As always, I do apologise for the wait. I would be overjoyed to hear any comments; good, bad, or otherwise. Please enjoy!
I felt sick to my stomach and my entire body ached with the intensity of my fear. The car was parked in front of a very rundown motel. It looked to have been built in about the fifties, with only one level and all of the doors opening to the parking lot. Clint had parked at the back of the lot, in front of the farthest room possible. After taking an i.d. from a pile in the glovebox, he mussed his hair and put on a pair of glasses and a wedding band. Barton told me to stay put. "I'll only be a second." he said as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
The moment he left, I tried to loosen my bonds. I pulled and twisted, but I only managed to scrape up my wrists pretty well. I was really only frustrating and exhausting myself in the process. As my frustration grew, my desperation did too. I began trying to bite through the plastic ties. They were hard and thick enough that it hurt my teeth, but I was confident that I could get through it if Barton stayed away long enough.
/
Loki devoted his attention to picking lint disdainfully off of his borrowed clothing, but his mind was elsewhere. It had been too long that Elizabeth had been gone. Just over an hour since darkness had fallen if he used the Midgard method of timekeeping. Loki had watched as the captain grew steadily more anxious after dusk. The evening meal had been cooked, eaten, and cleared away and Steve was now finding small chores to perform. He seemed almost manic in his need to direct his anxious energy to feeling productive. Loki may have laughed at how domestically feminine the soldier was, had he not been feeling the same need to do something, anything really. But he chose to sit quietly and brood rather than potentially attract the ire of his current companion.
Loki considered this title for a while. Could the captain really be considered a companion? Perhaps to Elizabeth, Steve was a companion. Or perhaps the soldier was more like protective custody or like a barrier between Elizabeth and Loki. Whatever the man was to Elizabeth, he was certainly not the same to Loki. It was true that the hostility and wariness Rogers displayed toward Loki was not entirely undeserved, but it made their relationship a bit more unbalanced. Despite the significantly improved conditions Loki now had, he was still a prisoner. And despite all of the polite mannerisms and concern that Steve displayed, Rogers was still the captor.
All things considered, Loki still preferred to be held captive in this way than suffer the harsh practices of S.H.I.E.L.D and the regular violence from Barton. Rogers had made it clear that, although he had no love for Loki, he held director Fury's methodology in even lower regard. Such low regard in fact, that he had not hesitated when making plans to break the disgraced immortal out of his confinement.
Loki knew that Rogers had only initially been concerned for Elizabeth's well being. Loki had not been told the specifics regarding how the captain became involved in this great act of insubordination, but he did know why. Rogers' aura was very simple to read whenever he was near enough to brush against the reaches of Loki's own magical perimeter. Everything about the man and his energy communicated his strong black-and-white world view, and even stronger convictions regarding what to do about the injustices of world. The mention of Fury made Steve's energy pulse with anger and disappointment. Just as strong of a response was related to Elizabeth, but it centered around protecting her and preserving her innocence. To Rogers, the girl embodied the youthful innocence and perpetual optimistic hope he had harbored in his own youth. After Steve had experienced the horrors of the war and had learned what it felt like to be exploited for an end, both of these childlike values had severely atrophied. Rogers was still an eternal optimist, and he still believed in the inherent goodness of people, but he had lost the innocence to believe that there was very little real evil in the world. Steve had found that innocence in Elizabeth. The fact that this innocence had endured within her after everything, made him want to preserve it even more. It reminded Steve of when things seemed simple and he felt like he understood the world. Even if Steve did not know exactly why he felt so strongly protective of the girl, his aura betrayed his motives to Loki quite clearly.
/
Barton was making a list of supplies he would need as he strolled back to the borrowed car. He had made arrangements to stay in the room farthest from any other guests by saying that he was on honeymoon with his new wife and they did not want to disturb anyone else with their 'activities'. The hotel desk attendant had grinned his congratulations and gave Barton the second to last room in the second building. "Enjoy your stay." he told the agent and waggled an eyebrow at him.
Barton had found this story to be surprisingly useful on many occasions. Any strange activity like coming and going at odd hours, prolonged stays, and noises that may be out of the ordinary, tended to be overlooked as being the enthusiastic celebration of marriage. Barton had even learned of the workers at motels turning the authorities away for him after other guests had called in complaints or concerns about unsettling noises. The exercising of new matrimony seemed to be a universal and multicultural pass for strange behavior.
When Barton reached the car, he opened the trunk and grabbed his two bags from it. He found that it helped his cover to bring a couple of bags into any hotel room. Just on the off chance that someone was watching or video footage happened to be reviewed. He always had the bags with him when he traveled anyway. One was full of any sort of equipment or supplies that may come in handy during his work, and the other was his bug-out bag.
He carried both bags into the room and made a quick inspection of the quarters. There was a single, queen size bed against the left wall of the room. Next to it was a small table with a lamp and an electronic clock. Directly next to the door was a large picture window hung with hideous and dingy floral curtains. Barton made sure to pull these as tightly together as possible. Taking a roll of duct tape from his supplies, he quickly taped the sides of the curtains to the wall, and the center opening tightly together. It would not look odd from the outside, but it would prevent any peeping toms or accidental breezes from revealing what was actually happening in the room. Satisfied, he moved to the small bathroom. The flimsy wooden door would have to be removed, but Barton knew that it could be done after he had set up most everything else. The bathroom itself was rather cramped with a tub, the toilet, and a small sink. The tile of the floor had been replaced in the past few years, as had the toilet, but the sink and the tub still looked to be about thirty years old, if not older. The drain pipes hung fairly low beneath the porcelain sink basin and there was a considerable amount of room beneath the sink itself. This was exactly what the agent had been hoping for. His inspection finished, he hurried back out to the car to retrieve his captive.
/
Barton had been inside the room for several minutes and I was beginning to think that he might just leave me in the car. I had returned to chewing feverishly on my bonds when the driver side door was opened and the man swung inside. Startled, I jerked my head up and eyed him, hoping that he would not notice the spittle covering both the dented plastic and my wrists, but knowing he most certainly would.
Clint raised his eyebrows at me like one would at a child that had been making a mess. "Really", he said . "did you have to be gross?" I just kept looking at him, hoping that there would not be some kind of retaliation for what I had tried to do.
After a moment he shifted and spoke again. "We are going to go inside now. You can chose to do this one of two ways." He pulled a small syringe from his jacket.
"Option one: you do exactly as I say and there is no fuss, or option two: I drug you and you end up with a headache in an hour or so." Barton looked at me expectantly. "Which one is it?"
My gut sank with resignation and my shoulders collapsed a bit as I looked down. "I'll do what you say" I mumbled, just barely loud enough for Clint to hear. At least if I cooperated, I reasoned, it was of my own volition. The fewer violations of self that I could manage, the better. I had already had enough to last many lifetimes.