Sorry I'm a day late! My editor (read: my sister) didn't get a chance to look this over until tonight. Thank you to everybody who's been reading so far, and especially to those who've been reviewing! I am really loving the dialogue! Enjoy this next section, guys! :-)
Natasha awoke with a start in the middle of the night, head jerking on the pillow, red hair stringing in her eyes. She had had the most awful dream.
It had been only awful because it had been based and rooted in reality.
In her head, the footage from Loki's broadcast had been playing on loop, and experiencing his threats again and again – his face sneering at her in a way that made her stomach roll – was exactly what she had hoped to escape when she had succumbed to sleep.
She could still hear it, faint though it was. Was that how dreams usually worked? The sounds ringing so vividly inside the ears afterward?
Natasha sat up, the now-tangled sheet twining itself tighter around her. She ignored the strangling fabric, listening.
The speech didn't fade.
Curious, she unwound her legs from the bedding, sliding away quietly and moving to her door, placing an ear against the wood. Loki's words grew more intelligible instantly.
Satisfied that the sound wasn't simply inside her own head, she opened the door silently and padded down the hallway on bare feet, nerves far too strained after her failed attempt at sleep. She could discern more and more of the speech the further down the hall she proceeded.
When she followed the curve of the hall toward the living room, she became aware of the light filtering through the entryway, casting a flickering pool of white on the carpet. She peered inside of the room and was punished immediately by her nightmare, now playing on the television.
She froze, rooted to the spot by the silhouette that lounged on the couch with far too much languid grace, the remote balanced on its knee. Once her eyes adjusted enough to the light cast by the screen, though, she relaxed, making out the shape with more clarity and less panic. It was only Elizabeth.
The woman almost appeared sinister in the dark room. The sharp glow of the television drained her already-fair skin of all its remaining color, and her black hair meshed too perfectly with the half-hearted darkness of the shadows surrounding her.
But something was wrong.
When she glanced up at Natasha, there was an expression on her face that Natasha had never seen before – something vile that didn't vanish, even as their gazes met and held for an uncomfortably long moment.
Natasha had already begun to back out of the room when Elizabeth stopped her. "I was hoping you might join me," she muttered, her usual teasing edge completely gone and replaced by something hard.
Natasha was grateful when the other woman turned away, though she thought it undeniably strange that Elizabeth didn't look at the television instead; Loki still threatened them via the image there. He was reaching the end of his speech; Natasha should know, since she had had plenty of time within her dream to memorize his every word.
Taking a slow step closer to the sofa, she replied, "How'd you know I couldn't sleep?"
Elizabeth didn't speak at first, instead watching Loki while she hesitated. When he had come to the part about them finding him and bowing, she picked the remote up from her knee and began to rewind the footage, the newfound silence causing her words to dig into Natasha more than she liked to admit. "I know how he gets to you," she murmured.
Natasha took a breath, preparing to lie and tell her that he did no such thing.
Until Elizabeth's eyes flicked up to her once more, the look in them quelling her instantly.
"I know he did once," Elizabeth told her, leaving no room for the practiced deceiver to free herself, "and I know he does so still." She paused the recording at the very beginning, letting the quiet settle between them before saying, "He is the only quarry of yours to ever frighten you. He is the monster who haunts you at night."
Natasha opened and closed her mouth, though no words came.
"Don't try to lie about it," Elizabeth said, turning back to the television and holding the remote at attention, ready to hit play whenever it suited her. She leveled a glare at the screen, her lip twitching slightly in revulsion at the face beheld there. "But believe me, Natasha, when I say that you are far from the only one to fear him," she muttered, leaning closer to the image as if the message was for Loki instead. "There are thousands of others – millions, even – on entirely different worlds under entirely different stars with entirely different ideas as to what is threatening."
She swallowed hard, weighing every word before she spoke it. "I thought you said you couldn't hate him," she said, hoping that Elizabeth hadn't heard the cautious rawness in her voice. If Elizabeth had picked it up, she was merciful and chose not to show it.
"And I spoke truly," she said, not looking at Natasha.
Natasha crossed her arms, staring at the screen. "I don't know how you can stay loyal to him, after all he's done."
Elizabeth paused the footage for a moment. "How can your friends remain loyal to you, after all you've done?" she asked.
"I'm not evil," Natasha said bluntly.
"You think Loki's evil?"
The question in her tone made Natasha look at her. "Yeah." Then, Elizabeth looked at her, arching an eyebrow. "Isn't he?"
"No," Elizabeth replied. "He never was evil, and that has hardly changed with time."
Natasha took a step toward the woman on the couch. "But what he's done – those things are evil," she asserted. "He killed innocents."
"Nobody's innocent," Elizabeth muttered absently, letting the footage play again.
"That may be," Natasha said, "but still."
Elizabeth's eyes bored into the television screen as if to drill a hole there. Her jaw flexed once, but she didn't blink. "Evil," she said evenly, revisiting the former topic of conversation, "is when bad things are done simply for their own sake. Evil is when a person kills because another is there. Evil is unfeeling, cold-blooded, and unrepentant."
Natasha gestured to the television. "Exhibit A."
She gave a tiny shake of the head, turning back to the television, lifting the remote. You'll never understand.
Natasha took a step forward, moving to rest a hand on the back of the couch, her knuckles almost touching Elizabeth's knee. "Explain it, then," she demanded.
Elizabeth drew a long breath, closing her eyes. She hissed out a sigh and turned to the television, opening her eyes to see the man himself looking back. "Loki never does anything without having a reason to support it," she murmured. "It is not in his nature to act without cause. Sometimes, though, his motivation is hardly one with which others could empathize." She glanced at Natasha as if to ensure that she was still listening. "And he is far from unrepentant."
"I don't see how this –" Natasha stabbed a finger at the screen "—is 'far from unrepentant.'"
"It would seem that way, would it not?" Elizabeth replied. Something unidentifiable laced her tone delicately, like thin golden thread, and it made Natasha pull up, turning to look her in the eyes.
Elizabeth had beaten her to it, already anticipating the reaction with a gaze waiting to receive hers.
"Natasha," she said softly, "I need your help."
"Why?"
Elizabeth drew an imaginary circle around the screen with her remote, saying, "I need you to tell me where this was filmed."
"Why?"
"Because I want to end this before it begins," she returned, resolute.
Clint was up before the sunrise, wandering sleepily into the living room to pour himself a cup of coffee at the bar. He could vaguely hear voices from within the room, but his mind was still too foggy to place them to names and faces. Upon shuffling through the doorway, he glanced over to the television, turned on and playing something that resembled a news program.
"What the –" he muttered, and a most unwelcome wave of coherence crashed over him as he recognized Loki's face on the screen. His mouth was moving mutely, but Clint's memory filled in the smooth, arrogant sound of Loki's voice.
Natasha and Elizabeth were seated on the sofa, both looking very much like they hadn't slept a wink during the night, leaning forward and studying the recording intently.
"It's too early for this crap," he informed them, turning away to go get his coffee. Once at least one cup was in his system, he might have the energy to be angry about Loki. Until then, Loki was officially on the back burner.
He stared at the coffee machine, baffled as to why the pitcher at the bottom was empty, until it dawned on him. "Neither of you could have at least started some coffee?" he grumbled, now resorting to searching the cupboards for the filters and grounds.
"We've been kind of busy," Natasha replied without taking her eyes away from the television. She sounded less dead than she looked.
"You only have to push, like, two buttons. It wouldn't have taken you more than ten seconds." Clint bent down, opening and closing doors beneath the counter. "Where is the damn coffee?"
Elizabeth lifted the remote, pausing the footage and leaning closer. "Cupboard by the refrigerator," she answered absently. "Natasha, do you see that?"
"Yep. Can't read it, though."
"Do you recognize it?"
Natasha squinted at something on the screen, slowly saying, "Yes, I think I do, but I can't place it."
"Clint," Elizabeth called.
"No," came his response. He had only just found the coffee beans, but they had been whole. Now, he was looking for the grinder.
"Clint, come here," Natasha requested, and Clint, without consciously deciding to do so, obeyed.
At first, he refused to even consider the television. As long as that awful face tainted the picture, he wanted no part of it. But Elizabeth stared at the image without blinking, and Natasha was pointing at something in the background with one hand, jabbing him in the ribs with the other to get his attention.
He reluctantly followed Natasha's indication, looking at the thing right beside her fingernail; squinting at it, he wracked his brains, because the logo seemed surprisingly familiar. "Yeah, I've seen it before," he muttered.
"Do you know where?" Elizabeth asked, her voice weighted with an attempt at patience. She had obviously been at this for quite a while, and she wanted answers – not more uncertainty.
Clint thought for a long while, trying to force his lethargic brain to clip along like normal. It only rolled over and complained. "I don't know," he said eventually, shaking his head. Then, he began back toward the bar to finish his battle with coffee-making.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm gonna get some coffee," he told them. "And then I'll look again."
"But –"
"Listen, you two are lucky I can even form a sentence," Clint said, cutting Elizabeth off. "Just gimme some time to wake up, okay?"
Elizabeth sat back on the couch, sulking slightly, mumbling, "You already are awake, idiot."
Clint chose to ignore it, instead dragging the coffee grinder out from a cupboard under the bar. It was one of those old-fashioned ones with a funnel and a crank, and he almost groaned out loud. How hard was it to make one little cup of coffee? For him, it was apparently only slightly easier than breaking into Fort Knox with a water pistol, a length of twine, and wooden spoon.
Ten minutes later, he sat on the sofa with a mug in his hands, holding it close to his face so that the steam carried the scent up to his nose. He inhaled deeply, feeling more alive already. "Now, about that thing," he said, nodding at the frozen image onscreen.
"I know I've seen it," Natasha muttered, running a tired hand through her hair.
"Yeah, me too," he concurred. Taking a swig of his coffee, he thought furiously, the caffeine having an almost immediate effect on his brain. "It – it almost looks like the sign above the pretzel cart on 52nd."
Natasha leapt up from her seat. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "We pass it every day on the way to work! I guess we've both just stopped really noticing it."
Clint watched her, partially amused, partially concerned. She rarely had reactions that . . . big to anything, and he briefly wondered if Natasha might be just a tiny bit too sleepy to be trusted right now. Her memory might not exactly be firing as efficiently as usual. Still, he shrugged it off, saying, "So he's probably on 52nd, somewhere within sight of the pretzel cart. Does that help?"
"Not especially," Elizabeth drawled, her tone alone taking all of the wind from Clint's sails.
"Why?" he hissed when she offered nothing to support her statement. "We just gave you an approximate location."
Elizabeth shook her head, still looking intently at the television. "You gave me a list of a hundred approximate locations. It's a pretzel cart; it can move. I think you might be taking the wrong piece of information into account." She reached forward, tapping the screen. "Look at the window," she prompted.
Clint reluctantly did so, the reluctance only because she had suggested it, and it was actually an inspired idea. What he saw there placed the video instantly in his mind, his eyes widening in surprise. "No way," he said.
"He's crazy," Natasha echoed, apparently having seen the same thing as he had. "How can he expect not to be found?"
Elizabeth eyed them both. "Perhaps he truly wishes for us to find him."
"I don't think so," Clint returned, shaking his head. "It's sloppy. Not Loki's style."
"Where is he?"
Natasha sat back on the sofa in disbelief. "If we're right," she said, deadpan, "he's in the freaking Chrysler Building."