The hunting party stands speechless. Steve is smiling, his eyes alight in dazzling blue, beholding her like a precious gem. Lola averts her eyes.
"I must look a mess," she relents sheepishly, somewhat ashamed to be seen in such an unprepossessing state. But Steve is still looking at her as though she is the most beautiful creature in the cosmos. Lola notices the darker sheen to his hair and the stray strands that fall over his forehead. In fact, his arms feel damp.
"Why are you all wet?" she asks, attempting to chuckle as she reaches up to brush his hair from his brow. Steve just slowly shakes his head, his smile expanding by the second. He has only just brought her close enough to touch their foreheads together when Thor suddenly shoulders his way past Steve, bumping him aside with the awe inspiring might he remains endearingly oblivious to. He swallows Lola up in his arms, holding fast to her oddly feeble figure. He fits the bridge of his nose against the crook of her neck. She feels his broad hands find purchase in the fabric of her shirt. The desperation of the embrace is a testament to how gripping his terror was. She realizes that, possibly for the first time in his life, Thor God of Thunder was afraid.
Lola, who can see nothing beyond his hunched form and bulky shoulders, is momentarily paralyzed by the sincerity of the action. She gradually brings her slender arms around his neck and folds herself against him. She squeezes her eyes shut and clutches to him as tightly as she possibly can, which to her chagrin is a feather's weight in comparison.
"My benevolent lion…" she whispers and sighs. She is so focused on soothing him that she does not notice he is picking her up until her feet leave the floor and dangle just above his boots. He carefully sets her down. He steadies her when she sways, his hands never leaving her. Steve is standing close by, but she can tell he is taking great measures not to encroach on their time. He is more prudent than to interrupt where Thor is concerned. She meets Rogers' eyes, which are searching yearningly for hers. A weary smile crosses her pale lips. She leans her head against Thor's chest, gazing at Steve in a way she has never gazed at anyone.
Thank you, she mouths. There is a resigned expression on his handsome face and as he dips his chin the way any dutiful soldier would, she is overcome with affection. She sweeps her hair back into place, the damp strands drying.
A raspy laugh snaps their attention to The Other, who lays sprawled out on the ground where he fell. He bears his bloodstained teeth in a crooked grin, his hood thrown back to reveal his revolting face. Thor protectively brings her closer against him and brandishes his hammer towards the fiend. Hoarsely, "How touching," The Other croaks. His sibilant voice makes her skin crawl. "But your reunion is in vain. You may have rescued your princess… but you shall never find your way out of this labyrinth."
"Then you will lead us there," Rogers demands, fisting his red hands and angling his body towards The Other aggressively.
He coughs. "Why would I do that?"
Natasha loads a fresh magazine into her gun. "We'll persuade you."
He laughs, the sickly sound making Lola cringe. "Kill me then. You haven't the time to find the exit, even if I tell you. Even now, the fumes are enveloping the city. You are all doomed."
"Then so are you," Natasha rebuts.
"Fumes?" Lola repeats. "What is this place?" she asks the group collectively, her eyes darting from figure to figure.
"We're on Ceras," Rogers tells her.
Her mind is dazed by confusion. "Ceras?"
"Aye. The Empress has aligned herself with this scum," Thor proclaims, his attention locked on The Other. Lola's eyes widen and she stares at The Other as well. The Ceraelians and the Chitauri, cooperating together? The irony is difficult to stomach. She feels more strength leave her legs and she grits her teeth.
The Empress is using her. Even now she is using her to further her own ends by drawing the Avengers away from Earth. It is very much something Lola would do. But naturally, no one but Lola is allowed to do it. Wretch. Lola will have to muddle through the shock that three, not one, but three Avengers came to her aid later. She has been made a fool and deemed a pawn, an expendable piece in the Empress' game. The shrew tricked her into believing Thor would deceive and betray her. It cut her so deeply. Lola knows she is watching them, convinced the entire palace is one giant spyglass. Lola feels a surge of power. Her relief is upended by rage.
"It's a long story," Natasha pipes up. "But we'll have to fill you in as we go."
Rogers nods. "Natasha's right. Let's split."
Thor snarls, his rough brow creased by angry folds. "What of him?"
He just finishes as a jagged shard of ice sails through the air and impales The Other through the chest.
Amidst the gurgling keens of agony, Rogers whips his attention to Lola who remains close to Thor, streams of his white breath misting the air. His pulse flatlines and his eyes widen in disbelief, noticing the blue of her skin and the red of her eyes. But it is the feral smile on her face that disturbs him the most. Flakes of ice are crystallizing on the seams of his suit as the temperature of the room plummets.
No one moves as Lola steps forward, freeing herself from a noticeably shaken Thor's arms. She approaches The Other, walking on her own, drawing from strength he was certain he did not possess a moment ago. Her attire changes, morphing into a familiar fitted green and black robe, tailored to hug her feminine figure, festooned like the royalty she is. She inclines her chin as a pointed golden band appears at her hairline. Familiar satanic horns curve up from the simple crown. It is not exactly like the helmet he remembers, but the resemblance is undeniable. If he had any doubts before that Lola was Loki, they have left him now. She is beautiful… and terrifying.
"You think you know pain?" she asks The Other in a particularly vindictive purr. She extends her hand and begins to spread her blue fingers. Rogers watches the ice shard splinter into smaller pieces that worm their way into The Other's flesh and disappear into his body. He shrieks, emitting sounds more akin to a dying animal than a man. Roger's stomach flips. "You know it now. Hear me Vyctraes. This is but a taste of what you shall endure when we meet again."
"Wait-!" The Other gasps, writhing in agony. "Please! I will tell you!" he chokes out. "There is an underground passage—beneath the stair-!" Lola remains deaf to his pleas and merely smirks, a backhanded thanks for the confession. He screams and wails as purplish blood begins to ooze from his nose, mouth, ears, and eyes. The tips of countless ice shards emerge from his body and like a stuck pig, he quickly bleeds out. The Other is still.
Thor, who has never seen Loki's Frost Giant form, stands slackjawed. He drops his hammer.
And the floor… cracks!
After the sobering thud, "What was…?" Natasha hurries forward and practically falls next to the small miracle, the bone chilling cold affecting her usually fluid movements. Her teeth are chattering. Sure enough, the floor beneath the weighty weapon is spidered with cracks. "Look!" she tells them. Thor kneels beside her. "The temperature drop! The crystal breaks when it's colder than normal!" she announces. "This is huge! We know their weakness now. If we can somehow create—" Her voice fades away.
Rogers is too troubled by the gruesome execution to take his eyes off Lola. He is curious in the way a child is curious of a poisonous blossom as she peers over her shoulder at Thor and Widow. He had forgotten. He had forgotten that beneath the delicate feminine exterior, she is an incalculably powerful alien being. He wants to go to her, to finish the moment he still longs for, that plays over and over in his head. He misses the closeness, affection, and vulnerability. He yearns to experience the sensation that she needs him. If only he had been a mite braver. If only he had manned-up kissed her when he had the chance. She seems so unapproachable now – remote and invincible. There is a wall around her so thick that it is practically touching his chest. The short distance between them feels unbridgeable. Though his limps are stiff with cold, his heart is hammering and the blood in his chest boils. She stands like a god, like an angelic demon, like a celestial villain, like something absolutely unattainable. She is different… and the same. She needs no one, not like this.
Rogers feels robbed of something he cannot identify.
He wants her. But just as much if not more so, he wants her to want him. Lola's attention swivels his way. Their eyes meet. Captain America instinctively tenses up, but Steve Rogers is stung by the blatant hatred in her ruby leer. Her expression gradually thaws. She looks away.
His desires will have to wait. Now, there is the matter of getting out.
Nick Fury addresses The Council in the videoconference room, standing proudly with his head high and his feet shoulder width apart. His confidence is shaken, but he does not let it show. Tensions are high and the subject matter is grave.
"Is the President safe, Director?" the woman on the middle screen begins.
"Yes. He and his family have been moved to a secure, undisclosed location."
The man on the left says, "We are in dire straits Director. The Capitol is lost. I don't think we have to tell you what that means."
"Or how it looks," the man on the right adds.
Fury dips his chin accordingly. "I understand your concern, councilmen."
The woman sounds perturbed. "Where is the other half of your team, Director?"
Fury pops his jaw discreetly. He still isn't happy with the three of them for leaving without his permission. Then again, Loki's know-how is somewhat indispensible at this moment in time. Their actions are justified from a strategic standpoint. He chooses not to acknowledge they went for other reasons. "Captain America and Black Widow are accompanying Thor on a mission offworld."
The man on the right looks mystified. "… Offworld?" He clears his throat and changes tactics. "Don't we need them here?"
"What mission could be more pressing than the defense of their country?" the woman in the middle hisses, clearly incensed.
Fury selects his words carefully. "They have gone to retrieve an… artifact that should help us defeat the invaders. What's more, the United States is not Thor's country. He has adopted Earth, if you take my meaning. We should consider ourselves lucky Asgard is even batting an eyelash."
The woman drums her fingers against her desk. "What sort of artifact?"
"One that can provide insight. We are doing the best we can. Vibranium, duranium, grenades, tanks, energy blasts… Nothing scratches them. We know very little about the enemy."
The man on the right stammers, "They've made no demands? No offers?"
"Tell me, Ron. How many science fiction flicks have you seen where the invaders give an ultimatum? These are aliens, councilman. Not terrorists. They're here for an extermination. Nothing more."
"What is the casualty rate thus far?" the woman demands.
"As it stands, the official death toll is roughly twenty seven hundred. But the unofficial number, we estimate, is over ten thousand."
The man on the left sits back and steeples his fingers. "We do not approve of the way this is being handled, Director."
"What would you like me to do? Send them a fruit basket?"
"We are running out of time. We need them back now."
The woman purses her lips. "What is the status of the weapons created from studying the Tesseract?"
"They are unfinished. And without the Tesseract, they cannot be operated," Fury remits.
"What of the rest of the Avengers?" the man on the right inquires.
Fury closes his good eye and sighs through the nose. "Banner and Stark were airlifted from the field. We sustained extensive losses during the rescue. Stark remains in critical condition. Agent Barton is… still missing. We suspect he has been taken prisoner." Mostly because after the recent loss of Coulson, no one wants to assume anything else.
"Will the Iron Man recover in a timely fashion?" the woman asks. Her haughty voice grates against his nerves.
"Our best are working on him now. It seems the Arc Reactor suffered heavy damage from what he describes as a clone of himself." Fury sets his teeth. "I will be frank. These… things… were able to contain Hulk – a feat our military could never accomplish. I am not certain, unless a weakness is gleaned from this artifact, that we can defeat them, even if Thor and the rest are present. All our hope is with them, council members. So instead of harping on their whereabouts, you best pray they do not return empty-handed. Because if they cannot find this artifact, they shouldn't bother coming back at all."
The four of them stand on the topmost landing, gazing down into the infinite blackness of the abyss that shrouds the ground level. Captain America and Thor begin the descent. Lola's eyes shift to Widow who does not move. She has her arms locked over her chest, gazing down gravely, shivering from time to time. Widow must have sensed the attention because he glances at her. Her lips are tinted blue and the color is leaving her face. She dodges her glance, but not before a flash of defeat passes over her eyes. Natasha is human. And her human body, as resilient and persistent as she is, cannot weather this harsh environment for much longer. They have no time to climb. Lola kneels and lays her blue hands on the ledge of the landing.
"What are you doing?" Natasha asks, sounding suspicious. Below, Thor and Captain America pause and turn to look back at them. This crystal transplasmic material, Lola has realized, amplifies her power. It makes sense, due to the distant relation between Ceraelians and Frost Giants. She does not need water, or any other outside energy, to create ice. A glacier-like sheet appears at the summit of the stairs and jets downward, forming what Natasha recognizes, to her delight, is a slide.
Lola stands and dusts her hands off. Thor shoulders his hammer and smirks. He jumps onto the glacier, poised with one foot in front of the other, and slides down… standing. Lola rolls her eyes and puffs a strand of black hair from her face. Captain America looks at her. She flits her hand through the air dismissively. He nods. Captain America treks back up the steps, removes his shield, and places it face down on the lip of the landing tangenting onto the makeshift slide. He takes a seat. While Rogers holds his shield in place with his hands on the floor, Widow climbs aboard and wiggles in behind him. She wraps her arms around his waist with an ecstatic grin on her face. Lola suspects Rogers took the front so he can cushion the impact when they go shooting off the end, sliding over the floor, and possibly crashing into a wall. So noble.
Lola places her boot on the anterior rim of the shield. Rogers glances back at her. He looks considerably less thrilled than Natasha does. Lola smirks and wrinkles her nose. Steve gives her this pathetic, pleading, blank faced look, wrapping his red gloved hand around Natasha's arm. Lola waves her fingers at him… and shoves with her leg.
Captain America and Black Widow zoom down the slide like a bullet from a gun. She can hear Natasha cheering and shrieking with joy all the way down. Clearly, the woman is an adrenaline junkie. Steve on the other hand, not so much. She wonders, briefly, if he will ever forgive her.
Now there is the matter of Lola getting down. The things I endure for these fools, she relents in despair. She sighs and vanishes her horned crown. She carefully toes her way towards the slide and peers down into the blackness. There is a shout, a clang, a thud, and then Natasha bursts into a fit of psychotic giggles.
"Alright Br- erm… Sister! It is your turn now!" Thor's voice booms up, sounding tremendously far off.
Lola massages her temples. "OH for Asgard's sake, you bumbling oaf! We are not related!" she screams back in exasperation. How many times must she remind him?
"Come on Lola! It's great fun!" Natasha calls up from the darkness. Lola groans, certain she would not use that word to describe what she must do next. She is determined to slide down like Thor did. He shall not best her on her own invention. How hard could it be? She is a graceful individual. If he can do it, so can she.
She carefully posts her foot on the steep glacier, readies herself to situate the other, removes her support from the stairs… and slips. She lands hard on the ice. The undignified event pans out precisely the way she does not want it to. She scrambles to correct herself, but it is too late. She flies down the slide, spinning and tumbling before she finally rights herself somewhat properly. She has half a mind to scream, but manages to contain the urge. The black, glossy world blurs around her, bleeding together like a dark Bifrost until she sees three distant figures appear at the bottom landing.
Rogers positions himself directly in her path as if to catch her, which she knows will not work due to the immense amount of momentum she has built up. Idiot. Lola rockets off the end and collides with Rogers, bowling him over with an "OOMPH!" THUD grunt screeeeech as they slide across the luminous crystal.
When the world is still, Lola groans, squirming some. She realizes she is lying on top of something that feels frightfully like a body. Her ruby red eyes snap open and she pushes herself up with her palms, her black hair dangling in a disheveled mess around her face. Rogers shifts his weight and props himself up with his elbows. She and Steve stare at one another. She wonders if it is possible to blush in her Frost Giant form. The notion makes her stomach churn, because her cheeks will probably turn a hideous shade of purple. The moment lingers on.
Lola self-consciously purses her lips and collects her wits. "You shouldn't have done that, you dim-witted dolt. Don't you know you might have hurt yourself? I could have broken your empty skull!" She starts to get to her feet, but Roger reaches up, hooks his hand behind her neck, and drags her down, smack into the pillow of his lips. Her hands brace against his chest. She goes rigid, her brows coming together as if she is offended and about to pull away. Rogers won't let her.
This is it.
Her undoing is complete.
She can conjure no excuse, no pithy remark, no mischievous trick or charm to thwart him in spite of the magic that races from his lips through her body. She resigns herself to the kiss and melts into the liplock, her hand traveling to his cheek. She dusts her thumb over the hinge of his Spartan's jaw. Sensing her surrender, his iron grasp softens. She feels his nose against her cheek and the warmth of his breath on her flesh. Beginning from her lips, her blue skin fades to white as her Asgardian form regains control.
This is it.
Finally, Lola knows precisely where she belongs.
