Looking back, on one of her more pensive days, Natasha supposed Earth never stood a chance. Ever. Who were they kidding after all? These were gods, immortals, and certainly Natasha and her people had tried, they'd even managed to take fifty or so Asgardians out in the process, but honestly? She exhaled quietly, tipping her head back against the wall behind her. Fifty dead Asgardians in comparison to the fifty thousand dead humans. The numbers had made her knees go weak when she'd heard them murmured from one guard to the next, her mind left alone to wonder just how many of those had been before she'd been captured, and how many after. A lump raised in her throat when she thought of Ivan, Yelena, and everyone else in the Red Room. Her only family. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she'd see them in here with her, in her hellhole of a cell. The walls were all see-through, stronger than glass and reinforced by what she could only imagine was magic. Nothing got out, nothing got in without the express permission of her jailer, a tall, dark skinned man with eyes the color of chocolate and a face as sour as milk left out for a couple weeks. He'd been responsible for giving her food, and they'd had many arguments about it, Nat having refused them all. No. She knew better than to accept food from some place that used magic, any place but her home, really. It was dangerous, and it was how people got trapped up with the non-human. There had been stories of it when she was a child, when her mother had sang her lullabies and read her stories from thick, yellow-paged books before bed. When her father had sat with them and smiled, running his hands through Natasha's curly red hair and kissing her forehead before leaving, wishing her a good night.

She'd tried to let herself starve at first, kicking the food into a corner so that the jailer would see it and scowl, his already heavy brow lowering as he glowered. She would do her best to conceal her small smirk, but judging by how his hands tightened over the hilt of his spear she was getting to him. Good, she supposed. What else was there to do but antagonize the guard, after all? Her cell was bare, her four simple walls and a white floor. No bed, nothing but a chamberpot that she'd certainly gotten over the embarrassment of using after the first day, and a threadbare blanket to keep her warm when her thin grey pants and plain grey shirt were not enough; these were her constant companions alongside the guard, and the many others who'd been brought in besides her. They couldn't speak to one another; each time Nat had tried, or they had, the magic of their cells prevented the sound from getting out. Natasha had screamed and screamed her first evening, hoping to annoy the guards enough to provoke them to attack, shut her up, to do something! Nothing. Her voice had disappeared a few hours later and the pitying looks of those caged near her was too much to handle. So she'd withdrawn in on herself, face going blank as she picked a spot on the ground to lean up against the wall and folded her arms over her chest. When she grew tired she'd slink down onto the floor, but other than that she entertained herself with ways to imagine driving the spear of the guard through Odin's heart, or better yet his second eye, hear him shout and scream as she took her revenge for all he'd done. If only.

However long Natasha was in the dungeons was never told to her, and she was doing her best to not lose hope that she'd die forgotten in the damn bottom of the castle. Starving herself had grown old and she'd started eating again after deciding she might have better luck garnering favor with the guards if she cooperated. Besides, she couldn't help but think wonder why she should bother being afraid of being stuck if there were no options for escape. At least getting the guard to like her was a viable option, a decent idea, and she'd take any and every opportunity possible to escape, even if it meant being stuck on a foreign planet.

The guards changed on very rare occasions, and even more rare the prisoners would be visited by the king and a few of his men themselves. Along with him, usually, was a tall blond who seemed more antsy than most, his fingers constantly on the move, twitching as he looked around at them, as though itching to be on the move. To do something other than stand around and talk. Natasha could sympathize, though she feared what her reactions and reflexes would be like after such an extensive stay in this hellhole. They never seemed to stick around for long, simply discussing something quick that Natasha couldn't understand and looking at the other prisoners. There must have been more than just the ones near Natasha, if the heavy sigh that deflated the blond man's body was anything to go off of, and she wondered why. What they could possibly be planning that needed so many humans. Her blood ran cold. It wasn't as though their planet needed fixing, as all the fighting had been on earth, and certainly she couldn't see them needing the humans for any sort of communal reasoning. They were a different race after all, too mortal and fragile to be of much use. Already those around her seemed to be changing, growing older, as though time moved differently between worlds.

It might for all she knew.

More than once she garnered more attention than the others, her face remaining as stoic as she could manage as Odin stared at her, speaking wordlessly to the blond man beside him, the pair sometimes accompanied by a very bored man with black hair as well. Though he dutifully listened along with the other his gaze often wandered, fingers laced behind his back to likely keep himself from getting into mischief with them, forcing himself to stand up as tall as he could. An uncomfortable position to keep himself from falling asleep. Nat had done that before, too. Who were they and what did they want?

One day Odin tapped on the glass, the surface rippling gold as it spread from one side to the next, and a whorl of noise hit her ears so quick it was a miracle she kept from closing her hands over her ears just to deal with the sudden intrusion.

It took half a minute to realize that they were talking to her, not just in front of her any more. "What is your name, girl?"

"Why does it matter?" Her voice was hoarse from disuse, eyes even more distrusting than ever as she stared at all three of them in turn. The blond looked most intrigued, blue eyes bright as he stared at her, a little taller than she was. The black haired one stayed in the background, green eyes watching, always watching she'd seen. Calculating. He would've been the advisor, then. The wise one.

"Your king asks you a question," the guard growled from beside Odin, his eyes narrowed and spear pointed at Nat. She tried not to laugh, wondering just what good that would do when it shifted with ease through what she'd thought was solid glass a moment ago, the point of the weapon pressing to Nat's throat.

"Enough, Gerald." The blond said, loud boom of a voice echoing in Nat's head. The spear tip moved away from her, and Nat tried not to smirk. Heh. She could get used to getting her way like that more often. The guard bowed and resumed his position, still and stoic beside Odin, as the blond prince, she could guess, stepped closer.

"Please tell me your name."

"Natasha," she said after waiting half a minute to respond. He'd done her a bit of a favor, she supposed, and so she could return it with such a small gift of her own. A name. She'd always thought there was power within a name. After all, she'd transformed a myriad of times depending on what she called herself. Natalia, Natasha, Black Widow. Which was really her, after all? Which name accounted for who she was, who she could be? "Natasha Romanov." She barely forced out a "sir" at the end, glad he at least found that amusing rather than impertinent. Well, she assumed he did based on the smile that twisted his lips and the smirk on the man behind him. She'd take that as a good sign.

"And what was your profession when you lived on Midgard?"

"On Earth?" She restated, wishing it didn't sound so stupid. The man at the back held back a quiet chuckle that made her fists clench.

"Yes. Earth." The blond man's smile turned sympathetic and bemused. Natasha hated it. She didn't want or need his sympathy. Her hands clenched and her eyes narrowed.

"I was a spy, and a fighter." And she still would be if it hadn't been for these bastards in front of her. Again, she wondered why. She'd never heard of them taking prisoners before, only that they killed all those in their way who rebelled. So why had she been spared, but why did this man care?'

"Are you good at it?"

"Good enough to have made it as far as I did and to have survived."

"And be captured." That was Odin speaking. Nat's eyes narrowed. Asshole.

"But it did take your king in order to capture me," she reminded them, tipping her head up a little. She could be proud of that, would be proud of that. They'd have to pry that victory away from her cold dead fingers to make her stop rubbing it in their faces.

"You're quite proud, aren't you?" Odin asked, his one good eye narrowing as his arms folded over his chest, standing a touch taller than he had before. He already towered over her and she had to bring her eyes up to meet his one.

She shrugged it off, not saying anything, preferring that they would react to her. It was infinitely better to read the body language of another and draw one's own conclusions rather than betraying any of her own secrets. No one said anything for some time, allowing Natasha a better look at the trio. If they'd looked any more similar she'd have assumed the black haired man and the blond were related, at least in some way, but they couldn't have looked any different, couldn't have held themselves in a more clearly different way. The blond exuded confidence, strength. He looked the part of a warrior that they boasted about within their culture, rippling muscles and bright eyes that could quickly size up an opponent, calloused hands used to fighting their way through a myriad of foes. The other man looked as though he hadn't seen a day of battle in his life, likely the one who strategized and called the attacks, then. And what else could they be doing besides deciding the fates of those in the dungeons, finding a place or else determining a resting ground for those they'd captured?

"If there's nothing else you wish to learn then I believe we'd best be going to the next. There are more to speak with and learn from, Thor. Loki." Odin said, his hand clapping the blond on the back. Natasha watched the second man's eyes flick over to the show of affection, the slightest trace of longing flitting through his gaze.

It clicked. They were brothers, one the favorite and eldest, the second the youngest and doomed to never inherit a thing besides problems that the first didn't care to deal with. She could play with that if they ever let her out. One last look from the blond and Odin's fingers tapped at the glass once more. Again the noises of the outside world were filtered out and Natasha was left in the silence of her own company. With little else to fixate on she watched the two other men turn to talk to another prisoner. Thor and Loki. She recognized the names from the stories Ivan had once told her as a child, wanting her to be as prepared for the oncoming attack as possible. It was how she'd heard of Odin, after all, and she felt like an idiot for not guessing the identity of the two men beforehand. As though the king would go anywhere without his sons.

She moved a little closer to the glass, getting the best look at them she could without making it too obvious, seeming as though she was going to lay down beside the glass (her usual resting place, after all. When she laid down just right it looked as though she wasn't there at all from a quick glance, leaving her guards to freak out. That never got old.) With their identities solidified she took a better look at them, head tipping to the side as she watched Loki's green eyes flick from Odin to his elder brother, sizing the pair up and what they were saying, and though his face betrayed little of what he felt the subtle flicks of his fingers told volumes. He didn't agree, based on how tight his fist was clenched, and when he did he visibly relaxed his grip on his wrist. She could only attribute the slight quiver that raced through his fingertips to a desire to do something, likely wring his brother or father's neck if the near imperceptive roll of his eyes was anything to go off of. How much more interesting he was than his gold-boy brother, and how much more difficult to deceive he would be.

Nat had always loved a challenge.

A few days must have passed before Natasha received more visitors. This time it was a woman, dressed in a pair of deep red leggings, a silver, fitted breastplate over a red top, her pitch black hair tied in a high ponytail. Her eyes were bright and sized Natasha up without saying a word, her arms folded tight over her chest. Nat sat up from where she'd been laying, blue eyes meeting this warrior woman's, keeping her gaze as blank as possible. What on earth could they want now?

The woman's fingers tapped gently on the glass and once more Natasha's cell was filled with noise from the outside world as the magic lifted.

"You are a warrior?" The woman asked. Natasha gave a curt nod, watching as the woman walked over to the other side of the cell. Once more an intricate pattern was dialed on the smooth surface, but this time it allowed the woman to step up and into the cell with Natasha. She removed a thin bangle from her wrist that Nat hadn't noticed before and it changed into a thick silver cuff in her hand.

"Hold out your arm, please," she murmured. Not seeing a reason not to Nat complied. The band fitted itself to her upper arm, tightening until it met resistance so that it stuck in place. Interesting.

"What does this do?"

"Keeps you within your boundaries. From running away."

"Oh, am I going somewhere?" Natasha asked, failing to keep the sarcasm from her voice. The woman barely quirked a smile.

"No wonder Thor likes you. You've got a wit sharp as his brother's," the woman murmured. "Yes. You are. For the time you'll wait in the antechamber. Don't try running-this won't come off and you'll lose your opportunity if you disobey."

An opportunity? Interesting. She followed Sif from the cell, the fresh, cold air of the dungeons hitting her hard in the lungs, singing in her veins as her eyes teared of their own accord. Within the other cells Natasha could see three other figures, two tall and lean, one large and oddly familiar, moving in and out of various cells as well, bringing others with them. "Do you have a name?" Natasha asked, clearing her throat from its disuse.

"Sif," the woman said simply, nodding her head the once before striding off and leaving Natasha alone at the very end of a very large room. Larger than she'd ever realized. The cells stretched onwards as far as her eyes could see before disappearing around a bend, and each of its inhabitants were looking hopeful and terrified as they watched their neighbors near and far step out, or else were led out by one of the four Asgardian figures. Those that were chosen were larger in stature, well muscled and with battle-hardened eyes. One or two Natasha even recognized from debriefing packets in the Red Room. Steve Rogers, formerly Captain America, moved slowly towards her, his jaw set as he gazed around the room and practically shaking with energy. This must've been killing him, Natasha thought as she watched him take a place opposite her, bright blue eyes searching the room, looking for the most obvious of routes out. She kept her distance from him. If he recognized her he was doing a damn good job of hiding it, but she didn't want to give him a chance or reason to get a hit on her. She'd once been told to bomb a building he and his men had still been in, trying to take out the Asgardians. Her partner at the time had decided that he wasn't going to leave it up to them to finish the job and had taken matters into his own hand, and Nat wasn't about to argue, as green as she had been to missions.

At least he'd made it out okay, if not a little more battle battered than he would've been.

A group of roughly thirty people were assembled in the space between cells, each of them with a similar ensemble that Nat wore and a matching silver band around their wrist. Aside from Natasha there were perhaps two other women, neither of which looked particularly happy to be there with the rest of them, and when Sif swung back around with the last few people in tow the group was led out. No one spoke, Natasha allowing herself to fall back into the crowd, though standing out seemed a given. She was a good head shorter than most, and while their hair varied from blonde to dark black she was the only one with such bright hair. Damn it all. At least it allowed her a chance to get a look at the other three that moved with Sif. With a start she realized why she recognized the portly one, her hands fisting as she recalled his face and jovial, loud laugh from the party where she'd gotten caught. Her hands tightened into quick fists before relaxing. She'd strangle his fat throat with her bare hands if given the opportunity. She truly hoped she got the opportunity.

But thoughts of revenge were quickly chased from her mind as they were brought outside, of all places. The sun felt good on her skin after having been stuck beneath the palace for so long, and from the sounds growing closer it seemed as though they were making their way to a training ground of sorts. Interesting, though it made sense. What better way to test who was a threat and who wasn't than by pitting them against one another. At least she assumed it would be against one another; a human against an Aesir, well. Her eyes flickered over to where Steve stood. They might stand a chance, she supposed. The others? Doubtful. Though they had made it this far, she reminded herself. So perhaps they stood a decent chance.

The group was stopped just outside a vast arena, large seats raised around a circular, sand and dirt covered center where a pair of men sparred, their shirts cast aside, muscles glistening with sweat and rippling as they grappled with one another, one sporting a shock of blond hair, the other short brown. Nat thought she'd recognize the blond anywhere and took her time observing Thor's technique. He went for the kill with each move he made, holding nothing back as he wrapped his muscled arms around the center of his opponent and flung him to the ground, slamming into him not long after. A shout came from the other man, who wriggled beneath him as Thor gained better purchase of one of his arms and twisted so hard that the pop of the bone coming from its socket could be heard from where they stood. Many around her winced but Nat's eyes simply narrowed in confusion. This was a friendly match and yet they held nothing back?

The two men called it a match from there, Thor rising with a broad grin and a light in his eyes that came only from a good round as he patted his companion on the back, the brunette wincing a little but offering a kind smile nonetheless.

"Good bout Balder. Thank you for that. Send my brother down, will you?"

"Of course my prince." The man tipped his head forward and disappeared, popping his shoulder easily back into place as he moved. Now that was skill. Thor moved aside to allow the group to step inside the arena, an uneasy air falling over them as Thor moved to stand by the four that brought them in, one arm wrapping around Sif in a half hug that she stiffened under. No love lost there, Natasha supposed, absently wondering what Thor had done to infuriate the woman and whether it would be possible for Nat to draw the woman away from the prince. Once the pleasantries had been exchanged between them all it was Thor who started them all out, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"You've all been selected because you're all fighters in your own right. You've all done well to prove yourself as warriors, and now we will be providing you with the chance to join us. All whom do not wish to will not be forced, but the alternative is returning to the cell in which you were brought. If you wish to relinquish this opportunity please make your intentions known now so that you might escorted back."

One person did so, a woman who'd been trembling since she'd stepped near the proving grounds. Another blond man, this one with a rather impressive mustache and a twinkle in his eye Nat recognized from many of her past targets, led her back the way they'd come. At least they thought he had; there was a soft thud and he returned immediately following, wiping a thin stiletto blade clean of blood. The air around them tensed. Thor nodded and Natasha felt her heart speed up. No room for weakness, she supposed. Especially not in the mortals. If they didn't fit within a specific role she supposed they were expendable, but it begged the question why they were even being given the option.

"Those of you who have remained will be paired up with one another and have five minutes with which to disarm or disable your opponent in whichever way you consider simplest and most prudent. No weapons, each man and woman," here he looked to Natasha, "Is on even ground." Again a heavy silence followed his words. He allowed himself a grin. "Any volunteers?"

Not a single person raised their hand or said a word, not until Nat stepped forward from where she'd nestled herself in the crowd. Thor's grin widened as he recognized her, and she gave a half shouldered shrug. She felt confident in herself, even as long as it had been since she'd fought, that she'd be fine. She'd done worse than this before, and frankly if she died in the process well, she deserved it.

'Accept nothing less than perfection from yourself Natalia and you'll never allow yourself to be let down.' Ivan's words played in her head as she was brought to one side of the arena, allowed to strip and change into more suitable clothing, a tighter fitting black shirt and pair of training trousers. Though she had to roll the latter up to her ankles, along with the sleeves of her shirt, she felt confident as she watched her opponent changing. He was a little older than she was, at least he looked it, and though he was at least twice as wide as she was he moved slowly, as though his bones ached with every movement. This would be a quick one, she couldn't help but think to herself. The others, including Rogers, were shunted out of the arena, forced to listen, as the other Asgardians took their places in the high seats. Loki had rejoined his brother-Nat could feel his eyes on her as she stretched her calves and arms, muscles waking up after being dormant for so long and burning pleasantly-and once the pair had seated it was Loki who called for the fight to begin, Thor sitting forward eagerly.

She hardly needed the full five minutes, running forward to make the first move, feigning to the right before slipping down to the ground and flipping his legs from beneath him. Her reflexes were much better than his, thanks to the serum and how much practice she'd had while on Earth, so even as he went down and threw a foot out to connect with her face she rolled to the side and tossed the sand around them into his eyes. He shouted, cursing her dirty trick, but his next words were cut off as she scrambled atop him, grasped his head between hands tightly, and twisted. His body went limp before his hands could get much higher than her mid torso, and she pulled away from him shortly after. Again silence fell between the onlookers, and when she looked over she saw Thor's face frozen in a look of shock while Loki simply looked impressed. He called out the time, a minute and fourteen seconds, and she was led away as the body of her opponent was dragged away. The precedent was set and she'd love to see anyone else follow it.

She wasn't allowed to watch Steve fight, but judging by the grunts that came from the other side of the huge wooden walls that surrounded the grounds it was going in his favor. She very much doubted he would go for the kill as she had, no, he was far too good for that. Still she couldn't help but hope he would make it out. He was strong, stronger than her even though she was certain to be faster than him. He might even be a match for Thor, or at least put up a good fight. The idea made her smirk, tipping her head back to rest against the wood, feeling more at ease than she had since she'd been forced here. The others, most of whom had kept as far away as allowed under careful supervision of the brunette man from before, Balder, kept away from her, having seen that her partner hadn't returned with her. She could read the fear in the careful lines on their faces, the way they tensed when they looked to her. She'd made no friends for taking the kill when she had, but she'd made an impression and that was, simply put, vastly more important. Besides, if she could get Steve on her side then what did she care about the others?

There was a cry from the otherside, from Thor it sounded like, and the grunting stopped. Two figures made their way back from the enclosure, Steve walking fine with his head up as the other man limped, one arm wrapped around Steve's shoulders. Natasha watched him carefully. Why did he bother? The other man would die anyway, especially now that he was injured. Why bother with the kindness? She saw, however, how it changed the faces of those around them, how they looked at the once strong symbol of freedom from oppression, now refusing to give into the stresses of the powers that sought to make them slaves once more.

He could have his freedom and his dignity for it, she was going to get out of there with her life.

Between the two of them they made short work of the candidates until no more than fifteen, themselves included, were left. Natasha had just wrapped her thighs tight around the throat of another man, squeezing with all the power she had until he choked, when Thor gave a booming laugh and time was called. The man fell, limp and still, to the ground.

"What a way to die," she overheard Thor say with a grin. "I wouldn't mind it."

"No, of course you wouldn't." She could all but hear the eyeroll in Loki's voice and smirked at that. As if Thor would ever try to fight her. He had once or twice made the request to spar with another individual, and it had almost always resulted in their death. But those had been men, the women all disposed of by Natasha. Now, however, as she looked up into the stands she saw Thor motion for her to stop, his long legs bringing him swiftly down to her level. She lowered her eyes as he narrowed, resulting in a quiet hum of a laugh bubbling from his chest.

"Would you fight me, little one?" He asked, tipping her head up to look at him. Her throat tightened, nerves that had been once dormant coming to fight against her power of speech. She'd thought too quickly about the ease through which she'd made it through the training tests. Now? She licked her lips quickly, hastening to think up words.

"If it would please you, my lord, then certainly," she said, genuflecting with her head bent. She couldn't think of another way to respond and perhaps if he saw her as less of a threat, as subservient, then he wouldn't kill her. It was the quickest she could think of at least. Once more he lifted her gaze up from the ground and grinned, allowing her to rise as well.

Loki's gaze hardened as he watched the two, stiffening where he sat as Natasha and Thor squared off against one another. They wouldn't be tied, as all seemed to know better than to interrupt Thor when he got going. The thought only made Natasha's heart beat a little harder against her ribs until she was certain the imprint of her bones would be a permanent mark on the organ. She rubbed her sweating palms on her pants, and when that didn't help she bent down to the ground to take sand in her hands, coating her sticky hands in the coarse substance. It was then that Thor made his first move, rushing her and throwing his whole body her way. She dodged, rolling to the side so that she could come to a stop just behind him, crouched down and watching him turn the lunge into a graceful roll, stopping with his back to her. She took her shot, closing in and striking with her foot. Had she been half a second faster it would've connected with the back of his head. As it was his hand shot out and tripped her up, rising to his full height as she found herself flat on her back and gazing up at him. He held fast to her foot but as he scrambled to grab her other he left himself open for her heel to drive into his nose, cracking it satisfactorily, coating her appendage with blood. He snarled, grabbing her leg and pressing them hard together, pressing them forward as he came to lean over her, the pressure so much that Nat felt she might be flattened beneath him. Her face contorted in pain for half a minute before she managed to reach up and grab a hold of his hair, yanking him as hard as she could. His grip faltered for the briefest of moments, allowing her to roll backwards.

She hadn't been prepared for Thor to tackle her the minute she'd landed on her haunches, toppling her back over. She'd trained with larger men before, though, and managed to relax her body so that the momentum forced them to roll not just the once but twice, firmly cementing her atop him. She scrambled to wrap her legs on either side of his torso, pinning his arms to his side, but she hadn't anticipated him to mimic her own signature move and bring his legs up to wrap around her own front, pulling her so far back that she shouted in pain. Her back was going to break if he didn't let her go! He waited until she relented first, her legs going limp around him and allowing him to lay her back down beneath him as he hovered over her, the blood flow of his nose already stemmed as the bone healed itself nearly instantly.

There was an opportunity there she didn't think twice about before exploiting. As he loomed over her, one arm pressing hard against her windpipe, she wrapped her legs once more around his hips but rather than squeeze, as she was sure he expected, she ground her pelvis against his. Hard. A groan of surprise passed his lips and her own curved into a sultry smirk, one eyebrow rising suggestively. His gaze changed, mutating from something that once resembled a warrior's concentration to one deeply mired in lust. He pressed a little harder on her larynx and she gave the quietest of moans, tipping her head to the side, exposing her neck to him. If that wasn't submissive enough for him, well, she didn't know what was. Her body always had been her greatest weapon, and as she flicked her gaze back towards the god, who'd pressed himself just as hard against her now, she saw with great relief that her bet had paid off. He'd just lowered his mouth to nip hungrily at her throat when there came a throat being cleared from the stands. Natasha allowed a blush to stain her cheeks, as though she'd truly been caught out of sorts by Thor's actions, and the god above her gave a low growl of disapproval as he looked over at the dissenter. Loki looked caught between disbelief and disgust at the change in their behavior.

"Shall I mark that down as a loss for Romanov?" He asked dryly. Based on the way Thor's arm had moved to clutch at her hip and the erection pressed hard against her center, Nat would count it as a victory. No way in hell would he get rid of her now.

Of them all, thirteen made the final cut, Steve among them. He'd taken two lives himself, only after having been backed into a corner, and if the weight sagging his shoulders down was any indication he wasn't proud of what he'd resorted to doing. Natasha, for one, couldn't understand why. It was about living. Getting to see the next day, and getting the hell out of that cell. They were all given rooms and basic belongings with the intention that they would fill the gaps left by the dead Aesir lost on Midgard. Natasha wasn't about to complain, glad to sleep on a real bed for a change rather than the hard floor her back had hated her for. Steve's room had been positioned just across from hers, and their eyes met on more than one occasion as they settled themselves in.

"Good fighting today," Natasha offered. An olive branch between them, she saw it. He nodded and murmured a similar sentiment before disappearing. She tried not to think of it as the rejection his expression made it out to be. He could disagree all he wanted with what she'd done, but it had gotten her where she'd needed to be. Ivan couldn't have asked for anything more from his best operative, and besides the better graces she stayed in the easier she would be able to locate a weak spot within the realm of the gods. It was only a matter of time before it presented itself.


A/N: Hurray another chapter! I'm thoroughly enjoying writing this, and I hope you're all enjoying reading it as well. Thanks so much for all the support and the comments-they mean so much to me and only help the writing process!