A/N: Sorry for the delay. If it's any consolation my kitchen is now a pretty, if slightly bolder than expected, shade of aqua. Hope to get Mutiny updated either today or tomorrow as well. Hope you enjoy this chapter!
The Interloper
by Flaignhan
Her head hurts and her skin is slick with sweat. She doesn't open her eyes, knowing that it will pain her far too much. Her nerves are on fire, every inch of her buzzing and twanging, and she can't put together a single coherent thought. Everything mushes together, and she soon stops trying to make sense of things, opting instead to grip the bedcovers in her fist and squeeze them tightly, trying to anchor herself to reality.
A large, rough hand pulls her gently into a sitting position, piling pillows behind her so she can lean back against them. She opens her eyes a crack and sees a mass of thick, blond hair, a pair of twinkling blue eyes slowly coming into focus.
"Drink this," he says, pressing a cup to her lips and tipping it up. She obeys, swallowing down the thick liquid until he takes the cup away. She feels an improvement straight away, her nerves settling, though only a little. Her heart is thudding relentlessly in her chest, and she has never been so disoriented in all her life. All of her limbs feel disconnected, and when she moves her fingers, it's as though a middleman has stepped in, and is pulling the strings on a delay.
"What happened?" she croaks, her throat dry and rough.
"You had a fit or…I don't know. You're not well." His brow is creased with concern, his lips pressed into a tight line, and he reaches forward, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from her face.
"Did Loki come and get you?" she asks, her head falling sideways onto her pillows as her neck gives up on the idea of allowing her to look straight ahead.
"What?" Thor frowns, then looks down at himself. "Oh, this."
There is a blur of green light and Loki is sitting by the bed, where Thor was only moments ago. He's even paler than usual, what little colour he holds drained from his face. Natasha doesn't even bother to prod her brain into trying to figure it out, she just accepts it and closes her eyes.
"I had to go back to Asgard," he says softly. "To get some things to make you better."
Natasha opens her eyes, but even the dim light of the lamp causes her to squint. "You went back to Asgard?"
"Yes," he says, refilling the cup with some more of the thick, lilac coloured liquid he had given her a few moments ago. "Hence the disguise."
The corner of her mouth curves upwards in a small smile. "You dress up as him often?"
"Only when I'm pretending to be dead," he replies humourlesly, lifting the bottle away from the cup and setting it on the bedside cabinet. "Here." He presses the cup to her lips again and she raises a trembling hand to it in an effort to have even a little control. She drinks deeply, the viscous mixture sliding down her throat and causing her toes to curl, and when she starts to run out of breath, she pushes Loki's hand away, and he gives her a moment of respite.
"How much of this do I have to drink?" she asks, scraping her tongue against her teeth to rid herself of the taste. It's strange and sugary, but there is a hint of bitterness afterwards that leaves her mouth feeling like the aftermath of a hangover.
"I took a dozen bottles," he tells her. "But it's only palliative, I had to use a few other things. You weren't…you wouldn't wake up." He taps his fingers against the edge of the cup, looking down into the small amount of medicine left at the bottom. The news hits her like a ton of bricks, a cold chill sweeping through her veins. If Loki hadn't been here, how long would it have been before she was discovered? Hours, easily, perhaps even days. And then what would have happened? Would they have left her be? Performed a small ceremony while Fury told the gathering what an asset she was to the organisation, and how sorely she will be missed? Or would they pull the same kind of shit they did with Coulson? She feels sick just thinking about it.
"What kind of things did you use?" Natasha asks, casting her eyes over him. He looks tired, though she probably looks a hell of a lot worse, and she glances over to the window, trying to get a gauge of the time. The thin strip of sky she can see through the gap in the curtains is a murky blue, and she suspects that dawn is creeping up on them. She'll need to pull herself together and get to work soon.
"Asgard things," he tells her with a shrug. "It doesn't matter. You'll be fine. The effects are just going to last a while."
"Asgard things…" Natasha repeats. She looks down to the cabinet where one of the bottles of medicine stands, and next to it she sees a heavy glass syringe with a fine golden needle and an extravagantly carved plunger. It's empty, bar the thin tint of green on the inside of the glass. "What did you need that for?"
"Your heart," he tells her. His leg is jogging nervously, his eyes running over her systematically, and Natasha's skin tingles under his scrutinisation. He takes her by the wrist, his index and middle finger settling over her pulse point, and he looks up to the ceiling, concentrating, before he gently releases her wrist and sets it carefully down on the mattress.
"What happened to my heart?" she asks. Her eyelids are heavy - she has no idea what's in that medicine that he's giving her, whether there are sedatives or similar, but what she does know is that she won't be staying conscious for too much longer.
"It was fast," he tells her. He's lost his way with words, hesitating and coming out with short, stilted sentences that do little to explain the situation. He breathes in, then lets out a heavy sigh as he refills her medicine cup, his eyes intensely focused on the thin stream of lilac liquid pouring into the bottom of the cup.
"Fast," Natasha repeats, closing her eyes and sliding down in the bed, her spine curving in such a way that she is certain she will regret it when she next wakes up.
"Too fast," he says. "Drink this."
She feels the familiar sensation of the rim of the cup being pressed against her lower lip, and she tilts back her head, swallowing down as much of the medicine as she can. He pulls the cup away from her when it's empty and sets it down, then folds his hands in his lap, his leg still jogging rapidly.
"Go to sleep," he tells her. "You need rest."
"I need to go to work," she replies, but she doesn't fight him when he rearranges her pillows and gently pulls her further down the bed so that her spine is lying flat. Such thoughtfulness catches her off guard, but before she can comment on it, she sinks into unconsciousness, and knows no more.
She is shaken roughly awake, and lets out a low groan, throwing her arm haphazardly over her eyes to block out the light.
"Nat? Wake up, come on." The low, panicked tones of Clint filter through her ears, and she tries to push him away, but he is unrelenting.
"Hawkeye move, let me get to her." Bruce's soft words now attract Natasha's mental focus, and Clint's grip on her shoulders relinquishes, allowing her to sink back into her pillows. As soon as Clint is out of the way, however, Bruce's hand closes around her wrist, his fingers resting on her pulse point.
"Heart rate?" Jane's voice now, and Natasha hears the sound of a heavy bag being dumped on her dresser. The mattress surface shifts, and moments later, a small hand carefully moves her arm away from her eyes.
"Elevated," Bruce tells her. "Temperature's up too."
"We've got her, sir," Clint says in a low voice. "She's alive." He pauses for a moment while Bruce and Jane pull her into a sitting position, her neck muscles so weak that he head simply falls backwards at a painful angle. Bruce's hand quickly cradles it, and she blearily opens her eyes, wondering where Loki is.
Thor is standing at the end of her bed, his brow creased in concern, arms folded across his chest as he watches Jane and Bruce work. Jane shines a light in Natasha's right eye, and she recoils, her eyelids clamping tightly shut.
"Open your eyes, Natasha," Jane says clearly, while Clint continues to utter messages to Fury through his comms device.
"Turn the god damn torch off and I will," she rasps in reply.
"Get her some water," Bruce mumbles, and the distinctive sound of Clint's footsteps fade away until Natasha can hear the clinking of glass and the gush of the tap coming from the kitchen. "Natasha, come on, eyes, we need to take a look."
Through her eyelids, she can see the light of the torch flicker off, and she obeys Bruce's order, opening her eyes slowly, anticipating an unwelcome encore from the torch. Jane lifts her eyelid gently with her thumb and takes a good look, then, as expected, the torchlight is brandished again, and Natasha shuts her eyes before too much damage is done.
"We're gonna have to take her in," Jane sighs.
"I'm fine," Natasha lies, as a cold glass of water is pressed into her hands. She has to focus all of her energy and concentration on not dropping the glass, which feels a hundred times heavier than she is used to. She raises it with a trembling hand, her other cupped cautiously beneath it, half expecting the glass to slip from her grip, but she manages to swallow down a few mouthfuls of cool water before she holds it out, Clint's rough hand taking it from her.
"You're not fine," he says impatiently. "Why the hell didn't the meds pick up on this last night?"
"I was fine last night," Natasha snaps. As much as the medics test her patience, she doesn't want them suffering any repercussions because of this. The lab tech, whoever the hell he was, succumbed to the gas straight away. She vaguely wonders whether that faint pulse in his wrist ever managed to strengthen again, whether the facility managed to find some means of curing him, or at least easing his pain, or whether he was written off and a new technician was brought in to replace him. She slowly opens her eyes, and Thor is still standing at the foot of her bed, still, silent, and concerned. She looks into his eyes and tries to work out whether it's really him, or if Loki's treading a fine and dangerous line.
"Can you walk to the car?" Jane asks softly. "Or do we need to get an ambulance?"
"No ambulance," Natasha replies gruffly, shaking Bruce's hand off of her shoulder and pushing herself towards the edge of the bed. She is far too stubborn for her own good, but it gives her a chance to take a quick look at her bedside cabinet. All of Loki's pilfered medicine bottles, cups, syringes and other Asgardian paraphernalia are absent, and so she can only assume that he managed to hide them before he either hid himself, or disguised himself as Thor and made a couple of good excuses as to why he was in her apartment.
Her stubbornness earns her no rewards today. She can't even push herself up off of the bed, her thigh muscles tensing and trembling at the mere thought of supporting her weight.
"Here," Thor says kindly, circling around the bed to Natasha. "Let me assist you." He scoops her up in his arms before she can argue, and he is so steady, so stable, that she soon finds that she doesn't want to argue. He is far sturdier than the bed, and there is something about that that she finds comforting when her body is quivering from head to toe. His solidness is like an anchor, tethering her to reality, while the softness of her mattress allowed her to slip into unpleasant dreams while cold sweats would break out all over her skin.
She gets her answer from Thor's actions too. As Bruce and Clint part to let him pass, he takes no advantage of the quiet moment they have just outside the bedroom to confess to her that he is anyone other than himself. When her head lolls against his ridiculously large bicep, she is able to see her apartment door. Or rather, what's left of it.
"What the - ?"
"I had to break it down," Thor says sheepishly. "You weren't answering and we were concerned."
"The concierge has keys…" she sighs. It's no use worrying about it now. The damage is done, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a small hope flares. She is certain that Loki is somewhere in the apartment still, and if nothing else, he might at least have the decency to ensure that nobody walks in and takes all of her stuff.
Jane keeps a near constant check on Natasha's pulse and temperature while they wait for the elevator, ignoring Thor's griping about the slow mortal technology. A familiar hand cradles her head, and she opens her eyes, looking up at Clint.
"You're gonna be okay, Nat, you know that, right?"
She nods, and the elevator pings as the doors slide open, and they all pile inside, the lift giving an almighty shudder when Thor manoeuvres himself and Natasha into the tight, brightly lit space.
"Just out of curiosity, how much do you weigh?" Bruce asks, and the corner of Natasha's lips pull into a small smile, though her eyes are tightly shut against the glare of the overhead spotlights.
"Just enough to make me worry that the cables are gonna snap…" Jane says quietly, as the elevator starts making a grinding descent.
Soon enough they reach the lobby, and the sound of Jane's heels clicking on the tiled floor beats on Natasha's eardrums as though the volume has be turned all the way up to eleven. The scuff of Clint's boots and the squeak of Bruce's trainers don't help matters either, and soon there is another pair of shoes added to the cacophony, the soles slapping loudly on the floor.
"Is she okay?"
"She'll be fine," Clint says smoothly. "But her apartment door isn't. Can you make sure it's replaced by the time she gets back?"
He must have flashed a badge, because there is total subservience in the concierge's voice when he replies. "Yes sir, of course sir."
By the time she is bundled into the car, unconsciousness is threatening to overwhelm her. She rests her head against the cool glass of the window, and as they pull away, she opens her eyes. She can't see much, for her breath is fogging the glass, the moisture mixing with her sweat to create an unpleasant cocktail of bodily fluids. She doesn't know how she knows it's him, perhaps it is in the way that he stands, or maybe how his clothes are similar to those which Loki normally wears. His soft brown hair and scrubby beard look out of place with the rest of him somehow, as though chosen in a hurry. It is the eyes, however, that give him away. His sharp gaze follows the progress of the car as they join the rest of the traffic, but when they reach the end of the street and turn the corner, he is out of sight, and out of mind as she succumbs once more to the darkness.
She doesn't know how much time passes before she finally starts to feel human again. Everything whooshes by in a haze of doctors and specialists, syringes and cannulas, damp cloths slapped on her forehead or else extra blankets bundled around her, trying to keep away frequent attacks of the shivers that strike her without warning. She's not sure if Clint actually goes home at all. What she does know is that he has been present every time she has felt strong enough to open her eyes, sitting in the high backed, mint green chair by her bedside, his fingers tapping on the wooden armrests, front teeth permanently embedded in his lower lip.
She gets worse before she gets better. She gets a lot worse, actually, but then she finds herself glugging down more of that strange, thick lilac liquid, but it is not Loki who administers it this time. It is a nurse whose name she doesn't know, who frowns at the liquid sceptically every time she pours a new dose out. Thor stands in the corner with Jane, watching anxiously, while Clint holds her upright, rubbing her back when she coughs and splutters.
The amount of flowers in her room soon becomes extortionate. Tony goes overboard, naturally, with vases of brightly coloured tulips dotted around her room and tended to by Bruce on his daily visits to her bedside. The two from Coulson's team who signed her off as fine drop by with a large bouquet of carnations, a basket of fruit, and more apologies than Natasha really wants to hear, while Steve makes it a part of his routine to drop by on a daily basis, bringing the newspaper and reading out any articles of interest.
When the day comes that she is able to sit up without assistance, feed herself (and keep it down), she wakes from an afternoon nap and opens her bleary eyes to see Thor, sitting by her bedside alone. She pushes herself up onto her elbows, confused for a moment, and she stares into his eyes, trying to detect some hint of Loki. He'd be a fool to try and come and see her in here. There are at least a dozen levels of security he'd have to pass through, cameras that would vouch for Thor's presence elsewhere at the time of his intrusion. Rather than an absence of Loki, however, it is the presence of something distinctly Thor that convinces her that Loki is no longer playing dress up. A softness, and perhaps an edge to his worry that Loki doesn't possess. Loki worries in a different way, in a stressed, but very particular and very controlled way. Thor, on the other hand, has a sense of helplessness about him that Loki would never dare show Natasha.
"How are you feeling?" Thor asks, reaching out to rearrange Natasha's pillows as she fumbles behind her back with them.
"Okay," she says in a croaky voice. Before she can even think about water, Thor has poured some from her jug into a small plastic cup, and hands it to her carefully, his hand lingering on the cup to ensure she has a firm grip on it before he releases it. She drinks it all down in one go, her parched throat rejoicing at the refreshment, and when she sets the cup down on her overbed table, Thor refills it dutifully.
"We've all been worried," Thor tells her. "None of the Midgardian medicines were working."
"Really?" She takes another sip of her water and stares straight ahead. "So what happened? Because I'm better now, right?"
"I'm told you're on the mend," Thor says with a smile, but it fades quickly, and he looks down at the floor, his eyebrows drawing into a frown.
"What? What's the matter?"
Thor hesitates for a moment, but then the words tumble out of him, as though they have been desperate to escape for days. "I went back to Asgard to fetch some medicine for you. Nothing was working and…" he trails off, shaking his head, and Natasha's insides contract unpleasantly. She has an awful feeling that she knows where this conversation is going, and she pulls the blankets up around her shoulders in an attempt to fight off the chill that has settled over her.
"I explained your symptoms to our most experienced healer," he says slowly, then raises his head so his eyes can meet Natasha's. "And she told me what I needed, and…"
"And?" Natasha asks. She doesn't want to know, but if she doesn't ask it will be far too revealing.
"She told me they'd only just restocked after I'd cleared them out last week. And when I questioned them further, apparently I cleared them out on the night you fell ill."
Natasha frowns. "So what are you saying?" she asks. She won't make any suggestions yet, won't put ideas into his head, won't try and explain things away. She'll only end up raising his suspicions, and the best way to dampen them is to ask enough questions that he gets out everything that's been nagging on his mind, but then not indulge his theories at all. With any luck, this horribly awkward conversation won't last more than ten minutes, and her insides can get back to their usual, steady churning that she has had to grow accustomed to.
"I don't know," Thor says hurriedly. He chews on his lip, his frown deepening as he mulls his next words over. "By all accounts, you ought to have been dead by the time we reached you," he sighs, resting one hand on his knee, his words coming slowly and steadily, as though they have raced around his brain for hours, days even.
"I'm tougher than I look," Natasha replies smoothly, then takes another sip of her water before she sets it back on the table.
"I don't doubt that," Thor says with a faint smile. "But whatever it was in that weapon, it was lethal. Jane and the others worked tirelessly to crack it open, to try and find out what was inside, but it was no substance known to Midgard."
"Alien then?"
Thor nods. "I don't know its origin I'm afraid. But I can't help thinking that it's an incredible coincidence that on the night you were attacked, I apparently turned up in the healing rooms and took the required medicine to save you."
Natasha stays silent, frowning at Thor, her eyes not breaking from him once. She knows that every time she looks away, it will strike another blow to the foundations of her lies.
"Were you alone, that night?" Thor asks quietly. His blue eyes are shining brightly, a faint trace of hope flitting about inside of him.
"Yeah," Natasha replies. "Well, I mean, I went home, got into bed and then…I don't really know what happened after that." Her recollection of events is technically true, and while she's lied about being alone, it's not as though Thor has specifically asked her if she and Loki have been living together for longer than she'd care to remember, nor has he asked her whether Loki saved her damn life. She is horribly aware that by removing her from Loki's care, her colleagues nearly ensured her death. It's a good job Thor was around, and that he thought to go to Asgard, because if he hadn't she's sure she'd be in an unmarked grave right now, laden with flowers and anonymous tributes from those few who actually care.
"The healers were certain," Thor tells her. "I arrived and demanded several bottles of medicine, the names of which I have never heard before, and then I took the entire stock and left."
Natasha shrugs. "Maybe something messed up with the bifrost?" she suggests. Thor shakes his head, his expression troubled.
"It's stupid but - " His voice catches, and he closes his mouth, then rests his head in his hands. "I haven't said anything to Jane, I don't want to alarm her but…" Again, he doesn't finish his sentence, and Natasha runs through all the possible means of getting in touch with Loki and letting him know that Thor's suspicious. While she doesn't agree with his secrecy, she understands it, and what's more, were it not for him, she'd be stone dead by now. The least she can do is give him a heads up. Unfortunately, all communication channels in and out of SHIELD HQ are monitored, so short of her actually getting out and going to find him, there's not much she can do.
"What's the matter?" she presses Thor, her hands clasped in her lap, nerves pulsing with occasional, involuntary twitches.
"I think somebody saved your life," Thor tells her. "Somebody Asgardian."
Natasha frowns. "You're the only Asgardian I know," she says.
"And Loki," Thor tells her, his reply a little too hasty to hide the edge of hurt at her forgetting his brother so easily.
"Thor…" she says gently, her stomach churning worse than ever. "Loki's dead."
"I know," Thor replies, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together slowly, his eyes focused on the motion. "I know he is."
"Then what are you trying to - ?"
"I don't know," he says impatiently, standing suddenly and pacing around the room. "But there is magic afoot and he is the only one I know…knew, to have such powers."
"But Thor," Natasha says with a sigh. "Even if - let's say for a moment even if Loki is somehow magically alive." She hates lying to him, hates it more than lying to anyone else. He is so earnest and honest and hurt, and she can't help but feeling like she's adding unnecessarily to his grief. She could make him the happiest man in the universe right now if she just told him the truth, but no. She's not decent enough to do that. Instead she has to twist the knife of grief even further. She's sure Loki would approve. She on the other hand, is entirely disgusted with herself. "Why the hell would he save my life? How the hell would he even know I needed saving?"
"I don't know," Thor says again, then lets out a heavy sigh as he stares out the window, his eyes following the slow progression of the cars on the street below. "Forget I said anything," he tells her. "I suppose I'm just…perhaps the healers were confused. Or maybe you're right. Maybe the bifrost is more volatile than first expected after we rebuilt it."
They both know that this is not the case at all, and an uneasy silence hangs in the air between them. After a few minutes, Thor turns around.
"I'm glad you're better," he says, his lips curving into a small smile. "Everybody here speaks very highly of you. You are cared about a great deal."
She pushes all negative and disparaging thoughts to the contrary down, and forces out a smile. "Thanks," she says.
The door opens and in walks Clint. All traces of Thor's troubles vanish from his face, and he greets Clint genially, patting him on he back.
"Hey," Clint says, his voice sounding a little strained.
"He has barely left your side," Thor tells her. "He has been in that chair day and night."
"Yeah, well it takes a lot put Nat in the hospital," Clint says coolly. "I was worried."
She rolls her eyes at this, far too used to brushing off any concerns for her health, even though she realises that this incident was as close a call as she ever wants to have. Thor departs with a smile and a wave, and Clint settles into the chair next to her bed, his eyes fixed on her, as though trying to read her.
"What's the matter?" she asks. "Has he pissed you off?"
"I don't like it when he touches me," Clint replies stiffly, referring to the hefty pat on the back that Thor bestowed on him.
"He's just being friendly," Natasha says, unable to fathom why it's such a big deal. Thor's as harmless as they come, providing you're on the same side as him, and Clint has always gotten on well with him before. If what Thor says is true, however, that Clint has barely left her side, then he's probably sleep deprived, irascible, and most likely hasn't been eating properly Perhaps he's been irritable with everybody since Natasha was brought in. Hopefully now she's on the mend he'll chill out a little, and everybody will be better off.
"I don't like friendly," Clint says through gritted teeth. "How long did it take the insufferable oaf to realise that you needed Asgardian medicine? If he'd gotten off of his backside sooner…"
Before she can jump to Thor's defence, Clint stands up, crossing swiftly over to the cart in the corner containing a treasure trove of medical supplies. He grabs a plastic case and returns to her, taking a short, fine needle from it, then gently pulls her hand towards him and pokes the needle into the tip of her index finger. It twitches, and he seems satisfied, but that doesn't stop him from testing all the others.
"They've already done this half a dozen times," Natasha sighs.
"Yes, but your healers have already proved themselves to be utterly useless," Clint snaps. "Have they tested your toes? Come here." He tugs the blanket away from her feet but Natasha draws her legs up to her chest, pressing the soles of her feet firmly into the mattress.
"Healers?" she questions with a raised eyebrow. Clint looks up at her, an uncharacteristic expression of exasperation plastered across his face. And then it hits her.
"Loki," she breathes. A grin spreads across his stolen face, his teeth bared, and it is clear that he is over the moon with himself for breaking into the most secure building in New York without anybody, not one single person, even batting an eyelid.