Disclaimer: I don't own The Avengers, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.

Chapter 7: As We All Fall


Natasha was easily awakened by the blaring of her phone, her hand snapping up off the couch to yank it off the glass table. The handheld's alarm always frightened her more than that of her clock, perhaps because she had pre-set it to get her heart pumping with loud bass music. She jammed a finger into the screen, the sound silencing itself before it placing it on the couch beside her.

It hadn't been her intention for the nap to last so long while watching Clint's boring movie, but she had been unable to help it. Although, as she sat there, silently pleased that the news was now silent on the screen, it could have only been worse if it had been a shoddily conceived, live-action imitation of a children's hit television program.

Her eyes stared at the screen, unfocused, casually stretching herself across the couch once again. The past few days had given her much to think about. Particularly about the God of Mischief and his reasons for returning to New York.

It would take more fingers than her own for Natasha to count just how many plots he could have been carrying around in his sleeve, and with no one, save the Avengers, the slightest bit aware that a devil was, undoubtedly, planning their demise.

From within the kitchen, she could hear the faucet as Clint turned it on, the glass as he set it on the counter, and the microwave beep as his meal, probably something with starch, was through heating.

"Clint?" she called, noting the obviously lazy tone in her own voice. She couldn't allow herself to care, though. She was damn tired. "Hey, Clint?"

She heard the microwave door slam. "Yeah?"

"Bring me a glass of wine, would you, please?"

Natasha swung her legs off the couch, settling them on the table as she heard him digging through the cupboard for a glass. She grabbed a magazine from the table's underside, flipping it open to the cover story and reading through a paragraph before realizing that she really did not give a damn about any of it. Her mind was preoccupied to the point that it worried her, as even her dreams had taken to filling her subconscious with the smug face of that mischievous bastard.

Frost Giants, evil gods, and the Casket of Ancient Winters, whatever the hell that was. None of it made any damned sense.

The glass tapped the table with a clink as Clint set it down, uncorking the bottle to fill it up. When he was through, Natasha swept it up, downing it in seconds and giving the man a smile.

"I said wine, not vodka."

He shrugged, smirking back at her as he settled onto the couch, an arm around her waist as he pulled her to his side. "It'll still have the same affect later, won't it?"

Natasha nodded, turning her attention back to the television screen to check the time. Six-thirty-seven. Leaning her head against Clint's shoulder, she closed her eyes and hoped to doze off again.

The steady hum of the broadcast was soothing, the sound of Natasha's own heartbeat, and Clint's, filling her ears. But, were it to go on much longer, with him breathing slowly and steadily, now playing with her hand, Natasha feared she would never get back to sleep.

She cracked an eye open, noting that he was still, his hand resting on her leg, acknowledging her previous thought as little more than paranoia. Or, perhaps, guilt.

Natasha hadn't said a word to Clint about her visions, the phantom who, for one reason or another, seemed to have taken an interest in taunting her. She shifted against him, dragging in a slow, deep breath as she rested a hand on his, giving it a firm squeeze. The way he leaned his cheek against the top of her head, Natasha knew he was smiling.

She wasn't.

"Clint?"

"Mm?"

Her eyes closed. "I have something to tell you."

There was silence, so she thought quickly. She'd make it as simple as possible. Tell him that, the phantoms people had been seeing, the phantom she had been seeing, was the God of Mischief, come to threaten them in their city. Natasha would say that she hadn't known how to tell him, how to tell anybody, about her encounter with Loki at the cafe.

"Clint, I..."

"What in the hell...?"

Clint sat up straight before she could choke it out, sending her tumbling towards the table where she smacked her head. For good measure, Natasha gave him a hard shove, pressing a hand firmly to the bump that would develop on her forehead, demanding to know what was so damned important that he'd scare the living hell out of her like that.

He said nothing, just stared in shock at the television screen as, right before their eyes, the entrance to a subway tunnel collapsed downtown, the news station's helicopter happening to zoom in on a man in a nearby crowd who, to Natasha, looked positively elated.

# - # - # - #

Pepper jumped visibly in her seat as the cab slid across the road, rocking when it finally came to a stop. Throughout the streets, people peered out windows and jumped out of cars, running, screaming, but all looking to the sky as a dark and visible cloud of dust seemed to cut through the snow for a moment. The city seemed to tilt on its axis as the cloud grew, the sound of collapsing rubble striking a chord in the air.

She stared, pressing her hands to the cool window, Tony swearing violently beside her as he promptly got on the phone.

People were running now, hopping over the cars stopped in traffic as, in the distance, flame rose up and around the area in which the tunnel had stood, licking the sky.

"Tony..." Pepper leaned over and grabbed his arm. "What in the world is going on here?"

"Shit!" he grimaced, the phone still in his hand. He dialed again, shoving it against his ear. "Come on, come on..." Pepper heard the distant sound of voice mail in the earpiece. "Answer the damned phone!"

She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She wasn't one of them, one of the Avengers, but Tony always told her everything. And, as the radio crackled a confirmation report of the subway tunnel's collapse, she feared that the mention of giants and phantoms at the meeting was starting to come true.

# - # - # - #

Steve had stayed in the pool far longer than intended, pushing himself to continue the laps until his arms screamed that they would give out. But, when people began chattering, pulling themselves out of the lanes to towel off and rush into the locker rooms, he began to pay attention. He pulled himself off to the pool's edge, yanking off the swim cap and running a hand through his hair. The radio, which had been playing loud pop music only minutes before, now chattered on about an accident in the downtown area.

He climbed out and grabbed his towel, moving as quickly as he could around the perimeter of the pool, and into the locker room. With the towel wrapped around his waist, Steve yanked the key off the chain around his neck and shoved it into his locker. It opened with a pop, his cell phone vibrating through the pocket in his jeans to rattle against the metal. Wiping his hands off on the towel, Steve reached into his pants, and pulled it out.

The screen showed several missed calls from various members of the Avengers, though the one who seemed to have called him the most was Tony. He rolled his eyes.

The phone went of again and he recoiled, startled by the loud sound for a moment before accepting the call and pressing it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"For the love of–!" Tony shouted through the phone. "Why the hell don't you answer your damned phone?! Too busy reading war books in the library to give a damn?"

Steve scowled. "Stark, what the hell is going on? What's this about the subway?"

"Oh, good. So you did hear about it. Because, you know, after twenty damn minutes of everyone calling you, I was really beginning to think you didn't give a shit."

"The subway, Stark!"

Tony sighed, and Steve could almost see him massaging his temples with a hand. "Well, we're not sure what happened yet. It sorta just... fell down. And caught on fire." There was a pause. Steve imagined the other man waving a hand for dramatic gesture. "Almost like..."

Magic.

The Captain said nothing, holding the phone between his head and shoulder as he began to quickly dress himself from the bottom up. "Did you get hold of everybody?"

"Well, I got you, didn't I?"

"What about Thor, Bruce...?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, we got 'em." And, a moment too soon, Steve breathed a sigh of relief. "Er... Except Fury. We can't seem to find him."