A/N: I'm kind of over Sherlock fics for a little while now. I burned out (like I think I did with Turn) so now writing this is hella easier than it was. Also, I've had a swell idea for another Blackfrost fic. I say Blackfrost, I'm not sure how shippy it'll be, but it'll certainly feature our favourite pair. I'm actually stupidly excited about it and may start working on it as soon as I've had dinner. Anywho, hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think. :)
The Interloper
by Flaignhan
When she walks into the lounge, the bookcase is on fire. She raises an eyebrow at him and he huffs, extinguishing the flames with a wave of his hand.
"That's getting real old now," she tells him. She walks down the hallway to the front door and picks up her mail, sorting through the envelopes and quickly realising that every damn piece is junk. He twists around onto his front, his arms folded on the arm of the couch, chin resting on top of them, and watches her closely. Natasha does her best to ignore him, as that seems to work quite well. If she indulges him, he'll start showing off, and with showing off usually comes a drastic decrease in her patience.
"Are you going to work today?" he asks.
Natasha shakes her head.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to," she says distractedly as she peruses a new takeout menu that's in amongst the rest of her junk mail. She likes the look of their chicken, so she puts it to one side then crumples up the rest of the leaflets and sales pitches and tosses them into the bin.
"Don't you have to, though? It's not the weekend."
Natasha smiles at his naivety. "You really think I give a damn about that?"
"My my, is that an attitude I spy? What have you told your beloved superiors?"
"Move your god damn feet and I'll tell you," she says, heading over to the couch. He grudgingly obeys and Natasha sits down with a sigh, tucking her feet under herself and leaning against the side of the couch.
"Well?" he asks expectantly. "What did you say?"
"I told them that I wanted some downtime. So that's what I got."
"Just like that?" Loki asks, his eyebrows drawing into a frown. "No pretending to be ill? No family emergencies? The servants would always be sent to me when they had taken days off. I was always the best at sorting through their lies." He smirks briefly, but it soon fades from his face, and he shakes his head, as though he has been dropped back into reality with a horrible splat.
"I don't get ill and I don't have any family," Natasha tells him. She reaches for the remote and turns the TV on, flicking through the channels, trying to find something that isn't a talk show. "And," she continues, pausing briefly on a stupid infomercial filled with stupid people creating problems that no real person ever actually has. "I never take any time off. So when I asked for time off, they said it was fine."
"That's…incredibly boring," he sighs. "I thought you assassins were supposed to be all secrets and lies? I thought living here would be far more interesting than it actually is. Have you not got any secret passageways in this place?"
Natasha frowns. "No, this is an apartment, not a laboratory from a movie. And living here might be more interesting if you got off your ass and went outside from time to time." She jabs him with her toe and he scowls at her.
"Fine," he says, standing up. "Let's go outside. Let's go outside and you can show my why it's so much better being out there than it is in here."
Natasha shakes her head. "Not today," she tells him. "They'll be watching me closely today. You can't go outside."
Loki lets out a dramatic sigh and throws himself back down onto the couch, arms folded across his stomach. She does wonder if he is, at last, getting bored of staring at the TV all day long. The most walking he's been doing is from the bed to the couch, and sometimes to the kitchen, so he's not getting any exercise. Sunlight hasn't touched his skin for at least two weeks, so he's even paler than usual.
"We can go out at the weekend if you want. You need some vitamin D." She turns off the TV, giving up hope of ever finding anything that she might consider vaguely interesting. Hundreds of channels of pure unadulterated shit. She doesn't even know why she has the damn thing. It's only ever served as background noise when her apartment's been particularly quiet. Not that it suffers much with that these days.
"Some what?"
"Vitamin D," Natasha tells him. "Sunlight. You know, the big bright thing in the sky that's good for you?"
Loki pulls a face. "I don't need sunlight. I'm not like you mortals. I can get by just fine without it."
"Okay," Natasha says, not bothering to keep the scepticism from her tone. She stands up and rolls the stiffness out of her shoulders. "I'm going out to grab a coffee. You want anything?"
"No," he says, then after a moment adds, "thank you."
She can hardly believe her ears, but Natasha doesn't make a big deal out of it. Instead she slips her feet into her shoes, grabs her bag, and heads for the front door.
The coffee shop is busy, and Natasha joins the line, eyeing up the muffins, slowly shuffling forward as each person is served. She's in her own little world, so when she's struck by a gigantic force, she doesn't have time to brace herself. She falls against the counter, gripping the glass screen covering the pastries, then scrambles to her feet, her heart pumping, fury coursing through her. A gentle hand lands on her shoulder and she flinches, turning around to face its owner.
"You okay?" the man asks, his dark eyes filled with concern. Natasha nods and turns back to the direction she was hit from, where a large, muscular man is taking a seat, apparently not giving a single damn that he's nearly flattened her.
"Hey buddy!" the guy behind Natasha calls. "Are you gonna apologise to the lady?"
The man frowns at him. "For what?"
"You just shoved her outta your way!"
"She shouldn't have been in my way," the man says, standing up and adjusting the peak of his baseball cap. He approaches the guy behind Natasha, shoulders squared, and Natasha spreads her feet a little wider, steadying herself should things get lively.
"What, you think you can just barge a lady outta the way 'cause your fat ass can't fit through the gap that everybody else can?"
Natasha lets out a sigh. Of course. Of course she can't take a day off without getting embroiled in a fight by lunchtime. It's a good job Loki isn't here. He'd probably be stoking the fire for his own amusement, tossing out a few choice insults of his own.
"What did you say, punk?" His voice is a low growl, and he is inches away from Natasha's would-be saviour.
"I said - "
"I know what you said, d'you wanna take this - "
"If you know what I said then why'd you ask? You deaf? Stupid? Both?"
Natasha groans. As well intentioned as brown-eyes is, he is definitely the stupidest one in this damn coffee shop, and he finds that out the hard way when he is grabbed by his collar and dragged outside. There's only a moment's hesitation before Natasha forgets her order and follows, darting through the throng of patrons to make it to the door.
Blood has already been spilled by the time she makes it to the quiet side street the pair of them are tussling in. Natasha sighs as the big one gets brown-eyes in a headlock, but he twists out of it with some ease, more than Natasha had expected, and manages to take a swing at the big guy. He catches it easily, his much larger hand crushing brown-eyes' fist, causing him to screw up his face in pain, though he doesn't make a sound.
"That's enough," Natasha says sharply. Both parties pause and look up, and Natasha half hopes that brown-eyes will take the opportunity to land a winding blow to the big one's gut. Unfortunately, he's far too respectful of her request.
"I'm teaching this punk a lesson, now run along, sweetheart."
Natasha pauses, determined not to suddenly break out into her usual moves. She only likes showing off in the right environment, and ten feet away from a busy New York street is not ideal. But as his words, his tone, and his sweetheart wash over her, she decides that actually, she doesn't give a damn.
"Last warning," she says coldly. "Walk away, or face the consequences."
"Consequences?" he sneers, dropping brown-eyes' fist and taking a step towards Natasha. "And what consequences might they be?"
Natasha sighs, but before the last of her breath is exhaled, she moves rapidly, taking the gigantic oaf by surprise, gripping him by the wrist, thumb digging painfully into his pressure point. She lifts his arm, keeping it straight, then ducks under it, twisting around and taking his legs out with one swift sweep from her foot. He cries out as he hits the ground, his arm now at an awkward angle as she rests a foot on his back, holding him down.
"Let go!" he shrieks. "You're gonna break my arm!"
Natasha shakes her head. "Oh no, I can go a lot further before your arm actually breaks." She wrenches it back, his muscles hard and strained under the skin, and he screams, burying his face into the concrete. "See?"
"Please!" he sobs. "Please!"
"If I let you go, you turn around and you don't come back," Natasha says loudly above his whimpering. "Or...there will be consequences."
"Okay, okay," he says, his breathing harsh and ragged. "Please."
Natasha releases him and he scrambles to his feet, dashing back to the street. She looks down and sees that his sweat stained baseball cap is lying on the floor, apparently dislodged while he was squirming. She bends down and picks it up gingerly, between index finger and thumb, then tosses it into the nearest open dumpster. When she turns around, brown-eyes is watching her, stunned, the back of his hand held against his split lip to stem the blood flow.
"You okay?" she asks, approaching him slowly.
He nods, shellshocked, still staring at her. "That was awesome," he says softly. He pulls his hand away and checks the back of it, then wipes it roughly with his other hand, trying to get rid of the blood.
"Thanks," Natasha says, smiling slightly. It's not very often she gets compliments. At work she just gets eye rolls when she accomplishes anything especially tricky. They've kind of come to expect it of her now, they don't really see her as human, which is fine by her.
"Where the hell did you learn to do that though?" he asks, still gazing at her in awe.
"I did a Tae Bo class at the gym," she lies easily. "It's just a move they teach you."
"It's awesome," he says again, eyes still wide. "Can you teach me?"
"Well you just gotta take them by surprise," she tells him, moving forward until she's close enough that she can take his wrist in her hand. "You have a pressure point here," she says, pushing her thumb down gently so he knows the spot. "And you duck..." She lifts his arm slowly and walks under it. "You turn." She turns, though she keeps her grip on his wrist slack so she doesn't hurt him. "And then you kick their legs out." She hooks her foot around his ankle and tugs gently, showing him how it locks into place. "Gravity'll do the rest for you. Just make sure you keep a hold on that wrist."
She releases him and he turns to face her. With anyone else she'd call it uncomfortably close, but now, looking at his brown eyes and his split lip and his light stubble, she's not sure she'd call it that.
"Sean," he blurts out. Then, composing himself a little as a blush rises in his cheeks, says: "My name's Sean."
"Francesca." She lies before she can stop herself, but she doesn't exactly know what the alternative is. She can't tell him her real name. She can't tell anybody her real name. Everybody has to be vetted and pass through security clearances before she's allowed to reveal anything about her true self. It goes hand in hand with what is technically a government job, even if Fury does run it like it's his own personal fun house.
"That's a beautiful name," Sean says. He smiles, but winces at the tension in his lip, and drops it quickly.
"Thanks," Natasha replies.
"Did you uh, maybe wanna grab a coffee?" he asks, dabbing at his lip carefully to find that it's now started to clot, though the skin on his hand is stained with scarlet. He tries to rub it off, but just ends up spreading it around, and looks down at his jeans but then looks up again.
"Wipe it," she says, nodding towards his jeans. "I won't judge."
He grins and rubs his hands against his jeans, the blood slowly colouring the fabric. When his hands are mostly clean again, he looks up at her hopefully.
"So...coffee?" he asks again. "But somewhere else, obviously."
Natasha considers him for a moment, but after she realises that she's only got a sulky Loki waiting at home who certainly won't miss her, she decides that she will go and get a coffee, as originally planned, except this time with company.
"You were a long while," Loki says, frowning at her as she walks in. When she heads for the sofa he moves his feet, drawing his long legs up so that she has enough space to sit down.
"I stayed in," she says, feigning distraction by grabbing the TV remote. She has seen enough Maury to last her a lifetime and she doesn't know how Loki can sit there and rot in front of it day in, day out.
"You've been gone for three hours," Loki says. "How much coffee did you drink?"
Natasha turns to look at him, her grip on the remote loosening as she forgets about the dirge on the TV screen. "Sorry, since when did you care?"
"I don't care," Loki says sulkily, pushing himself up into a more comfortable position. "I just find it suspicious."
Natasha shrugs. "Not my problem." She turns away to hide her smirk. Has he really been counting the hours since she left? Are his suspicions the only source of entertainment or mental activity that he can actually get these days? He's funny, in his own little way, and while she would prefer to have her apartment to herself again, she can't deny that she's gotten used to his surly presence. It's almost kind of nice, to come home and have somebody there. He doesn't say much, nor does he do much, and some days, they don't even acknowledge the other's existence. But there is something comforting about having another living, breathing person in your home, after so many years of solitude. She'd always scoffed at the idea of having people around on a regular basis, but now that she's finding her job more mundane by the day, it's almost a relief that she doesn't have to return home to silence and emptiness.
She switches the TV off, and Loki scowls, reaching forward quickly for the remote, but he hisses in pain, one hand flying towards his stomach as he closes his eyes and leans back carefully against the sofa.
"What's up?" Natasha asks, setting the remote on the table and shifting in her seat to face him. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he says, letting out a slow and steady breath. "Yes."
"Is that from where you…?" She trails off, not really knowing how to phrase the question.
"From where I what?" he asks, eyes narrowed, and he slowly moves his hand away from his abdomen, though the knuckles of his other hand are popping white under his skin.
"You know..." she says, shrugging her shoulders. "Died."
He doesn't say anything, but his eyebrows twitch into a deeper frown.
"What?" Natasha says innocently. "I'm just asking. D'you need anything for it?"
"It's fine," he says stiffly. "Even gods feel some after effects of being impaled."
"Has the wound healed?" she asks, surprised by the well of concern that has sprung up inside her. "It's not infected, is it?"
"No," he says haughtily, sitting up straighter. "It most certainly isn't."
"It's fine if it is," Natasha tells him seriously. "You just need to say and I can get you something to help with it."
"It's fine," Loki says again. "It's only intermittent."
"Okay..." Natasha says sceptically. "Just let me know if you want anything. I'm not a complete sadist."
"But you are a bit of a sadist?" he asks, raising one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk.
"Well, I doubt I'd have made a very effective assassin if I wasn't."
"True," he concedes. He seems to relax a little, his muscles slackening, and after a moment he rubs his stomach absentmindedly, then reaches forward for the TV remote, much more carefully this time, his fingers stretching until they can close around it.
"Please not more talk shows," Natasha sighs exasperatedly.
"They're funny," Loki says quietly, finding one within seconds and dropping remote onto his lap, his eyes fixed on the screen, pale face reflecting the blue glow of the TV.
Natasha sighs and rests her head on her hand, making herself comfortable. She lets the squawking wash over her, blocking it out and retreating into her own little world. Loki doesn't say a word while the show is on, doesn't even snigger when a fight breaks out and security has to step in. She thinks he might actually just be watching it for the noise, to drown out whatever it is in his head that's bothering him so much.
He shifts his position again when the commercials come on, twisting to face the TV more, and he moves carefully, one large pale hand resting over his stomach, as though bracing it. Natasha sighs impatiently and pushes herself up from the sofa. She has no idea how long it's been bothering him for, but it must have been bad when he arrived. Maybe that's why he lies so still at night, maybe that's why he stays in all day, because moving about physically hurts him, and he's using this time in her apartment as a recovery session, as well as a hideout.
She digs out her hot water bottle from the back of the cupboard in the bathroom, then takes it to the kitchen and starts to boil some water. On the rare occasion that she's needed it - pulled muscles, back ache, and whatever other terribly dull aches and pains her career choice chooses to strike her down with, it has been a godsend. When the water is boiled, she fills the rubber innards, screws on the cap, then slips the hot water bottle into its fleecy cover. She heads back into the lounge and holds it out to Loki. He frowns, then takes it from her.
"What is it?" he asks, his gaze focused on it as he turns it over, the water sloshing about inside.
"Put it on your stomach," she tells him as she returns to her seat. "It'll soothe the pain."
"I'm not in - "
"Just…" Natasha says impatiently, cutting him off. "Do it."
He casts a withering look in her direction, then presses the hot water bottle to his stomach. He closes his eyes contentedly, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as his toes curl. He's been hiding it well, but then she supposes that he has all day to himself to deal with the pain in private. Her day off must have really thrown a spanner in the works, and so she leaves the subject be, now that he's hugging the hot water bottle to him, not even bothering to watch the TV.
Natasha relaxes, and props her feet up on the edge of the coffee table, arms folded over her stomach as she boredly watches the drama unfold on the TV screen. It's all a case of same shit, different family, and Natasha, if she's being perfectly honest, is quite glad that she doesn't have a family, if this is what it always ends up like. She can't see any benefit to it whatsoever - Thor and Loki's family is totally fucked, with the latter pretending to be dead just so he doesn't have to speak to his father ever again. Tony has some really severe daddy issues going on yet Clint doesn't even have a family and he's just as sane as she is. The same goes for Steve, so it just goes to show, that families are nothing but trouble.
And yet, as Loki sits there on her sofa, easing the pain out of his wound, he is safe in the knowledge that he is loved, unconditionally by his brother and his mother. From the sounds of things, Odin's love has been conditional on Loki doing as directed, so it's no surprise that that relationship is in tatters. But as for Thor? As for his mother? Loki can push and push and still be welcomed back with open arms by the pair of them, Natasha knows.
She wonders if things might have been different if she'd had someone to welcome her home and offer their forgiveness. Maybe she'd have stopped sooner. Or maybe she'd never have become what she is at all. Who knows?
She is shaken from her thoughts by a couple of sharp vibrations from her phone. She takes it from her pocket and sees a message from Clint, asking if she's okay. She shoots back a rapid reply telling him she's fine and she just needed a day to chill, but before she can put her phone down, it vibrates again, and she curses his quick typing.
Have you thought about taking a vacation? A real one?
Natasha smirks at the idea and taps out a reply.
Me? On a beach? You have to be joking.
She keeps her phone in her hand, knowing full well that his reply will come in a few moments. Just as expected, her screen lights up seconds later.
It doesn't have to be a beach and I'm not joking.
Natasha shakes her head and discards her phone. She can hear his seriousness radiating through the words, can see his frown of concern as he types out each text, but she's not interested. One day off after years of service does not mean she needs to take weeks away from work. What does he think she needs? To find herself? To have some me time? And he's arrived at this conclusion because she's taken one lazy day to chill out? Granted, he doesn't know the levels of her stress, and it's a good job too. Though looking at Loki, she can hardly claim he's shredding her nerves. He's just existing in the same space as her, which initially was stressful, but now, she's not sure she can really blame him for her current mood. He's like a cat, only wanting food and shelter and as much physical comfort as he can possibly attain. She supposes she should be grateful he's not leaving dead mice in her kitchen for her.
When it becomes apparent that Loki is not going to permit her to change the TV channel, and nor is he going to move for the rest of the day, Natasha decides to be productive. She changes the bed covers, cleans the bathroom, and battles through her laundry, finding the whole process to be somewhat therapeutic. By the time that Loki's run of trashy talk shows has finished, and he is forced to find new entertainment, the entire apartment is spotless. She skulks around, trying to find other jobs for her to do, and when she realises the only stone left unturned is cleaning the windows, which will take her a good few hours, she manages to talk herself out of it by reasoning that she'll cook dinner instead of ordering take out.
She tells Loki she's going out, and he mumbles a 'bye' in her direction as he flicks through the TV channels, hot water bottle still clutched to his stomach. As soon as she steps out of the front doors of her apartment block, she can tell she's being tailed. It's so pointless, and so she dials Fury's number as she walks along the street to the grocery store, trying her hardest not to roll her eyes as a suited man follows her movements on the other side of the street.
"What's up?"
"You're having me followed, that's what's up," Natasha says coolly.
There's a nervous laugh at the other end of the line. He's been caught.
"Who were you having coffee with earlier?" Fury asks, not even bothering to pretend that Natasha's simply being paranoid.
"Just some guy," Natasha says with a scowl. "Can't I get an ounce of privacy? Or have I risked my life for this organisation far too many times to be granted that courtesy?"
"Don't be like that," Fury says with a sigh. "You know I'm just worried about your ass. We all are. It's not like you to just not show up to work."
"Call him off," Natasha replies, not wanting to get dragged into a conversation about feelings, and taking care of herself. Those are the worst kind of conversations. "And send him back to stealth training. He's pitiful."
"Noted," Fury says. "What are you doing then? What's so secret that you don't want our guys knowing about it?" There's a hint of humour to his voice, but Natasha's not finding any of this funny. She knows that SHIELD keeps an active watch on all of its employees, but she had never expected that her privacy would be invaded to the extent that her boss would be made aware of a simple cup of coffee mere hours after the event. It feels like a step too far. Or maybe she's just on edge because she's got far bigger problems sprawled on her couch right now, and if Fury were to find out about that, she'd be in some really deep shit.
"I'm going grocery shopping," she says tartly. "Because I'd kinda like to eat tonight."
"What's for dinner?" Fury asks, his pleasantries grating on Natasha's nerves. From the corner of her eye Natasha sees her tail back off and wander back to his car.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Natasha sighs, then disconnects the call. She doesn't know why there is so much concern around her absence. She called in, she told them she was fine, and apart from that, she has the highest scores in hand to hand combat in the history of the organisation. She can handle herself just fine.
Her mood doesn't improve as she wanders around the grocery store, half wondering what Loki would eat without complaint and and half not giving a damn. In the end, she settles for pasta, because it's easy, but also because she can't order that in. She grabs the rest of her ingredients, pays for them, and heads back to her apartment block, her stomach growling at the thought of home cooked food. She gets cooking straight away when she arrives back, Loki still sat dispassionately in front of the TV, not even having bothered to turn the lights on now that the sky outside is darkening quickly.
Once the pasta is on the hob, she heads back into the lounge to flick the lights on, and it's not until she hears the next set of commercials blaring that he makes his appearance, while she's pan frying chicken and pancetta.
"You're cooking," he says mildly. She suppresses a smile when she sees that he's still holding the hot water bottle loosely against him with the underside of his forearm. For someone who isn't in pain, he does seem to be awfully fond of it.
"Yeah," she tells him. "Does that need reheating? It must be cold by now."
"Yes," he says, looking down at the hot water bottle. "That'd be good, actually."
"Leave it on the counter," she says. "I'll do it in minute. Unless you wanna stir this?"
She's expecting him to scowl and disappear back into the lounge, but instead he sets the hot water bottle down on the counter as instructed, then approaches Natasha, holding his hand out to take the spoon from her. She passes it to him and he stirs the pan's contents cautiously, as though half expecting something horrible to jump out at him and attack. While Natasha deals with the hot water bottle, he peers curiously into the bubbling pot of pasta, his stirring becoming more and more confident as he realises just how simple it is. By the time she's done, he seems quite at home in the kitchen, and Natasha just hopes that the rewards of their joint efforts will be enough to coerce him into picking up a recipe book and trying a little bit of cooking himself from time to time. Coming home to food on the table would be quite nice, and would almost make harbouring a fugitive god worth it.
Her phone vibrates on the kitchen counter as she screws on the top of the hot water bottle, and Natasha ignores it. From the corner of her eye, she sees Loki crane his neck to read what's on her screen, and she shakes her head. She doesn't know what entertainment he can possibly glean from a smug text from Clint, claiming that her silence means she knows he's right. Loki doesn't say anything, but returns his attention to his cooking with a smirk on his face. She passes him the hot water bottle and he tucks it under his arm, apparently not relinquishing his spoon any time soon. Natasha reaches past him for the pasta and takes it to the sink to drain away the water, then grabs a couple of plates from one of the cupboards.
Between the two of them, they manage to put together a half decent meal, and it's not long before they're sitting at the table, tucking into steaming plates of pasta. After the first mouthful, Natasha resolves to cook at least once a week. It makes such a huge difference to have freshly cooked food, and it is so worth the effort. Maybe now that she has a lodger, of sorts, it might be even more worth the effort than usual. She has always managed to justify her eating habits by telling herself that there's no point in cooking for one, that it's a waste of time and she'll just end up overeating because everything comes in twos anyway.
But now she has a god to consider, whether he's a welcome house guest or not.
"Who's Sean?" he asks casually, though his eyes are glittering with mischief.
Natasha frowns, and pushes her pasta around her plate with her fork. "Who?"
"Sean," Loki repeats, his tone suggesting that he knows full well she heard him correctly the first time. "He sent you a text message."
"Oh really?" Natasha asks, spearing a piece of pasta on the end of her fork. "What did it say?"
"Well I don't know because it didn't show it," Loki says impatiently. "It just showed his name."
"Oh," Natasha replies, then continues to eat, as though the news has no effect on her whatsoever. She is more thankful than ever for her paranoia-induced change in her phone settings, and couldn't be gladder that Loki is still blissfully unaware of what that text message contains. She doubts it's anything too damning, but just as she doesn't want Fury poking his nose into her private life, she'd rather Loki was kept in the dark also.
It takes a great amount of will power to eat her dinner slowly, and once she and Loki are both finished, it's not until Loki is sitting in front of the TV once more, apparently now inseparable from his hot water bottle, that she disappears into the kitchen under the pretence of washing up.
I've got a dinner reservation at this swell place in Little Italy on Friday. It'd be awesome if you joined me.
Natasha bites her lip, and hesitates only for a moment before she sends her reply.