Back again. Chapter eight is up, and some of the Norse Mythology is visited. chapter nine will take a while, it's being written entirely in Peyton's view, and Intel is taking care of that. Peyton's Chapter will cover the argument in the Lab.

Yadda Yadda Don't own the Avengers.

Enjoy or hate. If you can't leave constructive criticism, please just leave the story. If you have to send hate reviews, why did you even bother reading this far?

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Chapter 8

Thora

I walked down the hall past the lab with a sigh, heading down to the containment area, notes in hand. I decided to do small talk with Loki, as he might need something other than my questions to think of. So the compiled lest of everything mythological about Loki was in a folder. I hoped it would open him up more.

On the way down, I bumped shoulders with Natasha who glared at me briefly before continuing up. I stopped and looked back at her. What the hell was up with her? Then I paused and chuckled. Right. Shrink. Trained assassin. She doesn't like me because I brought out what made her such a good killer… by accident.

I remembered reading her file… It was rather… interesting…

FLASHBACK: One Week.

I took the file with a groan. It was so far the thickest file Hill had handed me. She explained it was for Agent Romanoff, who had the longest "secret" history of anyone on the ship except for maybe Fury.

So I trudged back to my room with the file in hand as I walked. When I got back, it was dropped onto my table with a loud THUDas if to illustrate this was probably gonna be the one with the trickiest psyche report.

I made myself some tea and then sat with my glasses on my nose and tea in hand. "Here we go…"

Summary:

Natasha was born in Stalingrad (now Volgograd), Russia. The first and best-known Black Widow is a Soviet agent trained as a spy, martial artist, and sniper, and outfitted with an arsenal of high-tech weaponry, including a pair of wrist-mounted energy weapons dubbed her "Widow's Bite". She wears no costume during her first few attacks but simply evening wear and a veil. Romanoff eventually defected to the U.S. for reasons that include her debt to the reluctant-criminal turned superhero archer Hawkeye.

History:
Romanoff's parents were killed in a fire when Romanoff was a child. She was saved from death herself by the U.S.S.R.'s "Black Widow Ops" program, rather than solely by Ivan Petrovitch. With other young female orphans, she is trained in combat and espionage at the covert "Red Room" facility. There, she is biotechnologically and psycho-technologically enhanced in accounting that provides a rationale for her unusually long and youthful lifespan. While there, she was trained by, and a lover of, the Winter Soldier. Each Black Widow is deployed with false memories to help ensure her loyalty. Romanoff eventually discovered this, including the fact that she had never, as she had believed, had been a ballerina. She further discovered that the Red Room is still active as "2R".

Natasha married the renowned Soviet test pilot Alexi Shostakov. When the Soviet government decided to make Alexi into their new operative, the Red Guardian, he is told that he can have no further contact with his wife. Natasha is told that he had died and is trained as a secret agent separately.

Her left-wing upbringing was put to better use, and she has lately taken to fighting realistic oppressor-of-the-people types. She helps young Puerto Ricans clean up police corruption and saves young hippies from organized crime.

I looked up as the subject of my reading stood in my doorway. "Agent Romanoff. How nice of you to drop by—"

"Cut it, Dr. Danielsen. Fury sent me here. Now I'm here. Give him the straight A report card and we can move on," the red head snapped.

I rubbed my temples. Of course… she had to be one of those types. "Natasha. I want to get to know you more than this damn file that reads like how to take you apart." I stood and walked to the stove. "I was about to fix myself some lunch anyway. So why don't you join me and we can chit chat."

She raised an eyebrow, but took the invitation and walked into the dining area and sit. "Now you are getting hard to read."

"Read? How do you mean?" I asked, wondering if that was not supposed to be my job.

"When I walked in you were like any other psychiatrist I've seen or met. Reading the file. But when you want to speak to me it is not about what is in the file. It's about myself."

"That's my goal," I answered. "Now will you tell me?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I was brainwashed as a child. I don't know what is true about me and what is false."

"Then tell me what you like to do… when you're not the Black Widow," I said simply.

She explained to me she enjoyed reading, and that she wanted to go on a real vacation someday. She explained the debt she had to Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye, and I watched her become more human and alive whenever she spoke of him. So I gently nudged her to tell me about him, telling her I was never able to meet him before he was taken over by Loki.

Then I said it.

"You love him."

She froze, and her actual friendly face hardened into a glare that could shatter a diamond. "Love is for children. I owe him a debt."

Then she stood stiffly, and before I could say another word, she was gone.
End of Flashback.

I sighed and continued on my way, rubbing my head and checking my file of myths and stuff.

When I walked into the room, I found him looking rather annoyed.

"Hey Loki."

He laughed emptily and turned to look at me. "Oh, what puzzling questions do you have for me now, Dr. Danielsen?"

"Right now none," I said. "Instead, I looked up Norse myths about you."

He chuckled. "Those are still circulating?"

"Yes… I got a crazy question, as this intrigued me—Do your children include but are not limited to; an eight-legged horse, a serpent that can encircle the world, a giant wolf, and a half-dead queen of Helheim?"

The look he gave me was priceless, it was a cross between "how did you find that out?" and "how dare you ask such a foolish question?!" I resisted the urge to laugh my head off as I waited for him to say something.

Loki coughed slightly as he looked at the ceiling. "I see that you found those… all misconceptions."

I smiled. "I figured they were. I simply cannot see you married. You're too free a spirit."

He smiled gently—a real smile. "You sound like my mother."

I shrugged. "I just do not see you at this time being married. But the Sleipnir thing… I don't know… his conception seems to be the most consistent."

Loki rubbed his forehead. "I did adopt Sleipnir yes, and yes I shifted into a lactating mare to take care of him, but I did not give birth to him. Thor came up with that when I came home in the mare form with the young colt in tow. He thought maybe I did lay with stallion—accidently or not—and passed it down to the humans… I got back at him by saying his steeds are goats. He still hasn't shaken that little rumor…"

"Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr," I stated. "The Prose Edda states that when Thor cooks the goats, their flesh provides sustenance for the god, and, after Thor resurrects them with his hammer, Mjölnir, they are brought back to life the next day. According to the same source, Thor once stayed a night at the home of peasant farmers and shared with them his goat meal, yet one of their children, Pjálfi, broke one of the bones to suck out the marrow, resulting in the lameness of one of the goats upon resurrection. Am I correct?"

"Yes. That is the exact rumor I spread. Stories about them went from there," the trickster said. "And do you have any other questions?"

"Well… I guess from your laughter at the misconceptions that you are not married so you could not have sired them."

"On the contrary. Truly only one sprung from my loins, but at the time of her birth, my mother and Odin thought Hel was stillborn, so they took her to be blessed before funeral and informed me of her birth and death. I was crestfallen. It was a few days later when we were preparing for the funeral when we discovered her crying and alive. However, she still looked touched by death, with white streaking through her dark hair and her skin the pallor of death," he spoke softly, and I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of a tear in his eye… the sign of a true and loving father. "We raised her to be of age, and all the time I noticed she had a sort of sense when someone would die. So Odin asked her when she was of age if she wished to rule Helheim with her gift. She agreed. And that is why she is there."

"And Fenrir and the Midgard Serpent?" I asked, feeling rather fascinated with the true tale of the myths.

"Midgard serpent? My pet snake, Jörmungandr, and Hel's pet wolf she could not take with her to Helheim?" he asked in a confused tone. "Why are they so important?"

"Well, they are both believed to be your sons—like Sleipnir—but their purposes are not as benign."

"Oh?" he asked, leaning towards her in curiosity. "What are their purposes in your ancestor's minds?"

"Well, Fenrir was to be the death of Odin, devouring him alive at Ragnarök, and Jörmungandr was to be the death of Thor, after he had slain the serpent—the venom of Jörmungandr," I explained.

His empty chuckle returned. "I see, my only good is the "carrying" of an eight legged horse that Odin rides. My other "sons" are seen as nothing but monsters, just as I no doubt am." He began to turn from me.

I stepped forward and pressed a hand on the glass. "I do not see a monster, Loki, when I look at you. When I learn about you. When you talk about your Mother and your life and your pets and your daughter."

He slowly turned back to look at me… mostly the hand against the wall. "Then what do you see?"

I smiled gently... hoping it was a comforting smile that kept him focused on me. "I see a man who simply needs to breath. Focus on the things that did go right for him… ignore the things that went wrong. Yes. You are adopted. Yes. Odin was going to use you. But… What would have happened to you if he hadn't?" I looked at him expectantly.

His eyes slowly went from the cold surprise to a humane realization. "I'd have never had a chance."

I nodded. "Frost Giant or not. You were so small—probably a premature baby—you would have no doubt frozen to death."

He looked at me quietly. "How can you see through me? Like I was as clear as this glass?"

I shrugged. "That's just the thing. I don't. I see through your lies. Those are what's as clear as glass."

"But you—"

BOOM!

The floor shook beneath my feet and I barely got off the cat walk before there was another quake of the floor. I ran for the door, hoping to use it as safety, when a third hit and I stumbled, my head slamming into the corner of the control panel, and vision fade into nothing as my body hit the ground.

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And so the Action has begun.