Chapter 20
I’ve never been this sick in my life. I had stopped by a doctor’s office to get checked out, only to be sent home with a cold. A cold of all things—causing the feverish symptoms that’ve had me laying motionlessly on the couch for twenty four hours, without responding to any medicine? Unlikely. There may be a virus in my body, but I’d wager that my condition is resultant of something that starts with “s” and loosely rhymes with “eardrum.”
Though even that’s not the biggest cause to the damper in my mood.
It’s been a full day now, since Loki was supposed to come over, and never showed. Never answered any texts, either. And when I called Pepper to complain (and possibly ask her to go down the hall and kick his ass for me), she mentioned not having seen him since Tony and Thor went out of town. So, there was a distinct likelihood that they all went together—until Tony confirmed that he wasn’t with them. She then mentioned that one of their cars had been taken out for the night, and later returned without him in hit.
If he really did go out of town somewhere and bail on me, he’ll sure as hell get a swift kick in the balls if he comes back without a good excuse…maybe after an equally petty round of silent treatment for a day. The likelihood that something happened to him had to be so much lower—he is a god, after all. What could possibly happen to him?
Not the most comforting thought, but…it’s only been a day.
Despite all that, I still can only expend a fraction of my sickly energy worrying. And when my phone rings on the coffee table, it takes everything I’ve got to trudge off the couch, just to grab it. Almost certain that Loki’s name will pop up, my shoulders slump when I glance at the screen, and see Pepper’s name before sliding to answer the call.
“Hey,” I murmur, painfully choking out the sound.
“Cerys,” she says sternly, without addressing my clear malaise. “You need to come to Stark tower now.”
“What?” I cough. “Why?”
“I’m sending a car, get dressed and get in it when it’s there.”
“O-Okay? What’s going on?”
“Loki,” she says, and I freeze up. “You know how he hasn’t been answering you? Well, it’s ‘cause he’s gone off the frickin’ rail.”
My eyes widen as I straighten up. “What do you mean, ‘off the rail?’”
“I mean stir-crazy,” she answers frantically. “He’s with several other A.I.M units, we caught them heading out to the docks in some stolen vehicles—remember those ‘codes’ they had you get from Robert Heinecher? Well they’ve got the actual codes now, and we think they’re going to try for one of the underground facilities.”
Panic grips my stomach, and I swallow thickly—painfully. “W-when did this happen? Why’s he helping them?”
“I don’t know, S.H.I.E.L.D sent some of the agents he’s been working with these past few months, but he’s just not responsive—they’re in Midtown right now, and if they’re heading to the facility, you’ll be straight in their path. So you need to get out of there, now.”
“N-no,” I shake my head, standing to go look out the window—nothing I can see or hear from here. “Loki wouldn’t hurt me Pep, maybe he needs help,” I cringe as my throat scratches with every breath. “Maybe I can get him ou—”
“No,” she interrupts sharply. “I just told you, he’s not responsive to anyone—he’s acting like he doesn’t know any of us, he’s…” she pauses. "He’s wearing that getup of his from the invasion, and he’s with Yuriko and the others. You can’t use your voice yet and you’re sick—he might not hurt you, but they will. Just come to Stark tower, we can still use your help from here.” Voices break out in the background of the call for a moment, and Pepper grunts frustratedly. “I don’t have time to argue, car’ll be there in fifteen.”
I blink surprisedly when she suddenly hangs up the phone, and then sigh, trying to work through the fatigue and anxiety, to think straight. “Fuck…”
He’s acting like he doesn’t know any of us. What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I glance over at the pile of boxes in the corner, knowing that Loki’s daggers are buried somewhere deep within them. I might’ve anticipated tears at this point, but all i’m left with is a sincere tiredness spreading through my body. Whatever this shit show is that our lives have become, the tears just won’t rise for it anymore.
Which is probably a good thing—about time for my vision to stop tunneling every time there’s an emergency.
All the anger flutters away as I dart across the room to the boxes, moving as quickly as I can with my sickly body. Immediately, I pull the pile apart, rummaging through box after box—until something cuts me sharply.
“Fuck!” I pull back, cursing myself inwardly. Well that was stupid—even in the half-numb state of my brain right now, I fumbled too fast.
Thankfully it’s only a surface cut in one of my fingers, but I blink down surprisedly at it when I catch a glance of the color of my blood. A deeper red smeared across my skin—almost purple, I’d say. Darker than it should be.
I shake my head—have to deal with this later.
After carefully pulling both weapons out of the box, I move to the bedroom to get dressed quickly. Boots, peacoat, and a scarf. That’s all I need, and I hide the daggers in my boots before bolting out of the apartment—going as fast as I physically can to avoid the car that Pepper sent.
She wants me to go to Stark tower, and that’s probably the safest option, but…I might not be able to sing just yet, but I can still fight. There are no Avengers in New York City as of now, and who knows when they’ll be back? Who else is going to go out on the ground? I was and am an agent of S.H.I.E.LD, in some capacity.
Still, that doesn’t stop the nagging feeling tugging at my chest, telling me this is a bad idea…a bad, bad, bad idea. A scapegoat to go out and find Loki—however dangerous it might be. Stupid, and reckless…
It doesn’t matter. True, my powers have been outside my reach, but maybe I can get some semblance of it back in time. I’m sick, but I can push through it—it’s an inconvenience, at worst. So many people push through hours of physical exertion when they’re sick. Whether it’s exam season, or plain old work…this won’t take nearly as long, and it’s so much more important.
Of course, the streets of Manhattan do nothing for all the panic taking an additional stress toll. My apartment must have some kind of soundproofing features I don’t know about, because I couldn’t hear any of this insanity from up there.
The skyscrapers continue twinkling against the night sky, though all their inhabitants seem to have flooded the streets. Being fairly close to midtown, it makes sense for everyone to be running in the opposite direction—while I run toward the smoke and intermittent booms. With one particularly loud gust, I gasp sharply as the ground beneath me shakes.
Bad…bad idea, Cerys.
The words echo again and again in my head as I dash down the street, going against the flow of the crowd—feeling my body work extra hard to sustain my harsh movements. Sirens blare against the building walls, and my phone starts buzzing again and again in my pocket. I don’t dare to even too look at the screen, knowing it’s probably Pepper or her driver looking for me—or both. Hell, if one of them tracks my location, it might even be for the better. A quick escape for Loki, if that’s what it comes down to…
She’s going to kill me for it later, but that can be dealt with when it happens.
I feel my energy depleting the further I go, and there’s still no sign of Loki. None as I turn this corner and that, feeling my footsteps growing slower and heavier, until my feet are practically dragging behind me. Finally, I lean against the wall, and sigh frustratedly at my own stupidity, feeling my temperature rise to an all time high—damn it all, what was I thinking? This is fucking miserable.
My head rolls against the brick wall as I reach into my pocket to grab my phone, when a flash of blue catches my attention up ahead. I pause, staring toward it—toward the familiar figure, wreathed in blue flames, clambering at the far end of the street like a giant. It’s the very same one that nearly burnt Loki’s shoulder off when I was kidnapped and rescued, and I hadn’t seen him in all the time that I was ‘willingly’ working for A.I.M. We were in entirely different facilities, and where Yuriko, Alessei and I had trained, had our very own ‘Firelord’—Pyreus. We didn’t need this one…so who else could be there?
Save for…Loki.
***
Loki strode forward amidst the carnage his companions were creating. All around him, people ran—screaming—as chunks of buildings fell under the force of the Blue Flame’s wisps.
“As loud as you can make it, boys!” Nisha strutted happily beside him, and the shrill sound of her voice alone was aggravating. “Light em up!” She hadn’t taken anyone’s body in some time, and the bright glow of her eyes doused to their usual bright green. Without that glow, she seemed an ordinary—albeit attractive—woman.
A dagger flew from Yuriko’s hands somewhere off to Loki’s left, and embedded itself in the back of some Midgardian wretch, an impressive distance away. “They’ve got twenty six minutes to get in and out,” she murmured quietly as she walked by. “Then we’re gone.”
Loki hardly cared to note if it was a man or woman that laid dead by Yuriko’s hand—only the pleasurable chaos of the wreckage and discord satisfied the irate flames, which tore through him as he took the city in.
Last time he was here, he had failed.
He failed, and this was Earth’s comeuppance. For its utter rejection of the new king, for the ignorance and insolence that bred the Avengers. Pitiful creatures, Midgardians were—in every way. Hardly worth the effort it’d take to acknowledge them as more than hunks of flesh lying in the streets. Dead or alive, their very presence angered him, reminded him of what he tried—and failed—to accomplish. He underestimated the Avengers’ strength, as well as humanity’s inferior intellect.
Never in a million years would he have had the patience to be a benevolent god.
A bright, yellow light flashed against the buildings to his right, and Pyreus strode out from between them, dousing his flames.
It was all a fair distraction. The start of an elaborate plan to eradicate S.H.I.E.L.D’s operations in America (to start), by hitting their home base on this island. Which began with being caught in those awful government vehicles—and Loki was offered to be the figurehead of the plan. Whatever heroes would be coaxed out by his presence were surely outnumbered and outgunned, as they had thoroughly explained. Others, apart from Alessei, Yuriko, Pyreus, and Nisha fanned out to other parts of the city, confusing its law enforcement with the chaos that slowly bled through the streets.
When this was over, Loki will have paved another way to take what was his. He would be the new ruler, elevated by the organization that started it all. Truly, A.I.M was far more coordinated and strategic than the Chitauri ever were. And if there was room in Loki’s heart to feel ashamed, he would only regret not taking this opportunity the last time they’d reached out—when he had the tesseract, and sought enemies of S.H.I.E.L.D.
He would not make the same mistake twice, now that they had freed him from his imprisonment. The last thing he remembered was being thrown against the walls of Stark Tower, and his captors had concocted the worst punishment imaginable—existence without meaning. Stagnation, without life or death. He continued to exist, and time passed by while he was kept as a souvenir—locked away in the depths of some facility, frozen in time.
“Well look who it is,” Nisha suddenly mused, and Loki blinked away the thoughts. He felt the brush of her arm around his elbow, and he glanced down at her with annoyance as she slid around it tightly.
He followed her gaze to the person standing slightly off-center in the street, coming out from behind an abandoned vehicle. Loki quirked a brow at the strange figure—tall, lean, with curled locks that reached just past her shoulders. Several strands hung over her regal face, as she looked around at them.
A Midgardian woman? No—she was no Midgardian. She couldn’t have been plainly mortal, either. Magic plumed off of her in droves, feeding in to and out of every cell in her body, and her life force was strong—despite the ailment of her form. Her appearance gave that much away, as she struggled to hide the fatigue in her features. Whatever was wrong, her body clearly was not managing it well.
Loki narrowed his eyes as she approached them, glowering at him slightly. Confusion flashed in her expression as she looked up at his horns, and trailed her way down to where Nisha had linked her arm with his.
“This…” she finally murmured—even her voice betrayed her state. “What the hell is going on?”
“Been too long, hot stuff,” Alessei suddenly sauntered toward her, and the woman merely stared at him, grimacing slightly. “Hear you’re batting for the other team these days.”
She paused, and crinkled her nose disgustedly. “Yeah, is that what you tell yourself at night?” she retorted lowly.
Alessei chuckled. “Not what I meant, but I like where your head’s at.”
The woman looked back to Loki suddenly. “Loki, what’s—” she took a step forward, and then recoiled slightly. The rage that surged through him in that moment must have been palpable.
He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
Her heavy breathing ceased for a moment. Whatever color was left in her cheeks slowly drained, and even her magic diminished just a bit. She looked at him questioningly, as though trying—and failing—to read his intentions.
“I’m…Cerys?” she said earnestly.
All four of his companions turned and stared. Loki’s eyes flickered over all their faces, and he figured they were waiting on a reaction from him—though he couldn’t make out why. They’d come across so many insignificant being that night, what made this one any different?
He studied the woman carefully for a moment, and then grinned. “Well…come to die early in the night then, Cerys?” he mused smoothly.
She creased her brows confusedly once more, and shook her head. When she parted her lips to speak, Nisha interrupted. “One last condition to our arrangement, Loki,” she crooned, offering an unnerving smile as Cerys’ eyes flickered toward her. “This woman…kill her for me.”
Loki’s palms heated with the command, fingers twitched. “Kill her for you? I’m no assassin,” he muttered in a low voice, making plain that he was ready. “Who is she?”
Regardless of the woman’s continued leering since he’d woken, he would listen. Loki wouldn’t have a single being standing in his way, and felt no disinclination whatsoever to turn down murder for it.
“She’s the enemy. If you want, you can kill her for you—or us,” she whispered.
“And how many more of these ‘conditions’ will you have?”
“What?” Loki heard Cerys breathe out, and he looked at her—confusion tightening in her expression.
“None after this.” Nisha shook her head slowly.
He considered her words, and then nodded. “Very well then,” Loki muttered, and took his first step toward Cerys—drawing his arms up on either side. Two long, gleaming daggers materialized in either hand as he strode toward her.
“L-Loki?” The woman’s eyes widened as she stepped back, clearly afraid—and rightfully so. “What’re you doing?”
Loki relished the sight of her terror, the uncertainty and doubt clouding over her eyes as she backed up against a car, and then fumbled down to her boots. Though he stopped in his tracks when he saw a familiar set of crafted blades slide out from her boots. The satisfaction turned to a harsh suspicion, and he gritted his teeth—annoyed by the woman’s ploy. She straightened up, posture ready for a fight—the woman was clearly trained. An agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, no doubt. Who stole from him in his captivity?
“Well, well,” he tilted his head. “Those are some fine weapons—stealing from gods now, are we?”
Her eyes dropped down to the blades. “These…you gave these to me,” she uttered, voice dripping with confusion. Loki narrowed his eyes.
“I would never deign to furnish you with such weaponry,” he answered dryly, and the woman’s face sank further, if that were possible, as he grinned. “No matter—you can keep them.”
Her rising desperation did nothing to taper Loki’s ferocious impulse, and he darted toward her instantly, twisting and slicing his daggers through the air. If this woman was the final payment for his crown, then she would honor the transaction with her life. And he would cut her down with ease, it seemed—her training was apparent, but her movements were slower and heavier than he’d anticipated.
Moment after moment went by that blades flashed—defensively, on the woman’s end. She certainly was capable of holding her own, but she was no match for the God of Chaos and Mischief. He had fought many wars in his time, defeated foes much more fearsome than her. And yet… Loki’s movements weren’t quite as fast either, which added to the frustration that fueled him, and Loki tried more and more desperately to land a single hit.
“Loki, stop!” the woman pleaded. And for a moment, he hesitated just enough to miss her midsection.
A soldier had no room for hesitation on the battlefield, yet when she shrieked his name again, every impulse in his body screeched to a brief halt—like sliding into a wall, and kicking off it. It allowed her a moment to grasp his horns, and tear his helmet clear off.
Cold, night air blew over his newly exposed hair and skin, while the woman’s hand flew back to the crook of his neck—dropping its dagger in the process. “Loki!” she gasped, and suddenly pulled closer to him—as though standing three or more feet away was not enough to see the violent disdain brewing in his eyes.
Loki furrowed his brow as he felt her soft breath fanning his lips. “W-what are you doing!?” he exclaimed briskly, realizing the closeness—yet he hadn’t pulled away. Nothing inside had insisted on sending her flying.
Cerys dropped the other dagger, and grasped his neck on both sides, pressing her thumbs against his jaw. “Why are you attacking me?” she whispered, her voice so full of love—so full of recognition.
And for a brief moment, the brush of her fingers—her skin—doused the animosity. The raging storm had quieted throughout his body—though his mind did not follow suit, not even a little. It was a surge of information that he had neither the time, nor clarity to sort. He had no conscious attachment to this insignificant woman. He barely remembered her name, yet her touch had momentarily pacified the harrowing chaos. Had drawn him closer…
Loki’s eyes remained open, and the woman hadn’t looked ready—and barely willing—in the moment she pulled up to him, and haphazardly kissed the corner of his mouth. Nothing surged through Loki’s chest—rather, it was the absence of fire and wreckage that baffled him, and kept him staring at the woman as she kissed his unmoving lips. Magic enveloped them both in a cloud, intertwining so comfortably, so naturally...
Why?
“Do you want to be a king, Loki?” Nisha’s deadpan voice swept softly through the silence, like an anchor cutting into the scene.
A king…yes, he wanted that crown.
And the thought alone reminded him—rekindled the storm of a failed monarch, and his stomach twisted once again. She was the only thing standing in his way. This woman…
In a pulse of rage and conviction, Loki buried his dagger in the woman’s side. The blade cut through the heavy mass of fabric and flesh, until it was buried to the hilt.
Her eyes widened as she pulled away with a soft gasp, peering up as she stumbled for a moment. Still clinging to his armor, Loki stared back until her grip finally loosened. Cerys slid, and fell to the ground before his feet with a heavy thump, dagger still embedded in her side. He hadn’t lowered her to the ground, simply let her fall—and once she was there, Loki stared at his finished task, sprawled in front of him.
“Well done, Loki,” Yuriko praised as she came up behind him. In the corner of her eye, he saw her glance at the time, and look back up toward the sound of a quintet humming several streets down. “Now, we leave. Come, let’s—” She suddenly paused, and it was only in the moment that Loki looked up at her, that he realized why.
Wetness had glossed over his eyes.
Sourceless tears had lined his lower lids, though his expression betrayed no emotion—he felt none. Slowly, he trailed back down to the woman at his feet, barely registering the sounds of his other companions’ voices drawing him away. He merely stared, trying to make sense of all that had just happened.
The woman had calmed him. Kissed him. Spoken as though she knew him, and insisted that he gifted her his own prized daggers…
It wasn't until someone had tugged on his arm that Loki finally began to move, still reeling through the information—the touch of her hands, her lips, her breath… Even now, her magic seemed to resonate throughout him, having left its mark deep down inside. The wetness had begun to dry, but he wouldn't forget that it was there—not now, nor in the days to come.