california 02 // loki's romanoff prelude

nine // how to kill humans, feat. natasha romanoff

Loki lay on the floor, because his body didn't fit in the armchair. He lay there for five minutes, maybe ten, watching the shadows dance on the ceiling and listening to the sound of Natasha's sleeping breaths. He lay until he knew he couldn't sleep, and would not fall asleep, that night.

He left the room and found the shower room at the end of the corridor, marked with the male symbol and painted in chipped blue.

It was dank and dirty inside, covered with white tiles and stinking of stagnant water. The floor was slightly wet, and the mirror was chipped.

Loki washed his face. He welcomed the cool drops on his skin, the deep feeling of cleansing. He washed the last of Asgard from his pores with the Midgardian water.

And then he looked at his reflection.

One night in Midgard, and he still looked like himself. He thought about his family, about his mother and his father and his brother. He thought about what they would think. Would Heimdall tell them where Loki had gone? Would they know why he had decided to leave? Or had they not even noticed?

He had left to win. To lose in dignity, but to get away from Thor. Once again, he felt the burn and shame of losing, and he wanted to cry.

Pretty boy. He looked at his face. He wasn't pretty. He was too dark, too pale, too thin. His eyes had dark rings under them. He saw no trace of Odin's features in his bony countenance, no trace of Frigga's. He was his own disaster and muse, and he wasn't pretty.

He was the least pretty creature he had ever seen.

He looked down at his pale hand with its long bony fingers. He rubbed his pale nails with his thumbs.

He thought about stabbing himself in the training centre.

He thought about dying, and living, and speeding through the darkness as effortlessly as if he had wings.

He dreamed of their faces in the gold of Asgard.

Thor?

Frigga?

He chases them, but they're twisting just out of his grasp.

(He didn't dream of Odin.)

Loki awoke, and his body ached, and the floor was hard beneath him.

The room was gently lit, in a way that could only be by the sun. He stretched. He sat up.

Pale sunlight striped the room, and he saw her empty bed.

For a second, his heart stopped. Then he got to his feet and staggered towards it, to check if he had just missed her. But no. She was really not there.

'Natasha?' His voice sounded raspy, broken. 'Natasha!'

There was a pink piece of paper on her pillow, and he snatched it up. He snatched it to his chest like a lifeline, and read:

for loki odinson, pretty boy, london boy

i know we had a deal but there are things i can't tell you about me other than i'm worse than whatever you are. there's a tube to LA only a few miles away and you can hitchhike there. just ask for directions. they'll help you, baby boy, just ask.

you wanted to know where you were, so i'll tell you that this is california, in the USA, in north america, on earth, by mars. just a little off the 253.
from natasha x

He couldn't believe it. He read it again, and once more. Then he crumpled it, put it in his pocket, and turned to look for his bag, but it wasn't there.