Natasha was given a vacation. She had not asked for one, but all the Avengers were away somewhere, and Fury figured she and Clint should have time off, too. She had no idea what to do with herself. She spent most of her time cleaning her apartment, even though it was already spotless. How could it be dirty when she was barely ever there. It was then she got around to more thinking, which she knew was dangerous but could not help. Did she, the Black Widow, have a home?
In a different world, different space, somewhere above Midgard, an Asgardian god sits idly and watches as his adopted father coronate his false brother. His jealousy tearing through him like the bluntness of Thor's hammer. So green is he, his face nearly matches his robes. After the ceremony he is finally freed, however, his movement is limited. He can barely move a pace without a guard watching him. They do not trust me, he thinks. And the truth is, no one does. Not after the stunts he pulled trying to conquer Earth. He was surprised they even allowed him out of his cell as soon as they did. He knows it was merely so he could stand by his brother upon this day, and he hates all of this even more. He has become only angrier since his plan failed. Angry mostly at himself. He steps onto the balcony hanging over Asgard, he gazes into the distance and thinks, do I have a home? Is this my home? Is Jottenheim my home? Do I belong anywhere?
He had more than enough time to think lately. He spoke to almost no one. He had trouble looking into Odin's face at all, but even more so his mother's. He always saw such disappointment there, it drew him mad. Everyone could tell he was full of deep angst, yet no one dared speak to him. He was surrounded by people, yet constantly alone.
Out of the blue, a memory enters his eyes. A spider. She casts her look in his direction, and he instantly hates her so very much. He knows about her already from her archer friend, from diving into his mind and fishing for information. He knows she has a sordid past, and believes herself unbreakable. But he thinks he can break her. Despite her recovering from his cruel words and threats and acting as if it all just bounced off her glossy shell, she knows he knows more about her than she would like. He felt something in those eyes, he saw something horrified, a young girl, remembering what it was like to be afraid. She fears not what happens to her, but only to those she cares for. That is her first mistake, caring for others. But he, too, cares for people, he knows it is true. Despite that he tries desperately not to. He becomes aware of the fact that she was the last person he truly spoke to, the last real conversation he had. Ever since then, it has been running away, fighting, being ignored. He closes his eyes and thinks of her. He wonders if she may help him. He does not know how, only that the two of them are similar, more than either of them would care to admit. But speaking to her made him feel alive. Making her eyes open wide in terror made him feel powerful. She is also a powerful mortal in her own way. He wants to harness that power. He wonders if it is possible. He has grown restless and bored. Asgard is no longer home, he thinks. Perhaps the Black Widow will provide me with some entertainment to relieve my boredom.
Natasha got a chill suddenly, despite the fact that it was eighty-five degrees in her apartment. She always went with her gut instincts, it was what made her a good agent, and she had instincts right now telling her that something wicked was coming her way. She walked out onto her balcony and looked up at the sky. A storm was brewing to the east. She was wondering if it would rain. It had been so dry lately. She closed her balcony door and locked it. She also made sure her front door was locked. She still felt uneasy.
The next morning was welcomed with the sound of rain pelting against windows. The sky was completely overcast and she felt incredibly worn out. Until she heard something in the kitchen. Immediately hopping out of bed wearing just the night shirt and underwear she usually wore, grabbing her gun from the holster she kept on her nightstand, she inched out to the open door toward the sound. She slowly snuck down the hall to the living room, totally overcome with shock when seeing the horned helmet and green cape.
"Good morning, Black Widow."
He was staring out the balcony window, back towards her. She shot without hesitation, narrowly missing. Before she could react his hands were knocking the pistol from her fingers and wrapping around her neck. He lifted her up, her feet scraping against the rug, her hands trying to pull his apart.
"I came here to talk, but it seems you have no sense of manners." He waited until he saw that look in her eyes, the one he saw back on the ship, the fear taking over her body. He saw her survival instincts kick in. She did whatever she could, clawed whatever part of him she could reach, but to no avail. Finally, just before the moment she would lose her breath forever, he threw her against the wall. She writhed on the floor, holding her neck and gasping for air.
"Let us begin again, shall we? Good morning, Black Widow."
She said nothing, only coughed.
Finally she gathered enough air in her lungs to speak again, her voice coming out hoarse.
"What do you want?"
He sat down on her leather sofa, felt its smoothness in his slender fingers.
"How do you do it? How do you live all this time alone, without a family, without ever giving into personal desires?"
She sat up and leaned against the wall, knowing at this moment fighting was not an option.
"I have Clint, I guess."
"But do you love Clint?"
"I love him as a brother, he's all the family I have really. We've been through so much together."
"Yes, that I know." He smirked devilishly.
"Look, you son of a bitch, I don't know what you want from me, or how the hell you got here, but don't think we won't catch you again."
"I have no intention of staying here long. I'll be back to Asgard before anyone realizes I'm missing. And I will put a spell on you that forbids you to speak of my appearance."
"Why me? Why not go attack Stark or someone?"
"Because it was you I shared a connection with."
"What connection? I came to you looking for information, and I got it."
"Yes, but at what price? Don't act so tough, Black Widow. Spiders are deadly poisonous but they can be crushed. I know of your origins, I know the things you did."
"That's all in the past. I'm not the same person anymore."
"Oh really? What has changed? The fact that now you have people to make sure you do the right thing?"
"No, I make sure of that!"
"You know, you are so much more endearing to me when I think of who you used to be. I loathe mortals but if I had known you then I would have hired you in a moment."
"What, and do your dirty work?"
"Yes. I could have had you without hypnotizing you. You would have done it, admit it. Working for a god instead of some lowly mob boss."
"You are so full of shit. You don't know me. We talked once, and I was using you, and you think you know me. Just because you got into Clint's head and fumbled around in his brain for a while you think you know all about me."
"I know how to get under your skin." His lips turned up again, in that irksome fashion she was accustomed to seeing.
Natasha was silent.
"I could give you what mortals cannot. I can give you the best pay off. If you do some things for me, I will reward you in ways you could not imagine."
"I don't want to make deals with demons." She spoke defiantly, looking into his eyes, trying to find some semblance of pity to plead with in there. Fortunately for him he was void of any.
"Well, we could do it that way, or we could do it another way. Where I tell you if you do not do what I say, I start killing your friends."
"How do I know your first objective won't be to kill them?"
"You are smart, aren't you? No, I will not ask that of you unless it is necessary. There is much and more your talents and capabilities can do for me."
"What will you do for me if I agree?"
He could not help but smile. He had wrangled her in, had come here on a whim, expecting to just fight, but she had taken the bait, and he wanted to see where this could go.
"I could wipe that ledger clean. Give you a fresh start, even give you a new face, a new name. You could go live your life somewhere, free of all this."
"I don't believe you." She looked away; he could tell he was making her upset.
He knelt down beside her, removed his helmet and grabbed her hand. She tried to pull away, but he held her. He pulled out a knife, cut her hand open, and then his own. He put their hands together. She felt the rush of his blood enter her. It felt different, wonderful, full of magic. Her cut was miraculously gone when she looked back at her hand.
"This is a blood oath. It cannot be broken, not between a god and a mortal, or a god and another god. It is sacred."
She looked up at him and asked, "Why? Why are you offering this to me?"
"I may be getting soft, perhaps I want to see if it is possible for someone like you to find happiness, to forget the past and move on because then maybe it is possible for me. You and I, we are not so different."
He could see her pushing herself as far away from him as possible. Was he that loathsome? Was the mere sight of him a terrible thing? He reached out to try to push a lock of her hair out of her face, the way his mother did to him when he was young, but she grabbed his hand and swatted it away.
"I'll be back soon."
She remained on the floor as he stood. He walked into the hallway.
She jumped up and ran after him.
"Hey, wait a min-"
He was gone.