Author's note: there's a sex scene with a very complicated consent structure. It's not non-con, as the both parties are willing, but their motivations do vary wildly. The level of graphicness is in line with the rest of the fic. You've been warned.

She considered just straightforward stealing herself a new ride, but it wasn't feasible in the long run. Again, too risky, she made enough mess as-is and having another crime that could be linked to her wasn't anywhere on the list of things to wish for right now. Plus, she needed to stick around for a day or two longer and having someone recognize the car would be disastrous.

It was what the old Natasha would do, the one who didn't care about the consequences of her own actions, the one who went in, took what she needed, did her job and let someone else deal with the fallout. SHIELD would purge the records whenever needed and settle the damages where it was required.

She needed to shake off that old mindset. There would be no safe place waiting for them once this was over. No, they would be fugitives and she needed to get used to keeping low profile and drawing as little attention as possible.

She did just peachy so far.

There were just a couple of cars available locally that weren't sold by a dealership and that left too much of a paper trail. She finally settled on a ten-year-old Kia Carnival. She called the number, but it went to voicemail after a few signals. She messaged the seller and – after some back and forth – he agreed to meet her "after school" in front of the department store.

She redressed the wound, pulled on her boots, popped two tramadols and went to town to grab something to eat.

The left side of the vehicle had a deep scratch that ran across both doors and the rear fender. The angle was conveniently missing from the photos in the ad. The seller was a high schooler, dressed in brand clothes and with a smug grin on his face, so she haggled until she got five hundred off the asking price.

The car came equipped with an animal print seat cover on the back couch, a set if plush truck balls hanging from the rearview mirror and it absolutely reeked of pot and cigarette smoke. There was Kid Rock CD in the player. Natasha got halfway through the first song before she lost her nerve and threw it outside the window.

She went to the bar in the evening. Marcus was there last Friday, if he were to come, it would be today.

The guys from the base weren't there when she arrived, there was only a couple of cars on the parking lot and the jeeps they used would be hard to miss. She parked in her usual spot and went inside.

Chloe spotted her the moment she crossed the threshold and waved at her with a smile and Natasha found herself smiling back. She grew to… Well, maybe not like, but definitely to tolerate the girls for some reason. She wasn't even sure why. She could have a kid older than they were, were she still capable of bearing children. They had absolutely nothing in common.

Well, perhaps that was the reason.

"How did the job application go? You got it?"

Natasha shrugged. "I haven't applied yet. I'm exploring other options."

"I can ask my aunt to whisper a good word for you," offered Chloe. "She knows the owner, I think they are in the same church prayer group or something like that."

"No, thanks," Natasha said dismissively, then amended. "I mean, thank you for the offer but I'd like to do it myself. It would be a bad look to start with exploiting connections, right?"

Kate scoffed and Taylor laughed, "Oh, come on, it's not a city council seat, just a shitty clerk job."

"Still," Natasha insisted.

"Whatever. Let me know if you change your mind," Chloe said.

The girls returned to discussing some guy named Tod, who apparently knocked up one of the local girls and fled to another state, while Natasha sipped her drink and watched the entrance through half-closed eyelids.

It was a bit past eight when the door swung open and Burgundy stepped through the threshold and a couple of his friends poured in behind him. Tick closed the procession and the door started to slowly close behind him. The pit in her stomach grew heavier with every inch it travelled.

Then it opened back up and Marcus stepped in.

Finally.

She turned away before he noticed her stare and reinserted herself into the conversation.

"Oh, Leeann, look who the cat dragged in," Kate said and pointed her chin at the pool table. "Isn't that your prince on a white horse?"

Natasha looked up in time just to meet Tick's eyes. He grinned and waved at her. It would be easier if he weren't here. Dealing with the consequences of her own meddling was never her strong suit. "I think I changed my mind."

"Looks like he didn't. Come on, look at those puppy eyes!"

"That's the point, I like a little challenge. And I'm not in the mood today."

Kate laughed. "Well, if you're not going to consummate, I might," she teased.

"Go for it," Natasha said. "I don't mind."

Kate smiled at her craftily. "Okay then." She got up and adjusted her clothes. "Are you coming to say hi?"

"In a moment."

The girls grabbed their drinks and Natasha stayed in the booth. Disappointment bloomed on Tick's face the second he realized she is not coming. She ignored his stare and turned her eyes elsewhere.

Marcus was sitting in his usual spot by the defunct arcade machine and his eyes were firmly fixed at Natasha. She treated him to a coy smile and turned away.

She hoped he would be the first to come over. He wasn't. It was Tick.

He sat across from her.

"Hello," he said, "what's up?"

She shrugged. "Not much. What do you want?"

His small smile disappeared, and his eyebrow twitched. "Uhm, I just came over to say hi. I thought that, erm, maybe you'd like to join me? I mean, join us, at the pool table, or something. We can play darts again, I've been practicing, I think I have a shot at beating you this time. So, what do you say?" His cheeks were burning red.

"No, thanks. I'm not in the mood," she said and took another sip of her drink.

"Can I stay here then?" he asked. "We don't have to… uhm, do anything. I just want to talk."

"I'd rather not," she said, her tone hard.

"Oh. Okay then," he stuttered. She glared, until he got up and wandered away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Natasha turned back to the door to avoid looking at him.

It was at least another nail-biting hour before Marcus made his move. He came over and stood above her, until she scooted over and made a place for him to sit next to her.

He clapped down on the seat and crossed his arms on his chest, his sizeable pecks flexing, the close-fitting tee shirt leaving little to imagination. He wasn't looking at her.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" she asked lightly.

He disregarded her comment. "Have you thought about my proposition?" he asked instead.

Natasha propped her head on her elbow and raised an eyebrow. "Your proposition?" she said, toying with the choker on her throat. "And what would that be?"

"I can give you what you want," he said in a dark tone.

I very much doubt it. "Every guy I meet says that and they rarely deliver. What makes you think you're so special?"

He turned to her sharply and grabbed her wrist. "I know what you need." His fingers curled around her hand and she whimpered softly. It wasn't enough to truly hurt her, but it was awfully close.

She chuckled and pulled her hand free. "You're not the only one. I bet half of the guys here would do things to me, if I just asked."

"I don't see you looking at other guys. Tick was just a diversion to get me to pay attention."

She laughed again. The direct approach was unusual, she had to admit. "Well, you got me."

"Come on then," he said and put his hand on her thigh and squeezed.

She made an affronted face and angled away. "I haven't said yes yet. You will need more than just words to convince me," she scoffed, crossing her legs, and folding her hands in her lap.

He studied her, his expression cold and calculating. The look in his eyes made her stomach lurch with revulsion. "Oh, there's something only I can give you," he said in the end.

"There is?" she asked coyly and adjusted the metal bracelet on her wrist. "And what do you think it is?"

"Your boyfriend died in New York, right?"

She looked at him with a mixture of disgust and shock. The gossip indeed travelled like wildfire here. "So what?"

He smirked. "I have something that will make you feel a lot better."

That, she doubted even more. "You do?

He nodded.

"What is it?"

"I'll show you, if you go with me."

"You can show me now."

"No."

She pulled her lips into a pout and put up a show of consideration. She knew she was going with him, that wasn't a question, but he couldn't know that. "Okay," she said in the end. "Any ideas where we might go?"

"There's a motel." He was prepared, it seemed.

"I don't think I can drive," she said and raised her glass. She didn't want to get in the car with him if she could avoid it. He was still physically stronger than her and her skimpy disguise did not allow for concealed weapons. It was unnecessary risk.

"We can walk, it's not far."

She chuckled. "Fine. Lead the way."

He got up and let her out. She turned to the bar. "Where are you going?" he asked, grabbing her forearm.

"I'm too sober for this. I'm getting some provisions for the road."

He grumbled but let go of her hand.

She pulled a pill from her pocket discreetly. She was not going in unprepared this time.

"What's that?"

"Uhm, a beer?"

"I didn't ask you."

"So? I got you one anyway. I'm nice like that. It's called 'being friendly', you know?"

He accepted the bottle and held it for a moment, undecided what to do with it, before he finally grunted and took a gulp. "This way," he said.

They walked without talking and she made a show of submission by walking half a step behind. The transactional nature of the whole situation felt repulsive, but it wasn't what sent her mind racing. No, it wasn't her first rodeo, she could get through that. But the thing he wanted to show her… Something to make her feel better.

It had to be something connected to Loki, there was no other link between the base and the New York attack. Unless Taylor's intel was worth anything and they indeed had some of the equipment or one of the Chitauri, but that wouldn't explain why he thought she would like to see it… No, it had to be Loki.

Shit.

At least she was going to get her first true piece of information. Whatever happened, has already happened and there was no changing it. Shirking away from it wouldn't help.

She gritted her teeth. The painkillers' effect has worn out by now, the wound on her leg was throbbing with every step and Marcus was walking quickly. Oh, he was eager enough. And to think she had doubts he was even interested.

The motel was about a mile away, an establishment like a million others in every corner of the country. She waited by the door as Marcus gulped down the rest of his beer, tossed the bottle into a rose bush and went into the reception hall to rent the room. The clerk gave the man a quick glance then his eyes jumped to Natasha immediately. He shrugged and tapped away at the keyboard, asking about none of their IDs.

She let Marcus lead her into the room. It was cramped, with a double bed talking most of the space and the décor screamed early nineties. That was, coincidentally, probably the last time the room was thoroughly cleaned, too.

He closed the door and turned on the bedside lamp. She just stood there.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered.

"You were supposed to show me something."

"I'll show you later," he growled and grabbed her waist, pulling her close, then tugged at the hem of her blouse to take it off. "Come on."

She twisted out of his grasp and pushed him away, then took a step back. "No, we had a deal. Show me now."

He glowered at her, his hands still in the air, considering. She widened her stance slightly. He shook his head and then pulled out his phone, flipped through it for a moment and handed it to her.

She looked at the screen. Her knees buckled. She sat down on the bed and stared.

The photo left very little to imagination.

After a minute of stunned silence Marcus cleared his throat.

"Who… Who's that?" she managed finally. He expected a reaction, and this was all she could muster. She didn't have to fake the thrum in her voice.

"Don't you recognize him?"

She shook her head.

"That's the fuck who attacked us! The guy who killed your boyfriend."

"But… how?"

She flipped to the next photo of the gallery, but it was just some blurred shot of the outside. Marcus wrested the phone from her fingers, then stashed it back into his pocket. "They brought him over a couple weeks ago."

"Is he still there?"

Marcus shrugged. "Nope."

"Did he… escape?"

Marcus laughed. "No, they took him somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I don't know," he said and took a step towards her, pulling his tee shirt over his head. "Not my goddamned business," he added and pushed her back onto the bed.

She swallowed and took a long breath, fighting the wave of nausea, then started unbuttoning her top.

There was still work to be done.

He climbed onto her, grabbed her wrists, and maneuvered them above her head. One hand was pinning her arms to the mattress, the other was fumbling with her pants. She shifted and moaned, then put up a light struggle and an ugly smile bloomed on his face.

He let go and she scrambled further onto the bed and kicked off her shoes. He pulled her pants off then his hand lingered on the bandage around her calf. "What's that?" he asked and squeezed, forcing a pained yelp out of her.

Shit. "I walked into a rebar," she said. "No, leave it on, it's fresh and I don't want bleed all over the bed," she pleaded, when he tugged at the edge of the bandage. He stopped but did not take his fingers away. She reached for his pants to distract him.

"No," he grumbled, swatting her hands away. "Don't touch me unless I tell you, or I'll have to hurt you."

She angled away, batted her eyelashes, and licked her lips. "Will you?"

"In fact," He paused and tugged on his belt, "I think you've earned yourself some schooling already."

He looked around the room, got off of her, then started undoing the curtain binders.

"Wait," she gulped, "there are handcuffs in my bag. Use those." Depending on how proficient the person doing the tying was, getting out of a hand tied knots might he problematic or even bordering impossible. Marcus did not seem like somebody with lots of first-hand experience, but it was still unwise to risk it if she didn't have to. Handcuffs were easy, even ones that didn't have hidden release latches.

He smiled knowingly, grabbed her bag and turned it upside down, spilling the contents onto the carpet. Handcuffs clanked out and he picked them then paused, regarding her belongings scattered on the floor. Her heart skipped a beat. There was a magnetic card scanner sitting conspicuously among the items, right smack in the middle of the pile. Marcus might not know the exact purpose of the device, but it was still a curiosity not belonging inside a girl's bag. Luckily, it was another item that grabbed his attention. He picked up the ball gag and dangled it in front of her face. "You weren't joking when you said you're a naughty girl."

Natasha smiled sheepishly, stretched her hands above her head again, and arched her spine invitingly. Yep, the visit in a sex shop this morning was definitely a good call.

"On your belly," he commanded, then, when she wasn't quick enough to react, bodily grabbed her by her sides and turned her over. She protested weakly and wiggled her hips. He twisted his fingers into her hair and pulled, then pushed the ball of the gag to her lips. "Open up," he ordered. She grunted in a token protest but obeyed, biting down on the ball as he fastened the strap behind her head, so tightly it bit into the corners of her mouth. He twisted her arms up and locked the cuffs, looping the chain around one of the rails that created the headboard. She moaned into the pillow. His breathing quickened into a pant and his hands gipped her shoulders, then slid down to her sides and over her bottom and tights. Then he pulled away abruptly.

The first stroke came unexpected and landed on her bare ass and there was nothing fake about the cry that tore from her lips, muffled by the gag and the pillow. The blow was not strong enough to break her skin and draw blood, but he wasn't holding back, either. Not that she expected him to.

Another lash landed between her shoulder blades and she recoiled instinctively. He had no idea what he was doing. He grabbed her knees and pulled her down, until her shoulder joints protested, eliminating any play on her arms, then locked down her legs with his knee. He struck her tights next, then her buttocks again, a few more times.

She stifled a yawn. It was getting late and, from the look of things, it was going to take a while. Couldn't she get a target with a less tedious kink for once? The feet worshipers were at least funny, so were some of the role-players. She wouldn't say no to being on the other side of the belt right about now either. Then again, it could be worse, too. He didn't try to choke her so far.

In the end the belt clanked to the floor and he fumbled with his pants. His hand wandered between her legs, up her thighs and he pushed his fingers inside her. She moaned.

"I see you're enjoying yourself," he breathed into her ear and pushed another finger inside then moved his hand, back and forth, grunting and panting.

You wish. She doubted his blundering, hasty attempts were enough to satisfy even somebody who truly was into this kind of entertainment. Still, her body was well trained and responded appropriately.

He slapped her butt cheek and, apparently contented with the amount of foreplay, he pulled her hips up and rammed his meat into her.

Well, at least his dick was small. Little mercies.

He thrusted again and she responded with another cursory moan, momentarily grateful for the bindings, as her current position exempted her from most of the other aspects of the show, all the rubbing and squirming and lulling along that usually went into a good sex performance.

In her head, she idly went through the motions of wrapping her legs around his throat and twisting around until his neck snapped. She didn't even need her hands free for that.

A few more thrusts and Marcus' moves slowed down and grew sluggish and his breathing became more ragged. He grunted one more time then collapsed.

She waited thirty seconds, listening, until she heard a snore.

Finally.

She wiggled and turned around, knocking the slumbering body off of herself. She considered kicking him in the teeth with her knee for a good measure but decided against it, not without a pang of regret. The drug took a long time to work as-is and there was no need to risk waking him up now and it would be preferable if she didn't leave any lasting marks.

She unlocked the handcuffs, unbuckled and took the gag out then worked her jaw to ward off the cramps. Just the few minutes were enough to rub the corners of her mouth raw. She scrambled out of the bed and took the room in.

Marcus was sprawled on the bed face down with his feet dangling off the edge, his pants still around his knees. Pieces of clothing were strewn all around the room, wherever they landed.

She grabbed the discarded belt, climbed on top of him and sat astride his legs. Pulling his arms behind his back took some effort, but she managed, then she looped the belt around his wrists and buckled it. The tie wasn't impossible to get out of, but it would still take some serious fumbling before he was able to free himself and his arms would be sore as hell by morning. The reason, she told herself, had nothing to do with satisfying a personal spite. She was only ensuring her own safety, in case he woke up while she was still here.

She wasn't particularly worried about him rattling her out. She could see the sniggers of his colleagues as he told a story of a petite girl empowering him in bed. And, even if he suspected a foul play, in a couple of hours there would be no trace of the drug in his system.

Satisfied, she went through his pockets. The phone was first. It was one of the novel models, with a fingerprint scanner. Technology did make her life easier sometimes, too. She pressed the scanner onto his index finger and the phone unlocked.

The photo wasn't any easier to look at, this time around. She still stared at it for a long moment, taking in all the excruciating details, then sent it to herself. She had no desire to ever lay her eyes on it again, not now, not ever. But it was still a proof. A proof that Loki was alive, and still out there. A proof of what SHIELD has been doing to him.

The date taken was the eleventh, because of course it was.

She scrubbed the message from the history then went through the rest of the gallery, a couple of days forward and back to the end of August, but there was only a dozen of pictures there, mostly stuff taken by mistake. Marcus was not big on taking photos, but he made an exception for Loki. She didn't want to wonder how many times he got off to that single snapshot, but the notion appeared in her head anyway, boiling her blood.

She could kill him, right then and there. He wouldn't even wake up…

The call history and messages were next, but those were almost empty. The last call was from two days ago, from "Boss", the last message was from his mom, reminding him about some family anniversary. Marcus was a sad loner with a sadistic streak, what made him just perfect for the job.

She tossed the phone onto the bed and continued her search. His wallet was next, then car keys (Uh oh, looks like someone's going to get pissed their designated driver has gone missing) and then – at last – his employee card. She breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't granted he would have it on him, depending on how the security system worked it might not be necessary for him to ever carry it outside of the base.

Stealing it wouldn't do the trick, he would file it as missing first thing in the morning and would have another one issued, making the old one unusable. Not to mention it would raise suspicions and might cause increased security patrols. Thus, the scanner. She inserted the card into the device and turned it on, then watched the progress bar as it read and saved the data. She had a couple blanks back at the flat and would be able to make a copy later.

She pulled another device, a small fingerprint scanner, and scanned Marcus' thumbs and index fingers. It wasn't one of the fancy ones able to produce a full 3D fingerprint, just an older tech and kind of a basic one at that. It could still be useful to some extent and it wasn't like she had access to anything better now.

She replaced Marcus' keys, phone and card inside his pockets, wiping the screen and the card on the bed covers first. She left the wallet out, taking the sixty-three dollars in cash he had in there. It was a decent motive, and he might accept the monetary gain as the sole cause of the ruse she pulled on him.

He might even consider it worth it.

She packed her stuff back into the bag then collected her clothes and put them back on, hissing as she pulled on her pants. It will be a few days until she'll able to sit down without flinching…

She swept the room for the last time, getting ready to leave then hesitated, her hand on the door handle. She returned to the side of the bed and regarded the sleeping man for a long while. Then she bent down and pressed her finders to his temples.

His mind recoiled, slipping, squirming, slithering away under her fingertips. She pushed on harder and the protective membrane burst, and she waded in through.

It felt like walking though a muddy field, her own mind being dragged down, held back, staggering while his thoughts and fears and wants whispered past like gusts of wind, concepts and ideas and wishes flashing before her mind's eye, inane and twisted and everything in between. There was no visual representation, not like with her or with Loki, because Marcus had no concept of that and his mind was just a ball of energy inside his head, not a place.

He felt her and pushed back, awkwardly and she retorted, ripping, cutting, buckling, prying him open, until he gave up and his memories spilled forth. She sifted through them. It wasn't like watching the events in real time, not at all, each time she brushed against a memory, it popped to existence inside her mind, like it was always there, then faded, as she released her scrutiny.

She found a thread, dark and corrupt and cloying, filled with cravings and needs and pain and hurt and extasy, the line between fantasy and reality blurring dangerously. She pulled on it.

And there it was, wrapped in dark visions of the vilest acts, stashed between dreams of power and might and control. Glimpses of Loki, bone-thin and ghostly pale, bruised, hurt, blinded, strapped down, strung up, led around with his head down. Vulnerable. Demeaned. Broken. New, (beautiful) bruises blooming on the chalky skin under the grip of (my) fingers. A wild, uninhibited desire to hurt, to push, to overpower that got the juices flowing…

She jerked away and staggered back. Her guts churned and she gagged. She barely made it to the bathroom, then she retched, until there was nothing left inside her stomach. She stayed on her knees, dry heaving and choking, clinging to the toilet as the foreign images roiled in her head.

Closing her eyes shut didn't help. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she barely registered them. Then sobs came, burning in her lungs, burning in her throat, burning in her eyes as they were coming out. She broke down, crying.

She dragged her unruly body up in the end, gripping the edge of the sink to steady herself. She numbly regarded her own reflection in the mirror, the red lines around her eyes and at the corners of her mouth standing out of the ordinary.

You are still yourself, Natasha, she told her reflection. Those were not your feelings. Not your wants.

You didn't do that.

It felt so real.

It was real and it made it infinitely worse.

She left the motel room soon after.

She didn't even look at Marcus' prone form.

She couldn't. The man had to live, for now.