Guysssss be sure to read my AN for a special surprise. ;)

"You failed, Loki—those who fail do not receive payment."

Loki watched, draped over a chair in the middle of a vast lab, as Yuriko scolded him. Despite his comfortable form, an infernal headache persevered…the very same one that had not stopped plaguing him for nearly two months. Two months of torment, which had set his worst impulses on edge. Fueled by the endless ire that seemed ever-present in his skin, it responded to nothing—not even the numbness of magic.

"And you know that I don't think it was an accident," she added, eyeing him suspiciously. "So all the more reason, don't you think?"

"I've lost count of how many times it's proven necessary to explain—nonhumans are difficult to kill," he mused. "And now we've learned that this one can't be cut down with a knife."

"—or maybe she can, and you simply struck her in the right place."

Loki thinned his lips into a smile. "Your faith is truly emboldening."

"I'm not in the mood for sarcasm," she said. "If you wanted a crown that badly, you wouldn't have failed."

Rage flickered violently in Loki's chest, and he subdued it with great effort. Nisha's sudden appearance at his side bore the semblance of a distraction at least, as she perched beside him in the chair—leaning above him protectively with her hands on his shoulders. Loki neither recoiled from the touch, nor invited it.

"Oh come on now, Yuriko," she crooned. "It was honest mistake. Let him make up for it—you'll make up for it, won't you?" Loki's eyes darted up to hers as she leaned forward. He nodded slightly, and Nisha grinned broadly as she snapped back up. "There now, see?"

Perhaps he had had a momentarily lapse of judgement. It was the only explanation for his failure, truly. He'd watched that woman—Cerys—for the entirety of the past two months, always keeping to the shadows where she could not see him. He watched her walk along the streets, enter and leave her workplace—for the last time—and on a number of nights, he even watched her settle comfortably in her apartment, laying on the far end of the couch in her living room.

Even from a distance, the effect of that woman's magic was both enticing and infuriating—incidentally, it was the only semblance of relief from the insufferable headache.

A clear temptress of magic… Though Loki was a practitioner of a much higher calibre—in their next encounter, he would not be manipulated so easily. It would make him undeserving of a throne if he did.

Yuriko narrowed her eyes at him. "You'll kill her now?"

A grin ghosted his lips. "If I tear her head from her body, will that suffice?"

She exchanged glances with Nisha, and gave a heavy sigh as she considered his words. "Fine," she said. "Deal with it, then."

Loki stood without a word, looking between the two women. He was tired—devastatingly so—of both these characters.

"Loki." He heard his name, and turned. Nisha's lip turned upward with a sly grin as she crooned, "Come back soon."

They say life just 'happens' sometimes.

No one can predict it, no one can control it. Well, a whole lot of life has happened since the night I almost died—by Loki's hand.

Despite the fact that the S.H.I.E.L.D doctors insisted that he could've done a lot more damage than he must've intended, I haven't been the same since. Everything in life suddenly fell into perspective—who I was, what I was doing, what my life had become.

I never stopped practicing where Loki and I left off, but I quit my job at the Academy.

I couldn't do it anymore. Not with everything going on. In a way, the music dulled to a steady whisper in my heart, and the curtains closed. There's no telling if I'll ever go back to it now, but in retrospect, I've realized that it's been happening for a while—the tides have shifted.

I couldn't keep pretending that I'm still that person. Especially considering the fact that I still had S.H.I.E.L.D to fall back on for payroll, it felt about time I took their long-standing offer to become an official member, instead of a voluntary participant.

They've had me working on a search for Loki since I got out of the hospital. Which meant spending a lot more time with Clint and Natasha than I ever have before—and I never realized just how secretive they'd been. Now that I'm official, they speak so much more freely around me than they ever have before.

"When's the last time you guys went out? Honestly though," I shake my head, glancing at an image of Loki on the projected glass—beside the time, reading 9 PM on a Friday. "This is just depressing."

"You do know that we're ordinary people, right?" Nat says, looking over her shoulder with an arched brow.

"With lives," Clint adds.

Nat shrugs. "Well… I wouldn't go that far."

"So that's a yes, right?" I arched a hopeful brow, watching as they exchanged glances. By the constipated looks of admittance that ensue, I know—it's a yes. "Oh thank God," I let out as I push off of the counter I'd been leaning against. "Okay give me five seconds, I'll get my stuff and we can go."

They exchange another look as I saunter out the laboratory doors, returning moments later with my bag and jacket.

The same car that drops us off downtown will be the one to pick us up later in the night, right outside a massive club. Ordinarily, with this many people packed into a single place, I'd expect to be hit with a wall of salt and sweat, but the tall ceilings of this place keep it well aerated.

Really, if I didn't know better, I'd guess that the place used to be a warehouse—judging by the inside decor, alone. Platforms everywhere, little bridges that look like the overhead of a stage. Tall tables line the edges of the room, with a massive dance floor in the middle.

"Wanna get drinks!?" I turn and yell, and Nat mouths 'what?' in return. Can't hear me.

Behind her, Clint looks around us like we've wondered into a cesspool of churning bodies and sweat.

Which…isn't really all that far from the truth.

After some time, given the lack of audible communication, an elaborate game of hand charades ends with my shuffling toward the dance floor from one of the tables—more or less drunk from copious glasses of a gentle white wine that my body can still tolerate. Clint stays behind, drink in hand, while Nat follows me reluctantly into the mass of people.

The alcohol's gone to my head pretty well at this point, but this is what I wanted from the night. It's been a while since I've gone off those damn pain medications, and I've really needed a stiff drink. I never spend forty dollars on wine, so why not splurge when I really need it?

I lose track of Nat—of who she may or may not be dancing with—and lose myself to the music. To the heavy beat, the loud sounds blaring in my ears. And when a pair of hands appear on my waist, a twinge of guilt slips in and out of my chest. Long, blonde hair whips at my arm when I turn and realize that a girl and several of her friends are dancing just beside me.

Whatever. I turn back, glancing around the crowd for Nat. When I finally see her, the twinge comes back at the sight of her barely swaying to the music—looking more uncomfortable than anything else, the poor girl.

I wave her down, and she steps through the crowd, like an anchor cutting through the bodies. I take her hand and continue dancing, pulling myself away from the would-be partner, who returns to her group immediately after.

I slow down just a little for her, but nearly stutter to a stop at a brisk movement in the shadows up above. Eyes peeled to the ceiling, I make out the figure of a man crouching on one of the platforms. Some dark, gleaming suit, boots—long hair?

"WHAT IS IT?" Nat yells, and I barely register her voice. When I look back up at the ceiling, the figure is gone, but the bitter shock it left me with is palpable.

"I—I DON'T KNOW!" I yell back at her, waving my hand. "CAN WE GO?"

She nods in understanding.

Clint mouths something indiscernible as we saunter back to the table, and the collective frustration with barely hearing each others' voices ends with us leaving the club shortly after.

"Fuck," Clint cringes as he glances back from the sidewalk. "Remind me not to go out with you guys ever again."

"Shouldn't have come here, I guess," I shrug. "Do you guys want to go somewhere else?"

Truth be told, I'm not crazy about the prospect either…but by the way that they exchange tired looks and rolling eyes, their meaning immediately clicks in my drunken head.

"Did you guys even want to come out tonight?"

Nat presses her lips together, and gives me a pitying look. "This isn't really… us, Cerys," she says, her voice turning firm. "And look, I know you've been having a hard time, but yes—we did this for you."

"I mean, I don't really mind clubs that much…" Clint murmurs, rubbing the back of his hair. Nat shoots him a look, and he presses his lips together in silence.

My entire chest sinks. Likely exaggerated by the effects of the alcohol—which have already begun to fade.

"Well okay," I shake my head. "Could've just said so, I guess. Let's… let's just get the car and go."

I sigh as a twinge of embarrassment tightens in my chest, in the wake of the conversation. I don't know why I thought tonight could fix any of what's been going on. I'm barely cusping my thirties now, but Nat's tone said it all—I should know better by now. I should spend these free moments thinking rationally about what to do next, instead of trying to forget about it… it's the only way.

Leaning against the metal railing, Loki squatted and rubbed his aching temple—the music inside that loud inferno had aggravated it severely. When the subtle click of a lock on the other side of the glass, his eyes flickered up from the cracked ground.

A dark silhouette strode sullenly into the apartment on the other side of the glass—darker than the rest of the space—and he watched as it dropped its things down on the counter. Tucking a hand under a dim living room lamp, the living room filled with a faint light, illuminating the underside of Cerys' face.

He tilted his head slightly, studying the features he'd become more and more acquainted with over the past month. He watched as she trudged to her room, and reemerged moments later, donning a thin shirt and loose shorts. She was home, and settled—with hardly a layer to protect her delicate skin from the sharpness of his dagger.

It was time.

Loki stood, and slowly approached the balcony door. Cerys hadn't yet noticed his presence, having sauntered into the kitchen. And with a gentle motion, Loki slid the door open with his magic. It had already been unlocked—owing to the height of the apartment, most likely.

It took a brief instant for the unexpected breeze to reach the woman, and she turned sharply toward him—eyes widening when she saw him. "Oh my God," she gasped, dropping an empty mug onto the floor.

It shattered instantly, but the woman merely glanced down at it before carefully stalking around the kitchen island, making for the far side of the couch—away from him. Loki nearly stuttered to a stop the moment they locked eyes, feeling the magic pour from her violently—dampening the headache slightly. It waxed and waned as he stalked around the room, growing closer and further from the woman.

Her face was a combination of fear and disbelief, and she backed up fully to the end of the couch, while he circled around the room. Her eyes darted momentarily to the kitchen, and he followed her line of sight, seeing the knife rack she'd glanced at. Surely, he expected nothing less—the woman was obviously a trained to react.

And for that, there was something odd about the way she moved. Something that had little to do with her inebriation.

Loki's senses were keen, and far superior to any Midgardian—enchantress or not. Human or not. His eyes trailed over her once, twice… he could all but taste the alcohol on her breath, and see the uncertainty in every movement. The fear in the heavy rise and fall of her chest. He hadn't intended for his eyes to fall to her breasts, but they swelled beneath the light, strapped shirt. Her face had blanched, and all in all, she seemed…plain. Plain and frightened—small and frail.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Curious to find you alive."

No response.

Loki smirked, facing her on the opposite side of the couch. "Aren't you going to invite me to sit?" he muttered wryly.

Silence hardened around them for a time. "Y—you're back," she breathed out quietly—more to herself, than him.

His grin faded at the sentiment. "One has to visit a place once, in order to return."

Cerys blinked down at the couch, and up at him. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "Why are you here?"

"I came here…" he hesitated, eyes narrowing. The effort to sift through the vicious instincts seeping under his skin only aggravated his headache. "because of you."

Brow furrowed, she shook her head gently, never once leaving his eyes. "I don't understand."

Loki's jaw clenched, and a rising annoyance coiled in the pit of his stomach. Why had he even entertained this conversation? So utterly useless, it only served to further his—

"And where have you been?" she asked suddenly.

His lips thinned into a straight line. "Not your concern."

Confusion had now fully swept across her features, as she so clearly tried to make sense of his demeanor. Her eyes flitted back and forth, and then settled back on him. "Then why are you here?" she choked.

A faint glossiness had lined her eyes, and for a moment, Loki focused only on that—on the woman's…tears.

His entire body hardened. Jaw clenched tightly. No one had ever shed tears for him, and he merely watched the woman carefully. While little by little, the glossiness pooled as she awaited a response, lip beginning to tremble with emotion.

An insulting ruse. "You're crying," he stated sharply.

Her features had contorted slightly, but she immediately pulled them back as best she could. Her neck tensed as she said, "I…" she paused, gathering her broken voice. "I didn't know when I'd see you again."

"Why would that matter?" he said, stepping around the couch, toward her.

"You don't know," she murmured—again, it seemed—to herself in large part.

Loki was now halfway across to her, yet she no longer recoiled. "No, I don't." He stopped a few feet away—her very life hanging by the thread of his curiosity. "I don't know who you are, either."

Her eyes swept up to him, and her face began to glisten with strain. "I'm Cerys."

"I know that," he said. Loki had learned all he needed to know of her habits, her preferences, and even her physique in the time he'd watched her. "You cry, perhaps for me, perhaps for your own life—yet I don't know who you are, if it is for the former."

He followed her gaze as she trailed down the couch and paused, swallowing thickly. "I…I am—was—someone to you," Loki stayed silent. Her eyes remained fixed on the far end, on the armrest and pillows that were strewn there—where she had used them to sleep, no doubt the night before. Finally, she spoke again in a quiet whisper, "We were…friends, for a while."

He arched a brow. "Friends."

Cerys looked up at him slowly. "And then we weren't…and then you went away for a while."

"Lies," he droned—though the woman must have been quite masterful to disguise her lies so aptly. There was the slightest rise in his pulse as he watched her, feeling her magic sweep over him. It allowed him to control his temper, just a bit.

She shook her head. "I've never lied to you."

"Having spent no time around me plays a part in that, I'm sure."

"I've known you for almost half a decade," she answered a bit more tersely—a bit more bravely. Slowly but surely, Loki could see the frustration brimming. Her magic intensified with it, seeping from all over, but mostly from her voice. "I lived with you, I had breakfast with you every day, I walked home from work with you, I slept w—"

Loki blinked at the admission. "What?"

"I…" the woman seemed suddenly flustered. The irrevocable shift in the air was palpable. "I just…I just know you. I've known you for a long time."

He pressed his lips together, and looked off to the side. "For that to be true," he said. "It would mean that everything I've been told by my comrades is a lie."

Her face contorted with disgust. "I can prove it."

Loki stared for a moment into her golden eyes. They didn't falter—and in a low, steady voice, he uttered, "Go on, then."

Cerys raised her chin bravely, and gestured to the couch. "Sit."

Loki's gaze fell down her backside as she turned, and disappeared into the bedroom. He made his way over to where she indicated, and sank into the couch cushions. When she reappeared, she brought some device with her, and sat some distance away from Loki. It flared aglow as she propped it open, every so often casting a glance toward him in the corner of her eye.

He watched her delicate hands move about the keyboard, and found himself trailing up the length of her arms, down her backside, around her waist…

"Here," she said, drawing his attention back to the screen.

A white window had opened, with a number of small tabs at the side. With his keen vision, Loki watched as she navigated deeper and deeper into the folders, until he read the final tab that she shifted the little pointer to—'music box,' it read. With a subtle click, an array of photos appeared.

And in the briefest of moments, even Loki's breath had caught in his throat—though he quickly gathered his devices, and scanned through the list of images before she enlarged the first one. A wooden room, with towering glass windows appeared. As did he…with that metal Avenger, his woman, and his own Asgardian kin. Thor, Heimdall, Sif, and…Cerys.

"This," she murmured solemnly, looking toward him—while he kept his gaze on the screen. "was when we went to Switzerland together…"

Another, brighter photo came up. Far across a field, Loki was atop a branch in a snow-covered tree, and Cerys stared up at him from the ground, looking apprehensive of the snow that was captured falling midway through the air.

In the next one, Cerys was frozen mid-movement on a stage, dressed in an adorned costume, with Loki and his kin in the front row. Next was a table of food and drink amidst a dark, decorated club with 'New Years' banners in the back. Another was a formal gala of some sort, with the pair of them donning a combined red-and-black combination—Loki in his dark suit, and Cerys in an ornate red dress. Another looked to be a celebration of Ostara, with elegant tents lining the background of a wooded camp…

With her progression through the photos, an uncomfortable silence settled in Loki's heart. Truly uncomfortable…Sickeningly uncomfortably. There was a growing warmth—genuine warmth—in the photos she flitted through.

Happiness.

Contentment.

Cerys paused over the final photo in the album. Loki recognized the setting instantly—it was Stark tower. Not far from the very spot where he'd attempted to take Stark's mind with his scepter. Thor sat beside the two of them on the couch, happily grinning at the sight of Cerys reaching out annoyedly to the camera, with Loki's face buried in her neck. By the way his lips were pressed against her skin, it was clear that he'd been kissing her, and that she'd been pulled into his lap—now falling backward against the empty space beside her, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and false protest.

"These are fabricated," he muttered, though his voice lacked any conviction.

"You were drunk that night…" he blinked up at her, and Cerys continued staring at the screen. "We made a bet that Earth wine could still get you drunk, and it took twelve bottles…"

Loki furrowed a brow, and looked down to see that there were indeed several bottles on the table before them. He rose from his seat and stalked halfway to the balcony, when he heard her voice again, "I forgive you, you know…"

He stopped and looked back. The woman had continued staring at the screen—looking more exhausted than anything—and several tears streaming down her stern expression. He had never seen anyone cry for him. No one had ever thought him worthy of their tears—not that he knew of, save for his own mother. Yet, there this woman was, her magic gentle and caressing, even in her state…

She looked up at him and shrugged exhaustively. "I don't know if you'll ever remember me. And I don't know if you'll end up killing me, 'cause I can't fight you off… but if it does happen, and you remember me one day," she said, rising from the couch. Loki's eyes widened as she drew near. "I just want you to hear me say that I forgive you. I love you, and I know that what's happening isn't your fault…"

I love you.

He could only stand and stare—stare at the woman laying down her life. Forgiving him for whatever he would do.

Even he could feel his features softening at her earnestness. Movement rippled in her arms, and Loki didn't recoil as she slowly drew them around his neck in a gentle embrace. Magic flushed through him, sweet and caring and…numbing. And when she began to slide away, he met her eyes immediately, and held them—even when she paused mid-movement at his unexpected expression.

Cerys' brows creased in a quick impulse and she leaned up to him, pecking his lips softly. Loki's eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of their contact—her lips being the strongest point of concentration for her magic—and remained so when she pulled away…the effects were simply intoxicating.

When he finally opened his eyes, moments after she'd pulled away, the look on her face was that of confusion. He waved it off in his mind, and leaned in for another kiss, laying his hands on her curved waist this time. She moaned slightly as he slated his lips over hers, drinking in every bit of ecstasy that her magic had offered, and nearly growled when she pulled away abruptly.

Her cheeks were flushed, but her face was brimming with uncertainty. Cerys whispered, "Y—you don't remember me…do you?"

Loki stared for a moment, and shook his head slightly. Sure enough, even he was unsure of his intentions—he only knew that he wanted more of whatever he was feeling. It was the most relief he'd felt in months.

He didn't wait for her to react again, and he leaned forward into her once more—giving his hands free reign to brush along the sides of her thin shirt as he stepped closer. If there was any uncertainty left, it melted slowly from her end as well, and Loki briefly opened his eyes to see her sharp intentness—like she'd missed him, regardless of everything.

The kiss grew more desperate on both their ends, for different reasons. Loki was willing to accept that. Clearly, Cerys was as well. She whimpered quietly when he pulled her against him, and tugged at the edge of her shirt. Their lips remained connected, but they stumbled this way and that, bumping into the furniture until they reached the bedroom.

Their clothing left a trail behind them in the ambient dark, and Loki shoved the woman onto her unmade bed before crawling on top, desire burning through his senses. He'd been with strangers before, and there was never a reason—absolutely no reason—for their sighs to be so exquisite. For the sound to be so divine, on such a profound level. For the rise and fall of Cerys' bare chest to be so enticing.

His head was swimming as he took her wrists and held them crossed above her head. In a swift movement, Loki slated his body onto hers, and with a heavy kiss, he buried himself in her with a sharp thrust. She gasped, and he gritted his teeth. Relief turned to unbridled bliss, and Loki set his hands, his teeth, his tongue loose upon her. A brief gasp of pain interrupted the moans, as he scraped his fingers down her side, and gripped her tightly with his other hand. Pleasure coiled in his abdomen with every thrust, tighter and tighter, until it came loose with a heavy groan.

Loki didn't fully know—and didn't care—if the woman had been satisfied. He fell against her on the bed, and it took some time before their breaths had settled. He waited, forehead pressed against the pillow, as she crawled out and went for the restroom. While she was gone, he considered leaving right then and there…though her immediate distance allowed the cruelest thought to creep back in—the woman could not prevail in escaping him. She was still a problem.

When she returned, Loki looked up at her from the bed, and they stared for a moment at each other.

"Are you…staying?" she muttered.

He narrowed his eyes, and waited some time—feigning that he'd been considering the prospect, while his mind churned out a plan. He nodded, and shifted over to make room.

Now was the time.

Loki stared at the woman's profile from the end of the bed. Moonlight bathed her in a pale glow as he slid toward her—careful not to wake her—and a dagger materialized in his hand. One arm slid beneath her pillow, ready to stop her should she move in a panic, and his tall stature caged her against the bed. He could feel her breath against his lips, eyelids growing heavy—with desire or conviction, he couldn't tell—and he brought the tip of the blade up to the back of her jaw, to the soft spot just behind her ear.

And there it was; the last point of his contract. The final act. And though she shifted uncomfortably under his weight, Loki…hesitated.

I just want you to hear me say that I forgive you…

He recalled her words suddenly.

I love you, and I know that what's happening isn't your fault…

Something tightened in his chest—but how? Why? Why did it matter? Regardless of whatever past she presented to him, regardless of what happened between them…he could deal with their lies later. There was the possibility of a different future to be won. A future to be had, if at least that portion of their agreement was true. He could always find another woman, if that's what this was about…

Her eyes flitted open just a bit, and Loki froze, eyes widening a bit as he stared down at her. Slowly, he moved the blade away. And with their bodies still touching, Cerys pressed her lips together as she slid her hand under the pillow—grasping his tenderly.

The dagger slid from his hand, and clattered against the floor. Cerys turned her head toward the sound.

"What was—"

Loki clamped a hand on her jaw, pulling it back and descending on her lips with another kiss. More intently than before—there was a need this time, for the sacrifice he'd just made.

Perhaps it was because he preferred the ecstasy to stay alive. Perhaps he could find another way, another arrangement—surely Yuriko and the others might succumb to his silver tongue, weaving the tail of Cerys' apt manipulations.

The woman is hard to kill.

He would try that. If that failed, he would concoct something else…though he would think about that later. Right now, the affections at hand were domineering. The kiss had grown more savage in the last few moments.

Her hands were trailing along his backside once more, her moans seeping from her throat with every movement. Perhaps this time he would make it sweeter—perhaps this time, he could have her screams.

Loki spared no time. Running his hand along her side, he brushed against the scar where he'd stabbed her months back. He pulled away momentarily, but resumed when Cerys pulled his face back down. He shifted atop her until he could thrust into her sharply, and took her passionately, forgetting the world—pounding with every ounce of strength that she allowed him to, again and again and again, until she cried out with pleasure. Taking him over the edge with her.

Rarely had he ever met his end with his partner, but there was something about her elation that had pushed him over it just then. Whoever she was, whatever their past, the woman had certainly left a mark on him.

So, that dagger bit... I've literally pictured it since God and the Siren. Because whyyyy? Because you can't make Loki do anything he doesn't want to do. BAM!

On a lesser note, though... I've gotten significantly less feedback on this story, and I'm not really sure why. I don't know if people are getting tired of it, or don't like what I'm doing with the characters, but yeah. It's a little tough on the muse since I've now got so much going on (new job, book, editing job, etc.), but I guess it's okay. Of course, SoS and HB1, you two are pretty much Cerys and Loki's angels. Sometimes I go back and reread your reviews just to feel a little bit happier with the story. So thank you guys.

The SURPRISE, tho? I started a new story, called "Lower Your Eyes." It's different from this series because it takes place in Asgard, and involves the royal family. It's also intended to be a super light hearted read, full of palace intrigue. And it's got FRIGGA in it, because who doesn't love Frigga? Here's the description, in case anyone wants to check it out: "A slave has never served a member of the royal family. That's what the higher-ranking servants are for-so when a particularly foolish young woman spills food onto the lesser prince, at the grandest feast of Asgard, the palace is struck dumb by his subsequent request to employ her... Gods help that poor fool."

So yeah. Easy read. Can relax and enjoy that ride for the most part. I mostly started writing it for myself, cuz I need the break from all the intense shifts going on in my life right now. Hope you guys like it too! Til next time! :)