Natasha was already in the water by then, struggling to save the people she could. Had someone gotten Dan out of his hammock below deck? She truly hoped so. It had been too late for her to try. A stray cannonball blasted her backwards. She was not an immovable object against an unstoppable force. All those super powers she'd managed to wish was likely the one reason she was still alive.
There were some things that Natasha had known, but the time it took for an old, wooden pirate ship to sink was not one of them. It took an agonizingly long time, but once it hit a certain point, everything within a certain radius got sucked under. Including Natasha.
She'd struggled and fought, but the vortex was too strong. There was a brief instant of fire and cannonballs above her, the sounds and sights blurred by the ocean. Natasha thought to stop the struggle. She'd be back the next day, this time choking for air (even as the cold wind rushed by her). She'd be back.
But it was fight or flight, it wasn't fight, flight, or give up.
When she broke the surface, Natasha resisted the idea that this could be real. How had she popped to the surface? How was she alive? How was she so far away from everyone? How was she still being swept away from everyone? They were like tiny ants from where she was. She could barely hear them shouting. Swimming toward them only seemed to pull her further away.
What —
The wind was low —
— do you —
— but Natasha could swear it was talking to her.
— seek?
Nothing. She sought nothing. There were times when Natasha thought about all of her losses — Yelena, Melina, Alexei, Dreykov's daughter, Clint, his family, Bruce, half of the universe — and just wanted to be done. That was why she'd done what she'd had to on Vormir. Maybe it didn't clean her slate, but she had to believe that it mattered. That her life could help others find hope and peace.
Derleth had uprooted that idea.
It wasn't that Natasha wanted to die. She didn't want to kill herself. She didn't really want to be dead. But her death had been the ultimate sacrifice, and it had been taken away from her. She'd gone to her death, knowing that she could never bring back the lives she took, but she could do some good for the universe.
And it meant absolutely nothing here.
The salt water stung her eyes as she let the ocean carry her away. Natasha had no doubt that she'd end up in her bed in Derleth once this day was over — one way or another. No one here could give her that.
As you wish, the wind whispered.
"I didn't say anything." Her voice was just as salty as the water, barely heard above the waves. Then she let herself close her eyes, hoping to wake up in her bed in the morning.
Day seven. The final day of the week.
Loki tossed the cursed piece of Aztec gold in his hand, watching as it tumbled in the air, spinning its skeletal face before landing back in his palm. He sat on the beach of a small deserted island. Not the same island that the Derleth crew had landed on. Yes, he knew about the shipwreck from the net posts, but he didn’t reply to them. This was his social media break. His personal timeout. His chance to have some time to himself. Besides, he had his own shipwreck to worry about.
Broken bits of wood and debris floated onto the shore, drawn in by the tide. It was night, but the moon was blocked by a cloud, hiding his cursed nature. A curse which had ultimately doomed his father’s crew to the bottom of the ocean. Well, not his father, exactly. Another Loki’s father. A Pirate King Odin on the other side of the sea. Possibly with a Pirate Queen Frigga. And a Pirate Son Thor. Maybe even the Pirate Warriors Three. All waiting for Loki to return. Except this Loki wasn’t going to return. Although now, as he sat in the sand, wet from the swim and smelling like saltwater, he wondered if he shouldn’t have just gone with them in the first place. They might not have been his family, but they would have been familiar faces. And by not going home he’d given up the chance to see them one more time.
Father. Mother. Brother.
Hindsight was always Loki’s downfall. Hindsight and cowardice.
He slipped the coin into a small leather pouch and tucked it away in the pocket of his frock coat. It was drenched and heavy. Not too heavy for him. He was a god, after all. But it weighed upon his shoulders. Just as everything weighed on him. He should have at least told someone where he was going, even if he hadn’t known at the time where he was headed. He should have told the other Lokis or Natasha. He saw the net posts. Saw their concern. That was difficult to accept as well. Concern.
People were worried about him. No one was ever worried about him. Loki didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t know how to accept it. He was batting zero on this friendship thing.
A crab scuttled on the beach, digging its one large claw into the sand. Loki turned his gaze towards the black sky. A few stars peeked through the clouds, but the moon remained hidden. Loki was quietly grateful for that. It was bad enough that he’d already died once in Derleth. That he’d become a brainwashed megalomaniac alien usurper. That he’d almost died from a tree whilst in human form. That he’d killed an innocent man while he had amnesia. That he’d broken the heart of a friend who betrayed him. That he’d stolen a shade. That he’d lied. Lied. Lied. Lied. And now he was the cursed undead.
Would there never be a week when Loki could just be . . . Loki?
He heard the footsteps, but didn’t look up. She was quiet and light footed, but he’d come to recognize the sound of her gait. Just as he recognized the cadence of her breath. The smell of her hair. He’d inhaled the scent for hours the night she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. The night that Yelena disappeared and Loki offered his company. The night they didn’t speak to each other, but didn’t have to. He’d let the television provide the background noise while he listened to the sound of her sleeping. Right up until the clock ticked into the new week and they were separated. As they always were. As they should have been. He knew when Natasha was around. And even if he hadn’t recognized her through nonvisual clues, who else would he expect to find him? It was impossible to hide from Natasha Romanoff.
Especially if you were trying to.
“Took you long enough.”
When her eyes opened again, there was just the ocean and darkness. She had no idea how long it had been, but the cracked lips told her it was at least the day. The moon was hidden behind the clouds. She was on her back, as if she was lying on some sort of pool float, but there was none to be found.
Natasha let out a deep sigh, balling her fists up at her side. Something brushed against her foot, and fight took over her body. She yelped and pulled her legs into fetal position. A fin stuck up out of the water, and Natasha drew in a breath. It was curved though, and she knew it was a dolphin before its face breached the top of the ocean. It swam up beside her and nudged her with its fin.
"Sure, this is okay, I guess." She held onto the fin as the dolphin dragged her along with it. None of this made any sense, and she wondered if maybe these were her thoughts while she was drowning. The last moments of her not-so-rational mind before the electricity went out.
When they reached a small island, the dolphin dipped beneath the water and abandoned her, her hands slipping off. She'd prepared to swim, but the water here was shallow enough that even her feet touched the bottom. As she pushed her way through the water, she noticed a figure on the eastern shore. Dark hair, pale skin. Even if it wasn't him — wasn't Loki — she was still going to talk to this person.
It took longer than she thought to get to them, and even then she still wasn't sure it was him. Not until he said something, and Natasha flopped down on the sand next to him and threw her arms around him. "Why would you do that to me? I'd been trying to figure out where you went since you disappeared from the port. Why would you leave me like that?"
There hadn’t been a lot of warm embraces in Loki’s history. Not that his childhood had been cruel. Far from it. His mother had loved him. She’d hugged him as a boy and as a man. And his father probably loved him in his own way as well, although that relationship had always been tenuous. It would be centuries before Loki would understand why there’d been a cold wall between him and Odin, but once he knew he understood. It made sense that there would be some emotional distance between them. And why it led Loki to isolate himself from other people as well. But while there had been a general amount of happiness in his upbringing, there hadn’t been a lot of warmth. And Loki, by nature of being Loki, had never really grown accustomed to affectionate touch. And that awkwardness followed him into adulthood hundreds of years later.
So, when Natasha wrapped her arms around him, Loki’s initial instinct was to stiffen and pull away. His body did tense by a fraction — he was trying not to be so off putting — but he didn’t move away. And after a moment he almost relaxed into Natasha’s arms. Not just because it felt good to be acknowledged, both physically and emotionally, but because it was Natasha. And Loki felt a connection between them. He believed that she understood him in a way most people didn’t. He felt like they were similar. And that made him feel safe.
“I’m sorry,” Loki said, his voice gritty. He leaned into her hug, wrapping one arm around her back in a half-embrace. His face was buried in her hair during the hold. She smelled like gunpowder, cannon fire, and seaweed. It shouldn’t have been an attractive scent, but for some reason it heightened Natasha’s overall allure. Which was not to say that Loki was smitten. He could recognize beauty in most people. But the friendship they’d developed made him more susceptible to noticing it in her.
The truth was, he’d never really paid her much attention. She hadn’t been important. She was just another cog in the Avenger machine. But he was paying attention now.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had to tell someone where I was going.” He tried to make a joke of it, likening Natasha to an overprotective mother, but it was a halfhearted attempt at humor. And at risk of her thinking he might be belittling her, he continued more seriously before she could respond. “I should have replied. I didn’t mean to make anyone worry. I didn’t think…”
… anyone would care.
“I needed some time to myself. I’ve been trying to work some things out and it’s been difficult because every week keeps pushing me into a different disaster or drama. The more I try to change and understand, the more chaos takes over and prevents me from moving forward. I thought if I went off on my own that it would be easier. That maybe I’d have time to … reflect.”
And there was much Loki had to reflect upon. His newfound friendship with Sylvie, Loki, and Gator Loki. This closeness with Natasha. His anger towards Fandral and his fear that their companionship was irrevocably destroyed. His deaths, both of them. The terrible crime he’d committed against Julia and her shade. The joy he’d felt at being a Loki who loved his life. And so much more.
He dropped his half of the embrace and stared off towards the water. It glistened occasionally, but for the most part it was black. Endless. He ran his fingers back through his hair. He could have used a glamour to make himself look perfect, but he didn’t. He let his hair hang in loose wet waves, strings of seaweed stuck between the strands. Gravelly bits of sand caught in the goatee he’d grown over the course of the week. “It wasn’t my intention to leave you. I'm still getting the hang of this friendship thing. Forgive me?”
The weekly resets reset their bodies, but it didn't reset their minds. That was the experiment, wasn't it? Natasha thought that they weren't meant to get a break here, after all. Things were meant to pile on them until they reacted in whatever way they were expected to, then someone could make their notes.
Like the ocean wind talking to her and a dolphin leading her here.
Did that even happen?
"It's okay if you need to run for a while." Natasha realized her hypocrisy on this, considering how many times she'd dodged and weaved while she was doing her own thing. How very little she communicated with people and expected them to know things she hadn't told them. Sometimes she forgot that not everyone was built like her.
But her feelings were in the way here, and she knew it. "I thought you might be hurt." Or worse. "I just — you don't owe me shit. I know this, but — "
Natasha sat down in the sand, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Every bit of her was salty and sandy and wet. She remembered her phone suddenly, giving a small start as she searched for it. It was nowhere to be found. She must have lost it somewhere between fighting pirates and the navy and thinking she was going to drown. No one would know that she was alright.
It was night, though, and if they couldn't find her, they could rest assured that she'd be there in the morning, wherever they woke up this time. A few hours and it would be reset. She reached over and tried to pull the larger clumps of seaweed from her own hair, half tempted to pull them from his.
"What happened to you? You look like your ship went down too."
Loki thought he heard something different in her voice but he wasn’t certain. The tone was more somber than usual. More concerned. He didn’t think this was really because of anything he’d done, however. He’d had it difficult over the last few weeks, but so had Natasha. She’d lost her sister after such a brief and fleeting reunion. And even though Natasha didn’t talk about it, Loki knew that it had affected her. Of course, it did. There was a long and complicated history there. Not unlike Loki’s history with his brother. And if Thor had arrived in Derleth and been snatched away from him before he could make any real amends—
Well, that was one of the reasons he’d mutinied on the pirate ship, after all. Because Loki didn’t know how to face Thor. Even if it wasn’t his Thor. He didn’t know what he’d do if he saw his brother after everything that had happened. He didn’t know how he’d react.
“That’s not true, you know. I owe you a lot,” Loki said. No more jokes this time. “You’ve been there for me since I arrived. You’ve stuck by me despite the mistakes I keep making. And you’ve stood up for me against those I’ve wronged. You didn’t have to do these things. You could have just been like the others. You could have let me live in the past.”
Loki stretched his leg and dug his heel in the sand. The clouds were slowly beginning to part. “I owe you more than anything for that.”
When she asked what had happened to him though, he did give a little chuckle. It was an amused sound but still tempered with regret and sadness. “Kidnapped by pirates hel-bent on taking me back to my father. Mutinied. Heard about a certain treasure that might be useful. Headed out for adventure. Then things went wrong. As they always do when I’m at the helm.”
The clouds separated, briefly allowing the moonlight to gleam from above, exposing him as an immortal skeleton.
“Oh.” Loki raised his bony hand to the moon’s gaze. “And I was cursed.”
Yelena's disappearance had crushed Natasha to the core. She didn't talk about it, couldn't talk about it, because how could anyone understand that Natasha Romanoff, Avenger that she'd become, left her little sister to the Red Room. Even if she thought Yelena did not want to see her, Natasha did not look for her or try to figure out what happened to her. She'd shut down that part of her life completely.
And despite the changes she'd made, the growth she'd gone through, she had still been making those excuses until Yelena, rightfully, called her on it. Two years on the run, still communicating, had been a blessing. And then the Snap, and Yelena — along with half the universe — was gone.
If she knew what Loki had gone through, she'd understand. Maybe that wasn't what he needed right now, but she understood it more than most people would have. It was beginning to get harder and harder to ignore the obvious similarities between them. Maybe that's why she'd been able to outwit him back on the helicarrier ten years before.
"What the f— " she reached out for his hand. It was ice cold to the touch and, yup, those were real bones. "Sure, why not. I'm pretty sure the ocean brought me here with the help of a dolphin. Why not curse you while the world's at it."
Normally Loki would have been more self-conscious of his skeletal appearance. Not even his glamours covered the curse under the light of the moon. But he knew it was only temporary. He only had to deal with the curse for a few more hours and then Derleth would reset and he would wake up in his bed. Or in whatever place Derleth decided to go or become. Well, that’s how it had always worked. He supposed there was the slim possibility that the rules would change. That he could be cursed forever. Derleth had turned into a ship this week which was unanticipated. But for some reason, perhaps intuition or perhaps meager hope, Loki felt confident that he would wake up tomorrow and everything would be as it was before.
Which was why he didn’t shy away from Natasha’s sudden concern and interest. And why he didn’t pull his bony hand out from her grip. Actually, as far as curses went, it could have been worse.
It could have always been worse.
“Did a dolphin really lead you to me?” Loki raised a brow, but it wasn’t seen until the clouds passed over the moon again and his skeletal form was replaced by his normal appearance. Well, as normal as Pirate Loki was ever going to look. He hadn’t actually seen himself in a mirror since the first day of the week so he couldn’t exactly say for certain that he was in good shape. But he’d caught his reflection in the water a few times. He wasn’t disappointed. “That should surprise me, but honestly very little surprises me anymore.”
He lifted his shoulders in a haphazard shrug. “I suppose Derleth knows our routine now. Maybe it wants us to have these last few hours together.”
Loki glanced up to the sky. He didn’t actually know what time it was. “Or minutes.”
He looked at her more closely. “Is that a tattoo on your neck or a clump of seaweed?”
She thought about telling him how strange the journey was that brought her here. That the ocean somehow spoke to her. She'd been so sure it was just frantic, last minute brain fog that it hadn't truly occurred to her until the last few moments that it had brought her here. What had the wind said?
As you wish.
What had she wished that brought her here?
Before the clouds removed the vision of his skeletal hands, Natasha wrapped her fingers around it and dropped their hands to the sand between them. It was nice to know that something was real. That this wasn't just a hallucination.
"It's a tattoo. Guess the me from here likes ink." She lifted her chin, hair drooping in its braid. She assumed whatever makeup she was wearing — if any — was unattractively smeared on her face. She was sure she looked like a vision.
Or Hel, maybe.
"Makes me wonder what's in it though. Squid ink? Something poisonous?"
Loki still wasn’t used to hand holding either. Hand holding, hugging, honesty. All of the things that most people took for granted. Aspects of friendships that were simply accepted with ease by people who’d always had friends. These actions were still foreign to Loki. They still surprised him. So he was no doubt surprised when Natasha took his hand, despite the fact that it lacked muscle and flesh, and entwined their fingers together. Two months ago no one would have done that. Then again, two months ago he wouldn’t have let anyone.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze and hoped that his bony grip didn’t hurt. Then he leaned in closer to get a better look at the tattoo. It was difficult to make out in the darkness. He couldn’t even tell what it was aside from a peculiar twisting of lines. He’d seen some similar markings on the crew his father had sent after him. The crew that was now floating out at sea on bits of wood and broken bow. Perhaps a few were even clinging to an oar or two. Loki should have felt more guilty for leading them towards disaster, but they seemed to be used to it.
But he did feel ashamed that he’d not had the guts to face his family. Now that the opportunity was lost he wished he’d at least made the effort. It would have been nice to have seen his mother. And maybe, if she had the same magic as his Frigga, she would have realized that he wasn’t her son exactly. But a son who missed her. One who regretted running away.
Loki traced the lines of the tattoo on Natasha’s neck with his index finger. “It’s difficult to make out. It’s not hideous, but I think you could do better.”
His finger trailed a line to her collarbone and then stopped. He let go and turned his attention to the rest of her appearance. Loki had left the Derleth ship so quickly that he hadn’t had time to really see what any of the others looked like. It was strange seeing Natasha in this type of clothing. In many ways it suited her personality, but for the most part he thought it too harsh. He expected more nuance from Natasha. But perhaps the Natasha of this world was very different. He suspected his counterpart was, after all.
And then he noticed that, like him, she was drenched through her clothes. He waved his hand towards a pile of driftwood. A green glow was cast over it and within a few seconds a small campfire was blazing. He should have thought of that earlier.
“What happened to everyone else?”
The clothing felt more like a costume. More like a costume than any she'd ever worn, and that included the Widow suit. It wasn't her, and neither was the tattoo, but she'd grown accustomed to things having a week-long shelf-life here. Well, for Derleth. Not here on some random island, sitting next to Loki.
(What had she wished for?)
It had been a long time since anyone had the audacity or bravery — it depended on the scenario — to touch her like that. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched her neck in any kind of intimate manner like this. Natasha swallowed hard, blinking lazily.
Then his hand disappeared and she found herself missing that touch. Not the touch, but his touch. That wasn't supposed to happen. She'd already shut that down weeks ago when she'd found Julia's shade on him. That could not happen. It complicated friendships, and to be honest, the idea terrified her. She wondered if that's what scared Bruce — her duality, the doubts of her sincerity. The same way Loki scared her now.
What if… she let herself?
She cleared her throat and drew in another breath. "We were attacked. I got dragged under when the ship went down. I saw people trying to rescue others, but I was so far away, I couldn't really tell."
Loki nodded. He felt an unexpected pang of guilt for not reaching out to the others from his realm. Or Mobius, for that matter. He’d promised Mobius he would do better to try and learn more about him. Perhaps even establish some kind of friendship, although Loki was still torn on whether the friendship would be real or just a by-product of Mobius’s wish (Sylvie’s wish too, he imagined) that his Loki was there. It was an odd thing to try and be close to someone who already knew a different version of you. A version that, Loki had assumed from the beginning, was better. He also felt bad for not telling Sylvie and Loki where he was going. Or even the alligator, although Loki suspected the alligator didn’t care much. There were others, too. Like Natasha. Stevie. Maybe even Rick? (Nah, Rick wouldn’t even notice that Loki was missing.) But regardless, Loki had formed a group around himself without realizing it. And he wasn’t very good at upholding his role of ensuring that the group remained in his circle.
This was something he had to learn.
Friendship was hard. It was hard because it needed to be nurtured.
“Ships going down seems to be a common theme in this world,” Loki said, watching as the flames flickered in front of them. The campfire cast a bright gleam on the dark water. The tendrils of smoke danced in the air, disappearing into the night.
But they’d be okay. Everyone would wake up tomorrow. Safe.
Safe, but not necessarily sound, Loki thought to himself.
“I was trying to find a cure. Well, not a cure. That’s not the right word. But something that would help us during the resets. Help the people who suffer, that is. Maybe prevent them from remembering their deaths or healing the emotional pain.” Loki scratched the side of his nose. “I didn’t find anything though. I failed.”
"Time, Loki."
She learned there were no shortcuts to healing. The only thing that helped was time and distance. It was working through it. Shortcuts never worked, they just prolonged it and made it that much more explosive.
"The only thing that works is time and effort." She lifted their hands between them, the moonlight coming out once more to display his otherworldly curse. "And if you're lucky, you have a friend to rely on. Someone you can trust, someone you can talk to you. Someone who will call you on your bullshit." That had been Hawkeye for her, and then it was just the memory of him for five long years.
Despite his appearance in the moonlight, Natasha scooted closer to him. She held his hand in both of hers and tucked herself against his arm. "You didn't fail. There is no magical cure, and that's something to learn. That's not a failure. That's a discovery."
“I’m trying,” Loki said, just as the clouds parted again and his flesh melted away with the moonlight, revealing nothing but a cursed skeleton in the clothes of a pirate. Another Loki pirate. Or another Loki who wished he was a pirate. Loki hadn’t figured out that mystery. But regardless, he was a far cry from the attractive man he usually was. And it wasn’t until Natasha eased in closer that he felt self conscious of that fact.
She was so patient with him. They hadn’t had much time since the revelation of what he’d done with Julia’s shade to talk about the rift that had caused between them. Loki knew it was there. He knew he’d disappointed Natasha. Hel, he’d disappointed himself. But they hadn’t talked about it. Not really. Too much had happened in the aftermath. The alternate Derleth. The alien attack. The memory loss. Yelena’s disappearance. And then the both of them separated at sea. There hadn’t been time to discuss where they were in their friendship. Let alone anything else. But Loki knew he hadn’t made it up to her. Or to anyone.
He knew their friendship wasn’t the same as it had been.
But she was holding his hand despite the fact that it lacked flesh and sinew. And she was looking at him like—
I don’t know this look.
—like no one really had before.
“Natasha.” Loki looked her in the eyes. Oddly he still had eyeballs, but they weren’t as animated as they were in life. And combined with the lack of skin on his face, the absence of lips, and the eerie mouth teeth without gums, he was more a horror than anything else. And no amount of sincerity in his tone would make up for the fact that he looked like a monster.
He squeezed her hand. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
She knew he was, because if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have told her he was trying to find a cure for it. It meant he was struggling with it enough that he was trying to find shortcuts. Which meant it was weighing on his mind. You didn't have to be a keen observer to figure that line of thought out. It was a road map to a very obvious place.
Loki sometimes took random detours though.
The change in tone, however, left Natasha on edge. Nothing good ever came from we need to talk or there's something I want to tell you. It was usually followed with something she didn't want to hear. Some major disappointment or a confession — of treason or murder. Oftentimes, both. Truth was: Natasha was tired too. Maybe she hadn't died here so it wasn't quite the same, but she'd lost so much over the years that she couldn't see anything good from whatever was about to come out of his mouth.
Her shoulders rose just a fraction, as if bracing herself. "What?"
Truth be told, Loki didn’t know what he was going to say to Natasha. There had been a few things weighing on his mind. Things he’d wanted to say to her for weeks. But the timing had never felt right. There were too many moments of chaos. Too much pain and agony. Too much loss. Too much focus on the wrong things for him to truly bare his soul and be open with her. Hel, even now didn’t feel like the right time. And it really wasn’t. Not for the big thing he wanted to say. The thing he couldn’t really put into words because it involved feelings Loki didn’t understand. Emotions he’d never really developed or experienced before. But he wanted to say something. And he wanted her to know that it was true. That he wasn’t just lying again like he always did.
“I’m really grateful for your friendship. I’ve never really had a friend before. None that I could really be myself around. And I’ve been more of myself around you than I have been my entire life.” Which, when Loki really thought about it, was actually quite sad. Because he was dead in his real life. And that meant that the only time he’d ever been himself was after death.
His lips drew into a stern frown. The sort of look that might normally preface tears. But Loki didn’t cry. Loki couldn’t cry. He was cursed.
“I know I’ve made mistakes recently. And I’m certain I will make more in the future. But I want you to know that what we have is important to me. And if you hadn’t offered your friendship back in Fillory…” I wouldn’t be here. “I would be in a really bad place.”
Loki reached up with his free hand and tucked the wet, sandy strands of her hair behind her ear. It might have even been romantic if not for the fact that he was a gruesome skeleton. “And I’m so glad you’re here.”
Natasha was someone who was trained to get answers, to have a set of skills to get those answers. Her words were often carefully chosen, even now, because of her upbringing. There were very few times when she was utterly verklempt: finding Yelena, alive but unconscious after bringing down the Red Room, Bruce shutting off his Quinjet screen and abandoning her, and finding out that Nick Fury didn't trust her in the wake of the Winter Soldier. Those were the top three moments when it took the Black Widow time to formulate words.
This moment would now count among them.
Her lips curled in the corner of her mouth as she tried to think of something to say. Her eyes were a little overbright. It was what she needed to hear right now. The chaos of the last few weeks had left very little time for frivolity or friendship, and his disappearance had upset her more than she'd realized. There had been a tiny part of her that thought, like Bruce, he couldn't handle her and decided to leave. That there was some fundamental flaw that only Clint Barton could cope with.
She wasn't crying, exactly. There weren't full blown ugly sobs, but her eyes were watering and she held them back as best she could. Natasha reached out her hand to cup his cheek, cursed as it was."I don't know if you've noticed, but you mean a lot to me, Loki."
Loki was starting to suspect that he meant a lot to quite a few people. More than he’d realized and more than he ever thought possible. But with Natasha it felt different. Perhaps because they’d been enemies once. Perhaps because Loki had tried to kill her and her friends. Or maybe even because he’d destroyed an important part of her world. All of these things made the idea of friendship almost incompatible. They should have been standing on two different sides of the same fence. And yet they weren’t. Because Loki, for all his wrongs, had done one thing right in the end. One thing that didn’t resolve him of his past, but proved he was willing to do things differently in the future.
One small sacrifice for his family.
Just as Natasha had done for hers.
Loki smiled when she placed her hand on his face, but without lips and gums it looked more like a grimace. He did the same with his bony hand; first trailing the outline of her ear with his finger before bringing his palm to rest on the side of her cheek. It didn’t feel the same as it ought to have. Bone against skin. But he imagined it was soft. If nothing else, Loki had a good imagination.
“You mean a lot to me as well,” he said. A cloud passed in front of the moon and for a brief moment she’d be able to see a more subtle sincerity in his expression. Eyebrows pinched toward the center of his forehead in expectation. A quiet pleading in his eyes.
Loki slipped his other hand out of hers and placed it on her shoulder, holding her still. He was holding his breath while his mind raced to make a decision — not about what to say next because there was nothing more that needed being said — about what to do. She looked like she might cry, but she didn’t. And Loki didn’t expect she would. There were some things that the both of them were too stubborn for. And tears couldn’t lie.
How had he never realized how beautiful she was?
The tide rolled in closer to the shore and the magical fire flickered, dancing bright shadows on her face.
Loki’s cursed heart didn’t beat, but he thought he felt it pounding anyway.
As you wish.
Natasha hadn't known what she wished for. Not when the ship had gone down, not when she arrived in Derleth, and not two days later on a random beach. Derleth was an experiment yes, but it was also full of second chances and people she never imagined would be what she needed. What she realized she'd wished for.
Her thoughts were a swirl of emotion — an outpouring of gratitude and desire and genuine caring and the tiniest fear of don't ruin this. Her friendship with Loki was one of the few things she had here. Something she had cultivated on her own, tended to and tried to let it breathe and grow. She searched his face for the same, and found that he was sincere.
Her heart felt like it was in her throat, thumping hard, as her hand moved, her fingers curling into his hair. She leaned forward, her gaze dropping to lips." Loki, I — "
A small warning light flashed in the back of his mind. Loki saw it. He didn’t ignore it. It was the one thing holding him back from impulse. The fear that this would destroy something special they had. It wasn’t easy to walk things back after crossing that line. Loki wished it could be. But recent events had taught him that sometimes a line crossed was crossed forever. And some lines were best left alone. It was clear to him then that he’d been skirting the edge of this one for a while. He hadn’t been conscious of that before, but he was now. And judging by Natasha’s expression, she had been, too.
There was a low banging thud of anticipation in his head. It was beating in sequence with the warning light until her fingers curled into his hair. Then the rhythm was off-kilter. Perhaps even a little deranged. Definitely out of sync.
His gaze turned to her mouth as well.
He was thinking about Sylvie and himself. Well, not him and Sylvie exactly, but the other versions of them from two weeks ago. He was thinking about the Lokian General and her Supreme Leader. He remembered the kiss they shared and that tingling pull of emotion underneath. That feeling of being broken without each other, finally reunited with their missing half. It had been so full and overwhelming for him. There had been an underlying intensity in that kiss Loki had never experienced before. And he wondered if there was someone like that for him in his world. Someone capable of stirring those feelings of want and necessity in him. Someone who could touch what even he thought unreachable. Someone who could make him feel love.
She could betray you, that timid voice of fear whispered to him. They always betray you.
Loki leaned in closer, their faces mere inches from each other.
Or you’ll betray her.
The sea wind swept the clouds away. The moon transformed Loki back into his cursed appearance, but he didn’t notice. And it didn’t matter. He was already there. Already too close to change his mind. He closed that small gap of space between their mouths and—