Silhouettes | Loki fanfiction

II

In which there is a house of books and a sarcastic teenager

"Dad?"

The word, stiff with disuse, cracked in her mouth. Freja licked her lips. It felt weird. She tried it again. 

"Dad." 

"Freja." 

She swallowed, a catch in her throat as she caught the fear softening his voice. Bruce took a step forward then froze, glancing at her, eyes burning with an unasked question. Freja didn't move at first but suddenly leapt towards him and burrowed her face into his chest. 

He smelled exactly as she remembered; washing powder and earth and overwhelming, comfortingly of dad. Tears stung her eyes and she drew a shaky sob, bunching up his jumper in her hand just because she could. Because he was there. Bruce held her equally as tight, his arms wrapped around her, one hand rubbing small circles on her back like he did when she was little. She snuggled further into him. 

"You're here, you're really here." Freja whispered and she felt him take a deep breath in reply. He didn't need to speak words. She knew what he was saying; he couldn't quite believe it either.

They stood like that for a long time before either of them felt like pulling away. There was a damp patch on the shoulder of Freja's cardigan and she realised he'd been crying too. But there weren't any signs of tears now and he simply stood smiling at her. Freja smiled back shyly when a calculated cough reminded her there was someone watching. Her smile disappeared instantly.
"Who are you?"

The redheaded woman raised an eyebrow. "I could be ask you the same question."

Bruce swallowed, "Perhaps we should go inside to talk."

It wasn't a question but he still looked to Freja for permission. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear this 'talk' but nodded all the same and followed them both inside. 

The entrance was a crammed mess of floor to ceiling bookcases teetering under the weight they carried, a narrow staircase leading to the second story of the Brownstone house and an even narrower hall, which Bruce led them through and into the joint kitchen-dining room. It was a light, airy space with a gorgeous high ceiling and breakfast bar that separated the eating area from the rather old fashioned kitchen. Bookcases filled every available wall space - but still weren't enough for the sheer number of encyclopedias, textbooks, theorems and essays lying in haphazard piles. 

The woman stared around in interest and Freja tried to imagine how  she might see this place; the chipped and faded paintwork, the dusty curtains and cluttered kitchen. 

Freja flushed and tried to ignore the woman's eyes as they walked into the adjoining lounge.

There were even more bookcases here; no Banner room would be complete without them, but since Freja's mum had always made it clear that non-fiction had no place in the living room, these shelves were home to novels, fairytales and folklore. Freja trailed her fingers over the  spines, taking courage from the familiar titles and watched her dad carefully.  

Bruce turned in a slow circle, taking everything in; it had always been his favourite room and hadn't changed much since he'd gone. Maybe a few new books, maybe some different magazines on the coffee table. His desk was still covered in paper and scrawled notes and if it hadn't been for Freja's handwriting he could have believed it was exactly as he'd left it. 

He grinned as he saw a calculus problem lying upside down, like father like daughter it would seem.

"Is this yours?"

A low voice suddenly broke him from his thoughts and Bruce looked up to see Natasha standing in the corner of the room next to an easel. She was staring straight at Freja who fidgeted under the scrutiny:

"Uh... yeah. It's a present for Dot - she's our, I mean, my, housekeeper."

Bruce sidled round to Natasha and ran a hand over his jaw as he took in the painting. It was a street at twilight, a watercolour of inky buildings washed in pale blue and yellow. 

Freja wrung her hands together.   "It's uh.. Paris, at night. Dot always talks about her old home and how much she misses it and so I wanted to paint it for her so she could see it again. I know it's not great, I mean I'm still putting the finishing touches on it, there's a bit of smudging at the bottom and I think maybe I've put too many windows in one of the houses so it looks a bit lopsided - "

"Freja, it's beautiful."

Freja shifted uncomfortably at her dad's praise and ducked her head, suddenly finding her shoelaces incredibly fascinating. 

An awkward silence fell over them, stretching out uncomfortably until Bruce finally gave a deep sigh and sank down on one of the red couches.

"I suppose I better start. Freja, this is Natasha; Natasha, my daughter, Freja."

Freja gave the lady a small wave but Natasha only gave a terse nod in reply. Freja flushed. Well that was stupid wasn't it Freja? What were you expecting? A childish wave back?  Any further thing you want to embarrass yourself with?  

Bruce continued, completely unaware of Freja's internal self-berating;

"I'm sorry this came out of nowhere. Everything happened so quickly and I wanted to see you before I left again." 

He smiled as if hoping that it would soften his words. It didn't. Freja's face slipped further.

"But.. but you just got here."

"I know sweetheart, I'm sorry. Really I am. But I have to go." He held a hand out towards Freja and flinched as she took a step backwards. Her eyes hardened and she crossed her arms tightly over each other.

"Go where?"

Bruce's eyes flickered to Natasha and Freja could feel a hard knot form in her throat. So after all this time, he still didn't trust her. She gave a derisive scoff, allowing herself to fall into her usual, protective shroud of sarcasm. 

"No. Don't tell me. You guys are eloping. Congratulations, where do I sign the guest book?"

The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched slightly; "Not quite,"

Freja sent her a careful look. "What then? You running away again? Where is it this time? The Tibetan jungle? I'm sure you'll be able to hide as a hermit there. I've heard they take quite kindly to raging green monsters who abandon their daughter."

"Freja!" Bruce admonished, eyebrows gathering at her tone. She scoffed again, "Don't 'Freja' me. We both know it's true."

There was silence. Freja's eyes instantly widened in horror and her arms fell limply to her side. She took a step towards the couch. "Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't mean tha-"

"No. It's okay." Bruce spoke softly, a heavy look drawing his face together. He glanced down at his fidgeting hands and drew a deep breath. 

"There's this... Security force called SHIELD that protect the world from threats. Natasha... Is one of their agents. Recently they were attacked and..." He eyed Natasha cautiously as she tensed, "Something was stolen. They want it back and they've asked if I can help."

Freja nodded as she digested the information.  Security force. Not famous - or, not publicised? Shield. Acronym? SHIELD? Threats - terrorist. Natasha. Agent. First name basis. Dad knows shield? Something stolen from a security force? Dangerous. Weapon? Info? Dad's help. Science then?  

She paused. "And they don't want the Other Guy?"

Bruce's eyes met hers. "No, just me."

Freja gave another nod and bit the inside of her cheek. Bruce could practically see her mind whirring through this information, analysing and cataloging it for future reference. Suddenly, all the anger left her body and her shoulders sagged, 

"When will you be back?"

A/N: All respective rights go to Sunga Park, the artist of the gorgeous artwork I used.