin to the wall. The group watched as his glowing runes seemed to melt into the runes on the wall. Suddenly, a glowing outline of large, ornate double-doors appeared, cutting into the wall and then the glowing faded. Loki stepped back, collecting himself, letting his Asgardian appearance to return as he took deep, shaking breaths. Utilizing his Jotun royal blood always took so much out of him due to its vicarious relationship with his Asgardian body.
Fandral approached him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Is all well, my friend?"
"Yes," Loki breathed, and then, clearing his throat, repeated firmly, "Yes."
Laura watched him as he struggled to keep himself stable, before turning her blue eyes to the door. "What is this?"
"A passage direct to the throne room," Loki replied. "Each of the common rooms has one. Only a Jotun royal or a Frost Giant summoned to an audience may access them. They are also easy escape routes for the Jotun royal family should something like this ever happen."
"Why were they not utilized?" Heimdall murmured, quietly.
"I know not," Loki offered. "But it was fortunate it was not, considering..." He trailed off, glancing around at the carnage that lay at their feet. His fists clenched. Thor.
"We must go," he hissed, and pushed the heavy doors open, stumbling through and righting himself, immediately.
"My prince, have care. You have weakened yourself, calling up so much of your Jotun power," Heimdall murmured, his hands hovering so as to catch Loki should he fall.
"I am fine!" Loki snapped, twisting his head around to glower at the group of them, slapping Heimdall's hands away. "I do not require being babied, Heimdall."
"My apologies, sire," mumbled the Gatekeeper, giving an apologetic bow.
As they ventured further into the throne room, Loki let out a choking gasp as the air around him grew dense and frigid—more frigid than usual. He reached up, pressing his hand to his chest where his heart beat wildly beneath. Heimdall and Fandral approached him as Laura and Logan searched the room. It was completely empty.
"The room...it mourns..." breathed Loki, as again the creamy porcelain of his skin began to morph, changing to runed cerulean. "It is...mourning..."
Heimdall reached out to steady Loki, but Fandral paused his hand, shaking his head, silently. He remembered what happened to Volstagg. It was unwise to touch Loki in this form.
"It cries out..." Loki said, his voice distant—far from them or their mission. "Begs..." He approached the throne, his back to them, standing straight and rigid in front of it. Suddenly, he turned, his red eyes gleaming with...power.
Heimdall and Fandral gazed upon him fearfully, recognizing the reminiscent ugliness of a Loki thought long gone—a Loki who craved power and rulership. They could see it—his body thrummed with power and latent Jotun magic, his spear glowing harshly with icy potency. He fixed his eyes on them, turning the spear toward them, slowly.
"Kneel," he said, lowly.
"Hey!"
Logan's voice rang out as he reached out for Loki, grabbing his wrist before he could do any kind of damage, twisting it around so that Loki's attack hit the ceiling, bounced off the ice and dissipated.
Heimdall and Fandral cried, "No!" upon Logan's arrival, realizing his plan and watched as Logan's hand turned black and frost-bitten.
Loki felt the twist of his wrist, the crack and dissipation of magic, and something snapped inside of him—the grip of the Jotun throne room on him—the latent Jotun magic that had twisted itself around him, intent on claiming his royal blood—broke, like a rubberband and Loki's blue skin faded again to white, and he looked around, his brow furrowed. "What...what happened?"
Logan stepped back and looked at his hand. "Well. That's a first, bub." However, in slow succession, the black began to fade. The color of his skin began to return, moving slowly from his forearm to tips of his fingers. Heimdall and Fandral watched, shocked. Logan's arm had fully healed.
"What?" he asked. "You think 'cause he's some kinda god that my healing factor still wouldn't work? I saw you flinch back from him. Figured something was up. Figured only someone who could touch dangerous things and come out of it unscathed could wake his ass up."
"What...did I do?" Loki asked.
"This place is dangerous for you, my prince," Heimdall murmured. "Your Jotun blood reverberates with this room. It nearly took you."
Loki felt the vague presence of magic not his own and he glanced around. Studying each of the runes carved into the walls and on the throne, he nodded. "...I understand. The royal family is gone."
"How could you know that?" Logan asked.
"Because the runes on the walls and throne react to Jotun royal blood. Enhances the magic of whoever is reigning king of Jotunheim," Loki replied. He turned and looked at Fandral and Heimdall. "...which is myself. The royal family is gone and thus..."
He swallowed, uncertain of himself suddenly. "If it is as you say, my magic was enhanced beyond my recognition. It must have momentarily paralyzed my mind." He looked at the three of them, invidiually. "I am sorry."
"If you boys are done with your profound touchy-feely moment," Laura said, standing in the cracked and crumbled threshold of the secret passage from the throne room into the safe-room. "You guys should see this."
Loki nodded and moved forward, quietly, careful to avoid nearing or touching the throne. He stepped into the safe-room, his eyes trained on the video equipment magicked into the icy walls. This must have been how Lyrn had contacted him. However, that wasn't the most shocking feature in the room.
Laying in the corner, the entirety of her body covered in a splintering of massive cracks, like the appearance of thin ice when it is disturbed by something heavy, was a female Jotun body. It did not move, or appear to breathe and as Loki approached it, his eyes closed, pity written in emerald green.
"It's the queen mother," Loki replied. "It's Yngvild."
"Loki?" Fandral asked. "Is she-"
Loki shook his head. "...she is dead."
Anna lowered her infrared binoculars and smirked. There was no immediately. heat-signature but because of specialized plexi-steel microchip installed in the tool, she could turn up the infrared detector and was getting small signature blips just over the ridge and deep beneath the snowy surface. Even the cold climate couldn't withstand Thanos' tech, and for that, Anna was abundantly, maliciously proud.
Pressing the button on her ear-bud, she murmured, "Alright, boys, think we found it. Unless some other secret underground compound has tons'a little red dots all hangin' out in one place."
When she received no answer, she rolled blue orbs to the sky and mumbled, "Stupid lizards, they don't have no sense of humor." Taking advantage of the blizzard conditions, she pressed a button her wrist-guard and activated the device in her suit that hid her own heat signature, satisfied when her regime did the same. Then, she pressed a second, sending a signal over the landscape that disconnected and shorted out all of the compound's communications and surveillance.
At least, if it did was it was supposed to do. But Anna was confident. This Laufeyson was smart, but he didn't have the kind of pull Thanos did. Those who loved Laufeyson might fight, build and invent for his cause, sometimes...
And the results would vary.
But those who feared Thanos always would. And the results had better be...
Perfect.
When she was certain her measures had taken full affect, she signaled to her team. In one sweeping motion of her hand, the whole battalion of them rushed down the embankment toward the compound's entrances. Utilizing the images she's gotten from the Jotuns' minds, she rushed the East entrance, slid to a halt, and allowed for her second to catch up.
When the silent demi-god approached, Anna smirked. She halted the battalion with another solid motion of her hand, and then turned to Thor. "Well, sugah..." She brushed the snow from the entrance cover, and grinned, "how 'bout we get this show on the road?"
Thor looked at her with empty blue eyes and then, lifting Mjolnir with purpose, he swung, bringing the hammer down with absolution.
Natasha had found Loki's alcohol. The ale was smooth and sweet on her tongue as she allowed the crisp, burning flavor to traverse into her mouth and down her throat. However, upon discovering his tall, half-full flute of ale, she had also found a box.
It was old, and made of a type of wine-colored wood she'd never seen. Asgardian, she realized. She wondered what it had once looked like. Setting the box down and taking another, careful, drink of the stale, sweet liquid, she sat down at the table. Glancing at Frigga, who still slept—a deep, unconscious sleep that had not broken in the two days since Loki and his group had departed—she bit her lip. She shouldn't invade the privacy of Frigga or Loki.
But somehow, the box called to her. It stirred something within her that was uncontrollable and needed to be satiated. Setting her jar down, she carefully lifted the lid, and her eyes grew soft, and moist. Sitting on top of the items in the box was the photograph Loki had tried to give her. Picking it up with deft fingers, she studied it. Brushing her hands over it's smooth, soft plastic surface, she tried to remember each of her teammates.
One careful finger brushed over a goateed face, expression painted with smugness. "Tony," she murmured.
Another fingered a face full of worry-lines and sleeplessness—but it was smiling. "Bruce."
Her fingers moved with effortless grace over the picture and then paused on the smooth-faced, smiling expression of a man in red-white-and-blue. "Steve."
And then, her fingers lingered on the face of a man who's face had been so far away before. So far out of her memory's reach. "...Clint."
Finally, she let her fingers move over the last face, long-haired, blonde and scruffy. "Thor."
There was a sudden rumble that echoed through the compound and Natasha's head shot up. Her eyebrows knit together, brow furrowing deeply. She stood, taking very cautious, deliberate steps toward the door and peeking out. She stood for a long moment, listening for another—any other—strange sound and then nodded, satisfied when she heard none.
Returning to the table, she lowered herself into the creaking wooden seat once more and began to thumb through the box. There were more pictures. Pictures of the Avengers without Loki. Pictures of the Avengers with Loki. Newspaper clippings of the Battle of New York. Pictures of Thor with a woman—a beautiful woman with brown hair who left Thor smiling, perpetually. The woman's name lingered at the edges of Natasha's mind but she couldn't place it. Not yet, anyway.
Loki, she realized, had preserved all of these things for Frigga, she imagined. As she dug deeper, she paused, having reached out to pick up a photo and realizing, after a moment, that it was her. She looked taken off guard, but she was smiling. Her hair was tied back, and mussed, and she wore only a gray tank-top and a pair of spandex pants. Her hands were wrapped in bandages. Her face was make-up free.
"I was training," her mouth said before her brain could fully register. "I was training and Loki-"
There was a flash. A flash of light as Natasha turned, pushing a few stray curls out of her face and turned from the punching bag she'd been throwing her weight into. Standing in the doorway of the Stark Tower gym was Loki, dressed in black jeans and a green polo, his long fingers twisted around a camera. He was smirking.
"Are you serious?" she asked. "Don't take pictures of me right now! Where did you get that? How do you even know how to use it?"
"Oh come now, Agent Romanoff, give me a little more credit than that," he replied and as she approached him, her hands outstretched to take the camera before he could do any more damage, he snapped a shot of her.
"Ah! Are you kidding? Delete that!"
"I think not," Loki replied. "Look, it isn't so bad. Here..."
He showed it to her. Somehow, despite everything, despite even catching her off guard, he had managed to snap a photo of her smiling. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Fine. Keep it then. But if I catch you taking pictures of me while I'm sweaty and gross again, I'll kill you myself."
A laugh, smooth as liquid, and as glimmering at gold, traveled through Loki's lips and he gave a bow. "Is that a promise, Agent Romanoff?"
The woman turned her profile toward him and smirked, before turning her attention back to her punching bag again.
Within the box, each picture he'd taken of her that day was settled. She wondered if anyone else knew about them. But as she thumbed through pictures of herself punching, kicking, flipping, twisting, she felt something loosen in her mind.
She saw herself as a ballerina.
She saw Russia in the coldness of winter.
She remembered the Red Room and all the devastation she'd caused.
Her ledger.
"...dripping! It's gushing—gush—gush—"
Her friendships.
"Barton's been compromised."
"It's really not that complicated."
"Stark."
"What would you do if you knew you only had one birthday left?"
"I'd do whatever I want."
"...trusts me as far—far—far—"
"What's your secret? Yoga?"
Her...heart...
"...it's all the same to you-"
"Natasha...I..."
"-I'll have that drink now."
Everything. Everything was coming back. All at once. All in one massive wave. She was remembering herself, her past, her team, and Loki. Most of all Loki. What a complex and twisted relationship they had had.
"Why did you kiss me?"
She was starting to understand why as she clunched her aching forehead, squeezing blue eyes shut and trying to block out the river of memories that flooded her mind.
"Love is for children."
Her eyes snapped open. I was in love with him. I am in love with him.
But I was afraid. Because I was trained to...to...
Did he know?
Does he...?
Natasha stood, her whole body dizzy with the overload of information, the entirety of her nerve-endings fried from the sudden rush of new memories—it was an overwhelming sensation, like coming home to an old friend, and running a marathon all at once. It left her exhausted, uncertain and somehow comforted.
She allowed herself to dwell in this feeling, closing her eyes and calling up her memories at will. Tears tickled the corners of her blue orbs and she smiled, suddenly. "Tony...Steve...Bruce...Thor...Loki..."
However, these thoughts were short-lived as another echo of rumbling—this one much louder—traveled through the compound again. Collecting herself, Natasha stood. Putting the pictures away, she placed the box back in the secret compartment, finished her drink, and smirked. "Loki, I thought I taught you better. Vodka is always the way to go. Glupyye bogu."
She closed the compartment and stepped through the door onto the scaffolding just outside. When she heard the rumbling again, in such close succession with the first, her suspicions grew. Suddenly, a group of men rushed up the stairs past her, shouting, prepping their photon rifles.
She couldn't tell what they were saying. They were elves and spoke in an alien dialect way beyond her. But she knew what shouting and weapons meant in body language. The rumbling was no spontaneous event. It was an attack.
Rushing back into Loki's room, she picked up her own rifle and slid her wristbands on, twisting the switch which fired them up, allowing the electric blue power to surge through them and into her body. Her blue eyes slid to the doorway and four more men rushed by in a frenzy, and she could hear the click-click of weapons and armor. Attaching her rifle to her back, she ran, in quick, agile strides, out of Loki's bedroom and followed the men up the stairways and through the twisting scaffolds and tunnels of the mines, toward the compound's East entrance.
As she rounded the last corner, though, which the group of men had rounded just moments, before, she skidded to a complete stop, automatically falling into an offensive stance when she noticed the sea of unconscious (or dead) bodies that lay in front of her.
A woman, with dark hair streaked only once with white, blue on the smoking business end of a photon pistol and smirked when she noticed Natasha appear. "Well, hello there, honey."
Natasha narrowed her eyes at her. "Rogue," she said, recognizing her immediately.
"It's Anna, actually. And I'm getting' real tired a'everyone callin' me 'Rogue'."
Natasha scoffed, rolling her blue eyes, condescendingly. However, her attention was immediately drawn to the man who floated down the tunnel after her. Sliding her foot back, she set her stance, firmly.
"Thor."
"Oh, don' mind him. He's got other business to attend to, don'tcha, sugah?" Anna murmured with a malicious smirk. She turned her pretty face to meet Thor's eyes, her expression darkening immediately. "Round 'em all up."
Thor was silent as he nodded his compliance. Swinging his hammer swiftly at his side, he allowed the force of it to throw him forward as he flew, swiftly, past Natasha and disappeared around the corner from which she just gave.
"Round who up?" the redhead asked.
The distant screams answered her before Anna could.
Anna chuckled and began pacing, and suddenly, the two woman, both equally powerful, equally matched, and equally purposed, were circling one another. Anna swung her pistol around her finger like the cowgirls of old, while Natasha kept her body low and her hands out, never giving up the offensive.
"Now," Anna murmured, glancing out of the corners of her eyes at Natasha. "I'ma make this real simple. Give up Laufeyson. And...well, nope. That's about it. Give him up."
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Natasha spat at Anna's feet. "Poshel ty , suka. I'll never give him up to you."
Anna paused, her expression growing impatient and dark. "Well then," she removed one of her gloves and tossed it aside, before raising her pistol to Natasha's head, "looks like we're gonna hafta do this the hard way."
Natasha's eyes narrowed, and her muscles tensed. "Bring it on."
"Well?" Loki asked, as he finished paying his last respects to Yngvild. He had covered her body in a thin layer of ice, said an Asgardian prayer and then, slowly, attentively, allowed his magic to course through his spear, into her remains, and carefully disintegrate what was left.
"There ain't nothing here, bub," Logan said. "Nothing that can help us anyway."
"What if that is the clue?" Laura offered, looking at them. "Loki, you went all bat-shit insane just now because the caverns are longing for a a rightful ruler or something like that, right?"
Loki rolled his eyes, his expression clearly reading unimpressed. "Thank you for putting it so colorfully, Laura. Yes, I suppose that to be true. Go on."
"Well, if the royal family was just, say, dead, then why aren't they lying in a cracked heap of ice and body parts like the queen mother was? Where did the bodies go?"
"Wait, I believe I understand," Fandral quipped. "You think that woman-"
"Rogue," Laura and Logan added, simultaneously.
"-and Thor took the Jotun royal family."
Laura nodded, pacing the chilly confines of the safe-room, thoughtfully.
"Well, then, why wouldn't they take Yngvild?" Heimdall mused, crossing his burly arms across his barrelled chest, his ethereal eyes glancing from one member of the group to another.
The lot of them thought on this for a long moment, their minds reeling with ideas and theories, before Loki's sharp jaw finally shot up from its bowed position, his green eyes wide with understanding. "Because Yngvild is the only one who never liked or trusted me."
"What's that got to do with anything?" Laura asked.
Loki's eyes spun to her, immediately, his fingers tightening on his spear. "Yngvild never believed in my alliance with Ljot, or my other half-siblings. And because of that, she never invested much time or effort in learning about any of my exploits or endeavors. And she never visited my city as the others had—save for Lyrn."
"Then why take Lyrn?" Logan queried.
"Lyrn's a prophetess. A valuable asset to anyone despite her lack of knowledge on me." Loki frowned. "Thanos means to use the Jotun royal family against me."
Laura opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden buzzing from the screen magicked into the wall caught the attention of the group, causing all eyes to turn to it. Suddenly, the blurred and fuzzy image of Natasha appeared before them, her hair mussed, her face bruised, a deep, bloodied cut where a bullet had grazed her sliced into her forehead.
"Loki!" she cried, relieved to see him—relieved to know she'd been able to get a hold of him.
"Natasha," Loki replied, approaching the screen swiftly. "Natasha, what is it? What's happened to you?"
"Lok—i." The video feed was cutting in and out. "We're—under—ttack—Rogue—Thor—"
"Natasha!" Loki cried, as the feed blinked in and out. His eyes jumped to the side of the screen, when he heard the heavy, clanging sound of someone trying to break down the door that was just off camera. Natasha's own eyes shot, nervously, to the door, calculating her next plan of attack, before she twisted the blue orbs back onto Loki.
Her eyes held something—a determination and understanding that Loki had not seen in them in a long time. Realization dawned on him, as those eyes melted into something apologetic and sorrowfully strong.
"You remember," he breathed.
Natasha closed her eyes, and smirked. "Glupyye bogu. Now—not—time. Need—come back. We're—outmatched. We—need—help!"
Suddenly, the slamming off camera ceased and was replaced by an angry crash of thunder, a tremendous flash of lightning, and the sound of metal being ripped away from metal. Then, the screen went dark, unable to withstand the interference caused by the sudden wave of electric energy that coursed through the room.
"Natasha!" Loki cried. He turned to his comrades, his eyes wide with fear, anger, and guilt. "We left them unprotected. The best of our best are in this room. Each of us—myself...what was I thinking, asking not one of you to stay behind?"
"Sire, this is not your fault," Heimdall murmured. "Your father and brother would have done the same. This was a dangerous task should any of Thanos' ranks still be down here. And you said so yourself, you are the only one with the ability to get past the Jotun defenses. And Fandral and myself would not have let you come alone, either way."
"Father...brother..." Loki breathed, his mind reeling, his whole body tense with teeming rage. Rage at the situation. At the attackers. At himself. Then, something dawned on him. Something that nearly made him retch, furiously, it turned his stomach so.
His whole body shook, his eyes wide as saucers, his face pale and sickly. "Oh no..."
"What?" Fandral asked. "What is it?"
He turned his sickly looking countenance up to face his companions, guilt wracking his body in ways he never could have imagined.
"Mother."
Wow, long chapter!
"For whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved." Romans 10:13
Russian phrases (using Google Translate)
Glupyye bogu = Stupid god
Poshel ty , suka. = Screw you, bitch
Please review.