Stark and Banner worked diligently, their actions purposeful, their faces serious and drawn. Neither of them spoke unless to utter a command or report, as they set up the array of sensors and scanners and meters.

The whole time she just stood there, rooted in place, her mind pulsing with sudden, unnamable fear. It felt like something had been yanked from her brain and the world lost a few dimensions because of that. It was like a raw, physical hole inside her mind, yet she couldn't put her finger on it.

Then she realized.

The link – the beautiful, ethereal wisp of magic that connected her and Loki, that shone like a star in her mind even in complete darkness and gave her hope when there was nothing else – was gone.

She stumbled into a corner blindly and collapsed onto a bench.

Then she stared, her body going numb with dread.

Even with Loki's lifeless body right in front of her eyes – submerged in the freezing liquid, so only his face still above the surface, with the pulsometer displaying a solid line – it didn't seem real. It couldn't be.

The only monitor that still showed any major activity was the one connected to the electrodes on the gag, and it was the one that kept Stark's full attention now. Bruce leaned over Stark's shoulder and watched the readings for a moment.

"That spike, there," he said, pointing at the screen. "That's a new fluctuation."

"The curse is sending ripples all over the spectrum," Stark confirmed, switching the view to a different graph. "It's fighting back. It knows something's not right."

"What does it mean?" Natasha rasped from her corner.

"It means that the method is working. The energy levels are falling, slowly but steadily."

She cleared her throat. It didn't help much. "Do we know how long…"

"If the rate doesn't change, it will take another fifty to fifty-two hours to fully subside. But it did change a few times already, so I have no idea."

She sucked in a breath and wrapped her arms around herself. The air in the room was cool, but she doubted the temperature had anything to do with the chills that ran through her body.

"I'm going to get some rest," Stark announced, then turned to Banner. "I'll be back to relieve you in a few hours. Give me a call if anything changes in the meantime."

Banner nodded and Stark left.

"You should go too. There's nothing for you to do here," Banner said.

"I'd rather stay," she said quietly. Her voice still carried far over the low buzz of the coolant pump and the whirr of the air handling unit.

He nodded and didn't argue. Instead, he dragged the chair over to one of the desks, sat down, and started typing.

The reality still refused to click into place, no matter how long she stared at the scene before her eyes.

Stark returned at twenty-one hundred thirty-four, which was eleven hours forty-two minutes after he left, according to the electronic clock on the wall. It might have been a century for Natasha just as well. Banner had barely moved from his spot other than to take an occasional look at the readings on the screens and didn't speak to her. And she was in no mood to strike a conversation herself.

Stark raised an eyebrow when he noticed her, still in the same corner, in the same position even, but he didn't comment. He and Bruce exchanged a few hushed words and Banner left, giving her an awkward handwave on his way out.

Another hour and sixteen minutes passed before Stark spoke again, which must've been some new record for him.

"How are you holding up?" he asked plainly, swiveling around on the chair to face her.

"It doesn't matter. I'll be fine. It's not me you need to worry about."

He opened his mouth, closed it without saying whatever it was that he had meant to say, let out an exasperated sigh, and turned back to the monitors.

Despite all odds, she dozed off for a while, and it was Bruce's return that pulled her out of her slumber. She stretched then rubbed her neck to get rid of the cramps.

"Any changes?" Bruce prompted.

Stark shook his head. "The energy levels are falling, but the process has slowed down again. There were a few spikes, but nothing major."

"How about the brain activity?"

"Some, but mostly in the somatosensory cortex and it might just be stray signals at this point. For all intents and purposes, Loki's brain is off."

"Anything else I should know?"

Stark shook his head again.

"See you later, then?"

"Yeah," Stark muttered and turned to leave, only to stop halfway on his way out. He looked at Natasha. "I don't want to try to kick you out, because I realize the futility of it, but if you intend to torment yourself by sitting here through the entire process, you should really grab something to eat. Or some coffee, at least, so you're still coherent and functional in case something does happen, and we need your magic powers to fix it. Also, I need to send the papers today and I don't want to go through your stuff."

She let out a displeased huff, but bit down on the refusal before it rolled off her tongue. Stark was right.

She took one last look at the container and followed Stark out of the workshop.

"Nice outfit," Clint welcomed her when she entered the kitchen area in the penthouse. He was in the middle of flipping bacon on a pan. "How's it going?"

She shrugged. How could it be going? She watched Loki die yesterday morning and then had spent the whole day and a good portion of the night staring at his dead body. "Great."

"Mhm," Clint murmured, then waved his spatula at the frying meat. "Want some?"

She shook her head.

"Come on, you've got to eat something."

"I don't think I'd be able to hold anything down," she admitted. Her stomach turned into a black hole of condensed worry and the very thought of food squirmed inside unpleasantly.

"Some tea then?"

"Fine," she sighed.

Clint rummaged through the cupboards. "Let's see. Chamomile? Raspberry? Plain earl grey? Oh, Papaya, that's it, isn't it?"

She nodded.

He put on the kettle.

"Finally, some peace and quiet," he teased, then cringed, realizing he had gone too far. "Sorry."

"You seem to be getting along with Loki just fine," she said, carefully.

He breathed out a laugh. "You sound like you're shocked by that."

"And you say I shouldn't be? I mean… Given everything that happened? I thought you'd be much harder to convince."

"Well, when we first met, you tried to kill me, twice. And now we are best buddies. If anything, you should be the one to find it the most believable."

"You know what I mean."

"I do. Did he tell you how our first talk went?"

"No. I assume it wasn't pretty, since even Stark was very uncharacteristically tight-lipped about it."

"I came down to Stark's penthouse. I found Loki there. I aimed a gun at him, made him kneel and beg for his life."

"He didn't, did he?"

Clint shook his head with a chuckle. "I'd like to think I wouldn't have shot him, but, if I'm being honest, I have no idea. I was angry. I don't know what would happen if Stark didn't intervene."

"I'm glad you didn't, but I understand why you wanted to. The whole mind control thing is vile. On both ends. I can still feel Pierce's sleazy thoughts in my brain, even though I severed the link the moment we learned he got arrested."

Clint made a disgusted face and poured boiled water into the cup then handed it to her. "The thing is… It was not what I was angry about. We are field agents; we've all done horrible things and had horrible things done to us. I would never be able to look at myself in the mirror if I dwelled on that. I mean, okay, I was pissed about that too, but it wasn't the main reason."

"Huh?" she murmured, blowing the steam off the cup.

"I was angry, because I was jealous. He took you from me."

He was turned away from her and she stared at his back for a while. "He didn't take me…"

"I realize that, now. But it took me a while to sort it out in my head."

"I should've told you. That first day, in the hospital. I should've told you what we stood on."

"I wouldn't have listened to you."

"You underestimate me."

Clint laughed and she realized how much she missed the sound. "I do get why you like him," he said. "He is a lot like you. Perhaps that's why I like him too. Although I'm not sure if allowing him to talk again would improve his standings."

"I'm pretty sure Loki would disagree."

"We didn't get far enough for me to care about what he thinks. Perhaps next year."

"Do I smell bacon?" Stark yelled, turning the corner between the hallway and the kitchen. He went over to peer over Clint's shoulder. "You made some for me?"

"Sure," Clint said with a shrug. "Coffee?"

"No, I need to hit the hay if I'm to be of any use later. But thanks." He sat at the table and waved his hand at the envelope Natasha brought from their room. "May I?"

"Yeah."

He pulled out the papers and flipped through them.

Loki didn't ask for her help and she hadn't looked at the documents afterwards, confident that Loki was fully capable to deal with it on his own. It seemed just like the type of work the ages he had spent at a royal court would have prepared him for.

Stark stopped on page two, his eyebrows rode up and he chortled. "Oh, my."

"What?"

He handed her the file. Right below the row for the date of birth – c. 964 – and first name – a pointy rune, followed by the Latin alphabet transcription in brackets – there was one for the last name. She stared, lost for words. From all the possible names of all the people he met, from all worlds he visited thorough his inconceivably long lifetime and in all the languages he knew, Loki chose this one.

Hers.

She allowed Clint to talk her into eating some scrambled eggs after all and even managed to hold the food down.

The bed was intolerably empty, so she dragged the duvet down and curled up on the floor. She kept her eyes closed and ignored the thoughts banging around in her head, just like the fear that squeezed her throat and pulsed inside her chest, until sleep finally claimed her.

Banner made her shower and change into a new lab uniform before he let her back into the workshop. She knew better than to protest.

The scene in the workshop hadn't changed. The lights were still dimmed, although she couldn't tell why. It's not like… Perhaps both Stark and Bruce felt it was appropriate, somehow.

She sat down on the floor and pressed her palm to the glass, just where Loki's hand rested on the other side. The thin layer of frost that had formed on the surface melted away under her touch.

One of the machines beeped in warning and Banner whipped around and glowered at her. She pulled the hand away. "I'm sorry. I didn't know… Did I break something?"

He hummed as his eyes dashed between the displays. "No, it should be fine," he sighed and adjusted something on one of the control panels. "But don't do that again. The sensors are very precise and set to react to the slightest change and we need it to stay that way."

"I understand."

There was a stretch of silence as Bruce fussed with knobs and sliders and buttons, most of which she couldn't even begin to guess the function of.

"Loki is going to be fine," he said carefully.

"How can you be sure?" she barked back. She didn't need empty consolations. She needed results. She needed Loki alive and well. There was nothing that Banner could say to her that…

"I can't. But he is strong. If anyone has a chance to live through this, it's him."

It was still just words, but it made her feel a bit better, nonetheless.

The rest of the day and the following night passed in a blur. Stark and Banner took turns twice watching over Loki.

She spent most of the time in the cavern. She could now visualize it without completely immersing herself, which helped with the awareness of her surroundings, but didn't work as well as stress relief. She still did it. She was going to need her magic soon and she neglected the practice for long enough already.

In the morning, she wandered off for a while, to sleep and to eat, like a mindless automaton, because that was the only way she could detach herself from what was happening and still function, somewhat. Her stomach turned into a black hole of fear that seemed to suck all the light and all the joy from the world. Clint tried talking to her again and so did Pepper but she was able to answer only with one-syllable grunts and they soon left her alone.

In the evening Rogers came to the penthouse, only to announce they were leaving for DC. There was some civil unrest blowing up in the city, so Cap and Wilson had decided to go and try to help. James, unsurprisingly, stuck to his act of following Steve on every step and was coming too. She didn't care enough to ask what exactly was happening and just chortled – with one of those completely humorless laughs Loki was so fond of – when Rogers suggested she should come along.

The third day brought a shift in the atmosphere. It was gradual and it took her a while to notice, her usually sharp observation skills dulled by the dreamlike state she found herself in, but soon it became obvious that Bruce was more nervous than usually and even Stark grew restless and fiddly. The allotted fifty-two hours came and passed and – while the energy levels did continue to fall – the progress turned into a snail's crawl.

"There's nothing we can do but wait and see," Stark said glumly when she finally gathered the courage to ask. "The spell is still active from all we can tell. Bringing Loki back now would mean he risked his life for nothing."

He didn't mention the other possible outcome, but Natasha still retained enough clarity to read it between his lines.

Day four came and went and – when day five rolled in – Banner had to bodily manhandle her out of the workshop to get her to tend to her needs. She stood in the hallway for a long time, tears burning in her eyes, before she found enough strength to drag herself to the kitchen and chew one of the toasts Pepper had prepared for her. She threw it up immediately afterwards, then fell asleep in the shower, the drum of water falling on her shoulders drowning out the alarm ringing in her brain.

"Miss Romanoff?" Jarvis' voice boomed from the speakers, "Mr. Stark inquired about your wellbeing and I was bound to inform him of your current whereabouts. He asks whether you require assistance."

"No," she groaned and turned the tap off. Her fingers were wrinkly from being in the water for too long. She dragged herself up and staggered, her legs went numb because of the position she had stayed in for… She couldn't tell. She still felt tired, her head throbbed dully, and her forehead felt hot when she reached to touch it, but she couldn't tell whether it was an aftereffect of sitting under the hot streams for god know how long or if she caught some bug.

She stumbled out of the stall. She had nothing to wear except the lab clothes that now lay in a damp, crumpled pile in the corner, so she just wandered out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, hoping to make it to the workshop level and to the stash of fresh uniforms there, preferably without stumbling upon any other inhabitant of the tower first.

She got as far as down the hallway before she ran into Clint.

"You look like a rat that almost drowned in a sewer, got out, lost a fight with an alley cat, and then got run over by a garbage truck," he judged.

"Thank you for that stimulating visual rendition, Clint," she snarled angrily and stepped around him.

He grabbed her arm. She glared at him until he let her go. "Why are you even here?"

"And where am I supposed to be? It's not like any of us have a job anymore."

"Home?"

"I can't go, not yet."

"Why?"

"I'm worried about you."

"Don't."

"It's not something I can just turn off. If I could, I'd have done that in ninety-nine, saving myself the years your acts shaved off my lifespan," he said with a stupid grin on his face. "A solid case could be made for two thousand three as well."

"Clint…" she started and the warning she was about to utter stuck in her throat. "I'm sorry. I'm just a bit on the edge."

"You don't say," he chortled. "Come on, I'll make you some dinner. Have you eaten anything today?"

She shook her head, then reconsidered. "I ate a toast, but I threw it up."

"Breakfast then. Do you want to borrow some clothes?"

"Yes, please."

Natasha had stayed in the tower for a couple of days already, but it was still the first time she got the opportunity to visit Clint's apartment.

It was located one floor below the workshop, and it was small – at least by Stark's living standards – but tastefully and functionally furnished. The open-plan main space was color-coded into three distinctive areas: a kitchen, a dining area with a table that could sit six people comfortably that Natasha was sure Clint had never used, and a living room, with a huge sofa and a tv that took over a good part of the wall. Off to the side, there was a spacious bedroom with a king-size bed, a bathroom that could rival the one in her and Loki's room, and a walk-in closet, mostly empty, save for a couple of shelves and a packed duffel bag on the floor. Being ready to go at any given time was a hard habit to kill for Clint as well.

Clint found a tee shirt and some sweatpants for her to wear then made her tea to drink while he cooked.

"Are you making pasta?" she asked and took a sip of the beverage. It had some vague herbal taste, and did a good job settling her stomach, enough to make it rumble at the thought of food.

"I would congratulate you on your foresight if it wasn't the only thing I could cook," Clint threw back and grabbed a can of tomatoes from the cupboard.

"It's been a while."

"You know me for, what, over a decade now? You know I don't just 'pick up' new recipes," he laughed and pulled an onion from the fridge, sniffed it suspiciously, shrugged, and started peeling it. "But I'm sure Laura would appreciate it."

"How is she?"

"Fine, all things considered. She told me to come home like eleven times this week."

"You should go."

"I will, once this blows over." He threw the peels into the trash bin and started chopping. "You should come too."

"I can't leave. Even if it works… Loki is going to need me. There's a whole process of recovery for him to go through, and I don't mean the physical aspect exclusively. I can't just leave him alone to deal with that."

"Did I say something about that? It was 'you' as in plural."

She blinked at him, taken aback.

"What? I'm pretty sure Loki no longer intends to murder any of us and it would be unfair to leave Laura unaware that you finally managed to find a boyfriend as messed up as yourself."

"Fuck off."

"That's uncalled for," Clint huffed in a feigned offense and sniffed, then shoved the chopped onions into a pan and turned on the stove. "I'm trying to be nice."

"I know."

"You're awfully protective of him. I didn't know you had it in you."

She shrugged then ran her fingers through her hair. "Loki needs someone to care for him for once. None of this would have happened if his family had taken a break from treating him as the scapegoat for all their faults. Can you even imagine kidnapping a child, lying to them about their heritage and teaching them the race they come from is just a bunch of mindless monsters, then acting all outraged when they turn against their kin?"

"Yeah," Clint said bleakly, "but it doesn't make it any more right. Is that what happened?"

She nodded. "I can't imagine how it must've felt when he found out."

Clint let out a dejected sigh. "We've all got our traumas, but we don't run around killing people because of them."

"Isn't that what we were doing though? It might have been sanctioned by law when we were still working for SHIELD, but I'm not entirely sure Loki would win if we started comparing headcounts, even with the head start he got."

"Fair enough."

"I'm just tired of the double standards, that's all. You and me both killed people, as freelancers and then as employees on a goddamned government payroll. Stark blew up an entire village in the Middle East without ever stopping to ask himself if everybody had been there willingly, not to mention all the casualties his weapons manufacturing division caused. Rogers' official World War Two kill count is in the dozens and Banner's little green friend leveled five city blocks just a few years back. We're all fuckups with red in our ledgers. But, when we stood on the ruins after the battle, people cheered for us."

"We've got better PR?"

"That's precisely my point."

Clint opened one cupboard, closed it, and peeked into another. "It looks like I'm all out of pasta," he announced.

They ate the tomato sauce with breadsticks in the end. It was only half as disgusting as she imagined. They settled on the couch to watch a movie but didn't get far past the title crawl before Jarvis' voice sounded in the room.

"Miss Romanoff, your presence is required in the workshop. I was instructed to inform you that it is urgent."

She was out of the sofa in thirty milliseconds. Then she ran.

The door didn't open when she approached, which actually served to calm her down somewhat. Not much, but still a bit. If it were an actual life and death scenario, Stark wouldn't force her to follow protocol.

She still breezed through the process as quickly as she could and reappeared in front of the entrance in less than five minutes.

"What's going on?" she asked the moment she crossed the threshold. Both Stark and Banner were in the room already. Stark was flipping between graphs on a monitor, while Banner checked the life support equipment they had set up for later, making her heart lurch in her chest. If he was on it, it meant they were close.

"There was a power spike from the spell some fifteen minutes ago and then the energy levels started falling rapidly, even more quickly than at the beginning. If it continues at this rate, it will hit zero within the next thirty minutes," Stark explained without turning away from the monitors, his fingers tapping on the keyboard in a frantic rhythm. His tone was tense, but still professional.

"That's good, right?"

"Potentially. We have no idea what caused it. Loki's state is the same as it was yesterday – he is functionally dead – and we can't really measure what's happening in his cells besides the basics. Maybe this is how it's supposed to go and that was the curse's death rattle, or maybe it reacted to some change we cannot register."

She didn't like the implications of the latter part of the sentence, not at all. "When will we know?"

"When the energy goes away completely. I kinda hope for some fireworks, but from what Loki told us it's rather unlikely. We have to watch it closely now and react in time. We don't want to keep him under any longer than necessary and – once we start bringing him out – you'll have only a couple of minutes to do your mumbo-jumbo, at best."

"Why? Can't I do it while he is still… well, dead?"

"You need physical contact to interact with the magic, right?"

"Yes."

"The liquid's temperature as of now is minus one hundred twenty-six degrees Celsius. How long do you think you can keep your hand in it before it does irreparable damage?"

"Uhm…"

"About twelve seconds," Banner supplied. "It would be quicker with metal though. Supercooled liquids evaporate on contact with skin, creating a layer of gas that acts as insulation, lowering the heat transfer rate. That's not the case with solids."

"Okay, I get the point. So, what's the plan?"

"Once the spell breaks, we will start the process of bringing Loki out of the cryotherapy. We can slow it down around the minus twenty to zero range, but once we open the container there's no way to stop the outside air and the temperature will rise. With a human, we would have about four minutes before we would start risking irreparable brain damage and we don't know how much longer it could be for Loki. I'd rather not drag it on any longer, so that's about as much time as we can give you. Can you manage?"

"Can't you, uhm, reverse the process if it doesn't work the first time around? Then go again?"

"No," Stark said in a discussion-ending tone. "There's a joke about refreezing stuff somewhere here and it's as on point as it is inappropriate."

She should be pissed, but mostly she was thankful for his self-restraint. "I get it."

"So, can you do it?"

"Do I have any other choice?"

"No."

"Here's your answer then." Stark's inquisitive glare was still on her. "I can do it," she said, pumping all confidence she could find into the words.

The machinery beeped again, and a warning flashed across the monitors.

"Uh oh, another spike," Stark reported then crooked his head at the side monitor. "Look at that."

The chart showed multiple, overlaying curves in assorted colors, rapidly jumping up and down. The spikes were growing increasingly frequent, but their amplitudes were falling.

Like a heartbeat of a dying animal, Natasha thought and there was something disturbingly accurate in the metaphor.

The light-green graph flatlined, then the yellow one and then a few others, until only two remained. The hot pink one wriggled up one last time and then disappeared as well, leaving only a thin, gray graph still showing up values above the axis. It wasn't completely steady, but it wasn't dancing around rapidly either, not like the others.

"That's the background radiation," Stark said. "It might be the whole black magic trace. It's too faint to do anything as-is."

"You're sure?" Banner asked, "If we get this wrong…"

"I don't know!" Stark snarled. "It's magic! How can I be sure of anything?!"

"Tony…"

Stark took a breath and pressed his thumbs to his eyelids. "I'm fairly certain, yes," he said and the effort he put in controlling his voice was evident. "That's as much as you're going to get from me."

"Okay," Bruce capitulated. "If this is what we get, then this is what we get. What now?"

"Start the wind-down procedure for the chiller and bring out the respirator. I'm going to run the spectral analysis, to see if we have something to cut the metal right away."

"How about me?" Natasha asked.

"Get ready. If there's some ritual for the eldritch gods of magic you need to perform first, this is a good moment too."

"You really think this is the best moment for condescension?"

"No," Stark said simply, turning back to the monitors. "Damn, I call dibs on that marvelous hunk of junk the moment we get it off."

Banner looked over Stark's shoulder and whistled.

Natasha didn't care. If she never saw the wretched piece of metal ever again, it would be still too soon.

She retreated into her corner and sat down, closed her eyes, brought forth the image of the cavern, and pulled on her core. It came to her, but it was dimmed and finicky, reacting to the state of her mind, as always. She prodded at it with the promise of release, and it flared up, only to fade back down a moment later.

Stark left the room and returned a few moments later but she held her focus. It was the only thing keeping her sane right now and she felt like her mind would just crumble into nothingness if she let it slip.

"Minus forty," Banner announced, and she forced herself to open her eyes. "Get ready."

She stumbled to her feet and rubbed her arms. The fans were working on overdrive and the temperature in the room couldn't be more than sixty degrees.

Stark was fiddling with the tool in his hand, adjusting the sliders on the side and murmuring to himself.

"What's that?"

"A fancy laser cutter. I use it mostly to cut off the armor pieces if they're too damaged to remove conventionally."

"Will it work? To cut through the metal, I mean."

Stark rolled his shoulders. "It's a superalloy, and ninety percent of it is a previously unknown stable isotope of rhenium. I cannot tell what the other ten percent are without testing a sample, so my closest guesstimate is going to be 'maybe?'."

"Be…"

"Careful. I know," he declared and put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed and had to fight to not shake it off, her body thrumming with the anxiety reeling in her mind. "We will get this right, I promise."

Stark was being supportive in his own awkward way and it was the only reason she didn't snap at him. She didn't need to pick his brain to know he cared about Loki's fate. He was not fucking around to see what would happen but was actually trying to help.

"Minus thirty," Banner informed and turned the oxygen pump on. "A minute till we're in range. I'm starting the drip."

The container with the poison had been replaced with a bag of clear liquid. Natasha had no idea what it might be and there was no label on it. Not that it would tell her much either, she supposed.

The screen blinked a prompt. Stark pushed some buttons and the lid rattled and cracked open with a hiss, then continued to slide away. The air above the container turned misty from the cold and a pump started, slowly draining the blue liquid away.

She stepped closer and leaned over the container. She blinked the blurriness away.

Loki looked pale and very, very still, but otherwise, it would be so easy to convince herself he was merely asleep.

"Go, do your thing," Stark urged.

Her hands were shaking when she reached to touch the metal.

It was frigid, almost intolerably so, making her fingertips lose feeling almost immediately. She ground her teeth, closed her eyes, and sent a spark of magic down her fingers, probing.

Stark was right. The spell was gone, leaving just an empty vessel behind.

Almost empty. At the very bottom, in the furthest corner, something lurked and twisted, cold and vile, like a worm made out of pure darkness.

The Big Dark. She could understand the name now. It was quite telling.

The tendrils of her magic reached out for it but it slithered away, shying away from the light, hissing and growling.

"Two minutes," came a warning, like from behind a thick veil. She disregarded it and groped for the trace again, but it slipped between her fingers, changing and pulsing in protest, the resistance tingling in her fingers and running as a cold shudder down her spine.

It was a small, wretched thing, fussy and corrupt, but it fought her viciously, clinging to its host with force.

"One minute."

She groaned and lunged, putting all willpower into the attack.

The wisp squirmed and coiled and slid away and whatever it touched, the new tendril of power sprung up, like a caricature of a seedling and they twisted together and grew.

The machine wailed in alarm. "The energy levels are spiking again," Stark's voice warned, and it was wrung with anxiety.

Loki was coming back to the realm of the living and so was the spell.

It wasn't running from her anymore. It was fighting, stronger and stronger every second.

All that pain, for nothing. She failed him again.

Tears burned under her eyelids and she reached, one last time, with all her strength. Her core fluttered and pulsed, overwhelmed. She wrapped the tendrils of the spell around herself, ignoring the way they froze her nerves and fried her skin with blistering frost or the urge of agony that rose from her fingertips and radiated upwards to her arms and her shoulders and coiled its wintery appendages around her heart.

Then she yanked and the world stopped existing altogether, replaced with a deluge of white, all-encompassing pain while her mind screamed along the cosmic paths, in all directions at once.

There was a hand on her shoulder and her eyes snapped open. She looked up, at Stark's shocked, terrified face, then down to her hands, the white marks of frostbite slowly fading from her skin, leaving a prickling, numb sensation in their wake.

A drop of blood splashed on her hand and it felt hot enough to burn. She licked her lips and tasted blood where she bit it, all the way through.

"Did it work?" she rasped and swallowed the blood that pooled in her mouth.

Stark stepped away. The chart was empty. "Yes," Stark gasped.

Banner pressed the pads to Loki's chest and fired. Loki's spare muscles spasmed as the current made its course through his body, then went limp again, the moment Banner removed the pads.

The EKG monitor still showed a solid, straight line.

Banner tried again.

And again.

And again.

It wasn't working, she realized. "Let me try," she said. Her voice was weak, but Banner still stopped with the pads up in the air. "With my magic," she explained.

Banner frowned but urged her on with a nod.

Her head throbbed along with her accelerated heartbeat as her core protested, still not recovered from the last round of heavy use, but she forced it to obedience, kneading at it until it submitted. The cosmic power floated through her veins once more, but it just dissipated when she pressed her palms to Loki's chest. Where Loki's own energy responded to her before, meeting her halfway and guiding her on, drinking the power from her fingers and redirecting it where it was needed, there was just empty darkness now.

The realization finally snapped into place properly.

He was dead. There was nothing she could do. She didn't know how…

"Bruce…" Stark started, then bodily pulled her away. She didn't fight him.

Banner discharged the AED again.

"It's not working!"

"I can see that!"

"We have to try something else."

"What?! There's nothing…"

"Epi?"

"It won't work on Loki. His body has a wholly different hormonal makeup," The AED pinged and Banner pushed the pads to Loki's chest again. "I synthesized something that I think might be the equivalent for him, just in case, but we have no idea..."

"Do it."

"We don't know…"

"It's been too long! We have no choice."

She stayed away – the Stark arm's grip on her shoulder the only thing that still kept her on her shaky legs – as she fought to keep the desperate wail down.

"Fine!" Banner barked as he rummaged through the vials on the side table until he found the one he was looking for. "That's all we have," he said, showing it up.

"Do it."

Banner didn't protest anymore, just emptied the vial into a syringe and jabbed the needle into Loki's shoulder.

Nothing happened.

"It won't do anything on its own," Banner explained, then reached for the pads again.

It felt like a century before the AED charged again.

Banner pressed the pads to Loki's chest, right on the marks his previous attempts left on his skin, and released the charge.

The EKG graph showed a spike from the electric pulse. She held her breath in, watching the line. For a time, nothing happened. Then the line wiggled up and the machine beeped once, then again. And again.

The air escaped her lungs in a stifled sob and Stark's arm on her shoulders wrapped closer around her and, when she looked at Stark's face, his eyes were wide and shiny.

The beeping stabilized into a slow but steady heartbeat. Banner adjusted the drip and changed some settings on the ventilator, his moves quick and decisive.

"Is he going to be okay?" she whispered.

Stark didn't answer, but his eyes dashed to a display further in the corner. It was a simple counter, and it was showing eleven minutes and thirty-two seconds.

"Were we… too late?" she squeezed through her constricted throat and swallowed the bile that rose from her stomach.

"I don't know," Stark said quietly and swapped between screens on one of the displays. "There's definitely some brain activity, but it's all over the place and I can't tell if it's just because he was unconscious for so long or…"

"Bruce?" she prompted.

Banner hummed a noncommittal answer.

"Please," she pleaded, "I have to know."

"I'm going to turn the ventilator off to see if Loki would breathe on his own," Banner said, returning to the respirator's control panel. His face was drawn and guarded. He clicked the machine off and then gently pulled the mask away from Loki's face.

For a moment nothing happened, just the numbers on the oximeter slowly trickled down. Then Loki's chest rose as he sucked a long, ragged gasp, making her own breath catch in her throat on its way out.

"Does it mean he is fine?" she asked, and her voice was wobbly.

Banner placed an oxygen tube into Loki's nose before he answered. "It means there's enough brain activity for the basic body functions. Nothing more, nothing less. Other than that… We have to wait and see."

Stark let go of her arm. She stumbled and had to grab onto the edge of a side table to not fall down. He busied himself with removing the side panels of the box, leaving just the low platform that Loki was still strapped to.

She moved to release the straps, but Banner stopped her.

"No, leave those on, for now."

"Why?" she questioned, but her hand froze where it was fussing with the belt. It was loose enough to not cause discomfort, that much was true, but she still didn't like the idea.

"We don't know how Loki could react if he wakes up," Banner said carefully. "We don't want him to hurt himself. Or any of us."

She wondered if he knew about the violent fits Loki's dreams had caused in the past or if he was just shooting blindly. Either way, he wasn't beating around the bush. She bit her lip, then hissed in pain. She reached for her core to heal the bite mark, then reconsidered. She was already straining it and were more important things that might need fixing.

Stark picked the laser cutter again, then dragged the chair closer.

"Wait," she breathed and sat down at the edge of the platform. Her fingers were still numb and clumsy when they slid along the edge of the metal, from Loki's jaw to the back of his head. Just as she brushed the central plate at the nape of his neck, the bands retracted, and the muzzle folded in on itself like a dying bug. She pulled it free, and it gave way without any resistance. She tossed it away in disgust and it clattered to the floor with a dull thud.

Her heart lurched behind her sternum. Underneath the metal, Loki's skin was one raw wound. There was dried blood encrusted in the cracks in his shriveled lips, still slightly parted.

Stark's nostrils flared and the handle of the tool creaked in his hand as his fingers curled around it. "How did you know that would work?" he asked, and it sounded more like a snarl with the way he had to grind it out through his clenched teeth.

"I didn't. I just…" She paused and took a long breath. "It didn't hurt to try."

"This needs cleansing," Bruce pointed out. He was apparently the only person in the room with any sort of vigilance left.

"Let me try first," she said and pressed her palms to the angles of Loki's jaw, right under the point where the wound started. His skin was still ice cold, but closer to the usual temperature and she could feel it warming up under her fingertips. She let the power flow and a new wave of tears filled her eyes as his flesh responded, sluggishly and capriciously at first, but easing into the routine as she pushed on.

Under the injured skin on his face and the damaged tissue in his mouth and throat, there were layers upon layers of scars, and she went through it, bit by bit, tearing and ripping, then mending and smoothing it out. It was a wholly different process than healing a fresh wound and it required a lot more concentration, but the principle was similar enough. She could feel Loki's own energy protesting weakly at the disruption – she was causing damage, after all, if just to heal it a moment later – but she pushed through and it obeyed. It knew her already. It knew her intentions, even if Loki was not around to be aware of it.

For now, she hoped.

It was still draining, and she stopped to gather the rest of her strength. Stark stood by the platform with a stupid expression on his face and even Banner paused what he was doing and observed, mesmerized.

She swallowed a groan and returned to the task, ignoring the exhaustion that slowly overtook her, sending her head spinning, darkening the corners of her eyes, and leaving a lingering ache in her bones. It wasn't something that would've healed on its own and Loki deserved at least some normalcy back in his life. Doing it now – when he still was out cold and couldn't feel it – was the best call.

She swayed and Stark held her before she went down. She brought her hands back up but couldn't keep them there and the pool of energy inside her mind felt like molasses, sticky and disobedient and just prodding at it pierced her brain with a splitting headache.

"Take a break," Banner said quietly and started wiping Loki's face with a piece of soft gauze. His moves were purposeful but gentle. The open sores were gone, but Loki's skin was still red and irritated, like a barely healed scrape.

Stark edged closer, unprompted, and held Loki's head up, so Banner could reach all the way around. He started with removing the scrambler that still sat at the base of Loki's skull.

"He's not going to need it anymore, hopefully," he said and placed it on the rolling table, then retrieved a bottle of creamy liquid. "It's an antibiotic ointment. It has mild pain relief properties and helps to prevent infections," he explained, before he started applying it.

The heart rate monitor beeped, signaling a change, and – a second later – Loki's eyes flew open. Banner removed his hand immediately.

Loki's gaze shot around, frantic and disoriented, then he tried moving his hands, just to get stopped by the cuffs right away.

She reached to undo the restraints and – the moment her hand rested on his forearm – he calmed down and stopped struggling. She carefully unbuckled the strap around his left wrist, while Banner released his other arm. She rubbed his fingers between her palms to get the circulation going. His hands were still colder than usually. Banner moved on to the strap on Loki's chest, while Stark unplugged the wires and tubes.

Loki's eyes were firmly on her now, as bright and as beautiful as ever.

"Hi," she laughed, and the sound came out jagged at the edges. "It worked."

He propped himself up on one elbow and his other hand jutted up and explored, his fingertips running from his chin and up to his lips. He worked his jaw, and his lips rode up into a wide grin.

Some of his teeth were chipped, one of his upper canines was missing altogether and his gums were bloody.

He took a deep breath through his mouth and his tongue lapped out, painting his lips red. He swallowed and his smile grew even wider.

"Hi," he tried. His lips were moving but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and sent himself into a coughing fit.

Banner sprung up and retrieved a two-gallon jug of water while Stark produced a plastic cup and held it up while Banner poured the liquid.

"Here," Stark said, handing it to Loki.

Loki's hand was shaking minutely when his fingers wrapped around the flimsy cup. He pressed it to his lips and hesitated, just for a second, before gulping it down in one swig.

"More?"

Loki nodded.

He went through three more cups before he raised his hand to signal that he was done, then pushed himself into a proper sitting position. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, then the water that had dripped down to his chest, and tried pulling his knees up.

"Sorry," she said and rushed to undo the cuffs on his ankles. "Are you sure you want to get up?"

Loki nodded again and sat up, dragging his legs over the edge of the platform. He swayed but Stark's arm was there to support him and help him to his feet.

His legs were wobbly and his steps unsure, but he made it all the way to the chair.

Banner approached, rolling yet another tray in front of him. This one had just a few empty syringes, a stethoscope, and some sort of scanner on it.

"I'll be quick. I just have to make sure there's no lasting damage that would require immediate attention. We can do the rest later, okay?"

Loki kept his spine straight and his hands folded in his lap and didn't protest as Banner drew his blood and pushed the metal of the stethoscope to his chest and back and circled around his head with the scanner.

"There's some stridor in the left lung," Banner noted and wrote it down in his small notepad. "It might be nothing serious, but we should check up on that later."

He placed a drop of Loki's blood into the slot of a machine and clicked some buttons. The tray retracted and the gizmo started whirring. "We should have the results in a minute," he said. "You can put your shirt back on if you want."

Loki's hand rode up in an instinct, but he stilled it, clutching it to his chest. "Thank you," he said, and his voice wasn't much more than a wheezy whisper. It was there though, and Natasha had to swallow another bout of tears that were threatening their way out. She really needed to get a grip on herself or else she'd lose the rest of the respect the men in the team had for her.

Loki looked around, but his clothes were not where he left them. It had probably just been a moment for him, even if it had been five days from the world's perspective.

"Here it is," Stark said, retrieving the piece of clothing from some shelf.

It took Loki some time to put it on. He was still fumbling with his sleeve when Banner's machine beeped.

The man picked the tablet and studied the results. "The CO2 levels in your blood are still high, but that's to be expected and it will take a few days for the toxins to clear out fully but other than that it looks great," he judged and offered Loki a smile. "Congratulation. You're officially free."

Loki bowed his head courteously and kept it down. A shudder ran through his frame and his shoulders shook. He pressed his palms to his eyes and a quiet sob escaped his throat.

She moved closer and nudged his head up with her hand under his chin. He looked up at her, his eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Hey," she said, "It's all right. You've done it. You're safe now."

He collapsed into her embrace, his pale fingers clutching her clothes.

"I know," he whispered, and, just like that, she was crying too.

It felt like a dream. The good kind of dream, too. Loki was aware that part of it was because of how light-headed he still felt from the lack of oxygen and the drug still circling through his system, but the major part was the other kind of lightness.

He reached to his face one more time, just to make sure. The gag was gone and so was Odin's curse.

His magic remained dormant, and he knew better than try to rouse it that early. His core had been locked away for so long and it would be a long and tedious process to access it again, if it wasn't completely gone. And he still needed to recover, physically, the undertaking had taken its toll on him, that was undeniable. He had to rely on Stark's help just to walk to the elevator.

That thought terrified him for a moment before he remembered. He was safe here. Bruce suggested he should stay in the infirmary for a couple of days and Loki politely refused. Staying in bed, alone with nothing to distract himself with for long hours, was as unalluring of an idea as those went. He could rest in his own bed, when the time came. For now, he had his freedom to enjoy.

In the end, Banner yielded and accompanied them into the penthouse's common area.

"I'll be damned, you crazy ass actually did it," Clint exclaimed with a wicked grin and Loki offered him a thin smile in return.

A moment later, Miss Potts came rushing into the room. She didn't have words for him, just a heartfelt hug, and Loki stood there, awkward and unsure what to do with his hands until she let him go.

He never had put much thought into what reactions he could expect from the humans once he was released from the clutches of Odin's magic. Pity mixed with caution, perhaps? His magic was no longer gelded and kept in line by the All-Father's instrument of torture and Loki could, potentially, pose a danger again.

He got none of that though, just overwhelming support and commendations and tears of joy and he had absolutely no idea how to feel about it, so he decided to just delight in it, for as long as it lasted. It couldn't take long.

Tony guided him to the table, clapped into his usual seat with a heavy sigh then pulled out his phone.

"So, what's going to be your first meal in the world of the free men?"

Loki blinked. That he also hadn't thought about before.

"No need to be humble, that's not how we roll here. I have numbers of several five-star chefs here. Or we can order…"

"Tony, this is not the best idea," Bruce interjected and turned to Loki. "I'm sorry, but you can't be too careful after such an extremely long time without food. For a human, I'd advise a completely liquid diet of high-calorie protein shakes, for a couple of days at least, then a slow introduction to solids. But, as you've proven you're way more resilient than we are, I guess we can bend the rules a bit."

Tony started talking but Bruce stopped him, his finger in the air. "But no burgers or pizza." Stark opened his mouth again. "Or raw seafood."

Tony clasped his mouth into a pout and crossed his arms on his chest.

After some negotiations – that Loki took the role of an observer in – Banner agreed to cooked rice – which was apparently a type of grain – with an assortment of steamed greens that he then pledged to prepare himself.

"You know what, that actually sounds good, make some for me as well," Stark decided with a wide smile and Loki refrained from pointing out each of the at least a dozen of occasions when Tony complained there wasn't enough meat in his meatballs or that there was grass in his burger and that was something that cows would eat. Cows, Loki found out, were the most popular animals to be held as livestock on Earth and they were benign animals, despite the – if he was to be honest – quite minatory appearance.

In the end, all of the humans voiced their willingness to share the same meal. Once upon a time, Loki would be outraged at such a display of pity, but now it only filled him with gleeful gratitude. It was his first meal after long years of deprivation, and he would be sharing it with people who meant him no harm.

With friends.

That sounded almost like a joke in his head, yet it was true, and he took his time to wrap his mind around the concept while the humans chattered among themselves. They discussed the current events they themselves had brought upon the world and their plans for the future and Loki allowed the sounds to carry him away.

"Here you go," said Banner, setting a plate in front of Loki. "You want some cutlery?"

Loki frowned, then went through the whole painstaking process of speaking up: keeping his hands in place, conquering the paralyzing fear of making a sound, and then finally moving his tongue and parting his lips. It would take some time to get used to it again. "Shouldn't I?"

His vocal cords responded this time and it sounded more like a weak croak than a whisper, so it was a noticeable progress.

"Well, I'm not sure how it's done on Asgard…" Bruce said carefully.

It appeared that Thor's table manners deteriorated once Loki was not there to elbow him in the side each time he forgot himself, which did little to convince the humans the Æsir were not all just uncultured savages.

"I'm sure I'll be fine with whatever utensils you find suitable for the task," he said placatingly.

Bruce smiled. "The best I can do is a fork. Not sure what proper etiquette would be."

"Fingers are always an option with me," Stark said and smelled the water in his glass. "Can we at least have some soda?"

"No."

Tony continued to haggle and Loki focused on the food on his plate. It looked a lot better than the description would suggest and the smell was intoxicating. Once Banner brought him the promised fork, he could wait no longer and dug in impatiently.

He took a small bite. A blaze of tastes exploded in his mouth – starting with sweet and bright, down into deep, earthy flavors with just a tinge of heat at the end – and made his eyes water.

"So, how is it?" Tony asked.

Loki took a sip of water and even that had a taste. He never had noticed before. "Delicious," he said truthfully and eagerly went for another bite.

"The verdict is in, Bruce. It takes one-and-half year of starvation to enjoy your cooking. Excellent job."

Bruce muttered something about ingrates under his breath, but still chuckled amiably.

Loki's jaw was sore after the unyielding metal held it in one position for so long, and swallowing took mental work each time, but he still went through almost half of his portion before his stomach protested. He eyed the leftovers longingly.

"Do not eat more than you're comfortable with," Bruce warned, "It's better to take smaller meals more often than risk getting sick."

Loki understood the concept well enough, yet his brain still tried to trick him into stuffing it in for later, unsure when the next meal could come.

You can have all the food in the world now, he told himself, to a relative success.

He drank the rest of the water then accepted the refill Tony offered, just because he could. He could drink as much as he wanted, too.

He was free, after all.

After a small scuffle, when Banner – in many words – convinced Tony he shouldn't be offering alcoholic beverages to Loki for at least another two weeks, they relocated to the couches.

There was another lengthy discussion about what they should watch and it was yet another one Loki didn't partake in – it was all new to him anyway and he always found some detail to entertain himself with, whether the plot made sense or not.

"I have just the right thing," Tony said with a smirk and winked at Loki.

Loki eyed the man with suspicion, not entirely sure what to expect, until the title card of the film of Stark's choosing appeared on the screen and the reason for Tony's excitement became clear.

Reindeer Games, it said.

They got to the part where the main characters were pulling their grand heist when the floor shook, the lights blinked off and back on, and the air filled with the smell of ozone.

Loki, who up until that point was praying for any sort of distraction, sprung up, his heart beating in his throat.

"What the hell was that?"

"The Bifrost," Loki said darkly.

Because, as always, the dream could remain pleasant only for so long.