"Did you ever memorize…I mean, how many digits of pi do you know?" Bruce grinned shyly, as if this were a secret sort of question and he was delighted to finally have someone to ask.

"Oh, I don't know. Ten. Maybe twenty? That's good enough for engineering precision on a wheel the size of the earth. I fully intend to build an installation at least the size of Jupiter eventually, but until I really embark on that project, I'll be satisfied with what I've got." Tony was tossing a wrench back and forth from hand to hand. "You know a hundred, don't you?"

"Five hundred," said Bruce, now looking sheepish. "In my defense, I've had a lot of free time when I was on the run. And it's sort of meditative."

"I never liked pi," said Tony with a grand, authoritative gaze. "Simple geometry. Too plebian. I'm more of an unfathomable infinities, set of all sets kind of guy."

Bruce laughed. "You know what I always loved when I was a kid? The Ackermann function sequence. It goes one, four, uncountably huge. That always cracked me up."

"You know what sequence I loved when I was a kid?" Tony put on a nasal, electronic voice, "Self-destruct sequence initiated…ten…nine…eight…" He switched back to his regular voice and chuckled. "I got so many classes cancelled that way." He spun around and caught the wrench behind his back. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, does it hurt when you transform?"

"Um, yes, somewhat, but it's sort of…there's a sense of…it hurts, but it's satisfying," he concluded. "Like popping a pimple."

"There's an unnecessarily disgusting analogy."

Bruce shrugged. "So tell me more about these life model decoys. Your company has been hinting at them to shareholders for a few years now, but you've been a little short on the details."

"It's a simple enough idea. We have the computer technology to make realistic three-dimensional images. Blend that in with hard-light holography and adaptive-intelligent programming and bam – you can make out with yourself."

"But you're not manufacturing them yet."

"For one thing, incredibly expensive – the market won't support it. For two things, we're really not there on the personality programming. It took me years to get JARVIS right and I still run into glitches here and there. Would you believe last week he cut off the phone system when I tried to call an escort service to give Captain Uptight a welcome-back-to-the-squishy-and-living present?"

Bruce chose to focus on the relevant aspects of what Tony had said. "So if the person you were trying to model didn't have to display much personality…"

"You're thinking about magical zombie Coulson."

"Could you do it? Do you have enough video data? We could swap the LMD out for the real one, and then-"

"And then give the staff to Loki? Because all he needed was a time out and he's ready to play nice now."

"We're not giving Loki the staff," said Bruce. "But we have to solve this one step at a time."

Tony was scrolling through several reels of security footage simultaneously. "I think I have enough imaging in here, as long as the LMD keeps his clothes on. If you want that data, I hereby assign you the job of having an awkward conversation with Barton." The wrench clattered to the floor as Tony missed a catch. He leaned down to pick it back up. "You think you can create a replica of the staff? They know what its energy readings are supposed to be."

"If I can't come up with a little spare gamma energy," said Bruce, "who can?"

Clint still couldn't sleep. He had forced himself to lie down on the ridiculously comfortable bed and he thought he might have dozed off for a few minutes here and there, but never long enough to start dreaming. That was probably a good thing.

Falling asleep felt like going under, like slipping away, like his fingers peeling back from the cliff's edge, one at a time, until he's plummeting out of control and there are hands on him, fingers. And he is a little boy and his Daddy is drunk and angry but it's not his Daddy, it's Phil. And he's lost. There are hedges and circus tents and creeks and brambles and arrows stuck in the ground like fenceposts. There's Loki's voice guiding him, showing him along, how to get through the maze without getting devoured, how to avoid the mirrors that make him look violent and vile and bloody, how to draw water from the ground so he doesn't die of thirst. Loki whispers, "Obey," and the maze is gone and there's just one road and it's easy and safe, except he's actually tiny and what he thought was a tightrope is actually the string on his bow.

"Fuck," he whispered, sitting up. He threw the covers aside and pulled a t-shirt over his head.

Steve was sitting on the floor right outside Barton's room, slowly making sense out of the tablet Tony had lent to him. He could use it to play Solitaire, but what was the point? It was a little faster than playing with real cards, but the whole idea of Solitaire was to waste time. So instead, he played with the internet program. Bruce had shown him how to use it to see photographs of museum collections and that was very interesting, but now he was looking at pictures of Brooklyn, of the old Brooklyn, before the war. He didn't know any of the people in the pictures, but he could have, with suspenders and penny loafers and pressed cotton dresses. It made him homesick.

Steve heard the window creak open. "Agent Barton," he said.

Clint didn't bother looking sheepish; he just looked terrible. "Tasha told you to keep an eye…or uh, ear on me?"

"She had an inkling you were going to bolt." Steve's voice sounded a little strange.

The window creaked shut and Steve could hear Barton's bare feet pad across the floor. "Who are they?"

"No one in particular. I just liked the look of it."

"Are any of them still alive, the people you knew from back then?"

"A couple," said Steve. "Nobody I knew well."

"Did it really get to you when you first woke up?"

"It still really gets to me. Not all the time, though. Not anymore."

"Well, that's really fucking depressing. I'd say I'd buy you a drink, but I hear that doesn't work for you. Maybe we can go out for taquitos."

Steve raised an eyebrow. He wasn't exactly sure what taquitos were and he didn't really see the connection.

"I always assume taquitos will help." Clint shrugged. "They're delicious."

"I…see."

"And I'm normally sneakier than this, too," blurted Clint, suddenly all too aware that he hadn't even planned his escape all that well. He should have gotten into the crawlspace, then into the elevator shaft, then so on and so on until he got captured by SHIELD and ended up rotting in an underground prison for the rest of his life. "I know the air ducts in the Helicarrier like Stark knows syphilis," he added, unsure exactly why he felt the need to defend his black ops capability to a man who probably thought that microwaves were witchcraft.

Steve briefly wrinkled his brow, obviously considering the syphilis comment, but he let it pass. "Well I'm glad you know the Helicarrier. Banner and Stark are preparing facsimiles of the staff and Agent Coulson. We'll need your help to make the switch."

If Clint was surprised by this planning, it didn't show. "The staff I should probably be able to access. Phil's going to be a lot tougher. The detention levels aren't linked up with the rest of the ship and they're not giving anyone access, least of all me. We'd need someone on the inside."

"That's what I figured," said Steve. "Which is why I'm going to request access." He gave a thin smile. "Who's going to say no to Captain America?"

"Your efforts are touching," said Natasha stirring sugar into her coffee. "Of course, they're not accomplishing anything because we have no way to force Loki to lift the curse."

"You're not, um," said Bruce, "You're not big on the power of positive thinking, are you?"

"I believe in reality."

"Really? Because periodically I turn into a green idiot who somehow has four times my mass." Bruce pointed to Steve and Thor across the room. "That guy's ninety years old and that guy's a space alien who can speak Shakespearean English with a mouth full of stale Peeps. I think reality went out for some smokes a couple decades back. I'm just along for the ride."

Natasha was about to comment that Bruce's attitude was rather incompatible with being a scientist when Steve called her name from across the room.

"Agent Romanov, we need your opinion," he said. "The subterfuge with SHIELD means nothing if we can't convince them that Agent Coulson was cured some other way. How well do they understand this sort of magic?"

Rogers was deliberately including her in the planning, knowing that she might go tattle to her superiors. Interesting. "They're at a loss. They don't have any analytical principles to test their ideas against. They're not idiots, but they want Coulson back, so they'll be prepared to be credulous. If you succeeded, your alternate explanation would have to be a little more subtle than claiming you stuck a needle in a voodoo doll, but not much."

"Which brings us back to the last problem," said Steve. "Thor, you said that Loki didn't have to do anything, just had to be there, if we could find a, er…magician? strong enough to break the curse."

"Indeed," said Thor. "Though such skills are quite rare, they not the sole province of my brother. My mother practices a very powerful sorcery, but she would not defy my father in a matter such as this."

"What are the other options?" asked Steve.

"There is the demon queen of the Underworld, and Malekith of the dark elves, and there is Amora the Enchantress." Thor spoke the final name more quietly, his gaze shifting to the right.

"That last one sounded…not terrible," said Bruce. "Better than demon queens and dark elves."

"I prefer," said Thor, "to have no dealings with Amora." He paused, apparently hoping they would be satisfied with this explanation. When they obviously were not, he looked to the side again and his voice dropped. "She is…preoccupied," he mumbled, "with my manhood."

"Is she hot?" asked Tony, emerging from his lab.

"It is not her physical appearance which I find distasteful," said Thor, "it is her uncouth and manipulative persistence when I have made my opinion clear. She hath disguised herself in many false visages to gain my affections. It was not long ago that she took the form of a tree so as to taste of my lips."

"Wait," said Tony, "why would you be kissing a tree in the first place?"

"Because-" Thor squinted at Tony, head cocked to the side, as if the answer were so obvious it could not be put into words. "I do not understand the question."

"All right," said Steve, "let's get back on topic. This Amora sounds difficult to deal with, but not actually evil. I think we should try to contact her."

Tony patted Thor's bicep. "It's time to take one for the team, buddy. It's a tough job, I know, but somebody's got to-"

"I would not dishonor the Lady Jane Foster in such a fashion. Do not suggest otherwise." Thor sniffed imperiously – it was easy to forget that he was in fact a prince. "I knew the Son of Coul only briefly, but I see that he has inspired much loyalty. I will contact the Enchantress and determine whether an acceptable agreement can be reached." And with that, Thor stood and picked up two boxes of blueberry Pop-Tarts before retreating to his quarters.

Bruce looked at Natasha. "How's reality working out for you?"