taken [loki laufeyson]

28: jurisdiction

It's as if I'm not completely in control when I slam my hands on the table, sending papers floating to the ground, making a mess.

More of a mess than there already was, at least. That's what this is-- a mess. Everything's so messy all the fucking time. My head, my job, my assignments.

The assignment. My task. I can't stop thinking about it. It occupies my conscious mind and my subconscious, my waking thoughts and midnight dreams, my hopes and worries. I sift through the pile and retrieve it from the bottom, sitting back in my seat in the SHIELD conference room, high above New York. The cover page is minimalist, with my own name labeled as "Chief Execution Officer," underneath the title "OPERATION 345900-- MISSING PERSONS CASE WITH DIVINE SUSPECT/CONFLICT." At the bottom, a small warning about the dangers of SHIELD intervention on cases that include otherworldly beings.

On the next page, a preface and table of contents with the layout of classified case information. It's pretty standard-- involved persons biographies, photographs of suspects, evidence, etc. The last page includes a short write-up on the conclusion of the case and how it was dealt with. And the last sentence reads: "At the time of document completion, no suspect was taken into custody or brought before SHIELD judgement."

That's the part that kills me, that keeps me awake. I flip back over to the involved persons section, staring at the photos of Allissa, her ex, a couple random suspects, officers, SHIELD agents, and lastly, a photo of Loki. Taken from a security camera at a restaurant from a couple months ago.

This fucking bastard took her, abused her, and is running free. And even worse, he tricked her into making her thinking he's one of the good guys. He messed with her. And she's thinking about him instead of me. It's ridiculous! Why the hell is SHIELD so afraid of this low-level god? He's dangerous, sure, but justice must be served. I rush to my feet and throw the packet across the room, and it hits the wall and falls to the ground. I breathe heavily, feel my face growing hot and red. Someone has to do something about this.

And just then, Allissa walks in. "Steve?"

-

I grip the door handle a little tighter upon entering the conference room, and stop in my tracks when I notice the state of it. Desk chairs sit askew from the long table, one lays defeated on its side. Classified documents, meant to be tucked away neatly in locked files, cover the table and are strewn around the ground. A particularly heavy, thickly-stapled, packet sits at the front of the room just by my feet. I reach to the ground and grab it. "Sorry to . . . interrupt. What's all this?"

Steve, dressed surprisingly casual in cargo pants and a black shirt, but accented with a gun and holster, snaps to attention. "Allissa, hey. How was lunch?" He crosses his arms and his brows furrow slightly.

What is he doing in here, with all this shit? "It was good." The air is awkward and stiff, and I can't bring myself to respond any more detailed than that. I can't shake this newfound paranoia that decided to accompany me after learning more about Steve today.

I take another step in, aware of his eyes on me, and flip absentmindedly through the packet in my hand. It's an official case document-- for my case. Goosebumps creep onto my skin as I make eye contact with myself. Or, an official photo of me, taken when I first arrived at SHIELD for questioning after getting out of the hospital. It's disturbing. I hadn't realized I looked so sickly. Hollow eyes and thin skin clutching to bone stare back at me. Anyone who'd seen me like this would've assumed they knew my situation. It wasn't that simple. Suddenly I feel nauseous.

I toss the packet onto the table, feeling disgusted and somewhat vulnerable. And incredibly itchy. "Can I help you with any of this?" I gesture towards whatever it is I interrupted.