Sometimes it was better to stay asleep.
Steve opened his eyes with grudging resignation. For a wild moment he considered refusing to move for the next several hours, just lying there without will or ambition or any of the myriad of driving emotions plaguing him. His mind was willing; his body was not. The moment he acknowledged wakefulness, the higher metabolism propelled him into motion. As he lay unmoving, his fingers twitched in anticipation. He could not sit still because his body was no longer designed for motionless rest. He needed something to do.
He needed to get up.
He pushed the thick cover aside and draped his legs over the edge of the bed. He stared blankly at the wall across the room as he began to plan his day. Help Asgard rebuild was a general idea with merit. After the battle, as soon as the builders, stonemasons and carpenters realized this mortal was stronger than the others, they put him to work hefting objects his teammates might struggle with. He couldn't keep up with an Æsir, but he made up for his lesser strength with higher tenacity.
Sif found and helped him the day before. Together they rebuilt half of an Asgardian home which had been destroyed by a Chitauri grenade. Steve threw himself into the task and Sif had pulled him aside at one point to force him to rest, eat and drink an entire flask of water. The energy the snack gave him carried him through the rest of the day and into the night. She stuck by his side for the most part. She left once to go find Thor, and returned within the hour in sour spirits. Together, they demolished an unsalvageable wall for parts to recycle.
"You are very focused," she commented to him, once. He'd only nodded and continued his work. He wanted to erase all signs of the attack from the Golden Realm.
Now was day two of the same efforts. Exercise first, he thought, and dropped to the cold floor to begin his morning regiment. Two hundred push-ups in varying styles of difficulty, the same number of jumping jacks to loosen his arms and legs for the day's work. Slinging a hammer effectively meant his arms and back muscles needed to be flexible.
With some of his excess morning energy burned away, Steve exited his quarters and made his way to Thor's. The unofficial meeting place was now part of every Avenger's morning routine, since the day's meals for the team were now consistently served there. Thor - and Jane, when she was in Asgard - welcomed the company and left the door open when not present. Thor's Æsir friends also often joined now, and Steve found himself in Fandral and Volstagg's company when he entered the room. Bruce stood out on the balcony with a crudely crafted sandwich of fresh-cut roast and torn bread in his hand, looking out over the city. Steve wondered who had cut the bread for him until he watched Fandral decimate another slice from the still-warm and therefore soft morning loaf. He offered to take the knife, which Fandral handed over with a grateful smile, and smoothly sliced four pieces from the thick roll.
Steve left the slices to the Æsir and picked at the fresh fruits instead. Volstagg clapped him on the back.
"You must eat more! That would never be enough to satisfy even a small bird's appetite!"
Steve shrugged, an action which both conveyed his ambivalence and loosened the now-sore shoulder muscles where Volstagg thumped him. "I'm always hungry, it doesn't make much difference."
"Is that so?" The large warrior beamed. "Truly you should have been born Æsir. The feasts we could share!"
"As though you are ever satisfied with a feast," Fandral said. He winked at Steve, a clear indication of how unlikely such a thought was.
"Liquor doesn't work on me either," Steve offered. Fandral took his turn to look troubled.
"You must try our ale before you are so hasty. It is far stronger than the water you serve on Midgard."
Steve shook his head. "It's not all weak."
"Too weak for you, it seems. Come - we will plan an experiment, as your Tony Stark would say, and see how your mortal body handles Æsir ale."
Steve laughed. Tony had taken to testing various Æsir versus human characteristics to see how the species measured up against each other. So far his tests consisted of trying to drink Fandral under the table, gorging on Asgardian food with Volstagg, and comparing weapon construction with the poor blacksmith Thor set him upon when the thunderer could no longer answer the inventor's incessant questions. That Fandral encouraged Stark's "experiments" by broadening the test subjects was no surprise.
"How's Hogun," Steve asked. Volstagg's face fell into stern professionalism.
"His hand is healed, though they say a terrible scar will mar his arm where the healers reattached the skin."
"A scar?" Steve was confused. "But Lynn was burned and -"
"That was new skin grown over the old damaged stuff." Bruce entered the conversation from the balcony. He scanned the trough for something new and picked up a small cluster of grapes. "Hogun's skin wasn't regrown, it was reattached."
"Oh." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. Mentioning Lynn was a bad idea; now he felt tense and incapable. Volstagg glanced between the two Avengers and reciprocated Steve's earlier question.
"And Barton?"
"The healers say he'll be fine in three more days," Bruce said. "Clint says he's fine today but they won't let him go yet."
"The healers are wise, but they are also healers," Fandral said. His expression was full of empathy for Barton's position. Apparently the Warriors Three knew their way around the Æsir infirmary.
"We can't thank them enough for - all of you, really, you've been great hosts." Steve finished his heartfelt gratitude with trailing hesitation. Volstagg grasped his shoulder while Fandral nodded.
"It is no great task to host your comrades," the dashing warrior said. "And rest assured, Captain, that when the time comes the Warriors Three will accompany you to rescue the fair damsel."
"What?" Steve and Bruce both spoke at the same time, and both Æsir laughed at the stereo effect.
"You didn't think we would leave you to it? She is as much our charge as yours now, and Sif will be anxious to see if her teachings have proven fruitful."
"What am I anxious for?" The tall lady warrior entered the room wearing her training outfit and took up a pear, which she tossed from hand to hand as she glared at Fandral, expecting a tease.
"Only to see if your efforts with the Lady Creed were for naught."
Sif's face fell and she gave Steve a sharp glance, which he returned by looking away toward the food again. He selected a thin slice of ham glazed with honey, then another when the first piece proved delicious. After the third slice, he cut two slivers of bread and layered the honeyed ham between them. Through it all, he felt Sif's eyes watching him.
"When will we go after her," she finally asked.
"Once Barton's ready," Steve replied. After a meaningful ehem from Fandral's direction, he added, "and Hogun." Then, to Bruce: "You already saw Clint today?"
"Natasha was here before me."
Steve looked around the room. Tony was still sleeping since the sun was barely above the horizon. Clint and Natasha were in the infirmary. Which left one of his team unaccounted for.
"Where's Thor?"
"He is at the training grounds," Sif replied, which explained the outfit. She reached out to grab Fandral's arm when he moved to walk to the grounds and visit his friend. "We will leave him be for now."
"How is he," Volstagg asked. Sif pursed her lips and her nostrils flared with temper.
"His brother is a traitor who brought enemy forces to Asgard thrice," she said. "He is as well as could be expected."
"We will repay the favor in kind in a few days hence," Fandral said. Volstagg raised a fist in solidarity of this idea, and Steve took a bite of his sandwich to avoid giving his own opinion on the matter.
"Yes," Sif said, her eyes flashing with anger. "We will."
"Sif, maybe you should -" Steve paused at the dark look she gave him, "- ah, it's just that with all of us gone it leaves Asgard open to another -"
"The more who attend, the faster the mission will go," she said. All three Æsir nodded, and Steve suspected that Thor and Hogun would have agreed as well, had they been here. He dropped his protests and focused on eating his sandwich.
The ground was hard and cold, and the wall wasn't much better. Bits of rock poked into her back, tiny nagging pinpricks which bothered her enough for her to try to shift away.
These were the first observations Lynn had as she slowly regained consciousness. The next was a combination of a realization that both hands were hovering in the air next to her head, and wondering why they hovered there as though held. By the time she realized why, she'd also recognized that she was sitting leaned against a wall and the air smelled familiar - death, or blood, or metal, and something else she couldn't name without a species.
She opened her eyes though this made no difference - they could communicate no information any longer, save that the air was somewhat dry. She shook and stared ahead blankly, pupils dilated as her body fought back the shock and panic. If she let it win she'd be overwhelmed entirely.
"Miss Creed, are you awake?"
She jerked. The shackles around her wrists clinked at the movement; she blinked several times and murmured, "JARVIS?"
"Yes, Miss Creed." The A.I. sounded relieved and despite knowing it was only a machine, her mind immediately constructed a friendly face to accompany the voice. She was alone, but with JARVIS in her ear she couldn't be alone, could she? Her brain believed it, and that was good enough for her.
"I thought you were, were..."
"The lenses were taken, but my casing and microphone were left with you."
Lynn had never told anyone how JARVIS worked, which meant only she and Tony knew that the A.I. lived in the charm on her necklace.
"Tell me what I missed."
"You have been unconscious for eighteen hours." She flinched and shook her legs. Nothing clicked near her ankles; she started pushing herself to her feet, touching the wall behind her to check for obstacles. She didn't want to hurt herself if a ledge was sticking out further than anticipated.
"I cannot translate the Chitauri language without access to my data files on Mr. Stark's server."
"So you have no clue what they've been talking about." She was standing now. She moved her hands and found the chains slack and drifting upward. It was a large change to the binds from before. She grabbed the left chain and began following it up along the links, until she stretched onto her toes and couldn't reach higher. She dropped her hands and backed away from the wall, and found herself with two full steps of space before the metal stopped her.
"So what can you tell me, since you can't see either?"
"We are just below 2,400 meters in altitude, and the temperature is two degrees Celsius -"
"Stark put you in SI for me, didn't he?"
"Yes. Would you prefer metric?"
"Please. I can't do the conversions in my head yet." She wished she could. It would give her something else to focus on, something that didn't involve this place, the chains, panic - or the overwhelming sense of betrayal beating at her.
Don't think about it.
"Very well," the A.I. said. "It is thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit and we are just below 8,000 feet elevation. You may experience dizziness and shortness of breath at this altitude. You must remain vigilant, Miss Creed."
"Great," she said. If she started to hyperventilate, she could say it was related to the elevation and not the panic gnawing angrily at her.
Lynn shivered and rubbed her hands against her arms. She was dressed for warm Asgardian days, not cold Chitauri...whatever it was. At least she had a pair of Sif's pants on. The fabric bunched around her bare feet and helped to keep her toes warm. She kicked out her leg and circled it in the air a few times, then repeated the action with her other leg, creating a small bundle of cloth underneath both feet to protect them from the bare floor. It would have to do for now.
As she rubbed her arms, she paused and pressed gently against her upper arms. Slight pain made her wince - she had bruises from, from -
"Has Loki been around?" She didn't want to know, not really. She remembered her own assertions in regards to the god: he was a trickster, and his reasoning would never make sense to her.
But she still asked.
"Mr. Odinson brought you here and secured you in place."
"How do you know it was him?"
"He has a very distinct temperature pattern."
Lynn perked up. "Do Æsir have a different temperature?"
"In general, the Æsir you have encountered are a few degrees warmer than a human. However, Mr. Odinson is several degrees cooler."
"Several degrees?" She leaned back against the wall and ignored the myriad of pinpricks. "But humans can't be more than a few degrees either way without problems. So we're colder than Æsir, and he's still colder than us?"
"It is enough of a difference to possibly indicate a separate species, Miss Creed." JARVIS obviously knew where she was going with this, and she bit her bottom lip. How relevant could this be? Did the Æsir know that Loki wasn't one of them? Or was the Loki they saw now not the original? That could explain a lot. She'd overheard several conversations between Avengers and Æsir alike discussing Loki's drastic changes, all within the past few years. Could this explain the changes?
She wanted to tell someone her theory - and when she started to wonder who she should tell, she remembered that she was trapped worlds away from the Avengers, or Jane, or anyone else. And the reminder struck her with such force that she sucked in a sharp gasp - and the air was too thin, it was too thin and she could hardly breathe at all, and now she was shaking badly, so badly -
"Miss Creed. Listen to my voice, Miss Creed. Focus on my words." And JARVIS suddenly vanished, replaced by a loud horn. The trumpet blared a jazzy rhythm in her ear; she cried out and held a hand over the microphone until JARVIS lowered the volume. Her heart rate slowed as the song continued.
"I-is that 'Hi dee ho?'" It seemed improbable and her voice reflected her doubt.
"It is," JARVIS said, and the music continued to play behind his voice. "Mr. Stark found your digital music collection and uploaded the entirety into my database."
"I thought Apple wasn't compatible with anything." Distract, distract, distract. She knew the A.I.'s game now, and she wanted to help him in his goal. The less she thought about reality, the better.
"I believe Mr. Stark took that as a challenge."
"He seems to take most things as a challenge." She was really shaking now; the cold, dry air leeched warmth from her skin and left her with chattering teeth. "Is there anywhere warmer?"
"I'm afraid not."
"I can't just stand here and freeze." How had she not frozen while unconscious? "Play something upbeat. I can practice."
"As you wish, Miss Creed." The music changed to a hyper electronic mix. Lynn tried to remember the stances Sif taught her and assumed the first that came to mind. She began punching the air, stopping every fourth punch to jump from foot to foot. Anything to stay in motion.
She ignored the incessant rattling from her wrists and the wall, as the chains clanked against the rock in protest of her movements.
She was halfway through her second set of somewhat-remembered moves when the music stopped.
"JARVIS?" She straightened and dropped her hands. "What's -"
Footsteps. Heavy, thudding footsteps. Her chest clenched as her lungs constricted; her heart hammered against her ribcage. She shrank back against the prickly rock wall, then contorted until her knees met the ground and she could sit. She curled her knees to her chest, hands dangling awkwardly beside her head.
"Miss Creed," JARVIS began, and she flinched away from the sudden voice. "Listen to my voice. You must remain calm. The harder you breathe, the harder your lungs will have to work for oxygen. You will cause yourself to lose consciousness once more." JARVIS prattled on about lung capacity and oxygen density in the air, and though she only half-listened the matter-of-fact recitation of facts gave her something other than those footsteps to focus on.
They stopped. Lynn concentrated on small, deep breaths.
"On your feet, little mortal."
"Miss Creed, you should stand." JARVIS sounded so calm and friendly. She started to uncurl to obey him -
A hand with too many fingers grabbed her bruised upper arm and hauled her to her feet. She cried out once, then gritted her teeth. The hand around her arm squeezed until she cried out again.
"Do not try to be brave," the monster hissed. "Courage will not impress us."
Us. She swallowed the thick lump of nothing in her throat. Who was "us?"
"I'm not -"
"Silence. You will speak when allowed."
She clenched her jaw and waited for a gag. It never came. He still had her arm, and shook her hard before letting go with a shove backward. She leaned against the wall and rubbed her arm.
Leave us. The footsteps started again, the heavy beat of thick soles against the floor. She thought of Thor and then shoved the memories away. When the footsteps stopped again, she knew that whoever this was, the Voice she'd heard so many times, was only a few feet away.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. In and out, deep inhalations she felt down to her toes. Her body was already cooled down from her previous exercise, and the cold seeped through to her feet and started moving up her legs. She shivered and clenched her toes.
You will speak with me. She didn't respond. In and out. JARVIS murmured gentle encouragement in her ear.
Do you understand? Lynn nodded. A footstep pounded in front of her and she pressed herself back into the wall. The prickling against her arms distracted her enough to remain focused on her breathing. Speak if you understand. I will not accept your silence.
"Does it matter?" She whispered past the fear and through her confusion. They could pull her thoughts straight out of her head. Why did this thing care if she spoke aloud or not?
Apparently it only cared if she replied with her voice. Her question merited no response. She began rubbing her upper arms, and her teeth started chattering again. It was so cold -
The Asgardian has become attached to you, has he not?
She shook her head. A slight hiss erupted in front of her and she quickly said, "no, he said I'm for -"
A tether, yes. A slight rustle, and a finger traced her collarbone and linked through the chain around her neck. It pulled forward until she felt the charm lift from her skin, and kept pulling until she was forced to move in the same direction. It stopped pulling.
And yet you have this Asgardian trinket. Who gifted this to you, if not he?
Asgardian? She panted and shook her head. She'd never asked what the pendant looked like. Tony must have created it to blend in while she stayed in the Golden Realm. A ridiculously sentimental gesture that brought tears to her closed eyes. The salt water burned against her lids and she choked out:
"N-not Loki, it was one of the Avengers -"
The mortals? A hint of suspicion. A mortal gifted you this?
"Yes."
Tell me of these mortals.
At this, her resolve returned. She clenched her jaw and shook her head, knowing that this thing could just rip the information from her. It didn't matter. She wouldn't betray them of her own free will.
No? Now she could hear laughter without hearing a word. You refuse to tell me? Perhaps a gift will soften your mood. The charm was lowered to her chest again, and the finger which held it joined its brothers to splay across her clavicle. She jerked back until she connected with the splintered wall again, and the hand continued forward until it held her in place. She couldn't shift to either side to escape the touch; she turned her head to the side and waited for the pain.
Open your eyes, little mortal. The tone was almost friendly, and certainly gentle. She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. Open them by choice or by force. She opened them - and shut them again with a gasp of pain. Light, colors, forms - her brain struggled to register the information. Open them, now. She tried again, slitting her eyelids until the information overload died away and her pupils adjusted to any light at all. She blinked and stared at...
Purple wasn't the first color that came to mind when she thought of torturers and world conquerors. The face was long and ridged, as though carved from hot magma as it cooled. Golden fluting graced a dark helmet and continued across the rest of its - his - armor. And the eyes were glowing. Literally glowing. The shine seemed to shift when he smiled at her; amethyst which adjusted to yellow depending on the light, and the angle, and how wide his eyelids were.
The hand stayed against her. She swallowed thickly and his smile widened to show teeth.
A gift of sight. But only - he removed his hand and the black slammed across her vision so abruptly that she yelped and raised a hand to fend off the sudden darkness - only in my presence. The hand returned, this time to grip the forearm of the defending limb. Open.
She opened her eyes and blinked at him.
Tell me of the Avengers.
She dropped her eyes and shook her head. She wasn't brave enough to defy him to his face. The hand traveled up and up her arm, gripped her throat for a moment, then hooked under her jaw and pulled her eyes back to his. The smile was still present, with more teeth. A grimace. The eyes shone intensely.
You will tell me. He sounded so certain, a foregone conclusion that she only needed to stop resisting. She clenched her jaw and he chuckled; he could feel the muscles of her face tightening and understood the motion.
I wonder what the godking would think, if you were harmed.
She blinked and creased her brow. Was he talking about Loki? There was an easy answer for that. "He wouldn't care."
No? Perhaps we shall test this. The little godking craved war. It was so odd to see his lips moving, to know he was speaking and yet feel the words deep inside. As though his voice was too powerful for her mind to comprehend, and she could only hear the aftermath of that voice when it was done speaking. Very well.
He advanced and she shrank into the wall, as far as allowed. She didn't know what he wanted to do.
That makes you a hostage of war. A woman. No better than a spoil. He seemed amused with her reaction and kept her chin in his hand to prevent her from looking away. She didn't try closing her eyes.
A spoiled woman is the essence of war. She tried to jerk her chin out of his hand, and he held fast. Fear made her blood flow faster. He couldn't mean - he couldn't -
He knew her thoughts. The humor grew into chuckling, and then laughter, and she shivered and continued trying to pull her face from his hand, over and over again until he laid his forehead to hers and she was crammed between his hands and his face and the wall.
Do you think he would protect you with no one else to do so? Oh, little mortal. His other hand stroked her cheek and she gasped, trying to hold back her sobs. I will teach you of life. I will teach you of hope. I will show you how neither matters, in the end.
His hand was travelling now, and there was nowhere to shrink to. She cried out in fear and his smile was a lover's caress.
My servant tells me you will assist me in the retaking of your world.
She shook her head, desperate and ready to beg. His hand braced her jaw closed; she panted through her nose.
Shall I return the favor? Claim victory over you as well?
He was pressed so close. She could barely breathe against the stone surface of his body. His foot snaked between hers and pressed them aside, spreading her legs. She let out a shriek and tried to drive her finger into his throat. It didn't budge under the pressure. She tried to scratch his face, to push at him, to do anything to dislodge him. He waited until she gave up, and kissed her forehead. She thought of Natasha, and then she thought of Clint, and then she thought of the rest of them, too far away to save her from anything at all.
She felt the breath from his lips as he whispered against hers, even though she had yet to hear a single word.
I will show you what victory tastes like. Lynn closed her eyes then and wept quietly, frozen against the wall and wracked with uncontrollable shaking. For a time, the only sounds were of her hands scrabbling against his armor and her hitching, wet breaths.
Open your eyes. She whimpered and lifted her lids, then gasped and tried to shove away, to the side.
Mr. Turner.
The smile was the same. The rest of him - the hair, the face, the eyes, even the clothing - her fingers scraped at skin and a ratty Argyle sweater instead of armor. She became desperate.
"This isn't real," she shouted, "it's not real!"
No. She blinked, and this time she didn't recognize the face. A shorter man with blond hair, blue eyes and tight black leather. A quiver of arrows poked over his shoulder.
"But does your mind abide?" Clint's voice. She beat both fists against his chest and he laughed. She blinked again - bright costume, tall and muscular, she didn't need to hear the voice to know this one - she blinked again, and this must be Thor, a shining Asgardian warrior with a bright red cape - she closed her eyes and refused to open them again. The baritone laughter echoed against the wall behind her, reflected back into her ears. She covered her ears and shook her head. Hands grabbed both wrists and pulled them away.
"Come now, Amma Lynn. You are being difficult." She jerked and opened her eyes to stare at Loki's native form - the armor, the sharp glare, the cynical brow. Was this how he looked when he spoke to her? The circles under his eyes - the complexion - he didn't look at all like before, when she saw him in the cafe. Was this how he looked now?
She thought of Clint, and Steve in his Captain America gear, and Thor in his armor - just like the news reports. Echoes in time of how they'd looked during the battle in New York, when this thing must have been observing from afar. How?...through Loki. The set of eyes he allied with and relied upon during that time. But he hadn't seen Loki only during those days - he must have seen him recently, within the past day. Was this how Loki looked now?
"You're not Loki," she said. It was easier to be brave when she was looking at the face of her betrayer.
"Of course not," he crooned. "However, the brain believes the information it is presented with. I wonder..." He leaned in close and murmured into her ear as she tried to pull away. "As I take you, and defile you, will you remember that I am not they? In your terror and panic, will you understand, and know, that it is not those you trust who violate you?"
"Stop it." She shook her head and he leaned back. "Stop -"
She must have blinked. It was Mr. Turner again, who winked at her in the same way he had so many times in the past before sharing a tune. "You know I don't let the girls date, Lynn, because boys want a lot of things that just mean trouble for girls." And the hands were grabbing now, in places Mr. Turner had never touched her, had never touched her -
"Stop it!" She was screaming and pushing at his chest. He felt human, and warm, and movable - but no matter how he looked, he was still not Mr. Turner. And now it wasn't Mr. Turner anymore but Clint again, who looked so stern and sounded so matter-of-fact as he explained the facts.
"This is how it will be," Clint said. She slammed her eyes shut and kept them shut. She didn't care if he ripped them out of her head, she would not let herself see this as it happened.
Unless, he leaned away, you tell me everything you know.
"Can't you hear it anyway," she begged, and she hated her cracking voice, so filled with terror. "Can't you just take my thoughts?"
I will gift you one day, little mortal. He replied as though he hadn't heard her question. She pulled her chin from his hand at the same moment he stepped away from her entirely. The darkness draped over her like a cloak, and she found this preferable. It meant he was not touching her. It meant she couldn't see the faces of those she trusted as they - as he -
One day, he repeated, to make your choice. The footsteps moved away; when she could no longer hear them, she sank to the floor and curled her knees tight to her chest. She buried her face inside the hollow and shook.
Tony was insistent, and he was at his most stubborn and ornery when he was also insistent.
"I say we hit'em now. The sooner the better."
"No, Tony." Steve sounded as tired as he felt. "We need a real plan, and we have to wait for Clint and Hogun."
"Yes," Sif agreed. "We are all going this time to grant assistance to this cause."
Tony ran a hand through his hair, which left it as disjointed as his emotions. "But Lynn -"
"I know." Steve was exhausted and angry. The battle was only two days ago, and he still hadn't had enough rest to call himself awake. Tony and Bruce appeared in the aftermath, hours after the battle was over, and so neither of them suffered from quite the same amount of exhaustion as the Avengers and Æsir who'd been present and fighting. In such a state, they were all more likely to make errors in judgment and possibly get Lynn killed. If Loki showed up during the fight, Steve already knew that there was nothing he could do to stop Sif from going into a rage of vengeful blood lust - and he also couldn't say he'd want to stop her righteous rage. That might provoke Thor into a rage of his own, and Steve hadn't forgotten the moment in the forest when Thor tried to destroy him with the hammer of the gods for having his godly temper pricked.
Steve's bicep still ached from time to time.
"We have to wait, Tony. Work with Bruce and Heimdall, get us coordinates. We'll go as soon as we can."
"But Lynn -"
"Will not be saved by a sloppy rescue. We can't botch this up."
"They'll be expecting us, Tony." Bruce spoke up in his usual demure way, keeping himself to the outskirts of the conversation. "We've already done this once. We need to plan for some kind of expectations."
"Right. So we'll give them plenty of time to plan, and stage, and -"
"And we'll use that time also, to come up with a good strategy," Steve finished. "That's where you, Bruce and Heimdall come in."
"She is in better straights than before," Sif said to Tony. "With the device which you -"
"Yeah." And Tony turned on his heel and left the room. Bruce shrugged at Steve and Sif, then walked after his friend to catch up. Steve looked at Sif.
"What device?"
"I believe Lynn called it 'JARVIS' while training."
"You mean the glasses?" Sif nodded; Steve was bewildered. "The glasses were JARVIS? Tony shared technology?" Sif nodded again, this time looking concerned as Steve tried to digest this. He'd read the file and he'd seen the footage. He'd watched the Congressional hearing. He'd heard speech after speech from Iron Man about how his technology was his alone and wouldn't be shared with anyone, for any reason. An assertion bordering on paranoia. He'd only allowed one other person to have a suit - the only person that Tony seemed to actually trust, a friend who from what Steve knew could be trusted not to abuse the suit.
Only once, to a trusted friend. And no one else. Until now.
"Wow," he said. Sif had turned away and was mixing a glass of cloudy water with her finger. She turned back to him and offered the glass, which he took with a belated "thanks." He looked into the cup and hesitated when he saw the cloudy color. Sif, by now, had mixed a second and was holding this to her lips.
She took a healthy swig, then waited for him to join her. He did, slowly and carefully. The water tasted vaguely of chalk and sugar. He lowered the drink.
"What is this?"
"It is a sleeping draught," she said. He raised his eyebrows. "It will not force you to sleep, only assist should you try. It is called Stilnoct."
"I've been sleeping fine," he lied. She didn't bother pretending she believed him.
"Go to your quarters, Steve, and rest. I have already sent Thor and Natasha; Fandral and Volstagg have little trouble resting before or after a great battle."
"But you do."
"There are times, when it is harder."
Steve finished the drink and set the glass on the table. "I'm sorry about the horses."
Sif tilted her head. "It is not the horses I was worried for." She took his arm in a companionable grip. A warrior's gesture of assurance, from one to another. "You are a dear friend now, and I would not have you injured while under my care."
He clasped her arm in return. "I could say that too."
She laughed. "Then let us look out for each other, after a hearty rest."
"That sounds like a great plan," he said with a tired smile. "Lead the way."
"Miss Creed, I believe you should tell what you know," JARVIS said after an hour of silence. She'd spent the time curled into the smallest ball she could manage and shivering, trying everything in her power to think of anything except what that thing had proposed.
"I can't do that," she said. Her voice was small and hollow. She didn't want to attract attention, even though no one was in the room with her. "It would be wrong."
"You would not be blamed for your choice."
"I would blame me."
JARVIS did not respond with words. Instead, a quiet, soothing song started to play. She choked out a sob and covered both ears with her hands. It quieted the outside world, and increased the volume in the ear where JARVIS played the music.
Alms for the poor
For the wretched disciples
The song was so quiet and sober. She felt her muscles start to relax as the tension drained away.
And the love that they swore
With their hearts on the bible
She murmured along, checking her pitch in the empty ear against the notes in the other.
"Beseeching the honor," she sang quietly, "to sit at your table, and feast on your holiness, as long as they're able..."
By the time the mournful guitar took up the repetitive melody she had released both ears. She curled her toes in and bit her bottom lip.
"I always wondered what that song means."
JARVIS spoke over the music. "I believe it is not a cheerful song."
"Thanks, JARVIS." She felt better, at least for a little while. "That helped."
"You're welcome." And he played another song when the current tune ended, and another, and on through the next hour. She managed to find a somewhat comfortable position and leaned her head back. She closed her eyes and just listened to the music. She let the lyrics and melodies fill her head until she couldn't hear her own thoughts.
Halfway through the third hour, a familiar voice interrupted her self-induced catatonia.
"Amma Lynn," it said, and the reaction was immediate. The music shut down as she jerked to her feet and curled away into the wall, trying to vanish into the stone. Had he changed his mind? Would he visit her throughout the day to remind her of what was at stake? Would he touch her?...
Was a Chitauri day shorter than an Earth day?
She clawed at the wall unconsciously and tried to remember to breathe.
"Go away," she said, "you gave me a day, a whole day, you said -"
"Amma Lynn, we have not spoken today."
She bit her bottom lip. What game was this? When the hand touched her she shrieked and jerked away; it returned with a second to grip both of her upper arms in a tight grasp. Pain from the bruising made her whimper; the grip loosened.
"What is the meaning of this?" He sounded angry. She opened her eyes to see what he might be thinking -
And saw nothing. The same blackness as before.
"You're not that thing."
"What thing?"
"He's purple, and his eyes -"
"That is Thanos. No. I am not he."
"You hurt my arms." Both hands let go instantly. Loki made a noise of sympathy. She hadn't bothered looking at the bruises while Thanos...she'd been distracted. They must look impressive.
"I apologize. I did not intend to injure you."
Lynn was shaking. Loki was here. "You brought me here."
He sounded angry again. "I saved your miserable life. I thought humans were better at thanks."
"Saved my life to bring me here?" Her pupils were wide, dilated in her fear despite their uselessness. The trickster snarled at her.
"You'd have died, immediately, if I did not give you purpose. Are you not grateful?" That shook a laugh from her, full of desperation and on the verge of pleading.
"Grateful? No. Did you think, for even a second, that I might not want to be here again? Not ever again?"
"No," he said. "I did not realize you'd choose to die over -"
"You took that choice away from me." The first tear fell and she shuddered. She didn't want to cry. She paused and took several deep breaths to pull herself together, then continued. "You took it and brought me here. Here. How is this better?"
Loki was quiet for a long while. She thought he might have left her alone, and realized too late that he might have helped her out of this.
"JARVIS," she said as more tears fell, "is he gone?"
"I am unsure, Miss Creed." The lack of outside response was enough. He would've replied to her question if he'd still been there. She'd yelled him away, and now she was alone again with an impossible choice. She began to crumble under the weight of her actions, her choice and the inevitability of her betrayal.
Tears came freely now. She sniffled and whimpered and covered her face with both hands, shielding herself from the black with more black. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the air, "I'm sorry. Come back." She shook so hard that the chains rattled. She was cold, and she was scared, and she'd driven off the closest thing to an ally in this entire place.
I should have told him the deal, she scolded herself. Instead I got mad. This was a bad time to get mad.
Hands, again. This time she didn't jolt or shriek. She clung to the offered comfort as the stress overflowed. The hands were gentle, the embrace solid, as arms encircled her and pulled her to a leather and metal chest.
"I am still here," Loki murmured into her hair. She clutched at the folds of whatever he was wearing and keened out her tension. "I am here, Amma Lynn."
With no more anger left to her name, she wept, and he held her.