Apologies (LokixReader pt. 4)

“Technically, he’s your half-brother….no, wait, actually he’s no relation, is he?” Stark spoke up snarkily, propping his feet up on the table, “Oh, that’s right, he’s adopted.”

“Who are you?” you asked the blond man, trying your best to ignore the childish playboy. The muscular man seemed to radiate power; you could fairly feel the electricity crackling across your skin from his sharp gaze.

He strode toward you, his cloak sweeping along behind him, saying, “I am Thor Odinson, Prince of Asgard. And who are you, fair mortal?”

Somehow, you managed to stammer out your name, feeling very tiny and insignificant next to the Norse god of thunder. He took your hand and, in a single gesture that irrevocably convinced you that chivalry had come back from the dead or had never died out on Asgard, brought it to his lips in a warming kiss. Embarrassed, you felt your cheeks flush shamefully, and ducked your head, trying to hide the stupid grin that was spreading across your lips.

“So…um…you’re a god?” you asked lamely, at a loss for what else to say.

“Indeed,” he said gravely, “the god of thunder.”

“And….your brother?”

“Loki,” Thor said, pain flashing briefly through his eyes, “god of mischief.”

“And apparently of killing people, too,” Stark observed with casual sarcasm, “he’s really good at that.”

“Have a care how you speak,” Thor rumbled irritably, in a tone that clearly said this was not the first time he had spoken those words.

“Thor,” Agent Romanoff said softly, “he killed hundreds of people, brought an army of aliens to take over Earth, destroyed New York City, and tried to kill us all.”

“He is still my brother,” Thor said, casting a sharp glance at Stark, “Even if he is adopted.”

“Wait,” you say before Stark could fire back a reply, “let me get this straight, you’re telling me that your brother, a god from ‘Asgard’ with a tendency for dramatic temper tantrums, has come to earth and is living as a human who just happens to be my neighbour?”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone believes there was any coincidence,” Tony said, suddenly sounding serious.

“Are you saying he sought her out?” Rogers asked, incredulous. “Why?”

“Obviously, she’s special.” Dr Banner said quietly.

“Just like my mother always told me,” you scoffed slightly, resting your chin on your arms tiredly.

“But what about her is so special?” Tony continued blithely, “I mean, look at her. She’s normal. Nothing remarkably different about her. So why her?”

“We don’t know.” Fury interrupted sharply, with a harshness you thought was a little overstated. You watched him through lidded eyes and didn’t miss the half-glance he might have thrown your way.

“You can ask him yourself.” Thor said, glowering slightly. “I paid my brother a visit. He was kind enough to agree to return with me.”

“What’s with this guy?” Rogers asked rhetorically, “It’s like he can’t stay away.”
“He’s self-destructive,” Stark shrugged dismissively.

“What I want to know is how he got here,” Dr Banner said, “Didn’t you take him back to face Asgardian justice?”

“Don’t tell me you let him escape,” Agent Barton spoke for the first time, glowering across at Thor.

“That’s not important,” Steve Rogers said placatingly, “Now that he’s here, we have to catch him and stop him from doing whatever he’s planning.”

“Agent Romanoff,” Director Fury said, looking pointedly at you, “show her to her room. I’m going to go and have a talk with the god of lies.”

Agent Romanoff got to her feet and took you by the elbow and steered you out of the Bridge. The door slid shut behind you and you jerked your arm out of her grip, snarling, “I can walk, thanks!”

“This way,” she said quietly, leading you through the labyrinthine metal passages before stopping in front of a nondescript door. She pressed a button on the panel in the wall, and the door slid open, revealing a Spartan room, the colour of steel. A cot jutted out of the wall in the corner, a chair was set next to a shelf that could double as a desk, and a folding door led to a small water closet. You took a step in and looked around, running your fingers over the cot. The sheets on the bed were soft, but a drab grey colour, as was the case of the fluffy pillow.

“I know it’s not very much,” Natasha said from where she was leaning against the doorframe.

“Not much?” you said coolly, looking scathingly back over your shoulder at her, “This is nothing. A prison cell has more personality than this.”

“Look,” she said, “I know you’re angry with me—”

“Damn right I am.”

“And you have every right to be,” she continued without missing a beat, “but….I wanted to tell you….I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear it right now,” you said, sounding more weary than biting, “please. This…this is all too much.”

She nodded and slowly began to turn away, but you turned to face her, steeling yourself, “Ni—Natasha?”

She stopped and looked back at you. You crossed your arms defensively over your chest and took a hesitant step forward, “Was it…was it all a lie?”

She shook her head slightly, “No. I only lied to you about my name. Everything else was the truth.”

“Everything?” You sounded like a lost child asking for her mother. With a soft smile, Natasha stepped inside the room, cupped your face gently, the leather of her glove cool on your cheek.

“Everything.” She murmured and you leaned in to press your lips against hers. Her lips, surprisingly soft for such a hard woman, were warm and tender and you hugged yourself to her as she combed her fingers through your hair. She was warm and strong, her scent filling your nose as you kissed her fiercely. Silently, you willed her to say it wasn’t true, you clutched yourself closer to her, desperately running your hands over her body and through her hair, pleading without words for her to take you back home, let things be the way they were before S.H.I.E.L.D. ruined everything.

Suddenly, you heard the comms device buzz in her ear and you were close enough to recognize the voice of Nick Fury, even if you couldn’t exactly understand his words. She broke the kiss, regret passing across her face, but you refused to let her go completely, keeping your arms locked around her. She kept one arm wrapped comfortingly around your waist, and lifted her other hand to press the device.

“I’ll be right there, sir,” she said quietly. Slipping out of your arms, she touched your cheek tenderly, murmuring, “I’m sorry.”

She strode out of the room, the metal door sliding shut behind her. You sank onto the cot, alone. You ran your hands over your hair, lowering your head. Then, an idea struck you and you lifted your eyes again, and rose to your feet. You opened the door, peeked out, made sure no one was in the hallway and crept silently out. You had a feeling Fury didn’t want you wandering around, but you had something you had to do.

Somehow, you found your way to the holding cell. It was guarded by two armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, stony-faced and unyielding. One of them stopped you as you approached the door, “Miss, I’m afraid you can’t be here.”

“Agent Romanoff sent me,” you lied easily, making yourself look as though you really didn’t want to be there, trying to look apprehensive, “she wanted me to talk to the prisoner.”

“Why?” the agent asked, looking at you carefully.

“She thinks he might talk to me,” you said, “if anyone can get information out of him, it’s me.”

“Let me call her,” he said, lifting a gloved hand to touch the comms device in his ear, “Just to make sure…”

“You don’t want to do that.” You said quickly. He stopped and looked at you, confused and suspicious as you took a hurried step forward. You smiled innocently, “She’s in a meeting with Director Fury right now. You wouldn’t want to interrupt that, would you?”

He watched you thoughtfully, as though weighing the possibilities. After a moment, he stepped aside, “Knock on the door when you want to be let out.”

You nodded, and smiled as the door slid open. You stepped through the doorway and cast a reassuring smile over your shoulder to the guards as the door closed silently behind you. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm your racing heart, you turned to face the glass cage.