A/N: Two chapters in one day?! Call me Jesus because I've just performed a miracle! I was going to post this tomorrow but I'm attending a birthday so you guys get it early!!
21K? You guys boggle my mind. Seriously. ❤️❤️❤️
Also we have like two chapters left?? As in the one after this and then the epilogue. I still remember the absolute terror that came with posting the first chapter...this is truly crazy.
"How's Loki doing?" Natasha returned a smile as Bruce promptly pulled up an ensemble of projections. The remote monitoring of Loki's health had been installed into JARVIS only a month ago, but allowed for any spates of dizziness or weight drops to be noticed immediately. They'd almost lost him twice. Natasha wasn't going to lose him again.
"Doing well, from what I can see." Graphs and documents and images layered atop one another before Natasha's eyes as she went to view them fully. "If anything, he seems healthier. He doesn't get so dizzy now. He's eating less than I'd like him to, but more than before. And he looks happy. Happier than before."
She could see that; slender, nimble fingers hovered over projections of Loki from several months ago. So broken and fragile, with an emaciated appearance that could rival the cadaverous characters of the Corpse Bride. Dulled eyes shadowed by heavy bruises, and an unsteadiness and helplessness in his figure, as though a gust of wind would have him crumble to ashes.
And then there was Loki now. The sickly pallor had been replaced by smooth, white skin with a tinge of red in the emerging heat. The clothes, though they still hung off him in a way Natasha didn't like, looked less like oversized items from a high school lost property basket. But it was the eyes, that had stars captured in them, and a gentle smile playing about the mouth, and the way Loki stood taller and prouder and looked happier that had her stomach bubbling warmly.
She didn't want him to ever be without all that. He looked... free. Happy.
"He'll be ok, you know" Bruce said, dragging forward a document marking all of Loki's medical improvements. "Now that he knows he's got us."
"The prank war really did something. I bet Tony came up with that idea?"The ebullient competiton may have been just a fortnight ago, but it had a sparked a newer and stronger between Loki and the Avengers. He was a tactical genius. A mind so well built for strategy Natasha had found herself wondering how anyone could've hated Loki.
You hated him when he was a broken man.
And look at him now.
There was fragility still, in the way his smile was sometimes strained and his mouth would open and then close suddenly, deciding against saying something. But a strength could be turned to weakness, and a weakness to strength. And the strengths she had now only made her love, admire, respect him more. And they had time, to make him more than he already was.
"He'll be ok with you with him. He's been ok with you with him, and he'll only get better."
But what if she couldn't stay by his side? SHIELD missions had followed a steady increase in danger since the announcement of the Avengers. More enemies, more tech, more perils, more risks. More and more agents were being maimed or killed; it was only her unique training that had kept her alive these past few missions. She'd come close a few times.
Death had never been so...daunting, before all this. True, staying alive was much more preferable. But now it was almost a necessity. Here, she had something like a family, and a home, and a place for her. Before all this, she'd only had a mangly one bedroom flat and Clint. Now, she simply had...more. And she liked it. She would do a lot to keep it.
Loki would be ok. She'd make sure of it. They would all be ok.
She wouldn't lose this... her family.
***
The god of mischief and chaos lay on the sofa, happily ignoring Steve and Tony chattering, bickering, flirting- Norns knew what they were doing- and gently teased Naeva by lifting her as far as he could, before lowering her enough so that she couldn't get her paws in his hair. Her innocent mews of delight turned to growls of frustration as she tried to reach his face, and only swatting the air. Natasha lounged on the floor by his feet, alternatively looking at the pair and turning back to her book.
The whole scene seemed so...idyllic. Fantastical. This wasn't the life meant for a liar and a trickster, and yet it seemed so.
A year ago he was being tortured on a rocky, barren plain, gagging as the entrails of a Chitauri traitor were shoved into his mouth, and crows of muffled laughter tormented ruptured eardrums. Several months ago he had wept at the touch of an apple. And now he was playing with a kitten.
Such was the mystery that was life.
Two dictinctive caws, echoing through a millenia of memories to the burning present had him drop Naeva onto the floor. Tension etched in every muscle as his eyes followed the path of two ravens, that flew straight into the communal room. The room had fallen into an apprehensive silence as Huginn and Munnin perched on the edge of the sofa, a wary distance away from the kitten subtly licking her paws.
The ravens had always had a soft spot for the trickster. Their loyalty to the AllFather was without doubt, but Loki's childhood had been littered with their presence after an uneasy sleep, and when his sobs had been muffled behind sown lips. It seemed, despite all he had done, their fidelity had not wavered, in the way they cawed cheerfully, daringly perched on each of Loki's shoulders and nuzzling against the startled god. Hesitant fingers trembled their way towards Munnin, stroking the raven in a pattern so familiar yet so old he'd thought he'd forgotten it, before doing the same to the other raven.
"Do you have news?" Thoughtful coal black eyes that carried the wisdom and secrets of innumerable eons gazed into familiar emerald orbs, filled with the same sort of sagacity, but still youthful in the eyes of the longevous raven.
And then the two ravens cawed as one, cries coalescing into a nonpareil melody, ascending in a magical flight to the heavens. A gilded wooden box shimmered into existence, hovering before Loki, glowing with some transcendent light that seemed too good for the land of mortals, before lowering itself into pale hands.
Natasha had been acquainted with many differeny types of music. Jazz, rock, classical, orchestral- such was the life of a trained spy to be familiar with all areas of life. She couldn't deny that Ludwig Van Beethovan's fame wasn't well-deserved, though her irrational fealty for her motherland would always leave her a tad parti pris for Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky. And yet she had never heard music that made her want to fall before a shrine where sin was a prayer, where she would sell her soul to Satan and call it a virtue, just to hear a whisper of a minim.
Her fingers tingled with the need to grab the sublime gift and wrench it open, just to see if that would allow her to hear the tune that made Bach's work look like the ditties of a petty child. Judging by how far Tony was leaning forward, and Steve's barely restrained look of awe fixated on the box in Loki's hands, they both shared her sentiments. Even Naeva stood to attention, her tiny body that usually quivered with energy now still with anticipation.
When she thought of it later, much later, she would never know what had kept her in place. Perhaps it was the Stygian eyes of one of the ravens—Huginn, if she had to guess, deemed from the way her mind felt horrifyingly open and bare as they challenged her at some primal level; her brief readings on Norse mythology had stated he was 'thought'. Or perhaps it was the way Loki's eyes were burning a phosphorent green, suspiciously bright as he cradled the aureate chattel.
The two ravens nuzzled against Loki's neck affectionately, cawing their goodbyes before flying towards the fading yellow inferno that hung with impossible ease in the darkening sky.
It seemed to take a moment for all of them to remember the complex mechanics of breathing.
"Holy shit."
Eloquence be damned, no other words could do justice to what had just happened. Tony truly had a way with words sometimes.
Tony turned to Steve, whose absence of reprimand for the billionaire's language said enough about his state of mind.
"God Spangles, exactly how does Reindeer Games have something that looks more this century than you?"
And there went the moment.
"Are you talking about me or my record player, Tony, because-"
"Both of you. The pair of you come in some outdated 20th century coffin, clashing with my décor-"
"Record players are not outdated-"
"It's garish and obsolete, you could just give it to an old care home-"
"If the pair of you are going to keep flirting with each other, at least get a room."
And with Tony's testament of weak denial, the supersoldier and scientist bickered their way out of the communal room.
Natasha's attention turned swiftly towards Loki, still gently holding the box.
"Loki." There was more of a question in that word than a bland statement.
"A music box." Great minds really do think alike. "Gifted to me by my mother for Yule."
The lightness in Loki's tone forced her to hold her tongue from asking for more details. Instead she simply watched him, tracing the ornate, runic patterns decorating the sides, a smile playing on his lips that shone through his eyes. This gayety looked different to the sharp, boyish exuberance that had consumed Loki during the prank war. It was the sort of look that came after Tony had talked with Pepper, or when Clint had gone to see Laura, of after Steve had come from a long run. Happiness found in the simplest things; a sort of adult joy where extravagance wasn't needed to put a smile on someone's face.
She rubbed his arm softly before leaving, a second from missing the warm tear kissing Loki's flushed cheek.
***
Paperwork.
She hated paperwork after a mission. She'd always been prompt with handing it in, but it was such a bother.
Shifting another sheet of paper to the 'finished' pile with a heavy sigh, she dragged another in front of her. The digital clock announced the arrival of a new hour with a sound beep.
Only three more hours till midnight. Last time it had been four.
A glance at the question below made her want to shove the pale tower on her desk straight up the council's ass.
Describe the actions and reactions of any trainees present.
There had been three trainees present. And she'd been a bit too busy dodging bullets to watch them.
Sometimes being a senior member of an international espionage, enforcement and logistics organisation wasn't all it was hyped up to be.
She was about to put pen to paper, and start a pointless ramble on how one of them had probably spent five minutes quivering in their boots, when JARVIS' next few words happily adjourned that event.
"Miss Romanoff, Mr Odinson requests your presence in his room."
She was all too glad to fling the pen away from her, and bristle walk towards the elevator.
***
Self-consciousness was something Natasha rarely felt; being a spy required confidence, assertiveness— no time to dilly-dally about whether her boobs looked good in a particular dress. They would always look good. The vermillion silk of a costume latching onto her like a second skin hugged the curve of her butt and hourglass figure. She knew this. She had to know this.
So why was it, after so long, after all her training, was she feeling unusually gauche and timorous?
Perhaps it was because she was dressed in a zip-up hoodie, a blouse and baggy bottoms, hair stuffed into a messy bun, looking like a complete tramp compared to Loki, who'd polished up nicely. Black skinny jeans (still disconcertingly loose), a dark green shirt, hair neatly combed back to curl around his nape.
Actions spoke louder than words, which was a good thing in this case; the warm hand that moulded perfectly into hers pulling her further into the room said more than enough. Her bout of bashfulness had rendered her speechless anyway.
Releasing her hand, now feeling cold and bereft, Loki walked towards the mysterious box and started to speak.
"My mother bestowed me with this when I was...7, in your Midgardian years." Loki had never spoken so openly about his childhood before, a fact that spoke volumes from the tentative speech, each word said with much deliberation. "As a child, I was always prone to nightmares, and the duties of the Queen of Asgard meant she could not attend to me after every bad dream. So, for Yule, she gave me her music box. Mo—Mother had enchanted it to emit just the right song to suit my needs. After a nightmare, it was often a lullaby. Whilst studying, it was something more...classical."
At this he ceased in stroking the runic ornamentations. "Which only begs the question: what shall it play today?" The murmur faded into the pensive silence.
Two soft taps on the gilded box and it sprang open, a flood of music rushing into her mind like the waters of the sea on a calm, sunny day. This music begged for movement, open to dips and twists, craved for touch and closeness for the sake of closeness. Intimacy. The melody lacked its full sweetness without it.
Loki extended a pale hand. Warm, as she knew it would be.
"If I may?"
Who was she to not comply?
"Can you even dance?"
"I was a prince of Asgard. Of course I can dance." And there was that smirk. "The question is, can you?"
Here, she snorted. "I'm an international spy. Of course."
One of Loki's hands settled on the small of Natasha's back, the other latticed fingers with her own, and he pulled her in. Natasha draped an arm over his shoulder, cocking a perfectly groomed eyebrow.
"Somehow I don't think you learned the tango and foxtrot at Asgardian banquets."
"And you don't know the bygdedans and gammaldans from any of your reconnaissance galas?"
"I'm afraid not. Let's make it up as we go along shall we?"
"But of course," Loki spun her sharply and brought her into a low dip.
Natasha laughed, kicking back up and starting some step that was partly lyrical, mostly improvisation. Impossibly, Loki kept up with her, matching her step for step, twist for twist, lifts that made her stomach churn, and also thank Stark for the high ceilings, whirling about one another like a shoal of fish caught in the epicentre of a maelstrom. Only this was their maelstrom, their enchanted whirlpool, and in no means destructive but congruous, balanced.
The music adjusted to the speed, no less mellifluous, as their dancing turned partly to competition. Gliding about the room with a series of fast turns, matched by Loki's Asgardian variation, Natasha felt much like a newly born butterfly, fresh from the constraints of her iron-wrought cocoon.
By midnight, her and Loki were leaning against one another, swaying gently, enjoying the weight of his hands on her hips. The red-haired assassin and raven-haired god felt freer than they had in decades.
***
The sun rose with casual elegance the next morning. tired verdant orbs flickered under the bright assault of sunlight, before landing on the closed lids of a certain trickster and brightening.
He'd stayed.
They spent the day idly dancing to Steve's vintage record collection, the heavy beat of 30's jazz spilling out to embrace the sun's rays, and the moon's gentle lustre.
A/N: over two thousand five hundred words motherf***er - I did it. Would like to say a minim is the only music note I know and I have no idea what it means. Zilch. Nada.