I originally intended for this chapter to only be half of this current length, but decided to give you guys some extra scenes. So that means I'm shortening the distance between where I'm updating and what I've written, eek! But ahh, now my favorite (sadistically favorite, there is no legitimate reason as to why it's my favorite) scene to write so far will be closer than before! Granted, it's still got like, six chapters to get there, but you know…
Oh, and the cat thing. So...I actually was considering giving Loki a cat, but looking at the story and how the plot will go, the events of the plot are just too busy to put the cat scene in. Sorry to disappoint. I had it all planned out too! Natasha was going to sneak in a cat and then hide it in the kitchen or closet or something and then ask Loki to get something for her from said container and Loki would be all silently snarky but he'd oblige and then BAM there's a kitty. And he'd be super happy and the cat's name would be Spellvirki...and then they'd eventually find out that half the inhabitants of Stark Tower were allergic to cats. But I'm afraid someone else will have to satisfy your kitty and Loki feels...
Besides, Loki feels need to take a break every now and then. Loki's got some scenes coming his way where he's not exactly the woobiest of characters. Mehehehehe. (Of course, that's not until a while from now...)
Stay tuned for the next chapter, where we get to hear from a character that hasn't made an appearance for a while…
Thor could feel himself slipping, the pain unbearable in his chest. He felt Loki's hands upon him and he could only take comfort in the fact that his brother was alive and safe, regardless of what would happen to him. The only thing of regret in his mind was that he had not apologized properly to Loki, had not renounce his stubborn mindset, had not—
But the pain began to subside and his consciousness returned. Breathing became easier and he did not taste his own blood in the back of his throat. When he felt his strength return, he blearily opened his eyes. The last dregs of the battle were muffled in his ears. He raised his head slightly to see Loki upon his chest, the side of his head pressed against Thor's heart.
"You aren't weeping over my dead body already, are you, brother?" Thor croaked, chuckling softly.
Loki did not reply. Thor propped himself up on his elbows, wincing when an ache pricked his chest.
"Loki?" said Thor. "Brother?"
Loki did not move. Panic struck Thor and he sat up immediately, pulling Loki into his arms. Loki was barely breathing, his eyes half-closed and his face so pale Thor could almost see the hair-thin veins beneath them. Thor let out a terrible cry of pain at the sight of Loki's state, shaking his brother's unmoving body to awaken some sign of life from him, only to receive none.
"Thor!" Steve was running back to him. His suit was torn and his shield was scraped, but he was otherwise unharmed. "Thor, you're all right, are you still—?" His eyes fell upon Loki and they widened. "Oh, no."
"He—I—" Thor was too shaken to speak. "I was shot—I wanted to protect him—yet he…his magic—"
"Calm down, Thor," Steve said. He placed a hand on Loki's neck to feel for a pulse. "He's alive. His pulse is still there. He'll be okay, Thor. The Chitauri—we fought them off. Most of them retreated. We'll get him back. Are you all right now?"
Thor put a hand to his chest. There wasn't even a scar on him.
"He used his magic to heal me," Thor said. "He knew it could kill him and yet…"
The words died in Thor's throat and he nearly choked.
"Stark!" Steve straightened and called out over his shoulder. Tony, who was kicking the pile of Chitauri into a corner, turned toward him. His face mask lifted and when he saw Loki and Thor, he gaped. "Stark, you've got to call Bruce and tell him to prepare things to help Loki."
"What happened?" said Natasha. She crouched next to Loki, her face unreadable. There was a long cut running down her cheek and she had a slight limp. She placed two fingers against his neck. Loki hadn't made any sign that he noticed any of them there. She clenched her teeth, her forehead creasing with concern.
"Loki tried to heal me, and the Mind Gem sapped his life," said Thor. He gently closed Loki's eyes for him. "His energy is severely depleted. I don't know if—I don't know if he can heal from this."
He placed a hand on Loki's chest to feel for a heartbeat. The moment he did so, a rush of intangible voices echoed through his ears and Thor felt unnaturally separated from his body. Determined, he forced his mind out of the whirlwind of energy that the Mind Gem tried to entangle him in. His consciousness was forced back to reality, the voices dwindling in his ears as he focused entirely and all of himself on Loki.
"Thor, your hand—" said Natasha.
Thor looked down and he was taken aback. Thin blue tendrils were curled around Thor's fingers from Loki's chest, slowly edging toward his hand. He felt himself gradually grow tired, as if a plug in him was pulled and his energy was trickling away. In the midst of this, he could feel Loki's heartbeat against his warm hand, his chest slowly rising and falling as it took in air. Thor pulled his hand away and the blue vanished.
"What was that?" said Clint, dragging the last of the Chitauri onto the pile.
"I do not know," said Thor. His eyes searched hungrily for any sign of improvement on Loki.
"He needs medical attention, and fast," said Natasha, looking around fervently. "Hasn't anyone got anything remotely useful on them?"
"He needs his magic to heal, doesn't he?" said Tony. He crouched next to Loki and picked up Loki's limp wrist. With a click, the one cuff that encased Loki's wrist fell. Clint opened his mouth to protest, but then resigned to his silence. "This will give him enough to buy us time, if we need it."
"Stark, call Bruce and then find someone to pick us up," said Captain. "And call up SHIELD so they can—I don't know—they can dispose the evidence of this fight. I don't think New York City would enjoy hearing about another alien attack."
"I don't take orders," said Tony before walking deeper into the alleyway, facing the dead end.
"What are you doing, Stark?" said Natasha.
"Calling Bruce and SHIELD," said Tony.
Steve closed his eyes, his eyebrow twitching with irritation. "We need some sort of fast transportation for Loki. I don't know how long he'll hold on."
"Get Happy to drive," said Clint. "How much time do you need?"
"Loki? I don't know," said Steve. "I'm no doctor. He's breathing and he's got a pulse, but it's extremely weak. He's totally unresponsive and he's going cold, fast."
"I'll fly him back," said Tony, finishing the call.
"Let me," said Thor.
"I've got two free arms when I fly. You need to hold onto your hammer," said Tony. "I'll be faster than any car, any plan, anything. I'll be faster than even Superman."
Thor swallowed hard. He didn't want to let go of Loki. A deep, fearful part of him wasn't sure if this may be the last time with Loki should he part. But time was of the essence, and Loki's life was on the line. He slowly let go of Loki. Tony bent down, putting an arm under Loki's shoulders and knees to lift him up. Loki was as limp as a ragdoll, and Thor's heart pained.
"Meet you there?" Steve said.
"I'll keep the coffee warm until you get back," said Tony. He shot out into the sky, Loki still in arms, a red and gold flash darting toward Stark Tower.
"He'll be okay, Thor," said Natasha. "We better get back now, the sooner we get back the better—"
Thor didn't hear the rest of it. With a swing of Mjölner, he already raced into the sky.
By the time Tony had reached his tower with Loki, Loki was in such a critical state that Tony had to call in the SHIELD medical team despite promising Fury that he wouldn't bother SHIELD's agents any further than he had to. Even Thor wasn't allowed to be with him for the countless hours they spent trying to stabilize Loki, and in the end Bruce had to install the most basic prototype he and Tony came up with to limit the Mind Gem's power to give Loki enough magic to keep himself alive. Thor paced endlessly in front of the room, scratching at his perfectly untouched chest and listening to the sounds that came from the room.
Sometimes Natasha would stand with him, silent and calm. They would stand wordlessly side by side, basking in each other's presence. It was enough for Thor, and he could breathe easily.
Sometimes Steve would come by and give him a cup of juice to calm them. Thor couldn't swallow anymore after two small gulps.
Every now and then Pepper would give him a pillow to sit on and she'd sit across from him on the ground and engage in small talk. It worked, and his mind was given time to relax as he conversed with her. When she had to leave for her responsibilities, however, the worry came crashing down on him, and he could only sit silently and wait.
Clint came by once. He stopped in his tracks and shifted his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Thor did not blame Clint; fear and distrust were hard things to overcome. In the end, Clint sat down next to Thor, clapped a hand on Thor's shoulder, and stayed there for a while. The gesture made Thor's eyes sting, and when Clint finally stood to leave, Thor couldn't look at him.
When the door finally opened and Bruce said that Loki was going to be all right, Thor burst into the room. The medic team was cleaning up after themselves, but Thor had only eyes for Loki on the bed. His face was so gaunt Thor for a moment feared that Loki had already died. But he could see him breathing and this was enough for now.
He sat at Loki's bedside, sadly reflecting that he had been doing this much more often in the past several weeks than he wished to. Loki lied so unmoving on the bed—Loki hardly ever slept on his back. He always liked to sleep on his side—his right side, to be exact. Here, Loki looked dead.
Tentatively, Thor reached for Loki's hand and squeezed it tight. It was so powerless, so unlike his frighteningly powerful brother.
"His magic isn't all the way returned yet," said Bruce, pointing to the metal disc that was strapped on Loki's chest underneath his thin shirt. "We only capped about a fraction of the Mind Gem's power, but it seemed to be enough to elevate his magic level a bit. We're still working on it, Tony and me."
"I cannot thank you enough, Doctor," said Thor, not taking his eyes off of Loki's face. "It is magic that has broken him so; perhaps he needs the power of the AEsir to fully heal."
"Can you do that?" said Bruce.
"Not I," said Thor. "I have not an ounce of magic in me." He remembered how in the past, when he was still a child, he watched in awe as Frigga, Odin, and Loki so flippantly performed magic as easily as they breathed, how fantastic it seemed to him despite its disapproval in battle, and how his childish heart burst with jealousy wen he realized that he was the only one in the family who was not blessed with the skill. He could throw a blade with frightening accuracy but could not conjure flowers for Sif with a snap of his fingers as Loki had once done; he could hunt five bilgesnipes in one trip and yet could not smooth over a gritty wound from an unfortunate fall in a mere second. The sentiments had died away in adolescence, but now Thor felt that gnawing hunger for magic, for seidr, just so he could help Loki.
"Thank you again, Doctor, for taking care of Loki," said Thor. "Even after what he has done to you, you still helped him, and I will repay you in any way possible."
"You don't have to," said Bruce. "I wanted to help him. I did. I do."
Thor raised his eyes to Bruce. Bruce shrugged bashfully.
"He's been hurt enough," said Bruce. "He deserves some help."
"You've all been unspeakably kind," said Thor. "May I…may I have some time alone with Loki?"
Bruce took off his glasses and nodded. He quietly gestured to the other medics to exit the room, leaving Thor alone and quiet with Loki. Thor took in a deep breath and swallowed hard. They said that Loki would live and get better, so what made him so afraid?
"Loki?" he said. "Can you hear me?"
He wondered if this was like the Odinsleep, used to regain his energy. Thor smiled grimly at the thought.
"Please come back to me, brother," said Thor. "You've been alone for far too long, and all I want is to keep you safe and happy. I want you to be well again. Not just healed, but happy, healthy, at peace."
He bowed his head. "I was one of the hands that stabbed you in the back, and I regret nothing more. I can only wish that you forgive me, but know that nothing will stop me from loving you, Loki. I miss you, brother. I've missed you for so long."
He almost lost Loki far too many times. He didn't know how much more he could take. This fear was excruciatingly painful.
"See the light, Loki," he said. "I know you're still there. The brother that once loved life is still in you."
He waited for a twitch of the finger. A slight turn of the head, a sign, anything. But Loki showed no sign of life.
Can you feel me, Loki?
He squeezed Loki's hand.
If you wake, will you return?
He stayed at Loki's bedside for a long, long time.
She never saw Loki unconscious before, Natasha realized. Not completely unconscious, anyway. When they found him crushed into Tony's floor back during the Chitauri invasion, he was more or less lucid; at least, he was twitching.
But here, he was absolutely still, like a body in a coffin, the only sign of life was the regular beep of his heart rate on the machines hooked onto him and the barely noticeable rise of his chest as he breathed.
It was unnerving. Like witnessing a wolf cry "Huntsman!"—against nature, against all preconceived notions.
She never really noticed how fragile he looked.
Not that she would ever tell him that. She preferred to stay alive, thank you very much.
Natasha pulled a chair up next to his bed. She half expected him to open his eyes, flash a mischievous grin before disappearing altogether, proving this entire situation to be a farce. But nothing happened. The longer she stared at him, the less alive he seemed.
She glanced at the metal disc upon his chest. It uncannily reminded her of Tony's arc reactor and wondered if he designed it so on purpose. Did Loki still hear whatever voices plagued him when the Mind Gem was disturbed? She unconsciously reached out, her fingers hovering over his chest. She wondered if she could chisel into his mind and see what nightmares plagued him. What kept him from sleeping for all these nights. But she pulled back resignedly.
He reminded her of a fairy tale. Like Snow White in princely form, waiting for true love's kiss.
Or maybe not. He'd be endlessly offended if he knew she had compared him to a little princess who died eating fruit.
Besides, she reasoned. He was more comparable to the little mermaid, anyway. Being mute and all.
She brushed the thought aside, half guilty. She didn't know what exactly caused his silence. Tony reckoned it was post-traumatic stress disorder. Bruce mentioned it wasn't just talking, but communicating in general. She remembered once Thor tried to have Loki write his thoughts down. They were never touched.
"Me again," she said, as if Loki could hear her. Perhaps he could. "Just me. No Thor, no doctors. Thor's locked in his own room to get some rest. He wouldn't leave your side otherwise."
How foolish she was that she watched him, expecting a reaction. She could find more life in a coffee table.
"You've been out for a while," she said. A day and a half, to be exact. This was not unusual, she reasoned. It could be worse, still. It had yet to be worse.
This was the part where he was supposed to give her a very snarky look.
"I figured you might be bored," she said. She lifted the book she carried with her. "You were in the middle of reading this before you…got into a coma."
She flipped through the pages, keeping an eye on Loki. His face was so calm and peaceful that he almost looked like an entirely different person. It was almost frightening that he could be at such peace only when he was on the brink of life and death.
He looked so much younger. She wondered how old he was, how long he has lived. How much he has seen.
"I kind of don't want you hogging my book all the time, and this just makes the borrowing date even longer," Natasha said. "So you're going to have to listen to the whole story now, so I can have it back faster. Can't say you didn't hear the story."
She found the place he left off, marked with a sticky note.
"This is the king speaking," she said.
Natasha cleared her throat, then cleared it again, as if to take back Loki's attention. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage."
Natasha never read much Shakespeare on her own, never having an English Literature class in her youth or any fiction books in her childhood. Macbeth was the only one she could claim as her own. These words were a mystery to her, and while she understood their carvings and surface, she couldn't drill into the meaning or emotion she knew existed underneath. She wondered if Loki tapped into it, if he was adept to reading more than just sentences. She wondered how much he understood.
What are the nightmares of your soul?
She pictured him crying himself to sleep. It wasn't so impossible.
"Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!"
She paused for a moment. Was she truly in a medic room, reading out loud to an unconscious person who happened to supposed to be her enemy?
He's a murderer.
So was she.
He's a monster.
In which way did she mean?
He's heartless.
That was an absolute lie.
For a brief moment she wondered what Thor would do or say if he heard anyone say that of Loki. What Loki would do or say.
(In her mind, his lips tightened, his bright eyes flashed, but he would give a thin smile that was translucent enough to hide behind, and she would know better)
She shook her head.
"Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war."
For the hundredth time, she wondered where he got the bouquet of flowers for downtown.
She remembered the jet of power erupting from his fingers that may have saved her life.
You are the human, and I am the reflection.
She lifted her eyes to him and saw not the god of mischief, not the dishonest Frost Giant, not the brother of Thor, not even the tyrant with blood on his hands. She saw Loki and she wondered why it took her so long to see.
"And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes."
She imagined a prince, whose black hair was lined with gold, pale face pure and calm. She imagined a happily ever after, and for once she did not scoff at the idea.
"I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'"
Her heart beat heavily in her chest.
You are the god of lies, Loki, she thought. So how are you so truthful?
How can you let yourself wear your heart on your sleeve where someone can easily tear your hem?
You think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself can save anything?
She looked down at her book. Her hands grew balmy.
They are a part of you and they will never
go
away
He lay here, on the brink of life and death; a prince of a fairy tale—a nightmare—a tragedy.
"Exeunt. Alarum, and the chambers go off," she said. Her lips felt dry and she swallowed hard.
She closed the book and put it to the side. She hesitated before sighing and putting a hand on Loki's shoulder. She gripped it gently.
"Come on, Loki," she said. Her throat felt thick. "Come on."
Tea was overrated. Especially at two in the morning when internet websites claimed that drinking a cup of hot green tea was supposed to ease sleep. Wasn't it somewhere else that she read that tea was supposed to wake up the senses? Some consistency on this subject would be preferable.
Natasha stared accusingly at the dregs of her tea, clumping like sand on the bottom rim of her teacup. She was no stranger to sleep evading her, but when Tony of all people was commenting on her lack of a sleep schedule, she realized that she needed a well-earned break. But every time she let her head hit the pillow, her mind would race and the dark showed her more shadows than she ever realized before.
Shadows of faces she barely remembered.
Shadows of faces she saw in a distance, so far she could not recognize them in the obituary a day later.
She groaned and shook her head vigorously. Forget sleep, she needed a hot shower. A very long, hot, cleansing shower.
"Nat?"
She looked up from her teacup. Clint was at the living room door, frowning in confusion.
"You don't have night duty; what are you doing up?" he said.
Natasha sighed. "Can't sleep. Figured I might as well do something besides lie there doing nothing."
"Do you need melatonin or something? Because I can give you some," said Clint.
"No," said Natasha. "No. That's fine. Thanks."
Clint looked both ways before entering the living room, sitting down on the couch next to her. She set her cup down on the coffee table.
"How's your leg?" he said.
She shrugged. "Bruce said it was only a sprain. I've had worse. How about you? Any lasting injuries?"
"No," said Clint. "The Chitauri have to try harder than that."
I bet they could, she thought. She remembered Loki in the hospital bed, virtually lifeless.
"Is something bothering you?" he said.
She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth, as if to force the words out of her.
"It's an itch," she said. "It's like I have a seven-year itch and it shouldn't bother me by now, but it does."
Clint bit his lip and set down his weapon he brought along during night duty. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I have, she thought. I have and I did countless times so why does it still bother me?
"Clint?" she said.
"Yeah?" said Clint.
"When you were supposed to kill me, why didn't you?" she said.
Clint furrowed his eyebrows. He leaned back in his seat.
"Why do you want to know?" he asked.
"Because," she said. "I want to know—of all the duties you had, of all the people you fought, why me? Why was I the one you decided to spare and bring back to SHIELD?"
Clint opened his mouth, closed it in reconsideration, and then rubbed the back of his head. He let out a soft sigh.
"Was it because I—I don't know—I was a woman and you thought I'd be soft or something?" said Natasha. "Was it because you pitied me? I'd be a useful asset to SHIELD? You thought I was pretty?"
"Tasha," Clint said.
"Then what was it?" said Natasha. She rubbed her arms defensively as if to warm herself. "What made me any different?"
Clint shifted so that he faced her. Natasha stole a glance at him from the corner of her eyes. His face was soft, especially in the orange light of the one lit lamp.
"I—when I cornered you that time, after that fight we had," said Clint. "I wasn't thinking of bringing you to SHIELD. Not yet. I was just going to get my duty done and move on. So, yeah—I guess you can say the first time we met, we were both legitimately and mutually trying to kill each other."
She cracked a dry smile at this.
"But then when you were defenseless—and I guess when I beat you—I finally took a look at you for the first time—" For some reason, those words made Natasha stiffen. "—and I just—I couldn't. I couldn't kill you like that."
"Why was that?" Natasha said quietly.
Clint pursed his lips. "You looked afraid. You were so afraid that I knew then and there that you weren't the coldblooded, heartless killer that people said you were. I knew you were human, and you were afraid, and that—that there was hope for you. I thought I saw regret in you."
Regret. She swallowed hard.
"I wanted to help you right then and there," said Clint. "I couldn't kill you, not when I knew you had a chance to have a new life. And," he offered her a small smile, "I'm glad I did."
Natasha gave him a quick smile. She kept her gaze on the wall opposite of her. She could feel Clint shift beside her.
"Why?" he asked.
Natasha lowered her head. "I was just wondering."
"You wanted to know," he said, "because you were wondering if you should give that same chance to Loki too, didn't you?"
Natasha turned to face Clint, her lips pressed in a thin line.
"You can't keep that many secrets from me, Natasha," said Clint.
"I shouldn't," she said, her voice feeling strangely hollow. She took in a deep breath. "Well? Say that's the truth."
"Is it?" said Clint.
"Just say it is," said Natasha. "What will you do? What will you say to me?"
"Natasha, do you really want my input on that?" Clint said, his voice heavy.
"I care for your opinion. Don't take it for granted," said Natasha.
Clint was silent for a moment. He clasped his hands together and rested them against his lips.
"You think you know what you're doing?" he said into his fingers.
"I'm not stupid," said Natasha. "I'm the most aware of what I'm doing than anyone else."
"I know," said Clint. "I know." He heaved a sigh. "Nat, I don't want to tell you I think he and you are different cases, but—"
"But you think so," said Natasha. Clint looked at her. "See, I can read you too."
"You've always been able to," he said.
"How is he different from me?" said Natasha. "We both have blood on our hands. An awful lot of blood. We both are liars and killers."
"You're not anymore," said Clint.
Is that the truth?
Is it?
"You're sorry for what you've done," said Clint.
"I never said sorry," said Natasha. "I've never been to a funeral."
A look of confusion passed Clint's face. "Natasha?"
"You don't know if he's not sorry," she said.
"I never said I knew that or otherwise," said Clint.
"What if he was?" said Natasha. "What if I told you I knew he was? What would you say? Would you still think he doesn't deserve a second chance? If he wants it badly, would you really not give it to him? If you saw me that day when you were supposed to kill me, and saw not fear but thirst for blood, would you have shot me years ago?"
"I get it," Clint said, his voice quiet. "I get it. You and the rest of the people in this tower—I get it. You're all better people than me. I'm not being sarcastic," he said when Natasha opened her mouth to protest. "I know it already. I'm not a good person. And I don't like to forgive. But I understand about second chances. I know how you feel, and how you will feel. When I first brought you to SHIELD, people were just as skeptical as I am now. People didn't trust me, and they won't trust you. And I know that."
"Then what is it?" said Natasha.
"I'm selfish," said Clint. "I don't want him around. I want him gone, gone, with a second chance or not. I don't care what help he gets as long as he's gone as soon as possible. I'm a hypocrite; when other people are willing to give people who I hate a second chance, I'm not open-minded. I have a long memory, and so I hold a lot of grudges. What if he hurts you? Hurts all of us?"
"Even the boy who cried wolf needed help," said Natasha. "But no one came."
"That's because he tricked the town all the time," said Clint.
"So it's better that he or his sheep got eaten by a real wolf in the end?" said Natasha. "Liars are hard to swallow. Trust is nothing real. But why don't we just come to his aid every time? Whether or not it's real—okay. We might lose time, we might lose our patience or our nerve. But that's better than risking losing someone's safety. Maybe someone's life."
Clint rubbed his forehead, staring at the carpet. "You might lose more than your patience."
"That's what people told you, didn't they?" said Natasha.
Clint licked his lips. "Yeah," he said. "They did."
They sat in silence. Natasha felt torn. She knew that if Clint had any say, he'd rather she didn't come any closer to Loki ever again. However, if Thor were to find out (and for that case, maybe Loki himself), he'd be eternally grateful.
But what did she want?
"You don't have to agree with me," she said. "You don't even have to give him a second chance. Just know that this is my choice. I think he's got a chance. He's got some hope. And I'm not going to throw that aside."
"I trust you, Nat," said Clint. He looked very tired.
Something I'll always wonder why.
"Thank you," she said. And she meant it.
Clint bowed his head before taking back his weapons he put on the coffee table. "I better get back. Don't want the other agents thinking I'm slacking on the job."
"Not that there's anything going on," said Natasha. "The person you're guarding the world from is in a coma."
"Protocol," said Clint. "Get some sleep, Natasha. You'll need it."
"I'll try," said Natasha.
He saluted her before leaving the room, letting her dwell in the silent dregs of their conversation and her cold green tea. She leaned back in the couch, letting her head fall back against the wall. He wasn't angry with her, at least. She wasn't sure how she would feel if he was angry at her. If she would back down. If she would plow through regardless. If it would have made a difference.
You think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself can save anything?
You're a monster.
You're a monster.
You're a monster.
Asphodels and white dryads, petals lined with lacy frost.
Like the tea, she drank in the remainder of the night. It tasted bitter.