This time, Thor takes point with Widow behind him and Captain America brings up the rear. The wintry air does nothing to dry their clothes. Captain is worried about Widow, but the woman pays no heed to the debilitating cold. The deeper they go, the more difficult it becomes to keep to what they believe is the main tunnel. It begins to bend and branch off, skirting around broad rooms and other chambers and they must be very careful to remember which direction they deviated to in order to correct themselves later. It feels somewhat like the ant farm Rogers kept as a boy. They need to find the central spire at the heart of the city… quickly.

The ceilings are getting higher, incredibly high. They pass what Captain America assumes is a courtyard, the circular sanctum open to the starry sky. It is walled in by a much thinner, more transparent layer of crystal, like a rigged wrinkled veil. The facets are playing tricks on him. Where previously there was an empty patio, he sees a sparkling fountain and strange vines, meticulously trimmed hedges, thin twisting flowers, spiny trees, stepping stones, tiered planters… Just as quickly, there is nothing. Rogers looks ahead and sees a magnificent chandelier mounted in a higher domed potion of the ceiling made of dangling, diamond-like shards. He blinks. It is gone. But he can still hear the faint melodic chiming of clinking crystals in the still air.

This is a ghost city, a kingdom of moonlight, haunted by residual memories of what once was… and what might have been. Imprints. Shadows. Dreams differed. It is eerie, yet somehow breathtaking. Captain America tries to ignore the sting of guilt for their plight. The Cerael would not have to leave, not be on the warpath, had it not been for them. Like humanity, they are merely trying to find their place in the universe and assure the continuation of their race. Their desire to live is just as fierce as Humanity's.

Then again, they also took Lola from him. He promptly shrugs off the remorse.

They emerge beneath the domed ceiling where the crystal chandelier hung. Three tunnels converge here. There is the tunnel they came down and two more, splitting off to the left and right. Thor's attention vacillates between one passage and the next, neither giving any obvious indication it is the right one. It is most perplexing. He cannot fathom why anyone would make a city so impossible to navigate. He misses the decidedly simple grid system of Asgard. Suddenly, the fraction of crystal floor he stands on juts upwards and he must brace his legs to find his balance and avoid tumbling to the ground, which is getting farther and farther away.

"Thor!" The Captain calls. The elevating spire slows to a stop. Thor readies himself for an assault of some kind. Nothing happens. From high above his companions, he looks back down at them and shrugs his brawny shoulders. Suddenly the platform of the spire extends horizontally in a slender bridge to the far wall, which opens up like the entrance. Thor regards it cautiously.

"Perhaps this is the path," Thor hollers.

"Thor… I don't think that's a good idea." Widow is almost certain the crystal will shatter under his lead weight, but he crosses the bridge with little trouble. Thor raises his hammer and peers into the new, darker passage. He steps off the bridge to inspect the tunnel for traps. A wall immediately forms behind him.

Widow's slack face sinks into her hand. She drags her palm down to her chin. The bridge retracts and the spire descends. It vanishes into the floor, leaving it seamless and glossy once more. Widow and Captain America glance at one another. She strides up to the same spot. Nothing happens. Natasha, reasoning that perhaps she does not weigh enough for the sensors, or whatever spooky force initiates the bridge, to detect her presence, jumps up several times and slams her feet down on the base, succeeding only in making the floor light flare up. She folds her arms and frowns at Captain America.

Captain America curiously steps up beside her. They wait, standing particularly close to one another for good measure. Nothing comes of it.

"Maybe it only works once," Captain suggests. Widow drums her fingers on her arm impatiently. She turns on her heel and tries another spot. After several more attempts, she gives up.

"I guess we're officially split up," she informs him. From the sound of it, or lack thereof, Thor comes to a similar conclusion at the same moment and stops smashing his hammer against the barrier wall above. Widow selects the left passage and marches into it with Captain America following close behind.

The episode back in the intersection has her thinking. She likes analyze everything and does not particularly care for mysteries she cannot explain. "Do you think the traps are activated by touch?" Widow muses aloud.

"What do you mean?" Captain America asks, scanning their surrounds vigilantly as they venture on.

"The walls. This place. It's like it could see right through you back there, right into what you were most afraid of."

The Captain considers her theory, unsettled by thinking of this crystal city as a creature rather than a structure. He would rather not believe that. He would rather believe that someone is pulling the strings behind the scenes. Individuals are much easier to fight than giant entities made of hooey and hocus pocus. Clearly, the Cerael are not friendly hosts. Outsiders are not welcome in their midst. Perhaps the entire city is somehow enchanted… but alive? "Face your fears and break the illusion," he reiterates. "I guess it's possible." He does not want to admit it, but he does anyway.

Beside him, Widow dips her chin in a subtle nod. She glances at her hand, remembering when she touched the crystal. She wonders, briefly, what she is most afraid of.

They stop in their tracks when a growl, or perhaps a groan, swims through the air. It echoes on and on and on. They can hear slow, heavy thuds in the distance, though it is difficult to pinpoint with the ricochet effect. The suspense is immensely uncomfortable. An enormous shadow bobs onto the wall where the passage bends up ahead.

"No way," Captain America blanches.

The gigantic beast lumbers into sight. Of course. Widow groans.

"Seriously?" the Captain says to her.


Thor's steps take him down the hall, the vibrant blue of his eyes accentuated by the pale light from below. It is still cold enough to occasionally see puffs of his breath, but the air is slightly warmer on this level, likely because the tunnel is cramped and heat rises. His armor and cape are heavy with water. He is worried for his friends below, but after experiencing his inability to help the Captain out of his predicament, he reasons his presence will make no difference during their journey. They will reunite eventually. This tunnel is not like old passage. It is one continuous hallway, straight as an arrow, the darker crystal of the domed wall jagged and treacherous.

At long last, the tunnel ends. The ceiling slopes upward, endlessly. He comes to the tallest, steepest set of stairs he has ever had the unfortunate pleasure to encounter, stacking up into the darkness. Thor commences the long and arduous climb. After perhaps the thousandth ledge, he begins to grumble to himself. Because he has nothing else to occupy his mind, aside from complaining, his thoughts stray to Lola. Moreover, he begins to soak in the authenticity of Captain America's feelings for her. It is not every mortal, super or not, who would risk so much for one who terrorized their home planet. It is most perplexing. Until yesterday, he was not aware Lola, or Loki as he prefers, was even capable of sincerity. Then again, Thor knows firsthand how easy it is to fall in love. Sometimes, a matter of days is all it takes.

Captain America would not be doing this for Loki... unless…


The battle between Iron man and his doppelganger is taking a serious toll on him. Every attack attempt goes awry. His ego is nearly as bruised as his body. The imposter is relentless and exhibits uncanny accuracy regarding every weakness of his, namely the Arc reactor. He is struck in the shoulder and plunges into the asphalt. "Mr. Stark, your levels are reaching critical."

Stark manages to respond. "You know what?" Rolling aside to dodge another energy blast, "I take it back. I look sexy. Sort of rugged. Must have been the light. Jarvis, when this is all over, let's submit a petition to change the wattage in the street lamp network."

The mechanized voice sounds distant and uncommonly sepulchral. "… I'll see what I can do, sir."

Meanwhile, a ring of Ceraelians are advancing on Hulk. After a flash of light, they form a concentric circular cage, mutating into lofty walls made of the same material that comprises the crystal city. The transplasma is unbreakable.

"NO CAGE!" Hulk hollers. He roars in rage. He rushes headlong into the barrier, barreling into it over and over in various places in an attempt to find a breaking point. The living cage holds fast. He slams his heavy fists against the unforgiving rampart. He pushes and punches and kicks. The wall is so tall that he cannot clear it by jumping. He tries to scramble up and slides down with a disparaging thud. He is trapped.

Outside the Smithsonian, a mortified Hawkeye is being pursued by a gang of killer clowns. Much to his chagrin, he is unreservedly terrified of them. His fear is rather ironic, being that he grew up in the circus, and he has no idea how they know, because no one does… because he does not talk about it. Ever. His arrows are useless and the feathered charges do nothing upon detonation save for demolish surrounding buildings. Barton has to face the facts.

They cannot win this fight. The Capitol is taken.


Captain America and Black Widow are sprinting down the cobalt corridor with Hulk at their heels.

"Does Bruce know about this?" Captain shouts above the bellowing roars. Funny enough, this is probably the perfect place for the Hulk to live, albeit the atmospheric toxicity. He can't break anything. "But this can't possibly be the real Hulk. The real Hulk is on Earth!"

"He looks real enough to me!" she screams back. They veer back into the chamber where Thor disappeared. Captain America grabs the corner and seizes Widow by the wrist, yanking her around into his arms instead of and racing out onto the floor. Hulk comes galloping behind them, but has such great momentum that he cannot make the sharp turn. He loses his footing and slides out onto the floor, skidding and slipping as he tries to adjust his course. He crashes into the far wall. Widow looks around, searching for their next move. They cannot run forever. The walls are not apt for climbing. Meanwhile, Hulk is finding his feet, or fists rather.

"Ma'am," the Captain says to her, meaning it fondly. "This is all you." There is encouragement in his eyes, but it does nothing to buoy her confidence. Widow tears her attention from his face to the Hulk. She is having trouble concealing the fact that she is shaking like a leaf as the monstrous green beast paws the floor and plods towards them. Insomuch as she respects Bruce Banner, she fears the Hulk much more so. Her experience with him on SHIELD's floating fortress was less than pleasant. The Widow prays on weaknesses and deception, but there is no fooling the Hulk. He is not swayed by her feminine charms. He has no weaknesses. She is terrified of him. But then again, Captain America is right. This cannot be the real Hulk. This is an image, a dangerous tangible image, but an image none the less. Hulk roars and charges. Captain America immediately takes action, positioning himself in front of Widow, ready to throw his shield. She ducks under his arm and dashes forward.

"Natasha!" the Captain hollers, but she does not stop. She races headlong at Hulk, plants her feet, fists her hands, and yells… not unlike the Hulk himself. She stands before him like a predator, poised to pounce. Hulk clumsily skids to a stop. He watches her warily, his eyes darting over her. He appears confused. She fills her chest and squares her shoulders. Hulk leans down, baring his teeth. Widow glowers up at him and snarls back, keeping her expression hard and determined. Captain America is plainly astonished. He holds his breathe. Before their eyes, Hulk begins to shrink until Bruce Banner stands before them. The corner of his lip kicks up into a smile. He winks and vanishes. Widow's heart is hammering in her chest. Captain America practically faints from relief.

Suddenly, the fraction of the floor under Natasha's feet begins to rise. "Captain!" she prompts. The secret spire has been activated. Captain America races forward. Widow kneels just in time to catch his hand when he jumps up. His weight nearly yanks her clean off her roost, but she manages to keep her balance. His feet scramble for purchase on the sheer crystal tower. Together, they eventually reel him up. The tower stops growing and the ramp extends to the new opening in the wall. "This is just like Super Mario!" Widow says triumphantly, striking a victory pose. Captain America looks clueless. She laughs and shakes her head. "Nevermind Steve." Black Widow and Captain America grin at one another and hasten across the bridge.


Thor stops on the stairs and looks upwards, poised to continue. His brow furrows. He can see the landing peering out of the shadows another hundred or so steps away. He is close. He can feel it.

Here, Thor is besieged with a new burden. Their quarrels, differences, and tenuous relations notwithstanding, is he ready to let Loki go? Is Thor willing to step aside and relinquish Loki to someone else? He realizes it is unfair of him to expect otherwise. He cannot have both Jane and Loki. He loves Jane. He loves Loki too, but not in precisely the same manner. The disparity is tough to put into words. It has always been hard for him to vocalize his feelings. He was hell-bent on giving Loki a piece of his mind back at the base though. He was so irate in fact that he must have wandered in circles elsewhere for quite some time before he finally stumbled across them in the bunking sector.

Another thought occurs to him. Unlike Steve, Loki, erm.. Lola, never saw him and the doppelganger together together and likely remains under the impression that he is the cause of her predicament. She will not know him from the imposter. Captain America is not with him to convince her otherwise. This is assuming Loki is… still alive. He cannot think that way. Thor starts to climb again with renewed fervor.

Thor arrives at the broad landing, tapering off to a solitary set of double doors in the shape of a pentagon. Bracketing the doors are two torches mounted in crystal sconces. Their flames burn a bizarre mix of blue and gold.


Lola drifts in and out of unconsciousness, exhausted by the perpetual pain that is making her delirious. In this compromised state, she is as close to mortal as she has ever been. The knife's blade is unyielding. The moments drag on and on. She does not recall when The Other disappeared. She hears nonsensical conversations and other unintelligible noises. She turns her face towards a more familiar sound, that of a door opening, and a sharp edged shape of light outlining what must be a doorway. A silhouette stands there, tall and arresting as a mountain. Her feverish mind is nearly maddened enough to hope it is Rogers. But, as the figure approaches, her worst fears are confirmed. Lola chokes on something between a laugh and a sob and turns her head in the opposite direction.

Of course it is Thor. Of course he would come to her one last time, to mock her, to close his vicious deal, to exact vengeance of the worst kind, to see her off. Perhaps he has come to demand payment from The Other as well. She wills him not to speak to her, but fate is deaf to her pleas and he kneels beside her.

"Loki?" Thor croaks, having the audacity to sound horrified. Lola rolls her eyes, gritting her teeth through another painful muscle spasm. "Loki," he says again. Lola is wracked with agony, battling against the urge to respond and the instinctual desire to tense up. She just wants him to leave. "It is I." She closes her eyes and curses him. Naturally, she knows it is him! She is dying, not daft. "It was not me. I could never betray you like that," he persists. She is anesthetized to his lies. She will not be fooled again. Lola whimpers in spite of herself when Thor gathers her into his arms. His touch makes her clammy skin crawl, but she is too weak to resist. "Please," he begs. "Look at me." Lola opens her eyes, but she does not look at him. Thor does not beg. Even less does he beg to her. He continues. "I searched for you for weeks." She wonders why he is telling her this yet again. "And it took me a great while to realize why. I had not even planned far enough ahead to know what I would do with you when I found you. I know I am rash and unreasonable… and a slew of other things according to you. I know. I am not like you. And perhaps that is why I admired you so, and still do." Lola can barely uncover the vigor to frown. "I have envied you for many years. I have envied your way with words, your intellect, your grace… I did not see. I did not realize-"

"Stop it," she forces out hoarsely. She swallows, but it is not helping anymore. "Leave me."

"I have come here to liberate you. We-"

She cannot fend off the seizing muscles anymore. They tense and coil, the knife cutting into new flesh. "You - brought me here," she whispers.

"No!" he insists passionately. He is quite convincing. "No, I did not. That was an imposter, a trick. I could never- You know I could never! I love you!" Lola finally looks up into his familiar face. His eyes, crinkled at the edges, are shimmering with tears. His cheeks are wet, the drops catching in his short blonde net of beard. There is nothing but honesty radiating from those clear, vivid blues. She knows him. She knows now.

Thor. Her Thor.

A tremendous amount of relief fills her up. She should have known Thor would never. The pain is waning and with it goes the cold. She can hardly feel it now. Instead, she is strangely comfortable… and immensely tired. Like her eyes, the rest of her body are also growing heavy, numb, and distant. Lola understands. She has nothing left. The quiet realization must have surfaced in her face.

Thor's eyes widen with concern. He closes his hand around the hilt of the dagger to pull it out. She reaches up and lays her hand over his. Thor looks at her, his eyes floundering in a sea of tears and confusion. Lola remembers what The Other said. She does not want that on Thor's conscience. She shakes her head gently. There is acceptance in her gaze, but Thor's is a different story entirely. "I love you," he professes again, as though he expects the words to heal her. He does not understand that they already have.

Thor begins to shake his head, bracing his hand against her jaw, his rough thumb smoothing a few damp strands of black hair from her cheek. "No. Loki, please. Hold on. Please." His robust veneer is cracking. Still, he is sinfully handsome. He will always be sinfully handsome. As will Rogers. No. She is dazedly amused when she realizes that Rogers is even more so. She wants to respond, but the power to speak has left her. Thor knows she loves him. He knows because she said it mere hours ago. The most she can manage is a shallow smile. In those last few seconds, she is no longer staring into Thor's face, but gazing into Steve's blue eyes.

She can no longer keep her eyes open. We, Thor said. So, Rogers couldn't stay away after all. In the blackening privacy of her mind: I love you too, she imparts, but it is not addressed to Thor. She is laying in bed, enveloped in an oversize shirt. Rogers has her under his arm. Nothing can touch her now.

It is finally over.


The Other advances from the shadows, ready to plunge a jagged danger into Thor's back, when Captain America bursts through the door. He flings his shield at the skulking creature, rendering him unconscious in a single blow. The Other collapses into an undignified heap on the floor, his weapon skidding to a stop at Thor's feet.

Captain America emerges into the faint light. His eyes, brimming with the hope that burns in his blood, search the expanse. His sense of triumph is fleeting. When Thor finally meets his eyes, he is struck by his hollow expression. Thor shakes his head. Captain America cannot comprehend, does not want to understand, what he means… until he sees Lola in Thor's arms. He is compelled to go to her so strongly that he drops his shield as he hurries forward. Thor lays Lola's body on the floor while the Captain watches in shock. Thor stands and turns his face away.

"Lola…?" Captain America's knees buckle and he crumbles beside her, looking on, unable to breathe with his arms limp against his thighs. He reaches up and peels back his mask because it is suffocating him. He hesitantly reaches out, his broad hand shaking uncertainly. He leans over her, checking for a pulse, for a stream of air from her nose. She is still. His shoulders wilt. His spirit withers. Steve shakes his head, beset by denial. They cannot be too late. This cannot be. They have traveled so far and overcome so much, only to be defeated by a felon they cannot fight? ! For Steve, the reality is unacceptable. He promised. He promised. He is utterly blindsided by an ending like this, when only seconds before he was certain they would succeed, that for once, in the pursuit of saving something he cherished so fiercely, he would triumph, that he would not be betrayed for needing someone, that he would not fail… this one time.

His expression becomes severely pained. Romanoff, who had more difficulty on the damned stairs than Rogers, runs inside. She gasps but at this point, Steve has forgotten about his two companions. For the moment, the world is completely empty and he is alone with the worst of its pain and the brunt of its guilt. There is no worse feeling. He yearns to be drowning, for the chill of the frigid water to numb the agony, and the pressure of it bearing down on him.

Natasha looks on, her hands cupped over her mouth as she fights to stay composed. She has never witnessed Captain America break and the sight is horrible. Thor cannot watch.

He slides his arm under Lola's back, the other behind her neck, and cradles her close to him. Her body is dreadfully cold, dashing the last of his hopes. Steve squeezes his eyes shut as he presses his forehead against hers. He is too late. He forces his voice from his throat. "I'm so sorry," he remits hoarsely. There is no farewell, no last moment with her, nothing to sooth the ache in his chest. He rues the day he surrendered to the experiment and loathes himself for welcoming the agony with an open invitation. Sure, his body can endure tremendous punishment time and time again. If only they had endowed his heart with the same strength. What good is a hero if he cannot save the ones he loves?

"Kiss her," someone proclaims. Steve glances back at Natasha, sick with his grief and aghast at what he believes to be a joke in the midst of such a travesty. "Don't give me that look," she manages, gritting her teeth to keep the tears away. "The highest room in the tallest tower," she reminds him, a picture of uncharacteristic sheepishness. She wipes her cheek stubbornly. "It's worked before!"

Steve looks back at Lola's body laying limp in his arms. He is torn between laughing bitterly at Natasha's admission to fairy tale know-how and weeping unreservedly. The suggestion is plainly ridiculous. This is no fairy tale. In fact, the idea of embracing a corpse should be revolting.

Still… Maybe

The suggestion is foolish, but like a fool, he lets the possibility rekindle hope in his heart. He swallows thickly. The thought occurs to him offhandedly that he should remove the dagger first. It's a stupid notion. He does it anyway. Steve wraps his fingers around the hilt, struck by the strange tingling in his palm, trying not to let it fan the flame of optimism. He blinks warily. His brows knit together. He extracts the blade which slides free.

His lips hover above hers. He wonders if it should be a real kiss, or a quick peck. His bashfulness and stomach would rather the later. But he doesn't want to look like an idiot. What will she think, should she wake up? Will she be offended? Will- Steve's eyes snap open when he feels a cold hand around his daggered fist.

"If you're going to kiss me, can you at least wait until I'm conscious?" Lola smiles weakly. Steve cannot believe his eyes. Bewildered, he stares with wonder into her face. Thor and Natasha are just as stunned. "I should have realized it sooner," she says. "The Other said I could not remove the dagger, lest I die." Her illusion was broken when she realized Thor was not responsible and all would be well once he removed the dagger. But, because she did not know that at the time, she had stopped him, believing he would blame himself should she die. She can feel her magic coursing through her again.

Lola reaches up and caresses Steve's cheek. "You're crying," she says too gently. "It is alright now," she reassures…

because, yes

it rectifies everything.