This is part 10 of the If and Only If series. Please see my profile for read order.
Welcome back. This is the first of the two major long-form fics in the If and Only If series. Stuff is gonna happen dawgs. Update schedule on this is going to be one every two weeks-more if I am able to get chapters to a place I'm happy with. This is slower than my usual, sorry guys-I know how I've spoiled you with everything else being quick. But really, I need to make sure that each chapter links strongly with the rest, and make sure that I've got stuff set up the way I want for the next parts of the series. Ideally, I'll be able to maintain one chapter every week, but since I don't want to depend on that, we'll say a safe two. If something changes I'll let you know.
So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.
Chapter 1: {1, 1,
Barton is bored.
He prefers being called out to shoot things, finds car chases exciting, and generally thinks that disarming bombs is the most fun a person can have without taking their clothes off. But he's a good agent and goes where he's told and does what he's supposed to.
Does not change that he is bored.
He stays up high and watches. One scientist (6', thin as a rail, brown eyes, brown hair—feature after feature marked off and stored with rapid-fire precision) runs a hand through his hair; that will make time 59 this hour. Barton is curious how he still has hair left if this is a usual thing.
That this is the most interesting thing he's had happen is almost enough to drive him to tears.
XXXXXX
It has been nearly two months of this.
It is almost, almost enough to make him miss Budapest.
Today, at least, has unusual readings from the cube. He watches the scientists scurry around like ants or mice or some other animal (Barton is not a poet, he knows this, and he almost pities whoever has been reading his reports about things here because they're suffering right along with him), and flicks his eyes over to the cube. It's pulsing and buzzing.
Fury strolls in and Barton's already zip-lined his way to ground level.
"Where's Barton?!"
"Right here, sir. No one's been in or out, nothing going on at all from this side."
Fury spares him a glance out of his good eye—Barton's sure that he really has both, but he's never really asked either—and looks to the cube. The readings are going nuts. Fury is demanding to know what's happening. Barton can't believe everyone is freaking out as much as they are about this.
After all, it's so obvious.
"Sir."
Fury looks at him.
"It's supposed to be a door."
No comprehension. Right. Barton reminds himself that he's just spent two months with nothing to do but hope for something interesting to happen so maybe he's just faster on the uptake.
"Doors work both ways. Sir."
Barton's been working with Fury long enough to catch that slight eye-widen that is tantamount to sudden dawning horror on a normal person. Possibly involving some screaming.
That's when the door opens. Energy lashes out and a portal opens, knocking Barton back against a wall. Mentally, he starts checking through his list of swears because his bow is up in the rafters and all he has is a gun, and he hates guns. He gets back to his feet fast, eyes darting around the room—there's a crouched silhouette on the dais for whenever the cube works.
It worked alright.
Looks human enough as he stands, and also looks like he just crawled out of a fucking pit—when was the last time he'd eaten? Dark shadows under brilliant blue eyes, skin stretched tight over sharp cheekbones, black hair, tall (was this guy going to stop standing up christ) and probably just as sharp and starved as his face underneath all that metal and leather.
No one does anything.
Potential-hostile glances at them, then at the staff-spear-thing he's holding in his hand, like he's surprised that it actually worked. Always a great sign.
"Sir, put the staff down slowly."
Potential-hostile blinks at them. Barton really wants to say 'hey, don't fucking spook him because fucking look at the guy, he's clearly not all there,' but he keeps his mouth shut. He hasn't been seen yet, and as he's currently the most skilled agent in the room he'd like to keep it that way. Surprise might be handy to have.
Potential-hostile looks around, sees the cube, and notes the guns. There's the slightest furrow of his brow, then he snarls and energy explodes off the end of the staff into Barton as he goes to take a shot.
Definitely hostile.
The guy is fast, Natasha fast, possibly faster, and in the time it takes Barton twist back to his feet and aim half the room is down. A steely, nothing but skin and bone hand grips around his wrist, twisting so he can't fire, and fucking seriously this is shameful, to be going out like this, not even a single explo—
The hostile pauses and Barton suddenly gets why people say eyes are the windows to the soul.
It's like staring into an abyss with the most slipshod and rickety pathways strung up over it, everything crackling static and noise and x sub n-plus-loss
Nat, he thinks desperately, swallowing and suddenly afraid.
"You have heart," the hostile says, sounding shocked, voice as rough and dark and deep as the abyss in his eyes. Apparently the sass filter still isn't off because Barton has time to think That's the gayest thing I've heard all day right before he feels the tip of that very pointy spear press against his breastbone and then:
Ice blue blue blue ice ice raaagnaaaarok darkness stars abyss x sub n-plus-one equals loss fraaact— things things everywhere digging crawling cackling reaching for him tearing and it's falling falling falling fa—
Stop.
Lines and path and order, everything oh so reasonable, laid out just so and everything's fine as long as he doesn't look down or think about stepping off the edge of pale white-green line beneath his mind's feet.
Loki is watching him, utterly fascinated.
(Barton has no idea how he knows the hos—no, not hostile, the person? thing's name, but he does. It all seems so reasonable. Even if that was the gayest thing he'd heard all day.)
Then Loki turns away and Barton keeps his gun lowered. He's saying something, something about freedom and lies and Barton knows it doesn't matter, not the words Loki's saying, all he hears is what's underneath (safety survive safety survive safe safe hide hide hide safe) buzzing in the back of Barton's head like they're his emotions too. He looks and there's Fury—hostile—getting the cube. He doesn't actually need to look to know where Loki is, it's just like Nat, just as instinctive and comforting (briefly, he thinks what the hell and noise-buzzing-things begin to itch at him and he lets the thought go and they let go. Huh). He glances at Loki, knows his mind is drifting—can feel that tug on his own, can feel 'ache' and 'tired' and knows the only thing Loki wants to do is go somewhere safe. Above them, the portal is crackle snapping and collapsing on itself.
"Sir," he says, walking up to Loki, "he's stalling. The building's going to collapse. He means to bury us under a few tons of concrete and steel."
Huh, I thought his eyes were blue, he thinks as Loki glances at him. Strange—he's never seen a more green green, has no idea how he got it confused.
(What the actual fuck is going on and then crackling cackling things trying to tear and slimy slipping into his head and lets the thought go, focuses on Loki, focuses on pale white-green glow beneath his feet and finds peace again.)
He wants Loki safe, out of here, let's go.
He shoots Fury (what the fuck no no no no) in the arm. One of the others grabs the cube in the case—Loki must have been busy, but he can't feel any of them, just Loki Loki lokilokiloki, puts a hand to his god's back as he starts to stumble, supports him one two three steps, because they can't stop, Barton needs to get him somewhere safe that's what Loki wants and right now that's all Barton wants.
To think he'd been bored.