TIMELINE DETAILS: What if... Loki didn't fake his death on Svartalfheim?

Loki returns to Midgard with Thor, no longer a prisoner on Asgard but unwelcomed by Odin, who now rules Asgard without Frigga by his side. His abilities and knowledge speed up the events of the Winter Soldier and the Age of Ultron. At the time our story starts, the full-time residents of the compound are Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Thor, Loki, and Vision.


Chapter One

It was Natasha that insisted I be brought on. We'd worked together occasionally in the past and had a decent rapport, but I was still surprised to get the call. Maybe it was because Barton spent all his time at home these days and she was sick of being the only true fighting human in the group, or maybe she and Wanda were tired of being the only two girls in the compound. Either way, it was weird to pull up to the compound in the sleek black car that Tony Stark had sent for me.

The Avengers. How I possibly ended up becoming a provisional member of the team was absolutely bewildering. These people were superhuman, some not even human at all, and the few that were besides me and Nat were obsessed with metal armor and jet propulsion. It was intimidating. I was about to go live with gods—both literally and figuratively.

Natasha was on the formidable front walk when I finally emerged from the car. "Well, if it isn't Áine Dannan. I'm so excited to see you!" she said when she approached for a hug. I dropped your small overnight bag and returned it, smiling when we pulled apart.

"Girl," I laughed, flipping my blonde curls nervously, "I so don't belong here."

"No, trust me, you do," she assured me as I picked up my bag and we ambled to the front doors together. "If for nothing else than to help me keep my sanity. These people are nuts." She tossed her red waves over her shoulder as she guided us inside.

As it turned out, I did prove useful. I could tell that the others were skeptical of me at first, needing me to prove my skills (particularly considering I was the shortest member of the team by several inches), but when they discovered my super-special, nearly supernatural skill of anticipating the enemy's moves three steps in the future, acceptance came easily.

For all but one.

Loki was cold around me. Not just because it took him a while to warm up, either, either—the god was a tough nut to crack. Thor (who had warmed up to me the fastest, finding my utter lack of a filter incredibly amusing) tried more than once to give me advice on how to bond with him, but it was pointless. I was resigned to having one member of the team not like me—and honestly, if it was just that one, who cares?

By the time "provisional" was removed from my title, five months had gone by. The team had planned a little surprise party to congratulate me, complete with plentiful alcohol and a few friends of the team. "Let's hope the world doesn't need saving tonight!" Thor roared as he downed his sixth mug of Guinness. I really shouldn't have taught him what an Irish Car Bomb was—that one's on me.

A few hours later, when everyone was acceptably plastered, I noticed the lack of gods in the room and got curious. While Loki might be cold to me, Thor had become something of a big brother, and I noticed his absence quickly.

"You're insane, brother," a familiar voice hissed as I were about to turn the corner of the hallway. I paused, curious as to Loki and Thor's conversation and suitably drunk enough to not care about eavesdropping.

"You are the one who is insane," Thor rumbled. "Why do you resist?"

"Because it is not rational. And because we are teammates. What would you propose I do in this situation, then? Risk this entire team to indulge an infatuation? I thought you wanted me more committed than that." His tone had turned snarky at the end and I raised my eyebrow. I knew enough about Loki, about his past, to understand why the older Asgardian would make such a request of him, but it made a little flare of anger go through me. In the time I'd known him, Loki hadn't been anything but an asset for the good guys.

"This is more than an infatuation and you know it," Thor said lowly. I strained my ears to hear his now quieter voice. "You are falling in love with her."

"I barely speak to her," Loki retorted.

"You watch her constantly."

"We live together. It's inevitable."

"When she speaks to me or the others and you're in the room, you turn your head to listen. I am not the only one to notice this, brother."

Loki inhaled sharply. "Áine knows?"

Holy fuck.

Holy fuck.

I stumbled back into the main room looking like a deer caught in the headlights and collapsed into the couch, staring at my lap. The God of Mischief didn't hate me after all. In fact, he liked me. He liked me enough that it worried him and made him pull away. Fuck.

And I couldn't even say anything without ratting myself out for spying! But now that I'd heard him say those words, the thoughts I'd suppressed for the last five months began to creep up again until the damn broke, flooding my mind with everything at once. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Because Loki was gorgeous. He had a tendency to dress like an Asgardian rather than a Midgardian, as Thor had taken to, which should have looked ridiculous, and it did… but it was also infuriatingly hot. And Loki was… He was cold to me, yes, and perhaps now I knew why, but I'd observed him with others, particularly his brother. I saw how he tried to fit in with the rest of them, even if he acted like he wasn't. I saw how wary the others were, how the pain flashed on his face when he thought no one was looking.

My thoughts started to jumble then until the cushion next to me depressed with the weight of someone else. I looked over to see Cap looking at me curiously.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. I'd seen the fearless leader indulge in a drink tonight. It was unusual for him, but he wanted to be involved in the toast Tony gave, so a glass of champagne it was—thought obviously not enough to put a dent in his superhuman sobriety.

I nodded weakly. "Totally. Just got stuck for a minute."

Cap blinked. "Got stuck?"

"Up in my head," I said, swirling My fingers around my brain. I noticed Wanda turn from where she was talking to Vision and give me a raised eyebrow before returning her attention to her beau. Cap was nodded, still looking confused.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Anything you can do for what?" a silky voice spun from behind me. My eyes closed and I took a deep breath before turning to face him.

If he could stop wearing those damned leather pants, it would really help my focus, because they looked amazing on him and I really shouldn't be spending that much time looking at that pants of someone who had just put together the longest sentence he'd spoken to me in weeks. His gaze was calculating as he observed me before flicking his gaze to Steve.

"May I?" he asked smoothly, holding out his hand for me to take. I stared at it dumbly for a moment before placing my own in it and looking back at Cap. He was staring inquisitively at Loki; they seemed to have a silent conversation before Cap nodded and stood and Loki pulled me up. Before I knew what was happening I was being dragged back into the hallway where I'd overheard the conversation between the Odinson brothers.

His hand was gone from mine and he was pacing in front of me, hands behind his back, spinning on his heel every so often to change directions. As he passed me once more I finally collected my thoughts and put my hand out to grab his arm. He froze, then looked up at me carefully. The dim lighting made shadows cast along his angular face and I saw the hesitation there, the confusion, the fear. He looked almost childlike in his innocence in that very moment, and I knew—he couldn't be the man the team was wary of. He was still, on some level, a scared little boy who didn't know how to process his emotion and communicate it.

So I did it for him.

By reaching up and pressing my lips to his.

It took the team a hot minute to adjust to the fact that me and Loki, who had just a few days ago barely spoken, were now all over each other. He would appear when I was walking down halls and press me to the wall briefly, cupping my ass and pressing my lips to his desperately before having to return to his work. I slipped into his room more nights than not. We'd been walked in on more than once, including once by Steve one very, very early morning in the kitchen, at which point there was a team meeting about boundaries that Natasha had stifled her laughs through while Loki and I were purposefully seated on opposite sides of the room.

Another change was occurring, too—the team was acting differently. The edge of worry when they were around Loki was very slowly but most definitely starting to wane. Thor insisted it was because of me. I was unconvinced. Loki was a beautiful soul and a legitimately wonderful man despite his trickster ways; if I had any part of it, it was only bringing those parts out where they could now be seen.

"Family Nights," as I had dubbed them much to Tony's chagrin, became a Wednesday night tradition. The team found it awkward at first, but I'd only rolled me eyes before plastering on my best pout and asking them to pretty please give them a chance. Maybe it was that look, or maybe it was the way Loki was looking at them as he watched the interactions, but they all gave in and began to enjoy the moments, even if Tony would pretend to complain through the whole thing. Bruce was uncomfortable at first as well, although I suspected that may have something to do with the wistful looks he would occasionally send Natasha, who always seemed to find her way to sitting next to him. She'd even fallen asleep on his chest one movie night—something that made him send such a lovestruck grin down at her that it made my heart melt.

I'd been an agent for a good while and had adjusted to losing people, never getting too attached. For some reason when I moved into the compound, things changed. This was my family now, and whenever one would come back injured from an assignment, I would be the first to lead them to the infirmary and begin bandaging their wounds. The first time I came back with more than a few bumps and bruises, Loki had damn near lost it, yelling outside the infirmary door while Nat and Bruce patched me up and obsessively taking care of me for the week of recovery I needed. It would have been annoying if it weren't so endearing.

So far I'd been able to avoid Loki seeing one of my nightmares. On nights I felt it may be particularly bad, I was sure to sleep in my own room, sometimes downing a double-dose of Nyquil to make sure I wasn't heard if my brain started screaming. I didn't have nightmares every night—some nights I had the most beautiful dreams of Loki, of my found family, of the gardens of Asgard that Thor and Loki spoke so fondly of. But when those were interrupted by visions of hand and grabbing and pain and the tearing of cloth, they were more horrifying than anything I'd come face to face with in the field. It was a ridiculous thought in those terms… I had no right to be worried about something buried so far in the past.

Until it wasn't.

As soon as the file was set in front of me, I stiffened. A photo of the target was paper clipped to the front. It was slightly blurry, but I could tell. I would never be able to forget. That face was burned into my mind for all eternity, and I would never be the same for it.

No one noticed my struggle at first until Natasha turned to ask me a question. I must have looked like utter hell, because she stopped mid-sentence to take me in. "Áine?" she asked carefully, but my body was already starting to shake. I shot up, staring down at the table surface, needing to get out of the suddenly unbearably hot room before I shut down. I could feel the eyes of the three other Avengers in the room on me—Nat, Cap, and Bruce—but couldn't look at any of them.

"I have to remove myself from this assignment," I choked out lowly, turning and running out of the room and through the mazelike halls back to my bedroom as fast as my feet would carry me. As soon as the door clicked shut behind me, I slid down against it, burying my face into my knees and choking out a panicked sob. I started to feel disconnected from my body. I crawled toward the bed—maybe the familiar softness of my sheets and blankets would quell the hole starting to open in my heart, but I couldn't even bring myself to pull my body onto the bed. I shoved my face into the edge of the comforter, trying desperately to muffle the sound as the sobs came. No one could see me like this. Please, gods, don't let anyone see me like this.

There were knocks and words, curiously worried at first before turning into an edge of panic. I could tell people were outside my door, but wasn't really able to separate each distinct voice… I could barely remember where I was. That photo was switching between actual memories, making them shoot through my psyche like knives. I'd buried this deep. I erased it from my mind as best I could. For six years, I was fine.

Now I was not.

The knocks got louder, and then there was a yell and a crash that made me jump a foot in the air, whimpering into the blanket my face was buried in. Oh gods. He was here. He was back for me.

But the arms around me were familiar, tugging at the little part of my mind that was still grounded in reality, beckoning the rest of me to rejoin it. The voice was smooth whispering in me ear, the tone silky and familiar. With a sob I recognized the voice and cold arms and spun to bury myself as deeply into his body as I could. Loki was a god. Loki was safe. Loki was the love of my life. And Loki would never let that happen to me. He would never let Him come back and snatch me, the way he had warned all those years before.

"Come back to me, my love," I heard him whisper in your ear. His hand rubbed gently up and down my spine and his cool lips pressed to my hair. "Focus on me."

Reality crashed back all at once and I gasped, pulling away from Loki's chest and trying desperately to quell the tears. Fuck. Fuck. I had to make up some excuse, and fast.

"I'm okay," I whispered, but the crack in my voice betrayed my words. His green eyes bored into mine as he took my face gently in his hands to look at me. I probably looked a mess—my skin was too pale to cry. I always turned into a red, blotchy mess. His thumbs rubbed gently at the tear tracks on my face, brushing away the remaining wetness.

"You are most certainly not okay," he murmured, crushing me against his chest once more. I froze, instinctually wanting back away, before remembering who he was and relaxing into his grip. What was hell wrong with me? Why couldn't I keep thoughts straight in my head?

Finally gathering some of my frazzled nerves, I peeked my head out, glancing around the room nervously for the rest of the group. I didn't want them to see me like this—I didn't want Loki to see me like this, either, but that was out of my control now. I needed him. I needed him to help me focus on what was real.

"I sent them away," Loki explained softly when he noticed my nervous glances. "We are alone, my love." I relaxed more at his words, burrowing myself into him and letting his arms around me guide me back to safety. "May I lift you onto the bed?"

I only nodded against him and he picked me up swiftly, not breaking contact as he pulled the both of us onto the bed together, keeping me firmly lodged in his lap and wrapped in his arms.

"Áine," Loki said cautiously after a moment, "who is Santos Barone?"

Santos Barone. For the first time in six years I had a name to put with the face. My eyes slid shut briefly as I comprehended this information. "He was a guard when I was briefly captured in Ukraine six years ago," I said lowly. I could do this. I could make this story work without having to bring up the reality.

Loki's thumb brushed against my cheek again. He was still, and I knew he was suspicious. Yes, prison guards in the shady underground world where I roamed were known to torture, but I'd been an agent for three years by then. I should have been extensively trained to tolerate torture. I was extensively trained to tolerate torture.

It bubbled from my throat before I could stop it, the desperation to finally tell someone about what haunted my dreams pushing it to the surface. "He raped me."

There was a beat of silence so profound it briefly seemed like the world might have ended before I was alone on the bed, spinning my head towards the door just in time to see Loki crash through it, his clothing magically changing to his green and gold armor as he did. I stared after him for a moment until I heard him yelling for his brother and scrambled off the bed, dashing out of the room.

"Loki!" I yelled after him, but his strides were much longer than mine and he was bursting into the briefing room by the time I caught up to him, grabbing the file from a bewildered Bruce Banner.

"Where?" he hissed, leaning into Bruce's face and jabbing his finger at the photo on the front of the folder. The doctor blinked for a moment before answering.

"We're not sure. Either in hiding somewhere in Italy or heading into a prison network in Ukraine."

A prison network in Ukraine.

My stomach turned and I whimpered, wrapping my arms around my body to try to keep the pain from splitting me apart. Visions of cracked concrete walls and a stained mattress projected onto my closed eyelids.

He was there. He was gripping me by the arm, shoving me down, he was tearing at the sack-like jumpsuit they made me wear, his hands were on me, his lips were on me, he was hissing insults in my ear, calling me a whore, calling me ruined, slapping me so hard across the face I tasted coppery blood. Those stone grey eyes bored into me and he grinned sadistically, enjoying the pain he was causing and the trauma that would be left on my mind for the rest of my life, no matter how hard I tried to scrub it clean.

But it wasn't that overheated, sweaty body over mine. It wasn't grey eyes staring at me. It was a refreshingly cool set of armor being pressed against me, following as I sank to my knees, letting me sob into his shoulder. "Loki," I whimpered, not sure what I needed or what he could even do.

I could hear Nat, Bruce, and Cap whispering among themselves, but couldn't bring myself to care. My god placed his hand on the back of my head to hold you tightly against him as I cried, cradling my face to his shoulder. "I have you, my love," he whispered, kissing my hair again gently. His voice was starting to sound thick as well. "I have you, and I will never let anything like that happen to you again. And I will kill him." He squeezed me tighter while I cried there on the floor of the compound briefing room. "You are safe with me forever."