4. The Lady or Loki?

Loki lay with his head pillowed on his crossed arms. His lips tightened as he reflected he had just thrown a perfect opportunity to bed the Black Widow. She was melting in his arms one moment (to be honest, they were the Lady's arms, but what of that?) and the next the two of them were engaged in a shouting match.

Moreover, the neat lines of possibilities for the future of her seduction he had imagined in the hallway after his first encounter with Agent Romanov had just exploded and morphed into something much deeper, far more complex than he could ever dream of devising, especially on Midgard. That someone – a mortal – could have something approaching his own situation was unthinkable.

His treacherous memory replayed the scene between the Russian agent and Lady Loki again in his mind. Natasha said. She kissed. She melted. She drank. She felt pain, just as he did.

Just as he did.

It was the key, the reactor to bring the entire affair to something dark and dangerous. In only a few seconds, Natasha had thrust his careful plans into a hall of mirrors, so the silver glass refracted against each other in a myriad of possibilities.

I have several options, he realized. I can abandon my pursuit of her - it would be the safest choice.

At that thought, he curled one hand into a fist. Loki didn't do 'safe'.

Continuing his conquest of the agent would put him at risk of what, exactly? Perhaps drowning in his lust? Or sinking into a quagmire of unforeseen excitement? Of course, danger always adds a bit of spice. He bared his teeth in a feral smile at that thought.

Perhaps he would even take the route of waiting to see what occurred in the morning. Yes, that would be interesting. He was on edge, alert, perhaps even slightly nervous, but for the moment he was not bored.

With a sigh he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into his usual, restless sleep, stabbed by blue nightmares, dangerous plans, red curls, and the endless swirl of his own wanton trickery.

·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·

The following morning in the boardroom, Natasha poured herself a black coffee. She drank it down, winced as the liquid burned her tongue, and poured another. Cursing the vodka, Loki, the unknown blond Romanova in the photo and most of all herself, she sat in front of her computer. Her time to narrow the ten possibilities of SNAKE HQ to five had evaporated, but perhaps a quick glance of the information would help her to be able to present something to Fury when he started the meeting.

Clint grabbed his own coffee and sat next to her; she smiled at the familiar, comfortable feeling his presence always gave her. "Hey," she said.

"Hey." He grinned and flipped open his laptop.

The door opened again, and Loki stepped into the room. As soon as he saw her, his face filled with dimpled, wicked amusement, and before she could stop herself her lips betrayed a flash of answering humor.

Quickly she bent over her screen, hoping he wouldn't sit next to her. Instead he chose the chair opposite, which was almost worse; as soon as she glanced up from her screen, her gaze was caught by his measuring, hooded eyes and another knowing smile.

Tony entered and sat with half a buttered bagel in one fist; he raised his eyebrows and looked around the table. "Wait a minute. Something's going on - a sort of undercurrent kind of deal." He took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and sniffed the air. "I'm all about subplot, but I do wish someone would clue me in so I can make fun of it."

Steve came in and sat on the other side of Natasha. "What are you talking about? Did I miss another reference?"

"I think we all missed something. Well, most of us. Which is, as I just pointed out, unfair. Right now I could be in the middle of a series of running jokes, more nicknames of course, maybe even a new line of cocktails – Subtextinis, or Secretitas. Naah, scratch that last. Anything with a syllable sounding like 'teat' just isn't going to be a good beverage."

Natasha felt her lips quiver, and she didn't dare look at Loki. Luckily, Fury pushed his way into the conference room without a greeting and rescued her. "Another plane taken by those Islington assholes!" he shouted. "This one has a sick kid on it, by the way. She'll go into toxic shock if she doesn't get her meds in twelve hours."

Tony sat up and rubbed his hands together. "Ticking clock! Cool, it's been a while since we had one of those."

Fury ignored him. "You should have received the information already. Any ideas?"

Natasha looked at her inbox and opened Fury's message. Instead of seeing a long list of facts, events, times, maps, and theories, there was one phrase written in beautiful calligraphy:

You naughty, naughty girl.

She knew exactly who had highjacked her email. Quickly she sent a response, not to Fury but to Loki.

I might say the same thing about you.

There was an explosion of laughter from the dark-haired god of mischief across the table. Fury glared and demanded, "Could someone please explain the joke?"

"Certainly," Loki said. "Agent Romanova just narrowed her SNAKE list to two locations –beating her own record of efficiency, or so I understand. I shall pass them along." His fingers flew over the keyboard, and a new message popped up in the inbox.

"Wait," Natasha said. "I didn't…"

"Don't be so bashful, Natasha. Your deductions were brilliant. But I think I see the reason to eliminate the final variable; the head of the Clerkenwell Syndicate is addicted to Shawara, and you can't get it near the first place. So, SNAKE must be located in the final place, the old clockworks factory just outside of Ealing. Well done, Agent!" Loki sat back, still chuckling.

"Wait," she protested again, but Tony interrupted.

"Ticking clock, remember, Nat? Kid? Meds? So, Jarvis, analyze Natasha's report. Any anomalies, errors, false deductions?"

"None. Agent Romanova has crafted a seamless argument, and Prisoner Loki has completed the logic. There is a 88.7% chance they are correct, and that the planes do, indeed, reside in the location under Ealing near the clockworks warehouse."

Despite her misgivings, Natasha found she was interested. "There are some abandoned Tube tunnels there from the second world war, built to withstand the Blitz. It would be worth the trip, to see if …"

"…If you and I are correct and not leading the others down a blind alley," Loki finished for her.

Clint pushed back his chair with unnecessary force. "I'm taking over from here and getting that kid the hell out of the warehouse. Set me up with a ride, Nick."

"Already on it… Captain, Banner, I want you both to go with him."

"What about …?" Clint glanced at Natasha and stopped.

Before she could answer him, a new message came up in her inbox. She opened it and found a long series of code. Quickly she shunted it to an html converter, and the image of a luscious Sakura came up: white cherry blossoms with one sparkle of diamond dew.

Narrowing her eyes, she magnified the dewdrop. Sure enough, there was a tiny reflection in it: a horned helmet. On one horn was written the word 'Lady?' and on the other was 'Or Loki?'"

Tony slapped one hand on the table. "Teaser Shooters, that's it. You're welcome. Jarvis, trademark the name and come up with a recipe."

·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·

When Loki entered her room without knocking, she growled, "Out. I'm working on getting meds for the sick girl on the plane."

"I just wanted to see if you made your choice for our next special encounter. Which will it be - Lady or Loki?"

"I'm too busy working on the case to think about your little choice, or anything having to do with you, as a matter of fact."

"Ah," he purred, "so you did find my hidden message. I knew you would."

"Didn't you hear Stark? Ticking clock."

He put down his own computer on the table and sat on the couch so close to her that their thighs touched. "I heard. What does it matter? A few human lives, which will end soon in any case…"

She gritted her teeth. "If you mention one word about ledgers, or dripping, or red, I will have Heimdall send you across the Bifrost for a trip up your own butt."

His tongue peeked out between his teeth as he laughed. "Excellent! Very well, in order to get this obstacle out of my way and return to our very interesting little game, I will help you with this meds problem." He clicked on Fury's information file and began to scan it. After a second, he started to type rapidly.

"You can't just steal the meds, you know," she reminded him.

"Why not? It would be easy. And fun."

"Ticking clock. Don't make me say it again."

"Well, how about…?"

"No, it won't work. I already tried that."

"I would wager I can get the medication the girl needs to her before you can," he said.

"I doubt it!"

They stared at each other for a moment before they both returned to their laptops to type furiously, interjecting insults at each other as they peeked at each other's screens.

"That makes no sense, Russian imbecile."

"Your way makes less sense, Asgardian Ass-Guard."

Finally he threw his hands up in the air in disgust. "Insurance companies are impossible! I have identified at least three open loops of logic in their communication system."

Without looking up from her keyboard, she held up one palm towards him. "Lesson one; health companies on Midgard suck."

"What am I supposed to do?" He was staring at her hand with a puzzled expression.

"You touch your palm to mine as a sign of agreement. Or you can slap it and yell 'Skin' if you prefer."

He hesitated and finally touched his cool palm to hers.

·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·

After an hour of frustration, Loki found an accommodating chemist in Ealing. Tasha arranged for transport, refrigeration for the delicate drug cocktail, a hired nurse to inject the dose, while he added an ambulance and reservation in a nearby private hospital. "Now," she added, sitting back and gathering her hair back from her face, "we just have to hope Steve, Bruce, and Clint get there in time."

"And succeed in suppressing this Clerkenwell Syndicate?"

"I have no doubts about that. As long as make their way into SNAKE headquarters, those Islington buttholes are going down."

"So confident. What makes you certain?" Loki sat back, folded his arms, and propped his long legs on the coffee table.

"I know my team. And get your feet off my table!"

"Still, anything could happen." Loki didn't move his legs.

"What, exactly? Wolves? Crop circles?"

He turned and slid his arm along the back of the couch behind her shoulders. "To be honest, I don't care. Now we can get back to our far more intriguing situation. Tell me, Agent, which horn will you choose – me or the Lady?"

She bounded up from her seat and kicked the table so his feet fell to the floor. "Thank you for your help, but as we're finished now, it's time for you to toddle along."

He rose obediently, but as they approached the door a letter slid under the frame. He bent, picked it up, and handed the thick envelope to her.

Natasha froze when she saw the stamp.

"Natasha? What is it?" he enquired in a soft voice.

"I think you already know."

"Mm. Of course I do." There was a surge of cool breath against her ear as he leaned forward and kissed one cheek, followed by the other. "But you are intelligent and strong enough to withstand it."

The door closed, and he was gone.

·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·∫·

As she ate a quick meal, took a shower, changed, the letter stayed propped up on a pile of books, unopened. Finally she snorted. "This is ridiculous," she told herself and opened the flap.

A sheaf of about five pages, covered in close writing, was inside, headed "Dearest Aunt Natasha…"

She folded the letter up again and jammed it back into the envelope. As a distraction she reopened her computer, only to find a new message from Loki: another long scroll of code.

Encrypted, it revealed a gif of a long red curl twisting endlessly to reflect the light from its glossy depths. Natasha sighed and looked for the hidden writing she knew was there somewhere.

The word was hidden at the end of the longest strand: Well?

She sat back and considered for a long time. The perfect answer had come to her at once when she first received his Sakura blossom, but at the time she thought it was too childish to play the game.

And now, after an hour of shared endeavor with Loki and the hideous fact of the letter from another Romanova leaning against the book, she was afraid to send her response. It might end the one thing distracting her, she reflected. She had, at that moment, only one thing saving her from the thought of having to confront someone with her own blood, a girl with her face but an entirely different life.

Unfortunately, that one distraction seemed to be flirtation with a demigod from a different world who probably was more than a little insane.

She went to the freezer and poured a glass of the lemon vodka from Tony's bottle, still considering. At last, she sat down and typed her response, the one word to either completely end the game Loki had somehow dragged her into, or take it to whole new level.

Jotunn.