"Are you ready then, Lady Anna?" The not-blue-skinned Loki-double stepped into her personal space, and Anna leaned back because fuck, this guy was tall.
She nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."
He chuckled darkly, green eyes glinting knowingly down at her. "Liar," he murmured, then presses his lips against hers.
Their lips literally sparked, and Anna tried to pull back in alarm, but Loki moved his hand up to keep them together. It seems like forever until he removed his hand and pulled away, and by then, the doppelganger seemed to be fading.
Then Loki started chanting and Anna's body started to glow. She lifted her hands up to get a closer look, but that triggered an ache in her muscles that hadn't been there before. She grunted when her skin began to prickle, then groaned when her bones suddenly felt like they were melting.
And then something latched tightly onto her arm and pulled—
When Anna wakes up, the unfamiliar surroundings disorient her for a few moments. And then, after asking herself what the hell she was doing on the floor of what looks like a utility closet, she remembers everything. Groaning, she gives up on the idea of moving when none of her four limbs, ten fingers or ten toes twitch at all on her command, and she stares up at the bland-grey ceiling while taking stock of herself, trying to confirm that she still had all the body parts a human needed.
She did. She just couldn't move them yet. This is probably what Loki meant when he said to 'gather her bearings.' Asshole. Why couldn't he just tell her what was going to happen?
She groans again, because there was a strong possibility that her hair is standing on end, if the mess she could slightly see was any indication. But it honestly matters less over the sizzling, prickly sensation dancing on her skin, thanks to the leftover magical mojo that still clung to her. Not to mention the insane way her mind is racing to process everything extra Loki seems to have included in the ah, travel packet, because her brain is mapping out a plan without really asking for her input.
Damned God of Mischief.
Ugh, in any case, it was probably for the best that she arrived in a closet, because those extra uniforms neatly folded on one shelf will probably help her blend in more than the Asgardian she-warrior costume Loki dressed her…in.
…where the fuck are her clothes?
It's right after she realizes that she's naked that that her mind catches up with her body, and the utter wrongness of how she'd just traveled courses through her with fierce suddenness that she blindly turns herself over and heaves.
Then, as if to make matters just a little worse, there's pain in her chest too—as if her rebar injury were ghosting through her still, haunting her every move.
God. Fuck. Ugh.
She pants, trying to keep the panic down as she pushes herself up, soiling her bared knee when it lands in her own bile after she executes an uncoordinated series of actions in her attempt to stand.
'Gross,' Anna thinks, grimacing at the ick factor, 'and totally unnecessary.'
Not to mention that her lack of clothing is completely and undoubtedly inappropriate for what she came here to do.
A soft bark of laughter escapes her when she remembers what her mission was. Change the future—son of a bitch, the fuck had she agreed to that?
Refusing to stay naked for too long, Anna reaches for a uniform set from the nearest rack—
"Oh my god," she breathes, freezing in place as she catches sight of the ugly handprint that covers her right forearm. Gingerly touching the pinkish-brown discoloration etched on her skin, she notices that the finger-marks are long and spidery and wonders if Loki had been the one to pull her through…whatever that glowing thingy was.
'It was probably Loki,' she tells herself, because to think otherwise would mean an unscheduled freak out. So she files the thought away and reaches out for the uniform again, ignoring the way her hands shook as her body, mind and soul tried to recover from the unconventional travel.
She's got the uniform top zipped up all the way to her neck before she realizes she can't wear pants while her knees are disgustingly wet! Luckily though, there's rubbing alcohol in the third shelf when she searches for something to clean up with, thank fuck, and she uses a generous amount to wash off the puke from her knee before pulling the large-ass pants on. Then she cleans up the mess she's made with a yellow absorbent rag because she really needs to get a grip before leaving the room and she's heard before that there's nothing like a good scrubbing to help detach the mind from a traumatic experience.
But like most things, cleaning does nothing for her nerves.
'Loki was right,' she thinks, wiping the rag harder into the already newly-cleaned floor. She's not ready. Not for this. Not for…for heroes and save-the-world gigs.
This was…this was an Avengers thing. Not an Anna thing.
She was a coward. A victim, not a hero.
God. Stupid Loki.
No. Stupid her, agreeing to do shit and fuck.
A motherfucking idiot—that's what she was.
The sound of beeping froze her entirely, and the door was suddenly opening. God, please no, she's not fucking ready—
"There is no ready!" She startled at his raised voice, taking several steps back before she can even comprehend she'd moved. Barton's expression darkened at her movement. "There was a time when Anna Stark could get herself out of trouble. What the hell happened to that girl, huh?"
Her mind blanks out, and she's in motion by the time the door opens completely, reaching out and catching blue flexi-steel fabric in her hand as someone takes a step inside. The intruder is pulled in before they can scream or react in any way, and using their—her—momentum, Anna's elbow collides with her jaw, dropping the stunned but conscious blonde to the ground. Bare foot meets cheek, and the agent is instantly out cold.
When the adrenaline rush fades, Anna swallows and takes in her handy work. Part of her is horrified at attacking an unprepared woman, but the other half—the one that's been through too much shit thanks to the life she's lived and the five years of constant and almost-brutal conditioning for her until-now untried reflexes—is pleased at how well she'd handled herself.
'Shoes,' she thinks as the heel of her foot stung slightly. 'I need shoes.'
Turning to the uniform racks first, she sees that the ones there are too big for her, and with a grimace, her stare drops down to the woman's boots.
Then she takes a good look at the woman's clothes, glances down at her own, and realizes that yeah, she's wearing men's clothes. Because that wouldn't be conspicuous at all, right?
Anna begins stripping the woman of her outer uniform, resigning herself to the decision of theft largely due to the fact that she has to detach herself from the emotional aspect of it all. Because the time-traveling, the almost dying, the truths she was now privy to—they were part of the mission, and Clint had drilled it into her head that there has to be a certain level of disconnection going on. Because if she takes things to heart…
On the other hand, this is personal. She's not just here to save Loki, she's here to make sure her family stays whole—something she has never seen it become.
But still, a part of her whispers with doubt. The task Loki asked her to do is just too big for her alone—too complex and fucking hell, what had she agreed to? Clint had warned her every time after her reunions with Thor that Loki was bad with a capital B, so why the fuck did she go and make a deal with the devil?
God, she could be so stupid sometimes.
Zipping the boots up, she covers the woman with the large top and is halfway out the door before remembering what she'd forgotten. Plucking the woman's headset off, she wipes the earpiece self-consciously before slipping it into her ear. And then she stares at the gun she'd abandoned on the floor
Anna hates guns. Her life had fallen apart because of guns. She hates them so fucking much, but…
But yeah.
She takes the holster, clipping the belt around her waist and then securing the bottom straps around her thigh. The gun feels heavy with danger and potential misuse, but she keeps it on and leaves the room with the look of an authentic SHIELD agent.
The halls of the Helicarrier shouldn't be quiet, but barring the hum of technology and electricity, it is. She's lucky she landed in a utility closet—or maybe that'd been Loki's aim all along—because at least she managed to get her hands on the proper camouflage. But as she strolls down the hall, Anna finds another mistake she's made.
She has no idea where she is.
Son of a bitch, how many more mistakes is she going to make?
'Wish I had Jarvis,' she thinks, because he really did make everything look easy. But she'd been upgrading the necklace Jarvis was stored in before everything went FUBAR on her and had left it in the workshop so that Jarvis could upload himself back into it and finish by the time the party ended. And besides, she'd arrived here naked, so maybe he wouldn't have come with her anyway.
Fuck.
Fine. Fine. She could totally do this. Totally. She could hack into the facility's internal databanks and get what she needed without anyone being the wiser.
She could.
But first—she needed a computer.
It takes Anna a few minutes of wandering around to find a room with a computer, and then another ten minutes to find another room with a computer without anyone else in it. The SHIELD logo spun absently on-screen before she accessed it, and with a bit of guilt, she carefully hacks into their mainframe and pulls up a map. Finding the detention room, she memorizes the way there before closing the map.
She's typing in a line of code that would erase her tracks when she sees it. Security feeds, the link says, and it completely captures her attention.
It's not that Anna doesn't think about what she's doing—it's that she processes subconscious thoughts and reasonings faster than her conscious mind can thoroughly dissect them. So when she clicks on the link, it's not that she does it unthinkingly. Because consciously or not, she knew—knows—what she would find there.
Uncle Thor's centuries of story-telling had refined that specific talent of his, and even as a little girl, the Avengers' first battle had always been a favorite of hers. She's heard it many, many times in her life, so she knows that right now, five-sixths of the team would be in the briefing room.
And she's right.
Uncle Steve and a redhead Anna recognizes as her dead godmother Natasha Romanoff are sitting far apart at the table while both Uncle Thor and Uncle Bruce stand opposite each other. Which leaves…
Her father.
Tony Stark struts into the room an arrogance that she recognizes in herself. He heads toward what looks like a control hub, patting Uncle Thor's arm condescendingly when he walks past the god. A lump forms in Anna's throat as she turns on the audio just in time to hear him say, "That man is playing Galaga!" while pointing at something off-screen. "Thought we wouldn't notice. But we did," he adds as he drops his hand, only to raise the other to cover his left eye. "How does Fury even see these?" he asks, turning to a dark-haired woman that Anna—with a start—recognizes as a younger Maria Hill.
"He turns," Agent Hill replies dryly.
"Sounds exhausting," her father snarks. That part hadn't been in any of the stories she'd been told, and it startles Anna into a giggle. God, now she knows what her mother meant about her being too much like her father, who had begun to fiddle with the control panels around the raised floor. "The rest of the raw materials," he says with all the air of someone continuing an earlier discussion, "Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily—"
And with those words, Anna remembers what she's here for. Watching for just another few moments while her father not-so-subtly brags about learning something new and intricate in only one night, Anna swallows heavily and closes the feed, inhaling deeply before finishing up the code that would erase her tracks. A few minutes later, she was out of the room and heading towards the detention level.
'You can do this,' she thinks to herself all the way to her destination. 'You can. You can. You can.'
"You shouldn't have offered if you didn't know you can do it," Clint said, easily holding onto his jug and keeping his pace with her while her back and arms ached in her struggle to carry her gallon of water back to his little seaside safe house. "Always know your limits. Never offer or agree to do something you don't know you can do."
Goddamn, why the fuck had she agreed to this?
"I wish you could've met him, baby," her mother murmured as they stared at the golden plaque bearing her father's name. "I wish he could've met you."
Her mantra changes. 'You can do this. And you will.'
There are no guards posted at the outer doors when she reaches the detention room, which is weird but convenient for her, so she waltzes right in, faking confidence in a way she never had to before.
Loki, dressed in the fashion she knew Asgardians preferred, is pacing in the large circular cage and doesn't seem to notice her at first. So she makes noise, stomping obnoxiously along the metal grates as she walks up to the cage holding him captive. His head turns to look at her, unwittingly allowing her to see his eyes, which were more blue than the green she'd seen from his future-self's non-blue-skinned doppelganger, and so Anna sees for herself that Loki had told her the truth.
Mind-control. Jesus.
Loki eyes her speculatively as a voice shouts through the comm, loudly calling a familiar title. "I admit I wasn't expecting any company just yet," Loki says. "And who might you be?" It's an almost perfect Loki-drawl, except that there's a difference in his inflections and emotions.
The real Loki doesn't broadcast his contempt through his words when he spoke, but through his actions. Even tied up and stretched out as he had been, Anna had noticed it, having been with Loki long enough to know how he moved when he…spoke.
'Son of a bitch,' she thinks half-fondly. 'Bastard trained me to recognize him.'
"Here to free you." That earns his surprise, and somehow, the visible astonishment on his face reassures and calms her frayed nerves, even as the buzz of alarm grows frantically in her ear. "How do I open the cage?"
It takes him a moment to reply, and the way he stands gives away none of his thoughts. But if it were Anna, she'd be thinking, assessing how this surprise visitor's presence and apparent willingness to help her escape would affect her plans.
Finally— "There." He points to a slim panel behind her, and Anna retraces her steps to take a look at the mechanism. It was actually pretty simply enough to operate, and she quickly discovers how to—
"Whoever you are, stop what you're doing at once," an annoyed voice echoes around the room. "This is Director Fury of SHIELD. Who the fuck are you and what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"You are not part of SHIELD," Loki states from his cage.
"Nope," Anna replies as she enters the sequence that disengages the impact sensors.
"And why do you offer to free me from this trap?" he asks as the mechanisms around the cage hisses.
Anna raises an eyebrow. "Why don't we skip the part where we pretend that you can't teleport yourself out of that cage anyway?" she offers, pushing the button that opens the door. Fury swears impressively in her ear and commands his guards to hurry to their location. Anna estimates that she had a minute—at the very most—before they arrive, so she meets Loki half-way as he smiles at her from his position in the middle of the cage.
"Very well then," Loki agrees, suddenly teleporting right in front of her. He grabs her arms tightly and pulls her flush against him, making her gasp in shock at the sudden movement. "Who are you, and why have you released me?"
"Get close, transfer my magic, and the spell will do the rest," Loki told her.
Anna recovers from her surprise and twists her arm around to reach up for his collar. "For this," she says, pulling him down to her.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "What. The fuck?"
Loki sighed. "Most spells that deal with magical transference are triggered by touch and guided by breath. This is one of them."
Her teeth gnash together as she growled. "I'm. Not. Kissing you."
At the clumsy, smashing touch of skin, the last dregs of personal magic Loki had put into her to give to his past-self surges through her, tingling from the tips of her fingers and toes and traveling up and all the way out of her throat. Keeping her eyes open, she sees it manifest in a green and gold mist that exits from her mouth and enters through his as he abruptly pulls away and sucks in a breath.
In the moment after he pushes her back forcefully, Loki stares down at her unseeingly as his eyes turn fully black before returning to their clear green color. And then he's choking two seconds later, hands clutching at the skin of his neck as he crumples to his knees, a scream of bloody murder escaping him while his skin ripples blue and his eyes bleed red and thick purple smoke whooshes out of his mouth.
"Oh motherfucker," she snaps out, backing away quickly as terror floods her, because Loki that son of a bitch hadn't warned her about this part and what the actual fuck was happening?
"You dare!" The voice was deeper now with rage, and ultimately, terrifyingly familiar. "Mortal scum! I will snuff the breath out of your body with my bare hands!"
Thanos. Fucking hell, it's Thanos and he'd been inside Loki. Her mind races as she realizes why it had taken the trickster god so long to tell someone the full, real story.
Loki hadn't been under mind-control—the motherfucker had been fucking possessed, right up until Thanos invaded Earth for the second time!
Son of a bitch!
"NO!" She startles at Thanos's scream, his furious bellow sinking deep into her bones. A moment later, she sees why—a blue-skinned and red-eyed Loki had his hand outstretched, golden magic misting at the tips of his pale blue fingers. The purple smoke swirls into the golden spell, and Anna jerks to avoid the stretching tendrils, taking a deep, sharp breath as she did.
There's the mistake.
Most spells that deal with the spirit are triggered by touch and guided by breath, Loki's voice reminds her as the smoke gravitates towards her, engulfing her sight and burning her throat as it churns down to take her—mind and body entwined. This is one of them.
There's deep laughter vibrating through every fissure of her thoughts, triumph scorching through her every nerve.
'Motherfucker,' she thinks, before her eyes fall shut without her say-so, closing out the rest of the world.
