california 02 // loki's romanoff prelude

twenty-three // spirit walking

Loki was frighteningly silent the entire time she drove, which had never happened before. They used to sing along to the radio, or talk about every subject under the sun, or tell jokes and laugh. There was always a bit of laughter, no matter what they did.

But now, he just sat there, his hands in his lap, staring straight forwards. He had blood on his cheek, but he didn't seem to notice. Occasionally, he picked at his thumbnail, but he didn't look at her and he didn't talk to her.

Natasha couldn't blame him, because she felt like she'd betrayed him. She had told Barton, right before they'd left the café, that she wanted to talk to him again. Barton had given her a compact mobile with his number saved on it, and it didn't feel right that Loki didn't know about it. And she was still angry at Barton, because he'd obviously informed Fury that he was going to be talking to her alone, giving Fury the chance to interrogate Loki - but she needed Barton, to protect Loki.

And was there any need for Loki to try and kill Fury?
Was there any need for Loki to attack Barton?

Burning cars. Smoking cigarettes. The sour smell of alcohol.

The rain started to fall, hitting the windscreen like bullets.

When sky started to cry, Loki did too. Just sat there and let the tears fall, rolling down his cheeks, not making an effort, because what was the point? He did it all silently, but Natasha saw anyway, and pulled over.

'Loki,' she said. Loki got out of the car.

He stepped directly into a puddle, and it soaked his shoes, sending needles of cold through him, but he kept walking. He didn't even pull on his hood.

He walked about five metres away from the car. Then the weight got too much, too much, and he knelt down.

The rainwater burned his knees.

He said, 'I laughed when-' he couldn't finish it - 'I laughed when the world-' he couldn't do it - 'I laughed ...'

The sky cried harder. It burned his eyes.

'Loki?'

She looked beautiful with her red hair clinging to her face and neck from the rain. She looked as beautiful as she had that first time, when they'd fooled around in that swimming pool. She was wearing her green T-shirt from Los Angeles, and a pair of red sandals he'd stolen from a thrift store in Denver. She looked better than any model, any Monroe or Hepburn, any Rebecca Romijn or Carrie Fisher.

She kneeled beside him in the pouring rain.

'There are things,' she said, and he heard her voice crack, 'I haven't told you.'

'Do you still love me?' He couldn't look at her. He couldn't look at her.

'Why would I ever stop loving you?' she asked. She drew patterns in the mud with her fingers - a star, a flower, something that might have been a bird. He watched her create them, he watched her create beauty from nothing.

'I'm an awful person,' he said.

'You're not half as awful as me. Why are you crying?'

'I just felt like crying.'

Water dripped from her forehead to her chin. She looked perfect. He wanted to freeze frame this moment, wanted to remember this forever.

'I am the sun,' she sang. A little croakily.

He laughed, but it came out more like a sob. Her arms went around him, and he held her like a lifeline. Like she was Obi Wan, and he was Luke Skywalker. He needed her; he needed her to show him the way.