This land is my land, this land is your land. These characters aren't. Bonus chapter week!

"He's been up and walking around again today, which seems to put him in a better mood. He's been pretty reasonable all morning, actually," Bruce said quietly over the phone as Natasha and Dr. Sarmit were held up in traffic on the way to the house. It was taking longer than usual, probably because of an accident, judging by the sirens.

"Good," Natasha said. "I'm sick of LOA. It would be a nice change to talk to the Prince again, or Scholar. We haven't seen him since that first time a couple days ago."

"LOA?"

"Loki of Asgard is such a mouthful. Scholar agreed with me about that. He and Sarmit and I came up with nicknames for all the personalities. So far, we've met LOA, Odinson, Prince, and Scholar. Apparently, we have yet to officially meet the Lady, Alterego, and LOJ (Loki of Jotunheim)."

"How did I miss this part of the debriefing?"

"I didn't realize you had. You were on guard duty at the time, but I asked Tony to fill you in later. I guess he didn't. Anyways, as I definitely told you before, Scholar is the personality that holds on to all the memories, more like an observer most of the time, not the personality in control, but always conscious. According to Scholar, LOJ is the most dangerous one, almost feral in his hatred for Odin. The Lady is a female consciousness, and presumably one of the reasons for all the kids. We still don't know what the Alterego really is; even Scholar doesn't have all those memories, but he knows Alterego exists because of the gaps in his knowledge. As far as we know, Alterego only ever emerges on Earth, but it's at times when SHIELD doesn't have any records of any Loki-related activity at all. He's a bit of a mystery."

"Huh. So for all we know, there may actually be multiple Alteregos too."

Dr. Sarmit said, "It is possible, of course, but I am hopeful that the list we have as of now is complete. Any other updates this morning, Dr. Banner?"

"Not that I know of, but I'll ask Heather. Hang on a moment."

They waited for a moment, and then Heather came on the line. "I do have another update, in fact." Her tone was odd, as if she was still surprised at her own news.

"Yes?"

"Um, well. I guess there's not really a good way to say this, but... I have a suspicion Loki's magic may be coming back-"
"What?" Bruce wasn't quite yelling, but he was easily heard in the background.

"Shut up, unless you want Loki to come investigate. Those headphones Mr. Stark got him aren't completely noise-canceling. Don't worry, it's definitely not what you think; he hasn't done anything, it's just, um..."

"Spit it out, Heather, the suspense is killing us."

"Right, sorry. Well you see, his body changed. He's physically male again."

"Oh." That was not what Natasha had been expecting.

"I see," said Dr. Sarmit, looking just as surprised as Natasha felt. "Did he say anything about it?"

"No, it's just something... I noticed a few minutes ago." Natasha was sure the poor medic was blushing on the other end of the line, medical professionalism be damned.

"I understand." Sarmit said. "I'll ask him about it. With luck, a chance for didactics will bring out the 'Scholar' in him. See you in a few. The traffic's moving again." She hung up.

After a couple blocks, Natasha asked, "Was that a pun, Sarmit? Are you even capable of puns?"

The psychiatrist grinned. "I always cover my own shock with a mixture of dispassion and humor, Agent Romanoff."

"It wasn't a very good pun though, so I guess you don't get shocked enough," Natasha mused.

"Thank you?"

"Sorry, I seem to cover my shock with sass and sarcasm."

"Ah. Fitting. And, we're here." She turned onto a narrow residential lane and parked in front of the safe house. Bruce nodded to them as they entered, and quickly left. Unlike Tony, neither Bruce nor Clint ever lingered longer than they had to at the safe house. Neither did Natasha, but that was because she already spent so freakin' much time here, depending entirely on how long Dr. Sarmit stayed. Sometimes they spent only a couple hours if Loki was especially untalkative or angry, sometimes they were there all day. On those days, even faithful Heather didn't stick around, though she was strangely content to be available at all hours the rest of the time.

The two women stepped into Loki's room. Surreptitiously, Natasha looked the god up and down. He didn't look that different today, but then, he hadn't seemed particularly feminine before. Perhaps that was because he was still so thin, though. Her gaze came to rest on his face. His eyes were closed. He still had the same nose, same mouth. He had gained new flesh on his high cheekbones in the last couple weeks, yet the angular structure of his face seemed somehow accentuated rather than softened, framed by tousled dark hair that fell well past his shoulders now. He was sitting in his old rocking chair, feet propped up casually atop the heart monitor they had yet to move out of the room. His hands were folded behind his head. He was ignoring them in favor of whatever it was he was listening to on the top quality headphones Tony had come up with. Loki had only started using them in the past few days since the doll broke and Scholar introduced himself. Tony had arranged for Jarvis to play or read aloud whatever acceptable material Loki requested. Otherwise, since they couldn't risk granting him a device that could access the internet in any way, the Avengers would have been hauling crates of books back and forth every day. Loki read really fast when he was bored, much faster than Jarvis could read aloud, even at accelerated speech rates. Today, he was probably listening to Shakespeare plays or opera, based on what Jarvis told them of the god's preferences and the relatively narrow selection available: Loki had declared all of Stark's modern music collection an abominable affront to the ears and was prohibited from "reading" up on anything SHIELD had judged potentially dangerous information. Somewhat to Natasha's surprise, Loki had shown no interest whatsoever in Jarvis' impressive selection of medieval and Northern European literature. She had even asked LOA about it one frustrating afternoon; he had smirked at her, recited the opening stanzas of Beowulf in Old English, and said he had no need to reread simple stories where the exact wording didn't matter, and no need to reread poems where the exact wording did matter but that he already remembered perfectly. Presumably, he had yet to memorize the Complete Works of William Shakespeare and the rest of classic English literature in the years since his "move" to New York from Norway.

"Are you there, Doctor? It's me, Scholar." Natasha cocked her head to the side, watching Loki's Adam's apple bobbing up and down with his words. His voice seemed unchanged, but the voicebox was somehow more noticeable. Scholar opened his eyes, took off the headphones, stretched his arms, and moved his feet to the floor, facing his guests. He planted his feet wide and leaned forward with an air of supreme confidence and couched eagerness. Elbows resting comfortably on his knees, he clasped his hands together with a snap. Natasha further noted increased prominence of the veins of his forearms. Physical differences were there, she decided, but they were pretty subtle.

"Scholar, is it? How fortuitous. Any reason you're here today instead of your compatriots?" Sarmit asked.

"My best guess is Prince's taste in reading material."

"Novels written for middle school girls?"

Natasha didn't get the reference, but Scholar grinned. "That was from years ago, when the book was new, and Hela was visiting us. No, you see, you're old sceop Shakespeare has some rather apt monologues that quite intrigued Prince lately:

'Of comfort, no man speak.

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;

Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes

Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth...

Nothing can we call our own but death

And that small model of the barren earth

Which serves as paste and cover to our bones.

For God's sake, let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings;

How some have been deposed; some slain in war,

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed;

Some poison'd by their wives: some sleeping kill'd;

All murder'd: for within the hollow crown

That rounds the mortal temples of a king

Keeps Death his court and there the antic sits...'

"I did not go to England much for quite a while after your year 1000, so I can't attest to the accuracy of Shakespeare's Richard, but the play has a certain something... No luck with the Alterego, I trust? It seems I wasn't doing anything to come to SHIELD's attention."

"I'm afraid not," Sarmit answered. "That was from Richard II, wasn't it? And Richard's speech in the play, if I remember correctly. If you had to guess, does Prince particularly identify with Richard rather than the other man, Henry?"

Scholar smiled and shook his head. "The secret, my good doctor, is that our Prince is both Richard Plantagenet and Henry Bolingbrooke, bearing the cares of both the defeated academic and the righteous avenger." He winked at Natasha, who couldn't help but grin back, for some reason. Scholar continued, "He is also, I might mention, Bolingbrooke's son Prince Hal in the sequel Henry IV - we went to Laurence Olivier's stage performance in the city about 75 years ago, you know. Your Shakespeare created a multitude of very different characters, but they all spring from the same mind. And the medium of a play is unique in storytelling: each character is originally only his words and actions. The actor's interpretation is what ultimately creates meaning from the words, a soul unique to each performance. Thus, the words of any character can ring true in some way for virtually anyone. You might think it's funny, but I personally am glad, since I have to listen rather than read, that Jarvis' rendition is so monotonous. It allows me to retain control of the interpretation."

"Interesting perspective," Sarmit said. "Do you have any favorite characters of your own, Scholar?"

Natasha couldn't understand why Sarmit was wasting time with this idle literary conversation. Surely there was a more valuable use for Scholar's presence...?

Scholar seemed to agree with her. He frowned slightly, but replied. "I tend not to choose favorites. I value the most complex characters, I suppose, because of the challenge involved, and there are certainly some that resonate more closely with our experience than others, but that's about it. Why do you ask? I would have thought you had some higher priority questions."

"You are high priority. Artistic interpretation of all varieties can reveal a lot about a person. It's the basis of the Rorschach, after all. There have even been studies regarding the differences in the way convicted criminals for instance interpret Hamlet."

Scholar eyebrows rose, then fell, and his eyes narrowed in sudden thought. "Interesting..." Natasha hoped she didn't have to sit through a tedious discussion of literary analysis the whole day.

Unfortunately, she got her wish. Loki blinked at them, then straightened in his chair, hands finding arm rests, chin lifting, expression trained to neutral but welcoming. Scholar was gone, it appeared. "Forgive me, Lady doctor, Lady Romanoff, I was lost in thought. What were you saying?"

"We were discussing your reading."

"Ah, yes." Prince, Natasha recognized, glanced at the headphones briefly. "The plays. I will be done with them soon..."

"Do you remember what we talked about last time I was here, Loki?"

He nodded stiffly. "Thanos."

"Well... actually no. We spoke again after that, don't you remember?"

Prince stared at her in confusion, then said, "I don't think so, Lady doctor. And I am not that absent minded. Are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

Natasha bit back a sigh. Sarmit had told them after meeting Scholar that she felt it was time to try to get Loki's personalities to become more aware of each other. So far, success had been limited. LOA had been very interested when they'd told him they had discovered other personalities besides Odinson but was supremely fixated on the fact that Odinson was still the most prominent of the lot. Odinson, for his part, was quite alarmed at the very idea and quickly denied that there was any other besides the Mask. Then he had ignored them the rest of the day, standing before the window over the kitchen sink with his back to them. (That was the only sunlit window left in the house, as it was small, made of reinforced, bullet-proof glass, and faced the back garden; the rest of them had been blocked with steel plate, and blue shutters.) LOA had been even more scathing than usual after that, incongruously spending most of his interviews interrupting Sarmit's descriptions and questions regarding Prince and Scholar to rail against Odinson's unreasonable and pathetic disinterest. As for Prince, he had only emerged a couple times, and only once long enough for them to inform him of the other personalities. He had seemed to understand and accept Sarmit's word at the time. Now, it seemed he had completely forgotten.

"I assure you I wasn't dreaming, but I am not that surprised that you don't remember, Loki. It is okay if you don't. Just think for a moment. I told you about someone called Scholar, and about some others."

Prince's eyes flicked to Natasha. She nodded at him, confirming his unvoiced question. He shifted slightly, brows raised and shoulders half shrugging. He reached a hand to massage his forehead, eyes closing in thought. His fingers traveled down to his chin, and he leaned back in the chair. He opened his eyes and looked at Sarmit. "I don't disbelieve you, Lady doctor. But I do not... will not remember. I do not think I want to."

Dr. Sarmit inclined her head. "I see. Can you tell me anything more about that?"

He shrugged disinterestedly. "It is difficult to explain. I can feel that you are telling me the truth, deja vu, I believe you might call it, but... I feel no inclination to pursue the feeling. I-"

Suddenly, after a sharp Crack from the far corner, Loki leaped to his feet, eyes wide and searching. He glowed green for an instant, and a spark of gold fire snaked blindly off in the direction of the sound, melting the little plastic breathing gizmo Heather had got for him that he refused to use. Loki was out of the room in seconds. Natasha rushed out after him, knocking over her chair in the process. She found him leaning over the sink, pale forehead pressed against the sunny windowpane. He was trembling slightly, and breathing fast and shallow. He still couldn't really breathe that deeply, since he had been on the ventilator and didn't, or all things considered perhaps couldn't, cooperate very well with Heather's treatment plan.

"Loki? Are you alright?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't run off or attack either, so Natasha decided he was okay for now. She hastened back to the other room to find Dr. Sarmit tending to a rather shaken Heather, who had been sitting in the offending corner of the room, working at the desk. "Any idea what happened?"

It was Heather that answered. "I swatted a beetle." She giggled nervously. "Guess it startled him."

"Huh. Well, that's not good if he's going to start throwing death rays around at the slightest provocation. You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Good. I suggest we refrain from swatting insects in his presence, coughing or sneezing, or stepping loudly, and god forbid anyone drop something in the kitchen. Also stretching: your back cracks." Magic seemed to bring out her sassy side. Oh, well. "Sarmit?"

The two women left Heather to collect herself and strode back to the kitchen. Loki hadn't moved.

"That was just Heather moving around, Loki. No need to fret."

He sagged, resting his hands on the windowsill. "Sorry," he gasped. He looked a little tired and was still breathing quickly.

"What were you thinking?" Sarmit asked.

"Terrible memories."

"...Do you want to-"

"No."

"Alright."

"...She wasn't hit, I guess?"

"No."

He nodded, then straightened up and started rummaging around in cupboards. "Tea, ladies? Or some other warm beverage, since it is now autumn? I'm afraid we can't have mulled wine; Heather doesn't stock the ingredients." He withdrew four mugs.

"Um, tea would be lovely. Thanks, Loki," Natasha said. Except for the first time they met Scholar, Loki had never offered them tea before, let alone made it. Sarmit started to say something, but Loki shushed her, pointing to the kettle on the stove. He gestured for them to sit, then retrieved Heather from the other room and gave her the first steaming mug. Natasha wondered exactly which Loki was so solicitous. Before she could ask, the front lock clicked, the door flew open, and Tony Stark, complete with Iron Man suit, bounded into the room, hands raised and ready to shoot, until he took in the domestic scene before him. To Natasha's eternal relief, Loki was facing the door. She didn't need another little magic flare.

Tony slowly lowered his hands, and his mask retracted. "Morning ladies, Loki... Jarvis said we had a bit of an... incident?"

"You could say that, but we're all fine," Natasha said. "Is everyone else on their way too?"

"No, I was the only one at the tower. So... what happened?"

"I accidentally melted Heather's ridiculous 'incentive spirometer,'" Loki answered lightly. Tony stared at him. And kept staring. He stepped up to the counter top where they all sat.

Natasha ventured, "You did get Bruce's update this morning, didn't you, Tony?"

"I did," he said shortly, still staring.

Ah. Natasha exchanged glances with Sarmit and Heather, and a gleeful smile was spreading across Loki's face.

"Oh, do I sense some... disappointment in you, Mr. Stark? I can always change back later you know." Loki was leaning forward in the chair now, head bent back with a newfound grace. He had taken Tony's armored hand and was gazing up at him through a wealth of eyelashes Natasha had somehow failed to notice until now. Tony stiffened in surprise, seemingly at a loss. Loki smiled wider and traced his fingers along the hand joints of Tony's armor. Tony laughed uncomfortably and said over his shoulder to Natasha, "I think we must be getting too comfortable with Rudolf here, for him to be making that kind of joke." Loki pouted at him. He added a second hand to Tony's and subtly pulled him closer. "A lady never jokes about such things, Man of Iron." His voice was... husky, and earnest. Tony's nervous smile fell, replaced by shock.

Natasha looked at him curiously, at the same time fighting the urge to join Heather, snickering at Tony's predicament. "Loki, you've never... called yourself a 'lady' before." Loki reluctantly looked away from Tony, though he did not release his hand. "Oh, my dear Black Widow, I would think it would have been obvious. You don't really think a man could bear this many children, do you? And take care of them, and..." He... she let go of Tony and stared at her own hands in a mixture of horror and sadness. "Men cannot handle motherhood." Her face fell into her hands, though her eyes were dry.

Well, clearly Loki's gender had absolutely nothing to do with whatever body he/she might be wearing at the time. But this was for Sarmit to deal with. Natasha stood up and escorted a still stunned Tony into the other room. Time for a mini conference about what to do now that Loki had some usable, dangerous magic again.

Author's Note: I had struggled more with the last chapter, so got rather a lot done on the following two while it was in the works, so here you go. The next chapter still has some kinks to work out, but I'd guesstimate a release soon after Thanksgiving. And then we'll see. There's some more interesting stuff coming up that's going to be trickier to write.

PS: For those of you who, like Natasha, missed the reference, it's Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret.