A/N: Here we are, chapter two. I hope you enjoy. Thanks to those who reviewed the last chapter. Let me know what you think of this one!
Turn
by Flaignhan
She feels like she's been sent to see the Headmaster. Fury wanders around his office, placing various files back in their rightful spots on the shelves, while she sits in front of his desk, hands in her lap, waiting patiently for him to sit down.
"So what was it like? Enlighten the rest of us unprivileged mortals."
She smirks at his tone and, relaxing just a little, stretches her legs out before her. "It was...pretty impressive. Good food, excellent food, actually."
"That it? A few tasty treats?"
Natasha shrugs. "Everything's huge there, it's kinda like Texas but...classy."
Fury's lips twist into a rueful smile. "Well, you didn't miss much," he tells her, sitting himself down in his chair and leaning one elbow against the desk. "All quiet here. Just like last winter..."
"And the one before," she adds, remembering days upon days of staring out of her window onto slushy streets, the people far below wrapped up in layers upon layers of clothing to protect them from the biting wind. Above all, she remembers the boredom. Apparently nobody likes planning crazy shit in the winter, and she's glad. She hates the cold. Too many memories.
"Yeah," Fury sighs. "Still, I'm sure we can occupy ourselves somehow. Maybe get Stark in to do some more R&D. But get Banner to keep an eye on him this time."
"Actually," Natasha says slowly, seizing her opportunity before it flits by. "Thor was wondering whether I could go back. You know, make it a more regular thing."
"What, babysitting his crazy little brother you mean?" Fury's eyebrows contort into a deep, judgemental frown.
"Well, yeah," Natasha responds lamely. "Apparently I did a good job."
"Did the asshole have anything to say for himself?" he asks, sitting up straighter and interlacing his fingers.
"Not a lot," she replies with a shrug. "He's been locked in the dungeons since the summer."
Fury nods. "As he damn well should be...Gone crazy yet?"
Natasha shakes her head. "Sane, actually," she says, frowning. "Weirdly sane. Not like he was in New York. He was...damaged in New York. He's actually kinda docile now."
"Docile?" Fury raises an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Yeah..." Natasha sighs. "It's a little weird. You'd think he'd have completely lost it but..."
"So why does Thor want you to go back? Why can't his own men guard Loki?"
Natasha hesitates, only for a moment. "He's better behaved when I'm around," she says. And then, for good measure, she adds, "Thor thinks Loki's scared of me, after the helicarrier."
Fury smirks, and Natasha knows instantly that her trips to Asgard have pretty much been signed off already. She decides to sweeten the deal, just to be sure.
"Thor knows it's a big ask," she says, leaning forward just a little, holding eye contact (or as much as it's possible to hold eye contact with Fury). "So he's offered up his services, should you need them."
"How very generous of him, taking my best agent and replacing her with a guy with a hammer..."
Natasha smirks. "He has his uses," she says quietly. "And it can't hurt to have a god on call."
Fury nods, his fingers steepled as he considers her. "Yeah," he says at last. "You can go and play babysitter for the prodigal son, if that's what you want."
"Well," Natasha says with a casual shrug. "I'm not gonna pretend I don't enjoy seeing him locked up."
Fury smirks, and Natasha knows that they're done. After a little more small talk, some eye-rolling over Tony's latest 'experiment' in R&D that left three people blinded for an hour and a half, and a shade of serious talk regarding the powers that be, she gets up and leaves the office, closing the door quietly behind her.
When she arrives, he looks almost happy. Thor doesn't bother to enter, and the two guards in the room share a sidelong glance of scepticism.
"You're the mortal?" one asks.
"Yes," Natasha replies stiffly.
"They never told me it was a woman," the other says, not even trying to keep his laughter at bay. "A mortal woman?" he chuckles loudly. "Whatever next? Will they send an infant to guard him? A dog? The latter might be more capable."
The two guards guffaw and Natasha feels her skin prickle. She knows that reacting is a bad idea, knows that these Asgardians make up for what they lack in brains with brute strength. She considers reminding them that she was hand picked for the task by Thor, but before she can utter a word, Loki speaks.
"They don't call her the Black Widow for nothing, Frejir," he says, his eyes on the one who is laughing the hardest. His voice is soft, but perfectly audible in the large dungeon. "She will be more adequate than the two of you combined."
"Oh I see," Frejir says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "I had no idea that the Prince allowed prisoners to be entertained in such ways. Forgive me. I'm sure she'll keep you most occupied. Perhaps Meinholf and I could get a taste of Midgard too, before she is sent back down."
Natasha's fists are clenched tight, her nails digging into the flesh of her palms, but she daren't lash out. She has always known which battles to pick, and as much as her heart is egging her on to destroy the arrogant shithead, she knows she'll come off worst, and will not only have to deal with the physical consequences of that, but the humiliation, too.
"You know, I'm sure the Lady Sif will be thrilled to hear you talking of women as though they are only fit to be whores. I seem to remember you spending a long time in the healing room crying over a few scratches she gave you."
Frejir stops laughing, but his companion, Meinholf, continues snickering away.
"And I seem to remember she saved your life, Meinholf, despite your cruel words and taunts. Have neither of you learned not to underestimate women? Perhaps that is why you both remain unmarried. Either that or the disgusting odour that follows you around. I can even smell it in here."
Frejir takes an angry step towards the glass, but from outside of the dungeon, a cheerful voice calls in. "What's the delay? Frejir, Meinholf, there is ale waiting upstairs!"
Frejir halts, his jaw clenched, and then turns on his heel, heading towards the door. He tries to brush roughly past Natasha in what she is sure is a not so accidental manner, though she sees it coming a mile off, and is able to brace herself, her feet anchored to the floor. When his heavy shoulder plate collides with her, she barely moves an inch, stopping him in his tracks. He towers over her, glaring down, but she meets his gaze with mild disinterest, not blinking once. She can do this all day, if necessary, and she's sure that Loki won't mind; she can feel his eyes on her, can feel his anticipation at the potential chaos of the situation.
"I believe the words you're looking for are 'excuse me'," Natasha says coolly. "But for a supposedly superior race, you're acting an awful lot like cavemen, so maybe an 'excuse me' is a little too much for me to expect."
Loki sniggers, his eyes glinting with malice. Frejir turns towards the glass once more and starts towards him, but before he can make any idle threats, Thor's voice sounds again.
"Frejir? Meinholf?"
"Coming!" Meinholf says quickly, grabbing Frejir by the shoulder and hauling him towards the door. Frejir throws one last disgusted look over his shoulder, which Natasha raises an eyebrow at, and soon the door of the dungeon swings shut, the jarring sound of the heavy iron bolts sliding across following soon after. There is a distant rattling as the chains are secured, and then Natasha hears three sets of footsteps climb the stairs, and fade into the upper floor.
"You could have taken both of them," Loki says, breaking the silence. "Easily."
Natasha's stern expression drops, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile, and she turns to face him. There's a small grin playing at his lips, as though the last five minutes has been the most entertainment he's had throughout his entire sentence.
"I doubt it. I am human, remember."
"Don't judge us all by Thor," Loki replies darkly. "He's extraordinarily strong. The rest of us tend to favour other skills."
"Such as?" Natasha asks, folding her arms and waiting for an answer.
"Well, I favour my mind and my magic. Someone like Frejir...he has aggression, I suppose. And some measure of strength. Nothing you'd be unable to handle though."
"I think you're overestimating my strength, really."
"Do you not listen? It's not about strength. If it were about strength then Agent Barton would have squeezed the life out of you on board your ship. As it was, you went head to head with a physically stronger person and won. More than that, you limited yourself, you won without killing him. That was quite impressive."
Natasha doesn't know what to say. It sounds like a compliment, but she can't help but assume he's merely trying to goad her into combat with two opponents whom she has no chance of beating, purely for his own amusement. She's not mad about it, she almost finds it funny herself, the lengths he'll go to in order to ease his boredom, even if it means complimenting her, and talking her up in front of others.
"Have you eaten since I was here last?" she asks. The smirk vanishes from his face, and in the harsh, clinical lighing, the dark circles under his eyes seem more pronounced than ever.
"No," he says, not meeting her eye, his tone careful and delicate as he struggles to appear indifferent to his hunger.
"Thor's promised me a ton of food later, so don't worry."
"I wasn't worrying," he says sulkily, running a hand through his scraggy hair. His fingers catch on a knot and Natasha looks down at the ground, giving him a moment to fix it.
"Okay," she says with a shrug, her eyes still fixed on her feet. She eases off her jacket and places it over the arm of the high backed wooden chair that hasn't moved since her last visit. She moves forward to the glass and places her hands against it, closing her eyes as the room moves, or she moves, she's not quite worked out which one it is yet. Loki stares at her as she walks over to him and sits down on the floor next to him, her back against the wall, her elbow only a few inches away from his.
"I brought you something," she says at last, reaching into the pocket of her jeans, her fingers closing around the small, rectangular packet.
"An escape route?" he asks, one eyebrow raised. His bored tone doesn't suggest that he holds much optimism for her gift, but Natasha ignores it, and his comment. She pulls the deck of cards out and tosses it to him, his large, spidery hand catching it deftly. He frowns, and sits up straight, opening the pack and emptying out the cards.
"Might pass the hours a little easier," Natasha says. "Figured they'd be easy to hide as well."
"I've seen these before…on your world. People gamble with them, don't they?"
Natasha nods. "They do, but you don't have to gamble. You can just play for fun."
"But where's the fun if there are no stakes?" he asks, turning to face her.
"If you don't want them," Natasha begins, reaching across to take them, but Loki pulls them away, his long arm holding them far out of her reach.
"I didn't say that," he says quickly.
Natasha smirks and leans back against the wall, pulling her knees up to her chest. "You know this is usually the part where you say thank you."
"Thank you," he says, the words laced with sarcasm. He turns the deck over in his hands absentmindedly, chewing the inside of his lower lip. Natasha sits there in silence, wondering what it must be like to spend all day, every day, in this cell. At least with hers she had walls, proper ones, and was less like an animal in a zoo. Here, Loki is fully exposed, vulnerable, but maybe, the small glimpses he gets into the world beyond his cage help to keep him sane.
Her fingers start to pick at her sleeve, and she realises that her heart is beating a little faster than normal. Last time it had just been dinner, and then she'd left him, but this time, for whatever fucked up reason she can't even think of, she's decided to partake in his sentence with him. It reminds her a little too much of days she's long since locked away and tried to forget about. Were it not for the fact that she can feel Loki's presence next to her, the existence of another living being, with air in his lungs and blood in his veins, she's sure she would be clawing her way out of here. She knows full well that she can leave whenever she likes, but perhaps it is the silence that gets to her. The silence and the lights and the heavy feeling of hopelessness that seems to exist solely within these glass walls, and nowhere else in Asgard.
"You can do tricks with them as well," Natasha says. "Like, I dunno, you get people to pick a card, stuff happens, you show them the card they picked, they lose their mind like it's the greatest thing in the universe…"
His scowl doesn't suggest that he's up for any magic tricks any time soon, and so Natasha falls silent again, resting her chin on her knees and staring out across the cage.
"What games are there?" he asks after a short while.
"Gin," Natasha says. "Poker. There are hundreds."
"Show me," he demands. When Natasha doesn't respond, he swallows and then quietly tags on a strained "Please."
Natasha pushes herself away from the wall and takes the cards from him. She turns them over and fans them out in her hand, a sea of red and black before her.
"You have four suits," she says, "Spades, diamonds, hearts and clubs." She shows him each one in turn, and then pushes the deck back together. "You have ace through to king in each suit, but the ace can either be a one or it can beat the king."
"Logical…" he sighs.
Natasha smirks and then continues, explaining the most basic rules of gin before giving the deck a thorough shuffle, dealing out seven cards each and setting the remainder on the floor between them. She picks up her hand, and Loki mirrors her action, arranging his cards neatly in his large hand while Natasha shuffles hers about, trying to get a half decent strategy together. She has a couple of threes, as well as the five and seven of clubs. She glances up at Loki, holding his cards close to his chest, and can't help but smile as he glares down at them.
"Your turn," she says. "I dealt, so you go first."
Loki turns over a card from the top of the deck, frowns at it, then inserts it into his hand. After a few seconds of consideration, he takes another card from his hand and drops it on the floor between them. It's the three of diamonds, and so Natasha looks at it for a moment, then without a word, or even the slightest muscle twitch, she picks it up and places it in her own hand, Loki's eyes following her every movement.
The game doesn't last long, and when Natasha lays down her hand, declaring herself the winner, Loki insists upon searching through the deck for the card he'd been waiting for. The jack of clubs, as it turns out, is only three away from the top of the deck, so it is with a sour expression that he watches Natasha shuffle the cards, and deal out a new game.
After half a dozen rounds, Loki has his first victory, in part due to the abysmal hand Natasha began with, but possibly related to the fact that her patience for gin is wearing thin, and so some very accidentally stupid decisions see her lose to Loki. The victory works wonders for his mood, because he takes up the cards, shuffles them with a smile on his face, and is about to deal them a new hand each when the dumb waiter by the door clatters into life.
Natasha gets up and leaves the cell, her eyes taking a little while to adjust to the darkness outside of it, before she heads over to see what treats lay in store today. There are no lostocks on the tray, but there is plenty of delicious food, more than enough for two. She carries it over to the cell, passes through the glass, and Loki clears the cards away, ready to eat. He doesn't even question it when Natasha hands him a plate, and even goes so far as to pour her a goblet of wine. She knows better than to comment however, and this newfound sense of civility in him is something she'd like for him to stick with. She wonders if perhaps old habits really do die hard, and a happy Loki, a victorious Loki, is able to forget about all of the things that drove him down the path of destruction, and instead become his old self, before things fucked up.
She wonders if this answers her question from her previous visit. If he could go back and change it, would he?
"Did Thor believe you when you told him I hadn't eaten?" Loki asks, loading his plate with vegetables.
"Yes," Natasha says, almost indignantly. "Of course."
Loki smirks at her tone, then takes a sip of his wine. "Good," he says. "And I trust you'll tell him the same again when he returns?"
"You know he's worried," Natasha says, buttering some bread, her stomach growling hungrily. "He wants you to eat because he hates to see you starve. You need to be punished for what you did, but he doesn't want you to suffer unnecessarily. He still loves you."
"I trust," Loki says pointedly, setting down his fork and putting his plate to the side, "That you'll tell him the same again."
"If that's what you want," Natasha says with a shrug. "But you're making an enemy out of somebody who loves you, and that's not what you need."
"Promise me," Loki says, not touching his plate.
"You think my promise is worth anything?" Natasha replies with a smirk. "My my, you really are naïve."
Her words do the trick, because Loki picks up his plate and resumes eating once more, silence falling between them but for the clinking of cutlery and the soft sound of chewing. She knows him well enough to be sure of the fact that had she promised him, he would never have trusted her again. In her world, promises are only ever made to gain the trust of the innocent, and then break them, usually along with a few bones and half a dozen laws.
They continue to eat in silence until nearly all the food is gone. When Loki places his plate back on the tray, takes his final sip of wine from his goblet, and then reclines against the wall in defeat, Natasha knows that it's time to wash up and cover their tracks. She smiles to herself as she stands over the marble sink, cleaning away all traces of food and wine. It's silly, how much effort she goes to so that Loki doesn't realise that Thor knows that he's been eating. Thor knows as well that she's brought a deck of cards, even encouraged her to bring more strange Midgardian past-times, because the novelty would keep Loki's mind busy, if only for a little while. It's the biggest case of crossed lines in the history of the universe, and yet she knows she must walk those lines like a tightrope, lest it all come crashing down around her.
With the tray safely back on the dumb-waiter, Natasha returns to the cell and sits beside Loki. Through his shirt she can see that his muscles have shrunken, are stringy looking, and far from healthy. Even on death row, they're allowed outside. With lack of exercise combined with lack of food, he is genuinely wasting away. It's painfully obvious from the way his stomach has visibly bulged after eating one meal, how tired he now is, with his eyes closed, head leant back against the wall, his collar bone jutting awkwardly out from the hollow between his neck and shoulders.
"You haven't walked around your cell yet," she says quietly, not wanting to startle him.
Without a word, he gets to his feet, then starts pacing around the perimeter of his cell, completing five laps before he falls back down next to Natasha, his hair tickling her shoulder. He exhales softly, but she can tell that the simple act of walking has tired him out, even from the way he sits now, with his legs slack and slightly haphazard in their arrangement.
"Do you get to go outside? Ever?"
Loki cracks open an eyelid and gives her the briefest, cutting glare, before closing his eyes again.
"If I could get you some time outside, to walk around, stretch your legs, breathe some decent air, would I regret it?"
"They won't let me have that," Loki says, not even bothering to look at her.
Natasha sits forward. "But if I could, hypothetically. Would you be difficult?"
"Difficult how?" he asks, opening his eyes again. He doesn't adjust his seating position, his curiosity still not quite enough to overpower the apathy that has seized him since his sentencing.
"You know, as in, trying to escape. Not that I'd blame you, I just think it'd be a bad idea."
"Why?"
"Because last time you decided to go AWOL from Asgard you ended up…well, here, in the end."
"I had fun," Loki retorts. "You're forgetting that bit."
"Did you? Really?"
Loki doesn't reply. She knows more about his misadventures than he realises, was able to read more from his face on the helicarrier than she could in an entire SHIELD report on him. He was a damaged man over a barrel, and she knows what it's like, and knows how it feels, when you have to convince yourself you're a hero just to get through the task at hand.
"If I get you some walkabout time, and you misbehave, I'm not gonna come here ever again. They won't let me. So you can go back to your little game of not eating any food, and being stuck here forever, or you can play ball. I don't gain anything from getting you outside for a while, I'm only asking because you look like shit."
"They won't agree to it," Loki says. "I don't know why you're even entertaining the idea."
"I think you underestimate my powers of persuasion."
"You make it happen, which it won't, and I'll promise to behave myself," he says at last. He doesn't look at her, and she wonders if it's perhaps because he doesn't want to involve himself in the conversation any more than he already has. The tantalising hint of the outside world might just be enough to tip him over the edge, when he's been coping so well with his glass walls.
It's not long before he falls asleep, the upheaval of a feast and a few games of cards clearly too much for him. She hopes, with a stretch of his legs and some daylight, that his post-dinner conversation skills will be up to more in the future, and that perhaps, his return to a reasonable state of health will follow as well.
"Did he eat?"
The first words out of Thor's mouth once they reach the upper floors come as no surprise to Natasha.
"Yeah," she says. "But he's really weak."
"I know," Thor sighs. "But he refuses to eat when I take him food. Not even my mother can convince him. She has stopped visiting him because she cannot bear to see him so frail."
"He needs more than food," Natasha tells him. "Walking around his cell five times does not constitute exercise. He needs to get outside. He needs daylight."
"He's a prisoner," Thor says stiffly.
"Yeah, and on Earth, even our most evil prisoners get to go outside for an hour a day. If you want him to rot away in that cell then me getting him to eat is just prolonging the inevitable. If you want him to get better, if you want any chance of having your brother back, then you have to start treating him like a human being."
"He'll try to escape," Thor says, pushing open a heavy door and standing aside to let Natasha pass. "I know he will."
"And go where, exactly? Back to Thanos for another round of torture? He has nowhere. And he knows that too."
Thor sighs heavily and clenches his fist. She knows how much the situation is stressing him out, that he is torn between what's good for his people and what's good for his brother. What she finds frustrating, however, is that Thor isn't nearly as pigheaded as Loki would have everyone believe, and Loki isn't nearly as evil or untrustworthy or damaged, or whatever it is that has resulted in Thor leaving him in the lowest depths of the palace, where sunlight will never reach him. They both have the measure of each other completely wrong, and if she doesn't step in, she knows they'll still be going like this in a thousand years' time. It's ridiculous, and even after only two visits, she's finding it hard to retain her patience.
"I will speak with my father," Thor concedes at last. "I don't hold out much hope, but perhaps, if I accompany the two of you..."
Natasha inwardly grimaces. If Thor's there, she's quite sure Loki will flat out refuse to leave his cell. She'll have to play that one by ear, but perhaps it'll be a good opportunity to force the pair of them to grow up, just a little.
"He's weaker than you realise," Natasha adds quietly. "He's too proud to let you see just how far he's fallen."
Thor nods, his expression sombre, but after a moment, he breaks into a smile. "Enough of this," he says cheerfully. "Your reward is waiting for you!"
"Oh," Natasha says softly, mildly surprised. She'd quite forgotten about her reward, having been rather contented with the good food and the curiosity that is Loki and his warped mind. She wonders what her reward is. Surely not money - that'd be of no use to her on Earth. Perhaps something distinctly Asgardian that will sit on her desk and attract a great deal of questions.
Thor leads her down a corridor which she's never been down before, and as they walk Natasha notices more and more guards, standing sentry outside doors and at regular intervals along the hallway. It gets to the point where the doors are being opened for them well in advance, and it sems as though Natasha is the only person in Asgard who doesn't know where they're going.
At last, the corridors come to an end, and they're in a large, luxurious room, with intricately carved furniture dotted around it. Mjolnir sits on the floor, near the hearth, inside which a large fire crackles merrily. There is a door at the far end of the room, and Thor catches Natasha's gaze lingering on it, wondering what lays beyond.
"My sleeping quarters," Thor says, waving vaguely towards the door. "But please, take a seat."
Natasha drops into a chair by the fireplace, her fingertips tracing the carvings on the arm of the chair. Thor disappears into the corner and Natasha twists in her seat to see him standing in front of his desk, where he opens one of the drawers quietly, takes out a small, gilded box, then heads back towards Natasha.
"Here," he says, holding out the box. "You've earned it."
Natasha takes the box and flips open the lif. Inside is a delicately twisted piece of silver, with what Natasha assumes to be emeralds, or the Asgardian equivalent, inset along the length of it.
"It's beautiful," Natasha says quietly. "But...what is it?" It's probably not the most polite thing she could have said, but it doesn't matter, for Thor chuckles heartily at her words.
"I knew you'd ask," he says with a smile. "It's enchanted; my mother's work. In its current state, it is a decoration for your hair."
With this knowledge, Natasha picks up the silver and turns it over in her hands. She supposes that it could be wrapped around a bun to secure it, and so she rakes her hair back with her fingers, twists it into a knot, and starts to fiddle with the metal. Before she can do too much however, it has snaked its way through her hair, catching all the loose ends and holding them fast, though not tight. She lowers her hands cautiously, half expecting it to fall, but it doesn't. For something that felt rather substantial in her hands, it weighs surprisingly little on her head, and she wonders if this is part of Frigga's enchantment.
Thor smiles. "It seems my mother has excelled herself. It suits you."
"Thanks," Natasha replies, reaching up a hand to gently pat her new accessory. "You said in this state it's a hair decoration..." she adds.
"Yes," he says. "I'm not sure how it works, but my mother tells me that it will aid you when necessary.
Natasha raises an eyebrow. "In what way?"
"I do not know," he answers with a sigh. "I never really understood magic. Loki was always much better at it than I was. I was jealous. I used to tease him for it. You can imagine how much I regret that now..." He rubs his face tiredly with one of his large hands, and Natasha sits there quietly, wondering how much more she'll learn about Loki's childhood if she just lets Thor carry on with his melancholic nostalgia. He falls silent, staring into the fire, and somehow, he looks far older than he did in New York. Perhaps it's the longer hair, or maybe it's the slight lighter than blond hairs strewn about his rough, short beard. She wonders how much of a toll Loki's incarceration has taken on Thor. She knows Loki's looking awful, but until the golden fire light threw the lines on Thor's face into sharp relief, she hadn't considered his own suffering.
"I think he'll get better," Natasha says after a while. "But I think boredom is in danger of making him worse."
Thor nods. "He was excited when I told him you were returning. He tried to hide it, but I know him too well."
"Excited?"
"I imagine for the food," Thor muses, before quickly adding, "But I'm sure for the company as well. He doesn't get on with the guards, so you must be a refreshing change for him."
Natasha smiles. "Yeah, and I guess the gifts don't hurt either. He liked the cards."
"He did?" Thor breaks into a smile. "Did he agree to play any of the games?"
Natasha nods.
"Really?" Thor chuckles, leaning forward in his seat. "How did you get him to agree?"
"Thor, he's bored, he took no convincing."
"Oh," Thor says lamely, sitting back once more.
"Did you not realise? He's been sitting there for months in a cage with nothing but his own thoughts, and you didn't consider that he might be bored?"
"He doesn't speak to me," Thor says emphatically. "How am I supposed to know anything when he won't talk?"
Natasha rolls her eyes, earning herself a scowl from Thor. She doesn't know how the two of them managed for the thousands of years leading up to Loki's misadventures, but what she doesn't know is that she doesn't envy Frigga, not one little bit. She knows what it is to be the only apparently sane person in the midst of a mess of testosterone and miscommunication, and the thought of dealing with that for thousands of years is enough to make her stomach turn.
"It's late," Thor says at last. "Come. I'll return you to your home."
And with that, he stands, gesturing towards the door. Not even ten minutes later, Natasha lands face down in her bed, but no matter how tired she feels, her mind is racing, she cannot sleep, and deep down, she knows why.