-3-

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s newest captive had to spend two weeks shackled in a dungeon-like cell deep within the confines of the Vault until adequate holding facilities could be constructed for him at agency headquarters. During this time, Thor remained nearby in a company safehouse, and while he checked in with the staff at the prison regularly to ensure that his sibling was treated humanely, he did not visit him. It would simply be too difficult to face that deteriorating version of his brother with any regular frequency. It was better to save his emotional reserves for when they were at the Hub, when Loki's cooperation was imperative to halting the wave of evil which was threatening to consume this world . . . and, likely, worlds beyond.

Meanwhile, a team of top secret architects, engineers, and construction personnel readied a suitable series of rooms back at HQ where Loki would be held, and - assuming he was agreeable - where he would work. It was the agency's proposal that the criminal be allowed to offer his cooperation in the field of extraterrestrial intelligence in exchange for leniency in his eventual sentencing for the incident in Manhattan, although Nick Fury appeared less than satisfied with this development; he had lured Loki to the rendezvous under the guise of helping them in exchange for harboring the fugitive from his interstellar enemies. He had not been aware that the agency intended to take him as a prisoner. The operation had been bungled from all sides, it seemed, and, in the end, no one was content with the outcome.

The issue seemed to be that S.H.I.E.L.D. was no longer in charge of managing the threat to Earth, and jurisdiction had been given over to a sister-agency known as S.W.O.R.D. - Sentient World Observation and Response Department - which was only in its infancy. After the upheaval at S.H.I.E.L.D., S.W.O.R.D. was at least as developed as its predecessor but with slightly more manpower. Plus, it was formed to handle hazards like this one. So the bureaucrats gave S.W.O.R.D. the go-ahead to take over the operation (code name "Lokasenna"), and their agents largely replaced the ones that were originally assigned. When Iron Man made an unexpected appearance in the middle of their risky venture, the senior S.W.O.R.D. agent had made the call to bring in the enemy before he could flee. Without Thor's intervention, however, the entire ordeal would have been a dismal, costly failure. Not that this thought gave the warrior any comfort whatsoever.

Meanwhile, Tony had travelled to the Hub to supervise the preparations for the "Supervillain Suite," as he had deemed it. Although his assistance was spurious in the beginning, consisting mostly of wisecracks and insults aimed toward those who were allied with the S.W.O.R.D. faction of the project, he eventually settled into a quieter routine, using his billion dollar neurons for more useful pursuits than verbal abuse. He again proved himself to be quite the engineer, but when one of his concepts was particularly successful, he did not tend to let the others forget it. The senior S.W.O.R.D. agent on this assignment, Agent Gyrich, often bore the brunt of Tony's displeasure, and not gladly, at that.

"So, Good-Witch, are there any other super-secret and cleverly acronymed government agencies out there that we - referring to myself as a layman, of course - are unaware of?" Tony mocked from beneath the visor of his welding mask. "And if so, are they all named after items that you can buy at the gift shop at Medieval Times? For example, will your lovable band of misfits be superseded by a group of agents from a previously unknown department named C.O.D.P.I.E.C.E., perhaps?"

Gyrich remained stoic, refusing to answer Stark's challenges with anything more than a raised eyebrow. However, his policy of silence did nothing to stem the tide of comments that Tony was unleashing with the glee of a schoolboy. Over the next fifteen minutes, the taciturn agent was bombarded with endless suggestions for what the individuals letters in C.O.D.P.I.E.C.E. might represent, none of which were flattering. After the billionaire finished fusing the last bit of the joint he was attempting to seal, he removed his equipment and dropped onto the nearby bench, a self-satisfied air wafting over him. "The good news, Agent Garbage," Tony concluded, "is that I will be back here in about three hours with a very talented catering staff and a ridiculous array of hors d'oeuvres in order to declare the Supervillain Suite officially open for residence. How does that sound?"

The S.W.O.R.D. agent did not react.

"You can tell your minions to move the Scourge of Upper Manhattan here at their leisure," Stark instructed, checking the time on his cell. "Personally, I have a date with someone who is not dressed in one of a thousand identical black-and-white suits and is a much more engaging conversationalist. Ta-ta!" Tony stood and gave the agent a comically stiff salute before breezing out of the room.

As the door closed behind him, Gyrich gave a relieved sigh and finally allowed himself a smile.

*.***.*

"I'm going with you," Clint insisted, reaching for his jacket. There was an implacable determination in his voice which put Natasha immediately on the defensive.

"I don't think that's the best idea, Clint," she retorted, unable to keep the resistive nature of her tone completely restrained. "They're bringing Loki to the Hub as a potential source of information. Any emotional interference on your part will likely jeopardize his cooperation."

Agent Barton rounded on her, the look on his face one of both shock and disappointment. "Unbelievable, Nat," he huffed. "I cannot believe that you would go all 'protocol' on me about this."

"Believe it, Clint," she stated solemnly. "I cannot let you hinder this operation for personal reasons. It's too damn important." As soon as the expletive left her mouth, she knew it had been a mistake; it placed too much gravity on the situation with Loki and possibly, depending on how he chose to interpret it, a de-emphasis on his own inner conflict. Of course, Natasha was not unconcerned with his mental state - actually, quite the opposite when you consider how few hours of sleep she had been able to achieve lately - it was just that the stakes in this confrontation were much higher than for anything that had come before, perhaps in the history of the planet.

Coulson had spent most of his morning briefing a few key players (including herself on a very secure line) on the 'Thanos Imperative,' and the imminent likelihood of a devastating attack from a hostile alien force seemed to be an ominous prospect. If true, there would likely be no portal to close this time and no hope that a fighting force made up of a few gifted individuals would be able to curb the onslaught. If this 'Mad Titan' did have designs on their world, he would presumably have the ability to strike undetected and with a force that was rivalled by none in the universe, a campaign which would extinguish life on the planet in a matter of days if not hours. Unravelling the mysteries of the dual jailbreaks and the force or forces behind them had become a matter of immediate concern - and their best hope was also their most perilous. To place their trust in a being who until just recently had been the planet's most insidious enemy was perhaps the purest insanity, but it was a testament to how hopeless Coulson suspected their situation had become. S.W.O.R.D., however, was counseling him to delay any rash actions involving the captive Asgardian until more intelligence could be gathered.

"I assure you that I don't know anything for certain," the senior Agent had confessed during the conference call. "I can't tell you that our days are numbered. Thanos does exist - of this I am sure, and he is not the kind of guy whose attention we want to attract. And I promise you that I intend to be prepared for all possible scenarios, even the most desperate ones," Phil had spoken as his parting words. Natasha could hear the truth of what she feared very plainly in his voice: he already believed it. In his heart, he was convinced that this was a bonafide End-of the-World scenario, and he was preparing to fight just as unscrupulously as was necessary to combat the impossible odds. So it was either Blackout or Loki - someone needed to start spilling some intel, and the results needed to be immediate.

And now Clint was reading the reality of this all-consuming jeopardy in her unsettled eyes.

"What's going on?" Barton demanded of her. "What aren't you telling me?"

"You know I can't tell you anything," she responded, her eyes refusing to meet his, a reaction which was blatantly guilty. "If I could, I would already have told you."

He clamped a hand onto the crook of her arm with too much force, and she gasped in both surprise and a modicum of pain. "Bullshit, Natasha! This is more than just business - you know this is personal for me! There's nothing stopping you from telling me other than your own ludicrous sense of morality!" His eyes were wild and unfeeling, and he pulled her flush against his body roughly. She tensed reflexively into a defensive stance, preparing to physically retaliate if necessary. She could feel that he was about to lose control of his actions, and she secretly steeled herself to respond in whichever ways were necessary to de-escalate the situation. "Tell me, dammit!" he spat. "Tell me what has you so afraid, or -"

"Or what, Clint? Or what!" she shouted back at him, refusing to shrink from his show of aggression. "You'll hit me? You'll kill me?" She felt his grip slacken a bit as she said these words. "You wouldn't even get started before I knocked you on your sorry ass," she taunted him more softly, bringing a hint of a smile to his lips that she carefully mirrored. He released his hold on her, and she watched meticulously as the reason returned to his features before she relaxed her posture. As his muscles loosened, she could see the shame creeping over him, and he ran his hand impulsively through his hair, gripping unkindly at the roots in frustration.

"What did Loki do to you?" she asked, gently but firmly. "It was more than just mind control so don't try to tell me differently."
"I don't know, Nat. I'm - I'm sorry." He was averting his gaze with clear embarrassment. "I'm so sorry." His voice was trembling with the imminent tears which he was trying to restrain. "I wish I could tell you, but I'm just not sure exactly what happened to me." He turned away, humiliated, and she placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "I'm just - I'm changed somehow."

She was unsure if he would allow the gesture, but she embraced him from behind. To her wonder, he wrapped a determined arm over her right one and interlaced their fingers. His breath was coming in difficult gasps, and she knew he was still struggling with the will to just sob hopelessly. When his respirations softened, she rested her chin on his left shoulder and tightened her hold around his chest.

"I'm broken, Nat," he whispered, defeated.

"No," she breathed. "You're human. There's absolutely no shame in that." They stood entwined like this for several minutes, the only audible sound being the other's breathing. Finally, Natasha stated, "You know I have to go, right?"

He nodded. "This is really important, huh?" he chuckled weakly.

"It would have to be for me to leave you right now," she assured him. She squeezed his hand firmly before untangling her fingers from his. "Just trust me - it's a big deal." They faced each other again, and there was a long, awkward moment where neither one of them knew what to do or say. Finally, they both succumbed at once to the urge to embrace the other, and their holds lingered just a little longer than what was considered comfortable between friends. When she looked into his eyes again, she felt tears threatening to well up in her own, and so she quickly looked down and away. "Goodbye, Clint," she mumbled, praying that the tremble in her voice wasn't obvious.

"Goodbye, Nat," he answered with a surprising smile, his own words somewhat tremulous and his eyes still wet.

Natasha gathered up her jacket and reseated the holster at her hip. Then she inhaled deeply in an effort to regain control of her quickly faltering composure. "Do me a favor," she requested, still not meeting his gaze. "Try not to be too hard on yourself . . . while I'm gone, I mean."

"I can try," Barton replied, "but I make no promises."

"You never do," she said to the floor. "It's one of the things I've always loved about you." With these words, she turned to make a hasty exit, her legs carrying her down the hall with a determination she didn't really feel. She could hear Clint's footsteps behind her, and her thoughts immediately turned desperate. Please, Clint, don't make a scene. Not here where Stark has eyes in every room . . .

The footsteps halted, and she could not help herself - she turned to see if he had indeed tried to pursue her. He had followed her to the doorway, and he was tarrying there, his face drawn with indecision. Finally, he said, "Hey . . . Nat?"

"Yeah, Clint?"

He had folded his hands and was absently wringing them in a habitual fashion. When he eventually did speak, he did not meet her eyes. "Call me when you get to the Hub, okay? So I know that everything's alright?"

"Sure," she replied. Certainly, she would call him.

Even if everything was going to be far from alright.

*.***.*

True to her word, Natasha did place a call to Agent Barton just before she entered the Hub, as cell phone use inside the premises was severely limited by agency protocols. Strangely, it went straight through to voicemail, and so she left a reassuringly upbeat message about being just fine and expressed that she hoped he was much the same. Then she powered the device down before she stepped over the threshold of the main entrance. She knew that his well-being was now completely out of her control, and she would be unable to check in with him for an unknown span of time.

"Please be alright, Clint," she whispered to herself as she entered the agency compound. "Please, please be alright . . . "

"Agent Romanov?" said a voice as she entered the highest security sector of the building. Agent Melinda May was waiting for her at the perimeter of the holding area, and while Natasha knew her only by reputation, that reputation did garner her a fair amount of respect. Referred to cryptically as "the Cavalry," May was known for being a one-woman - well, whatever the agency needed her to be. Even if they had never interacted, Natasha felt a kinship with this woman whose life was strictly her work; she could almost imagine them meeting for ridiculously overpriced coffee when all of this was over. Well, if anything existed when all of this was over.

"Have they brought him in yet?" Romanov asked after the cursory introductions were complete.

May nodded, her manner stern but calm. "He was brought in several hours ago. He seems pretty subdued so far, although I didn't really interact with him in Manhattan so I wouldn't know firsthand." She led the red-haired agent through several well-guarded checkpoints. "I understand you did, though."

Natasha indicated the affirmative. "On the Helicarrier, actually," she replied. "He was a worthy opponent, I have to confess. I'm not exactly sure what his being 'subdued' this time around really means for us. I mean, last time he was passive but talkative, and it turned out to be an elaborate ruse."

"Well, he's certainly not very conversational right now," May informed her. "He'll interact, but only with certain personnel. He's actually not at all like I imagined him, at least from the way everyone has described him."

"Really?" Romanov countered with an intrigued tilt of her head.

As she considered the implications of Agent May's description, the pair rounded the corner to where Loki's quarters had been constructed. There was a large room, about 15' x 20', with a few drab furnishings which were all built to prison-friendly specifications. There appeared to be a couple more rooms beyond which would afford the prisoner at least the illusion of more privacy, although Natasha was certain these were also highly surveilled. The wall which faced the hallway appeared to be some sort of glass or clear plastic in nature, but she could see from the close-up views on the monitors in the control room (which was positioned directly in front of the cell) that there were thin strips of reinforcing metal which formed a mesh beneath the transparent outer layer. She could only assume that the most sophisticated magic-containing technology had been borrowed from their Asgardian allies in order to assure that their fallen Prince would not slip his leash this time. There was also an entire squadron of surveillance staff buzzing about the control area, which gave the impression that S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't so much restraining a supervillain as launching a manned space mission.

"Well, this is a little . . ." Natasha paused in order to find the right word. " . . . surreal."

She surveyed the contents of the room preemptively, scanning for signs of the extraterrestrial inmate it contained. On first glance, it was unoccupied . . . but then she saw the trace of a lump cowering under the covers of the rudimentary bed in the foreground, a crown of black hair at its peak. As if sensing her presence, the lump stirred and elongated, tossing the blanket aside in a manner that was both spontaneous and elegant. The figure beneath stood and stretched briefly and then crossed in front of the long transparent wall, moving as if he either did not know or did not care that there were about a dozen other persons in his general vicinity. It was unmistakably Loki: a tall, graceful being with a porcelain complexion and a fearless swagger. And yet there was something that was fundamentally different: he was clad in a shapeless gray prison uniform, and the clothing hung from him like an ill-fitting costume, the width of the fabric incongruous to his towering frame. He seemed so slight with his limbs clad in such conventional garments, as if he weighed next to nothing, and it made him seem anything but intimidating.

"Is he how you remember him?" Agent May inquired formally.

"He seems a little rangy," Romanov quipped. "What have they been feeding him out in Colorado?"

"Would you believe 'fava beans and a nice chianti'?" asked a voice to their right, imitating the trademark stuttering inhalation that accompanied the quote.

Natasha was fairly sure that the sound of her eyes rolling up into her head could be heard across the room. "Stark! Imagine seeing you here," she chided brusquely.

"Why I practically built the place, Agent Romanov!" Tony bragged. "And don't worry, my dear, he can't see you - there is a one-way panel which keeps him from seeing out unless we want him to."

"Excuse me, Agent Romanov, Mr. Stark." May nodded to each of them in turn. "I have an operations meeting with Agent Coulson that I need to attend." Her disposition had grown stilted as soon as Tony had made them aware of his presence, betraying that she likely wasn't very fond of him. She left without any further comment.

"So, my dear Natasha," Tony grinned, "What do you think of the new digs? Pretty outstanding if I do say so myself . . . and I do, obviously. In case that part was at all unclear."

The red-headed woman sneered playfully at him. "I have to admit they are pretty impressive."

Stark placed an unwanted hand gently in the small of her back and eased her over for a closer inspection. "From inside this gilded cage, our little jailbird is under constant supervision, his vital signs being continuously monitored and displayed for about a dozen other people to study and become completely bored doing it." He shoved his hands in his pockets and lifted his shoulders like a self-satisfied child.

"Just vitals? No heat signatures? Infrared?"

"Oh, but of course! I spared no expense to house Loki-Dokey over there. And I want to be sure that there is no way he is going to be throwing his image and then running one of us through with any pointy-glowy things this time around." The pair had continued to approach the room as they spoke, halting just inches from the perimeter. The being it contained continued to move about routinely, offering no indication that he was at all aware of the team of agents just outside his chambers.

Suddenly, the atmosphere somehow changed, and, although Natasha could sense that something was altered, she was unsure of exactly what it could be. It was a different feel to the air around them somehow, and when she glanced over Stark's shoulder (he was turned towards her now) she knew instantly what it had been: Loki had turned to face them, and he was staring straight in their direction, obviously aware that they were standing just inches from him and separated by a relatively thin layer of - whatever it was. Tony continued to extol his own virtues, babbling on about the masterful way in which he had completed his task, and yet all the while the Asgardian was approaching their position, gaze trained unmistakably on the pair of them. Agent Romanov knew that her mouth had fallen open, but she was unable to make any noises to warn the other man about the approaching figure. As Loki drew nearer, she was finally able to discern the details of his face: he looked drawn, weary, and his eyes were almost hollow as he trained them upon her, drawing ever closer by agonizingly slow degrees. His raven, shoulder-length plaits fell in unkempt folds alongside his countenance as he bent his head down towards them, his hands still clasped neatly at his back, and just as his visage fitted itself neatly behind Tony's left shoulder, Stark pivoted slightly to follow her line of sight, meeting the gaze of the ancient creature behind him with full-on shock.

"Oh, holy shit!" Tony gasped, starting violently and then clutching his chest in undignified panic.

There was a long moment of complete silence, and then Natasha erupted into laughter. After all the dread of facing Loki again, the gnawing anticipation mixed with the horror from facing him in her dreams, this result was surprising even to her. However, the absurdity of Tony's surprise and his subsequently inelegant response was just too much to resist. After a few seconds more, the agents in the control room echoed her with full-on amusement, and Natasha turned towards the outpouring of mirth, a wide smile still on her face. She noticed Agent May standing next to the far end of the control panel, arms folded, barely restraining a mischievous grin of her own.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I must have flipped something," she shrugged. "My bad." At that, the room erupted into another fit of hysterics.

Natasha continued to giggle until tears welled up in her eyes. "You should have seen yourself, Stark . . . that was priceless!" Tony did not seem to agree, however, judging by the crimson creeping from his neck to his ears.

Behind him, Loki had risen back to his full height, an amused simper playing upon his lips. He still looked dishevelled, and his complexion appeared to have an almost sickly gray undertone. Furthermore, the look on his face was wild, almost savage - the effect was indescribable. He was like a dying animal, and yet he still projected enough strength and focus to strongly discourage anyone's interference with his progressive demise. "Forgive me, Mr. Stark," he purred, his voice still as calm and lilting as she remembered it. "I hope I didn't frighten you." Tony did not reply, as if knowing that there would be no denying he had been spooked to see Loki standing behind him based on his ridiculous reaction. "Agent Romanov," the prisoner continued, training his attention on her now. "What a pleasure to see you again."

Having those piercingly cruel eyes upon her sobered her mood instantly. "I wish I could say the same about you," Natasha replied. She instinctively crossed her arms over her chest protectively.

"So I gather you have not been thinking about me?" he countered. Their eyes met in a sentient glare.

"No," she lied. "Not at all."