For You
Awesome response, guys!
-XXX-
Loki arrives near twilight, when the sea is cut by orange streaks of sky, melded with yellows and pinks. The water is ever-moving, swirling the colours around as an artist's pallet. He stands on the sand, observing the waves. For the first time in weeks, he feels her presence. She is weary, possibly asleep. Her mind is not the vivid awake he recognizes.
The red house. Though he does not see Banner, he can feel the beast-man. He closes his eyes, letting his consciousness seep into the structure. Up the stairs. There is the Captain. And through the door he guards, there she lies. Tatiana.
He approaches finally after fully observing the house and its protections.
According to his SHIELD agent, Thor was still in Asgard, waiting for news of his brother. His woman, the Jane Foster, is in Asgard now. He need not anticipate his elder brother.
Iron Man is on a goose chase. They had battled for nearly two hours before the God of Mischief tired of the activity. Loki has resorted to his old trick of mirrored images; his illusionary self was causing trouble up and down the coast. The god's lip curled at the thought. After Stark's chase, he would have earned that drink. Loki would be sure to oblige him-he owed the man's partner, anyway.
As for the other Avengers, the ones not set on the beach house, they were…taken care of. Loki had not thought of the benefits his attack on the Helicarrier might render. For the moment, Hawkeye and Widow were at the helm with Maria Hill, both at the ready. Oh, how delightful life could be when the fates dropped some unexpected advantage into your lap. Loki sighs. This will be cake.
His advance on the house does not go unnoticed. Dr. Bruce Banner stands before the deck. Hands stuffed in his pockets, the man doesn't look the least bit happy or battle-ready.
"Doctor," Loki sneers. "Last time we encountered one another, you were significantly…greener. "
Banner chooses to ignore the insult.
"She's upstairs," he says. "She's been in a state since Tony stopped by to tell us you were in the area."
The god nods, silent.
Banner crosses his arms. "I don't pretend to understand you. But right now, I'd say you're far from a fighting state."
It is true. Dirt and sweat smears his face. His hair is spiked down his back, crusted with sweat. Grime coats his boots. His cloak is tattered. He may very well magic himself, but he wants her to see him for the trouble he has gone through.
"You might be right," the god agrees.
For a long moment, Bruce takes in the sight of Loki. Finally, he shrugs. "Would you like a beer?"
-XXX-
He has not enjoyed Midgardian alcohol for some time. The cold - curious, as their ale in Asgard is typically frothing and hot - beverage warms his senses. He lets the alcohol cling to him. The remains tense, however, shoulders a straight line, eyes flickering around the deck the doctor called a "patio." They sit at a metal table, which is covered with an umbrella of bleached reeds. The bottle sits between the god's thin hands. From across the patio table, Banner clutches his own bottle, looking more than a little wary. Loki swallows, shaking his head.
"You need not fear me. For the moment."
Banner doesn't answer, merely sips.
"You know why I have come," Loki continues. "And, though your Iron Man refused to listen, I think you will find I am ready to negotiate a truce."
The doctor leans back. "Are you, now?"
"Perhaps not this second. But if it the only terms you will release her to me on…then, yes. I will consider a friendship between myself and SHIELD."
"We didn't say consider," Bruce points out.
The god sneers, though there is little passion in it. "I do not wish to battle any further tonight," he says quietly. "Fighting is…a distraction toward my cause."
Banner agrees. "But we cannot let her walk away until we're sure you won't simply disappear again, only to crop up somewhere else with another plot to rule the human race. Because, that's what you were planning, right?"
He smiles bitterly. "Naturally. But it seems I shall have to find my rule elsewhere. And I couldn't vanish, even if I wished to. She would not stand for it - missing her cat, you see, and working. I do not know how I feel about a woman taking work - she is happy, though, and nothing could please her more. "
For whatever reason, this amuses the doctor. He looks down at his brown bottle, smiling softly. "She's mentioned Win," he admits.
The god rolls his eyes. "Of course she did."
They speak more, in great length, in regards to the making and breaking of truces. Loki is bitter to agree and lower himself to such a binding, Banner finds, but willing. He has grown tired. Perhaps, in the future, he may attempt to weasel out of the arrangement, but for the moment Tati would keep him to task. He clearly adores the curator - no surprise there, Bruce was half in love with her himself - and had found something in there time apart. Banner isn't under any illusions, however. It's clear the god would rather personally saw off all of his lower limbs than admit any love for the girl. It just wasn't his character.
When the god began to grow restless, Bruce made a decision. "May SHIELD forgive me," he thought. "And Tony, and Steve, and Thor, and Barton and Nat…." They would understand. Eventually. Once they actually saw the pair together. From Tatiana's narrations, they were exceptionally comfortable around one another for a pair that consistently claimed to not be dating.
"I will find peace with you," Loki stated slowly when the conversation wound down.
Bruce drained the last of his beer, considering. By now, the sun had sunk behind the waves, leaving only the faintest trace of purple on the horizon line. He thought it quite pretty.
"She's upstairs…Steve is at the door. But," He held up one finger. "I'd wait a little while. Steve might not take well to…you."
He understood.
-XXX-
Dragged from sleep by the sound of faint voices, I am roused from my bed. I wrap myself in one of the multiple home-spun, net-like sheath jackets to step outside of my room. Steve is asleep at his self-claimed post. I tilt my head. Poor guy was going to have a stiff back if he slept there all night. Under any other circumstances, I would attempt to send him to a proper bed, but considering he's supposed to be guarding me, and what not, that probably isn't a good course of action. Especially seeing as I'm leaving my room, and all. To get a bottled water, to be fair. But still.
I creep downstairs, thankful that they do not creak underfoot. It strikes me when my foot hits the bottom step that if Steve is sleeping, Bruce cannot be talking to him. "Maybe it's one of the TVs." I shrug it off, striding to the kitchen. After fetching myself a bottle, I walk to the sliding glass door.
All is dark out there. I can just barely make out the white foamy waves of the rising tide. Water clashes with sand, the spray sending up bubbles against the shore. There I stand for several minutes, listening hard. Bruce, or the TV, is in the living room. And, possibly, as out as Steve is. As quietly as I can, I unlock the sliding glass door, moving it against the frame slowly and precisely until it is open about three feet in width, and slip through, closing it just as carefully behind me.
The night air is chilled. On the deck, I step out the railing, leaning against the wood. I inhale the briny scent of ocean, then tilt my head to the breeze. It feels good against my skin. My eyes are sore, and I have to blink several times to clear them as the wind hits their delicate surface.
For whatever reason, Bruce must believe the "danger" has passed - he isn't out here now, and I don't see anyone else. Tempted by the glittering waters, I leave the deck, removing my slippers and tossing them in one of the steel chairs. I pad down to the waterline. The waves tease my toes. I watch them wiggle, submerged in cool water.
Behind me, I hear the door sliding open. I close my eyes, imagining the expression of annoyance that is sure to be on Bruce's face, his brow furrowed in frustration. It is so rare that he would be angry, but I have a feeling this would be one of those instances. He would likely be upset with Steve, too. At this particular moment, I don't care. If I listen carefully, I can make out feet against wood, crossing the deck, then down the stairs, padding heavily against the sand. And then, so very soft, my name.
Looking back, I can make out an indistinct figure. The shape in the darkness is fluid, slim, though it could be anyone. I don't even bother to squint. In the night, it's pointless. I look again at the waves, waiting for the assault of scolding that I am bound to receive. Again, my name carries on the breeze, light and soft as a falling feather.
I turn back, expecting a disgruntled Steve or Bruce. But what I find is far from disgruntled. In fact, he's downright mirthful.
"Loki." I don't know if I think it, say it, or scream it. But that sole thought burns my mind. A candle in the dark.
The god pauses for a beat, stumbling (uncharacteristically) into a walk, then all but soars across the expanse of sand toward me. And I realize all too late that I am sprinting up the beach to him, my bare feet slipping against the compacted grit, sliding forward until I've practically leap onto Loki. He catches me gracefully (though I am anything but) and pulls me to him, so close I don't think there is a millimeter of space between us. My lungs close with his grip. Leather presses into my stomach and chest. Against him, I sink helplessly, supported by the god entirely.
And I'm crying again. Stupid, stupid tears roll down my cheek as I nuzzle his chest, breathing in the smell of smoke and sweat, accented by beer and rain. Frantic lips press into my hair, then a pair of hands slid up my arms, shoulders, neck, to finally cup my face. His forehead rest against mine for an eternity. He smiles at my tears.
"Why so sad?"
"I'm not," I hiccup. "Promise."
Without another word, I pull back, tilting my head up and leaning in again to kiss him lightly. One cool hand finds the base of my skull, navigating me closer by pressing in. I lace my arms around his neck, sighing into the embrace, standing on tiptoe to fully deepen the kiss.
-XXX-
She is different. Her skin has a darker tone, and her hair is a few shades lighter. Caramel coloured-streaks flash in the dim light. The locks are loose waves, an effect of the salt. She has been sun-stained. Inhaling, he smells sea and sand. Brushing her face, he can see tearstains against bright red cheeks.
"Miss me again?" she asks quietly. His lips quirk at the quip.
"Mayhaps." He kisses her for a second time, savoring the taste of her skin. She smiles against his smirking lips.
"It seems as though you destroyed quite a lot of government property to get here."
Darkly, he chuckles. "Not nearly enough."
"Oh? I think you proved your point nicely. Took out quite a few people…fought a few Avengers…all because you missed me?"
"Well," the god says casually, using his thumb to sweep along her jaw, quite liking the blossoms of colour that claim her cheeks. "This time, it was not on my terms. Our separation. And you know how I do love to control circumstance."
"Oh yes," says Tatiana, smile blooming. He runs his other thumb over her bottom lip, relishing the grin. "Do I."
-XXX-
We stay out there for a long time. He tells me nearly everything he has been up to-nearly, because it is entirely clear he has edited his tale. In hushed tones, we narrate one another's experiences. Loki's grip on me tightens at the start, when I describe the cat, and his lips curl in displeasure at the outline of my journey here. He is positively livid to know I knew of his coming and was barred from greeting him-"Did you expect anything less?"-but I am not much happier when he paints a picture of chaos, destruction, and pining-motivated violence.
"Did you….?" I don't finish the question-I can never finish the question. "Kill anyone?"
Bright eyes, void of regret, answer me.
"Oh, Loki," I whisper.
"I do not know…for certain," he tells me quietly.
I hang my head. He was angry, I know. Terrorized by his own mind. But this comes as a disappointment, regardless.
"I will always come to you." Eyes turn to flint. "As I've said before. No matter cost."
"But I care about the cost. Especially if it is my cause you're after." My hands slide up to frame his sharp cheeks. "…Oh, Loki."
He presses closer into my touch. I cannot bring it into me push him away, though my sadness and revulsion. He has little to no regret. And no matter how I feel about him, that will affect me. Sighing, I attempt to move back. Loki lets me go.
We are night and day. Me, the overly compassionate fluff, scooping turtles from the middle of the road every spring, tearing up at Humane Society commercials, making pillowcase dresses for African children, a coward. And Loki, a sorcerer, the warrior prince of Asgard who has waged war on Earth, kill possibly hundreds, cold toward anyone he does not see as "his."
I have turned from him, arms crossed to hold myself in. Back to him, my hair whipping in the night air, I speak slowly. "I care for you a great deal. But this…cannot happen again. The next time-" I cut across his breath, the coming words "There will not be," and go on. "-something happens, you can't go about tearing things up, having your way with Helicarriers, willfully injuring anyone. Because, even if you don't feel the slightest shred of remorse, I will not stand for it."
Dangerously, his eyes narrow. "Will you, now?"Loki looms over me. I have yet to turn, but I feel his heat against my back. "My dear, I have gone through Hel and back to come to you."
"And I would do the same for you. But if I were to take your powers while doing it, would you be very happy with me?" My question does little to please him, and he glares. Silent, I look back without expression. "We both have weak points. Mine is people. Blood on your hands is just another reason for SHIELD to take you, anyways."
He is not happy. Loki's mouth is a thin line. A cut of displeasure. But he nods shortly.
I return to his arms, pressing my lips gently to his. "Thank you."
With nothing more than sighs, we part. I take his hand, cool and dry. And, with nothing left to do, I lead him along the stretch of beach I have, for the last two weeks, come to see as my own. When the coral-coloured house is a pinprick of yellow against the black scenery, I sink to the sand, pulling Loki with me. I sit between his legs, his chin on my crown, staring out a wide world beyond.
-XXXX-
Someone said something about chaos...well, okay, look. I'm not good with action scenes. All my fighting is mental. Seriously. Hopefully this was the climax you were expecting.
Thoughts?
Anyone have a tumblr? I've been fangirling over Tom lately. Like, reblogging anything with any part of his anatomy in it. At all. I am in no way picky.