In which Fiona finds herself in Stark Towers and totally not buying the "Let's Be A Team!" vibe. Which Loki understands, finding the Avengers "team" concept as utterly repellant as his "team" mates.

Chapter Text

Fiona woke to a bland white ceiling, and as she shakily sat up, bland white walls, a bland white desk, a bland white bed, and...

'What the fuck is this!'

Her hands flew to her face, where the only thing in the room containing color- a steel gray- was currently fastened over her mouth, wrapping securely around her head. Heart beginning to pound, Fiona began to feel around the muzzle- there was no other word for it- trying to find a latch to get it off her face. "Those bastards!" she mumbled into the metallic prison, "I knew it! You're here to help me, my fucking arse. I swear to god, that blond son of a bitch is the first to go! Wait..." Her frantic fingers stilled for a moment, remembering the tall and terrifying god who snared her so easily. "Loki? As in the 'killer of New York City' Loki? He flattened me like a cheap souffle, that rat bast-"

Watching the girl furiously struggle with the muzzle through a one-way mirror, Loki frowned. "Why is she wearing that... abomination?"

Thor stood next to him, shifting uneasily. "Director Fury felt it was best to, ah, control the maid's gift until she could be brought into agreement." He looked over at his brother's utterly still expression, which told him Loki was enraged. Remembering the look in his brother's eyes when the identical steel muzzle was fitted over Loki's perfect mouth after his defeat in New York City, the God of Thunder shifted uneasily, looking more like a repentant teenager caught out after curfew. "I know this seems harsh, brother, and I do not agree with-"

"Barbarians."

There was dead silence in the crowded monitoring room, and Loki swept majestically away.

Meanwhile, Fiona was back to wrestling with the goddamned muzzle. "Just like a rabid dog," she hissed, the words coming out as garbled nonsense. Thoughts of the last time she'd been held down and an iron bit forced between her teeth came flooding back and the girl began to shake, trying to fight down the swells of panic. Her hands flew from the steel confinement locked to her head and seized a chair, slamming it against the mirror in her room, trying to break the glass.

"You think I don't see you motherfuckers in there!" she was screaming, but nothing came out but a high whistle. "You're worse than the rest because at least they didn't pretend to be anything other than monsters! You-" Slamming the chair over and over into the glass finally made the panel crack and partially shatter with a satisfying crash.

"Go contain that animal."

The order sent four medics through the door, trying to hold the hysterical girl down and inject her with a sedative. Irritably rolling his eye when Fiona managed to fight them off, he strode into the room, pulling his gun and cracking it over her head, stunning her long enough for the medics to force her down and inject her. Fiona's eyes were blurry with furious tears, but she narrowed them against the sight of the black-suited asshole looming over her, glaring down with his single, malevolent orb.

"You're next, you one eyeballed-bastard..." she slurred, drifting off.

Coldly replacing his Glock in its shoulder holster, Nick Fury looked down at the unconscious girl impassively. They always began this way. But she would obey, just like they always did.

The little room was silent when Fury left, taking his expressionless followers with him. Steve scratched his head, looking anxiously at the Soldier. "Bucky, maybe you shouldn't be watching this... it's different than what you... you went through. You know that, right?"

Barnes' pale eyes turned to his, then back to the unconscious girl before whirling and stalking out of the room. Steve looked next to Natasha, smiling hopefully with that toothpaste white smile. "Tash? We can't reason with her until she's calm, right?"

The redhead pursed her lips, looking at the limp figure sprawled carelessly on the metal bed. Fiona's hand was dropped to the floor, her limbs twisted awkwardly on the thin mattress. Somehow, the fact that Fury's goons couldn't be bothered to settle her made Natasha queasy. Fixing Rogers with her cold gaze, she turned and left the room as well, leaving America's Finest standing alone, staring at the crumpled girl in the sterile, white room.

Fiona woke next when the bed under her moved, settling again as a heavy body sat next to her. Shuddering, she weakly pushed against the intruder. "Go 'way," she groaned, "lemme be." She didn't expect him to understand her through the degrading metal muzzle, but a cool voice forced her into consciousness.

"I will not 'go away.' You have slept long enough, you lazy child."

Lids flying open, the girl stared at the intruder with hate. It was Loki, that terrifying God who crushed her defenses and trapped her here. Rearing up with both legs, Fiona shoved her feet against his broad chest and kicked as hard as she could, expecting the haughty asshole to go flying across the room. To her fury, Loki barely twitched.

"Bastard! You did this to me! I swear I'll-"

Fiona's diatribe was cut short by his irritable sigh. "Be quiet, little girl." His big palm caught both her wrists, holding them together firmly. To her shock, a little frisson of arousal went through her from his grip. It had been so long since a man's touch did anything but hurt. "You are correct, I will not hurt you, Caoineag, if you can be still. I wish to remove this abomination from your mouth." He could feel the girl's heart pounding- so hard that Loki was surprised he couldn't see it burst from the thin skin of her chest. Fixing her with a frigid stare, the dark Prince nodded firmly.

"Sit back now, like a good girl."

To her rage and embarrassment, Fiona did as she was told, warily leaning back against the thin pillow as she watched his impassive face. The God was as beautiful as she remembered, sculpted cheekbones and a haughty set to his mouth, those forest-colored eyes prying into hers. He smelled so good, like... snow. Mountains. Pine. Winter nights. Shivering, she tried to look away, humiliated that her hateful captor knew what she was thinking. And he did. Fiona could tell by his smug grin.

"You said you would take this fucking muzzle off," she hissed, wondering how he could untangle the garble of words the metal device created.

Long, pale fingers slid along the device, his gaze intent on releasing it. "Ah, there it is..." With a 'click,' the metal was removed, and Fiona gave a huge gasp, gratefully sucking in the stale air of the room.

Loki watched as her pink lips opened wide, ready to let out a scream of epic proportions. Quickly placing a large hand over her mouth, he leaned in. "Hush!" he scolded, "This is not the time for your keening, Clíodhna. Close your mouth, and listen."

Painfully licking cracked and dry lips, Fiona gave a bitter chuckle. "Listen? To what? More lies? This isn't the first time this has happened, your Highness," she sneered.

One perfect brow rose as he gazed down at her. "I am somehow not surprised. You are not... subtle. Now hold your tongue. Do not give them further ammunition to control you."

Rearing back, Fiona stared at Loki with astonishment. He was trying to help her? Impossible. He was the reason she was here in this off-white hellhole. Still, keeping her mouth shut for the moment wasn't such a bad idea. Pressing her full lips together, the girl made the sign of a key and locking it. When her captor stared at her blankly, she rolled her eyes and simply nodded.

"Such a good girl..." Loki praised, cool fingertips briefly touching her mouth before he moved away. Bending gracefully from his great height, the dark Prince picked up the discarded muzzle, looking back to Fiona. Really, he thought dispassionately, the girl was so much more attractive with that harpy mouth closed. Even wearing those filthy, torn jeans and a faded band t-shirt, Fiona was lovely. Tall, too slim but clearly out of shape, the girl had long hair so red that it was nearly burgundy, displaying her Irish roots with intensely blue eyes, the color of the sky over the Cliffs of Moher. And her pale, freckled skin was flushing so prettily from his praise of being "a good girl." Grinning inwardly, he congratulated himself. This Avenger's acquisition was becoming more entertaining by the moment.

Fiona's brow furrowed when Loki suddenly handed her the hated muzzle.

"Here."

When the girl looked up at him in confusion, he sighed dramatically. "What would you like to do with this monstrous device?"

Watching her face clear, then convulse in fury, Loki smiled darkly. There she was, the bitter, viperousbánánach.

Trying not to scream, Fiona turned and threw the muzzle as hard as she could against the newly-repaired observation mirror, hearing it splinter again with a deeply satisfying 'crack!' Moving over to where it fell on the floor, she began stomping on it as hard as she could with her steel-toed boots, growling in frustration as it refused to break. Feeling her confusing captor move to her side, the girl watched as his black boot slammed down on the metal, crushing it to a pulp.

"There now, Banshee. Do you feel better?"

Taking a deep breath and trying to dial back her rage, Fiona nodded. "I do," she admitted in surprise, "thank you."

Her head tilted back to see the sudden flash of remorse in those emerald eyes before his regard turned impassive again. "Do not thank me. Just... be silent. At least for now."

"Um, so welcome, Fiona." Steve's bright smile dimmed as the girl stared at him, her expression clearly indicating she was pondering which part of his anatomy to slice first. "I know... I know this isn't how we wanted to introduce you to the new plan that came out of the Secovia Accords, but you've got a great gift, and you could be so valuable to international stability..."

"What he means, buttercup, is the UN and S.H.I.E.L.D are looking for a more diverse group of superheroes. They think we're a little too pasteurized and homogenized for the world stage." Tony Stark came strutting around the corner of the massive bar in the "break room" for the Avengers, a (slightly) more cozy greeting room in Stark Tower than the numerous massive halls scattered through the building. His bravado faded a bit at the Irish girl's expressionless gaze and disappeared completely when he caught a glimpse of her eyes, alight with hate like the fires of hell. "I know our introduction isn't as friendly as we hoped, but trust me, Banshee, you're gonna love it here."

He was just beginning to sweat under her regard when Fiona finally spoke. "Don't call me that. You don't know anything about me."

Steve broke in, relieved to have anything to ask. "Okay, no problem. What would you like us to call you?"

The girl's lovely, blank stare was back on him. "Fiona."

"Well, that's sweet, buttercup," Tony eagerly intervened again, "but we all have our badass name. Iron Man." He pointed at himself. "Captain America," Steve gave her a hopeful grin. "Tall, dark and scary over there is Reindeer Games," Stark almost giggled, gesturing at an impassive Loki. "Soooo... what should we call you? Banshee? It seems like a good-"

"My. Name." the girl not quite hissed, "Is Fiona. Or Miss McLoughlin to you. You're not my friend, arsehole. You don't get a nickname for me. Especially when you won't live long enough to use it."

Rogers closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. This was such a bad idea. The worst idea in the history of bad ideas...

Fiona stiffened as those cool, long fingers slid along her neck. "Kjæledyr, what did I tell you?" Loki's lips tickled along her skin, his broad chest pushed intrusively against her back.

"That you're an arrogant arse?" It was childish, she knew, but she just hated this-

"No," Loki purred into her sensitive ear, "I instructed you to be silent. Now close those pretty lips before I shove something between them."

To her shock, Fiona had a searingly vivid image of the dark Prince's cock in her mouth and down her throat, his cruel face enjoying her gagging. Her lips opened to shriek at him, only to close with a snap as his thumb and forefinger casually clicked together. Enjoying her helpless little hisses, Loki smiled down at her in a parody of tenderness, ignoring the uncomfortable shifting of their reluctant witnesses. "Kjæledyr? Hmmm?"

Still hissing thinly between those pretty white teeth, Fiona reluctantly nodded, lowering her eyes in submission. Oh, the plans she had for this horrible bastard-

"No, little monster," his voice echoed painfully in her skull, "I am your Daddy. Now, hush."

Caoineag - Celtic spirit, a banshee

Clíodhna - Scottish/Irish spirit who calls down death with her keening