Sorry this is a week late! Hope the awesomeness makes up for it, I've been waiting to write this chapter for a long time. Theme song is "End of All Days" by Thirty Seconds to Mars.


Chapter 69: Mysteries

Later that day, Loki and Natasha went out to the Guggenheim. They took the bike, and Loki let Natasha drive, for which she was grateful. She always felt more relaxed when she was driving, as if she could outrun her troubles. Leaning into the turns and zipping through traffic, with Loki's lean curves wrapped tightly around her, moving in sync, she felt almost at peace.

They reached the museum, and Loki looked up at the strange architecture, a vague smile on her face.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Natasha commented.

Loki shook her head. "It makes me think of home."

Natasha stopped looking at the building and shot Loki a confused look instead. "You said that about the Chrysler Building." When she nodded, Natasha tilted her head to one side. "You're telling me that the architecture on Asgard is like really modern art deco?"

"Basically. Except bigger, and some of the buildings float," Loki told her.

She just shook her head. "One day, I gotta see that."

Loki grinned. "I hope you will. Thor wishes to wed Jane there, and invite all the Avengers, so you'll probably get a chance then."

Natasha slipped her hand into Loki's. "That will be nice."

Loki blushed and looked around, embarrassed. Natasha just laughed and gave her hand a squeeze. "Honey, in this place, no one will even notice."

She looked slightly less flustered. "Alright."

They went in, Natasha paying admission, and wandered throughout the exhibitions. At the front was a sign advertising a phone app that provided more information on each of the artworks. Loki discretely summoned her phone, and downloaded it. At times they walked together, hand in hand, but sometimes they split up, drawn by different attractions. It was during one such brief separation that Loki found something startling.

"Natasha, you gotta come see this," she called softly, her voice carrying easily through the curved rooms. She appeared a moment later, and looked up at the painting, aghast.

"It looks just like you," Loki murmured.

"I can see that," she laughed. "How old is it? Maybe it is me," she shook her head. "I certainly don't remember sitting for it, though."

Loki thumbed through her phone, finding the appropriate section. "Circa 1928," she read aloud.

"Nope," Natasha said, incredulous. "I'm not that old."

"Wow..." she murmured as she read. "Listen to this: 'The artist of La Roux was part of the Art Nouveau circle that flourished in Paris in the teens and twenties. The painting was part of a murder mystery, discovered newly finished and unvarnished along side the bodies of the artist and the model, who was known to be his mistress. Another of his models was suspected of the murder, but not enough proof was found to even bring it to trial.' How sad!"

Natasha frowned, still staring at the portrait. "What's the artist's name?"

Loki read it off, but she shook her head, the name unfamiliar. They stood staring up at it for a while. In the painting, the redheaded girl sat in an overstuffed chair, wearing a green dress with a daringly low V. She had a large book in her lap, and was fiddling with the large emerald on a glittering gold necklace.

"I love that expression," Loki murmured with a wry smile.

Natasha glanced at her surprised. "On her or me?"

She shrugged. "It's the same look. It means you're thinking something deliciously naughty," she whispered, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

Natasha looked at Loki fully, watching her study the painting. A warmth suffused her body, accompanied by a tug in her chest. All at once, she realized she had fallen head-over-heels in love with Loki. Both Lokis. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and had therefore taken her by surprise. Watching her face, seeing the deep affection there, she longed to say something. She knew this Loki would understand, maybe even reciprocate, but He... Love is a lie, He had said, and she had agreed, Love is for children. But she had never been a child, not really, so how would she know?

Loki noticed her scrutiny eventually, and tore her gaze away from the entrancing portrait. When she saw the expression on her face, however, she quickly turned away, heart racing. She made her way over to the next painting, trying to push her feelings aside. In some unacknowledged corner of her heart, she knew that she loved Natasha, had known since that night on Tony's private island. But she could never admit it to herself. She had told her that love was for children, so she knew there was no hope that her feelings would be returned. And He... she knew what he thought of Love. Cursing inwardly, she skittered around the forbidden word. She knew He was in there, somewhere, listening to everything she thought. She loathed the lack of privacy, and could only imagine what sort of cruel things He might say if he ever caught on.

Frowning, Natasha stared at Loki's retreating form. For a moment, she had looked elated, and then suddenly pained. The girl was as much a mystery as the paintings that surrounded them, and yet she couldn't bring herself to pry. She had long experience ignoring her curiosity, and put it to good use now.


That night, the dream that Loki made for her was remarkable. In it, they were both young children, running around the halls of what she imagined must be the palace in Asgard - certainly she had never seen any thing so grand. Their play was innocent, and heartwarming, and she woke refreshed. She noted with interest that the child-Loki in her dream was a boy, although she supposed that made sense. It reminded her of the dream she had after the mission in Poland, where she had imagined Loki as Kai, the little frozen boy in the Snow Queen.

She wanted to return to work the next day, but Loki managed to convince her to stay, and Natasha couldn't really complain about her choice of method. After spending half the day in bed, she was tired enough to while away the rest on books and TV. When she did finally get back to the tower, she was surprised and a little dissapointed to discover that the investigation had proceeded perfectly well without her.

Armed with the books that Thor and Lady Sif had stolen from Asgard's library, Loki was able to work out much of the magic that Pierce had been using. She found a way to release the souls from the two stones they had taken, leaving them out on Tony's balcony during a torrential downpour. She and Natasha stood together in the sanctuary of the living room, watching as the red stones were washed clean.

As she watched her from the corner of her eye, Loki worried about Natasha. It had taken effort to supplant the nightmares that she was avoiding every night. What would happen when the week was over? He wouldn't be able to work the same magic. She thought maybe if she crafted a simple dream, something solid and easy, He might be able to access it the same way He tapped into his own dark fantasy. But she doubted it would work.


Upon his return, Loki found he shared Her doubts. Natasha had thrown herself back into her work, although not to the same, unhealthy degree as before. Inwardly, he seethed. More and more he resented the fact that he needed Her - for even he could see that now - for anything that required magic. Or tact. Or sympathy. He sighed. Once, he had all of those qualities at his fingertips... now, he felt fractured, as if She had stolen bits and pieces of himself. Perhaps Dr. Bryardie was right, and She was actually part of him, but that only changed the question from how to be rid of her to how to reincorporate her. Either way, it was an unpleasant task.

He did his best not to communicate his anxieties to Natasha. She already had enough on her plate. When she returned from work that Monday, she found he had moved a portion of his clothes and other personal effects into her apartment. She seemed inordinately pleased with this, and her reaction caused a tightness in Loki's chest he did not want to identify. Contrary to his counterpart's beleifs, he knew very well that she was in love with Natasha. What he did not want to admit, and the reason he did not torment her about it, was that he was beginning to suspect he was as well.

As they sat on the couch, watching television, he studied her carefully without her notice. After his wife had died, he had sworn that he would never fall in love with another. Not that he was being romantic-things with Angerboda had ended badly. He did not want a repeat of those awful years.

But Natasha had opened up to him, and had unintentionally wedged her way into his most private thoughts, emotions, and fantasies. If it was love, she certainly had not ensnared him a-purpose. He shared his counterpart's reluctance to say anything to her. Love is for children, he reminded himself.

The hour drew late, and Natasha switched off the television, smiling slyly as she took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. He was careful to hold himself in check, choosing to be tender as he had under the stars that night, wary of his more violent passions and what they might remind her of. For her part, she seemed happy enough with it. As they drifted off to sleep, Loki tried his best to recall the dream She had made, a simple thing of warmth and comfort. He knew he could not do magic, but he tried his best to remember the spell, and fell asleep with the effort of thinking.


Natasha blinked her eyes open, then shut them, squinting against the cruel light above her. She tried to cover them with her hand, only to find that she could not move her arms. They were tied high above her head. Her legs were likewise secured, spread wide apart. She half stood, half lay against a metal surface, at a 45 degree angle.

Oh wonderful, she thought sarcastically to herself, torture. She was no stranger to interrogation, it was like the least favorite co-worker you always ended up trapped in a conversation with at office parties. She kept her breathing slow, steady. She had survived this before, she could do it again. She opened her eyes, but all she could see was the light in her face. She tested her restraints, and judged that they were leather, buckled tight against her skin. Whoever had planned this knew what they were doing.

She fell back on her training, trying to guess what particular information her captors would be after. If she could figure that out ahead of time, she would be far less likely to let it slip by accident. She tried to recall how the mission had gone bad, and found only a blank. Natasha realized with rising fear that she could not remember the mission at all.

Her attention was drawn to a sound, the shifting of fabric as someone moved. She was not alone in the room.

"Ah, so you have finally awakened," she froze at the voice, a voice she knew all too well. She heard the sound of his footsteps as he walked around her. The light swiveled away, and in the shadows she saw his face, the face she feared more than any would appear.

It was Loki.

"A pity Barton did not live to see this, it would have been much more fun to use him as my puppet." he stepped out of her view, and she could hear a clatter of metal on a table. "Good help is so hard to find these days," he lamented as he came back around to face her. "But you know what they say," he sighed dramatically. "if you want something done right," he glanced down at the small knife in his hand, which flashed in the light, "you have to do it yourself."

She shuddered at the evil glee in his grin. He is going to enjoy this, she realized. He stepped up, considering his options, before reaching up to slowly, slowly slit the fabric of her sleeve, leaving a shallow score in her skin beneath. The movement brought his face close to hers, and she saw there a terrifying patience. He will take his time.

"What do you want?" she asked suddenly, knowing that there was no way she could win this, she was going to die and it was in her best interest that it go quickly.

Loki chuckled, surprised. "So soon?" he finished the line he was drawing, the razor-sharp knife severing the collar, stopping just before the vital veins in her neck. The material sighed open, exposing her arm and shoulder. He tutted in disapproval. "I would have expected more of you."

She swallowed thickly, her throat dry. She was a realist, and she knew where this would end. She held no real love for SHIELD, and had no delusions of heroism. She would break, tell him what he wanted, and then he would kill her. He was too smart to leave her alive. "What do you want?" she repeated through gritted teeth.

He smiled softly, cutting a line down beside the zipper, exposing her on one side. "What do I want?" he mused. He transferred the knife to his left hand, and trailed his finger over the blood welling up on her skin. He then stuck the finger in his mouth, like a small child sneaking frosting from a cake. He moaned, low in his throat, and closed his eyes as he relished the taste. When he opened them, he was looking straight into her eyes.

Natasha took in his appearance for the first time. His hair was long and wind-wild, flipping up from his shoulders. His skin was pale and waxen, and his eyes, fever bright and surrounded by dark stains, were a chilling ice blue.

"What I want," he whispered, "Is for you to scream. I want you," he slid his cold fingers over her skin and took a firm grasp on her breast, "to beg me. To kill you, or fuck you, or both. I want to take this gorgeous illusion that you show to the world, and make it match your insides. Ugly, and broken, and covered in blood." His face was close to hers now, and she could feel his breath on her skin, quick and heated.

Loki swallowed, pulling back and chuckling breathlessly. "But we have plenty of time for that." He began to trace the same line on her other arm. "We have all the time in the world..."


Natasha sat bolt upright in bed, covered in a sheen of sweat, completely out of breath. She felt a cold hand on her back, and jumped.

"Natasha?" Loki's voice, concerned, came to her in the dark, and she remembered. She lay back down, nestling into him, and he wrapped his arms around her cautiously, unused to comforting. "Shh..." he whispered, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. "You're safe now, it's just a nightmare."

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to cry. She wished it were only a nightmare, but she knew it was more than that. And she owed it to him to say so. He had opened up to her, and she could no longer hold back from him. "It was your nightmare," she whispered, almost too quiet to hear.

His hands froze, his whole body unnaturally still. She held her breath, waiting. After a moment, he began to pull away. She tried to hold on to him, but he barely even noticed.

"Loki," she pleaded as he sat up, swinging his feet out onto the floor. She wrapped her arms around him, keeping him from standing. "Loki, don't shut me out. Please."

He let out a long, shaky breath, and she could feel the shudder that wracked his body. "Oh Natasha," he moaned. "I never, ever wanted you to see that."

She rested her cheek between his shoulder blades. "I know. It's okay."

"No, it's not okay!" he turned to her, taking her face in his hands. "How could you possibly want me, knowing that I imagined that, that I wanted that," his voice was thick with self-loathing.

She pressed her fingertips against his lips, silencing him. "It wasn't you, not the way you are now. You wouldn't-"

He turned away from her again, angry.

For just a moment, Natasha doubted. "Would you?"

Loki was quiet for so long that she thought he wouldn't answer. "How far... did the dream go?" he asked at last.

"Not very long. You," her breath caught, and she plunged on, angry at herself. "You told me what you were going to do to me. Cut up... my clothes, a little. That's all."

He flopped down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She knew he was remembering, and realized how surreal it must have been to find her like that at the compound. She understood, now, why he had been so very angry at himself. It wasn't just because he had failed to protect her, but because another man had done those things to her, and in some small part of him, he was jealous.

"That much, yes. I would," he said darkly.

She considered that a moment. "Well I'm not okay with bleeding, but the rest of it wasn't all that far from what I've already let you do," she reassured him.

"It pains me to admit that scissors would be a much better tool," he said despondently, loathe to compare himself to her assailant.

"But you wouldn't kill me. You wouldn't do all those things you said," she spoke with perfect confidence.

"No," he agreed, turning his face away from her. "Not all of them. But you can imagine."

Natasha pulled her knees up to her chest, thinking. She could imagine, and that was the problem. She knew from long experience that fear and anticipation of a thing was often far worse than the thing itself. She had no idea what Pierce would have done if Loki hadn't rescued her. He had mentioned 'sacrifice' in his muttered rantings, but she couldn't begin to guess what that entailed. Her mind ran wild with images of Aztec wall paintings and tapestries of Ivan the Terrible.

"We have to finish it," she whispered suddenly. After saying them, she realized the words were true.

"What?" Loki frowned.

"We have to finish the dream."

He sat up, shaking his head, but she held out a hand.

"That's why I can't shake this thing, Loki. I don't know how it would have ended. I need to know, I need... closure," she rolled her eyes a little at using Dr. Bryardie's term.

Loki licked his lips, seriously considering it for a moment. She could see, even as he fought it, that he liked the idea. "I don't-" he ran a hand through his hair. "How would I know when I've gone too far?" he asked, looking scared and vulnerable. She knew he feared this more than anything else.

"You won't," she tried to reassure him. She knew that he needed this as much as she did, needed to trust himself, to trust that she wouldn't be scared off.

He reached out, pulling her into his arms. "Why would you let me do that to you?" he whispered into her neck.

Because I love you, she thought, but instead she said "Because I trust you."

He laughed a little. "I thought you didn't have sex with people you trust?"

She smiled. "I think I can make an exception for you."

He kissed her for that, and then pressed his forehead against hers. "I don't know if this is a good idea."

She ran her fingers through his hair. "I do. I need this, Loki. You need this."

He sighed and lay back down, pulling her back against him. "Let me talk to Dr. Bryardie about it," he suggested.

She frowned. "Alright. See what she thinks, but make the decision for yourself."

"I will," he promised, and closed his eyes to sleep.


A/N: If the first part of this chapter made you say "what the heck is going on?" then you probably haven't read my other BlackFrost fic, Pity for the Devil. If you have, I hope you enjoyed. o.~

So, since I seem to have no way of telling when I'll have time to write, I'm afraid I'm going to have to do away with the regular posting schedule. It pains me to do so, but I'd rather not let you down every week, and stress about getting the chapter ready in time, etc. I'll write when I can, and post when I can, and hopefully there won't be too much time between chapters. Thank you all for being so patient. I haven't gotten a single annoying "update now!" comment. That means a lot to me. But if you really want to bug me, I don't mind ^.^ I love all the reviews I get.