Chapter 2

Loki had told her that sparring would clear mind. She was skeptical. Her way of calming herself was to be quiet and sit. Perhaps he sensed she was distraught. Being a prisoner in a strange land wasn't the best way to live, after all. At any rate, she found herself in the training room with the famed Captain and the Widow. The silk pajamas were suddenly very conspicuous. She hated to look poor when her companions were so well-dressed. Romanov's training gear was top-notch, and the Captain looked well in almost anything.

After a bout, they approached. "Here to spar?" the Captain asked. S.H.I.E.L.D. agents often came to train and work out their issues. The woman held out her hand for a strong handshake. Irene took it, but with little enthusiasm.

"Waiting for Loki."

"Oh," Rogers said. He busied himself with undoing his wraps, which took longer than it should have. He hadn't wrapped his knuckles in the Muay Thai style after all. In fact, he hardly needed them. Romanov was warmer than he. He was obviously uncomfortable with anyone being close to the god of mischief.

"Natasha. And you are?" Her accent was that of an American, but she was so precise with her sounds that she doubted it was her natural speech.

"Irene. Adler," she added, "current prisoner."

"I wouldn't say that," Natasha said. "Fury locked me up when he first met me too." This brought a wry smile to Irene's face.

"He didn't lock you up with an inter-dimensional felon, though." She held up her wrist, which was still glowing with her magic leash. Romanov had to concede that, at least. "What changed?"

"I see you've met; that spares me the time for introductions." Loki's smooth voice interrupted the answer, but was muted by the foam gym matting. He nodded at Steve and the Widow. "Captain, Romanov."

"Loki." She was respectful, but not affectionate. Looks like I've been lumped with the outsider. I suppose nearly destroying the city warrants a little displeasure. "Are you here to spar?"

"She is." He tossed her a dry-fit and black tights. "You don't mind if she borrows these, do you?" The repressed anger was evident in her voice.

"Not at all. In fact, I'll teach her." She motioned for Irene to go into the back room to change, unfazed by the tension in the room. She left gladly. It had already been too long since she'd been alone. In the back room, there was a mirror. In her battle dress, she had never felt more unprepared or more apathetic than she did now. It wasn't her battle dress any more. It was just her in the mirror, exposed, exhausted, and sad.

And to make matters worse, she was chained to the pariah of the group, an outcast by association. She held up her wrist and scratched at the gold runes tattooed on her skin, drawing blood, but still they didn't go away. Panic rose in her chest, irrationally, inexorably, and she clutched at the reflective surface before her for balance. Her breathing came fast and hard, but no oxygen gave relief to her lungs, and tears streamed from her eyes. No, no, no…

She curled into a shivering ball on the floor and shut her eyes, trying to wipe the memories from her eyes, memories of iron manacles, stench, sweat, sharp things in her skin, vomiting blood and bile.

Then there were hands lifting her up, wrapping her in a towel. Gently, she was hung from someone's back, a slender, bare back, and mercifully, oblivion came for her and swept the memories away.

…

"It's time to get up," said a voice coolly, welcomingly. She listened, if only to regain awareness of her surroundings. The voice had an accent, and so did the next one.

"She is full of pain. Let me take it away," it pleaded. It was a female voice.

"I cannot," the first said. "We need to know what's happened to her." She groaned and stirred.

"Don't wake up," a third person said. "I haven't kissed you yet." The voice was familiar.

"Shut up, bolvan," said the second. "She does not want to be kissed, and she is not a comatose princess."

She opened her eyes to a kind, clear Asiatic face. "Hello. What is your name?" With enough clarity, she stated it, and the doctor went on. "You had a panic attack and fainted. Can you tell me what you saw?" Numbly, she shook her head and leaned to the side. Her temple felt bruised; she'd probably hit it on the mirror when she fell. "That's fine. Maybe later." The doctor retreated and Loki came close.

"You interest me," he whispered. His lips almost brushed her ear. She wanted to turn closer to him, but her rapidly-clearing brain bid her not to. "Beauty. Remember, you are my charge. You can tell me anything." She was able to swivel her head this time and swallowed. Her mouth was dry. "Are we clear?"

"As diamonds," she croaked. But I won't tell you. My struggle is my own.

The second person who'd spoken, a woman strangely all in red, crossed her arms and cleared her throat. "Now that your lover's awake, care to let the doctor work?"

The doctor led the two out, saying they could come by during visiting hours, then proceeded to feed her better food than she'd ever had in a hospital and even busied herself examining her medical records for any risky history. Irene learned that her name was Helen Cho, a Korean ex-pat and skilled surgeon. Her soft, small face couldn't possibly have been natural, but that was how she acted.

"Do you know him?"

"Who?"

"Loki. You're attached to him." She pointed to the runes etched in her skin.

She laughed, which felt much better now that her throat wasn't dry and foul. "No. I was brought in on Fury's orders, and he is my watchdog." Her miserable cynicism surprised even the doctor.

"What, him? I thought he was a prisoner himself." This piqued her interest, though she tried not to show it. It was better than concentrating on her own sad self, at any rate.

"He seems free enough. Why does he stay?"

"Thor told me it's because he doesn't have an object of power to tear through this universe." That can't be it. He's the trickster god, he does as he pleases. Is playing good his new pastime?

She shrugged. The hospital gown was cool and papery on her shoulders. "Must be a god thing." Her eyes flicked to the magical manacle. It shimmered gently in the cold LEDs of the medical suite. What is the point in being free? Once I thought I could avoid complications. Now I know it is in my nature to complicate things. "When am I good to get out of here?" 'You interest me,' he said.

"Any time," said Dr. Cho. "Where will you go?"

"Good question," she answered. Then she sighed: "I should probably start trying to get my life back together." She scoffed, too: "What life? I'm a prisoner, and Fury has no reason to spend money on me."

"Every life is worth saving."

"Do you really believe that?" Dr. Cho closed the medical file.

"If I didn't believe that, I would not have become a doctor."

"And yet you're a doctor for an organization that kills more than it saves." This gave the woman pause.

"That was the old way. I have found my calling in the new way. Who do you think stitched Loki back together when he escaped from Asgard?" She tilted her head and smiled as if what she'd said was of little consequence. "Food for thought. Do you need anything else?"

A thought, small and frivolous, ran through her mind. "Yes, actually. Would you mind buying me some clothes?"

…

She stood in her new things in front of Director Fury's desk. It was his temporary desk, and files and crates of classified information were piled on either side of the table. In the centre of the room, she held her stance in new matte leather heels and a deep red business set that matched her chosen lip color. She felt rather like a professional.

Beside her, Loki crossed his arms, unimpressed. He was nearly a head taller than the director, after all, and at least ten times as strong. Neither of them had anything more to lose.

"Have you considered my offer?" It had been a full day before he'd seen her privately and offered her a spot among his best, with the same position Loki held. She would be part of his special force, not part of the Avengers, but part of the units that took on the impossible and won. "I'm here to tell you that your best bet is to take it."

"How do I know my life won't be at risk?"

"Like you care?" Loki was frowning. After spending two days watching her every move, he had learned several things: she wasn't easy to pry open, she was a confident and driven by self-preservation, and her wardrobe matched her mood: mostly black. He rather liked her. It would be a pity to see her dead.

"I don't, but I also don't want to be sent to my death. I want a say in how I die, if not in how I live." Fury grunted.

"Lucky for you, life and death are intertwined. Take the spot. I'd rather have you on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s side than not." Loki shifted his weight and gracefully cleared his throat.

"If I might have a say?" The director looked irritated, but allowed him to speak. He turned to the woman at his side. She was forced to look up at him, but this did not diminish her flinty expression. His eyes burned green into her own. "This is a thankless job you'll take. But if you love the thrill of the hunt, and the taste of victory on your lips…" He bent to whisper to her as he had in her hospital bed. "It is its own reward."

She smiled. I could stand to get out a little, stretch my legs. "I'll take it." She leaned over the desk and put on her most becoming smile. "What would you have me do?"

"Wipe that smarmy grin off your face and get to work," he ordered, moving away, obviously uncomfortable. "We've got a new problem in Wakanda, and I want you both on the field. Think of this as your job interview."

"On the field?" Agent Mariah Hill had just entered. "I daresay this woman is better meant for subterfuge, not a full-scale Mutate uprising."

Irene frowned, thin lips thinning further with displeasure. "I reckon I've fought with more mutants than you ever will. Don't test me." It was true, too. While in the Middle East, she'd fought the fanatic mutants who served ISIS. She'd survived, but not completely unscathed.

Agent Hill didn't look at her. "I know. I read your file." She turned to her boss. "How can you be sure she won't backstab us as soon as the tide turns?"

"If you read my file, you know I have no reason to. You want the perfect tool? You have one in me."

"Why?" Hill challenged. It was her duty to, as a loyal agent.

"The same reason you keep Loki here. I have no connections, and I have looked death in the eye," she reasoned, letting the dramatist within out to play. "Someone else has already done the dirty work, the breaking-in." She forced eye contact. "You'll give me what I need, because you need me. No one comes to me for help unless they're desperate." To her satisfaction, agent Hill had no ready reply.

"So you figured," Fury acknowledged. Loki was smiling, though she wasn't sure what for. "The Mutates will be looking for S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, not you two. While I'd be just as happy to have Romanov on the case, she doesn't get along with the jokester over here. You two have obviously played nice, and I need people on the job."

He's overextended. There aren't enough loyal agents to keep the world in check, so he relies on the villains.

"Fury, she needs training."

"Talk to me when I have twenty extra bodies on the job and six months' furlough." Then he frowned more deeply than before. "If you think she needs training, take her to the simulator. Just remember that she beat American CIA naked with a riding crop and a needle."

Agent Hill huffed as she led them out of the office. "Fine. If he wants to send you on a death wish, let him." As they stepped into the elevator, she looked at Irene with a sort of sympathy. Then she glared at Loki. "I swear, Loki, if you let her die out there, I'll-"

"You'll what? Kill me? Make me wish I hadn't been born?" His languid stance against the wall belied nothing but the confidence of one who had seen death and duped it often. They reached their floor.

"Slimy bastard," Hill spat. "Be careful, Ms. Adler," she beseeched before she left. There was a pause as they exited.

"Well. It seems you've made a new friend," the god drawled. She smirked. He was an amusing fellow at times, and his expression now oozed charm.

"You're just jealous," she asserted. What was this lightness in her chest? Was it the thrill of the chase? Just because he's interesting doesn't mean he won't kill you. He's only your ally for now. "At any rate, I haven't eaten since yesterday. Are you hungry?" It wasn't a particularly suggestive question, but he was wonderfully reactive.

"Starving."

…

At breakfast (Stark had a surprisingly small kitchen; he didn't prioritize food), Irene contemplated her meal companions. To her left was Loki, of course, since no one else would actively seek her company. To her right was the Widow, who seemed to have taken a place next to her to make a point about female companionship. Mayhap she knew what it was like to give her body for the sake of information.

Just across from her, staring awkwardly into his plate was the ever-gracious Captain America, who was glad she was well, he said. To his left was Falcon, or Sam, as she learned his name was, who was also strangely quiet. Stark had taken the head of the table, and was also the only one with enough shamelessness to have a beer with his bacon and eggs. Dr. Banner seemed stressed about something, probably the fact that Quicksilver and Hawkeye had begun to flick pieces of cereal around the room like teenagers. Charming.

The strangeness continued with a red man in a cape and the woman in her red dress conversing quietly over a diagram of some ancient spell or galactic map, and a man with a metal arm brooding over his orange juice. This is a nest of strange bedfellows. There was another foreigner with an unknown way of speech and a necklace of shells about his collar, and a young man, perhaps aged only twenty, who wore red and blue spandex and a mask to the table, and ate with his eyes covered. A military man, the well-known James Rhodes, sighed over the mess of his plate.

Thor entered with a rumbling stomach and a surprisingly happy disposition. "Well, brother, I see you've finally decided to take a female!" he bellowed, clapping them both on the back. Irene almost choked on her oats. "And what's this? You've already given her jewelry, brother?"

"No, Thor, I've handcuffed her."

"Is she your slave?" Loki would have punched him clear out the window if she hadn't spoken.

"No, you oaf, and don't touch me," she commanded. Her tone was so definitive that the big Asgardian backed away nervously. Then he grunted with approval. "I'm no one's slave, and certainly not his," she asserted.

"I like this one! You should marry!" Widow seemed to be cackling under her breath. Apparently this was something that happened often. And for its worth, it was amusing how stupid Thor was compared to his brother. Irene's mouth twitched upwards. She hadn't bothered putting on her face today, but she was attractive and knew it.

"Come on, let's leave Dumb and Skinny to themselves. I'll introduce you to the others," Widow said, still cracking up. He's not skinny. "You might as well get familiar with them, since Fury's sending some of them with you tomorrow." She pulled her away from the one-sided squabble. "Don't worry. I was on a leash for some time too when I started working for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I appreciate the thought," she said politely. "But I can manage without your platitudes." Widow pulled her sleeve back from her left wrist, the same one on which Irene bore her marks. A thinning white scar circled the flesh of the joint.

"It's not a platitude." Inwardly she winced. Outwardly, she looked away. Natasha sighed. "At the very least talk to Loki. I hear you two got on quite well despite having to share a room." I'm glad she didn't assume we bedded each other. "He's…not the best companion, but if you can befriend him, you can befriend anyone. And don't tell me you don't want to. It's for the best."

"Did Fury put you up to this?" The agent blinked.

"No." The kid in spandex waved at them and grinned. Or at least, she assumed it was a grin; his face was mostly hidden. She smirked. I could stand to relax a little before entering a death-trap in Wakanda. "What do you do for entertainment around here?"