Of Gods and Memories (LokixFemaleReader) [COMPLETED]

17

I'm lying on a bed. It's not an uncomfortable bed, nor is it a comfortable one. It's just a bed. I roll sideways, my hand hitting something hard. A wall.

I open my eyes to sunlight slanting through venetian blinds and the soft sounds of birdcalls outside. I look around, I'm in a small room with a cupboard on one wall and my bag on the floor, the door closed. I get up, noticing that my shoes and socks are gone, placed neatly at the foot of my bed.

"Hello?" I call, grabbing a gun from the bedside table and carefully pushing open the door. Outside I find a small room, a bed on one wall with a small table and a couch in the middle, and a kitchen in the corner. On the bed is Loki, still fully clothed and not even beneath the covers. I lower the gun, setting it down on the table and go over to him, carefully pulling off his shoes and jacket, then wiggling back the duvet and laying it over him. He stirs slightly in his sleep, but doesn't wake.

I look around the room, finding that there's a kettle, a toaster, a stove, an oven, a microwave and all the draws are fully stocked with everything you'd usually find in a kitchen. It's not until I go over to the living area that I see the information booklet and sheet of instructions and rules on the table that I realise we're in a motel. Silver Surf Motel, to be exact. Luckily there aren't many people about.

I sink down on the couch, rubbing a hand over my forehead and staring out the window. I want to punch something, break something, after this latest memory. Banished from Asgard, for treason, murder, and plotting against my world. I'm a goddamn criminal, and I supposedly killed Loki. I guess that SHIELD agent had it right, at least in part. It feels like forever ago that I heard those words, but in reality it's only been around two weeks. I suppose time goes fast when one spends so much of it unconscious. 

It's another two hours until Loki wakes up. I spend the time double checking the ghost software on my laptop before running through news reports from North Dakota, finding that in the twenty-four hours since we left I have been declared dead and my house is reduced to smoking ruins.

I turn around at a groan from the bed and the creaking of springs, watching as Loki gets up and looks around, pushing his hair out of his face. It's oddly endearing when he does something like that.

"Finally awake," I observe, smiling as he starts slightly.

"How long have you been up?" he asks.

"Few hours," I say casually, looking around the room again, "nice place. Please tell me I wasn't out for sixteen hours, and please tell me you didn't drive my motorbike for sixteen hours."

"But I thought you didn't like lies," he ponders mockingly, tilting his head to one side.

"I'm having a very hard time deciding whether to kiss you or punch you."

"Can I choose?"

"What? No!" I get up, stomping to the kitchen where I grab a packeted biscuit from the draw and much it angrily.

"I really don't see what you're angry about," Loki gets up from the bed, stretching, "I got us to California."

"You should have woken me up, I could have done another shift of driving."

"But you looked so peaceful," he protests. I shake my head, going into the other room and rummaging through my bag for a fresh set of clothes. I find one, although it's a pair of leggings and a cropped shirt. I didn't even know I owned this stuff. Shrugging, I chuck it on and take a look at myself in the mirror on the inside of the cupboard. I sigh, I look like an activewear model.