Loki's fingers slid gently through Cassandra's hair as her head lay on his chest. He wasn't entirely sure just how long he'd been awake, but it was hard to sleep with the events of the night before still so raw in his mind. It elicited so many thoughts he hadn't considered prior. Those thoughts swirled around his mind like a storm, even as the calming scent of his beloved filled his veins with an unparalleled peace.
His confession proved not only to his lover, but to himself that his attachment to her was genuine. But what was he to do with that information? Surely, he couldn't stay here forever, could he? Cassandra was a mutant, but she was mortal—and she would eventually die of the same short lifespan as everyone else on this planet. What was he to do then?
That particular thought sent a dull pain through the left side of his chest, and his arm tightened around her sleeping frame. He wouldn't think of it now, he decided, but he would need to acknowledge it sooner or later. It was then that she stirred, and his blue eyes drifted down to her fluttering eyelids. "Good morning," she whispered, the smooth nature of her voice drenched in textured grogginess.
He smiled softly, "Good morning, my love."
"Have you just been laying there all morning?"
"How could I leave? There's no better sight in this dingy city than this," he told her, brushing a thumb along her cheek bone. "I'm certain you're the most beautiful Midgardian I've ever seen."
A small bubbling of chuckles escaped Cassandra as she reached up a hand to rub at her eyes, the corners of her lips tugging upward into a smile. She knew for a fact that the compliment had a high probability of being false but her cheeks dusted a gentle rose color in spite of it.
"That's not fair—you're the only Asgardian I've ever met."
Loki huffed a soft chuckle, "Yes, I suppose you'd need something to compare me to."
"Well, based on what you've told me about Asgardians-" Cassandra pushed herself up into a sitting position, giving into a small stretch demanded by her arm muscles. "-I don't think I'd like a single one of them."
He scrunched up his nose with a brief narrow of his eyes, sliding his arms around her torso to tug her chest against his back as he sat up as well, "Oh no—you wouldn't fit in there at all. Although, I could see you falling into the queen's good graces rather easily."
Cassandra turned, leaning back to halfway drape herself over his lap, and looked up at her lover with a raised brow and crooked smile. "Really? Why is that?"
The corners of his lips pulled up to match the sparkle of adoration in his eyes as he gazed down at her. He reached up a hand, his palm cupping her jaw as his thumb gently brushed over the definition of her cheekbone. These moments were the ones most difficult not to become utterly lost in the sentimentality of it all. It was hard for him to imagine someone resting their eyes upon her and not seeing what he saw.
Yes, she put up a thick wall when in public—a safety mechanism learned from years worth of unhealed wounds, each transgression stacked upon the next until they towered over her small form. But that was not her. She was not Claire Brown. She was Cassandra. She was a wrinkled nose and childishly bright smile, radiated warmth felt across the room like a ray of sunlight through the drapes, the bare and open but unmistakably hopeful feeling of an empty room freshly painted.
If there was one person on Asgard that at least retained some part of his heart, it was his mother—the only member of his adopted family he couldn't bring himself to rename. Frigga. Despite her siding with Odin and Thor with many issues, she was the only one of them all that took the time to bond with him. That gave him the illusion of selfless care. It didn't feel like it used to, or like it should, but he did love her.
Knowing what he did of both these women, he wondered, how could they not at the very least get along? Surely, Frigga would see through her walls, as she'd seen through Loki's most of his life. Finally, he answered her, "Well, I'd like to think my mother a sensible woman. She would take one look at you and see you're too good for that prison of a palace. Too kind, too caring, too smart...too beautiful. She would see what I see every time I look at you."
Cassandra's features softened as the words slipped through her rib cage, flooding the left side of her chest, causing the already overworked organ inside to swell. "I love you, Loki," she whispered—but she wanted to scream it.
"And I love you," his voice was also soft, quiet in the small space between them. The second use of the phrase felt lighter, easier, though it still threatened to halt itself within his throat. "Most ardently."
An echo of a smirk ghosted his lips and Cassandra exhaled heavily, gut teeming with a bout of self-directed annoyance. "I never should've let you watch that."
"Let me? You practically forced me to sit through it all."
"Shut up."
A chuckle bubbled up from Cassandra's chest as she pushed herself up on an elbow. Her hand shot up, moving quickly to the back of his neck, hastily but gently pulling to reach the extra inches her elbow did not allow. Their upturned lips met suddenly, but melted into each other just as soon.
Loki's tongue brushed against her lower lip as the urge to taste her compelled him and she opened her mouth, allowing him to slip inside as he pleased. A rogue shiver ran down her spine, fingers curling into his hair and giving a gentle tug. The Asgardian moaned softly as he kissed her deeper, and his hand began to travel from her cheek down the front of her torso, fingertips dancing over her skin.
They didn't stop until the region of her waist. He gave her hip a small squeeze, his thumb rubbing a circle just above it—and Cassandra found herself readjusting, moving in her position to shift her legs apart in the hopes he would continue south. Sure enough, he didn't stop there. His hand moved downward, fingers guiding his palm over her folds, and her hips involuntarily squirmed.
A whiny sound crawled up her throat and fell into his mouth, pulling at a sensitive string tightening in his gut. It was hard to describe the things they did to him, the sounds she made. When she was truly lost in the moment and her lust was at its unbridled peak, the sinful sounds of pleasure from her went straight to his pelvis, only fueling his selfless desire to make her feel.
Loki slid a finger into her slick depths—her toes curled as she fought to keep still, her lips moving from his only to suck in a strangled gasp. She clung to him, her arm of support now slung around the backs of his shoulders, and she couldn't help tugging on his hair yet again. This time wasn't so gentle. But he secretly desired it, the pinpricks of pain only she could inflict.
He grunted, a deep sound in her ear, as he moved his lips to her jaw and neck. Peppering kisses across her skin, he slowly began to pump his finger. The movements alone were pleasurable, though there was an added otherworldly bliss in the love behind them—in the heart hers had grown so fond of. And it was the last thing she expected upon meeting him.
That was the oddest part, she thought. Despite her diversity of knowledge on bizarre backgrounds—given the stories she'd heard from fellow mutants—meeting someone who claimed to be from another realm felt crazy. And that was her least favorite word. But, there was no other way to properly describe it. She had to laugh at herself, though, knowing that mind reading and shape shifting somehow sounded more realistic to her than another realm.
Cassandra chose her questions carefully. No matter what she asked, she knew she might sound judgmentally skeptical. However, it wasn't hard to believe his story the longer he existed in her life. And, finally, he showed her his magic—an act that, in turn, earned him a look at her own. She decided then that even if he wasn't telling the truth, she would keep him as a friend as long as she could.
There was no denying his attractiveness—he was naturally charming, alluring, with something a little too magnetic in those blue irises. His eyes were one of the first things she noticed. Loki never shied away from her, occasionally, brazen banter and it often shifted into something flirtatious, a place they fit in so easily Cassandra hardly possessed the will power to leave.
Now, as her hips thrusted desperately into his hand, their lips tangled again—and it felt like there was no wonder how they ended up here. Moans, grunts, and whimpers were the only sounds either could manage, but they were all they needed. Finally, Loki held her as she fell apart, coating his fingers as her chest heaved to keep up with the rush of ecstasy flooding her body.
It made sense now, being here and feeling these things. It was natural, expected, encouraged. Although the idea of love still took the shape of a ghastly creature in her mind, tucked deep inside a closet sealed shut, Cassandra refused to let it go—no matter the circumstance. But, even still, the threat lingered.
She took her time, diligently placing each folded item of clothing in its place inside her duffel bag. There was an order to every madness—and hers was found in sorting her shirts and pants on the left, undergarments and socks on my right, toiletries dead center. After traveling light for so many years, Cassandra didn't have much to show for a wardrobe.
There were her work clothes and a small handful of oversized t-shirts, two sweaters kept around only for comfort, and three pairs of jeans that barely fit—either too small or too large, sometimes all at once. But that was it. Of course, she owned pairs of socks and underwear and bought the annual once-a-year-discounted-bra. Though, every item of clothing she did own was nondescript and void of any personality.
These things were for use, not for pleasure. She tried to take into account the kind of things she would need to wear for her weekend trip to Clint's house. Just in case, she purchased a new pair of denim shorts and some boots, both from the new-to-you store three blocks from her apartment. She wore her only pair of sneakers, the only jeans that fit her—though their length forced her to roll them up at the ankles—and a t-shirt beneath her coat.
It was the most practical outfit for meeting her sister-in-law, niece, and nephew she could think of. But she was doing far too much thinking already. Her fingers jittered as she zipped up the half-full bag and pulled the strap onto her shoulder, before carrying it out of the bedroom with her. It rubbed against her hip, the weight reminding her every step just where she was going, and she struggled to swallow.
Reconnecting with Clint was a startling venture, but she already knew him. Cassandra had never met these people before. Would they like her? Despise her? What had Clint told them about her? Did they know what she was? All these things swirled around her head so fast it was beginning to spin on her shoulders.
That was when a knock sounded, knuckles rapping on the front door. "Cass, it's me," Clint's voice was muffled from the other side of the wood. Instinctively, her feet sped up, along with her pulse. Loki stood up from the couch the second Clint knocked, and he strode across the small living space to answer it. As he pulled the door open, more and more of Clint's face was revealed, and the archer found himself shifting his eyes upward to meet Loki's.
"Hey, man," Clint nodded once. "Got fun plans for the weekend?"
Loki stepped back, pulling the door open with a hand gesture, ushering Clint inside. "Just a lot of cleaning," the Asgardian answered. A small smile threatened to show through his otherwise neutral expression as a thought entered his mind, reminding him of the conversation he'd referenced. Of the evening he professed his love.
Clint crossed over the threshold and spotted Cassandra as she shuffled quickly toward them. There was something different in his eyes this time as he smiled at her. Something genuinely happy. It put the monstrous storm of thoughts in her mind at ease enough to take a deep breath. "You got everything you need?" he asked, jutting his chin at the duffel hanging from her shoulder.
Cassandra readjusted the strap with a nod, coming to stand a foot or two in front of him, "Yeah. Any special gear I need that you forgot to mention? You know, while I can still get it?"
"No, regular clothes are fine," he huffed a chuckle and shook his head, before taking a step back. "Ready, then?"
She nodded again with a short hum and turned to Loki. "Don't forget about the plants by the window," she reminded, with a brief extension of a finger toward the kitchen. "Oh, and the snake plant in the bathroom."
With a light sigh, Loki took her hands in his, thumbs rubbing over her knuckles soothingly. "You needn't worry, my love. Everything will be taken care of in your absence. Now, go—enjoy yourself. You deserve this," he replied. He lifted her hands and bent forward, then, and kissed them both—and Cassandra was sure something inside her truly melted. She took a step forward and pushed up on her toes, meeting him halfway for a kiss on the lips before he'd truly stood upright.
It was customary for a sibling to act repulsed by the displays of affection, and most times they truly were, but Clint couldn't bring himself to put forth the effort to discourage it. How often in his life had he seen his sister genuinely happy? He tried to think of the last time he'd seen it with his own eyes. The closest memory he could find was a fragment, a picture in his head of a smiling, beaming toddler. That was it. Given their upbringing, it wasn't nearly as surprising as it should have been.
Once they'd said their goodbyes, Clint and Cassandra left the apartment. It felt open and vulnerable, but exhilarating following him up the stairs, passing the highest floors of the building. They traveled all the way to the roof. "We really have to fly?" Cassandra questioned, walking a little faster to tap his shoulder, gaining his attention. "I know it's faster, but...gravity and I aren't exactly on speaking terms."
Clint barked a laugh as he walked up the ramp at the mouth of the quinjet. The plane sat parked near the center of the roof, its wings and nose just barely fitting comfortably within the confines. Cassandra had flown in a similar craft, though a bit bigger, and even piloted it herself once. The act of flying by itself had always colored her a specific shade of anxious.
Over time, she learned to relax more, to bear it a bit more easily. However, all it took was one crash to set her back further than where she had started. "Sorry, it's the safest way to get there. More discreet," Clint answered. A bit cautiously, Cassandra stepped up the ramp into the plane. The interior brought back many memories. Some good, some bad—but all reminded her of the night Logan knocked on her door.
It still plagued her, watching Clint start up the craft and ready it for takeoff. What had Xavier chosen not to tell her? What information was so pressing? Who did Logan fight—and most likely, kill? She settled into a seat with a sigh. The quinjet's ramp lifted up, closing the bay, and Clint twisted in his seat at the front of the ship to see her. "All good?"
Cassandra nodded and held up a thumb. Clint faced the front once more and the jet lifted from the roof. It swayed gently, the familiar half-weightlessness she'd felt so many times before crawling up her legs in the form of anxious bumps. Her hands darted out at her sides, palms pressing desperately into the seats beside her in an effort to keep steady, the contents of her stomach sloshing just enough to send a jolt of worry to her chest.
But it wasn't so much sick from the movement—more so the idea of what the movement could mean. The craft steadied, flying smoothly as they traveled quickly over the city in a fairly straight line, and her shoulders relaxed. Though, she remained in her seat and her hands did not move from their places. Not for several more miles.
After a while of silence, Clint set the craft to autopilot and turned his chair, swiveling to face his sister in the cargo area. The first thing he noticed was her shaken demeanor. There was a story behind it, he knew. There had to be. And it was another thing to add to his mental list, another reason why he despised that godforsaken school—if you could even call it that.
He cleared his throat and her eyes shifted up from the floor. "Do you miss that place? I mean, we haven't talked about those years, so I don't know the specifics. But it looks like it didn't actually help."
Cassandra was surprised by the nature of the question. She leaned back into her seat and pried her hands off the cushions only to sign her answer. "I miss the people more than the place," she replied, honestly. "I learned a lot about myself there. Some stuff I wish I didn't. But I needed more than they could give me."
"You know, I saw you on the news a couple times."
Cassandra's face fell. Of course he did. Clint, and the rest of America. Realistically, most of the world probably saw. It's not every day that the Golden Gate Bridge gets rerouted. However, she knew the person he saw did not inhabit her body anymore. That person was callous and cold and lead by anger. Her eyes fell to the floor again, the shame filling her chest weighing them down too much to keep them level.
"It scared the hell out of me, Cass," Clint continued, leaning forward as his forearms rested atop his knees. "I come into work and there you are, my baby sister, all over every news station. With the fucking military aiming right at you. Yeah, they wanted the other guy, too—but you were right there."
Slowly, she nodded, exhaling a shaky breath. It was going to happen sooner or later, she knew, and she would have to come clean—not only to Clint, but to herself. And the idea of the latter was much, much more intimidating. Her eyes lifted after a short moment, but they did not meet his. They drifted to the left, straight ahead, but not toward him. They couldn't.
"It seemed like every day there was some senator trying to rally support for another anti-mutant agenda, and they were winning. It was only a matter of time before the 'cure' was mandatory. I shouldn't have listened to the wrong people, but I did, and I ended up fighting for the wrong team. I still stand by the message. But the method was too much," she explained slowly, hands moving to shape every word.
Clint knew exactly what she was talking about. He'd seen that, too—every couple of days, another person in power would condemn the existence of mutants. And every time, he thought of Cassandra. Her abilities could be dangerous, sure, but that was his sister. It was like watching a horse race. The adrenaline was high, he'd placed his bet on a horse doing the right thing, but his gut twisted every time another horse edged ahead.
It was extremely difficult to let go of something you couldn't control that was also so personal. "Look, I only brought this up because...I wanted you to know I was thinking about you. No matter how far away I was, I kept an eye on things," Clint explained, calmly, as he sat upright. "I know you went through a lot you shouldn't have had to. And if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm here. Always have been. Always will be."
"Where were you when Barney needed you?"
Clint's eyes narrowed, squinting as he asked himself—did her hands truly make that sign? Even from feet away, he noticed their slight tremble, and he sighed. "Cass...that's not fair."
No, it wasn't. It was asking too much too soon. Cassandra knew this, yet her lips still moved, and she still voiced a question that remained stuck in her throat for many years. She'd been forced to swallow, harbor it in her chest as it festered. Bleeding resentment into her veins. It had been there for so long and now it was out, though she wasn't quite sure that was a good thing.
"He was getting bad again, and I called you," her eyes finally met his, but they weren't as angered as her words allowed him to expect. They were hurt. "I couldn't get through to him anymore and you hung up on me."
"Last time I saw Barney, we got into it. He put his fist through a wall and left. What was I supposed to do?"
"Not leave your sixteen-year-old sister to make sure your brother doesn't kill himself, would be my guess."
With a heavy exhale, Clint sat back, scrubbing a hand over his face. Thanks to their father, each of them was saddled with demons that didn't belong to them. Barney was filled with rage, but Cassandra knew the vast majority of that anger was simply the scab over a much larger wound. It had been left unchecked since the death of their parents—since they were forced to grow up too young.
Whatever Clint took from his childhood was hidden well, his time with S.H.I.E.L.D. giving him the training to bury it deep enough, the lengthy missions allowing him to ignore whatever was left. He only felt any of it, now, when looking at his siblings. Or, the shells they've each become. To confront what was in his brother was to confront what was in himself.
It was the struggle they all faced, and all three of them went their own ways many years ago to avoid it. Clint knew bringing Cassandra back into his life would do this. Though, that knowledge didn't prepare him for a conversation like this. "I'm sorry, Cass," he apologized, voice much quieter now. "I shouldn't have left you to deal with that by yourself. You were just a kid. Hell, you still are."
Cassandra's eyebrow quirked, "I'm twenty-four."
"Before I came to your apartment, the last time I saw you in person—you were thirteen. I think, maybe, you'll always look like that to me. Not sure if that's a trauma thing or a big brother thing," Clint shrugged.
She stood then, and took steps toward him. Clint stood as she approached, wrapping his arms tightly around her torso as hers wound around his neck, and his muscles relaxed into the embrace. He wanted her to know what he was thinking, to hook his brain up to a projector and show it to her so clearly she had no choice but to understand. Because he knew, no matter how much they bonded, there would always be things he couldn't bring himself to say.
The quinjet landed gracefully in the field beside a quaint farmhouse. It sat in a clearing amongst thick trees, positioned perfectly to soak up the morning and afternoon sun. Cassandra stood from her seat inside the craft and pulled her duffel onto her shoulder. Clint hopped up from his pilot's chair and walked quickly to the opening bay door, his steps lightened with a returned excitement.
"Okay- I just wanna warn you, once the kids warm up to you, they can get a little rambunctious," he said, turning to see his sister.
Cassandra smiled a little, chuckling as she followed him to the ramp. She opened her mouth to speak and promptly shut it. Blue eyes darting out, they found a figure standing on the porch—a woman with brown hair, smiling at the both of them. It had to be Laura. Once again, Cassandra felt anxiety bubbling up from her gut.
Clint spotted his wife waiting for them on the porch and held his hand up to wave. She waved back, all smiles in her own kind of excitement. When he looked back to Cassandra, he noticed a kind of deer-in-headlights vacancy to her eyes. "You okay?" he asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She cleared her throat and nodded, pulling her eyes away from the porch to look up at him. "Yeah, I just...does she know what I am?"
"'What'? No, she knows who you are," Clint's voice was firm, sure, but gentle. "And she's really excited to finally meet you. They all are. I'll be right here with you the whole time, okay? If you need a breather, just squeeze my hand."
His hand slipped into hers, holding it securely, and Cassandra nodded again. It seemed to be the only thing she could do in her fear. Together, they descended the ramp and began the short walk to the porch. Laura shuffled back from the steps as they approached them to give space to climb them, but she found Cassandra's eyes and gave a warm smile. "Hi, it's so nice to meet you," she practically beamed, as the pair reached the top. "I'm Laura."
She held out her hand. Cassandra removed her hand from her duffel strap to reach out and shake it, keeping her grip on Clint's. "It's nice to meet you, too. I'm Cass," she introduced herself. Though, neither woman truly needed to.
"Well, um, welcome to our home. Please make yourself comfortable anywhere you like, and if you need anything don't hesitate to let us know. Oh- would you like some tea? Clint said you were a tea drinker so I made sure there was plenty of hot water when you got here," Laura rambled in her politeness.
Cassandra's eyes flitted up to Clint's, only to find a small grin already on his lips. He'd only been in her kitchen twice, but each time there was a kettle on the stove, sitting idly as it waited to be used. Of course he would take notice of it. She exhaled and looked to Laura with a calm smile. "Sure, that would be nice. Thank you," she accepted the offer with a small nod.
Laura moved quickly to the front entrance, then, pulling open the screen door. Clint stepped aside to hold it open and she continued inside. Cassandra let her hand slide free from his, and gave him a sure look as she, too, entered the house. So far so good. The nerves were less intense. Though, she didn't let her guard down all the way—after all, she hadn't met the children yet.
