A Day in the Life of Maria Hill

by a-really-angry-sorceress

Deputy Director Maria Hill single-handedly runs S.H.I.E.L.D. That's a fact, not an opinion, and everyone knows it. As if Fury does much apart from stomp about with dramatic one-liners. She handles more deadly secrets everyday than most people could deal with in a lifetime. But everyone, even ice-cold, ex-assassins have a breaking point. And this has been building for a long time...

4. Home Of The Thor Clones

Hi! So, apart from my frankly obsessive love of Maria Hill, I have no idea what to say here so…on with the story! Basically, as a complete noob I forgot no-one reads the author's comment at the end, so obviously none of you voted on which chapter you would prefer…(can't exactly blame you considering I do the same…) So basically, I decided fuck it, and am doing neither.

If you recognise a few odd names in this, I nicked them just because I could, namely Abigail Brand. If you knew her, forget it. She's mine now. *evil laugh*

Thanks to my beta, run-robin-run, who has a severe case of fabulous, and to the most motivating human being on the planet, Sroloc Elbisivni. Thanks guys!

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or Clintasha would be cannon and there would be a lot more angsting and talks about how everyone had a shit father!

Warnings: Quite a lot of swearing, weird ass agent-i-ness, French, sexism

I have very few friends. This should be obvious by now.

There are comrades, yes. The people that fight on, and by, my side. S.H.I.E.L.D agents, S.T.R.I.K.E agents, S.H.A.P.E agents…there are a lot of them to be sure. But then again, that means there are a lot of opportunities for traitors to stab me in the back. So, I don't trust them.

Then, there are the people I trust, to save the world, each other, and not to stab me in the back. Too often, anyway. Barton, Romanoff, Pepper, Yousif, 13, the rest of the Avengers, Fury, Mei, and most of the other highest level S.H.I.E.L.D agents…these are the people I trust. Even though I rarely, if ever, like them.

Finally, there are my friends. The people I actually like, rather than merely tolerate, and like me in return. Okay, so I'd go out for drinks with the women of S.H.I.E.L.D, but I know their loyalties lie elsewhere than with me. But my 'friends', well, I'd die for them. Stupid, I know, but it's true. And I always hold the belief they'd do the same for me in return (even though I'd be really, really pissed off with them. Like screaming-abuse-at-their-dead-body-with-tears-streaming-down-my-face pissed).

The first one of my 'friends' (because that just doesn't seem like a strong enough word) is, obviously, Coulson. My one and only partner through all my years in the field, with the steady, calming presence he always possessed, and the way he would be saving my life one minute and buying me my favourite donuts the next…we were the Barton and Romanoff of our time, we were Strike Team Gamma, we saved the world more times than anyone could ever count. He will forever be my platonic soul mate, as cheesy as that sounds.

Depressingly enough, I only have one other friend. I had more, once upon a time when I was a young, trusting, naïve little agent, but a lot of people die in our business and I never really had the time or the inclination to make new ones. Her name is Abigail Brand, Director of S.H.A.P.E, our European sister group. She's French, as French as you could possibly get and very proud of it, and she is absolutely stunning. Fine features, pale skin, bow-shaped lips and midnight hair dyed dark green at the ends…so she sounds like some hipster teenager? That's what everyone thinks, until suddenly your entire life gets pulled out from under you and everything starts dripping with red…

She's scary, vicious, powerful. We rose through the ranks together, her and I, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, even becoming Director and Deputy Director of our respective agencies within months of each other. There've been so many joint missions, one's we've been on together, one's we've supervised, ones we've saved. And that builds trust, which, eventually, turned into friendship. Yes, I know, moronic right? But it happens to the best of us.

"Ria, c'mon. You're gonna have to tell me what you're up to after such a strange request." On the screen, the petite Director's green eyes gleam in interest.

"I can't Abi, you know that."

She raises her eyes to the ceiling. "So, you ring me up in the middle of a very important meeting asking for a favour, on our private line I might add, and now I'm locked away in my office while my Deputies go crazy outside…and you're refusing to give me any reason as to why S.H.A.P.E should be ready to deal with any world crises for the next couple of days? Why, are you guys planning to blow up S.H.I.E.L.D again? Because let me tell you, last time you did that was not fun; you American bastards might be an arrogant lot but at least when you're around I don't have to deal with the Australians. Director Renouf is still pissed off at me."

I can't help but laugh. "Director Renouf is always pissed off at everyone. It's why him and Fury get along so well."

"And they are why us women have to stick together in our world, otherwise those two would probably rip us apart with their scowls and temper tantrums and seriously bad trust issues. But you know you can't trick me off the line of conversation that easily, ma amie. Tell me what's up, or fuck off."

And that's why we get along so well. Bluntness is ever a quality to be admired among spies. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you, but this is strictly under the table, understood? Fury's keeping this from everyone in the world, especially the other intelligence services. He'll have my guts for this if he finds out."

"Paranoid bastard." she says without malice. "Well, go on then, let's hear what crazy scheme you're up to now."

"We've been invited to Asgard to meet with the Allfather on behalf of Midgard as its diplomatic envoys. Fury and I are going as the diplomats, and the Avengers are coming along as bodyguards. Coulson's staying behind to run S.H.I.E.L.D, but even he can't manage his, mine and Fury's jobs, so productivity at S.H.I.E.L.D will be down considerably, not to mention Earth will have its top team missing. We've got Dr. Strange, She-Hulk, Falcon, Iron Patriot, 13 and Agent Mei providing cover for any supervillain attacks, and the Winter Soldier has promised to help out if needed. You got the files on that particular incident I presume?"

"I was less than impressed with Roger's conduct, but it was a pretty speech on your behalf. 'Morals are of no use to a dead man, and dead men can't save the world'? I never took you for the lyrical type. And Asgard, really? Fury does realise he has no more right than the rest of us to represent the entire planet. He could've at least called the Director's Council for a vote."

"Under the table remember?" I remind Abigail quickly, worried she might accidentally drop me in it with Fury in the process of ripping off his head. "Fury'd end up going anyway because Thor already respects him, and the Asgardians are refusing to let anyone up there that their Prince hasn't previously met. They're nearly as paranoid as us…but not quite. And besides, I'm going to make sure Fury doesn't fuck up diplomatic relations and start a war; everyone knows he doesn't have a diplomatic bone in his body."

"Amen to that!" The S.H.A.P.E Director grins at me. "But in order for me to keep my lips shut, I want access to whatever cameras you manage to place on Asgard and wherever else you go."

"Me?!" I exclaim mockingly, "Place cameras in the home of our allies? Who do you take me for?" I only get a raised eyebrow in reply. "Okay fine, I'll patch you into the frequencies when I get back, that is, if frequencies transmit properly between Realms. Ah fuck it, I'm not astrophysicist, I'm just going for drop and hope here. Dr. Foster reckons that standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D mini-cameras and listening devices should work unless the Bifrost energies screw them up or some residual Asgardian magic messes with the signal…I digress. If they work, I'll send them to you, but for god's sake don't share with the rest of the Directors. Fury's dying to have a one-up on everyone else."

"Men." she sighs, and I can't help but agree. Suddenly, she tears her eyes away from the screen and frowns. "Mycroft, get out! I said private meeting you stupid rosbif! What…yes of course I know Fury's planning to go off-world, what do you think this meeting is about? He's not exactly subtle when he's smug…yes, start the S.H.I.E.L.D-fucked-up-again protocols…yes, we need to look after the world for a few days…oh god, fine, contact Director Renouf and tell him to get E.P. (AN:Eastern Pacific) ready for any worldwide fuck-ups…no, that'll be all. And Bond, I can see you lurking out there, take off your sunglasses for god's sake, we're inside! Mon dieu."

I can't help but snicker behind my hand at my friend's disgruntled expression. "I still can't believe you've got real life British agents working for you that are codenamed Mycroft, Bond, Sherlock, and Watson…it defies belief."

Abi turns back to her screen with a smirk. "British sense of humour I suppose, we've got M in Management and Q in SciTech as well…although I'm taking disciplinary against Bond if she won't stop insisting those sunglasses are always necessary, whatever oh-so-special adjustments they might have don't make her look any less ridiculous."

"I don't know how you Europeans survive with all your cultures and languages and odd senses of humour."

"And I have no idea how America hasn't sunk under the weight of its own arrogance yet." she responds to the age-old argument between us. "I'm holding you to your word about the cameras, but I've got to go. Holmes and Watson are gallivanting around Russia on a mission and I really need to make sure they don't make any more mortal enemies." My friend rolls her green eyes in fond exasperation, the same kind I hold for Barton and Romanoff. "Till next time."

"Till next time." I echo with a respectful parting nod, before hanging up the call, feeling considerably more confident that the world won't blow up on our trip to Asgard. Now I'm maybe 50% sure…55% at most. Although to be honest, I'm only 67% sure the world won't blow up on a good day.

Isn't that reassuring?

(**I*I**)

"Why do we have to stand so close together?" Stark's voice whines as he passes his red and gold 'suitcase' between his hands, "Captain Spanglepants is burning a hole in my chest plate with his Grandpa glare."

"You were taking advantage of us standing behind the ladies!" Steve defends himself irritably, attempting to rub the New Mexico sand out of his eyes.

"Checking people out isn't a crime these days Captain Chastity." Tony replies gleefully, sensing an opportunity to wind up his teammate.

Steve crosses his arms when he realises he's only making his itchy eyes worse by rubbing them. "You're in a relationship, it's not appropriate!"

Natasha marches over and treats them both to an eye-watering glare. "Both of you shut it, we're trying to make a good impression on Thor's dad when we go up to Asgard so we don't need you two squabbling over every little thing. Steve, pack it in, Maria and I can handle people staring at our asses, we're big girls and we can look after ourselves. And Tony, we are perfectly capable of hiding your body and consoling Pepper afterwards. Just ignore each other if you have to." The two men huff, but look away from each other, and a satisfied Natasha returns to her quiet conversation with Clint.

"So, Thor," an eager S.H.I.E.L.D scientist gushes to the god, "can you give us a detailed account of how the Bifrost works so we can add it to our notes?" It's not that S.H.I.E.L.D's scientists don't trust outsiders like Dr. Jane Foster…but they really don't trust outsiders like Dr. Jane Foster. To them, she just the lucky girl dating the alien prince whose notes they're 'borrowing'. I told you everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D was ruthless.

"Alas," Thor apologises ruefully, "I know nothing of the workings of the Bifrost, 'twas never in my area of interests…"

The scientist droops and trudges off as Fury whirls around on the Asgardian, coat flaring dramatically. "So let me guess," he growls, "that was Loki's job."

Lately, this has been a large area of contention between Thor and S.H.I.E.L.D. He knows next to nothing about the other Realms, and nothing of that is useful to us. And guess what the answer always is when we ask why? 'That was Loki's job/area/interest/lesson…' Basically, apart from as muscle to the Avengers and as a link to Asgard's monarchy, he's useless. More than once the lamentation that it would've been easier for us if Thor was the crazy son of a bitch and Loki was the Avenger has been heard around S.H.I.E.L.D Headquarters. And it seems to me that Loki would have a lot less trouble filling out paperwork than Thor does…

"Friends," Thor booms, cheering up considerably, "gather round. I will summon the Bifrost henceforth."

With some groaning from the Avengers, who were less than impressed with Thor's insistent directions on where to stand, and excited scuttling of the surrounding scientists (including Jane Foster and co.) who were hoping to take new measurements, we were finally ready to go.

Thor, who is standing in front of the group, with Fury and I directly behind him and the Avengers tightly arrayed behind us, turns around to speak to the group. "Now remember, the Bifrost feels very peculiar to first time users, but all will be well. Keep breathing evenly, close your eyes if you begin to feel unwell, and try your best not to fall flat on your face upon our landing. That tends not to give a most favourable first impression." he chuckles. No-one else laughs, most of us looking understandably tense, but that doesn't seem to bother him.

"Heimdall!" he booms, raising Mjölnir skyward "Open the Bifrost!"

For a long moment nothing happens and Fury and I exchange a look, but then the black rainclouds above us start glowing and the last thing I hear is Clint's mutter of "Oh Christ." before the light descends and the Bifrost lifts us away.

The most overwhelming thing is the noise. A great roaring, like a thousand heli-carries shooting by or a million football fans screaming their approval or the bellowing of every animal on the planet in one, long, continuous whooshing past my ears that suddenly makes me feel unworthy to hear it. And then there's the light, every feasible colour and some that probably aren't whipping past so fast I'm barely able to register them, not to mention the shock of watching the bodies of the Avengers, Fury and myself bleed away into the barrage. It takes forever, it takes hours, it takes absolutely no time at all. It's everything, and nothing all at once. It is absolutely indescribable.

And then, all too soon and not soon enough, it's over.

We're spat out into a room covered in gold, which is all I can tell because my head just won't stop spinning. Thor carries on walking as if he wasn't just thrust through the vast abyss of space, Natasha, Clint and I all manage through years of training to land on our feet, Fury and Rogers both stumble and collapse to one knee, and, amusingly, Stark and Banner both go sprawling on the floor.

"Ooow." Stark groans, "Someone around here needs to invest in some cushions or something. This floor is hard and cold and now my face hurts. Who invents a magic space travel machine without a proper exit mechanism anyway?

"I see your friends are as dexterous as Midgardians ever were."

Immediately, all eyes in the room rise up to the large black man stood up on a platform, dressed in flamboyant gold armour with an amused twinkle in his striking gold eyes. Alright, so he's mocking us. Maybe if I could concentrate on anything other than not vomiting everywhere I could come up with a sarcastic answer. As it is, Planet Earth will just have to deal with insulting aliens on its own for a little while.

I vaguely notice Thor in my peripheral vision bounding up the platform and speaking to the man in gold in lowered tones. From what Thor has previously told us, that must be Heimdall, Asgard's Watchman. He likes ostentatious armour even more than Stark does, and that's saying something.

Thor finishes his conversation with Heimdall (who knew Thor was even capable of lowering his voice?) and makes a lap around the room, pulling people to their feet and checking that everyone is alright. This gives me time to survey my first glance of Asgard.

Gold. There's gold everywhere. Coating the walls of the spherical room we're stood in, the floor, the podium, even the man stood in it! It's like someone designed a really pretty building and then let King Midas run rampant. It's the gaudiest thing I've ever seen (and I've been inside Stark Tower).

"Lady Hill, you fare well?" Thor bounces over, the others following behind him. I can't help but notice Fury looking around, scowling even more ferociously than usual. Looks like someone's jealous.

"I'm fine Thor. Let's hurry up and get going, I'm falling asleep here."

The prince nods solemnly, and I can't help but sigh fondly about Thor's constant lack of understanding about sarcasm. He seems to grasp nearly everything Midgardian (he's an alien Prince for Christ's sake, he's not completely stupid), but sarcasm always passes him right by. It's annoying, but kind of adorable.

Outside on the rainbow bridge, a stable boy is waiting with a herd of regal-looking horses, who upon seeing Thor executes a bow so low his nose nearly touches the bridge. Now that is flexibility.

"Crown Prince, Asgard rejoices at your return." His voice cracks on the last word and he colours immediately. So, looks like Asgardians go through puberty just like we do, although if they live 50 times longer than us, does that mean their puberty lasts 50 times longer too? Nasty.

"Thank you my friend." Thor says, nodding his head and kindly ignoring the boy's bright red cheeks and wide eyes. "Please take a horse ahead and warn the palace of our coming. There will be many preparations to be made in honour of our new friends."

"Aye sire." The boy literally jumps on a horse and gallops off down the bridge at death-defying speeds, either happy to see or terrified of Thor and his odd guests; I can't decide which.

Meanwhile, everyone else is leaning precariously over the edge of the Bifrost to look down into the Void below. Clint whistles quietly. "Damn son, I wouldn't want to fall down there." he says under his breath so Thor doesn't overhear and throw another Loki-related tantrum, "That has to turn anyone who survives it into a crazy son of a bitch. I'm surprised Loki retained whatever twisted sanity he has left."

After that wonderfully cheerful commentary, we all walk back to Thor, who is grinning excitedly and is practically bouncing with anticipation about getting to finally show his friends around his home. He's like a huge, well-muscled, extremely powerful, super deadly puppy. Isn't that a strange image?

The first thing that clues me into something strange is the saddles on the horses. An odd thing to notice I know, but upon seeing them the feeling something unpleasant is going on settles in my chest. Two of the saddles are for side-saddle riding, and are obviously meant for Natasha and I. Nothing good ever comes of differentiating between the sexes, especially when someone is insinuating women can't do whatever men can do, like riding. Ladylike my ass. Do I look like I'm wearing a dress?

Thor doesn't seem to realise anything wrong, even after all the times he says Sif walloped him for sexism when they were younger. I bet she doesn't ride side-saddle. Rogers, Stark and Banner, ever ignorant, don't notice as they walk over to the horses, Tony and Steve arguing over who has which horse and Bruce looking mildly terrified as the large animals snort and stamp their hooves. Fury looks at me, the saddles, Natasha, the saddles, and me again, and just rolls his eye. He knows shit is going to go down, now, or later. He's not bothered, he's seen it all before.

Clint and Natasha exchange sidelong glances, before Clint hands Natasha up and onto one of the side-saddled horses with a shit-eating grin that speaks volumes about how this is his revenge for one past mission or another. Natasha makes use of her positioning to kick her partner sharply in the shoulder, sending him stumbling back quite a few steps, clutching his shoulder overdramatically, a look of mock pain on his face.

Sighing, I approach my horse, looking at the side-saddle with what I know must be an extremely sour look on my face. She's huge, a beautifully bred mare, and looking around at the suddenly bleach white faces of Banner and Stark, the latter of whom is clutching his Iron Man suitcase with white-knuckled fingers, I feel a little better, knowing that I can actually ride the damn horse, side-saddle or not.

Deep breath in. Dredge up some sympathy from the darkest vestiges of my soul. Deep breath out. "Hey Bruce, would you like some help?"

"Thank you Agent Hill, but I ah…I don't think horse riding is for me. Not so good for the heart rate…maybe I could just follow on behind on foot-" Bruce crosses his arms over his body and turns away from his horse nervously.

"Nonsense. Horse riding is rhythmic, it'll calm you down. Besides, you're on Asgard, home of the Thor-clones. If anyone can handle the Hulk, Asgardians can. Here, I'll help you climb up, and…there we go!" Bruce sits up on his horse, hands visibly shaking, but thankfully there are no signs of green. I'd hate to be stuck on a rather small bridge with the never-ending, soul-sucking void of space on either side with an enraged Hulk. Bye bye Maria Hill.

Fury, meanwhile, is busy taking on the one and only Tony Stark. They've been arguing the entire time I've been helping Bruce, and Fury is slowly but surely losing his temper. Not the best start to a diplomatic visit where he's contentious at the best of times…but never mind.

Stark is still clutching his suitcase and is slowly edging away from the horses. "I've got my suit, I can just fly-"

"You can't just fly Stark, Thor could 'just fly', but he isn't, he's riding the goddamn horse-"

"Yeah well that's Goldilock's decision, I, on the other hand, am not going near that thing," he said, gesturing at his horse, "in a month of Sundays. It's dirty and smelly-"

"Well because we all know you weren't paying a shit's worth of attention in the briefings, I'm here to tell you that it's customary to ride up to the citadel up in this shiny, fancy-ass place, and as a sign of respect for your teammate's traditions, you will get on that damn horse and you will sit there without moaning until we arrive at the goddamn palace or so help me-" Fury growls out. I'm pretty sure he's about two seconds away from stamping his feet and throwing a diva tantrum. Fury does like his diva tantrums.

"Tony." Steve interjects before the billionaire can open his mouth to continue the argument, "Get on the damn horse. We're not here to argue, and it'll probably make Thor happy. Director, please, it's not worth arguing with him. Tony's obstinate at the best of times."

After a quick glance at a painfully excited Thor, Tony droops in defeat and whilst he doesn't stop grumbling about being called obstinate, he does, after a couple of tries that leave me hiding a smile, get on the horse. I follow his lead, and soon everyone is on horseback (albeit two of us are sat side-saddle), with me holding Bruce's reins and Steve holding Tony's.

Riding up the Bifrost is fascinating. Even though I might not be one of the scientists in the group, by god I can still appreciate just how impossible this place is; the impossibilities are everywhere and they're, well, impossible to miss. When we travel over the bridge, the landscape below us changes from the black of the void to a rushing, tumbling, never-ending waterfall that thunders down and down and down into the darkness below. We ride over a sparkling, clear blue ocean and a pristine harbour (which is the only one I've ever been to in my life that doesn't reek of fish. Trust me, for some reason S.H.I.E.L.D missions love happening in disgusting places), through city streets where nearly everything shines and the people look delighted and cheer loudly as we go past, throwing flowers like we're in some kind of Disney movie (which doesn't bear thinking about, but is kind of nice for a very, very brief change).

We pass through giant golden gates the size of skycrapers which are carved with the most intricate designs, stories of creation and battle and peace and woe and hope, with watchtowers either side from where guards in elaborate gold armour stare impassively down at us. I have to admit, I approve of the level of paranoia having this many guards must take; it must be what, 65% of the male population? Although…the fact that every single one of them is male nags at me somewhat, but the feeling is quickly washed away under the pure awe this place inspires. Now I get why Thor is never impressed by Midgard no matter what the Avengers take him to see. Except poptarts. Lord help the Health and Safety official that tries to stop Thor importing poptarts to Asgard. Not even I think bureaucracy is that important.

Eventually, we reach the palace. It's bigger and gaudier and more well-guarded than even the rest of Asgard, and all the gold is making my eyes water it's so bright around here. Yes, we get that you're super rich and powerful, can you quit it with the gold already?

We all dismount from our horses, handing the reigns over to the waiting stable boys who are watching the Crown Prince's odd guests with wide eyes and barely concealed whispers. Subtle, real subtle. Looks like this place might even rival S.H.I.E.L.D for its ability to spread gossip; I give it an hour before the entire city is talking about us.

"Friends." booms Thor, and with his arms held out wide and his form silhouetted with reflected gold light, he really does look like a god from legends. I might even believe it if I hadn't walked in on him holding a burping contest at two in the morning a couple of weeks ago. "Welcome to the Palace of Asgard, home to the All-Father, ruler of the Nine Realms."

I notice Fury's lips twitching silently, and even without hearing the words I know what he's saying. "He ain't no King of my planet." Unfortunately, I have to agree. I don't care who died and made him King of Asgard, and hell, even the rest of the Nine Realms (despite the fact at least two of the other Realms are still at war with Asgard), Odin isn't the king of Earth while we have anything to say about it.

"Thor, you big oaf, it's nice to see you back!" Four figures push their way through the rapidly growing crowd of servants, of whom I guess precisely none have a right to be out here gawking at us. I approve. What? They don't work for me, and lollygagging without actually getting caught shows initiative. As long as you don't work for me, or lollygagging results in serious pain.

The four figures turn out to be three men and one woman, warriors and nobles from the way they are all dressed. Sif and the Warriors Three presumably.

"My friends!" Thor yells excitably, dashing up and attempting to wrap all of them up in one of his bone-crushing hugs. The woman, Sif, dodges, but the men aren't so lucky, which gives me ample time to examine this woman that inspires fear and respect even into Thor when he was at his brashest.

Physically, she's attractive, with long black hair, smooth skin and large eyes. But that's not what I'm interested in. She stands almost defensively, eyes challenging like she's threatening one of us to pick a fight with her. Which, I realise, she is. Being the only female warrior out of the hundreds of men that I've seen must've made her entire life an uphill struggle for respect, probably with men challenging her prowess left, right and centre. It can only be like my rise through S.H.I.E.L.D, except worse. Far, far worse. At least I had a few other women at my back; it looks like she has had no-one.

After fiercely surveying the men, Sif's eyes meet mine, and soften very slightly. I nod faintly, and allow my lips to twitch upwards. She returns the favour, and moves on to stare at Natasha, who repeats the same motions of recognition, warrior to warrior, woman to woman. Looks like we already have another ally here. Girl power anyone?

"Sif, Warriors Three, these are Earth's Mightiest Heroes, the Avengers, and Director Fury and Deputy Director Hill of S.H.I.E.L.D. Friends, this is Sif and the Warriors Three, Fandral, Hogun and Voltstagg, my closest friends and travelling companions."

Nods are exchanged, and both teams size each other up. Bruce gulps nervously from all the tension in the air and Clint cracks his knuckles one by one, looking like he's hoping for some violence. Fury's antics seem to work the best though. He rocks back on his feet, crosses his arms and raises a thoroughly unimpressed eyebrow. Every single Asgardian in the entire courtyard winces, and those of a weaker disposition scamper off at top speed, some not even bothering to cite excuses. Fury must really, really look like Odin. I know Thor's made the comparison more than once, but this is a ridiculous reaction; Odin must be pretty damn scary to get that much of a response at even a mere resemblance of him.

Thor clears his throat, awkwardly stepping between the two teams with his hands raised passively. "Friends, the All-Father is waiting for your audience in the Throne Room. Perhaps we can all make our way there together?"

Everyone turns their attention to Thor and the tension breaks. Silently, we troop after Thor, Fury and I automatically taking the lead and forcing both the mortals and the…not-so-mortal 'mortals' to jockey for position behind us. Thank god for the aura of leadership, it has more benefits than you can probably think of.

It takes us about five minutes to trek through the (gold) palace with its (gold) guards lining every wall, and its (gold) statues and the (gold) tapestries decorating the walls, with (gold) torches in (gold) torch brackets and curious aristocrats that peak their noses around corners or walk past with barely concealed stares, who, you guessed it, are invariably wearing gold.

Calling Asgard 'The Golden Realm' is starting to seem sardonic to me.

Considering the Asgardians have no concept of sarcasm, I'm wondering which inspired race came up with that name. I bet it was the elves of Alfheim. Have I ever met one? No. But Thor has shown us pictures and they look like fellow sass masters to me.

"This is the Throne Room." Thor booms.

"No shit." Fury murmurs as we halt in front of the door that is somehow even more gold than the previous seventy-three million others we've passed through. I can't help but snort quietly. Fury and I might not exactly see eye to eye, but around here it's obvious us humans need to stick together. Or, from the half-curious, half-murderous glares of everyone with a weapon, we'll end up skewered.

The huge doors swing open on silent hinges and we look down the length of a massive hall. And when I say massive, I mean massive. Like the-heli-carrier-before-they-put-the-floors-in massive. Like the-size-of-the-clusterfuck-when-Barton-and-Romanoff-are-left-alone-and-unsupervised-on-a-mission massive. Yeah, that massive.

Thor beckons us forward, and we follow him, albeit slightly hesitantly. Yes, even super scary ex-assassins get intimidated, okay? Shut up.

Then, ever so quietly, Barton starts humming the Space Odyssey theme tune, and the tension breaks apart. The challenge now is not resisting the urge to run screaming from the throne room like it was before, but to resist the urge to crack up laughing. Even the ever-clueless Thor has a tiny smile on his face.

Eventually, and I mean eventually, we stop in front of the throne. The five Asgardians kneel with bowed heads and the rest of us poor mortals all nod respectfully.

Odin, unsurprisingly enough, doesn't return the favour. Queen Frigga, on the other hand, dips into a slight curtsy and smiles welcomingly.

And then, he speaks. "Rise, warriors. Midgardians, I formally welcome you to the Eternal Realm of Asgard. Director of Fury and Avengers, we will begin the formalities at the earliest possible stage. But first I must ask," Odin leans down and squints at Natasha and I, "why have you brought your whores into my throne room?"

A long moment passes. Silence falls. Eyes widen. Throats swallow in apprehension.

I hear Natasha take a small step up so that she is by my side. I see the hardness in her green eyes and the annoyed tilt of her jaw. No, not annoyed. Furious.

I suck in an extremely pissed-off breath through my teeth. "How dare you." I say in a deadly quiet tone. Knowing from experience what will happen next, Fury shuffles away and the other Avengers follow his example. Smart people. "I am Deputy Director Hill of S.H.I.E.L.D, and this is Agent Romanoff of the Avengers. And you refer to us as whores? What right have you to accuse us of that? To accuse anyone, anywhere of that? What business is it of yours anyway? Who do you think you are?"

"I am the All-Father, King of Asgard and Ruler of the-"

"And I'm unimpressed, pleased to meet you. Sexism is not tolerated among my people and you have just demonstrated the highest form of it. Director Fury, I recommend that you and Captain Rogers stay here and begin the diplomatic relations." Fury and Steve, perhaps realising that it's not a good time to disagree, both nod, and Steve snaps a salute. I turn to the so-called Science Bros. "You two, you're going to, politely, ask Thor's friends here for a tour around and an introduction to someone who can explain more to you about the technical and magical sides of Asgard." They both positively gleam with excitement and nod perhaps a tad overenthusiastically to look intimidating anymore. "Barton, you're on scientist watch. Minimal destruction please." The corner of Clint's mouth twitches upwards, and as fast as lightening, he winks. I realise he's enjoying this, Natasha and I working together to tear someone down that's not him. That little shit.

I turn to the lethal assassin by my side. "Natasha, are you ready to take your leave?"

"Of course Deputy Director." Her green eyes sparkle with fury-turned-amusement. "Will you accompany me?"

"Of course. I do not wish to stay where I am undervalued and insulted." Linking arms, we turn and stride as gracefully as we can out of the hall, which is pretty damn gracefully if I do say so myself.

Silence reigns as with the click of high heels we make our way down the long, long room. I can feel eyes burning into my back, and I tilt my chin higher. It's taking most of my self-confidence and a whole lot of courage to do this, but it's worth it. No-one gets away with sexism when I'm around to deal with it. Not even the so-called King of the Nine Realms.

With a slam, the giant gold doors close behind us.

Natasha and I turn to each other with wide eyes and shaky breaths. "Holy shit we just did that."

Natasha extends her hand for me to shake. "Maria, I think you just kicked some proverbial godly ass. Congratulations."

I shake her hand quickly (to minimise the risks of being judo-flipped) and arch an eyebrow. "And I was worried Fury was going to be the one to blow a fuse."

Her lips twitch. I smirk. She grins. A chuckle forces its way past my lips. She giggles behind her hand. I look away, trying to suppress laughter, but can't resist taking a quick peek back. Our eyes meet. We both erupt into laughter.

"I'm sorry to interrupt."

In terrifying synchronisation, Natasha and I both whip around with handguns pointed at the origin of the sound, laughter gone completely and eyes hard and cold. Spies to the core, assassins at heart, and paranoid either way. Wow, that sounds like a tagline from a TV show: Maria and Natasha, out to save the world from sexism and brutally murder all the bad guys in geysers of blood. Not for children.

Queen Frigga doesn't even flinch, although Lady Sif looks ready and willing to take a bullet or two for her Queen. It wouldn't really affect either of them but…well, it's the thought that counts.

"But I was wondering," the Queen continues, as if nothing had just happened, and slowly but surely, Natasha and I holster our guns. "if you would like a…less-biased tour of Asgard. I assure you that it is a most beautiful Realm, full of many natural and crafted wonders. I may be a little enthusiastic, but even after all my years guiding Asgard from behind the throne, I still hold the deepest regard for this land as a foreigner, something which I hope you will be willing to join me in."

I nod gratefully; now this trip would hopefully survive me and my feminist values. Not that I'm apologising for them, no, they are completely and utterly necessary, but even S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't usually screw up diplomatic relations as badly as I just did. Besides, I really don't want to be the one that starts an inter-Realm war with actual gods.

That would not look good on my file.

"Thank you very much Your Majesty. Natasha and I will gratefully accept your most gracious offer."

She smiles beatifically, and even Sif looks pleased. "Would you prefer to remain in your current attire or change into Asgardian formal wear?"

"Asgardian formal wear would be most gratefully accepted." Natasha pipes up.

Frigga nods regally and turns gracefully on her heel, beckoning for us to follow her.

I give Natasha a pointed look behind the Queen's back. "What?" she mouths, "I can't make decisions now?"

"Have you seen that stuff?" I mouth back, "It looks like it weighs about five tonnes! And I. Don't. Wear. Dresses."

"Oh c'mon, you're telling me you think the Queen can't kick ass in that dress? It looks plenty battle-worthy to me, and look at the way she walks! She has a warrior's stride."

We reached a room which Sif formally announced to be the palace tailors. Sif announces the three of us, and with proudly raised chins Natasha and I follow Frigga inside.

What we walk in on is not what I was expecting. Women of all ages bustle around madly, fabric flying, metal clanging, hairdressers shouting, aristocrats preening, needles sewing…it's so cacophonous it reminds me of a battlefield.

The second the Queen sets foot in the room, all motion and sound halts, and as one the whole room rises and curtsies deeply. She waves them off graciously, and the whole room bursts back into motion. This is like every war planning room I've ever been in, except it's devoted to fashion. It's…breathtaking. Terrifying, but breathtaking all the same.

A woman hurries up, her skirts swishing behind her, and curtsies deeply, bowing her head respectfully. She has long, shiny brunette hair that is immaculately styled in the fashion of the aristocratic ladies I've noticed wandering around, an attractive if not warm face covered with just enough makeup to perfectly accentuate her features, and a dark purple dress with long skirts that makes her look slim and womanly at the same time. She is a true picture of a courtly Asgardian woman, and appears to be around the age of the queen, though who can really tell with gods?

"Rise Hariasa. Honestly, we have been friends for so many a year that I can barely remember when we met, and yet you still insist on the common courtesies of the like that strangers would pay one another. You are so unlike you're sister Eir that I scarcely would believe you related if I hadn't known you as children."

"Aye my Queen, but Eir shows her respect for yourself and your family through her healing work, whereas I prefer to show mine through my actions. And my sister was ever disgraceful in her behaviour." The woman, Hariasa, turns her head to glare at Sif, her ornately curled and pinned brunette hair bouncing behind her. "Ah, Lady Sif, it is rare that you grace my workplace with your presence."

Sif mumbles something incoherent about the glory of battle and the devils of fashion. A woman after my own heart.

Hariasa sniffs. "Sif, you do try my patience at times. It wouldn't kill you to possess at least one socially acceptable court dress, now would it? Or perhaps have your hair styled while you wait on Her Majesty."

Sif all but rolls her eyes. It's obvious that this is an argument carried out on a regular basis. Probably much the same as the legendary Hawkeye&Hill feud over paperwork, only over thousands of years. I suppress a shudder at the thought; that's just one more reason to thank the universe that I'm not an Asgardian. Never ending arguments with Hawkeye…he could avoid handing in paperwork for hundreds of years. That's the stuff of nightmares right there.

Frigga smoothly interrupts the eternal fashion feud. "Hariasa, might I direct your attention to our guests from Midgard, the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D Lady Maria Hill, and the only female member of the Avengers, the Lady Natasha Romanoff?"

Piercing grey eyes fall on the two of us. "I assume you are here to dress in more court-appropriate clothing?"

Behind her back Sif shakes her head vigorously, but Natasha ignores her. "Thank you Lady Hariasa, that would be most gratefully received. It appears that we never received a message on what we were expected to where, and that led to some… unpleasant assumptions from the men."

Hariasa's demeanour changes from cold to welcoming in a millisecond. "Men, such animals are they not? Do not worry, no men are allowed in here, and we'll have you all looking perfect in no time. Even you, Lady Sif."

The warrior looks ready bolt, and I'm all prepared to follow her, but before I can really register what's happening Hariasa clicks her fingers and we're surrounded by hoards of women wielding dresses, hairbrushes, perfumes and all manner of dangerous looking devices.

I'd give myself a better chance of surviving another attack on New York than this.

I discreetly toss a listening device into a plant pot as I'm herded deeper into the room, Natasha, Sif and Frigga being towed off in different directions. I'm in a chair, my hair ripped from its ponytail with numerous women pulling, plucking and preening my hair, face and neck. I manage to pull off my weapons belt and stuff it under a cushion before I'm yanked to my feet and my catsuit is whipped away, leaving me just wearing my bra and pants. I blush, mortified, but also thanking god that I remembered to put on a matching set of underwear this morning. I never would've seen this coming in a million years.

Still, I retreat as far as I can into the corner of the room, hiding myself behind a decorative screen and wrapping it all the way around me. I don't…all spies have scars. Some internal, some external. I don't like anyone seeing mine.

Hariasa whips one corner of the screen away, tutting loudly. "There's no need to be shy around here, it has rather been the fashion to get changed out in the open these last couple of centuries. We've seen everyone from Her Majesty to visiting dignitaries with anatomy that you can't even comprehend baring themselves shamelessly in these rooms. Anything anyone sees, they'll just assume it's something every Midgardian woman possesses. Very few aristocratic ladies ever see fit to properly educate themselves these days, you've nothing to fear; they probably think those weapon sheaths on your thighs are natural parts of you. And how do you like purple?"

"Um…purple's good I guess." I say, blinking rapidly at the seemingly random change in the topic of conversation.

Hariasa frowns and throws a beautifully embroidered purple gown over the screen almost carelessly. "What about red?"

The gown is gorgeous, I'll admit it, a blood red colour with elbow-length sleeves, a fitted bodice and a panel cut away down both sides of the skirt to reveal a silky gold fabric. There's only one problem however. The dress is blood red.

The Asgardian tailor must have seen the look on my face of 'I hate it but how do I say that politely'. "The colour I assume. Lady Sif also dislikes the colour. It holds unpleasant memories for many warriors; few understand how Thor can bear to wear a cape of such a colour as that."

The final dress she is carrying is very dark blue, with a silver decorative armour piece across the chest and matching vambraces, both covered with intricate carvings of birds in flight. No, not birds. Eagles. S.H.I.E.L.D eagles. The back of the dress is modestly cut, but the long flowing skirt has a silver eagle design splayed across it. I think I'm in love.

Hariasa smiles. "I can see that you like it. Here, let us try it on, and then you can examine yourself in the looking glass before we re-present you to the court."

She helps me step into the dress, flitting around and fixing stray fixings and ribbons, pulling pins from the sash across her chest (which reminds me strangely of my weapons belt) to style my hair, pinning it up tight enough to stay but not so tight that it hurts.

"And I thought you might desire this back on your person." Hariasa pulls out my weapons belt from seemingly nowhere, winks, and helps me affix it low enough on my hips that it doesn't affect the flow of the dress. I have true respect for this woman, and I think that if we ever met on a battlefield, everyone there would be in danger, highly trained assassins or not. I wonder if she knows the trick to killing someone with a lipstick…

The seamstress takes my hand and gently tugs me out from behind the screen and in front of a mirror, and I swear I'm not usually self-conceited but I gasp. The dress falls perfectly, swooping over my hips and filling out the curves I never usually have, the decorative armour giving the dress an element of badassery and the silver eagles let me pretend that the dress is strictly business. It is the most perfect dress I've ever seen.

Sif marches over, her face twisted in a scowl with her breastplate missing and a white cloak draped over her shoulders. A pair of flat silver sandals dangle from her fingers, and Hariasa's assistants trail after her with curlers, pins, makeup and murderous expressions. "I see that you were overwhelmed by Hariasa's attentions. I suppose I could say you look glamorous, though I much preferred your more practical attire. Here." She thrusts the silver sandals at my chest, ignoring the horrified expressions of the women around us. "Put these on. I'm pretty sure they will match your outfit and then you'll actually be able to run or fight if you have to, unlike with whatever high-heeled death traps Lady Hariasa will attempt to force you into."

"Thank you Lady Sif. I'm afraid to admit I rather share your dislike for heels." Lies. Such lies. I love heels. However, the seven inchers the ladies all appear to be wearing around here just might kill me, and since I'm technically in enemy territory, wearing these flats will both enamour me to Sif and allow me to haul ass if I need to. Double bonus.

I slip them on and meet Sif's approving nod with one of my own. Much as I feel a tiny smidgen of regret at Hariasa's disappointed look, she is a seamstress, whereas Sif very much seems to be the Queen's strong right hand. And since I majorly pissed off the King already, I'm going to need to stay on the good side of Queen Frigga, which means getting along with Sif. Both of them seem like my kind of person, so it shouldn't be too hard for us to stay friends.

Natasha glides over, her deep green dress billowing behind her and gold jewellery glinting around her neck. "Eagles Maria," she grins, delicately tucking a loosely curled lock of red hair behind her ear, "really. Can you ever leave work behind?"

"We're on a diplomatic mission and I thought that I should continue to represent out Realm wherever possible." I say stiffly, my spine straightening. I have an inherent dislike of my decisions being questioned, I just can't help it.

Natasha, being the spy she is, sees my change in posture immediately. "Chill Hill, I'm joking. You look gorgeous; people will be fainting left, right and centre."

I raise an eyebrow. "Chill Hill? By god, you've been spending far too much time with Barton."

Her green eyes, the colour perfectly enhanced by her dress, widen in mock horror. "I've been partners with that scoundrel for eight years. Oh the horror."

Sif steps forward to join in the conversation as servants flutter around Natasha and I, wielding makeup and professionally applying it in just the right amounts so that it is flattering rather than annoying. Sif irritably waves them off. "Partnered for eight years Lady Natasha? I hate to think about it, but I have fought at Thor's side in true battle for almost four hundred years." Something flashes behind her dark eyes, but she blinks and it disappears. A bad memory I would guess. She smiles again but now there are the faintest signs of strain around the edges.

Queen Frigga floats over, beaming benevolently, breaking the slight pause in conversation. "Ladies, you all look wonderful. You all do your respective Realms a great service with the pleasure of your appearances." She looks meaningfully at Sif, who huffs disbelievingly. "Still, a lady's appearance tends to be the least of her attributes. Shall we walk and discuss more pressing matters without the…input of our men?"

"I'm sure we will enjoy that immensely Your Majesty. Sif, please lead the way to the royal gardens."

"Aye my Queen."

We appear to naturally fall into pairs, Natasha gliding ahead with Sif and me staying back to accompany Frigga, but in reality it is a result of some subtle hand signals between the two of us. I listen to Natasha quietly start a conversation about fighting tactics with Sif before Frigga begins to speak.

"I would like to extend my deepest and most heartfelt apologies for my husband's disgraceful words towards the two of you, and for any wrongs either of my sons have done unto your Realm. I am afraid you will receive no apology from any of them, the men of my family were ever stubborn." Her expression is sincere and I can tell her words are too.

"Apology accepted Queen Frigga. None of that was by any means your fault. And..." I take a deep breath, weighing up the risks of saying this with Natasha in hearing distance, but I decide that the Black Widow can handle views that oppose hers. "I don't entirely believe that your second son's attack on Earth was completely his fault."

Frigga looks sadly down at her folded hands. "I fear you say this but to placate me. I am sure Thor has relayed my theories to you concerning the Mad Titan, though he dismisses them as a mother's folly."

I stay silent for a moment, considering my words carefully. "I don't know whether Loki had good reason to do what he did, as Thor will explain nothing to us beyond 'He is adopted'. However, something about it always felt off to me; Loki's plan was far too clumsy and haphazard for a man of such obvious intelligence, and from what Thor has related of their younger years, Loki was quite the patient tactician. His plan didn't suit him at all. I don't know whether there was an outside force controlling him as you believe, but the events certainly don't add up."

"I thank you for your kind words, it is nice to know that someone on Midguard does not hold my youngest in such low esteem as the rest. But I must inquire as to the colour of my son's eyes when he attacked your world, I fear it is of grave importance."

"They were blue." I say, rather confused. "A cold, empty, icy blue."

Frigga looks at me sadly, no trace of triumph in her eyes. "Loki's eyes are green."

My mind reels with that information. Loki had green eyes, but I can describe the madness in those blue orbs with unerring accuracy. I had had enough nightmares about them when I thought Coulson was really dead to know that much. But blue eyes, unnaturally blue eyes, the same colour as Barton's turned when he was possessed by the staff...I really don't know what to think.

I have an ominous feeling that the information I had just received is going to be extremely important in the battles to come; it's making my spine itch. But if I know one thing, it'd that now isn't the time to dwell on such a thing, so I file the information away for later examination, and promptly put it out of my mind.

Now I have one, unfortunate issue. Even I don't know how to restart a conversation after that kind of awkwardness.

Thankfully, my comm beeping softly gives me a reason to ask the Queen to excuse me. She nods gracefully, and I turn away, pressing a hand to my ear and already slipping back into mission mode. "Hill."

The sound of panting fills my ear. "Barton." the man himself barks out sharply, and the clang of weapons meeting echoes down the line. "This is FUBAR BUNDY Hill." he forces out between grunts and sharp intakes of breath. This does not sound like building bridges with Asgard to me.

"What the hell are you doing?" I snarl, "You're supposed to be on scientist watch, not...doing whatever the hell you're doing."

"On your left Stark!" he yells, the faint sound of repulsion fire in the background. Both Natasha and Sif turn around at my raised voice, and when Romanoff cottons on after a split second she too excuses herself and switches on her comm. "Some Asgardian prick thought that..." Barton pauses for a second, from the sounds of it concentrating on kicking the crap out of someone, before he continues, "thought that it would be real funny to tell me that a bow is a coward's weapon. I was gonna ignore it..." he grunts, snarls, and then continues again, "but he got all up in my face and tried to grab Jodie from my back, and, well, nobody touches my bow!" He yells the last bit, and I get the feeling that he's not just talking to us. "So I started a fight, I won the fight and then all his mates, like all fifty of them by this point, off-duty guards if I had to guess, pile in too! Stark so wasn't having that, unfair odds and all, so he put on the suit and...hey Stark! I think that's the last of them!"

I take a deep breath and massage my temples. I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but this is...actually, it's not as bad as I had expected. Yet. "Barton, what's Banner's status." Please don't say Hulk, please don't say Hulk...

"Banner? He's fine, I think he's hiding inside a couple of metres away behind some pillars inside." He raises his voice. "Hey Bruce, you can come out now, we're all good over here!"

There is an incoherent muttering before another comm comes online. "Hello?"

We all breathe a sigh of relief. "Bruce, how are you feeling?" Natasha asks.

"I'm fine, no need to worry, there's no sign of the Other Guy. I was prepared to jump in and help out, but Tony and Clint handled it fine." Bruce sounds calm, even though he must be surrounded by fifty unconscious or agonised Asgardians, which is enough to make anyone uncomfortable.

Barton makes a nonchalant sound. "Pfft, it was nothing. They were nowhere near as good as Thor, and besides, I spar with Natasha. I guess Stark was pretty helpful too, but I could've handled it by myself if I had to. Besides, you know what they say: the bigger they are, the harder they fall. And these guys were pretty fucking massive. They fell so hard some of them might not be getting up for the next week." There is an ominous pause. "So Hill..." Barton starts and then trails off.

"Yes Barton?" I reply, forcing as much calm as humanely possible into my voice. I have to give credit where it's due, if I had Bruce's anger management issues we probably wouldn't have much of a planet left for Asgard to forge relations with. Just my general, day in day out annoyance with Clint could probably flatten most of South America. Minimum.

"So uh, which quarter are we facing certain and imminent death from? You? Or the Asgardians. Tony says to tell Thor that if we die on this stupid trip then Jarvis will make sure Thor never sees another poptart in his immortal life."

"Well isn't that an impressive threat for us all to cower in awe from." I murmur as passively as I can manage. Instead of giving Barton the rollicking he deserves, I turn to the Queen. "Your Majesty, if, hypothetically of course, one or two of the Avengers had taken down fifty or so of your off-duty guards, what should we expect to happen?"

"Well," she smiles, her eyes dancing with mischief and all traces of the bereaved mother from earlier gone, "the guards involved would be punished for most likely provoking and attacking our most honoured guests, and the Avengers would be lauded as even greater warriors than we already know them to be and would most probably have a huge feast thrown in their honour. Hypothetically of course."

We share a look that just speaks volumes about the infinite stupidity of men. "Thank you All Mother." I return to the open comm line. "Well Barton, looks like Asgard might be putting on a feast in your honour. Let's just hope you live long enough to see it."

"Is that a threat I'm hearing Hill?" Barton exclaims in mock horror.

"You can take it whichever way you like. But know this," my eyes narrow, "I am not happy." I hang up the call right then and there, because I can just feel Stark gearing up to jump into the argument and I'm really not in the mood for the Avengers' trivial bickering.

The rest of the day passed pretty quickly, without too many incidents. Romanoff nearly gutted a merchant when he insinuated she might need help getting her man into bed, Rogers nearly decked Fandral for some, ahem, insalubrious comments, Fury nearly had a diva strop because Odin kept insisting he was King of all the Nine Realms (he's no king of mine!), Tony nearly had a fit when the Asgardians refused to explain their technology beyond 'it's highly advanced magic, no Midgardian would understand', and well, you already know what I got up to. The only person who actually didn't lose their rag was Bruce, who spent a very pleasant day talking about different medical practices with the Asgardian Healer Eir. All in all, considering that Asgard was still standing and I managed to plant a whole host of spy devices all over the palace and its grounds, I think we did pretty well.

You know something's wrong with your life when not destroying your host's home is doing 'pretty well'.

On the upside, we're all alive, the Asgardians are all alive (even if quite a few of them have been left with an overwhelming fear of bows) and the look on Abi's face when I patched her into the multitude of flawless video recordings courtesy of my little spying devices was priceless. Well, not priceless exactly, I sold a snapshot of Abi's reaction to Coulson to put in his Scrapbook of Infamy for a couple of hundred dollars and a donut, but you get my point. It makes me smile just thinking about it.

Still, I've got my mission day with Coulson next week, which I'm really looking forward to. Hopefully it will be like the good old days. Except, y'know, with a few less holy-crap-I-almost-died-and-you-almost-died-and-the-world-almost-blew-up episodes.

I just voodoo'd myself didn't I?

Coulson is so going to kill me.

Did ya like it? Did ya? It was 21 pages, and between this and NaNoWriMo I'm almost dead. But I got it out here! AND I WON NANOWRIMO ARE YOU IMPRESSED HOLY SHIT CUZ I AM!

My glorious beta run-robin-run said I needed to add more foreshadowing to the bit about Loki's eyes so…FORESHADOWING RIGHT HERE PEOPLE PAY ATTENTION!

Also the Demonic Cat pointed out that I've been spelling Midgard as 'Midguard' (the woman has the eye of a hawk!) so thanks to her too!

Review?

xx