I am sick. Like, really sick. Sore throat, cough, fever. It sucks. It's hard to concentrate when your that sick, so...I'll do my best to give you guys the chapter you deserve. Also, I want to thank all of my reviewers; I really appreciate you guys and your kind words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.


Chapter 11


It took two days to trek back to the compound from the Jotun caverns. Loki would have just teleported, but he knew he didn't have the strength to carry the entire group of them, after his strange encounter with the Frost Giant throne room.

That, and his mind was racing. If he tried to concentrate his magic now, he may hurt someone.

Pulling their cloaks and jackets tighter around them as they traversed the frozen landscape, they moved in silence, each contemplating the consequences of Thanos' actions, and of their own. Fandral kept glancing at Loki, knowing and understanding that the prince was shattered inside—full of guilt, anger and shame.

He could see the way Loki's fingers tightened around his spear every now and then, and he knew Loki was fighting back the urge to fall into chaos—the chaos in his own mind that had caused a prince of Asgard to nearly destroy an entire race of Jotuns—the chaos which had caused a broken man to lash out at Midgard.

As they reached the compound, coming around the back, to the South entrance, their minds reeled. Smoke rose from deep beneath, wafting up from the ripped open entrance tunnel. A few feet from the smoking hole, lay the unscathed entrance cover. There was no dent or scratch on it but it was torn from the hinges of the tunnel, and each of them had to wonder what could have been strong enough to pry the sealed cover from its home so easily.

As they dropped, one by one, down the tunnel, the devastation became worse. Bodies were strewn from one end of the mines to the other; scaffolds, stairs and tunnels were wrought with corpses of elves, dwarves, even humans. Women. Children.

Anyone who hadn't been killed, they could only assume, had been taken. Taken to build up Thanos' forces yet again. Or to sacrifice to the Lady Death directly.

As they moved, slowly, through the tunnels, stepping over bodies, moving, carefully, through the compound, Laura checked each of them for a pulse, hoping that perhaps someone had survived. She was disappointed to find this wasn't the case. Finally, they paused in front of Loki's room and, with fear and anguish painted on his face, Loki opened the door, slowly.

Scanning the room with desperate green eyes, he slumped, defeatedly, against the wall nearby when he found the room empty, devoid of any presence, and ransacked from top to bottom. Tears filled his eyes—angry, foolish tears—and as he squeezed the orbs closed, he was unashamed to let them fall down his face.

Heimdall stepped in after him. "Loki..."

"Silence," Loki hissed. "I do not want to hear your blathering, Heimdall. Trying to convince me this isn't my fault. Look around you! Do you not see what they've done? And this..."

He gestured to the disheveled room. Shaking his head, he barked, "I was meant to protect her. Thor asked me to protect her, Heimdall. And I failed."

"Your mother is a strong woman, my prince. She has every inch the warrior's heart that your father and brother have. That you have," murmured the Seer.

"Oh, shut up," spat Loki and turned, sharply, on his heel, storming toward the door of the room. He paused in the threshold. "I have little patience for your empty words. For your speeches. I should not have left! My mother is now in Thanos' grasp..."

He paused, bowing his head deeply, fists balled, knuckles white, nails digging into his palms. Then, his eyes fell upon a photograph, one of many that was strewn about the room. Picking it up, his eyes glazed over with tears yet again.

It was Natasha, training.

So worried had he been about his mother—warranted, of course—that he'd forgotten that yet another woman he loved had been down here when Thanos' numbers had attacked. In fact, it was she who had brought the attack to their attention. And now, she may very well have been back in Thanos' control.

"Natasha..." he whispered, swiveling his head slowly to look at Heimdall. He showed him the picture. "My mother and Natasha, Heimdall. Now, tell me yet again, why this isn't my fault?"

But he stalked out before he allowed the Gatekeeper to answer.

"Loki!" came the echoed cry of Fandral through the compound. His voice traveled up from the weapons workshop and Loki's brow furrowed as he tucked Natasha's picture into his tunic. Making quick work of the stairs, he paused in front of the crunched metal of the workshop door, his jaw clenching.

With slow, uncertain strides, he stepped into the workshop, and his heart nearly froze. There, on the floor, clutching her rifle, was Natasha.

Falling to his knees in front of her, he's lips parted, his mind racing, his whole body shuddering with fear. Was she...?

"There's a pulse, bub," Logan said, standing from his kneeling position to check the workshop. "Doesn't look like nothing's missing. She musta fought them off."

Fandral glanced at Loki from where he knelt next to Natasha, but then, something dawned on him and he stood, racing to his work station. Tearing through his supplies and paperwork, he began to panic. Twisting around from the torso, he looked at them. "My worst fear realized...Loki, the formula is gone!"

Loki glanced up at Fandral as he pushed his muscled arms up under Natasha and lifted her a little, inspecting her head for any permanent damage, before he pressed a kiss to her forehead and hefted her up into his arms completely. His heart beat wildly with anger and joy, rage and relief. His mother was, most certainly, with Thanos. But Natasha—his beautiful Natasha—was safe. For now.

In silence, Loki departed from the workshop, leaving Fandral gazing after him in silence. Part of him understood Loki's retreating into himself, but part of him wished that the prince cared a little more that Thanos now had his hands on the adamantium formula—something that a monster like that could use as a veritable weapon of mass destruction.

For now, however, Fandral would leave well enough alone. He knew, for all of them, the events of the last few days would need to process.


Metal ripped from rusted hinges. A blinding flash of light.

Natasha could feel the heat of the lightning. But she was never one to give up easily.

Her former teammate floated into the room and set himself on his feet. Natasha lay, still, on the floor, playing possum. Of course, Thor was no idiot. He clearly wasn't the tactician his brother was, but he was by no means a fool. Especially in battle.

And she was sure Thanos had ordered them to kill her. She knew to much. She could compromise him. Honestly, she'd rather die than go back. She never wanted to be a puppet to anyone's mind games again. She'd dealt with it in the Red Room. And with Thanos. Never again would be someone's pawn.

Thor lifted his hammer to finish the job, just in case, but she was faster, swiping his feet out from under him, causing him to stumble, and for Mjolnir to fall to his chest, pinning him just long enough for her to jump up and charge out. A Chitauri rushed her, and she leaped, grabbing the railing of one of the scaffolds, twisting around the pole and throwing herself onto its shoulder. Wrapping her legs around it's neck, she swung her body, flipping the creature to the floor, listening to the satisfying crack of its neck.

Then, she went on. She gunned down six more, before reaching Loki's room. She'd made him a promise. She had to protect Frigga.

Roundhouse kicking one final Chitauri, she flew into the room, slamming the heavy metal door open with strength she hadn't tapped in decades. She paused, suddenly, her eyes wide. Frigga stood, looking weary, holding a sword Natasha hadn't seen before. Her back was to Natasha.

In front of her were three Chitauri operatives, flanking Anna, who stood, smirking, watching the queen with a malicious amusement.

"Hello, Agent Romanoff," Anna said.

Frigga's head turned, suddenly, and she glanced at the woman behind her. Relief flooded her. "You remember."

Natasha gave a curt nod and then lifted her rifle, pointing it at Anna, her wristbands whining with power.

"What do you plan on doin', sugah? Even if you kill me, Thor's still out there."

Frigga's eyes widened. "He's...here?"

Natasha cocked the gun, the photons shrieking to life.

"And so are Thanos' Chitauri," Anna murmured. "You're outgunned, Romanoff. Give up."

"No way in hell."

Anna smirked. "Too bad, sugah."

It came quickly. The blow. Thor's hammer came down on her head with a force that might have killed her. Except she, in the last moment, before she blacked out, could tell he hadn't given it his all. Perhaps seeing his mother had stayed his hand a little.

But, as she lay there, dizzy, drifting between the darkness and consciousness, she watched the blurred vision of the warrior queen, the woman's eyes trained, firmly, on Thor.

She could hear Frigga speaking, and she could tell Thor was listening. But in her compromised state, she only caught bits and pieces. It didn't help it was in Norwegian.

"Down—deep—below—brother—father—son. Do—not—fail."

Natasha was unsure what it meant. But it seemed to spark an ember, however small, in Thor's blue eyes.

She knew not if anything came to fruition though, as in the next moment, she blacked out, still clutching her rifle to her.

Blue eyes fluttered open and she was acutely aware of the fact that someone was dabbing warm water against her head. As the solidity of life began to return to her vision, green was the first thing she saw. Green and black.

Just like in my dreams. You were always there.

"Loki."

Green eyes, which had been focused on the dipping the warm, moist rag into the rusted metal basin full of water, slid to her. A subtle flood of relief filled them, but it was masked, mostly, by a pensive sadness that she couldn't quite place.

Then, it dawned on her. "Your mother?"

"Gone," was his curt reply as he pressed the rag to her forehead again.

"I'm sorry. I tried to save her." She closed her eyes, tucking her head deeper into the pillow, feeling it throb where Thor had struck her. "It's my fault."

"It isn't," he said, shortly, and when she opened blue orbs, he did not meet them. Her brow furrowed.

"Loki-"

"It's mine," he said, finally. He removed the rag, finally, and dropped it, gently, into the water, before standing. In the corner of the room—her room, she realized—he'd set up a small, electric hot-plate, where a tea-pot was bubbling and boiling away. Without much thought to his hands, he picked up the pot, and poured her a cup of tea.

"Loki," she repeated, shifting into a sitting position against her flimsy pillows. "You can't do that to yourself."

"It will heal," he said. Her eyebrows slammed down in annoyance. I'm really getting sick of his short one-word-or-sentence answers.

"I didn't mean burning your hand, you ass," she spat. "I meant blaming yourself for your mom. You did what you had to do. The Jotuns are your family, too-"

There was a sound of loud clattering and sloshing as Loki slammed the tea pot back down on the hot-plate, his eyes gazing, glaringly, forward at the wall in front of him. He did not look at her as he spoke.

"The Jotuns are nothing but reluctant allies to me, and I will never-"

"Stop it!" hissed the woman. "I know you better than that, Loki. I saw the change in you a century ago. The god I knew would have tried to repair his relationship with his birth family. And he did. Whether you want to admit it or not, you didn't go into those caverns just because of Thanos. You were worried about your brothers and sister."

"And that is why!" Loki barked, turning to her finally, spilling the tea he'd just poured for her in the swiftness of his turn. "That is why it is my doing, Natasha. I was selfish. I left her—and you—unprepared because I...I..."

Natasha shook her head and waved him over, patting the edge of her bed, invitingly. Loki drifted to the bed, his head bowed in guilt, and lowered himself onto the worn mattress. Natasha reached out and brushed her fingers into his unruly hair, murmuring, "Because you love hard, Loki."

Loki looked at her, brow furrowed.

"You love your brothers and sister, don't you? And you were afraid to tell your mother because you thought she might feel..."

"Betrayed," Loki finished, a tear drifting down his face. "She was the only one who ever understood who I was, though. Who I truly was. She loved the monster."

"Loki, you're not a monster."

"Perhaps not," Loki murmured. "Not anymore."

Natasha was silent, then, as she remembered the devastation Loki had caused in New York. But she also remembered all he had done to help the Avengers as redemption for his crimes. And she remembered...

"Hey," she began, her fingers still playing with his hair. "Can I ask you something?"

Loki's face twisted to look at her, his eyes sad—sad but curious.

"There was a night," she said, her head dipping a little, long tendrils of rose-red curls falling into her eyes. "And it was one of the first memories I dreamed about...on this night, you came to me..."

"I came to you many nights, Natasha," he murmured, offering a dry chuckle. "You were, for all intents and purposes, my only friend during my stay in Stark Tower."

"Now, I know that's not true. You got along with Bruce and Tony after a while. Even Steve warmed up to you," Natasha replied.

"I suppose it was just your Clint Barton, then," Loki murmured, gazing at her out of the corner of his eye. "He never did seem to like me."

"Well, Clint was always good at holding grudges."

"And you? Why did you not harbor such a grudge as his?"

"Because I was always good at second chances," Natasha offered. "I've done things, Loki. And you know what they are. Things almost as unimaginable as the things you did. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I didn't offer you what I was offered? Especially when I knew you could change—that you were changing. But now you're getting me off topic!"

A soft laugh bubbled up from Loki's throat, the sound like creamy silk. Natasha remembered always liking his laugh. It was a Trickster's laugh—soft but full of amusement.

"Natasha, I remember the night you speak of. I know exactly to which one you refer. There would be no other night you might site in such a voice as this...but I wonder...why do you bring it up?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and shifted, pulling his head down into her lap and allowing her fingers to continue brushing and drifting through his hair. "On that night, you were going to tell me something..."

Loki's eyes softened, and his expression drifted far away—to a distant time, when problems were much smaller and to care for someone was not a danger. "Yes."

"What were you going to tell me, Loki?"

Green orbs fell closed and a sardonic smile spread across his face. "What an absurd question for a woman who claims to be so apt at reading others."

Natasha frowned. "Loki, please."

"Though, I must say, I was rather apt at reading you that night," he continued. "The fear in your eyes when you believed I might actually place the burden of my feelings so blatantly on your shoulders."

"Loki..."

He opened his eyes, finally, their gaze turned directly upward, at the ceiling. "...I could not bear to be the reason for your fear, again."

"So, you lied. About our friendship."

"There is a reason I am called the Liesmith, my dear," he murmured and then shook his head. "But no. I was, and always will be, grateful for your friendship. But my goal was to grow as a person and as a man. One too many times in my life had I been deemed childish."

Love is for children.

Natasha's frown deepened, causing deep creases to form around her mouth, her heart thundering in her chest. She could practically feel the pain radiating off of him—the horrible guilt from losing his mother, the cold, clenching ache from having to keep his feelings bottled for a century. But what she deemed weakness she realized was his strength. Because he loved so hard, he fought even harder.

She needed to stop running. Running from the thoughts and emotions the Red Room had taught her were weakness. Loki was proof that these things were a lie. He, himself, had learned to love his family again after the revelation of their lie. He had learned to love her even when she had mocked the ideals of love.

He was proof that love could make one more a man then ever anything else ever could.

Closing her eyes, she bent herself forward, her lips mere inches from his, and smiled, apologetically. "Then, let us be childish together."

And she kissed him.


It was silent in the weapons workshop. Fandral was sitting at his workstation, glaring down at the metal table top, trying to will the adamantium formula back into existence. At the other end of the room, Logan was inspecting the weapons they'd recently developed for tampering, and to ensure none had been stolen.

He was pleased to find neither case was correct.

He glanced up at Fandral. "Take a deep breath, bub. We'll get it back."

"It will be too late by then," Fandral murmured. "Thanos wastes no time enacting the devastation of his mind and his demented love for Death."

Logan said nothing. He had nothing to say. For once, he admitted, Fandral was probably right.

"We must not lose hope," came Heimdall's voice from near the door. "If we do, all the work our prince has done will be for naught. We must see beyond what our eyes behold—beyond what is right in front of us or we can never hope to win."

"Says the man who has his Sight no longer," Fandral replied, giving Heimdall a deadpanned looked.

Heimdall gave a small chuckle. "Then, it is more important for me than anyone, do you not think?"

Fandral offered a tiny smile, but said nothing.

"Moreover, our King, Odin, would not want us to lose faith," Heimdall murmured. "He had the most of all. He had faith that Thor would become every bit the heir Odin believed him to be. He believed peace could be attained and held by all the realms. He even believed that Loki, after all the horrors he enacted, could be saved. His faith was imeasurable."

"That reminds me," Logan chimed. "What about him, bub? His sleeping chamber, I mean. Has anyone checked it? To make sure none of Thanos' cronies tampered with it?"

"It would be most impossible to do," Fandral replied. "Loki's magic is nigh impenetrable. It would be impossible for anyone to pass through it, unharmed."

"Frigga did," Laura added, sitting, legs dangling, from one of the scaffolds above them.

"Yes, well, then I suppose that is something Loki would have built into the spell," Fandral replied, impatiently. "He's no fool. He's the most cunning man I've ever encountered. I'm sure he merely allowed for an exception for Frigga."

"Let's just say, for argument's sake," Laura offered, "that it wasn't just for Frigga, but for any member of Asgard's royal family who wished to visit Odin? Or, what if the spell wasn't foolproof and it mistook any member of the royal family for Frigga or Loki? Loki did say his magic had it's limits."

"What is this nonsense? There are no members of Asgard's royal family lef-" He paused, suddenly, his eyes widening before he turned to Heimdall, recognition dawning on them both.

"Heimdall."

"No need to say more, good Fandral," Heimdall replied and disappeared out of the workshop with unnatural speed.


Loki and Natasha lay, side by side, on her bed for a long while. The silence was deafening, but swept them into a sort of luring comfort. There was so much both wanted to say to the other, but both knew nothing more needed to be said. Childish, they realized, was code for something so much bigger between them.

After what seemed like hours, but was perhaps only minutes, had passed, Loki propped himself up, his elbow resting against her thin mattress, his head tucked into his palm as he looked down at her. "I wish to offer my thanks for your part in protecting my people today."

Natasha smiled, her hair a mane of fiery red curls, cascading out around her head like a halo as it rested upon her pillow. "It's my job, Loki. Remember? I got red in my ledger—anything I can do to wipe it out, I will. But more than that...these people were innocent and Thanos has hurt enough lives."

"I also want to thank you for protecting the weapons workshop. A lot of that technology would have been deadly in Thanos' hands. It's just a shame they escaped with the adamantium formula."

"Loki, I didn't-" She began, but something else dawned on her. "Loki, did you say they left with the formula?"

"Yes."

"And there's no other copies?"

"Not that I am aware."

Natasha grinned. "Yes, there is." She rolled over, suddenly, her back facing him, as she rummaged around on her bedside table. Then, carefully, she drew a crinkled piece of parchment from the table and handed it to him.

"This...this is the formula?" Loki blinked at her.

"Remember? The night I tried to abscond with it! You caught me...you...shook me up. And then you let me go with the formula. But I never left. I never did anything but let you get under my skin," she murmured. "And I kept it."

Loki's eyes lit up, a small semblence of hope returning to them. Then reality dawned. "But Thanos still has a copy of the formula."

"Yeah, but he doesn't have anyone who knows how to work with adamantium. You've got Logan and Laura. You've got Fandral. Anyone he might have who understands the stuff, he'd have to give their memories back in order to work with it. He's two steps behind."

Loki smirked and pressed his lips firmly to hers. "You truly are a wonder."

Natasha grinned, and then her mind swung back around to the beginning. "Now...what did you mean about me protecting the weapons workshop?"

"That is where we found you. Sprawled out on the floor, clutching your rifle. We also found the weapons we'd built untouched. Nothing was taken. We assumed you'd fought them off."

"Loki, I was knocked unconscious by Thor in your bedroom. Trying to protect your mother. I never went anywhere near the weapons workshop."

The Trickster's long, pale brow furrowed as he looked at her. "You're certain?"

"Uh, pretty certain."

"Then, who-"

"Your majesty!"

Loki's head jerked upward as Heimdall rushed into Natasha's room, his chest heaving, his breath coming in raggedly as if he'd just sprinted up an entire mountainside.

"What is it, Heimdall?" Loki asked.

"Your father's chamber—you must come, quickly."

A new bout of fear rose in Loki's heart and he stood, swiftly, from Natasha's bed. Natasha twisted her body around to follow, but she felt the gentle touch of Loki's finger on her arm.

"No, please," he murmured. "This is something I must do on my own."

Natasha's eyes swam with countless emotions, but she offered him a soft nod, a thimble of understanding drifting into blue orbs. She settled back into her pillows.

Loki glanced at Heimdall. "Watch over her, my friend. I will return." With that, he lifted the spear he'd set in the corner, carefully, and left the room, his footfalls swift, firm and determined.


The space just outside Odin's chamber was silent, save for the whizzing of old, rusted pipes and the whirring of electricity moving through the mines as it always did, thanks in large part, to the furnace a few rooms over. Loki observed no difference in it as any other day.

That is, until he approached the door. And realized, it hung open, slightly. He could still feel the power of his magic twisting, as strongly as when he'd first placed the spell, around the door, and so, as his heart thundered nervously in his chest, he had to wonder who had been able to pass the barrier unharmed, without breaking or diminishing the spell.

Stepping forward, carefully, he pushed the door open, gripping his spear tightly, allowing his magic to flow through the runes into the blade, as he stepped inside. The room was silent, and Loki felt a thread of relief to find Odin had not been taken. Laying, motionless, in his casket, he slept on, oblivious to the world around him.

However, sitting next to his proverbial deathbed was a new mourner. Head hung low, blue eyes moist, and face streaked with tears, a head of grungy, blood-stained blonde hair turned upward, slowly.

Thor.

Loki turned his spear, twisting it from its vertical position, to a horizontal one of offense. He was unsure how much he could trust this man at present. Despite the pathetic look of him, Loki wondered if he was taking a page from his own book. If it was all but a trick.

That is, until he spoke.

"Brother," Thor choked, hoarsely. "How long has he been like this?"

Loki swallowed down the lump that crawled, harshly, into his throat and lowered his spear, looking, carefully, into those blue eyes again. "Do you truly remember? So quickly?"

"It was difficult not to," Thor began, his voice wet with tears, "when I saw him as such."

"How did you find this place?"

"Mother sent me," he replied. "I was still under Thanos' control when I came down here. My ideal goal, when I first laid eyes on him, was to take him back to Thanos. But the longer I gazed on him, the more and more the memories laid themselves out in front of me."

"I suppose Thanos' control wears differently on everyone," murmured the younger.

"I saw his anger, and my exile. I saw Jane. I saw you. The Avengers...and then I began to remember the devastation I caused. I used Mjolnir as a weapon of death...I killed innocents, Loki. People I had sworn I would protect. Because I could not stop myself...because I could not be myself." He choked on a sob. "He would be ashamed of me."

"No," Loki said, firmly, approaching his brother, swiftly. A gentle hand came down on Thor's shoulder, squeezing firmly. "He would forgive you, my brother. As he forgave me. I have committed far worse travesties than you, and Father always forgave me. And I... I was well aware of my actions. But you were under someone else's control. This is not your fault."

Thor said nothing in response; he merely continued to gaze upon his sleeping father, sadly. "How long, Loki?" he repeated.

Loki was silent and then: "...a century."

"He has not woken, even once?"

"No. Mother and I fear...he may be..."

"No," Thor growled and stood. "What happened, Loki? What happened to the world I once loved? Both of the worlds I loved? I saw...I may not have been myself, but I saw. Everything is a half-formed mish-mash of what it once was. What happened?"

Loki had no reply. What could he say? Could he explain a century's worth of pain and suffering in a few sentences? He just shook his head, uncertain how to explain anything and everything to Thor in any kind of plainness.

Thor looked at him, frowning, and a fearful thought dawned on him. "Loki...brother..."

Loki glanced up at him.

"Is this Ragnarok?"

There was a pregnant silence between them, before Loki shook his head again. Slowly, with a low, uncertain voice, he replied:

"No. Somehow, I fear it's much worse."


"Wisdom is better than strength. Nevertheless, the poor man's wisdom is despised. And his words are not heard. Words of the wise, spoken quietly, should be heard rather than the shout of a ruler of fools. Wisdom is better than weapons of war; but one sinner destroys much good." Ecclesiastes 9: 16-18

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