Blarg… this is the most difficult chapter I've had to write in this entire story. Every other chapter has flown onto the page. Not so with this one. So I apologize for its imperfections. There's just so much exposition to get through here, and so many introductions and explanations and battle… and none of these are my strong points. To put it into perspective, this chapter was supposed to be in Jane's POV, and it came out in Clint Barton's. I hope it isn't horrible.
As far as Clint Barton is concerned, he would rather have never had to see Loki again, let alone be somehow working with him. He doesn't trust him. More than that, he doesn't trust himself to be in the same room as him. There's been several times in the past day that his fingers have itched for the feel of a taunt bow string and the notch of an arrow. He had promised himself an eye.
There's more to it than that though. When he thinks about what happened, he describes himself as having been unmade. Everything that was him was stripped down, then built into little more than a machine. It scares him to remember it, because it forces him to face the hard truth: that he isn't ruthless or efficient or intelligent because he fights for the right side. He's all those things by the most basic parts of his own nature. His time with Loki has permanently marked him because it has forced him to accept that the darkness in him (in all of them) is real. Rob them of their morals and values, and they would still be just as talented at what they do.
The sun is arriving sluggishly, a blood red smear overlaying the purple haze of morning smog. It casts the two figures that stand on the edge of Tony Stark's landing ledge into silhouette. The woman's hair tosses in the wind, tousled into a disarray that her body language mirrors. The devil at her side is in the shape of a man, though even that seems strained now. He isn't how Clint remembers. He's gone from looking more or less human to looking like something otherworldly. He's changed, and while the physical aspects are a clue, he can't quite read what the psychological effects might have been.
"I'm not sure what she sees in him," Natasha says as she steps out of the building behind him.
Clint flashes her a critical glance. He supposes she intends it as humour, but he's hardly in a laughing mood. The pair standing before them are too still, their movements too earnest, the murmured words between them too hushed to be taken lightly. He thought, at first, that perhaps Jane was one of the type who was attracted to the madness and the violence and the blood. It isn't so difficult a conclusion, when one considers just how long she ran around the building on Tony's dime, blatantly lying about her purpose and her motives. She's far from a moral paragon.
It isn't that way though. He raises his head in a nod towards the pair and watches in silence as Loki leans in towards the woman. There's the lightest brush of a kiss, and then the tender caress of fingers along Jane's cheekbone. The evil god has wiped away the tears a mortal woman is shedding out of love. "She sees something," he says with finality in his tone.
Natasha is almost eerily still beside him. "Do you," she begins, her voice breaking off and dying away. She looks terribly fragile in that moment, just a pale, pretty woman dressed in black leather and firearms.
Clint clenches his jaw before he speaks. "When I was… He's a good leader. You wouldn't think it, the way things went down, but during all the preparations, he was perfect. You had this sense that he believed in you, and depended on you, and would trust you to carry him to the end of the world, and you believed that he'd do the same for you. I've never seen a commanding officer with that kind of faith and trust in his people. Never seen people so inspired." He breaks off. He's said too much.
Natasha has fixed him with a rather intense stare, "I imagine its easy to trust people who's minds you control."
There's a part of him (the violated part) that wants to agree. There's another part that says that the woman standing there in Loki's arms has her full and entire right mind. That a real monster shouldn't be able to be loved, shouldn't be capable of wiping away tears with anything approaching tenderness. Then again, perhaps that isn't the real definition of a monster.
But Natasha isn't done yet. Her features have grown hard as she considers the things that he himself is probably too scared to consider. "Do you wonder," she says finally, "How we'll be remembered?"
The question sits heavily between them for a long moment. "That depends on if future generations decide we're in the right," Clint says, shifting slightly.
"We don't know anything about Asgard," Natasha says, finally getting to the heart of what has been eating at her mind. "We know that they have a king, which suggests a monarchy, which means they probably don't have democracy. We have no idea how they treat their people. All we've seen is their sovereign princes. One of whom is a pretty decent guy, the other who decided that the way to get over finding out he was adopted was to take over a world." She turns to face Clint, "What kind of system produces individuals capable of even conceiving of the conquest of a world? And, are we sure we want to be supporting that system?"
There's a trace of panic in Natasha's eyes and for the first time, Clint understands that there may be something bigger at stake than damage control and helping out a buddy. This is humanity taking a side that they know nothing about. This could be them throwing in with the extremist government that uses their citizens as slaves, that threatens stability, that commits atrocities. A chill runs down his spine.
The pair of them stand still for a long time, watching Loki even as Tony sweeps in with the device that will supposedly support a bridge between worlds. They remain still as Jane begins to flutter around the ledge, apparently preparing things that don't really need to be prepared. A breath of laughter escapes Clint.
"What?" Natasha murmurs at his side.
"I just realized Jane Foster's a scientist. She's never seen a battle before. Probably never even been in any real danger."
Natasha considers, "There was that fight she got in the middle of. Fired an icicle through solid steel plating."
"Not entirely helpless then," Clint concedes.
"But stupidly excited." Clint casts a sideways glance at Natasha. The sun has traded red for gold, and the light spills across her red hair, bringing out burning highlights. She rests against the side of the building, her body feigning calm.
"Admit it," he says, "You're excited too." She makes a face at him, mocking the enthusiasm that has filled his voice. "We get to see another planet," he insists as he drops to the case he had left at his feet, "Even if we have to spend it waging war."
"Maybe we can take a vacation after," Natasha replies lightly, tossing her hair back in a careless manner as she straightens her body in response to Steve's incoming presence.
Things go quickly then, and its only a few minutes before Clint finds himself standing just a few feet away from Jane and her device, and the alien they've decided to trust. Tony shouts something to Steve, but Clint finds himself mesmerized by the minute give and take between the two people beside him. He watches as Jane raises her hand, placing it upon the bracer of Loki's armour with a slow hesitancy that says as much as the sorrowful expression on her face. Amazingly, in the fraction of time it takes for Loki's head to turn, Jane's expression has turned to something encouraging. Faithful belief and strength radiate from her in a way that could almost be described as fierce. "You don't lack conviction," she says, shaking her head, though her eyes never leave his. "You have more than anyone else I've ever met. You just haven't decided what to invest it in yet."
For a moment, Loki seems to consider her words. There's something in his eyes that says that Jane's words are a balm to what must be an exceptionally battered soul. The moment fades and a bitter smile creeps over Loki's lips. His expression tells her to let it go. Clint recognizes the look. He's seen it before, on the faces of men who leave their loved ones for the last time.
There are words directed at someone else, and then Clint watches in silence as the machine gears up. Something unspoken falls between the pair before him, and there's a blinding flash of light. Light and colour spin before Clint's eyes and while he's left with the fleeting impression of stars and galaxies streaking away into eternity, the kaleidoscopic effect is too overwhelming for much to process. Vertigo grabs hold of his body with a violent grasp and pulls him forward so that he is racing, streaming, flying, melting, crashing into solid ground.
With an aching gasp, Clint lands heavily on his back. The air escapes his lungs in a rush, and he's momentarily glad that his sling of arrows and his bow were in his hands rather than on his back. He blinks, consciousness swimming as he fights off his winded state. There's a million billion stars above him, coalescing into nebulae shaded in green and red and orange. Wherever they are, it isn't Kansas.
It takes a second or two for his hands to recover motion. When they do, he lets his aching fingers fall open, slipping free of straps and the cool carbon fibre of his bow. Bare hands fall flat upon the finest sand he has ever felt, and Clint has the sudden realization that this was the soft landing. Sitting up, he finds himself as breathless as before, though this time, the air catching in his throat is the fault of the view.
They lie in various positions of pained landing upon a beach so white and pure that it shimmers beneath the miraculous starlight above. The ocean that laps at the sparkling shore is like nothing he has ever imagined. It seems to be liquid space-time, if he had to name the stuff: the illusion of water created by the spilling of constellations and galaxies wetter than the Milky Way.
Not every member of their party lies upon the ground. Loki stands above them, a dark sentinel staring out across the cosmos. He turns, just slightly, revealing Jane's presence in his arms, evidently scooped out of air before her own crash landing could be achieved. With wide eyes and parted lips, Jane looks almost childlike, full of innocent wonder and awe. Her head turns left to right, the force of it shifting her entire body, though her arms remain tight upon Loki. There's a hint of pleasure in his expression that seeps through, his green eyes lighting up in a reflection of Jane's joy.
"It's beautiful," Jane whispers.
Clint turns his gaze to follow hers, and is left shaken. Asgard shines from within itself. Every tree, every cliff face, every sparkling waterfall, seems to emit a soft glow. Above it all rise towers and structures of ivory and gold. The sky melts directly into space. There is no star to call a sun, only the diffuse shine of the innumerable stars and stellar formations above them. It isn't night though. There is too much light filling this world, spilling from the very pores of it, falling down upon it, tracing everything in a sort of perfection that has even Tony Stark struck dumb at the sight.
Clint stares at the buildings. "What's that?" he asks, breaking the spell they have all been under.
Loki spares him a momentary glance. His eyes suggest that until he spoke, they had been forgotten. There's the trace of a sneer across his lips. "Sifexen battleship," he says as he gestures tightly at the dull grey hulk of metal that can be seen lazily drifting beside several of the towers. As Clint watches the spaceship, he wonders exactly what the scale is of this place. The ship seems small beside the towers, but there are hatches and portholes and jutting spikes that suggest that the ship is immense. "They've only sent one then," Loki continues, his voice carrying a hint of amusement, "The Alfen must have dragged them here on the premise of their trade agreement."
"Then they're already here," Jane says, her voice quiet as she slips out of Loki's arms. Her body is stiff, her eyes fearful. Whatever it is Loki is talking about, she seems to be the only one with any ability to decipher meaning. "We need to get going," she urges, though her voice is tight.
Loki gives her a stiff nod, and surveys the rest of them with an air that is decidedly regal and assessing. With the exception of Bruce, they have all managed to get somewhat to their feet. They cast glances around themselves, checking each other for injuries in an entirely surreptitious manner. Within a second, their eyes have gathered upon Bruce, who still sits in the sand. His gaze seems to be miles away. His mouth hangs just slightly open. It takes him longer than it should to register the stares of those around him. "Right," he says, jerking to his feet, "I just needed a minute – to process." He looks to Loki and Jane, "What do you need?"
Clint watches Loki and Jane share a look that seems to discuss next steps without the use of a single word. "We just need time," Jane says finally.
"A line of defense," Loki adds, "Wouldn't be amiss." His eyes point towards a series of low-lying hills maybe a mile down and up from the beach. There's a jagged line of figures moving down them, chased by what seems to be a horde of armoured Shih Tzus with lasers mounted to their backs.
Clint blinks, a bemused expression on his face. Beside him, he can hear Natasha smothering a laugh. She lifts a hand to cover her smirk, "We need to protect you from tiny doggies?"
Loki looks at her with irritation etched across a stony face. "Do not underestimate the Triblexian Advance Scout Force," he spits. "But for the record, I was more concerned about the incoming Fire Giants those 'tiny doggies' are about to pin against us."
Clint turns on his heel and realizes that the scale of things really is all off here. The 'tiny doggies' barely reach the heel of the things they are chasing. Which means the fire giants might well be rather giant, and desperate to outrun the laser-shooting dogs, if their movement is any indicator. "Captain?" Clint prompts, "I'm starting to think we might want to get to the job."
Steve snaps into action, directing Tony into the air, sending Bruce into the field ahead of them, and simply telling him to get up high. Clint's already in motion, an arrow in hand before he's even reached the top of the dune. He falls to one knee and gets the nearest giant into his sights. The fire giants are ugly things with blackened red skin wrapped around a twisted, semi-humanoid form. They still react to an exploding arrow to the eye socket, however.
The giants seem to slow as one of their own explodes into a soupy mess. Black blood splatters across those nearest to their now dead comrade. They stare down at the fallen creature, then look back up at the tiny human crossing the green plain before them. Bruce strides confidently, calmly ripping the shirt from his own back. The discarded fabric flutters to the grass behind him. The giants look back at the crowd of hyper-active fur that is coming ever closer to their group. Lasers begin to light them up, leaving wicked burns in their path. An inhuman howl rises up from the giants and their feet return to movement. It is rather unfortunate for them that by the time they have turned back around, there is now a huge, green ton of rage hurtling towards them.
Clint focuses on picking off those giants that would attempt to escape the main group. He's holding the rest of his exploding tips in reserve, but his got a plethora of toys and wicked gadgets that seem fully capable of inflicting enough pain to keep the group tightly gathered. Tony's using a similar tactic, leaving the Hulk alone on the ground. It still seems to be enough. The tiny doggies have pretty decent aim.
Behind him, he can hear a strange hum of energy. Natasha and the Captain say something, though Clint doesn't take the time to process it until after the last fire giant lies dead. The laser dogs have stilled in front of the Hulk. There seems to be some sort of discussion happening. Clint watches as Tony settles down beside them, hands spread wide in peace. The dogs fall to their hunches, scratching at their heads with their hind feet. Things seem safe there, then.
Clint turns and finds himself face-to-face with a hole into space. Memories swim as instinct gives him a kick into action. He's down the dune, with an arrow ready in his bow before he's figured out where to aim it. "I thought he needed the Tesseract to pull this stunt," he barks at Natasha and the Captain, who both seem to have been stricken silent.
"He said that was only because there were no doors." Natasha's voice seems to waver, as if having lost its hinge to reality, "Apparently, here is where the Bifrost is supposed to be. Which means that all the doorways to all the worlds the Asgardians know about open here. And all they really need to do is activate the bridges. Like, they hang there, in space-time, just waiting to be turned on."
She sounds like there is more she wants to say, but the arrival of a fleet of tiny spaceships at the other end of the tunnel through space leaves her silent. The ships slip through, zipping out of the hole and into Asgard's airspace. Orange and silver darts flash through the sky, dipping and spinning above them. Clint watches them with wary eyes.
The energy hum dies. Distractedly, Clint turns his attention back to Loki and Jane. Jane looks elated despite the sweat that has plastered loose strands of her hair to her face. She wears a giddy grin. "Did you see that?" she cries, delight in her tone. She seems unaware of the troubled expressions on the rest of the human faces. Loki remains impassive.
"Who, exactly," Steve jabs a finger at the sky, "Are they?"
"A mediocre offering from the Tesmit Empire," Loki drawls, "Do you mind? We have five more of these to open."
"Five?" spits Steve, "Why do we need so many? It took all of three minutes to take out that group on the hill."
Loki gives Steve a sinister smile. "A splinter group of unorganized teenagers won't give you an accurate picture of the force-at-large," he says, letting the implications do his work for him.
Steve looks ready to start something here and now, but Jane sends him a distinctly crestfallen look. Her lips part slightly as she shakes her head. "Don't do this," she says, "Please. I'd rather live past today, and if overkill is what guarantees that…"
"You won't die today," Loki's words cut across her own, like an edict from above. They are said hastily, but not without weight. He captures her gaze with his own. "You won't," he promises.
Jane nods. Her tiny hand slips into Loki's much larger one and they turn together as one force to rip the heavens apart again. There's something terrible written across Steve's face. Something calculating on Natasha's. The three of them watch in silence as four more bridges are opened. A battleship comes though one. Then another small fleet of ships the size of fighter planes. A wraith-like cloud travels through another. A number of slug-like beings drop from one into the not-quite water near their feet, struggling through the star-slime onto the beach.
Two pairs of eyes swivel on two pairs of grey-green tentacles. A voice that isn't a voice drips into Clint's mind, "Tenth battalion of the Slatholis Royal Navy," he thinks he hears. The slug gives him an impenetrable look. "You have strange pictures," the voice tells him, "Your brain is not rightly evolved."
"We call it language," Clint replies, letting the words rest on the air.
Loki turns and looks at him, his gaze more human but no more readable than the giant slug's. "Don't bother," he says, "The Slatholis don't have ears. They understand what they want to."
"It's why their war with the Triactus never ends," Jane adds.
Clint stares at them like they've both gone mad. The surreal state of things, the presence of aliens, the fact that a crazed Norse god is telling him that after reading his mind, giant slugs decided to help fight this war with him, and the fact that tiny Jane Foster is somehow in the middle of all of it, entirely unfazed in a way no human should be, has him struggling to keep track of things.
"Speaking of which," Loki continues, extending a hand toward one of the slugs and resting it against the creature's slime-coated skin, "I'm sure they'd like to know where they might be."
"The Triactus are here?" Jane asks.
"Of course. They've been allies with the Alfen for the last two millennia."
"You're throwing two species at war with each other onto the same battlefield, on the world you're trying to save?" Steve sputters.
"It's all a distraction," Natasha interrupts, her voice cool. "All of this, its just one big distraction. He doesn't need any of these armies."
Loki gifts her with a smirk, "I need some of them," he amends. "But yes, for the most part, distraction is the main strategy."
"You're putting lives on the line that don't need to be," Steve concludes.
Loki looks at him for a long moment. A shadow pulls itself across his face. "And this surprises you?" he asks in a hollow voice.
It doesn't surprise Clint. Then again, he's seen the same tactic used a dozen times by SHIELD. For a moment, Clint wishes he could have the same moral certainty Steve does. It would give him a lot less sympathy for the devil beside them.
Okay, as I mentioned earlier, this chapter was originally going to be in Jane's POV. Which means that the first thousand or so words of that version are, in fact, written. So, if you're interested in knowing exactly what is passing between Jane and Loki in the opening scene of this chapter, let me know in either a review or a PM. I'll be happy to send you a copy of the "deleted scene."