5

[soldierly]

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Fill: A Little Birdie (2/3)

[hermione_vader]

Loki comes back. Loki keeps coming back whenever he has a free moments in between checking things off his evil overlord list (probably filled with stuff like "Make all of Mount Rushmore look like me" and "turn that Mexican crater into a caricature of my dad") or whatever he does when he isn't ordering Clint and the other minions around. He pours out his "woes" and swears Clint to secrecy. Apparently, most of his issues go back to being adopted and not told about it until recently, which would make Clint roll his eyes if it weren't for the mini-Loki glaring in his head, preventing any rebellious moves. He feels a little bad for Loki when he starts talking about his plans---the plans that aren't really his anymore---and his mysterious anonymous bosses. Those are the moments when his skin looks palest, his hair greasiest, his armor shabbiest, and he really appears sort of lost.

"Do you have any siblings, Clint?" Loki asks, sprawling out on the floor near the weapons.

Clint glances at him and shrugs. Then he focuses on changes his bow's strings.

"I have one. An older brother. Ever the preferred child, despite my parents' claims. Older, stronger, more charismatic..."

The blue inside Clint surges up into his mind. "Big, blond, and beautiful. Hammer fetish. Landed in New Mexico a little while back."

"Yes, that's definitely him."

He counts up the arrows. "We crossed paths for a little bit. They wanted me to take him out, until they didn't."

"It would take more than one of your arrows to bring him down. He's a fighter, my brother. He most likely came out of the womb prepared for battle, cape and all. He's not the cleverest, but his charm never fails to save him. It's a natural gift of his: people love him the moment they meet him. He's never had to cultivate anything. He's simply blessed."

Clint looks back to see Loki's feet stuck up in the air and his face twisted into an annoyed smirk. "And you hate his guts for it."

"Yes, I certainly...I envy him. Do you know how many hours of practice a day it takes to master spell-casting? Compared to learning to throw a hammer in the right direction? He simply doesn't apply himself and yet he's lauded for his mere existence!" The soles of Loki's feet slam onto the wall. "But I cannot hate him. I can hate how he's favored, but not him. As I said, he's very charming, oafish though he may be. And by the time I fell, he had finally started to turn into a good man." Loki turns his head so Clint can only see long spines of greasy black hair. "I can respect that, even if I cannot follow. But if I cannot be a good man, then I shall be a great one. Even he could appreciate that, though he would tell me I was silly."

"Uh, couldn't you just tell him all of this in person? You're not doin' much good telling me."

"No. I have taken steps down certain paths that would most certainly disappoint him. It is also best to keep my distance in case I anger certain parties. I would protect him from any threat, if only to keep him for myself."

Clint picks up his bow. "Kinda like how the Joker thinks he's the only one who's allowed to kill Batman?"

Loki sticks his feet up in the air again and stares at Clint. "I have no idea who those men are. Warriors of little consequence, I assume."

Clint just shrugs again. Not worth the argument.

Loki forces himself up and straightens his armor. "I am very lucky to have you, Clint."

Loki crosses over to where Clint stands, slips two fingers under Clint's chin, tilting his head upward, and kisses him. The blueness urges Clint to lean into it, so he does, even as another, more distant part of him screams that he should run away. It's a pretty good kiss, as far as these things go. And when Loki pulls back, half of Clint is relieved, and the other half (which isn't entirely blue) isn't sure he should have let go.