AN:/ Thank you for your lovely reviews! I'm not going to abandon this fic, I'm just something of an erratic updater =)


With the children asleep, Loki had plenty of time to himself. If the cameras were watching – and they were – all they would have seen was him pacing round the table, looking at the design on the paper, and every now and again sitting back down, presumably to think. But Loki knew that the secret to forming plans that others would disapprove of was to keep as much as possible as far below the surface as you could, so that not even the slightest of ripples could be seen crossing your face or infusing your movements.

For all their observations, for all their strength and ability to bring him down, SHIELD didn't really understand even the basics of how he operated. Loki was almost disappointed. He wasn't sure in whom.

He hoped that they didn't think he was being compliant.

But that wasn't his concern at the moment. His concern was Bruce.

He hadn't intended for the young boy to hear that conversation. He hadn't wanted any of the children to be fully aware of what was happening to them. Of course he wouldn't allow them to die, so why worry them with what would never happen?

It was worrying, however, how – involved he was with the children. There was something sweet, cloyingly so, about having dependents. Once or twice he had wondered whether he was servant or king in their little world; he cared for them and performed tasks for them, and he also gave orders that they obeyed because they recognised his authority. But he was fairly certain that to think on that would be to succumb to madness, and avoided that train of thought as much as he could. Instead, he put his mind to the task at hand.

The thing about magic, Loki mused, was that it was too much like water. It flowed through the easiest channel, and if the channel was not easy enough it would wear steadily away at the sides to make it smoother and without effort.

So was it so surprising that it was equally easy to shift a few lines out of place in the spell cast on the Avengers?

Using his own innate ability and the training that he had acquired over his lifetime in Asgard, it had only taken a little work to learn how to persuade the cuffs that he wasn't doing any magic, not really – just adjusting what was already there. Worn down over at least two centuries of use, it was unsurprising that the spells imbued into the stone were growing less and less strict on what they allowed through.

Fury really should have done his research on the little cuffs that bound his magic.

Earlier he found another point where the spell was fracturing and bleeding power. Taking note of the location and, and what had been the original pattern, he took a small bottle of diluted tincture so he could see the spell and went to the nearest door – Steve's.

Once Loki had started his assault on the spell's integrity, the spell itself had continued the theme of disintegration. Everything he had said to Bruce and Fury was quite true – they would die if the spell was allowed to continue degrading in this manner, leeching from them instead of eating itself up. Most of the work he was doing involved keeping the spell as stable as possible after his original interference, slowing down the degradation.

He was balancing their lives on a knife-edge. It was fortunate for everyone involved that he had always had a talent with knives.

Carefully opening the door just enough to peer inside, listening closely for any sign the boy was waking.

When enough time had passed for Loki to be sure that he was not, he crept across the small room and crouched by the bedside.

As Steve breathed shallowly, lying on his side, Loki could hear how he laboured even in his sleep. If he had been an honest man, perhaps he would have admitted to feeling concern, or guilt, but he was neither honest nor really a man, so he didn't bother. Instead, he dipped his fingers into the bottle and flicked some of the tincture onto the spot that the broken piece should lie, then waited for the soft glow to appear, hoping the light would not wake him.

When it did, he realised it was a little further towards the boy's spine, and repeated the action. Their nightmares, the only true side-effects of the curse laid upon them, meant they had an unhelpful habit of waking up during the night regardless of what he was doing. Flickering lights and soft glows only increased that likelihood.

Finding the point where the spell had started to break down, he whispered as quietly as he could in a chant that was almost like singing as he focused on the strands of the spell. Given free use of his magic he wouldn't have had to bother with words or chants or any kind of vocalisation, but it was necessary.

In a limited way, the cuffs could understand basic ideas. He had learned that the rationale needed to get past them went something like this: I am only saying some words, aren't I? It's not my fault the spell obeys. I use no power. I only speak words. Let me speak. I do no harm. And the cuffs accepted this logic.

He was known as Loki Silvertongue, after all, and it would be foolish to assume he could persuade only sentient creatures.

The spell rewove itself under his watchful eye, tightening where it had gone loose and unravelling where it had formed knots. It took perhaps a minute, maybe less, for it to be perfect again and for Loki to cease his chanting but even so a sharp headache took up residence behind his left eye. Although it was relatively dull for now Loki knew from past experience it would only grow as he visited each of the children in turn.

He listened to Steve, breathing easier now, for a moment or two to ensure he wasn't about to wake before standing and turning away – then he heard the easy breaths labouring again, this time not from weakness or sickness. Even in the relative darkness he could see the boy curl in on himself and shiver. Loki turned back, and pulled the cover over him a little better. The boy was ill already, born ill it seemed, and he didn't need the chill of the Helicarrier to disturb his night. Briefly he swept his hand over the child's forehead delicately enough to offer comfort without waking him, and left as silently as he had entered.

Loki made his way to the next room, ready to repeat the process. Natasha was a very light sleeper, and it would be nice to sort this little difficulty out for her before the headache got too bad and made him clumsy. It would also help if he was done with all of them before Clint woke and got his nightly glass of water – their talks were the highlight of his very long nights.

Admittedly, he did wonder what the uncursed Clint would think of their interactions with not a little glee.

More seriously, there was one thing he was sure of. For all he would hurt the children out of necessity, self-serving as it was, he would heal what he had done. It was something Odin had never really thought to do.


... he is Loki, after all.