April Fools Isn't Just For Children

For OkieDokieLoki. Thou asked, and so thou shalt receive. Love you in a platonic, pun-based way.

Been spelling Agent May as Mei all the fucking time, ain't about to change it now.

There is one day every year that the whole of S.H.I.E.L.D celebrates with enough enthusiasm to scare anyone.

It's not Christmas. Or Easter. Or Diwali. Or Eid. Nor is it St. Patrick's Day (though a lot of pinching does go on), nor is it the day widely rumoured to be Fury's birthday (hint: it's not Fury's birthday).

It's April Fools Day.

On the first day of April every year, any agent not on an urgent mission goes back to their respective base, hunkers down, gets out their meanest grin and their mystery liquid-splattered scorecard, sets out their pranks, and settles down to wait.

Only S.H.I.E.L.D has its own April Fools traditions. We don't follow the 12am-12pm rule…well, we do, but with a twist. Every base across the world, from the Treehouse to the Triskelion to the Raft to the Slingshot, sets their clocks to match the heli-carrier, and then the heli-carrier flies as fast as it can against the passage of the day for 24 hours.

24 hours of pranks and hell on (and above) Earth.

It's freaking awesome.

As usual, I start the day with the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D assembled at my feet (power complex, who me?), rookies yawning and rubbing sleep out of their eyes, and the higher ranking agents smirking and rubbing their hands together gleefully. As per usual, the rookies (including the Avengers) aren't going to know what hit them. I almost feel sorry for them. Almost.

"Alright ladies, gentlemen and assorted people, listen the hell up. I'm only going to say this once and the consequences for not listening are dire, even by my standards." That gets a lot of people to stand up straighter and open their ears. Ego boost or what? "In twenty minutes the intercom will sound, signalling the start of the official pranking period. Any pranking before this time will be deeply frowned upon, and whoever you prank will get to decide your punishment. That goes for pranking after the specified time limit as well, and since there's a two minute warning there will be no acceptable excuses. So watch the fuck out. Furthermore, anyone destroying or otherwise damaging anyone's property, especially S.H.I.E.L.D's, will have the cost taken out of their next paycheck, plus a 10% surcharge for the time and effort it will take to replace." I glare down at Barton specifically, because Lord know he thinks pranking S.H.I.E.L.D itself counts on the pranking tally even when everyone knows it doesn't, but he's far too busy cutting deals with Romanoff, Raven and Mockingbird to be paying any attention. "Next, the white capes. Anyone wearing a white cape is so strictly off limits it's not even funny; they're busy on actual S.H.I.E.L.D business running lifesaving missions, and if you delay them in any way that will be seen as equivalent to treason. You should have received the codes for the chips sewed inside the capes in your emails, so automatic pranking machines are not out of the question, they just need an accompanying camera to document any pranks you want added to your tally sheet and some code to omit the white capes from your pranking."

I drone on, barely paying attention to the rules and regulations pouring out of my mouth as I stand at parade rest on top of the platform: I've given this speech so many times before I don't even need to think about it. Instead I let my eyes scan over the crowd of assembled agents, flicking from figure to figure and watching the different reactions play out from terror to pure glee. Wide-eyed rookies are starting to realise exactly what they've got in store, and even the ex-Marines and the top recruits we pinch from other spy agencies look like they're going to shit themselves. The higher ranking agents however look they're already picking out targets: Romanoff is fingering the paint grenades dangling from her belt, Barton is so decked out with modified Nerf weapons he looks like he's going to fall over, Mockingbird seems to be twirling a remote through her fingers, Mei is already hiding in the rafters (she can't be seen being so childish after all), Raven…

Who the hell is that?

Slightly to the left of the centre of the crowd stands a woman with tumbling blonde hair, wicked green eyes that sparkle with mischief and a sultry smile. She fits right in, average height, average weight, average level of excitement...the only thing that doesn't fit is the fact that I don't recognise her.

I know every agent at S.H.I.E.L.D. Show me a face or give me a name, and I can tell you their entire life story, their psych analysis and who they spend their spare time with. God knows I do enough paperwork to have simply absorbed these things, never mind having a near photographic memory.

Realisation hits me like a ton of bricks and I nearly choke on my speech, keeping going only through sheer determination not to give the game away. A few sets of eyes turn to me, but most people are far too busy to be paying attention, and those that did notice soon turn back to whatever they were doing. Because I might not recognise the woman.

But I recognise those eyes.

It's as if someone simply flipped the colour from blue to green. The same intelligence, mischief and chaos reside there from (his? her? their?) last visit, the very same eyes that haunted my nightmares for two weeks, seven hours, forty three minutes and twenty five seconds when I thought my partner was dead.

They are Loki's eyes.

Loki is here.

Loki is stood approximately 13 metres away from Thor and the rest of the Avengers. I could have him smashed into the floor in approximately 3 minutes. There would be approximately 52 agents fatally wounded before capture occurred, and more than 150 injured.

That number is too high.

It's too easy to imagine those two daggers plunging into the clueless agents stood either side of the crazy god the second I called attention to him, the carefully crafted disguise falling away to reveal the murderous madman trapped in a corner and fighting for his life that lies so close to the surface. Magic would begin to fly, fires burning away flammable skin and ice spires piercing fragile hearts all around him, hell, Thor's told us stories of Loki destroying entire armies with a sigh and a wave of his hand. Only 52 agents dead is probably a wildly optimistic estimate.

No, it's not worth it. Loki can hardly be gathering any tactical information about Earth's defences from April Fools Day of all things, he can wait just one more minute while I finish my speech and then I'm going to corner him and, when only I am in danger, I'm going to strip him of his secrets and make him tell me just what the hell he thinks he's doing on my heli-carrier.

No-one invades this planet and kills my partner, not on my watch.

"Alright then, I think that's it for the rules. Maiming and murdering don't count as pranks, no pranking the white capes, you get more points for pranking more senior agents and remember to adhere to the time limits and to get your scorecards in to Admin by the end of the week for verification." Usually I would smile right now to really freak everyone out, this is my favourite day of the year after all, but with him stood right there I can barely keep my knees from shaking. "You have three minutes until kick off, good luck and happy hunting."

Noise explodes through the hall as the assembled agents stream towards the exit, Stark floating above the chaos in his Iron Man armour (I can't believe Fury made me revoke the rule that he had to walk around the heli-carrier barefoot) and Rogers and Thor standing almost as bodyguards so Banner doesn't get crushed under the crowd's feet, the Winter Soldier following behind his Captain with an almost wondrous expression plastered across that deadly face. Honestly, if I hadn't seen him in action I'd think he was just as innocent as his lost puppy dog expression would suggest.

But now is not the time to muse on why the Avengers insisting the Winter Solider be allowed to live with them in Avengers Tower is one of the most pig-headed, ignorant, barely-concealed threats I've ever received, and I work for an agency that specialises in blackmail and stupid decisions. Now is the time to discreetly follow Loki as she(?) blends in with the crowd and attempts to disappear into the seething mass of people. I know the god can't teleport in such a crowded space, not unless she (I'm going with she, this pronoun thing is doing my head in) wants to announce to the world that she's alive, so as long as I keep her within view I should be able to corner her before she disappears.

Following one blonde head in the corridor turns out to be much harder than it should be, especially when it's April Fools Day and being deferential goes right out the window. Plus, being only 5'8" in a world of six foot giants doesn't help matters. Nevertheless, I spot the supervillain slipping out of the main flow of traffic and heading into a nearly deserted side corridor, eyes flicking around suspiciously as she checks she's not being followed. Silently, I slip into the shadows and follow after her.

"Are you going to stop stalking me or do I need to take drastic measures?" Her voice is low, smooth, challenging and altogether without the madness that tore through it before. As the words escaped bow-shaped lips she turns around, blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders, green eyes meeting mine and one eyebrow perfectly arched.

Impressive. "Neither I should think, considering this is my ship." I step out of the shadows slowly (I've seen what damage those tiny daggers can do after all), the throwing knife usually attached to my thigh held loosely in one hand. Sadly enough, I know my handguns won't do any damage, and somehow I don't think Loki will fall for my bluff if I wave them in her face.

"Your ship? I was rather under the impression that this flying monstrosity belonged to your Director of Fury." One blonde eyebrow arches in a way that conveys so much condescending disbelief I can't help admiring the thousands of years of sarcasm that must be concentrated in that single motion.

"And I was under the impression that you're a different gender and your fashion decisions are a lot more questionable. Seems both of us were were mistaken-" The words barely escape my mouth before in a blur of speed I've been slammed against the wall, those familiar green eyes burning with anger and not a little surprise as the features surrounding them melt away to reveal much more dangerous ones.

"How did you know?" he hissed, the mad god rising up from the glittering green shards of his disguise, one arm pressed sharply against my collarbones, pinning me against the wall, and one of his knives drawing a thin red line across my throat. He doesn't even seem to notice my knife slipped in between the layers of his leather and armour, even as it digs into .the fragile flesh between his ribs. "Tell me right now or-"

"I think a better question would be," I say, talking straight over Loki and absorbing the satisfaction of his expression burning with indignation (apparently the Wordsmith doesn't get his words disregarded very often… someone should really fix that), "...what the fuck you think you're doing back on this planet and in this fucking S.H.I.E.L.D base in particular when you had the temerity to invade this planet, kill our people and try to rule over us without even having cobbled together a half decent plan beforehand!" While his face doesn't change expression, the knife at my neck wavers briefly in surprise. "What, you don't think we noticed how shitty your plan was? Frankly, it was insulting. Were we just supposed to roll over and give in? Let you walk in through that giant portal in the sky with your alien army and your different coloured eyes and set you up a throne on top of the Empire State Building?"

Loki pulls back with a small shake of his head as if he's trying to shake off his confusion. "I'm sorry," he says with a marked decrease of his earlier hostility, "but different coloured eyes? I'm afraid-"

"Save it, I've talked to you mother."

His expression switches from an insincere but near-perfect façade of confusion to completely shut off faster than I can track it. "I have no mother."

I can't help but shrug sarcastically. "Well unless you appeared in the Nine Realms through sheer willpower alone, I'd suggest that you do in fact have a mother who gave birth to you somewhere."

As if against his will, the tiniest mark of respect appears in the quirk of Loki's mouth, even if he is still awkwardly pressing me into a wall. Honestly, he must be concealing our whereabouts otherwise we would've been either swamped by murderous Avengers or pranks of the highest order, and frankly I'm not sure which is more dangerous. "You speak well, for a mortal."

"And you're looking pretty good for a guy who got possessed...?"

The quirk of his lips grows by the tiniest amount until it could almost be considered a smirk. "I truly would be your Fool of April if I revealed my motives so easily."

"Speaking of April Fools Day, that's one hell of a day for the Trickster God to visit Earth. Any plans to, I don't know, prank us by stealing the pyramids or...trying to take over the planet again?" I don't think I've ever let loose such a concentrated dose of sarcasm on one person in my life. Because although on one hand I know exactly what it's like to be brainwashed, wound up like a little tin man and set loose on the cowering populace (trust me I do), on the other hand... Loki's an asshole.

"World domination doesn't appear to be on my schedule for today, but I could pencil it in at 4:35 if you'd like?" The sarcasm is strong with this one, but if the way he's pulling back from giving me a forceful acquaintance with the wall is any indication, he might actually be beginning to respect me.

Or be planning to summon that sceptre of his and stab me through the stomach in exactly the same way as he stabbed Phil. Wouldn't that be just perfect.

"Or," he continues with both eyebrows raised slightly and a meaningful tilt to his head, "you could allow me to reapply my disguise with an added glamour to change my eyes to a pair less recognisable, and continue my observations of this strange Midgardian tradition without retribution. In return I would swear not to use any valuable information I may uncover against this planet or it's people."

I think over the terms quickly but thoroughly, still pressing my knife into his side just as his rests against my throat. "You will swear not to use any information, valuable or not, against anyone or anything that resides on or originates from Earth, and also that you will never relate that information by any means to another sentient creature until the end of time."

His green eyes narrow shrewdly, pale lips pinching slightly in thought. There's close to nothing of the madman here; it's disconcerting how different he is from anything I saw or heard about him during or after the New York Incident. "I would swear to the terms for the rest of your life."

"My life?" I snort disdainfully. "You obviously think I'm stupid, you're going to live for thousands of years after I'm gone, and whether I'm still here or not I'm going to damn well do my best to protect the people of this planet. Nevermind the fact you could just kill me whenever it's convenient. No, you'll swear it forever."

Loki's pale features settle into hard, razor-sharp lines of annoyance, but he nods, once. "I swear to your terms."

"On your name and your titles." That's what Thor swears on when he really means something, though somehow I don't think the God of Lies will take swearing on his name all too seriously.

My theory is quickly proved true when Loki smirks. "On my name, and my titles."

"And the life of Queen Frigga of Asgard."

"And the…" Loki chokes on the words as he realises what he's saying, and I can't help but replicate his earlier smug smirk. Gotcha. He's damned if he refuses to swear (proving he cares for his 'not' mother) and he's damned if he doesn't (meaning he'll have to keep his word).

"And the life of Queen Frigga of Asgard." he spits out through clenched teeth, green eyes practically catching on fire with the force of his furious glare.

"Excellent." I pull away from Loki, retracting my knife with a flash of silver, and slowly but surely he does the same.

A plan starts to form in my mind, hazy, incomplete and downright stupid (Stark would be proud), but you know what, it just might work. And technically, if I'm striking deals with Earth's Most Wanted, it's not treachery if I catch them in the end. Fury might kill me for going behind his back and generally upsetting him, but at least I'm technically not breaking any rules (which I'm always shouting at him for doing), so I'm technically not being a hypocrite.

"If you're going to walk around in that disguise of yours, you're going to get pranked."

In a glittering shower of green light the Loki we all love to loathe disappears, and the petite blonde woman I first noticed reappears, piercing green eyes now a soft, flat grey. "You and your agents can try."

"Is that a challenge?" I cock

"Undoubtedly." And then with a Cheshire Cat grin that hangs in the air long after she's gone, Lady Loki disappears in a flash of green light.

Challenge fucking accepted.

(*I*I*I*)

"Avengers, come in." Having dodged through hellfire and paint explosions and trip wires that would've triggered god only knows what, I've locked myself in the relative safety of my office before daring to drop my guard for the half a second it takes to set up a call on the comms.

"Hill if you're sending us on a mission I will lose my shit so hard you'll be cleaning it up for weeks." Barton's voice whips immediately down the line, accompanied by some distant screaming.

"For once I agree with Barton." I can almost hear Romanoff's nose crinkling in distaste over the terrified pleading in the background of her line. "Though not quite so graphically."

"Hell yeah, over in R&D we are gonna fucking own all your asses...HEY MACKENZIE WATCH WHERE YOU PUT THAT-" I wince as I hear the explosion both through my comm and in the distance, the floor rumbling under my feet. That's got to hurt.

"You dead Stark?" Steve's deadpan is coming along nicely, I have to admit it, and obviously Barnes agrees if his snickering is anything to go by.

"Not quite." replies Banner with an equal level of snark. "There's a rather large hole in the floor though."

"Mackenzie can pay for it. No, I'm not calling you for a mission…" Multiple Avengers sigh with relief, including Thor, who sighs so loudly it sounds like a quinjet is going off in my ear. "...I guess I'm calling you all to ask for a favour."

"Okay," murmurs Romanoff after a brief pause, "that's just plain scary."

"What kind of favour?" Rogers jumps in immediately, obviously thinking about doing whatever I ask in order to get me off 'Bucky's' back. I have a brief devious moment where I desperately want to ask for something utterly humiliating from the supersoldier (it is April Fools Day after all) but I push that down in return for the mental image of Loki being pranked out of existence.

"There's a certain individual on the heli-carrier right now who really needs to be pranked. Seriously pranked. Like utterly, one hundred percent destroyed under the carnage we're going to throw at them. I'm sending you a picture now." There's a brief pause as I tap a few keys on my tablet, sending a picture from the security camera in the meeting hall (suck on that technology Loki) to the email addresses of all the Avengers.

"I don't recognise her." Barton replies first, a slight tone of should-I-be-worried to his voice.

"Neither." Barnes follows on, "and I do recognise most...people." He trails off awkwardly, but since today is a holiday I pretend not to notice and refrain from interrogating him.

"Nor me."

"Well, though unfortunately I can't reveal who she is," because by god wouldn't that cause chaos, "I can tell you that she's good. Really damn good."

"So good that Maria Hill, Queen of Pranking and Three Time Champion, she-who-only-quit-because-every-single-senior-agent-including-Fury-threatened-to-team-up-to-take-her-down, is actually asking for our lowly help?"

"I don't appreciate your teasing Barton. But yes, considering I am the most high profile target of the day and I spend most of it nowadays running avoidance and pass-backs, I am…" swallow that pride Hill, c'mon this is the guy that stabbed Phil we're trying to catch here, "asking for your help."

There's an almost reverent silence as I school my features into an iron mask and lock the urge to blush in embarrassment deep down inside, before Stark breaks it. "Holy fucking shit that's a big hole."

"That's what he said." sniggers Barton.

With lightning speed Romanoff snaps back "Not to you.", accompanied by the necessary round of 'Oooh's and 'You just got owned!'s and 'Barton that was really gay...like gayer than usual' the furor dies down (which takes a lot longer than it should considering they're supposed to be the World's Mightiest Heroes and not a bunch of hyperactive teenagers), Steve, not Rogers or even Captain America, answers.

"So Agent Hill, can we consider this a fully-sanctioned mission to prank this unknown with the full force of our capabilities? Barring the Hulk of course."

"Quite. And you know up what, you could even consider this a team up between the Avengers, and me." I narrow my eyes at the memory of the last team up I ever went on. "And no Barton, that does not mean we need a rendition of the 'obligatory team up music'. Ever. Again."

The archer sighs petulantly, but then woops as he presumably shoots someone with his assortment of Nerf weapons. I swear he singlehandedly keeps that company afloat. "You know you love me. Avengers Assemble, we have a battle plan to concoct!"

"Avengers plus me." I correct.

"Pfft, Hill you're a part of the Avengers whether you like it or not."

Aw, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Actually, I think that might just be indigestion. That'll teach me to drink four espressos on an empty stomach.

I think I'm going to be sick.

(*I*I*I*)

Disclaimer: if someone ever throws a grenade at you, do not attempt to do what I do. Stop, and run as fast as you can in the opposite direction, keep low, and get behind cover if you can. Especially don't try to slow mo walk away from the explosion. It might look badass, but what doesn't look badass is getting knocked out by a piece of easily avoidable shrapnel.

Whereas when someone opened a vent and dropped what I recognised to be a paint grenade on me, I caught it and swiftly launched it straight back where it came from, before leaping out of the immediate blast area, and passing the split second before the explosion with a satisfied smirk.

Glittery pink goop drips from the vent as I swiftly mark my pranking card, followed by a traumatised yelp and a stream of curses.

A stream of suspiciously British curses.

I know that voice.

"Phoenix?"

A pair of adrenaline-filled green eyes peek out of the grate, followed by the rest of a thoroughly paint-covered but very recognisable face. A pout appears on her lips. "Goddammit Hill," growls the usually ginger assassin, wiping pink paint from her lips with the back of her hand, "you couldn't let me get you just once, now could you."

My hands gravitate to my hips. "Phoenix, what the hell do you think you are you doing on my heli-carrier?"

"Um…" Her smile drops slightly into a sheepish grimace as she realises that she's been caught somewhere she shouldn't be, the deadly assassin looking oddly childish as she hangs upside down from the vents. "Joining in April Fools Day?"

"Last I was aware, you were on S.H.I.E.L.D's Most Wanted List, for the grievous assault of one of our agents, as well as her kidnapping, resultant blackmail, the attempt to blow up a city, your public indecency, the attempt to kill the President, associating with a known criminal, more public indecency-"

"Alright, alright!" Phoenix interrupts, looking far closer to giggling than to begging for forgiveness. "I get it, I shouldn't be here. But you know Raven totally forgave me for that one, and hey, it's April Fools, it's practically a day of world peace around here…" The redhead winces under my glare. "...or not. Look, I'm not here to do anything bad, I just want to have some fun, piss off some agents, maybe kidnap Raven for an hour or two to watch a movie after pranking time is up… I'll even knock off taking jobs for two months if you let me stay the day. Please Hill."

I sigh, defeated. I don't have time for two supervillains on my heli-carrier, and I know which one is more dangerous. "You know what, fine, I have bigger fish to fry than you today. Just don't start World War Three and we're even."

She grins ecstatically, eyes lighting up like two spheres of hellish green fire and teeth flashing whiter than ever under glittery-pink drenched skin. "If I didn't fear coming out of this vent with you stood right there more than I fear Armageddon itself, I'd hug you right now Hill."

I have to fight the very strong urge to smile, or worse, engage in a pranking fight. Remember Loki Hill, c'mon, don't get distracted by all the wonderful opportunities for pranking and world domination...dammit. "You better run sunshine, before I call Raven down on your reckless ass."

"I'd quite enjoy that actually." And with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, the British assassin disappears in a cloud of pink glitter.

The flouting of my carefully constructed rules hits me like a carefully aimed pulse bomb. "HEY!" I yell into the vents, "YOU BETTER STICK AROUND FOR CLEAN UP IF YOU'RE GONNA CREATE THIS MUCH MESS!"

A wild cackle echoes in the distance. "AS IF!"

She is so being moved up to third on S.H.I.E.L.D's Most Wanted List. Specifically for pissing me off. And when we catch her, I think I'm going to make her punishment involve cleaning. Revenge is always so sweet.

I continue on my way of manually searching for Loki, because apparently after encountering and then dismantling one camera she can avoid our cameras like someone who's been at S.H.I.E.L.D for years (she's so cheating and using magic… Note to self: invest in more magic detectors). Everyone else in the know is continuing on their merry pranking way, whilst carefully letting other high level agents know that there's a bounty of 1000 points of the head of the strange blonde woman moving around the base...incidentally, the same amount of points they'd receive for successfully pranking me. According to Thor, Mockingbird nearly flipped with the excitement of a promising new target after the god, who's surprisingly good at dodging pranks, informed her of the new target. In fact, Thor is worryingly good at this...while his pranks aren't the most original, his avoidance of other people's has been near perfect, with only Romanoff scoring against him by handing him a fake poptart. It comes with living with the Trickster God himself for 1000 years I guess, but still, it betrays Thor's quite considerable intelligence. Now we just need to get him to stop tempting fate by saying things like "It can't get any worse." and "Is that all you've got?" Because that never has good results...

I spot the trip wire half a second too late, the thin silver line making an almost inaudible 'ping' noise as it knocks against the metal button on my shoe.

Shit.

Two slots open up in the walls on either side of me, both filled with one of the modified Nerf cannons which R&D gave out in return for favours two years ago. Cannons which not only launch nearly fifty darts at once in all directions, but also set the darts on fire.

Double shit.

I throw myself forward, rolling under another almost invisible trip wire set at waist height, before sliding down the corridor in the classic home run pose and snatching the hand that reaches down to flick my nose as I pass. I am not avoiding all that and ending up getting pranked by a nose flick. Cherry red fake-but-practical nails and deep brown skin tell me all I need to know about the identity of my assailant. "Raven you little-"

"The mystery woman's avoidance of that was cooler than yours."

My eyes snap up to meet her dead serious brown ones. We exchange a message with the quirk of an eyebrow, the nod of a head and the exchange of two pulse bombs and a black marker pen. "Well Phoenix's prank was closer to being successful than yours."

Black eyebrows shoot up to touch her hairline, real surprise appearing on her face. "Phoenix? How on earth did she even get up here...actually, I don't think I want to know. Where did you see her?"

"Corridor I3, around the vent that's currently dripping pink glittery goo."

"I3?" Raven's eyes widen and her hand drifts towards the hilt of the sword strapped to her back. "My room is in I4. And after I trashed her base in DC the last time she kidnapped me, blackmailed me and then streaked butt naked through the Pentagon Centre Courtyard...she's gonna trash my room! Gotta go Hill, good luck with your mystery woman, but frankly I have more important things to do right now...like rescuing my sound system and defending Boris the Potted Plant!" And then she's gone, her trap automatically switching off as she dashes through it, wild black hair bouncing after her with smoke from the burning Nerf bullets providing a dramatic smoke cloud for her to disappear into.

Honestly, some people. Fiery, feminine, fabulous, fearless. What? No I don't like her, don't you know I don't do friends? (And so what if we meet up at the bi-annual We Hate The Council Meeting, and the L.I.P.S.T.I.C.K meeting every so often, and chat and spar and get drunk...oh shut up).

"Hill," murmurs my comm, "I think we found your mystery woman."

"Roger that Rogers." Barnes snickers on the other end of the line and murmurs something about how that joke never gets old. "But why do you sound so flustered?"

"Because," Romanoff answers for him, amusement colouring her voice, "she's obviously been drawn to the kitchens by the cooks wafting the smell of their ultra-brownies down the halls. Except she hasn't chosen to run the gauntlet to get herself a cookie. She's actually taken Basara's sarcastic suggestion of a striptease seriously."

I start walking faster towards where the enticing smell of melting chocolate and marshmallows is emanating from. "She's doing it on purpose isn't she?"

"To cause mischief? Hell yeah. I think this is the most subversive prank I've ever watched. It's chaos over here, there are jaws all over the floor and Barton just stole three cookies without anyone even noticing. These things are delicious."

I break into an almost-jog, darting through the middle of a paintball war between the janitors and the engineers without being hit, avoiding two rookies dropping water balloons on people from one of the balconies and having a stare-off with Agent Mei as she darts through the shadows down the corridor, but eventually I do make it to the cafeteria without being pranked.

And I can't help but be impressed by what I see.

Agents young and old, scientists and field technicians, cooks and admin staff, stand around with drinks held in limp hands and wide open mouths. I spy Barton and Romanoff hiding up in the rafters nibbling on cookies and pranking the occasional unsuspecting person, the former even waving at me cheekily as I enter the room.

But the focus of the room is taken up entirely by Loki.

She twirls seductively around the centre of the room, now-grey eyes hooded and pink lips slightly parted, every movement designed to catch the eye and captivate an audience. Her skintight catsuit doesn't help matters, the smooth material emphasising the every undulation of her body and long pale fingers tugging suggestively at the zip under her fluttering throat. No one seems to notice the dangerous light in her eyes nor the predatory tilt of her smile.

Like this, she could conquer nations, the world bowing down willingly at her feet. Like this, New York wouldn't have stood a chance. Like this, I can't imagine how Thanos ever broke her, this magic-fuelled murderess who holds true power in her every sinuous movement.

And so naturally, I have to do something about it. My methods might be old school, but they definitely work.

Slowly, the way I'd draw a gun on a frightened animal, I pull out my tablet...

...and send a blast of white noise over the speakers.

The eerie silence snaps, every person in the room flinching and clutching at their ears, tearing their eyes knowingly or not away from Loki's hypnotising movements. People glare at me from every direction, but quickly disperse either to run the gauntlet for an ultra-cookie or to avoid a cackling Strike Team Delta raining hell down from the rafters. Thank god those two have some ingenuity.

Loki doesn't glare. In fact, she looks almost...pleased, to have been thwarted. One corner of her mouth twitches up slyly, a blonde eyebrow raising to give her whole face a politely amused look, and then a crowd of chattering agents armed with spud guns passes between us, and by the time they've got out of my sight line, Loki is gone.

"Phase 1 is complete ladies and gents, the threat to our collective pranking supremacy has been neutralised, for now."

"Please tell me it's time for Phase 2!" Stark grins madly, the clacking and screeching of machinery clearly audible through the comm.

"I'm still not sure I like Phase 2." Barnes intones worriedly. I can hear his eyebrows creasing in concern.

"Don't worry, there's only a 20% chance this will go horrifically wrong and we'll all die." An explosion even louder than the one before echoes down the corridors and sends the floor jumping under my feet. "Oops."

"Make that 40%." Banner says dryly.

"Don't worry snowflake," I say, fighting down the increasing urge to roll my eyes, "you get used to the chaos eventually."

"Well isn't that just wonderful."

(*I*I*I*)

Crawling through the vents gives me the latent shivers. Not because I'm claustrophobic or nyctophobic or anything like that, but because Barton's territorialness over the vents is a whole new level of fuck-no-don't-go-there. If he catches you in here without permission...let's just say the result makes Deadpool look sane. And pretty.

As instructed, I scatter handfuls of the tiny silver balls the Science Bros handed out behind me as I crawl, pushing them out of the vents and rolling them down side passages with a series of satisfying plinks. Agents in the vicinity jump for cover when the silver balls fall from the sky, but when they don't do anything overtly threatening everyone just steers clear of them as if they aren't there. Messing with strange things is something every rookie learns not to do within weeks of joining S.H.I.E.L.D, and not because of the training. No, we have the R&D Department to thank for that. And considering it's April Fools, everyone is doubly wary.

This is stupid. Reckless. Ludicrous. Putting my trust in hotchpotch technology is one thing, putting my trust in the Avengers' hotchpotch technology is something else entirely. I take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Think about Loki. Romanoff is tracking her as she mercilessly pranks the ever living daylights out of my agents, while the rest of us scuttle around dropping stupid little dinky balls all over the heli-carrier. This might technically be my plan, but it's still a horrendously, abominably stupid plan.

"C'mon guys hurry up, I wanna try them out!" Why does Stark always sound like an annoying spoilt brat when he's excited? Oh yeah right, because he is one.

I swear I always get stuck with the annoying ones.

"Well you're not the one crawling around in vents that you clearly can't fit through!" Steve snaps, grunting as he wriggles through the confined space. Oh the woes of being a Dorito.

"Dude, I'm like three inches shorter than you and I live in here. I've crawled through these vents with a broken leg and a dislocated arm with half of HYDRA on my ass, this is nothing-"

"-compared to what I'm going to do to you if you don't stop telling that story for the millionth time!" Mei and Mockingbird snap in scary synchronisation. Roping everyone available (Raven is still chasing a cackling Phoenix around the ship, both swearing fluently and pranking anything that moves as 'collateral damage') to help with spreading this prank seemed like a good idea at first, but I might have forgotten just how much patience it takes to put up with the Avengers, especially when the world's not in danger.

"Alright, I think you've dropped enough to get the job done." Banner interjects smoothly before a full-scale bickering fight can take off, "I suggest you buckle down and watch the chaos unfold."

"Romanoff, what's the status on our special guest?" I say over the distant sound of Stark doing his best evil villain laugh. Hey, it happens to the best of us; no-one can resist the temptation of the clichés forever, and some people *cough* Fury *cough* just embrace them wholeheartedly from the start.

"She's currently disabling one of Bobbi's traps-"

"HEY!"

"-whilst simultaneously pickpocketing Agent Desai...and now she's rewiring Bobbi's prank machine...ooh, tripwire! Nice touch." Barton giggles mischievously while Morse grumbles under her breath about how 'that was a perfectly good trap', and I can almost hear Romanoff snapping back into focus. "Shall I drop the balls now?"

"Heh, balls."

"Shut up Stark, you're the one who invented them."

"Yeah well it was too short notice to create a cool acronym so-"

"What, 'cool' like J.A.R.V.I.S, which apparently stands for Just A Really Very Intelligent System and is in no way related to Edwin Jarvis of Stark Industries, your Dad's butler-"

"Alright, why don't you just back the fuck off Rogers-"

"CHILDREN." I snap. Silence falls. "Thank you. Bruce, if you would."

"Agent Hill, it would be my genuine pleasure."

The chaos starts slowly, almost unnoticeably, as all good chaos does. The silver balls roll across the corridors, seemingly just by the natural movement of the heli-carrier. When nothing overt happens, agents remove themselves from where they've jumped up onto the walls and nervously continue on their way. They have no idea what's about to hit them.

"3...2...1...and we're a go. I hope everyone removed any metal on them or this isn't going to be much fun for you."

"Um, guys…" Barnes squeaks. Oh right, metal arm...well he's screwed. Bye bye Bucky Barnes.

"Don't worry Buck, I've got you."

Mei sighs. "Keep the coupling off the comm line please boys, I don't wanna hear it and I especially don't wanna hear Hill complaining about it."

"Ssh, guys it's starting." Barton whispers, awe colouring his voice.

And for once, he's right.

Slowly but surely, the silver balls start to roll down the corridors, gathering in swarms to follow anyone not wearing a white cape (Stark had wanted to have them chase anyone regardless of their status as off-limits, but I'm nothing if not a stickler for my own rules). Most agents ignore it, but the more astute among them watch with wide eyes as the silver balls start to gain on them, rolling along the floor like a sinister silver wave. Some attempt to run, others try to climb the walls or even other agents, but no-one escapes. The silver balls climb up people's legs, drawn both by the iron in their blood and the metal weapons on their persons, to ensure that they don't attack the walls or anyone involved in the prank. I have no idea how that works, and considering both Stark and Banner would only shout "SCIENCE!" as an answer to any enquiries, I'm perfectly content not knowing.

The panicked shrieks and flailing start when the now-silver agents start getting slammed together in awkward positions by the silver machines covering them, arms and legs tangling together into giant piles of messily stacked people. It is, to be frank, absolutely fucking hilarious. It's a Leaning Tower of People.

I'm so coining that.

"Did it work?" Banner asks.

"Brucie-boy, it worked so well I'm gobsmacked nothing's exploded yet. That does seem to be a theme with you guys."

"Guys! GUYS! HEY MORONS!" The Leaning Tower of People just outside the vent I'm peering through settle down slightly, or at least stop flailing quite so wildly. I recognise Agent Malek from Intelligence (remember when I was fixing the mess I caused with my temper tantrum...yeah, the guy that wanted to put the video of said incident all over S.H.I.E.L.D...that guy) minus his wire glasses, Stark's new playthings comically attached all over his face and threading through his messy black hair. "Right, everyone just stay still. It's obvious we've all been pranked, badly, but after the Stickered Sticky Stickers incident at the Sandbox five years ago there's a time limit of half an hour on pranks, so if you all calm the fuck down and wait, we'll be fine in a…" Malek trails off as his eyes meet mine through the grating. Well, at least that proves someone in Intelligence has some observational skills. I'm so glad I promoted him. "Okay, nobody panic, but I think we've been Hill'd." I shake my head slightly. "Managed?" I gesture to aim a bit...stupider. "Avenger'd?" I wink, fighting down a Cheshire Cat smile at the sheer amount of for-fuck's-sake-not-the-Avengers-again that ripples through the pile of agents in front of me.

"So Bucky, you still alive out there?" Stark ruins the faux concern in his voice by giggling childishly at the end of his oh-so-sympathetic question.

The Winter Soldier gives a disgruntled huff. "No thanks to you Tin Man...though Steve and I did have to shut ourselves in a closet to avoid your stupid, evil little contraptions."

"So are you planning to come out of the closet any time soon?" Barton deadpans, the perfect amount of sincerity and innuendo in his voice.

"Barton I swear on Steve's spangly shield-"

"Romanoff, status report." I cut in smoothly, because trust me, no-one wants to hear another argument about whether Barnes and Rogers are gay for each other or not. Personally, I couldn't give less of a fuck, as long as they don't do anything gross in my vicinity.

"We got her Hill." Romanoff's announcement is followed by a series of whoops, congratulations, and one petulant 'Shouldn't have messed with my trap, now should you?!' from Agent Morse. "She escaped them for a good long time, running through the rafters and table jumping in Admin, but Stark's machines did their job, and she does not seem happy to be stuck to the rest of the peasants. Hold on, she's saying something...damn this is a bad angle to lipread at...'Well played Agent Hill, well played'."

I should feel smug, I really should. We tricked the Trickster, even if I'm the only one that knows it. We've beaten the god who tried to take over our world (even with the whole debatable mind control thing going on) at his own damn game.

And yet all I can feel is pure, burning anger.

"Agent Romanoff," I say, quietly, dangerously, into the sudden dead silence of the comm, "did you just say table jumping...in Admin?! And is there, by any chance, paperwork all over the floor? Paperwork that used to be filled out, ordered, and waiting in perfect stacks for filing? Paperwork," I breath, the muscle under my eye twitching, "that is explicitly and totally protected by the rules of April Fools day?!"

"Yup." Romanoff admits almost blithely, "and there's coffee spilt over a lot of it as well. And on most of the tablet's that the staff were working on. Your mystery woman did it on purpose too, when she realised that she couldn't escape. Pretty vindictive of her."

Silence reigns for a second. Then: "Does anyone else want to steal a quinjet and escape before the Hill bomb goes off?"

"Aye."

"Oh god yes."

"I don't think even the Hulk could stand against Agent Hill right now."

"I'm terrified, let's go."

"In the competition of chickening out vs. Hill, I know which one I'm more scared of."

"Paperwork." snickers Barton. "I never thought anyone could get on my level of accidentally fucking up that much, but it seems I've been mistaken. To whoever this mystery woman is: you're dead. Now I don't know about you lot, but I'm gonna go and get myself another ultra-cookie. And get off this comm before Hill goes nuclear."

With a final beep, the comm shuts off.

I realise, from the sheet white state of Agent Malek, that I've been glaring at him with the full force of my fury through the vent. I indicate he wasn't the intended recipient of my anger with a series of hand signals, and he sags with relief. A particularly wicked thought strikes me.

I shouldn't.

I can't resist.

I unhook a paint grenade (pickpocketed from Romanoff) from my belt, open the vent slightly and roll it along the floor towards the Leaning Tower of People in front of me. Nearly all of them see it coming, some flailing to try and knock it away, others desperately trying to drag the whole pile of people away. Nothing succeeds.

The grenade explodes, midnight black filling the air for a split second, before descending on the upturned faces of the angry or surprised agents. Agent Malek just looks faintly resigned as black paint drips from the end of his nose. He is seriously going up in my estimation.

Focus Hill, Loki's stuck and there's about twenty minutes left before Stark's prank stops working.

Time for a plan.

(*I*I*I*)

It takes me about seven minutes to reach the broadcasting location of Romanoff's comm (at least she understands dedication to continuing with an order until explicitly told otherwise), passing the rather amusing sight of Phoenix and Raven limping past, thoroughly attached to each other, drenched from head to toe with running makeup and sodden hair, and neither looking very happy about it. Classic.

Eventually I reach the Admin offices, nodding my head slightly to acknowledge Romanoff hidden in the shadows, who snaps a sarcastic salute in response. Slowly, with a smug grin I don't even try to hide, I edge around one of my white-caped agents on her knees trying to rearrange the scattered paperwork, slide over an empty desk, and crouch down until I'm face to face with Loki.

She does not look happy

Someone (*cough* my wonderful Admin staff *cough*) has attacked her with a Sharpie. And hair dye. And what looks like half a cup of cold coffee.

Scratch 'not happy'. Loki is fuming.

"Having fun?"

"If Romanoff were not stood observing me in that corner I would free myself from these bonds and begin wreaking my revenge against every miserable mortal here."

"Would, should, could. They're just words sunshine, and until I see some action..." I shrug, "I'm not too worried. You're stuck. Have fun with wreaking vengeance from there."

The four agents with various limbs attached to Loki start to look mildly worried, frowns pulling at their faces and eyebrows creasing together. Most people in the office are wearing white capes, and from the looks of things they're starting to realise they might have had a lucky escape. Also that they probably shouldn't have pranked the woman I'm having a personal conversation with, but that's not my concern right now.

"Magnetism?" Loki question idly.

I shrug. "For all I know it could be extra-dimensional physics...I'm joking, I'm not that inept. But I'm still not telling you."

"It's advanced magnetism, paired with...I don't know the mortal term for that. But still, since anyone with enough scientific knowledge should be able to think themselves out of this, I can simply…" The sorceress lightly taps two fingers against the floor as if deep in thought, but I just catch sight of a green gleam of light behind her eyes.

And then, between one blink and the next, Loki is stood centimetres from the end of my nose.

"You should run."

"You should duck."

A knife arcs through the air above me as I duck, and it would've hit Loki directly in the throat if her hand hadn't shot out and caught it just in time. "Agent Romanoff. You could've killed me."

"Somehow I doubt it. I was just testing something." The look in her eyes tells me that I better know what the fuck I'm doing. I don't, but I nod like I do anyway. Romanoff might not know that the mystery woman is Loki, but she definitely knows something is up.

"Did you not listen to my speech? Didn't you hear that Admin is off limits?"

Loki smirks, even as coffee drips through her hair and her forehead proclaims that she's an idiot in big black letters. "Rules aren't really something I believe in."

"I'll give you three minutes to get out of here before I set Agent Romanoff on you." Behind me Natasha rolls another pocket knife between her fingers. "Trust me, you do not want Agent Romanoff to be set on you."

"Your loss." Without a second glance Loki dashes off between the desk, this time taking care to jump over the stacks of paperwork and the agents compiling them, rather than charging straight through them like a goldy freight train (Do gods have trains? Must ask Thor).

"My loss? No, I really think that it's my gain."

Natasha steps up beside me, watching Loki go with narrowed eyes and twitchy fingers. "Are you going to evil laugh now?"

"Yep." My cackling echoes through the office, ringing through the rafters and making me feel a hell of a lot better about the situation.

Trust me, a good evil laugh can solve a lot of problems.

Especially when it's against a supervillain.

Evil laughter from the 'good guys' really freaks them out.

(*I*I*I*)

"Agent Hill, what can I do for you?"

"Nothing at this very moment Thor, I just wanted to talk."

Standing high above the smaller hangar bay, Thor's cape flaps in the howling wind as a quintet rolls out of the doors, blond hair whipping around like a weapon all of its own and a giant smile lighting up his face. He's idly twirling Mjölnir around one finger; the fate of the entire heli-carrier depending on the coordination of one god.

I, for one, do not trust the coordination of one Thor Odinson. Especially since I watched him accidentally crush a taxi by leaning against it last week.

So Thor is dangerous, death is imminent, and absolutely nothing is different from normal.

Except for the fact that Loki just entered the room. Even in my life, that isn't normal. And what's even less normal, is that someone just touched Phil's Lola without permission. Once upon a time, someone actually scratched Lola, drawing a big white line through the paint on her side with a pair of car keys. Since it was a civilian in the street, they only got a lecture. What you don't realise, is that a lecture from an angry Phil Coulson changes lives.

I bet you can't guess who it is that just touched Lola. Loki you say? Well no fucking shit, you must be the next Sherlock Holmes.

For those of you poor, ignorant souls out there who don't know who Lola is - she's one of Phil's cars. He has a penchant for old things, old gadgets, old watches, old friendships...and anyone that knows anything knows not to touch those things. Especially the cars.

Loki however, is apparently channeling Jon Snow right now, because she knows nothing.

And she just slid over Lola's bonnet.

A whisper hisses around the hangar bay, diving inside jeeps and hurtling around quinjets, not audible over the clanking of machinery, but visible in the horrified faces of the agents that stop to stare at Loki, open mouthed and wide-eyed. The god freezes the second her booted feet hit the ground on the other side of the car, searching the air for the source of the horror like a bloodhound scenting for blood. Unfortunately she seems to have removed the Sharpie, pink hair dye and coffee dregs from her person, but it was funny while it lasted.

"Who is that lady?"

"Dead probably."

Thor's shoulders shake with laughter and my eyes flick uneasily to Mjölnir, but the hammer is now safely in Thor's hand, even if it is dangled over the edge of the balcony. "You jest well La- Agent Hill. But I know avoidance of answering when I hear it."

"Do you trust me Thor?"

The question seems to catch the god off guard. "Aye. With my life."

Now it's my turn to laugh. "You trust far too easily Thor."

The blond god shrugs his shoulders and turns back to watch the woman he doesn't know is Loki, with sky blue eyes clouding over in thought. "Aye, putting my trust in those I know not well has landed me in many a trouble, but so has it ceded me many a true friend."

I have to take a moment to translate what Thor just said. "That was even more incomprehensible than usual."

"I try."

Loki starts to slink towards us, sliding through the shadows and setting up tripwires in every which direction, some attached to paint cannons, others to water buckets and laser pointers, and a few simply to freak people out. A small smile permeates her expression, grey eyes twinkling with amusement as she moves, and she doesn't even seem to be concentrating.

"I would swear…" Thor starts but then trails off, biting his lip between ivory teeth as he stares down at the blonde woman making her way closer and closer towards us. And as far as I can tell, she hasn't seen us yet.

In the distance someone screams as their friend pushes them out of the closing hangar door, slamming an quick-attach parachute onto their back with a wicked grin and a yell to have fun. Ah, I remember the time I did that to Fury. Good times, good times.

Loki, on the other hand, has the opposite reaction. Unable to see the frankly hilarious spectacle of someone flailing their way out of the hangar door the god retreats further into the shadows, obviously worried someone has worked out who she is. Which would only be funny, if it hadn't put the God of Mischief right below Mjölnir.

I love it when a plan comes together. "Drop your hammer Thor."

"Excuse me?" the god rumbles.

And I hate it when stupid gods ruin my plans with their questionable and only occasionally applicable morals.

"Drop. The. Hammer."

"I could not drop Mjölnir on an innocent-"

"She's not an innocent Thor..." At the defiance in his eyes and the confrontation in the line of his shoulders I realise this line of command isn't going to get anywhere. "For Christ's sake man." Stepping in close I duck past the arm Thor brings up to block me, slam the heel of my foot down on his instep to distract him and then pinch the gap between his thumb and index finger to make him drop the hammer.

It almost misses.

Almost, in this case, is still good enough.

Mjölnir strikes Loki on the shoulder, smashing into the joint with the full weight of the godly weapon and slamming the Trickster onto her back on the cold hard floor. Thor's expression morphs from horror and betrayal to undiluted shock as Loki's concentration snaps, grey eyes burning green before the rest of his disguise falls away in a shower of green light. Thin lips curl in undisguised irritation as Loki raises his head to examine whatever is pinning him, recognises Mjölnir and lets his head fall back to the floor in resignation.

Even from this height I can tell what Loki groans at the ceiling. "Thor you imbecile."

"Loki?" Thor eventually chokes out. He turns to me, arms outstretched and eyes pleading for an explanation. "Agent Hill, how did you-"

I meet his eyes with my don't-fuck-with-me-I'll-eat-you-for-breakfast look firmly in place. "You should have trusted me."

And with that I stalk off the balcony to spread the news.

The Trickster has fallen.

Long live the Queen of Pranking.

(*I*I*I*)

"I despise Midgard." Those are the first words that drip out of Loki's mouth once he's secured in his old (and this time hopefully magic-proof) cage.

"And Midgard despises you sunshine," Clint chirps, bow strung with an arrow and held loosely in hand, "and that's not even our fault."

Loki crosses his vambrace-clad arms across his chest and leans back on one foot, a true picture of relaxation. Slowly, green eyes flick from Avenger to Avenger, analysing everything from the way they hold their weapons to how far apart they stand to Stark playing Angry Birds (Stark edition) on his phone to demonstrate how much more important he is than this conversation.

"So...are we waiting for Fury or…?" Steve looks as though he thinks he should go and fetch the Director, but doesn't really want to.

Before I can admit that I've already messaged Fury (and Phil even though he's on the Bus on the other side of the planet), Loki opens his mouth and drawls "Well I was waiting for the heated accusations of evil and pointed fingers before we get started but as none seem forthcoming…"

Everyone, surreptitiously or not, turns to look at Clint. Clint shrugs. "I don't give a singular flying fuck." A whole host of disbelieving looks are levelled at the archer. "What, do you think that was the first time I've been brainwashed? Try fourth. It's practically just a mild irritation because I have to quit fieldwork for six months and actually go to Psych. I hate Psych. Seriously, if you're looking for the person who's going to tear you to shreds and dance on your remains in high heels for brainwashing me, you're looking for Romanoff." The Russian assassin in question grins wickedly from the shadows, flashing white teeth practically the only sign of her presence. "Not that I don't look great in high heels when I'm stomping on people's ashes, but that's beside the point."

"Anybody else?" Loki smiles crookedly and gestures at the cage around him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Other than Thor." Stark slaps the blond god on his armoured shoulder and then tries to conceal his wince of pain. "Sorry dude, but none of us really want to hear the 'Why brother?' 'I'm not your brother!' malarkey again."

"Yes actually." Barnes says, taking a bold step closer to the glass cage. "I have something to say."

"Captain Roger's pet," the villain purrs, "I don't believe we've met."

Buzz. My comm vibrates in my ear to warn me that Fury's on the line and he's exceeding even his usual decibel level. With Barnes holding the majority of Loki's attention I retreat back into the corridor, but I don't even try to deceive myself that at least four people in that room didn't sense me leave, no matter how quietly I move. "Director Fury."

"Hill you are so high up on my shit list right now you should be suffering from oxygen deprivation. You knew motherfucking Loki was on my ship, you knew that genocidal bastard was prancing around here like he had some god given right and you didn't tell me or even blow his golden ass to kingdom come!"

I know better than to let Fury get properly started on a rant, so I interrupt him at the first opportunity. "He is currently in the Cage Director."

"And he better stay in the fucking Cage Agent Hill, or I'll mount your head on my wall in the place of his." he yells, breath steaming loud and heavy down the line. "What the hell were you thinking? Everyone knows you're an impressive negotiator, there's no need to prove it by negotiating with a psychopathic God of fucking Lies!"

"There's no longer a working camera in that corridor." I know he knows what I did, but there's no harm in winding him up a tiny bit. It's a long ingrained habit, I have to take my entertainment where I can.

I can almost see Fury steaming. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid Hill? Do you? No, don't answer that, you obviously think I am otherwise you wouldn't spout such blatant bullshit right to my face! Of course you negotiated with the bastard, I have cameras watching you chase that arsehole out of your 'let's lecture rules at people for half a fucking hour' speech, then you both disappear and then what the fuck do you know, next news you're running a full scale prank war against female Loki with the Avengers and then you accidentally get Thor to catch his brother/not brother! Are you trying to get yourself fired?"

"Well technically sir," I say, fighting to stop a smile breaking out because I know my next words will send his decibel level onto never before seen levels, "since my deception resulted in an apprehension of a wanted criminal, I haven't broken any rules."

"Well technically Agent Hill I can't have you thrown off the top of the heli-carrier, but do you really want to bet on that?" Great, now we're onto threats.

"Director Fury, Loki's in the Cage, no lives have been lost in an unadvisable show of violence and you're free to have him tortured whenever you please."

Apparently Fury knows my tells as well as I know his, because at the shortness of my tone I can almost hear his eyes narrow. "Hill, don't you dare hang up on me-"

This time I can't but smirk. "Sorry Fury, but I need to go and keep the Avengers from doing anything even stupider than usual. Hill out."

As I step back into the room, it's to see Romanoff attempting to dodge past Thor with a snarl painted over her features, Barnes and Rogers talking at each other and gesticulating wildly, Stark stood protectively in front of Banner having finally put his phone away, and Clint for some reason is wielding a flare arrow. Loki, for his part, just looks smug to have garnered such a reaction.

I cough, once, and the room falls silent. "Ladies, gentleman and assorted whatever-the-fuck-Loki-is...what the fuck do you think you are doing?"

"I'm going to gut a god and make bunting out of his intestines."

"I am going to prevent Lady Romanoff gutting my brother-"

"I am not your brother Thor-"

"Loki insinuated that Bruce is just like him, a monster-"

"Tony, you're still overreacting-"

"He said Bucky's a killer-"

"Steve I am a killer-"

"Flare arrows are cool."

I hold up a hand for silence, and surprisingly everyone, even Loki, complies. The Avengers learnt their lesson about ignoring me after the Explosion Of Epic Proportions, but even I don't know what's going on inside that raven head to get him to listen to me. "All of you," I cock a sceptic eyebrow in Clint's direction, because what the hell is he on about with flare arrows for god's sake, "except Barton, need to learn how to take a chill pill and not rise to every little provocative thing. You as well Loki, just ignore Thor for fuck's sake because if you repeat the words 'I'm not your brother' one more time this is going to turn into a Disney movie. So just zip it."

"To be fair," Romanoff says flatly, with her most deadly expressionless mask in place, "I was planning to gut him long before he opened his mouth to insult us."

"And I will not be dictated to by anyone any longer, especially not by a mere mortal, no matter how much command she has over her own people." Ah, there's the arrogance I was waiting for. Loki draws himself up to his full height, eyes flashing with disdain and chin tilting with princely pride. "Even Asgard itself could not control me nor keep me prisoner against my will, and no Thor, before you open your ill-educated mouth to make some oafish comment, nor will I follow Asgard's...laws…" Loki's jaw drops with realisation before the most truly joyful smile I've ever seen on his face forms and starts to grow larger by the second. "Norn's forgive my stupidity, how could I not have seen this sooner?" I surreptitiously glance over at the Avengers, but they seem just as perplexed by this turn of events as I am.

Only Thor seems to understand what's going on. "Loki you cannot, Father forbids it, if you go against the oath you swore to stay away from her he will be forced to wage war against Vanaheim-"

"And if he does, I will fight beside them. Do not underestimate how far I will go Crown Prince Thor Odinson of Asgard." Loki's expression burns with malicious promise. "You can tell the Allfather yourself that if he orders a single Asgardian boot onto my wife's lands, I will crush them all myself. And then," Loki takes a measured step forward, placing both long, pale hands on the glass of his prison, his malevolent smile almost splitting his cheeks in two, "I will come for Asgard." Green fire blooms behind his head and races down his form, wreathing him in unholy flames and sending even more sinister shadows dancing across his face. "And I will burn it all."

"Um...sorry to break the dramatic atmosphere…" Stark looks the most awkward I've ever seen the suave businessman look, "...but did you just say wife?"

"Yes. Queen Sigyn of Vanaheim, the most beautiful and magically-talented sorceress in all the Nine Realms, does me the eternal honour of being my wife." I only realise what's happening when Loki's waist starts to dissolve into mist, but before I can slam my hand down on the emergency alarm only his head and shoulders are left. "And, of course, our three adopted children." And with that, Loki disappears completely.

As one, everyone in the room turns to look at a trepid Thor.

"Thor, you have a hell of a lot of explaining to do."

So guys…*nervous laugh*...I've been gone a while, even if it was slightly less long than usual...here's the thing. It's exam time coming up. And then afterwards I'm going on holiday for five weeks to Australia. So...I might get something out at the end of July, maybe, if there's wifi in the fucking outback.

If you liked anything please leave a review. Every time I get a review I try to write 200 words, so more reviews = faster updates!