Lovely response, guys! We've got a kinda break here...peaceful-ish. We get some bonding, too. Most of this is from Loki's POV, which I've felt we've missed a little.
Thank you!
-XXX-
With the advent of their freedom, Tati takes to staying indoors readily. The bed is once again her friend, only now she drags him into it, away from his books. Or, she curls around him as he slumps over massive tomes, enjoying the yellowy lamp light and quiet hum of his breathing. They speak in hushed tones, always. She asks questions of his life before, of Asgard, of their shared dreams. He tells her of his magics a little more, detailing through sparkling pictures and formulas drawn from his fingertips. These pictures always flare green, drifting in the air for several minutes as he lectures. She tells him he ought to teach, to which he snorts and asks "Who?"
This bitterly reminds them both that the only students he might ever yield would not be on Midgardian soils.
Tati sighs into him, rolling to nuzzle against his sides. Loki then resumes his lesson, outlining the finer points of transfiguration, the book he'd previously been reading still sitting open on his crossed legs, abandoned for the moment.
He tells her of magics and their dangers. Of constellations. Of Sif and Thor and Odin and Fregga, and the courts. He quietly speaks of the tree Yggdrasil, the lands beyond Asgard, the dragon-snake on her ring. When he speaks of Ragnarok, he takes her hands into his to stroke the metal he set there. The green-eyed beast winks.
"The dreams?" she asks. "Were they real? Or was I compensating?"
"For the most part they were real."
"And the place? The hall, with the pillars?"
He considers not telling her, but Tati is earnest. "It is of Asgard," he finally says. "My home…in the palace."
Tati nods, thoughtful. "I forget sometimes, that you are a prince."
The god bares his teeth. They glint white. Tati moves closer.
"A particularly charming one?"
"No."
He had not expected anything more or less.
For a while, they live in peace. Or, at least, relative peace. The god knows good and well that SHIELD did not just walk away from an opportunity to return him to Asgard – fortunately, he is not that stupid – and is now only waiting for their newest strike against him and his newfound happiness. Such is the way of life. He knows he can ward them off for a while at least, but he is not about to tell Tati of his revelation. It would only serve to trouble her when they could be instead enjoying their calm. Besides, he was far too used to keeping information from her.
The city is theirs again. Tati now insists on visiting places far out from their scope before. He has no liking for the bustling restaurants, but he likes the opera, the plays, and the galleries and museums. He'd thought to take her to a few of the galleries upon her initial arrival; they had simply never had the time. It was a nice excursion for the evenings. Tati finally found a use for the "stuffy" and "impractical" satin gowns he had left in her wardrobe. Loki wore his suits and scarves in good humor – he had not graced the public so well-dressed since Stuttgart.
It was a showing of Aida when he found them. He had purchased them a box for the evening. Tati excused herself for the restroom, leaving behind her opera glasses and gloves. She found the experience thrilling, learning the etiquette, seeing all the pomp and circumstance, observing the milling about of those far older and richer than she. It bore him; Loki was, after all, reared in a life of court ceremonies. But her attitude amused him.
He'd put her glasses in his lap and was fiddling with the gold dials when the scarlet caught his eye – shortly shorn locks of flame, pouting red lips. Black Widow.
She wore a black gown that flared at her hips, emphasizing her curves and drawing the eyes of every man in the vicinity. To her right was the ice-eyed Barton, his gaze scanning the crowd. They both appear natural, clean-cut, like any other couple there to enjoy the music. Not too far off from himself and Tatiana, if he were be honest with himself. Though, in this case, both are on edge. Watching….
Without a doubt, watching for the other couple. Natasha is very carefully not looking in the direction of Loki's box.
His lips curl. "Let them come."
The would not. Not here. Not now. For the moment, Fury has them observing Loki. Waiting for him to slip. Or waiting for an opportunity.
When Tati returns, he says nothing of it, but smiles faintly when she plucks her small binoculars from his lap. She bends to his ear, kissing his cheek before whispering. "Having fun?"
"Oh?"
"You have a very self-satisfied expression on your features," she explains. "Along with a savage bloodlust gleaming in your eyes."
He lets out a bark of laughter. "Do I now? Well, perhaps opera suits my taste."
"Hm, no. It's far too tame for you."
His human sits down with a great grace than usual, one hand finding his to trace the patter of his knuckles. He lets her for several minutes, then shifts his palm upwards to accept hers, squeezing. The second act would be beginning shortly.
"I find myself in need of a bathroom," he says abruptly. Tati blinks.
"Nature calls for the great god? Or do you need to powder your nose?" she teases as he rises to leave their box. "I did not think you vain, Loki Laufeyson."
He lifts her hand, leaving a brief, scorching kiss on the soft flesh. Then he makes his leave. Cane in hand, he gracefully descends down the grand staircase, letting his scarf fly about his neck. Fall is upon them now, and while he did not feel the new cold against his Jotun-tempered skin, he took to wearing heavier jackets and scarves. He has a particular fondness for this scarf – Tati found it last time they graced a clothing store (which he cannot recall the name of for the life of him). It is a creamy white with a faint diamond patter. Bright threads of spring green run throughout, giving the fabric a slight metallic sheen. She had arranged it before they left, after tying his bowtie, stepping between him and the mirror to slide the fabric of Angora rabbit wool.
Barton waits below. He is silent, arm crossed behind his back. The archer is relaxed, or at least playing at relaxed, and turns to regard the god with great calm. Loki sees a twitch in the younger man's jaw however, and feels a deep, internal rush of glee. The archer clearly still holds reservations against Loki for the soul-control spell he had only fully shaken off six months ago. The god is surprised Barton is here without his Widow.
"Agent Barton," Loki begins softly. "It is a pleasure. I was not aware of your regard for the opera and musical arts."
"I'm not so much a fan of Verdi as I am protecting citizens. And ridding the world of you." The younger fellow's chin juts upwards, the set of his mouth grim. "I'd say you knew this was coming."
Loki inclines his head. "I had a notion."
"I'd say good," Barton says. "But God knows I'd rather surprise your noble ass and pull one over on you. You're going back to Asgard."
At this, the god's lips curl. "Am I, now? I believe your people had a bargain with me…one I have honored. Therefore, I shan't be joining you or my brother this evening…."
The archer shakes his head. "You don't understand. It doesn't matter if you've been a goody-two-shoes who has been spending his weekends at the Humane Society and working at soup kitchens. SHIELD has your number, you bastard. We've seen what you can do. Do you think they'll just let you walk around Manhattan? We are not going to risk it."
"You dare to take me now?"
Barton had been clenching his fist. With this, he sinks back slightly, his bright eyes cooling. "No. Not tonight. But we will be waiting."
"I would expect nothing less." Loki bows his head.
The archer is at a loss, though his icy nature would speak otherwise. "You're not fighting this?"
Weary, the god lets out a long breath. He let his eyes trail back up the stairs, toward the direction of his box. The pendant flares warmth again his chest, and he feels Tati and her anticipation. Barton follows his eyes and instantly understands.
"She will be better off without you," he says bluntly, without preamble. "You've thought of this, I know. She won't have to worry about being snatched away…about her life falling apart simply because you're in a bad mood. Surely you can see this would be better for her. If anything, you can see this."
Loki sneers. "And you have taken care of yours, have you?"
He is referring to Natasha. Barton doesn't flinch. "She takes care of herself. And she would be the first to tell you such. Yours, though, isn't Nat. She's different. This person had a life before you. She had plans and a future. What have you done to all of that? All that's at the end of her path is you. Do you think that's enough?"
He would be torn limb from limb. How dare the archer suggest he could not care for his reader.
"She would be better off," Barton continues. "Happier. Maybe not a first. But later, she would be."
"So I should leave her freely and willing?" Loki bares his teeth. "Abandoned."
"No," the archer says mildly. "Free."
If they were not in a public setting, the god would have lunged and torn out the archer's throat, then savored the sight seeping scarlet life's blood as it fell to the polished tiles. He would watch the light fade from the agent's ice-coloured eyes – an inadvertent reminder of Jotunheim – and know that he would be eternally parted from the spider-woman, know that he had parted them as he once promised, know that SHIELD would feel his message. Loki would absorb this moment, then clean himself of the bodily fluids to return to his reader, then claim her later in the night.
This savage, animal longing is repressed. Loki straightens himself, eyes cold as he turns the cane in his hand slowly. He releases a long breath before he meet's the archer's equally cool gaze. "I shall see you, sir."
With that, he stayed his cruel hand to return to Tati.
-XXX-
Watching the heartbroken Nubian slave girl sing out her melancholy to her love as they are sealed into a vault, the light fast fading, I clutch my gloves. I cannot understand the fast Italian. Yet the raw emotions of the vocalists are impossible to ignore. Beside me, Loki smirks at my tears. While he whispers out the lyrics – naturally, he knows Italian – in a mocking tone, I swat at him.
"Shhh," I hiss.
"Oh, please. This story is –"
"Shut up!" I squeak, pushing him away. He's leaned in close to nuzzle my neck, one hand on my thigh. "I want to hear the ending."
Loki settles back, sighing. He is silent through the rest of the song, and then stands with me to applaud. When it's over, we gather our belonging – I feel like I've got a suitcase in comparison to him, seeing as I've got opera glasses, gloves, cloak, and a clutch, whereas Loki only has his cane – and we exit the box, descend down the stairs, and head for the sidewalk. We have no car waiting for us, and no taxi; the god much prefers we use his magic to hop to and fro (though he does not appreciate my use of the term "hop").
Once outside, we walk about two blocks, both lost in the chilled night air. It's getting cooler every day, painfully so. Luckily, my cloak is velvet lined with mink, and wonderfully warm. I pull it tighter around my shoulder, looking down the street. Beside me, my partner smiles slightly.
He enjoys the cold. Relishes it, even. Morning walks without a coat are nothing to him, where as I am far more likely to lay about in bed, moaning as the Trickster tugs on my toes, daring me to brave the misty morn air. It more likely than not that I find myself in the park, scowling as Loki lounges on a bench, reading some thick leather-bound book while I shiver pathetically.
Loki pulls me into an alley. Clever fingers play along my spine as the god smiles against my lips.
"Home?" I ask.
"I think yes…." He is thoughtful. "Unless you would care for a nightcap?"
"Nah. I'm tired. And emotional." I bite my lip. "You know how stuff like that gets me."
He rolls his eyes playfully. "I've got a bunny where I'd rather a warrior maiden. Whatever became of the stoic creature that faced SHIELD, went against her own people?"
"Well, when you put it that way," I say lightly. "It sounds all bad, like I was hostile toward Midgard."
Loki laughs. "You're spending too much time with me, my half-wit. Referring to your home in its Asgardian name. My dear, I do hope you're not picking up my other traits."
I kiss him. He leans into it, slowly and sweetly pushing back. The cool fingers press into my backbone, the pressure making me more than a little warm. Lightheaded, I pull back slightly.
"Picking up your habits?" I ask. Loki sighs, tightening his arms around me. There is a burst of light. And we're –
"Home again, home again," I sing lowly.
"And here to stay," he finishes, another smirk playing on his thin lips.
"To stay," I agree.
-XXXX-
And another oncoming storm...They just can't catch a break, can they?
Thoughts? Feeling? Comments, questions, critiques, I take 'em all!
I am going to see Avengers again Monday. It was an option for our off-night at camp, and while I'd love to see Brave, which was another choice, I just...I just can't.