Grace Somerson had been in Boston, just about to complete her training, at the time of Loki's attack on New York. She remembered watching on television as a great rent appeared in the sky above the city and countless monstrous creatures poured through, bent on destroying everything in their path. She also remembered watching images of the Asgardian in the aftermath, before he was returned to his home, with some kind of device covering his mouth. Admittedly, she'd felt a pang of sympathy for him at that point. But that sympathy had dissolved away to nothing the minute she had taken up her first job; in New York, working with the traumatised citizens Loki had left in his wake. For hours at a time during her working week, Grace sat and listened to people speak about the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear triggered by loud noises or being in the city for too long, the parts of their lives they'd had to give up because they could never escape that day, the day when Loki had crashed into the city and their lives and totally destroyed them.

Any reminder of him made her angry, furious beyond belief, both at what he'd done and at her inability to understand it or remain impartial about it. For the first time in her life she had tried to empathise with someone and utterly failed. And she had tried. She had searched for information about him, searched for some scrap of knowledge that would help her to understand him and his actions, but she had been left wanting. No, to her mind, Loki was a ruthless, power-hungry narcissist who had absolutely no regard for others and, probably, no remorse in his heart, no speck of sympathy for the people she worked with every day who were struggling to get their lives back on track after what he'd done.

She had been working with Clint Barton for a few months now, each week meeting for an hour and talking about whatever seemed helpful. Grace had found him to be a pleasant and polite, if somewhat evasive, therapy client, who seemed to shut down whenever her questions went too deep. This was one of those times. She looked at the man, who was framed by the early evening glow of a setting sun streaming through her office window, head down, staring at his hands, and sighed inwardly. "Clint, I wonder whether you find therapy so difficult at times because….maybe it feels like I'm just another person trying to get inside your head, like Loki did?"

He looked at her, and nodded. "I sometimes worry about what he saw when he was in there, y'know. I don't tell people things about myself, because it's safer that way. Safer for me and safer for everyone else."

Grace held her hands out in front of her, palms up, "Well, Clint, all I can say is that I'm definitely not a psychopathic God with intentions to enslave humanity, and I have no desire to harm you or anyone else. What you tell me here stays between you and me. I'm not reporting back to Shield. If you tell me a bit more about yourself then it might help me understand the symptoms you're having."

He looked down at his hands again, fell silent. Grace could hear the clock above the door softly ticking away their last 10 minutes. "Clint, you said that not telling me things about yourself was safer for you, but also safer for everyone else. Who were you talking about?"

"We all have people we care about, Dr Somerson. I've protected them for this long, without anybody knowing about them; not Shield, not you, not even my close friends here. It kills me that the only person who potentially does know about them is that bastard." He still had his head down, and she noticed that his shoulders were shaking slightly.

She frowned and pushed a box of tissues towards him across the desk. "It makes sense to me that you want to protect the people you care about, Clint. Whoever they are. You do a dangerous job. You're worried that Loki knows about them though, and, what, that he might be able to hurt them in some way?"

He shook his head, "I don't know, that's the thing that's so difficult. I don't know if he knows, and I don't know whether he could hurt them…."

She interjected, "He's locked up on Asgard, right?"

He stared at her then, with an intensity that she was not used to, "You've never met him. I don't know how long they can hold him for. He's cleverer than anyone gives him credit for. I've seen his thoughts, been connected to him….It's terrifying."

Grace felt a chill creep down her spine.

"The truth is, even if he does know about them, I don't know whether he'd hurt them. I think he might have a certain kind of respect for what I'm trying to do by protecting them. Sorry, I'm not making sense. Here's the thing, the other thing I saw in him when he was in control of me was this deep…..emptiness…." Clint paused and frowned, shook his head.

"Do you mean, like, a kind of loneliness?" Grace offered.

Clint shook his head again, "No, I don't think he cares much whether people like him or not. It's really more like emptiness, yeah, like a void of some kind inside him. A total lack of understanding about who he is, where he comes from and what he's meant to do. Does that make sense? And, I mean, you should know Doc, but that kind of messed up psychological shit only comes from a really difficult family life, right?" A small smile creased the corner of his mouth.

Grace peered at him, "So, this is about family, Clint? Your family? That's who you're trying to protect?"

He raised a finger and pointed to the clock, "Times up, I guess. I'll see you next week, Dr Somerson." With that he pulled himself from the chair and walked to the door, raising a hand in a goodbye gesture as he stepped through.

Grace noticed that she'd been gritting her teeth and rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease the tension she was obviously feeling. She sighed in frustration. Throughout their previous sessions, Clint had spoken of Loki only in the most negative terms. 'That bastard', 'that sonofabitch' and so on, but today Clint seemed to have found something about 'the bastard' he could empathise with, and she couldn't put her finger on what that was. She sat back in her chair, and closed her eyes. Grace felt certain that the people Clint was trying to protect were important to him, family probably, either elderly parents or maybe a family of his own. A wife and children, maybe? Clint had some fear that Loki knew about them, but something about what he'd seen in Loki during their time together made Clint unsure that he would hurt them. What could explain that? It was common knowledge that Loki had been raised on Asgard, as Thor's brother, but had recently discovered that he was in fact adopted. She didn't know whether that was the correct word for what had happened to Loki really, but she'd worked with adopted and looked after children before; had heard them talk about their feelings of rage, betrayal, sadness at being 'unwanted'. She reflected on the image she'd seen on television of the pale, dark haired man being taken away to his indefinite imprisonment, and felt a small stirring of sympathy. That was new. Perhaps Clint was right, maybe some of Loki's behaviour could be explained by his 'really difficult family life' and she had been too blinded by her loyalty to his victims to really allow herself to see it.

She shook her head, trying to clear her head of anything Loki related, and stood up glancing at her watch. 6:15 on a Friday and nowhere to go but home. She rolled her eyes, slung her handbag over her shoulder and headed to the door, flicking the light switch and locking up behind her. The building was almost empty, and only the clattering of the janitor in the store cupboard down the corridor threatened the silence as she headed to the elevator. As the door opened she was surprised to see a middle-aged man in a snappy black suit already occupying the space. Probably someone from the insurance company offices upstairs working late, she thought. She smiled at him briefly, made sure the elevator was heading to the ground floor, and waited. As was usual in such a situation, neither spoke or looked at the other again, and as soon as the doors opened the man headed across the foyer and out of the building. Grace waved to the building attendant as she left.

…..

She placed her bag down on the counter, as she made a bee-line to the half-full bottle of red wine waiting for her. Sipping the drink quietly, feeling the liquid almost instantaneously begin to relax her, she rooted through her bag for her cell phone. Her eyes landed on a small, white envelope lying on top of the other things she'd hastily crammed into her bag that morning. Running her finger over her name, which had been scrawled across the front of the envelope, she lifted the flap and pulled out a letter.

Dear Dr Somerson,

On behalf of Shield, I would like to thank you for the work you have been doing with Agent Barton, and also the work you have been doing with other people who have been so deeply affected by the events in this city over the last few months.

I have a proposal for you, which given your interests in the workings of the mind I think you will find interesting.

Please meet me tomorrow.

The letter was unsigned, and underneath the main block of writing was an address, a house in a non-descript suburban street, and a time. Grace frowned. 'Given your interests in the workings of the mind'? Seriously? And, more troubling, how was Shield aware that she had been working with Clint? She'd promised him only today that she wasn't reporting back to them and this would do nothing to help prove the credibility of that statement. Dragging her hand across her tired eyes, she gulped the rest of the wine down and placed her glass in the sink. Whatever it was could wait. Tonight there would be no more sympathy for Loki, no more Shield, no more alien empires wanting to destroy the Earth; tonight there would only be a hot shower, more wine and, if she didn't fall asleep first, some terribly trashy television.

…..

Grace could taste blood in her mouth. That meant he'd hit her again. She stared blurrily at the tiles of the kitchen floor as the next blow, a kick to her stomach, knocked the breath out of her. The dull thudding sound continued, and she knew logically that this was the sound of him continuing to kick her, but she couldn't feel anything. She'd known it from the start, she was too young, too young to get involved with someone like him, let alone marry him. Just as her parents and her friends, who were all gone now, had told her. He was manipulative and cruel towards her and she had lapped it up, enjoying the attention. Well then, in a way, maybe she deserved what she was getting now. She felt a tug at the hair on the back of her head, and suddenly she was off the kitchen floor. But it wasn't finished, because now the edge of the kitchen counter was rushing up quickly to meet her face. Or rather her face was being pushed down, by him, towards the kitchen counter. She opened her mouth to scream….

And then found herself sat up in bed, gasping for breath, drenched in sweat. She curled her knees up to her chest. Another dream about Ben. Her hands flew to her face; unconsciously checking for damage she knew would not be visible. Grace gritted her teeth in frustration, hitting the mattress with her balled up fist. How could this still be happening? How could she help people who were traumatised when she couldn't even help herself?

She pushed the sheets back, went to the kitchen to get a glass of water and sat on the couch staring at her blank television screen. Why was this happening again? She hadn't had a dream about Ben for years, but since she'd come to New York, since Loki's attack on the city, she had suffered them almost every night. Of course, she knew the answer to this question. There was something about the terror and helplessness that she saw in her clients every day that had reminded her of her own fear and lack of agency in the face of Ben's previous abuse of her. And, there was something in the cold malevolence, tinged with amusement and curiosity about how much pain he could inflict, that she could see in Loki, that reminded her so much of her ex-husband. Of course she was having nightmares about him again. She shook her head, remembering Clint's description of Loki, and she said it out loud now, aimed at the Asgardian and Ben equally, 'That bastard.'

…

Grace stared up at the house. It looked perfectly normal. A red front door, plant pots on either side of the stoop. It looked nice, a perfectly nice family home. She glanced at her watch, it was 11am. She shrugged, walked across the road, up the steps and rang the bell. After a moment or so, a man answered and he seemed vaguely familiar to her. He was tall, with dark skin, a patch over one eye. Grace searched her mind for information about why he was familiar, and also for the correct etiquette in a situation like this, but came up short. She held out her hand to him, "Hi, I'm Dr Somerson. I received a note…"

He nodded, and turned aside to allow her access to the house, "I'm glad you came. Come in."

Before her sensible side could take over and persuade her to run screaming for the hills from this strangely familiar man and their clandestine meeting, Grace stepped through the door which was promptly closed behind her. The man again held out his hand, "Please, go through, just to your left."

She pushed open the door she was directed to and entered, only to be confronted with more familiar faces. "Clint?" She gaped at the man sat on the couch. So, this was how Shield had known she was treating him. He raised a hand in greeting, looking a little awkward. Sat next to Clint was a man she also knew, but had never met; a man draped in a red cloak and armour, with long blond hair and a slightly guilty expression on his face. She nodded at him. Behind her, the man with the eye patch appeared and directed her towards a seat, "I see you've met everyone. Clint you already know. This is Thor, although I suspect you know that. I am Nick Fury, I work for Shield."

Grace swallowed heavily, "Great. And…..you all require the services of a psychologist, do you?"

Clint chuckled, whilst Fury maintained a totally blank expression, "Not really. But someone we know does. I've heard good things about you Dr Somerson. Not just from Agent Barton, but from other people you've treated. You're a specialist in trauma, and specifically in childhood trauma and attachment difficulties, am I right?"

She nodded, "Yes, I do have some specialist knowledge in those areas."

"My family needs your help." She looked over to Thor, who had spoken the last words, and for some reason she found herself dreading where the conversation appeared to be heading.

"Who needs my help?" She turned to him, willing herself to treat him with the same professionalism she would any other person who was consulting with her.

Thor grimaced and looked down at his hands, "I know that what I am about to ask will displease you. You have worked with a lot of people that my brother has hurt very deeply. I can only apologise in his place for what he did here in New York. Since he has been imprisoned on Asgard I have been worried about him."

Grace raised her eyebrows, "You've only been worried about him since then? Forgive me, but it seems someone should have had worries about him a long time before that."

He nodded, "Yes, you are right. But, Loki hasn't always been so….."

"Homicidal?" She questioned.

Thor stared at her, and she noted that there was a glint of anger in his eyes, "I am trying to right past wrongs. As you said, maybe somebody should have worried about him before this point. His current condition bothers me; he barely speaks to anyone, he has destroyed his cell, harmed himself, he is full of rage and sadness."

"Are you asking me to give Loki therapy?"

Thor nodded, smiling, "Yes, I think it would be very helpful to him."

She shook her head, "No. It's out of the question. I can't help him. Maybe you should try speaking to him yourself." She stood up, preparing to leave.

"I helped to imprison him. He will not speak to me. He neither trusts nor cares about me." Thor was also on his feet now, a desperate look in his eyes.

Grace laughed, "There's been no evidence in his behaviour that he would trust or care about me, a lowly…..what do you call us?...Midgardian. Why on earth would he want to speak to me, let alone reveal his deepest, darkest secrets in therapy?"

Fury also stood, "Believe me when I tell you that I have zero sympathy for Loki. I wouldn't even have contemplated this request if it hadn't come from Thor. If you won't do it to help Loki, and again I totally understand that, would you do it just to see whether you could?"

She stared at him, "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, "Loki is clever, manipulative, and unreadable. He lies, and he lies very well. It would be a challenge, wouldn't it, working with somebody like that? Wouldn't it feel good if you could be the one who finally understands him?"

Grace walked towards the door, tugged it open and headed to the front door, only dimly aware that Fury had followed her, "What kind of narcissist do you take me for?" She muttered. "I don't work with people just for the challenge of trying to crack them. I work with people who are genuinely struggling, who want help, who want to talk to me." She pulled the door open, staring at Fury, and at Clint and Thor who had appeared behind him, "Loki doesn't deserve or want my help."

With that she left and slammed the door behind her.