A/N: Annnnnnd I'm alive. And I've got a broken breast bone. I'm so badass I started writing this about six hours after I came round in intensive care. It's just taken a while because quite frankly, I feel awful. So don't expect the next chapter to be up for a while because writing just ain't happening at the moment I'm afraid. Anyway, thanks for all your well wishes and reviews, hope you like this chapter.
Turn
by Flaignhan
Thor has to jog to keep up with her. She strides down the marble hallways, shoving the heavy wooden doors open so hard that they crash into the adjacent walls, rebounding so quickly that Thor has to throw out a hand to catch them, lest they hit him in the face. She takes the stairs to the dungeons two at a time, and pulls the chains roughly away from the door handles, dropping them to the floor with a clang before she kicks the door open and storms inside.
"Natasha, wait - "
She doesn't listen, and at the sight of her, Loki, bedraggled and tired, sits up straight his mouth open as though to garble some excuse, but Natasha doesn't wait around to listen to it.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she demands heading straight for the glass. She doesn't know what she's going to do when she reaches him; she's torn between punching him in the face, wringing his neck and -
She doesn't get to consider the third outcome. She's blinded by pain, her nose crunching against something solid, the warm flow of blood almost instant, and she topples over backwards. She throws out an arm to break her fall, but a pair of thick, strong arms catch her.
"You can't go in," Thor says. "For your own safety."
Natasha pulls away from him and pinches the bridge of her nose to try and stop the blood flow. "My safety, or his?" she demands.
"Natasha I - " Loki begins, his hands pressed against the glass, his face pale, eyes desperate and pleading.
"I know you didn't do it," she says obviously, wiping at the blood on her face with the cuff of her jacket.
"What?"
Both Thor and Loki speak at the same time, and she doesn't know who she's more pissed off with - Thor for believing that Loki would kill a girl, and not only that, kill a girl who resembled her because he'd supposedly lost his mind, or Loki, for assuming she has so little faith in him.
"Killing girls isn't your style," Natasha says, turning to Loki. She presses her hand against the glass, opposite his, and he rests his forehead against the other side, looking down at her, his eyes clouded with what she thinks might be relief. He lets out a soft sigh, breath fogging the glass, and Natasha closes her eyes.
"Natasha," Thor says gently. "They found the girl in his - "
"Seriously?" Natasha says, turning away from the glass. "Are you fucking kidding me?"
"Natasha, he was knelt by the body when I - "
"In all the time you've known him, when the hell has he ever chosen girls as his target? Taking over the world? Yeah, okay, I'd believe that. But killing a girl just for the sake of it? He's got more class than that."
Thor falls silent at this, and Natasha is sure he still believes Loki is responsible. She doesn't know any of the details yet, but she knows, in her heart of hearts, she knew when she was storming along the bifrost, that there was no way in hell he would have betrayed her like this. Not over something so silly. He hasn't even uttered a word about it, but she knows, from the expression on his face that he's innocent this time. She knows how murder, even in a moment of madness, rests heavy on the heart, and is in turn projected onto the face, more specifically the eyes.
"I need you to tell me everything," Natasha sighs, returning her gaze to Loki. He nods, and then glances up at Thor, hovering a few feet behind her.
"Can you give us a minute?" Natasha asks.
"I'm not supposed to - "
"Oh come on," Natasha says. "Clearly I can't get in," she gestures to her nose, "and he can't get out."
This seems to be enough to convince Thor, and he exits the dungeon, closing the door behind him. She hears him walk to the end of the corridor, but he doesn't climb the stairs. Natasha assumes he's sat down at the foot of them, not wanting to be too far away should any unlikely trouble break out.
"Are you all right?" Loki asks softly.
She blinks and looks up at him, chewing on the inside of her lower lip. She's not okay. In fact she's very very very far from okay, but it seems as though her problems pale into insignificance when compared to Loki's.
"Natasha?"
She closes her eyes, trying to keep the prickling around her lower lids at bay. "I just really needed to come back here and for everything to be fine. I just needed…"
"What?" he asks gently.
"You," she admits, taking a step back from the glass, and dabbing at her bloody nose with her cuff.
He presses his fingers harder against the glass, the tips turning white with the pressure, and Natasha wishes more than anything that she could meet that touch without the thick layer of glass in between. After all her sleepless nights, trying to recall what colour his eyes were, how his arms felt around her, and the smell of his skin, to come back and be so close, and yet so far, to have overcome all the obstacles to only fall at the last hurdle is the biggest punch in the gut she has ever experienced. She feels like she's on the verge of tears and it's stupid, because she doesn't cry. It's not in her nature. The only time she cries is when she's on an assignment, her own life isn't nearly traumatic enough to warrant crying. Except for now, of course. Perhaps this is what stress feels like. Actual stress, not the kind of stress she's used to involving guns and explosions and breaking into places undetected, but the sort of stress that, should Fury find out about it, will leave her in counselling for six months with a SHIELD therapist, much like poor Bocharov.
"What happened to you?"
"Stuff," she replies, blinking rapidly. "But it doesn't matter, tell me what happened."
Loki fixes her with a piercing gaze before he apparently decides it's no use arguing with her, and sits down on the floor, his legs crossed, fingertips still clinging to the glass. Natasha sits down too, her hands resting on her knees, index finger picking at the seam of her jeans.
"I went to bed," he says with a shrug. "And when I woke up, I went into the main quarters and…" he trails off and looks down at the floor, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't do it, I swear. I know Thor thinks I did and I know how it looks, but I didn't - "
"I know," Natasha murmurs. "I know…"
"You knew before you even got here though," Loki says. "And my family don't believe me, and yet you didn't even need to hear my side, you just knew."
"Think how many times you've betrayed them in the past though," Natasha sighs. "This is just the latest in a long line to them. They half expected it, I think."
"And you didn't expect it?"
Natasha shakes her head and reaches up to twirl a lock of hair around her index finger. The motion pulls on her jacket sleeve, and she sees Loki's eyebrows twitch into a frown.
"What's that?" he asks, gesturing to her wrists.
Natasha looks down and sees the thin pink scars marring her wrists. She drops her hand into her lap and pulls her sleeve down, covering the marks.
"Answer the question," he says, his voice growing stronger, his frown more severe.
"It happened on the assignment," she says quietly, ensuring both of her sleeves are pulled right down over her wrists. "It's healed now though, it's no big deal."
"What happened to you?" he asks, his voice gentle once more. He presses his forehead against the glass, his eyes seeking hers, but she won't meet his gaze. "You're so different to before."
She picks at the seam of her jeans and chews on her lip, trying to think of a way to dodge the question. She can't though, and so she settles for staring at the floor, trying to ignore the prickling of her skin under Loki's intense stare.
"Was it worth it?"
"Don't."
"Don't wh- "
"Just don't," Natasha says, resting her head in her hands and pressing the heels of her palms against her eye sockets until she sees nothing but blackness, in place of the inside of the lab. Isabella and Anastasia's faces seem like they're burned into the inside of her eyelids, staring out at her accusingly in the dark. She doesn't know how she's going to cope, she only knows that she has to, because there are more pressing concerns, like the thick pane of glass separating her from Loki. She can't help herself though. Hot tears leak from the corner of her eyes and she takes in deep breaths, trying to get her body under control but she just can't. She doesn't understand how she can have so little say in her body's responses, especially when she's back where she wants to be, back where she's safe, even though it's not perfect, the Loki situation can be fixed, she's sure of it.
She just really wishes she could lose herself in him right now.
"Natasha…don't…please don't…"
She ignores him and his broken tone, the crack in his voice, and the instinctual knowledge that he's leant up against the glass in an effort to be as close to her as possible. She tries to think of something ridiculous, something detached, something to break her out of this sudden downwards dip, but she can't. It's all suddenly too much and she doesn't know if she wants to run away or if she wants to stay.
Natasha wipes roughly at her eyes and sniffs, her jaw clenched, gaze avoiding Loki, but when she sees him slumped against the corner watching her glumly, his fingers resting against the glass, she swallows the lump in her throat and shifts closer to him, until her body is next to his feet, her head leant against the glass, their fingers meeting in the middle. There is nothing she wouldn't give to have the glass removed, to have his fingers intertwine with hers so she has something real to hold onto, something to focus on other than the deep dark wounds that her assignment has left her with.
"Everything's going to be all right," he says softly, his eyes fixed on their fingers. "I know it will."
Natasha nods, and this time she manages to blink away the threat of oncoming tears. "Yeah," she breathes. "I know."
She's exhausted, and it's not long before she finds her eyelids drooping, tiredness overcoming her. She dozes off, losing track of the time, but when she hears the dungeon door open, she stirs, just a little, but doesn't open her eyes.
"Leave her here, just for tonight, please."
"Loki you know I can't…"
"She needs rest."
"And she can rest in your rooms."
"Because those have proved to be secure, haven't they?" Loki's voice is bitter, and Natasha hears him huff. She half expects him to get up and start skulking around the perimeter of his cell but he stays put.
"Loki - "
"I didn't kill that girl, Thor. And you know that even if I could get out of here the last thing I'd do is hurt her."
"I can't leave her here, Father - "
"To hell with Father. After everything she's been through…"
"I know, Loki, I know."
There is a pause, and then: "How much do you know?"
A longer pause this time, as Thor realises he's walked head first into a trap.
"Thor."
"Heimdall was watching over her…" Thor sighs. "He saw everything. Loki, she's suffered so much, please don't - "
"What has she suffered?" Loki demands, his voice quiet and strained, and Natasha can hear him sit up straighter.
"She'll tell you if she wants to," Thor mumbles sheepishly. "It's not my place to say. Be kind though, Loki. She has missed you greatly."
"Tell me," Loki says, his voice reverting to that childish, vulnerable tone that Natasha has only ever heard him use while under Odin's scrutiny.
"You don't want to know," Thor replies. "But she has been more courageous in these past weeks than most are in a lifetime. Do not press her for information. She needs you."
"So let her stay," Loki pleads. "Just let her stay and I swear I'll - "
"I'll sleep in the corridor," Thor says, giving in. "And not a word to Father,"
"Like I have anything to say to him," Loki sneers.
"Goodnight Loki," Thor sighs, heading for the door.
"Goodnight," Loki replies, and then, after a pause, comes a small, "And thank you," that Natasha probably would have missed had she not been so close to him.
"You're welcome."
Natasha can hear the faint, tired smile stretching his lips. It comes through in his voice, in the way he gently closes the dungeon door, and the footsteps that sound a touch lighter than they were before. After a few moments, she hears Loki settle down, and after a few more moments, she drops off to sleep once again, more at ease than she has been for weeks.
Breakfast arrives with a clatter, and Natasha starts awake. At first she's disoriented, half expecting to be waking up in a twin bed in a room with pale green walls, and she jumps up, looking around anxiously, trying to figure out exactly where she is and where the nearest exits are.
"Natasha, it's all right."
She looks down to see Loki, who has pushed himself up onto his knees and is watching her closely.
"You're okay," he says. "Everything's okay. It's just breakfast."
She lets out a sigh and lifts a shaky hand to remove her hair clip, her hair falling around her shoulders. She lowers herself back down to the floor, resting the side of her head against the glass and bringing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, as she waits for her heart rate to return to normal. She can feel Loki watching her, doesn't need to look at him to know that his eyebrows have twitched into a concerned frown, his lips pouting slightly from his position of helplessness behind the glass.
The door opens and Thor pokes his head around the corner. When he sees that the pair of them are awake, he comes into the dungeon, collects the tray from the dumb waiter and approaches.
"Hungry?" he asks Loki. He doesn't wait for an answer, and steps through the glass, Natasha's heart searing with jealousy at his ability to walk straight through. He gives the tray to Loki, who balances it on his knees and pulls a grim expression. Unlike Loki's last stint in the dungeons, there is only a single bowl on the tray, with dollops of a thick greyish porridge dumped in it.
"Thanks," Loki mumbles, pushing the mush around with his spoon. Thor steps out of the cell again, without another word to Loki, then holds out a hand to Natasha.
"Come," he says. "You must be starving. We'll take breakfast and then…" he trails off and glances down at Loki. "Then you can decide what you want to do."
"Breakfast can wait," Natasha says, taking his hand and pulling herself to her feet. "I wanna see the body, I wanna see his rooms, and…at some point, I'm gonna wanna speak to your dad."
Thor raises his eyebrows and turns to Loki again, whose expression matches Thor's exactly. Natasha almost smiles, because no matter how much Loki claims that they aren't brothers (which is constantly contradicted by how often Loki addresses Thor as such) there's no denying that some of their mannerisms are transferable between the two.
"You want to speak to my father?" Loki asks, putting his tray to one side. "Are you sure?"
"Everybody's jumped to the conclusion that you killed this girl," Natasha says, ignoring the loud rumble that her stomach emits. She inwardly groans, knowing that Thor will undoubtedly drag her to breakfast before anything else after hearing that, but carries on regardless. "And you know, they found you next to the body in your room, so pretty compelling stuff, but anyone who knows you knows that you're not interested in attacking women, right?" She turns to Thor at this point, because if they're going to go any further, she'll need his full support on this, and more importantly, Loki will need his full support, more now than ever. It's all very well and good Thor trying to save Loki when he's been causing chaos all over the galaxy, but for him to abandon him in prison the one time he's innocent…well, that's not going to help anybody. Besides, she has a feeling that she alone won't be able to convince Odin, and probably won't be given the time of day by him.
"I want to believe he's innocent," Thor sighs.
"But?"
"No one could have gotten into that room. The chains were on."
"And Loki somehow managed to get out of that room? Somehow found a girl? Killed her? Brought her back to his place and gave her a haircut? Yeah right."
"None of it makes sense."
"But that doesn't mean you can just place the blame on him," Natasha says exasperatedly. She looks down at Loki, who swallows (with difficulty) a mouthful of his porridge and pulls a face. "We can't leave him like this."
Thor sighs, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side. "Breakfast first," he says. "And then the girl. The funeral's tonight."
"Okay," Natasha says, giving him a firm nod. She turns back to Loki, his spoon halfway to his mouth, its contents looking entirely unappealing. She grimaces in sympathy. "I'm gonna get you out of here soon, okay?"
He smiles wryly, and she's offended, just for a moment, because she thinks that he's dismissing the idea, that he hasn't the faith that she's capable of doing such a thing. After what she's been through in the last month, however, getting Loki out of prison, even if she has to break him out, is going to be a piece of cake. Apart from that, she's got far more motivation to get this job done than she ever had for the assignment. She'd dreaded the climax of that even before she landed on Russian soil. This, however, this is going to be fixed, and it's going to be fixed today.
"I'm sure you will," he says, finally giving up on his porridge for good and putting it to one side. "I'm sure you will."
Natasha follows Thor from the dungeon and he places the chains back on the door, double checking that they're secure before he's happy to move on. They climb the stairs in silence and Natasha tries to rub the crick from her neck. Solid glass pillows aren't top on her list of favoured luxuries, but she'll make do, for Loki.
Thor takes her to a small inn, just outside the palace grounds. It's empty at this time in the morning but the woman behind the counter gives Thor a cheerful smile.
"Breakfast for me and my companion?" he asks, raising his hand in greeting.
"Coming up, my liege," the woman says, bustling through the doors that lead to the kitchen out the back.
Thor pulls out a chair at a small, scrubbed table and gestures for Natasha to sit down. She does, and rests her elbows on the table, her hands clasped together, fingers tapping the back of her hand anxiously. Thor takes a seat opposite her and rests his head on the heels of his palms. He looks even more tired than last night, and Natasha wonders how much sleep he really got in the corridor. Hopefully tonight they'll all be back in their own beds for a proper night's rest. Hopefully.
It's not long before a hearty breakfast is placed in front of each of them, along with two large tankards of water. Natasha's hungry, and tries to ignore each pang of guilt that strikes her with every bite as she remembers that horrible gloopy porridge that Loki was lumbered with. Thor, on the other hand, is pushing his food around his plate with his fork, barely touching a morsel. Taking a break to have a sip of water, Natasha watches him curiously over the rim of her tankard.
"What's up?" she asks at last, placing the tankard down. Thor glances up at her, then sighs and sits back in his chair, a troubled expression on his usually cheerful face.
"You are so certain he is innocent," Thor begins, and as Natasha is about to open her mouth to argue, he holds up a hand to stop her in her tracks. "And yet there's no evidence, you didn't even ask him what happened, but you're certain he's innocent…how?"
Natasha frowns as she considers her answer. She doesn't know how she knew, all she knows is that she did. Perhaps it had been denial, which had later proved to have been correct, or perhaps she has the measure of Loki well enough to know he's innocent, without stopping to think of all the reasons why it wouldn't have been him, not this time. Now she thinks about it, she realises that she has never been personally betrayed by Loki. Thor, on the other hand…well, he's been betrayed more times than he can probably count. He's been stabbed, lied to, attacked by giant robots, among countless other things. She's not surprised that Thor is wavering on the fence, caught between wanting Loki to be innocent and knowing that ninety nine times out of a hundred, he's not.
The Loki that Natasha knows, the one that she has forged a relationship with these past months, is the one that locked his arms around her, that last night before she left for the assignment. He is the one who held her and told her to breathe after Frejir attacked, who gently tended to her wounds without question. He was the one who went out for a walk in the woods with the brother he despised, simply because Natasha asked him to. He's not the one who killed a girl because he was bored, or crazy, or whatever other reason they might have chalked it up to. That's just not him. Maybe it would have been last summer, but not now.
"I just know he wouldn't," she says at last, unable to find the words to communicate her feelings any better than that. She doesn't want to start telling Thor about the ins and outs of her relationship with Loki, because apart from the fact that she doesn't even really know where the both of them stand, it would also feel like a betrayal to Loki, letting his detested brother have all the details on the one thing he has to call his own. She's quite sure that Jane would never spill all the beans about Thor to Loki (not that she can imagine any such scenario where either party would be inclined to do such a thing) so she won't be the one to reveal anything of Loki to Thor that he doesn't already know.
"I hope you're right," Thor sighs, then pushes his plate away. "Are you done? The girl's body is in the lower halls of the palace."
Natasha nods and Thor stands, leading the way out of the inn, sending a wave of thanks in the direction of the barmaid. They head back into the palace grounds, eyes lingering on them as Natasha marches alongside Thor, matching his long strides with smaller, quicker ones of her own.
"Does everybody think Loki did it?" Natasha asks quietly as they descend a set of stairs. Thor casts a glances over his shoulder to ensure they're alone before he answers.
"We tried to keep it quiet," Thor murmurs, "So of course the entire realm knows. The girl's parents were…"
"Yeah," Natasha says softly. "Yeah I can imagine."
They continue down a long, torch lit corridor until the very end, where Thor pushes open a heavy door with creaking hinges. Natasha follows him into the chamber beyond, where there are a group of women, all in long, flowing, deep blue gowns. Around the chamber, there are flowers in vases, some simple and similar to those Natasha might see on Earth, others far more exotic and beautiful, with long, twisting stems, and soft, delicate petals. Despite the strong floral aroma, Natasha can still detect the stench of death in the air.
"My companion and I would like a moment with Helma, if possible." Thor's voice is clear in the chamber, but somehow soft and unimposing.
"We are about to prepare her for the ceremony this evening my liege, there is much work to do," one of the women answers, her head bowed in deference, hands clasped in front of her.
"We only need a moment, and we will be sure not to delay you unnecessarily. It is most important."
The woman bites her lip as she considers Thor's request, then eventually nods, gesturing to a room beyond the chamber.
"Thank you," Thor says, "We won't be long."
Natasha keeps her gaze on the door ahead, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the women in the room. She doesn't know quite how to handle this one, what mask she ought to be sporting. She's on a personal mission, so she's mostly been parading around in her default no fucks given mask, and the same still applies. However tragic the murder of this girl is, Natasha can't change anything for her, all she can do is ensure that Loki doesn't get punished for a crime he didn't commit. She knows she ought to have some sympathy, with a tinge of sadness and regret thrown in, but the fact that it would be disingenuous makes it seem somehow worse than a blatant lack of emotion.
The room is dimly lit, and Helma's pale body lays motionless on a marble table. She looks peaceful, and were it not for the smell, Natasha would think she were sleeping. Her hair is vibrantly red, and chopped short with rough, uneven strokes. The rest of her hair lays on a table on the far side of the room, held together with a long stream of ribbon, criss-crossing along the length of it. Natasha approaches the body cautiously, then, when she reaches the edge of the table, she casts her eyes down the girl's lifeless form.
"She's so young," Natasha sighs, taking in the smooth, paper white skin, her slender, delicate fingers, and the faded, pinprick sized freckles scattered across her nose.
"I know," Thor croaks. "I know."
Natasha's attention is drawn to the neck, marred with dark purple bruises which stick out like a sore thumb against her colourless skin. The bruises are large, but Natasha can clearly detect the separate fingerprints of the culprit. The thumbprint is much bigger than Natasha would expect, and she leans closer, frowning.
"The guy who did this hand huge hands," Natasha says. She pulls away from the body and grabs Thor's own hand, holding it up in front of her so she can compare sizes. Even Thor, for all his mass, wouldn't have left such sizeable prints. It would have to be someone with fatter, hammier fists. Someone with both strength and mass.
"Not Loki?" He sounds cautiously optimistic.
"No, Loki's hands don't leave bruises like that…" she mumbles, brushing a lock of hair away from Helma's neck so she can better see her injuries.
"How would you know what kind of bruises Loki's hands leave?" Thor asks darkly, turning his attention away from Helma and letting it rest solely on Natasha. "Has he hurt you?"
"No," Natasha replies shortly, not even bothering to face him. He should know that that's a ridiculous question. Had Loki ever hurt her, she certainly wouldn't be trying to prove his innocence now. She'd be leaving him to rot. That's just how she is.
"Then how - "
"Not all bruises are inflicted maliciously," she says, cutting him off. She hopes that that's enough to get the message across, but apparently not, because Thor pursues his line of questioning.
"Well if not maliciously then how?" he asks, his tone quizzical.
Natasha sighs and gives him an exasperated look.
"What?"
"It was…" she rotates her hand in front of her as she tries to come up with an appropriate word. "Passion."
"What, one of your card games got a little heated and he took it out on you?" Thor asks skeptically.
"Are you serious?" she sighs. "Really?" She shakes her head and turns back to Helma's body, picking up one of her delicate hands and frowning at the fingertips. There's a faint trace of red under her nails that suggests she may have put up a fight, no matter how fruitless. For the first time, Natasha feels a pang of empathy for the girl, and is struck by a vision of her scrabbling against her attacker, tears in her eyes as the pressure on her windpipe increases past the point of pain or recognition.
"I don't know what you - "
"Loki and I…" Natasha sighs, her stomach churning with embarrassment as she places Helma's hand back on the table. It's hardly the time or the place to have this conversation with him, and she doesn't want to have it at all. In fact, it is the last conversation she wants to have with him, ever. "We uh…we got close one night. Very close."
A look of sudden comprehension mingled with a dash of horror dawns on Thor's face. Natasha turns back to Helma, not wanting to deal with the fall out of this latest revelation. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and takes a quick couple of photos, then checks that the bruises are crystal clear on the images before shoving her phone back into her jeans.
"When?" Thor asks, his face merging into one of disgust.
"We're done here," Natasha says, turning towards the door. "And you're not to to tell him you know, all right?"
"But - "
"All right?" Natasha repeats, whirling around to face him and staring him down.
"Of course," Thor says after a moment's hesitation. "You have my word but Natasha - "
"But nothing," she replies. "End of discussion."
Thor falls silent and follows her from the chamber. On their way out, they both send respectful nods towards the women, who are collecting various bottles, flowers and lengths of material. She doesn't have time to be curious about the process of an Asgardian funeral, because she needs to go and inspect Loki's rooms. She doubts the girl was even killed there, but there must be some evidence there, some trace of whoever dumped the body.
"Have his quarters been cleaned since she was found?" Natasha asks.
Thor shakes his head. "No one is allowed into that area of the palace. Except me…of course."
"Who's stopping them?"
"Guards."
"And who's stopping the guards?"
Thor pauses, casting a sidelong glance at her. "I know what you're thinking."
"Good, so we've both come to the same conclusion."
"Do not allow yourself to be blinded by emotions, Natasha. Past grievances are - "
"I'll prove it," Natasha says firmly, running her hand lightly along the bannister as they climb the stairs.
"How?"
Natasha shrugs. "I'll think of something."
"Yes," Thor sighs. "That's what worries me."
Natasha smirks, mostly due to the fact that there is something in Thor's tone that reminds her of Clint, a wariness of her that he's worn quite openly on his sleeve since Budapest. They continue onwards, until Natasha finds herself in familiar locations once more, and she instinctively takes the turnings before Thor even gestures the direction, her memory serving her well. Eventually, they reach a large set of double doors, with half a dozen guards standing to attention outside of it.
"Hand picked by me," Thor says to Natasha. "Fine men, every one of them."
"I'm sure," Natasha says, stepping forwards, but she finds her path blocked by crossed spears.
"She can pass," Thor tells them, his voice loud and clear. "She is with me."
The spears are drawn back, and the door is pushed open for her. Natasha quickly takes in the faces of the men, committing each one to memory, before she steps into the corridor beyond, Thor following in her wake.
"The chains were off the door," Thor says as they near Loki's quarters. "They were on the floor."
"So someone came in from the outside, while Loki was inside."
"Well the girl had to come from somewhere…"
Natasha shakes her head. "The girl was already dead, Loki would have heard her being strangled, he would have woken up."
Thor remains quiet and Natasha knows it's because he's still not entirely convinced of Loki's innocence. She's not going to argue about it now though. Instead, she's going to prove it to him, and the rest of Asgard, that despite having sunk to various depths of sin, Loki hasn't sunk that far yet.
"Who put the chains on?"
"I did. We'd been into the woods that day…he tried to teach me to skim again but…" Thor takes a deep breath then exhales, his jaw set, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Natasha tries to put the information from her mind for now. He had been doing exactly as she'd asked, making the effort with Thor, going outside, indulging Thor's attempts at rebuilding the charred bridges between them, and then, mere days before her return, this happens. If only she'd been sooner, if only she'd been transferred in Isabella and Anastasia's place, then not only would their lives have been saved, but so would Helma's, and Loki wouldn't be back in the dungeons again. If only she hadn't played it so god damn safe.
Natasha picks up the chains, and they're just as she remembers them; heavy iron links, thick shiny padlock looped through one end. She unhooks it and examines it. Surely it must be the padlock. The chains are undamaged, but if Thor didn't secure them properly, if he didn't pay as much attention because Loki was being so well behaved…but no one could guarantee that. No one could plan a murder, and the framing of that murder based on a mistake that Thor might possibly make based unconsciously on sentiment.
"When you went out to the woods, where did you leave the chains?" Natasha asks.
Thor frowns. "I normally hang them on the door handle. Why?"
"Did you go out often? Every day?"
"Most days," Thor says. "I could tell he wasn't enjoying it but he still came anyway. I suggested other ways of passing the time but I think he preferred the woods. The lesser of many evils, perhaps."
Natasha doesn't reply, and instead clicks the padlock shut. The mechanism isn't as smooth as she would expect, and she narrows her eyes, holding the padlock up to the light and searching for any discernible differences. She doesn't have much to go on, seeing as she never paid the lock too much attention before, but when, after a minute, the lock pops open, she turns to Thor, her eyebrow raised, his jaw slack.
"How?"
"I think there's something in it," Natasha says as she shakes the lock upside down, trying to dislodge whatever it was that caught the shackle when she closed it minutes ago. When she has no luck, she scowls, and squats down, resting on her haunches, then bangs the lock against the floor, the loud, shrill clinks echoing down the corridor. Thor watches her closely, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown, but when a small, hollow cylinder pops out of the lock on her seventh whack, the frown melts away.
Natasha picks it up and studies it in the torchlight. It seems to be a false interior for the lock, designed to release the shackle after a set amount of time. There is a small, tightly coiled spring at the bottom of the cylinder, and Natasha wonders who else would have been involved with this plan. She's not sure the murderer would have had the measure of ingenuity or skill required for concocting this particular part of the plan.
"Did you want to see the room?" Thor asks.
Natasha nods and stands, slipping the cylinder into her pocket for safekeeping. Thor pushes open the door and she follows him inside, but as she expects, there is no sign of a struggle, no indication that the girl ever made it here alive.
"She was found here," Thor says, gesturing to a patch of floor that still has a few long red hairs scattered on it. "And Loki was kneeling next to her."
"I imagine he was trying to help her," Natasha says softly, remembering the speed with which he dealt out orders to Thor when it was Natasha who needed care. "But he was too late."
She rotates on the spot, chewing on her lower lip. She could always dust for fingerprints, maybe head back to Earth and commandeer Bruce's services for an afternoon, though he might be understandably averse to aiding Loki in any way. But even then, all the killer would have had to do was open the door and bring the body in. The number of fingerprints on that one door handle could be in the dozens, and what would it prove? Thor may have already rubbed away any partial prints they might have had.
"What are you looking for?" Thor asks quietly. He's hovering by the door, his expression solemn and Natasha thinks it's probably best that they get the hell out of here. There's nothing to be gleaned from this room, and Thor can't seem to drag his eyes away from the spot where Helma once laid.
"Let's go," she says, heading for the door and taking him by the arm, leading him gently from the room.
"You wanted to speak with my father?" Thor asks as they head away from Loki's quarters.
Natasha shakes her head. "Not yet, need more evidence."
"And how are you going to get that?" Thor asks.
"Tonight," Natasha replies simply. "We're going for a drink."
The inn is busy and noisy. Patrons are squashed together at the bar, laughing and joking, but when Thor and Fandral approach, they part ways, allowing them through.
"He speaks very highly of you," Sif says, her eyes fixed on the bar, just as Natasha's had been a moment ago. "He says you too are a warrior."
"I have my moments," Natasha says with a shrug. She scans the tables, and her eyes land on her target, seated in the corner with a group of burly men, all red faced and probably half a dozen tankards deep already.
"And Loki cares for you, that's certainly…interesting."
"Yeah," Natasha says, only half listening. "Who'dda seen that coming?"
Sif smiles, but after a moment her expression falters. "He was always so…annoying when we were children. Always tagging along with Thor, even though he was too small. He'd cry when we left him behind…"
"Maybe you could have just…not left him behind," Natasha suggests, her eyes not leaving the corner of the room. She's still not entirely sure what she's going to do, and she hopes that inspiration will strike her some time between now and the time at which she decides to take action.
"We were children," Sif sighs. "And we were selfish. Incredibly selfish. I sometimes wonder if we'd been kinder…"
Natasha shrugs. "Past is what it is," she says. "And I'm not sure you can really trace an attempted invasion of Earth right back to a couple of tearful days indoors while you guys went off and did your warrior thing."
"Maybe not," Sif replies softly. "Maybe not."
"D'you think he killed that girl?" Natasha asks abruptly, changing the subject. She's curious as to what Sif thinks, Sif who has known Loki as long as Thor, and yet isn't so closely bound to him by loyalty or family ties.
"Thor tells me you don't think he did."
"But what do you think? You've known him his whole life, right?"
Sif frowns and leans back in her chair, folding her arms across her stomach. She ponders her answer for a moment, then says, "It doesn't make sense, but I gave up trying to make sense of Loki a long time ago."
"Yeah, I don't think you're the only one," Natasha replies.
Thor returns with Fandral, and they set four tankards on the table, Sif pulling her one towards her. Natasha ignores the scraping of chair legs and flurry of movement as Thor and Fandral sit down, and tilts her head to get an unimpaired view of the corner. The group of men are chortling heartily, tossing empty tankards over their shoulders and not giving a damn where they land.
"So my dear," Fandral says in his sharp, clipped voice. "Thor tells me you have a plan to free his beloved brother?"
"It's something of a plan," Natasha replies, her hand finding the handle of her tankard. She lifts it to her lips and takes a sip, but when the alcohol burns her throat she decides that perhaps she ought to leave the rest of it until she's achieved what she came here to do.
"She's being very secretive about it," Thor says quietly to Fandral.
"Because you'll probably try to stop me," Natasha says.
"Then - "
"Don't get involved. If you get involved, you'll ruin it." She sees Fandral smirk from the corner of her eye and glance at Thor.
"Well you heard the lady, Thor, don't get involved, leave it all to her."
"I will leave it all to her providing that Asgard will still be standing at the end of it," Thor says, turning to Natasha and quirking an eyebrow. Apparently he thinks her plans are going to involve untold destruction, but she knows what she wants and she's pretty sure she knows how to get it. Untold destruction will be a very last resort, and she's not really sure she'd be able to manage that on Asgard, despite her track record on Earth. Perhaps Loki might have a few ideas about engineering a destructive escape plan however, so maybe it's not out of the question.
"Don't get involved," Natasha says, standing suddenly, her eyes fixed on the corner where her target resides. "Swear to me."
Thor lets out a sigh, his hands clasping his tankard, and Natasha breaks her gaze in order to make eye contact with him.
"I swear," he says gruffly. "I'll stay out of it."
This is all Natasha needs, and she moves quickly through the tables, ducking as a tankard comes flying towards her. As she nears the table, she hooks her arm around the top of the nearest empty chair, swings it over her shoulder, then brings it crashing down on Frejir's head. The wood splinters, shards flying all over the table, and the entire inn falls silent as everyone stops what they're doing to watch the commotion.
Frejir slowly turns around, his fists clenched so tightly on the table that his knuckles are popping under the skin. There are deep scratches on the back of his right hand, scabbing over in places, the skin pink and swollen at the edges. When he sees her, his eyes narrow, his eyebrows dropping forward into a scowl.
"What do you want?" he demands.
"Wow," Natasha says, "I never knew donkeys could talk."
From the corner of her eye, she sees Thor bury his face in his hands, and Sif's eyes alight with curiosity. Fandral takes a long swig of his ale, then swings his feet onto the nearest stool, tankard resting against his thigh.
"You talk far too much for a woman," Frejir says.
Natasha shrugs, takes her phone from her pocket, and before he can question what she's doing, she zooms in her camera and takes photographs of the scratch marks on the back of his hand, securing two rather blurry shots before she finally gets a sharp image. She tosses the phone over her shoulder and is relieved to hear the sound of it being caught. Frejir looks past her to the table where Thor and the others are, and his lip curls.
"You and the Lady Sif are new friends? I'm not sure which of you would be the worse influence on the other."
"Neither am I," Natasha says coolly. "But I'll be sure to leave a few bits of you for her to play with later. If I'm feeling generous."
Her incendiary words do the trick, and Frejir moves, quick as a flash, his fist flying out to connect with Natasha. She grabs his fist and twists it, tendons straining under the skin. Frejir yells, but then shakes her off quickly, his brute strength more than capable of flinging her to one side. She falls into a group of drunken patrons, who catch her and toss her back towards Frejir. She uses the momentum to her advantage and swipes her leg out at the backs of Frejir's knees. He falls down, and Natasha takes the opportunity to laugh openly in front of him while he scrambles to his feet.
"You're such a disappointment," Natasha says loudly. "But, I imagine I'm not the first woman to tell you that."
Frejir growls, and apparently, she's hit a nerve, because this time, she gets exactly what she wants. Frejir's hand closes around her neck and he slams her into the wall. She's blinded by whiteness for a moment, and rakes in as much oxygen as she can through her constricted windpipe. With his left hand, Frejir grabs the back of Natasha's hair, pulling at her clip.
"Where's your secret weapon?" he growls. "You'll not get me again with that!"
He's right, she won't be using Frigga's dagger to get her out of this one, because she wants to make sure that she bruises good and proper. Over Frejir's shoulder, she can see Thor's jaw hanging low, his hands gripping his hair. Fandral has stood up, fingers closed around the hilt of his sword, and Sif swallows nervously, her hands flat on the table. Natasha thinks she might be about to launch herself into the fray, but she gives them the most discrete thumbs up that she can manage, and she sees Sif relax, just a little. Thor looks no less worried, and Fandral remains on his feet.
When she feels her lungs start to burn, Natasha decides that she's probably going to have plenty of bruises, and without hesitation, brings the heels of her palms slamming into Frejir's temples. Stunned, he releases her, stumbling back, and deciding to finish her performance with a flourish, Natasha flips herself over, securing her thighs around his neck and sends him crashing to the floor.
Natasha's chest is heaving, her heart thudding loudly in her ribcage, and Frejir is groaning on the floor. She nods towards the exit, and that's as much instruction as Thor, Sif and Fandral need to join her in making a swift exit. She never imagined she'd be pleased at the fact that her neck muscles feel strained, her windpipe fragile, and her skin burning from where Frejir's fingers dug so hard into it.
"You are insane," Thor says when they're clear of the inn.
"Am I?" Natasha replies, her breath fogging in the chilly night air as she strides back towards the palace. Thor shakes his head, his fists still clenched at his sides, his face paler than usual.
"You know, I rather thought he had you there for a moment my dear, but you certainly showed him! Bravo!" Fandral flashes a grin at her as he hurries along beside her, his collar flapping in the breeze.
"Thanks," Natasha says with a smile. "Are the bruises showing yet?"
"Only a little," Sif says, peering at Natasha's neck. "Oh and that thing you did with your legs?"
"Yeah?"
"You have to teach me that."
Natasha looks over at the grinning Sif and smirks. "Maybe later."