The city felt restless that afternoon. Working with flowers was always a calming task, but even that did not detract from the hollering, heavy-traffic-incited horn blaring, and an overall anxious aura. Cassandra was careful in placing a final lily amongst the flowers she'd picked, thus finishing the arrangement. It was a special order from one of their frequent flyers—a middle-aged man named Phil that came in once a week, every Tuesday, to buy his wife flowers.
Usually, he called the day before and told her exactly what he wanted—the order being different every time—but on this call his request was for whatever Cassandra thought best for his wife's birthday. Birthdays weren't hard to arrange for. Although, sometimes the flowers for the occasion are disliked by certain recipients. The thought spoke doubt into her mind even as she'd finished it.
But she continued on, wiping up any water droplets that may have dripped onto the vase from the stems with a rag. "Good afternoon," her head shot up at the sound of the man's voice, nervousness running along her spine. "What work of art have you together for me today?"
He always wore the same business casual style, sometimes with black sunglasses he only removed once he reached the counter. Today was one of those days. As he took off the shades, Cassandra stood up a little straighter, smiling politely. "Red stargazer lilies, red roses, lavender carnations, violet double lisianthus, purple matsumoto asters, and some greens as a base," she answered, pointing a finger to each flower as she listed their names.
"Wow, you've outdone yourself," he complimented the work as he eyed it, sliding his sunglasses into his pocket.
"Thank you," Cassandra bowed her head in a small nod, fighting a sigh of relief. "Do you think your wife will enjoy these?"
"Absolutely. She loves lilies. How'd you know?"
"You seem like a lily-woman man to me," she replied honestly, giving an unsure shrug. The man chuckled genuinely at her perception and her shoulders relaxed a bit. He was always a rather friendly and polite man when he came into the shop, though that didn't do too much to stop the thrum of her heart in her ears. Cassandra rang up the arrangement and he paid with a credit card—the usual method of payment. Leigh exited the back room as they were finishing up.
She carried two vases with wildly different flower varieties. One was full of blues, purples, and a soft touch of white, the other an explosion of bright yellows, oranges, and reds. Both were equally beautiful—but each their own kind. "Oh, good afternoon, Phil," Leigh greeted their customer with a warm smile. "How are you and the Mrs?"
"Good afternoon. We're doing well, thank you. The wife's going to be especially great after she sees these," he answered, with a head tilt toward the arrangement on the counter.
Leigh placed the vases in her hands onto the counter and stepped behind it, walking toward Phil and Cassandra. She hadn't seen the finished product yet but, now that she had, his satisfaction with the order was no longer a surprise. Leigh had been working at the flower shop longer. However, she knew she didn't have quite the eye for colors that Cassandra did.
Every display arrangement and special order had its own unique combination of blended and odd-ball colors that somehow managed to be tied together, often times complimenting each other more the longer you looked at them. Leigh nodded, humming, "It's so sweet that you do this for her. She's a lucky woman."
"Actually, I'm a very, very lucky man," he shook his head with a small, but noticeable smile that meant something more, something impossible to express. As Cassandra handed him the receipt, he said, "You both do wonderful work here—have a fantastic week."
"Thank you so much. You, too," Leigh smiled.
Cassandra nodded in agreement as he lifted the arrangement from the counter. "Thank you," she spoke a bit quietly, watching as he exited the shop with his purchase. These kinds of days were somewhat common, working in a flower shop. She'd been able to meet and hear stories from people in love, looking to cheer someone up, or pay their respects quite a lot—though it was interactions like this that truly struck a chord.
She wondered, as she plucked a fallen leaf off the countertop, if love was truly common. Was it easier to find than generally thought, or was her job occupation the only reason she encountered it at all? Love was a difficult thing to hold onto in her experience, so it made sense to her why someone like Phil would put extra effort into what he had with his wife.
"So," Leigh spoke suddenly, and Cassandra's head jerked back on her shoulders in a quick glance toward her co-worker. "That guy you left with yesterday was the one you were waiting on, right? How'd it go?"
Leigh picked up the vases and took them to their places on a display near the front window, carefully situating them so their petals didn't collide with any of the other arrangements, as she waited for a reply. Cassandra sighed softly and flicked the leaf she held into the garbage bin.
"Yeah, that was him. He lives out of town—he came back on a business trip—so, I don't know if it's going to last very long," she scrunched up her nose with a small shake of her head. Though, it was a familiar twist in her gut guiding her words.
Leigh snorted. "Oh, come on. You're a catch—he looks fine as hell—as long as the relationship is solid, you can totally make it work."
"I found out the hard way a while ago I'm not into long-distance. He's amazing, but it's just...complicated."
That was understandable. Leigh had gone through her fair share of complicated relationships just within the last couple of years—of course, before she met her current boyfriend. She'd told Cassandra during prior shifts that she was sure he was the one, the perfect fit for her. And, as much as she didn't want it to, it did make Cassandra a bit jealous. Even more so with Loki's return.
It was one thing to pine and hope for someone, but it was something completely different—not unlike an untamed animal—holding onto them. If there was one thing her life experience had taught her, it was that relationships such as this were temporary and not to be wholeheartedly trusted under any circumstances. However, that didn't stop her from praying for a different outcome.
Bicycle leaning over, propped against her hip, Cassandra weakly unlocked the door to her apartment. The exhaustion from a lack of sleep and the emotional toll of the early morning was only added to the usual work-day tiredness, creating a vile mixture that threatened to force her eyes shut with every step up the stairs.
She pushed open the door with one hand, guiding her bike inside with the other. As she reached down for the key, still hanging from the lock, she threw words over her shoulder. "Hey, I'm back," she sighed. But the announcement of her arrival hung in the air without a response. Mentally, she chalked it up to not speaking loud enough in her groggy state.
Then, she finally looked into the apartment—truly looked. Loki stood in the kitchen, lower back against the counter in front of the sink, his arms loosely folded over his chest. On the other side of the island stood Clint, leaning into the countertop on his forearms. Loki's eyes snapped to the front door as it opened, and they shifted between Cassandra and Clint now with caution as the situation settled into her features.
Clint's reaction was a bit delayed, eyes following Loki's line of sight a moment after he'd looked away from the conversation. He settled back onto his heels under Cassandra's stare, pushing off the counter to stand upright as she nudged the front door closed behind her with the end of her shoe. "Hey, Cass," Clint greeted her casually, but ruefully.
He knew not to drop in unannounced. He knew how it tended to frazzle her train of thought. Inwardly, he was prepared to walk out the door without another word if that's what she asked—but stopping by today was a kind of necessity. Cassandra's heart was in her throat as she propped the bicycle against the wall by the door.
"Hey…" she replied, turning toward the kitchen to face them both. Her hands moved as the next words left her lips, fingers contorting into the proper shapes to form words she knew Clint could fully understand, "What brought you by?"
Loki's eyes narrowed softly, watching the movements in confusion as she spoke. He'd never seen her do such a thing before—or anyone, for that matter. It started with 'what' and ended with 'by', indicating to him some kind of coordination, but the symbols didn't appear to translate the words right. It wasn't hard for Cassandra to notice his expression.
She pointed briefly to her right ear, explaining, "He's deaf—he can't hear much. We use hand signals to communicate."
"Then how was he hearing everything I've said?" Loki questioned, a bit more confused.
"I read lips," Clint answered the question calmly, casually, drawing the Asgardian's eyes. Cassandra exhaled and walked toward the island, closer to the conversation. This was not how she wanted a meeting between these two men to happen. She'd thought about it, before Loki returned, and every scenario felt wrong.
No matter how it came to pass, she would have to lie to him—she would have to threaten the relationship she'd genuinely enjoyed rekindling. It didn't feel worth it to attempt an introduction, so she simply didn't talk to Clint about her love life, and he never asked after that first meeting. "Why are you here?" she asked Clint again.
His eyes remained on her, sighing as he settled against the countertop once more. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you asked me to text you first, I was just in the neighborhood so I thought I'd spare my thumbs and swing by," Clint explained, with a small smile. "Do you mind if I talk to you in private for a minute?"
Cassandra shook her head before looking up at Loki. "Can you please hang out in my room for a bit?" she asked. Again, her hands made more symbols, and Loki understood that they weren't truly for him. The thought was endearing—her putting in the effort of learning another form of communication simply to hold a conversation with her big brother.
Then, putting forward an effort to use them to keep him included. Loki stepped away from the counter with a nod, his hands falling to his sides, and he stepped around the island, "Of course." As he slipped into the hall, Cassandra leaned around Clint's back for a better view to make sure the door was shut. When it was sealed behind Loki, Cassandra moved back to her previous position and gave a small nod.
"All clear," she told Clint. "What's up?"
"How was your day?" he grinned patronizingly.
Cassandra huffed a small chuckle, "Exhausting, I had work. What do you really wanna talk about?"
"I don't really know how to tell you this, so I'm just coming out with it. I'm married, Cass."
He spoke slowly, watching her carefully. But her reaction wasn't outward—instead, it was almost entirely inward. There was an odd combination of joy for the future and grief for lost time warring with each other within her chest, the pair of opposite emotions hitting her harder than a palm against a cheek in that moment, and she fell silent.
Clint knew it would be a lot for her to digest, his confession, but he wanted her to know so badly. He wanted her to know him. And ripping the band-aid off was the most humane method he could execute. He continued to watch her as her eyes fell to the countertop and her features became unreadable, and a part of him was worried he'd said too much. At least keeping it a secret meant they were still on speaking terms.
Though, he couldn't tell how this was going to go either way. Finally, after a moment of mutual silence, he dipped his head to catch her eyes. "You okay?" he asked, tentatively.
Cassandra nodded, blinking away her train of thought, and cleared her throat. "Yeah, I just...wow, Clint. Who are they? How long have you guys been married? I wanna know everything," she masked her emotional indecision with enthusiasm. She folded her arms before her on the island, bringing up the subtle wall of a manufactured smile.
"Well, her name is Laura. We met while you were still at school," Clint explained, treading on with one eye open to the changes of her features. "We, uh...we have two kids—Cooper and Lila. Cooper's seven and Lila's four."
"Y-you have children?"
Cassandra's eyes widened, leaning back on her heels in a brief bout of shock, and Clint reached quickly for an escape route. "Yeah—but, Cass, I promise you're not the only one who didn't know. Virtually no one knows any of them exist. It has to be that way because of my job, to keep them safe."
"I understand," she nodded slowly, eyes drifting away again. "It's just so...I didn't even think...you've had a whole life already and all I've done is run away from my problems and work a dead-end job."
"That's why I wanted to tell you. I want you to be a part of that life, Cass. Laura and I want you to come visit, meet the kids, spend some time with us. It'll be good for you—plus, Laura hasn't stopped talking about meeting you since I told her I got in touch with you last week."
Cassandra's eyes flitted back to Clint's face, quickly finding his as they filled with the warmth pooling in her chest. It was one thing to think it. But to hear him say such heartfelt, accepting sentiments out loud made her heart flutter in a way it hadn't for quite some time. The kind of flutter reserved for family.
She opened her mouth to speak, then promptly shut it. What could she say to that? Were there words in the English language to express what she was feeling in that moment? It was too difficult to think about, her heart in her throat, so she didn't—instead, she lurched around the corner of the island and threw herself at him. Her arms found their way around his shoulders and neck, desperate for something to hold onto.
This was all she wanted. As a child, she laid awake on so many endless nights, wondering what her life would be like had she been so accepted. Had her mother not sent her away. Growing into her teens, it was a great source of despair—fighting to keep from projecting her loss onto what she'd found. But the family she'd been given never quite felt like hers.
Now, her hands were shaking, heart swelling as she fought to keep tears at bay. As she pulled away from Clint far enough to see his face without completely letting go, she could feel the corners of her eyes beginning to burn. "I would love that," she told him, a haze overcoming her vision.
Clint smiled warmly down at her, but something within was grabbing at him, tightening his chest. It had been increasingly difficult over the years to ignore the guilt he'd carried since she left their childhood home. There was guilt when she left and he couldn't stop it, guilt when he was married and didn't call, guilt as yet another birthday had gone by unrecognized—guilt, guilt, guilt.
It tainted everything it touched. Moments that should've been happy were internal wars, and he was fighting one again but now it was to keep himself from letting all of it go. It would be too much for her to handle all at once, he knew. But still, his heart ached for the connection it could give.
"I'm gonna be home this weekend," he bit his tongue. "You should come visit, stay the whole weekend. We can catch up, Laura can show you the baby pictures, and the kids can finally meet their Aunt Cassie."
Cassandra nodded with a small chuckle, reaching a hand up to swipe at the line of heat drizzling down her cheek. "Yeah, okay. I'll make sure things are good here, but I don't work so it should be fine. Are you sure you want me around that long?"
Clint's head tilted, his expression speaking before his lips ever moved, "Don't be ridiculous, Cass. You know I do. It's gonna be great, for all of us. Well, except for maybe your boyfriend."
A sound escaped Cassandra that resided somewhere between a snort and a blushed chuckle as she stepped back. It elicited a laugh from the center of Clint's chest, his eyes following her. Cassandra had made it a priority to establish some kind of story to tell when asked by friends early on—an alias, a job, an excuse for his constant absence. Their meeting was the only thing left unchanged.
She'd hoped upon walking in that Loki would have remembered the faux details they'd concocted, and now she had no choice but to assume he did—and that he conveyed them correctly. "Ben will be fine," she shook her head, a smile pulling at her lips. "He's just staying here while he's in town."
"Yeah, he mentioned it. I thought you liked shorter guys. Isn't he a bit...tall?"
Cassandra's eyebrows knitted. "Why do you think I like short guys?"
"Well, last I heard about your love life, you were hanging out with that blue kid," Clint explained, with a shrug. "He wasn't taller than me. Before that—remember that guy in high school-"
"Clint, you're acting awful fatherly right now."
She folded her arms over her chest, raising a brow, and Clint exhaled defeat. Yes, he was critical of her taste in men with the intent to intervene if necessary. But who else would? They hadn't had a father figure to fill that role in a long, long time. Though, he didn't intend to be discovered so quickly.
He held up his hands in surrender, "Yeah, okay. Can you really blame me, though?"
Cassandra shook her head, features relaxing as the sentiment of the gesture settled at the pit of her stomach. She could not blame him for being protective—was that not what brothers were supposed to be? It would be more hurtful, she thought, if he were to act like he didn't care at all.
"I don't wanna take up the rest of your night, so I'll text you and we can figure out logistics for this weekend, okay?"
"Okay," Cassandra nodded. "I'll see you then, I guess."
"See you then."
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a departing hug and she reciprocated immediately, holding on tightly as a squeeze of her eyelids shook loose the remaining water her orbs held. When they parted, she swiped them away. But he noticed them even as a light glisten on her cheek, reflecting the light to spite her smile, and he felt a gentle ache in his chest.
As he walked toward the door, she followed—standing close by to lock it once he'd left. Clint flashed one last warm smile and a small nod before slipping out. In some ways, it was an apology. For the intrusion, for the memories, for the emotions. She smiled back at him just as warmly, a sign that it truly was okay. She would be okay.
Once she turned the locks, she turned on her heels and pattered down the hall to her still-closed bedroom door. As her knuckles rapped on the wood, she called out, "He's gone. You can come out."
It only took a second for the door to open, revealing a charming smile from the Asgardian inside. "But I was just beginning to like this game," he playfully protested. Then, with a tilt of his head, he asked, "How did it go?"
Cassandra gestured for him to follow her as she turned again, walking back toward the kitchen. "It went well," she tossed the words over her shoulder, and Loki didn't hesitate to follow behind her to hear the rest. "He actually lives out of town, and he wants me to visit him this weekend."
"And that is something you want as well?" he inquired.
He came to stand at the edge of the island as Cassandra retrieved the empty teapot from the stove. "Yeah, I do," she nodded, before turning on the sink. A stream of water rushed into the teapot as she held it over the basin. She turned it off as it reached the right level and immediately placed it on the stove top.
"Then you must go," Loki said, as he took steps toward the stove. "I'm sure I can find something to do around here for three days. Maybe organize that mess of a book shelf-"
"Hey!"
Her hand instinctively flung out, connecting with his arm in a playful swat, and it only caused the mischievous god to grin. "I'm sorry, darling, but when was the last time you tidied up over there? That corner looks like it hasn't been touched in ages," he continued with a more lighthearted, teasing tone.
Cassandra's eyes narrowed up at him in jest, "I was going to get to it. Eventually."
"Well, allow me to lend my services."
He stood in front of her beside the stove, and she turned to face him fully, snaking her arms around his torso to lean into his chest. "Mm hm. And what's that gonna cost me?" she asked, a brow quirked. Loki pretended to think about it as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her snugly.
"You have to teach me what those hand gestures mean," he answered.
Cassandra's eyebrows rose gently on her forehead. She was pleasantly surprised by the condition, as it was near the last thing she expected to hear. It would take longer than they had together, she knew, to truly teach him how to use sign language. However, a deviously sweet thought entered her mind, high on the emotions of the conversation prior—and she smiled.
"Okay, I think we can do that," she gave a nod. "Want to learn something right now?"
He chuckled a little, but eagerly nodded, "Alright."
Cassandra took a step back and Loki mirrored her with a subtle sarcasm in his demeanor that caused her to fight a chuckle. "Just do what I do. One finger toward your chest," she aimed an index finger toward her chest as she spoke, and he did the same. "Then, make an X with your arms."
Her hands folded into fists and she crossed her arms, marking an X over her chest. Loki followed along easily with the simple tutorial. Secretly, he'd thought it would be more difficult. Though, Cassandra had chosen this first lesson for a reason other than its simplicity—a reason she would only reveal once they were done.
"Finally, a finger toward whoever you're talking to," she said, pointing her same index finger now toward him, and his was aimed toward her.
He tilted his head. "And what does that mean?"
She let her hands fall to her sides as the smile suddenly faltered, threatening to slip from her face altogether from the force of the anxiety rush, a wave of nerves traveling in a cold temperature down her spine. But the ache in the left side of her chest was stronger, warmer, and she was in too deep not to continue. So, she inhaled through her nose and spoke as calmly as possible.
"I love you."
There was a split second, a fleeting moment where his face remained unchanged by the news. But then, it hit him like a boot to the gut, realization forcing its way in with a battering ram and making itself at home at the hearth of his chest. His lashes dusted his skin as he blinked quickly, shifting his weight to his heels. Something was stuck in his throat—an emotion? A word? He couldn't tell, but it wouldn't move.
Surely, she didn't mean it. It was certainly just another game, an innocently done but cruel joke meant to tease him. However, the longer he stared into the depths of blue in her irises, the longer that realization trespassed, turning into something thick that kept him from swallowing.
Cassandra waited patiently for a reply, any kind of response, but it was getting harder as the seconds ticked by—her heart thrumming loudly in her ears as fear entered her mind. She'd gone too far. She'd become far too comfortable sharing and now she'd shared something much better kept to herself, a once harmless secret that now mutated into a sharp knife before her eyes.
"I'm- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-" she stumbled over herself, voice shaking as the words tumbled from her lips, and her eyes fell to the kitchen tile.
"I love you," he blurted, all eight letters rocketing up from his throat as they finally dislodged. Cassandra's eyes shot up, finding his quickly, only to see they were just as surprised as hers. But something flashed through in a gentle shimmer and his features softened, melting on his face as his head tilted, "I love you, Cassandra."
The kind warmth of relief filled her chest and she lurched forward the step she'd taken back, extending fully onto her toes as her hands reached for his face, desperate to bring him closer. Instinctively, he leaned down to meet her, catching her lips between his in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. His arms encircled her, pulling her against his chest. Right there, Loki decided, was where she belonged.
Tucked in his arms, lips tangled, hearts on fire. He bent to reach the backs of her legs and she needed no other prompting, hopping up and hooking her legs around his hips—a familiar position that somehow felt entirely new, clinging to him as her skin erupted in bumps. Holding her easily, he stepped to the side and placed her atop the island counter.
Cassandra's hands moved to his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, before they disappeared into his inky locks as his fingers dug into her hips through the denim of her jeans—clawing her closer against his body. Their chests remained touching, her legs keeping his hips from escaping hers, yet still it felt too far.
The need for closeness was becoming insatiable. It was then that a loud, sharp whistle pierced the bubble of passion and lust surrounding them. Loki simply reached out a hand and gave it a quick wave, and the teapot shifted spaces, moving to the back burner in a haze of gold as the stove was switched off. Cassandra smiled against the Asgardian's lips as he hefted her up once more, her arms wrapping around his neck as he moved toward the hallway.
Her stomach dropped into her toes, the familiar creaks of the flooring reaching her ears, signalling their fast approach to her bedroom. Loki fumbled with the door, giving it a push to move it out of his way before walking inside, and the wood bumped the wall with a thud—but the sound barely registered. He was careful but urgent in lowering her onto the bed, crawling onto the mattress to hover above her.
Their lips traded lustful kisses while their hands worked hastily to remove their shirts, pants, and undergarments, tossing each item away in a blind arc toward the floor. It was the same pattern they'd followed many times before. They had both become creatures of habit when the moment struck. Though, something about this evening felt different. It felt new, and warm, and loving at volumes never reached.
This time, there was an intensity to the rush along Cassandra's spine as he entered her, swallowing her sinful sounds with a deep kiss. She moved her legs around him, sinking him in deeper, and her fingers gripped tight to his hair as she could feel every extra piece. Pleasure washed over her body in gentle waves, the love and care in each kiss forming a rocky coastline they crashed against before retreating into the depths of her gut.
Loki's hips brushed hers as they thrusted slowly, deeply into her. Every word he could've said, every feeling he desired to convey—they caught in his throat. He had no choice but to pour it all into the way he kissed her, touched her, and hope beyond reason that she could feel it. It was true that he loved her. The confession might have been the most honest thing he'd ever told her.
Though, he never anticipated saying such a thing out loud. Surely, she knew. She had to have known, with the way he looked at her, how his smile was only genuine for her, all the things he had done to care for her and brighten her spirits. All the ways he memorized her, her likes and dislikes, and remembered every story utterly softly at night. And, to some extent, she did.
These things were all noticeable, but to Cassandra they were unacceptable as love. The only way she could allow them was to block out the notion. People she loved never stayed in her life very long—to accept that her feelings for him, and his feelings for her, were love would be to accept the relationship's impending doom. But this didn't feel like an ending. It felt like a beginning.
