A/N: Hope you guys think the chapter was worth the wait. Sorry. (Again.)

gemma: Thank you! And yes... you should worry. *evil laugh*

coolcat: Sorry about that... *hides and blushes* here's another? *hides again*

beckywbotsford: Yes it is.

Gemma: Thank you! Here you go. :)

SEVENTEEN

Hey there Delilah

What's it like in New York City?

I'm a thousand miles away

But girl, tonight you look so pretty,

Yes you do

Times Square can't shine as bright as you

I swear it's true

Hey there Delilah

Don't you worry 'bout the distance

I'm right there if you get lonely

Give this song another listen

Close your eyes

Listen to my voice

It's my disguise

I'm by your side

- "Hey There Delilah," Plain White T's

There were whisperings in the dungeons.

The mutterings grew louder, most notably amongst the prisoners, but as time wore on, the Einherjar began to mutter too.

That was what intrigued him.

The Einherjar were the foot soldiers of Asgard, true, but they were the elite, the first line of defense after Heimdall. And they were utterly loyal to Odin.

So the whispers called to him, begged him to unravel them, spin them loose in his hands, and who was he to resist their siren call?

Paige groaned loudly and smushed her head into the couch. "I can't study anymore. My brain is fried."

Rebecca, a tense bundle of nerves as well (it was finals), shushed her and went back to studying.

Alana smiled a bit and went back to her omelet. She was proud to say that her cooking skills had improved slightly while she was in New York.

She picked out a piece of undercooked ham. But only slightly.

She grabbed her purse, ready to head out. Paige groaned again. "Say hello to the sun for me."

Alana smiled. "Will do."

Once outside, she decided to head towards Central Park. She had the feeling that Loki would have enjoyed it there, a spot of green in the gray concrete of New York.

She walked past a building that still bore the marks of the invasion, with bricks still crumbling and faint explosion marks apparent on the concrete. The small smile slipped off her face, and she continued walking at a slightly brisker pace.

She felt so alone.

She was deep in the park now, and could barely hear the noise of the city anymore.

It practically felt like she was in her own backyard.

She sat down on a rock jutting out of the grass, studying the sky. How far away is he? Am I looking towards him right now?

Her hand pulled at the charm. If only she could call him now… but that would be ridiculous. There was no emergency, she did not need him. I need you. There was no reason for him to come, and he would get in trouble. Please come. It was a stupid thought. Please.

"Loki…" she whispered, then quickly clamped her mouth shut, looking around warily. But no one was in sight.

She lay back on the rock and closed her eyes, pretending his fingers were laced with hers.

The commander smiled from his perch in a nearby tree. The whisper that he had just heard confirmed his soldier's report.

This woman would be key to his Master's plans. And after so long hiding in the shadows, far away, he relished the thought of combat, of action, of blood.

His Master had warned him that the woman was stronger than she looked. But looking at her now, he was tempted to kill her immediately. Her eyes were closed… one smooth cut and she would never awaken.

But the orders were to capture her alive.

His Master had a plan. Although he was not entrusted with the details, he knew that it had something to do with that vo'shik that had promised his Master the cube. And the name he had heard from the woman's lips confirmed this aspect of the plan.

His skin melted from the brown of the trunk to his usual scaly gray, and he slipped noiselessly down from the tree.

After waiting so long, a few more days meant nothing to him. This is what the Chitauri had never understood, that the thrill of the chase, of the kill, was so much sweeter when it was lengthened, prolonged, when every detail was known and none were overlooked, when you were confident in your victory.

Instead, they would rush into action, not knowing who would rise to meet them, trusting blindly in their commander. The N'itouri would never do such a thing. He was the third commander since the battle, his predecessors having been deemed unworthy to lead by the legion. This was another thing the Chitauri did not understand, the peaceful transition of power.

The news of their losses did not bring sorrow.

Instead, he savored it, knowing that, with time, he and his legion would be first in his Master's eyes. They would not fail.

What had they to fear from one woman?

She stretched and stood up on the top of the rock. What to do now? Maybe she could head out to the Met… or maybe she should just go home.

She smiled. Home. Her home, of course, was not in the city, but her small room, the small apartment had become a sort of second home in the weeks she had stayed here.

Maybe it was time for her to really go home.

Coming here hadn't made her less lonely, hadn't soothed her thoughts like she had thought it would. Her nightmares had continued, and she still longed for his presence.

And her powers…

It wasn't that she was scared of them, but she found herself wary of using them too much. They would sweep her away, and she would feel powerful, and the void inside her would fill a little bit.

But she was strong when she had them. Too strong. It was scary, the things she could do, the things that she had done.

And although S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone, she found herself looking over her shoulder, waiting, just waiting, for something bad to happen. For the federal agents to come. For the government to lock her away.

A branch cracked and fell and she flinched away, her hand thrusting towards the noise.

The branch shattered.

She opened her eyes warily. Just a branch… just a branch.

It wasn't fair, this life she had to lead. It wasn't fair that she was alone, wasn't fair that he was gone, it wasn't fair.

And who knew if he was alive or if he was dead? Who knew what he was doing? Sitting in a prison while she lay on the grass? Rotting in a grave while she looked towards the sky?

He's not dead, a little voice insisted. I would know.

She reached out as far as she could, feeling the minds and releasing them, reaching further and further and further, but she could not feel his mind, her eyes flashing back and forth, blue and brown and green and gray and hazel and soft and cold and not his.

She thrust her hand down towards the stone. Not fair not fair NOT FAIR NOT FAIR –

A loud cracking noise tore through the air and she could feel it, she was ripping the rock apart –

She shuddered and pulled back, leaving a six-foot deep crack in the rock.

She breathed in and out, slowly, then picked up her purse and walked away.

The rumors were varying. But they all agreed on one thing.

An army was massing. By whom, it was unclear. Where, it was unclear. And no one knew what their intentions were.

But a whisper of one name that he had caught turned his stomach and made him uneasy.

Thanos.

He was lying in his bed pondering the rumors, trying to stitch them together into one cohesive mass, when one of the Einherjar deactivated a wall of his cell. He looked up from the cot, one eyebrow raised, and, although his face was blank and impassive, his heart was racing.

Had she sent for him at last?

And then he remembered his nightmares, recurring, her bleeding out and him helpless, and what if she was in danger? What if she was already dying?

The Einherjar beckoned him out of the cell, cuffing him, as he was led out of the dungeons while the other prisoners looked on.

The weather was warming up now, as spring turned into summer. The fan whirred quietly in her room. She yawned. It was late, and hot, and she was reading, and she was so tired she wanted to drop onto her pillow and never wake up, but she was too tentative.

She didn't like to sleep very much, these days.

Or dream. That wasn't fun, either.

So she propped herself up again, deliberately making herself uncomfortable, to prolong the sleep as much as possible.

A half hour and twenty pages later, she thought she heard a faint tap on her window.

She dismissed it. It was likely a branch. But when it happened again, she pulled open the bottom drawer of her nightstand and grabbed her gun, tucked inside her holster.

Not that she needed it.

She walked over to the window, strapping her holster over her flannel pajama pants, and opened the curtains slightly, making sure to keep her gun behind the curtain.

She peered down at the street and her heart leapt in her throat. He beckoned to her, grinning, his hair tousled, dressed casually in a gray shirt and jeans.

After so many false alarms, it was him. It was finally him. Every inch of his face that she had been so terrified to forget again was there, the sparkle in his eyes, the lanky way he stood – it was exactly as she had remembered.

He mouthed, Come on, and beckoned her down again.

She closed the curtains and pulled a T-shirt over her holey tank top that she slept in, quickly unbuckled her holster, pulled on a pair of flip-flops, and rushed out of her bedroom, down the hall, and down the two flights of stairs that led outside, only barely stopping to grab her keys.

The gun lay forgotten on her bed.

She burst out the door and almost immediately stumbled on a cracked bit of sidewalk. He swept her up in his arms in a tight embrace, and she hugged him back.

"Hi," she said breathlessly. He smiled down at her. "I thought that I'd never see you again," she whispered and buried her head in his chest. He patted her on the back, and said, "Well, you know that I couldn't stay away for too long."

He gently pried her arms away from him, and took her hand. "Come on," he said, eyes twinkling. "I need to show you something."

She was smiling like an idiot from the feel of his hand in hers. "Where are we going?"

"Someplace special." And he smiled at her, and she leaned her head against his shoulder with a happy sigh.

"Do you know of the N'itouri?" Odin asked sternly, his one blue eye fixed onto his.

He swallowed. It cannot be. "They are warriors," he finally said, though reluctantly, "and you will not find those more skilled in all the realms."

"So you have met some." It was not a question.

"I have."

"When?"

He closed his eyes briefly. "When I was at Thanos's fortress."

Odin stood up, Gungir shining in his hand. "You have been to the fortress?"

"What is this about? Has there been an attack?" he asked, countering Odin's question with one of his own.

"You will answer my question."

He took a deep breath, restraining himself from an impertinent response. "Yes, I have."

Odin regarded him, then said, "There have been reports of small attacks made against provinces outside the realms. Mostly terrorizing the population, looting and pillaging. But the invaders spoke of a greater force to come, taunting the people with threats of enslavement. They spoke of a mighty force called the N'itouri that would destroy all who resisted."

His brain was spiraling into situations, each worse than the last.

"Tell me all you know." The Allfather sat back down, slowly. "Tell me of your time with Thanos."

He composed himself, and then began, "I was offered a force by Thanos." He could almost feel Odin's disapproval tingeing the air. He went on, "I chose the Chitauri. Their skill with weaponry was unsurpassed, and there were many of them, few of whom were clever. I chose them as my force because they would be easy to command."

The disapproval emanating from Odin was growing thicker. He shook it off. "But Thanos insisted on sending down another small force of N'itouri, not to supplement the Chitauri, but for another purpose."

"And what was this purpose?" Odin asked.

He shook his head slightly. "I do not know. I assumed that they were destroyed in the battle."

"How many?"

"Perhaps sixty. A legion, I believe."

"Tell me of them."

"Gray, scaly – not like the Chitauri, whose armor, their skin is their armor. Yellow eyes. Unlike the Chitauri, they are not so eager to bind themselves to their ships, to their weapons. They are chameleons; they change their color, and many of them have the ability to impersonate other beings – they are shapeshifters, and they are clever."

"And sixty of them are roaming Midgard."

He looked up abruptly. "No. They cannot have survived. It is impossible."

"Let us hope that you are right," Odin said gravely, then gestured at the Einherjar, who came to take him away.

The bliss of seeing him was beginning to fade, and now she was thinking. She had tried to ask him several times how he had gotten off of Asgard, but he had merely smiled and told her that he'd tell her once they got there. She tried to find out where they were going, but he said it was a surprise.

But it was him, plain and simple, and she knew that he would talk when he was ready.

After much walking, they arrived at a crumbling red brick building, clearly abandoned.

"In here?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. He laughed. "Wait and see."

He pushed the door, which opened slightly. Throwing a glance back at him, she walked through the doors. It was dark, but she could see several candles and a picnic blanket spread out.

"Are we having a midnight snack?" she asked him, eyebrows raised. He smiled at her, closing the door. "No."

She heard a faint clatter in the dark. "What was that?" she asked. "Probably rats," he responded.

"Romantic, Loki. Romantic."

She turned towards him again and gasped; he was right in front of her now, barely five inches away, the shadows from the candles dancing across his face. "That name…" he said softly.

"What?"

"That name is a curse. Do not say it again." And his eyes flickered into yellow slits, and he leered at her.

She took a hasty step back from the Not-Loki, her body quickly falling into a ready stance. "What the hell are you?" she asked, her hands balling into fists.

The Not-Loki began to shift, skin graying like a death mask, growing larger, taller.

"What do you want?" she asked again, reaching out with her telekinesis to try and find another exit.

Instead, she found minds like she had never touched before. The only word for them was alien.

There were at least four, not including the one who had been pretending to be Loki. She cursed herself. How stupid was she? She had walked right into a trap.

"Oh, darling," Not-Loki said, (though he was looking less and less like Loki by the second) his voice rasping into a snarl, "we want you."

The other minds were getting closer now, and the candles had been blown out. It was now pitch black, and all she could see was glowing yellow eyes.

She thrust out her hands, one towards Not-Loki, the other towards another pair of eyes, feeling the weapons in their – were they hands? They seemed to be like daggers, but then one sparked with a purple jolt of electricity. Great. Electrified knives.

She wasted no time, pulling one from the grip of the nearest thing and slicing it across its chest, making sure to keep the handle a few centimeters away from touching her skin, so it was hovering on top of her palm. The alien's hiss of pain mattered little to her, and she thrust it though its chest, finding a small weak spot in the plating. The alien shuddered, purple sparks winging across its skin, and collapsed.

Meanwhile, the other two had come up behind her, and she bashed their heads together, but one managed to graze her with the dagger, and her left arm went numb and limp. Crap.

Not-Loki was coming towards her now, with his yellow eyes shining, and she pulled the dagger from the chest of the felled alien and hurled it through the air at him, the fingers of her good hand weaving the telekinesis, but he knocked it to the side with his knife and continued towards her, lashing out with the tip, which struck her already numb arm, creating a large gash. Well, she assumed it was large – she still couldn't feel her arm.

The two behind her began to stir, so she threw them up into the air as high as possible, still dodging Not-Loki's swipes at her, leaping backwards and sideways, often eight feet in any direction. She heard them hit the beams and come down hard, unmoving. Three down.

Except now the two remaining pairs of eyes were gone, and she was in the dark.

She reached out, finding their minds, about ten feet away from her, one in front, one behind.

Closer… closer…

The tip of one of the daggers grazed her back, and she screamed in pain, they were much closer than she had thought. A jolt of electricity worked its way up her back, tingling, burning, and she made a grasping motion with her hand through the haze of pain and pushed, and the jagged purple light flew away from her and into Not-Loki, who shuddered and hissed.

Then she impaled him with his own knife, turning his hand so that the knife pointed towards him. He stabbed himself, and fell over.

One left, and this one was wary now, but she hurt all over, her arm less numb but still aching, and her back burning and painful, scratches leaking blood onto her pajamas.

One more. One more.

She lunged at the alien, leaping through the air, farther and faster by aid of her powers, landing on his shoulders, and placing her hands on either side of his head.

She could feel the bones in the creature's skull, in its neck, and its mind, although she could not understand it.

A deep gash from his knife on her leg almost made her fall off, the electricity working its way into her muscles. She gritted her teeth and twisted her hands.

The alien collapsed to the floor as a crack sounded through the air, trapping her beneath his large bulk. She pushed him off her roughly and stood up, almost falling down, breathing heavily.

How could she have been so stupid? She had seen the signs and had ignored them. And what the hell were these things? And why did they want her?

She was so wired up now that she definitely couldn't sleep. A small relief.

Her heart was racing. She was covered in blood and in her pajamas. In New York City. At night.

She couldn't go back to the apartment – or, at least, stay there for very long. They had found her there before. There might be more of them waiting there for her. And she couldn't endanger Paige or Rebecca by going back, either.

She walked down the street quickly, thankful that there was no one around this late.

A hotel sign flickered in the night. She slipped around to a side alley, and, tracing the wires of the security system back to their source, pulled them out. The camera drooped and the fire exit clicked open with a noticeable thunk.

She slipped inside and found an empty room, one with no sleeping minds inside. She busted the card reader and silently slipped inside.

Once she had relocked the door and drawn the deadbolt (after placing out the Do Not Disturb sign), she headed into the bathroom.

The woman in the mirror looked like living hell.

Her face was covered in sweat, giving her an unhealthy tinge in the cold lighting, her hair was mussed, and there were several nasty gashes down her left arm and one on her leg.

The hair had been burned off of her arm in patches, and there were bloodstains on her shirt and hands.

She inspected the cuts on her leg and arm before twisting around to see the damage to her back.

There was a nasty burn there, but only a minor scratch.

She wadded up a hand towel and pressed it to her arm, trying to stop the bleeding. When it ebbed a little, she did the same to her leg, then the other cut on her arm.

When she was satisfied that the bleeding had slowed, she returned to the bedroom and ripped apart one of the sheets, tying the cloth around her arm and leg. She grabbed another towel from the bathroom and poured cold water over it, wringing it out. She placed the towel on her back, letting out a small hiss of pain as the cool cloth met the burn.

She pulled open the minibar and grabbed a pack of M&M's and a bottle of water, sliding down to the floor as she drank thirstily.

If ever there was a time to call for him, it was now… and she fingered the charm with hesitation and a certain amount of longing. But would he come? Or would the aliens try to trick her again, make her believe that they were him again if she called and expected him?

But she couldn't resist, and her trembling hands fumbled at the clasp of the chain, finally undoing it and casting it to the side, and she called out quietly, "Heimdall?"