Wow, guys. So much for being more on time with these! I'm sorry for the wait! All I can say is that, in the future, I will try to be more prompt. Buuuuttttt...that being said, I've still got to finish rewriting the next section, so I don't really know how long that will take. I'll do my best to have a part for you by next Friday! Thanks for sticking around through my sporadic updates and month-long pauses! I love you all!
Just a quick note: a reader suggested that I mark places where I shift locale or POV, so I'll be doing that from now on. It's not just me being strange with formatting. :-) Also, it's proof that I do actually read and respond to reviews! (Pssst...you should leave one! Unless you want to say/ask something that might be a spoiler. In that case, PM me!)
Tony heard Elizabeth heave a breath in and out. She sounded like she had been underwater, holding that air in for longer than was biologically recommended. For a moment, no one had the nerve to speak. The only sound was that of Elizabeth's breathing, slowly relaxing back to normal.
Finally, Tony said quietly, "Elizabeth? Whaddya say? Mission accomplished?"
Nothing. That scared him more than a poor report would have.
He glanced over at Steve, who shrugged. "Elizabeth?" Tony tried again. Even a gasp or a scream would have been helpful at the moment. But she gave them not a thing.
"Elizabeth, do you copy?" Natasha demanded. Tony could hear the panic starting to swell in her voice as well, and it was good to know that he wasn't the only one.
In response to Natasha's question, all they got was the dull thud of the com unit hitting the floor, followed by an even eerier nothing than before.
"Tony?" Bruce asked hesitantly. "Was that what I thought it was?"
He gritted his teeth and fought not to swear. "Yep. She's 10-7."
"10-7 as in . . ." Clint asked, leaving the unpleasant ending off; Tony wasn't sure whether Clint couldn't stand to say the words or couldn't stand to hear them.
"Just 10-7. As in gone," Tony replied. "Not responsive. Down. Offline." He paused, running a hand over his face. "I'm going to kill her."
"If that hasn't been taken care of already," Bruce muttered darkly.
With a massive sigh, Tony said, "Yeah."
After a hesitation, Bruce asked, "So, what do we do now?"
"We find her," Steve answered resolutely, glancing at Tony for confirmation. A nod was all he needed, and good thing, too; it was all he got. "Clint, Natasha, I hate to ask this of you, but –"
"On it. Already on our way," Natasha informed them. It was obvious in her all-business voice that she was steeling herself for the worst. Tony didn't envy their position; none of them wanted to be the first to open the door to the Loki room. They had only asked the two hardened assassins because they were the closest – not because they were somehow more prepared than the rest of them. Because it was not a question of if they would find a corpse; it was a question of how many and whose.
There was a minute or so of terse silence.
"Oh my –"
"What?" Pepper jumped. "What is it?"
"She wasn't kidding. These things are ugly." A beat, then Clint continued. "She killed it, guys."
"But what do you see?" pressed Bruce.
"There's a dead Chitauri in the middle of the floor with a knife wound to its left ribs. That's it."
"No sign of a struggle?"
"None." There was a pause as Clint considered. "It's almost like he just . . . let her kill him. Either that, or he didn't see it coming."
"And Elizabeth?" Steve prompted.
"Not here." Natasha this time. "Probably started down the center stairs before she even got rid of the com."
Tony bit back a deluge of profanity. "Bruce, you and Pepper are still at the tower, right?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Stay there. Keep an eye open for her. Clint, Nat – you guys still know how to effectively hide a body?"
"Unfortunately."
"I'm putting you in charge of that one. Got it?"
"10-4."
"Alright. Me, Thor, and Cap are going to sweep a half-mile radius from the Chrysler building. If anyone sees of hears from Elizabeth, say so." He hesitated. "I can't tell you what kind of mood she'll be in when we find her, but she's armed. Everyone copy?"
"Copy." The word sounded like a jumbled mess with all six other voices speaking at once, but it was good enough for Tony.
"Okay. Remember, it's only been a couple of minutes. She can't have gotten too far. Good luck, guys."
Thor rounded the corner of a building, looking perfectly normal in his flannel and jeans. He was careful not to rush, but he couldn't help but hurry a little. Something that Elizabeth had said still rang in his mind: I am not a fugitive. I never ran.
That little hint, combined with some of the things Elizabeth had said and done. . . . Even the fact that the Scrimorus had been killed with a knife. . . . It was all so familiar. And completely foreign. Still, Thor had time to speculate – to make connections – and so he did.
For once, he didn't know whether he wanted more to be right or wrong.
He checked in an alleyway to his right. Nothing. She must be keeping one step ahead of him.
But, as he walked on, he realized that she wasn't ahead of him at all. He doubled back, looking directly into the alleyway once more. This time, he saw her, but only because he expected to. She was hiding in a shadow, phantom-like in her eerie ability to sink unnoticed into its myriad of lights and darks, watching him closely.
"Hello," he greeted, if for no other reason than to let her know that he saw her.
She didn't reply, only taking a reluctant step forward, halfway into the light. Her right hand still clutched a dagger, slick with blood up to its hilt and dripping onto the asphalt. For a moment, as Elizabeth stared at him through hard, stormy eyes, the tiny splashes of the thick blood hitting the pavement were the only sound in the world.
"Everyone is anxious for you," Thor said softly, trying not to upset her. Everything about her stance made him equate her to an angry, dangerous, animal, and he behaved accordingly. His eyes kept flicking down to the knife in her hand; his brother had shown him on many occasions just how rapidly a well-thrown dagger could exact damage on a target. If he even so much as blinked . . .
"Thor, what have you got?" Tony asked over the com.
"She is safe, Stark. I can manage her." There was a subtle warning in his tone that placed the word "alone" at the end of that sentence. Then, to Elizabeth, he said, "Are you hurt?"
She very quickly glanced herself over, as if unsure of the answer. Once she had ascertained that she was, in fact, still in one piece, she muttered, "Clearly not." That was all. No elaboration – not even in her expression.
They passed a moment in silence, Thor suddenly feeling quite disarmed by the fact that she wouldn't look anywhere but at him. For having avoided eye contact for so long, her glare sent a shiver down his spine. It was just . . . strange. It wasn't supposed to be. And yet, it was. He was unprepared for it.
"Did it die?" she asked abruptly.
"Yes," he replied. Her brow knit slightly as her eyes dropped to the ground. The white in her knuckles eased as her grip on the dagger lessened marginally. Thor was by no means exceptional at reading people, but even he couldn't mistake the conflict in her countenance. "Elizabeth," he told her, "you did a good thing. You were supposed to kill it."
"I know that," she shot.
Thor chose to ignore her incendiary comment, instead asking, "Why couldn't I find you? The first time, I mean. When I walked past, I saw you, but, for some reason, it was also as though I did not see you at all. How is that possible?"
Her eyes narrowed, as if to say, This is the most important question you could think to ask at this very moment? She moved on quickly, though, reaching up to her neck and hooking her finger around a nondescript thread of twine and tugging until a key-shaped pendant was at her fingertips. "Perception filter," she said blandly. "Keeps people from noticing me. You recall the man and his wife who piloted the blue box? They came for a picnic?"
"Oh yes, of course!" Thor responded. "He left you with that as a token of his friendship. Well, he left you with that, and a challenge to figure out the magic that made such a thing work." He looked curiously at her, and she arched an eyebrow. "Did you ever discover the secret?"
"Ages ago," she said.
The key-pendant disappeared within the folds of her blouse once again, and Thor watched it go. "It is unlike you not to gloat." The words slipped out before he could catch himself, but, after a second, he didn't regret them.
She had slipped back into her former, more morose shell of herself, and the hatred in her eyes crackled, lively as a fresh ember. She said nothing to Thor's comment, nor did she make any indication that it had bothered her in the least; if Thor hadn't known better, he would have been certain she hadn't heard him at all.
Thor sighed. "Stark," he said, "be forewarned; I am about to become the code of 10-7. That is to say, I am planning to go out of service in a moment. Fear not for Elizabeth. We shall both meet you and the others back at Stark Tower shortly."
"Whoa, Thor, don't –"
Thor didn't pay Tony any heed, instead digging the com from his ear and tossing it further down the alley. It landed behind Elizabeth with a barely audible clink, and she didn't look any happier for it. He suspected he knew why: It was just the two of them now.
Now, Thor could speak how he liked.
In her lifetime, Sif had had to endure far too many speeches from far too many drunken fools who called themselves men – all of them swearing their undying love for her. She had always rolled her eyes. "Please," she'd say, as if they were being utterly ridiculous.
But she knew they weren't. She just didn't want to refuse them; that made for messy politics that she would much rather avoid.
Quite a few men had given her tokens as well – tokens that she had promptly tossed into the back of a drawer, never to see the light of day again. The one token she had ever valued had been bestowed upon her by a man who hadn't made any mention of love at all.
She turned the unobtrusive band of black leather around her wrist, thinking of the day that that man had given it to her. It had been so long ago; she had only recently been named a Warrior of the Realm when he had approached her one day after training. Sif recalled the conversation perfectly.
"What are you doing here?" she had asked, as he had begun to make his visits to the practice ring scarcer by the day.
Loki didn't smile, but a smirk toyed in his eyes. "I only came to annoy Thor. He abhors it when I critique his footwork – or lack thereof."
"Well, he's not training today," she informed him coolly.
"Yes I can see that," he replied, and Sif felt stupid for even pointing it out. She hated him when he made her feel that way. Loki took a breath, hands behind his back, staring absently at the pair now sparring in the ring, looking every bit the prince that he was. "Incidentally," he said, "I am glad that I saw you; I've something for you."
That surprised her more than she had anticipated. She didn't know how to respond, so she only raised her eyebrows. "For me?"
"No, for the other Lady Sif, Warrior of the Realm who trains here on a daily basis," he drawled. The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk as he drew a leather-laced hand from behind him. "It's hardly an extravagant gift, and I pray that you will not misunderstand my intentions in giving it," he said casually. As he unwound the cord from his long fingers, he clarified, "I am not unaware that other men have been giving you things as well, but their reasons are their own, as are mine."
Warily, she eyed the simple strip, knowing the giver much too well to take it at face value. "And what reasons do you have?" she asked.
He sighed, the teasing in his face only growing. "Why is it that you can never just trust me, Sif?"
"Would you like that chronologically by date of occurrence or by date of consequence?" she retorted, perhaps a touch too harsh, but she didn't care.
For a second, he stared at her, no doubt rolling a witty and equally biting retort around on his silver tongue. He never said it, though, instead only chuckling. "If you must know, I have enabled this to give you a bit of an edge on the battlefield," he told her. "Consider it a congratulatory gift to the newest Warrior in Odin's army."
"Are my own merits not enough for battle?" she challenged. Admittedly, she had been a little too angry at his comment, but it was a fair point.
The way he closed his eyes suggested that he had expected such an inflammatory response. "I never said that," he amended. "I only give it because, while my faith in your abilities is steadfast as ever, I fear that your enemy's inclination to strike you might be just as sure. One mustn't count on the actions of someone determined to see one dead."
Because, though Sif was loath to admit it, he had a point, she said, "Fine then." Because she was not in a hurry to die, she decided to accept his gift as a rare act of goodwill without inquiring after it any further. And because she hated the almost-smug gleam in his eyes, she made him reach for her wrist before she held it out to him.
His hands were quick as he transferred the cord to her wrist, wrapping it around twice and tying it off with a complex knot that she had never seen before. Splendid. She would probably never be able to get it off without cutting it.
"Am I to understand, then," she said, only to fill the silence as he finished the knot, "that you actually care whether I live or die?"
"Any decent person would," was all he said in reply, but the way his hand lingered in hers for just a fraction of a second made her doubt the flippancy of his words. When he finally let her hand go, she wondered why she suddenly itched to touch him again.
Instead, she rotated her wrist, examining her new adornment. "Thank you," she told him, though she had a feeling that the true cause for thanks would only present itself in time elapsed and battles fought.
He bowed his head courteously. "Thank you, my lady, for receiving it."
"I'm not your lady," she scoffed, a habitual response of hers whenever he slipped and called her his. Over the years, he had grown accustomed to her reaction, though he had not stopped causing it. Over and over, he called her my lady. And over and over, she corrected him. It had become a bit of a game between them—a subtle way in which he teased her, like every time he mentioned how much he preferred her black hair to her former blonde.
"Of course not," he said, inclining his head – the gesture only slightly too proper for her taste. The look of teasing had left him, and he appeared a trifle too serious about the entire thing. She opened her mouth to ask, but he was already taking his leave, heading back toward the palace.
As he walked away, she glanced at the bracelet, calling after him, "I don't see anything special about it!"
His voice drifted back to her: "And you probably never will."
He had been wrong.
After a fair number of fights, missions, and drills, she had arrived at the conclusion that anyone opposing her had either spontaneously forgotten how to use their weapon or abruptly encountered problems with their depth-perception.
She had started to notice it with more certainty the first time Loki had volunteered her for recon inside the enemy camp. He had shot her a look – and, with him, a look could mean more than a monologue from the lips of another. She hadn't questioned the look then because she had never questioned a look before.
When she found herself in the middle of the camp, standing by the enemy's fire, she was astounded by her stealth – especially because, after the first few hours had gone smoothly, she hadn't exactly been trying. Not a soul paid her any mind at all, and yet, there she stood, effortlessly blending in and attracting no unwanted attention.
Just like he did.
Several missions later, she had realized that his gift all that time ago hadn't been just a simple, unimpressive leather cord at all. An edge in battle indeed.
A/N: So the mysterious black bracelet from the first few chapters returns! And is explained! Also, yes, I did make an off-canon reference. :-) It suited the story.
