Oh Loki! Freakin' out, left and right. But maybe he has a reason to be...
I'm not very nice to SHIELD in this particular story. They never struck me quite as the bullies they're portrayed as here. But they can be a little rude, right? I can't imagine what they're going to do without Phil's charm to smooth things over. Phil was awesome.
I've had a drop in reviews. C'mon guys, we've got a nifty box now! Five seconds to type and press a button! Please? Feedback is lovely! But on that note, I would like to thank my regular reviewers. They're gems, and I am very sorry for the slower response this last week - my life was in a bit of a tizzy.
-XXX-
The next morn comes, fair and bright. Tatiana is slow to rise - he can already see the effects of his dream charm in place. Through her morning shower, she hums (off-key, but prettily nonetheless). By the time breakfast arrives, however, the effects are wearing, and her mind seems to dwell in darker places. The god ignores this.
He insists on accompanying her on the usually morning walk. This morning, he has a cane in hand. Her brows rise questioningly, but she doesn't ask. They circle the park in uncomfortable silence. Tati has never been one to fill quiet air with useful noise, so they've had plenty of silent moments between them that have been settled. Today she is unhappy, and he cannot (though he wishes to) pretend not to know why. He fills his lungs with crisp autumn air, sighing. Surely the silly girl trusts him enough to know he'd never willingly bring harm about her way.
Today he doesn't leave. No business, he intends on remaining in her presence as a silent rock of reassurance. But Tati has other plans. She escapes to one of the upstairs bedrooms, the one that might've been hers if he thought to sleep alone at night. All day she alternates been sleeping and reading. More than once he enters uninvited.
"Are you ill?" he demands.
From beneath the covers - "No."
He stood in the doorway for several moments, clutching the knob with a bruising force he'd prefer to apply to her wrists in the process of pulling information from the girl. Yet, this requires a velvet touch. Loki leaves before he does anything regretful.
A few hours later, in the breath of twilight, he returns to find her staring out the window. The city outside teams with life. She appears to be observing nothing in particular. Simply staring.
"What are you thinking on?" He slides behind her, resting his chin on her skull.
Faintly, she replies. "Dr. Walker."
The god promptly freezes. Tatiana shifts under him. He is still, but his partner is bubbling with unvented mourning.
"I just can't help but feel…." She drifts off.
"Did they find him, then?"
"Oh, yes," she says, distractedly. "Car accident. But it was just so…sudden."
The girl turns in his arms. Looking down at her, he can see that she knows - or at least suspects - his involvement in the matter. But she says nothing, merely calmly peers up. Soft, yet unyielding Tatiana. She knows of his sins, his wrongdoings. And she stays.
"A pity," he manages. Because it is a pity, truly, that the bloody doctor isn't here to see her choose him. "He was a good man, Tatiana."
"Yes," she repeats. It isn't an apology, by any means, but she seems to accept what is between the lines. And unspoken acknowledgement.
-XXX-
Roughly a week passes before Loki will leave the house alone again. I don't question his reluctance, rather, I stay out of his way, knowing restlessness is sure to follow. I'm right - over the course of three days alone, he single-handedly breaks at least fifteen teacups, sets a chair afire, causes the bathroom fixtures to dance, turns our sheets to snowy white, then red, then yellow, accidentally removes his facial hair (including eyebrows), and then wrecks the dining room when he thinks I'm not looking. Loki attempts a light-hearted attitude- but it comes and goes, flashed of brooding anger in between. He is nervous; a truce could, I suppose, not be ideal at this point in time. I've no idea what he is planning, but I figure it is nasty. Nasty enough for me to not want to ask. "Deniability," he keeps saying, "Is the best defense."
A defense I hope I shall never require.
When he finally decides to leave the house, it is with the strictest instructions that I am to stay indoors, not contacting anyone, and to not do anything foolish. I agree without hesitation, barely looking up from the novel I am engrossed in. He passes my chair with a sigh, pressing a kiss to my forehead before vanishing. This startles me. I drop the book to my lap. A laugh echoes through the room - Loki's parting gift.
For a few hours, I mope about. He cannot expect me to live like this for extended periods of time - I shall go mad. I miss work, and Win. When he returns, I think I shall bring up the topic of bringing Win here, or something. Maybe getting a TV? I plan the discussion out, mentally outlining all benefits of either course of action.
Around four o'clock, I start hearing cats. Well, a cat. A constant crying. I wonder if Loki is teasing me, or if somehow a feline escaped into our attic. Wandering through the house, I follow the noise, eventually discerning it's source to be the alley that sits alongside the Eastern side of the brownstone. With a frown, I peer out the window. Nothing.
Loki instructed me that if my foot so much as passed the threshold onto the stoop, he would hide every book on the property for the next fortnight, taking away my one source of entertainment. I'd scoffed. The cat is temptation enough to make my promises wane. But I hesitate before the door, fingers just brushing the handle. Is saving a kitten worth it? Hell, how do I even know if the thing needs saving? And is leaving safe?
A plethora of scenarios enter my mind, everything from Captian America blowing up the house, to attack-of-the-suits part III. My instincts tell me these notions are silliness.
"Surely they wouldn't venture so near the house?"
I comfort myself with the thought that they couldn't have given Loki less than a week to make up his mind. So I can't be in any danger.
Well, at least, not too much.
"Coward," I scold. Without second thoughts, I exit the house, making straight for the alley.
A yellow tabby sits in one corner, balled up and crying. I coo gently as I approach. "Poor baby. What are you doing out here on your own?"
I'm sure a city like New York has thousands of stray cats, but this one might very well belong to someone. I bent to kneel, offering my wiggling fingers, still cooing softly. After a little encouragement, the cat approaches, wary, to sniff my hand. Once deemed safe, it butts the limb with its small orange head. I oblige by scratching the thing behind the ears. Its fur is reasonably clean. No collar, but this kitty belonged to someone. I stoop to lift it. The cat disagrees briefly, grumbling, but accepts my arms readily enough.
"Aw, there's a good…kitty?" I frown. "Well, I guess we'll find out a gender later. Poor baby, you must be starving."
Loki surely couldn't deny the animal once it was cleaned up a bit, and in the house. I make to go back inside. In turning, my vision of the street beyond is impaired.
Impaired by the three men dressed in smart black suits, wearing dark sunglasses (though it's fairly overcast), and a stouter fellow - who I recognize as Hawkeye. I stumble backwards, clinging onto the disgruntled animal I now recognize as bait. Someone in SHIELD knows of my weakness toward cats.
"Miss Deror." Hawkeye is calm. I wonder who sent him on kidnapping duty. Seems like kind of an amateur job for an Avenger. Especially seeing as I'm not all armed and dangerous. "I take it Loki Laufeyson has failed to comply to the terms we discussed last week?"
I swallow. "I've no clue."
Hawkeye doesn't respond right away. He looks to the men on his left. "Secure the house."
Two of them depart. I can hear the front door opening. Wincing, I hug the squirming cat tighter to me. Hawkeye approaches. He eyes the cat.
"We'll let you inside for ten minutes to pack," he says, eyes holding mine seriously. "If you try to run, this will become significantly less calm of a situation. Do you understand? We're taking you to a safehouse. If you attempt to contact Loki, we'll ensure stricter measures on you. For now, you're going to simply be monitored."
I nod silently, biting my lip.
"If you would give the cat to Agent Ryle…"He motions to the other man. I deposit the cat into Ryle's arms. The thing settles, almost glaring at me.
"What-" I begin, but then stop myself.
Hawkeye gestures, inviting me to go on. Cheeks aflame, I ask what will happen to the cat.
"It's property of SHIELD Agent Romanoff."
The name isn't familiar. I nod. There is a faint crackle. Barton presses his ear piece, listening. I wait, looking down at my feet. "Stupid, stupid, stupid….."
"The house is clear," the Avenger says aloud, to no one specific. "You may go in, Miss Deror."
He accompanies me all the way to the bedroom, where I stuff the first things I touch in the closet and from the dresser in a duffle generously provided by SHIELD. Things like satin evening gowns go in the bag, but I'm too numb to care. Barton's expression is priceless, though, as he watches me stuff a cream-coloured nightgown, then a pair of tall red boots mechanically through the zippered abyss. Jeans, shorts, sweats (yet another thing I've forced the ever-formal god to purchase me), bras, panties, socks, blouses, skirts, tanks, tennis shoes, heels, jackets all go in. Coordination means nothing. I move on. Barton's expression turns to concern.
It takes me a moment to stop at the vanity and stuff in a few cosmetic items. My fingers lingering over the notepad sitting there. I glance up at the Avenger, my eyes wide. He frowns.
"He'll be getting correspondence from us."
"Please," I whisper. "I don't…he'll be so mad. And I don't want him to think…to think I went willingly."
"Excuse me, miss," Hawkeye responds gently. His blue eyes are clear, serious, intentful. "Then it sounds to me like this isn't a healthy interaction between the two of you. I would consider getting a new boyfriend."
I take breath to argue, then think better of it. No one has believed me before, no reason they will now. It wouldn't help, anyways.
I am driven from the brownstone in one of those massive military-grade SUVs. I watch from the window until we turn a corner, and the house disappears from view.
Hawkeye assures me I will be cared for. We'll be driving, he says. I may as well settle down to sleep. The SUV contains only him and one other guy, Ryle. Ryle drives, and Barton sits beside me in the back, the middle seat separating us. I am by no means comfortable, but I take his suggestion, and turn into the window, back to him. In no time, I am asleep.
-XXX-
If he'd only listened...*sigh*
It would seem we've taken another twisty-turn, one that Mr Laufeyson isn't going to be too pleased about. Thoughts?