Crimson and Viridian: Everything Burns

by Last.Echo

THIS STORY IS ON HIATUS.

13. The World is too Heavy

Crimson and Viridian:

Everything Burns

Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: FrostIron (Loki/Tony), canongirl!Tony Stark(i.e. Natasha Stark), and the rest of the Avengers movie cast.

Warnings: For moar violence, and fresh romancin'. Also, movie spoilers, obviously, and in a major way. Spoilers for various events throughout the comic-verse, including Civil War, Dark Reign, and Siege.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine. Well, except Earth-199990, but that's pretty useless to me without all these great Marvel characters.
Notes: Coming to terms.

---

Chapter Twelve:

The World is too Heavy (Come Take the Weight Off Me Now)

Mr. Fantastic's elasticity provides needed protection when their masked adversary releases a full-body wave of electricity. Arms stretched out several yards ahead of himself, Reed holds the criminal in place by winding his arms about the man's body in a vice, allowing the Thing to administer a final blow to knock the criminal unconscious. Almost immediately, Natasha receives directions across her HUD from S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ ordering her to deliver the criminal to awaiting law enforcement where he could be dispatched to the only facility currently available to house a super.

As Reed releases the man from his arms, he flings him with ease across the street; Natasha catches the man by the scruff of his neck and then maneuvers him so that he is slumped over her arm like a sack of flour, cringing in distaste as she takes in the form-fitting green suit the man is wearing. It's made of a material not unlike the Captain's uniform. Instead of the stars-and-stripes, however, this uniform features bright yellow jagged streaks down the man's flanks in the style of lightning. Fitting, given the man's ability.

If nothing else, Natasha is ceaselessly amazed by the creativity that goes into the costumes these new super-powered criminals have come up with. She is less impressed by the significant increase in criminal activity in these passing weeks, which has resulted in herself and the heroes on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s payroll to accept aid from vigilantes and even self-purported explorers like the Fantastic Four. It's a horrifying embarrassment of a mess, but she knows that between herself and Fury, they're doing the best they can under the circumstances just to keep up with each new mask that takes to the streets in pursuit of attracting the attentions of the city's well-publicized heroes.

Another message pops up on her HUD and she declares, "Super, not mutant."

"That's a relief. Those kids have enough to deal with." Turning away from his family, Reed makes his way to her while the Thing and Invisible Woman wait patiently by their transport.

"I just got a hit on the mask. This guy's been arrested before. Maxwell Dillon." She opens the file attached to the message to see it provide additional details on the man. "He claims he got his powers when he was struck by lightning while working with power lines still connected to their spool."

Reed frowns, clearly as skeptical to believe in the likelihood of such a story. "People don't just get powers by being struck by lightning. Even if the high-tension wires induced a body-wide mutagenic change to his nervous system, the probability is less than point-zero-zero-four percent."

"Not so farfetched a theory now, is it?" When she had suggested the possibility that someone could be behind the surplus of supers, Reed had dismissed her ideas as paranoia resulting from the crime-fighting lifestyle she led. She can see that doubt give way to interest now and grins. "There's a probability that—genetically—some people are predisposed to the possibility of acquiring powers. If that's the case, then there's also the chance that someone—who has come to the same conclusion as I have—could be manufacturing these incidents and profiting from the new wave of inexperienced supers by supplying them with the money for the suits and these bizarre little gadgets they all seem to have."

"You think someone is making the supers and sponsoring them?" Reed blinks, startled.

"That's exactly what I think."

Reed seems to consider this, frown deepening. "But how can you prove it?"

Natasha sighs because—therein lies the problem. "I can't. Yet. So far, there's nothing linking these guys. It's not just New York. Supers are appearing all over the country—all over the world. Whatever this is, it's huge."

Reed looks conflicted and she knows that it's a result of his reluctance to paint the Fantastic Four as soldiers. It's one of their many differences, but one she can still respect. After all, Reed didn't have the blood of generations staining his hands.

After a moment, his eyes widen as if in realization and he studies her before asking, "Is that why you're mentoring the boy?"

She doesn't bother pretending not to know who he's talking about. "I'll take help where I can get it. The kid's already proven to be a genius. He shares his father's interest in genetics."

Reed's brow furrows, disapproval clear in his tone. "He's a boy."

"He's a Parker."

"You're friends with Doctor Banner and you work with Doctor Pym. Surely—"

"Bruce has plenty on his plate already without me adding more to it," Natasha counters. "And if it turns out I need Pym's help, I know where to find him. Right now, however, I know of two brilliant geneticists who can help me determine if such a predisposition exists."

"Two?"

"Maya Hansen. She's an old colleague of mine."

"I haven't heard of her," Reed admits, shaking his head.

Natasha isn't surprised and she doesn't elaborate. Reed needs very few pieces to see the completed puzzle and she doesn't want him looking into her work with Maya before it has been seen to completion. The less she gives him to be curious about, the less inclined he'll be to look into it. Reed is a very self-absorbed man—it takes quite a bit to distract him from his personal work—but he also adheres to a very strict code of morality that doesn't always coincide with hers.

Suddenly, a now very familiar voice calls down from overhead: "Aw—did I miss the party?"

The young vigilante drops beside her and Iron Woman's mask conceals the exasperated look the flutters across her expression as she withholds a sigh. Beside her, Reed starts and asks, "Spiderman?"

Natasha frowns, immediately curious. Looking between the two, she asks, "You guys know each other?"

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Spiderman replies, with a note of reluctance, "Yeah. I tried to join their team a while back. Totally got the run-around. Talk about humiliating."

"Now, Spiderman," Reed chastises, "You know that was because, at the time, you were considered a vigilante and a fugitive."

Natasha snorts. "He's still a vigilante."

"I'm still a vigilante," Spiderman replies simultaneously. Pumping a fist into the air, he shouts, "Fight the power! Whu-whut!"

Natasha physically recoils from second-hand embarrassment. "Stop."

Leaning closer, Spiderman asks, "Not good?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Not good."

Spiderman proceeds to sulk for a full second before his ever-fluctuating attention turns to the criminal draped over Iron Woman's arm. "Oh—whoa! Hey! Is that Electro?"

Looking to Dillon, Natasha frowns. "Electro?"

Why was it that every new hotshot felt the need to give themselves some ridiculous name? She was beginning to wonder if she'd started something terrible when she'd come out to the world, declaring herself as Iron Woman—but then she remembers that the government and her father had started it nearly seventy years ago with Rogers.

Turning to Reed, Natasha offers him a nod and says, "I can take it from here if you three would like to head back home."

"Much appreciated, Iron Woman," Reed says with a polite smile. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow."

Reed returns to his wife and friend and the three take to their transport, a slender vehicle of Reed's design, built to seat four and branded with the team's insignia across its hood. Natasha grimaces in distaste as it lifts to a hover and angles into the sky, speeding off in the direction of the Baxter Building.

Beside her, Spiderman is still regarding Electro. "I've fought him before. I thought the local law enforcement had taken care of it."

Natasha rolls her eyes, dropping her faceplate at last and muttering, "Local law enforcement can't do much against super-criminals."

Spiderman's head turns to her, expressive tone compensating for the total lack of facial cues to go off of. "Well, you told me to stay away from S.H.I.E.L.D, so—"

There's a note of petulance in his words and Natasha reaches out with her free hand to grasp his shoulder, looking directly into the reflective eyes of his mask and speaking earnestly, "That's right. I did. Not all of these guys are so easy to handle. Captain and I have been doing this for a lot longer than any of you. As noble as this work might seem, it attracts enemies—the vengeful sort who will stop at nothing to destroy you. Do you have a Stark phone?"

Spiderman is thrown by the abrupt question and she drops her hand, reaching under a panel of her chest armor to produce a small chip, then a side compartment along her thigh to produce a phone the ass-hates on her company board had sent her (with the note that the phone would be marketed as the Stark Beam-01, abandoning the trademark name she'd long established).

Setting aside her annoyance of this, she hands both to Spiderman and explains, "Here. Take this one. Plug this into the Zip-Sat port and it'll do the rest on its own. It's programmed to link to JARVIS, who will connect you to me at any time. Next time you're in trouble, call me."

She can't resist grinning as he accepts the phone into his hands with eagerness, declaring, "Whoa! I get a hotline to Iron Woman? Totally rad!"

---

Over the next several weeks, the pattern remains much the same. Juggling her duties between Natasha Stark and Iron Woman is difficult, but she manages. The benefit of working with men like Bruce, Reed and Pym is that they're far from useless. Though she and Pym still hold grudge over the incident with the Black Knight and his determination to remain involved outside of the lab, they make tremendous progress in their efforts to understand the Hulk's DNA. Her work with Reed is almost as gratifying and certainly less strenuous without the cloud of anxiety overhead, knowing that the life and health of a dear friend was dependent on success. As Iron Woman, S.H.I.E.L.D. manages to effectively keep the streets from completely overflowing with criminals, saving the more troublesome opponents for Natasha or Captain America—even Hawkeye and the Black Widow, when they aren't busy across the world tearing down regimes.

There aren't many occasions during which she and the Captain find themselves working closely together—and while she has mostly been relieved of petulant anger, what remains is shame and still-wounded pride. She can't decide whether to approach the Captain and attempt to clear the air or just walk away from the situation completely and move on. Ignoring the man's existence is harder than it should be—they had no loyalties to each other beyond a common interest to protect the city and serve their country, yet removing him from thought completely proves impossible.

It doesn't help that Spiderman has taken to showing up, unannounced, and interfering with her patrols and often going on at length about whatever super he and the Captain had tackled earlier in the week.

Presently, Spiderman is describing his encounter with one of many colorfully costumed criminals while Natasha, not particularly invested in the kid's story, scans their recent captive, analyzing prints and obtaining a small tissue sample by pressing the pad of Iron Woman's thumb to the man's palm. The growing list of supers in the city was worrying—but only reminded her that there were more beyond New York, running unchecked without a local hero to impede them.

"Hey!" she calls out to Spiderman as she casts a final look over the unconscious criminal. "Get over here and help me tie this guy up. I'll have him delivered to S.H.I.E.L.D."

Spiderman does as told, promptly weaving a cocoon around the captive. "Hey, is it just me or do there seem to be a lot more of these guys creepin' the streets?"

As she watches the kid work, she surreptitiously analyzes the modified thread as Spiderman manipulates it expertly. Idly, she says, "It's not just you. It seems like there's some new guy poppin' up every day."

"Yeah," Spiderman chuckles. "Even the Fantastic Four are getting involved."

Natasha hums in agreement, though the sound vibrates strangely through Iron Woman's audio harmonizer. Recalling the encounter with Electro, it's only now that it occurs to Natasha to ask: "Hey—why have you never mentioned that you tried joining the Fantastic Four?"

Wiping his hands with the completion of the cocoon for their yet unnamed criminal, Spiderman shrugs. "In all the weeks of my comin' out to save your hide—"

Natasha snorts, unable to withhold an automatic grin at the haughty tone. "Don't get too full of yourself, you little sh—"

"—it's never really come up."

Natasha glares ineffectually from behind her faceplate and grunts after a moment, "You're a little shit."

She can just imagine the cheeky grin that must be under that mask. Flippantly, Spiderman dismisses her words and replies, "So you say. The Cap seems to like me enough, though. So I'd say I'm doin' good."

She almost longs for the days when hero-worship had stripped his clever tongue of sharp wit.

---

After a brief tour to the S.H.I.E.L.D. naval base charged with transporting supers to Ryker's Island, Natasha returns to the Tower to find Loki awaiting at the landing pad, unflinching even as she drops heavily upon the pressure plate that immediately activates the winding rings and mechanical arms a mere foot away from him. The heavy Asgardian armor and cloak indicates involvement in matters beyond Earth, but no rarely have his excursions stolen him away for longer than a few days so she's not particularly concerned.

"What are you smiling about?" he asks by way of greeting.

She only then realizes she is still grinning to herself with memory of Spiderman saucy wit, but with faceplate in place, the grin dissolves to a puzzled frown as she wonders how Loki could know her expression even with the barrier of steel.

"How can you even tell I'm smiling?" she asks as she begins to make her way towards the penthouse, Loki following behind, careful to steer clear of the spinning rims.

"Because I know you," he replies—and it takes everything in her power not to dwell on the simple statement, Pepper's words of weeks past having burrowed deeply in her chest in a pit that was hungry to claim anything that could perhaps prove the other woman correct.

Divested of armor, Natasha turns on her heel at the end of the ramp to face Loki as he side-steps the rims as they ride their track back to the landing pad to slot back into place around the pressure plate.

"Well, it was nothing," she says, ignoring the thrill to see his familiar smile already set across his lips as if reserved for her. She finds herself smiling in response. "Just Spiderman."

Loki snorts, a flicker of irritation crossing his eyes at the mention of the wall-crawler. "How is it that he always seems to find you in battle?"

"Kid's smart," Natasha replies, quick to defend the kid she's begun to grow fond of. If nothing else, he made for good amusement while dealing with the shits they had to deal with on an almost daily basis. Contemplatively, she adds, "I think he figured out how to reverse the GPS on the phone I gave him."

Loki sneers, though his annoyance is not directed towards her, "He's tracking you?"

"Seems like it," she says with a dismissive shrug, hoping to turn his thoughts away from the kid lest it lead to an argument. "I'd do something about it, but I don't really mind the help."

Loki looks doubtful but Natasha merely grins, turning to lead them into the penthouse; left in only her under-armor, she was not completely shielded from the growing bite to the early morning air.

Quickly falling into step beside her, Loki mutters, "So long as he doesn't get you killed."

Her grin widens for a second at that—before she's forced to bite back on it completely in reprisal. She's not sure when her face had taken leave of its senses, but it seemed intent to disobey her at every turn, reacting to Loki's mere presence.

"So, what are you doing here?" she asks with sobered expression, unsurprised when Loki follows her down the hall and into her bedroom.

Claiming an edge of the bed, Loki sits while Natasha disappears into her closet to fish something to wear. "I've only just arrived," he answers.

"Visit any new galaxies?" Natasha calls from the walk-in closet. Rifling through her wardrobe, she tries to consider what the rest of her day will entail and selects accordingly: band t-shirt and skinny jeans.

"Yes," is Loki's noncommittal response.

"Take pictures?" Natasha asks as she moves into a blindspot and begins undressing.

"Next time."

As she changes into her day clothes, she keeps up idle chat if only because she has a new reason to loath silence between them. Where before it had been a manifestation of phobia born of a compilation of things, now the silence instilled a completely different sort of anxiety in her, allowing Pepper's treacherous words to spring forth and encourage thoughts she's spent these last several weeks tirelessly crushing. Loki's absences are no longer so frequent, yet his presence ever at her side makes her all the more conscious of the times when he lulls into deep thought—clearly weighing heavy words likely issued from Pepper herself.

And Natasha can't be mad at Pepper. She can't even retain the frigid distance between them because with words alone Pepper had found a way to cut past Natasha's defenses, destroying whatever semblance of routine had been established between Natasha and Loki and now every effort is being spent just trying to pretend nothing had changed. Loki seems to be of the same mind and though she's almost completely certain Pepper had approached him as she'd approached Natasha, he allows them to ignore unspoken words hung precariously between them.

When she's changed, Loki has shifted into his usual suit, scarf and coat ensemble. He's pulled from his thoughts as she emerges from the walk-in and she sees the now familiar disgruntled look fade, smoothing his brow and softening his mouth. He's sitting forward, elbows on knees and fingers twined together in a loose steeple. Dangling from his fingers, beneath the arch of his joined hands, is a doubled gold chain; hanging by the slack is a quarter-sized golden cube, carefully engraved with Nordic swirls and overlapping designs.

Fixated by the odd necklace, Natasha feels strangely intrigued. Then, in a languid motion, Loki extends a hand to hold out the necklace.

"Yours," he explains inelegantly.

Natasha doesn't think twice about plucking the necklace from his hand by the decorative cube, even as she mutters, "And I didn't get you anything."

Carefully, she traces a thumb across the engraved faces, twisting the cube between her fingers to study its every nuance.

Loki stands from the bed and steps close, reaching fingers to press thumb and forefinger to opposite sides of the cube. Something clicks and the cube reveals a seam; as she removes the bottom half, a glossy yellow stone tumbles from within. Loki captures the stone in his hand before it hits the ground, depositing it back into her palm as she asks, "What is this?"

His eyes on the stone, Loki replies, "The necklace offers good fortune. It is an Asgardian relic from our time among men, crafted by Midgardian hands."

Brow furrowing, she admires the design of the necklace and the cube and wonders at what hidden message might be inscribed into the faces of the cube. She is reminded of the Tesseract and it strangely endears her to the trinket.

Her eyes flick to the brilliant stone, then to Loki. "And the stone?"

"It's meaning lost to Midgardian history," Loki says. As she studies the stone, it seems plain beside the decorative box—smooth like polished amber, yet faintly iridescent from within. Idly, Loki says, "I prefer purple for you, but yellow will do."

Natasha snorts, dropping the stone back into its case and replacing the bottom half to the cube. "Are we talking about favorite colors? I like red—in case you hadn't noticed."

"You don't need any more red," he says and she looks up at him curiously, struck with the sudden impression that she was only following one shade to his words.

"So why are you giving it to me?" she asks, shaking suspicion and trying not to think about the significance of Loki presenting her with a gift—because that's Pepper talking and strange little trinkets didn't have to have any sort of special meaning.

"As gratitude, I suppose," he says in a dismissive tone, meeting her eyes to share a teasing smirk.

"Did I do something?" Natasha asks, holding out the necklace by the chains to study the length, then slipping it over her head.

"You offered refuge," he says, "I might have found home in darker realms had you not done so."

Instinctively, Natasha crinkles her nose, feigning disgust, "You're not getting sentimental on me, are you?"

Loki's eyes, bright with humor, merely stare back, lips pressed to a closed smile and any retort withheld. The large wall of windows to the left of her bed flood the room with early daylight and illuminate Loki's eyes—impossibly clear like the shallow-green of the sea.

The weight of the necklace sits awkwardly about her collar; the cube hangs just above her reactor, the weight of it strange and unfamiliar.

A gift.

It seems almost blasphemous that she should accept the trinket, yet to do otherwise is not even a consideration. That she should be rewarded for housing a war criminal against the wishes of all merely for the sake of herself and what she would need of Loki come future battles—

It must be blasphemy.

She wants to point out that it had not been so simple as her offering him sanctuary while he continued his schemes and she remained ever oblivious to whatever plans for vengeance against Asgard he yet formed. This is a truth they both know yet it must remain between them because who could understand?

Perhaps she was a monster—knowing that Loki would always consider himself an enemy of Asgard, yet welcoming an alliance with him all the same. Pepper could not understand—would demand action be taken to protect the immortal realm—and Natasha cannot bear to release her of the illusion that Loki is a better man than he truly is. That Natasha is a better woman than she truly is.

Her loyalty is to Earth—Asgard a foreign land heard of only in the tales Loki wove—and her decision to carve out a place for him at her side had been more for her benefit than his. She's under no delusions that Loki is a different man, but so long as it was not Earth he turned his wrath to—in her deepest thoughts, she could not summon compassion enough to care. A faceless race of warrior and immortal Gods were of lesser concern to her than the protection of her planet—her family. She had conspired to ensure his exile to Earth so that she might benefit of his intellect and of his strength and to defend against him, should the need arise again.

But she doesn't point any of this out.

She also doesn't point out that she's never been one to favor jewelry—but she finds herself smiling and the necklace remains.

---

Even without incident, Bruce feels his anxiety build with every day. The Hulk grows to be a more dominant presence in his mind, until it seems to Bruce that he and the Hulk become of one mind and it's difficult to contain the urge to release the tension that has built up within him—envies the Hulk for his ability to find release where Bruce can only hope to bottle away emotion and clutch at logic like a crutch.

He doesn't sleep for fear of relinquishing control to the Hulk and there's a queasiness in his gut when he recalls the tremendous effort it took to regain control of his form after his journey to Asgard with Loki. He hadn't thought to mention it to the God—nor had he any intention of broaching the subject with Natasha—but he could feel his control become as liquid, slipping rapidly between his fingers, and if the time came when he could no longer maintain the fragile leash about the Hulk, he could think of only one who he could trust to keep the beast in check. The idea that he would come to hold any trust in the Trickster God seemed ludicrous, but despite his general distaste of the God, Loki had become a fixture in this new life Natasha had introduced him to. He would never understand the faith Natasha had for Loki, but Bruce could see now that it was not merely one-sided. It gave him hope that, in the event the Hulk was granted freedom, while Natasha might never take necessary action, Loki would.

Whether for his own sake or Natasha's, it mattered not.

It's with this thoughts that Bruce finds the two in the kitchen. He pauses at the door, amused, to see Natasha sitting at the table with a box of PopTarts and a Stark Tablet while Loki dutifully works the coffee maker. Whereas before, the image of the two as anything beyond … whatever he'd thought they were to each other, had been both disturbing and distressing—he finds himself loath to admit that, from what he has seen of Loki, the two are almost like two sides of the same coin. He thinks it should concern him how naturally they work together, yet it's Natasha and he's learned that very little about her can actually be quantified into terms.

"Hey, you two," he calls out—though the only acknowledgment he gets is a grunt from Natasha (who can't be bothered to look away from her tablet) and Loki wordlessly reaching into a cupboard for another mug. Taking a seat opposite Natasha, Bruce bites back a smile—tries to remember bitter resentment for the Asgardian God and comes up short by a long shot.

Loki joins them shortly, managing two mugs in one hand and one mug in the other like it's easy. He slides Bruce the Stark-Spangled-Banner mug with a smirk as he takes a seat beside Natasha.

With a half-hearted glare, Bruce accepts the coffee with a grateful nod. "You think you're so funny."

Loki's only response is his smirk and then Natasha remarks, as if only just then noticing Bruce, "Oh, hey—I've been meaning to talk to you."

Bruce blinks away from Loki, brows rising high on his forehead with interest. "About?"

Setting aside the tablet and eyes on Bruce, Natasha drags her mug closer to herself and says, "I've been thinking about places where we can go. Where you can transform with relative … safety." She grimaces on the last word to acknowledge the ridiculousness of the statement.

Bruce tries not to allow the topic to sour his mood because it's not as if these last several months haven't been spent tirelessly researching with Hank and Natasha in the lab. "There is no place that is safe."

"No," Natasha concedes, canting her head in consideration. "But—remember the factory that Horgan destroyed?"

"Of course."

"Well, everything's in scraps but—under the factory—we built a bunker," she frowns and Bruce notices her hand flex around her mug before she amends, "Well, my father had it built way before the war and then I reinforced it. I used it to test equipment. It's well outside the city on an isolated man-made island and reinforced to stand against several nuclear wars." She smirks, evidently pleased. "I can't think of a better place."

Bruce stares and wonders, not for the first time, "Jesus. Who are you?"

---

There was a time, not so far away, when Natasha's social exploits used to run a close race with her second identity—overcompensating, one could suppose, for school days spent alone with her head buried in scientific journals and works of fiction. She has always been a dreamer—a quality unshared between Howard and herself—and she had never taken life seriously enough to satisfy her absent and overbearing father, spending much of her youth building 'iron men' out of erector sets and fantasizing about the ancient tales of King Arthur and his Knights. At the age of seven, despite her mother's half-hearted protests, Natasha had been shipped off to boarding school in an attempt to instill her with discipline. The experience had taught her many things in regards to society and her peers. It was here that, despite Natasha's shy nature as a girl, she'd learned to adopt a charisma and charm one would have expected her to inherit from her socialite parents.

She had not always been the ambitious business woman frequently gracing the covers of magazines less to do with her achievements and more to do with her much publicized social life. Weeks of partying and barely remembered mornings replaced the girl who would have rather spent her nights amongst her creations, hidden away in a silent corner of her father's workshop. Iron Woman had come into her life and the only thing that had changed was that now Natasha had a new toy to show off when hosting extravagant parties in her own honor. Those had been simpler times, when Iron Woman had served as the single deterrent against terror and there had been no otherworldly creatures threatening their safety—when Natasha could be Natasha and Iron Woman instead of finding time for both.

After the Chitauri, everything had changed.

Was still changing.

The shy little girl she barely remembers herself being had long gone, and all that Natasha knows of herself is what her father had left her to become and what Iron Woman had allowed her to evolve into.

The chain around her neck is a heavy weight, the cube tucked into her shirt and pressed against the flesh above her reactor like a silent promise. Loki's scarf (snatched away from the man himself when the morning chill remained despite the fixed temperature of the Tower) is a loose wrap around her shoulders, concealing the slight bulge of the cube within her shirt—the smell of him distracting and at once unbelievably addictive and private.

She wonders at this new person she is becoming—and if it is something that is natural and meant to be or something that she should try and run from and abandon before it takes her over and consumes everything that she is like a virus.

Natasha and Bruce discuss amino acids and growing proteins found in the Hulk's genes, but her mind is only half on the subject. She's leaning back comfortably in the kitchen chair, arm thrown over the back of Loki's, Stark Tablet forgotten on the table in front of her. Bruce is drawing protein chains on paper towels with a pen he seemed to have fished out of nowhere and Loki is sitting silently next to her, listening intently—though if he's listening to them or if he's mentally elsewhere entirely, she doesn't know.

Peter finds them in the kitchen soon enough and Natasha cuts herself off to declare, "You're late!"

Peter doesn't bother looking chastened, heading straight for the refrigerator. With confidence he'd certainly been lacking months ago when he'd first begun as her assistant, he replies, "Didn't you just get in?"

Natasha tips her chair back and cranes her neck to follow Peter. "I've been here for at least an hour," she says pointedly. "You're supposed to be here when you're supposed to be here."

Flashing her an unapologetic smile and a quick, "Sorry, boss," Peter ducks behind the counters separating the kitchen area from the dining room.

As Natasha reclines further back on two legs, Loki's hand comes up behind her chair to keep it from toppling. Grinning at counters, Natasha calls out over the clattering of pots and pans. "What's your excuse this time?"

Peter waits to answer until he's standing again, armed with two pans. He smirks, a look definitely inherited from her, and says, "Well—you. You and Spiderman were fighting some weirdo down on Lafayette. You backed up the traffic on Park all the way down to—"

"Okay, okay, you little smart-ass," Natasha mutters, rolling her eyes and dropping her chair back to all fours as she twists back to face Bruce. Loki doesn't remove his hand, merely moves it so that it is curled around the corner of her chair, and Natasha's arm remains draped over the back of his.

Pepper and Happy arrive shortly after and as the kitchen slowly comes to life, she's thinking again about the new path her life has taken. She has always considered herself a futurist—it's what made her so damn good at what she did—but Natasha had never known a full house or a warm kitchen filled with people talking over one another and laughter. After what happened with Amora and after Loki had returned, it was as if everyone else had come to some unanimous conclusion while she and Loki were left, caught in the middle, watching as Pepper and Happy and Bruce and even Peter slotted themselves into an almost daily routine. There was rarely a day now when the Tower was left vacant and somehow it made dealing with everything so much easier. To sit here and actually have breakfast around a proper dining table with the people she considered family—it was like she could forget everything else for a moment and just be human.

"When are they opening your school again?" Pepper asks after they've all settled into their respective seats around the kitchen table—Happy taking the open seat next to Loki while Pepper and Peter join Bruce on the other side of the table.

"Next week," Peter says after swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "They're still trying to defrost the west wing."

Natasha snorts, commenting over the rim of a fresh mug of coffee. "I hear there's a flu going around. You kids are always getting sick—running around with snotty noses."

Peter cuts her a look that is both amused and exasperated. "You do know I'm not an actual five-year-old. I'm sixteen."

Natasha shrugs. "It's virtually the same to me."

"Besides," Peter huffs, stabbing at his plate aggressively. "I don't get sick. I have a good immune system."

"Doesn't mean you can't be an incubator," Natasha says. "I'm warning you right now. Don't get me sick."

She waits to see if Peter will rise to the bait, but he doesn't, shaking his head and smiling. She sniffs quietly and is momentarily distracted by whatever Happy and Loki are quietly discussing—has no trouble following the vaguely worded conversation and her eyes flicking to Pepper in amusement to see if the other woman will catch on. Bruce takes opportunity in the lull of Natasha and Peter's banter to slide over his scribbled notes and attempt to pluck the young genius' head for enlightened opinions.

Pepper pushes away a half empty plate and looks up at Natasha. "Do you need me to cover you for today's board meeting?"

Natasha's grin dissolves and she sighs, setting down her mug. "Yeah."

"Do you have the prototype on you? We'll need it for the demonstra—" Pepper seems to catch something in Natasha's expression, though Natasha tries vehemently to keep her expression neutral. "What? What did you do?"

Clearing her throat, Natasha sits forward, bringing both hands to clutch her coffee mug in front of her. "I, ah—" She grimaces and tries to find the proper way to word this. "May or may not have given it away."

Pepper looks horrified, though Peter looks amused—it's a small comfort. "What do you mean you gave it away? To who?"

Slowly, Natasha feels herself earn the attention of the table and she shifts uncomfortably as she says, "Uh—Spiderman?"

"What?" Pepper gapes.

"Spiderman," Loki intones, not bothering to hide the note of distaste as he says the name.

"Maybe you can get it back," Peter suggests hopefully. "You can just call him, can't you? I-I mean, not now, but, like—"

"Pep, it'll be fine," Natasha says, trying to salvage the situation. "You guys have the schematics. You won't need the real thing until next week, anyway. Just tell them I'm still running some tests or something."

Pepper does not look impressed, but she says, "Doesn't look like I'll have much choice." With a longsuffering sigh, she stands and grabs her plate, Happy following her lead immediately. She leans down to press a swift kiss to Peter's temple, smiling sweetly as she says, "Thanks for breakfast."

Peter grins. "We can't all live off PopTarts and coffee like Ms. Stark."

Natasha responds by whipping a piece of toast at the kid like a Frisbee. It smacks him right above the brow and Pepper scowls at her before nodding to Happy and taking her leave.

---

Following breakfast, Natasha takes a car to S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, if only because the suit is still undergoing maintenance under JARVIS' watchful and metaphorical eye. She's learned to be civil with Fury over the course of these last few months, falling into the familiar routine of mutual distaste rather than outright hate. She will never forgive the manipulative bastard for the way he'd played puppeteer during the Chitauri incident, but she's adult enough to recognize that there are bigger concerns now than personal vendettas against high ranking government officials in charge of directing a secret and international organization.

"We've begun construction on the three designs you submitted," Fury opens by saying even before she's taken a seat in the black leather chair in front of his desk.

Settling in, Natasha merely arches a brow and mutters, "That was fast."

"They're in urgent demand," he explains unnecessarily, reaching a hand under his monitor to turn off the screen so that he could pin her with his full attention. "Ryker's Island is at near full-capacity."

Natasha nods—was well aware of this fact because she's been keeping tabs—and says, "I'd recommend prioritizing The Vault. The level of criminals doesn't yet meet the need for either The Raft or The Cube."

"But you expect that it will."

"At this rate, it's only a matter of time."

The streets have been filled with both super villains and criminals seeking to join the masked craze by assembling identities for themselves and designating themselves as the adversaries of known 'heroes' such as Rogers and Natasha—even Pym and van Dyne. Natasha's only consolation is that, though Fury largely disapproves anyone working outside of his command, Spiderman's determination to fight crime despite his vigilante status has inspired some who've been similarly afflicted with new 'powers' to take to fighting on the heroes side, rather than joining the rising criminal factions.

"How is your progress with the Zone and Prison 42?" Fury asks.

"Good. The suit has been completed. We think we're ready for testing."

Fury's expression hardens. "I don't want you going in there."

Natasha frowns. "I'm not sending anybody else."

"Natasha Stark is much more valuable to this country. Send—"

"No," she says stiffly, sitting forward and scowling. "I'm going. Reed and I have run the calculations. The probability of success is nearly eighty-six percent."

Fury shakes his head, glaring. "That's not good enough for me."

"It's going to have to be."

"Then hold off until you can give me a hundred," he snaps, startling Natasha with his intensity. Calming, he sounds no less determined when he says, "I mean it Stark."

She manages to hold his gaze for a minute before she gives in to her exasperation and sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face. "We need the Zone. We need Prison 42."

"And I know that," Fury says, clearly trying to remain patient. "But we also can't afford to lose either Iron Woman or you."

"You said it yourself—Ryker's Island isn't going to cut it and it'll be months before The Vault makes any progress, even with the help of my Iron Women."

Fury's mouth presses into a firm line and Natasha's eyes narrow, immediately sensing something is up. "Pym is working on his own design."

A flare of annoyance sparks briefly in her gut and she huffs incredulously, "Pym?"

Gathering his shoulders into a more defensive pose, Fury says, "It'll serve as a rehabilitation center for criminals whose genome has been altered."

Natasha stares—says, tonelessly, "This a joke."

Fury bows his head and makes an aimlessly gesture with his hand in some sort of acknowledgement. "I'll admit that I'm not particularly sold on the idea that these psychopaths can be 'reformed'—nevertheless, it's an order from above."

Natasha sneers. "This has Hill written all over it."

"Agent Hill and I work as one," Fury says neutrally; Natasha is not convinced.

"Do you? 'Cause it's starting to look like she's cutting corners around your authority to get things done her way." Natasha frowns, moving forward in her seat so she's sitting on the edge. Grimly, she states, "You know how she feels about us, Fury. She doesn't even like Rogers."

"That doesn't make her a villain," Fury sighs, adding in annoyance, "You don't like Rogers."

"That's different," Natasha argues, shaking her head adamantly. "I'd still trust him with my life."

"That's good to hear."

Natasha starts at the voice and glares at Fury before looking left to see Rogers stepping past the elevator doors into Fury's office. He's dressed in his Captain America uniform, a folder tucked under one arm and a casual smirk on his lips as he crosses the room. He takes the seat next to hers when Fury dismisses his salute and gestures for him to settle in.

Schooling her features, Natasha nods once in acknowledgment and says, "Rogers."

"Stark," he replies with a similar nod. Natasha turns away swiftly to focus a mental glare on Fury.

"What d'ya got?" Fury asks Rogers, ignoring her.

Rogers leans forward to hand over his report. "Vigilante calling himself 'Americop'."

"Wow," Natasha blurts, accepting the file when Fury wordlessly holds it out to her without bothering to open it himself. Scanning the first couple drafts of Rogers' report, Natasha muses, "How do you get all the national terrorists?"

"Probably because I'm going around calling myself Captain America."

Funny, she thinks. That's actually funny. Natasha bites back the instinctive urge to smirk, recalling that there's still the matter of an apology owed between them. She takes a breath and returns the file to Fury. "Right," she grunts, eyes on Fury. "And so I get guys calling themselves Melter and—hey, did Vanko have a name for himself?"

Fury shrugs as he drops the file into the basket on his desk labeled INBOX. "Not one that's on file."

"Did you give him a name?"

Fury seems to think about it for a minute, before saying, "I think Hawkeye was calling him Whiplash—or something to that effect."

Natasha turns a poorly concealed grin on Rogers. "Whiplash doesn't sound too bad."

"Sandman," Rogers retorts.

"Sandman is a lame name and you didn't even fight him. Spiderman fought that one for you," Natasha huffs. "Black Knight."

"We fought that one together," Rogers reminds her, frowning. "Besides, Pym and van Dyne did most of the work."

"You mean Spiderman."

"And Spiderman, yes."

"What about—"

"You two done comparing the length of your capes?" Fury says suddenly, irritated.

Rolling her eyes, Natasha stands, stretching her back as she says, "Yeah, yeah. I'm out of here."

"Not yet," Fury says, pointing at her seat. "I need both of you for this."

Natasha frowns, stilling. "I still need to—"

"Sit." Stubbornly, Natasha remains standing, yet when she doesn't move to leave Fury takes that as acquiescence and continues. "Given the amount of supers we've got flooding the streets, the Council has decided that it would be in the best interest of the public if we presented a united front."

"I didn't realize we weren't," Natasha grouses, crossing her arms.

Fury dismisses the comment. "The people are terrified. They're worried that this outbreak cannot be contained. We're doing the best that we can in a shit situation, but police officers and S.H.I.E.L.D. agents can't give them what they really need—and that's peace of mind. Hope. We're just badges fighting these larger than life villains. They need something just as big—something bigger, in fact—to give them the ability to hope for a better future."

Natasha understands immediately. "The Avengers."

Quietly, Rogers says, "You want to reinstate the Avenger Initiative."

Folding his hands on his desk, Fury alternates looking between them to convey the severity of his words. "This is something both the Council and I have agreed upon—yet we cannot go through with this if you two aren't on board."

Natasha doesn't need to ask why. She's well aware of the public's perception of Iron Woman and Captain America. She understands the responsibility now in a way she hadn't before when she'd first taken up the mantle. Resignedly, she closes her eyes, exhaling soundlessly.

"I need to know that you two can function as a team. You'll be looked to as representatives—as leaders. This isn't like last year, where desperation forced you to work together for a unified cause."

Or deception, Natasha thinks, but wisely does not voice aloud.

"This time—you need to be a team. You need to give the people something to look up to—something to make them feel safe." Fury pauses, clearly awaiting protest. When Natasha and Rogers remain silent, he asks, "Can you do this?"

A part of her had known this day would eventually come. She couldn't consign herself to a life as Iron Woman, pledging herself to the protection of her country, and also continue to indulge in the petty animosity she'd allowed to brew between herself and Rogers. The country needed Iron Woman and Captain America—and they needed them together.

"Cap and I have been working together thus far," Natasha says at last, looking to Fury—realizes that both Rogers and Fury must have been waiting for her to announce her stance when some of the tension seems to ease. "Giving us a name doesn't really change anything."

But it changed everything.

Fury nods. "Good. Captain?"

Rogers stands—says amicably, "I don't see where there would be a problem."

Fury takes a moment to study them both, single eye narrowed in skepticism. Eventually, he grunts, "Uh-huh. Well—I'm glad you both agree."

Natasha sniffs, growing steadily more uncomfortable. "So—am I good to go?"

"Are you heading back to the Baxter Building?" Fury asks idly, apparently in no hurry to see her gone.

"Yes," Natasha huffs, frowning. "Are you sending out another sitter?"

Fury levels her with a pointed look. "Do you need one?"

Natasha's response is a smarmy smirk. "Only if you send a cute one."

Fury rolls his eye and reaches to switch his monitor back on. "Then I'll spare us both the lawsuit and allow you a break from Agent Hill's lapdogs."

"Thanks," Natasha snorts, moving to go. "You're such a giver."

"Get out."

She doesn't need to be told twice, but it isn't until she is already in the elevator and punching the button for the lobby that she realizes Rogers has joined her. As the doors close in front of them, Natasha thinks she catches a flicker of a smirk across Fury's lips.

With a jolt, the elevator begins its descent, and they're barely past the first floor when Rogers clears his throat and awkwardly says, "Looks like we're going to be working together again."

"Yeah," Natasha mutters, determined to keep her eyes on her murky reflection in the brushed steel of elevator doors.

She considers ignoring him for the duration of the ride downstairs—things have been awkward as fuck between them but at least there hadn't been another explosive falling out, which seemed to result when either one of them approached even the idea of feelings. She was quite content to pretend that the argument in his apartment had never happened and go back to the way things had been just after the Chitauri incident. At least then she'd known how to feel about the man.

As seconds tick by, stretching like hours, she can practically feel Rogers searching for something to say. Sighing, she steels herself for possible confrontation and faces him. "Look—is that going to be a problem? Because, you know—"

"No," Rogers says immediately, shaking his head urgently. He has a strange look on his face that is both earnest little boy and resolute soldier. Natasha blinks, but the expression is still there. Rogers takes a breath and, carefully, he says, "I've been meaning to talk to you—but I just didn't know how. There never seems to be a right time or a right place—"

Natasha feels herself begin to panic and stills herself before she can take an instinctive step back. "Yeah, about what you said—"

"It doesn't matter," Rogers says, cutting her off again. He seems determined for her to hear him out first. "I should never have presumed to know you without ever bothering to actually try. I was a hypocrite and my behavior—I am ashamed. But what's been said between us—that's history. You were right. I've allowed myself to become rooted to the past enough as it is—I don't want to linger on our past differences. I want to be able to work with you and call you partner."

The honesty of his gaze is almost too painful to look at.

Natasha averts her eyes immediately—feels the muscles in her faces twitch traitorously as she struggles to contain conflicting emotions. She can't explain the swell of emotion, but she feels a suspicious prickle in her eyes and it takes everything in her power to keep herself in check. She wonders if this is a joke—but Rogers would never be so cruel. Yet Rogers strikes a cord in her that resonates with every dark emotion that has ever burrowed in her heart.

The elevator hits the lobby floor but Natasha reaches out to hit a top-floor number and the doors close and they're moving up again. Rogers watches her, both patient and nervous.

Everything that needs to be said cannot be put into words. There are years between them, yet Rogers has known of her for only a fraction of the time that he's been a part of her life. She knows that the damage between them can't be salvaged with words alone, but the opportunity to speak and be heard is powerfully enticing. When her father had first spun his tales of his grand adventures with the American legend, Captain America had been a hero to her. Idolism which eventually gave way to bitterness—but there had been a time, so long ago, when Captain America had been her hero and her affections for him had been pure.

She's not sure she can ever return to that. Not sure she can ever look at Rogers without a part of her hating him for the shadow he'd cast over her memories of her father.

There is so much that can never be said—so much that Rogers will never understand—yet …

The elevator arrives at its destination and this time it's Rogers that reaches out, punching an arbitrary number.

Natasha waits for the doors to close again—watches the numbers begin to descend on the track above the doors—and eventually, when she's found her courage, she says, "You weren't the only one. I know I share the blame in this."

That can't even begin to be enough.

"It doesn't matter," Rogers says. "None of it does. You are not your father, and I did not know the Howard you did."

Natasha drops her head, eyes on the ground. Her entire face is contorted in what feels like pain and her pride rails against her like a vicious beast.

Yet, as the words find a breath to ride, she finds some of the weight in her chest lifted. Inhaling, she looks up to hold his honest gaze and does her best to smile as reassuringly as she can manage. "For … what it's worth—I'm—" She swallows—and a thousand different things run across her mind but all that she says is: " ... I apologize."

They ride the elevator the rest of the way down in silence and step out as one when the doors open to the lobby. It feels awkward to walk directly in step with him, and she imagines he has slowed his gate to keep himself from moving ahead without her. They receive many nods and salutes as they make their way towards the exit, though Natasha suspects that they're directed towards Rogers than herself given the reputation she's built with S.H.I.E.L.D.

At the revolving doors, Rogers abruptly takes her shoulder, forcing her to a halt. She frowns, looking up at him to see that same determination from earlier.

"Let's try this," he says gravely, alarming her.

"Try what?" she asks, turning to face him. Rogers drops his hand and straightens, as if gathering himself for something. Then—he smiles suddenly, a disarming and brilliant smile, and Natasha stares, stunned.

"Natasha Stark," he says, extending a hand between them. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I knew your father."

For several seconds, Natasha is speechless—her mouth hangs open unceremoniously and it elicits a chuckle from the man. "I—" Her teeth click as she shuts her mouth, scowling at herself and her lack of composure. Shaking her head in attempts to regain some of her Stark bravado, her lips purse into a poor imitation of her usual haughty smirks, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes, and she accepts his hand, shaking it firmly and holding his gaze. "A pleasure. My … father … talked a lot about you."

Rogers grins.

Natasha's smirk drops and she frowns, squinting her eyes up at him suspiciously. "Is this—are we—are we starting over?"

Rogers releases her hand and shrugs, grin widening. "It only seems fair. I was never given the opportunity to properly get to know you. This time, I'd like to avoid any misunderstandings, if that's possible."

Natasha stares—find it difficult to believing that she's not merely hallucinating. " … How are you even real?"

Rogers laughs, clapping her hard on the shoulder before starting for the revolving doors. "I look forward to working with you," he says over his shoulder.

After a second of hesitation, Natasha follows, muttering, "That … is a weird thing to say, given what we do."

But on the street, when they part ways, Rogers is still grinning and there is no deception in his eyes. Natasha frowns, still skeptical, as she slips into her car and tries to dispel the fluttering of excitement in her belly.

---

Despite her busy schedule, Natasha learns to take her health more seriously. In addition to proper meals and a diet that does not consist purely of caffeine and alcohol, she finds a way to work daily exercise into her schedule when it becomes obvious that her body cannot sustain itself on the moderate workouts she'd kept up purely out of habit. Iron Woman was becoming a daily necessity and, on its own, the suit could be exhausting to wield. Her body needed to be conditioned to a point where she could hold out on her own without the Iron Woman being forced to carry her weight.

Early mornings were designated for jogs, and every other day Happy acquiesced to join her in the ring to resume their boxing lessons.

In addition to everything else she's mounted on her plate, for the first time in a long time, sleep comes a little easier to her at night.

She's grateful for the time she gets to herself in her workshop, even if she's never really alone.

In a rare moment of freedom, Natasha is working on her latest armor after returning from an encounter with yet another criminal when Loki appears, dressed in a thin ash-colored V-neck and dark washed jeans. She has to set down her tools and stare as he all but collapses into the extra chair at her station, a disgruntled look on his face.

"Wow, you look … extremely—" Natasha feels herself grimace as she searches for the right word. "—casual today."

Loki snorts, reaching out to grab the Tri-beam magnification plate from the work table, rotating it idly in his hand. "Your stylist arrived."

She frowns, pulling the neckpiece she had been working on back onto her lap. "I didn't even get through half of last season's wardrobe," she mutters. Then, straightening with sudden horror, she exclaims, "Wait—did he—"

Loki flicks her with a quick look, scowl softening for a second. "Your shirts are safe."

"Oh thank God," Natasha exhales gratefully, flipping the neckpiece over so she can turn her attention to the collar's stress attenuation area. Palming a custom screw driver from her desk, she gestures loosely with her free hand at his outfit. "So, what's with the … "

"Evidently, Pepper consigned him to purchase me a new wardrobe, as well," Loki says, with no small amount of bitterness. Natasha sniffs, amused because she had not realized how much distaste he held for Philippe. "I do not think she realizes that it is unnecessary."

"She just wants you to feel at home," Natasha says with a dismissive shrug, tightening each bolt carefully around the titanium stress ring fitted into the neck cowl.

"I know," Loki says.

Natasha looks up sharply at the strangely heavy tone, frowning. His eyes are on the magnification plate, pensive again—almost troubled—which is an expression she's caught him with often these past few weeks. Lately he's been harder to read—at one moment happy, almost content, and in other moments guarded and obtusely silent.

Suddenly, his eyes flick to meet hers and something inside her jolts; automatically, her mouth forms a smile, unbidden. "You look good," she says quietly, without her usual playful inflection.

Natasha watches in fascination as the lines of his brow smooth and the resentment in his eyes dissolves. His smile comes easily, forming across his lips like liquid.

"Thank you," he murmurs sincerely.

Sometimes, it's like she forgets herself when she looks into his eyes—impossibly yet deceptively clear. Minutes feel like micro-seconds—too short by an eternity—and in these moments, Pepper's words come creeping back, sensing weakness.

"Hey!" she remarks suddenly, in efforts to distract herself. "You should come to dinner tonight. Rhodey's in town."

Loki frowns and she feels the tension fall away as the moment is lost. His eyes are back on the plate in his hand, expression bland and eyes reflecting disinterest. "Again?"

"His suit needs an upgrade. What do you say?"

Setting the plate on the desk, Loki folds his hands on his lap and levels her with an arched brow. "You know how he feels about me."

Of course, while everyone else seemed to have finally accepted the idea that Loki was here to stay—for an indefinite, but certainly not infinite, amount of time—Rhodey was still of a mind to ship the God back to Asgard as quickly as possible. Rhodey had not held any particular affection for Olson, but in regards to Natasha, he had always behaved in a far too protective manner.

Natasha sighs. "Well, we need to go out some time because I just found out that apparently I'm in an adulterous relationship with Brad Pitt and I kind've like Angie, in the 'I'm-actually-pretty-terrified-of-her-she's-so-int ense' kind of way, so I'd like to put those rumors to rest as quickly as possible."

Loki sniffs, nodding in understanding, but her attempts at humor fail to rouse him from the dour mood he's fallen back into. "Any face in particular you'd like me to wear?"

Natasha balks at the suggestion. "Don't be ridiculous. Just go as yourself."

"It was your idea to begin with," Loki says dismissively. She had asked Loki to alter his appearance a grand total of three times, but the novelty of it had quickly been lost and he'd never voiced any disapproval.

Rolling her eyes, she says, "Only because it made me feel like Simon Pegg to your Tom Cruise."

Loki frowns. "I don't—"

"Mission Impossible."

"Oh. Right." He nods, though his frown remains. "I don't understand how you remember the names of all these obscure actors."

Natasha can't help but laugh because—really? Tom Cruise? Obscure? Loki doesn't seem to understand her amusement, however, so she calms and explains, "It's just part of the American culture. Celebrities are like royalty—only not."

Where normally she'd be inclined to educate him on the customs he should come to expect of Americans, she can see the instant she has lost his attention and it makes something in her stomach drop unpleasantly. His eyes are distant, focused on something on her cheek rather than her eyes, and it's as if he's not really present with her.

She doesn't know how to approach—finds that, suddenly, every word between them held a world of weight and asking for his thoughts might reveal more than she's willing to hear.

Quietly, she sets the neckpiece on the desk and then stands to work in silence over the station. Her hands move almost mechanically, carefully reattaching the several layers consisting of the headpiece. To divert her thoughts from Loki, she focuses on cataloguing each component as she works—careful of the underside fibers as she handles the sub-routine processor, connecting it to the cybernetic antenna array. The array is shaped to cocoon the upper half of her skull, extending from the length of the frontal lobe to the occipital lobe. She has to handle it delicately as she attaches the occipito-mastoid padding where it will cradle the back of her skull, then parietal padding, which will sit atop her skull. She fits them under the flat neural net mesh, all of which she then connects to the starboard top outer casing—the top layer of the helmet—and the rear headpiece.

Her hands are at her sides as she scans the station for the audio processors so she can begin working on the earpieces—when she feels something cool slip under her palm and she looks down, with a start, to see Loki's hand in hers. All thought suddenly escapes her and she feels her heart jack-hammering in her chest as Loki rises from the chair, smiling charmingly, his face so incredibly close in the seconds before he straightens to his full height—and somehow she knows that was intentional. Natasha cannot look away, and then his hand slips from her to cradling the back of her neck as he turns to face the workstation.

He nods down to the equipment scattered on the table, eyes still on her, and murmurs, "Would you like some assistance?"

Natasha finds it incredibly hard to breathe for several moments—and then turns away with a snap of her head to blink down at the dismantled armor, swallowing heavily while her stomach lurches and her heart threatens to knock into the reactor embedded just above. "Um—uh—yeah. Sure. Do you remember how to put together an earpiece?"

"Temporo-mandibular padding attaches to the cybernetic antenna array—then the transducer array, the audio processor, and finally the external case and audio pick up."

Natasha looks back up at him, embarrassment gone and replaced with pride. She grins widely, leaning into his side with excitement. "Goddamn, you are so perfect."

She thinks it's her imagination when Loki's eyes seem to fall to her lips and his head seems to sway a little lower—but then he's look away and rounding the table, collecting the necessary components to complete the earpieces. Natasha watches him, her attention torn between long fingers moving deftly over delicate components, to the focus in green eyes that offer no hesitance as he works to solve the riddle of her equipment. It occurs to her that there is no other person in all the world—in any realm—who knows and understands Iron Woman as well as she does. Loki has watched her work and create more than a dozen different models and he knows them about as well as she does and—and that should be frightening and infuriating but it's not.

It's exciting and dangerous, but so is everything else about him.

As she turns her attention to the suit, they fall into routine, working in unison to complete the suit so that in the end what remains are panels of armor waiting to be pieced together into its final form.

Plucking the HMD controller from the desk, she slips it over her head and adjusts the mic so it isn't digging into her cheekbone—then blinks twice and watches as what would normally be displayed on her helmet's HUD appears on the HMD's monocle.

"Okay, ready to see something cool?" She grins, moving away from the station and jogging towards an open space away from anything particularly valuable—just in case.

Crossing his arms, Loki watches her expectantly.

"So, I've streamlined the armor before for efficiency in battle—but this time I've found a way to really strip it down without losing too much of its processing power," she explains as she strips out of her shirt and jeans to reveal a newly designed undersheath that is even thinner than the under-armor of before. Loki seems amused and she laughs, but continues on topic, "Using a combination of magnets and vectored repulsor fields, I've figured out a way to assemble the suit by just thinking it."

Loki's amusement is replaced by interest and she holds out her right hand and localizes on the call-number reserved for her right gauntlet. Almost immediately, the right palm repulsor unit flares to life and rockets the gauntlet from the station, narrowly avoiding Loki's shoulder, and precisely into Natasha's awaiting hand, conforming over her wrist, plates extending out to grow the gauntlet along her forearm.

"Very impressive," Loki murmurs.

Natasha grins and then focuses on each call number so that, one by one, each segment of the armor was propelling itself toward her and locking into place around her body. It takes all of two seconds for her to achieve full armor and as the faceplate falls into place to conceal her expression, she frowns—because it's not fast enough.

As Loki moves to join her, she conceals her disappointment and grins from behind the faceplate. "It's a cool suit, huh?"

Wordlessly, Loki reaches out, pressing palm to armored neck, then down along the contours of her shoulder, then arm. Natasha remains absolutely still, an effort aided by the weight of the Iron Woman encasing her body. Stepping around her, the light sensory units programmed along the outer shell of the suit help her track the curious trail his fingers mark as they graze along her flank, to the central vertebral unit that runs up along her spine and contains both her cooling and respiration unit—both of which seem to be malfunctioning.

As Loki's hand finds her neck again, he steps around so he's standing in front of her, indecently close. He brings his other hand to the side of Iron Woman's face, tracing the seam of the faceplate with a finger across her cheekbone, then to her chin.

"What are you doing?" She doesn't have the courage to drop her faceplate to face him directly, and it is only Iron Woman's vocal harmonizer that keeps her from sounding like a total wreck.

"Appreciating your hard work," Loki replies easily, looking directly into Iron Woman's eyes as if he could see Natasha Stark clearly beneath them.

"Seems more like you're feeling me up," Natasha huffs, tongue darting out to wet her suddenly dry lips.

Instead of responding, Loki smirks and says, "I take it your work with Extremis is nearly complete."

Forcing herself to relax, Natasha holds out a hand between them, flexing her fingers experimentally. "Honestly, the rest is in Maya's hands, now."

Loki hums in acknowledgement and asks, "Are you wearing the necklace?"

Natasha blinks—had completely forgotten about it—suddenly aware of its awkward design pressed into her skin, just shy of uncomfortable. "Ah—yeah."

"Does it disturb you?" Loki asks, hand paused over the Tri-beam plate, just over where the cube was wedged between armor and skin.

"No, it's—I don't even notice it."

Loki nods, but he doesn't step away and Natasha takes advantage of discretion behind Iron Woman's skin to allow herself to remain under his inquisitive gaze. He takes in every detail of the armor as if he has never seen it before—as if he didn't know every panel and every unit that the suit was made up of. He traces fingers over the collar of the suit and she feels sparks of what she imagines must be his magic jolting her through the armor. She frowns up at him and he seems to sense the expression because he only grins in response and continues to send out little shocks through the armor as his fingers move up along the column of her neck.

Yeah, she thinks as her stomach jolts in unison to another shock against her skin, this time at the crook of her neck.

This was way past the level of 'playful flirting'.

Trying to deny it was just pathetic at this point.

Goddammit.

She exhales loudly and Loki pauses, brow furrowing curiously—but before either has the opportunity to speak first, another voice calls out from overhead.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Both Natasha and Loki look up at the ceiling—and then Loki steps away and she sees Pepper's face projected on the holo-field above a station that had previously been displaying the schematics for the Extremis suit. She has a smug little smirk on her lips that has Natasha scowling.

"Pep," Natasha grunts, both irritated and grateful for the interruption. She's practically perspiring within her suit and that's just ridiculous. She's not a damn adolescent. "What do you need?"

Before answering, another woman steps into view, her image discolored by the blue-tinged hue of the holo-field. She's attractive, dressed in a slimming pants suit, red hair falling into waves over her shoulders. "Ms. Stark," Pepper says in her business tone. "This is Bethany Cabe, your new Chief of Security."

Natasha's mood immediately sours. "Didn't realize I needed one," she mutters, gesturing towards herself.

Pepper does not look to be moved. "Iron Woman might not, but you are still very much flesh and bone."

Cabe tries to offer an assuring smile but Natasha only feels her expression darken. "Don't worry, Ms. Stark, you won't even notice I'm here."

Loki stiffens, and he says before Natasha does, "What do you mean here?"

Pepper smiles secretively just a little behind Cabe. "Ms. Cabe will take one of the lower suits."

Natasha deadpans, "So, basically, you've hired me a bodyguard."

"Basically."

---

Loki leaves just in time to avoid Rhodey's disapproving glower. Natasha divests herself of her armor so she can prepare a station for War Machine, quickly losing herself in the repairs as she tries valiantly not to think about what had possessed Loki to behave so brazenly. It seemed to have come out of nowhere—one moment his mood sullen, the next awakened as if spurred by some new energy.

She hasn't really decided what to do with Pepper's advice. It wasn't so simple as giving into desire. She can admit that there is an all-encompassing need that starts like an ache at the pit of her stomach when she's apart from Loki and what is she supposed to do with that? What does that even mean? She's never felt such a frighteningly strong attraction, and now that Pepper had seeded the thought of more in her head it was like a dam had been ruptured and all these wayward feelings were spilling forward.

As Natasha teeters on the verge of mental instability, Rhodey makes idle conversation and she only half listens until she gets a call from Pepper so that the other woman can inform her that she'll be going out of town to attend to promotional business.

"The whole week?" Natasha balks, hand faltering from where she had been meticulously disassembling War Machine's frontal lobe to access the suit's communications array. This time, there's no holo-Pepper to direct her eyes to, only a disembodied voice echoing overhead.

"The whole week," Pepper affirms.

Natasha grimaces, turning her attention back to the helmet. "I don't know if I can survive that long without you."

"You'll do fine," Pepper sighs indulgently—adding in a suspiciously pleased tone, "You have Loki."

Behind her, Rhodey snorts and Natasha finds herself speechless, Pepper's words churning her stomach as the memory of Loki's touch resonates against her flesh, profoundly felt even through the armor.

Gritting her teeth, Natasha jerks a little too roughly as she removes the starboard top. "Fine, fine. Just get back soon. Are you flying out tonight?"

"Yes."

Natasha hums and convinces herself she's being charitable when she says, "Take Happy with you. No reason both of us should suffer the absence of your wonderful presence."

Rather than offer gratitude, Pepper sounds suspicious. " … What are you up to?"

"Nothing," Natasha replies, tucking the handle of a tool between her teeth.

"Sure. What are you doing?"

"Working on my suit."

Pepper sighs and Natasha can imagine her shaking her head. "Stay out of trouble, Natasha. I'll see you when I get back."

"Okay," Natasha grunts, growing steadily more excited as she thinks about a week without Pepper's knowing eyes following her every movement. In afterthought, she adds. "By the way, Loki says thanks."

"Did he like them?"

"He was wearing them."

"Oh my—I wasn't expecting that. I'm glad."

"Thanks, Pep," Natasha says again, removing the tool from her mouth so she can be heard clearly. She hopes that Pepper understands the full meaning behind the words—because these last few months have been a blessing compared to what had come before and she knew it had everything to do with Pepper and her open acceptance of Loki back into their home.

"Of course, Natasha."

When Pepper has gone, Natasha tucks the top plate under her arm and carries it to War Machine's station where she can begin working on extracting the memory unit from the neural net lining the underside of the outer casing. The design was by far inferior to her newer models—it had been too long since she'd had the opportunity to provide Rhodey with anything better—but she knew it was still leagues beyond what any foreign tech could supply.

"Your suit?" Rhodey says, drawing her attention as he joins her at War Machine's station.

"Yes. My suit," Natasha replies pointedly, dropping into her seat unceremoniously and shooting him a challenging look. "Seeing as how it's still technically mine. You know, because you—what's the word—stole it."

Rhodey rolls his eyes, claiming the spare seat usually reserved for Loki and rolling it to join her at the new station. "So what's the plan, exactly?"

Natasha turns her eyes back to the helmet and replies simply, "Upgrade."

"Which means?"

Natasha snorts. "Well, what it doesn't mean is you beating me up and taking my stuff."

"Ha-ha."

Carefully extracting the unit, Natasha sets it aside on a slip of wax paper and then twists in her seat. Reaching up to drop the monocle of her HMD controller, she links to the Tower then navigates through the system to her workshop. She locates and accesses the storage facilities and the storage unit to their right immediately opens to reveal the latest edition to the War Machine armor she has been working on with Loki for the past several months. Rhodey nearly topples out of his chair and Natasha restrains her smile to a smirk.

"Upgrade," she says.

Standing, Rhodey gapes up at the armor in awe. "Natasha … is this … ?"

"For you? Yes."

He seems to catch his breath, leveling her with a dubious look. "… What's the catch?"

"Wow," Natasha intones, completely unsurprised, if a little offended. "You must be the most cynical, jaded person I've ever met. Rhodey—it's yours."

"No catch?"

"No catch," she affirm—then backtracks with a grimace, "Well, maybe a catch."

Rhodey almost looks relieved. " … What is it?"

Sighing, Natasha turns her chair so she's facing Rhodey completely. "You know I have my hands tied with a lot of different things, and as much as I try to keep up—I can't be Iron Woman all the time. I can't be what the people need. It's not just New York that needs saving. The rest of the world needs protecting, too." It's a terrible burden—but there's nobody else she would ever dare ask. Nobody else she would trust. "You've always been there for me, Rhodey. Now I want to be there for you."

Rhodey shakes his head, as if to argue, "Natasha … "

She says with an honesty she feels to her core, "The world doesn't need a War Machine. It needs a hero. It needs someone who can symbolize peace. It needs a true patriot."

In the end, she didn't care what Rhodey chose to call himself. Rhodey had always been her hero—it was time she learned to share with the rest of the world.

---

Natasha decides that the world must be against her when, on Pepper's first day away, she finds herself bereft of the strength to even leave bed. Everything is at once too hot and too cold, chills shooting up along her nerves any time the AC switches on. She feels suffocated under the heavy comforter and it's only when she shifts weakly to extract herself from bed that she's aware that the sheets and pillow beneath her, as well as the comforter, are all completely soaked in her sweat.

"Oh my God," Natasha groans, curling into herself when she realizes what has happened.

"You're still in bed?"

Natasha groans something unintelligibly, too tired to be surprised by Loki's presence within her room. She curls further into herself, worming away from the sweat spot and shuddering when she finds a cool stretch of dry bedding. She is distantly aware of the layers of sheets and comforter being peeled away from above her—until a sudden burst of icy air hits her feverish face. With a pitiful whimper, she retreats back under the covers and buries her face into bed.

Loki seems to take a moment to adjust. "You look … "

"Disgusting," she whines, "I know. I'm sick. Fucking kid …"

" … What kid?"

Her words sound muffled to her own ears. "Peter."

"Parker?"

She stifles a cough against her comforter and rolls her eyes mentally. "Which other Peter do you know?"

"How is this his fault?"

"Because kids carry disease like a mother fuckin' sponge!" Natasha snaps back bitterly.

" … I'm just … I'll just let you get back to sleep, then," Loki says after a minute.

"Good," Natasha grunts, gritting her teeth against another cough.

Fuck this.

Fuck Peter.

Fuck everything.

---

Not since boyhood has he felt such a strain on his magic—to the point where the physical brunt of it was so strong that he could imagine this is what it must feel to be mortal, weak and limited to a single plane of existence. He is forced to retract his projections, restricting himself to the projection reserved for accompanying Norrin Radd in his search for the ancient artifact. Loki finds himself at cross purposes—the necessity to ensure Norrin Radd's success paramount to his own. There is an order to what is needed to ensure all his careful plotting comes to fruition so that he may obtain retribution rightfully owed. Yet—his mind has not been his own; it is as if possessed, Natasha staking claim over his thoughts and robbing him of reason.

It is maddening to know that there should be any part of himself that is not fully his to control. Natasha had been a test—an experiment—and, later, a means to an end. He could admit to himself that she alone stood his only ally—one in whom he could place a certain amount of trust. In all the realms, Loki trusted only truly himself, yet Natasha had proven of like mind, and by virtue of that, he knew that, so long as he held her support, her loyalty would never waver. It was a trait predominant in Thor—yet Natasha was not so easily swayed by smooth words and subtle machinations as the Thunderer, who upon word of beloved 'brother' would turn hammer upon nations against the command of honored father.

Loki understood that so long as he maintained her faith, she would not turn from him—yet it was not until now, when Pepper's words had shed light upon secreted thoughts, that he realized that there might be a reason beyond want of an ally. Loki knew that there were none his equal—yet this mortal seemed comprised of all the knowledge and qualities that Loki himself lacked. She did not shy from the dark for want of the light—rather, embraced both sides and relied on wit and intelligence to manipulate the world to her desires. Her manner was not that of one who thought themselves hero, but of one who was willing to play villain so long as the ends justified the means. That she should choose to align herself with the side of 'heroes' amused him, for it all seemed a great game to Loki—in which there was no good and no evil and there was only Natasha and Loki, manipulating their rightful pawns in a game that was of their own making.

The idea of it was tantalizing—it filled him with the desire for more. With her at his side, he could have it all, yet—

He did not like the idea of holding affection for a mortal. Lust was one thing, but any more than that was unthinkable. Thor had cared for a mortal—and he had destroyed the Bifrost and turned against a brother all in efforts to protect her. He had sacrificed of himself for a woman who he might never see again—all so that she might be safe for the short period of time it took before a new threat fell upon the Midgardians, as it always did.

As disgusted as he'd been in Thor for allowing such weakness—for Natasha, Loki does not know what he wouldn't do. She is an addiction and he can sense no boundary—sense no limitation in what he was willing to do if it meant that she could forever remain at his side. It is a distressing thought—the urge to give rather than take was overpowering. Nauseating, even, because sentiment was a sickness he long thought himself disposed of. He doesn't want to abandon himself or his goal—doesn't want to accept an easy balm to soothe the wrongs he's endured when the sweet pain of vengeance is so much more satisfying. He fears losing himself—losing that sharpness that he's prided himself for honing amongst a race of barbarians.

But—

Loki is also selfish—and though a part of him revolts against the prospect of allowing Natasha to become a weakness, he is too selfish to release her from his side. He lacks the nobility of Thor—would condemn Natasha to an eternity of hardship so long as they would face it together. For he would always be Loki, God of Chaos and Mischief, and it would forever be his nature to court disaster where it could be bred. He is not in the habit of denying himself anything—even when that thing promises to undo him completely.

"What troubles thoughts, Trickster?"

Loki swallows past the bile in his throat and grimaces a facetious smile at the image of Karnilla where it replaces his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He's weakened from the excretion of magic spent with little time to replenish, unaided by the fact that he has wasted valuable magic on projections so that he might remain at Natasha's side, lest it occur to Amora not to heed his warning. He can see it in Karnilla's eyes that the Norn Queen is not fooled by his bravado, yet his pride will not allow him to show any further weakness.

"Nothing of which you should concern yourself, Sorceress."

"Share concern and perhaps find weight of heavy burdens lifted."

"At a price, no doubt," Loki sneers. "Have you seen task to completion?"

"There is yet more needed before my work can be done."

Gritting his teeth, Loki breathes heavily through his nose before speaking. "Speak, then. What more do you require?"

Karnilla smiles.

---

Natasha is moderately awake sometime later but feels too miserable to comfortably sleep. It's been a long time since she's been sick and she's forgotten how everything can ache to the marrow of her bones as if disease were burrowed deeply within. Upon waking, she'd also discovered that the side of her face she'd slept on was completely congested and the ability to breathe clearly through only one nostril was beyond infuriating. To her surprise, Loki appears almost immediately, puzzled furrow between his brow. She's distracted from her instinctive inclination to complain loudly by the strange tint to his skin and the light purpling under his eyes.

She glares, scowl deepening when her voice comes out sounding raspy and unused. "What's your excuse?"

"Pardon?"

"You look like shit."

He hesitates.

Realization descends belatedly and she recognizes his pallor is a symptom of over-used magic. When Loki doesn't respond, her suspicion is confirmed and Natasha is surprised—and strangely glad—that he chooses silence when she knows that whatever excuse he would have given would have been a lie.

"Whatever," she grunts, begrudgingly sitting up to prop herself against the headboard. Huddling the comforter closer despite the ickiness of sweat, she mutters, "Get me some soup or something and then sit down so we can watch a movie. I am not suffering alone."

Loki snorts, amused. He's gone without another word and Natasha doesn't know if he has any intention of indulging her but is prepared to complain loudly and frequently if he dares oppose her. "Hey, Jay," she sighs, thumping her head back against the headboard—then regretting it as the pain resonates throughout her skull and sinuses, intensified by sickness.

"Yes, Ms. Stark?"

"Let's watch some Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang. I'm in the mood for some Kilmer."

Loki returns shortly with the designated soup and settles down on top of the comforter beside her. Taking the soup gratefully into her lap, she savors the warmth and bites back a smile when she recognizes the soup belonging to same place where the team had ordered their shawarma in the past.

A cool hand settles behind her neck and Natasha jumps at the sensation, for once unsettled by the unnatural temperature of Loki's skin as it seems to shoot down her spine like a current of ice. She looks up with an apologetic grimace as she shifts away from his hand and sees concern settle clearly over his features. He draws his hand from her neck and settles for brushing his knuckles against her heated cheek—this time, she welcomes the sensation and leans gratefully into the loose fist of his hand, relaxing the tension from her body.

"I've never healed illness before," Loki murmurs, "But I can try if you'd like."

It's a tempting offer, and Natasha almost considers accepting—but the bruising around Loki's eyes gives her pause. She turns her face into his hand and he opens his fist to tentatively cup her cheek. "Maybe when you don't look like you're ready to drop," she replies, just as quietly. Her face seems to grow warmer in his hand and she pulls away reluctantly to face the television across from the bed, hands on the container of soup. "Wanna share?"

"Sure."

As JARVIS begins the movie, Loki doesn't seem to mind the proximity to her fevered and undoubtedly odorous self. Experimentally, Natasha shifts closer, taking his arm and maneuvering it over her shoulder so she can tuck herself comfortably into his side. When Loki merely summons a second spoon for the soup and cradles her head with a large hand, Natasha relaxes and lets her temple rest against his jaw.

"God's can't get sick, right?" she asks neutrally—mostly to see if she's still capable of clear thought. She spoons through the soup distractedly, impatiently waiting for a response.

"I have never known it to be the case," he says, massaging fingers idly against her scalp.

Natasha dozes off before the first ten minutes of the film and when she wakes, the credits are rolling and Loki's chin is resting on her head, the steady rise and fall of his chest indicating he is fast asleep.

---

End Notes:

EDIT: This is chapter twelve not thirteen! messed up the numbering of my chapters a while back when it forced me to split a chapter in two parts! I am so sorry for the confusion guys! Don't kill me!

Things were getting kinda serious. So here's some levity. (Enjoy it while it lasts). According to IM3, Tony returns to Malibu after the events in the Avengers. Obviously, in CV, Natasha has found more of a reason to stay in New York.

Sorry about the lateness. I had to take a week to kind of refresh because I felt like I had leeched all the words out of my system with those last few chapters. Also, I kept getting distracted writing down some scenes for the third fic in this series as inspiration came to me, and also upcoming scenes from towards the end of Everything Burns (which, I'll be honest, often resulted in me making myself cry and having to take a break again just to recover.)

Seriously, though, if I hadn't spent months agonizingly sorting out every little thing (down to key dialogue) that is going to happen in this series, you guys would probably getting a chapter every six months or something. Fortunately, the only thing I need to do is figure out the narrative, though that's still kicking my ass.