I am very sore from working out at the gym. I give people like Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hiddleston, Robert Downey Jr., Scarlet Johannson and Chris Evans mad props for the crazy workouts they have to do to get into shape for roles like the Avengers. I can't even do 20 minutes of ab crunches without feeling like I killed every muscle in my body.
Anyway: Mythic, ladies and gentlemen.
Disclaimer: Do not own the Marvel characters, or anything I may pull from Mythical Detective. None of it. It's aaallll just for fun.
Chapter 2
When Loki awoke the next morning, he was sore from head to toe. Despite his recent romp through the cosmos, he still had certain sensibilities that had been cultivated under the care and protection of the Asgardian royal family. And the small, hard mattress he had been provided was far from what he was used to. On top of that, he was trapped in an all but mortal body and thus, forced to suffer their pain and stiffness when placed in an uncomfortable situation for long periods.
As he moved, tensely, through the apartment, making his way out to the main living area, he wasn't really surprised to find the Widow already awake, sitting behind the small kitchen table with a newspaper open in front of her face. He could see the peek of short curls from behind the paper but her face was completely hidden behind the thin, gray sheet.
"There's cereal on the counter. I poured you a bowl bur you have to put them milk in it," came her voice through the obstruction of the paper. Loki's brow furrowed and he approached the small counter bar that separated the kitchen from the living area. Moving around the counter into the kitchen proper, he noticed the bowl sitting on the counter and looked down into it. His nose scrunched in disgust at the rainbow-colored loops that stared back at him and he snapped his head around to look at her.
"What is this?" he hissed,.
"Food," Natasha replied without lowering her paper.
"This isn't food—it's a mutilation of the word food made the color of the Bifrost."
Natasha finally lowered the paper a little, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sure. Bifrosted flakes. Enjoy." She lifted her paper again, trying to contain her laughter as Loki growled and picked up the bowl.
"Where is the milk, stupid woman," he barked.
"See the white box right there next to the counter? The tall one with two doors? That's called a refrigerator. It's a magic machine that keeps liquids cold," Natasha replied, condescendingly. "Here on Earth, we need to keep milk cold or it will spoil and we get sick."
A thought occurred to her: "But go ahead and leave it out if you want to—you know, for when you use it tomorrow."
"Oh, you think you're clever, woman," mumbled Loki as he opened the refrigerator and claimed the one labeled milk. He poured the cool, white liquid over the cereal and then frowned. "And how exactly do I eat this?"
Blue eyes rolled high, nearly into the back of her head, as she tried to focus on the article she was reading. With a heavy sigh, she replied. "With a spoon. Turn around. Top drawer."
Loki pivoted on his heel, careful not to spill his bowl, and opened the drawer behind him. Picking up a spoon out of the drawer, he proceeded to close it and then went to the table and sat down. Dipping the spoon into the milk and cereal, he lifted a few pieces to his mouth and took a bite. Despite his initial hesitations, the sweet crunchiness of the cereal in combination with the cool, moist milk delighted him in a way he never would have shared with anyone, and as he crunched away on his meal, he allowed himself to enjoy it a little, his eyes wandering over the back of Natasha's newspaper.
Something interesting caught his attention.
An article in the classifieds—someone asking for assistance with something a little...strange.
Loki reached out, yanking the paper from the woman, the edges of it ripping from within her long, painted fingers.
"Hey," she snapped as Loki flipped it around to look at the ad.
"Hush, quim, I am reading," he replied.
"Do not call me that, you little-"
"Shh, can you not see I am engaged here?" Loki barked, looking up at her finally. "Now, quiet."
He turned his gaze back to the ad and then a wide grin spread across his face. "Perfect. Perfect."
"What? What 'perfect'?" She snatched the paper back and looked at the ad. "Paranormal investigator wanted. Strange occurrences disrupting household. Help strongly needed. Willing to pay any asking price. Call 555-7555 ASAP."
Loki stood and moved to the bar. He picked up Natasha's cell phone from where it sat, charging, and his eyes gleamed with amusement. "Barton has called you sixteen times. Lover's quarrel?"
She jumped up, yanking the phone from his grasp, silently. Her eyes gleamed, maliciously, at him.
Loki shrugged. "Alright, dial the number then. I haven't the time to learn how that trivial thing works."
"I'm not dialing anything and you're going to," Natasha said. "You're getting a full wardrobe of clothes and a cell phone so I can keep tabs on you. Today."
"Fine, fine, just dial the number!" Loki argued, glaring at her. She shook her head.
"No," she replied. "Eat your cereal."
Picking up her own empty bowl, which had, until then, been hidden behind the newspaper along with her face, she moved to the sink and began to wash her dish, placing it in a drying rack on the counter before turning and walking back out of the kitchen. Loki watched her with contempt, but sat down and ate his cereal, seething.
Natasha paused next to the table, her face turned away from him, her hands on her hips. "What makes you think you can help that person in the ad anyway? What has Norse mythology got to do with stuff like ghosts?"
Loki finished the last bite of his cereal and stood, a smirk playing on his lips. "Again, you show how very little you know of your own realm." He carried the dish to the sink and placed it in, not bothering to wash it or even dump out or drink the milk.
"You better wash that," Natasha said.
"Or you'll what?" Loki replied, turning to look at her, his arms crossed over his chest.
Natasha opened her mouth to snap, then thought better and closed it, her eyes narrowing. Finally, she murmured, "You know, I'm beginning to see why your father put you into the body of a child."
Loki rolled his eyes and placed his small hands on his hips. "Look, woman," he began, "that which you foolish mortals call paranormal is varying in origin. Much of what you do not understand is what remains of Yggdrasil's magic on your realm—the wayward spirits of those who have not passed properly into Valhalla, Nifflheim or Helheim, for example."
Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.
"Not only just, but..." he continued, "you cannot truly believe I am the only one of my kind, or of any of Yggdrasil's branches who have found the hidden pathways into your realm. You cannot truly believe I am the only one with magic to mask my presence from view. This paranormal activity could be a number of things in an area of which I am, actually, well versed."
"Uh huh," Natasha said, "And what do you think will happen? They'll just let you, a child by Earth standards, waltz into their house and...what? Do what exactly? You don't have any magic."
"Fath-" Loki began and then paused, pursed his lips, swallowed down the offensive word, and continued, "Odin informed me that I would have limited use of my magic for the sake of helping your people. Now, I don't know what your definition of help is, Agent Romanoff, but I believe relieving someone of something disruptive to be a service. Wouldn't you agree?"
Natasha narrowed her eyes again, turning her gaze to him finally. "I'll think about it. For now, I'm going to shower. We have errands to run." She started toward the bathroom, pausing in her stride to turn and look at him. "You'll need to shower after me."
Loki watched her go, and raised an eyebrow at her. "What? What for?"
"Because you wore those clothes all day yesterday and slept in them. You kind of need it." With that, she turned, smirking to herself quietly, and walked off.
Loki couldn't help but sniff himself. He cringed. Smarmy woman.
The streets of New York were packed with bustling people, all moving from one end of the world to the other. Or so it seemed. No one ever slowed down—no one ever stopped. It was a perpetual mixing bowl of constant movement, as people hailed cabs, spoke on cell phones and moved, with grace and hectic bounce alike, through the crowded avenues, going everywhere and no where at once.
Natasha weaved and pushed through the throng of people like a professional, sliding through people like water through a canal. Dressed in a pair of black jeans with a casual maroon blouse draped over her torso, the sleeves trimmed short against her arms, she actively received the attention of male passers-by. But she was incredibly apt at ignoring unwanted attention.
If only she could ignore the man-child she was forced to pull through the crowd. He obviously didn't understand the nature of New York City, nor did he understand that any one of the people in the crowd could have been someone whose life he had turned upside down six months prior. No, all he cared about was himself.
It was obvious in his tone of voice. She didn't know how many times she'd heard him cry Move, mortals and how many times she wanted to smack him upside the head. There were two things wrong with that though—she would be accused of child abuse and she would then have an irritating and cranky child version of Loki that she would then have to return to a small apartment space with.
Thor so owes me, she determined as they finally made their way to the a long street full of retail stores. Taking a deep breath of relief, Natasha turned her eyes down to Loki. "Okay. We've got to get you some clothes. Besides your rude attitude toward perfect strangers, you're getting weird looks for what you're wearing right now. Someone even asked me if my little brother was going to be in a play about Vikings."
"I tremble at the thought," Loki deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Lead the way, qui—ahm, I mean, Romanoff."
"Natalie," Natasha replied, glancing at him. "Out in public it's Natalie. But don't think just because I'm letting you use Natalie in public, you can call me Natasha in private."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Natalie," replied the young Trickster, dryly.
"Good. Come on." She moved with swiftness down the street. Loki followed.
They entered the first store in silence, and Loki glanced around. If he had had his magic, he could've manifested himself into any of these clothes without the use of money or effort. However, upon looking at the racks and racks of young adult clothes for males, he really began to reconsider his plan to take over Midgard. If this was how Midgard's future was dressing, perhaps they would have been better off destroying themselves.
"I refuse to wear any of this. These garments are ridiculous," hissed the man-child, as Natasha had come to thinking of him. Shaking her head, the woman grabbed him by the arm and pulled him deeper into the store.
"Look, you little twerp," Natasha snapped, quietly. "You don't have a choice in this, do you? Odin sent you here, you're stuck, and you're stuck with me. Now either you pick out three outfits you like, or I'll dress you in a sailor uniform, complete with knee socks and patent leather shoes. With heels. You get me?"
Loki's eyes burned with resentment, but he gave a curt nod and began to wander through the racks. "Only three?"
"For now. We'll hit a few more stores and then see to getting you that cell phone," replied Natasha, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes slid sideways as she approached from her left by a male salesperson.
"Good morning, miss," the man said, smiling. "Are you doing well today?"
Natasha gave a small nod.
"Is there anything I can help you with?"
"No, we're doing just fine. He's looking," she replied, nodding to Loki going through the racks.
"Oh," the man said, smiling. "Is he your little brother?"
He's someone's little brother. To me, he's just a little pain in the- "Yeah. You could say that."
"Well, may I just say he has a beautiful sister," the man replied, sidling up alongside her. "I was wondering, would you care to-"
"Natalie," Loki interrupted, looking up at her with big, wobbly green eyes. "Why are you talking to this man? He reminds me of the man who caused the fire that killed out parents! He scares me, Natalie, he scares me!"
Fat tears began to dribble down Loki's face and Natasha had to keep a straight face. She didn't want the stranger to know that Loki was neither related, nor well-liked to her. Swallowing down her dislike, she reached out and patted his head, as the salesman glanced at the boy, looking a little disturbed, and then went to help other customers, silently.
Natasha waited until he was out of eyeshot and then rolled her eyes, flicking Loki in the forehead. "What the hell?"
"My apologies, Natalie, but I do not think it amiable for you to be courting anyone when you've got such an important job to do as keeping me from causing my usual calamity," Loki replied, the guise of frightened child falling. "What would Director Fury say?"
Natasha blew hot air out of her nose, exasperatedly, but said nothing. "Did you pick three outfits?"
Loki held some items up.
"Good. See those doors over there? They're fitting rooms. Go try them on. I'm going to try and quell the fears of the salesman you clearly were trying to disturb."
Loki watched her move toward him. A twinge of jealousy rose up in his heart, but it was beaten out by the smirk that fell upon his lips. The little Romanoff spider was ever so much fun to toy with. And there was more where that came from.
Glancing at the clothing in his arms, he moved through the store to the fitting rooms and, for once, did what he was told.
It took three hours to collect enough separates for Loki to build a wardrobe of viable outfits. Natasha had dealt with diplomats, politicians and business owners before in her line of work, but she was not apt in entertaining the sensibilities of a spoiled prince—and finding clothes that Loki found suitable to his refined, patronizing tastes was a difficult task indeed.
She was glad when they were finally able to make it to the cell phone provider, allowing herself to enjoy the cool air conditioned store, knowing that this was there last stop and that this would be the last place she'd have to hear Loki complaining about mortal society as a whole. For now, anyway.
The saleswoman in the store approached Natasha with a smile, her black pencil skirt hugging her in all the right ways, her black blouse unbuttoned a little to reveal a cute, lacy undershirt underneath. She smiled. "Can I help you?"
Loki glanced at her up and down, noting the bright red of her lipstick and the dark wave of brown hair that fell over her shoulders. He had to appreciate the fine build of even Midgardian women—the way their hips curved just so, and their bosom sat, pert, between their shoulders. However, they weren't as broad shouldered and toned as someone like, perhaps, Sif was and, to him, that made them desirable.
He had to admit though, he rather liked Natasha's fire and warrior spirit—the same kind of spirit Sif had—housed in the beauty of her Midgardian body. If he didn't detest her kind (and her attitude) so much, she might just be his perfect woman.
After all, she was the one and only person who had ever gotten the better of him.
"Yes, I need to add a line to my phone plan," Natasha replied, smiling in a bright, friendly manner—an illusion that Loki could see right through but well versed and effective on one such as the sales woman; one who didn't know or understand who Natasha Romanoff really was.
"Alright, come this way," said the woman, leading Natasha and Loki toward the little kiosk where a computer and some brochures rested. She began to type furiously, before looking at the redhead. "Name?"
"Natalie Rushman. Here's my ID," Natasha said, holding out a little plastic card with all of her alias' information on it.
"Wonderful," the woman said, typing the information from the ID into the system. "Ah, here we are. Just one extra line, then?"
"Yes, please," Natasha replied.
The sales woman glanced at Loki. "Is it for him?"
"Yes. This is my," Natasha paused, "little brother. We recently had a tragedy so he's staying with me."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," the woman replied and then smiled at Loki. "Would you like to come with me to pick out a phone?"
Loki had casually picked up a brochure and started reading it—long enough to realize what phones did what and exactly how much they would cost depending on what a picked. A cheshire grin spread across his face. "Yes, please."
Oh, damn, Natasha thought. I know that look.
The sales woman led Loki through the store to the phones supported on Natasha's plan. Watching him like a hawk, she was reluctant to stop him in whatever he was planning. It would seem cruel of her to put some kind of restriction on which phone he could get based on money, when she clearly had the money and she had just told the sales woman he may have just suffered a grave tragedy.
And, like in normal Loki style, he returned to her side holding the serial number of a phone that would cost her eighty extra dollars a month, including data. Damn him.
That was also on top of the cost of the phone. And activation. Damn. Damn.
"Here's your total," the woman murmured, smiling. Natasha just offered a smile in return and nodded.
Typing in a few more necessary things, the woman printed a receipt. "Just sign here."
Natasha signed the receipt. She felt like she was signing away her life to Loki and his damn smirk.
"Perfect. The phone should be active as soon as you turn it on," the woman replied. "Have a nice day. Sorry to hear about your situation."
"Thanks," mumbled Natasha and then dragged Loki out of the store. She leaned over, getting eye level with him and hissed, "Listen here, we're stuck with each other for a while so I need you to get your act together. You think your little tricks and manipulations are funny but they aren't and I'm not going to put up with your crap indefinitely. So shape up or I'll tell Thor things weren't working out and you can go back to Asgard and have your childlike ass locked up in a cell for the rest of forever, got it?"
"Your threats are empty and meaningless to me," Loki replied, offering her a similarly hard gaze. "And Odin would not take me back into his precious kingdom even if he had to. He does not want me there. Why else would he exile me here?"
Turning from her, Loki began down the street in silence, not staying long enough to register the confused and slightly sympathetic look that passed across Natasha's face as she watched him go. Furrowing her brow, she wondered if there was more to Loki than what he showed to the world.
Then, she realized, if she began to think that way, she might actually start to care about him. Because he was like her. And she just couldn't let that happen.
Following him down the street, she quietly begged her mind to remain silent—not to turn over the possibility of Loki's brokenness. Not to contemplate the reasons behind his actions, and endeavors. To do that would be to open up her heart to things and ideas that might destroy them both—or destroy her and allow him to take over her life in a rush of power that no one like the Trickster should ever be granted.
So, she remained silent, mouth and mind, and watched the back of Loki's head as they walked, both of them tense with thought, and ripe with silence.
"Two are better than one, Because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, For he has no one to help him up." Ecclesiastes 4:9-10
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