A Dish Best Served Cold

AN: So! I've done fun, I've done angst, I've done hurt/comfort… Time for a little action story. And maybe some of everything else, as well. The usual disclaimer about not making money off the story applies.

OOOOOOO

"What's your interest in Peter Parker?"

"That's my business."

"Wrong answer."

"Sorry."

"What possible interest could you have in a fifteen-year-old boy?"

"That's my business, as well."

"Why would you attack him?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you."

"We can keep him. As long as we want to."

"We can turn him into a fountain."

Loki sat on the stone seat, lost in thought, his sharp features made even sharper by the scowl that practically cut his face in two while he brooded; fury coursing through his veins like a fire that couldn't be quenched by water, wine or time. The Avengers were so smug. The wizards, even more so. They'd caught him off guard and had managed to get lucky enough to trap him in one of their ridiculously simple spells. Then had mocked him. They had dared to mock him. Him. A god. More powerful than anyone. Destined for glory and thwarted at every turn. It burned like nothing else could.

The Avengers would pay. The wizards would pay. Arrogance was the prerogative of the gods. It was intolerable that mere mortals had seen him defenseless. Even more galling that they were the reason for it. But they would pay. Of course they would. It was only a matter of time.

And he knew just the way to hurt them all in one single blow. It was so simple. They all loved the boy. The Avengers. The wizards. Even his mockery of a god brother had reduced himself to the level of side show to entertain the boy at – of all things – a birthday party. The boy was the way to their hearts. The best way to cut them all to the quick. To hurt them more than they would be able to bear.

The only problem was the protections on him. Not created by the boy. He was weak. Loki had met him and had seen into his mind before the protections had been put in place. Almost certainly put there by the wizards. If he could find a way around the protections, the boy would die, and they would all fall to their knees. Where they belonged. Again, it was simply a matter of time. He was excellent at solving problems. And taking care of annoyances.

He smiled, imagining the sorrow, the helpless anger, and the pain that he would cause them all. It was almost intoxicating. He just needed the right time – and the right circumstance.

OOOOOOO

"Do I even want to know what you're doing?"

Peter looked over at the door to his quarters and smiled when he saw that Natasha Romanoff was standing there, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her breasts watching him with an amused smile on her lovely face. Since he'd left the door open, he couldn't complain about the invasion of his privacy, and he grinned at the absurdity of having been caught with the front of his shirt pulled up, staring at his bare belly and chest.

"Check it out, Natasha," he said, looking down at himself.

She frowned and uncrossed her arms, pushing off from the doorframe and walking over to stand in front of him. She looked at his bare chest, skinny enough that all his ribs showed, even though she knew he ate with the typical enthusiasm of a teen aged boy.

"What am I looking at?" she asked, curiously.

He pointed at his chest.

"Right there. See it?"

Romanoff frowned, squinting.

"The freckle? Think we ought to have Stephen look at it? Maybe make sure it's-"

"Beside the freckle," Peter told her, pointing.

"What is that?"

"A chest hair," he told her, proudly.

"No…" she hid her smile and made a show of ending over and taking a closer look. "I think it's just dirt or something."

"Nope. I checked."

He was practically beaming.

"You're too young to have a chest hair," she told him, reaching for the hair and yanking it out.

Peter yelped.

"Hey!"

She gave him an innocent look.

"What?"

"It took me 16 years to grow that thing. You could have at least let me take a picture of it. Who knows how long it'll be before the next one makes an appearance."

Romanoff held her hand up, smiling.

"Now I'll have something to take with me to remind me of you while I'm gone."

She made a show of putting it in her pocket, and Peter shook his head, ruefully, and put his shirt down, rubbing his chest, slightly.

"Why aren't you taking the jet?"

"Because it's a vacation, Peter. The jet is for work, not play."

"I play in it all the time."

"I know." She smiled, and hugged him. "Stephen and I are going to do our vacation the old-fashioned way. No jets and no magic. Just a slow cruise ship through the Gulf of Alaska and some down time together."

Peter knew the itinerary; he'd helped Tony and Pepper pick it out. The cruise was a thank you gift from Tony and Pepper to Stephen and Natasha. Stephen Strange because the man spent a lot of time taking care of Peter whenever he was sick and injured, and Natasha because she was Peter's first teacher when it came to all things self-defense – and keeping himself safe. Besides, it would be crazy to send Strange on a cruise by himself when everyone knew how he felt about Natasha – and they deserved a vacation.

"I'll miss you."

She kissed his forehead.

"I'll miss you, too. It's only a week, though. We'll be back in no time."

"And you'll bring me a souvenir?"

"You know I will."

"Not a t-shirt, though," he added, smiling.

Romanoff let him go. He knew her too well.

"When is the field trip starting?"

"The bus should be here in an hour or so."

"Are you excited?"

He shrugged.

"Not really. Ned and MJ have already been here. The rest will be interested – who wouldn't be? But it's a little like showing off, you know? This is where me and Ironman hang out when he's not saving the world. This is where Captain America and I play video games."

"This is the bed I sleep in with Black Widow every now and then…"

Peter grinned.

"No one would believe me if I said it."

"And I won't be here to confirm or deny it."

"Yeah."

"Help me carry my bags?"

"Sure."

They walked next door to her quarters, and Peter saw that she'd packed two suitcases. One was larger than the other and he picked it up, easily, leaving the much smaller carryon bag for her.

"When is Doctor Strange supposed to be here?"

"Any time. We'll drop these off at my car and then go have some breakfast while we wait for him."

"I could drive you guys to the airport."

She smiled.

"Yes. You could. But your friends are coming, and you need to be a proper host and be here when they show up. I'll park my car in the extended parking at the airport – that way it'll be there when we get back. In case we arrive early, or late. No one will have to wait for us – and we won't have to wait for them."

"I wouldn't mind waiting. You know that."

She brushed her fingers against his cheek, her smile telling him that she knew he wouldn't.

"Next time."

"Okay."

Of course, maybe next time he'd get to go, too.