The Exchange

"Good evening, Agent Romanoff," Loki purred, the corners of his lips curling upward into a wry smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Three days had passed since his initial "confinement," and thus far the only people the Asgardian had come in contact with were the agents tasked with bringing him his meals. Moreover, Fury had made sure to leave him with absolutely nothing to do to entertain himself. The only furnishings he had been accorded consisted of a metal cot with a hard-packed mattress that only just barely accommodated his height and a metal chair that, he assumed, would only be put to use in the event that they required he be restrained. It nearly made him homesick for his cell in Asgard.

Loki's emerald eyes swept over the agent standing on the other side of the glass wall as he rose to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. This was, by far, the most interesting thing that had happened to him since revealing his presence to Thor; his brother had taken the news rather well, all things considered. Agent Romanoff, however, seemed not to take the news at all. She was still as he sauntered across the small, dark metallic room, not a single muscle or elegant red curl out of place. Her own expression was one of polite, slightly arrogant impassivity, something he found very odd. She was excellent at keeping her composure, that he could not deny her.

Her smile, small as it was, widened only slightly before she smoothly answered, "Simple curiosity."

"Oh, but you are hardly simple," Loki replied. It was evident that she had come to him for something, and her reference to their last private conversation suggested that it was personal.

Natasha still didn't move, even as he came to a stop barely two feet from the glass barrier. "That almost sounded like a compliment," she stated delicately.

"Perhaps it was."

"Perhaps you'd like to tell me how complicated I am."

Loki's angular face split into that chaotic smile. She made it so easy for him to toy with her, and yet somehow it seemed, to him at least, that she made it too easy. He underestimated her once and didn't intend to do it again. She had to know that she was baiting him, and while normally he might take such an opportunity to turn the tables on her, he had to admit to himself that he was curious to see just where she was leading him.

"For starters, you've been having trouble sleeping," he said easily, noting the slightly purple tinge clinging to the rims of her eyes. "Nightmares, perhaps...but I would wager there is more to it than that. A hardened killer such as yourself is, doubtless, accustomed to listening to the screams of butchered victims. It seems you also have no desire to return to your home tonight. If I have accurately estimated the time, it would seem that Agent Barton expected you hours ago. Then again, you've made it clear that you care little for what he expects of you."

Natasha continued to smile placidly at him. She didn't so much as twitch at any of the suggestions he made, so he continued, "Do you know what I think, Agent Romanoff? I think you've come here not because you were instructed, but because there is nowhere else you would rather be. You have a comfortable home, a loving partner, a list of throats to cut, and yet here you stand...with me. I am curious to know why."

"I'm sure you've already figured it out for yourself," she answered, not so much as a single hairline fracture in her calm demeanor.

Loki grinned again, eagerly following the thread of the conversation. "I know what you are. I have seen what you've done, the red that drips from the pages of your 'ledger.' It is longer than what you've shown Barton, that I know as well," he told her, inching closer to the glass that separated them, his voice lowering in pitch as he went on. "He knows nothing of the true horrors that plague you. You've told him pieces, bedtime stories to soothe his base desire for love, for intimacy, but is little more than a cheap facade held in place to prevent him from discovering the truth. From discovering the nature of the creature he crawls into bed with each night. That is why you have come, Agent Romanoff. It is a pretty disguise you wear, but I can see that you tire of it."

Loki was close to the glass now, just a few inches away, and one of his palms was pressed up flat against it. There was a wicked gleam in his eye, a dangerous flame flickering in the depths of his emerald orbs that was simply pining for the emotion he so desired to pull from her. He hated the way she played him that day in the helicarrier, but seeing tears swimming in her pale green eyes had made his own mistakes more than worth it.

Natasha, however, remained unmoved. She stood across from the god, her simple smile adopting a hint of superiority as she gazed back at him. "You really think I'm pretty?" she asked, her husky voice light and velvety.

The cruel smirk dropped away from Loki's face at her comment, at the way she disregarded nearly everything he said to her. He was excellent at goading people, at getting under their skin, and he had proven once that she was no exception. Why was she suddenly immune to his taunts? Why was she staring at him as though she was picking up on something he wasn't? Why hadn't his words affected her at least a little bit?

He watched on in mute confusion as the agent turned on her heel and walked easily away from him, down the corridor and around the corner out of sight. The corners of his mouth twitched and his brows furrowed in agitation as he pushed himself away from the glass, turning to stare around at his meager cell, hands balled into fists at his sides. This was the second time that she had pulled a stunt like this on him, and the worst part was that this time he didn't understand why she'd done it. He gave her no information she could report to Fury, no information that could have possibly satisfied whatever sick curiosity she brought to him. So why did she look like she beat him at some unspoken game?

Loki lay back on his cot, his eyes staring up at the grey ceiling although he didn't see it. It had been two days since Agent Romanoff's visit, and still he turned her phrases over and over in his mind, struggling to understand why she looked so smug as she walked away from him. It infuriated him, this feeling of not knowing something, of being outwitted when he couldn't even grasp how she outwitted him. He longed for her to return, he did, so that he could have another opportunity to steal the upper hand from her or at least figure out exactly which game she was attempting to play.

"Good evening, Loki."

Her voice curled through his ears like a strand of red silk ribbon, that chaotic smile stretching over his lips once more as he immediately sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot in one smooth motion. "Agent," he purred in response, his eyes alighting on the metal tray held lightly between her gloved hands. Loki's eyebrows lofted slightly as his eyes moved back up to hers. "I would have thought delivering a prisoner his meals beneath you."

"I think we both know you're hardly a prisoner," she replied easily, making no move toward the metal door through which his food was usually passed.

"Whatever do you mean?"

Natasha gave him a knowing smirk, prompting the corners of his lips to curl upward a little further. "This cell isn't nearly as well-designed or reinforced as the last one of ours you escaped. It's no secret you're only here because you want to be."

"Do you wonder why?"

"I know why."

"And what is your guess, Agent Romanoff?"

"You're afraid."

Loki's own smirk faltered for the blink of an eye before he recovered himself. "And what have I to fear from you?" he asked, his tone vaguely patronizing.

Natasha didn't answer immediately. She tilted her head to the side slightly, her smirk firmly in place as she nonchalantly replied, "Nothing, from me." Another moment passed, and when she continued her tone was still light but more serious than it had been so far. "What's your game, coming here? You really don't think that even if we protect you from Thanos that anybody will just let you go afterward?"

"Where have I to go?" Loki returned, his smirk widening. "The Allfather would have my head if I returned to Asgard, and I cannot stay here. Well, I could, although I am sure Fury would have several...pleasant ideas as to just how I would be treated."

"You're not wrong," Natasha smiled. "He's not exactly sweet on you after what you tried to do."

"And I suppose that you, his most experienced agent, would have the honor of wielding the knife?"

"Would you like that?"

A grin stretched across Loki's face, tinged with something like genuine amusement. "I think I might," he admitted. He didn't much care whether she took him seriously or not.

"Then I'll be sure to pass up the opportunity," Natasha said, that certain air of smugness returning to her expression.

This time, Loki didn't much mind. "Still so cold, Agent Romanoff," he teased before he added, "And to whom would you pass the blade? Your lovely Agent Barton? I am sure he would not refuse a turn at me."

"No, he wouldn't. He's got quite the bone to pick with you."

"So I saw. I was positive that he would at least attempt to shoot me on the journey to this place."

"You're welcome, by the way," Natasha said, catching Loki slightly off guard.

"For what?" he asked, smirk still in place, one eyebrow cocked slightly.

"For not letting him."

Loki outright laughed at this, finding that he was enjoying their game of cat and mouse. He still wasn't positive as to the reason why Natasha was dragging the conversation out this way when she still held his supper in her hands, but he saw nothing wrong with having a bit of fun while he could. After all, he had nothing else to do. "Such kindness, little spider," he purred, rising to his feet and beginning to stride across the cell. "Could it be that you are the one who is 'sweet' on me?"

"Would that you were so lucky," Natasha smiled in return.

"Oh, perhaps I am," Loki continued to tease her, stopping close to the glass, hands clasped behind his back. "Nobody else has delayed my meals for the purpose of idle chatter, and I can assure you that you stand nothing to gain by carrying on. If there is another explanation for your visit, I would hear it."

"Well," Natasha began, shifting her weight onto her other foot, "anything you could tell us about Thanos would do us a big favor."

"Ah, there it is," Loki smiled, the pieces falling into place for him. "Thor could not tell you what you need to know, and so you come to me. Test me, soften me up with coy flirtations, and then perhaps I would tell you what you want to know. If not, what then? Will you continue to withhold my supper?"

The corner of Natasha's mouth pulled upward into a wry smirk as she began to move over to the door. "I'm sorry you mistook that for flirting," she said, the hint of a chuckle hovering around the edges of her words as she disappeared beyond the scope of the glass. Loki's expression twitched in irritation.

A moment later the slot in the door dropped open and the tray slid onto the metal panel. Natasha left it and moved in front of the glass to stand before Loki once more, the smirk that he had so recently begun to hate again playing over her lips. "In case you forgot, that favor you mentioned is as much for you as it is for us. I'd be willing to bet that if we gave you up he might consider letting his lost soldiers go."

Loki's expression faltered once more, a flash of mingled fury and fear flitting across his features and disappearing. "You have no idea what he will do when he comes here," he reminded her, his voice low and a little threatening.

"No, but you do," she said evenly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Thor would never allow it."

"You're that confident he'd save you over the whole of humanity?"

Loki's lips pressed together in a hard line. No, no he wasn't that confident. Thor had never loved him, not really. It was guilt that bound his brother to him now, and of that he had no illusions.

"Now would be a good time to start talking," Natasha pressed gently, her chin lofting in the air expectantly.

Loki had a brief vision of his hands wrapping around her exposed, slender neck. "Nothing I tell you will change anything. You aren't prepared to deal with him," he told her, just managing to keep his tone in check and his voice from trembling.

Natasha watched him for several long seconds, and for the first time in his life, Loki found himself uncomfortable beneath someone else's gaze. Her calm never broke, not once, even in the face of a threat she stood no chance of defeating. It puzzled Loki, but what was more, it unnerved him. At length, the corners of her mouth curved upward into another small, impassive smile. "Eat your dinner. It's getting cold," she told him simply before she turned and left him, alone in his dimly lit, underground prison.