Her throat hurt terribly, dry and raw, but that was nothing compared to the screaming headache raging behind her eyes. And that in turn paled next to the agony of her body.

Taryn frowned and moaned when even that little movement made her head pound. Her bed felt hard, unyielding, even though her blankets were warm over her–did she have the flu? No, as bad as the flu's body aches could be, they were nothing compared to this. Her body didn't just ache, it throbbed like a rotten tooth. She tried to lift a hand to touch her forehead and check for fever.

Only to be stopped short by a tight band around her wrist and the rattle of a chain.

The fog cleared instantly and Taryn abruptly remembered everything–Loki taking her from her classroom, waking handcuffed to a cot, his memories, her madness, the battle, Hassan's body at her feet–everything. Her eyes flew open and despite the pain of light stabbing her sensitive vision, she scanned the room desperately, praying that she would see her familiar bedroom at home and that all this had been a bad dream.

Unfortunately the sight that met her wasn't her own room and the handcuffs locking her wrist down assured her this was no dream. Not only that, but several thick straps crossed her chest, hips, legs, and ankles, securing her tightly to the bed.

She was well and truly trapped, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

But unlike the last time she'd woken up cuffed to a bed, now she was alone. Her right arm was strapped tightly across her body by some kind of sling, and she recalled the snap she'd felt in her shoulder after slamming into the brick wall–broken, probably. Despite the splinting, the limb still throbbed with each beat of her pounding heart. Her back and abdomen felt stiff and hot and tight, and pain stabbed through her middle every time she breathed–how hard had she been punched, anyway? She hoped like hell that the blow hadn't ruptured something internal.

She'd never even imagined agony like this. It made the worst thing she'd ever felt seem like a papercut.

And pain wasn't her only problem. The brightly-lit white room was completely empty except for her bed–a hospital bed, she saw now, with an IV pole mounted to one corner–and a wide mirror inset in the wall across from her. Her left wrist was cuffed to the silver side rail and the IV ran to the crook of her elbow on that side. The pain in her shoulder and abdomen surged raw and nauseating, making it difficult to think. Whatever that IV was, it clearly didn't contain any pain medication because she felt like she'd been run over by a tank.

Even so, she couldn't help a cautious burst of hope. There was nothing like this room anywhere in Loki's underground bunker. Apparently she had escaped and that brought no small measure of relief, even though the guilt mixed in with it was troubling. Part of her couldn't help but imagine Loki's reaction to finding that she'd left him. He would feel so angry, so betrayed–

Taryn firmly cut that thought off. Clearly she was in a hospital even if it looked like no hospital room she'd ever seen. Still, all hospitals had nurses, and nurses had pain medicine, and if she didn't get some relief from this agony soon she really was going to throw up and she thought that just might kill her. Taryn patted the bed, searching was far as the handcuffs would allow, but there was no nurse call-button that she could find. Nor, she abruptly realized as she studied the walls, did she see a door.

"Hello?" She tried to shout it but her voice came out as a hoarse, nearly inaudible croak. She licked her cracked lips with a tongue that felt almost as dry as they were and tried again. "Hello? I need help–is anyone there?"

Almost immediately a panel opened in the otherwise seamless wall. A black-clad woman with scarlet hair entered, followed by two men–one, a terrifying-looking black man wearing an eyepatch and a black leather trenchcoat, and the other–

"Barton!" she gasped despairingly, recognizing him immediately. Taryn shook her head in instinctive denial, wishing she could disbelieve the evidence of her eyes. If Barton was here then she hadn't escaped. If she hadn't escaped, this new room meant that Loki had moved her and now there was no telling how long it would be before she had another chance to get away. And she wasn't sure how much longer she could fight the compulsion to try and be everything Loki wanted her to be, to give him everything he needed, everything she was. Despite her best efforts, tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, no…"

Barton stared at her without moving, and belatedly she realized that was strange because he'd been nearly desperate to reassure her when she'd first awakened in his presence. The other man spoke, filling the silence. "Are you Taryn Elizabeth Roswell?" he asked.

Taryn nodded, still weeping silently and wishing she could curl up in a ball and hide, but the straps holding her down gave her no way to escape their scrutiny. How long would she have before Loki came to her again? What new madness would she have to fight next?

The one-eyed man seemed not to even notice her distress. "Dr. Roswell, I am Director Nick Fury, and this is Agent Natasha Romanov." He didn't specify what he was director of and she didn't ask. Taryn didn't even bother looking at either of them–she didn't want to see that glowing blue film over their eyes. Director Fury didn't seem surprised at her lack of response to his introductions. "I believe you are already acquainted with Agent Barton, although he was not himself during your prior association."

Vaguely the words penetrated the shell of misery and Taryn lifted her head to look at Barton once more. What she saw shocked her out of her tears.

The blue-light haze covering his eyes was gone.

"You're free," she whispered, staring at him, even the misery of her head and shoulder and back and abdomen momentarily fading to the background. "How did you–" Then the deeper meaning of it hit her and she gasped. "Did I–am I free, too?"

At those words, some expression entered his face for the first time–just a hint of it, barely enough to see, but she saw his anger. "You weren't controlled," Barton said, and his tone was different too–not quite cruel, but certainly chilly. "Not like the rest of us. So why–"

The man in the trenchcoat, Fury, held up a hand and Barton didn't finish the question, but Taryn didn't need him to. It was fairly obvious what he wanted to know. "I was kidnapped," she said, her throat aching. "He kidnapped me. I had nothing to do with what happened to you."

Fury withdrew a syringe from his suit pocket and held it up. The clear fluid within could've been anything. "I'd imagine you're fairly uncomfortable right now. This is morphine," he said, and somehow just knowing that relief was so close made the agony of her injuries that much worse–uncomfortable was an almost laughable understatement. "Answer our questions truthfully and you'll get all of this you need. However…"

Fury reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second syringe. This one held a cloudy, faintly yellow liquid that she instinctively recoiled from. "This, Dr. Roswell, is a concentrated and purified form of anatinus venom. It's a curious substance. We get it from the platypus–the males only. And unlike most venoms that kill or paralyze, anatinus venom's sole purpose is to cause and heighten the body's sensitivity to pain." He tapped the syringe, holding her horrified gaze the entire time. "Dishonesty or evasion will not be tolerated. Do you understand?"

Her brief moment of elation at her escape drowned beneath fear. This was like something out of a horror movie, something she'd expect to happen to terrorists in Guantánamo Bay–nothing that could ever happen to her. Taryn tried to sit up a little straighter. The straps dug into her flesh and triggered a jagged wave of agony that immediately made her stop. "What do you mean? I didn't do anything wrong! Who are you people?" The thought that she might be held prisoner again sent panic through her. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Dr. Roswell, this will go much more quickly if you just answer my questions without trying to ask your own," Fury cut off her rising hysteria. "Here's what you need to know. Answer my questions and you'll get better. Refuse to answer, or lie, and you'll get… this."

He uncapped the second syringe and, ignoring her struggles, jabbed it into the big muscle of her thigh. Then, holding her terrified gaze, he injected a tiny amount of the cloudy yellow venom.

It felt like flaming acid spread from the needle, melting her muscle, frying her skin. Taryn screamed and tried to jerk her leg away–couldn't, the strap held her fast–screamed again as her writhing wrenched fire through her middle–her leg was ice-cold, boiling-hot, muscles spasming with agony that spread outward in a malignant wave–all her wounds throbbed harder, jagged red lines of anguish piercing her flesh–

It didn't go away, but after some unknown time, she was able to stop screaming. She sobbed with terror and pain. Had she thought she hurt before? Concussions and broken bones were nothing, nothing compared to this venom. Shaking all over, highly aware that Fury hadn't pulled the needle from her leg, Taryn felt like she was trapped in a nightmare…

"Are you ready to cooperate now, Dr. Roswell?" Fury asked, the needle still an icy invasion in her flesh.

… or in one of Loki's flashbacks.

And somehow Loki's memories gave her strength now. He'd been through worse, much worse, and he'd survived–not entirely sane, true, but he'd survived. He'd found a path through the pain and she could do it, too. Opening her mind to the memories now rather than fighting them off, Taryn dove as deeply as she could into them, searching for the key to Loki's resolve.

And when she found it, it was ridiculously simple. It doesn't last forever. Hold to one thing, one single thing they can't take, and when it's over, no matter what else they pry or slice or beat out of me, they won't have won.

Taryn fought down the panic and nodded, her throat raw and her body shaking all over. Right now she didn't have much choice but to cooperate. It was clear that there would be no getting around this Director Fury–her tears would have no effect, nor would begging or protestations of innocence. Her best option–her only option–was to cooperate fully.

And she would hold to one thing. The one thing they couldn't take. It would be that Loki saw her as salvation, as goodness, as hope. They could take everything else, but she would always have that. Somehow, insane as it seemed, something about her was special enough to inspire a god to believe in her.

"I'll cooperate," Taryn whispered, thinking of hope and that pain doesn't last forever.

"Smart choice," Fury said, and finally, finally pulled the needle out. He held up the syringe, showing her the markings on the side. "You'll notice that you just received one tenth of a milliliter. Next injection will be half a mil directly into your bloodstream. Can you imagine feeling it pumping through your entire body?" She shuddered and he smiled, his expression almost as chilling as the threat. "Whatever you're imagining, I guarantee it's worse. Keep that in mind."

She would. "Can I have some water so I can answer you better?" she whispered. Her dry, aching throat was the least of her woes, but trying to talk like this would be difficult.

"Doctor's orders are nothing by mouth for now. Sorry," Fury replied, sounding anything but.

"Why?" The word escaped before Taryn could hold it back and she bit her lip so hard she drew blood. He'd told her not to ask questions–she prayed he wouldn't give her another injection just to drive the instruction home.

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment, letting her fear build. Then, surprisingly, he answered her. "Because you were shot during the raid, Dr. Roswell." Her shock must've shown on her face because he added, "You're going to pretend you don't remember what happened?"

His flat tone was all the warning she needed. "No, I remember," she blurted, knowing that if she tried to claim amnesia of her time in Loki's custody, she'd never get that morphine–maybe pain didn't last, but that didn't mean she couldn't try to minimize it, did it? Her abdomen twisted and cramped as if knowing the cause of her pain somehow increased it–or maybe that was the venom. "I just… I thought that someone punched me." Now that she said it out loud, it sounded stupid, but she'd never been shot before. How was she supposed to know what it felt like?

And then it hit her–that punch had been to her back, not her stomach. They had shot her in the back.

If she'd ever had any hope of mercy at these people's hands, that realization killed it.

The woman, Romanov, crossed to the bed and took her hand while Taryn struggled to think past the panic of her revelation. Cool fingertips pressed against her pulse just beside the metal handcuff, bringing her back to the present. Barton took the syringes from Fury and attached them to a pair of ports on her IV but didn't inject either of them. Fury watched the two agents, and he watched Taryn watching them, and then he crossed his arms over his chest. "If you lie, Agent Romanov will detect it," he warned her. "Lie detectors make mistakes. She doesn't."

"I'm not going to lie," Taryn promised, terrified and suffering and praying he would believe her.

Fury didn't respond to that. "How did you come to be in Germany?"

She gaped at him for a moment, but the slight pressure of the woman's fingers on her wrist brought her out of her shock quickly. "I didn't know I was in Germany," she whispered to explain her hesitation. Loki took me to the other side of the world?

Fury scowled. "Don't play games. How did you come to be in that bunker, Dr. Roswell?"

Taryn wanted to protest that she hadn't been trying to avoid the question, but seeing the utter lack of empathy on Fury's face–this was definitely a man who would shoot a fleeing woman in the back–she decided it was best not to even try. "Loki came to my class–my Comparative Mythology class, I'm a professor at–"

"We know."

She swallowed at the interruption and pressed on. "He came in while I was discussing the myth of the Binding of Loki. Agent Barton was with him–" now she did look at Barton again and flinched at the coldness of his expression, "–and another man, too. Loki got mad when I didn't believe he was really the same Loki in the myth and he blew up my computer with–with magic–to prove that he was the god." She looked fearfully at Fury, knowing that sounded crazy.

Fury's gaze flickered to Romanov, and although she gave no signal that Taryn could see, he nodded as if confirming something. "And what did this god–" he said the word mockingly, "–want with a mythology professor? Checking up on his old press releases?"

Taryn shook her head, starting to feel desperate. She hadn't lied but she couldn't shake the feeling that he thought she had. "He didn't make much sense then. He said I would choose him. That Sigyn had been a mistake–that was his wife in mythology–but I would understand him. He told me to dismiss my class and I did–I didn't want them to get hurt. Then he… he kissed me, and I blacked out.

"I woke up chained to a cot," she finished, her already-rough voice now almost inaudible. This was truly going to be an ordeal if one question had shredded her throat this much, but she didn't dare stop. The pain racing through her body was making her dizzy and nauseated, and if she had to endure it much longer, she might start screaming again. "He–I mean, Agent Barton was there when I woke up, too." But she stopped there because Barton's blue eyes flashed with anger at the reminder. Clearly his captivity had left him furious, not that she could blame him.

Fury stared at her for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly. Barton reached for the syringes and she flinched, fearing she hadn't been believed, but he injected a little bit of morphine into the IV line, giving her only a fraction of what was in the syringe. Then to her surprise, he reached behind the bed and pulled out a cup of ice chips. He spooned one into her mouth. It was heaven, cold and wet and far too little, but when she looked hopefully for more, he put the cup down again. "Keep cooperating and you'll get more," Barton said, and she nodded.

That little bit of medicine wasn't enough to make any difference whatsoever in her pain. She was almost eager for the next question, praying that another answer would lead to finally getting some relief. She now understood how people could be tortured into giving false confessions and thanked God that she only had to tell the truth.

"Tell me what you know about the man who kidnapped you," Fury said, crossing his arms over his chest again. "The man who calls himself Loki. Tell us everything you know about him."

What did she know about Loki? A sudden swirl of images and memories briefly swamped her–so many lifetimes, every thought and hope and dream, every hurt and slight and humiliation, birth and death and Ragnarok in endless chaotic swirling repetition.

What didn't she know about Loki?

But she couldn't describe all those memories–they were too much, too many, far too confusing, and she'd never get through it all. She could tell her hesitation had gone on too long because Fury's one eye narrowed and she blurted, "He really is Loki. He's a god, the God of Mischief and Lies, the real thing," just because she didn't want to find out what happened when Fury wasn't satisfied with her cooperation.

"What if I told you we don't believe in gods?"

"I'd tell you it doesn't matter what you believe in," Taryn replied before she could censor her words. When he scowled, she went on in a fearful rush, "I've seen what he does and it's magic. I know that sounds crazy but it is. Barton could tell you, if he remembers–"

"Agent Barton is here to discuss your memories, not his," Fury interrupted. "I'm not going to ask you again. Tell me what I want to know or you'll get another dose of the venom. Who is this man and what does he want?"

Taryn clenched her fist in frustration but quickly relaxed it again when the woman squeezed her wrist in warning. How could she make them understand when she barely understood it herself?

"He's not a man," she said, and went on as quickly as she could when Fury crossed his arms and looked angry. "I'm not lying! He really is a god! He did something to me, showed me his memories, and there were thousands of lifetimes of them. No man could have so many memories, not like that. And in every one of them, he was tortured and tormented. He wants revenge. He wants to rule the Earth and he wants… he wants me to be his queen." This last was said in a whisper but she didn't dare leave it out.

"And what's so important about you?"

Fury's question was a sneer. Barton reached for the second syringe but didn't inject, merely held it, his thumb resting lightly on the plunger. Taryn couldn't tear her eyes away from that and tried desperately to explain. "In all those lives, there was only one where he was happy," she said, starting at Barton's hand on that syringe, thinking half a mil in the vein, I won't survive that. "Only one life that was good. Somehow I was in that one–I don't know why or how, but I was there, and he decided that he needs me in order to recreate it. That's why he took me from my class. He thinks I'm going to fall in love with him and make him happy again."

It sounded like a selfish, twisted, self-absorbed fantasy even to her own ears. When she finally managed to force her gaze back to Fury again, every line of his body screamed disbelief. Her nerves finally snapped and Taryn's hoarse voice broke as she cried, "I know it sounds crazy! Don't you think I know that? Do you think I wanted to be some kind of, of obsession for an insane god bent on world domination? I don't want to be queen of the damn world! I just want to go home!"

She was crying again now, frightened and angry and in so much pain she wanted to scream. Fury stared at her for a long moment before nodding to Barton. Taryn cried, "No, don't!" but instead of injecting the venom, Barton instead reached for the first syringe and gave her another tiny amount of morphine.

"You–you believe me?" she gasped, her heart pounding so hard it was nauseating, so frightened and so desperately confused she could hardly keep two thoughts together in her head.

Fury took a breath to answer, but before he could say a word, the hidden door suddenly burst open–literally. Shards flew all around the room and peppered her with tiny stings as an enormous, heavily muscled blond man charged into the room, outrage written in every line of his body and face.

And she recognized him immediately–how could she not? That face had been in nearly every one of Loki's best and worst memories over countless torturous lives. "Thor," she breathed, panic taking over and squeezing him in its icy grip. He had tormented Loki so very many times. What would he do to her now?