Above All Shadows [Loki Timetravel fic - Completed]

45. USS Gibraltar

'It'll be all right,' Rogers cooed. He drew his arm around the woman's narrow shoulders and led her inside the quinjet.

Loki glanced back at the scowling soldiers. Whatever phone number Rogers had memorised, Coulson hadn't been on the other end of the line. The first two times the call went unanswered. On the third, the call went straight to Romanoff and here she was thirty minutes later, in a quinjet of her own. The craft's surface, still wet from some storm-system she had cut through on the way, glistened, refracting the beams of the soldiers' flashlights. Although Loki and Rogers had warned about its arrival, the first sight of the quinjet still sent the infantry into a flurry of shouting and they hurried to take up positions. A senior officer had to shout for everyone to stand down.

The military turned even more hostile when Romanoff declared that she would be taking the injured SHIELD agent with them. Loki wasn't familiar with the peculiarities of the local legal code nor with military procedures, so he couldn't follow the trail of the discussion about the agent's fate. Romanoff, on the other hand, had a good grasp of the complexities of military policy on detention of enemy combatants. More than enough to stump the soldiers eager to keep the SHIELD agent for their own questioning. Romanoff was gracious about it, but as she climbed inside the quinjet and swept past Loki, she allowed herself a self-satisfied smile.

'Care to be my co-pilot?' she asked him. Neither her tone nor her mannerisms gave any hint of the grim task she had just returned from.

Loki considered the question, then shook his head. 'You seem to have it covered.'

'Let me know if you change your mind.'

While Romanoff brought the quinjet into the air, Loki trudged over to the bench along the right-hand-side of the jet and took a seat, stretching out his legs. The leather of his boots was barely visible beneath the muddle of dirt, some kind of white dust and specks of blood.

Midgard in all its glory.

He flicked his fingers and gasped.

'Loki?' Rogers' head shot up.

'Just remembered I had a date scheduled for tomorrow. Quite a lovely lady; I hate to stand her up.' Loki replied briskly. Inwardly he berated himself. The last time he had tangled with the mind stone, he had been left unconscious and any attempt to use magic had him hissing with pain for days. He should have anticipated that today's abuse would inflict its own damage.

Rogers seemed unable to determine whether Loki was being disingenuous or not. His hands hovered over the first aid kit he had open across his knees. 'Is there no way you can get in touch? Let her know?'

'Maybe.' Some minute muscle moved in Rogers' face, but in that barely perceptible change the squeaky-clean persona of Captain America threatened to shatter. Loki swallowed. Uncertain of whether Rogers was about to spill some deep trauma of his upon Loki or if he expected Loki to start sharing the details about his fictitious date, Loki fumbled for a change of topic. His attention fell onto the woman curled up on the bench next to Rogers. 'What was your name again?'

She had told Rogers earlier, but Loki hadn't been listening.

'Tilly,' she mumbled, barely audible.

'Did the creature with the staff say anything?' Loki asked. 'To you or to anyone else?'

'I don't remember.'

Next to her, Rogers studied the various packages that had been stuffed inside the first aid box; a dressing now soaked up the blood from Tilly's head wound, but the rest of her was still in rough shape. 'It's ok if you can't remember, but if there is something, even something you're not sure about, you need to tell us.' He ripped open the plastic around a roll of bandages and motioned for Tilly to pull back her ripped left sleeve. 'It could be crucial information.'