Just as a warning, the beginning of this chapter is pretty graphic. Skip to the first line break if you like. A while ago rainbow hatgirl asked how dark this story was going to get. The answer is in this chapter.
The theme song, therefore, is "Monster" by Skillet.
Chapter 57: The Darkness Within
Loki traced the trail of blood up her skin with his tongue, and grinned at the shudder his actions produced in her. She was so lovely, even more so like this, stripped naked and vulnerable before him, dressed only in rivulets of her own blood. So much blood. It pooled on the floor and mixed with the shredded tatters of her clothes.
"Do you like that?" he whispered, trailing the very tip of his knife blade lightly across her skin, coming to a stop at her rosy, perfect nipple. He flicked it, drawing a drop of blood there, and she arched her back, pulling against her bonds and moaning hoarsely. The screaming had taken its toll on her voice. "You do, don't you?" he teased.
The Black Widow glared at him silently, her tired pale green eyes still suffused with the energy of her hatred. She was not broken... yet. He stood up, tapping a fingertip against his blood-stained lips in a pensive gesture. "I propose we put this away..." he set the knife on the metal tray, enjoying the rattle of the other instruments and the way it made her flinch. "...For now, anyway. Let's play another game," he suggested lightheartedly.
She licked her chapped lips, and for a moment he wished he had taken the time to learn the healing magics. Already her frail, mortal body began to fade, and he could have used those skills now to extend his enjoyment. Her expression showed the slightest hint of fear—a tightening around the eyes. What would he do now?
Loki stepped closer until their faces were inches away. Her breathing was unsteady—the only outward sign of the intense pain she must be experiencing—but she held his gaze resolutely. Glancing down, he trailed the fingers of one hand up the side of her ribs, raising goose bumps where it passed, smearing the lines of red. He ghosted his thumb against the swell of her breast, but then slid his hand behind her, between her unmarred skin and the cold metal surface she was bound to. He pressed himself against her and the moment before she realized what he meant to do, he kissed her.
It was not a harsh, demanding kiss as she might have expected, and he sensed her surprise when she did not retaliate. His lips brushed softly against hers, warm and gentle. His tongue darted out, but only teasingly. This seemed to snap her out of it, and she returned the kiss vigorously, surprising him. He pressed his body against hers more firmly, and she arched up to meet it. A low, feral growl came from deep in his throat, as he was simultaneously aroused and frustrated. He had not expected her to be that good.
But then Natasha took the upper hand, pulling his bottom lip into her mouth and biting, hard. Much too hard for loveplay, and Loki jerked back, a hand to his mouth. It came away stained with his own blood, although the wound had already healed. Glaring at her, he slapped her across the face, the sound ringing through the dark, sterile room.
Her head hung limp a moment, the red curls obscuring her face, and briefly he worried he had hit her too hard, and would have to wait for her to regain consciousness. But she looked up, the hatred in her eyes mixed with a small degree of triumph.
"You don't want to play this game?" he asked, his voice remaining calm despite the anger in his face.
Natasha looked for a moment as if she would spit at him, but then judged that she didn't feel up to the consequences. "No," she said at last.
He shrugged, as though it meant little to him, and reached toward the tray of instruments.
"Wait," she said quickly.
His hand paused, hovering over a particularly nasty device. He had to work hard to hide his smile-she was so easy to play, sometimes. Instead he looked at her questioningly.
It seemed to take her a long time to find the right words, and he was unsure if her pride or the pain made it more difficult. "We can... play the other game," she whispered miserably.
"Oh?" Loki's hand left the tray to trail a line between her breasts, dipping into her navel and then lower, before pausing. "I thought you didn't want to," he mocked.
She swallowed thickly. "No, I... I do..."
He tutted. "Not terribly convincing, Natasha. Barton said you could make any man believe you wanted him... not that I am like any other man."
For one, brief moment, she looked as though she would cry. Then it was as if a mask slid over her expression, and she became someone else. She smiled coyly. "No, you aren't like any other man, are you?" she said sweetly, although the rough note in her voice and a slight tremble of her lips slightly marred the performance. "You can do anything you want..." she drew out the word "anything" like a promise.
The corner of his lips twitched upwards, and as he closed the gap between them, his clothes disappeared. "Anything is quite a lot," he mused, relishing the feel of her blood-smeared skin against his. He looked her in the eye, saw the fear there, and loved it. "Where should I begin?'
Loki sat up in bed, gasping for air. For a moment he did not recognize his surroundings, the darkness obscuring them.
"Loki, what's wrong?"
He turned with a jerking motion to see Natasha, unabashedly naked in his bed. Memory rushed back to him in a flood of images. She reached out to him, and he flinched away violently, scrambling out of the bed, pulling the sheet with him and covering himself. He stood facing away from her, unable to look at her, afraid she would see the evidence of his body's own betrayal. For one moment, he thought he might be sick, feeling the same nausea that had preceded his counterpart's illness, his only experience with the concept. But the contents of his stomach stayed where they ought to be, although he kept a hand locked over his mouth to be sure. Eventually his body quieted as well.
"You had a nightmare," Natasha said in a low, soothing voice. She held very still, in a non-threatening pose. It was not quite a question.
He nodded anyway, squeezing his eyes shut.
"It's over now," she went on in her soft tones, "you're safe. It can't hurt you, do you understand that?"
It was her misunderstanding of the situation that jarred him out of his paroxysm of fear. He turned, took one step toward the bed, another, and then collapsed onto it. She approached him slowly, brushing his hair out of his face and putting a hand to his back.
"I find sometimes that retelling my nightmares out loud helps put them behind me," she urged softly. "So often the things that terrorize us in our sleep seem less threatening while awake."
He shook his head. "You don't understand," he moaned softly. "I dreamt that I... that I..." he could not say it.
Natasha sighed heavily—she did understand. "You were the most frightening thing in your nightmare. It was not what was done to you but what you did that made it a nightmare," she guessed, and the tone of her voice told that she, too, had such dreams.
He turned to look at her, fear and shame in his eyes. "It was what I did to you."
The only sign of her surprise was that she froze, unblinking, for half a moment. "Loki, we can't control what we dream, it's not your fault—" she began.
Loki turned away again. How could he tell her, how could he explain that he had created this dream, had fashioned it with great attention to detail, not only to torture Barton but for his own enjoyment? He couldn't. "When I... When She first came back," he corrected, "you asked if I would have done the things I threatened. She told you that if Barton had died..." here he trailed off.
To his enormous dismay, Loki saw an echo of the same fear in her eyes that he had relished in his dream. "The contingency plan?" she breathed.
He buried his face in his hands. "That is what I dreamed," he said miserably.
Natasha was silent for a very long time. When he could no longer bear not knowing what she was thinking, he lowered his hands and watched her. She was staring out the sliding glass doors to the balcony, and in the dim moonlight he could see her jaw was clenched. "You've changed, Loki," she said softly, and the declaration was not as confident as she would have liked. She turned her gaze on him, as if she could see the changes before her. "You wouldn't do those things now-"
"Of course not!" he interrupted in a hasty whisper. He grabbed her hands—he couldn't lose her now, not when he had just begun to... he paused. He had almost thought love her, and was perplexed.
"I know, Loki." She smiled sadly, "Otherwise it wouldn't be a nightmare, would it?" she asked, guessing accurately that it had not always been so.
Slowly, as if he wasn't sure he should, Loki pulled her into his arms, pressing her against his chest tightly. He held her that way for a long time, waiting to relax, for the terror of the nightmare to pass. But it didn't. Every time he looked at her, he was reminded of the fear in her eyes, the blood on her skin, the screams...
"Maybe you should call Dr. Bryardie," she suggested quietly.
Again, the unexpected comment lessened some of his anxiety. "What?" he looked down at her.
"She's really good at interpreting dreams," she explained. "Sometimes when I get one I can't shake, I go talk to her."
He frowned, confused. "I thought you didn't... You always laugh at Tony's quack jokes."
She shrugged, sighing. "When Clint and I were first assigned to the Avengers Initiative, she did assessments on us both. She diagnosed me, accurately, I suppose, with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It was hardly the first time I'd heard it, even by that name. I'd been having flashbacks and nightmares when she was still in diapers. It can be... difficult, especially at night, but it also keeps me sharp. Constant vigilance is an edge I can't afford to lose."
He felt himself relaxing as she spoke. "What did she say, when you refused treatment?"
"She smiled, actually. Not one of those fake doctor smiles that means she's going to try to convince you, but a real smile, sad and accepting. She said that no one is really sane, everyone has their own neuroses, and all that really matters is functionality. If my PTSD was contributing to my functionality, if I was 'sublimating' the symptoms, it didn't make much sense to try to make it go away. Plus," she smiled, "She said that no one could change me except myself. No sense trying to 'fix' me if I didn't want 'fixing.'" She chuckled, remembering.
"I laugh at Tony's jokes because I'm supposed to stay friends with him. Someday, I may have to convince him to stay on the team," she admitted quietly.
Loki scowled, catching on. "Really?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I got him on the team, didn't I? It's my job." At his continued scowl, she laughed. "I thought you said you liked to watch me work," she teased.
He smiled a little, the tightness in his chest easing. "On some poor idiot, yes. Tony is..."
"Tony is Tony. And it won't come to that, he won't leave. His conscience won't let him," she reassured him.
"What, you mean Pepper?" Loki joked.
She laughed a little, and put a hand against his chest, feeling his even heartbeat. "Feeling better?" she asked.
He nodded, and kissed her. "Maybe one day I'll return the favor," he offered, and moved to get out of bed, releasing her. "I think I will call Rowena, though. I don't need to sleep, so don't wait up." He pulled on his pants, and quietly closed the door behind him.
Natasha laid back down, but knew she would not sleep either.
"Rowena Bryardie," the voice came over the phone, somewhat distorted by the relay of satellites it passed through.
"Rowena? It's Loki. Sorry about the time," he glanced at the clock, it was not quite three in the morning.
"Actually, it's fine. I'm still in my office, just doing some insurance paperwork. It must be the middle of the night there. Are you all right?" He could hear the shuffling of paper as she cleared her work away to give him her full attention.
"I..." Loki now felt silly admitting it, especially to a woman. "I had a nightmare."
"Just now?" she asked.
"Yes. Natasha managed to calm me down. It was her idea that I call you."
"I assume, since you called, that you do want to talk about it?"
He sighed and sat on the couch, running a hand through his hair. "It was... of a sexual nature," he warned.
"Loki," here, he could hear the understanding smile in her voice, "In addition to my work as a therapist, I have personal experience in the subject of non-conventional sexuality, as you deduced yourself. You will neither shock nor embarrass me. If you are comfortable speaking about it, then so am I. You don't need to share the details if you don't want to, though."
Loki closed his eyes and described the dream in perfect detail, as well as its origins. It felt like a confession, and when she responded without judgment, it felt like absolution.
"Well I can't offer much in the way of interpretation," she lamented, "Since the dream was the product of your conscious, and not your unconscious mind. What happened in the twenty-four hours leading up to the dream?" she asked casually. "Often there is a trigger."
He sighed. "I drank an entire bottle of absinthe," he admitted.
"How long before bed?" She sounded amused rather than concerned.
"Five, maybe six hours," he guessed.
"Well alcohol, or hallucinogens in this case, will certainly release inhibitions, but I don't think that would be enough. Why were you drinking?"
Loki found he was less irritated by the reason than he expected to be. "My counterpart has... become physically involved with Natasha."
This time there was a pause on the line. "Sounds complicated. How did you react?"
He told her about their conversation, about what Natasha had revealed of herself. He went on to tell of his choice to go drink, finding Tony, and the incident with the local woman and her dying granddaughter. By this time he was on a roll, and explained how he and Natasha had spoken again beneath the stars, had made love there—he used the phrase unthinking, and not wishing to draw attention to it, went on without pausing—and then returned to the cabin. He described the game they had played, and how much it had pleased him that she enjoyed it.
"Sounds like a busy day," she said when he was done.
He sighed in agreement.
"Well, you may be surprised, but I think the nightmare is probably a good sign," she offered.
He frowned. "How?"
"Well, like Natasha said, the fact that you see it as a nightmare indicates that you have changed. In addition, you have made yourself vulnerable to her in a number of ways now. Your Anima has opened up to her, and you have let her see the darker side of your passions, too," she reasoned.
"I think this means that you are on the right path, Loki. Your mind can only process what has happened to you once you feel secure and safe enough to do so. It's a step in the right direction. Sometimes healing is painful," she said sympathetically.
"Healing... from what?" he asked, bemused.
She sighed. "Loki, the Chitauri used you. You were tricked into consenting, you said so yourself. It wasn't as obvious a trick as the one you use on Natasha in the dream, nor was the violation. But sometimes abuse of the mind can hurt far worse than that of the body."
Loki sat still a moment, thinking, remembering. "What should I do then?" he asked.
The understanding smile returned to her voice. "That's up to you. What would you have done if you hadn't had the nightmare?"
"I was planning on... on exploring things, with Natasha. Testing her limits, carefully. Find out what games she likes, where the boundaries are. But now..."
"I think that's an excellent idea," she interrupted. "You're obviously motivated to keep her happy, but also thinking of your own happiness. All relationships are based on compromise, and it's good that you're looking for the right balance."
"Will I have the dream again?" he asked after a moment.
"I don't know. It's possible. But I don't think it will be as upsetting, if you do. The shock of it was likely the worst part. Next time you will be prepared for it." She sounded so confident in him.
He sighed, and this time it was in relief. "Thank you, Dr. Bryardie. You've given me a lot to think about."
"Well, good," she said cheerfully. "Come by and see me when you get back, if you feel like it," she suggested, and then hung up.
Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling unaccountably tired. Maybe he would go back to bed. He shuffled into the bedroom, slipped off his pants, and climbed into bed. He draped an arm over Natasha, who was still awake and didn't bother to pretend otherwise.
"Good talk?" she asked quietly.
"Yes," he said simply, and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Natasha was sure, as she had been when he had left, that she would not sleep. But now, with Loki's arm around her, and his solid warmth against her back, she began to relax. She smiled at the irony, at how his mere presence soothed her from her fears of what he had once been. Best not to question it too closely, she supposed, so she snuggled closer to him and drifted off to sleep.
A/N: So, there you go. That's as dark as it gets, although this will not be the only time it gets that dark, by a long shot. I've gotten some negative feedback about this part, so I would really appreciate input from any of you wonderful people. Did I make it too dark?
Anyway, if I haven't completely scared you all off, please drop by on Saturday for Chapter 58: Bad News.
