This is one of 3 titles I've selected to focus on for Camp NaNo during the month of July (along with The Prince's Pet [Dramione/Lumione AU] & The Reapers [Remione University-Setting AU]). While I doubt I will complete any of them during this time, I am hoping to progress them far enough that finishing these stories over the next few months will not be a struggle. :)

Chapter Ten

His & Hers & Theirs

"Yes, Brother," Loki said in a mirthful whisper as he watched Thor scour the forest. "Where could I possibly have disappeared to?"

Though, he did have to chuckle at the circumstances. Hadn't he thought, when this first began, that his Midgardian oaf—Bucky, he had to remember that bizarre name—would likely get on well with Thor and his lot, who were, admittedly also Midgardian oafs?

Indeed, the only tolerable one was that red-haired female. After all, anyone capable of tricking Loki was worth higher consideration.

Perhaps he should have suspected they already knew one another, but then Midgard was so densely populated that guessing any such thing outright would've been madness on the face of it.

He couldn't help a smirk as he continued observing that familiar lumbering figure from the safety of a particularly unassuming animal form he'd chosen as disguise on a whim. It wasn't one of his usual choices, and he doubted he'd ever choose something so . . . minuscule and defenseless again, but for the moment, it served its purpose.

There was an odd feeling prickling at the back of Thor's neck. Like he was being watched.

Pausing mid-stride, he glanced about the densely wooded area that ringed the clearing where they had found the one called Bucky and his witch. He gripped his fingers tighter around Mjolnir's haft as he turned toward the source of the unpleasant sensation.

. . . And then his massive shoulders drooped at the sight of the unimposing woodland hare eyeing him. A little of the tension went out of him, right then.

He had thought he was being stealthy, yet to their sensitive ears, it must seem he was making quite a ruckus. Nearly every animal nearby had either scampered away, or was frozen solid and watching him curiously.

Thor lowered his weapon as he stared at the bunny—the floppy-eared, sandy-brown, twitchy-nosed bunny. He shook his head. Of course, this was just his luck. This close to being caught? Loki was too clever for that.

His brother was long gone from the area, already.

Hurried footfalls sounded in the distance and Thor turned instantly in their direction. On instinct, he raised Mjolnir as he moved, ready to throw—or strike.

Meters off, he spotted the all-too-familiar head of jet hair disappear amongst the trees.

Biting back a curse, he took off after his brother.

When the lumbering would-be King was out of sight—and earshot—the bunny snickered, releasing the illusion of Loki darting through the forest. Though, he would remain like this, at least until he was certain Thor, and Mjolnir, were unable to reach him.

Deciding it best to move like the creature he was for the time being, rather than a man currently shaped like a rabbit, he stood, his ridiculous little nose twitching as he scanned for the nearest tear.

Oddly, he did not see it, but he could sense its closeness.

Back toward the clearing he scampered, following the faint electric pulse. He moved cautiously, his attention trained just as much on the sounds around him—assuring himself that those lumbering footsteps were not returning—as it was on the sights ahead of him.

A large tree, slightly different from those surrounding it stood toward the back of the clearing. Yes, he remembered it from his stroll through this area just a short while ago.

As he moved forward, he turned his head, taking in the entirety of the patch of grassy earth. There was the tent his witch had managed to hide, somehow.

Somehow . . .? With magic, obviously. He was simply still a bit astounded that she had managed to hide from the orb.

That odd, oh-so-faint, buzzing was coming from the tree. No, no, he thought as he approached. It was coming from behind it. Even if the girl had any sense of such things, she might not have noticed it, unless she was searching for it, specifically—as he was.

He cast a cursory glance about the clearing, and the ring of trees concealing it from the rest of the forest. The animals were calm, settled in the wake of his brother's bungling, and he could hear no thrashing or stomping in the distance, either.

In hindsight, he would suppose that such paranoia whilst he was so perfectly disguised was unnecessary. But, when it came to Thor—and Thor's temper, and Mjolnir at the ready—Loki would always err on the side of caution.

Satisfied he'd adequately distracted his brother, Loki slunk around the base of the tree.

And there it was . . . . With a relieved sigh—it wasn't too far-fetched to imagine that after how unexpectedly taxing these last few days were, he might be imagining things—he slipped through.

After one last peek back through the tear, he sealed it behind himself. Assuming his true form, he gave a leisurely stretch and withdrew the orb from its pouch.

They couldn't have gotten too far, just yet.

He seated himself neatly on the forest floor of the astral realm—a misty, ephemeral mirror-image of what appeared in the physical world. With a deep breath, he cupped the orb between his palms and lifted it to his waiting gaze.

"Show me where she is," he said in a purring whisper.

The glass sphere flickered to life, light and color moving and swirling beneath its gleaming surface.

An image swam into focus—Hermione was seated inside a large Midgardian vehicle; his brother's precious Avengers chatted around them, their voices hushed. Her head down on Bucky's shoulder, she dozed peacefully.

"Oh," he said with a grin, "time for another visit, I see?" His grin teetered between delighted and wicked. "Let us see if I can make this an interesting one, shall we?"

Hermione was in a bit of a daze as they were led about—the admittedly rather impressive—Avengers Tower on a guided tour. It was not the gleaming, hi-tech grandness of her new surroundings, nor how fast their circumstances had changed that had her blinking rapidly time and again, and struggling to focus on Natasha's words as the redhead pointed out this room, and that internal facility.

It was not even her attempts to ignore the not-at-all-subtle amused and thoughtful looks Natasha and Steve kept tossing one another over the fact that Hermione's hand clung to Bucky's, still. Though, she did find it adorable watching Bucky pretend not to notice the shared observation to which they were being subjected.

As they'd sat in the back of a simple black vehicle—so inconspicuous that it was actually quite conspicuous, she thought—she'd dozed off. The hum of the motor, the lulling vibrations of the wheels moving beneath them . . . .

She'd let her head drop down against Bucky's shoulder, thinking she would simply close her eyes for a few moments. That even with managing real rest last night for the first time in Merlin only know how long, she was still worn, and taxed, and drained from all she'd been through.

And not just the last three days, but everything that had led to Bucky—and Loki, too—becoming such definable parts of her life in such a short time.

Bearing that particular thought in mind, she couldn't stop herself from wondering . . . As she drifted along the corridors, Bucky's presence by her side the only thing keeping her from tripping over her own two feet, she wondered . . . .

Had her troubling dream during her little nap been Loki's meddling, once again, or some bizarre fantasy entirely of her own creation?

She blinked a hazy fog from her eyes, giving her head a shake. Where, exactly, was she now? Seated on some bench against a cold wall, was all of which she was currently aware.

The last thing Hermione recalled clearly was meeting Bucky's allies, acknowledging that she was safe from Loki for at least a little while. And then . . . .

What?

It was no use. Even as she fretted and tried to focus, she still couldn't recall.

She lifted her gaze to glance about her surroundings. The grey walls were familiar—she'd seen them before, hadn't she? Just recently, yes. Fuzzy and indistinct around the furthermost edges.

Like some sort of antiquated training facility, perhaps?

Nodding, she stood up and reflexively dusted herself off. She took a step toward the larger area of the facility to investigate—obscured from her view by containers and a chain-link fence to which she'd not paid much attention the first time she'd seen this place. But then, she'd been so focused on what had been in the foreground, hadn't she?

Then she heard it, causing her to halt in place.

A low, pained groan, followed by the rattle of metal-on-metal. And . . . was that a whispering voice? It sounded familiar.

Before she even instructed her body to move, she was walking toward those sounds. Wincing as she neared a break in the fence and stacks of containers, she tried to step lightly—to make as little noise as possible, so she might get a look at what was happening before deciding how to react to whatever the situation might be.

"Oh, it is rather delectable, how you struggle so."

She just barely held in a gasp as she recognized Loki's voice—there was no forgetting the way he sounded as though he was purring when he whispered like that. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she leaned close the edge of the fence.

"You know she hates you, right?"

. . . Bucky's voice. Oh, Merlin, no! Now that metal-on-metal sound made sense. It was another of those dreams in which he found himself helpless, utterly unable to prevent something.

Yet, she had no wand! She was helpless, as well. Fine turn of events, this was!

Biting her lip to hold in an angry little growl at her luck, she dipped her head around the end of the fence in a slow, calculated movement. She was not eager to alert Loki to her presence until she came up with some sort of plan to free Bucky.

"No," Loki said with a chuckle—punctuated by another groan. "She does not. I know it, and you know it. She knows it, too."

Hermione's hand dropped to her side and her jaw fell. It was all she could do to keep herself from gasping this time as she looked upon the scene before her, her eyes so wide she thought—distantly and dimly—that they might fall from her head.

As in the last dream, Bucky was bound, his arms suspended above his head by the thick, weighty chains . . . . Unlike the last dream, he was bare from the waist up, and his skin was damp.

Loki stood before him, fully clothed—though she had the presence of mind to be uncertain if she was upset or grateful for that. The jet-haired man tsk'ed, his head tipped to one side as he traced the tips of his long, elegant fingers along the muscles of Bucky's abdomen.

Leaning near, Loki brought his mouth so close to Bucky's ear, she thought for certain his lips must brush the other man's skin as he spoke. "I am really not so terrible, you know." He was whispering, yet Hermione could hear him clearly. "The witch is mine, already. The sooner you accept this simple truth, the easier this will be on all of us."

There was that groan again. Not pained, as Hermione first thought. Frustrated—she already knew Bucky so well in just the few short days they'd had together, that she could see his emotions clearly in his expression. He was conflicted. He wanted to struggle, yet wanted to remain just as he was, at the same time.

She swallowed hard as she continued to observe the interaction. Did he . . .? Did he actually like what Loki was doing to him?

Hermione tried to tell herself her pulse hadn't sped up just a bit, and a blush hadn't flared in her cheeks at that thought.

"I could make you mine, as well," Loki whispered, dipping his head to run the tip of his tongue along the other man's collarbone. Another groan. "Then we could share her."

And she certainly wasn't feeling a pooling warmth low in her body, nor a sweet little ache between her thighs at the mental pictures conjured by Loki's words.

"I—I don't think so," Bucky said, still obviously struggling with himself over whether or not to struggle.

"I think she would quite like the idea." Another tip of his head, another stroke of his tongue across Bucky's damp skin. "Why do we not simply ask her?"

Hermione started, every inch of her flushing, to suddenly find both of their heads turned toward her—green eyes and blue fixed unerringly on her.

"Well, my dear?" Loki said, a smirk curving his lips as his fingers trailed down, over Bucky's abdomen, once more. Lower still, past his navel, tickling at that dusting of dark hair.

She found herself taking a step toward them, her body moving quite of its own volition as Loki asked, "Are you enjoying this?"

"Hermione!"

She gave a start, her eyes snapping up to find Bucky's gaze on hers. His hands were clamped—delicately—around her shoulders. Despite the worry in his expression, she found herself fighting a blush at the mere sight of him.

She'd been so caught up simply recalling that dream that she had completely lost track of what had been happening around her.

"You okay?" he asked, giving her an appraising once-over.

"Yes, um, yes." She shook her head and frowned. "Sorry, I guess I'm still a bit drained from using so much magic in a short amount of time."

"Well, we'll let you get some rest," Natasha said, her husky voice kind as she reached out, touching Hermione's arm beneath where Bucky held her.

"I'm so sorry." Hermione shook her head again, her brows pinched in an anxious expression. "You're being so gracious, and yet you're going to have to remind me of all this tomorrow, as I don't think I've remembered a word you've said."

Nat's eyebrows shot up, but she only laughed, exchanging another of those glances with Steve. Though, Hermione imagined this one was about how sweet-tempered Bucky's witch probably seemed—Oh, if only they knew what her temper was actually like!

"Don't even worry about it, really." Natasha pointed to a door Hermione only noticed now. "We were actually just showing you where you'll be staying. These are guest quarters, Spartan, for temporary stay, since we don't know how long you'll be with us. Hope that's all right."

Hermione almost smirked, but wondered if the master assassin was aware she could temporarily make that room appear however she wished. "I'm sure it'll be fine, thank you so much." Bucky had moved back to her side and she barely refrained from elbowing him in the side as he chuckled under his breath, likely thinking the same thing she just had.

Nat nodded and offered an understanding grin. "Debriefing can wait 'til you've gotten some rest."

"Buck," Steve said, gesturing toward another door. "You're going to be—"

"No."

Hermione felt all three sets of eyes on her immediately after the word had fallen from her lips.

Nat's lips folded inward to hold in an entirely different type of grin. Steve's gaze leaped from his friend, to the petite, wild-haired witch at his side, and back.

Bucky echoed the word, his head shaking in question as she met his gaze. "No?"

Clearing her throat, she stood a little straighter. "I said no. You are not staying in a separate room."

His brow furrowed for a moment, genuinely uncomprehending of what was upsetting her. "It's right next to yours. If anything happens, I'll be right—"

"I don't care how close or far it is. You are staying with me."

Bucky's eye drifted closed, his lip poking outward in that trembly way that undid her. For a moment, where they were, that they had an audience, fell away.

She reached up, cupping his jaw with her hands. There was something strangely comforting in the feel of his exaggerated five o'clock shadow scratching gently against her palms. "Please?"

Those broad shoulders of his drooped under the impossible weight of that tiny, one-word question.

"I feel safe with you."

He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze unflinching. He wanted her to be right so bad—he wanted to never harm her, but how could she know that would never happen? Yet, she was going on before he could work up anything to say.

"James Buchanan Barnes, you stop this pity-party right this instant," she demanded with a laugh. "Do you know that last night, I slept—actually slept—for the first time in so long I can't even remember? And the only difference is that you were there."

Forcing a gulp down his throat, he dropped his forehead down against hers.

"Please?" she said, again.

She didn't know how long they stood there, waiting for his answer. All the while she found herself able to focus on nothing but the feel of his breath on her cheeks, of his skin—and even his bristly stubble—against hers hands.

"Okay," he managed after a deep breath.

"God, are we ever that dramatic?" Natasha asked Steve in a stage whisper.

"Depends who you ask," he whispered back with a chuckle.

Hermione couldn't help an embarrassed laugh as their quips reminded her that she and Bucky were not alone.

"Well, okay, then," Nat said, her green eyes sparkling with amusement as she punched a code into the numbered panel beside the door. "I suppose we'll let you two get some sleep."

Neither Hermione nor Bucky missed the look Steve shot Natasha as the door slid open. There was no deterring whatever the redhead was going to think, anyway.

"Thank you, both. See you in the, um, morning," Hermione said with a nod and hurried into the room. She heard some quick, quiet parting words between Bucky and Steve, and then two sets of footfalls retreating down the corridor.

He stepped into the room and the door slid shut behind him.

She was all too aware of his presence, though she had not turned around. Though he'd moved quietly, and the door was silent.

This was her doing. Yet now, as she stood here with him, she couldn't help wondering if she could even pivot to look up at him.

What with the blush she knew was already flaring in her cheeks, and her thoughts once more tumbling over whether that dream had been something from Loki's imagination . . . or her own?