Avengers Imagines

Pleasing a Storm (Pt. 2/2)

"Was he angry?" Loki asked as gently as he could, considering his heart was hammering against his chest. He had seen you hastily run out of the building at two in the morning — hand clamped over your mouth, face glistening in tears — and was naturally left with no option but to pursue you home.

"Infuriated. Hurt, more than anything else." Your voice, still raw from crying, resounded against his shoulder. You could feel Loki's arms around you, strangely invoking more apprehension than comfort. "The way things went down between the two of you last time when you mind-controlled him into killing all those people, he's obviously not happy about that. And dysfunctional enough, I do see him as a sort of father figure. I can't..."

Words failed you as fresh tears flooded in. Loki's eyes glazed over as well. "I never stood a chance, did I?" He whispered into your hair in an effort to hide the tremor in his voice.

"If it comes down between the two of you, I will always choose him." Even as you said the words, you curled further into his chest, wishing to embed the feeling in your heart in fear that these fleeting moments with the god would most likely be the last. Loki nodded vacuously, only to let you know he had heard you. Speaking would bring into light the catch in his voice; it would bring into light his vulnerability.

"Stop pretending that it doesn't terrify you." You could not bear to look into his eyes and so your gaze was trained lower, on his lips. For the first time that night, Loki pulled you plush against himself with an emphatic force. There was fight in that grip; there was pain of a battle lost. "Don't you leave me. Don't you dare leave me."

The words were futile, he knew it as well as you did. His warm tears seeped into your hairline. The two of you stayed there, two bodies one soul awaiting the dawn, for the sun to come up and tear you apart.

-

In the Avengers facility, nothing had changed and yet in a way, everything had. The air itself had shifted. It now bore an unpleasantness, a sort of discomfort — the kind that comes from moving around furniture that has been the same way for ages.

You, for one, had not spoken to Loki since the day you had cried into his chest, and seen him maybe thrice. On those three occasions, you quelled the churning in your heart by reminding yourself of your relationship with Clint, which was still not back to normal but had marginally improved.

Additionally, you had chosen to drown yourself in work until you could no longer see the sun. If the Avengers were paid on commission, nobody but you would earn a dime. It came to a point where Tony or Natasha or sometimes both would have to physically push you out of the building, begging you to go home and rest.

Loki, as much as he despised Midgard, found new ways to prolong his stay — if only to catch a glimpse of your face merely once through the day or to hear you speak, albeit to somebody else. It was new to him, this longing. He had not felt it before and he would disintegrate heaven and Earth alike if it would bring him you.

Months passed and neither of you learned how to live with yourselves. The agony only got worse. Working long hours was beginning to wear you out. You dangled on the verge of a burnout. At least you were aware of the fact.

"Hey, Tony? I was wondering if I could go home for the rest of the day. I have, uh," You realised you had no excuse and the truth was too painful to be woven into words. "I don't..."

"I don't even need a reason, you look like you have been through hell and back. I'll cover for you." Tony leaned closer, as if to divulge a secret. "Although, I would not skip tomorrow. Thor and the green one are leaving for Asgard in the morning."

Avoiding his eyes, you nodded and proceeded to leave the building as fast as possible. You did not know things would be easier with Loki gone, you hoped for them to be.

That night, when there was a knock your door, the floor swayed beneath your feet. Never in a million years would you have been able to explain how you knew, but you knew it. That was Loki on the other side. Silent as a cat you approached the door, not even trying for the lock, only blindly staring.

"(Y/N)?" His voice wavered, the same way it had wavered that night, that damned night which was spent in the fear of dawn. At that point, you were heavily leaning on the door, unable to support your own weight. Your fingertips caressed its wooden frame, for you could not possibly cross the threshold and hold the man waiting outside. "Forgive me." You whispered as salty tears invaded your mouth.

The whisper was of least consequence. Loki was a god after all, although that has nothing to do with the fact. He had been standing in such close proximity to the door by the virtue of sheer anticipation, your words floated right through. 'I have nothing to forgive.' He thought, pressing his forehead to the door, as if the touch would translate to the other side. 'Ours is a story written in pain. A beautiful one, but pain nonetheless.'

At what point during the night did he leave, you did not know. However, you remembered hearing his steady breaths coming through from the other side right until you will fell asleep on the bare floor. You had forced upon yourself such deprivation overnight that come morning, you found yourself playing on the verge of a meltdown. A firm decision to be a part of the farewell came into being, Clint could not possibly be mad about that.

-

Everyone was present, all of the Avengers, and you could still not find enough of a crowd to stand unnoticed. Although it took all the strength in the world, Loki never looked straight at you — the last thing he wanted was to cause a scene — but you could feel his eyes seeking you out.

"Farewell, friends! You have been excellent hosts. There will be gifts for you the next time we visit, I give you my word." Thor sounded chipper for someone saying goodbye. Then again, he was a jolly soul. "I think you enjoyed this visit very well, brother. Notwithstanding that by the end your spirit shifted in a way that concerns me more than anything else."

"There is not going to be a next time. I am afraid these are my last moments on Midgard." Loki was avoiding his brother's eyes. Ignoring Thor's piqued intrigue, he impatiently tapped his foot, insinuating for the process to be expedited.

The air hung heavy. You waited — waited for the brothers to vanish, for Loki to leave you lost.

Eyes boring into you, it was a strange sensation you were definitely feeling. They did not belong to Loki, you knew because you were staring straight at him, hoping against prudence for him to turn your way. For one last look.

"Oh for the love of God, you're really going to let him go just because I decided to be dramatic at two in the morning one day?" Clint was annoyed. About what? At whom? You could pick up a fight right then and there. Before you could, though, the realization of what he meant sank in. "You don't...you're not....Clint?"

"Look, you and Loki, that is not the most ideal situation and I don't think I am ever going to be completely okay with it. But if you love him like you said, if this is what you really want, I don't want to be the one standing in your way." There was remorse on Clint's face. It took a moment for you to assess he was waiting for an answer. "I do. I love him."

Clint took a deep breath before turning the other way. "Hey, Loki! Going to leave without saying goodbye to your girl? That is just bitchy if you ask me." He then turned back to you with a look that both asked for and granted an apology all at once, pushing you forward with a hearty laugh. "Go!"

Loki's eyes had already found yours and you practically flew into his arms. He held you so close, as if the entire world were lying in wait to snatch you away. He also made a point of nodding gratefully at Clint, which was only met with one of Hawkeye's impenetrable resting faces, but Loki did not mind. He had just been granted all he could ask for.

"May I kiss you?" He lifted your chin, staring into eyes he believed to be lost forever.

You held his face in your hands, tracing the pads of your thumbs over his cheekbones. It was difficult accepting your own good fortune, although the smiles on your faces and the contrasting tears in your eyes helped. "I think that would be for the best."