Chapter 1

Loki hummed as he traced his lover's pale hipbone. It was a strange sequence of events that had brought them together, but he had never been so enamored with anyone before. Asgardian females were fierce and blunt and sometimes stupid. Most human females were worse: weak, fearful, and stupid again. The other alien races were unpalatable, for the most part. But this woman, whose tongue was as sharp and as skilled as her whip, whose mind was as keen and slippery as his own, she delighted him in all ways. She was daring, forward, seductive, clever, and often kind to him in ways he'd longed for since his miserable birth. She knew all the Norse histories, Greek myths, even the stories of the Egyptian pantheon. Yes, Irene was the one who he would mourn most if she never gained the gift of immortality.

He reflected back on their first meeting: he had not been looking for a bed warmer, but she had. She was magnificent, but subtly so. After all, she could only blend in with the night life so much before her brilliance was dimmed.

And there she was in a black gown, sipping dark red wine. It was expensive, and she was confident. She also had Sigyn's grace and beauty, and Angrboda's fierceness. He had parted ways with them less than amiably, since he had attempted to conquer the earth and become the pariah of Asgard.

His mission was to take her into custody. His mortal ties, his brother, and his grudging affection for his new family kept him obedient to orders- but Fury did give him a loose leash. He was given simple orders and could carry them out however he wished.

Casting a few runes to alter his invisibility, he approached. She was unaware of his tricks, but he'd been warned against hers already. She had been texting moments ago, probably to take a photograph of him. Silly mortal- the photo could not capture him when he altered the universe around him.

"Hello." She was the first to speak. Her lips were red with what he termed 'stick-rouge,' and her eyes accented with dark gel. She had called attention to herself, perhaps to meet with a client. He was the only one she'd meet, however. Her voice was not high or low, but carried a slow-moving ferocity that curled his gut into pleasant knots.

"Good evening."

"You're new." It wasn't a question.

"Am I?" His green eyes were fixed to hers, narrowed and half playful. She knew her pursuers instinctively.

"I've never seen you about, and you're at ease."

"And people aren't usually at ease?"

"Not with me they aren't." Her accent was soothing, and her eyes trailed his figure. He was taller than most mortals, and she was smaller, but he felt their wit was matched. After all, she had evaded the detective Sherlock Holmes thus far, and he was Fury's most valuable resource, if not his most reliable. Here, they were sending a jackal to ensnare a weasel- though a ferret or sable was much more her character.

"And what do you do that makes men uneasy?"

She smiled coldly. "Oh, I think you know, Loki Laufeyson." She was cocky, and she did have the upper hand- for now.

"I do, Mistress Adler," he said, addressing her by the name she bore to her clients.

"Pray tell, then: what's your business with me?"

"That of one trickster to another: information."

She bit her lip. One advantage of the mortal world was that they cleansed their teeth regularly. Hers were nicely, though not unnaturally, white. They made her thin lips like lines of blood. "Of what sort?" Her tone was quite suggestive. Obviously, it was a play- if she attracted him, she might manipulate him and escape. It was an amateur thing to the trickster god, but for some reason, it was working. Two could play that game.

He hummed deeply, letting a slight growl slip into his voice. "The sort you'll have to divulge to me alone, somewhere else." Could he really bring this clever beauty back to the Avengers' tower to be interrogated? It would be a pity, a great pity to see her beaten or injected with brain-damaging truth serum. Perhaps he could prevent that- after all, all he needed was the information. All he had to do was wheedle it out of her at the tower. It would be easy to bind her and spirit her away without a trace, but he didn't want to. He wanted to play with her a bit.

"You drive a dangerous bargain, Loki."

"No more dangerous than the one you propose with your eyes, with your thoughts." He could read her, but her mind was strong, harder to pry open. He pressed a finger to his lips and drew a rune in the air, shimmering and golden. It was the ken rune, for wood, energy, appropriate for the tension crackling between them. "Come with me."

"Are you really asking?" She sipped her wine again- a sign of nerves, though to the outside eye she was calm as ever.

"No, but I'd rather not make this more painful than it has to be."

She sighed and put aside her glass. "Pity. I rather like this wine. Care for a sip?"

"More; a draught, if you please." To his pleasure, she poured him a mouthful and handed it to him. Her fingers were just as cold as his own.

"To you, then." She raised her cup.

"And to you." Together, they drank. He took her arm as she stood, flagged a cab down at the corner, and they rode in comfortable silence to the tower.

...

Fury was a bit surprised when they pulled up and paid the driver. He was even more taken aback when Loki opened the door for her like a gentleman and helped her out. She obviously didn't need it. He raised the eyebrow over his good eye. "Didn't know you kids needed a chaperone on your night out."

"We don't. Hello Fury," Adler said, striding up. "What have I done now?"

"You know exactly what you've done."

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific." Loki had to admire how confident she was at gunpoint. Though mortal weapons were ineffective against him, they were very effective against her, yet she didn't flinch. Her steely nerve was unshakeable. At least, it seemed so. She had only been shaken when he's taken her in. But then, she'd still held up considerably well in a god's forcible custody. She'd been in this sort of situation before, just as he had. At that realization, his sympathies went with her. Fury wasn't the most compromising (or clever) person to deal with.

"The business with ISIS. You have details on what they'll blow up next."

"Oh, that little thing?" She held out her camera phone. It had been upgraded from her old one, still in the hands of Sherlock Holmes. It was a smartphone, but probably locked with a long password and set to explode should anyone enter the the wrong combination on the first try. Loki knew all this from his brief and her files. Once burned, twice shy. "Take it. You won't find anything." Even more shy, he thought. She had kept her information in her head, but still played as if she kept files on her cell. He knew, but didn't interfere. His duty had ended at the moment they left the cab.

"We'll see about that. Loki, watch her. Get her a room."

"I'm not your dog," he retorted haughtily, but offered his arm again. The agents hefted their cannons at them as they strolled inside.

...

They flirted all the way up, to the point where the guards cleared their throats, clearly uncomfortable. Between all the innuendos, he sensed she was only playing. It was their delight to make their elevator companions discomfited.

"So, how are you with touch?" It was a forward question from a bold woman.

"Touch is like all other senses," he evaded, "if used like them."

"And if not used like them?"

"I always use touch like my other senses. Touch alone does not bring the utmost pleasure."

"And what does?" The guard next to her coughed, but she ignored it.

"Senses used in conjunction bring the fullest experience. Of course, their singular pleasures are not devalued in my eyes: of sight, of smell and sound."

"An astute conjecture. Yet I find in the absence of others, one sense can be honed, stimulated to its utmost without distraction."

They reached their destination, stepping out into the carpeted hallway as if they were alone. The guards patted them both down, as if they could have hidden any weapons on their way in. Loki bore it with a roll of his eyes, and she gave him a sympathetic look as they took her hairpins, necklace, and brooch. "I assume I'll have my room now?"

"You assume rightly; however, I am constrained to look after you, though I can't say that would be altogether an unpleasant experience." He casually buffed his nails on his suit jacket.

"So we share a room."

"As you like." His smile was calculated, one corner stretching just until he looked arch and handsome. She wasn't averse to it, after all. Fury had only wanted him to watch her, and he could do that most effectively while they shared a room. His smirk told her it was an option, not a command, but she didn't feel like giving anyone a reason to distrust her this early on.

They entered the room just adjacent a comfortable-looking kitchen. Loki turned back to the ever-vigilant guard. "Don't bother: she can't escape a god." Irene chuckled. He obviously was toying with authority, and even though she knew she was with one of the most dangerous beings in the multiverse, she wasn't afraid. He was a fellow trickster, and she should not trust him, but something about him put her at ease. Perhaps after all she's been through, he couldn't faze her. There wasn't a point to going on with her work as a dominatrix, not when every government would hunt her and torture her. This was her prison, and if she willed it, her sanctuary.

It was time for her to retire, for the fire of her will to extinguish itself. She hadn't, nor would she resist. The Avengers would have been amusing to toy with if she was the woman she had been. She could have hacked Stark's suits or rigged War Machine's weapons. She could have set the tower security on itself, poisoned Captain America, stuck the Winter Soldier to an electromagnet, tricked the green monster into rampaging through the city, and incapacitate the peashooter and his bird friend. And, while the Widow was out calming the Hulk, she could slip away to another country, maybe a quiet little place in Denmark or Sweden.

But she would not. It was time to give up. Sherlock had broken her will to live. The only thing left was captivity.

Once the door was closed, she sat primly on the large bed. It had been tailored for this man's Asgardian frame, though compared to his brother he was a stick. Loki, still in his formalwear, turned to her. A few whispers, and the runes nyd, is, and an inverted tyr wound themselves around her wrist like a bracelet. She felt nothing.

"What's this?"

He held up his own wrist. "I'm sure you're familiar with the concept of shackles, Lady Adler." On it glowed a bracelet of the same design, etched in his skin. "Only, I find this brand is far more comfortable."

"I am no lady. What do they do?" She rested her chin on her hand.

"You'll find you're unable to leave the detection of my senses. I thought it appropriate, considering the subject of our conversation."

"Well, I hope you'll let me out of your sight to bathe. It'd be terribly awkward if you were to see me indisposed."

"I find that hard to believe."

"And why so?"

"You are completely unfazed by sharing a room with a stranger. I don't doubt nudity is a part of your much-practiced repertoire."

"Fair enough." She started stripping down to bathe. He did not turn away. She wasn't a lady, and he certainly wasn't a gentleman. "Do you have facial cleanser?"

"I do, actually. You'll find it on the rack." His eyes travelled down her back, which was speckled with the occasional freckle.

"Good. I'd hate to spoil my complexion by leaving my makeup on."

...

When she emerged from the bathroom, her hair still down and wet, clad in a towel, she was much more tired. Her eyes carried baggage, probably as heavy as his own. She looked younger too, more innocent. She caught his stare with s weary smile. "Like what you see?"

"No," he said, lying through his teeth. She knew it, too.

"Have you got clothes for me, or should I just sleep nude?" He was going to flirt, but without her facade, a veil of sadness covered her. She was just like him; he wasn't ready to give up his armor just yet.

"In the bureau. You'll find my silks."

"Hm. Classy." After a moment of changing into the otherworldly garments, she collapsed on the bed and immediately curled into a ball, like a turtle retreating into its shell. Her eyes closed, and though her breathing was steady, she wasn't asleep.

With a snap, Loki was cleansed and dressed, and he too fell into a dreamless rest. They were a strange two, to be sure: both prisoners, both broken and sad. His last thought was that perhaps in this place where he languished, she would thrive.

...

In the middle of the night, a groan awakened him. His bed partner was stirring, shifting with fear. That was one of the spells in his handiwork: he could always tell what she was thinking. Nightmares like this often strained his own mind. From the bracelet's functions, he perceived flashes of gunmetal, blood, and pain, but where? She had no scars to her body that he had seen, and he'd seen quite a lot.

He could have left her to suffer, but against his better judgement, he cast ur, thorn, jera, and lagu, justifying himself with the though that if she didn't have peace, neither would he. As the runes of protection, health, peace, and dreams slipped into her psyche, she stilled, and her face smoothed. But he couldn't find sleep easily. She was rather pretty, with her thin lips, her hair tangled over her features like a veil.

He put the thought from his mind. Still, it was long minutes before he closed his eyes again.

…

The next morning, they were summoned by Fury. Since S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen apart, he'd been using Stark's tower as his headquarters. Loki didn't know all the details- he wasn't allowed to. Fury turned to them. Adler was still in his silk pajamas, and he had opted to arrive shirtless. Everyone was looking at them, and she was watching his pectorals rise and fall with each breath, as if pondering how to slice them. He rather liked it, but no one had had breakfast yet, and his empty stomach was uncomfortable.

"What warrants the director's summon so early this fine morn?" he asked, viciously sarcastic. Fury didn't answer.

"Adler." He held up her phone. "Someone called you on this."

"That'll be my assistant. Give it to me." Bedraggled as she was, she still retained a semblance of pride.

Director Fury. "It wasn't your assistant. She died several weeks ago in a mess with the Serbian mafia." He glared at her. "You want to know who called, you'll have to give over the information on ISIS."

"I think you want something more than that," she accused.

"And what's that?" he asked, challenging her.

"You want the pleasure of breaking the Dominatrix." Anger rose in her tone. "Well, it's too late for that now. I have already been broken." With that, she stalked away. "You won't find anything," she called back. "ISIS will attack D.C. on the ides of march. Now leave me alone."

A few tense moment later, Fury grimaced. "She's right- I would have liked cracking her." Then he turned to Loki with a sigh. "Loki, you're a wild card at this point. I want you to rehabilitate her. I want her on the team."

"And what if I don't?"

"You go back and face justice in Asgard, as Queen Sif wanted. May I remind you, you left that place a wreck. I wouldn't be surprised if she had you executed for the mess you made." He smirked. "But I won't have to threaten you again. You'll do it."

"How do you know?"

"She walked in wearing your clothes, from your room. Now you tell me just what anyone would have thought." Then Fury and his entourage exited the living room and left Loki to his ruminations. He had never fit with the Avengers: he had too much on his head, and too much regrettable history with Thor to truly be called an insider. More than that, he was expendable. Only Thor would really mourn him if he died, and maybe the rest would consider it a loss.

Irene Adler was much the same. She knew too much to be called safe, and she was a threat. Loki smiled. Fury was just as much threatened by her as the British government. He couldn't beat her, she was too smart, so he opted to join her to the Avengers in the hope that their indomitable spirit for right over wrong would become infectious.

But they don't bother with me. I'm just their hunting dog. He pouted imperiously and followed Irene back to his room. Why was he expendable, and she irreplaceable? He'd just have to find out.