From The Ashes

By Anna Morgan

Chapter 11 Monsters In The Dark

Natasha sat at the old man's bedside, looking upon him with tragic adoration and guilt. It was her fault – all her fault. They had targeted him because of her. Because she had allowed herself to become attached to him, they had used him against her. To get back at her.

Her adopted father Ivan Petrovitchlay unconscious before her, broken and beaten by the weapons dealer that she had brought down just a few weeks ago. She faced her own death in Sao Paulo to rescue him – the only family she had, that she had known since the fire. She was broken and beaten herself but still she managed to pull an escape plan from thin air and return them to Russia. She couldn't take him to a doctor; there would be too many questions that she could not answer.

It was then that she realized that he would never know peace; never know what it's like to not be hunted.

Natasha knew what she had to do.

Tearfully, she stood and walked determinedly to the kitchen and found what she was looking for in an old, elaborate cabinet with one door barely clinging to its hinges: a tiny bottle of clear, odorless liquid. She poured its contents into a syringe with a thin needle and brought it back to Ivan's room. She hated herself for what she was about to do, but she knew there was no other way. They would kill the poor old man slowly and painfully eventually. It was better this way.

She inserted the needle into his arm and pushed the plunger slowly as to not wake him and then took her seat by his side once more. A few minutes passed. The rise and fall of his chest eased slowly, slowly, until it stopped completely.

Her task complete, Natasha leaned down, and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight Papa. I love you…" she spoke in Russian.

Her tears of sadness and self-loathing spilled from her eyes and she stood, exiting the elaborate house and never looked back.

Natasha's eyes flew open, loaded with fresh tears that always came with that particular dream. She didn't thrash or struggle to wake – her struggle was all internal. Torture by her own mind.

She couldn't sleep anymore – not after that. She threw the comforter to the side and walked to the panoramic widow that covered one wall of her bedroom. It was still snowing, though not as hard as earlier. She placed one hand flat against the cold glass. The flakes gently rode the breeze by her window, descending gracefully. Here it was gentle, not like the harsh, violent snowstorms that plagued Russia this time of year. It was calming, inviting even. Perhaps some fresh air would do her some good.

She dressed in a warm red sweater and jeans and grabbed her black leather jacket. Pulling it on, she looked through the window again and looked down to the balcony and that's when she noticed him. Great minds think alike she thought.

….

Loki couldn't sleep. He had tried; but he had managed only a couple of hours before he just couldn't take anymore and his mind snapped him back to consciousness. So he did what he always did when he couldn't sleep: he went out on the balcony to clear his mind.

He leaned forward onto the railing, his forearms resting on the metal bar with his hands clasped in front of him. One foot was resting on the bottom metal bar with his leg bent. Tiny snowflakes surrounded him as the moon graced the night with a bright light that it managed to interject from behind the clouds.

It seemed to him that he would never escape the horrible images and feelings that he had endured nearly every night since his escape. He would be forever afflicted by the horrors of his past and that nagging part of him that desired nothing more than to cause mayhem and mischief.

But still he could not deny that part of him wanted to repress that side and embrace the calmer life that he had lived for the past four weeks. His former enemies had now become almost like companions. Not friends – never friends – because friends only belonged to those who were worthy of them. No – the Avengers were companions, like Sif and the Warriors Three – who only tolerated him because of Thor…

But that's not true, he thought suddenly. He remembered how that more pleasant part of him had cracked at his hard shell of a soul just earlier this evening…while he sat peacefully with Natasha.

Natasha….

Just the thought of her brought a smile to his lips. She had become the closest thing to a 'friend' that he'd known in a long time. He enjoyed her company as of late, more so tonight than he ever had. He valued the qualities he found in her: a dripping ledger to match his own, clever, intelligent, manipulative, sneaky, and she flourished in the chaos that she created around herself. Yet there was a distinct difference between them as well: she could also be gentle, calm, reserved. Bruce's words floated back to his mind: She's beautiful, smart, cheeky…she could kick any of our asses with her hands behind her back. And she's a good friend – doesn't judge anyone…

And there was something else there too. Something that was foreign and confusing to him that he couldn't quite name nor understand…

Loki remembered the feeling of wanting nothing more, when he was with her earlier, than to stay in the relative peace of mind that he couldn't deny that she provided him. His thought process was more clear, more sensible, more sane around her, and a reasonable side dominated his personality around her, the side that wanted the calmer life, away from the hunters that stalked him across the Nine Realms.

But you cannot make that decision based on how you feel just around her, he reasoned with himself. If you change your ways, you must do it for yourself.

Of course, that was entirely correct. Besides, who would want a monster like him for a friend, for a companion of any kind?

He shook his head to stop his thoughts chasing each other around and around in his mind. Instead, he focused on the city's nighttime façade before him.

The skyline was bright against the inky-black sky, the multicolored lights glowing, the snow dancing between the towers and buildings, descending and swirling around him. It was a beautiful scene in its own right; maybe not the same kind of beautiful as Asgard, but this scene had a different kind of beauty that was uniquely its own.

"Trouble sleeping?" called a voice over the whistling wind from behind him.

How does she manage to always sneak up on me like that? Loki thought, amused.

He straightened up, standing to his full height. Her breath caught in her throat; he looked so handsome with his dark features, his pale complexion illuminated by the moonlight, and those blazing, pale blue eyes that stood out against the dark… Stop thinking like that. What's the matter with you….? She snapped out of that thought.

"I could say the same for you," he replied.

She strode forward so that she was standing next to him. His eyes followed her until she stopped at the railing beside him. He knew the reason she was out there; it was the same as his own.

'I know. I have those too sometimes…'

She rested her arms on the railing, keeping her posture upright. Loki took in her sight – she was very petite, barely standing 5'4": the perfect height to rest her arms comfortably on the rail. He absolutely towered over her.

They stood together, like two statues overlooking the city for a few minutes, enjoying each other's presence, neither one speaking. Natasha was the first to break the silence.

"It's very pretty, isn't it?" she asked finally.

He looked over to her. "Indeed it is," he said simply.

"It almost reminds me of Russia. There's lots of snow in Russia this time of year…" she trailed.

Loki didn't respond. She paused for a few minutes before speaking again.

"Same ones as before?" she asked quietly looking out.

Loki looked at the ground. Natasha took that to mean 'Yes'.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. No.

She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing.

Almost as soon as he refused her offer Loki felt an overwhelming urge to tell her about them, to trust her. Part of him wanted to, but this cynical voice sneered at him:

She cannot be trusted. She will manipulate you as she did before. You know this…

"If you ever want to talk about it I'm listening," she said quietly. Damn her benevolent insistence….

"It is nothing that you should concern yourself with," he said flatly.

"Maybe I am concerned," she said simply.

Loki frowned. Flattering though her intentions were, he was not in the mood to be prodded. Her kindness, rather than soothing him, had the opposite effect.

"You would not understand," he said lowly, his voice harsher than before.

"I think I would understand – "

"No! You do not understand," he barked, his voice suddenly as dark and cold as the winter night surrounding them.

She turned to face him, her arms dropping to her side. "You really think so?" she asked skeptically. She felt unexpectedly offended…

"No one can! How can you possibly?" He took a deep breath. "You do not know what I have been through. You Midgardian misfits – attempting to 'understand' what I have gone through, what I have suffered. You have not known my pain; you have not shared any of my experiences. No, you cannot 'understand' me." His breathing was ragged and he stared her down, wishing daggers to come and strike her down where she stood.

Natasha stared right back at him defiantly, disbelief and anger swirling underneath her calm façade.

"You know what? You're right," she hissed, turning her head to face ahead toward the city once more. "I couldn't possibly understand what it's like to discover that everything you know about yourself is a lie, even down to your own name-"

This caught Loki's attention and he turned sharply to face her again.

"-to have no idea who or what you really are. To understand how it feels to know that you have no control over your own destiny and no choice that you have ever made has truly been your own." She paused to regain her composure as her eyes filled with tears and her voice cracked ever so slightly.

Loki could feel the guilt begin to bubble inside him. How had he been so blind? He knew her past, knew the truth of her words… the daggers he wished upon her only seconds ago turned back around to stab at him instead…

"And I suppose I can't possibly know what it's like to be tortured and abused, and to have your mind and body used as just a means to an end for someone else's diabolical schemes. And then to have your past laid out before you, knowing that no matter what you do from this point, you will never be able to make any of it right again. You're right, I wouldn't understand."

Her memories flashed in her mind as she spoke her last words. The tears that had formed in her eyes fell freely now. She looked down at the ground in an attempt to hide them, but Loki had already seen. She departed back toward the doors, her movements haste and determined amidst her obvious devastation.

Before she could reach the door however, she felt a cool hand wrap gently around her wrist, stopping her.

She turned and looked up at him. The moonlight betrayed a thin layer of tears in his eyes as he looked pleadingly into her own. All malice and contempt were absent from them now. Instead, he looked broken, vulnerable, as though something within him, guarding him, had shattered.

"Please don't," Loki whispered.

She considered pushing him away. But she did not. She couldn't. Gently, she led him back to their spot, not bothering to remove his hand from her wrist.

And so they stared out into the city in revered silence. Words were unnecessary as they savored this rare moment of truth and peace amidst their lives of lies and chaos. She shivered as a bitterly cold breeze wrapped itself around her, but she didn't dare move.

Loki was at a loss for words. Here was a creature who finally understood what he felt, how utterly miserable his existence was, and how bitter it made him feel. She had put into words what he had been feeling all along. And it was all due to the fact that she had felt them herself. He was not alone.

Almost as if she knew what he was thinking, she looked back up at him again, and said in a tone barely above a whisper,

"You're not the only monster out there like you, you know."

Loki removed his hand from her wrist and wrapped his arms gently around her waist and pulled her close to him. Whether it was for her comfort or his own, he wasn't sure. He just needed to feel her, to know that she was real. Natasha stiffened a bit but she didn't resist as he pulled her so that her back was flat against him. His head rested on top of hers as she crossed her arms over his to further protect herself from the biting winter wind.

Loki told her everything. He told her of Odin's deception, how it had broken him to discover that he was the monster he was raised to hate and fear; how he would have rather died in the void rather than live a life of lies in Asgard; how Amora had tricked him and handed him over to the Chitauri; and how the Chitauri had tortured him – every detail of their games that he could bear to speak of.

Natasha proved to be a good audience; she stroked his arm with her fingertips as he spoke to calm him, and when he came to the difficult parts she would stop and wrap her arms encouragingly around his, which still held her tightly at the waist. When he spoke of that first night with them when they had pinned him to the floor with knives she removed her arms from his to examine his palms, her face full of concern. They still bore the scars left by the knives in the center of his palms, all the way through the back of his hand. She touched them with her fingertips lightly, sending a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the cold.

"I feel…as though I have died a thousand deaths." Loki finished finally, staring down over the edge. He felt better now, as if he had been carrying a Hulk-sized load on his shoulders and it had been lifted off of him. "That I have been completely destroyed a thousand times over," he choked on the words as they came out.

Natasha allowed him some silence as she thought of something appropriate to say to him. "Have you ever considered that destruction can be another form of creation?" she asked thoughtfully. Loki turned his gaze from the dark Manhattan skyline to face down at her.

"Sometimes you have to kind of die inside in order to rise from your own ashes to believe in yourself," she said quietly, "and love yourself to become a new person."

Loki nodded as the words sank in. He wasn't sure he could believe them, not yet anyway.

"May I ask you something?" he said abruptly.

"Okay."

"What did you mean, when you said that your name was a lie?" He asked.

She shrugged. "When I left the KGB and came over to SHIELD, I changed my name to Natasha Romanoff," she explained.

"And what was it before then?" he pushed.

"I was born Natalia Alianovna Romanova," she said simply.

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova…." He repeated. He loved the way it sounded. It flowed so effortlessly from his tongue. "That is beautiful…" He hesitated before going out on a limb. "May I call you Natalia?"

"Only if you want me to cut off your tongue." She smiled sweetly at him.

He raised his hands in defeat. He got the point. "Fair enough, Natasha."

"It's cold out here," she stated. "I'm going in."

"That is a good idea," he replied. To his surprise she held out her hand, requesting his. And more to his surprise, he gave it to her. She cupped her hand platonically around his own and led him inside.

They entered back into the warm common room floor. It felt so good in contrast to the bitter cold outside. As they approached the sitting area, Natasha stopped them and she turned to face Loki. "Goodnight, Loki," she said quietly, squeezing his hand.

Natasha made to let go of his hand so she could go back to her own floor, but Loki had another idea. He made a bold move – he held tightly to the hand he already held, swiftly but gently swiped the other from her side and led her to the sofa. Natasha was shocked but sensed no malicious intent on his part and let him lead. He sat down in the corner of the sofa against the armrest and leaded back against it as he brought her down with him. Once she was seated next to him e snaked his arms around her waist again and pulled her down so that her head rested against his chest, his signature mischievous grin plastered on his face all the while.

"Goodnight, Natasha," he said.

Oh, that was sneaky, she laughed to herself. She allowed herself to relax against him and let sleep overcome her.

When he was sure she was asleep, he smoothed his hand down her length of her hair and placed a quick kiss atop her head before laying his head down on her own, allowing sleep to take him as well.

The nightmares did not come back again that night. Not for either of them.

….

Natasha awoke the next morning to a soft throw pillow crashing against her face.

She let out a gasp and leaped up, ready to attack the assailant with all of her Black Widow force when Clint's hand wrapped around her raised arms. Below her, Loki stirred as the warmth and weight of her body against his disappeared.

She sighed in relief to see that it was just Clint. But she could feel the tension rise again at the expression on his face as he looked from her, to Loki, and back to her again. Oh….

"Fury just called. He wants us and him at headquarters in an hour. He has a mission for us," he explained simply, his voice emotionless. He didn't even give her a chance to reply before he let go of her arms and walked away, leaving her frozen where she was, her arms still raised and feeling that maybe he was a little upset.

….

A/N: Another chapter down. As always, thank you for the follows, favorites, and especially the reviews. Please let me know what you think. Love it…? Hate it…? Either way it helps with the writing process to get feedback!

Also, the title's namesake quote appeared in this chapter. +10,000 points to you if you spotted it.

The quote is by Gerard Way. All credit to him for that particular line.