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2. A Letter from Asgard


"I never really got to taste you fully, darling." The whisper surged into her ear, and Natasha gasped as his mouth kissed its way down her neck, over the peak of her breasts, along her belly. Loki's black hair tickled her legs as his white teeth bit and sucked her left thigh; she arched up and screamed as he continued down to her – oh hell, she had grown used to calling it her 'quim'.

How it quivered as his tongue deliberately explored every fold, ever peak; she felt herself become swollen inside and out. There was no escape. He teased every nerve ending, finding a rhythm that made her shudder. He was tireless, he was so good at it, he was exciting and dangerous, all at once. She reached to clutch his hair, to smooth her fingers over his hands where they spread her open, and he stopped to kiss her palm before he returned to her sex.

The tip of his tongue flickered like a snake, like a flame, as soft as a feather and firm as a thumb against the button of her clit.

At that, she stopped thinking and felt herself come apart, dissolving into a skein of stars.


She woke on the floor, pillowed on one arm. Natasha opened her eyes, feeling her muscles complain. Sleep came where you could take it, she knew that much, but it had been a while since she had fallen asleep on the berber carpet in her own sitting room.

A hand hung in front of her face, its fingers slack. She sat up and saw that Jane was asleep on the sofa next to her, snoring slightly. What had happened last night? There was a confused rush of images: wine, more wine, martinis, long vivacious conversations, and a drunken stagger home to her rooms in Stark Tower.

Natasha got to her feet and went into her bathroom. She sat down to pee and frowned - there was another red circle on her body, this time on her thigh. "OK, what the hell?" she whispered.

As she pulled her clothes off and climbed into the shower, she probed the new mark with one cautious finger. It was the same size as the one she had found on her neck a day earlier.

Had she picked up someone in the bar the night before? No.

Had she and Jane – ?

NO, in capitals.

Carpet burn maybe? No. What was she, the heroine of an Amy Winehouse song?

Washed and shampooed, she climbed out and padded off in search of clean clothes. By the time she was fully dressed, she heard murmurs coming from the direction of the couch. Jane was stirring, and the scientist sat up when Natasha came in to sit next to her on the couch. "Good morning," the agent said.

"Oh, my God." Jane covered her face with her hands. "You're all clean and showered and stuff, and I probably look like a troll. And smell like one."

"You look great, as always. How's your head?"

Jane considered. "You know, caffeine would be really good right about now."

"I hear you. We can go and grab breakfast in the cafeteria here in the Tower if you want, unless you want to go to a restaurant. Or maybe you would prefer just to return home…?" Natasha offered.

"No, the cafeteria would be fine. Can I use your shower first, though? Would you mind?"

"I'll fetch you some towels."


Jane's skin still glowed as they rode down to grab coffee and some breakfast, and her hair gleamed under the dull light in the elevator. It simply wasn't fair, Natasha thought.

The cafeteria was deserted. Natasha sent up a silent prayer of thanks; the last thing she needed at that moment was a run-in with Steve or worse, Tony. She poured two cups of coffee and grabbed a tray with a few plates of food while Jane selected a corner table.

As the agent put the food down and took a seat, Jane muttered thanks, seized a coffee, and took a grateful sip. "Ahhhh." She speared a few pancakes with a fork and doused them liberally with syrup. "And by the way, did you find any more red marks on your neck this morning?"

Natasha dropped her fork, spraying eggs across the table. "What? How the hell did you know?"

"Don't you remember? We talked about it last night – I explained my theory of cross-string effect, and you told me it might actually have happened to you."

"Christ, I need to get onto a case. I'm getting soft." Natasha drank her coffee and sighed. "What is cross-string effect? Sorry, I don't even remember getting home last night – not clearly, anyway."

Jane giggled. "Neither of us were feeling any pain." She popped a forkful of pancakes into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and continued with more animation. "Cross-string effect is the theory that a cause in an alternate universe could affect something or someone here, in this world. For example, if someone fires a gun, it could theoretically impact an object or even a sentient being in another universe. And you told me if by 'alternate universe' I meant 'a realm of Yggdrasil', then maybe you were getting hickeys from another place and time." She paused. "And you showed me the lovebite on your neck. I take it you have another one today?"

Natasha kept drinking, but she nodded with her cup to her lips. "Mm-hm."

"I don't mean to be forward, but could I possibly see it?"

Spluttering, Natasha put her cup down. "Not just now," she said. "It's on my left thigh."

"Oh! Sorry." A deep blush suffused Jane's face, followed by a look of intense interest. "Really, though? Are you certain you didn't…"

"Well, I didn't pick any one up in the bar last night and I know you and I didn't get it on, so yeah. I'm certain."

"Hel-lo, ladies!" Tony appeared from nowhere and slid into the chair between them with a look of glee on his face. "How are we feeling this morning?"

"Stark, could you just keep it down a bit please? And we are fine, or we were until just now." Natasha directed her attention to her eggs.

"Is that so? And by the way, you were just dandy last night, especially when you and Molly Hooper here came in at three in the morning singing Sweet Caroline. I love the way you replaced So Good with Hard Wood, Hard Wood. Nifty lyrics upgrade."

Jane shielded her eyes. "Did we?" she asked Natasha, who simply winced, closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Lady Natasha!" A loud voice boomed across the cafeteria, causing Jane to sit bolt upright, spill her coffee, and gasp all at the same time.

"Oh, no! Are you – is that – Tasha, can you sneak me out of here?" she asked.

Tony's grin widened. "You know, I just decided I need to eat in the cafeteria more often."

The god of thunder strode to the table, intent on Natasha. "My lady! I have something for you…" He caught sight of Jane, turned bright red, swallowed, tried to speak, and couldn't. At last he dropped to one knee and with a mighty effort cleared his throat. "Jane," he whispered in a tone filled with awe. "My own heart, I have missed the perfect vision of your face beyond all telling…"

Tony sighed with happiness, grinned, and dropped his chin into laced fingers. "This is even better than a meltdown on the VMA's."

Natasha jumped to her feet, deciding to forget about breakfast. "Tony, don't forget we have that thing."

"What thing?"

"You know," she added between gritted teeth, "that thing we have to do. Or, go to. Whatever. Far, far away from here."

Reluctantly, he climbed to his feet. At that moment, however, Thor appeared to remember where he was. "A moment! I nearly forgot. I brought something for you, Lady Natasha, a gift from my brother Loki in Asgard. Yes, Prince Loki has sent you a message. You do remember Loki? He told me to give it to you this very day!" His volume increased with each word so that the god's voice boomed throughout the huge eating space, despite her frantic attempts to get him to be quiet.

"Really!" Tony's smile was now so wide it looked as though he were cosplaying Jack Nicholson's Joker. "It just got better."

Natasha accepted the slim package heavily wrapped in red ribbon and fastened with large seals from Thor, if just to keep him quiet. "Any chance we can speak later?" she asked him.

"Yes, naturally. I will wait on you anon," Thor replied in a vague tone, his eyes fixed on Jane's blushes.

"Any chance I could make a YouTube vid of you singing Blurred Lines into Mjolnir as a prop microphone?" Tony asked.

"Yes, naturally." Thor wasn't paying attention.

Natasha hissed "Don't forget the thing!" to Tony and added in a much nicer voice, "Thanks again for coming out to meet me, Jane."

Jane collected herself, rose to hold out her arms and folded a very surprised Natasha into a warm hug. "It was my pleasure! I really had a great time. Listen, let's do it again just as soon as we can."

As Natasha prodded Tony out of the door, she reflected that as it turned out Jane and Thor were not so very different after all.


Agent Romanova,

Since I am now betrothed to the beautiful enchantress Amora, I must insist you return forthwith the lock of my hair you took from me the last time we were together. I am returning the curl of yours I stole in its stead…

Agent,

Your unfortunate behavior has come to my attention. I understand you do not eat and insist on drinking huge quantities of vodka each night. This is unbecoming to anyone, let alone a mortal who has been graced with the attention of a god for even a few moments. Please desist at once; furthermore, I shall break off all communications with you …

Mortal,

Do not presume that you still cross my mind in any way, shape or form. I forgot all about you as soon as I returned to my true home…

Natasha told herself to stop imagining what was inside as she considered the unopened packet Thor had given her. She dropped her head in her hands. I seem to have a problem dealing with my mail, she thought, remembering the letter from Anzhela. It sat on her bookshelf for several days before she finally worked up the courage to read it.

She got up, went to the kitchen, and made herself a cup of tea, making certain the cup was clean, the water completely boiling, the tea bag steeped before she added milk. When she had procrastinated long enough, she returned to the couch with the hot mug in her hands and sat in front of the envelope.

This is ridiculous. She put the cup on a coaster. I am the Black Widow; men have fought each other for my attentions. Natasha picked up the envelope, broke open the large seal, and removed a page of thick parchment as well as a small object wrapped in a square of silk.

Carefully she unfolded the parchment and read the words Loki had written to her from another realm, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping open as she did so:

Natasha,

As expected, I have been relegated to imprisonment on Asgard. My situation could be worse – the All-Father has granted me a suite of rooms, although I must live behind a glass partition like a caged tiger. With your quick wit, I am certain you can imagine how graciously I accepted those conditions. However, at least I do not have a serpent hanging over my head dripping venom into my eyes, and I suppose I must be grateful for small mercies given my own flame-haired saviour is not here to catch the poison.

When will you come to visit me?

There, the question is out. I meant to write you flowery prose and woo you with sweet phrases to enjoy luxurious captivity by my side, but I find I have not the patience for such an endeavor. We must be reunited, and that is the end of it. Arrange the voyage to Asgard at once on your end with Thor.

Mayhap you should have forgotten me at all, I include a small token to help remind you who Prince Loki of Asgard is. It will please me when you return the gift in kind.

With my utmost wishes for your continued very good health (and I mean what I say, Natasha – keep yourself out of serious danger or I shall find a way to strangle you myself.)

Post Script – When I say 'at once', I do not jest. Go this instant to Thor and the fellow called Fury; I have seen to it your affairs on Midgard are not pressing and thus will not take up your time.

Natasha put down the parchment and covered her mouth with both hands. Her first reaction was anger, followed by a frustrated desire to drive her fist into the god of mischief's face and kiss him until he was breathless at the same time. His departure had almost made her forget his calm air of authority with the undercurrent of passion constantly brewing in his words. Now it was as though he had returned and stood in front of her, smiling lazily as he ordered her to jump up and do his bidding the moment he demanded it.

And how dare he clear her calendar without her agreeing to it! No wonder she had nothing to do but moon over him and drink vodka, day after day. Arranging a visit to Asgard would be the very last item on her agenda; he could be certain of that. Let Loki stew, fret, pshaw as he might - she was determined to make her own decisions.

Natasha tossed the parchment on the table and picked up the silk packet. Something slipped out, a small, oval frame of heavy silver with a miniature portrait of Loki inside. Her breath slid in and out of her chest as she brushed it with one finger; the artist had caught his hooded, intelligent expression, with just the hint of mischief sparkling in his eyes. His arms were folded and his head flung back – it was an attitude she had seen him assume many times.

Carefully she set the lovely object by the thick paper of his letter and felt for her phone. "Fury," Nick answered a second later.

"Got anything for me?"

"Agent Romanoff, I already explained we are in some kind of weird lull as far as crime goes. And I do believe I promised to call you the minute something comes in." Nick ended his statement with a suppressed sigh; inactivity didn't suit him, either.

"Kidnapping? Negotiations? Convincing? Babysitting? Nick, I'll take anything." She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice.

"Just hang in there, and I'll be in touch, Agent." Fury ended the call, and Natasha threw her phone on the table in disgust.

The face in the miniature seemed to mock her. "Oh, yeah?" she said to it. "We'll see about that."

It will please me when you return the gift in kind.… Crap. She could hardly send a selfie to the palace in Asgard. Cursing Fury, Loki, and herself, Natasha crossed to a box under her tiny dining room table and pulled it out. The carton was filled with pictures, all of them from different missions and cases she had been on.

She picked up a few random photos of herself, marveling at her own appearance. She was blond in one, appeared dark and exotic in another, she laughed and talked vivaciously in still another … and none of them were truly her. It was as though she were a doll, a puppet, cadging confessions and microfiches out of targeted marks with the shell of her face and body. But who was the real Natasha?

At last she found one shot taken years earlier by a fellow assassin from the Red Room. She had just finished a case and her face bore a look of satisfaction, the 'secret smile' Loki seemed to admire. It was the closest thing she had to a true picture of herself.

Natasha, she thought as she carried it into her bedroom. Who the hell is she?