So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.
You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.
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DAY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
0500 HOURS
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
LOKI
She surprised me. Not only with the time between my departure from her and her return to me, but with the manner of her return. She strode through the door the soldier opened for her, not quite with confidence in her steps, but not with cowardice either. There was purpose to her approach, and it became all the clearer when the first thing she did was pick up the decanter I put back on the desk.
She was still as my hand rested over her's with mild concern before she lifted her eyes from the container to mine and calmly spoke a request. "Drink with me if you want, but please Loki, let me do this?" After a moment I offered her a soft agreeable nod, and then filled a glass for her.
How could I deny her such a small thing after all when I wanted such a great thing from her?
We did not converse much at all during this time, but for her silent enquiry of more mead after the first glass was empty. That too surprised me a little. I could see the proof of her statement that she was unaccustomed to alcohol but even the strength of the asgardian mead didn't change her mind. She was determined to get drunk.
Its why I did not press her for a discussion. I understood that she needed time to let the decisions she made settle, and if she needed to numb herself to help that process I wasn't going to interfere unless absolutely necessary.
I began to feel that concern grow after how quickly she finished the second goblet full and half of the third, but found it to be without need. Even with the emotional turmoil she was so clearly trying to drown she still knew the limits of her body and stopped of her own accord.
Her next request was not made silently or with sound, but I saw the need behind it and made the gesture before it had to be. She quietly set the half filled glass ware back down and made an effort to stand. I could see the weakness in her arms as she used them to push herself up, and stood myself to help her in case that instability was in her legs as well.
If she choose to refuse my hands I would have let her in that moment, content to just stand at the ready to catch her if she fell. She didn't push me away though, and after a moment her eyes widened a bit in surprise at the gesture, her lids drooped back down and she offered acceptance with her hand.
Unsure exactly where she planned to go or what she wanted I let her lead the way while settling for keeping her on her feet, one of my hands holding her's as the other was tucked under her opposite arm against her rib cage.
I won't deny I enjoyed the feel of her form under my hand, but as tempting as the idea was I would not risking loosing the chance of being able to touch her again willingly by letting my fingers stray even an inch higher. It made the trip and the size of the room far too small.
A few paces later we were at her goal, and it turned out to be the bed. I counseled myself again toward restraint at the thoughts that appeared in my head then I freed her hand to claim the hem of the blankets instead and pull them back before I helped her sit on its surface.
She surprised me again. I assumed given her choice to go toward the bed that her purpose was sleep, and she meant to sleep alone. I was only half correct. Instead of laying down as I reached for the blankets to pull back over her legs I found my fingers engaged with something else.
She reached out and tentatively wove her own fingers between, her soft eyes studying mine as if she was looking for a note of refusal from me. As if I would ever turn this down.
It was intimacy and innocence, and while I always thought a moment like this would come with a hunger and fire I would have to resist, it was also strangely enough.
I let her lead me, her warm soft hand pulling mine with it as her half lidded eyes continued to stay fixed to mine. She urged me closer to the bed, then she urged me onto it. Her eyes left mine only long enough to flicker over the spot she wanted me at, and I followed that direction without protest.
Her fingers still laced in mine she shifted toward the other side of the bed to give me space as I sat at the head of it and stretched out my legs over it. Then it was I who was guiding her. She let me pull her back toward me, and I took a small bit of pleasure as I saw her expression when I defied her expectations.
I could only assume she expected me to take a kiss from her, and she while wasn't wrong in assuming I wanted to feel her lips under mine again terribly, but she wasn't ready and I wanted her kiss not her sense of obligation.
So I layed one of the pathetic pillows over my lap to spare her cheek the feel of leather and metal and I held her as she drifted off to sleep under the caress of my fingers and the purring lullaby of her kitten as it joined us.
The gentle disruption making her murmur words of promise and delightful progress in her sleep. Kenna is in her thoughts at last.
THURSDAY, MAY 3RD 2012
0500 HOURS (RECAP STARTING FROM 2100 HOURS)
SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER
LOCATION UNKNOWN
NORA
I knew Loki would be there, I knew he would be waiting for me to return to that room. I knew I had to give him something to make this work, and I knew I would need something to help me do that.
I hate alcohol. I loath it, its disgusting and terrible and I can thank Clint for that one. It was a little more than a month after the incident with the jalapeno poppers, so I should have know better than to take anything he gave me, but it was Clint, and I always did trust him pretty easily. He was, is, like my big brother after all. I heard some of the Agents talking about how different alcohols affected them, and because I didn't remember ever having either I asked Clint what exactly was the difference between vodka and rum.
Clint decided it was better to introduce me to them instead of just answering the question. He told me to come by later, and greeted me at the door to his quarters with two shot glasses, a bottle of orange juice he said was for chaser and a grin that should have made me turn around.
It tasted terrible, and it burned just as bad, both of them. But Clint said keep drinking, it would get better in a minute. I had my doubts about that, but did acknowledge that the tentative sip I took of the second shot didn't feel as hot as the first and decided to trust his expertise on the matter.
His 'expertise' though kept encouraging me to drink more and somehow that tiny glass never emptied no matter how many times I tipped it back. It stayed full until my stomach ended up being the empty container as I expressed my misery to a toilet in a very cramped bathroom.
I don't know how Natasha found out about what was going on, but after I finished heaving I realized she was in the bathroom with me, offering me a large glass of water and rubbing my back as she glared out the door and hissed russian words at Clint before taking me back to her quarters on the base so I wouldn't be disturbed while I slept it off what was sure to be my first hangover.
I didn't talk to Clint for almost two weeks after that, until one day he literally caged me in a hall way corner using his body and my fear of touching to keep me from running off and begged me to let him explain.
He said he was sorry, but he was trying to be a good friend and show me exactly how bad alcohol could be, both in me and in others. He didn't want me to underestimate my limit if I ever decided I wanted to drink around people, and more importantly to let me know how stupid it can make people.
When he said it like that, I reluctantly had to agree with his logic, and since I got over the worst of my anger more then a week ago but was avoiding him more out of spite at that point I decided it was finally time to stop being petty and forgive him.
Then he said I did look really cute drunk off my ass though, and there was three more days of silent treatment to round out the two weeks.
I didn't like learning that life lesson at all, but I am grateful to Clint for teaching me it now because I know exactly how my body feels when I toe that line and I want to be standing right on top of it is quickly as I can!
That was why when Loki put his hand on mine and stopped me from picking up that decanter I looked him right in the eye and I begged for it.
I can't remember my own family, who I was supposed to be dead with if it wasn't for Clint defying orders and costing his own mission to save me. I can't remember all the skills and training as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent I recieved before; that S.H.I.E.L.D never gave up on the idea they would return someday even though after years passed. I couldn't even relearn them to be the agent expected me to be because of my broken head!
I have had too many things to be ashamed of to ever be a very proud person, and that means I certainly am not to proud to beg for something I need to get the job done.
So Loki looked at me, and judging my earnest expression he let me drink, and I drank! I didn't care that I was drinking so much more then him, as he sat there on the other side of that desk idly sipping on his own glass as I emptied mine in gulps. All I cared about was drinking as much as I could before he changed his mind and how quickly I felt it heat my blood.
He was right when he said "asgardian cuisine' would be different then 'midgardian swill' . It didn't make me feel the same way as rum, vodka, or even "Duncan's" whiskey did. It had bite to the strength of its flavor, like I expected it to, but I think thats only because I drank so much so quickly. I imagine if I drank it like wine was meant to it would actually be quite nice.
It made me feel warm, but that sensation was different too. It wasn't the kind of warmth you would expect from the alcohol dilating my blood vessels. The best way I can describe it is just gentle radiant warmth from within that diffused evenly through me but didn't dissipate. Its like it was trying to even me out into a perfectly comfortable state.
Then there was the most reassuring part, I could feel it melting the tension out of my muscles and smoothing over the emotional storm in my head, but my thoughts were still surprisingly sober. I was drunk, but my ability to think and be rational was crystal clear.
It explains why Loki probably carried it with him, even here in a place so far from his home. I doubt very much he is the kind of man who would ever want to dull his mind with anything. A man like that would certainly like a wine that lacked that effect but kept the pleasant effects of the rest.
I could have kept going but I stopped myself at two and a half glasses because I could feel those other effects. My mind felt strong as ever but I couldn't truthfully say the same for my legs anymore.
Even still sitting my muscles felt so relaxed they almost didn't feel there at all. My memory of reaching a point like this before is very fuzzy, but I still recall swaying on my feet and barely staying on them. I don't want to be in that state again, as much as I was hoping to be intoxicated at this point, I don't want to be helpless or sick.
It made it very easy for me to accept it when Loki held out his hand like a gentlemen when I set down the remains of half a glass and started to stand up.
He's been nothing but gentle and proper toward me, everything you'd expect from a man raised as a Prince and was once worshipped as a God. Even with his hand on my side he didn't betray that image and he could have. Its strange that I can't decide if that bothers me, that he didn't.
Its when he pulled back after we reached the bed that I had less doubt about what I wanted. I didn't want him to go. I wanted him right there next to me. I just wanted somebody to be there with me, to not leave me alone. So I pulled on his hand like a child who had a nightmare. He complied and denied me all at the same time.
I knew trying to kiss him didn't go the way I planned before, but if he choose to kiss me I told myself I would let him. I expected he would too, given the way he held e and looked at me, but he didn't.
He simply pulled back the plush covers and sat down on the bed, his back against the head board as he urged me closer to his side with the pillow he placed over his thigh for my comfort, and let me lay my head there as he ran his fingers though my hair and waited for me to drift off to sleep and dream.