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Chapter 6

"Natasha."

Loki was so flabbergasted that he almost couldn't move. He stood, frozen, watching the woman on the monitor as she opened the hatch and slid into the hole with all the lithe agility that he remembered she'd always possessed. But it was impossible.

It couldn't be her.

She was dead.

Are you sure...Loki...?

Loki's eyes widened as he remembered the voice in his dream but shook his head. He was not a Seer or a prophet. He didn't dream realities yet to come. And with a firm resignation, he determined that this woman was not his Natasha and he would not be tricked. If Thanos was trying to shake him, he would not be shaken.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned and stalked toward the door, moving past his mother, swiftly, and leaving the watch room and blowing through the compound with a quickness of step until he reached his room. With his own strength and agility, he grabbed his spear, and then turned with haste when Logan rushed into the room, anxiously.

"Laura," he choked, taking deep, gasping breaths; it was clear he'd been running. Loki could only assume the alarm had frightened him.

"She isn't here," Loki replied and then turned and carried his spear out. Logan followed him.

"What's with the spear, bub? What's goin' on?"

"I believe Thanos has infiltrated."

"What?"

"I cannot be certain it is him but whoever has arrived cannot be anything but ill-intentioned." He moved with determination through the compound toward the north entrance, ferocity and rage in his eyes. If some imposter was wearing Natasha's face, he would destroy them.

"How do you know for sure?" Logan growled, following him with swiftness, the soft 'chkt' of his claws shooting out as he matched his stride. As they approached—and many more men joined them from all ends of the compoud—they paused when they heard the echoed sounds of struggle, the grunts and groans of two strong females, brawling before a yell resounded, the sound of metal clanging against metal rang, the whistle of a photon gun being shot sang out and a long thud rippled through the compound to their ears.

Logan took a long whiff of the air and then, with wside eyes, he rushed anxiously up a flight of stairs to the scaffold where the north anxious ladder led and paused, suddenly, when he found Laura, with a photon wound healing on her shoulder, her claws out, breathing heavily.

She stood, triumphantly, over the unconscious body of the intruder, who's torso wounded with a shallow slash, barely bleeding, her head lulling sideways to reveal a small bump forming under red spirals where either Laura, or the floor, had clearly bested her.

As Loki approached, he paused, a lump rising in his throat when he saw the woman sprawled out on the ground. She did look like Natasha. An almost exact replica. But he knew she was dead. And he was going to get to the bottom of this imposter, by any means necessary.

He turned to two of his men—an elf and a burly human who had followed him, weapons in hand. He pointed to the unconscious body. "Take this woman to an empty cell. Make sure she is bound well." If she is Natasha, "Otherwise, she will most surely escape."

"Sire."

Thanos was seated on his throne, looking at a holo-screen that depicted a battalion of Chitauri slaughtering a drove of Mountain Giants—once proud Giants that dwelled in Jotunheim with their Frost and Forest cousins—yet had been relocated by the merge, and now dwelled in what once were the Rocky Mountains.

He lowered the screen when the Other approached. "What is it?"

"We have...a problem, my lord."

Thanos, who had continued to watch the screen as the Other spoke, suddenly snapped to attention. Pressing a button on the small tube which the screen was projecting from, the holographic projection fizzled away and Thanos stood. "What problem?"

"It...it appears, my liege, that we have lost communication with Natalia," the Other replied, keeping his head low in fearful reverence.

"Meaning?"

"She went offline, sire. We were tracking her vitals from the remnant of Muspelheim to the Jotun-Russian merger, but her heat signature dropped well below safe about two nights ago...and then all of her vitals went offline and has yet to return. We...we've lost her."

Thanos' eyes flared, rage boiling up in his burly purple form as he stood from his throne. "Do you realize how much of an asset that woman was to me? The Asgardian swine who failed me was in love with her. I could have used her to draw him out. I was simply biding my time and now, what time have I with no bait!"

Thanos' palace shuddered in his rage as the gems in the gauntlet glowed, maliciously. He lifted his hand to the Other, prepared to wipe him from existence. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, he smirked.

"Well, no matter. I suppose I'll just have to go to plan B." Lifting his hand, the palace shuddered again and the plexisteel wall panels began to shift and reform to reveal a large, dark room behind them—a hollow space, filled to capacity.

With rows and rows of containment chambers.

Thanos approached one, brushed the dust and fog from the glass and smirked at the face he witnessed within. He pressed the release button, a malignant smile stretching across his face as the satisfying hiss of the chamber door lock releasing and the door, slowly, sliding open.

The figure within opened gleaming blue eyes and looked at Thanos.

Thanos smile stretched into a demonic grin. "Yes. Plan B will do just fine."

"What were you thinking, L?" Logan growled, pacing back and forth in front of Laura, who sat, boredly, on the old, musty couch that sat, flat-cushioned and sad, in Loki and Frigga's room. She had a cup of tea grasped in her fingers and a blanket draped over her, and the dust and sweaty grime of a fight well fought still clung to her pale, unbruised flesh. She said nothing.

Logan sighed and crouched, putting himself eye-level with his daughter, looking her square in the eyes. "Look, kid. We're all each other's got left in this world. You may think your invincible, but we ain't. We can regenerate but that don't mean we can't be killed. You get me?"

Laura snorted with a shrug but still did not speak. Finally, she stood, letting the blankets slip from her shoulders and took a few short steps to the table. Quietly, she set her tea cup down and then turned, her blue meets meeting his. There were a few more long moments of silence and then:

"I get it. But I'm tired of being useless."

Logan's brow furrowed. "Whaddaya mean? You're not useless."

"Yes, I am. While you're off playing Tinker Tools with the adamantium, I'm stuck here, getting babied by a woman who isn't ever going to be my mother!"

"L, shh," Logan hissed. He wasn't sure where Frigga had gone but she had been the one making tea for them before she'd left, so she couldn't be far. "Have some respect, bub. These people are takin' care of us. It was damn good'a them to offer us a place to stay and a way to support ourselves."

"Yourself, Logan. Yourself. I haven't been doing anything!"

Loki had returned, briefly, at that point, to deposit his spear. He wanted to appear non-threatening to the prisoner, in case she had any vital information she was willing to impart on them. He did have his knives tucked away, just in case, but he found it was best to attract flies—even flies wearing spiders' faces—with honey and not vinegar.

As he arrived, he overheard the heated discussion developing between Logan and Laura and he paused in the shadow of the doorway, so as not to be seen, and listened.

"Can you blame me for wanting to help? Look, I get you're basically my dad—I guess—but I'm a damn adult and I don't want to just sit here and be coddled! I want to help! So...I did the only thing I know how to do, Logan. I did what I'm good at."

Loki frowned, sinking deeper into the shadows as Natasha's voice rang in his mind.

I have a very specific skill set.

Logan sighed and pushed himself up from his crouched position, making his way to Laura and stopping just in front of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her avoiding gaze. "Sorry, kiddo. Guess we haven't been givin' you much of a chance to do anything but, huh? I been teachin' you you can do honest work to earn your keep 'stead of killin' and fightin' and yet here I am, not lettin' you do the one thing I'm teachin' you."

There was silence and Loki frowned, placing his spear, quietly, up against the wall in a corner. As he turned to leave, he heard Logan murmur:

"How can I expect you to change if I don't give you the opportunity? I'm sorry, kid."

Loki's shoulders slumped and he leaned, silently, against the door, pressing his forehead to the cool metal.

"Why be kind to me? I tried to frighten you, to threaten you. I insulted you in a way no woman ever should be. Why give me grace?"

"Because I got grace from SHIELD. They gave me a chance. And how can anyone expect you to change if someone doesn't give you a opportunity?"

Natasha.

Loki closed his eyes, squeezing them shut so tight, trying to erase the face of the imposter being held in the center of the mine from his mind, trying to ignore how exactly like his beautiful spider she looked. He had to interrogate this woman, to pull Thanos' secrets from her, without subjectivity. He had to be strong for his people—for the compound.

Finally, in the darkness and the silence, as Logan pulled Laura into a hug, Loki departed, unsure how he would be able to look into a face he had fallen in love with and treat it as if he cared nothing for it at all.

Natalia wondered when she had lost her touch. In the last week or so, she'd passed out or been knocked out at least six times. She didn't remember the last time she'd been so easily bested, but she was almost positive it had something to do with the way her mind and heart had been acting since the odd faces and voices had begun to haunt her.

There was also something ethereally familiar about being tied to a chair, at that moment, in a dark, musty place.

She jingled the chains that twisted her arms behind the chair back and around each other, trying to yank herself free with no luck. Jerking her head to move the dark red tendrils, caked with dirt and sweat, from hanging in her face, she glanced down where her torso throbbed from the shallow wound inflicted by the mutant girl from before. The blood was dried and had already begun to clot, but it throbbed, deeply, and there was a small fear the wound might be infected.

Jingling the chains again, as if it would work better a second time—though unsurprised when it didn't—she sighed, and slumped forward a little, trying to block out the throbbing in her stomach and focus on concocting an escape plan.

Her eyes were cast down and closed when the door into the room—empty save for the woman and the single light dangling over her chair—was opened and a man in a ratty green tunic, black trousers, and worn leather boots that clacked against the hard metal floor beneath his heels. His long black hair, unslicked, unkempt, was pulled back into a tight ponytail, the band tied around it gleaming under the dim light.

Natalia glanced up only just in time to see the band glitter when the light hit it before the figure disappeared into the shadows that bordered the room. She narrowed blue eyes and searched the room, intensely, twisting her head in each direction as far as it would go. She could hear the click of his boots as he circled her, and the acute jingle of metal. Knives. Concealed beneath his tunic. Yet, somehow, her senses did not perceive him as a direct threat.

"I know you're there," she said, her voice suspicious and free of fear.

There was a low chuckle in the darkness, and a voice as smooth as melted chocolate—a voice she would know instantly and never again forget—murmured, "It was never my intention to conceal my presence."

The voice from her dreams. From her episodes. The green eyed man.

"Then why hide yourself in the shadows?" she asked, and suddenly, her voice shook with confusion and anxiety.

The circling ceased, she could tell, when the boot steps stopped, and there was a distinct gleam of green in the darkness. Eyes. His eyes. He was looking at her now.

Natalia swallowed down the lump that jumped up in her throat. It was the same man. The man who haunted her more than any of the others. Who was he? What did it mean that he was real?

She shook these thoughts away and focused her blue gaze directly into his green one. "Come into the light."

He stepped into the light, revealing himself completely to her, adopting the posture of a prince—of a king. He held his head high, and looked at her with a steady, unwavering gaze. He could not let her see the way his hands threatened to shake, the way his eyes threatened to quiver, the way his heart threatened to jump into his throat and then sink like a stone into his stomach. He had to be firm. Turning his head, he smirked and then pivoted his body and began to pace a smaller circle around her chair. "Satisfied?"

She watched him as he circled, suspicion and curiosity painting her expression as he went. "Who are you?"

The man barked out a laughed and stopped in front of her, one hand tucked behind his back in a tightly balled fist, the other swinging at his side. He turned his head to glance at her. "I would ask you the same question."

"I asked you first."

The man laughed again. "The answer of a petulant child."

Love is for children.

Natalia gasped and slammed her eyes shut at the sharp pain that shot through her head at the sound of her own voice in her mind, speaking words she'd never once spoken. And somehow she knew they were related to this man as well.

The man faltered, frowning. He took a step toward her as if to comfort her, allowing the instincts he would have enacted in this situation in the past to take hold. However, he paused in his step, remembering his responsibilities and who (he believed) this woman was. He cleared his throat and glanced off to the side and down, as if to compose himself and Natalia was able to glimpse the tale end of his tiny episode.

It stirred something inside her.

She shrugged it off. Painting her own smirk on, she murmured, "You want to know who I am? I am General Natalia of the grand battalion of Thanos. But I'm sure you already knew that."

The man's head snapped up at the name, as if something was switched on in his mind. He turned his entire body toward her and moved forward, studying her with an intensity in his green eyes that disturbed her, slightly.

However, despite her shaking breath, she continued, "And if I am where I think I am, then this is Laufeyson's underground city. Where his rebels hide, and from where he shuttles people off realm. And you must be one of his men."

The man said nothing, merely raised a thin eyebrow as if to entreat her to continue.

Natalia spat at his boots and hissed, "You tell your leader he's a fool for trying to defy Thanos. And when I get out of here, I'll kill him myself!"

There was a second low chuckle from the man before her. A deep, menacing (and if she hadn't known better, she'd think a little sad) chuckle before magic pulsed, steadily, from the figure, golden in color, causing him to phase out of view, disappearing from before her. She jumped, suddenly, when she felt hot breath on her ear, whispering: "I am Laufeyson," as golden colored power reappeared behind her, and the figure reemerged, the cool blade of a knife pressed into her back.

Natalia's eyes widened, and she closed her eyes, a silent gasp bubbling up from her throat as all of the dreams and images in which the green eyed man had appeared suddenly began to float into her mind again as Loki's name became present in every single one.

"And," she heard Loki begin, "it will be you, little imposter, who will die by my hands. And your death will be a warning to Thanos. He has tempted my fury by sending such an ill-suited, defiled, filthy doppleganger of one of my own into my presence. His time is coming, and your death will tell the tale of it."

The knife tip pressed firmer into her back as he spat the words into her ear, and the angry monologue caused a stir of something deep inside her—an anger, a sadness, a pain and an unexplainable betrayal—that her whole being snapped in a rage. Crying out, she swung her head back against his with a crack, causing him to stumble backwards a little. Tumbling forward, she was able to twist her hands from behind her to in front of her, freeing her arms from the chair but not from the chains. She noted that her feet were chained to the chair as Loki steadied himself. Using the twist of his body to fling his concealed blades, Natalia was able to throw her legs up to use the chair as a deflector shield.

Loki began to advance on her then, and so, Natalia pushed the strength of her person through the muscles of her back and legs, bending her body quickly to flip to her feet, the chair following her feets upward motion before coming down on Loki as her legs began to swing down. The metal chair burst into pieces against the hard body of the demi-god, freeing her feet just in time for her to land on them. She swung her body around to connect a kick against his face, but it was caught, immediately, by his hand—like an arrow from a bow, she thought, absently—and she was spun around onto the ground.

Flipping backwards, she pushed herself to her feet again and moved into an offensive position, her chained hands in front of her, fists balled.

"Imposter," she breathed, frantically. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why...why did you call me an imposter?" she hissed.

Loki furrowed his brow, dropping his guard a little when he noticed how frightened she appeared in her expression, despite her offensive, ready-to-fight posture. The word had shaken her. But why?

"Because," he said, finally. "You are."

"I'm not sure about this, bub," Logan said, pacing back and forth in front of Fandral's work station as the Asgardian tinkered and fiddled with the adamantium, melting it down, little by little, pinching eye-dropper weighted chemicals into the melted metal, stirring, folding and pouring.

A few feet away, Laura sat, watching Fandral work. She frowned. "No disrespect," she murmured, "but aren't you from a race that thinks and acts in an old world way? How do you know how to do this kind of science?"

"One hundred years of practice," Fandral replied, smirking at her. "And a little help from a few human chemists who floated in and out of the compound here or there. Before Loki sent them to safety. You can't imagine what kind of scientific minds we've had in here."

Finally, he finished, placing the mixture over a flame and watching it bubble. He checked the temperature after a moment, diminished the flame and looked at them. "Now, it is just a waiting game. After testing the chemical make-up of the metal, I do believe this mixture will work, but I can't be certain. We will simply have to see."

Logan looked at Laura and then crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the still-boiling concoction. "How do we know it won't spontaneously combust or somethin'?"

"We do not."

"Oh, brilliant," mumbled Logan and then turned to look at his daughter, again. "L?"

"It'll work," she said.

Logan's eyebrows shot up. "What makes you so sure?"

"I'm not," Laura replied with a thoughtful frown. "But isn't hope one of the many things you wanted me to apply to my life?"

Fandral watched them, quietly, pulling off the goggles he'd been wearing during his work and setting them on his work station in silence.

Logan did not speak for a moment, mulling over Laura's words, before he nodded with a small smirk. "Yeah, kid. Hope, compassion, love. Good girl."

Laura nodded. "So, yeah...it'll work. It has to. Right?"

Logan looked at the slowly cooling concoction and nodded. "Right."

Remy was closing up the tavern for the night. With one final swipe of his dingy dish rag, he finished wiping down the shining dark surface of the bar, and shuffling the last of his patrons out before closing the door and locking it with a satisfying 'click'. Then, he turned and started to stack chairs atop tables, silently, thinking about the events of the past few days.

First, Logan and then Thanos' general...

He felt a small twinge of guilt for having sent that woman in Laufeyson's direction. At the same time, he also couldn't shake Logan's words about Laufeyson's red-head from his mind.

Was it just a coincidence that the general was a red-head? A red-head who, if he remembered right (and he'd only seen her, briefly, once or twice), kind of resembled one of the Avengers?

An uneasiness grew in his heart as he began to put the pieces together. Thanos' stasis chambers...the familiar red-head... Laufeyson's Avenger friend...

It made sense. If Thanos could keep him...and Rogue...if he could sustain their lives, use them for his own gain...why not others?

But...how many others?

He needed to warn them. He needed to warn Laufeyson. He needed to warn Logan. He needed to tell them who he believed the woman to be—to help her remember for herself. He set the chair down and turned, rushing to the door. As he passed the bar, he grabbed his deck of cards and then swept his trench coat off of the coat hook near the door.

As he reached for the lock, however, he heard the roar of thunder outside and a flash of lightning cracked past his window.

That was not normal in the remnant of Muspelheim. Fire and magma, yes. But thunder? Lightning? That was unusual. And frightening.

Suddenly, the lightning cracked against the tavern's door, blowing it off of its hinges and throwing him back against one of the tables. He fell to the floor, cards scattered about the floor, a groan bubbling up from his throat and he steadied himself from his place on the floor and shook the blurred dizziness from his eyes.

There was a heavy footfall as the silhouette of a figure appeared in the splintered doorway. Remy narrowed his eyes, trying to distinguish who the intruder was.

The lightning flashed again, lighting up the face of his assailant, empty blue eyes baring into Remy, intensely.

Remy's eyes widened. "It can't be...it's...it's ya...!"

The figure's arm swung around, and before Remy could voice his anger or fear, he was struck and darkness overtook him.

"I'm not," Natalia said in response to Loki's accusation. "I'm not an imposter. I am who I am. I am a general of Thanos...my name is Natalia and I...I..."

Loki's fingers curled around a few small knives in his tunic and he watched her, carefully, intensely, his green eyes following her every movement as she circled him, never leaving his defensive-offensive stance. However, he could tell her resolve was faltering as she glanced at him and at the walls, and at the floor, as if searching physically with her eyes as she searched her mind for answers.

"...I don't know why it hurts me...I don't know why it angers me to hear you call me that. Why should I care what you, a traitor of Thanos' regime, think about me? Why...why does it bother me that you look down on me, Laufeyson? Why?"

Natasha...

Look at me.

It's me.

Stop trying to find your answers in the walls and the floor.

Look into my eyes, Natasha.

I've longed for you.

Look at me.

Natalia's head snapped up and she looked at Loki. Shining blue met calculating green, and she gasped at the sharp stab of pain that plunged through her head, and images flooded her mind, jumbling and unintelligible, but important. She knew they were important. The pain caused her to stumble and lose her balance, her body tumbling to the floor.

With the speed and agility he was always known for, Loki threw himself forward, skidding beneath her and catching her in his firm grip.

Natalia's head snapped back, lulling against his wrist as her blue eyes searched his face. In a small, pained whisper, she murmured, "Loki."

Something inside him crumbled—something he thought he had in check—and he whispered something as if on instinct:

"Natasha."

Her eyes widened, and tears sprang immediately from the orbs, trickling down her face in wet, transparent streaks.

"That name..." she breathed.

"You're crying."

Natalia touched her cheek and then sprang from his arms in an instant. She had not even realized that the tears had begun but she knew that whatever was happening at this moment was dangerous and she immediately squared her body back into a fighting stance, and allowed a suspicious, angry expression to paint her face, her eyebrows turned into a 'v' of distrust.

Loki stood, carefully. "Calm yourself. I will not harm you from here on."

"W-Why not?" she hissed.

Loki was silent for a long moment, thoughtful, interrogating his own psyche, trying to understand 'why not' himself. It was then that Loki realized that his steadfast belief that this woman was not Natasha had wavered, deeply. Her response to the name...the way she'd said his...her own confusion...they all dropped a suspicious cloud over the assumption that this woman was an imposter. It made him question her true identity.

Which frightened and angered him beyond belief. Because if Natasha was alive—and this was she—then not only had she somehow been kept alive beyond her years, but her memories had also, unknowingly, been ripped from her. Erased.

And that meant, in Loki's mind, that Thanos had much more than realms of genocide to answer for.

He looked at the woman who called herself Natalia, and then reached out a hand to her, his eyes locked on hers.

"Just trust me."

And as she slowly dropped her fighting stance and placed a hesitant hand in his, he wondered...

How much did he trust himself?

"Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ." Romans 5:1

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