None of this was right. None of it. With a grunt, I swung down from the beam. My feet collided with Barton's chest. He lurched backwards, blue eyes wide. But they weren't his own. Barton's eyes were hollow and empty; there was none of the fire that I had grown to love and to know better than I knew my own reflection. It was wrong. This was wrong. We were going to kill each other.

Dropping down onto the catwalk, I threw a fist at his face. He dodged it easily and swung his bow towards my head. Quickly, I grabbed it and flung myself into a backflip, intending to drag Barton with me.

But he had seen that trick before. We had fought together so many times, and in so many different places. He may not be himself, but Barton still knew me. Barton, with his notorious reflexes, simply let go of his bow. My momentum carried me into an awkward backwards somersault and sent me skidding across the catwalk. I scrambled to my feet, muscles clenched in anticipation of a blow, but none came.

Barton had vanished.

Unleashing a mental stream of abuse against the demigod who had turned my partner against me, I backed out of sight.

How could Phil have sounded so calm, so businesslike? Barton's been compromised. I shuddered. Fury acted like nothing had happened, but those words ripped my heart out. Barton had always been at my side. Not having him... Fighting against him... Him dead... I didn't know which was worse.

I sent a curse Fury's way. It was his fault in the first place that we were caught up in this mess. A playboy philanthropist dogwalker or whatever he called himself, some labratory experiment from the 40's, and a scientist with - as Stark himself so kindly put it - anger management issues... No. They were not going to be able to pull together.

And with Barton turned against us...

Loki. I swore silently again. His brother was only slightly less annoying then that son of a—

Absorbed in my anger, I never saw the blow coming. My cheek suddenly felt like it was on fire as my head slammed into a pole. White spots danced in front of my eyes. And in my adrenaline-pumping fit of rage, I forgot that I was fighting Barton, my long-time friend and compatriot, not just some nameless goon. I was not careful. I was not cautious. It was a split-second reaction: someone had just attacked me. That someone must die.

I lashed out at my attacker with one lightning fast fist, keeping the other tucked in to guard my core. My knuckles struck home and his nose crunched satisfyingly under them. A swift kick in the knee sent him stumbling back. Leaping up, I grabbed a convenient lattice. My attacker rushed at me, but I twisted my legs around his neck and dropped down again. We both fell, but while I managed to roll onto my side, my attacker ate metal. His nose broke again, eliciting a groan from him. More adrenaline flooded my system at the sound. Dragging him up and pushing him against the yellow safety rail, I rapidly pounded his jaw and eyes and he collapsed. Then, in a fit of blind rage, I pushed him over the rail.

With a grim smile that quickly faded, I watched his body tumble down three stories to the cargo bay.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no...

Barton's body hit the floor with a sharp crack.

Stunned, I clung to the rail, staring down at the bloodied, crumpled mess that was Agent Clint Barton. The idea that I had just killed my closest companion didn't register as reality. It was an impossibility!

Grabbing a pole, I vaulted over the catwalk and, eight calculated feet later, landed on a broad beam that stretched out over the concrete floor. Bracing myself, I let my feet dangle, and then swung from the beam onto a short flight of metal stairs. I took them three at a time, almost falling when I reached the bottom, and began to sprint across the floor toward Barton.

He was lying between three crates and a bundle of piping. Blood pooled around his head, some of it still oozing from his nostrils, and his neck was twisted at such an unlikely angle that it left no doubt in my mind it had been broken.

Gasping, I knelt down swiftly beside him and touched his forehead with two fingers. There was no response. No response of any sort. He was not breathing, his heart was not beating, and I knew that he was dead.

For several minutes, I couldn't cry. I couldn't hear the voices in my earpiece. I couldn't talk, could scarcely breathe. I could only stare at him, quaking with rage and frustration.

You killed him.

You did this.

Without thinking, I yanked my pistol from my belt and fired ten rounds into the floor. Once the gun was empty, I dropped my weapon, collapsed on the pile of crates, and sobbed so hard it made my lungs hurt nearly as bad as my conscience.

This was my fault.

...No.

No. This was Loki's fault.

Crawling down from my bed of crates, I placed a hand on Barton's chest, trying not to look at his mangled face. Hot tears ran down my cheeks and splashed onto his suit. The memory of that horrible, eerie vacuum in Barton's eyes made me shudder with revulsion. After a moment, I reached gently behind his shoulder and pulled an arrow from his quiver, examining it through blurry eyes. Might this have been the arrow Barton had set to fire into my own heart? But something had stopped him. I could be dead now. But Barton was instead. It would be a fitting tribute to my marksman to bury this arrow in Loki's throat.

Tucking the arrow under my belt, I rose to my feet and surveyed the cargo hold, drawing a mental map in my head. Tears would have to wait until after I extracted revenge. I had to get to the containment cell. Fury had made the wrong decision. Loki ought to be eliminated immediately, forced to reap the consequences of the damage he had sown. Since my Clearance Level was Five, one step below the highest Clearance Level a SHIELD agent could claim, I knew I would have no problem gaining access to the cell bay...


I bent down slightly and widened my eyes, pushing a button on the wall. A red light flashed on, shining directly into my right eye. The retina scans were annoying, but they could not be worked around. The words "Agent Natasha Romanoff" flashed on the small screen beneath the scanner, and the doors slid open. Suddenly unsure of my decision, I paused, looking over my shoulder. No one knew I had come here. At least, no one important. And if they had, they would likely think Nick Fury had sent me, or something similar.

Keeping my face hard and my gaze fearless, I stepped through the doors silently, walking down the cold metal steps and slinking toward the transparent cell.

He was there. The demigod.

Loki was standing in the middle of his cylindrical prison with his back turned to me, presumably staring at the opposite wall. His hands were folded behind him, and he remained in this pose for some time, freakishly still. To all appearances, he did not move in the slightest – not even to breathe.

But he knew I was there. Somehow, he knew. A chill crept down my spine, sending liquid fear flooding through my veins. I shivered once, unable to control the reaction, and said nothing. It felt as though I had reached an invisible barrier, and could no longer force my legs to carry me further.

I jumped, feeling a sudden pulse of adrenaline as a masculine voice buzzed through my headset. "We have a breach in Level 4B! Repeat, Level 4B!"

Then another, female voice shouted, "The computers have been deactivated! The entire panel — no, starboard wing is still functioning."

"All personnel, evacuate Level 4B! We are sending in security-"

"I lost my surveillance—"

"—do you copy?"

"Level 10A, I have an alert—"

Firming my chin and staring directly at the man in the cage, I switched off the earpiece, satisfied that no one would be spying on my covert mission. Ten minutes ago I would have been disturbed by this sudden chaos, but in the wake of Barton's death, I felt strangely hollow. The only emotion that spiked through my numbness was the dull, throbbing, crimson hue that bathed the back of my eyes.

A low, sultry voice broke through the haze of red. "And why have you come?"

The words were so calm and so sudden that I could not formulate a reply. Loki turned around, letting his hands fall to his sides. The moment his gaze touched mine, I felt both a fresh wave of rage and a growing sense of vulnerability.

But that was illogical. He was the one trapped in the cylinder of death, not I, and even if the power systems were in trouble, it should remain secure.

Loki smiled. It was a heartless smile, dripping with poison and mock-sympathy.

Gritting my teeth gently, I began to traverse the remaining five feet of the metal walkway that stood between me and the cage. "Nick Fury sent me," I lied quietly, hiding my distress behind a mask of apathy. I sat down in the chair that had been placed in the middle of the walkway and put my hands on my knees, staring directly into his cold green eyes.

"Ah." Loki moved toward the dividing panel, his kilt — or skirt, or whatever it was he was wearing — bumping against his leather boots. It looked heavy, obviously made of metal and some other sturdy material. He stared down at me through the glassy wall, and it was only then that I realized how much taller he was than I. "I suppose you would like me to surrender to your feminine charms, then, and reveal the location of the tesseract."

Feeling as though I were at a disadvantage, I rose to my feet and forced a smile. His arrogant words and smug gaze served only to stoke my already-boiling anger. "No." I glared up at him, clenching my gloved fists and inhaling sharply. "Actually, I came to give you something. From a close friend of mine..."

Loki lifted his chin and raised one eyebrow, which instantly created a look of suspicion.

Only half-believing what I was about to do, I turned away and stalked slowly toward the control panel. Every step felt strained, as if my boots were made of lead. When I reached the elevated screen, I paused and turned to look at Loki. He was watching me silently, and the look on his face was both cautious and curious.

Turning back to the control panel, I let my hand hover over the lever that Nick Fury had pointed out some time earlier. One touch of that button would send Loki plummeting into oblivion. No one, god or mortal, could survive such a fall.

But the arrow I had taken from Barton's quiver pressed against my ribcage, as if in chastisement. I reached under my jacket with my free hand, touching the shaft with the tip of my finger.

"You don't want to do that."

I stiffened, caught off-guard, but resisted the pressing urge to look over my shoulder. He couldn't know Barton had been terminated. He might be strong enough for SHIELD to fear, but he was not a mind reader. Of that I was certain.

"No... I don't," I replied quietly. Lifting my hand away from the lever, I slowly withdrew Barton's arrow from under my belt with one hand, while shifting my other slightly to the left. It now rested over the key that would unlock Loki's makeshift prison.

For a moment I wavered. But the memory of Barton's mindless cruelty and bloody death cemented my decision. Clenching my jaw, I closed my eyes and pressed down on the lever. There was a low whooshing sound behind me, and then a click as the transparent sliding doors opened and locked in place.

When I opened my eyes and glanced behind me, Loki had already stepped out onto the metal walkway, his hands spread out in a friendly, disarming gesture. "To what do I owe this unexpected liberation?" he inquired, the same aggravating smirk creeping across his features as he continued to walk toward me.

I kept Barton's arrow concealed beneath my jacket and returned his smile, quaking on the inside and confident without. Remember Hawkeye's death... Hawkeye... Hawkeye... Hawkeye...

The red haze began to throb behind my eyes again, and I stared at Loki, who now appeared to be veiled in scarlet. "Your own worthiness," I whispered, revolted by my own lies. He began to ascend the stairs, his leather boots making no sound on the metal. When he was standing a mere three feet away, he stopped and looked down at me again.

"My own worthiness?" he repeated with pseudo-humility, as if savoring the words.

I gripped the shaft of Barton's arrow, and bit my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "Yes. And please accept—" I faltered, overcome with grief and hatred, but maintained my false smile. "—accept this... as a token of my regard for you."

With a snarl, I jerked the arrow out from beneath my jacket and thrust it into Loki's exposed throat. No blood poured from the wound. A strange, empty look came over his face, and before my eyes, he simply disappeared. I froze, taken aback, but before I had time to reorient myself, something grabbed me around the neck.

Stunned, I dropped my makeshift spear and reached up to grasp the arms of my attacker. They were clad in metal braces: Loki.

Now angry as well as afraid, I let go, realizing that he was the stronger. Instead of attempting to pull away, I grabbed my handgun, yanking it from the holster and aiming it over my shoulder. I fired once, but must have missed his face, because instead of letting me go, he tightened his hold. Panicking, I kicked at his knees, but somehow he evaded that as well and began to drag me backwards.

I managed to keep an iron grip on the handgun, but when I tried to fire again, the barrel was empty.

Cursing to myself, I remembered my fit of rage in the cargo bay. Wasted bullets. Releasing the pistol, I reached for the other one, but Loki wrapped one arm around my waist, pinning my left arm to my side, and grabbed my right wrist with his other hand. I strained for the gun, splaying my fingers in a vain effort to reach the holster, but Loki held firm. I was trapped. He had neutralized me, almost without even trying.

"Your friend had a heart..." he murmured in my ear, so close that I shivered. His breath felt surprisingly cold on my cheek. "Do you?"

Infuriated by my own failure, I gaped and tried to cry out for help, but my throat wouldn't open to let the air pass through. And besides that, I had turned off my headset...

Everything suddenly dimmed, and then faded to blackness.


Co-written with Alassiel.

Yay! New Fanfiction! :D What do you guys think?