NOTE - Thanks so much for the immediate reviews on the first chapter - many hugs and Loki kisses to you all.

The name of Dr. Holmes comes from the Murder Castle case in Chicago. And if you want to read some freaky stuff, check out the history of that place - it's fascinating.

2. Doctor

"Lithium metal is soft enough to be cut with a knife."

Natasha knew she had to present an air of calm detachment. Her nails dug into the tendons of her palms; the pain kept her centered. "Hello, Loki," she replied in an even tone seeming to come from far away. "I thought you were thrown in a dungeon on Asgard to rot."

"No longer." He seemed to measure her up with one flick of his eyes. "Now it is my honor to hold the throne."

His dimples deepened as he watched her process that information. Natasha's mind raced; how could she use her former enemy? Perhaps the more likely question was: How could she come out of this alive, and was rescuing Hill even an option at that point if such a dangerous villain was in charge of his world?

And had she been put inside the strange hospital at the whim of the demigod with the charming smile? If so, was his intention to play with her like a complicated doll before he killed her and returned to Asgard?

She decided the best thing to do was to play along with him, especially if the asylum and their shared incarceration was his game so she could discover some of the answers. And if what he said was true, she had a lot on her hands. King of Asgard – ruler of the nine realms. "Amazing," she marveled. "How did that happen, may I ask?"

"You may ask." His tone told her there would be no response.

"What do I call you now – Highness? Majesty?" Natasha hoped the change of tactic would win her a revelation.

The question raised a soft laugh. "The correct title is All-Father, but it seems overbearing in our case. I'm not certain Father is the way I want you to address me…"

Natasha pricked up her ears. Any hint of an 'in' was something to consider. "So?" she asked, allowing her voice to become husky. "How would you like me to address you, Loki?"

"Agent – please stop. You are wearing the most ridiculous garment I have ever seen, and in any case I am already being entertained by Rebecca." Loki hooded his eyes, folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. He seemed utterly at his ease although he wore the same 'ridiculous garment' she did.

"Rebecca – she's the nurse? The pretty one with dark eyes?" Natasha felt a jolt of relief; at least she could be spared the indignity of a seduction.

"Of course."

"Of course," Natasha repeated. She found a chair and sat in it, keeping a good amount of space between them. "Hey, knock yourself out with your little relationship. However, I would think the ruler of the nine realms would prefer to return to the golden throne instead of a folding chair – but maybe there's more to this situation than I thought. In any case, do you know how you appeared here in the first place?"

A tiny frown came and went between Loki's dark brows. "No, I do not. I awoke in a room and was administered some sort of medicine."

Excellent. She had extracted some sort of information. And if anyone would want to escape the asylum, Natasha surmised, it would be him; Loki would want to return to his throne, his palace, and whatever else went along with being king of the universe.

"The same happened to me," Natasha admitted. She hoped to formulate a feeling of kinship between them. "I was given an injection as well – and I want to find out what it is and why we're here."

He leaned a bit closer, interest leaping into his eyes. "And do you think you can do that?"

Natasha merely stared back at him. "You've seen me in action before," she said at last.

"Yes, I have." Loki stretched out one hand and touched the hem of her hospital gown. "I must admit to you of all those I met on Midgard you alone won a small measure of my respect."

Respect – she could work with that. "This is a very interesting situation, don't you think?" she asked. "We have no one to talk to other than an enemy."

"I have more than that," Loki reminded her gently. "By my calculations Rebecca will yield to me in two days. At that point it will be nothing more than a few simple steps to gain my release, and you will be left behind with these poor souls."

It certainly sounded as though he were speaking the truth. If he was (and she certainly wouldn't wager on it) the situation was not mere entertainment devised by a ruler bored of sitting on a golden throne in Asgard; no, it was something deeper - darker - engineered by an outside force. So what was it? Why was she inside an asylum with no one except Loki to talk to?

Natasha spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Good luck with that, but I maintain I'll win my release before you can."

It wasn't her imagination – a flame kindled in his eyes as he edged closer. Loki stroked her hem again with his thumb and allowed it to brush her knee. "Ah, now that does interest me. Shall we hazard a bet?"

"Sounds like a child's game." Natasha crossed her legs, removing them from his touch. "I don't have time for such nonsense."

"What else do you have on your agenda – reading more back copies of magazines about news that has already expired?" Loki rose and strolled to the window; he gestured for her to follow. When she joined him at the wired glass he pointed towards the orange smudge of the setting sun. "Five hundred furlongs hence in that direction there lies a safe house," he murmured so quietly she could barely hear him. "The first one of us who reaches it may make a request, and the other must grant it. Do you agree to the wager?"

Natasha peered into the thick forest surrounding them; there were no roofs nor even a thread of smoke to indicate any sort of civilization. A safe house – it was invaluable information. In ten minutes he had granted her the second half of a plan; all she had to do now was formulate the first. Openly she studied his profile – the strong nose, delicate cheekbones, firm mouth, black hair startling against such pale skin.

Loki faced her to stare directly into her eyes. "Well? Do you agree?"

"Any request at all?"

He nodded.

"I accept." As soon as she won the bet, Natasha mused, she could use the win to SHIELD's advantage and secure the world's safety against any of Loki's future plans. Anything he had planned for Midgard or, for that matter, any realm was certain to be horrific.

His gaze didn't waver. "Perhaps I was wrong about the garment. You wear it with style." Loki allowed his neck to bend as though he were about to embrace her.

"All-Father, please stop." She couldn't help echoing his words, twisting them to her advantage. Instantly he caught the reference and grinned.

There was a click from the double doors, making Natasha peer through her hair to see who it was. Rebecca stepped through, her pretty face dark with annoyance. "Ms Rushman?" The nurse's voice was short, clipped, and her anger was audible across the round day room.

Natasha strolled away from Loki, brushing one fingertip against the windowsills as though the encounter between them had been completely accidental. "Yes?"

"Time for your therapy with Dr. Holmes." The nurse grasped her arm in a tight grip and piloted her to the double doors, pausing to give Loki a meaningful look. He has already caught her, Natasha thought. She would have to speed up her plans if she wanted to win that bet.

Therapy was inside a small room with chipped wooden furniture and a large desk; a metal filing cabinet with one empty drawer left open and boxes of files on top lurked in one corner. A tall man sat behind the desk, scrawling notes on a long, yellow pad; his eyes mirrored the defeated downward droop of his luxuriant mustache. Natasha instantly surmised he was a man disappointed by life; she got the sense he would try to reshape the world as he knew it.

When Rebecca opened the door, Dr. Holmes gestured for her to come in. "Welcome, Ms Rushman, to our little home away from home. I trust you are feeling well today, eh? What do you think of the facility thus far?"

Natasha took a seat in one of the chipped chairs. She nodded in response, already deciding her first strategy would be to talk as little as possible and allow him to give himself away as a result.

"You like your room, I hope," he added. Natasha didn't reply, even when he began to barrage her with questions. Did she dream at night? Was she happy? Did she remember her parents? What were her fears? Throughout, she kept her eyes on him and an impassive look on her face.

While she listened, unmoving and silent, Dr. Holmes's eyes and mustache seemed to droop even further. At last he sighed, heaved himself out of his chair, and opened the door of the untidy office. "Rebecca! Bring me another injection."

Natasha made a mental note. The doctor was controlling people with medication – her at least and probably everyone else in the asylum. Perhaps it was the key to the place and to the entire situation. As he grasped the frame of the door to shout again with mounting anger, she took a quick peek at the notes on his legal pad.

"The face appears in the blades of the fan. As they swing faster, it becomes clearer."

"I wake with scarlet blood on my hands and no memory of how it got there. Always I have to clean up the mess."

Rebecca entered with another tray and a huff of fury. "I was in the middle of seeing patients," she muttered.

"I'm more important," the doctor snipped.

Natasha dropped her eyes to her lap. A power struggle between the two was incredible luck; there were at least fifteen ways she could use that in her plans. Or, she couldn't help thinking, it's really bad news. If they don't watch what they say in front of me, they think they have some kind of control over all of us. The patients are nothing but props.

Dr. Holmes seized the hypodermic and stabbed it into Natasha's shoulder without bothering to swipe her skin first; as he depressed the plunger she felt a sort of fuzziness at the back of her brain. Her bioengineering took over quickly to neutralize it, but it was the first time she had been affected by medication since the Red Room; the sensation was immediately noticeable, which made her take notice. Whatever liquid swirled in her veins from the hypodermic had to be very strong.

"What did you just give me?" she demanded.

"Lithium – nothing to worry about. Scientists think it could be the key to enhancing lifespan and fighting mental and physical disease. Now." Dr. Holmes sat back and steepled his fingers; he probably thought he displayed the very picture of a thorough professional. "Tell me about yourself or you will receive another injection."

Natasha experienced a slight curl of fear. She had the idea the notes on the pad were written by the doctor about himself, not about any patient. If so, he was the least sane individual inside the asylum.

"My parents died when I was young," she said, launching into the backstory she had written for Natalie Rushman years ago. She knew it by heart; as she recited it she heard the scratching of the doctor's pen. While the words poured out she let her mind order a series of steps she would need to take in order to rescue Maria Hill, bring down the insane Dr. Holmes, get outside, and make it to the safe house before Loki got there.

Throughout her performance the panic she felt increased. The asylum was hardly legit. The doctor himself was extremely strange. Her most rational conversation thus far had been with a black villain who seemed to enjoy turning humans into meat puppets and carving out eyeballs with a high-tech melon scoop.

Worst of all, if those injections continued to affect her, how long could she count on her own sanity?