Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Agents Moreau and Jameson. Everything else belongs to the copyright holders.

Authors Notes at the end of the chapter.

Loki and Moira spent the rest of the day talking amicably. Moira would tell Loki the stories she'd learned as a child, and Loki would laugh, correct the stories, and tell her more tales that she'd never heard before. Moira had fetched her notebook out of her bag, and was writing notes as they spoke together. By dinner time, she was sitting on the floor her side against the thick glass wall of Loki's prison, her book in her lap, nibbling on a sandwich. Loki sat at right angles, facing her, his legs crossed, and prodding at his own dinner on his lap. Moira was chuckling as she finished her notes, and she leaned her forehead on the cool glass as she turned to regard her charge.

"I used to believe in you, you know," she said after a moment's pause, her features soft and sad.

"How do you mean?" Loki replied with a light frown, taking a sip of water from a clear, plastic cup.

"Well, I'm an atheist, I don't believe in any gods or goddesses. But you, I used to want to believe in you. When I was a little girl. I used to think, if there was any god that I wished were real, it would be Loki, the Trickster. The one who humbled the mighty, not through strength, but cunning. The Jotunn who tricked his way into Asgard and became a part of a mighty pantheon of warriors."

Moira trailed off sadly, staring into space, sighing softly. Loki didn't know what to say.

He cleared his throat and began softly, "I apologise if the reality is not as fantastic as the stories." He had actually come to find this strange girl and her fanciful tales almost endearing over the past few hours, and was perturbed to find that a tiny part of him had almost started to care what she thought of him.

Moira quirked that small, half-smile of hers. "You're real. Even if the stories are inaccurate or exaggerated, you do exist. I feel… Validated." She scoffed softly and muttered to herself, "validated because my childhood hero is a mass-murderer who wants to conquer the universe… Way to pick them, Moreau…"

"Reality is often harsher than the fantasies of a child," Loki snipped in response, throwing this empty meal tray back into the little airlock.

"More often than not," Moira agreed, putting her own rubbish in her bag and taking Loki's tray out of the airlock. "Still, you can't fault your ambition. 'Man's reach should exceed his grasp'."

"In one breath you condemn my actions, the next you laud them," Loki look confused and aggravated. "Make up your mind, woman!"

"I said I admired your ambition," Moira clarified. "I still condemn your actions, but they are necessary for your to achieve your ambition. A means to your end."

"You admire my ambition, Moira?" Loki asked with an unreadable expression.

"Who doesn't want to be king of the universe?" she shrugged in response.

"Do you?"

"No. Not anymore. The fantasies of children have no place in the adult world," Moira quirked a sad half-grin. "Besides, I'd be a queen, not a king."

"Semantics," Loki waved a hand dismissively. He was surprised to find a question niggling in the back of his mind. "Moira?"

"Mmn?"

"Who was Jameson?"

Moira sat quietly for a moment, and Loki was worried for a moment that she was going to clam up on him again. "He was my friend."

"Just a friend?"

"My only friend. He was the only person I'd ever met who wasn't afraid of the Councilman's influence, and didn't just wish to use me to further his own agenda. He was kind to me. He would sit with me when we ate, partner with me for assignments, we would study and train together, and share confidences. He was an orphan. Went to military school his whole life. He was bullied, just like me, but we stuck together. Unfortunately, he was already dealing with depression. One day, he couldn't take it anymore, and he jumped off the runway. Kingston, Olivier and Saunders were the main antagonists in his life, so now they see fit to make me feel guilty for his death. Saying he did it to get away from me, and that he wasn't really my friend. Either way, he's dead now."

"You have a miserable life, Agent Moreau," Loki observed, making Moira scoff a laugh. "Why do you not kill yourself like that boy?"

"I'm a coward. I fear if I do it wrong that I will suffer, or just cripple myself and keep on living. And besides, so long as I'm alive, there's a slim, shadow of a chance that one day I will do something to make the Councilman proud of me, and I can start living for real," Moira explained. "Either that, or I'll get my thirteenth scar, and it won't matter any more."

"What is so special about your thirteenth scar?" Loki asked, making a disgusted face at the memory of the marks on her shoulder.

"Thirteen is my lucky number. I always promised myself that if I got thirteen scars on my shoulder, I would let my mind snap. Just to see what happens. If there's one thing about myself I'm proud of, its my self-control and ability to appear sane."

"You think you are mad?"

Moira turned to look at Loki once more with her cold, lifeless eyes. "Not a day goes by where I don't think of trying to slaughter everybody on this stupid flying boat. I hate these people. They either victimise me, or do nothing to prevent others from doing so. It was easier when I had Jameson; he gave me hope. But it was a false hope. I see that now. So I will carry on, until I die, or until I get my thirteenth scar."

"So why do you wait?" Loki asked softly. He was eminently pleased with the way the conversation was going. This girl was a ripe target for manipulation, especially against S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Self-control. Even if nobody here is my friend, there's a lot of innocent people, with families whom they love and are loved by, on this boat. They don't deserve to die just because I'm not happy in my life. S.H.I.E.L.D. has still given me a purpose, and something to work towards. And I know deep down that I will fail in my attempt. It's easier to just keep on as if nothing fazes me. I'll just continue to strive towards being the best agent S.H.I.E.L.D. has ever seen in the meantime. It's a hobby…"

"Something tells me you're not telling me everything, Moira…"

"Of course I'm not. We might both be prisoners on this boat, but I'm not insipid enough to let you manipulate me, Loki."

"You wound me."

"You underestimate me. I'm human; not stupid."

"I never said you were stupid."

"Out loud."

"Now you're just being difficult."

"Yep."

Loki shook his head and flopped ungracefully onto his back. "Here I was thinking we were making progress."

"I'd apologise for the disappointment, but it wouldn't be sincere."

"At least you are honest."

"Thank you."

"Moira?" Loki sat back up at a thought, and she turned to look at him again. "If you didn't work for S.H.I.E.L.D., what would you do?"

"I don't know. I never had a choice in the matter," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity."

"Evidently, but what is the agenda behind the curiosity?"

"There is no agenda. I was simply curious," Loki responded, although it wasn't entirely truthful. He had some strange urge to get to know this woman better. He told himself it was so he could better manipulate her. Loki was watching her as they sat in silence once more, and she stared into space, looking away quickly when she moved to check her watch.

"I'm afraid that's my shift over for today, Loki," she sighed softly.

"Must you leave now?" the question was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Yes, I must. Sorry," Moira stood up to leave, dusting her legs off. "I can't afford to have the higher ups thinking I'm colluding with you."

"Then I shall wish you a pleasant evening, Lady Moira," Loki stood as she did, giving a short bow. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Loki," Moira smiled softly at his manner. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," he responded with a charming smile. He watched her as she collected her bag, and walked out the airlock door, surprised to find he was saddened by her leaving.

Get a grip! he chided himself. She is a pawn to be used. Do not get attached!

He found her story so sad and pathetic, that he couldn't help but feel sympathy for her. Part of him wished for her thirteenth scar so that he could see how she would react, how she would snap. Another part wanted to prevent it from happening, wanted to protect her. He scoffed out loud at this realisation, beginning to pace about his cell once again. He knew Barton would lead the strike any day now. A small part of him hoped that Moira would be with him when it happened. He didn't want her caught in the crossfire.

Idiot! he railed at himself. At least if she's dead, she won't be such a miserable little wretch anymore!

He continued to pace and plot for the next few hours, before deciding to try and sleep. He sat down where he stood, laying down, looking up at the roof, and waited for sleep to claim him. He woke but a few hours later from sheer discomfort, grizzling to himself, he tried to roll over into a more comfortable position when he noticed a silhouette over by the control panel. He stood up silently and went to investigate. It was Moira. Curled up into a little ball, her back against the railings, and leaning against the glass wall of his cell, fast asleep. She was still in her uniform, and her hair was slowly coming loose from its tight bun.

Loki knelt down to inspect the woman. She looked pale, but sleep softened her features, making her look serene and peaceful. Without thinking, his hand bumped the glass as he tried to brush a lock of hair out of her face. He withdrew his hand quickly once his mind caught up with his actions. But curiously, he didn't bang on the glass to shock her into wakefulness as he planned. Instead he went back over to his former sleeping spot and attempted to go back to sleep himself. He wondered if she would still be there when he woke in the morning.

Authors Notes:Warnings for fluff?

Please Review! :3 ~ Kalliope