Don't own any of Marvel's stories or characters.

Set post-Avengers, inspired by the interrogation scene in the film.

So this was originally the one-shot His Obsession, and I was going to leave it at that and maybe do a separate sequel but after writing three one-shot sequels decided that it would probably be more cohesive and hopefully better as a multi-chapter fic.

I also want to say a special thank you to SharpestSatire, who got me thinking about continuing this properly in the first place.

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter One

His Obsession

He was fascinated with her.

Of all the creatures in all the words, she was the one he craved.

Not in a sentimental way, no; leave that to Thor and his human whore.

He wanted to explore her mind, meet her nightmares, caress her fears, find her reason for living and rip it away.

For she was strong, and capable, and deadly, and he was enchanted with her.

She was magnificent.

Every inch the actress, her thespian talents matched even his own, silver locking with silver when they spoke.

Which in itself was rare; after her visit during his imprisonment-and his defeat and later capture, but he chose to ignore those memories-he saw her only once more, and there had definitely been no talking, not with the infernal muzzle Thor had fitted on him, with clumsy, unwilling hands and eyes full of pain.

His had remained full of fury and hatred, fixed unfailingly on Thor's.

She hadn't been there when it was done. He was oddly relieved that she hadn't witnessed such a shameful moment; she would exploit his weakness with cruelty, just as he had hers.

He must never let her know how he thought of her, for that would surely be a weakness in her eyes.

She was a natural, and he admired her for it.

If he were sentimental-which he most definitely was not; he was a god, any human woman was below him, no matter how beautiful she may be-he might ask if she had been hurt, how many had been killed, how the Man of Iron was after his fall from the skies.

However, he was-as he had been christened by said man-"a grade one socio-psychopathic asshole," and so he said nothing, but watched her with wary eyes.

He had never before met a creature like her.

She could sneak up on him, meet his glare head-on without even a flicker of fear; she could trick him into confessions, weasel her way into his mind and refuse to leave, waiting beneath his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes, watching, always watching whenever they were open.

She hated him, of that he was certain.

No matter how excellent an actress she was, the light in her eyes, the curl of her mouth, the tightness of her shoulders all gave her away.

All because he had taken what was hers.

And perhaps because he had attacked her world…but he was more inclined to believe it was the former; she was petty and selfish, her world had been on the verge of collapse and all she had cared about was saving her Hawk.

She was perfection embodied.

He was half-expecting her to leap forward and attack him, but the rational part of his mind-and this had grown rather small since his trip down the wormhole-told him that she had control, that she would wait, that she would strike him when he least expected it.

Or at least when Thor wasn't attached to his side like a guard-dog with Mjolnir in his grasp.

He was rather looking forward to it.

She stayed a careful distance away from him, talking quietly to Thor, glancing over at him every so often.

He found he couldn't take his eyes off her.

If he was ice, she was surely fire, with her red hair and blazing eyes.

And because he knew her so well, he saw the crack appear in her mask, the falter that gave him hope.

She rose to her feet fluidly, and he felt his stomach twist at the thought of her leaving, but he knew his memories of her would be clear and truthful, for he couldn't stand the idea of forgetting one thing about her.

He gazed after her as she walked towards the door with Thor-ever the protector-beside her, never once turning back.

But she turned now, the light from the opening door highlighting her profile, and he saw her lips move.

He forced himself to concentrate, focusing only on hearing her speak one last time.

"Will he be executed?" she asked, and he felt a thrill run through him at the sound of her voice after so long in silence.

"He is a traitor and a murderer, but he is still a son of Asgard. I am certain my-our father will be lenient with him."

She nodded, and he watched her entranced.

"An eternal prison sentence then?"

Now it was Thor's turn to nod, and he could see the defeat in him.

How does it feel? he wanted to ask. How much does it hurt you?

"He is still dangerous, despite his magic being bound. He will always be dangerous," he said, and Loki hated him all the more for the misery in his voice.

"He's hurt, he's angry, and he's defeated," she said shortly. "He hates you and your father and all that Asgard stands for. He has been lied to for most of his life and it has broken him. That's enough to make anyone dangerous."

He could hear the barely contained rage in her voice, and he realised it wasn't aimed at him, none of it was aimed towards him; it was at Thor, his golden brother.

She understood him, she sympathised with him, despite all that he had done.

He was so lost in his realisation that he missed her turn to him, the light casting shadows across her face.

And as their eyes met, he could almost feel her fire in his chest, burning his heart of ice and replacing it with dancing flames, his entire body engulfed in heat.

We are the same, he thought, and he could see it reflected in her eyes, this common truth they had only just stumbled upon.

Thor said something-he wasn't sure what exactly; his mind seemed to have halted at her look-and she turned back to him, answering softly.

Released from her spell, he calmed himself, clearing his mind so as to listen once again.

But she was leaving, opening the door fully, her hand on the keypad outside ready to lock it, about to trap him on one side and her on the other.

"I don't know," she murmured, and he realised he must have missed Thor's question. "I think he just looks…sad."

And with that, she typed something in, and the door closed, leaving him alone with Thor once again.

But he didn't mind, not now, not after her.

Perhaps in the morning she would stare at him coldly-watching, always watching-and stand beside the Hawk, whispering in his ear.

But he wouldn't care about that either.

Because they were the same, and she knew it.

Deep down, she had already accepted it, and that-along with all his memories of her-was more than enough to last him until he could escape from Asgard.

He had once said that there were no men like him, and he still stood by that.

But perhaps-just perhaps-there was a woman like him.

And one day he would make her his.