Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
Total Paranoia
Chapter 1: Burning Bridges
A/N: Note that this is set three years following "Like Pulling Teeth." This also has multiple mentions of the oneshots "The Small Print," "Misery Loves Company," and "Bones," spread about within. They aren't required reading in order to understand what's going on, but they are recommended.
Today also seems to be a very fitting day to post the first chapter of this. Happy Birthday, Mr. Hiddleston!
Three years he had wandered, always moving, consistently peering over his shoulder in fear that, when breaking glass or a snapping twig sounded, one of them would appear, screeching loudly as they came to drag him away to the dark, unexplored expanses of space. It hadn't mattered where he had gone, be it the realm of the Elves or even the many cities upon Midgard, their shadows had constantly followed at his heels.
It had grown tiring, waking in the dead of night, hearing their screeching in his ears, wondering when and where the next nightmare would take place.
There was a strange comfort in the bizarre weather of the city, so long as it wasn't scorching like Muspelheim. He'd tried to stay there for a time; had only made it through about six days before the heat had all but drained him. Though it was Midgard, a realm he'd sooner forget now, there was a bit of peace in wandering the streets again and being paid no mind. He didn't like being a spectacle, though Loki had done little to prevent that in the last couple of times he'd been about. Leading an army of power-crazed aliens through the streets to drag down the planet's people, and again returning to crush them beneath the frost of the Jotunns. For a man who hated being the center of attention, Loki had all but put himself on a damned stage with a spotlight.
The rain was horrendous, comparable to even the legendary storms of Asgard. There were stories, and Loki was certain that they were true, that when the realm of the Aesir was ravaged by foul weather, the excess would fall through the cosmos and onto parts of Midgard. Perhaps that was what was going on now.
Newspapers fluttered about, having been ripped out of people's hands as they hurried after umbrellas and hats and scarves that were tossed about in the wind. The fluid dropped down on the windows, streaking across the glass and falling to the ground, leaving large puddles and causing cabs to drive through and soak people on their way past.
In a city as large as Manhattan, there weren't too many solitary places to sit and think, so he'd perched himself atop one of the buildings, content in watching the people wander about on the ground like tiny specks. Like ants. Ants that he should have been able to crush.
But they didn't matter now. Not Midgard, not Asgard, not his brother or his little friends. They were all terribly obsolete.
Three years, and, no matter where he'd stood, the Chitauri had been there, clawing their way through the barrier built at the back of his mind. And as the storm raged, and the lightning scratched its way across the sky, Loki tugged the collar coat tighter, thought that this couldn't be anything but an ill omen.
"If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain."
They would come for him, and they would find him. And, Thanos, one way or another, would destroy him.
# - # - # - #
They'd gone back and forth between the desert and the city for quite some time. More often as of late, though Thor couldn't say that he was particularly adverse to the journey. He didn't like leaving Darcy and Erik behind all the time, so the god was nothing short of thrilled that they'd come along this time, but it was always a welcome sight to see his friends, to see the Avengers, waiting for them at the airport. It had been some months since the last time they had all come together like this, and, though they were very much the same, some things had clearly changed.
Pepper had the light gleam of joyous tears in her eyes as she embraced him and Jane, and Tony, still dressed to the nines and wearing those ridiculous dark sunglasses though they were indoors, held a tiny little blanket far closer to the shoulder of his suit jacket than he probably wanted to. The man made a face as Thor looked his way and gave him a stern stare. The god only smiled, biting back the laugh that was sure to roll off his tongue at any moment. It seemed that Pepper had gotten her wish after all, and she beamed, taking the baby from Tony's arms and turning him to face Thor.
The thunderer stared into the tiny face, big blue eyes looking back at him as the little, toothless mouth opened. Thor lifted a hand, poked the baby's small fingers and flinched, almost afraid that he'd break the child into little pieces. But the baby, whose name Pepper had proudly told Jane was Bradley, only smiled and cooed, slapped Thor's arm with a squeal as he wriggled in his mother's arms.
Four months old, Pepper had said, and her son already had a better attitude than his father.
"He vomits," Tony said simply, utterly killing the sweet sincerity of the moment. He made a face as though he'd swallowed something sour. "All the damn time."
Pepper nudged him, forced the baby back into his arms with a smile. "And that," she said, "is why I have you on cleanup duty."
"Uh, I'm sorry, but Daddy has a business to run. Not to mention people to save."
Thor smiled, hid the expression behind a hand as Pepper turned, placed the baby back in his arms, and began pushing the man towards the luggage belt. "Yes, but there haven't been many people to save, Tony." She smiled at the baby who peered at her over Tony's shoulder. "And that's why Daddy does what Mommy says. Isn't that right?"
Bradley smiled and cooed.
The god looked back at Jane who walked side by side with Bruce and Erik, discussing in depth the various theories that he couldn't understand without a very simplified explanation. It made him happy to know that she had been easily accepted by the group, that Jane had become a part of their team in an instant, had found friends who cared for her the way they did for him. His blue eyes turned to the sound of a laugh and couldn't help staring at Darcy as she plastered herself to Steve's arm, began peppering him with questions about the various standpoints of the politicians of his day. Though the man had always been a bit bothered by the fact that he had come out of the war alive while his friends hadn't, he seemed genuinely pleased to see that someone actually cared about talking about the time he was familiar with.
His head turned further, expecting to see the two silent members of the group, and realized that they were nowhere to be found. Thor frowned, turned to Tony in time for the baby to be placed in his arms as the billionaire began loading up a luggage cart with their things.
"Where are Natasha and Barton?" he said, failing to notice that Bradley had taken to drooling on his sleeve.
Tony made an aggravated sound, a sigh, and turned slowly around. He forced a smile and placed both hands on Thor's shoulders.
"For the love of God," he said, "don't talk about them. Please. I'm begging you, Sparky. You're better off not walking across that bridge." The glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and Tony's eyes widened. "It's about to burn."
# - # - # - #
"Well, excuse me, but I didn't think I was required to tell you everything about my social life. You're not my mother, Clint."
Natasha folded her arms and leaned back against the counter top. They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen, the kettle on the stove quivering as the water began to boil over from the spout and spill on the burner. It was like a freaking movie, what with Clint pacing about the room, eyes darting from one glass on the counter to the other, as though he'd reach out at any moment and knock them to the floor. It was getting to be ridiculous, particularly in the past few months. Really, it hadn't been a steady relationship for a while. Not since Clint had found out about the event three years earlier that hadn't even been her fault. It wasn't as if Natasha could change her face, her appearance, wear an unappealing exterior and save all the beauty for Clint at home.
Things just didn't work that way, and Clint was a child for expecting them to.
He had really blown up over finding out that, while he'd been out of town on assignment earlier in the year, Natasha had taken to playing games with the God of Mischief. Of course, she'd tried to keep the worst from him, but what with his overreacting and imagination, it hadn't done any good. Clint had figured everything out on his own, and without her having to explain or say a word.
"Just friends?" Clint repeated, a bitter look on his face. Natasha immediately regretted having used those words in her defense. They never did any good. Not to mention how often they were overused on television and in the movies. That, and Loki was more of an ass, and enemy, than anything else. "How can you say that with a straight face?! Do you think I'm stupid?!"
The assassin cocked her head to the side and raised her brows. "Really, Clint? You're asking me that now? What do you think I'm gonna say? That you're not a fucking idiot for screaming in my face about this?"
He scowled and stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall, leaving Natasha to the company of her own thoughts. She hadn't meant for it to go that far. In fact, she'd hoped that Loki would come back again so she could get rid of him, keep the god from continuously bugging her and bringing about a sense of general unease. She'd wanted to lure him in so she could kill him, not push Clint away and wreck everything.
Not a great plan.
Clearly, he was going to leave. Natasha sighed, reached into the cupboard for a glass and poured herself a bit of wine. Fine, she thought. Let him go. He'd come back just as many times as he'd walked out and, if she knew Clint Barton, which she did, this wouldn't be any different. She took a slow drink, didn't bother to turn and look at him as he stopped by the front door and pulled on a coat. Best to let him cool off, pretend he didn't exist for a while. It was damn certain that he'd be doing that himself.
She heard him move, heard the door slam hard as he walked out with what he could carry, probably his bow and arrows above all else, and set the glass back down as his footsteps disappeared.
"Stupid bastard," Natasha muttered.
And she wasn't talking about Clint.