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The flight back to New York passed in such a blur, that I felt no rush of excitement from being home again. Neither Clint or me said anything the whole way. It wasn't until we'd reached the tower that I was reminded of the injury I'd sustained during the fight.
The freezing cold that costed my limbs had done a fairly good job distracting me.
"What the hell happened to you, kid?" Bruce asked, he and Tony rushing to meet us as we exited the jet.
I looked down at my arms, my eyes falling on the dark gash that tore through my suit along both forearms. Dried blood coated my skin and clothes. I'd been running on pure adrenaline. I hadn't even felt the wound.
"What do you think happened," Tony began, pulling me inside, "She fought the evil, genocidal robot the two of us built."
"That, uh, that was mostly you, Tony," Bruce said, his voice muffled behind his hand.
Tony led me to the infirmary, before he, Bruce, and Clint returned to the jet to move the Cradle.
My wounds were tended, the others in the room passing around me in a blur. One image resonated in my mind: Nat being pulled out of reach. She could be dead right now, all because I'd failed to take her hand.
A staggering sense of not belonging crashed into me like a tidal wave. I was fighting a sentient robot who wanted to destroy humanity alongside gods, spies, superheros, billionaires. I didn't belong here.
A tremor racked my body at the sound of the door to the infirmary crashing open. My head snapped to the side, and I saw Loki. I frowned, looking around. How long had I been sitting there? With a jolt, I realized it was nearly dark, and the room was empty except for me and him.
He raced to my bedside, worry written clear across his face.
"You enlist my help and then nearly get yourself killed and then taken," he clicked his tongue, grabbing my chin and forcing me to meet his eyes. "If you don't start being more careful I'll lock you back in Asgard myself."
I swatted his hand away. He grabbed my wrist. Then my other one. He lifted my arms to inspect my wounds, his frown dropping in surprise.
"How did this happen?" Loki demanded, pulling me closer to him by the wrists.
"Your knife," I said shortly, "When Ultron threw it back."
I wrenched my arms out of his grasp, turning so that my back was to him, my legs hanging down over the opposite side of the bed.
They'd had to remove my jacket to get at my wounds, which left me in a tank top that exposed my tattoos. I felt Loki's breath on my skin.
"I wish you hadn't covered them," he said suddenly.
"You don't like the tattoos?" I asked, not bothering to look back.
"I didn't say that," he responded, "But I never hated your scars."
My jaw hardened, and I gripped the edge of the bed. "Not that the change of pace isn't welcome, but why exactly are you being decent, now?"
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Fanfiction"You are unimaginably precious when you're flustered, my dear," he said lowly, "And I can assure you that while I often find you distracting, you are much more than just a distraction to me. Why do you think I haven't killed you yet?" "Because you'd...
