And thus the story finally continuous.

Now we finally see a little bit more about what Natasha is doing and get to learn some things about project ALICE.

Read, enjoy and give a comment if you like.

Chapter 8

It had been years since Natasha had last stepped foot onto the Helicarrier. It felt emptier. Yet, it bustled with activity like a beehive at work. The same tasteless decor as always decorated the craft's hallways. A delicate eyebrow arched up at the potted plants, which Natasha could not help but reach out to run a finger over a fake large leaf.

"New," she said, not breaking stride.

In here, the air felt stifling, and the hallways felt too narrow to carry the amount of people which it did. Everything felt cramped, barren, and… dead. Two people scampered past her quiet to an unnatural degree that Natasha's eyes followed them until they disappeared around a corner. Her gait having come to a halt. On the inside, the Helicarrier was almost as she remembered it, but something tapped insistently on her instincts and made her skin crawl.

She had not made it far from the hangers when a chill of sorts crept up her back, raising the fine hairs on her neck and arms. Her muscles tensed and flexed, and she threw a searching glance over her shoulder before flicking her eyes up towards the cameras. She doubted that she had already been discovered. This felt more like a warning, an instinctual need to search for hiding. A warning carried in the air of the Helicarrier.

With a deep settling breath, she willed her heart to slow, pushing the nervousness away. Mission mode was similar to deep meditation. A trance-like state that took all feelings and dampened them to a degree were they no longer inhibited her thoughts and decisions. Suppressing the emotions until they were little more than vague memories, far too distant to be a hindrance.

It was with cold amber eyes that she took in the SHIELD officers who were stationed about the hallway and in glass-encased rooms. She filed away their uniforms and the movements of their hands and their stale smiles and blank eyes.

Mind-control, her brain supplemented her, and she rolled the word over her tongue. The word would have to do for now. Stark had warned her something was going on in SHIELD and maybe she was just trying to find something wrong when there truly was nothing there. After all, SHIELD agents have always been known for being emotionless, well-trained and above all, controllable. Mind-control reminded her of Loki—of the staff. But this, this was different. If possible, she almost felt like they were less alive. Staring at them made something deep within her crawl in distaste.

Emotions of uncertainty pushed up against her, almost breaking through the trance-like state of mission mode. She took a second to wrestle back control. Coulson had always used keywords to bring her in and out of mission mode though, it had helped that she had been trained as an assassin before being handed over to him. Now, everything felt more difficult. Emotions felt stronger. Fear and worry and want, all vying for a place within her, pushing for a right to dictate her next step. She took another deep steadying breath. It did her no good. Her trance had been broken. The cold that had filled her fleeing as warmth and care and emotions of varying degree took its place.

She lifted her hand and hid a tired chuckle behind it. This inability to be a robot simply grew with the years. Like her age and emotions grew in correlation to one another. Instability of mind had made her easy to train in the art of killing. But she was no longer a young girl. She had grown up and become an emotionally stable adult somehow. And with that growth she had lost the ability to not care.

Not that it mattered. Natasha knew herself best. She knew what she was capable of, and it was about time she stopped hiding her abilities behind a wall of apathy. It was time to start trusting herself and her emotions on the decisions that needed to be made. The Avengers did not need soldiers. They needed people with strong enough conviction in what they believed in to go out and grab that belief themselves without orders. She had stood next to Steve Rogers because he was emotional, because he lacked in apathy. He was bright in his want and so single-mindedly determined that he had made Natasha feel strongly as well. He had carried their team not because he was cold and distant but because he was bright, vibrant and above all else faithful in his own belief.

This mission in the Helicarrier was not a soldier's mission. It was a dumb, dangerous, and a stupid move driven by emotions to right what she believed to be morally wrong. So what if she could not hide behind her apathy, it was not like she needed it. Well-trained and determined she could handle doing an infiltration without the shield of mission mode suppressing her thoughts and feelings.

With that realization, her heart calmed, and her nervousness dissipated leaving her grounded. She flexed her hand, smoothed out the worry that had wrinkled her forehead and slipped out the name tag she had snatched upon entering the craft. She twirled it in her fingers and gazed down at one Giulia Reis. A middle-aged woman; married. Natasha looked nothing like her, but she had no plans for anyone to get close enough to find that out.

Today's mission was simple: find the control room and get JARVIS through the backdoor that Stark had installed. Until then she would keep herself on radio silence, fearful that SHIELD might pick up on the interference and trace it back to her before she could complete her mission.

She doubted they would kill her if she got caught. Her reputation was rather formidable after all, and the Elders of the World Security Council hated getting rid of useful puppets. A devilish smirk was suppressed behind thinly pressed lips, but her eyes shun with gleeful determination at the knowledge that this game was rigged in her favor.

Stark had left her a message and a pseudo-mission regarding the project ALICE. Her infiltration today had little to do with that project, but even so, she could not help but think of it. Worry gnawing in her chest that she was missing something. If they found nothing, then what? Would they prioritize project ALICE over the millions lost by Thanos? With no information there was nothing else to do but worry. And Natasha made her way down the many hallways and stairwells with the thoughts of failure on her mind.

A door opened not far from her and for a second, she swore she could see Coulson, nose down in a folder of papers and a thoughtful frown marring his forehead. Then, the image was gone, and she caught the blank stare similar to all other workers she had run across. They passed her with not a glance and barely a swish of their clothing.

Her neck crawled in disgust.

This was no longer the Helicarrier from two years ago. Something had changed. Something vile filled the corridors she had once called home. The warm welcoming air of the times when Coulson, Clint and she had argued their way to mission report and gone through training simulations with grumbling complaints were long gone.

She tapped open a mechanic door with harsh clicks of her fingernails hitting the digit pad. The door slid open, and she was greeted to the backs of five workers, one who glanced up at her with an irritated look. The first real emotion she had come across.

Natasha tilted her head and diverted her eyes. The command room laid two doors through, and she had plans on getting there without getting caught. She snapped to attention while keeping her eyes respectfully downwards.

"Reis reporting for guard duty," she said.

A man in his late fifties grumbled from the back. "No need to be so loud about it."

She accidentally met the eyes of the first worker who still stared at her, a curious look in his eyes. Natasha ignored him and made her way across the room with steady steps, contemplating the gun at her waist and how fast she would need to take them down before they could set off the intruder alarm.

It was a relief to go into the next room to find a line of whirling machinery and the harsh whine of the air conditioner units keeping them cooled. She frowned at the emptiness. No guards in sight and the room she was looking for felt more like a trap then the goal of her mission.

The last door slid open as easily as all the rest. No need to hack her way in. No need to incapacitate the guards or in any way hide her presence. She stood in the doorway for a long few seconds just staring. Staring at the storage facility that had once housed the control room and the computer that was the main link to all that was SHIELD.

It was all gone.

"No this can't be." She pushed a few boxes out of the way and pressed further into the room. Not a single light of a machine could be seen. Curled up cables laid against one wall in see-through boxes, but other than that, nothing of interest was found. "How—Why?" Her hands curled into tight fists, and she withheld the want to bang them into any nearby surface.

Had they known she was coming?

"Impossible."

With a last lap around the room, she sagged against the now closed door. The only way out. Was this a mission fail? Had she been too arrogant?

"Shit," she gritted out between clenched teeth and palmed her phone into her hand to stare at the dark screen. "Fucking shit." The swearing helped. With a last "shit" she took a deep breath and contemplated her next possible option. "Like fuck I'm getting caught before getting JARVIS into the main system frame."

Her hands twitched at the feeling of something behind her and she pressed her ear against the door. Clear footsteps could be heard coming from just outside. Upon the first beep of the digit pad, she shot up and pressed into the wall next to the door one hand on her gun. The door did not have time to slide all the way open before she grabbed a hold of the uniform within her reach and pulled.

A young man stumbled in, wobbling in her hold, and throwing his hands high above his head as a shaky smile made its way onto his lips. "I'm unarmed. I swear," he cried out. It was the same worker she had made eye-contact with.

"What do you want?"

He swallowed nervously and Natasha did not let her grip on him falter, unbothered by their closeness. "I—I, um, worked with Mr. Stark."

That got Natasha to freeze. Thoughts whirling a mile a minute. "Why tell me this?"

"Miss Reis, right?"

She glared at him watching in satisfaction as he shrank in on himself in her hold. "Right," she answered after a quiet, painful minute.

"Right," he repeated and wet his lips. "You're a past agent, right?"

She let a delicate eyebrow arch up, unimpressed, at that. "Right."

"Right," he repeated again, and Natasha was close to throwing him into a wall. "You, ugh, looked like you didn't belong, so I thought," He nervously flicked his eyes around the room," I thought you were here to help."

"Help?" Natasha backed off some to give him a curious once over. "Help with what?"

His voice dropped down into a soft whisper. "With Fury."

—V—V—

Tony pushed himself up. He ached all over and his jaw felt like a giant molten bruise. Clenching his jaw lightly, he then opened it. Finding the movement painful but not unbearable. He would live.

He swung himself out of the bed and used a steadying hand on the wall to make his way out towards the kitchen area. As always, Loki was out of sight. And as far as Tony cared to tell, out of mind.

He fixed himself coffee while inspecting his new injuries in a better light. It was as he had thought, he was battered and bruised but not bleeding. He had had worse from a mishap in his own lab.

The Arc Reactor still hung by a few strings to his shirt, and he had to support it with one hand for it not to fall to the floor. When his coffee was done brewing, he sat himself down and found himself a screwdriver to crack the small shell open to inspect his nanobots.

Everything was as before. The ones that had been lost were still on Titan. With a few quick fixes and a gentle voice command, his helmet laid before him. He traced a reverent finger down a gash and wished for his workshop in Stark' Tower.

"Hey, FRIDAY," he greeted it. "I know you're not really here, but I can't help but miss you. Once I get back, I promise I'll fix you right on up. You'll be as good as new." He chuckled quietly at his thoughts. "Not too new, though, I promise. J will be mad at me if I reboot you, so no worries, I'll get you back to normal. We can't leave J all to himself after all. He's probably taken over the world by now. Always so ambitious. Guess he gets it from me."

"Who gets it from you?"

Loki's voice caused him to tighten up, his muscles screamed a complain at that and Tony was forced to draw in a deep steadying breath to get himself to uncoil before he could turn to glare at the god. "Do you need to pop up unannounced. Read the room, you're not wanted here."

"It's a small ship. I can hear you anywhere from it."

Brown eyes darkened more at that. "Then you can quietly listen elsewhere."

Scoffing, Loki made his way towards the left-over coffee. "I could, but where would be the fun in that."

"I'm glad I meet your entertainment needs, God." He threw the title out, feeling it like bile acid on his tongue.

Loki cocked his head, and a slow smirk made its way over his lips. "Indeed. You are rather entertaining."

If stark had hackles to rise, they certainly would be standing on end right now. The fury that pulsed within him felt red hot and burning. He was fucking burning with it. "If I had my suit, I'd destroy you."

An unimpressed brow rose at that. "Then you'd be all alone. Floating through space."

"I'd rather die alone than with you."

Loki sipped his coffee with a content sigh. "You're so despondent. We're not dying. You're not dying. If anything, you're healing and when the worst of it has healed, we are off to Alfheim. There I am contemplating leaving you in a forest or something. You are certainly wild enough to fit right on in."

Tony looked off to the side squeezing his fingers into the side of his helmet to try and tamper his temper. "You are certainly arrogant enough to be a prince."

The comment was meet with a quiet confused gaze and the pride that had filled Tony fell away when he realized the meaning fell short. "Stupid like a prince as well," he tacked on.

"Mm, mortal humor is rather tasteless."

"It was an insult." Tony felt the need to add. More annoyed with the fact that the god was not getting it.

"Yes, though rather hypocritical, wouldn't you say?" Loki said leaning forward and discarding his empty cup on the table between them.

"No."

"Are you not a prince?"

This time it was Tony's turn to be speechless. "Where did you get that idea? It's a stupid idea. Of course I'm not a fucking prince. Sheesh."

"Do you not rule something of high worth in the mortal realm."

"It's a business, not a kingdom."

"They don't seem so different," Loki said looking relaxed. "Do you not have people below you?"

"I don't rule over them."

"But they follow what you say."

Tony's teeth clashed against each other, and he bit out an angry "yeah".

"And you go to war?"

He flinched hard enough that the cup next to his hand tumbled down onto the floor spilling dark liquid around his chair. "Fuck! Where did you hear that? Who told you?"

The god's head tilted slightly, almost innocently, expression still calm and relaxed. "My brother visited me often in the cell I was kept in. He would…talk about you all. The Avengers or whatever." Those green eyes felt piercing as they stared Tony down. "Such a powerful name for such powerless mortals."

"Fuck you, Reindeer Games."

Loki shrugged and waved his hand. The cup floating back up to land quietly next to Tony's hand and the spilled coffee disappeared taking even the linger scent of it with it. "Just making a point."

"Well keep your points to yourself."

"I still think you're being hypocritical."

"And I think you're useless."

It probably came as a surprise to the both of them when Loki smiled, for they both froze as if caught doing something bad—something wrong. Tony dropped his eyes to his lap feeling confused and oddly warm inside. The banter between them had been nice. Annoying but nice. Yet, Tony wanted to hate the god that sat before him.

Neither moved for a long while. An awkward silence between them.

Loki was the first to break it. "You're always talking to your helmet. Does it usually talk back to you or are there more screws loose in your head than I had previously presumed?"

Tony hoped there was venom in his glare.

—V—V—

"What's wrong with Fury?"

The young man gave a confused look, eyebrows furrowing together as he bit his lower lip. "You don't know?"

"Clearly not," Natasha said with a sigh of irritation.

"He disappeared."

"Can't you give longer explanations than that."

He flinched back and Natasha let him go crossing her arms to keep herself from acting on any violent impulses. "I just don't know how much you know." He shrank in into himself even more if that was possible and lowered his voice. "I—you don't know who's listening. Always listening."

Right. Natasha could get in line with that. Paranoia to a certain extent was good. It kept you alive. Kept you sane and safe and out of unnecessary trouble. Problem was, she did not know how deep the young man's paranoia was or how bad the threat they were dealing with was.

Just what the fuck had SHIELD been up to these last couple of years?

"I assume Fury did not disappear in the Withering."

He nodded. "It was over half a year ago. I sent out a distress signal to Mr. Stark. However, he never answered it. I assumed… I thought you might have been sent by him."

Natasha relaxed some and tried not to look too intimidating. A challenge in her case. "In a way I was. Rather indirectly, but it was Stark who gave me an idea that something was up." Heaving out a heavy sigh she, too, flicked her eyes towards the door. "Look, what's your name?"

"Lennart," the young man said. "I'm a researcher here."

"New I presume."

"I—, yeah. Just over two years now."

"And why do you know the information that you do and why are you in contact with Stark?"

He stepped back and shook his head quickly back and forth. "No, no, I'm not a spy or anything. Please, believe me." Natasha leveled him with an unimpressed look, and he hurried on. "It was an accident of sorts. Director Fury and Mr. Stark were arguing in the same room I was in." He grimaced and twined his hands together. "I think they forgot about me." The explanation caused Natasha to role her eyes. "Just, they were arguing about the Project—"

"ALICE?"

"Shhh!" Lennart looked horrified at having shushed her. As he should, Natasha would happily teach him some manners. "Yeah. Sorry. Just not so loud."

"You're paranoid," she stated. "I seriously hope it is for a good reason."

"It is!" He exclaimed. "Nothing is the same since that project started. Mr. Stark knew this as well. He was trying to get Director Fury to agree with him and stand by his side to argue his point in hopes of getting the project shut down. The director didn't specifically disagree with him, but he refused to back Mr. Stark. Then, around a year ago the director started making some weird calls. He brought in new people and spent more and more of his time in meetings with the Council. I think he felt it necessary to shut the project down."

"You think they killed him for it."

"No!" He shook his head, eyes meeting hers with determination. "I think they're making an example out of him."

"An example? How?"

He leaned in closer. "ALICE," he whispered, "needs human parts to function."

Fuck. The worst kind of biological experiment.

"How are you certain he's not dead."

"I'm not, but the director is too important. I don't think they'd kill him. Look, this project, I haven't worked directly on it, but I see the results of it. Those empty stares. They're products of what happens to people who get called in. They disappear for a while and then they come back. They work more, never seem to tire and seem less human."

"Do you know how this happens?"

Lennard shook his head. "I don't. I'm sorry. It's too dangerous to snoop around. I wouldn't dare."

That's fine, Natasha though. That was what she was there for anyways. "Thanks for telling me."

He gave a hesitant nod. "What about Mr. Stark?"

Something on her face must have said something for his shoulders sagged.

"Oh."

"It was a prerecorded message that sent me here. The world is dealing with a lot right now. I don't think anyone wants to prioritize SHIELD projects."

"Yeah, I get it," he said. "I lost some people, too."

At those words, a realization came over Natasha. "But it's still busy here on the Helicarrier. It doesn't seem to have lost any of its workers."

The young man blinked and gave another hesitant nod. "For some reason those called in for the project, none of them suffered in the Withering. Like they are protected from such terrible events. Or," he stopped, "like their immortal."

That surprised Natasha. Of all things from Lennart's mouth, that word had not been one of them. "Immortal?" Seriously?

He blushed red hot under her scrutiny and gave another painful looking swallow. "Just, they're so inhuman. I just couldn't help but think that just maybe… you know…."

"Fine. It doesn't matter," she said just to stop him from further embarrassment. "Immortal or not, my job is to gather information. Do you know where the control room is? It used to be here."

A light frown pursed his lips, and he folded his arms in thought. "They were moving something from here when I started. I don't know where to. Maybe down," he said and pointed towards the floor.

"Down? How far are we talking?"

"Like all the way. Into the belly or whatever you want to call it." Lennart gave an embarrassed cough as he realized how informal and relaxed he had been speaking. "Sorry."

She waved the apology away. It was completely unnecessary. She used to kill people for a living. Politeness was hardly something she cared much about.

"You sure about down?"

And seriously, they had just gotten over the politeness and yet he was fidgeting all nervous once again. "No," he answered hesitant. "But it can't be up. The upper levels have been taken over by R and D."

It made sense. A good kind of sense that made her appreciate the head he had on his shoulders. "You got a phone number or something?"

The stuttering this time was more adorable than annoying, and Natasha basked in it as he recited his numbers back at her in a high-pitched sort of voice.

"Thanks. I'll be in touch."

Lennart just nodded speechlessly, and Natasha did not feel bad for leaving him alone in the storage room to go hunt in the lower levels.

—V—V—

By the time she found it she had changed clothes twice and was now wearing a cap over her blondish-red hair.

The room was not empty. Three people moved about in it and Natasha could not be happier about all the glass-encased rooms that made up the Helicarrier. The guard by the door she took down with a jab in his throat when she walked calmly up to the door to scan the ID card that would not work. He went down with a pitiful whine and was out like a light with a gentle tap to his temple. There was no place to stash the body, so she did not bother to. Instead, she powered up her phone and held it towards the digit pad, letting JARVIS do the work.

"I hope all is well, miss Romanoff."

She smirked; eyes glued to the three targets in the room. Her heart thrummed with excitement. It would be a short hunt, but a fulfilling one to take them all down before they realized something was up. So far, none had looked towards her or noticed the downed guard just behind her.

"Pleasant as it can be."

"It has been a while since you left. The others have been worrying."

"They always worry, whether it is needless or not."

The scanner beeped green, and the door slid open. Natasha was through in the blink of an eye. She palmed a rectangular weight she had swiped earlier in her search into her palm and sent it flying at the man furthest away. The one closest went down under her weight before he had a change to look over his shoulder. The second one screeched in outrage and Natasha glued him fast in place with a predatory gaze.

Human instinct was just like animal instinct. Most froze in place when the fear hit. It was just for a few seconds, but that was all Natasha needed. The second man watched her with helplessly large eyes as she took him down. He did not even fight back.

The third was crawling on the ground. Natasha tilted her head and followed him with a curious gaze. He, too, froze to look up at her.

"Please," he whimpered. "Please don't hurt me. I'll do whatever you want. Just please."

She hummed. "Whatever I want. You mustn't be very important than. So quick to give away secrets." Her footfalls were light as she made her away around a table towards him. "I have a feeling you're a babbler and those," she grinned and leaned over him, "those are never important to listen to."

This one at least tried to lift his arms to block her, useless as it was.

"Do you feel better, miss Romanoff?"

"I felt fine before. But, sure. Yeah. All good. Could use a better fight next time."

"Considering they will soon hack our interference; I am sure you will get one."

Natasha swept the room with a cursory glance. "Does it matter which computer you hack into?"

"Just put the phone down on a table. I should be close enough to all the ones in the room that it shouldn't matter."

"Very useful of you, JARVIS."

"Thank you, miss Romanoff. Always a pleasure being complimented."

She placed her phone down and watched as the cursor of a nearby computer started moving, files popping up and windows opening and closing. The same thing was happening to the computer just behind her.

"Truly useful," she said once again and leaned back against one of the desks. Her eyes on the door.

A few heavy seconds later JARVIS' voice was back in her ear. "They are rather useful as well. Seems they've locked the ability to type in the master code without the use of the keyboard. I seem unable to break through that lock. Miss Romanoff, you'll need to manually type in the password in the pop-up window I've opened on all the computers for me to finish the installation."

"Roger that."

She kept throwing watchful glances towards the large glass windows making up most of one wall, hoping to catch them coming before they snuck up on her. For the most part she was able to keep a look out and type except for the second to last computer where she had to turn her back completely.

A shiver wrecked through her back the moment she turned around and she bit down the urge to turn around immediately. The faster she finished this the faster she could be back on her guard. Yet as fate would have it, that was also the moment her time alone ran out.

"Miss Romanoff."

Natasha froze at the voice. A familiar one that pulled out her name almost caringly. Her fingers came to a halt on the keyboards, unable to continue typing away at the password. It took all she had not to whip around in a panic. She could do all the panicking she wanted later—alone.

Stiff shouldered she turned slowly, eyes trailing over the painstakingly familiar man in front of her. "Coulson." The words came out like a whisper—a hope.

He was like she remembered: cool, casual, and wearing his suit. The only difference was the gun pointed directly at her. In general, that was a bad idea. Natasha was not fond of being threatened. She took care of those sort of people with slow pleasure. With Coulson her breath hitched with fierce betrayal. It hurt to the very core of her being and the thought of stepping up to disarm the man hardy crossed her mind.

"I believe you are trespassing."

Her mouth dried. It was the voice that had been in her ear for years. "You died," she said. Realizing soon after how stupid it sounded, how young and hopeful and how utterly not her. "How did you survive?"

"You make it sound like you killed me." Coulson tilted his head slightly to the side, inspecting her, his lips quirking up. A parody of an expression.

It felt wrong. Felt like cold water and the tang of battery fluid.

Then, things clicked into place. The cold eyes, the gun, and the empty wrong expression. "ALICE."

The man arched his eyebrow. "You had it right the first time," he corrected.

But Natasha knew one thing about herself and that was to trust her intuition. "No." It was curt and decisive. Her voice like a whip. "Coulson died a long time ago."

He sneered at her and it just cemented the truth. "That's agent to you, miss Romanoff."

She glared back at him, taking in the gun and her situation in the room. "Coulson had never been just an agent to me." The smile that tugged on her lips was vindictive. "You would have known that if you truly were him."