A/N: Yep, brain refuses to let go...well, that, and I have a HUGE fan crush on Tom Hiddleston. 'Nuff said.

OOOOOOOOOO

~5 weeks later, Orosí, Costa Rica~

Manny Suarez wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. His bag of coffee cherries was not yet filled, though he'd filled at least seven of them in the past three hours. Heaving a sigh, he continued checking the branches for bright red fruits, which indicated ripeness. It didn't matter how long it took or how hotly the sun beat upon his brown skin; the work had to be done. It was what he needed to do to provide for his family.

Every so often, he glanced down the row at his two sons, Manuel and Pablo, who were picking their own bags of cherries. The youngest, Pablo, was not more than ten years old. Elder brother Manuel had been put in charge, showing him the desired amount of redness on a perfectly ripe fruit. Manny watched them with pride.

Other workers in the field also picked on without complaint, seeking small red orbs amongst thick green leaves. Some even cracked jokes across the lines of trees, their laughter carried away by occasional breezes wafting through the valley.

Manny's work continued on, but nothing could have prepared him for the blinding flash of light and the sudden CRACK that tore across the serene environment.

"Ay!" He yelped, ducking instinctively. Whatever it was also contained a force that shook the ground beneath them.

Workers screamed, both men and women, all starting fearfully as the sound echoed off the distant mountains.

"Qué es ese sonido?"

"Dios! Qué pasó?"

Eyes turned to the sky, where they thought it had originated. Thunder? No; not a cloud in sight for lightning to be produced. No planes, nothing large enough to make such noise. But in the distance, on the far outskirts of the coffee field, a glowing ball of light caught their attentions, one that was gradually fading in its intensity.

Overcoming his initial shock, Manny turned to make sure his boys were alright. "Manuel!" He called out. "Pablito?"

To his relief, he spotted Manuel, who had a protective arm around Pablo. "Estamos bien, papa," he replied. He and his brother still looked uncertainly at the sky. At least they were unharmed.

He looked again to the glowing mass, which was at the far end of the row he'd been working in. A few workers were already heading toward it.

"Mijos, estancia!" Manny yelled to his sons; Manuel gave a distinct nod.

His bag of cherries forgotten, Manny cautiously made his way down the tree-lined row to join the gawking laborers. As he neared, the brightness of the mass seemed to ebb with every step he took, shrinking away slowly like a dying star. What in the world was creating such a strange light?

When he came to the end of the field, he became one of those gawkers. On the ground, where the light had been shrinking, was a man. A gringo, judging by his pale skin, appearing as lifeless and limp as a ragdoll. Manny blinked hard, but the image remained. He looked as though he'd fallen…but from where? Almost stupidly, he looked around them. There was no natural elevation high enough for him to fall from and make that much noise.

Swallowing, he managed to find his voice. "Alguien consigue ayuda! Tan pronto!" He yelled to the others.

At his order, some ran for help. Those who remained spoke quietly, almost as if they were afraid of disturbing the unmoving man. Manny knelt for a closer look. The clothes he wore were worn and terribly ragged. Black burns marked parts of his arms and neck, burns that were roughly shaped like…fingers? He drew back slightly at the thought, but continued looking him over. The man's face was blank, eyes unseeing. Perhaps he wasn't even alive. But wait a moment—why did he seem so familiar? Reaching out, he lightly placed a hand on his shoulder—

"AAAAARRRGGGH!"

All of them leapt back, unprepared for the gringo's sudden outburst. On the ground, his eyes went wide with fear as he screamed over and over again. He was so loud that some of them had to clap hands over their ears. He wouldn't stop. Dear God, what had happened to him to make him scream in such a manner? One thing was for sure: something had terrified this man to a point where there was no reaching him. Not at this time.

It was an idea that chilled many of them to the bone.

As the man's cries finally began to subside, he curled into a fetal position, body wracked by uncontrollable shivers and tears spilling from still unseeing eyes. It was only then that a few laborers dared to inch closer. "Señor?"

"Puede que se nos escuche?"

"Esta bien, señor. Esta bien."

As they attempted to soothe the shattered man, Manny backed away, suddenly realizing why he looked familiar.

Dios mio…

Somewhere deep inside his heart, a tiny voice of warning was crying to him. He swallowed, quickening his steps. Help would be along soon enough, and he needed to return to his sons—

He howled when he was stabbed from behind by something cold and sharp. His immediate thought was that he was dying. Murdered in the coffee fields in which he worked. Much flashed through his mind in those mere seconds, and yet he felt as though time had completely slowed. Distantly, he heard the shocked cries of other laborers, who had witnessed the attack on their comrade. Unlike the gringo, his cries were extremely short lived. He didn't even have the chance to see his assailant—only felt an arm lock around his neck in a chokehold and a burning sensation cross his skin—before all went dark.

Moments later, Manuel and Pablo called out frantically for their missing father.

OOOOOOOOOO

As ordered, Captain Rogers had been the first on the scene. Unfortunately, what he'd gathered was a lot more questions than answers, and his return flight to base was leaving him in a less than pleasant mood. Wisely, the accompanying S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives chose to keep their distance, leaving him to contemplative silence in the rear of the plane.

And contemplative he was. Resting his chin on one hand, he let the events drift through his mind.

Keith Harbinger had been returned. It should have been a joyous occasion for friends and family, as well as the residents of Earth. However, this was not the case. He'd obviously suffered some sort of traumatic experience at Loki's hands, leaving him a broken and terrified man. With the exception of intermittent screams, he hadn't spoken a word. It would take months of psychiatric evaluation to pinpoint what damage had been done to his mind.

He would have to be brought back to his family in this condition after a seven-week absence. What a heartbreaking reunion this was going to be.

To make matters worse, another hostage had been taken. Manny Suarez. Snatched away before his sons' eyes. Why? Where had their father gone? What was going to happen to him? The mixture of confusion and devastation from those boys made it difficult to offer words of comfort.

Rogers sighed through his nostrils. For all his experience assisting others in World War II, the Chitauri invasion, and throughout his life in general, there was little he could do to give those distraught boys the reassurance they needed. To be honest, he wasn't sure there was anything to reassure them about.

It was not how Rogers wanted to visit Costa Rica for the first time. Such an aura of turmoil had descended over the region, one that could spread if he and the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn't find a way to protect potential victims in the future. So far, nothing was giving him even a mere glimmer of hope. During his investigation, many witnesses had come forth to describe what they'd seen, and all the stories shared a common thread: Loki, along with one Frost Giant, had absconded with their latest victim.

Made off with another good person, according to the workers. From another place no one would have anticipated. So Banner's theory of a pattern wasn't that far off.

But where were they being taken? What methods could they develop in order to find the remaining hostages? Stark's surveillance system would alert them when things happened on Earth, but could it be developed to aid them in locating the missing three? Vengeance had been a motive in the past, but it might not be as simple as that anymore. What was Loki's game this time, and how long was it going to last?

Rogers wished he had a clue. Any clue.

And then there was the one crucial piece of evidence he currently grasped in his palm: another crystal had been left behind for them to find. Rogers switched it from his gloved hand to his bare one for the ninth time, and the silent images came forth. This time the hologram featured only Anna, prisoner of Loki and the Jotuns, lying alone on the floor of a cave-like cell. At first, the woman appeared dead, even as the crystal neared her unflinching face. However, someone must have yelled at her, for she was suddenly jolted out of troubled sleep. Rogers could see that she still wore the gag he'd seen in the first hologram, a replica of what Loki had worn when he was in custody; perhaps it was a form of punishment. When she realized the crystal was before her, she simply stared at its possessor with tired eyes, then turned away slowly. She did not want to be seen in this manner. Apparently, Loki didn't take those feelings into consideration.

That was all. No footage of Keith or Amy, or Loki himself. The image disappeared once more, and Rogers' put together whatever pieces he had. Anna was alive, and Loki wanted them to know. What remained unclear, though, was why. There had to be something that would cause the trickster to keep his attention riveted on her, but no one at S.H.I.E.L.D. could come up with a definitive reason. Not yet, anyway. Would it be different now that new hostages were being taken? Would they receive the same attention that he gave to Anna?

Rogers doubted that. He switched the crystal between his hands again. Each time he watched, each time he saw Anna's eyes turn to Loki, he felt his chest tighten. Once more, he was feeling his protective side flare for this woman. A woman whom he'd never met in his life. The notion brought up more nagging questions in his heart, and they all began with "why." What could this woman possibly mean to him if he didn't have any affiliation with her?

He watched as Anna looked at her captor. Her eyes had not been cold towards him, and didn't convey hatred or pain or resentment, though she was quite entitled to them. On the contrary: they seemed to show quiet pity. Remarkable. How could she feel anything but negative emotions towards the wayward Asgardian?

As her gaze turned away, he made an unspoken promise: I'm going to find you.

Then he gave his head a quick shake. We. We're going to find you, he corrected himself. In his thoughts, it was what he meant to say, that they would find her. Him and the team. But he hadn't thought it. He'd automatically thought...

He drew in a slow breath, released it just as slowly. Squeezing the hard crystal in his hand, he glanced out the window, hoping the remainder of the flight would be brief. He had much to discuss with Banner and Fury.