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8. Rainbows and Mirrors
A long tendril of smoky sunshine invaded their room. Loki watched it slide across the carpet, up the bed, to light Natasha's curls tangled with his straight black locks. She breathed lightly, and her expression was peaceful; her head was a sweet weight on his shoulder.
He closed his eyes for a moment to laugh at himself. A year earlier, would he have recognized this lovestruck fool lying so quietly after hours of tender embraces with the very woman who was his sworn enemy?
For he was lovestruck; he could no longer deny that reality. It was as though a star had flashed into his dark sky, a bright planet on the horizon of the barren moon he once accepted as his eternal landscape. Friendship, joy, deep satisfaction, tenderness: all those foreign emotions she had brought into his life, and he could no longer imagine a future if Natasha were not in it. I am in love with her, Loki thought, and even as he smiled a tear trickled down his cheek. Love, he had found eons ago as a youth and as Angrboda's young husband, was a debilitating force that struck down its victims before eviscerating them.
A surge of panicked fear coursed through him, melting his bones. He could never allow that to happen – he had to have Natasha for his own, forever. If she left now he would come apart; he knew it.
Immediately his restless mind conjured a thousand possibilities for her amusement to keep her by his side. With a wave of his hand he set a table next to the bed set with gold and crystal, as well as a tiny tree on which different fragrant blossoms and luscious fruits hung for Natasha to pick and eat, should she wish. There were pitchers of honeyed milk, warm chocolate, fragrant leaves steeped in hot water, bowls of tiny pastries, linen napkins folded into lilies and swans.
He waved his hand again and created several presents – the emerald she had discarded the night before in his library now set in an ornate chain of dwarves' gold. Once it was finished, he held it up and frowned – the jewel looked too heavy, too formal for Natasha. He put it in a drawer and instead conjured up a slim, silver pendant in the shape of the runic Helm of Awe inlaid with several moonstones and suspended it from a length of leather; she could wear it on her wrist or neck, whichever she chose.
She had mentioned a dress – Loki decided on something simple and comfortable, a light wool shift to kilt up should she want to go riding later. He added several books, a tiny gold figure of a ballerina, a clockwork bird to sing at her command.
His Natasha was a warrior, and thus he fashioned a set of armour for her designed like fish scales to fit to her body with ease and move with her, and with it a sword long enough for her strength and skill, short enough to maneuver easily. The thought of Natasha clad like a silver fish, brandishing a sword and fighting by his side, made the blood rush to his hardened sex; he stirred restlessly in the bed, causing her to mumble something before falling back to sleep.
Since she still didn't wake, Loki decided to create something for himself. Summoning the picture of herself she had given him the night before, he fashioned a jeweled frame around her face with its secret smile and set it on the table by his side of the bed. He copied the portrait and turned it into a miniature to hang off his belt – now he could look upon Natasha's image whenever he desired.
Another flash of his enchantment dotted the window of the chamber with tiny crystals, sending rainbows dancing throughout the room. He added a symphony of mice on the heavy mantel to play sweet music. Boxes of potpourri spilt lush scent throughout his chambers. Mirrors reflected the whole on the walls and on the ceiling; his image smirked back at him from above.
While she dreamed on he continued to create wonder upon wonder, all to greet his lady when she woke.
"No more injections!" Natasha screamed, and sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, looking around wildly. "What happened? Where am I?"
Instantly Loki was by her side to slip his arm around her and nuzzle her neck. "Safe, with me. You are here, darling, in our own chamber. What a long time you have been asleep - I could hardly bear another moment of waiting for you."
She looked around, frowning as she took in the table, the mirrors, flowers, rainbows, a riot of presents cascading over the eiderdown. "What happened here?" she asked. Her mouth opened as she took it all in.
Loki's face fell and his shoulders slumped. "You do not like it."
"It's beautiful." She moved to take his face in her hands. "Did you do this?"
His expression morphed from one of misery to utter joy. "There is no one else here, think on't."
Natasha shook her head in disbelief. "Is this what goes on in that mind of yours when you aren't bent on destroying a realm or taking over our planet? It's amazing – you are amazing. Truly, Loki, you are an artist. I've never seen anything so lovely, so filled with colour and breathtaking imagination."
"I have." His eyes bored into hers. "Every moment you are with me, you put all of Asgard to shame."
"Oh, hush…" As he bent to kiss her, she moved away and escaped. "You know, I'm sure gods and goddesses have that morning breath thing figured out, but as a mere mortal I need a little help. Any chance you could conjure me up a toothbrush?"
He began to snicker and waved towards the room where they had bathed together the night before. "As you wish, although you are like a rose to me, darling."
"Well, your 'rose' needs a few minutes." Natasha got up, pulled on his dragonfly dressing gown, and padded in to get washed up. She knew he was dying for her to open gifts, exclaim over everything he had created… Still, she had to catch her breath. As she rinsed and brushed her hair back, her eyes looked back at her from the mirror; they were bright as though she had been taking some old-fashioned drug like opium or laudanum. Her lips were swollen from Loki's kisses, and a trail of lovebites ran down her neck.
When she returned, he was pacing the room like a caged tiger. As soon as he saw her, he halted and picked her up in his arms to whirl her around in a circle. "Will you look at your presents now?" His eyes bore an anxious expression. "Which will you open first?"
Natasha held him and tenderly kissed his cheek, his nose, his intelligent forehead, the soft skin of his eyelids. "I'd really like to check out those ceiling mirrors. Did you think I wouldn't notice them right away?"
Loki sucked in his breath and bared his teeth as he pulled the dressing gown off her body. "Naughty little puss, are you not? Perhaps you need someone to tame you."
"Are you that someone? Is that what you think?"
A dangerous spark kindled in his eyes. "Oh, yes."
Several hours later Natasha managed to win Loki's agreement to letting her get dressed. She wore her new attire and the Helm of Awe around her neck; when he saw the jewel his face lit up with one of his blinding smiles. In one hand she carried the sword. Her plan was to find Sif and beg for lessons in chivalric warfare; the education would be far from pleasant, but she had an idea the lady knight could teach her a great deal.
If she did end up in Asgard for any length of time, she certainly couldn't spend her time opening gifts and dancing the Hringr – a full-time diet of luxury and sweetness would drive her insane. On that thought, she added horseback riding and Asgardian studies to the list of things to investigate during her time in the realm.
"You insist on confronting Sif?" Loki asked for the third time as she prepared to step out of his prison. "It is easy to imagine her response: 'I do not have time to waste on you, I must beat Volstagg senseless with my scabbard and polish my pauldrons until they glow like Urd's Bottom.'" He snorted. Natasha gave one of her hoarse little chuckles at his perfect imitation, and he seized her for one final, passionate kiss. "I love coaxing out that rare laugh of yours – be certain to return to me very soon so I may do it again."
Before he could release her, she cupped his face with one hand. "I wish you could come with me. That would be the best present you could ever give me, Loki - your own freedom. I would like you to be my instructor, not warrior maidens or bearded Vikings."
A thoughtful look came into his eye. As she pressed the green rune on her wrist to the glass of his cage, he stood by the wall with one fist raised, watching her intently just as he had the very first time they spoke together. It seemed an age – so much had changed between them since that long ago time.
Natasha blew him a kiss, swung the sword onto her shoulder, and sauntered off feeling rather pleased with herself. She had just given him a reason to behave or at least not act like a complete raving lunatic all the time; if he kept up his present evolution from manic-depressive villain to somewhat-reasonable sentient being, it would make her life much easier.
As Loki predicted, Sif was not pleased at Natasha's request for lessons. "I am far too busy," the maiden replied, polishing an apple for her iron-clad steed. "Go and ask Fandral."
"You are the best warrior in the realm, or so I hear. And you'll find I'm not unseasoned – I do know a thing or two about fighting."
"Fighting!" Sif crossed her arms. "You might be able to perform gymnastics, but I doubt you can hold a lance or wield a true weapon."
Natasha lost her temper. "Weapon?" She felt in her sleeve for her ceramic knife, a deadly little dart like a sting. With a quick motion she threw the blade; it lodged in Sif's apple between her fingers. "Like that, you mean?"
Sif dropped the apple with a curse. "Tyr's Balls! What did you…?" With a venomous look, she knelt and examined the tiny knife. Removing it from the fruit, she climbed to her feet, gave the apple to the tossing steed, and flipped the knife back to Natasha. "A mere toy. Come back to me when you are able to stand upright under a hog's weight of armour."
"That 'toy' dispatched a German businessman and several counteragents. Be glad I chose not to activate the poison in its tip - you'd be dead in seventy seconds and so would your horse." Natasha tilted her head and gave Sif a long, unwavering look.
The maiden tested her horse's saddle, climbed onto his back with one motion, and seemed to make up her mind. "This afternoon, before evensong. Be here on time – I will not wait for you."
"Of course." With a flush of exaltation, Natasha watched Sif ride off, standing in the stirrups to pick off a passing huntsman on his buttocks with the flat of her longsword. The man bellowed with pain, fell into the dust, and got to his feet clutching his hindquarters. With a loud curse, he shook his fist at the departing figure on horseback.
Natasha felt her lips curve. A show-off, she thought. I like that.
"Another!" Sif shouted. "You must never stand still, nor must you dance around like a toad in hot milk. Cover and close in with your sword as I showed you, and be more aggressive!"
Flipping the hair out of her eyes, Natasha faced Fandral again. She knew enough from her experience not to bash away at him with abandon but instead to time a counter-strike in the middle of his offensive. However, there were a host of other rules to remember: no edge on sword edge, instead she had to use her flat on Fandral's edge or better yet, her edge on the flat side of his blade.
After an hour of prolonged effort, a long stream of Russian curse words, and several cuts on her arms, Natasha managed to close the distance between them. She timed a thrust with perfect leverage and removed Fandral's sword from his hands. As it clattered onto the field, she heard Sif shout, "Well done!" This was followed by a cough, and the muttered comment, "For a beginner, that is."
As the three of them made their way back to the palace, Sif tossed back her long, black curls. "Well? What do you make of it? I suppose you will need a few days to recuperate, or more likely you will give it up altogether."
"Swordplay is much more intense than I expected," Natasha admitted. "It is a constant change, isn't it? You have to measure not only your opponent's moves, but also his position, distance, and leverage. Timing is essential as well. I'd say it's the most difficult but fascinating form of warfare I've ever studied."
Sif raised her eyebrows, turned the corners of her mouth down in surprise, and nodded. "Exactly so," she agreed. "However, you still wear your armour as would a fish in a teakettle – your helm can be used as a weapon instead of an impediment if you learn do so correctly. Will you come for another bout on the morrow?"
"Yes, indeed." Natasha suddenly thought of something to curb her enthusiasm. "That is, if I'm not recalled to Midgard for another case."
"Case? What nonsense. Shooting at little men in suits and placing explosives in strategic areas. Stay here and learn how to become a true warrior." Sif snorted with derision and unbuckled her breastplate.
"I have responsibilities there…" Natasha started.
"More nonsense. Your first responsibility is to your inner knight, to become the strongest fighter within your power. Fandral!" Sif added in a loud blast. "You owe us the first round of mead!"
"Aye," her companion agreed morosely. "'Tis only just." He clapped Sif on the shoulder and the three of them walked towards the palace, covered in dust and muck.
Natasha snuck up to her own bedchamber to get changed, not wanting to sink into another long encounter with Loki. He would certainly insist on removing her armour himself, giving her a bath, getting into the hot water with her…By the time the two of them were done, it would be midnight. She certainly intended to make love with him several times that evening, but first she hoped to speak to Jane.
The scientist was in the chamber next to hers, concentrating on a long scroll. When Natasha entered the room, Jane looked up, laughter in her eyes. "Soooo," she said. "That bed of yours doesn't look very slept in, Agent Natasha Romanova. Walk of shame much? Are those lovebites I see on your neck? And what's this – armour?"
"Loki's gift. Sweet, right?"
"Thor gave me a pile of precious magical documents. They're fascinating – it's amazing studying time-space relativity from this end of the Bifrost." Jane indicated the scroll in her hand. "He also made me accept this." She held up her hand; a bracelet with a huge ruby hanging from the clasp flashed on her wrist.
In answer, Natasha pointed to the silver Helm tied around her neck. "Yup. I still have a host of other gifts to open – I told him I wanted to get a lesson in warfare first."
"Me too," Jane confessed. "I begged for a few hours on my own to study the correlation between magic and science."
"I'm surprised he isn't here with you."
"I sent him off on a long hunt with Volstagg. Maybe it will tire him out a bit." Jane collapsed into a richly carved seat.
"Aha! Maybe I'm not the only one doing the walk of shame, hm?" Natasha sobered and added, "Of course, Loki has nothing to do all day but stalk around that prison of his. I expect an explosion of pent-up energy later."
Jane giggled. "Problems of dating demigods, 101."
"First lesson, tire your dude out as much as possible so you can survive the night. Jane, what are your plans? I mean, are you going back to Midgard soon?" Natasha balanced her hip against the long dressing table and rested her sword by her side.
"I do need to settle things at the lab. It would be really wrong to just beetle off to Asgard forever and desert Darcy and Erik. Still, when Thor gives me those puppy-dog eyes…"
"Right. That 'You're breaking my heart, and by the way I'm beautiful enough to break yours with one lift of my eyebrow' look."
"Right." Jane drew in a long breath and indicated the Helm of Awe on Natasha's neck. "You know when you start getting jewels it's a precursor to Asgardian marriage, girlfriend."
"Shit. I – shit. And by the way, how about …" Natasha pointed to the ruby bracelet on Jane's arm.
"I know, I know."
They looked at each other and spoke at the same time. "We're hosed."
