A Part Of You, A Part Of Me
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warnings: Violence, explicit, dark themes. Two instances of old-fashioned bad language.
Pairing: Loki/Natasha
'You pretend to be separate, to have your own code. Something to make up for the horrors, but they are a part of you, and they will never go away.'
- Loki, Avengers Assemble
Natasha's arms burned with the strain of holding up the sceptre, forcing it through the energy field protecting the tesseract. Her entire body ached in a way that it hadn't in years. No fight, torture or training regimen had ever made her feel like this.
Horror briefly overcame the pain as she saw Stark fall through the shrinking portal, only to be caught by Banner. With a sigh of relief, she dropped the sceptre, letting her knees fold until she hit the gravel roof of Stark Tower.
"You alright there, Agent?" Erik asked, his own voice tired, strained by his ordeal and the head wound currently leaking blood. There were deep circles under his eyes.
Natasha forced down her fatigue, ignoring the pain as she had been trained long ago, and stood.
"Fine. Dr Selvig, are you injured anywhere else?" she asked, about to go and check him over, when a horridly familiar figure appeared behind him.
Dressed in his tarnished armour, that tattered emerald green cape flapping wildly in the wind on the rooftop, his dark hair matted and askew, his pale skin marred by several cuts.
Loki.
His eyes burned with a feral rage, and he bared his teeth in an animalistic, anticipatory grin when he saw her. Before she could so much as shout a warning, he shoved Dr Selvig aside, the force propelling the unfortunate scientist over to the other side of the roof, once again knocked unconscious as his head came into contact with a ventilation shaft.
"Guys! Need some help up here!" Natasha yelled into her comms unit, backing away. Physically she knew she was no match for the God, so she needed to evade him until backup arrived.
She held up the sceptre between them, almost defensively, but Loki just laughed, shaking his gaunt head.
"That will no defence against me," he growled, holding out one hand. As if pulled by an invisible rope, the sceptre was yanked out of Natasha's hands and into his. His smirk was almost enough to make her want to punch him really hard in a particular area, except she was almost paralysed by the predatory look in his eyes.
"It's over, Loki" she called, tauntingly. Her every instinct told her to shut up and avoid provoking him, especially with Steve's voice in her ear belligerently demanding what she was doing. But, memories of their confrontation on the helicarrier, in the detention block, of Clint's pain, Coulson…she just wanted to hurt him. "Your army is destroyed, the tesseract disabled. Your plans have failed! You failed!"
But he didn't even flinch, his smile turning to pure evil as he eyed the retreating Black Widow. "Well, there is always the consolation prize," he murmured silkily, and Natasha tensed. She pulled out one of her guns, firing uselessly at the nearly invulnerable God, who just smirked as the bullet holes faded as quickly as they appeared.
With barely a bend of his knees, he sprang for her and Natasha's human reflexes, tired after such a protracted fight, were no match for his. She felt the handle of the sceptre slip behind her back, shoving her forward into his chest, where he spun and pinned her to him, unable to escape. Her body, her greatest weapon, was useless.
Still, she struggled anyway. Loki's laugh was a huff of air in her ear.
"Don't bother, Agent Romanoff," he hissed. "You're not winning this battle."
The familiar sound of repulsors momentarily brought hope to Natasha, as Tony, battered, his face plate missing, and visibly weakened, appeared over the lip of the building.
She heard a roar, and guessed that Banner wasn't far away.
"Ok, reindeer games," Tony called warningly. "Just let Agent Romanoff go, and you won't have to get any more smashed up than you already are."
"Now, where's my incentive to do so?" Loki replied, still in that quiet, silky, deadly voice that was sending shivers down Natasha's spine. "Holding Agent Romanoff in my arms is quite…pleasurable."
Natasha ground her teeth at that. Her curves, shown too well to advantage in her combat suit, were tightly pressed against his body where he held her tightly to prevent her attack or escape.
"Let her go, you perverted son of a-" Clint's angry voice echoed from Tony's inbuilt communications unit, and Loki merely chuckled cruelly.
"Tell me, Agent Barton, did you feel anything when you killed, ooh, must have been at least twenty men while in my service? I am rather curious to know if my power rendered you complete blind or if you were aware," he called tauntingly, and Natasha closed her eyes.
"You disgusting-" she hissed, but Loki's arm abruptly tightened around her neck, cutting her off as her oxygen supply.
"Careful, my little spider. It's not wise to insult one who holds your life in the balance," he whispered in her ear, his voice still so cool, so controlled despite the defeat staring him in the face.
Tony's jaw hardened, his eyes sparking with anger, but his voice was cool as he raised his arm. "For the last time, Loki, let Agent Romanoff go!"
"Ooh, so very feisty, is he not?" Loki laughed. "But you cannot fire without harming Agent Romanoff along with me. Do not try to bluff me, mortal. It does not work."
"Stark, just do it!" Natasha managed to blurt out weakly, until Loki's arm around her neck tightened once more.
"Hush, little girl," he told her. "Now, I think I shall take my leave. Follow me, and Agent Romanoff will be harmed. Good day, Mr Stark."
Tony's eyes widened as the blue orb in the centre of Loki's sceptre glowed, and Natasha swore she could feel the sudden rush of power.
"Brother! NO!" Thor's mighty roar echoed across the rooftop as he, Barton, Captain America and Hulk smashed through the roof access door just in time to see Loki and Natasha fade from sight, the tesseract with them.
Natasha awoke, cushioned on something soft and warm. She blinked, as her fuzzy vision coalesced into that of a stony ceiling, jagged and uneven. She remained still but limp, regulating her breathing.
She stretched out her senses, listening for Loki, or any sign of movement. There was none.
Carefully, she sat up, her head complaining for a moment until she determinedly pushed out the pain, ignoring it. She was in a cave of some sort, the air cool but not icy. Light came in from a fissure, and she glimpsed mountains and forests. If she had to take a guess, she'd have said Canada, having undertaken several assignments for SHIELD in that part of the world.
To her surprise, the soft and warm thing she had been lying on was Loki's cloak. Of the God himself, there was nothing to be seen.
Quickly, Natasha took a mental inventory. Her guns were gone, no surprise, as were her 'stings'. Apart from general fatigue, a few bruises, cuts and scrapes, and hunger and dehydration, she was unharmed. Her comms unit was gone, but she had a tracker inserted in the skin under her right arm. SHIELD would be coming even now.
Unless Loki had removed it. But she could still feel the slight lump under her skin, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet. The cave was bigger than she'd thought, stretching back, away from her, several hundred feet into the rock.
Silently, she moved forwards, towards the opening of the cave. Outside, the sky was tinged orange with the sunset. On any ordinary day, she'd have admired the sight, rare as it was for her to have the time to do so.
Today was not an ordinary day.
She had only a split second's warning, a ripple of air displaced against the nape of her neck, but it was enough. She turned and drove her fist towards the face of her kidnapper.
It was caught and held in a grip of iron. Natasha grimaced slightly as her knuckles complained at the hard, icy palm they had just smashed into, but she defiantly met Loki's glittering green gaze, an amused smirk playing around his lips.
"Agent Romanoff," he inclined his head politely, as if they were meeting by chance in the street. "So glad to see you on your feet."
"Can't say I return the sentiment," Natasha snapped. Loki chuckled.
"I see you live up to the stereotype of your hair colour," he replied, as she yanked her fist away. Eyes narrowed, Natasha stood stock still, before she turned and spun, her long, lithe leg lashing out hard enough to knock most assailants into next month.
Loki didn't even flinch, just caught her ankle and pulled, throwing her onto her back. "Do you think this wise, Agent Romanoff?" he asked, looking down at her amusedly. "Taking on a God?"
Natasha glared up at him from her position on the floor, but she stayed still for a moment, regaining her breath and hoping the stinging sensation at the back of her head would dissipate. "Why did you take me?" she asked. "The Chitauri are destroyed, Stark sent a nuke through into their world. You've lost!"
"Maybe," Loki sighed, not appearing at all upset by the notion, merely peeved. "But really you just took care of quite a large problem for me. You see, once I conquered the Earth, I had no intention of surrendering the tesseract to them. So thank you for that."
"It wasn't done for you," she snapped through gritted teeth. Loki continued like she hadn't spoken.
"Although if I know my erstwhile allies, I suspect you will soon have other things to consider," he replied. "My conquest of this world can wait. I rather think I might enjoy a little… 'vacation'? I believe the mortal term is? As it is, I will not be returning to Asgard, not with this world to play with."
"Don't bet on it," Natasha retorted, pulling herself up painfully, so she faced the towering God. "Thor is on his way, with SHIELD."
"Let him come," Loki smiled. Natasha lashed out again, determined to keep him distracted until backup arrived. He caught her blow, returning it with one of his own that sent her flying back onto the floor. "I can read your every move, woman. This is merely playing to me."
"Is everything a game to you?" she hissed, jack-knifing back onto her feet.
"Impressive," Loki crowed. "And yes, it is."
Natasha spun into a flying kick, but he just caught her, trapping her against his body again, back to his torso. His breath was hot in her ear.
"Since you're so sure my darling brother is on his way here, along with your precious masters, you must have a tracking device somewhere. Dear me, Barton was remiss in his intelligence," he hissed.
Natasha didn't speak, hoping he wouldn't work it out…
It was a false hope.
"He doesn't know, does he? Your loyal little archer has no idea that SHIELD keeps you on a leash," Loki breathed triumphantly. Rage burned through Natasha, giving her the strength to escape and whip around, driving her fist into that smug, sunken face.
She split his lip.
Loki wiped the blood away, spitting it out of his mouth, eying her more consideringly now, the amusement gone.
"Hit a nerve, did I?" he asked hoarsely. "SHIELD do not trust you, they treat you like an attack dog. You really are pathetic."
"Coming from a so-called god with daddy issues," Natasha spat back, the pair circling each other like birds of prey. "You're the pathetic one."
Loki stopped and shook his head. "My dear, I practically invented mind games, so spare me your puerile attempts. They will not rile me."
"I got you on the helicarrier," Natasha replied, stung. Loki abruptly knocked her on her back, and suddenly he was there, pinning her down with his body, too close for comfort.
"Do not flatter yourself, Agent Romanoff," he hissed, his eyes gleaming like lethal gems. "I merely gave you exactly what you needed to unleash the Hulk for me, my dear. You played your part admirably, and you were not even aware of it."
Natasha tried and failed to shift him off of her, and switched to attempting to knee him in the groin.
"Ah, ah, ah," he hissed tauntingly, trapping her legs outside his, so he was intimately pressed against her. "Don't spoil it, Natasha. My lovely girl…"
"No 'mewling quim' this time?" she cocked an eyebrow, struggling to breathe. His weight pressed into her, and she shuddered as he moved against her. He chuckled.
"My words still stand, little mortal," he leaned down, his breath scalding against her lips. "Your efforts today have achieved nothing. Your ledger is still red, dripping red, and it will remain so until the day you die."
For a moment his mask slipped, and Natasha glimpsed a haunted, lost child, before the mask returned, and Loki was back to his sinister best.
She did not want to feel the intrigue at that glimpse, nor did she like how her body seemed to soften. Damn it, no!
He seemed to read her thoughts, as his eyes softened. "Oh yes, Natasha," he sighed, her name a gentle, sensual murmur. "We are the same, you and I. The darkness, the red; it's a part of you, a part of me, and it will never go away."
"You're wrong," she hissed, finding the strength to heave her body up, flipping him over. He regained the advantage, his superior strength flipping her back beneath him, her spine aching from the continued contact with the cave floor, her leg now trapped over his shoulder. "We're nothing alike."
He simply laughed, and the breath in Natasha's throat suspended as he leant in, his lips feathering hers. She forced her head aside, but his lips simply ghosted over her ear and the ridge where her jaw joined her skull.
"You're slipping, Natasha," he murmured. "Further and further into the darkness."
Those words slipped into her mind, twining themselves around her guarded heart, tightly yet with bonds of silk.
Loki slowly pushed himself up, away from her, as she became aware of a familiar sound. Several familiar sounds.
SHIELD was here.
"And I'll be waiting," he whispered, standing tall and straight before her. He bowed before her, elaborately and gracefully, and before she could lunge, before she could stop him, he was gone.
She became aware of an odd hum and looked sideways, just as Iron Man and Thor landed on the small outcropping of stone outside the cave.
Loki had left the tesseract.
Thor returned the tesseract to Asgard, with a promise to return when Loki showed himself.
Natasha knew it would not be long. Loki was never one to resist the game for long.
The next time she saw him, it was in Paris.
She had been tasked to find and retrieve an archaic object, largely believed to be magical, for SHIELD.
She should have known he would be her competition.
She entered the glittering soiree, gowned in ivory satin and crystalline beading, her usual red curls covered by a golden blonde wig. No need for anyone to know that the famous Black Widow was there.
She took a glass of champagne, just for appearances' sake, the soft candlelight gilding the Versailles inspired rooms, with their white and gilt, moving seamlessly through the crowds of fashionably dressed guests at this exclusive chateau. Sultry, Latin music played in the background.
The guard change was at midnight, when everyone would be outside on the terrace watching the New Year's fireworks. The perfect time to slip away and complete her assignment.
She felt his gaze on her, like a burning wave, as she turned and unobtrusively searched the crowd for him, ignoring the interested gazes of several good-looking men in Armani suits.
Then she found him.
Loki was sat alone, in a chair at a corner table. He had changed his appearance, the soft grey suit exquisitely tailored, his black locks shortened and tamed into a close-cut style, the vivid colour dulled into a russet brown. He looked thoroughly normal, thoroughly unremarkable aside from the obvious attractiveness of his features. His slender fingers were curled into a fist, held slightly aloft as he leaned one elbow on the table, two fingers idly rubbing against one another. Natasha could see several women eying him appreciatively.
He looked like a God even when he was masquerading as a human.
His gaze captured and held hers, and she stood stock still as the bird before the snake, while an amused smile played around his thin lips. Gracefully he stood, gliding towards her.
"Why, Natasha," he breathed. "Long time no see."
Glad he had not used either her call sign, or 'Agent', she wordlessly held his gaze, wondering if he would notice if she went for the panic button hidden in the diamond necklace draping her throat.
"Loki," she murmured coolly. "Can't say it's a pleasure."
"Oh my lady," he chuckled, stepping closer. "You wound me."
She burned with questions, but this was not the time or place to ask them. She was unprepared and powerless when he reached out, pulling her into his arms. She shuddered at the contact of hard muscle against her softer frame, even as her mind tried to find some way to flip him onto his back without attracting attention.
"I believe that when music is playing, my dear Natasha," he murmured in her ear, as they slowly revolved. "It is customary to dance if one wishes to avoid attracting attention."
"Why are you here?" she asked. His huff of laughter against her bare neck was both pain and pleasure.
"To live up to my name, my dear Black Widow," he replied innocently, his arms deceptively loose around her waist. She knew from experience they could tighten and become inescapable shackles in milliseconds if she moved. "I can only assume you are here on SHIELD business."
She gave no answer, and he just smiled. "The leash still so tight on you," he sighed, gently nuzzling her wig. "Pity. I prefer your red curls. They match your fire better."
"I take it you're wearing a glamour or some sort of spell?" she asked, glancing discreetly towards a clock. Ten to midnight. She had time.
"Oh do not fret, Natasha," he replied, his hips shifting against hers. Despite his height, they seemed to fit too well together. "You have plenty of time before the guard change at midnight."
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," she murmured as he spun them around once, twice, the room whirling even for her trained senses. "When did you learn to dance?"
"It is not exactly difficult," he replied haughtily, almost making her smile. His next comment wiped it off. "A smile. How privileged I am, to melt the infamous Black Widow."
"That will happen only in your dreams," she breathed back, taking her own bit of revenge by running her lips against the shell of his ear. To everyone else, it looked as if they were some amorous couple, but only they knew of the battle truly being fought between them.
"What is it you humans say? Dreams do come true?" he laughed softly, his hand slipping down to the small of her back, pulling her hard into him. To her surprise, and repressed satisfaction, she felt his shudder at the same time she felt her own, and saw the triumph in his jade eyes.
"Happily, they don't," she snapped, as he spun her, so her back and hips nestled into his torso and thighs. She didn't want to feel the anticipatory shiver at the obvious arousal in his body against hers.
"Ahh, how is our dear Agent Barton?" he asked silkily. Natasha felt anger rise, but she kept her posture nonchalant.
"Recovering, no thanks to you," she replied quietly. She thought she felt the graze of cold lips against her pulse and yanked her head away. "Now stop being so damned evasive and answer my question. Why are you really here?"
He chuckled against her skin, his arms tightening around her. "Careful, our hosts might think something is amiss. We wouldn't want your cover blown, would we?" his voice curled around her, sinfully dark and enthralling.
"But in answer to your question, I will say only this," he breathed. "I am still waiting, Natasha."
"You're slipping, Natasha, further and further into the darkness. And I'll be waiting…"
His parting words from months prior filtered back into her mind. She stiffened, turning in his hold, glaring at him furiously.
"Oh, and you might want to watch your step on the second level above the vault downstairs," he told her in an amused whisper. "Lasers are such nuisances, particularly when they're invisible."
"You've already been," she murmured, her heart sinking. He just smiled.
"Oh no, far too easy for me, my dear. I play for a far greater prize," he told her, his eyes softening, the sharp green almost turning liquid. She refused to give in.
The clock tolled midnight, and Loki vanished from her arms even as she turned away to complete her assignment.
She did not tell SHIELD about Loki's reappearance. She didn't know why, but she did not.
That was not the last she saw of the God of Mischief. He seemed to appear on every assignment, always in disguise, just enough so SHIELD did not see him, but she was always aware.
And their encounters always ended with the same thirteen words.
"You're slipping, Natasha, further and further into the darkness. And I'll be waiting…"
New threats came, the Avengers reformed. At last, she understood Loki's cryptic comments about his erstwhile allies as Thor returned to Earth with news of an entity named Thanos and his assistance in Loki's bid for world domination.
She was not sure, but as she fought, sometimes she was certain she glimpsed a flash of emerald eyes out of the corner of her eye, or a glint of tarnished golden armour, as she fought.
And the blood debt grew.
Her ledger only filled further, this time with innocent deaths she could not help, nor did she perpetrate them. They never went away.
And Natasha slipped.
After the fight with Thanos, when Thor once more left Earth, again without his brother, she asked for the tracking device to be removed from her arm.
Fury refused, citing her protection and others', as cause.
It seemed that they did not wish to relinquish her leash just yet. And as she realised that SHIELD would never accept her as one of their own, that she would always be under suspicion for her past, she stopped fighting. She stopped trying to be all she was not, all she had been bred not to be.
She was what she was, a dark, bloodthirsty creature of shadows and amorality.
Back home, in her cold, sterile apartment, she dug out the tracker with a knife and left it on the breakfast bar, with a note for Clint
She owed Clint nothing now. He had saved her life, she had saved his, they were square.
Looking down at the unconscious archer from the rooftop where she stood, in all her glory as Black Widow, her guns raised, her long, curly hair trailing down her back.
Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, the Hulk; all stopped and stared at her, as she lowered her guns, and stepped away, leaving behind the injured archer and a corpse riddled with bullets, its arm still raised for the death blow.
She knew how to disappear, how to evade SHIELD's radar, how to become an entirely different person. They would never find her again.
She should have known he would, eventually.
She slipped back into the apartment complex where she lived temporarily, and knew instantly that he was there.
Turning her back to the open windows, the pale drapes billowing in the evening breeze coming from the Pacific, she turned instead into the darkness.
"I see you slipped SHIELD's leash at last," his familiar silky tones ghosted over her skin, as she stood in her bedroom, one hand casually tracing the trigger of her gun.
"I see you haven't got bored yet," she retorted. "No more plans for world domination?"
"Oh no," he laughed, stepping from the shadows. The last time she had seen him, his hair had been blonde and curly, his face tanned, his eyes dyed an icy grey. This time he stood before her in all his alien glory, black hair slicked back, emerald eyes hungry and triumphant. "I've been playing a far more enticing game."
"Everything is a game to you," she whispered. "I'm not surprised."
"You should not be," he replied quietly. "The game is, after all, all that matters to our kind."
"What game is that?" she asked, sliding her gun from its holster. He did not stir, but watched her as she unclipped the magazine, placing it on the side table next to her bed.
"The game of Life and Death, power and pleasure, blood and victory," he replied, stepping closer. "When you first came to me, in that detention cell, you burned with the need for it. So you played your games on me, and gave me yourself in the process, the little lost girl with a past of blood and nowhere to belong."
She had known it, the moment she walked out of the door, her professionalism blocking out the thought until she had sat in the medical bay, with Clint.
"I've been compromised."
"You know it's funny," she murmured, turning aside, facing the window and the lights of the city beyond. "You talk of my not belonging anywhere, yet somehow I think you're talking about yourself."
"Perhaps it applies to us both," he growled, stalking towards her until he stood behind her, his hands possessive around her shoulders. "You belong to me, Natasha Romanoff. You need no other."
"And you want a mortal, a woman you despise and called a 'mewling quim'?" she turned to face him, their bodies within inches of one another, their lips brushing but not yet fusing.
Natasha still hadn't made up her mind: fight or kiss.
And he had hit right in her most vulnerable place. She had never belonged anywhere, not truly. She had been used by her Russian benefactors, then she had wandered, homeless and goalless until Clint was sent to kill her. Then she had been taken by SHIELD and put to work, yet she had never truly been accepted, nor trusted. Their refusal to remove the tracking device proved that.
And now she had left them.
And now Loki wanted to claim her. The God of Mischief, the one who had slaughtered hundreds, and was likely to do the same again in the near future. The man who had enslaved her one true friend. The man who wanted to own her, body and soul.
But that was not how their game was played. He would never own her, just as she would never follow him or let him enslave the world. Equally, he would never stop hunting her.
An eternal game that was as much as part of them both, and through it, their need for belonging could be assuaged. Because despite everything and anything, they would belong to each other, and return to each other, like moths to the flame.
The thought excited her.
She was not made for peace or the mundane. He was not meant for tranquillity or serenity. They craved the fight, the dance, the clash of fire and ice too much. They were perfect for each other, in that sense. It was the darkness inside both of them that made them kindred, drawing them to one another without conscious thought. Natasha had wondered if a part of her had known it, the moment she saw him, in the flesh, all those months ago.
Loki remained silent as he slowly reached out to her, sliding his slender hands around her narrow waist and pulling her forward against him. She gripped the lapels of his leather surcoat, meeting his eye unflinchingly.
"Yes," was all he said, in a primal growl against her lips. Wordlessly, she reached up just as he leant down, their lips meeting in a clash of passion and violence, one pale hand snaking up into her wild, fiery tresses, pulling and pushing until she gave in, arched her neck back, surrendered to him.
Natasha revelled in his uncontrolled moan, his tongue dancing with hers in an ancient rhythm, one their bodies imitated as his hips thrust against hers. She bit down on his lip, and earned herself a sharp tug on her hair and nails scratching her through her combat suit. Melting heat pooled in her stomach, in a way she had never allowed herself to acknowledge before.
Her belt fell to the floor, with an echoing clunk, followed by her boots. She pushed off his surcoat, the heavy garment collapsing soundlessly to the floor. She supposed he could have done this with his magic, but there seemed a strange appropriateness in doing it this way, the first time.
In undressing each other, in pressing kisses to uncovered skin they had previously tried to maim and wound, in harsh caresses so bruises were left in the wake, fiery red curls mixed with slicked back, raven black strands.
In hands gliding over sweat slicked skin, although Loki's felt cool to the touch still. It only made Natasha burn all the hotter.
As she curled into him, possessed and possessing, his body riding deep within hers, she felt it sink into her bones, a harsh, startling, rare truth in this world of lies and darkness.
They belonged.
They would not stay together. No, when the sun rose, if he was there or not, she would rise and leave. Theirs was not something which required constancy and proximity, merely the knowledge that she belonged to him, and he to her, and that they would come together again. Perhaps soon, perhaps not for years, but it would happen as inexorably as the sun rose in the morning and set at night.
Because that was what it meant to belong, Natasha realised. To belong was to return to something which cherished you, protected you, respected you. To belong was not necessarily to have a home, or a family.
It could be a person, as simple and as devastating as that.
She belonged. And that thought made her smile as she rested in the aftermath, still covered by Loki's body, his back marked by long, thin scratches from her nails while she writhed in ecstasy, red against white, his body still deep within hers, pressing her mercilessly into the soft bed beneath them.
It was not yet dawn. They had time, and soon, as she met his eyes, softened to liquid jade from icy emerald, heated and possessive. With a knowing smile, she leaned up and kissed him.
A kiss and a promise.
To belong to him, forever and always. It was not a promise made lightly, nor with an expectation of some fairytale ending. Love was for children.
It was dark and lustful and wild and untamed, like them. It could take one or both of their lives. But it remained, inviolable, irresistible.
The promise to belong.
A/N: Just a heads up for those who enjoyed and asked for a sequel of 'Within My World'. I am in the process of writing it, a one shot, called 'She Is My Glory, set post-Avengers.