Chapter 3

Harry looked at the faces around the table and remembered why he hated these conferences. None of the men or women would look at him, all of them apparently fascinated by the table or their notepads. If he were to guess correctly, none of them expected to see him sitting at the head of the table, and no doubt they felt he shouldn't be there. Still, these were his best options. They'd have to do.

"I'll get right to the point, since I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here." They all slowly looked up at him. "Good news: you're all being promoted." That had their attention; money has that effect on people. "You're going to run this company for me, manage day to day operations as usual, and keep me informed of any major situations and decisions." They all looked at each other, waiting for someone to ask what was on everyone's mind. "Any questions?"

"What's the catch?" A middle aged woman asked. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back into a low bun, and she looked at him over her thin framed glasses. "There's always a catch."

"The catch is that after you leave here, you're each going to meet with Legal and sign confidentiality agreements. You're not going to mention me at all, to anyone. Let's let the dust settle from the latest series of scandals before we announce my return."

"The investors might feel more assured if there was a clear leader. Norman's son would make for an inspiring face of this company."

"Oh and I will soon enough." He clicked his pen a few times out of nervous habit. "But for now let it be. I already made the investors nervous before everything Menken did. Give it a few more years, and I promise you will be rewarded for your cooperation."

The remaining details were hammered out over the next few hours, leaving Harry with a pounding headache in his temples.

"You did well, little goblin." Sigyn had been there the entire time, acting as his new assistant 'Victoria', though no one had paid any attention to her.

"So that's it? I'm technically head of Oscorp again." She walked over to the windows, silently looking out over the city. "What is it?"

"Forgive me, my mind was elsewhere."

Elsewhere was most likely the Avenger's tower directly across the skyline. He'd catch her staring at it from the mansion as well, even though the view wasn't nearly as good. "We've taken every precaution, haven't we? They shouldn't figure out we're here." If she was concerned, he should be as well.

"Don't worry, little goblin. We will still need to be careful, but we should be fine."

"Then what is it? You look worried."

"I heard stories of Loki standing on the top of that very tower and opening a portal to space so that his alien army could conquer Earth. It's just strange seeing it from here."

"It is a little Two Towers, isn't it?" She looked at him with one eyebrow arched, and he remembered that she probably didn't get that reference. "It's from a movie...never mind." The old patch on his neck started to itch, and he tried to discreetly scratch it.

"Do we know who's there now?"

"Stark for sure; it's his tower, he lives there. Who knows where Thor is if he's not in Asgard." Sigyn shrugged in response. "I'd assume Captain America and Banner live there at least part time, not sure about the others. Do we have an attack plan already?"

"Oh no, neither of us are ready for that yet." The stupid thing on his neck would not stop itching. He kept picking at it, the edges of the scab getting under his nails. And a sharp pain ripped across his neck when he caught enough of it to pull back and he yelped.

Sigyn's head whipped around, and she approached, gently pulling his hand away from his neck. "Picking at this will not help it heal."

"It bothers me from time to time, usually when I'm stressed."

"And my advice still stands: picking at it will not help. I have something to help with the itching." Her brow furrowed slightly. "But I would like to re-examine the runes I placed on you."

"Is there a problem?" He asked, trying not to sound like his heart was pounding just a little.

"No. Maybe. The spell was done in haste the first time, and I would like to make sure it was as effective as it should've been."

Harry nodded. He'd avoided most doctors' appointments for the past few years out of fear. If he never went, they couldn't tell him he had his father's disease. It had been better to run from his problems, and if they caught up with him to drown them in whisky. Even if he had gone to them, the best of Earth's medical science had failed his father, and it would have failed him too. At least Sigyn's attempts were working, and at this rate he'd trust her over anyone with a string of letters at the end of their name.

Whatever it was that Sigyn had put on his neck both felt and looked like dried mud. It clung onto his skin like a cracked, dark brown scab, and it reminded him of those mud masks you could get at spas. It smelled of damp earth and some kind of plant. But his neck had stopped itching and stinging so he was willing to put up with it.

Sigyn had asked him to wait in his bedroom while she gathered any materials she might need, and he found himself sitting cross-legged on the bed, absently drumming on the mattress with his fingers. He'd thrown a towel from the bathroom over the mirror he wouldn't accidentally catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He may not look like a walking, mutated corpse anymore, but the last time he looked in the mirror he saw the Goblin staring back at him and he couldn't bring himself to look at it yet.

After an hour passed, and he'd gone through every game on his phone, Sigyn entered the bathroom carrying a tray. On it were two bowls, several finely tipped brushes, several sketches of what looked like some kind of bizarre symbol, some bandages, a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. What was inside the one bowl looked a little like whatever she had put on his neck, except it was smoother in texture and lighter in color, more of a grey beige than dark brown. The other held some kind of pale cream. "What's all this for?"

"If my theory is correct, you'll need something stronger to control the mutation," she answered, placing the tray on the bed. He sat up further, allowing her to place her fingertips behind his ears. "This part will only take a moment; just try to keep your breathing steady." Her touch was gentle, but the way her brow furrowed made him uneasy.

"What is it?"

"I was right; what I did at Ravencroft wasn't enough." She took one of his hands and held it just behind his earlobe. "Feel that?" There was a small raised, uneven bump. "That's a binding rune. I had hoped this would be enough given the extremely limited resources I was working with."

"But it wasn't." He felt behind his other ear and found the same thing. "What if you hadn't come back? What would have happened to me?"

"I don't know." At least she's honest, he thought, even as all the various horrible possibilities played in his mind. "But that doesn't matter now. The important thing is that I did come back. Now, where did Menken inject the venom?"

He held out his right arm. The transformation itself was a blur of searing pain and cracked bones, but he remembered everything that lead up to that moment, when he demanded that Menken inject him with poison. "Forearm, just below the elbow."

Sigyn picked up the bowl and the brushes and sat them beside her. "I'll be painting a different rune right...here," she said, gently tapping his arm. "This should be able to better help you keep this mutation under your control."

"So...what it's like some kind of magical tattoo?"

"You could say that."

All of this seemed too good to be true. Still, he had done far worse to himself in the name of finding a cure. "Hmm. I guess it beats the hell out of any other tattoo I was going to get."

She chuckled, stirring one of the brushes into the liquid. "No one will have anything else like it, that's for sure."

The more she stirred whatever it was in that bowl, the stronger it smelled of damp earth, moss, and something vaguely metallic and a little sour. "God that smells terrible."

"Magic isn't all pretty lights and fairy dust, little goblin." She set the bowl down beside him and steadied his arm in one hand, her brush in the other. "Sometimes, it's the darker side of magic that works best." Whatever the mixture was, it felt cold against his skin as soon as the brush touched his arm. The brush was incredibly find tipped, and he could just barely feel each movement. Still, he watched, fascinated. She started with a small circle, with eight spokes radiating out from it. Each spoke contained a different forked design, some curved, some straight, some with varying horizontal lines underneath the forks.

"You might want to breathe. This next part won't be pleasant." Her hand covered the design and she murmured something in a language he didn't understand. He had enough time to take a few deep breaths before the burning set in. The heat started gentle enough, but with each breath it grew hotter until it felt like whatever this symbol was had been seared into his skin. It worked its way in a circle, like a lit fuse making its way from one end to the other, and radiated outward, creeping up the veins in his arms towards his neck and shoulder.

"Sigyn," he whimpered. He knew the bitter taste in the back of his throat, and the way his skin felt like it wasn't his. His teeth and nails grew longer, and he realized he was snarling at her without realizing it. That other part of himself, the part she had named the Goblin, was trying to fight back, and were it not for her vice like grip on his arm it might have. Trust her, he told himself. She won't do anything that will kill you. He hissed, growled, and spat, squirming as she held his arm still. His other hand was still free, and he dug his nails into the mattress so he wouldn't take a swing at her, even if doing so would have made the pain stop. Trust her. You've survived worse. Tears stung his eyes and he ground out curses through gritted teeth until something in him clicked. The Goblin stopped fighting as the pain began to subside. Her other hand rested on the back of his head, gently patting at his hair.

"I'm sorry that was painful. But you did well, little goblin." She removed her hand from the back of his head and the other from around his arm, and brushed away what looked like dark grey ashes from his arm. The mark wasn't black, the way a modern tattoo would be, and yet it was still too dark to look like a natural scar; it was a grey brown that seemed to have a green iridescence to it when he moved his arm. The lines were thinner and little rough in the way hand done tattoos can be, and the pronged ends seemed to fade into his skin, not end in harsh lines. It throbbed with a dull pain and the skin was tender.

"The hell'd you do to me?"

"I burned the tattoo into your skin with magic." She picked up the roll of bandages and small bowl with a pale cream off the tray and set it beside her. "It could have been much worse. Traditionally, the design would have been poked into your skin. I thought this would be easier for you."

"I appreciate that, I guess." The cream felt cool and soothing against his skin as she gently patted it against his arm with her fingers, and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. He could easily fall asleep on the tile floor while she wrapped his arm if he wanted to. "What's this thing supposed to do anyway?"

"It will help keep your mutation from controlling you; keep you from getting lost in that form." She reached for the two glasses and the bottle of whiskey. "You'll need some training of course, but that can wait until the mark has healed." She poured it into both of the glasses and handed one to him.

"What's that for?"

"Celebration. You've earned it. I've seen some Asgardians fall apart when they get one."

The whisky burned a little on the way down, but nothing compared to what he'd just been through. He wondered if she was lying to boost his ego. "Really? The immortal space Vikings can't handle getting a tattoo?"

"Not when there's that much magic coursing through their veins." She swirled the whiskey around in her glass. "You're remarkably calm about all of this."

He shrugged. "Not the worst thing I've done to stay alive." Yes, this had been painful, but nothing compared to his bones twisting and breaking when the spider venom took over or the way it had burned its way through him. He looked at the bandage around his arm, and felt the closest thing to hope he'd felt since this whole nightmare started. "What about you and Loki? Either of you have any magical tattoos?" He asked, taking a drink.

"No," she answered, staring into her glass. "No, we never got around to that."

Right, so Loki was still a touchy subject. He remembered a little of how she spoke of him when Harry was still in Ravencroft, of his mastery of magic and tricks played on his brother. There was no story here, or if there was, it wasn't going to be told tonight. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's not your fault, Harry. I'm just tired." She took another long drink of whisky and finished off her glass. "The truth is there was a lot more Loki and I wanted to do before everything went to hell, as your people put it."

"Was New York part of your plans?" Not that her answer would have changed anything, but he'd been curious ever since he remembered who she was married to.

"New York was his plan."

"You don't have to lie, you know. I'm not going to kick you out because you and your husband tried to take over the world."

She chuckled and put her glass as well as his back on the tray. "It's no lie; I knew nothing of Loki's plan until Thor was sent back to Earth. Until then I thought he was dead."

"That must've been hard." His filter was gone, either by the alcohol, the magic, or both; otherwise he would not have kept bringing up Loki's fate. Exhaustion crept through his body and his eyelids felt heavy. "Finding out like that."

"It wasn't ideal." She leaned over and gently ruffled his hair before taking the whiskey glass from his hand. "No more questions for tonight. You've been through quite enough tonight and need your rest."

Harry rolled his eyes, the phrase 'But Mom I'm not even tired' unspoken on his tongue. He yawned and leaned over and hit the pillow with a soft thump. For the first night in a long while, he welcomed sleep.

It took Harry nearly a week of training before he got to the point where he felt enough control to try his transformation on his own without Sigyn talking him through it. Sitting alone in his room, cross legged on the bed, he brought his hand to his face and gently felt around his newly changed features. His skin's texture was uneven, unnaturally smooth in some places and rough in others (especially around his cheek scars). His lips were cracked and dry, and behind them were teeth sharpened into points. Even the tip of his nose felt like it came to more of a defined point, and he gently poked it with one of his nails, which were now extended into sharp, curved claws. It still didn't feel…right, but Sigyn had said it would still feel like that for a while, like he didn't belong in his own skin. Part of his training was to accept that this was part of him.

Harry slid off the bed and walked over to the towel covered mirror. During his other attempts he'd kept the towel over it, unable to look at his reflection without feeling horrified. The mirror they'd given him at Ravencroft was damaged, warped, so after that first transformation he'd never been faced with an accurate reflection. He grabbed a fistful of the material, intent to yank it off and face his reflection fully. But he held it there, frozen, his heart rate quickened, and both his breath and his hands were shaking. Instead, he pulled back a corner, enough for a peek at green tinged skin and angular features before letting it fall again. Monster.

Allowing the transformation was easier than pulling it back, even with his new mark. His arm throbbed, and he swore there was a faint glow to it if the room was dark enough. Joints and skin seemed to settle back into their usual places, and his hands looked human again. He peeked back underneath the towel and made sure that every speck of his transformation was gone. His lips still felt a little dry and tight as he grinned. He couldn't wait to tell Sigyn, and hurried out of his room to find her.

Her usual hangouts were empty. The bedroom and the adjoining room she'd claimed as her 'office' were empty, as were the kitchen and the other main living spaces. Sigyn had a fascination with watching and critiquing bad sitcoms, so he could usually find her relaxing in front of the giant flat screen with a bag of Doritos. But the mansion seemed empty, but when he passed the main study—his father's old study, the one he was never allowed in as a child—he heard voices. More like a single voice, Sigyn's, speaking in hushed tones. He pressed his ear to the door but still couldn't make out anything she was saying.

His father always used to keep the doors locked, but it seemed Sigyn hadn't bothered to do the same. He slowly pushed down the door handle so that it would make the least amount of noise possible, and pushed the door open just enough to peer into the room.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes went wide. It was only the profile he saw, but he knew it well enough. Loki stood in the middle of the room, staring at the far wall, motionless and blank faced. He could hear Sigyn's footsteps, hear her mumbling, but she was out of view. She lied. He thought, the realization making his stomach turn and the mark on his arm ache and burn. She's been in contact with him the whole time. She's using me…just like everyone else.

Sigyn walked into view, and Loki's gaze followed her. In her hand was a picture frame, the one he'd given her. She stopped in front of him and studied the picture, looking up at Loki then back to the picture. "You were always so much better at this than I was," she sighed, her voice heavy with weariness, and waved her fingers in front of his face.

Harry's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing together. The hell kind of witchcraft is this? It was Sigyn he was looking at, but the moonlight she looked…off. Exhaustion seemed to carve deep shadows into her face; she looked like she hadn't slept in days.

Loki never spoke; he would only watch her as she worked. Occasionally, she would command a facial movement from him –"Smile," "growl," "look like you're going to kill the All-Father for what he did,"—but each time she shook her head and waved her fingers in front of him again. She sighed and dragged her hand through her hair. "Look at me like you did when we first met." He couldn't see what that particular expression looked like, but the way Sigyn relaxed told him it was accurate. She set the picture down on the desk and stepped forward. Her hand hovered over his cheek. "Darling…" Once her hand touched his cheek, Loki dissolved into gold and green light. Sigyn seemed to deflate as soon as he was gone. She dropped her arm to her side and her head tilted down so her hair obscured her face. Her shoulders shook as she inhaled sharply to keep from sobbing.

Harry backed away from the door, his voyeurism leaving him with a new sick feeling in his stomach. Whatever he'd witnessed, he wasn't meant to see it and he felt all the more guilty for doubting her. He'd taken for granted how lonely this place must be for her and the amount of uncertainty she had to live with. It was a feeling he knew too well, to be left behind in an unfamiliar place, alone. There was little he could do to help her; he couldn't give her any answers about Loki or get her home, but he did know how to distract them from what they'd been through. In a way they were both free, and Harry was thinking it was time they both reveled in that freedom.