california 02 // loki's romanoff prelude

fifteen // los angeles

Loki, Loki.

You fucked it all up.

She was gone now, and pure misery took hold. He leaned against the wall under a lamppost, against an old Punch-Drunk Love poster and he let his chin sink into his chest and he wondered why he was like this: so twisted into knots and jealous and so angry.

And he was angry. He was so angry, all the time. So much anger, thudding through him. He was always the quiet one, the peaceful one, compared to Thor's hot-headed tantrums, but did anybody hear the voices screaming in his head? No, they didn't. They expected him to deal with whatever they threw his way, because oh yeah, he's quiet, he'll be cool with it.
He stared down at his hands.

White. Spidery. Long-fingered and grotesque. He wriggled them at himself, practising shadow hand-shapes - a dog, a cat, a pigeon. When he could no longer stand staring at himself, he let out a sigh, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and threw his head back to look at the stars. Only there weren't any. This seaside town had too many lights to make out the ones in the sky.

'Jesus,' he muttered. An expression Natasha used. He thought about swearing too, but decided against it.

It would be so easy to just leave. Loki could just call on Heimdall now. Ask him to take him back, return home to Asgard and forget this mess ever happened. Natasha would be dead in a hundred years, anyway.

One part of him wanted to do that. Just get up and leave.

But if he did that, he knew he'd always be thinking of her. All the might-have-beens.

If I hadn't lost my cool. If I had helped her instead of heeded her. If she had told me, first.

And yes. She should have told him first, really.

But he shouldn't have shouted.

He sighed again, and he rubbed his face in his hands. He wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he couldn't just leave her. It was like the book store, or the changing rooms. For that same reason, they had to stay together, and he'd wait for her.

Apologise. It wasn't his way, but he'd apologise. Of course, she might not even accept his apology, and she might just leave him here out of sheer anger.

'Jesus,' he muttered, again, because it sounded cool. It made him sound more like her. And because he really, really didn't know what else to say.

He found her sitting on the beach, and the ocean was black and endless ahead of her, the sand silver and soft beneath her. He couldn't see her face, because it was buried in her arms.

He sat down beside her.

He didn't say a word, he just sat beside her and listened to the silence.

Until she started to sob.

'Don't cry.' Please, don't. 'Please, stop.'

'It's all fucked up, Loki.'

'I know. Don't cry. Or I'll start crying too.'

She knuckled her eyes.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

'What are you sorry for?'

'For being a jealous plague-sore, what else?'

She half-laughed. 'You're such a dork.' Then, 'I'm sorry too.'

'Don't. It makes me feel worse.'

She buried her face in her arms again.

A bit later, she asked him, 'Do you know what an assassin is?'