Who: Peggy and Loki, then open Where: Firing range When: Saturday What: Lots of angst, some naughty Loki and quite a bit of blood. Rating: Eh... medium? Blood and bad things and all Status: Narrative/ Open if you ask and have a reason to be at the range
Slide. Click. Turn. Pull.
Slide. Click. Turn. Pull.
It was a learned rhythm, a move swift and practised, time and time again. Slide, click, turn, pull, shot dead on target. It was a near decade of repetition with every weapon she was allowed to touch, thanks to her dear father. He had taught her how to fire a damned musket that had been in their family for over 150 years. It was ancient and worn but she'd never forget how it felt when that shot pulled at her bicep and tricep, and slid a thrill down her spine. The adrenaline from those ancient shots never wore down, and were instead ingrained in her DNA.
Rarely did Peggy allow herself this indulgence, to fire shot after shot at the range until her bullet allowance was used up. She was sure that one day she'd regret pulling them if something devastating were to happen on the island but, call it optimism, she didn't think it would. Peg could still taste the salt of earth in battle, the call of the charge that led her and the men to the front. She'd fought to the last of her strength in all of the commandos missions, even when their centre had fallen. Steve's loss had been a bitter blow.
Slide, click, turn, pull. Shot on target, enemy down. She put another six into her revolver slow and carefully.
---
Loki had never appreciated such things as guns, he thought as he watched her from the door. He was invisible of course, at least for now, lest she turn and turn that gun on him and force his hand. Those Avengers had been all of a domesticated bliss, tangled in the webs of each others' lives. They played house whilst the world they left behind burnt in its bliss. His brother, for Loki's sins, had tried to integrate him into the realm of false heroes to no end. He did not want to be a hero; there was no honour in killing and those who took honour in it were loathsome creatures, born out of desperation to acquire a meaningful end. It was suicide, a slow and heroically named suicide.
This woman in front of him, though. Lips painted red like she wore the blood of the people she killed, in her heels and eyes dead on the target. She was not an Avenger, no. Peggy Carter was far more fascinating than a simple human with a god complex and an enemy. He admired her attitude and her skill, but for all her steely bravado, he could hear the screams in her head that haunted her. She was simply better at keeping them at bay from her outside shell. No, the human had a better face for battle than any Midgardian he'd ever known.
She was a tempting nut to crack. If he could break her shell, the rest could come tumbling down. Bridges were like that, his mother had taught him. All the bricks were stabilised by a key stone. You pull that away and the entire structure falls into the dust and the dirt.
Loki saw her eyes sparkle almost green and gold in the darkness. He wasn't a telepath but you didn't need to be to see that she craved battle as Thor once had. She wanted to relive her glory days when she had more use than as a mother. She would be a sweet one to break.
His sceptre, glowing with its power, manifested in his hand. The jewelled centre floated from the metal and he smiled as it centred on its target, just behind her head. 'Watch the unbreakable break, feel the mighty fall and revel in their tears...' it whispered to him. All he had to do was watch.
---
Blue tendrils wrapped around her head and sought out her temples. Her beautiful steely eyes turned sapphire blue and her lips dropped.
She wasn't in the range anymore. No, no, no, god no, "No...." she whispered, looking down at the sodden black earth beneath her boot-clad feet. "Take me back, TAKE ME BACK!" she screamed in anger, ripping her heavy heels from the sinking earth. She was wearing her old fatigues, hands and torso dotted with blood. She could taste the salt of tears and bitter earth on her lips instead of the sweetness of her lipstick. There was darkness and empty fields around her, dead and decaying rotten bodies littering around her. Flashes of red, white and blue. She saw the stars in the sky.
The sky around her was thick with fog; her vision barely good enough to make out those around her. She heard pleas for mercy, for a bullet in their skulls, make the pain end, make it quick. Her thick pace trudged through the mud, anger and a thirst for vengeance pushing her on. Steve. Bucky. Stevie and Mouse. Her family, her life. No man or entity would rip her apart from the only good thing she'd ever done in her life. They were her breath. Without them, she'd rather be dead.
The gun was still in her hand, but she couldn't. Fight to the end, kick and scream, don't plead for mercy, don't beg for an end. Her father had taught her harsher lessons than this. You weren't a life worth living if you didn't live your life. The trail of footprints in blood soaked earth behind her were her victory but then she heard it ahead of her. People. Rescue?
"Nehmt sie lebendig gefangen. Ich brauche sie noch." a gruff, rushed voice said and she felt a hand the side of a shovel grab her arm. Her assailant twisted and pulled her from the dirt as if she were a flower plucked from the grass. The hand was cold and glinted silver, the metal plates sliding.
She gasped as she saw Bucky's face, hair short and eyes sunken and dead. Peggy's scream of pain as she felt her arm break in his grip was cut off by the human one around her throat, holding her up enough to burn.
Carter raised the gun still in her hand and shot wildly at her lover's face.
Metallic clangs and searing pain were what brought her back from the brink. The battlefield had fallen away and she was back in the range. She breathed dropped her empty gun, staggering back and swinging around until she collapsed. Blood bloomed from her collar and started to flood the white of her blouse.
The sceptre had gone, and shock settled into his own bones. There were four bullets embedded in holes around his head, a single one buried deep into the plaster and the last had caught his sceptre and ricocheted straight back into her body.
The only thing Loki wasn’t prepared for was the look of relief on her face as the unbreakable Agent Carter saw him.