dreamsofpoison | for halfassed

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for halfassed

Just how and why Loki was back on Earth was a mystery. There had been no communication from Thor any Asgardian representatives. It wasn't obvious that Loki was back, in fact, his presence could have gone unnoticed if not for, well, mischief.

He'd somehow taken something belonging to one Clint Barton. Something very dear to him. His bow. Said bow now sat on a mantel above the fireplace in his current residence. It was a stone and log cabin. Lodge would be a more appropriate description. Logs make up A frame structures to support the roof. They also provide an excellent place to suspend someone from. Which inevitably happened when Barton followed the little trail of bread crumbs to find his bow and ultimately, Loki.

He's suspended near the fireplace, which is lit. Turned so he can see his bow sitting there on the mantel. He's hung high enough his toes barely brush the ground and apparently Loki took great care in securing his wrists in a specific type of cuff. The kind that would ensure he could keep him there for quite some time without much damage to his hands or wrists. He was stripped of his weapons and all his clothes save for his pants. Hence why he choose the beam close to the fire. It was the dead of winter outside.

As for Loki himself, he stood by the window, watching the snow fall and waiting for the subtle signs his captive has awoken. He's far removed from the armor and leather of before. Instead he's in simple mortal clothes but they still had a certain Loki-esque flair to them.

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Oh, Loki shouldn't be having this much fun. He laughs again. "How charming," he comments. It is tempting to make a bird joke. "But I am afraid I must insist."

He brushes one of his bitten fingers over Clint's lips, smearing some blood in its wake. He is asking for another bite but that seems to be the idea.

One doesn't come. Clint's not an idiot, he's not going to fall for it that easy.

But his tongue flicks out. Brushes his lip. Seems he wants more of a taste of that blood -- he likes the thought that he's wounded Loki, broken his skin, exposed a part of his insides to the light. He bleeds red, just like every other fucking person on the planet.

He runs his fingers over his lips again. This time, he tries to part them but not push between his teeth. If he has the key still and is concealing it, how much will he allow to keep it concealed?

Time for misdirection. "Oh, yes. Gods can bleed. Do you enjoy that thought, Barton?"

He jerks his head away. "I've seen you bleed before." Not much, of course. Loki tended to get banged around and stand up with his hair maybe a little messy. But after the Hulk -- after the Hulk, there was blood.

Screw this. Loki's about to find the key. Loki's not an idiot, either.

So his elbows bend and he spits the key into his hand, twisting it to the lock. C'mon, c'mon, turn, you damn thing, turn...

"Not much," Loki corrected.

He steps back abruptly when he tries to free himself. Yet again, he laughs. Like luring him here was the best decision of his life. Or at least, the most entertaining. Then the bow is back up and drawn taut. This time there is an arrow. He waits for Clint to notice then says, "Do continue. Slowly."

...well, Clint's going to go ahead and take him literally. There's always the chance that Loki's just taunting him, that he's saying do continue and actually meaning stop right there, but Clint has always been a letter-of-the-law kinda guy. He continues right on, leisurely as you please, and if Loki's going to shoot him, go right ahead.

"Sure thing," says Clint.

If he isn't stopped, he'll release the cuffs and let his weight rest on the balls of his feet, easing his shoulders into a stretch.

He did mean it literally. His aim remains trained on him as he lowers himself. "You are free to go," he tells him, "Though I will be keeping this."

Sorry, Clint. He and your bow really have something special going on here.

After a pause he adds, "And your clothes."

"No," says Clint. "You won't."

Statement of fact. You want him to be embarrassed, Loki? Humiliated? He's not ashamed of his body, and he's not afraid of you.

"I'm pretty sure you're not gonna shoot me anyway," says Clint. "If only you had your glowstick, you could get what you really want." He just has to push, until Loki goes unstable, goes erratic. Then it's up to Clint to try and get out before Loki can fuck him up too badly.

Yeah. Great plan.

Loki knows instinctively what he's doing. Trying to press him until he cracks. It would be an good plan if he knew the right buttons to press. Unfortunately, Clint picked the wrong one.

His aim changes abruptly and he lets the arrow go. He aims for his arm. Provided Clint didn't do anything stupid, it shouldn't hit anything vital.

"Could I?" he asks whimsically in the aftermath.

Clint goes down like a sack of rocks. Little grunt of pain as he lands on his ass, as some of the air is forced out of his lungs. It's deeply, truly painful, but he guesses he should probably just be grateful that wasn't a poison tip or an explosive tip or something equally creative from his quiver. Just an ordinary arrow.

"Should've gone for the leg," he says, tightly. "I'm not much good when my arm's out of commission." He's dripping blood onto the floor, but he's as controlled as he can be. In fact, he becomes more controlled when he's wounded.

That seems to amuse him, the critique of location. He sets the bow aside on the mantel. He turns to carefully and steps closer. He lets out a put out sigh. Such a mess to clean up.

He stoops and hooks an arm around his good one to pull him back to his feet. "Do try not to pass out," he says and points him toward a chair to sit in. Whether he sits or not Loki leaves him. A second later he tosses something at him, a dishtowel.

"I had hoped I not need to use this," he comments as he opens a box on the table.

"Right. So sorry for making you shoot me."

His eyes are on the bow, not on Loki. He wants it back. He wants it in his hand, even if he can't shoot. He feels like a bird without wings, hopping around aimlessly.

Loki comes back with what passes for an Asgardian First-Aid kit. It's still obviously a First-Aid kit however. He pulls up a chair and surveys the damage done by his arrow.

"You did quite well with the key," he offers in a sort of praise but no apology.

"Thanks a billion."

Loki's never treated him before. The few injuries he sustained in service he patched up himself, and none of them were really major enough to worry about. Bruises and bumps. He's not looking forward to having Loki's hands on him, mostly because, secretly and contradictorily, he's kind of looking forward to having Loki's hands on him. He kind of wants to go to his knees and kiss Loki's hands and proclaim love.

It's a thoroughly weird urge, and Clint can only assume that Loki didn't bother to take all the furniture and knick-knacks when he moved out of Clint's head.

"Should've done a pre-nup," he says. "I get the bow in the divorce, you get all that shit you put in my head. Would've worked out for both of us. Now we're just going to have to get lawyers, and fight over the kids, and it'll be a big mess."

Edited 2012-08-22 21:50 (UTC)

Loki actually has quite a bit of experience patching up idiots. You gain it quickly by growing up with someone like Thor. "This will hurt. Immensely," he warns. His attention first is on the arrow head. Luckily it can just be screwed off and discarded. He grabs Clint's hand on the uninjured side, puts a wad of cloth in it then guides it to his arm. Next he holds out a piece of wood Clint can bite down on. He waits to see if he'll accept it before doing more.

He doesn't take it.

"This is not my first time."

A little chuckle and he sets the piece of wood aside. "Well, then," he says smoothly. He grips the shaft firmly then pulls it free in one swift motion.

It's tossed aside immediately. Loki then picks up a couple packets of something out of the kit. One with some sort of dry powder and the other with liquid. The powder spreads into each side of the wound then he adds the liquid to each side. It has the double effect of sterilizing the wound and closing it but not healing it. He did have something that would heal it completely but he wasn't going to waste it on such a minor injury.

Getting real tired of Loki's laughter, but he grits his teeth and ignores the scream of agony from within his arm and then -- yeah. Much better. He figured there was some kind of magic in there.

"I know it," he says, and he twists in the chair, and punches Loki as hard as he possibly can right in the nose.

His logic is as follows: Loki has magical healing things.

Loki knew he had magical healing things when he shot Clint.

Thus, Clint's original hypothesis was correct, and Loki doesn't actually want him injured. As such, Clint can deck Loki one in the face without risking his own actual neck.

it remains to be seen if his theory is the correct one.

Yes, Loki has magical healing things but not a lot of magical healing things! He doesn't want to waste them!

Anyway, punching him in the face nearly knocks him out of his chair. It's a bloody nose at least, if it isn't broken. His intimidate reaction is to punch him back. Just as hard. Then he holds his hand to his nose, feeling for anything broken.

Already dodging, over here, because who stays in the same place after they punch someone? Meaning it knocks him on the cheekbone, which probably hurts Loki's hand more than it hurts Clint, though hurts Clint more than a little bit. Yeah, that's gonna bruise.

"So let's talk," he says. "What do you want?"

He's just gonna take a minute to stop the flow of blood from his nose. A mortal's body really leaves much to be desired. So easy to injure. Granted, stripped of his powers he was still very durable despite his appearance.

He gets up, it's obvious his temper is flaring but he's directing it inwardly. He takes the kit and puts it away. He won't be using it on himself for such minor injuries.

"You should not have any remnants within you," Loki says, "When the scepter was destroyed and the Tesseract taken from this realm any ties would be shattered." He sounds oddly offended. He is, in a way.

'Offended' is a pretty normal response when someone punches you in the face. Clint'll go ahead and accept that as a probable reaction.

"Then why are you here?" he asks. "Why do you give a damn?" There's this funny thing about humans, in that remnants tend to stick around. Memories, bits of traumas, little tics and habits that never got wiped away. Loki's never going to get scrubbed completely out of Clint's brain, much as he might hope for it.

He stands with his arms crossed, watching the blood flow. Loki's not stopping it the right way. Clint could treat it better. He's had his share of nosebleeds.

"Besides," he says, "if you stick a screwdriver in someone's skull and then take the screwdriver away, there's still a hole. You didn't exactly leave me in mint condition." He's mad about this. So deeply, truly angry that it seems pointless to express it. His rage would be enough to level cities. About all he can manage is breaking Loki's nose. Why even try, anymore?

He just looks at him like he asked the most idiotic question in the world. Loki thought it was obvious, well, in his head he thought it was obvious but he hadn't done much speaking to anyone but himself lately.

"I have not returned to this realm by choice," he snaps. The little outburst got the blood flowing again. He mutters a curse and brings his hand back up to stem the flow.

And somehow, another chuckle gets out. Oh, the hole in his own skull must be truly impressive then. Not that he would admit that one out loud.

"Oh, you were far from 'mint' when I got to you," he points out bitterly. "You were a killer before, you merely changed masters."

"I didn't ask why you were here on Earth, I asked why you came looking for me." Because apparently that wasn't clear enough. Clint has to get used to the fact that he and Loki aren't focused the same way anymore. They can't read everything about each other. It feels like a catastrophic rift in communication, actually, and that beyond sucks.

"And I was my killer," he says. It comes out a little petulant, like an eight-year-old -- but that was my crayon. Any he wasn't really his own, anyway. He just hadn't been Loki's. And he'd never learned what unconditional love really felt like.

For fuck's sake. That nose is getting really distracting.

Clint pulls his pants on, not bothering with the underwear, and steps into the kitchen. Comes out with a towel, and he attempts to pull Loki down into a chair, standing behind him.

"You're doing it wrong," he says, and he tilts Loki's head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose tight. Almost painfully tight.

Loki did understand his questions he just didn't want to give the answers. Certainly not after being punched in the nose. Maybe when his mood was better he would be more cooperative. He makes an indignant noise in response to Clint's childish claim of ownership.

He shoots him a glare when he nears him. He does not look sure he should trust him that close and its obvious he's looking for any concealed weapons. So it takes a bit of urging to get him down in the chair. But once there, there is a calming familiarity with his touch that makes him still and put up with it.

And if for some reason Clint decided to snap his neck, the look on the All-Father's face would be worth such an idiotic demise.

"Ow!" Well, he is going to complain a little.

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