california 02 // loki's romanoff prelude

nineteen // flames

Loki.

That was the first thing she thought of when her eyes snapped open.

Maybe he'd got away. It had almost always been one of her earlier plans to get captured, because she could take whatever they did to her and take it back to them tenfold. But what about him? 

'Hey, Romanoff.'

That voice. It filled her with indescribable fury. She lifted her head, and there he was, standing over her:

Dreykov. Was he real? Wasn't he? She couldn't decide.

He faded, and in his place stood the tall blonde woman from Frisk's room.

'Gosh,' Amora said, opening her eyes very wide, 'I thought you'd be prettier.'

Natasha narrowed her eyes at her.

'So you're the Black Widow,' said Amora. 'I have to say, you didn't put up much of a fight.'

'Who are you? Where's Frisk?'

Amora raised a finger, and Natasha felt something slap her hard across her face - but Amora had done nothing else. 

Natasha didn't flinch, and Amora frowned.

'Hm. You're very strong.' Her pink lips curled into a smile. 'I can see why Loki thinks so highly of you.'

'Where's Loki?' Natasha rose her voice into desperation, which wasn't hard to fake: 'Don't you dare hurt him, you bitch.'

Another slap. Natasha willed herself to stay still.

'How curious, mortals usually cry out when I do this,' said Amora calmly.

'I'm not "most mortals",' snarled Natasha.

'I'll say,' said a voice from across the room. 

The man standing there made Natasha's jaw drop.

'You!' She didn't have to fake her shock.

It was the man from the bathroom in Gilroy, the one who said he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D, the man from the luau.

She hated him. She strained against her handcuffs, but they held firm.

Barton frowned at her. 'Gosh. You look a wreck.'

So this was it. Spending so much time with Loki had ruined her. Loki was so good, so pure and untwisted, that she'd forgotten just how ugly the world could be.

She said nothing as she felt another slap across her face. And another, followed by Amora's high-pitched laugh. She didn't look at the man named Barton. She kept her thoughts solely on Frisk. Kill him, and that was it.

Kill him, and then what? There would always be another. Another enemy of Dreykov, another job to do. She would never be free. 

Panic welled up inside her; she had to fight to keep her face expressionless. Driving across the states with a pretty boy with the stars above would always be an eighteen-year-old dream, but it would never be hers. She couldn't escape. Who knew where she would be sent next? Russia, Germany. Austria? France? It didn't matter, because she would always have to leave Loki. There was no universe where she could keep him.

This was the real world, and the real world was cruel. She was what she was. She endured the slaps, because they didn't hurt half as much as her own thoughts.

Another slap.

Another.

'Maybe that's enough, sweetheart,' said Barton. If that was even his real name.