Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Avengers or Thor intellectual property or characters, which all belong to Marvel. This work of fanfiction is intended to be transformational commentary on the original and purely for enjoyment. No profit is being made from this work.


On Black Widow's leftist political views: "...her left-wing upbringing was put to better use, and she has lately taken to fighting realistic oppressor-of-the-people types. She helps young Puerto Ricans clean up police corruption and saves young hippies from organized crime." -Daniels, Les. Comix: A History of Comic Books in America

A/N: Oh, and for you Resident Evil fans, I purposefully named it "The Manhattan Incident" just like "The Mansion Incident" because I'm such a nerd. ^-^

[Trigger Warning: PTSD flashback]


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If we choose, we can live in a world of comforting illusion - Noam Chomsky

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Thick, ominous clouds had crept in with the setting of the sun, obscuring the moons and adding an additional layer of mystery to the grim proceedings.

They reached the golden hall, approaching the royal throne, Hlidskjalf, and the Council of Asgard, with guards tailing them from every direction. Loki's eyes dart around as they go, swift and observant; the entire hall itself seemed to glower down at him. Frigga, the All-Mother, made a soft, wounded noise when he was shoved to his knees in front of them.

Loki glared silently at the floor before looking up at the King who had raised him from infancy. The fool. He had been granted his powers for a reason: to rule. Yet, the old cur insisted on keeping his diplomatic relations with the other realms. Pathetic. The expression on the All-Father's face was one of grim pity and he appeared weakened. Loki clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to scream at him, but the gag left him with no choice but to remain silent. But underneath it all there was a simmering, bitter resentment, plain for all to see.

This is the monster you created, Father. Revel in your genius.

"Loki," Frigga said, and his eyes snapped up to his Queen and mother's teary-eyed, pale face. "My son, my darling," she sniffed, and after everything Loki had done, he had not expected Frigga to throw herself at his feet, to kneel beside her disgraced younger child.

Loki gasped and gladly leaned forward into her soft embrace as she cupped his face in her warm hands. Even when he'd been a child, Loki's fears and anxieties had seemed to melt away under Frigga's gentle fingers.

"Mother," Loki croaked under his gag, emitting not even a sound, and it was no trouble at all to pull against Thor's hold, free his arms, and wrap himself around the woman who cared for him; the chains bounding him clanking against her dress.

"I love you," she murmured against his cheek, words spoken so quietly that no one else could hear them.

She placed slow, soft kisses on his cheeks, his brow, the lids of his eyes, and Loki held her close; the blessed closeness, the solid familiarity of her affection.

"Loki," Odin said finally, "you broke our hearts. I thought you dead; we all thought you dead." His voice was calm; not the proud calm of a leader, but of a father: disappointed, quiet, and perhaps a little wounded. "And discovering you were alive, only to have Heimdall inform us that you were attacking Earth with an alien army... It pains me."

Frigga looked at Loki, and in her eyes he could see sadness, loss, grief... and love. In Frigga's eyes, Loki could see understanding, and for that he smiled ever so faintly. But she must conceal her expression, replacing it with a mask of polite disinterest: the quiet dignity of the crown. In silence, the Queen of Asgard turned back to her throne.

Loki felt grateful for that moment.

"How could you betray us, my son?" Odin hissed suddenly, glaring at his adoptive son with his one eye. "You have done naught but commit atrocities to the Nine Realms you once swore to protect!" He was standing now. "Your cunning grows unkinder as the days pass... We raised you to be a kind and honorable man, not a tyrant!"

The members of the Council of Asgard stood on their high rises then, surrounding Hlidskjalf, making Loki feel even smaller. They were dressed in velvet robes of crimson with silver masks to conceal their faces.

"Loki Odinson," the Council Leader spoke finally, her voice heavy. "You stand before the Council of Asgard under the crimes of attempted annihilation of the realm of Jotunheim, accomplice in the murder of many human lives, and acting with a known villain in the theft of the Tesseract. Do you deny these accusations?"

He shook his head, and immediately angry voices from the groups of bystanders began shouting.

"He's torn apart this entire kingdom over a foolish obsession to best Thor and claim the throne of Asgard!"

"Leave the treacherous half-breed to the Chitauri warlords!"

"There is no place for him among the Aesir!"

Among the many voices arguing Loki's fate, a few plead for leniency. Baldur, the god of Light, was one of them to Loki's surprise. The debate continued only for a few moments longer until the Council Leader raised her hand.

"Under the edict of Valhalla, the duty rests upon the Council to sentence you to the highest punishment." She hesitated for only a moment, and continued, "Bound by chains where venom shall drip onto your body every passing day and this until Ragnarok ends the worlds as we know them. You, Loki Odinson, shall not be known for valor of any kind. Tales will only be told of your mischief and fierce disregard for life and all that is good—"

Thor interrupted suddenly.

"It is true that Loki has been led astray and was misguided in his actions on Earth, but the same was true of myself, when I acted so rashly and charged into Jotunheim without the King or Queen's permission." He knelt down on one knee, and bowed his head, a tear visible from underneath the curtain of his blond hair. "The All-Father sent me into exile, and I learned much during my time there; I realized the error of my ways!"

The hall was quiet as the King and Queen seemed to be considering his proposal.

"I, Thor Odinson, request this of you most humbly, All-Father. Give Loki a chance to redeem himself, just as you did for me."

They turned to the Council and began discussing mutely, under their breaths. Frigga gave a curt nod of her head to Odin, who turned back to face them, heaving a great sigh. He finally nodded his head.

"Very well," he declared, pontificating to all. "I will grant this chance, for even though our blood is unlike, Loki is still my son... However, no ornamental words can change the fate of countless innocents who have perished under Loki's wrath, and through his actions, have brought upon us all a threat of imminent war. His hands have become stained with terrible offenses and repentance is indeed, necessary."

The Council seemed to understand the King's implications.

"Your source of power, your magic," he spoke to Loki, hints of guilt flashing in his eye, "will be stripped from you, and you shall be forced to subsist without them during your imprisonment."

Loki's heart clenched and his eyes widened.

They each nodded to the other before finally reaching a closing decision and the Council Leader spoke again, "The All-Father doth grant a mighty testimony. We, the Council, agree with his judgment. May the sentence be made!"

"Loki Odinson, god of Mischief," the All-Father roared, radiating all the dignity and power Loki remembered so well, "you owe a sacred debt to all of humanity, and until you have proven your worth, from this day forth, I banish you to the Prisons of Silence and to never again see the light of Asgard, nor feel the power of your sorcery!"

Odin motioned for the hall's silence with a commanding motion, Gungnir in hand, and Loki swallowed, preparing himself. Loki had expected to face something like this eventually, but the sudden iron weight pressing down on his chest was nothing he had ever prepared himself for.

Mimicking the gesture that had been done to his eldest son a small time before, Odin proceeded to rip Loki's helmet off his head.

"Heimdall will be observant of your actions, Loki," their mother interjected suddenly. "We will anxiously await your hopeful return."

Loki's eyes reflected the depths of honest sorrow and his every muscle was slumped. His crimes would no doubt come back to haunt him, but what choice did he have? It was a better alternative than death, at least.

"Good. Well, then—"

"Hold, Father," Thor contested. "If it is acceptable, I would like to have words with my brother in private before he must go. Do I have permission?"

"Yes... but do not tarry long, Thor. His hourglass empties little by little with each moment that is wasted here."

"Come. Walk with me, Brother." Thor gestured for Loki to follow him out of the golden hall via one of the multiple side exits. Once they reached the grand dining halls, and made sure they were alone, Thor stopped and walked over to him, reaching behind his head and unbuckling the infernal mask that was keeping him from saying anything. When it was finally gone, Loki sighed and brought both bound hands up to rub at his cheeks, opening and closing his jaw slowly.

"You might have put that damned thing on me a little more loosely, Thor," he said angrily, lowering his hands. "My tongue was nearly going numb."

Thor shook his head; the anger had been replaced with a beseeching despair that was so unfamiliar for the mighty thunder god.

Loki suddenly materialized himself behind Thor's back, savoring the sharp intake of breath his favorite trick elicited. "Why?"

The elder brother raised a wary hand to rub his eyes. "What is it you mean, Loki?"

"Why did you convince Father to spare me?" he nearly demanded. "I have wronged Asgard, Earth, you... After all I have done, why would you even consider allowing me a second chance?"

"You have been by my side since childhood, Loki. I cannot just give up on you."

The brothers stared at each other before Loki began to slowly pace towards a mahogany chair and leaned against it. Tilting his head, he asked, "Had you seen Jane during your stay on Earth?"

"No," Thor replied sullenly. "She required relocation after you captured Erik Selvig."

"Of course, meeting her had been your punishment, had it not?" Loki spat, his tone instantly turning into one of malevolence. "As it always were, the golden son of Asgard, unable to do wrong."

Clenching his fists, Thor reprimanded, "Stop this, Brother! I admit that I have made many mistakes. But we are brothers! The All-Father and I love you—"

Loki's eyes flashed with pure rage. "And I made the mistake of believing I could gain the respect of a father who only ever saw me as a wretched Frost Giant!"

"That is not true! Despite of everything that has happened, he still wishes to help you. I love you...and I know you love me too, Loki."

"I am not your brother, Thor," the raven hair male said solemnly. "We've been over this. You know very well of my true form..."

"Does this now vanish the numerous centuries of family history? We were raised as brothers, as family, and I never turn my back on those I care about!"

Loki was unsure of what to say. Thor's words struck him deep, and his brow furrowed with sadness. Under his pale, white skin, he knew his veins flowed with Jotun blood: his concealed, traitorous heritage. Perhaps the endearment Thor sent his way was falsified, but he was not so sure. I'm not going to fall for it. Not again. Never will I fall prey to their weakness. Once I regain my strength, I will show them, show them their great error. No longer will I walk in Thor's shadow. Not I...

"I do not deny my guilt, but in this case... I was coerced." There was a pause but Loki did not raise his head. "When they came upon me... the Other formed some sort of connection with my mind..." he continued, making a face and biting at his cheek, eyes focused on the far wall, lost in memory for a moment. "Through this we were able to communicate and they were able to..." he shuddered and winced, "Let us say, it was not a pleasant experience. Yet it went both ways. While we were... connected, I was able to glean much of their plans for the Tesseract."

Dejectedly, his brother pushed a strand of blond hair out of his face and moved toward Loki until there was very little distance between them. Thor rested his hands on both of the dark-haired god's shoulders, gazing at him with pained eyes.

"This imprisonment, I do not think it wrong… But it pains me to see you like this. I know you can atone for your misguided actions, Loki, and regain your honor once more. You may be bitter towards Father for keeping the truth from you, but he loves you just as he loves me. After you fell into that abyss, he and Mother shed many tears of grief for you for months. We all mourned you..."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"So you know that when you succeed in this task given to you, you will have a home to return to and a family that loves you."

So be it then.

Loki returned to accept his sentence. Before he knew what was happening, he was being ejected from Asgard via one of the several, smaller pathways that were now a necessity ever since the Bifrost had been shattered by Thor. Time seemed to slow, images blurred, and suddenly, Loki was writhing in pain, suffocating as it felt like he was being torn apart. As he fell, he felt the magic within him weakening until it was no more.

Everything went black.

.


.

5 Months Later...

"They are a part of you...and they will never go away."

Loki's words swirled in Natasha's head as she examined data in the newly expanded Stark Tower, standing next to Virginia 'Pepper' Potts (personal executive to CEO of Stark Industries) as Tony Stark concluded his meeting in the position of intermediary for an overseas merger. After five months, the clean-up of New York was still in progress, but many people had pitched in, even corporations donated generous sums of money toward its reconstruction hoping to return the city to its former prestige. Unfortunately, the ramifications of the alien invasion forced a massive restructuring of the United States' defense network.

They were most fortunate to have defeated the aliens Loki had brought into their world, but with such looming threats, the Avengers could not risk letting their guard down. Everything should have felt warm and fuzzy, but Natasha was still on edge. Their hard-earned victory had not felt so victorious.

"What are your thoughts?"

Stark asked her, frowning at the designs on the holographic screen. It held an intricate dissection of the mechanics of the scepter Loki had wielded but without the power of the Tesseract. After his defeat and capture, S.H.I.E.L.D. had confiscated it with the intent to produce a prototype device that worked on gamma rays to inhibit magic in case Earth ever succumbed to a similar threat. Recognizing that Stark was their best hope, they negotiated with him and Banner so that the two scientists could undertake the development themselves.

"It's certainly impressive," Natasha said, folding her arms across her chest. "The Council wanted to continue Phase 2 without the Tesseract, but Fury somehow convinced them against it."

"Hey the next time Earth is threatened, maybe they'll regret their continued insistence that the Avengers are a 'threat to global security'."

"More like a threat to corrupt politics," Natasha said cynically. "Banner's had his anger well-contained; it's not a justifiable reason."

"Speaking of contained, how are you enjoying your luxurious stay at Hotel Avengers, Agent?" Stark asked with his usual air of humor.

She smirked and replied, "Well, it's certainly an improvement to shady, rodent-infested motels and apartments."

"I'm touched," he dramatically put a hand on his heart. "But really, it was Pepper who came up with the design for the floors," Tony remarked, giving Pepper her due credit.

The blond snorted. "I'm still a little confused as to why you made a room for...err..." Pepper drew off, trying to recall the name.

"Thor?" he supplied, and she snapped her fingers with a nod. "Well, Point Break will be back someday; hopefully, soon because I need his hammer to test VOID out on—"

"JARVIS, transfer all data from recent energy scans into Project VOID file."

"Right away, Sir," came the disembodied voice of Tony's artificial intelligence butler.

Pepper pulled Stark into a romantic kiss then, and Natasha happily allowed them their privacy. It had come as a bit of a shock to many, that the self-proclaimed 'Playboy' had initiated a steady relationship with a woman, but Tony and Pepper seemed perfect together.

She began making her way up the circular stairwell to the next floor where the Avengers' living quarters were until a familiar voice called out to her.

"Agent Romanov, Ma'am, how are you feeling?"

The former Soviet spy turned to see the handsome, blond superhero walking towards her. Steve Rogers appeared exhausted and sweaty, and Natasha figured he'd just come from the gym. The man had been managing life much better than he'd done a year ago. During his time, Captain America served as both a symbol of freedom and the nation's most effective soldier, dedicated to his country. Unfortunately, that dedication had rendered him frozen in the arctic waters of the North Atlantic for 70 years. S.H.I.E.L.D. felt a responsibility in helping him cope with the new world, so they had provided Steve an apartment, but with Stark's amplified living quarters for the Avengers, the Captain preferred being around his new acquaintances.

"Recovering."

After years of intense cognitive training, Natasha was irritated that Loki had been able to claw into her head. Of course, that had been his intention, attacking the Avengers one by one, and she'd been able to cleverly play it off like it was all a part of her strategy, but if the femme fatale were honest with herself, his words really had triggered her.

She watched as he dabbed his face with the towel he'd had wrapped around his neck, and asked, "Has Stark been having you watch the news?"

Chuckling, the Captain nodded, "It's just like back in my day. I keep seeing my picture on the front cover of newspapers... Did you know they made toys out of us too?"

"Unfortunately," she scoffed. "I think they used Catwoman's body for my action figure, and just added bright red hair."

They laughed, though Natasha's was more of a snicker.

"Stark loves his."

Natasha rolled her eyes, snorting in disgust. She then continued down the hallway for her place which happened to be close by.

Steve stared down at his hands for a moment before running after her, "Miss Romanov?"

The redhead stopped in her tracks, turning to correct him, "Please, Captain, call me Natasha."

"Yes, ma'am, I mean, Natasha," he corrected, a rosy tint coloring his cheeks, before hesitantly trying to initiate small-talk. "So, do you have any hobbies? I mean, I only ever see you train and go out on missions."

Furrowing her eyebrows, she replied, "Not really."

"But... don't you do anything else?"

Natasha never allowed anyone too close, intentionally or unintentionally. Except for Clint. "I sleep and eat."

Steve let out a small laugh. "Well, I was just thinking..." he began shyly, scratching the back of his head and looking down at his feet, "Would you... like to go get some breakfast?"

Natasha gauged his expression, trying to figure out exactly what his intentions were.

"Steve, are you asking me on a date?"

"I guess I am. Would you prefer me not to?"

At this she was truly stunned. The agent had been proposed a date, a sentiment rarely thrown her way. When she was forced to go undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D., occasionally she would be required to go on pseudo-dates as part of the mission, and only rarely did she flirt with people for information (i.e. Tony Stark). The Black Widow was far too lethal to even be thought of as a serious, romantic interest. This all suited Natasha well, though. She preferred to not share her bed.

Upon seeing him still standing before her, she blinked her eyes.

"No, I think breakfast sounds nice," she admitted with a small smile. "I know of a decent, little secluded place on Fourth Avenue that would be perfect."

The Captain's eyes lit up.

"All right. At least a few things haven't changed."

And Steve was ever the gentleman. Of course, Natasha had expected the old-fashioned chivalry, but she couldn't deny that it made her extremely uncomfortable. He would open doors for her, offered his helmet while on his motorcycle, a modified, 1940's style Harley Davidson. He even offered to order her meal for her.

"You know, Steve, chivalry is pretty much dead these days," Natasha chuckled before popping a piece of strawberry into her mouth. "You missed the second wave feminist movement that really changed things, and are currently in the third."

Steve joined in on her amusement, "Well, I guess I'll just have to ride that wave."

Natasha took a drink of her glass of orange juice before cutting into another one of her crepes.

"In Russia, the women are a bit more aggressive than here in the States."

"I didn't know that," he confessed, pouring syrup onto his buttermilk pancakes. "Although, I can't say I've been able to shake the bad feelings I have for your country."

"No offense taken, Cap," the ex-Soviet assured. "I am just as willing to criticize the Russian political system as the US's. But I have to warn you, I am a child of the Bolshevik Revolution, so my politics are very far-left on the political spectrum."

Natasha realized she probably wasn't being a very good date. After all, this was very atypical for her. It's just an outing with a friend. A real date. Had she even ever been on one before? Perhaps with —

"So how's Barton doing?" the Captain asked, breaking the silence first.

Her face deadpanned.

"He's better. Though he still feels guilty for the things he did while under Loki's control."

"But we all know it wasn't his fault," Steve protested. "He couldn't have done anything about it."

Her BlackBerry began vibrating.

"Director Fury," she said grimly, preparing herself for the assignment of another mission.

After the incident, Fury had been assailed with questions from all different spectrums of the world. The US government, media, foreign countries, non-profit organizations, the United Nations; all vying for the truth behind what had been termed, "The Manhattan Incident". Unfortunately, the Council had decided to concoct a clever cover-story for the public.

"Agent Romanov, I need you and Barton in," Fury said as his image blurred slightly on the LCD screen.

The older man's intense gaze clearly implied the seriousness of the situation, and the tight frown on his face displayed his apparent annoyance; at whom, she did not know.

"Sorry, Captain, duty calls."

Steve paid for their meals despite Natasha's protests, and they rode back to Stark Tower together, eventually parting ways.

.


.

Natasha Romanov could hack into the most complex security systems without tripping any firewalls or even batting an eyelash, but it had taken her years to trust just one man.

Budapest and Moscow, Prague and Bratislava, a Super 8 in Boston and a Grand Hyatt in Hong Kong, and always, always him, smirking at her with those gray, hooded eyes, speaking kind words of respect and forever armed, riding out the horrors of his childhood, he still turned her way, no matter how many years passed.

He was in his nest as usual, crouched over, working on grafting his stun arrows to make them emit the paralysis toxin quicker into the human body.

"You know that kind of inattentiveness will get you killed."

Natasha said, approaching Clint Barton from behind.

Turning to see his partner nearing him, he softened his stance a little. The two agents had fought alongside each other for years and there was no need to keep their guards up around one another. Clint was the only man she trusted. The two had continued their missions for S.H.I.E.L.D. after Loki was transported back to Asgard; the incident having bonded them possibly even more.

"Stark's still going on about his new Twitter account."

Barton snorted in amusement and said, "I just hope he doesn't overdo the hashtags."

Natasha laughed with that usual sardonic undertone.

She moved and sat down next to him soundlessly, kicking her leather-clad legs over the side of the railing, eliciting not even one creak from the floor, as Clint marveled, distantly, at the way she skirt the laws of physics like they simply didn't apply to her.

The sniper studied her for a minute then asked, "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," she lied.

He was possibly the only person who could see through Natasha's impenetrable poker faces. Sensing her discomfort, he took it upon himself to talk, "The board's still giving Fury hell for going against their decision."

"It was the right decision."

"Yeah, I doubt anyone was in favor of having Manhattan become a Raccoon City."

Clint had abandoned the project and settled down next to his partner, idly watching the scurrying workers of S.H.I.E.L.D. down below. Natasha could see the dark circles under Barton's eyes from his lack of peaceful sleep. She too still had occasional nightmares of the demigod returning; those green snake-eyes filled with vengeance, manipulating her close friend again and having him carry out his bargain on her.

"I told you I'd been compromised," she said quietly, examining her unpolished fingernails. "When you woke up, I mean."

"Yeah," Clint agreed, and took a swig of his Coca Cola. "You never did fully explain that one."

"That's because I thought," Natasha began, but looked down at his black boots. Blowing out a huge, weighted breath, she said, "Look, the stuff that happened while you were overcome— it's not your fault, Clint. You weren't in control of your actions."

Everything came rushing back to him.

Montreal, a night spent in separate double beds, a run-in with an old contact to pick up new equipment, arrangements made. New Mexico, his Hawk nest, the ice-blue tendrils of someone else's thoughts, the sickeningly smooth release of kill shots he'd never intended to fire. New York, reverberations from a crack to his skull, a blur of red hair, bright light blinding his eyes, confusion, anger, two empty bottles of the sort of vodka Natasha had taught him to drink.

"Neither were you," Barton whispered softly, as he peered at the woman, "Nat."

She met his intense gaze, seeing the pain in his eyes and inhaled, fighting for breath. Natasha knew about his dreams just as he knew about her nightmares. Being psychochemically conditioned when they met: implanted with false memories, genetically and biologically enhanced to abnormal levels, and 23 years old with 254 kills. S.H.I.E.L.D. had later discovered that Natasha had even been implanted with pheromone locks as a control mechanism. Though she'd recovered and dedicated her life to the good side, her past was always chasing her. Former elite Soviet and Black Ops members were always seeking her, The Black Widow, the traitor to their regime... the one who escaped...

"I now understand exactly what you went through, Nat," Clint said softly, looking directly into her deep-blue eyes. "How it feels to be used as a weapon... your body controlled through someone else's will..."

"I...was afraid...so afraid that I was going to lose you," she whispered.

His eyes widened for a moment at her confession, but then eased.

"Shit, Tali..." Barton glanced her way before continuing, "I'm right here, for real." He flicked her arm playfully and smirked. It was the countless banter like this that made their partnership... no, their friendship, so strong and alive.

Clint yawned widely and laid back, staring up at the tall ceiling, a few strands of dirty-blond hair in his eyes. As soon as he was settled, Natasha crawled towards him and laid her head on his chest.

"I guess we're even now," she said tiredly, stifling a yawn of her own. "...Saving me all those years ago..."

Clint kneaded his hand through Natasha's surprisingly silky hair. "You have no idea how happy I am to have done so," he murmured sleepily.

There existed a unique level of mutual respect between the two, and often, there wasn't a need to converse. They could lay there for hours, the world passing by without care, Clint's scent filling the air with a pleasant aroma; always the same, peppermint and gun powder, sometimes with a hint of that cologne he used.

"...Almost three years now... Bobbi passed..."

Then Clint fell asleep.

She froze, understanding her partner's pain.

Mockingbird. Clint's wife of barely a year, who had died sacrificing herself for his life. A most honorable death… that of a true warrior. Natasha couldn't help but feel a strong, protective instinct for him; having promised herself to ensure Bobbi's death would never be in vain. And unknown to Barton, it was what made her debt to him that much more. She owed it to both of them.

.


.

The path to redemption will be upon you soon enough. We will not be interfering, my son, not even Thor.

Odin's final words before Loki had found himself cast away in the dark, empty dungeon around five months ago. Time passed in torturous, dragging lulls; the burden of guilt growing heavier upon his shoulders, and his failures seeming to multiply whenever his mind echoed the efforts that ultimately landed him there.

The air was still with early summer heat and brought flashes of childhood memories to Loki's mind. But the memory of sunshine was snuffed out by the reality that he was below the city of Asgard, underneath the trenches and magic bound so that he could influence no one and nothing around him. Unable to cast illusions, no ensorcelled words to speak into guardsmen's ears. No guardsmen near him either, for that matter – they grew tired of listening to his bile. The chamber containing his enclosure, small and laden with dust, was rimmed with scarlet-flamed torches situated in stone brackets near the ceiling; they flickered with a kind of hushed malice.

Now that he was powerless, Loki suspected he was no longer invisible to Heimdall's powerful eyes and ears, seething with rage when he imagined the sneer of triumph gracing the Golden Giant's lips. Would the Gatekeeper hasten a report to the All-Father proclaiming that his foster son was a miserable failure as compared to Thor? No, Heimdall would stay silent and simply observe.

Someday, Heimdall, I promise you, I will return to stand before you and cleave that smile from your lips. Thor's mortal woman is no doubt feverishly seeking to restore the connection to Asgard, and I am already aware of his precious friends. Watch as I use them to acquire what I need and discard every last one of them as I see fit! I will determine for myself what ridiculous trials Odin has for me, and perhaps along the way, figure out how to usurp the Throne from that senile fool!

His mind then conjured up an image of the All-Father, and how he had appeared last he saw him: weary and almost... weakened. And Loki knew the Aesir blamed him for this.

Odin... Foolish old man, you should've never touched those spells. The thought erupted in Loki's mind before he could remind himself that without the dark sorcery, Thor would've never been able to return to Midgard.

The demigod sat on his makeshift bed, staring up at the sky through the silver bars of his cage, his eyes half-closed... alone with his thoughts. Bowing his head, Loki finally allowed all the pain, all the remorse... all the humiliation of hurting the only people he loved flood his features...

If just for a moment.

.


.

Tony's idea to help Steve integrate into contemporary society involved a genius plan of movie marathons and alcohol; usually at the same time.

Unfortunately, Natasha was going on three days without proper sleep, and it was beginning to affect her consciousness. Ever since Fury had informed them that the Winter Soldier had faked his own death and was back in action with a former KGB operative, Ivan Kragoff, 'The Red Ghost', her nights had since been plagued by specters of a life she once knew.

"Have I ever told you guys just how much I love 'Team Movie Night'?" Stark asked, plopping down on his white leather couch next to Steve.

"About five times today," Barton answered, left eye twitching slightly.

"It still doesn't beat 'Shawarma Saturdays'," Bruce chimed in, offering the bowl of popcorn to Clint who scooped up a handful.

"Jyoogaishnome," Stark managed to say in between mouthfuls of popcorn, causing Clint to cringe. "I like to keep my lifestyle interesting."

"I've spent quite a bit of time with Natasha and her insane sparring schedule, so by now, I'm used to your lifestyle, Stark."

Natasha paced behind the elaborate bar in the lounge, which had quickly become their official 'hang-out' spot, fixing herself a Russian drink. The tall, clerestory windows provided ample lighting that she greatly preferred to artificial. Lately, she had been trying to integrate herself; spending more time with the Avengers as they availed themselves with friendly conversations and shared smiles.

"Hey, Nat, would you mind making me a rum and coke?" Clint asked, looking over at her hopefully.

She sighed and muttered, "Sure."

"Hey, make me one too—"

"Make it yourself, Stark," Natasha snapped, shooting him one of her signature death glares.

Tony huffed, looking offended.

"I don't know what you put in these, Tasha, but this is my last drink for tonight!" A drunken Pepper giggled as she made her way clumsily to the bar, swallowed the last of her cocktail, and slammed the glass down on the marble counter.

Natasha eyed her warily and replied, "I'm cutting you off." She snatched the empty glass away and threw it next to the sink. "I don't trust Stark around any drunk woman."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he shouted defensively, sitting up and glaring at the redhead. "I'm not that much of a douche that I'd take advantage of a woman that way!"

"You know, you've had a heck of a lot to drink, Natasha," Steve pointed out, brushing a few popcorn kernels off his khaki pants. "You don't even seem buzzed."

She snickered, carrying her blood-red drink along with Barton's over, and taking a seat next to Clint. He murmured a low, 'thanks, Nat', before turning towards the theater-sized television mounted on the wall.

"I'm able to hold my alcohol—"

Stark choked. "Being enhanced through scientific experimentation is cheating, Romanov, and you know it!"

Natasha simply smiled and held up her drink for a toast. The others mimicked her actions.

"Za vstrechye!" she exclaimed, and downed her whole drink in one gulp, ignoring the confused expressions of her fellow Avengers.

"Well, I'll drink to that," Bruce chuckled, taking a swill of his Merlot.

They watched The Pirates of the Caribbean, since the Captain had not seen this very-popular movie yet. Pepper fell asleep on the loveseat, crunching her abandoned financial papers underneath her, after the first fifteen minutes. At around half-way through, Steve and Tony got into an argument, leading Stark to set Steve's cellphone's ringtone to 'O Canada'. Natasha, much to Stark's annoyance, later taught Steve how to change his ringtone.

"I've never really been fond of Sparrow's character in these films," Bruce said, as the credits were playing. "He's kind of a jerk."

"You realize he's the spitting image of me, big guy," Stark grinned and slapped the doctor on the shoulder.

"Tony, do you plan on leaving Pepper sleep on that chair all night?"

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded from behind and Natasha was on her feet in a second, pulling her pistol out and aiming it in the direction of the noise. A whirlwind of emotions flooded her then, her heart pounding, and familiar words started flying through her head.

"Who piled the dishes up like an idiot? Those were my nice champagne glasses!" Tony groaned, then noticed Natasha's rigid attack stance and eyed her with concern. "Romanov, you can put the gun away."

Clint was the only one that recognized what was happening; he'd witnessed it many times before.

Spasibo, Tovarishch Stalin, za nashe s-chastlivoe detstvo! The chant repeated again, louder and louder inside Natasha's head as images assaulted her mind: a man in a white coat administering an experimental drug through her arm, being strapped to a chair under bright lights with doctors surrounding her taking notes, and outside in the snowy training grounds, a group of young, orphan girls reciting a familiar motto.

Barton quickly went to her side as the others watched, unsure what to do and slightly worried.

"Nat, pull yourself out, you're not there anymore." Her hands shook violently and after a few strained moments, Natasha finally lowered her gun. Clint let escape a sigh of relief, "You're tired, Nat. You just need sleep."

They had known each other's sleeping habits and rhythms for years. Clint always went to bed one hour after Natasha did, and when out on missions, he would tap their code on her door. When Natasha would wake, she did the same for him. It had been their strategy for staying alive in Budapest.

She placed her gun back in its holster on her hip and took the elevator up to her room, after bidding them all goodnight. As the doors shut, Natasha could overhear Barton explaining her seemingly peculiar behavior

"...occasional flashbacks of the brutal training she endured as a child..."

.


.

"Nat."

"Nat."

"C'mon, Nat," Barton cajoled, directly outside her suite. "It's just me."

There was a short beep and the electronic lock was released. The door opened, revealing the private quarters Natasha solely allowed Clint to witness. She had moved most of her belongings here from her nearby apartment. The theme of the room was modern and simple, yet with the agent's own personalized touches added; such as her large, Russian flag above the bed, and Leon Trotsky portrait.

A flash of red hair disappeared behind her screen that separated her bedroom from the entrance-way, and Barton followed. She sat on her ornate bed; the leopard print comforter so plushy it barely sunk under her weight. Clint watched as she patted the spot next to her. Never breaking eye contact with her, he sat down and gave Natasha's knee a gentle squeeze.

"Fury's given me an assignment for Thursday night," she spoke finally, "Nothing difficult." Once upon a time, the Red Room had honed her body into a weapon, while S.H.I.E.L.D. then gave her the opportunity to use it.

He nodded.

"You know Stark's been secretly trying to learn Russian to spy on your and JARVIS's conversations," Clint informed, chuckling.

This got her to snicker, revealing the comical side of herself she so rarely exposed, even to him. "Don't tell him we've started using regional slang, then."

The marksman cracked up at the image of Tony's frustration and confusion.

Natasha propped herself up and went to her walk-in closet. Clint heard the indisputable unzipping of her catsuit's zipper and the ruffling of clothes. She emerged seconds later, brushing strands of hair off her forehead, in a red, knee-length nightdress.

Folding his arms across his chest, Barton arched one dirty blond eyebrow, his mouth slightly bent with amusement.

"Victoria's Secret?" he mocked, earning himself a swat on the arm.

"Because I would definitely wear that tripe."

She then went and leaned on her window seat that spanned across nearly the entire wall, giving the room a dreamy quality to it, and gazed pensively out at the starry, night sky of Manhattan.

Hawkeye moved off the bed, emitting a small creak, and absentmindedly fingered the little porcelain Matryoshka doll sitting on her black side-table. She'd had the antique for as long as he could remember.

"What time is it?" he asked. "It's been dark for a while."

Natasha pulled out her phone to check and replied, "Eleven."

"Well, tomorrow maybe we—" Clint trailed off as the two sat up straight, hearing muffled voices coming from the other side of the wall.

"...they should really make him the god of chaos..." Bruce's calm tone was recognizable, followed by Steve's.

"And he's just an ordinary guy!"

Three knocks rapt at the door and Natasha and Clint went to see what the commotion was about. The door opened to reveal Bruce, Stark, and the Captain standing in a small huddle, apparently in the middle of a debate. They were all dressed in their nightwear, except Tony, who was barefoot, stunk of cologne, and clad in a blue bathrobe.

"Okay, if you had to choose, who would you rather be trapped in a room with," Stark asked the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents as though his life depended upon their answers, "Loki or the Joker?"

"Two lethal psychopaths?" remarked Clint flatly from behind Natasha. "Isn't there a third option?"

"I'd take the Joker," Natasha proclaimed, face blank. "Both have scrawny and tall physiques, with similarly poor hand-to-hand combat skills, but Joker doesn't have any additional powers or magic."

There was a long pause, as they stared, startled by the redhead's willingness to contribute to the exchange.

"Yeah, but at least Loki's got motives," Steve pointed out, rubbing the back of his head in that endearingly clumsy fashion of his. "There's no purpose or care behind anything the Joker does..." He paused and then added, "Other than to get Batman's attention."

Stark scoffed and continued persistently, "Joker never even leaves Gotham City. He's locked up in Arkham most of the time."

"I'm going to bed," Barton announced, obviously bored by the discussion. He gave Natasha's arm a quick squeeze, and walked straight across the hallway to his room, unlocking it with his card-key and shutting his door with more force than was necessary.

"I could totally take on Batman."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah... You let us know how that goes, Tony."

.


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As usual, review please!

A/N: Sorry for the really long wait! I was having some writer's block and wanted to figure out exactly where to take this story. I have a clear plot now, so I should be updating much sooner! Also, I don't want to jump right into the romance, I want to do a good, cannonical character development first because these characters are just so complex and lovely!

For those of you who have read the comics, Natasha eventually finds out that the Soviet's Black Widow Special Ops included around 20 orphan girls trained to be perfect killers. They were implanted with false memories, psychochemically brainwashed, and physically enhanced beyond normal human means. They also were programmed to keep from rebelling.

In Norse Mythology: Niffleheim- realm of the dishonored dead. Hel- realm of the ordinary dead. Please do not assimilate Hel with the Christian Hell, they are two very separate cultural beliefs.

"Za vstrechye" is a Russian toast that means "to being together".

"Spasibo, Tovarishch Stalin, za nashe s-chastlivoe detstvo!" was a common phrase under Stalin's rule meaning, "Thank you, Comrade Stalin, for our wonderful childhood."