While Loki tied the fletching to the last of his arrows, he listened to Rogers' briefing up in the hayloft, away from the rest of the squad. Bruttenholm had no way of contacting his partner in London, but the Lady Eden-Jones had kept a steady communication stream with him since their arrival in Lom.

Bruttenholm and Rogers both stood over a map, trying to find the city Bruttenholm had been informed of earlier that morning.

"Here it is," Rogers said, pressing his finger against the map. "It's, what? Two hundred miles from here?" He looked even closer at the map and frowned. "That can't be right."

Bruttenholm and Barnes both bent over the map to inspect it. "There's a base a half day away, and nobody's come down here to kick our asses yet?" Barnes asked uncomfortably.

Rogers was still frowning. "The intel happen to mention whether we're looking at Hitler or Hydra?" he asked.

Bruttenholm shook his head. "No. And I'm afraid I couldn't ask."

Rogers kept frowning down at the map as he thought about the current situation. "If it's Hitler, they're probably glad to be rid of the base here. If it's Hydra, it's probably a trap," he reasoned.

"Either way, it's Nazis," Barnes pointed out.

"Not denying that, Buck. Just trying to figure out why it's been three days, and we haven't seen a single reinforcement roll into town," Rogers said.

"Undoubtedly a trap," Loki said offhandedly as he cut the cord on his fletching and put the arrow aside to start on a new one. "Make your enemy unwary under the false comfort of the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

He didn't look to acknowledge the looks he got from the other three, too intently focused on getting his arrows finished before they decided what their next plan was.

"The enemy of my enemy is still a fucking Nazi," Barnes reiterated.

"So it's a trap either way," Rogers said, strangely confident. "Good."

Barnes and Bruttenholm looked uncomfortably at Rogers.

"Good?" asked Bruttenholm. "I don't possibly see how."

"You got a messed up idea of 'good', Steve," Barnes agreed.

Rogers remained unfazed. "We know what we're getting into either way," he said.

Barnes cringed and strained as he stretched his back. "Oh, goodie. Another suicide mission," he groaned.

"No-one's died yet," Rogers said, falsely chipper. "We gotta figure out how to get up there, first. Then we can figure out not getting killed."

After several hours of planning up in the hay loft, even Loki felt stiff and weary. With his feet back down on solid ground, Loki quickly assessed the condition of the squad. Cold, miserable, and starving, so at least nothing had changed. The small amount of meat from the hunted birds only lasted one night, and while it was a good bolster to spirits, the effect wore off quickly. The men were back to rations and food from jars most of them still avoided, and with the lefse long gone, Loki was even beginning to tire of lutefisk.

They needed to get out of Norway. They needed to complete their mission and get stuck at some cushy garrison post. Loki needed to go home. And not to Brooklyn. He hadn't longed for Brooklyn for a while, but now he had begun to long for Asgard, and his feather bed that was far too big for him, and the mountain of furs piled on top of it.

He missed his dog.

Wolf, he reminded himself. Fenrir was no common mongrel, no matter how stupid he sometimes seemed.

No matter what he was, Loki missed the big, stupid, fluffy beast. But that was it. He only missed Fenrir. More often than not, Loki found himself returning to Asgard because he needed the animal – he needed that close contact that he didn't get with anyone else. Fenrir would sleep on top of him, and climb all over him, and generally annoy Loki to madness. Except when he'd come home from Midgard, feeling vaguely sick and exhausted without reason. Letting Fenrir smother him half to death seemed to snap his senses back into order almost instantly.

Loki had spent more time on Midgard than he ever had before, and yet there were no headaches plaguing him. No tight, sour feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that told him it was time to go home.

Loki wondered what Thor was doing, and how many wars he might have caused in years of Loki's absence. Not years. Weeks. Maybe months, but surely no more than two. But Loki couldn't remember anymore. He hadn't normally spent so much time on Midgard without making covert trips back to Asgard. At first, he hadn't gone back because he felt like he was making a point no-one would ever receive. Then, he simply became too busy; too consumed by his task. There hadn't been a convenient time to slip away. The few times he had slipped away had wound up being hideously inconvenient after the fact.

He could go home all the same – he could tell his father what the humans were up to, and let him deal with it.

And then let Odin deliver the punishment they had both been putting off, while Odin turned a blind eye to Loki so flagrantly breaking a treaty he had witnessed come into life. Far more likely, Odin would slap him into next week and let the Midgardians destroy themselves out of spite. Not an outcome Loki wanted.

He put his finished arrows on his bunk and walked over to look over Morita's shoulder as he examined Pinkerton's wound. There was more bruise than broken skin, with the purples and blues fading into ugly green running up to Pinkerton's cheek and jaw. Pinkerton cringed, his jaw clenched tightly as Morita gently persuaded him to look far to his right.

"How's that feel?" Morita asked.

"Hurts like hell," Pinkerton said through his teeth.

Nodding, Morita let him go and stepped back. "I think you're gonna be just fine," he said.

"When can you clear him for duty?" Loki asked, looking down at the undressed wound on the side of Pinkerton's neck. Without the proper supplies and skill, it had been left to heal naturally, and was taking its time.

"Day after tomorrow," Morita said. "He's still in danger of infection at this point, but I think he should be fine to get back in there without risking tearing anything open."

"Oh good. I can get up then," Pinkerton said, already leaning over for his boots.

"Did I say right now?" Morita scolded. "I said the day after tomorrow, you deaf limey bastard."

They were both irritated with one another, and it took every ounce of strength for Loki to keep from laughing at them both. While Pinkerton sneered and threw obscene gestures their way, Loki turned Morita away and guided him toward his own bunk.

"Take Dugan and Howlett and see if you can't find something to shoot for dinner," Loki told him.

"Good. Gladly get out of here," Morita said as he walked over to grab his gear.

Loki watched him leave, vaguely wondering how long it would be before the men started shooting one another. They had to get out of Norway. Putting it out of his mind, he turned his attention back toward Pinkerton and knelt down beside the bed.

"Let me see," he said.

Pinkerton obediently tilted his head to show off the gnarled mess on the side of his neck. The skin was still open, but had healed enough that he had stopped bleeding. Still, he had a loose bandage around his neck to keep the wool collar of his jacket from tearing everything right back open.

"Will you be ready to fight once you're cleared?" Loki asked quietly. "You can stay behind with the Doc, but we need to head north as soon as possible."

Pinkerton nodded. "I can fight. I appreciate the concern, but I know you lads need me a hell of a lot more than he does."

Loki nodded, accepting his answer. Because Pinkerton was right. They did need him at the front lines. It was one thing to throw a few grenades in and count down until they went off, but Pinkerton knew how to make things really go up in flames at the precise moment he wanted them to. They'd just have to do a better job at keeping him safe next time.

"Good," Loki said, getting up. "Stay on Morita's good side until then. I don't want him killing you before the Germans get a second chance."

While Pinkerton grumbled about getting shot at all, Loki turned to find Rogers, eventually tracking him down outside with Barnes.

"Sent them out hunting?" Rogers asked.

"They're going stir crazy. They need to do something," Loki reasoned.

Rogers shrugged. "How's Pink?"

"Jim's giving him the all clear the day after tomorrow. I offered him to stay on nanny duty, but he refused," Loki said.

"Good," Rogers said. "We'll brief when your hunting party gets back."

"If they're any good, they'll even bring something back with them," Loki said.

"They better bring something back. We're running out of rations again," Barnes said. He leaned against the side of the barn, kicking the snow under his toes.

"Well, let's try not to blow a giant crater in Mosjøen. At least not until we've done some looting," Loki said, knowing that as long as they had to keep stopping between missions, they were never going to have enough supplies.

Barnes cringed. "I'd rather starve. Those kraut rations taste like dog food."

Beside him, Rogers snorted. "And how do you know what that tastes like, Buck?" he asked.

"I did my training at Jackson. You guys who did your training in New York don't know what it's like out there," Barnes said, shaking his head.

"No, they starved us at Union, too," Loki said. "And then put us on latrine duty if they heard our stomachs growl." He turned casually to Rogers. "What was it like at Lehigh?"

"Lehigh?" asked Rogers. "Lehigh was great. Slept until noon, three course meals. You mean that's not how it was everywhere?"

Barnes let out an exaggerated sigh. "Lehigh," he said, laughing a moment later. "All right, Olson. I gotta ask."

Loki sighed earnestly.

"Did you really punch out your sergeant?" Barnes asked.

"Yes, I did," Loki answered. "And yes, they made me corporal for it, just so they could make me lead hand-to-hand training."

"Seriously?" asked Rogers. "That really happened?"

"It depends on who tells it. It's really not that great of a story," Loki said.

"Then what really happened?" Barnes asked.

"Horton volunteered me to take a swing at him. So I did," Loki said, shrugging dismissively.

Barnes and Rogers laughed. For a moment, Barnes looked at Loki, considering everything about him.

"It's the specs. It has to be," Barnes said.

Loki looked down at him, not really sure how to follow Barnes' train of thought. "What?" he asked.

"I don't know. You just seem smaller somehow. But you really are a goddamn giant, you know that?" Barnes said.

Loki laughed at the sheer irony of the statement. "I'm the short one. My brother's even bigger," he said. And what irony that was to think about.

Before Barnes could say any more, a single gunshot rang out from the trees. The three of them all stood still, listening to see if any more would follow, but the air was still and silent after that.

"Sounds like they got something," Rogers said hopefully.

Loki turned away, already feeling through his pockets for his matches. "I'll start a fire," he declared.

Rogers waited until the deer brought back by the hunting party had been cooked and passed around until he gave his briefing, going over what had been discussed earlier with Barnes, Bruttenholm, and Loki. Getting out of Trondheim didn't seem like it was going to be any kind of an issue at all, given how quickly the few remaining Hydra soldiers had fled. Even getting up to Mosjøen was going to be fairly straight forward. Getting into Mosjøen, however, was when things were going to start getting tricky. Whoever was there was going to be expecting them. The decision to let them go to Mosjøen, rather than sending a platoon down to Lom had been a deliberate one, banking on the squad being weakened by their previous mission.

As everyone ate, Rogers laid out his plan for taking the next base. It wasn't going to be easy, but this time, they knew what to expect. Nobody seemed too excited for the mission, but nobody argued, either. It was their next mission, and it was what they had all signed up to do. They'd all volunteered in Italy, and stupidly joined up. And then they all stupidly refused Rogers' offer to leave the unit in England. Even if they were all cold and starving and miserable, they had all come to Norway to knock out a few Hydra bases on the way to Russia, and the next stop was in Mosjøen.

But as Rogers gave his briefing, Loki had other things on his mind. He'd been there for the planning phase, and knew what was being discussed, but he could barely hear it over the insistent, almost apologetic song ringing through him. He tried to ignore it, knowing what the Tesseract wanted from him. Infinity stones were better actors than anyone had ever given them credit for, for as much as Loki still wanted to believe the Tesseract. But he knew it was a trap, just as it had always been. Loki didn't know why it wanted to trap him, but he wasn't going to let it happen a third time. Even with his every atom on edge, Loki tried to ignore the song; to disregard it as a fool's errand.

When Rogers was done, and the course of action clearly laid out, Loki moved back outside, away from the others. There was still a small bed of coals outside, which Loki sat down to poke at with a long stick. He focused on the embers, and the way the orange light danced over black charcoal as it burned. In his youth, reading old forbidden tomes of dark elf magic, Loki had spent all his time learning how to cast outward, and spent little time learning how to shield himself from what others might have cast in his direction. At the time, he hadn't seen the point. The magic was not only forbidden, but the Æsir couldn't even do such magic. There was no-one on Asgard who would offer him any threat, and as he had with so many other things, Odin turned a blind eye to Lok's curiosity, since indulging it often kept him out of worse trouble.

As he watched the coals, Loki tried to recall what little he had learned. He was tempted to call the books to him right there, but he didn't know which books were the ones he'd need, and he still refused to go back to Asgard, if even for a moment.

Closing his eyes, Loki focused inwardly, toward the song so sweetly sung by the Tesseract. It wasn't in his ears, though he could ear it. He tried to find where it was; which part of him was actually sensing the song. When he cast out, he had always found it easier to find people he knew well. People he had a sense of connection with. He looked for them not with his eyes, or anything visual, but through a certain feeling; almost like a strong emotion.

He realised that the Tesseract was using a similar magic, and for a moment, Loki let himself be lulled by the song. He let the Tesseract try to show him all the things it had shown him before – everything that could be his, whether he knew he wanted it or not. But before he could let himself be drawn by it, Loki instead focused on where the Tesseract was aiming its magic. He could feel it, deep within his chest like a rising anger and resentment. He could feel the spot where the Tesseract had taken hold, and in that, he could feel the Tesseract itself, holding on tightly and trying to nurture that darkness within Loki until it became something bigger; something to take advantage of.

He didn't know how to let go of something he had felt his entire life, so instead, he took the Tesseract as a beacon, as he had done before, and sent all of his rising anger toward it, lashing out with all the rage he could muster. If he couldn't block the Tesseract, he would bully it back into its own corner, and as he attacked, he could feel its own anger and indignation as it let go of him, subsiding into the distance.

Taking a deep breath, Loki opened his eyes again to watch the coals. He couldn't feel the hold in his chest any longer, nor could he hear the Tesseract calling for him. He sat and waited patiently, expecting the Tesseract to try again. But for now, it seemed to have received the message. In the mean time, Loki would have to work on building up his defences.

As he sat by the meagre fire, casually poking at the coals, Loki could hear someone walking through the snow toward him. He looked up to see Bruttenholm approaching, huddled in his giant overcoat and walking heavily on his cane. Moving over on the log he used as a seat, Loki offered him a dry place to rest. Bruttenholm took the offer, sitting with his side toward the fire so he could stretch out his legs in front of him. They sat silently together like that for a long moment, before Bruttenholm finally spoke.

"Why are you here?" he asked plainly.

Loki looked over at him. "I had a headache and needed some fresh air," he said, only somewhat untruthfully.

"That's not what I asked," said Bruttenholm. He had a certain calmness to him that Loki had only seen a few brief times before. It was the calmness Bruttenholm exhibited when he knew he was right about something, and wouldn't be questioned on it.

"No. It isn't," Loki agreed. He poked at the coals again, sending up a small flame that died down just as quickly.

"Your people haven't been seen on this world in centuries. Why now?" asked Bruttenholm, giving Loki very little room to dodge the question.

"That's not true," he said. "We've just been better at keeping a low profile."

"Are you?" asked Bruttenholm, turning slightly to look at Loki more evenly.

"Obviously, if you think we've all left." Loki thought about the man back in Ayrens, and how long he must have been hiding out on Midgard. He wondered if the man ever had the sense to leave and go elsewhere.

"No. I know you haven't all left," Bruttenholm said, shaking his head. "But you still haven't answered my question."

"And what is your question, exactly?" asked Loki, glancing sideways at Bruttenholm.

"Why are you here, and not in Austria, where your followers are?"

Loki laughed sharply. "My father's followers, you mean," he corrected. "That is what they believe, is it not? That they are all descended from Odin?"

Bruttenholm hummed quietly. "Who can say what any of them believe."

Turning his head toward the sky, Loki inhaled deeply. "I grow bored with this game. Say it and be done with it," he said finally.

He could see Bruttenholm nodded from the edge of his sight. "I know you sometimes leave at night," Bruttenholm said bluntly. "I don't know where you go, but I have a few ideas. And I don't entirely trust that you're on our side."

Loki could hear the nervous tension in his voice, and he laughed at the sound of it.

"Oh, yes. This," he said. "Of course." He leaned as far back as he could without falling backwards into the snow, finding an odd sort of glee in this conversation. "You're right. I'm not," he said.

"Then why are you here?" asked Bruttenholm.

"Because I like this realm. If you blow it up and kill everyone on it, I won't have anywhere to go to escape my meathead brother and my loathsome father," Loki said. "I suppose I could still come here, but if I wanted to go somewhere to be alone, there are a thousand other places I could be."

On Midgard, he had anonymity. There were so many people on this realm that even if he did blow his cover, all he had to do was go home for a few months, and return to a new city. And every time he did return, the realm was new and fresh. Time moved so quickly here, the humans were constantly coming up with new ways to entertain themselves and murder one another. The downside being that occasionally, they'd take the latter entirely too far.

"There are ants in my clubhouse, Trevor. I simply aim to stomp them out," Loki told him.

"And which are the ants?" asked Bruttenholm.

Loki smiled again. "In this case, we share an enemy." He got up, handing his stick off to Bruttenholm. "I would not still be here if that weren't the case," he said as he walked back inside, leaving Bruttenholm to think about the matter.

Despite everything, Loki still expected to meet resistance as he led the team through Trondheim to gather some last-minute supplies. Jones, Morita, and Coulson all lined up behind him in a tactical column against one of the old buildings, but the streets were empty of any German presence. But they were not quiet. If anything, it seemed as if the residents of Trondheim had come out to celebrate the destruction of the base within their city, and had all taken to the streets to see to errands they had been avoiding for the last year. Still, the team of four kept to the sides and shadows as much as possible, not trusting every last German to have been run out just yet. They leap-frogged across roads, offering unneeded cover to one another as they slowly made their way back toward the base.

What they found when they got there was less than they had expected to find. Whatever had blown up in the base had also blown the windows out of some of the nearby buildings on the other side of the barrier. Most of the glass had been cleaned out of the streets, but with the boarded windows, it didn't seem as if anyone had moved back into the area yet.

Loki let the other three through what was left of the base, hoping to loot anything useful. They were there less than five minutes before they gave up, and decided to instead look for an Opel that still ran. Most of the trucks they found were mangled and torn apart, forcing them to look at the outskirts of the base instead. They found a few near the guard post with the windows all blown out and the tyres punctured, and no way to fix any of it.

"We sure made a mess of this place," Jones marvelled as he looked over the remains. Even from the guard post, they could see the devastation toward the centre of the base, where Pinkerton's explosions had been laid.

"We know a little bit goes a long way for next time," Loki said, kicking an empty jerry can.

Their scavenging mission was already a bust, which put a crimp on the next mission. They could march to Mosjøen, as they had marched across France, but taking a truck would have been preferred. For one, they'd already have their getaway vehicle on hand, rather than having to find one after the fact.

Sighing, Loki walked back out toward the road. "We'll try the north side. We might have better luck up there."

They flanked around the base, rather than trying to make their way through. By the time they began to come to an area that wasn't as badly damaged from the road, the sun had already set, casting them in darkness, and putting them several hours behind rendezvous. But with no radio, and no other way to contact Rogers, they were stuck between carrying out their mission, or returning completely empty handed.

Staying late ultimately paid off. At the north end of the base, behind a tall fence, they found a small convoy of mostly-undamaged trucks. Cutting through the fence, the four of them slipped through to take a look. They found little else in the way of useful supplies, but they did find an Opel with a full tank of gas and all of its tyres intact. It was good enough. After siphoning what they could from the other trucks into a few rounded up jerry cans, they all climbed into the Opel, and with Jones behind the wheel, smashed through the tall chain-link fence and onto the road beyond. Sparks flew off the stone street as the fence flew out in front of them, bouncing and snaking away. Leaving the base behind, Jones rushed south through Trondheim back to their camp to help get everyone ready to leave for Mosjøen at first light.

By the time they returned to the outpost, the rest of the squad was moving about nervously, their gear all assembled and waiting to be loaded. The wave of relief as they pulled into the camp was palpable. Everyone scrambled to load up, eager to get out of Trondheim as soon as possible.

"What took you?" Rogers asked, leaning against the Opel's door to talk to Jones.

"There wasn't no base left," Jones answered, shaking his head in disbelief. "It really was just a giant hole in the ground. We had to go way north just to find something that still had wheels."

Rogers nodded slowly. "All right," he said, finally accepting the answer. Behind him, Dugan was rolling the stolen motorcycle to the back of the truck.

"We taking that?" Jones asked, craning to look out the window.

Rogers shrugged. "Yeah, why not? It came in handy this time." He looked back at the motorcycle, and then out at the camp. "Get packed up. Make sure you haven't forgotten anything."

He stepped out of the way to let Jones out, while Loki got out on his own side. All of his gear was still piled on top of his bunk, making loading up the Opel an easy chore.

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