Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel Comics or any such related characters. I merely write this story for fun. There is no monetary profit on my end. Thank you, have a nice day.

Warnings: Tons. If you have problems with psychological warfare, homosexual relationships, development above and beyond the cannon set by the creators, media being used as a weapon, secret organizations which do not adhere to the Geneva Convention, alcohol abuse, psychological trauma (including but not limited to PTSD), and other things which might be considered "feels inducing" or at all traumatizing… I am surprised you've read far enough to get to this warning. If you do not like these things, please walk the other way.

Author's Note: I took a long break from Bitter Sirens, starting with NaNoWriMo in November. A lot has happened. I've got two jobs, a new apartment, and am full swing in graduate level dissertation research, but dammit, I've missed this project. Sorry for the long wait. Hopefully I haven't lost you guys.

Other Note: If you guys are wondering what I'm up to on this project, check out my tumblr (I'm battery-powered-genius) or my twitter ( arcreactorkysis). I post stuff semi-regularly on my tumblr and am always connected to twitter, so that's a good way to find out what's up.

BITTER SIRENS

PART VI: NECESSARY EVIL

CHAPTER III: BATTLE LINES

It was one of those smiles, the sort where Bruce ducked his head but could not quite look away. A chuckle came next, controlled, even, but amused. Bruce always kept himself on a short leash—despite every attempt to loosen it a bit—but that was okay. Tony could not even remember the joke he'd told to get such a reaction, but it was worth it.

"I'd tell you to tell that to the others, but I think it'd be lost on them."

Tony grinned. Yeah, it would be. That's what made it special. It was their little joke now.

If this could last forever, he'd be a happy man.

Something started to beep. Tony sat up, glancing over the back of the couch. There were lights on in the kitchen. He couldn't smell anything cooking. Hadn't they already had dinner? Pretty sure; he'd never been good with remembering food, though, so maybe not.

Tony swiveled back, glass raised to point.

There was only green.

Tony bolted upright with a gasp.

0

The glass shattered in his hand.

It had been loud and boisterous in the wide dining hall, and yet, it seemed as though that glass, so small, not all that loud, had managed to chase all sound from their vicinity. Every eye was upon him, a portion of their number concerned, the rest worried in an entirely different fashion.

Sif tried to make a smile next to him, if it could be considered an effort at all. She laughed, a worse sound than the glass exploding at the force of his grip, and tried to regroup where the conversation had been interrupted, "As I said, our ties with Midgard are stronger than ever and I feel it will—"

Thor pushed his chair back, standing. He did not need to sit through this. Quickly, he looked to the head of the table for permission.

The Allfather attempted to seem as calm and level headed as ever, but he could see through it. He could see the cracks, as Loki had called them. Odin met his gaze—a tired, pained eye—while he mother would not even look in his direction. Was that guilt she felt for turning Loki over to the wolves for a massacre or resentment that he had to find out about it?

It would seem no one could be trusted. They should be in mourning for losing a prince reinstated to a supposed ally, not gorging themselves on the feast of the hunt. They should be questioning the solidity of such a treaty, if the first term had been to betray one of their own. Loki was one of them, he had proven it by leading the reconstruction of the Bifrost, and yet here they were, acting as though there were no problems within their great kingdom.

Loki was right.

Thor turned, leaving whether he had the approval or not.

0

No matter how loud he cranked the music, no matter how many tools he fired up—hell, no matter how many messes Dummy and Butterfingers made—his workshop still felt silent. Like a void. Did he wake up in the Twilight Zone and miss the memo? That seemed like a serious possibility.

Tony tensed, lifting the box. It wasn't all that big. There was only one thing in it. Didn't matter. It was still heavy, and he couldn't trust his robots not to drop it everywhere. That'd be a travesty, if ever he saw one.

With a grunt, he set the box back down on the main table. It had wheels, he could have just rolled it over, slid the box, done and done, but the manual labor felt like something. It felt like it filled a bit of that void, that nothingness, the damn silence that was blaring over every single noisy thing he did.

His own mind was worse than the Twilight Zone it would seem.

Tony sighed, running a hand up through his hair. He needed to take a shower. That could wait, though. There was a warm cup of coffee on his table and if he went now, the steam would stop, and then there would be even more silence.

Maybe he just needed to breathe.

It was funny how when he didn't need someone to talk to, there were all the people in the world. He'd had a team, and they hadn't all tried to kill him. That could be marketed as a novelty somewhere, he was sure. A t-shirt. Whatever, didn't matter.

They were gone now.

Tony glanced up toward the corner. It did not look any different from the other corners. With the lights dimmed so JARVIS could work his projector magic, all the corners were shadowed. That one, however, was different. It felt like he was being watched. The hairs on his arms stood up whenever he looked in that corner. He checked; they were doing it again. Definitely something unnatural about that corner.

It was funny—and not in the ha ha sort of way—that when he did need someone, anyone, just to take a moment, turn, ask a simple question like 'how are you holding up' there was just this damn silence and emptiness to greet him. Some team, right? He would have laughed if he thought he could manage it.

At least his work was still there, a constant, never leaving him unless he threw it away first. He liked it that way. Why didn't the whole world work like that? It used to.

Tony reached down, dragging his fingers through the box. It was filled with a liquid, black and viscous like oil, but thicker, heavier, colder. It rolled away from his fingers, not sticking to them. No, that would take a considerable amount of force, if he'd calculated everything right. Oh, and if he wanted it to stay in any sort of a form, he'd need to apply an electrical current directly.

The feeling in the corner had not subsided any. He checked on it like checking a watch. That was as good a way as any to check time, seeing as his little observer generally got bored and vanished for periods of time, or whatever fugitive gods did with their time. He wouldn't know.

It was worth a shot, though.

"I first developed this as an answer to the underarmor issue. I wanted something thin, movable, durable. Problem was, anytime I'd stick a nanocomputer in it, the thing would either swim completely out of place—which screws my armor trajectory—or when I hit it with a current, crushes it, and there goes a few thousand dollars."

"I am well aware of this, Sir. Would you like me to run through diagnostics for a work-around again?"

Tony leveled his gaze at that corner again, scooping out a ball of the liquid. It rolled in his fingers for a moment, and then formed into a sphere. He'd repurposed it. Isn't that what he did with everything at some point? Sounded about right. It might look like a paintball from hell, but that didn't even cover half of it.

"Not talking to you, JARVIS. Thanks for the offer though." Tony rolled the sphere over his knuckles, not a drop escaping its little ball. This was the stuff of miracles. It could be used to help so many people, and yet right now, his only thought was about how it could possible hurt them.

Nothing really had changed, had it?

"Certainly, Sir. I will disregard any further statements unless they are directly addressed to me."

Tony nodded, tapping the fingers on his free hand against the table. He could demonstrate, he could keep talking, pretending like Loki was there and interested in what he was babbling about. Who was he kidding? He'd just freed the equivalent of the Norse god of lies and trickery and expected him to stick around for the fallout. Wow. He was supposed to be a genius. This was a whole new level.

"See, I got to thinking, if I can't encase myself in it, why not encase someone else?" Tony tossed the sphere up, not really following it with his eyes—didn't need to. He caught it just fine, and in the same motion crushed it.

The reaction was instant. One moment, it was a neat little sphere, the next, it was crawling all over his skin, slicking to a thin casing. It kept moving, wandering, constantly shifting. That was the problem—it just couldn't sit still. No matter. He'd find a use for it.

The glass wall lit up, security panel appearing. There was Pepper, pressed suit dress, hair spun up, just enough makeup to notice but not distract. Tony's mouth twitched. He dipped his hand back in the box, the liquid whisking off easily. He'd put a lid over the top by the time the door hissed and slid open.

Pepper paused, looking around.

"What? Expecting more explosions?" Tony waved his hands, turning in one smooth motion. He leaned back against the table and crossed his arms.

"No… Who were you talking to just now?"

Oh. Tony glanced over his shoulder, at the corner. The shadow was still there. He quickly looked away, shrugging. "Myself."

Pepper did not fixate on the corner, at least not too long. Soon enough she was gliding right on over, tablet held out. "I have the preliminary report of damages to the Tower—"

"Already seen it." Tony didn't take the tablet, fiddling with a stray tool instead. She sighed, but didn't push it, pulling the tablet back in on herself. Like a shield. Interesting how body language changed so quickly.

"Then you would know that SI suffered no losses."

"Absolutely."

Pepper paused, rocking up on her feet. She was fighting with something, he could see it, but rather than poke, he kept silent, tossing the tool down. Maybe he'd busy himself with something else.

"Okay. I have my phone if you need anything."

Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes at that one. Yeah, sure. He turned back to the table, barely listening as the door closed again. He might have laughed.

0

The listlessness of the air around the Bifrost gateway served as a balm for his wounds, though he had not realized he was wounded at first. Thor took a deep, long breath, drinking in the quiet, the call, the vastness of space.

Of the stars in the sprawling cosmos above him, he wondered how many had planets and how many of those planets bore life. Of those life bearing planets, he wondered how many had families torn asunder by precarious treaties. There were no doubt hundreds out there, beyond even the reach of the Bifrost, and of those, he could not imagine Asgard as the only one to face such problems.

"You are grim, Son of Odin."

Thor turned slowly, the hum of Mjolnir at his side making the sudden twitch of all his nerves seem unnecessary. It was only Heimdall, and he was sworn to an oath of honor to remain guarding the Bifrost, watching over all of Asgard for as long as the Allfather demanded it.

He fought back a bitter smile, ducking his head so his hair, a loose, chaotic halo, shielded his features. It was a useless gesture, for surely Heimdall could see straight through it and into his heart, but he did it anyhow. The Midgardians had certainly left their mark upon him, just as he had upon them.

What a horrid, fetid mark Asgard had left.

"What of Midgard?" Thor forced the words out, though they were thick, unwilling to part with his tongue. He needed to know what the fate of Loki was, and yet, at the same time, did not. It was a constant struggle, tugging him to and fro.

"Midgard is as the deepest waters." Heimdall did not move, nearly a gold and bronze statue. His lack of reaction was far more relieving than his words. "The surface is pristine."

"What of underneath?"

Heimdall blinked. His hands squeezed upon his sword once more, as though he wished to heft it in his own defense. That was answer enough for him. Thor let out a small laugh, sounding so broken and misplaced in the hush.

"And Loki?"

"I cannot see him."

That could only mean one of two possibilities, neither of which he wished to confront. Either Loki had found his magic once more and thrown a veil upon himself or he had… Thor swallowed, closing his eyes.

They never should have spent him back to Midgard.

0

It was that time again. He set his coffee down in front of the monitor, checking his watch. Bruce eased himself into the chair, and immediately set to typing. Once the usual addresses were all typed into place, all he could do was wait for the connection.

The café was quiet, a little less busy than usual, which was nice. A tour must have left the city. Good thing, too, because he was not sure how much longer he could go without being recognized. It was strange, being out on his own after having someone else looking over his shoulder for so long. He felt exposed.

Bruce checked his watch again. It was a minute past. The server was still loading. He really hoped Natasha didn't decide to just go back to her business as usual without waiting.

An error message popped up right before it finished loading. Of course. Bruce set his mug down again before he could get a good sip, typing in all the information again just to be sure. He didn't have to wait this time.

Couldn't connect to the server. Bruce sighed, sinking back into his chair. First her connection cuts out unexpectedly, then SI's systems go down. He'd seen in the paper that the Tower went dark for an hour.

He'd say it was power failure, but he knew better. Rather, he knew Tony better than that.

Maybe he'd just have to try again.

0

The thickness of the Quinjet's outer walls dampened most of the sound of its engines, but she was not about to point that out. She sat perfectly still, going over a mental catalogue of every hidden compartment on her feminine business attire, from the bangles she wore to the heels of her shoes, playing out small scenarios to be sure everything was ready.

Clint was next to her, and seemed to be doing exactly the same thing, fingers flexing protectively over the handle of his bow, feeling the grooves designed specifically for his hand and bonding with it. Every so often, she would notice his arm muscles twitch. Behind his sunglasses, she could not see his eyes, but she was certain they were moving, darting back and forth as he ran through the same set of contingencies.

Coulson kept on his speech, louder than necessary, without even noticing. He was preoccupied. They all were. This, however, was not the time or the place for such distractions.

"If at all possible, I want there to be zero violence. This is merely a civil meeting." Coulson was repeating himself and pacing, both of which were making her tune it out all the more. She needed to concentrate and focus. "We need to discretely find out where Loki is and determine whether or not Mr. Stark has been compromised. Am I clear?"

"Crystal." Natasha and Clint both said it at the same time. It would be good to be on assignment with him again. It had been entirely too long. Too bad the circumstances could not have been better.

0

His cup of tea was empty. Again. Bruce pursed his lips at the bottom of the cup, with its granules of insoluble herbs. He checked his watch. He had five minutes left. Over the last forty-five minutes he'd gone through two cups of tea, five scientific journals, and three youtube videos, checking back at intervals to see if Natasha was there.

He was starting to think that even if Natasha was there, another issue was preventing the connection.

Sighing, he sat forward again, typing in a new url. It was amazing how his typing speed had gone up. He'd never really thought about it, but being around so much technology had changed him in more ways than he realized.

His email account loaded without any issues. It seemed all SI services were up and running again, at least from what he could see. If there had been more than an hour of downtime, he was sure he would have heard the international uproar by now.

Bruce typed in Natasha's email account, double checking it before tapping out an email. He had three minutes at this point. The internet was abysmally slow here. He'd become spoiled. Great. Vanishing into the wilderness was going to be a lot more difficult than he first thought.

Send.

0

"Sir, I believe you told me to inform you if a Code Green phenomena occurred."

His mouth went dry. Code Green. He'd titled that as a joke, a long time ago, when it felt like it was only a joke. He'd never thought he'd have to use it. Here it was.

Tony sucked in a deep breath. Which one had it been? He set down his tools, shaking his head. He knew which one it was.

Before he could respond, JARVIS cut the speakers on. That was a sound he knew. Well. He'd designed the damn things.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was making its move.

"Scratch that JARVIS. I've got bigger fish to fry."

"Certainly, Sir."

0

If they wished to keep the media in blackout, landing a Quinjet in the courtyard of Stark's Malibu mansion was not a good first step. It would turn their attention towards them and start bringing questions, none of which S.H.I.E.L.D. was ready to answer.

This was Coulson's call, not her own. If this was how he thought they should do it, they would carry out the mission.

The door opened just as the feet touched down. Natasha stretched a smile across her red lips, making the short steps most women in heels were resigned to. If the media was watching, they would see a very sharply dressed businesswoman with a folder in her arm, unless they decided to look closer.

Clint stayed back in the shadows of the Quinjet, as ordered, bow at the ready. If there were any signs of trouble, he would know what to do. Lethal force was out of the question—according to Coulson. Natasha trusted Clint would make the right call.

The front door opened before she was even halfway to it. Natasha pressed the smile a little harder. If she started this off on a good note, they might stay on one.

It was Pepper.

Natasha stopped walking, smile immediately dropping. Pepper looked confused and hurt, as she did when surprises (normally Stark's fault) rained down on her. This was most definitely one of those instances.

"Hello Miss Potts."

"Natalie." Pepper wrung her hands in front of her before smoothing out her dress, standing at a professional ready. The door clicked shut behind her, but she did not move away from it. It almost looked like she meant to guard it.

"If you would excuse me, I have important business with Mr. Stark." Natasha did her best not to look as tense as she felt. There did not seem to be many lights on within the mansion, but she knew there were also subterranean levels. How many, their intel did not say.

Pepper put on her own smile, just as armored as Natasha's own. It was a wonder, at times, that other organizations had not attempted to recruit her—or if they had, that she was still here.

"Tony is busy at the moment." Pepper put emphasis on his first name, as though that put her on a higher playing field. It was a dangerous game she played.

"I am certain you believe you are doing what is best Miss Potts, but I assure you—"

"I'm sorry. It doesn't seem like you heard me over the engines." Pepper took a few steps closer, gesturing back towards the Quinjet. She stopped again, much closer this time, hands clasped easily in front of her. This time, she very pointedly raised her voice louder. "Mr. Stark is busy at the moment. I can take a message for you, or you can drop by during consultation hours."

"Pepper—"

"They are every other Thursday, as I am sure Director Fury informed you. Now, if there is nothing else?"

Natasha could faintly hear the creek of Clint's bow. She raised her hand sharply, a gesture for him to hold. There it was again, pressure releasing slowly, carefully. She could imagine the motion in her head. That would be distracting, however.

"Look what we have here."

0

A new message appeared in his inbox with one minute left on the timer. Bruce clicked on it before he could even see the sender, the heading. It wasn't until the message had loaded that he realized what it was.

It was a warning message from the SI Hub, telling him that he was attempting to send a message to a suspended user. Bruce read through the whole clause, all four paragraphs of it. It was dry, legal, and worrying.

The monitor went dark as the computer shut down. His hour was up.

0

Natasha's gaze shot upward, Pepper merely closing her eyes, nostrils flaring with one of her sighs.

Tony stepped out from the front door, his full suit impeccable, pressed, each and every line moving with his easy saunter. A wide smile flashed across his face, all white teeth and no warmth. In the moment before he put on his dark sunglasses, she could see that his eyes were the same brown that they had always been, not even a trace of Tesseract blue upon them. She was not sure if she should be relieved or worried by that.

"I'll take it from here, Pep." Tony gave her a quick pat on the shoulder, gesturing her off. Pepper shot him a worried look—which Natasha took special note of—before heading back inside. The moment the door shut, Tony turned his full attention back. "And what brings you out to sunny Malibu?"

"I think you know." Natasha rested her hands on her hips, waiting. It would be easy enough to step right out of her heals and into a forward roll, bridging half the distance between them. With a vault up off the ground, that would get her the rest of the way, right into a precise kick. She smiled again.

Stark put his hands in his pockets. She couldn't be sure, but it almost looked like he was wearing gloves. He shrugged, nonchalant as ever.

"No, actually, I don't. Why don't you enlighten me?"

"We can't get a clear scan on the mansion. He must have installed signal jammers."

Natasha ignored Coulson's voice in her ear. If Stark had been jamming signals at the Tower, he would most definitely be jamming them here. All the more if he did, in fact, have Loki.

He could play coy for the rest of his life without breaking a sweat. This wasn't going to go anywhere unless she confronted the issue directly.

"Where's Loki?"

There were two sharp intakes of breath through her earpiece. If they didn't like her methods, they should have sent someone else. Natasha merely pursed her lips, waiting.

"I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. was handling security on him."

The bluff was too good. She really hoped that she wasn't barking up the wrong tree, that Fury hadn't fabricated this whole thing with Stark's name on it because of his testimony. There were too many coincidences lined up for it to be anyone but Stark, but…

"We know you have him."

Stark laughed, pressing a hand to his chest, over the arc reactor. That hand was dark, with the faint gleam of metal, though not bulky enough to be part of a suit. "Please."

"If you relinquish Loki now, we'll overlook the entire situation."

"Agent Romanoff, you are not authorized to bargain with—"

"Just hand him over, Stark. You don't want to do this."

"Do what?" Stark's smile was gone, tone entirely serious. It was like a light switch with him, one moment to the next.

"This is a declaration of war against S.H.I.E.L.D., I hope you realize that."

"War?" The smirk that twisted half of Stark's face sent a chill up her spine. "You want to see what I know about war?" Tony lifted his hands up to the sides, a showy gesture which might have cut the tension, if she did not recognize it from the video footage of his presentation of the Jericho Missile. "If you want war, I'll give you war."