Author's Note: I know this is up early since I usually do once-a-week postings unless I'm busy (which I've actually been lately), but I'm having so much fun I just have to give everyone more! *Squeals* THIS IS SOOOOOO FUUUUUUUN!
Tony was the first to drop off. His head fell back against the couch and his mouth hung open. Callie, Clint, Natasha and I spent the rest of the episode—which we had all already watched—seeing how many straws we could hang off of it before he woke up. When there was simply no more space, we took a few pictures and resumed our seats. Loki—for once—had elected to stay out of the mischief claiming sometimes it was just as fun to observe. I'd shrugged and laid one more straw across his mouth.
About three hours and four episodes later—isn't binge watching great?—he woke up because Callie shrieked in surprise when Steve tried to startle her. Spewing straws out of his mouth—and one or two choice words that he saved for very angry occasions—he snapped at "whoever it was" to never do that again. I busted a gut and threw a popcorn kernel into his still gaping mouth. Clint had taught me how to aim pretty well. He gave me an angry glare, but backed off a bit when Loki put his hand on mine—like he was reminding Iron Man that he wouldn't let him hurt me. How sweet right? I told you he'd changed.
Since Once Upon a Time was kind of our show, and we'd just finished the first two seasons, it was time to start season three. I was excited. From what I'd heard from a great friend at school, season three was pretty good. I was looking forward to it.
"WHAT?!" I exclaimed at the end of the first episode. "No! He can't be—I mean… they can't do that!" Loki started laughing.
"Technically they can, Fireball," he said. "It's their show."
"But he's not supposed to be like that!"
"Says who?" Callie challenged.
"Every story I ever heard as a child!" I retorted. "That's my favorite fairy tale of all time!"
"Well, they're certainly putting a new spin on it," Steve commented sedately.
"They're destroying my image of one of my heroes!" I moaned.
Although, I gotta admit, by the next couple episodes, he (if you haven't seen it I'm trying not to give you spoilers) had me wrapped around his little finger. I totally believed everything he was saying. Even though I had my reservations—of course—I could feel a certain excitement whenever he came on screen. That always meant something was about to go down. And something important at that.
I suppose I should mention that by the time we finished episode two, my inner fangirl-workings were harboring a bit of a "fictional character crush" on him. I knew that because of my strict moral code I shouldn't like the bad guy… but I was dating Loki. Guess I'm just a sucker for a good lying, manipulative, attractive, magical psychopath. Plus, the actor who played him was freaking adorable. Did part of me still love Hook and Charming? Yeah. But he was… a bit deeper of a character than those two if I have to be honest. And as a writer, I'm always looking out for the best characters.
Finishing our binge-watch at two in the morning, Loki escorted me back to my room, kissed me on the forehead, and bade me good night. Not quite closing the door, I listened for when the elevator came back. I heard Steve and Callie's voices giggling. I might have heard the sounds of deep, deep kissing too, but I was so tired at that point that I eased my door closed, locked it to keep a Tony out for revenge out, strolled wearily across my half of the floor, and climbed into bed, throwing my bathrobe on the ground.
I guess watching a show with such a creepy but awesome villain spooked me out. I saw figures in shadows everywhere that night. I thought I saw eyes looking at me through the window. But I was ninety-six floors up. There was no way to spy on me unless you could fly.
Before I could dwell on it for too much longer, I dropped off.
I woke up the next morning with the dawn. As the sun peeked between the buildings of the great New York City, I peeked between the gaps in the covers of my great bed. Slowly I dragged myself out of bed.
I was pretty sure I'd locked the door last night, but a twice-folded piece of paper was sitting on my bedside table with my name on it in extremely fancy handwriting. Cass. My own handwriting was quite a bit messier, so I'm pretty sure I didn't write it. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes with one hand and opening the creases with another, I tried to get my brain firing on all synapses again. The paper had six words on it. Six.
You've got fire. I like fire.
That was a line from the show last night.
Given the line from the show last night, and the elegant handwriting, and how perfectly my nickname from my boyfriend suited the line, I assumed the note was from Loki. Grinning, I slipped it into the file folder where I kept all the cards people gave me for birthdays and Christmas—and the ones Loki had given me on our one-, two-, and three-year anniversaries.
I left my "room" (which is really more of an apartment) at the same time Callie left hers. Steve was waiting for her with a cup of coffee. I wrinkled my nose in distaste and went to the elevator. I didn't like the smell of coffee. It reminded me of airports and waiting in long lines. I didn't drink coffee. Personally I didn't believe in using artificial means of getting energy. The others could believe however they wanted. I was sticking to my ways. I didn't blame them though—last night was a late one and I got maybe five hours of useable sleep. Getting in the elevator, I watched them share a "good morning" kiss right before the doors closed.
Punching a random button, I felt the elevator begin to rise, the familiar swooping feeling sending my stomach churning. But maybe that was from hunger.
It spewed me out on the same floor we'd had our little party on the night before. The one with the doorway to both the balcony and the Iron Man landing pad. It was mostly empty, with just myself, Clint watching the news, and the old record player. It was dusty, but Steve kept it proudly on display, and sometimes played music from it.
"Morning," the master assassin grunted.
"Mornin'," I greeted, my natural Utah accent slurred with sleep. I found the fancy coffeemaker and one of those pod things that made a batch of hot chocolate instead of a batch of flavored coffee.
I was taking a deep swallow from my Keep Calm, Don't Blink, Grab the Salt, and Txt Sherlock SuperWhoLock mug when Callie and Steve came out of the elevator. I gave them a finger-wave in greeting—my mouth was occupied in trying not to get too burned—and set my cup down. They put theirs in the dishwasher. Without a word, Steve snatched the remote from Clint's limp hand, found the mute button after a moment of searching, and hit it. He gave the remote to me and put a record on the turntable.
The song that started playing was old, but I'd heard my grandparents dance to it when I was little—I'd also heard it in a movie soundtrack recently, but I couldn't remember which movie it was. Whoops.
It's Been a Long, Long Time, by Harry James and his orchestra.
Steve held his hand out for Callie—and I realized why he'd given the remote to me. She took it and let him pull her into a hold as I'd done to Loki last night.
Barefoot, the two started dancing around the hardwood floor, smiling, laughing, and pressed close enough to each other that from my vantage point I couldn't quite tell where one ended and the other began. It was so intensely cute I found it difficult to repress my giggling. Clint, too, was watching with an amused gleam in his eyes. I pulled my iPod out of my bathrobe pocket and started to film them to send to Callie's parents later. I didn't know how they'd react, but I figured they'd want to see.
Steve kissed Callie's hair. She giggled.
End Note: I know this has been a lot of Avengers, and not a lot of OUAT, but the next chapter is from Pan's POV to add a little bit more OUAT to the mix. :-)
To "callieandjack": I've used your ideas a couple times, as attested by the paragraphs above. I love them! To: "Catchathief": Try this, :-S. I'm glad you're liking this!
Y'all are awesome!
Thanks for reading!
~Cass