Getting Lucky

10. We're not friends (I think)

(Loki)

A strange expression flits across James' face for a moment, disappearing before I can fully gauge his thoughts.

'What are you hiding behind those blue eyes, James?' 

Once again I yearn to use my magic. To feel the raw power coursing through my veins and bringing the adrenaline rush of freedom. But those stupid cuffs blocked any form of spell, illusion, charm, or curse (not to mention their uncomfortable tightness.) Unfortunately, the only person who can remove them is the person who put them on (and frankly, Thor won't be doing that anytime soon.) 

"Good morning boys," Romanoff enters the room with Barton, who sports a fresh-looking black eye. She glances over at Stark, "If you don't get some sleep, your girlfriend is gonna kick your ass."

Stark looks down at his fresh cup of coffee forlornly, setting it back down, "Yeah, I should probably go to bed. Goodnight to all of you, may your day be blessed even without my presence." 

Rogers looks at him in confusion, "It's daytime, Tony."

Stark shrugs, "Whatever," then leaves the room.

Barton picks up the fresh coffee, then takes a sip and gags, "How can he make it that strong without sugar?" 

Romanoff plucks the cup from his hands, "Wimp," she mutters, drinking it with ease.

Barton makes his own cup, adding a large amount of sugar.

"Hey, Clint, where'd you get the black eye?" Rogers asks curiously.

He points at Romanoff, "She kicked my ass in the training room."  He takes a drink from his own cup and shoots me a glare, "Speaking of the training room, did you two destroy any more of my targets before cleaning up?"

I glare right back, "Cool down Legolas, we didn't destroy any more of your precious targets. Also, it was James' idea to have a competition in the first place."

"The targets probably would've been in better shape if you hadn't thrown a sword," James defends himself.

"I only threw the sword at one of them, the rest was just knives."

Barton watches the two of us in amusement, "Quit bickering, I have plenty more."

Rogers' phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket, "Hey Sam. Yeah, I'll be there in ten minutes. See you then." He turns to James, "Hey Buck? Sam and I are gonna go for a run wanna come with us?"

James shrugs, standing up "Sure," he glances over at me for a moment before entering the elevator with Rogers.

I watch him leave, keeping my expression indifferent.

"Aw, the angry God has a friend," Romanoff teases with a smirk, Barton's expression matching hers.

I glare at her, "We're not friends," '

(I think.')

"Whatever you say Laufeyson, whatever you say," Barton mutters.

I stand up and head towards the elevator, "Goodbye ladies, I would love to stay and chit chat longer, but I have a hot date. With a book."

~'~'~'~

(Two months later...)

Subconsciously, James and I begin to have a schedule.

He usually goes to bed around midnight, waking up screaming from nightmares around three. Then we go down to the sparring room and train for multiple hours to shake off sleepiness. James goes for his run with Rogers and the other bird guy (Wilson, I think,) at about five-thirty, then gets back around eight.