california 02 // loki's romanoff prelude

thirteen // the first (second) one

Loki drove until Natasha insisted she would drive, and when she did, she looked over at the passenger seat to talk to find him passed out, his chin pressed against his chest. He didn't snore. He didn't even seem to be breathing. He slept like a corpse, but he was a beautiful corpse.

She pressed one of her fingers against his cheek. It was soft to the touch, soft and smooth, with hard bone underneath. She thought about bullets reflecting off his skin. She thought about hitting him, and blood flowing out of his nose.

He wasn't normal. He had sophisticated tech, and she had seen it in action. She wondered if she could take it with her when she left him.

They were just driving to L.A. together, as hitchhikers. They shouldn't even really be friends. She would leave Loki sooner or later, and their story would end the way every story including her would, with manipulation and smiles and battering eyelashes, until she had what she wanted. And what she wanted was to get to Los Angeles, to kill the man Dreykov had ordered her to. Loki had no part in that; Loki was unrelated and therefore just a pawn, a piece, a ladder leading to her victory, which would be without him.

But what had he done?

'Natasha. Natasha, look.'

He had shown her the sunrise; he had shown her the birth of a new day.

She watched his perfect face as he slept, and wondered how it would look when he woke up one morning to find her gone.

He slept all the way as she drove to Gilroy, and didn't wake when she pulled over at a service station. He didn't wake when she filled the engine, or when she filled the water.

'Loki,' she whispered, prodding him.

He mumbled something, half-opening one eye. It was startlingly green in the darkness.

'Loki, I'm just going to the bathroom. You need to come?'

Loki rubbed his eyes. 'No. No, I'm fine. Unless you want me to come after you?'

She laughed at that. 'I'm a big girl, strong boy, I can take care of myself.'

He laughed too. She got out of the car, her legs stiff from sitting all day, and locked it. Just to make sure.

The man in the service station took the money she'd found in the Ford glove compartment without a word, and pointed her in the direction of the bathrooms.

It was very quiet. She could hear every footstep echoing as she walked.

The bathroom was small, and stank, and the lights were so bright they cut holes in her eyes. The mirrors were cracked. She used the toilet, she washed her face in the cold tap, she looked in the mirror.

She looked like a wreck. Her hair was everywhere. She was combing it with her fingers when the door creaked open.

Natasha thought it was Loki coming to check on her until the man stepped into the room fully.

He wasn't tall. He had brown hair cut close to his head. His eyes were very blue, and he was dressed entirely in black.

He looked normal, but something set her on edge. She didn't tell him it was the female bathroom. She didn't say a word to him, she just  tried to push past him to leave.

He moved in her way. She wondered what she should do next.

'I'm sorry, but we need to talk,' he said, and his voice was low and threatening.

'Are you one of Dreykov's?' she asked in Russian.

He stared at her with blank eyes, and that was the answer she needed. She raised an arm to punch him, but he grabbed her wrist; she smacked him with her hair and he let go, she slid a leg under and he aimed a punch but missed. She was about to run when he said, 'Don't, please, Natasha. I'm afraid I'd have to kill you.'