Loki was kneeling on the ground, his shoulders slumped, his head down.

She called out, but he didn't turn to her, didn't move at all, didn't even flinch. Her heart was pounding, and she ran.

She stopped a few steps away and it took all her will to do so, because all she wanted was to throw her arms around him and never let him go. She didn't. She had no right. It's been months. She failed him. And now she was sneaking into his mind, uninvited. No matter that she had good intentions, it was still a violation. All she had the right to do was beg for forgiveness.

"Loki?" she said, softly. Her voice was trembling.

A gust of wind swept by, raising a swirl of fine snow into the air between them.

"Loki, please, look at me," she whispered.

"I always liked the way you said my name. You made it sound like it's not a curse," he said vacantly. He turned to her and his eyes slowly focused. His brows furrowed. "You're dead," he said, his eyes just as empty as his voice.

"No, I'm not. Why would you say that?"

"You died, rescuing me. It wasn't fair. You should have left me and save yourself."

"I'm not dead. I made it. It made me sick but I'm okay now."

He nodded slowly, unconvinced.

"I don't know what they've told you and I'm sorry, but I don't have time to convince you. I can't stay too long either."

"You never can," he said cryptically and offered her a wan smile.

Something in his tone made her skin crawl. "It took me a long, long time to reach you, so please, focus and talk to me," she pleaded. "I need to know where you are."

His eyes darted around, like it was the first time he noticed his surroundings. "Inside my head?"

"No, I mean in real life."

"In hell."

Her stomach lurched.

"Do you know where they are keeping you?"

The wrinkle between Loki's brows deepened and his eyes narrowed, like he tried very hard to concentrate but couldn't. "Somewhere deep," he managed, "I think."

"Can you tell me anything else, anything I could use to find you?"

He worked his jaw for a moment, before uttering, "Eihines…" There was a weird inflection in his voice, a hint of hesitation, too.

"Is that your mother tongue?"

He shook his head. The sky darkened and the wind picked up. "I have no mother," he said and smiled at her and there was something absolutely heartbreaking in the smile. "I used to, but not anymore." His features drew in and he chewed the inside of his cheek. "I can't remember her face."

"Is that how they call it then? The people who hold you? Do you know what language it is?"

Loki rolled his shoulders then shook his head again. "I shouldn't be listening; it is not allowed. Do not tell them I told you."

She blinked, but it didn't help. "I won't."

"Thank you," he said and smiled again.

"Do you know what that word means?"

He didn't register her question, distracted with his hand. He raised it in front of his face and studied it curiously, twisting his arm and wiggling his fingers. It was obvious that there was something affecting him. Maybe they kept him under an influence of some kind of drug and it permeated his subconsciousness and clouded his self-image as well. Or maybe Hydra has achieved what years of abuse at Odin's and Thanos' hands could not, and his mind has finally snapped.

"Please, Loki, I know it's hard, but do try to think. Is there anything specific about the place you're in? How long are you in there?"

"A month, a century, perhaps forever?" He shrugged, took a deep breath – in through his nose and out through his mouth. "This is nice. You should come by more often."

He stuck out his tongue. It was red with blood, but he didn't seem to notice. He let a snowflake fall into his mouth, then giggled. She never thought him even capable of giggling.

"I miss the light," he added, unprompted.

She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. He didn't startle or jerk away but didn't ease up in her embrace nor reciprocated the gesture. It didn't matter. "I'm coming for you, I promise," she whispered into his ear.

"But you came, didn't you?"

That was about as much as she could take. She didn't want to leave, not yet – not ever – but the risk was too great, the spell has already been triggered and she wasn't helping, not at all. She pulled away, gave his arms the last reassuring squeeze, then closed her eyes and let the vision fade away.

She pulled her legs to her chest and pressed her face to her knees, her fingers crumpling her clothes. She stayed like that, taking deep, deliberate breaths, until she ran out of tears and only the hollow pit in her stomach remained.

It's been a year. A year, today. Three hundred sixty-five days since she brought them back, thinking the worst part was over. Three hundred sixty-five more marks on Loki's wall.

She rubbed her eyes and ran her hand through her hair. It was almost as long as it was before Loki cut it on that beach and it felt like another part of their shared experience has slipped through her fingers and lost significance.

She was so small, so insignificant. A single person standing against impossible odds. All she could do was curl in a ball and wail out her desperation and helplessness.

It felt like an impossible endeavor, but she managed to drag herself up and make her way to the couch. She couldn't give up. That was not even an option, not ever, and especially not now that she knew that he was still alive.

The finer details of the vision had started to slowly fade away, like dreams tend to do if one doesn't focus on them after waking up so she replayed it in her head. She couldn't let it slip away, no matter how much it hurt to remember.

Loki looked like he always did in his mind and it would be easy to convince herself that he was fine, physically. But the way he acted was impossible to ignore, it was all so unlike the Loki she knew. Even in their final moments on the island, when he believed there's absolutely no way for him to get out of it alive, he acted more like the defiant, stubborn self. Now, it didn't even feel like desperation. It felt like he just… gave up. That hurt more than anything else.

She turned every stone, pulled every string, crossed every bridge, and still came up with nothing. This was a last-ditch effort and it still gave her nothing but the confirmation of her worst fears.

Well, there was one thing. The one hint he gave her. That word, the one that Loki decided was important enough to smuggle for her.

Eihines.

What the hell does that mean?

She didn't recognize the root of the word, nor the slight accent Loki used to say it, that's why she assumed it was the Aesir language, but it apparently wasn't.

She grabbed her laptop. She didn't hope for much, it wouldn't be that easy, nothing in this last year was, but it didn't hurt to try. She typed the word in the search engine and got a couple of close results, but no match. Then she checked in the Greek alphabet, it did sound slightly Hellenic, but nothing. Then, just for the sake of exploiting all the possibilities, she tried Cyrillic.

Еихинес. Sokovian word for a dungeon.

"Loki, you brilliant bastard," she mouthed.

It all clicked into place, all at once. The "SK" in "SK-12" was a country designation. That's why most of the money transfers broke trails without reaching any tax havens, that's why Hydra was keen on using Soviet research as a basis for their own projects. That's why the executives traveled to Lithuania or Poland but never really popped up in any major affairs in either of those.

Sokovia, a small, poor country in central Europe, with a troubled history of being plodded by two world wars, occupation, communism and civil unrest, and a stumbling economy that barely stayed afloat after USSR fell and the helping hand of Big Brother disappeared. No industry to speak of, no notable exports other than illegal immigrants, not a part of EU or any other important pact. The American dollar went a long way there and there was no oversight, because no one was afraid of what Sokovians might be cooking up, since the relationship with both the West and Russia was strained and there was no way for the country to get resources anywhere else.

Yep, a perfect spot for a base of operations of a secret organization. Damn.

Now she only needed to find the significance of the other part of Hanima's hint. Was that where Loki was kept? It must be. Hanima deemed it important enough to leave it for Natasha, even after finding out she was trailed and removing everything else.

Fuck. Natasha should've figured it out earlier!

She took a deep breath. It was time to act, she should be booking her flight to Europe right now. The thing was, she was out of money, hard. What she had left wouldn't cover a plane ticket, not to mention a fake identity that would prevail under the scrutiny of boarding control in a commercial, intercontinental flight. Then she had no resources to continue her investigation at the site, hell, not enough to rent a hotel room or get a new weapon once she crossed the pond.

She needed to pick up a job first, but that most likely meant weeks of further delay and that she also couldn't afford. Not after seeing after she just witnessed. She had to do it and she had to do it now.

But she couldn't do it alone.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the call registry. In vain. There was no one she could call there, just people that worked with her because it was convenient.

Without thinking, she put in Clint's number then hesitated with her finger hovering above the screen. What could she tell him? How could she even begin to explain?

She tossed the phone away and it bounced on the sofa and fell to the floor.

There was a chance Clint would listen to her. That he would agree to help, for the sake of their friendship, their history or because he still cared or felt indebted to her in some way. That he would be able to look past his hurt and resentment. That he would see the merit of helping a person in need of help, even if that person was his enemy.

But there was also a chance he wouldn't. And she couldn't risk it. If it was something else, anything else she needed, he would be the right person to call, no matter how much time has passed and how much animosity there was between them. But not with this.

She picked up the phone again. The screen has cracked and she stared at the lines for a long while, then her gaze fell on Stark's name printed with silver letters on the top bezel.

Stark was still one of the bigger question marks on her dashboard. Not because he popped up in any of her queries or in any reports or audits, but because he didn't. Not a single mention. Despite his enormous fortune and indubitable influence within the government in general and military in particular, he never showed up anywhere, neither financing SHIELD's hidden projects, providing materials, benefiting from questionable research, nor sponsoring the politicians leaning to the cause. After the public meltdown five years ago both the company and Stark privately steered clear of controversy and there was nothing but unsubstantiated rumors that the red top tabloids still loved to spread or minor clashes with labor unions.

Still, it took some ego, to put one's name on every product in plain text, for millions of people to stare at every day on their phones or laptops or household items. And yet, it seemed to work for Stark's benefit somehow, the brand awareness erasing the mishap with dropping weapons manufacturing branch overnight from public consciousness. The superhero status probably didn't hurt either, but it was still quite a feat. Those were not easy, even if one had access to such resources, tech, money, and important friends in the right places.

If only she had any of those…

On second thought, why not?

She thought about it before but always dismissed it. Now, it didn't sound like that bad of an idea. Sure, it was mostly because she exhausted all the better, safer routes already and was slowly running out of options, but it still wasn't something that she should dismiss right off the bat. She couldn't tell the man the truth, Stark has quite a significant personal stake in the matter and probably nurtured just as a bitter grudge against Loki as Clint did, but there were still angles that could possibly work and could encourage him to spare a small financial aid to her cause. It would be a transaction, nothing more. She could trade her intel on Hydra, even including Pierce's role in it, perhaps Stark would want to have this sort of leverage. He didn't need to be personally involved at all, his money was enough, because money meant more resources, more people, and better intel. Power. And that could be a game-changer.

Now the question was – how does she contact a public persona who doesn't want to be contacted, without raising any red flags and setting the chase back on her tail?

Loki dreamt sometimes, when his body could take no more abuse and gave up, making his mind slip away into the mists of a restless slumber.

It was always the same dream, even though details changed from time to time. Sometimes it was the dungeons in Asgard, or SHIELD's cell, or Eitri's smithery, or the Other's prison, or just some other dark and cruel place he couldn't really recognize. The bonds were just as unbreakable, the darkness just as suffocating, and the pain just as vivid each time. And each time he woke up to a reality that seemed just marginally more real for the hunger that clutched his stomach, the thirst that pulsed like a living thing in his throat, and for the cloying stench of disinfectant in the air that made his breath hitch from nausea.

The rest was always the same.

Not this one though. This one was different. This one was pleasant. The last lie his mind decided to tell itself before it finally crumbled and faded away, perhaps.

It was an alluring perspective.

Stark was even harder to get in touch with than she anticipated. Not that she expected to find his private number online, but all the calls she made to his office under various pretenses just bounced off the very stern and adamant assistant: "Mr. Stark is not at the office right now, I'll pass on the message and he would call you back if he finds your proposition interesting" or a variation thereof, with an implied "fuck off and never call us again" tacked on at the end.

It seemed that luring Stark out with business opportunities wouldn't work, no matter who she pretended to be, she was too small of a fry, or else Stark – or any of his advisors – would have heard of it.

She tried appealing to his humanity next, introducing herself as a Make-a-wish foundation employee, which also got her nowhere. "Yes, Mr. Stark is generally willing to participate, please email us the detailed info, our Public Relations team will make appropriate arrangements." At least that meant Stark wasn't entirely indifferent to cancer kids' fates, even if it was just to curry PR points and didn't change anything for her.

No, calling just wouldn't cut it.

There was Stark's private email in his SHIELD's file though. She wouldn't risk accessing the database again just to retrieve it, but, luckily, she didn't have to, "tstark at " wasn't that hard to remember. She wasn't sure if he was the only one who read the mail – he most likely was not, if he was getting it at all, it was too obvious and there ought to be droves of folks who guessed it correctly and sent all sort of spam there – so she tried to be as vague as possible.

Hi, she wrote.

It's been a while since we talked and there's a potentially interesting piece of trivia I'd like to share about one of the entities you consulted for in the past, for the old times' sake. Feel free to contact me so we can arrange a meeting to discuss things privately.

Yours truly,

N. Rushman.

After a moment of hesitation, she added one of her burner numbers to the signature. It was a risk, but writing the email was a risk just as well if anyone was monitoring Stark's correspondence in more than a cursory manner and she needed to give him something solid, something to catch his attention and identification (as fake as it was, Stark should still recognize it or have no issues with finding her employee record) and contact could do the trick.

It was two hours later when her phone rang. She stared at the "unlisted number" marking the call then assessed her surroundings for a couple of seconds before answering. If it wasn't Stark she would have only minutes to evacuate herself from her current whereabouts. The same was true if it was him and the talk didn't go the way she would like it to. Or if she just grew suspicious for some reason, like Stark playing for time. She anticipated it though and her bag was packed and she could leave within thirty seconds.

"Hello?"

"So it is you, huh? What do I owe the pleasure?" Stark said, his usual flippancy marred by uncertainty and just plain, old curiosity in his voice. "I've heard you're a busy woman these days."

"You're not that easy to contact yourself."

"You've made it, congratulations. Now, what it is that you wanted to talk about?" he said, cutting straight to the point. "Because I assume it's not about the weather. It's boiling hot here in New York, by the way."

"I know."

There was a second of silence as he absorbed the information. "Come on, spill it, the clock it ticking and I'm not sure how long Jarvis will be able to keep the connection secure."

She couldn't say if he was telling the truth or if was just a way to placate her and lull her into a false sense of security. "I have a certain proposition that – if we came to an agreement – could benefit both of us," she said cagily.

"Yeah, I guessed that part from the series of fake calls with business offers. So, what is it?"

"Not over the phone."

"I told you…"

"I know what you told me. I'm still not going to discuss it over a telephone line."

"Whatever," he grunted. "Swing by the Tower then. I'm home the whole evening."

"I'd like to meet on more neutral grounds, if you don't mind. Somewhere public," she said. Somewhere that wouldn't turn into a deathtrap the moment things went sour.

"No. My tower is the most secure place in the whole city. I'm not meeting a wanted criminal for a coffee in Starbucks, if that's what you're asking. Take it or leave it."

"Fine," she grounded through clenched teeth. "I'll be over in an hour."

"Take the viaduct off Park Avenue and drive straight into the private garage. I'll have Jarvis open the gate for you."

She didn't say anything, considering her options.

"Romanoff?" Stark prompted.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I have a gut feeling it's going to be entertaining. In the kind of way smoldering buildings and car crashes are entertaining," he laughed then hung up.

She circled around the Stark's tower twice. She wasn't sure what she was looking for – something suspicious, something to get her out of the idea, any hints to why Stark agreed so easily. Some units standing by, waiting for her to go in perhaps, unusual surveillance methods? He was smart and he was a businessman, there was no way he was doing that just because it "will be fun". No way.

There was nothing out of the ordinary though and she headed into the underground parking in the end, just like Stark told her. The gate opened and closed behind her without delay and she drove down the aisle. Stark had an impressive collection of cars and most of the parking spots were dedicated to various models with a variation of his name on the plates, from new releases to vintage white crows that were made in single digits series and she was able to think of only one thing: a value of just one of those in cash could save Loki's life. And Stark had hundreds.

She had to convince him, there was no other way.

She parked her beat-up Corolla between a Lamborghini, one of those that went for three million a pop, and some Tesla concept model that hasn't been released yet. It still had all the protective films on and a gift card behind the windshield's wipers. She didn't need to look to know who it might come from.

"Mr. Stark is expecting you in the Penthouse on the fifty-sixth floor," the disembodied voice informed her as she entered the elevator. She pressed the button, but it wouldn't budge. "I allowed myself to pick a destination for you, Miss Romanoff," the AI said and the elevator started moving.

She sighed. What the hell did she just get herself into?

She didn't even have a plan, just a loose idea and everything depended on how Stark reacted.

Oh well, there was no backing up now.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open with a subtle ding.

The living room looked pristine, like nothing has ever happened here. The windows were fixed, all the destroyed furniture was replaced and there was no sign of the hole in the floor that Hulk made with Loki…

Not that she expected anything else. It was more than a year.

Fuck.

"Mr. Stark is in the office. Down the hall on your left," the AI provided and the double glass doors slid open, inviting her inside.

She walked along the hallway, trying to decide if she should knock or just go in. What would make the best impression and be a better starter? She didn't get to decide though, as the door swung open when she was still a few steps away.

Stark sat reclined in an office chair, his legs up on the top of an enormous desk. "Agent Romanoff," he said and returned to picking his nails with a golden letter knife. He was wearing a faded tee shirt with some band logo on it and there were grease smears on his hands, jeans and even one on his face, which made him look completely out of place in the sleek, spotless environment. It was obvious he didn't use the room often and invited her here to make a certain impression. "Care to sit down?"

"It's just Romanoff these days, Stark," she said and took a seat. The guest chair looked expensive as hell, but was really uncomfortable, the back keeping her spine straight and the armrests too low to serve their purpose, forcing her to keep her hands in her lap, probably by design.

He put the knife down and studied her with a smirk. "Rough times?"

You have no idea. "Could be worse," she said. Should she thank him for meeting her? No, that would suggest he was doing her a favor and put her on a losing negotiating position. "On the other hand, you seem to be doing just fine. I've heard the cleanup business was a lucrative opportunity for your company."

"Someone had to do it," he said with a careless shrug. "But you're not here to talk about how my business is doing, are you?"

"Not necessarily, but it may be a profitable liaison for you nonetheless."

"Look at that, the kids, all grown up, using big words and all," he sneered. "Come on, Romanoff, we fought aliens together, you can cut the crap and tell me what you want."

She hesitated.

Stark sighed and pulled his legs off the desk. He looked tired, now. "I've looked you up after I got your message. Whatever they are accusing you of, it's so top-secret it's not even disclosed in SHIELD's files." He leaned on the desk. He was still far away. The piece of furniture might be bigger than some of the flats she rented in the past. "There's just some stuff about a home invasion crime scene in Ohio with no casualties and that's not enough to warrant the cross-department, coordinated manhunt or proclaiming you a public enemy. On the other hand, I found your testimony about what happened when you were gone the most interesting. Another planet, huh?"

"It was a moon. What's your point, Stark?"

"My point is, whatever it was that actually went down between you and your bosses at SHIELD had a lot to do with your excursion in space."

"What makes you think that?"

"You had no assignments after you came back, you were never even cleared for action again. You were away for months and yet your testimony is like one page long, which means it was heavily censored, either by you or by someone who was responsible for processing it. You were not under an influence of mind control or deemed psychologically unstable or they would never let you go. So, my guess is, whatever you had to say after you came back rubbed someone the wrong way and now they are trying to control the damage. And you're trying to wriggle out of it now and you need my help with that."

It was dangerously close to the truth.

"You forgot to add 'elementary, my dear Watson' at the end."

"Did you know he never says that in the books?"

She swallowed the annoyed grunt that threatened its way out. "Let's say you're right. Let's say I found out there's a bigger, badder guy behind Loki's attack on Earth and that he won't stop just because we stopped the first wave. Let's say SHIELD and the Council know about it, for months now, but they are unwilling to do anything, because there's a force acting within the government that prevents it from happening, because it would interfere with their wish to push a new Nazi world order. What if that's an organization that's been active since World War Two? That it's been going on for years, right under our noses and that – once you find out – there are just two things that can happen: either you join or you die."

"Well, I'd ask where did you come by such an interesting piece of info."

She pressed her palms to her thighs. "For the last year, I've been gathering intel. Connections, names, places, money trails. And now I know where they operate from and who sits at the top. It's real and it needs to be brought down, but I can't do it. I can give you everything I've gathered. Every single piece of evidence. Every testimony. You can take all the credit and make yourself even more of a hero, or you can use it to further your own goals, whatever they are. All I ask in return is a small donation, so I could sort out some of my problems."

Stark's smirk died down and his expression turned serious. "How small are we talking about?"

"Five million," she said. It was but a single grain in the silo of Stark's wealth, but she knew he would negotiate anyway, he wouldn't be a successful businessman if he didn't. Starting the bargain high would allow the final agreed amount to land on the number she actually required.

"I see," he said. "It's all fine and dandy, but it still doesn't answer the initial question. How did you find out about it?"

Fuck. She needed an answer. Something that would sound believable. Something to convince Stark it wasn't just all idle banter. It couldn't be an outright lie, either, for Stark apparently had no issues with reaching into any repository of knowledge, whether it was granted to him or not. "I don't want to endanger my sources until I know we have a deal," she said, buying herself time.

"Nah," Stark said nonchalantly, "I don't buy it. You come to me with everything to gain and very little to lose. You got to give me something."

She gritted her teeth. "Loki told me."

Stark's eyebrows rode up. "Did he, now?"

"Yes. We were alone for months on a desert moon. We talked, because there was nothing else to do. He told me what he saw in the mind of one of the SHIELD agents he controlled using the scepter. When I came back I started digging. I talked to the agent – he survived by the way and was in a mental hospital before they got to him – and he confirmed it. I followed the threads and the deeper I got, the more I discovered, until I got far enough to get their attention. They sent men to kill me, multiple times, including a brainwashed assassin," she stood up and leaned against the table. "Yet, here I am and I'm really at the end of my rope. So either you take it or I'm leaving!"

Stark whistled. "You're scary when you're angry, Romanoff," he said. "Fine. I'll help you."

"Thanks," she said and sat back down.

"There's still one thing I don't get. If you really have all that evidence, why give it away? You could make it public to take them down, clearing your name in the process. You could trade it for immunity. Why come to me?"

She hated dealing with smart people, they were hard to fool and Stark might be the worst of them all. "There's one thing I have to fix first," she said tentatively. "It's my fault it happened in the first place and I can't make it right without resources. It has to be done before we do anything with the intel I've gathered. That's my only stipulation. After that, you can do whatever you please."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know how far the collapse could go and what the reaction could be. They might attempt to… destroy all the evidence and I can't risk that happening."

Stark crooked his head and stared at her for a moment. "Why is it so important?"

"I can't…"

"Don't give me that bullshit again, Romanoff. I already agreed to your terms, didn't I? You can have your five mil, if that's what you're truly after. So, bring it on and let me see what we are dealing with here."

"They are keeping people, Stark. As test subjects, prisoners, hostages, whatever you want to call it. They are conveying human experiments and torture people for... I don't even know. For science, for sick satisfaction, or just because they can. Here in the US, in other places, too. There's a…"

"Okay, who is it?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who is it," Stark repeated and sat back in his chair. His expression was serious and Natasha was glad it was. She might have a hard time stopping herself from punching him in the face if he was wearing one of those knowing smirks of his. "I can tell it's personal."

She could see the conversation was slipping from her fingers. Stark was dictating the terms now and there was no way to regain control. The best she could do was keep a straight face and go with the flow. She reached for her phone and flipped through the emails until she found the right one.

She couldn't bear to look at the photo since she sent it to herself and seeing it now wasn't any easier. But it was a proof. She handed the phone to Stark.

He looked at the screen and his eyes slowly narrowed, his nose wrinkled and he minced a curse. "Is that…"

"Yes."

"Where was it taken? And when? He still has the…" Stark paused and gestured vaguely at his face without peeling his eyes from the screen and his expression was a mix of appalment and morbid curiosity.

"Almost a year ago, now," she said somberly. "In a military base, in Ohio. And yes. The muzzle is protected by magic and cannot be taken off unless it's by Loki's father or Thor."

Stark put down the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How…" he started and paused, lost for words, as the implications slowly unveiled in his mind. It was not a common sight with Stark. He sighed and turned his head and stared out of the window, over the city. The sun has set and the lights in buildings slowly came on. "Okay," he said.

"Okay what?"

"I'm going to help you get mister world domination out."

She blinked.

"I'm not a fan of… whatever this is," he said, gesturing at the phone. "Is he still in Ohio?"

"No. He was transferred away the day this photo was taken."

"Do you have anything more recent? Preferably not as… graphic?"

"No."

Stark pursed his lips, pondering. "But you know he is still alive, right?"

Natasha sighed. "Yes."

"You're not too convincing," he pointed out.

"I know he is alive. I just don't know exactly where."

"How 'not exactly' we are talking about?"

"I know which country."

Stark scoffed.

"On the plus side, it's a small country."

"Monaco?"

"Not that small."

"Are we playing hunt the thimble?"

"Sokovia."

"Oh, great. I always loved those weird round dumplings they serve with everything there. Communism – not so much."

"It's a democratic country since like nineteen ninety-five."

"Thank you for the invaluable geopolitics lesson, Romanoff. Now, you were saying something about people being tortured for science? You have anything more specific than an area of roughly six hundred square miles or was your plan to go door to door and ask?"

"I have a location designation, but I couldn't find anything about it in the SHIELD database and none of my informers was of any help. Given, I had just five minutes before they located me and I had to scram and I didn't know which country it was, so I couldn't narrow my search. And now I can't access it anymore."

"Luckily, I can. Jarvis?"

"How may I be of assistance, sir?" the AI asked and Natasha's hand shot up to her holster before she realized what it was.

"You're twitchy, Romanoff," Stark jeered.

"Being a fugitive isn't exactly a calming experience."

Stark threw his hands out in a classical "what can you do" gesture, then turned to the camera in the corner, probably to let her know who he was speaking to. He didn't do that before, so it wasn't required. "Is that backdoor to SHIELD's database still active or have they patched it already?"

"Let me check, sir." There was a couple-second-long pause. "The exploit does not work anymore. Do you want me to find another?"

"Yeah, do that, Jay. Try CIA and NSA as well." He turned back to Natasha. "What was that designation?"

"SK twelve," she said.

Stark eyed her for a moment, as if he expected more to follow. "Got that, Jay?"

"Yes. I'll get back to you once I find something, sir."

"Thanks."

Her hands furled and unfurled and she gritted her teeth, trying to keep the resentment in. It took her months to come by the smallest shreds of info and all Stark had to do was say a few words to his ceiling buddy.

"You could've come to me earlier, you know," Stark said. Her poker face must not be as good as she thought.

She sighed. "Everyone seems to think Loki deserves everything he is getting. How was I supposed to know you're not going to be the same? How I supposed to know you're not in on it?"

"I might not be the expert on morality or anything but there are boundaries I generally do not cross, Romanoff. Take Geneva Conventions for example. It took us a while to get those written and it was an outstanding move… Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to let him out of my sight, but…"

"What?"

Stark crooked his head and narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to find some nice room that only opens from the outside, stash our alien conquistador inside and wait for either Asgard or at least some agency that can keep their hands to themselves to pick up their stray sheep. Isn't that what you intended to happen? Because you can't honestly ask me to unleash Invader Zim back on the world."

Of course, she couldn't expect Stark to react in any other way. It was still something and it would give her – and Loki, hopefully – an opportunity to convince him, the way she was convinced. She couldn't turn away in anger. There was simply no better option, Stark's cooperation and support gave her a lot more than just his money, even if it meant Loki was going to be rescued from one captivity only to immediately fall into another. No matter what Stark decided to do with Loki in the end, it couldn't be as bad as what Hydra was currently doing. "No," she ground out. "I did not expect anything else."

"Good we are on the same page," Stark said cheerfully and tapped his fingers on his desk. "Now, what would you say to some Asian fusion? I'm starving."

She politely declined the offer. She left the tower half an hour later, armed with a brand new phone that Stark passionately assured her ran on his internal network and couldn't be traced. She decided to use it at her own discretion but still took it, so he could contact her the moment Jarvis found anything.

Her rental flat didn't look nearly as posh in comparison to Stark's Tower. She shrugged and curled up on the floor.

She drifted among the stars in her dreams but forgot everything by the morning.