A/N: Only three more chapters left for me to write, but four to post. The end is in sight! Huzzah! Hope you enjoy this!
Mutiny
by Flaignhan
The legs of Steve's chair scrape noisily against the floor as he slides back and stands up.
"You won't change his mind," Natasha says, shaking her head slowly, her index finger running along her cutlery as thoughts and ideas (all of which are useless) race through her head.
"I have to try," Steve says resolutely, then jogs towards the door, pulling it open and looking in each direction down the corridor before he darts off to the left, the slap of sole on tile echoing into the distance as the sound of his footsteps gradually fades away. Natasha looks towards Loki, the only one still eating. He doesn't give her even a moment of his attention, and so, realising that he's not going to offer up any options for freeing the others now that Tony's leaving, she gets up and hurries away from the table, following after Steve.
"This is all your fault you know," Loki says to Jane as Natasha rounds the corner. "You should have chosen better."
Natasha doesn't hear Jane's reply - she breaks into a sprint, determined to catch up with them before Steve can say anything to worsen the situation. She knows the pull of Pepper will mean that there is little that can be said to convince Tony to stay, but the game is nearly over, he just has to stick it out a little longer. Only a day, only long enough to choose somebody else, and then he can go, then he can do whatever he wants, just as long as he manages to make it through another twenty four hours here.
Luckily, they haven't made it so far that she can't find them in the labyrinth of corridors, and when she skids around the corner, the soft leather soles of her shoes slipping and sliding on the polished floors, she finds that Steve has Tony by the arm, his hand maintaining a firm grip on him, preventing him from taking another step towards freedom.
"Oh, you've come to join us. How wonderful," Tony says sarcastically. "I wanna go home. Props to you guys for staying, but I just wanna go home."
"One day," Natasha says between deep steadying breaths. "One day."
"Why?" Tony asks with a shrug. "Why one day? Why do you guys even want me to stick around?"
"Because…we're a team, right?" The words sound so lame, so stupid coming from her mouth that it's no surprise that Tony arches a disbelieving eyebrow. She should have left that statement to Steve - Captain Decency would have made it sound a whole lot better.
"And the real reason?" Tony asks.
"Just stay, come on. One day, Stark, you can manage one day."
Tony tries to pull away from Steve but he doesn't relinquish his grip. "What's the big deal?" he demands.
Natasha breathes in deeply, and Steve glances over to her. Tony's eyes flick between them, and she wonders whether they can try and recreate their conversation with Jane from earlier. Then, it had been unintentional, but this time, they could try and raise Tony's suspicions to a point where he's curious enough to stay. She's not sure how generous Loki will be this time around however, if he is denied at the last minute of a chance to prove to them all how one abandonment can lead to disaster, how one selfish act, even without knowledge of the consequences, can mean dire things for everybody left behind.
"He's playing a game," Natasha says at last. "And letting you walk free is one of his moves."
"I think it's a great move," Tony says, scrunching his nose and nodding, his brown eyes overbright from tiredness and stress.
"Make a counter move," Natasha hisses, stepping forward. "Surprise him, play him at his own game, fight back."
"I don't need to fight," Tony says slowly, as though explaining something very simple to a two year old. "He is letting me go."
"What, so you're just gonna leave us, just like that?" Steve says disgustedly, shoving Tony towards the wall. Tony turns a steely glare onto Steve and brushes himself off.
"Yeah, Captain Spandex, I think I just might," he says in an icy tone.
"You can't," Natasha argues, stepping between them before tensions raise even further. "We need you."
"No you don't," Tony replies with a shake of his head. "What could you possibly need me for?"
"The game," Steve says sternly. "We need a full team to play the game, all right? We need our best minds working on this."
"So remind me why you're involved?"
"Tony," Natasha says exasperatedly. "Just stay! One day! One damn day and then you can do whatever the hell you want, all right?"
"But Pepper - "
"Coped just fine when you went missing in Afghanistan," Natasha tells him. "She's gonna be okay."
"But things are different now," Tony replies, looking down at his feet, his hands fidgeting in front of him. "Things are - "
"She has always cared for you, long before the two of you got together," Natasha says softly. "Just because you were too much of a dumbass to realise, it doesn't mean the feelings weren't there. She loved you then and she coped then. She loves you now and she will cope now."
"She doesn't even know where I am," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. "I just took off, didn't say a word…"
"She knows you're with us," Steve says, his voice far more gentle now. "And she knows that we all look out for one another. We might not all be best buddies, and we might squabble like children when you put us all in a room together, but we look out for one another. Because we're a team, and that's what teams do."
Tony turns his head, looking down the long stretch of corridor that leads towards the palace exit. He chews anxiously on his lip then looks down at the floor again, sighing heavily. "You know that sentimental crap won't work on me, Cap," he says quietly. "Teamwork…not really my area…not when my girl's lightyears away and worried sick about me."
"Bruce is still down there."
The words hang in the air, and though she doesn't have a clear view of Tony's face, she can still see some sort of emotion flit across it. She doesn't know why those five words in particular decided to form in her mouth, nor does she really recall making the decision to speak them aloud. She does know that she might just have found the right pressure point that will get him to stay. He runs his hand through his hair again and his chest rises and falls steadily has he takes deep, controlled breaths.
"He's in a bad way," she continues. "He's gonna need a friend when he gets out of that cell."
Tony doesn't say anything, and Steve takes a step away from him, glancing over to Natasha curiously.
"He's had to hold his temper this whole time, at the risk of losing his hands," Natasha tells him. "Even with all the arguing, the bickering, the lack of food. He's held on for that long. Can't you hold on twenty-four hours for him?"
"There it is," Tony says softly. "Emotional blackmail. Right in the gut."
Steve smiles in relief and throws an arm around Tony's shoulders. "Come on," he says. "Let's go ruin Loki's day."
She half expects Tony to shrug Steve's arm off, but he doesn't and the three of them head back to the dining hall together, Tony rather subdued, Steve still sporting his smile, while she, Natasha, wonders just how fine a line they're treading with what they're telling people. She's certain that Loki will be unhappy with this turn of events, so thrilled he was at Tony's initial departure, and as such she's not banking on them being out of the woods just yet. He was so pleased to have such a game changing moment unfold over dinner, that to have it snatched away at the last minute will probably feel to him like Christmas has been cancelled.
When they re-enter the dining hall, Loki's eyes narrow on them. Tony takes his seat and picks up his goblet of wine, taking a sip while Natasha and Steve sit down in their places.
"Thought I'd come see what was for dessert," Tony says brightly, all traces of homesickness and concern well hidden by his usual happy-go-lucky façade.
"How disappointing…" Loki drawls. "You just have to spoil all my fun, don't you, Natasha?"
"I take pride in it," she replies with a ghost of a smile. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of Loki's lips, but he says nothing in response.
"Are you two flirting?" Tony asks incredulously, setting down his goblet with a loud clunk. "There are people locked up in the dungeons and you two are flirting? Is this what I'm sticking around for?"
Natasha gives him a cool look and he suddenly becomes interested in his wine again.
"What's the matter, Mr Stark?" Loki asks. "Cat got your tongue?"
"No," Tony replies in a slow, steady voice. "I was just reminded that she could probably think of a hundred and fifty different ways to kill me using only the salt shaker. That kind of realisation tends to shut me up."
Natasha thinks she should remind him of that fact more often.
She paces around her bedroom, unable to settle. They've denied Loki of a satisfying twist in his game, and she is certain that there will be consequences for it. She walks back and forth so many times that she thinks she might be starting to wear a hole in the sole of her shoe, and so eventually she leaves her room, striding down the corridors until she once more finds herself at his door. It's late, and so she knocks quietly and awaits a response.
"Enter!"
She opens the door and slips inside, looking around for Loki. He's nowhere to be seen, but then a shirt is slung over the top of his dressing screen, and she can see his shadow flitting around on the wall as he pulls off his boots.
"Salme, is that you? What do you want?"
"No," Natasha replies. "It's me."
He pokes his head out from behind the screen, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, his pale shoulders bare, illuminated by the firelight. "What do you want?" he demands, disappearing behind his screen again. He emerges a few moments later, sporting a set of loose, linen pyjamas. He approaches her, looking a little silly in his nightwear, and Natasha suspects that he knows it, because he's trying his best make his shoulders as broad as possible. He's standing up straight, his chin raised, and he towers over her. And yet, a smile plays at her lips as she lets her eyes wander over his clothes.
"I uh…" she trails off, and Loki eyes her suspiciously. She can't even get her head around what she wants to say, so distracted is she by his get up, which, while as simple as clothes can be, seems far more ridiculous than his usual leather and metal. "I never really had you pegged as a pyjamas kinda guy…" she says, unable to avoid the subject for any longer.
Loki bristles. "Yes, well, if I didn't wear pyjamas, I'm not sure there's enough gold in all the vaults that would make it worth Salme's while to give me my wake up call."
"She's a maid, I'm sure she's seen it all before," Natasha says with a shrug.
Loki shakes his head. "She's very young. This is her first job. Her, Kari, and a handful of others were hired when they finished their schooling. There are no trades for young girls, other than crude work, and otherwise they are expected to find husbands and provide children."
"And you don't like that idea?" Natasha asks curiously. Were her friends not locked up in the dungeons, she would have given a good deal more thought to Loki's household staff. It seems strange, that a man so intent on destruction in some scenarios can also be so intent on doing decent things in others. But, she knows better than anybody, people don't just fall into the categories of good and bad. Some might be dangerously close to one end of the spectrum, but it's not uncommon for people to shift along the scale at different points in their life. She's been as close to bad as it's possible to get, and now, she likes to think, at least, she's edging her way up to the more acceptable end of things.
"My…" Loki lets out a sigh and sinks down onto the edge of his bed. "My mother was always pestering my father about the idea. She hated the idea that girls were going straight from school to marriage because there was so little choice for them. If their family owned a business they could learn the trade, but that was always luck of the draw. She adored Sif…considered her almost a daughter…"
"So you're doing all this for her?" Natasha asks. "Hiring girls to work in the palace?"
"It's not ideal," Loki says quietly. "But it's a start. I pay them a fair wage. I don't really care for the gold…they might as well have it."
It's strange, but little things like this that catch her off guard with him. His boredom with the throne has always suggested to her that he doesn't involve himself too much in the running of the kingdom, and perhaps that's right. Perhaps he ensures he keeps abreast of everything and then leaves the boring tasks up to everybody else. But, it seems, every so often there is something that has to be just as he wants it. He rules with his mother's heart in mind - if he could only be under her influence in every aspect of his life, they might never have been in this mess in the first place.
"You're strange," she tells him.
"Says the alien assassin."
"I'm not an alien," she retorts, but when Loki raises his eyebrow, she realises that, in this scenario at least, she is. She's on his planet, not her own. She's the odd one out, and though she might not look any different to the Asgardians, she certainly is different. She sits down next to him, the mattress sinking under her weight, and though his eyebrows twitch into a small frown, he doesn't say anything. "You're strange because you take such good care of your maids, who are, for all intents and purposes, strangers, and yet, your own brother - "
"None of the maids have abandoned my body on a frozen wasteland," he snaps. "None of them have spent years overshadowing me, none of them have ever tried to make me look the fool."
"You have tried to kill him half a dozen times," she reasons. At her words, some of the tightness in Loki's shoulders disappears, the tension between them easing, just a little. "You ever think about wiping the slate clean? Both of you?"
"If you've come here to lecture me - "
"No, I didn't," she says, leaving the subject of him, his maids, and his brother alone for the time being. "I came here to see if you were pissed about the Tony thing."
"You know, considering how intelligent you are, you can be quite the imbecile," he tells her.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She knows better than to be offended. If his words weren't laced with sarcasm and insult, she'd think there was something seriously wrong with him.
"Obviously I am not pissed, as you so eloquently put it. If I were pissed you would know about it."
Natasha frowns. "So what's the point? Why have all these conditions if you're never going to react?"
"You want me to react?"
"Well obviously not, but I'd have thought you'd take any opportunity to make us pay, even for the tiniest breach of the rules. You're petty like that." She pauses, her teeth pulling on the inside of her lower lip. "Or you were."
"The game is playing itself out now," Loki tells her, leaning back on his hands and resting his weight on the heels of his palms.. "I'll probably let Thor stew for a few days after the others have been released but…this was never going to be the interesting bit. You were always the wildcard. I'm surprised you never realised."
"Me?" she asks. "Why me?"
Loki stretches his legs out in front of him and sighs heavily. He is bored of the conversation, she can tell, wants to go to bed, but he won't tell her so. He'd sound far too much like a child, and he won't sink to such levels, not in front of her.
"I didn't know whether you'd go or stay. Whether, after they all turned on you, cast you out, you'd still hang around for their sakes. You were always the most interesting of all of them." He looks across at her, the fingers of his right hand absentmindedly tapping against the mattress. "You're still the most interesting."
She doesn't know what to say to that, and the silence feels thick, though not uncomfortable. She's suddenly aware of every single beat of her heart, the blood pulsing through her veins, each breath that swells in her lungs. As she looks at him, his narrow face, his eyes that are now avoiding her own, she realises why she was the chosen subject of the game. Everybody else is far more team-oriented than she is. Even Clint, who has always found it easier to trust others and work well with them than she has. She is far more remote, because she likes it that way, but as such, she is vulnerable because she keeps herself separate. Not only that, but none of them have the chequered past that she does. None of them have edged much past the middle of the good and bad scale, at least, not towards the wrong end. Steve shines like a beacon on the noble side of things, and she supposes that he, Jane and Thor are quite comfortable there. Bruce is, perhaps a little further down the scale, but not much, while Tony hops from point to point, depending on his mood. Clint is a grey area, naturally, but she, Natasha, has dipped her toes into the murky waters of the bottom end of things more often than she'd care to recall, and, thanks to Clint, Loki is aware of that, of every grim, stomach churning detail.
"You needed reassurance," she says softly. "That even somebody like me can be…" Her words fade away. She's not a good person, she's not even within spitting distance of being a good person. "That somebody like me can do the right thing. Even if they've done more wrong things than they can ever make amends for."
"Your words," he says, glancing up at her and then looking away almost immediately. "Not mine."
It's as though a light has been shone on the dark recesses of his mind. She understands now, that every small, strange little quirk, such as hiring the girls and giving them a chance to earn their own money, listening to Sif, even when it pains him to, and making sure that the kingdom is flourishing, that all of his subjects are healthy and happy, it's all done with a sense of making amends. All of it, she is sure, is what his mother would have wanted for the kingdom, and what's more than that, the type of king that Loki is, the one that respects his domestic staff, that places the rebuilding of the damaged villages as a top priority on his ascension to the throne, that's the kind of man she is sure Loki's mother would have wanted him to be. The game aside, the petty feud between him and Thor ignored just for a moment, what it boils down to is that he has been trying to right his wrongs, ever since he was given the opportunity. All he ever needed was to be left alone.
"D'you regret it? Coming to Earth?" she asks at last, the question burning inside of her.
"I don't dwell on it," he says offhandedly.
"So that's a no," she replies.
"I said I don't dwell on it," he says through gritted teeth. "That's a different thing."
"It's either a yes or a no," Natasha presses.
"Except it's not," he argues. "It's a chain. If Thor hadn't cast me into oblivion, I would have never ended up…" He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before continuing. "It wasn't a standalone event. I didn't wake up one day and decide to invade Midgard. I might be capricious but I'm not insane."
She can understand that. She knows better than she'd like how easy it is to become trapped in a chain reaction, how one thing can lead to another and before you know it there's blood on your hands and a long list of people that want to make you pay. She tries not to dwell on her past either, but luckily for her, her own indiscretions aren't as recent and raw as Loki's are. She's moved past them, she's put herself on what she hopes to be the right track, at long last.
"You've got a long way to go," she tells him. "It won't just wash out."
"I know that," he mumbles.
"And locking up innocent people is only going to count against yourself, if you're trying to outweigh the bad deeds with good ones."
Loki doesn't reply to that.
"No one will think you're weak if you let them out."
"Go to bed," he says quietly. "It's late."
She doesn't argue at the dismissal, and leaves him be, bidding him goodnight before she heads back to her own room. Her heart is resting easier in her chest now, though her skin tingles unpleasantly at the amount of similarities between them that their conversation highlighted. She doesn't like the idea of being in the same boat as somebody like him. And yet, every decision he makes as a king, he makes with his mother in mind, his mother who, from what Natasha has heard, was a good, kind woman. The idea of Loki being capable of anything good, or kind, is completely at odds with everything she knows about him. He doesn't suit good, and yet she'd be a complete and utter hypocrite if she ever refused to believe that he could be anything less than that.
Thoughts and questions race through her mind as she stares up into the dark, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her bed covers. Eventually, she falls asleep, her dreams plagued by distant, echoing booms. She wakes with a start when the door to her room crashes open, and after a moment the room is illuminated with bright torchlight. She squints towards the doorway, her hand inching towards the thick gold candlestick on the bedside table, just in case she needs it.
"Get dressed," Sif says, tossing a heavy pile of clothes onto her bed. She's out of breath, and has a chest plate dangling over one arm, while her other hand clutches a collection of spears, swords, and axes. She strides over, and dumps the chest plate on top of the clothes. "Quickly," she says. "Which d'you want?" She holds the weapons aloft, and Natasha frowns in confusion. In the distance there is a boom that vibrates through the palace floor, and Natasha jumps out of bed.
"I'll take the spear," she says, grabbing the clothes Sif has brought and pulling them on. "What's going on?"
"We're under attack," Sif tells her, lifting the chest plate over Natasha's head and helping her secure the bolts at her waist.
"By who?"
Sif's dark eyes meet her own with a grim gaze.
"Frost giants."