Awareness came slowly, creeping through heavy shrouds that would bear Loki down into unending nothingness if he would only let them. Death did not entice him, however. Perhaps its song would have been sweet to a man that did not know his destiny. But Loki did, and death offered only lies—escape from what was to come could not be found even there. Sluggishly, he turned from oblivion to face the growing sensations of life.

The first thing he noticed was that he had eyes—strange perhaps, but where he had been there hadn't been much sense of the physical. Now he was very aware of soft light filtering red through his closed lids. He ought to open them. But that sounded like so much effort.

In the end he lay awake for over an hour before he had the vaguest inclination to get up. He had slid several times through the heavy veil between waking and sleeping and then lingered in the tangled warmth of near consciousness. The fact that he had no concept of where he was didn't disturb his calm as it should have. There was something about the muffled voices and little sounds of life that floated through his door that comforted him. The fact that he was lying in a real bed, with actual sheets and a pillow only added to his sense of well being. The lack of chains or bars helped as well.

The dryness in his mouth slowly crept into his senses. That and the heaviness of his limbs jogged a memory. He'd been in a healing sleep. It wasn't the first time he'd pushed his body too far and had to tangle himself in a net of magic, body nearly shut down, until he had managed to heal. He remembered once he had gotten himself stranded on Muspelheim, nearly drained, and with a tagmir quill lodged too close to his heart. He'd used the last of his magic to stretch the worldfabric thin enough to throw himself through. He'd been too delirious at the time to think of a destination. He'd just jumped.

His wild leap dropped him back on Asgard, right at Thor' feet. Fever dreams obscured the rest of his memories. At some point strong arms that smelled of armor polish and dark corners had lifted him from the flagstones. Then his mother's voice spun out her magic in the words of a soothing lullaby, the loops of her skein swaddling him tightly. Then he had slept. He slept for three and a half weeks.

When he woke he had gagged on the chalky dryness in his mouth and wondered why he couldn't seem to move his arms or legs. He'd barely had time to let his eyes adjust to the brightness before Thor had launched himself onto the bed and boomed his joy at seeing his brother awake. Even as a boy Thor had been impressively thunderlike.

There was no Thor to greet him this time.

It was actually the acute need to brush his teeth—not so much brush them as scour them with sander's grit and bleach—that drove Loki from his cocoon of twisted sheets. He did not understand why it was that he so often felt as if something had crawled into his mouth during the night, summarily died, and then begun to rot. Only this mortal body seemed susceptible to such things—he had never experienced this before. Sometimes Loki thought he could feel the creep of decay racing through his flesh—everything about a mortal was speeding toward death.

"You are awake."

Loki jolted, eyes scanning the room, hand creeping unconsciously to where his knives should have been.

"My apologies for having startled you," came the voice again. This time Loki picked up on the slight mechanical undertone as well as a hint of condescension buried in the proper tone. Somehow he didn't think the voice was actually sorry.

A surge of consternation ran through Loki. How was he supposed to find out what this creature was without Book to translate? The thought slammed into him. He couldn't breathe. "Book!" he croaked, cringing at the sound of his voice, raw and thick.

He froze. The sound of his voice.

A tentative hand rose to his throat. How unexpected. Suspiciously, he eyed the corners of the room for shadows that were more than shadows—he had no delusions that She had returned his voice, had chosen to do so. What bothered him was why. Unease spiked through him. This was a reward for actions that had pleased her. Somehow he had strayed onto the path she envisioned for him. Thoughts leapt forward in a mad rush, trying to predict the moves ahead on a board that was all but hidden.

The voice clicked on again, drawing his attention. Now Loki could locate the small set of speakers mounted somewhat haphazardly into the ceiling, "Young Book is mending quite well." Loki struggled to his feet and staggered toward the door, only to be stopped by the voice. "He is currently sleeping and should not be disturbed."

Leaning against a nightstand, Loki swallowed deeply before asking, "You are certain? He is well?"

"Dr. Banner says that he merely requires rest, as he tires easily."

By the Norns, it was worth something after all. "To whom do I speak?"

"I am J.A.R.V.I.S., Mr. Stark's butler. I see to the needs of everyone in the house."

Loki frowned, "You are not human."

"I am an artificial intelligence created by Mr. Stark." Now the voice sounded a touch smug. "I am here to serve."

"I'm sure you are," muttered Loki, taking an odd pleasure in the simple sensation of words vibrating in his throat as he spoke. Remembering the reason he had bothered getting up in the first place, Loki glanced about the room. Through a partially open door he glimpsed a bathroom. "I take it I am allowed to bathe?"

The voice hummed an assent. "Encouraged even."

A wry smile cracked across his face as he glanced down at his blood soaked clothes. They'd been in rather desperate need of a washing before he'd splashed them with alien fluids and then effectively emptied his veins. His person was little better. A shower it was then.

Misty clouds floated through the bathroom as Loki reluctantly turned the water off and stepped from the shower. His skin was raw and pink, scrubbed and rescrubbed until every trace of grime and dirt was gone. Blood snaked its way lazily from a few of the deeper wounds, but most just stood as welted red marks with the shine of thin new skin. He ran a finger down his side, knuckle knocking against his ribs.

The advanced healing of his wounds—to say nothing of the hunger clinging desperately to the underside of his ribcage—told him that he had indeed been in a healing coma. And a healing sleep required magic. Shoving aside the bite of hunger, he let his consciousness trail down into the dry depths of his magic. In the deepest wells something glimmered. His magic had not returned, but in its place the last dregs of the rite collected in rusted pools. Reaching for it, the magic reacted to his touch, recognizing the life it had been distilled from. Loki pulled away a meager portion, twisting it into a spell.

For a moment, nothing happened. But then the wavering image of a dagger sparked between his fingers. A slow, manic grin—one the Asgardian court had learned to dread—spread across his face. This was no dispensation from his patron; She had not intended this. True, there was little power to be had—little more than enough for parlor tricks—and he would have to guard it well. It fed off of his life and could replenish itself slowly—but if he were to use it all up at once there would be no recovering it.

Loki curled in around the meager rightness of this tepid magic. Along with regaining his voice, it made him feel more whole than he had in a long while. He winced as a lance of pain streaked through one of his deeper wounds. His move toward completion had come at a price, however.

A brief furl of magic and the steam clouds condensed into a stream of water which splashed down the drain. For the first time Loki could get a good look at the cost of blood magic. Beyond the slowly healing wounds, he looked gaunt and pale, blue veins conspicuous beneath the stretched skin. Black hair fell shockingly against his white face, clinging to his neck and shoulders. Pooled shadows purpled beneath his eyes—but there was life in the green sparks, no matter how tired the rest of his body.

Long, pruning fingers traced the thin lips, pressing against the puncture scars. After he first discovered his failed glamour, he'd avoided really looking at his reflection. He swallowed and shook his head, straightening. He didn't have the energy or magical reserves to maintain that kind of glamour. Sneering at his weakness, Loki snatched up a towel and dried himself, having to take extra time with his damp hair. This length would have to go before too long.

"You are done with the shower?" asked J.A.R.V.I.S. suddenly.

Loki's grip on the towel tightened, but he managed not to jump.

"So it would seem."

"Very good. Clean clothes have been left on the dresser. Fresh linens are in the drawer and the soiled sheets and clothes may be placed in the laundry chute just down the hall." There was a slight hesitation as if J.A.R.V.I.S. considered using another word to describe Loki's tattered suit.

"Those rags should be burned." Loki cocked his head to the side and suddenly started rummaging through the cabinets, opening drawers, and digging through baskets of bottles and towels. He smiled and snatched up a small box of matches from behind one of the decorative candles. He wanted the pleasure of burning that horrid excuse for clothing himself. While he couldn't create a spark with his current magical limitations, he could manipulate what already existed. Flame bloomed at the end of the match as Loki flicked it along the strike board. "Hello old friend." He called the flame into his palm, the little light pulsing in the curve of his hand. Fire swelled with every inhale as Loki focused on it. The shape changed, melting into a swirling pool of liquid fire that dripped from his hands onto the pile of dirt and blood encrusted clothing. With a flick of his wrist Loki threw the rest of the fire onto the pile, teeth glinting as the cloth went up like tinder. Though the flames licked towards the cabinets, he kept them corralled with a curling of his fingers.

Before long there was nothing left, not even ash. The fire howled for more, but gave only a disgruntled waver before winking out at Loki's command. Not even a scorch mark showed what had happened.

"Mr. Stark would likely prefer that you not do that inside his dwelling," remarked J.A.R.V.I.S., clearly having heard the rush of flame.

"Yes, I'm sure he would. It's a shame I don't really care what he might prefer," said Loki. He took a moment to run his fingers over the clothing that had been left for him, caressing the clean, soft fabric. He was surprised by the inclusion of not only a long sleeved shirt, but a t-shirt, and hoodie. Had Thor really noticed his tendency to hide behind layers of fabric? Surely this was just a coincidence, choices. But the colors were in grays, blacks, and greens as well. Loki snorted, the colors at least he could attribute to Thor; he wasn't colorblind at least.

"House?"

"Yes, Mr. Odinson?"

Loki stiffened. He was beginning to feel that the house disliked him. "I am not a son of Odin," he growled. "Do not refer to me as such."

"It seems your patronym offends you. I will endeavor to rewrite my protocols for something more appropriate. In the interim, how may I assist you?"

Loki licked his lips. "Medical supplies?"

"A kit in the bedside table ought to have all that you may require. The other Mr. Odinson thought you might be in need of it when you awoke."

"Did he indeed?" Loki said with a raised brow. This forethought from his not-brother was unusual. Not only had he left clothing and medical supplies, he had rightly known that it was better to leave Loki as he was than to try and address his needs while he was unconscious. Loki had to begrudgingly thank Thor for sparing him that mortification.

Turning his attention to the medical kit, it was only a matter of moments as he went through the well known ritual of binding his wounds. His healing spells were quite effective, but they also required amounts of magic he no longer possessed. No matter, growing up trailing after Thor had more than equipped him for dealing with his own injuries. In many ways this was not an unusual set of circumstances for Loki—except that Thor wasn't barging in to "help."

Holding one end of the bandage in his teeth, he cinched the last loop of dressing around his dominate arm. The dull throb of the tightened bandages pulsed along the wounds. Loki ignored this and turned to properly clothing himself. Careful of his injuries, he wiggled into the jeans and gray, long-sleeved shirt. For a moment he simply reveled in the feeling of clean cloth against clean skin. The shirt was particularly soft, brushing against the unbandaged parts of his torso and upper arms. Next came the green t-shirt and black hoodie.

With pursed lips, Loki surveyed himself in the mirror. The least they could have done was to buy him clothing that actually fit rather than scavenge through their own closets. The pants were the right length, but far too large through the waist—clearly Thor's. The shirts could have been Stark's, which meant they weren't quite long enough in the waist or through the arms. Loki had a sneaking suspicion the hoodie had belonged to the Widow—just how slight did Thor think he was?

"Will the clothing suffice?" asked J.A.R.V.I.S..

"It is clean," said Loki, "something that has become far more important to me in the last year than I would have ever imagined. The rest can be fixed." He turned his thoughts to the structure of the clothes. There was enough material here to work with, the only problem was that it was in all the wrong places. Raising his hands, Loki concentrated on the fabric, sinking his magic into the threads themselves. As he lowered his hands across his body the clothing molded to his will, tightening around the waist, and lengthening the shirts. He had to sacrifice part of the hoodie's sleeves in order to have it fit across his shoulders. He also allowed the cuff of the sleeve to creep up onto his hand far enough to fully hide the bandages. Loki surveyed his work with critical eye. It wasn't his princely raiment, but it was infinitely better than what he'd been subjected to recently.

A sudden weakness sent him stumbling against the doorframe. He drew in a shaky breath as he leaned heavily against the solid wood frame. "It seems I've found my limit." Gritting his teeth he straightened and stepped solidly away from the door. "For the moment."

He glanced down at his unshackled wrists, once more surprised that his hosts would have left him unbound and unguarded—though apparently not unwatched with J.A.R.V.I.S. around. This kind of misguided trust might have been believed of Thor at his most sentimental, but even for him this kind of naiveté was unusual. This certainly wasn't the reception he'd expected from the rest of Thor's pet humans. Frankly he was surprised he hadn't been awoken by an arrow in his chest. Barton had seemed somewhat put out with him, even after the archer had tried to blow Loki up—which ought to have made them even.

Loki might have felt less nervous had one of them been threatening him, or at least making sure that the criminal who had led an alien invasion of their planet wasn't doing something nefarious in their linen closet. He felt more like a guest than a prisoner. Why hadn't half of Asgard descended to haul him back to a darker, more forgotten cell. At least why wasn't he once more enjoying the comfort of a SHIELD holding room? Had his stunt with Book really made such an impact? Why weren't there more Chitauri stepping from the shadows? He shook his head to clear away the tumbling thoughts. Too many questions, too few answers.

Easing out the door, he glanced up and down the empty corridor. Faint voices drifted round the corner. There lay his answers. Following the voices took him along a short hall lined with rooms and bookshelves on one side and dotted with windows on the other. He caught glimpses of folded mountains marching blue into the horizon. The voices grew louder as he strode down two short flights of stairs and through a small sitting room. Padding along another hall, Loki halted just outside what appeared to be a large common area with a grand fireplace and great stretches of paned windows. The Avengers had spread themselves across the room.

"And we're to treat him like a guest now are we?" growled Barton as he dug his hands into the back of a chair. "Have you forgotten?"

Rogers moved from his place by the hearth. "Do you think we could, Clint? But it's not that simple."

"Seems pretty simple to me," said Stark. "I'm still not entirely sure why he's here in the first place. In my house—one of my houses—I'd like to remind you. Hidden actually. Hidden in my house. Which is so not going to sit well with the one-eyed wonder."

"Fury cannot know that my brother is here," Thor rumbled, "not until I understand what has brought him to Midgard."

"Did you miss the whole world domination thing?" drawled Stark, gesturing loosely with his hands. "The kneeling, the ranting, the delusions of grandeur? This is his encore."

"Where he's homeless?" asked Rogers. "He's been here for over a year and as far as we can tell the worst thing he's done is petty theft and apparently beat up some gang members."

Clint was out from behind the chair, fairly quivering with rage. "He hijacked me! You think he couldn't do that to some kid? He uses people, makes us his weapons. I know."

"He nearly died in order to save Book," said Rogers quietly.

"He killed Coulson!" bellowed Clint. "Coulson and McCartney, Rock, Finny, Stevens, Bell, Morris, Wexler. They're all dead because of him. There are thousands dead because of him."

"Why isn't he in Asgard?" asked Romanov, studying Thor intently.

"I do not know. Father never determined how he escaped. One day, Loki was simply gone," Thor said helplessly. "It is one of a long list of questions to which I would like the answers. There is more at work here than we see."

"Are you saying Loki had help?" asked Banner. Until this point he had watched the exchange in silence, perched on a bar stool at the kitchen counter.

"Not the Chuitari. They wanted a nice Loki-skin rug," said Stark.

The Captain nodded in agreement. "I think they blame him for the invasion failing—more so than us almost."

"Are you not hearing yourselves? This is Loki we're talking about. He lies and manipulates. He's playing us!" said Barton. "He's playing us, and you're letting him."

Thor rose slowly, "You are right not to trust my brother. But right now I do not believe him a danger to anyone and there are answers to be had. Chief among them what to do with the boy. He has been touched by powerful magics," his shoulders bowed a bit, "and I do not know what effect this will have. Loki will."

Silence stretched around the room as Clint looked from face to face.

"You've already decided haven't you. He's staying."

"It's not like I like it," said Stark.

"Shut up, Stark. This was already decided before you told me anything."

Romanov put a hand on Clint's arm. "You were too deep in a mission to ask. But we thought you of all people deserved to know."

"And you're okay with this, Nat?" he asked quietly, searching her eyes. There was more in his question than the others grasped.

She gave a small, firm nod. "We know how to handle Loki." A smile caught in her eyes, "we'll just let the Other Guy at him again."

Banner returned her smile with a weak one of his own.

"Fine, you know what. Go ahead. Do what you want. Play house with your pet psychopath. Call me when it goes south—I just hope it's not over the body of that poor kid." Clint threw up his hands and stormed out of the room. A slamming door echoed down the hallway.

Stark whistled. "Well that went spectacularly badly."

"He has every right to his anger," said Thor. He leaned heavily against a chair. "You all do."

"Let's just hope he doesn't redecorate here the way he did in Stark Tower," said Stark, clicking his pen. "I'm tired of him breaking my stuff." He glanced around the room. "Even if I didn't know I owned this stuff. Place is so backwoods J.A.R.V.I.S. can't even be fully integrated without a major reno."

"I doubt Loki is in much shape to do anything," murmured Banner. "It's hard to tell with his physiology—but he seemed rather far gone when we brought him in. And if what Thor thinks is correct, he has no magic."

"So he's been downgraded to 'mortal'." Tony quirked his fingers in air quotes as he pulled a face at the word.

"And relatively harmless," Rogers added.

"I'm mortal," Romanov said while still looking out the window.

The super soldier grimaced and nodded.

"Point to the girl who can kill you a hundred different ways in her sleep," said Stark.

Romanov glanced over her shoulder with a smile just soft enough to possibly hide a joke. "A hundred and one."

Thor was nodding in agreement. "Even without his gifts—if that is even the case—my brother is far from helpless. He is especially fond of small knives." Thor's hand drifted to his side just below his ribs. "There are perhaps ways to minimize any danger."

"Powerful sedatives?"

"Tony," sighed Rogers.

The engineer just shrugged. "Speaking of Mr. I've-got-issues-and-misplaced-aggression, J.A.R.V.I.S., what is Sleeping Psycho's status?"

"I believe Mr. Odison has been eavesdropping from the hallway for the last several minutes," replied the house.

All eyes turned toward the hallway. Time was up. Loki slid from the shadows, careful to fade out of them as seamlessly as possible. He gave a small, calculated smile and slight incline of his head. He was at a distinct disadvantage at the moment, but the Avengers didn't need to know that. Thor could be a problem since he knew him better than the others, but Loki disdained to say that Thor knew him well—certainly not as well as Loki knew him. The Black Widow, though, presented other issues. She'd surprised him the last time they'd met. She was a danger, but Loki oddly looked forward to repeating their little dance—though with a bit more wariness this time. He also had an advantage—he knew his words had hit their mark, even if she had used the truth to her benefit. He'd be on the lookout for that trick again.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., where in your programming does it say to let people eavesdrop?" asked Stark.

"My apologies, sir," stated the computer.

"Brother," said Thor, his eyes scanning Loki's face. He stepped forward as Loki descended the short flight of stairs into the room.

"Still looking for kinship where this is none?" asked Loki with bored disdain.

"Your voice," said Rogers, registering that Loki had actually spoken.

"Yes, a benefit it would seem from performing forbidden arts." A lie, but he didn't really want to explain his patron to them yet. He wished to exercise his newly regained power of speech and test the sharpness of his tongue against the Avengers. But that would hinder his game. Instead he quirked another smile. Small, but with just enough of a condescending sneer to be unsettling. "How good it is to see all of you again. A shame that Agent Barton could not join us. I was so fond of his company when he was," Loki paused for effect, "in my employ."

"Keep on talking Reindeer Games," snorted Stark, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, pen jabbed at Loki. "We've got your number and baiting us won't help your case. I'm still in favor of a matching set of shackles and a tightly locked room. We could also break out the muzzle of shame again—just for old time's sake."

Loki settled comfortably against the side of a chair, arms crossed. He gave a long, slow blink and shrugged. "But Agent Romanov and I wouldn't be able to have our nice chats. How I've missed those." He swiveled his head so he could look at the Widow, tilting his gaze ever so slightly. He knew there was nothing overt in the movement, but the sinister undercurrent was there. "I think of our talk often. I hope you do too," he purred.

"Enough," barked Thor. "Loki, you are enjoying your current good fortunes only as a favor to me. Do not push our graces too far."

Bowing, Loki spread his hands wide as a smirk pulled at his lips. "But of course."

Banner cleared his throat. "You spoke of reducing his threat level?"

"Loki must swear an oath," said Thor gravely.

"Seriously? That's the best you've got?" Stark was on his feet. "You want his word that he'll play nice with all the other kiddies?" His hands flicked through the air to emphasize his point. "Thor, this is Loki we're talking about! The God of Lies!"

"Thank you," Loki preened.

Rogers stood and placed a calming hand on Tony's shoulder. "Let's hear him out."

Thor nodded his thanks. "This is no mere speaking of words. It is an oath bound by old magic. I have no doubt my brother." Loki interrupted with a snort. Thor ignored him. "I have no doubt that he will find a way to break the oath, find a loophole as you would say, and be free of it. That will take time, however."

"That's not good enough," said Romanov suddenly. "Magical or not, I just can't believe a mere promise would stop him if he wished to slit our throats in the middle of the night."

"No one's saying not to take precautions," said Rogers.

"Straightjacket and muzzle."

"Tony." Rogers shot him an annoyed glance. "You know more about this, Thor. We'll just have to trust your judgment. Agreed?" The soldier met each Avenger's gaze in turn. Romanov gave a short jerk of a nod and turned toward the window again. But Loki could see her reflection, not staring out at the rolling mountains, but back at him in the glass.

"Loki, you will swear on Mjolnir."

"I will not." He edged away.

"This is the only way you avoid chains," said Thor. "I promise no harm will come to you."

"Now where have I heard that before," sneered Loki. "Oh yes, that time you stranded me on Vanaheim for three weeks. Or when we raided that troll den. Both those times worked out so well for me."

A look of confusion spread through the Avengers as Thor glanced away. "You know those were accidents."

"Pretty little accidents that somehow ended up with me in the healer's wing." By this point Loki was positioning himself to make a run for the door if need be. A likely futile gesture, but he would prepare for it all the same.

"It was not so bad." Thor shifted.

Loki deadpanned. "A troll bit off my hand."

Thor shifted. "The healers were able to reattach it. Not even a scar."

"I'm going to side with Box-o-cats here, Big Guy." Stark turned and looked quizzically at Loki, as if trying to peel back the clothing and skin and see where the wrist was knit back together. "Your hand, seriously?"

Thor dismissed it. "This is not the same at all. And we are no longer boys."

"I will not hobble myself with such an oath," spat Loki. "What if I am the one visited in the dark of night? I am not fool enough to think your friends bear me any love."

"Truth there."

The Captain stepped forward earnestly. "There are rules for how to treat prisoners, Loki. None of us would harm you."

Loki couldn't stifle a giggle. Oh, he actually believes what he is saying. How little he understands his new friends. "Perhaps you would not, but can you truly say the same of your comrades? What of Clint Barton and Ms. Romanov. Death dealing is in their nature. And what of your dear Dr. Banner and his nasty green problem."

"How come I'm not on that list?" asked Stark, crossing his arms.

"You are an ex-arms dealer precisely because you have a soft conscience, easily pricked by murder. You may be lacking in many moral qualities, but you are not yet a cold blooded killer."

"I could make an exception," muttered Tony.

"Your oath will not leave you unprotected," said Thor.

"And I suppose you will serve as that protection. I think we've already established your qualifications as a protector."

"I will let no harm come to you, but neither will I ask you to swear an oath that would keep you from protecting yourself." Thor strode over to Loki and extended the hammer. "Swear, or you will find your imprisonment infinitely more uncomfortable."

For an instant, Loki hesitated, eyes bright with his tumbling thoughts as he examined the situation from every angle. With a heavy sigh, he extended his hand over Mjolnir, his fingers hovering above its surface. "Very well. I, Loki Son of None," Thor frowned, "swear a truce with the Avengers. Though I will cause no harm to come to them I am free to defend myself from harm." Loki gritted his teeth. "May I be bound by this oath until the truce be broken or the boy and I go our own way. So swear I." Loki dropped his fingertips to Mjolnir's surface and a bright light etched around them.

"In spirit, not merely in word," prompted Thor.

So the lummox could be taught. "Not merely by word, but in the spirit of the word," added Loki grudgingly. The light intensified, snaking up his hand and pooling about his wrist, crackling through the air to settled around his other wrist as well. For an instant two shining manacles snapped fiercely before sinking into his skin.

"Pleased?" asked Loki as he flexed his fingers against the residual tingle of magic.

Thor graced him with a broad smile and clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Loki shrugged it off. "Enough. I expect you to see to the necessities as well. Firstly, something to eat."

"Whoa now, this isn't a bed and breakfast. You can't just waltz in and expect first class service," said Stark.

"Then I shall just fend for myself." Loki craned his neck to look around Stark and out the vast expanse of glass. "We appear to be in a rather remote region. It would take me some time to find a store from which to steal or a person from which to beg. I could hunt, I suppose, but you seem to have confiscated all of my knives. If you would care to return them and test the validity of my oath?"

Stark threw up his hands, "Fine! Welcome to Chez Tony. The kitchen is that way." He pointed through a large doorway behind Banner. "J.A.R.V.I.S.? Watch him."

"With pleasure, sir."

A/N: *pokes head in door* ahem…um…sorry this is late (please don't kill me!). Remember that internship I mentioned…yeah…it's in theatre, which meant I was pulling 10 and 12 hour days marbleing any set piece that would stand still, sewing fairy costumes, and rehearsing.

Any-ho, now that we've gotten the obligatory groveling out of the way…I just wanted to make a quick note about Clint. When I began this story and worked on plotting it all out, we'd only seen Hawkeye in Thor and in Avengers…which meant he had the least material to pull from for character development (even less so if you take into consideration he wasn't entirely himself for most of Avengers). So his characterization may seem a bit different here than it would have if I'd written it after Ultron and Civil War. Obvious plot points from Ultron were obviously also unknown when I wrote this, so just keep that in mind, please.

Silver Frost: That's very kind of you to say. As to reviews…well, it doesn't help that I don't have much of a presence on FFN or a built-in reader base. The story is a bit of a slow burn at first, and people may rightly be wary of an OC having such a prominent role (though thankfully most who have given Book a chance seem to like him). This also isn't a romance, which is what a lot of people come looking for. However, you are enjoying it (and sharing your thoughts) and when even one person decides to pop by and comment, it makes my little author's heart glad 😊.