A/N: Well here we have it. Chapter five. And for those of you who have managed to avoid it thus far, I'm going to shamelessly plug my other Blackfrost fic which I'm writing at the moment, called Mutiny. I rather like it. It's a bit different to the other ones. On the subject of Mutiny, I don't think I'll be updating until tomorrow night at the earliest. After this chapter I am pretty done with typing for the weekend, so...tomorrow. :)
The Interloper
by Flaignhan
She's nervous. It's stupid, but she's really really nervous. She considers texting him, telling him she has to work late and can't make it, but there is a stubborn voice at the back of her mind that says no, don't be such a coward. Of all the things to be anxious about, dinner is probably the most ridiculous one of the lot. It's not so much the dinner aspect that she's concerned about however, more the pretending to be a normal human being aspect. She picks out a dress, just a simple black one with a loose, flowing skirt, the hem reaching just below the middle of her thigh and then spends far too long fiddling with her hair and putting on her make up. Normally, when she goes to dinner like this, it's for an assignment. She treats the occasion like a battle, and never hesitates over which lip colour to choose, she just goes into auto pilot and applies it like war paint. Tonight, however, she's not dressed to kill. She's dressing to impress, and she never does that. The entire situation makes her feel uneasy, and she dreads what Loki will say when he sees her. She wants to keep him out of this as much as she possibly can, knowing full well that letting him find out about Sean would be the worst mistake she could ever make. It's asking for trouble, and so, when she's ready, finally happy with her appearance, she quietly slips on her heels, picks up her purse and leaves the bedroom, treading softly on the floorboards, trying not to catch his attention.
"You look nice," he murmurs, and Natasha freezes, caught, and turns around slowly to face him.
"Thanks," she says, trying to remain casual, though she feels incredibly self conscious in front of him, all made up. It feels so wrong, and she can't shake the sensation of vulnerability that washes over her as he holds her gaze. Thankfully, she's not deemed so pretty that he forsakes his TV show for much longer, and he looks away, the moment broken.
"I'll see you later," she mumbles and heads for the door. If he replies, she doesn't hear it, because she slams the door behind her as soon as she's through it and takes a deep breath, steadying herself before she walks to the elevator and tries to prepare herself for her fate.
"Wow."
Natasha smiles, her teeth biting her lower lip nervously as Sean breaks into a grin, his brown eyes twinkling brightly.
"You look stunning," he says, before he takes her by the hand and places a soft kiss on it.
"Thanks," Natasha replies, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. She's not used to compliments, especially not when they come from people she actually likes, and she doesn't quite know how to handle them. It's funny, when she thinks about it, how she can be completely relaxed about breaking into highly secured buildings, risking her life and taking on a dozen men on her own, but one guy has managed to pull the rug from under her feet, leaving her jittery and full of nerves like she's some stupid school kid.
And the worst part? She doesn't mind. Not one little bit.
Sean leads her into the restaurant, dimly lit with the soft sound of violins issuing from the speakers in the ceiling. A smartly dressed waiter shows them to a table in the corner, a tea light in a small red jar flickering gently. Sean pulls out a chair for Natasha and she sits down, folding her hands on top of the table and waiting for Sean to take a seat opposite. Wine arrives a few minutes later, and Natasha has to exhibit a certain amount of willpower to not drain her first glass in order to settle her nerves. She taps her fingers quietly against the table, trying to think of a conversation starter, but she doesn't do small talk. She only ever talks when it's necessary, and she only ever relays useful information. She can't do this whole getting to know each other thing. It's not in her nature.
"So I don't think you ever said what you do for a living," Sean says at last. She can see in his face that he's thrilled he's finally managed to find a reasonable subject which wasn't covered during their café visit.
"Oh," she says. "I work for a security firm." It's another lie to add to her list, though it does have a basis in fact. She supposes that SHIELD is technically a security firm, it just so happens that it's trying to secure the world against alien invasions. And she is, of course, a model employee, what with the war criminal of a god she's got laying in front of her TV right now. She pushes Loki from her mind, refocusing her thoughts on the conversation.
"What d'you do there? Are you like some kick ass security guard or something?" Sean grins, and Natasha smiles in return. He's perhaps getting a little too close to the truth, but she can't exactly blame him. She's surprised he swallowed the Tae Bo excuse when she thinks about it, but she's incredibly glad that he did.
"I uh…I work mostly in hospitality," she tells him. "You know, meeting and greeting clients, going out to their places, making sure everything's fine. It's you know…it's a job."
"Yeah," Sean says nodding. "It sounds interesting anyway. You get to meet a lot of interesting people?"
"Some," she says with a small smile. "But what about you? What do you do?"
"I restore old furniture," he tells her with a shrug. "I've got a workshop in the East Village." He doesn't seem to think much of it, but really, of all the things he could be doing in this city, it's certainly one of the more interesting occupations. In any event, she's glad the conversation has moved the spotlight onto him. She's confident in her ability to lie to the enemy, but the trouble is that she doesn't want to lie to Sean. She just has to. She's already straying far too close to the truth for the professional side of her's liking. Hospitality indeed. If you consider interrogating suspects and breaking into their warehouses as hospitality. Although, at the moment, she is playing hostess to Loki, but that's not on orders from above, that's just because she's a god damn fool.
As more time passes, she becomes slightly more at ease, but by the time the evening is over, she's honestly relieved. It's not because she doesn't want to spend time with him, but the fact is that she's not one for the act that is dating. She never will be, and sitting in a restaurant surrounded by other people in the same boat isn't really her perfect night out. Not that she's complaining, of course, because the food was excellent and the wine was excellent and that first dinner is a necessary evil before they can do more casual things. Casual suits her better, and she's looking forward to a night where she doesn't have to put on a nice dress and spend far too long styling her hair.
"I had fun tonight," he says softly after they leave the restaurant, walking slowly back towards Canal Street.
"Me too," she says. Another lie. But she wants to see him again so she guesses that it's necessary. She doesn't think she'd get very far if she told him that really the whole thing had been pretty torturous and she never wants to have to go through it ever again.
"How are you getting home?" he asks as they reach the main road.
"I was gonna take a cab," she replies, and he nods, casting his eye over the the oncoming cars and eventually spotting the yellow taxi fifty yards ahead. He raises his arm, and the car pulls over as it reaches them.
"I'll call you tomorrow?" he says uncertainly. He bites his lip, one hand moving to ruffle his hair, and Natasha smiles.
"Okay," she says. "Call me tomorrow."
He relaxes visibly at this, shoulders loosening, smile becoming more natural, and leans in, pressing a kiss to her cheek before he opens the cab door for her. Natasha gets in and he closes the door, gives her a little wave, and the driver pulls away. She glances back, and sees him standing in the street, hands in his pockets, grin on his face and eventually he turns, and starts wandering away.
When she arrives home, Loki is still in the same position he was when she left, the TV blaring. The only difference is the discarded pizza box on the coffee table, and she wonders whether he actually ventured outside to get it. When she sees the menu lying under the cordless phone however, she knows that that was far too much to expect.
"How did you pay?" she asks, sitting down on the end of the couch.
"They put it on your tab," he tells her, not taking his eyes away from the TV. "I said you'd pay them tomorrow."
"Thanks," she says, rolling her eyes. She doesn't mind though, not really. At least she knows if push comes to shove, he will sink to such lowly things like ordering pizza and speaking to the delivery boy.
"How was it?" he asks, and Natasha knows that he doesn't really care. He's just trying to provoke her.
"Fine," she says. "It was fine."
The warm scent of wood shavings fills her lungs and she smiles, lifting herself onto the steel work bench, her legs swinging freely. She watches Sean as he works, sanding down coarse edges, blowing away the dust and running his finger along them, before deciding that it's not good enough, and goes back to square one. It's therapeutic, watching him chip away at these sorry looking pieces of furniture, with their gnarled legs, faded varnish, and heat stains. He doesn't seem to think that what he does is very impressive, but Natasha deems it art, because as good as she can be with her hands, there's no way she could ever bring any of these crumbling pieces of wood back to their former glory.
"You know," he says, tossing his worn sandpaper into the bin and standing up. "I was thinking that maybe we could go to Coney Island this weekend." He approaches her slowly, and when he reaches her, he places one hand on her knee, his thumb stroking lightly over the material of her jeans, leaving a small trail of wood dust in its wake.
"Sounds good," she says, resting her hand carefully on top of his. She thinks she has butterflies in her stomach. She doesn't know much about those silly cliches, but she thinks this is what people are referring to when they start spouting that sentimental bullshit. The light, fluttering sensation that leaves her feeling like she's walking on the moon, that it will take her hours to come down from her high. It's a mark of how at ease she is with him that she's not even worried about the prospect of Coney Island. She's never been to a fun fair, and has certainly never been on a roller coaster before. That kind of thing is for kids and, well, she never really had much of a childhood.
"I could pick you up around seven thirty," he says softly, leaning closer to her.
"You could," she replies, slowly wrapping her legs around his, holding him firmly in place. She's not going to let him go easily. It appears he is quite content with the new development however, because he grins, baring those perfectly straight teeth, his face only inches from hers. She tries to breathe slowly, steadily, but her lungs are working hard just to maintain her sharp inhalations and shaky exhalations. Her body isn't playing fair, not at all, and she feels vulnerable. It doesn't matter though, because Sean won't try and turn that on her. He's not the sort. This isn't business. This is all pleasure.
"Cess, you are so damn beautiful," he whispers, his breath tickling her neck. "But I bet people tell you that all the time, right?"
"I like it best when you tell me," she replies. It's true. Everyone else who has ever told her such things has always wanted something, whether it be her body, her skills, her knowledge. Never has someone told her simply for the sake of telling her. Until now.
Sean brushes his lips against her neck softly, and Natasha closes her eyes, her skin tingling. His stubble grazes against her as he presses kiss after kiss onto her skin, making his way up her neck and to her jaw while his hand slides slowly up her knee, coming to rest on her lower thigh. She scrapes her teeth against her lower lip, then raises her hand to his jaw, gently guiding his mouth to her own. His kisses are sweet and delicate, and so unlike the others she has experienced in her line of work, always so greedy and selfish. Sean is worlds apart from all of that, his touch gentle as one hand tenderly cups her face. He deepens the kiss and she sighs into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck, one hand gripping his tousled hair, and he seems to gain confidence, his hand moving up her thigh and snaking around to her lower back, pulling her towards him and closing the gap between their bodies.
She can taste coffee on him, and for some reason it makes her smile, and she recalls that first afternoon spent sipping on americanos, watching the other patrons come and go. She's disappointed when he breaks the kiss, but when he moves his lips to the hollow of her throat, she gasps, feeling the muscles in the pit of her stomach tighten in anticipation. His warm hands slide under her top, fingertips gliding over her skin, and she wants him, more than anything else in the world. She wants him.
The bell above the shop door tinkles, and Sean immediately stills. Natasha opens her eyes, looking down at him, wondering whether he's going to ignore it or deal with it. She'd rather it be the former, but then again, he has a business to run.
"Sean? You back there, son?" The voice of an elderly man carries through to the workshop and Sean closes his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"It's Harvey," he murmurs. "This might take a while." His hands slip from her waist and Natasha unhooks her legs from him, allowing him to break away from her entirely and head over to his collection of finished pieces. "I'll be right out, buddy!" he calls, picking up a mahogany side table with ornately carved legs and carrying it out to the front of the shop. "Hey man, how's it going?"
Natasha lets out a sigh and leans back against the wall. Her lips curve into a smile, and she doesn't know why, because she's just had a very good opportunity snatched away from her by an old man. And yet, she realises, as she traces patterns in the saw dust, the conversation between Sean and Harvey filtering through her thoughts, she is happy. It's strange, but she likes it.
She likes it a lot.
"Here," she says, holding out a hundred dollar bill to him.
Loki frowns, looking down at it. "That's rather a lot of pizza," he says, and takes it from her, turning it over in his hands.
"It's not just for pizza," she tells him, pulling on her jacket and checking her reflection in the mirror. It hasn't changed since she last checked twenty seconds ago, but she still combs her fingers through her hair, trying to get it to lay just right.
"You know," he says, folding up the bill and slipping it into his pocket. "You're being awfully sociable for a government assassin. Aren't you people supposed to keep a low profile?"
"Yeah, well, you're supposed to be keeping a low profile too, but guess what, you're being sociable as well tonight!" she says brightly, her hands resting on her hips. He's not going to like this idea, not one little bit, but it's tough shit for him, because this is how it's going to be.
"You're not dragging me with you, are you?" he asks, lip curling in disdain, eyebrows creased in concern at such a prospect.
"Uh, no," she tells him. That would be the worst idea in the history of worst ideas, dragging her psychopathic alien of a roommate along with her on a date. She's sure that would go down super well with Sean. "You're going out tonight."
"Out?" Loki repeats sceptically. "No thanks."
"No, you're going out tonight or you're out forever," Natasha tells him firmly. "Really. People are getting suspicious as to why my apartment's off limits, so you need to start getting used to going out."
"And that's what the hundred dollars is for…"
"Exactly." She picks up her purse, slipping the strap over her shoulder, then checks inside for her keys, phone, and money. All good. She looks up at the clock - seven twenty. She still has another ten minutes before he arrives.
Loki stands up and paces over towards the window, looking out onto the street below. He heaves a sigh and runs his hand through his hair, and Natasha forgets her nerves for a moment and goes to join him.
"I don't want to go outside," he says. "Is there not another solution?"
"I think it'd be good for you," she tells him. "You know, magic yourself a new face so you don't get picked up on CCTV, go find a bar, maybe go to a restaurant or catch a movie. Just do something. You don't have to be outside the whole time. You just need to be out of the apartment."
He picks nervously at his hand, chewing on his lip, and doesn't reply.
"What's so scary about outside?" she asks softly.
"I'm not scared," he snaps, then he drops his hands, apparently aware of his body language giving him away. "I just don't like being around other people."
"You won't be forced to talk to anyone," she says, ignoring his outburst. "You'll be fine."
"It's not about talking to them," he says, and he starts picking at his hands again, not realising how quickly he has slipped back into nervous habit. "I just like being alone. And you know, here, I can be alone, and I know that nobody's going to bother me, and it's…"
"A safe space?"
He doesn't say anything, and Natasha knows she has hit the nail on the head. She's amazed she hadn't realised earlier. After all, Thor had told her that Loki had been imprisoned upon his return to Asgard, and had but one day in which he was free before he was killed. He never had time to readjust to freedom, and maybe he had woken injured, alone, and scared, and so he had come to Earth to find the one person he knew would understand how it feels to be fucked up in the head. She gets by just fine, and maybe that's what he's after - lessons in how to deal.
"When I say it'd be good for you to go out for the night, I'm not just saying that because I want you out. I'm saying it because you need to just get it over and done with."
"It's so big…" he murmurs, his eyes fixed on the streets below.
"That's why they divide it up. Head out to Williamsburg, they have some nice bars there." She pauses, then adds, "You do know what a bar is, right? They have those on Asgard?"
"We have taverns," he says, turning to cast a withering look in her direction. "But I believe I can cope with the name change."
"And don't go in and order a flagon of ale or anything. You'll get laughed out of town."
He rolls his eyes, and Natasha looks up to the clock, realising it's time she headed downstairs to the lobby. "Go out," she says. "Have fun."
"Fine," he says, giving in. "Fine…"
She heads for the door, those funny little butterflies fluttering around in her stomach once more, and when she reaches the elevator and steps inside, her nerves increase with every floor she descends, as she heads down to meet her fate.
She kicks the door shut behind her and takes Sean by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close so their lips can meet, She tangles her hands in his hair, moaning softly as he presses his body against hers, one hand caressing her waist, while the other pulls at her jacket, trying to peel it off her. Natasha moves forward, tugging her arms from the sleeves and looping them around his neck again as soon as they're free. He drops the jacket to the floor and she quickly unbuttons his shirt, pressing kisses to his exposed chest as she walks him backwards towards the bedroom. He tilts her chin up and captures her lips again, his hands moving to her hips and holding her close. His grip manages to be strong and gentle at the same time, and part of her wants him to squeeze tighter, to leave marks, but she knows it's only a matter of time before he gets over treating her like a delicate little flower. She pushes him backwards onto the bed and climbs on top of him, her senses heightened in the pitch black, skin tingling as her pulls her down to him, their lips finding their way to each other in the darkness as if guided by magnets. His tongue grazes against her own, his mouth sweet and sugary, the taste of the cotton candy lingering. When she grinds against him he groans into her mouth, and she's sure that it's one of the best things she's ever heard in her life.
"Do you mind?"
Natasha freezes, Sean's hands halting immediately under her top. She pulls her lips away from his, not daring to breathe. She hopes this is just her mind playing tricks on her, that she'll be able to switch on the light and no one will be there and it will all just be some silly little hallucination brought on by the flashing lights and loop the loops from their time at the fun fair. Before she can reach a hand out to her lamp however, they are bathed in a sudden light, and Natasha squeezes her eyes shut, unprepared for the glare. When she cautiously opens her eyes a moment later, she sees him, laying there as though he owns the place, reclined and resting on his elbows, his pale chest exposed, his green eyes slightly glazed.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Natasha hisses.
"What d'you mean what am I doing here?" he retorts.
"Uh…what's going on?" Sean asks, while Natasha glares at Loki with all the venom she can muster. "Francesca? Who is this?"
"Francesca?" Loki repeats, unable to suppress his smirk. "Is that what you're calling yourself?"
She feels Sean let out a soft sigh beneath her, and he pushes himself up, gently guiding Natasha off of him.
"I don't know what's going on here but I think it's probably best if I go," he says, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, his hands shaking.
"No, no," Natasha says, holding up a hand to try and stop him from leaving. "You don't have to go anywhere. Really. He's not supposed to be here, there's nothing - we're not, you know, this isn't…" She can't put her thoughts into words, and it would probably be easier if she could make any sense of her thoughts at all, but everything's a complete mess and this was not how it was supposed to happen. Not with Sean.
"What's your name?" Sean asks, looking up at her at last. "Your real name?"
Her shoulders slump and she bites her lip. "I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"If I can't tell you my real name, I certainly can't tell you why I can't tell you my real name."
Sean shakes his head and turns towards the door. "I'm outta here."
"No!" Natasha says quickly, pushing herself up from the bed and darting in front of him, blocking his path. "Please, just…I know it looks bad - "
"No," Sean says shaking his head. "This isn't bad, this is a god damn catastrophe."
"Ok, fine, it's a catastrophe, but - can you just get the fuck out?"
Loki has been watching events unfold as though he is a spectator at a sports game, is sitting up in bed, arms folded lazily across his stomach, lips curved into a sleepy smirk.
"No," he says, as though the idea is absurd. "I'm tired."
"You're tired?" Natasha repeats, taking a step towards him. "You know what I'm tired of? You treating this apartment like you own it. Treating me like I'm a second class citizen in my own home - "
"Well you are, relatively," he says, eyes glinting. "I am a prince, after all."
"Not here you're not!" Natasha shrieks. "I asked you to do one god damn thing for me, and you can't even do that! I gave you a hundred dollars to go out for the night and yet for some reason, you're sleeping in my fucking bed when I get home!"
"I went out," he says with a shrug. "Went to a few bars, had some food, met some women," he pauses at that, his smirk turning into a grin. "And then I got bored and came home."
"This isn't your home," she spits.
"And nor is it yours," he argues. "You're thousands of miles from home. Why don't you ever go back? Too scared? Or too ashamed?"
"Says you," Natasha retorts. She turns back, but Sean is gone, and she throws a filthy look towards Loki, who must have seen Sean leave and didn't mention it, didn't say a single fucking word. She dashes after him, through the lounge and out of her apartment door, catching him just in front of the elevators.
"Look," he says, before she even has a chance to speak. "I didn't think things would be this complicated and I'm not sure I can handle - "
"He's no one," Natasha says, her eyes pleading with him to believe her.
"I thought he was a prince," Sean says in a soft, sarcastic tone.
"He's an asshole, that's all I know," Natasha replies, then, her face softening, she steps forward, reaching out for Sean's arm. He stiffens at her touch, but she doesn't relinquish her grip. "He's got nowhere else to go," she tells him. "That's why he's here. I've only got one bedroom so he's been sleeping in my bed, but there hasn't been anything…you know, nothing's happened. We don't have a history or anything,"
That's another lie, but she tells herself it's okay because it's not the kind of history that matters to Sean. Their once blossoming relationship would hardly have been put at risk by the events of the attack on New York. Even so, her stomach twists with guilt at the fact that she's not being one hundred percent honest with him.
"I was kind of looking for something a bit simpler," Sean says, looking down at the floor. "And I mean, you're great and everything but this is…this is just messy. I don't even know your name. I mean, how can I fall for a girl if I don't even know her name?"
"I would tell you if I could," she whispers. "I didn't lie to you for fun. I lied because I had to. My job requires me to and…that's already far too much that I've told you."
The elevator doors open, and Natasha lets go of his arm, her hand falling to her side. She doesn't want to hold him back. Only wants him to stay if that's what he wants, but she can't see that happening any time soon, not with Loki lounged in her bed while they speak.
"I'll er…see you around," he says, stepping into the elevator and pushing the button for the ground floor.
"Bye," Natasha says glumly, watching as the doors slide shut, shielding him from view. It's probably for the best, she tells herself, as she slumps back into her apartment and pushes the door shut behind her. She heads for the bedroom, where Loki has apparently grown bored and switched the light out, favouring sleep as opposed to waiting up for her return. She crawls under the covers, wanting to hide there forever while her heart slowly knits itself back together.
"You know if you were that desperate for sex you could have just asked. I would have happily obliged."
She closes her eyes and tries to count to ten, but she doesn't even make it as far as three, before she aims both feet at him, kicking him hard in the ribs, sending him crashing onto the floor, pulling the duvet down with him.
"Okay, maybe not the right time," he says, standing up gingerly. "But all I meant was that you didn't have to go out and find a human."
"Get out!" she yells. "Just get the fuck out!" She swallows down the lump in her throat, and when he doesn't move, she gets out of bed, strides around to him and shoves him towards the door. He stinks of alcohol, so it's no wonder that he stumbles, catching the door frame and just managing to keep himself upright. "You can sleep on the god damn couch tonight, and every fucking night, and if you don't like it, you can fuck off back to Asgard!"
He doesn't say another word, and Natasha picks up the duvet with shaking hands, wraps herself up in it and collapses onto the bed. She refuses to cry, no matter how much her body urges to break into sobs. She's already made too many mistakes where Sean is concerned, the primary one being that she thought she could try and be a real person.
As she lays there in the dark, unable to sleep despite feeling completely drained, the only thing she can think of is all the reasons as to why she was clearly never meant to enter into anything so simple and so emotionally fulfilling as a relationship with another human being.