[ To be quite honest? Loki stopped considering soulmates as even a possibility for him somewhere around his thousandth year. Which was, give or take, nearly five hundred years ago. There are a lot of reasons for this but the condensed version is he simply stopped believing that he'd ever be ready, that he'd ever find someone like that. He told himself that he was too chaotic, that he wasn't built for that sort of commitment, that he didn't deserve that kind of thing in the first place, and it was fine.
Really.
He pointedly never asked if Thor saw the red thread with Jane, and his brother never mentioned it, much to Loki's secret pleasure.
When it appears, he's distracted. Busy working on potions in an otherwise empty building, repurposed for this exact reason, in the Wakandan capital city. Potions that will keep people alive, protect them, bolster powers and abilities and give them every edge he can manage. He understands that Wakanda is a bastion of Midgardian technological advancements, that the mineral from the stars that powers its culture and technology is very impressive. That the people assembled here are going to do their best, lay their lives on the line, use every ability in their arsenal.
But it's not enough. It's not going to be enough. So he is trying his best to improve their dismal odds. He is part of this, after all. A great deal of the blame for all of this could be, accurately, be laid at his feet. And isn't he also one of these last defenders? Shouldn't he, too, use every ability at his disposal?
He doesn't notice when it appears. He notices a few minutes later, and almost ruins the table with how badly it startles him.
Well, he tells himself. If he doesn't seek out the other end, perhaps it will be fine. He can't be distracted now, it would become a literal disaster.
But he's never been good at 'perhaps'. He's always been a man of plans, of plots, of subterfuge. And advisor, certainly, but also a negotiator. He knows how to turn a thing from various edges and see how the light may catch.
Loki knows good and well that the person on the other end of that string is unlikely to ignore it as he has. At least not indefinitely.
So he adjusts the wards on the building to allow it to be accessible to the one holding the other end of his red string of fate. Makes it so they can enter, when no one else can even see the building in the first place. There's an old-fashioned bell that chimes as the door is pushed open, and Loki doesn't turn from what he's doing, waving a hand in that direction. The space before him is a cross between a mad scientist's chemist laboratory and a witch's den, full of jars and beakers and things that defy gravity via magical or technological means. ]
Give me, [ He holds up a finger. ] A minute and a half, if you please. This is very delicate work.
[ If he doesn't look, then it isn't something real, something that can hurt him, something he can lose. ]
[ Natasha had accepted, years ago, that she was never going to see the red thread. Not when there was so much blood on her hands. There wasn't enough time for her to wash all of it out and feel like she was good enough for whoever would be on the other end of that string.
And now, here she was, on the precipice of a battle for the Earth the likes of which none of them are prepared for, and she is following a glowing red thread to... nowhere.
Looking over her shoulder, Natasha hesitates in going forward. But she knows she has to. She has to know. Going into battle with that level of distraction was beyond stupid. Forcing her feet to move again, she pushes through the invisible barrier and startles at the sound of the bell.
She looks up at it and then inside. Her legs move her inside before stopping completely. She knows that voice, the way he looks from behind. Natasha had snuck up on him when no one else could manage, after all.
She knew Thor was here, but Loki?
Natasha makes it as far as the fifty-second mark, too stunned to form words. Until her temper finally comes through ]
[ He startles, then freezes. The vial in his hand jerks with the sudden cessation of movement, the shock of her voice after nearly a minute of silence pitching his mind into a tailspin as droplets from the vial spill onto the tabletop, warping the metal immediately with a plume of violet smoke.
It's the Black Widow. He knows her. Knows her skills and capabilities but little of her history; it hadn't mattered, then. The last time he talked to her was New York. When he'd been Thanos' puppet, for lack of a better word.
He supposes it makes some sort of twisted, terrible sense. To the Norns, to fate. That he would lose so much and gain something so important and tenuous just as he's decided that survival is essential to more than only himself. On the eve of nearly certain destruction regardless of how he feels about it. ]
No.
[ His hands resume their movement. The smoke and the burn are ignored, for now, and Loki doesn't turn. He needs only forty more seconds. ]
It's rather difficult for me to imitate something I've never seen before. Considering the fact that no set of soulmates is alike, it would be near impossible to determine what it should even look like beyond 'red'.
[ He continues mixing, shoulders inching their way towards his ears. ]
If you choose to leave I won't follow.
[ Jury is currently out on whether or not he thinks she should. Loki knows he doesn't want her to, not really; for all its terrible timing, part of him is too pleased at the idea of having a soulmate in the first place to desire being abandoned by them.
The forty seconds are up. He sighs, rolling his neck and purposefully dropping his shoulders down before turning in her direction. ]
[ Natasha feels her hands clench into fists, wanting to call him a "liar". Because that's what he does, isn't it? But if Thor was here, and Loki with him, then it stands to reason that things have changed.
She wants to stay angry. She wants to turn and leave. Almost does. But the minute she faces the door out, she can't make herself open it. The anger she had felt so strongly also begins to ebb.
It was sharp and strong in the face of the revelation. But the longer she sees the thread, feels the subtle pulse of it, the warmth... She finally has something she never thought she would have. Someone she never thought would be found. Not after all the things she's done.
By the time Loki turns around, Natasha will be standing a foot in front of him. Her hair no longer red, but dyed blonde for all the time she spent running from Ross. Dressed in black, weapons still holstered on various parts of her body, and sporting the green vest of her sister, her boots didn't make a sound as she crossed over to him. They rarely do. ]
[ The bell was only enchanted to make noise upon someone entering, not leaving; to that point, the silence only tells Loki that perhaps she has taken him up on his offer and fled, and so he doesn't expect to see her standing so close when he turns around.
Yet there she is. And Loki decides that if she's going to remain, he may as well get a good look at her. So. He drops his hands to the side and just... looks.
What he'd noticed about her at first encounter had changed little. She's still armed to the teeth, preferring firearms (which gets a soft smirk and an eyebrow raise), poised and dangerous. It's fitting, he thinks; what use would he be to someone who wasn't also a perilous sort of soul? She's changed the color of her hair, the texture, the length; his, for what it's worth, is no longer straightened and slicked back but now is allowed to form loose curls in whatever pattern it wishes because Loki has better things to worry about than stray hairs. Still black, however. ]
I like the vest, [ He says in place of asking her about her hair. He suspects it does mean something, but he'd rather not pry or seem... too caught up in the appearance of it all.
Well. The vest is green. Perhaps it would be obvious that he'd like it. ]
[ He at least looks... more sane. As if that's something one can say or quantify. It's a calmer, more aware look about him. More clear-eyed (she can see his actual eye-color now). The darkness around his eyes gone. The maniacal grin no longer present. There are no threats spewing from his mouth. He seems more earnest. Honest?
It's good to see. Not that she wants to admit that.
Nor does she really know where to go with this. She just has their past history to go on. And that, by itself, is what has her giving him her best right hook. Right in the face. Getting his cheek and jaw in the brunt of the blow.
Violence isn't always her first action. Usually she plans it out first before acting. But she knows, in her bones, she has to get this out before they can move on. They cannot have a future of any kind if she continues to hold onto the hurts and anger of the past.
All in all, it's a very Russian way of her to approach things. ]
Not that he's surprised by the fact that she's hit him. Not in the least. It is, honestly, fairly straightforward and even kind in comparison to what he deserves. On a broader scale.
No, he's not surprised that she does it. What surprises him is that it hurts, just as if Captain Rogers or his own brother had thrown the punch instead. He winces as he recovers, tonguing his cheek with a slight grimace, but his mind (and his libido) are both reeling from the implications.
Natasha could actually hurt him. That's kind of exciting. Is it because of who and what she is or because of who and what she is to him, now?
Does it matter? ]
Well. [ He rubs his jaw. ] I suppose I deserved that.
[ "I suppose" because despite all else he is still a proud creature, and because. Well. He wonders if she'll walk out now that she's done that. ]
[ There's a soft huff that's blown out through her nostrils as she steps back from him, crossing her arms in front of her. Her own knuckles throbbed in a way she had been trained to ignore back as a child. But there was something about how deep the pain went that had her trying to focus on anything else.
The red thread between them glowed and seemed to pulsate in time with the throbbing of her hand. ]
What are you doing here? Let's establish that, first.
[ Loki clears his throat and simultaneously attempts to clear his mind a bit from the mix of arousal and hesitation currently swirling around in there. ]
Here as in Wakanda or here as in... [ He gestures toward the worktable. ] Trying to help is the answer either way.
[ She only realizes belatedly that she should've specified which, but his answer suffices either way. Looking at the table again - taking in all the bottles and vials and different colored fluids. ]
Help how? All you're missing here is a bubbling cauldron.
[ Her smirk might not reach her eyes (and he might be feeling some kind of way about that in particular) but his eyeroll is pretty genuinely exasperated. ]
It would be easiest if I knew anything about what you already know regarding magic; however, since that is clearly not a possibility...
[ A sigh. How to explain without being pedantic? ]
Everyone has skills. Things they believe themselves to be better at than most others they know. The magic I am working on would support those skills, whatever they happen to be; it's very broad because this is a large fight, and anything too niche, too specific, will likely not help us at all.
[ Thor and Wanda are the closest and most extensive knowledge of magic she has been exposed to. This? This is new but not hard for her to understand. ]
So... you're enhancing people's abilities?
[ She makes a sound that almost sounds impressed. Both by how he's thinking and the fact he's helping them at all. ]
[ She feels a corner of her mouth twitch at that, almost amused he was thinking almost along the lines she was. He actually does seem to be trying. ]
My reflex is to say "no".
[ She adds: ]
However, we'll need every advantage we can get for this battle, so, I will say "yes".
[ She finally looks back to him when she arrives at her affirmative answer. If it really can enhance her skill set to fight better, for longer, whatever else it does, it could only help their chances. ]
Alright. For a test, we should only use a little, so you can tell when it has begun and when it's ended.
[ He picks up a small dropper from the table and collects a few drops of liquid from one of the vials that has been set aside, a clearly completed component of this project. ]
Under your tongue would be fastest, but against your wrist will work just as well, [ He explains as he hands her the dropper. There are four drops in it, maximum. ] I'd actually be interested in hearing what it feels like, for you.
[ Natasha feels herself hesitate after being handed the dropper. But the encroaching anxiety of Thanos coming is enough to shove through her caution.
She sticks the dropper in her mouth, lips around it. She moves her tongue enough to get the drops under it. As Natasha hands it back to him, she is grateful for doing it that way. The taste of it, how little of it she can taste, is a strange combination of bitter and sweet and something else she can't describe. ]
How long does it usually --
[ Her words cut off and as it hits, feeling a strange if noticeable pull through her whole body. Senses curling inward and then expanding out, out. Her vision become sharper, colors stand out more. She can hear his breathing and people outside. The taste of rust, sand, water, and flowers enters her nose and plants itself on her tongue.
[ He nods a little, then furrows his eyebrows in thought. ]
Most recently? Nineteen-seventy-something, I think? It's best to refresh on the languages you bother to learn at least once a century, I've found, or else you come across as someone's ancient grandparent from the old country.
[ Natasha almost looks impressed at him. Almost. She doesn't want to give him too much credit, even as she flexes her arms, feeling the new power in them. Whatever he did, it seems the real deal. ]
You made it a habit of coming to Earth that often?
[ She would've assumed "never" was more his schedule. ]
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no subject
Really.
He pointedly never asked if Thor saw the red thread with Jane, and his brother never mentioned it, much to Loki's secret pleasure.
When it appears, he's distracted. Busy working on potions in an otherwise empty building, repurposed for this exact reason, in the Wakandan capital city. Potions that will keep people alive, protect them, bolster powers and abilities and give them every edge he can manage. He understands that Wakanda is a bastion of Midgardian technological advancements, that the mineral from the stars that powers its culture and technology is very impressive. That the people assembled here are going to do their best, lay their lives on the line, use every ability in their arsenal.
But it's not enough. It's not going to be enough. So he is trying his best to improve their dismal odds. He is part of this, after all. A great deal of the blame for all of this could be, accurately, be laid at his feet. And isn't he also one of these last defenders? Shouldn't he, too, use every ability at his disposal?
He doesn't notice when it appears. He notices a few minutes later, and almost ruins the table with how badly it startles him.
Well, he tells himself. If he doesn't seek out the other end, perhaps it will be fine. He can't be distracted now, it would become a literal disaster.
But he's never been good at 'perhaps'. He's always been a man of plans, of plots, of subterfuge. And advisor, certainly, but also a negotiator. He knows how to turn a thing from various edges and see how the light may catch.
Loki knows good and well that the person on the other end of that string is unlikely to ignore it as he has. At least not indefinitely.
So he adjusts the wards on the building to allow it to be accessible to the one holding the other end of his red string of fate. Makes it so they can enter, when no one else can even see the building in the first place. There's an old-fashioned bell that chimes as the door is pushed open, and Loki doesn't turn from what he's doing, waving a hand in that direction. The space before him is a cross between a mad scientist's chemist laboratory and a witch's den, full of jars and beakers and things that defy gravity via magical or technological means. ]
Give me, [ He holds up a finger. ] A minute and a half, if you please. This is very delicate work.
[ If he doesn't look, then it isn't something real, something that can hurt him, something he can lose. ]
no subject
And now, here she was, on the precipice of a battle for the Earth the likes of which none of them are prepared for, and she is following a glowing red thread to... nowhere.
Looking over her shoulder, Natasha hesitates in going forward. But she knows she has to. She has to know. Going into battle with that level of distraction was beyond stupid. Forcing her feet to move again, she pushes through the invisible barrier and startles at the sound of the bell.
She looks up at it and then inside. Her legs move her inside before stopping completely. She knows that voice, the way he looks from behind. Natasha had snuck up on him when no one else could manage, after all.
She knew Thor was here, but Loki?
Natasha makes it as far as the fifty-second mark, too stunned to form words. Until her temper finally comes through ]
Is this--is this some sick illusion of yours?
no subject
It's the Black Widow. He knows her. Knows her skills and capabilities but little of her history; it hadn't mattered, then. The last time he talked to her was New York. When he'd been Thanos' puppet, for lack of a better word.
He supposes it makes some sort of twisted, terrible sense. To the Norns, to fate. That he would lose so much and gain something so important and tenuous just as he's decided that survival is essential to more than only himself. On the eve of nearly certain destruction regardless of how he feels about it. ]
No.
[ His hands resume their movement. The smoke and the burn are ignored, for now, and Loki doesn't turn. He needs only forty more seconds. ]
It's rather difficult for me to imitate something I've never seen before. Considering the fact that no set of soulmates is alike, it would be near impossible to determine what it should even look like beyond 'red'.
[ He continues mixing, shoulders inching their way towards his ears. ]
If you choose to leave I won't follow.
[ Jury is currently out on whether or not he thinks she should. Loki knows he doesn't want her to, not really; for all its terrible timing, part of him is too pleased at the idea of having a soulmate in the first place to desire being abandoned by them.
The forty seconds are up. He sighs, rolling his neck and purposefully dropping his shoulders down before turning in her direction. ]
no subject
She wants to stay angry. She wants to turn and leave. Almost does. But the minute she faces the door out, she can't make herself open it. The anger she had felt so strongly also begins to ebb.
It was sharp and strong in the face of the revelation. But the longer she sees the thread, feels the subtle pulse of it, the warmth... She finally has something she never thought she would have. Someone she never thought would be found. Not after all the things she's done.
By the time Loki turns around, Natasha will be standing a foot in front of him. Her hair no longer red, but dyed blonde for all the time she spent running from Ross. Dressed in black, weapons still holstered on various parts of her body, and sporting the green vest of her sister, her boots didn't make a sound as she crossed over to him. They rarely do. ]
no subject
Yet there she is. And Loki decides that if she's going to remain, he may as well get a good look at her. So. He drops his hands to the side and just... looks.
What he'd noticed about her at first encounter had changed little. She's still armed to the teeth, preferring firearms (which gets a soft smirk and an eyebrow raise), poised and dangerous. It's fitting, he thinks; what use would he be to someone who wasn't also a perilous sort of soul? She's changed the color of her hair, the texture, the length; his, for what it's worth, is no longer straightened and slicked back but now is allowed to form loose curls in whatever pattern it wishes because Loki has better things to worry about than stray hairs. Still black, however. ]
I like the vest, [ He says in place of asking her about her hair. He suspects it does mean something, but he'd rather not pry or seem... too caught up in the appearance of it all.
Well. The vest is green. Perhaps it would be obvious that he'd like it. ]
I don't know what happens now, [ He admits. ]
no subject
It's good to see.
Not that she wants to admit that.
Nor does she really know where to go with this. She just has their past history to go on. And that, by itself, is what has her giving him her best right hook. Right in the face. Getting his cheek and jaw in the brunt of the blow.
Violence isn't always her first action. Usually she plans it out first before acting. But she knows, in her bones, she has to get this out before they can move on. They cannot have a future of any kind if she continues to hold onto the hurts and anger of the past.
All in all, it's a very Russian way of her to approach things. ]
no subject
Not that he's surprised by the fact that she's hit him. Not in the least. It is, honestly, fairly straightforward and even kind in comparison to what he deserves. On a broader scale.
No, he's not surprised that she does it. What surprises him is that it hurts, just as if Captain Rogers or his own brother had thrown the punch instead. He winces as he recovers, tonguing his cheek with a slight grimace, but his mind (and his libido) are both reeling from the implications.
Natasha could actually hurt him. That's kind of exciting. Is it because of who and what she is or because of who and what she is to him, now?
Does it matter? ]
Well. [ He rubs his jaw. ] I suppose I deserved that.
[ "I suppose" because despite all else he is still a proud creature, and because. Well. He wonders if she'll walk out now that she's done that. ]
no subject
The red thread between them glowed and seemed to pulsate in time with the throbbing of her hand. ]
What are you doing here? Let's establish that, first.
no subject
Here as in Wakanda or here as in... [ He gestures toward the worktable. ] Trying to help is the answer either way.
no subject
Help how? All you're missing here is a bubbling cauldron.
no subject
And I suppose in your broad understanding of magic there's no way in which any of this would be helpful, cauldron or no?
Ask better questions.
no subject
Give better answers. Maybe you'll be able to broaden my understanding.
no subject
It would be easiest if I knew anything about what you already know regarding magic; however, since that is clearly not a possibility...
[ A sigh. How to explain without being pedantic? ]
Everyone has skills. Things they believe themselves to be better at than most others they know. The magic I am working on would support those skills, whatever they happen to be; it's very broad because this is a large fight, and anything too niche, too specific, will likely not help us at all.
no subject
So... you're enhancing people's abilities?
[ She makes a sound that almost sounds impressed. Both by how he's thinking and the fact he's helping them at all. ]
no subject
[ A sigh. A shrug. ]
We'll see if it works. Do you want to try it?
no subject
My reflex is to say "no".
[ She adds: ]
However, we'll need every advantage we can get for this battle, so, I will say "yes".
[ She finally looks back to him when she arrives at her affirmative answer. If it really can enhance her skill set to fight better, for longer, whatever else it does, it could only help their chances. ]
no subject
[ He picks up a small dropper from the table and collects a few drops of liquid from one of the vials that has been set aside, a clearly completed component of this project. ]
Under your tongue would be fastest, but against your wrist will work just as well, [ He explains as he hands her the dropper. There are four drops in it, maximum. ] I'd actually be interested in hearing what it feels like, for you.
no subject
She sticks the dropper in her mouth, lips around it. She moves her tongue enough to get the drops under it. As Natasha hands it back to him, she is grateful for doing it that way. The taste of it, how little of it she can taste, is a strange combination of bitter and sweet and something else she can't describe. ]
How long does it usually --
[ Her words cut off and as it hits, feeling a strange if noticeable pull through her whole body. Senses curling inward and then expanding out, out. Her vision become sharper, colors stand out more. She can hear his breathing and people outside. The taste of rust, sand, water, and flowers enters her nose and plants itself on her tongue.
And her body feels... distinctly lighter. ]
Yebena mat'.
no subject
(But will it be enough? That's the real question, isn't it?)
He clasps his hands behind his back and smiles. ]
Ale ya ne trakhav tvoyu matir. Hopefully. [ A nosewrinkle. ] That would be a complication I would rather not have. How do you feel differently?
no subject
Confident that I could now throw you across the room if that "complication" were true.
[ Adding, jerking her chin slightly to him, ]
When did you learn Russian?
no subject
[ He nods a little, then furrows his eyebrows in thought. ]
Most recently? Nineteen-seventy-something, I think? It's best to refresh on the languages you bother to learn at least once a century, I've found, or else you come across as someone's ancient grandparent from the old country.
no subject
You made it a habit of coming to Earth that often?
[ She would've assumed "never" was more his schedule. ]