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 10: Struggle Of The Fool

Empty words. That sure got to him, made his mind reel with questions. They'd been together for years now, since the day he'd tracked her down, pinned her to the floor with a gun because she'd kicked his bow away. She'd had blood decorating the already fiery ends of her red hair, and her eyes had been dark, hard. It was meant to happen this way, he had thought, and had leaned forward, her wrists held down with the soles of his boots as the barrel had been pressed to her forehead. The moment he'd seen her during the debriefing, he'd thought she was beautiful. She had a different look about her. Something the archer had never seen in a woman before.

"Come with me," he had told her.

He should have killed her. Clint had known that for years. He should have been punished for not following explicit orders, and she should have died at someone else's hand, a wasted talent and beauty. But, for reasons he still didn't quite understand, SHIELD had trusted him, had taken him up on his idea to have her formally trained, for she had an extensive skill set.

Watching her now on the screen while the others continued to bicker, standing beside the God of Thunder hunched over on the floor, he couldn't help wondering if he'd made the right call. Not only for himself, but for her. Had they not been meant to be anything more than partners on the field, friends who had the other's back with bullets and flame bursting all around? Had it all been a mistake, the time spent trying to fully understand, figure her out, make this all work out? Maybe it had just been a complete waste of time. And maybe he, though it was humiliating to admit, even to himself, had been ridiculously overbearing and, dare he say, jealous.

That made it all worse, though. The thought that he'd allowed himself to feel anger towards the bastard who had all but turned him into a puppet.

He couldn't work like this, Clint thought, even if Fury and SHIELD needed him to.

# - # - # - #

It was snowing when he awakened, the sky a blank mass of white, pouring out her soft gift upon the ground. The covers were shoved to the side, tumbling into an awkward ball as he darted across the floor, ran through the doors and down the hallway to the other room. Tugging on the handles, it was still locked, and he frowned, turned and ran back through his own chambers and tugged on his boots, threw a cloak over his shoulders and moved to skirt about the outside of the windows until he reached the familiar archway, and hopped inside. He was there, lying in bed under a sea of bright red, and the boy jumped, plopped down beside the other and began to shake him until he stirred.

"Wake up!" he whispered. "Wake up! It's snowing!"

Thor turned, his eyes the only bit of blue he'd seen in the few minutes he'd been up, and blinked.

"What?"

Loki shoved him, grabbed the covers and shook them hard. "Get dressed! It's snowing!"

His brother stared for a moment, rubbed the sleep from his eyes before Loki promptly pushed him out of bed, ran to one end of the room and back again, dragging his brother's heavy red cloak and gloves behind him. The fabric was thrown over Thor's head as he grumbled, said that it was too cold to be going outside, and that it was much too early for Loki to be waking him up. But the little prince couldn't find it in himself to care. It was the first snow of the season, which was always the most exciting and beautiful, and he would not be running outside to play in it without his brother.

"Up!" he insisted. "Up! Up!"

Thor slowly fastened the cloak about his small shoulders, pulled on his boots, and groaned loudly as Loki seized him by the arm and dragged him out the doors.

The two of them ran, and the little prince was eventually overtaken by Thor who, after being jarred awake, began to lead the way. It became a race then, each one trying to push the other as their cloaks hovered just off the ground behind them, making the boys feel as though they were flying. The servants hopped out of the way as they ran, calling after them that they would do well to be more careful. But the brothers did not listen, couldn't be bothered to care as they rushed out the doors of the palace and into the white wonderland, spinning in circles and leaving tracks through the snow, running along the walls and jumping down the stairs until they touched down in the garden, their favorite playground.

The plants were covered, sleeping for the cold season, the water of the ever rushing fountains frozen into strange and magnificent shapes. Beneath their feet, the fish still swam below the ice, kept alive and content by the magic of expert spell casters, and the two laughed, crushing the soft powder into hardened clumps, throwing them at one another.

Loki turned, didn't see Thor's arm move until the snowball pegged him in the side of the head, clinging to his hair while the rest of it rolled down one cheek. A woman like the sun, she looked her best in the snow, he thought, their mother, and she stood at the edge of the lake.

He smiled, ignored his brother and ran until his hands closed around the fabric of her cloak, his head leaned against her hip.

"It's snowing!" he beamed. "It's snowing, Mother!"

The queen turned then, and he stumbled back, falling hard against one of the steps. Her face was blank, smooth, without even a trace of her features present. In place of her eyes sat dark holes, like coal, and a painted white line lay where her mouth should have been. She reached for him, the line curving up into a frightening grin, like something out of a nightmare.

"Why?" His eyes shut as she, it, whatever this apparition was, spoke. "Why did you... leave...?"

Someone grabbed him by the arm, pulled until, at the last second, he felt a hard blow at the back of his head.

"Get off him, you idiot!"

He groaned, cracked his eyes open and turned, saw Natasha standing behind him with her gun drawn. It would seem that she'd seen fit to whack him with it. Beneath him, Thor shifted, wide-eyed and staring as Loki's hands were knotted in his shirt. God, the fabric felt just as terrible as it looked. Plaid.

The trickster grimaced, toppled back as Thor sat up, still looking shocked as golden hair remained plastered to his forehead, the hammer thrown off to the side on the floor among massive pieces of shattered glass. So that's what had happened. The mighty Thor had decided to play hero again. But, considering that SHIELD was full to the breaking point with petty, vindictive bastards looking to claim that they had successfully killed a god, it wasn't exactly unwelcome. Annoying, yes, but certainly preferable to sitting in a sweltering sauna that, regrettably, reminded him of their first stupid venture to Muspelheim. That had been the very definition of walking through hell. Particularly for someone of Loki's... ancestry.

"Are you all right?" Thor looked as though he might start crying.

Loki hoped he wouldn't. That would just make things worse. "I'm not dead, Thor. You can save your..." The god motioned as though he were ushering a filthy child away. "...emotions."

He grunted as Natasha hit him again. Humans were ridiculously disrespectful.

"He was worried about you, stupid!" she snapped. "Don't just dismiss him like that!"

"Am I supposed to thank him, then?" Loki retorted, and though he was wet and overheated, he was still dripping pleasurably with disdain and sarcasm. Much to the chagrin of many, he had a rather unlimited supply of such things. Throwing about words and a bad attitude was, after all, preferable to throwing knives.

The woman straightened up and crossed her arms. "That would be a start."

There was blood on the floor, the trail leading from the shattered panel to Thor's hands, the fluid having dripped down his arm. Big deal. The God of Thunder had been in worse shape before, what with combating Fire Giants and angering Dark Elves. Unlike mortals, Asgardians didn't fret over petty scrapes and bruises.

"A start," came Fury's voice over the intercom, "would be to find out what in the hell he's hiding."

Loki rolled his eyes. Of course they would all think he was hiding things. Though it was a load of garbage, it really was best for them to think that he might turn on them at any given moment. Much better than the Earth's heroes realizing that the past three years had turned the god into a skittish, paranoid mess rather than the same old bastard with a chip on his shoulder and a taste for revenge. Come to think of it, revenge for past humiliations would be lovely. But Loki had to choose: Let Thanos get his hands about his throat, or suffer through the indignity of relying upon Thor and his idiot friends. The latter was the lesser of two evils, and certainly something he could recover from later. Unlike death.

"If I refuse, are you going to put me back in a cage, Director? I would think that these are rather expensive and time-consuming to set up, even for an organization with pockets so deep as yours." He could almost see Fury sigh as a groan popped through the room. "Now, we can all play nicely, or–"

"You are not blowing people up again," Natasha snapped, and whacked him again. Was there no end to such disrespect, or was it a common mortal practice? Regardless, it was annoying. "Now, talk."

The Avengers could be heard arguing over the intercom, Stark with his wisecracks and the Captain trying to play "Mr. Mom" and "Mediator" as Fury barked back. Loki shook his head. How in the Nine Realms could he have been bested by these people? Not only were they mortals, but they were ridiculous. Arguing over the most mundane of things, investing themselves in one another's personal affairs, and so on. Why, they couldn't even be honest with one another.

"You lack conviction."

Thor said nothing, sat there among bits of glass and pleaded with his eyes. Or was he staring? It might have been pity Loki saw in his gaze. Maybe he had seen through him aboard the helicarrier, the way Thor always had when they'd been alone. Had the God of Thunder seen his hesitation as Loki had moved to drop that cage, the fleeting signs of his uncertainty? Or, maybe, he was seeing part of that vicious nightmare now. Somehow. Then again, maybe he was just being the dumb puppy that was Thor.

For a dead man, the Agent Coulson might have been onto something. Might.

The screaming over the intercom only got louder then. This was ridiculous. Why tell them anything? They were trying to fool him, the trickster god, take what he knew before they tried to kill him themselves. Why bother? Why not just let Midgard burn?