A/N: Chapter two here for your enjoyment! Not sure when I'll be able to post the next one, hopefully by the weekend. Should also be an update for the Interloper by then as well. =]
Substitutes
by Flaignhan
"And you're certain they won't try and kill me?"
"They're desperate," Thor tells him as they stride down the corridors. "They've agreed to a truce, providing you help her."
Loki says nothing, his curiosity running at an all time high. For Romanov, that stone cold assassin, that level headed master of manipulation, for her to be compromised must have taken some doing. She is not the type to break easily, he remembers that much of her. He wonders how they could have possibly done it, without the aid of magic. She would not break under pain, she is far too stubborn for that, and yet she has, apparently, been tampered with beyond recognition. He doesn't waste his time considering who might be the culprit - a woman such as her has enemies by the score, and it is pointless trying to place blame.
At last they reach a large open room, and there are half a dozen guards in familiar black uniforms, armed with semi-automatic weapons, their faces set in stony expressions as they watch him cross the room. Loki's lips twitch into a brief smirk as he approaches the small crowd of people, gathered around a large upright metal stand. Through the gaps between their shoulders he catches a glimpse of crimson locks, and he walks more quickly, Thor hurrying alongside him. At the sound of their footsteps, the people turn around, and the first person Loki notices is the soldier, his chiselled jaw sporting a graze, his right arm supported by a sling. His expression is stern as Loki approaches, but he ignores it, his eyes lingering on Coulson who is, rather puzzlingly, looking as though he is in perfect health.
Barton stands protectively next to Romanov, his arms folded, his brow set in a scowl as he watches Loki's every move. He is, plainly, unhappy about being forced to accept Loki's aid, and looks to be biting down on his tongue to keep him from saying anything he might regret.
Romanov is strapped to the stand, her wrists and ankles bound by thick metal bands, while another strip keeps her shoulders secured fast against the surface. She watches him with curious eyes and a blank expression, and he can tell, even from one glance, that there is something missing from her. It's as though she has been stripped out, reduced to a simple form, and put clumsily back together again. This is no mind control however, this is not something that can be fixed with a hefty blow to the head. She has been changed from the inside out. No influence lingers over her, no voice whispers in her ear, she is in control of herself, and yet she is not herself.
"What happened?" he asks, peering at her, taking in the cuts and bruises that litter her body.
"She came here," Coulson says mildly, though his expression is cold and judgemental. "Tried to kill us."
Loki turns towards the Captain and lets his eyes drop his injured arm. The Captain skews his lips and looks down at it as well. "It took four of us to subdue her," he says, and he sounds surprised as he says it, as though the truth has not quite sunken in yet.
"Which four?" Loki asks, looking around the group. There are several faces he doesn't recognise - a tall black man with a shaved head, a woman with dark hair and an unreadable expression, and three youngsters, one with large eyes and a defiant expression, and the other two, one male, one female, who look as though they have never picked a fight in their lives.
"Me," Barton says, his voice strained with the pressure of remaining cordial. "Cap, Agent May," he gestures to the woman with dark hair, who raises her eyebrows by way of an introduction, "and Agent Triplett." Agent Triplett raises a hand, signifying himself, and Loki turns back to Thor.
"You mean you didn't help?" Loki asks him, feigning surprise. "How heartless of you, Brother!"
"They called me after they had contained her," Thor says, his measured tone betraying his thinning patience.
Loki shrugs him off and turns back to the Captain. "She did that?" he questions, nodding towards the Captain's injured arm. "She broke the super soldier's arm?"
"Yeah," the Captain replies with a heavy sigh. "She did."
"Well that doesn't make sense," Loki says, returning his attention to Romanov. He knows how competent she is, has seen it first hand, but there is no way that it would take three combat trained SHIELD agents and a super soldier to restrain her. There's no way that could be possible. He looks at her arms, grazed and bruised from the scuffle, but otherwise unremarkable, her hands, dirty and scratched, but surely not capable of breaking the dense bones of a science experiment.
"She's normally a pretty even match for me," Barton says quietly, his thought clearly on the same path as Loki's. At this, Agent May clears her throat, and Barton rolls his eyes. "Broadly speaking," he says, pointedly. "But when she came in here she was like… a machine."
Loki frowns and takes a step closer to her, her eyes fixed on his, staring him down defiantly. "Doesn't she speak?"
"We don't think she understands us at all," the Captain replies, his expression creased with worry. "We think she only speaks Russian but we haven't managed to get a translator yet. She won't respond to the translation software, so we might have better luck with a person."
"Russian?" Loki repeats under his breath. "But she said she wasn't Russian anymore…" He reaches out a hand to touch her chin, tilting her face gently to one side so that he can get a good look at her, but before he can react, she jerks her head with lightning fast speed, her teeth clamping down on his thumb like a vice. He yells out, and Thor rushes forward, but the closer he gets, the harder she bites, her teeth piercing the skin, Loki's blood flowing into her mouth and down her chin. Loki grits his teeth, suppressing his desire to yell in pain, and then digs the tip of his thumb into the soft, fleshy well beneath her tongue. It only takes a few moments and an increase in pressure for her to relent and release her jaw, allowing Loki to withdraw his thumb quickly, closing his other hand around it to try and stem the blood flow.
"Don't touch," Barton says, and Loki suspects that there is a faint sense of pride in his voice, that despite the very obvious problems with Romanov, he is convinced that this is proof that she is still trapped somewhere within that head, and it will only take a few magic words to set her free.
"Let me see," says the young girl, her hands protected by bright blue surgical gloves, a large wad of cotton wool clamped between her fingers as she prises Loki's hand away from his thumb. He is too surprised to argue with her, and she holds onto his thumb tightly moving his arm so that his thumb is level with her eyes, the cotton wool soaking up the stream of blood.
"Simmons," Coulson says, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. "You know who this is, right?"
"Yes sir," she says pleasantly, lifting away the cotton wool to check on the wound. She shakes her head, her expression of disapproval becoming more pronounced. "This might need some stitches," she tells Loki quietly. "It's rather deep."
"Simmons, this is the same guy that stabbed me in the back, literally."
At this, Simmons' sculpted eyebrows rise high on her forehead, her mouth opening a little. She plainly had not considered that fact when she had rushed to Loki's aid, and immediately she grabs Loki's spare hand, wraps his fingers around his injured thumb and the blood soaked cotton wool, and removes her hands from him entirely.
"Sorry sir," she says, peeling off her gloves, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment. She looks up at Loki again, her eyes a little brighter than they had been previously. "No antiseptic for you," she says, and despite the quaver in her voice there is a distinct hint of triumph to her tone. "Although," she continues, looking down at the floor once more, avoiding not just Loki's gaze, but everybody's. "There is a bottle of antiseptic and some bandages in the first aid kit on the table, should you feel you require them." She has a breathy, sing song sort of voice and Loki frowns, turning to look at Coulson for an explanation.
"She's the closest thing we have to a doctor around here," he says with a shrug. "And she doesn't hold a grudge like I do."
"Of course," Loki says, peeling away the bloodied cotton wool and inspecting his thumb. Romanov has managed to pierce several layers of skin, and Loki closes his own mouth around the wound, sucking on it briefly to clean it as best he can.
"Oh no, please don't…" Simmons says exasperatedly. "The antiseptic is just over there." She gestures towards the first aid kit, her hands now clad in a clean pair of gloves. In her hand is a small disposable cardboard bowl, a collection of white tissues, and a bottle of water. She steps in front of Loki, passing the bowl and tissues to Agent Barton, who takes them without argument. Then, looking Romanov dead in the eyes, she unscrews the bottle of water and takes a sip. Romanov's face relaxes a fraction, though her lips are bloody, her chin and neck stained with scarlet. When Simmons raises the bottle to Romanov's lips, Loki half expects her to snap at the young girl, but something in her sickeningly kind demeanour must translate despite the language barrier, and Romanov accepts the water without complaint. Simmons reaches out for the bowl from Barton and presents it to Romanov, who spits a pink mixture of blood and water into it, spittle hanging from her lower lip. Simmons raises the bottle again, and Romanov accepts more, drinking then spitting. They repeat the process a few more times, before Romanov drinks deeply, emptying the bottle entirely. Then, with Barton holding the empty bottle and the half full bowl, Simmons takes the tissues and carefully wipes Romanov's mouth, her delicate touch accepted by Romanov with grudging consent.
"Why doesn't she bite you?" Loki asks, unable to keep his offence at bay.
"Because I'm helping her," Simmons says obviously. "You were looking at her like she's a gorilla in a zoo." She continues with her ministrations, cleansing all traces of blood from Romanov's skin.
"But she doesn't understand at all?" Loki asks. "She's not just being stubborn, she does not understand what any of us are saying?"
"She doesn't even respond to her own name," Coulson says, folding his arms across his chest. He looks tired, much older than when Loki saw him last, and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt are rolled up to his elbows. Somehow, Loki suspects that he isn't the only sleep deprived person here.
"Natasha," Loki says, watching her every move, but she doesn't even blink as Simmons finishes cleaning her up and moves away from her. Loki takes a step forward and says her name again, but there is no response. His eyes narrow as he watches her rest her head against her holding slab, her chest sinking as she exhales, impatience wearing her down. On the SHIELD ship she had told him that she was no longer Russian, and yet here she is, completely devoid of any English vocabulary or understanding. He casts his mind back to the days when Barton was in his service, when he would leak information like a sieve, how he had spoken at length about Romanov's origins, her background, her identities. He looks towards Barton now, his mind grasping in the darkness for something that belongs to Romanov, no matter how much she might have tried to shake it.
"What?" Barton asks, perplexed. "What's the matter?"
Loki shakes his head and closes his eyes, concentrating entirely on the word that tickles the tips of his fingers as he tries to seize it with both hands. He turns on the spot, running a hand through his hair as he tries to remember, as he tries to rebuild the scene from his memory, and then, at long last, it happens, and his eyes snap open.
"Natalia," he says, stepping as close to her as he dare. She looks at him, though doesn't give any indication that she claims that name. "Natalia, Alianovna, Romanova," he says slowly, the words coming easily now that he has gotten over that first hurdle. She doesn't acknowledge him, but her green eyes stare into his, and he can tell that she doesn't recognise him, not at all, not even a fraction. There is no hint of doubt in her gaze, just the certainty that the man standing before her is nothing to her.
It almost hurts him.
"Natalia Alianovna Romanova," he says, this time with more confidence, his index finger lightly tapping her upper arm with each word. "That's you, isn't it?"
She looks down at his finger, the tip still resting against her bicep, and then she meets his gaze. Without warning, she spits, a thick globule of saliva splattering onto Loki's cheek. Her jaw twitches, and he wonders if she is gritting her teeth, preparing for the retaliatory slap, but he doesn't indulge her distrustful expectations. Instead he turns away, takes Thor by the wrist, then raises his arm in order to wipe his face on the sleeve of his jacket. From the corner of his eye, Loki can see the Captain roll his eyes at his behaviour.
"There's nothing I can do," Loki says at last. "She's been regressed. Her memories aren't locked away, they're just not there. I can't undo that with magic." He gives Romanov a brief salute of farewell and turns on his heel, but he doesn't manage to take two steps before Thor's hefty hand lands on his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
"On your life," he growls. "On your life, you said."
"What do you want me to do?" Loki asks, his face contorting in confusion. "This is a long job and you probably won't get her back at all. You all know her far better than I do, and will be far more successful in your endeavours. I wish you all good luck, but I really must get back to my kingdom." He takes another step but Thor grips him firmly by the collar, and Loki hears the familiar swoosh of Mjolnir dashing to its master's hand.
"You said you would help her," Thor says darkly. "And you will."
Loki clicks his fingers, and Mjolnir drops to the ground with a loud and satisfying clunk. He sees Thor's shoulders stiffen, his lips twitch, as though they are itching to say something, and he can feel the tension and shock rise like a tidal wave all around them. He loves the sound, the piercing nothingness, where not even the tiniest breath is exhaled, not one shoe shifts on the ground, and not a single muscle moves a millimetre.
"Do not try and threaten me with the power I so generously let you keep after you abandoned our realm." He says the words so quietly, and yet he knows that every single person in the room, even Romanov, can hear each and every whispered syllable. "It won't work."
"Brother," Thor says, his blue eyes glazed as he stares straight ahead, scrambling to keep the last few tatters of his dignity together. "You know the workings of the mind better than anyone else here. You are the best chance we have of getting her back."
"Don't be ridiculous," Loki retorts. "You're telling me," he turns to address the rest of the group now, all eyes on him. "That with all of SHIELD's might and power that you can't get the finest psychiatrists and psychologists and doctors and carers to help recover one of your most treasured assets?"
Coulson looks down at his feet, his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped. Loki then glances across to Agent May, whose expression has faltered for the first time. The three youngsters are very interested in the floor it seems, and even the Captain has bowed his head in defeat. Loki cannot help the grin that spreads across his face, his teeth grazing on his lower lip as he puts two and two together. They're still without a human translator. Half of the Avengers are gathered in this pitiful little building with no real healthcare facilities. Romanov's holding apparatus has been hastily welded together out of what looks like an old steel workbench. None of them will look him in the eye.
"This is it, isn't it?" he says, unable to keep the delight from his voice. "This is all of you. Two broken Avengers, three schoolchildren, three moderately capable fighters, my oaf of a brother, and the undead Son of Coul. How our fine heroes do fall."
"Director Son of Coul, actually," Coulson says, looking up at him at last. "And yes, this is it. Which is why we need your help. She's not just an asset, she's a friend. Please."
"What happened to Fury?" Loki asks, disregarding Coulson's futile display of sentiment. "Why is he not standing here dishing out orders?"
"Fury's dead," Agent May says coolly. She fixes Loki with a stern gaze, and the corner of his mouth turns upwards.
"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you," he says, then returns his attention to Coulson. "I don't see that there's anything in this for me. You all hate me, and she certainly hates me," he jabs his injured thumb in the direction of Romanov, "so why would I stick around here to help her get back to a state of mind where she knows exactly why she hates me?"
"We'll call it quits," Coulson says, and the words earn him several looks of surprise from his fellows. Agent May's eyebrows twitch in discontent, Barton's eyes narrow to a scrutinising stare, and the Captain's mouth gapes, as though he can't believe what Coulson is saying. "We'll call it quits, and wipe the slate clean and Asgard and Earth can be allies going forward, if that's what you want."
"Why would Asgard want Midgard as an ally? Besides, you don't have the right to make that call."
"Maybe not," Coulson says calmly, taking a step forward. "But I've got the numbers of everybody who kicked your ass in New York on my speed dial."
At this, Barton smirks, his arms crossed against his chest as he watches the exchange with interest. Loki has already wasted enough of his day on this pitiful rock, however. He will admit that Romanov's situation is incredibly curious, but he can ask that Heimdall keep a watchful eye on things and inform him of any interesting developments. Should things ever get really entertaining, such as the Captain having his other arm broken, or perhaps Thor being held captive in a headlock, he will gladly make the trip down to spectate. But until such events unfold, he will be in Asgard.
"There's nothing in it for me," he says with a shrug, but before he can turn away, the young girl with the dark wavy hair pushes her way past Simmons and stares him down, her petite frame making her almost laughable.
"You know you could do something nice just to be nice," she says with a scowl. "Or would that offend your cold rotten heart?"
He finds it endlessly amusing that the mortals will be so vocal about judging him, but are keeping very much quiet on the reason as to why they are only a handful, when at last count SHIELD was made up of thousands of trained killers. He wonders how many of them have considered the fact that they may well have taken innocent lives under the guidance of their morally questionable masters. And yet they stand here in front of him, looking down on him from their high horses, as though they don't have innocent blood on their hands as well. He's not sure which is worse, being perfectly aware that there are innocent casualties as a result of your actions, or being so ignorant and blind that you don't realise you've been working for the other side all the time. It's a tough one to call, and though he can't make his mind up on the matter, what he does know is that their moral ground is crumbling under their boots, dragging them down to his level.
"What's your name?" he asks, looking down at the girl with mild interest. She's certainly brave, but bravery was never any indication of intellect. One only had to look at Thor to arrive at that conclusion.
"Skye," she says defiantly, lifting her chin a little in order to make herself appear a fraction taller.
"Well Skye," Loki says, his expression patronising, his tone even more so. "If you have such a big warm heart, then why aren't you helping Agent Romanov?"
"I don't know how," she responds through gritted teeth.
"And nor do I," Loki tells her. "If there were some magic I could perform to return your dear agent to her charming self, then I assure you," he places his hand on his heart and affects an earnest expression. "I would do it without a moment's hesitation, if only to shut my brother up. But, alas, there is nothing for me to do."
He turns away, but Skye darts in front of him, her stubbornness getting the better of her. It's likely to get her killed one day, of that, he has no doubt.
"But you got a reaction from her," she protests. "You actually got a reaction. In two minutes you achieved more than we have in two days."
Loki frowns at her. "Two days and none of you thought to address her by her given name?" He turns to Barton, in whom he is most disappointed. "Really?"
"She hasn't gone by that name for years. None of us have ever called her by that name."
"And I doubt she's spoken solely in Russian for years, either. It wasn't a difficult leap and I am not here to make up for your logical ineptitudes."
He is about to call Heimdall, fed up of his exits being blocked, but then from behind, Thor utters five words that cause his blood to run cold in his veins, his stomach to jolt unpleasantly, bile rising in his throat.
"Mother would have helped her."
Loki clenches his right hand into a fist, his fingers itching for his staff. His heart pounds in his chest, so loudly that he is certain that despite all the leather and metal protecting him, everybody in the room can hear it, perhaps everybody on the planet. The corners of his eyes start to itch, and he clamps his teeth together, ignoring the twitching of a muscle in his jaw. He is so furious that he nearly lets his façade slip, nearly reveals to everyone the skeletal mess on whom they are depending.
"Don't you dare use her as a bargaining chip," Loki hisses, whirling around to face him. "Don't you dare."
"She would have," Thor says firmly. "Even if she didn't know how."
"Don't pretend that you knew her well enough to say that. Don't pretend even for a minute that - "
"She loved you," Thor says, and the words sting more than Loki ever thought they would. "She loved you even when you were at your worst. If she could do that, then what makes you think that her compassion would not extend to Natasha?"
It's unnecessary. It's cruel. And it shows his true colours. No matter how much Thor claims to love him, he will always sling the harshest words at Loki whenever anybody else might benefit. He has spent hours, perhaps, in Romanov's company, but the thousand years of childhood falls by the wayside in favour of her. No matter how Thor will backtrack later, (because he will, when it suits him, he will) Loki will always hear those words exactly as Thor intended them. She loved you even when there was nothing worth loving.
The worst bit is, he knows that Thor is right. For as cold and damaged as Loki will admit that he is, his mother was warm and loving and kind. She was the woman who went against Odin's word and brought him books, she was the woman who welcomed the mortal into Asgard, she was the woman who took in the bastard frost giant and called him her son. And yes, she would have been the woman who stayed on Midgard to aid Romanov in any way she could. It's his own fault that he is standing here instead of her, and he will never be able to make that up to her.
"Get me a Russian dictionary," he says to no one in particular. "And find somewhere for her to stay. This is…" he gestures to the harness keeping her in place, "cruel."
There is a bustle of activity, and Loki feels a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off and goes to speak to Simmons. She is, it seems, the only decent one amongst them.
