The Avenging of Loki Laufeyson

by YouLookLikeFOOD

"So… the shadows are coming to life, we're all gonna die, and the only way to save three separate worlds is for Loki and the Avengers to quit whining and work together for once. And of course, I'm the one who, somehow, has to make that work out. Yep, sounds like a Tuesday. When's my coffee break?" Sequel to 'The Avenging of Natalie Frost'. T for violence and language.

10. Bare My Skin, Count My Sins

A/N: -_- I'm sure you all can guess what I'm going to say now. *ahem* Sorry for the late update, as usual. Blah. I tried to make it a semi-decent length, though. It's still inexcusable, I know… But look! Shiny distraction! *runs*

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The joy on my parents' faces as they reunited was unparalleled. Relief made the two run together, melt into each other's arms, hold each other so closely that you were certain that they could never break apart. It was beautiful. It should have been beautiful. I wanted it to be beautiful.

Instead, I looked away in revulsion.

The Avengers and I gathered around the conference table with my parents to answer any and all questions they had. Only Thor remained absent; watching over his brother, who had been confined to his room for the duration of this particular meeting. Loki remained a silent wall in the back of my mind, his mental defenses up in full force as he stayed, sitting on the floor, his legs folded, spear in one hand as he concentrated. He had a great deal to think about, after all; and a majority of it was not things he wished for me to hear. I left him alone. I had more pressing concerns.

Each of my parent's questions was difficult; it was, after all, a very difficult subject. We explained, in the best detail we could, exactly what this new threat was, who 'Agent Burns' had really been, what the true reason was for the fire that had consumed my mother's workplace. We told them about Fraye's first appearance, about her terrible abilities, about her carefree transition from simpering, cowering child into insane, cackling adult.

And then we got to Loki.

Every question took about fifteen minutes to respond to, the answers getting more and more complicated as time went on. I tried desperately to remain polite and political about the whole thing, reverting to my usual tactics that I maintained around the S.H.I.E.L.D. council, or the Asgardians: calm face, straight spine, cool, unheated words. It didn't get easier as time went on; only harder and harder. Each of my father's questions began to hide barbs and stings, venomous strikes, until finally, finally, I pushed myself away from the table and removed myself from the room, sneering through my teeth, "Excuse me. It's been a long day, and I'm 'emotionally compromised'."

And then I stalked out of the exit, leaving a trail of ash behind in my footsteps, Tony's loud snort ringing in my ears.

I took a shower. A long shower. Loki kept his thoughts to himself as I allowed the water to wash away the day, as I scrubbed the cinders out of my skin and the scent of smoke from my hair with foamy white bubbles. As I stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel, I expected myself to smell cleaner, to feel fresher. Instead, all I could smell was blood. Blood everywhere. Staining me.

I stepped back into the shower and stayed there until the water ran cold. And then I stayed until my veins did the same.

The stench of blood still didn't vanish entirely; it was merely hidden beneath the perfumed scents of my shampoo. I hoped no one else would notice. I wished everyone would. Maybe then they'd see me as I really was.

After I got dressed again, I didn't go back into the meeting for a while. Instead, I headed for the roof until the Avengers called me back at around midnight. I was exhausted. I was so tired I could collapse. But never once did I even think about closing my eyes. Never once did I even consider lying down. It was a horrible thought.

I met up with the Avengers back in the conference room. My parents were in their own room, dealing with things in their own ways, and quite possibly already asleep. They were going to stay at the Tower for a few days until S.H.I.E.L.D. could find a suitable place for them. I called bullshit; S.H.I.E.L.D. could have them out of here in minutes. They just thought they were safer here than anywhere else, even with Loki hanging around. They were full of it. My parents were safer somewhere far, far away from us. Away from me.

Clint was pissed. It started almost the moment that I entered the conference room, and it didn't end until long into the secondary meeting. I hadn't 'followed orders'. I hadn't even waited to listen for orders. No one had kept a close eye on Loki. They shouldn't have brought him. I could've gotten my parents killed by bringing him. It was my fault, it was Loki's fault, it was my fault, fault, fault, fault, he didn't care, he was blaming someone. He couldn't blame Fraye. Fraye could kick his ass. He could blame me. All I could do was blame back.

Blame and fault and blame and fault and the room was spinning as my skin started glowing again, and the two of us were yelling at each other, screaming, until I lost control of everything that I was saying and started babbling, and I lost memory and sense and reason and I was sobbing, and screaming, and suddenly I was running again, running away, and tears were streaming down my face and my world was turning around and around and around…

I barely made it to the roof before I threw up.

I dropped to my hands and knees as I retched and gagged, as bile overflowed and my stomach heaved and the stars swirled about above me, little silver streaks of light, no longer pinpoints… the beautiful, golden squares of light that decorated each building were now nothing but more spinning randomness, more nausea. A carnival of lights, a Ferris Wheel moving too quickly, an unwanted rollercoaster with a motion-sick little girl sitting in the seat, already stuffed to the brim with cotton candy and kettle corn and pretzels and other junky carnival food…

And how many people could have died today…?

I cradled my arms over my stomach, crouched, half-kneeling, sitting on my legs. After a moment that seemed like an eternity, the vertigo stopped. After a second moment that seemed even longer, so did the nausea. I was sitting alone in the cold world, not feeling a bit of it, not feeling the icy wind, numb to the cold. I was only aware of the wind because of its soft whispering in my ears, its gentle tug on my hair. It took me a long time before I could rationally go over everything that had happened to day, before I could even give any thought to what Clint had said.

I hadn't been following orders. I'd been giving them. From the moment I'd gotten that call from my father, a new person had emerged, stuffing Natalie Frost aside in a corner. The monster within, of course, but this… this was something new. This wasn't my usual, exploding rage. Ok, never mind, that was exactly what it was like. But… I didn't give orders. That wasn't my thing. From the moment I'd met the Avengers, I was nothing more than that crazy chick in the background that might not follow your orders, but would never give you ones in return. The one time I'd been given control of what the Avengers were supposed to do, I'd been in my PJs. And they could've done whatever the hell they wanted. They could've listened to me, or not. I didn't care.

But this… taking control, seizing control of everything… this wasn't me. This was…

This was Loki.

He stirred at the mention of his name, but was soon plunged deep into thought again. He and I were no longer paying attention to each other tonight. We had too much thinking to do.

I realized that I was gnawing on my nails, but felt no real inclination to stop. Loki was influencing me. Not intentionally, probably, but influencing me nonetheless. He would take control. He would boss people around. He would do the things that I had done, he would not accept no for an answer, he would have dragged his ally into the field whether the others liked it or not. His motives may have been very different from mine, but did motives really matter? The ends we wanted to achieve varied, but the means remained the same. And they, perhaps, remained unjustified.

Was it really all that bad? A nagging little voice whispered in the back of my head; a nagging little voice that, for once, was not Loki. A voice that was all me. What you did today wasn't so awful. It was an emergency. At least no one died. And yeah, you snapped at a few people and got a little bossy. But your parents were in danger. The Avengers understand.

Clint didn't. I growled in return, and the nagging little voice stopped. But its words still haunted me. Was I being too hard on myself? Or not hard enough? Was the monster slipping its leash, or was it still firmly chained? Was I a good guy, trying not to be bad, or a bad guy, trapped into being good?

My skull felt like it was splitting open. I needed to talk to someone; someone far removed from this nonsense, someone who could stop me from thinking too much, stop me from falling prey to my own introspection. I needed a normal friend. I needed April.

But with everything that was going on, I didn't dare leave the Tower, not even to visit her grave. And if I did, it would have been useless, anyway; talking things out to thin air in the hopes that she could hear me was pointless by now. It helped before, but I couldn't see it doing the same thing now. I needed to talk to someone who could talk back. Who could slap me in the face and snap me out of it.

I debated calling Benny, or Jade, or Adrian or one of my other school friends. But I didn't see the point. I hadn't talked to any of them-save Benny, of course- in forever, and I couldn't let myself get to close to them, anyway. Besides, it was like, two in the morning. That normally wasn't much of a problem- they were college students, after all- but it was best not to risk it.

Despite this, however, I did get my wish to talk it out with someone; and that person was the last one I'd ever expected.

It was about an hour after I'd first started to think about this, to over think about everything that had happened to me today. An hour since I'd even thought about talking to someone. Loki had since fallen asleep, and I had let him drift into dreams without saying a word. He was snoring away in the back of my head, curled in silent slumber as his dreams raged with blood and chaos and burning. I was still standing on the roof. I couldn't force myself back inside. Instead of getting more tired, I found myself waking up a little bit more and more with each passing second; sleep deprivation, I guessed. The strange hours I'd been keeping lately were taking their toll, making an effect.

I didn't hear the footsteps behind me for a very long time; not until Natasha was standing directly beside me, seeming to emerge from nowhere. I didn't jump; my survival instinct was fried from its overuse throughout the day. If something snuck up from behind and killed me, then it did. See if I cared.

"Hello, Natalie," she greeted me coolly, politely.

"Hey, Natasha."

She eyed the still-disgusting-but-long-ago-dried vomit on the ground a fair distance behind us. "Having trouble?" She asked innocently, one perfect eyebrow arching. (Damn Avengers all looked perfect.)

I sighed heavily and draped my arms over the railing, leaning against it for support, staring down at the city below. "My parents were almost killed, Barton screamed at me for a good hour or two, and I haven't slept right in weeks. What do you think?" Sarcasm mode activated. I couldn't be polite for one second.

She smiled very softly, leaning against the railing as well, standing next to me. "Clint sees better from a distance, Natalie." She told me slowly, each word considered with great caution. "And right now… he's too close to this to see anything clearly."

I looked to her. Well, that was one way of putting it.

But it got me thinking. Clint, of everyone, had been the most openly opposed to Loki coming here. I understood it; of everyone, Clint had perhaps suffered the most under Loki's hand. It must have burned him up inside, to see that spear back in the Trickster's grasp, knowing what it could do…

I wrestled with a sigh. Yeah, I could see Clint's point. He wasn't really angry at me for everything that had happened today; he was angry at me for bringing Loki back. He was angry at Loki. He was angry at this whole situation. I understood that. Hell, I was angry, too.

Maybe I'd put too much of my anger on him, too…

"And what did you see?" I asked of the Black Widow, scanning her up and down, my mind suddenly whirling at a thousand miles per hour despite my quiet tone. To see her talk about her partner this way indicated that she didn't entirely share his feelings; a rarity. The two of them tended to trust each other's instincts. If one thought something, then usually so did the other. Usually.

She didn't look at me. I wasn't sure if it was part of an act, or what. Wasn't sure if she was pulling her freaky spy crap on me, getting me to let my guard down, giving me information in the hopes of getting some in return. Not like I cared about telling her anything; save, of course, those few things which I was still forced to lie about…

Her fingers flexed out an imaginary drumbeat just once in the air; starting with her pinky and moving down the line of digits towards her thumb. A gesture of concentration. Then, finally, she seemed to find the right words. "Loki is… different around you," She admitted to me at last. "When you discovered that Fraye was after your parents, he didn't hesitate. When you ran into the fire exits to be certain that everyone got out, so did he. I've always known that you have his best interests at heart… but today proved to me that he has yours, too."

I looked to her, blinking, genuinely touched. It was, after all, what I'd been saying all along. I hadn't thought that anyone saw anything today, anything beyond my outrageous anger, my blatant disregard for the usual boundaries.

"If nothing else," She concluded, "Loki seems to care for you."

My eyes whipped up to hers abruptly. The words were out before I could stop them, and laced with a barely-noticeable accent; an accent identical to Loki's. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Her eyes burned holes into me. She noticed. I cursed in my head; was it possible for Loki to not get me in trouble for like, two seconds? Even when he was sleeping?

I spoke quickly, before she could get suspicious. Sighing heavily, I turned away, ignoring the laser drilling that her eyes were doing in the side of my face. "Loki doesn't care for me." I twisted my fingers about a few times. "Maybe he cares about me, but he doesn't care for me."

"And what's the difference?" She asked, letting my temporary slip-up pass, instead choosing to probe deeper into my words, as oppose to my actions. Trying to get a read on me, like I always tried to get a read on her. Something we had in common; we both studied people to get the answers we needed, both searched through the things that people said, the mistakes they made in conversation. We both had to figure people's minds out; for different reasons, in different ways, but that, essentially, was the same.

I gave her my most wry smirk and looked back out to the softly-shimmering skyline. "You know."

She stayed silent, waiting me out until I explained. She must have known I'd go on. Must have known that I wanted to go on. These words had been trapped inside of me, bubbling up, trying to clarify themselves and then shout out of my throat, to make themselves known…

"You and me and the Avengers… we'd care about anyone. Any random person we met on the streets. We're those kind of people; the kind that will help someone if we can, risk our lives to save civilians, all of it. If there was someone, anyone, any random person, crying in the middle of the sidewalk, and we knew how to help them, we would. We care enough about people to dress up in crazy-awesome outfits and risk our necks to kick ass on the surprisingly large number of aliens that have tried to invade our planet."

She smiled very softly at my take on the situation as I trailed off. After a long, weighted moment, I swallowed and went on, much quieter this time.

"To care for someone… Well, that's totally different. I care for my family, or Thor, or Steve, or…" I flushed. "Well, you. All of you. The Avengers in general. I cared for April. These are the people I'd jump in front of a moving bus for, and smile while doing it. The people I'd risk my life for, not because I have to, or out of simple kindness, but because I want to. Because it would rip me apart if they were gone, because they're my friends and family and I love them." I bit my lip, trying to think of the right way to phrase this. "The link forces Loki to care about me. Forces me to care about him. No choice involved. He wouldn't try and keep me from being hurt otherwise, wouldn't care less if I died if this wasn't the case." I tilted my head to the stars, not wanting to look at her face, not particularly wanting to know what she was thinking at that moment. I was having a hard enough time getting the words out as it was.

"But… for him to care for me… and vice versa… it's like any other friendship. You have to work at it. Build it up from nothing. Earn it." I shrugged. "And, considering what I'm working with, that's probably never going to happen. Loki's got ice where his heart should be." I kept my eyes on the silver, twinkling, pinpoints of light. "Not going to stop me from trying, though," I mumbled.

After she was absolutely silent for a while, I found myself turning to her. "Does that make any sense?" I asked.

Her answering expression was completely unreadable. Not emotionless, but unreadable; I couldn't tell whatshe was thinking. Slowly, slowly, she began to nod a few times. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Yes, that makes sense."

We fell silent again, for a very long time. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Not in the slightest. I realized suddenly that I actually, truly liked Natasha. Like most of the Avengers, I didn't spend enough time with her, but… I did consider her my 'friend', even if I knew that she likely didn't trust me enough-trust anyone enough- to think the same.

"Natalie?" She queried suddenly. "If I asked you a question, and asked you to be completely honest, would you lie to me?"

I turned to her, lifting both eyebrows, turning them into a questioning squiggle. "With an introduction like that? Probably, yes."

A half-smile quirked on her lips. But then she turned serious again, her eyes hard. She didn't look at me, her features expressionless, as she shattered my entire world one more time that night. "How long did Fraye have Loki prisoner?"

I blinked. Once. Twice. Natasha was relentless; she turned to face me head-on, turning her entire body towards me, her entire attention on me. "How long did she torture him?"

My heart started racing. My hands began to shake. I looked away quickly, avoiding her eyes. I hadn't promised honesty. I wasn't that stupid. So I was perfectly within my rights to lie like there was no tomorrow. "What makes you think she did?" I asked, keeping my voice surprisingly nonchalant. I'd gotten so much better at lying under pressure. And not having Loki freaking out in my head was a plus, too. It was easier to think without his panic overshadowing my own; so it was a good thing that he was currently asleep, and thus oblivious to this little interaction for now.

Natasha gave me a cold look. Her gaze was even and steady and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep myself from looking away, couldn't stop from staring at my hands as I started to pick at my nails. "She didn't," I told a direct lie. This one wasn't so good. It would have fooled anyone else, it sounded so easy and natural and smooth… but around Natasha, the false, hollow note rang out with undoubted strength. She wasn't buying it. I knew it even as I said the words, but I had to say them, anyway. "She beat him in a fight long ago. That was it."

"Natalie," she said, her tone not changing in the slightest. "How long did she torture him?"

The repeat of the question only hit harder to me how certain she was of her conclusion. I couldn't believe this. Neither Loki nor I had even begun to guess that Natasha had figured this out. Natasha of all people. We were so worried about Clint and Tony and the others who were so vocal in their protests that we'd underestimated one of those few people in the world who had tricked the Trickster. One of the most dangerous people alive.

How could we have been so blind?

Natasha spoke the language of lies as easily as Loki did. She breathed deception as well as he. It was just as much in her blood as it was in his. How could I have missed this?

But still, I remained obstinately defiant. "She didn't," I said, forcing irritation into my words. It wasn't hard; though I was more irritated at myself than her. "She beat him in a fight. That was it."

She made him afraid. She tortured him. She held him down and made him bleed, she carved those hideous scars into his skin, she laughed as he screamed. She had him for months. But it may as well have been an eternity. That's what it felt like. That's what it still feels like. She still has him. She's still torturing him. Tormenting him. Because she made him afraid.

These words bounced around in my head, trying to force my jaw open and manipulate my tongue so that they could spill out. But I kept my teeth clamped firmly shut, kept them trapped inside of me, even as they began to beat against my throat, desperate to be heard. I'd been carrying this secret for too long. No, that wasn't it; Loki had been carrying this secret for too long. He needed to tell someone. Anyone. Even Natasha Romanoff. But as it was not my secret to tell, I kept my mouth firmly shut. Locked my lips together and threw away the key, threw it into the ocean, where hopefully a shark would come by and swallow it.

Natasha tried to meet my gaze for the longest time; but I was forced to look away again. Guilt was pressing heavily on my shoulders. I hated lying. I hated being good at it. I hated it.

"He knows more about her than he could learn in a passing encounter," Natasha said slowly. "He would not work with his enemies if she was not a power far greater than anything else; if she did not scare him. And then there's you." Her gaze was still on me. It burned little holes into the sides of my face, eating away at my features. "You were always furious at her; too furious, too angry, for what little she did to you."

My eyes whipped up to her, glad that I could meet her accusation with something at last. I could counter this one. I could. I'd spent too long lying not to be able to use it… "What do you mean?" I demanded harshly, spewing out the words. "She pretended to be a helpless little kid. She made me care for her. Love her. And then she turned around and stabbed me- stabbed everyone- in the back. I trusted her completely and she threw it in my face. I have every right to be angry at her."

Natasha waited patiently for my little rant to be over. And when it stopped, she looked me dead in the eye. "But you never really trusted her, did you?"

"Of course I did!" I blustered. "She was a weak little girl! Powerless, defenseless! What kind of monster wouldn't have trusted her?"

Natasha gave me a look; one that I had only ever seen on her, a gesture that was somehow sarcastic and very slightly accusing all at the same time, a trace of dark humor lurking behind it. "Monsters like us," was her only answer.

I shut up. My eyes went round. It was like she was landing physical blows with each and every one of her statements. In that instant, I was certain: when it came to interrogation, Natasha Romanoff was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s best, hands down, no question. I would never doubt her again, if I had ever doubted her before. She read everyone just right; knew exactly what to say. My brain was putty in her hands; there was no way out of this. She was going to get what she wanted out of me and there was nothing, absolutely nothing that I could do about it.

"I thought I trusted her," Natasha admitted to me. "I truly did. But when she turned on us… I realized that I'd known exactly what she was from the beginning. That this was inevitable." Her eyes did more than bore holes into me now; they dug out twisting paths in my eyes, reaching in through the windows of the soul and scanning everything they held. "And I believe you saw it, too. Long before I did."

I turned away, sweat beading on my forehead and trickling down my spine, despite how suddenly cold and clammy I felt. I swallowed, my throat drier than it had been whilst I was in that burning building. Spies don't play fair. At all. Ever.

"Which leads me to another question," she went on, her every word perfectly measured. "Exactly how long were you and Loki planning this?" I swallowed again, but she ignored this and added, "If you were aware of Fraye's true nature from the beginning, then you would have had plenty of time to think of a countermeasure. I assume that he was that countermeasure; that you believed we could stop her if we all worked together."

I was speechless. Utterly speechless. All hail the mighty Natasha, because this shrink was not worthy of her incredible psych knowledge.

Loki was going to kill me when he woke up…

It was this knowledge that prompted me to try one last, desperate attempt at a lie. I laughed; it sounded very, very real. But I knew she was not fooled. "Oh, come on, Natasha. You can't be serious." I shook my head, as though in disbelief. "I mean, I was as pissed as anyone else when Loki asked to get out of jail. He made me bow to him, for crying out loud. Why in the hell would I have been… planning this with him?" (Not like it was my idea in the first place…) "And he wasn't tortured. The two fought it out and he lost. End of story!" I threw my hands up in the air, like I couldn't believe that we were still having this discussion.

"Natalie," despite the absolute smoothness of her tone, despite the gentleness of the word, it cracked in the air like a whip. Mostly because of the way it sounded… like it was… like she was… broken.

"I know the bond between torturer and tortured very well, Natalie," She whispered quietly. "I have been both. And I would recognize it anywhere. Between anyone."

These words, above everything else, above all of her previous statements of fact, above everything she had said before, above every bleak word… it was these words that deflated me, that defeated me. These words that let out all of the hot air in my bluster, that made mockery of my false confidence and incredulous cheer. These words that broke me, that stopped the lies in their tracks, that forced the deceptions back down my throat and into my lungs, where they choked and clogged my airways. Because each and every one of these words rang with such undeniable, untouched truth that it was actually physically painful to hear them. I looked down again, studying the ground, staring at the roof beneath our feet. How could I be standing so high up, standing so tall… and still feel so tiny and insignificant?

Natasha seemed to sense that I had been broken, for she repeated her original question again. "So how long did she have him?"

I swallowed. There was no point in dishonesty; it wouldn't be believed. There was no point in not answering, either; then she might have told the other Avengers until one of them got it out of me. All I could do now was damage control. "A few months," I answered in a rasp of a whisper. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't look at her. I just couldn't look.

"He lost track after a while," my voice was feeble and frail and died after those few words. Natasha nodded slowly.

"And how long did you know about Fraye's true nature?"

I swallowed. Tears were threatening in my eyes. All of that work. All of those lies. All of that guilt and pain… it was for nothing. Natasha had seen right through it, seen right through me. "A few days after she first arrived," I confessed. "Loki was always suspicious… and eventually, I started to become that way too… It wasn't until later that we found out exactly who she was; she never gave Loki her name before. But it was a while before she turned on us."

"And you planned to get Loki out of prison to fight her." This one was not so much a question; just a fact that she was double-checking, though she already knew the answer.

"Yes," the word was inaudible.

"Whose idea was that?"

The question cut deeper than any of the others. If the idea was mine-which it was- then it would show that my first priority-even over the Earth- was Loki. No matter how untrue this was, that was how she would see it. If the idea was his, then I was the sucker that had been conned into doing Loki's dirty work. No-win. "Mine," I whispered.

Natasha seemed mildly surprised by the answer. Her eyebrow went up, but she didn't comment on it further. Not yet, anyway.

"Do you really think that this is the best way to fight Fraye? That Loki working together with us is the only way we'll defeat her?"

"We don't have a chance in hell of defeating her," I was surprised to hear myself say. It seemed that I could no longer be dishonest around Natasha; I couldn't even lie to myself. "But fighting with Loki is as close as we're ever going to get."

She did not seem surprised by this. Slowly, slowly she nodded; it was like I was being released from being hypnotized; the snap of the fingers, and I was a slave no longer. She looked away from me, out to the darkness, to the glowing city skyline. I was completely silent for a long time, my mouth sewn shut by my guilt and anxiety, tears rolling down my cheeks.

The two of us were utterly quiet; not a word passed between us for a good twenty minutes. And then I was pleading. Begging. "Please," I whispered in desperation. "Please. Don't… Don't tell the Avengers. I…" My words stuttered, and I forced myself to shut up for a moment, to pull myself together. "I don't think he can handle that," I said at last, looking up and meeting her eyes for perhaps the first time since this conversation had started. Honesty had broken me. Perhaps it could break her, too. Doubtful; what has already been broken beyond repair will forever remain unbreakable.

"You said you know the bond between torturer and tortured. You said you were both. But I'm your therapist, and you've never once talked to me about it." I looked at her. "Why?"

When she did not answer- it was such a ridiculous question, she knew that I already had my answer- I pressed, "Because you couldn't. Because you don't trust me completely. Because I'm a direct line to your worst enemy." My eyes were still wet. I wiped them off with my sleeve irritably before forcing myself to push through, to keep talking. "You're a good person, Natasha. Could you condemn someone else to being forced to relive that pain in front of their worst enemies? In front of their foes?" I shook my head out. "Loki doesn't deserve that. No matter what he has done, he doesn't deserve that. No one does."

She considered me for a long time, then looked away. "It may make them more sympathetic towards him," She told me slowly. Appealing to reason. "It may reaffirm his loyalties in this matter." Her hands gripped the railing, and she leaned against them. "It could make both of your lives a great deal easier."

"Could you do it?"

She was silent.

I awaited her reply with bated breath. My lungs were about ready to explode by the time she finally sighed and nodded again.

"He doesn't deserve you," she mused, giving me the most twisted of wry smirks, then shaking her head. "I'll say nothing." There was a beat, and then, "Because… I do trust you, Natalie. I don't trust Loki any farther than I could throw him, but you… well, I trust you more than that, at least."

"That's not a good analogy for you to use," I pointed out quietly, which earned me a small smile. Well, it wasn't. She could probably throw Loki pretty damn far if she put her mind to it.

"Fair enough," and suddenly she seemed different. Not so cold. Not so dangerous. She'd gotten what she wanted from me, and now we were friends again. I hate spies.

There was another long silence -half of our conversation seemed to be comprised of these pauses- and then I whispered, "I'm sorry I lied."

Her eyes found me again. And again I couldn't look back at her. My face was burning, on fire. "I'm sorry I couldn't… couldn't tell you. But I had to get him out of that cell, don't you see? He was our best chance, and if she found him while he was in that prison, all alone… with nothing but the darkness- her darkness- to hide him…"

She stopped me mid-sentence. "It's all right, Natalie." She looked away as well. "You don't have to explain." Her eyes were suddenly distant. "I am a spy, remember? Lying is not something that you invented."

I laughed quietly. "Naw, that was Loki's job." She laughed back, and I found myself suddenly… at ease. A massive weight was off of my chest and shoulders now.

"Everyone has an agenda," She went on, almost silently. I had to strain to hear it. "And I understand you doing everything within your power to achieve yours."

Crack. Psych crack. Not even kidding, I hated the Avengers for this. Every time I thought I had them kinda-semi-puzzled-out, they threw this weird shit my way and tripped me up again. I gave up. They were crazy. Every last one of them was batshit crazy. Loopy. Loco. Out of their ever-loving minds.

"And I won't tell the Avengers about that, either," she noted quietly. "What you did to get Loki out of prison… it'll stay secret." She promised, releasing the railing and turning around. "Good night, Natalie."

And just like that, she was gone, her red hair disappearing behind the door as she went back inside of the building. I was left, completely alone… but somehow, somehow… I felt… better.

Life is weird like that, sometimes. One second, you think that there's nothing you can do to get your life under control, the next, your secret agent friend has you spilling your guts and everything is fine and dandy.

Loki was still going to kill me, though.

I sighed heavily and released the railing myself, walking back inside. What the hell. Might as well be well rested when I was murdered.

I walked inside, made my way to my room and, leaving the light on, I collapsed onto my bed and was dead to the world in seconds.

---

Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Why can't I be dead yet?

Blood. Blood everywhere. The Shadow Child's laughter. Death in the air, in the stink around me. Her hand brushes against my back, shadows digging into the same, familiar pattern, as I knew they would… but this does not lessen the agony; it only ever gets worse and worse…

"Remember," She whispers in my ear, purring the words out, honeyed and sweet. "I own you, my little Laufeyson…"

Loki's eyes flicked open. He blinked once, staring at the ceiling. Light streamed in through the windows, but it was dull and washed out, filtered through gloomy, overcast skies. A cloudy day, with the possibility of rain on the horizon. His brother would know whether or not that was the case.

I loved grey, rainy days. Loki, on the other hand, disliked them. Intensely. The weak light they provided reminded him fiercely of the feeble light of his prison, his cell. And besides that, it was impossible to see those overcast skies without thinking of his brother.

He closed his eyes, taking a long, slow breath, then slowly rose from the bed and stood, doing a routine search of the whispers in the back of his mind, to see what I was doing. Fast asleep. I had been awake even later than he; it was best if I was allowed to stay asleep for now. Loki ran a hand down his face, trying to clear away the lingering nightmares. We had both been plagued by them in recent times; he knew that he would have to discuss them with me, would have to talk with me about the true reason for them, about the effects Fraye was having on our thoughts and dreams… but not now.

He exited the room and nodded towards his current warden, an acknowledging gesture rather than a greeting. It was Romanoff today; a rarity, seeing as she usually selected shifts that were later on at night. She gave him a strange look as he walked past, something far too knowledgeable for his taste, but he ignored this and walked with silent-but-purposeful strides towards the bathroom.

He bathed, changed clothes, and made himself ready for the day; it did not take long. He wished to delay the inevitable, but he knew that he could not. Eventually, gathering himself together with a deep but silent sigh, he forced himself to leave this place and make his way towards the kitchen, where the Avengers tended to congregate. Natasha had left him, after all-something he had not anticipated, as she usually did not trust him alone- and he was not meant to be left 'alone'. Stark would be furious; and he could not afford to make him, nor any of the other Avengers, angry. An unfortunate indignity, but necessary. It was always necessary.

After his short journey through the halls and in the elevator, Loki walked towards the kitchen. He steeled himself before entering, knowing what he would see inside, knowing precisely how his arrival would be greeted. It had been bad enough the first day, with no one but the Avengers around.

But now… well, now there were my parents to contend with as well.

They were both inside, as he'd suspected they would be, sitting directly beside each other on the other end of the kitchen. Arranged around the room were three of the Avengers: Rogers and Barton at the table beside the two humans, and Thor scanning the contents of the cupboard. On seeing Loki, Rogers and Barton both stiffened, with the latter shifting very subtly closer to Cameron and my mother. Thor, on the other hand, smiled briefly at his brother before resuming his search, seeming oddly… cheerful.

Imbecile.

Loki turned his cold gaze to my parents, then looked to the Soldier, thinking him the most likely candidate to answer his question. No, that was not true; the most likely candidate was Thor. But Rogers was currently the best option.

"Where is Banner?" Loki inquired in a smooth, even tone; almost a whisper, but not quite. If he was forced to spend time alone with one Avenger, he knew that I would have selected Bruce. And he trusted my judgment on this matter, if nothing else. Banner was, after all, the mildest member of this particular group of misfits.

"Fourteenth floor," Rogers answered smoothly, giving Loki an almost apologetic grimace, clearly aware that this floor was 'off limits' to the Trickster. "Natalie still sleeping?" He inquired; for they all knew that Loki would not be searching for a place to be –and a person to be around- if I were awake.

Cameron shifted at the mention of my name, but his narrowed eyes did not leave Loki. My mother clutched his arm carefully, and fear was very plain in her eyes, which also stayed on Loki. She was gripping Cameron's shirt sleeve so tightly that her knuckles were turning white, and her face was pale, bloodless.

"Aye," Loki responded mildly. "I… thought it best, considering…" he trailed off, and his eyes clicked on my parents temporarily. And then he looked back to Steve. "Everything she went through yesterday."

Clint snorted in clear disbelief. Cameron's eyes narrowed even further, into thin slits. My mother, however, blinked once. Her eyes went to Loki's face at last, as opposed to watching his hands, as she had been. No longer looking to what would strike her, and instead looking to his features. Confusion crept into the back of her expression.

"Well, Stark's in the lab," Steve added, though his voice was doubtful. He didn't trust Stark, either. Loki was somewhat taken aback by the Captain's concern; but then, he knew the value of soldiers in a war. Even if they were not the men he would have chosen. "And Natasha's two floors up, in the gym." Again, his voice clearly showed his reservations.

"Perhaps it would be best if I returned to my quarters," Loki said slowly, making as if to duck out of the room. "Natalie is… nearby, if not conscious." His voice leaked uncertainty. The Avengers would not trust him on his own. But they would not trust him around my parents, either. Still… he did not wish to be around Stark or Romanoff alone.

But he saw no other option.

"Or perhaps you should join me, brother," Thor chimed in, his voice… careful. Neutral, as far as he could be. Thor was not as well practiced at hiding his emotions as Loki. "In the library?"

Library. The very word was a temptation. Books were one thing his prison was sorely lacking; and while these might be Midgardian, perhaps he may find one that suited his interests… There had been one or two that I had read that caught his eye on occasion…

Loki's eyes remained on his brother for a very long, very tense moment. And then, slowly, he nodded. He did not wish to spend any unnecessary time with his adopted sibling, but he also knew that it would make me happy if he did so nonetheless. Or, more accurately, I would make his life miserable if he did not seize this chance.

Thor smiled at him, and closed the cupboard door, Pop Tart in one hand, and an apple in the other. He pressed the latter into Loki's hands and sat down.

"Then we shall leave momentarily," Thor said; more to the two other Avengers and two humans in the room than to Loki himself. Loki glanced down to the apple that Thor had given him. I had talked with Thor about the whole 'food' situation with Loki; how uncomfortable it was for him to root around in the cupboard with all eyes on him… but Loki was not aware of that yet. He glanced to the fruit, then to Thor's eyes on him. He wanted to leave, to be away from Cameron's intense stare and his wife's silent dread… not because he particularly feared the mortals, but it was a nuisance.

But still… he had not eaten in a very long time, he realized. Resigning himself to this fate, he walked over to the table and sat as far from my parents as possible, keeping his face away from them. He ate quickly-he was used to a light, fast breakfast- and Thor did the same. All the while, Cameron's hard stare never left the Jotun.

Finally, Thor stood, and Loki followed, the two heading towards the exit. Tension crackled in the air as they left, thick and palpable and oddly… choking.

Loki waited. He knew the sound would come, knew what would happen next. How could it not happen? He knew Cameron Frost far too well to believe, for even a second, that he would simply allow Loki to leave, without ever saying a word…

A half-smile found its way onto his lips as the sound reached his ears at last, a noise from within the kitchen that he had just left. Thor seemed to have heard nothing as the two traveled down the hallway, but Loki was still listening intently.

The scrape of a chair's legs against the floor. My mother's voice, pleading quietly, begging, "Don't do this." Cameron's quiet reassurances that everything was going to be all right, that everything was ok, that he'd be back soon. Barton's soft, "Let him go," as Rogers undoubtedly opened his mouth to protest. Footsteps, running out into the hall.

Loki kept walking.

"Hey!"

Loki halted. So did Thor. His brother half-turned, then, seeing Cameron standing there, turned entirely. Loki sighed a breath of a word out through his lips.

"Inevitable."

Cameron did not seem to have heard. He looked to Thor, even as Loki stayed facing away. "Give me two minutes."

Thor's eyebrows furrowed. His bright blue eyes went from my father to Loki and back again. A frown tugged at his lips.

"Two minutes," Cameron insisted. "Two minutes alone with him."

A long, heavy pause. Then, "I think I can ask that much, after what he did to me."

After knowing my father for the time that I had, I would not have pegged him for a cruel man. Had I been there, I would have thought that my father meant exactly what he was saying; that he felt he was owed this much. That Loki owed him this much.

Loki, however, recognized the darker, more malignant undercurrent to those words; particularly seeing as they were not directed at him, but at Thor. It was a subtle hint, but it was there nonetheless; a suggestion that he could ask this much of Thor, because he had not been able to stop his brother's actions. For some reason, this subtle hint irritated Loki. Ridiculous mortal had no idea on what fragile ground he stood.

Thor's eyes tightened; he may not have consciously registered the subtle stab at his pride, but somewhere, deep within him, he recognized it. His face scrutinizing, he looked to Loki.

The Trickster shrugged mildly. "I shall not harm him."

He knew that this was the main concern; but he also knew that it was a ridiculous one. Even if he was not surrounded on all sides by powerful creatures who would all jump at the chance to throw him out of the window, this was my father. He had no choice but to treat him… decently.

Thor studied him for a long time, then slowly, slowly, nodded. He walked back into the kitchen, closing the door behind him so that their conversation would not be heard.

Loki still hadn't turned around.

For a long time, neither said a word. They merely remained in the silence. Loki was quite content to let this silence last forever; there was nothing he particularly wished to say to this mortal. He was… irrelevant.

No. No, that was not true. Loki had released Cameron Frost's mind from his influence, had allowed the man to go free… but that was before. Before he had known that I was going to make our link permanent. Before he had been made aware that any pain Cameron caused me would be Loki's pain as well. Before that action had a direct consequence for him.

At the time, it had seemed a trivial matter. Cameron and I shared a bond that most who shared blood had… We had gotten closer than we'd expected, faster than we'd expected. I'd been willing to give him a second chance, had wanted us to be the family we were supposed to be. But it had been more than a year since that time had passed, and the two of us were more distant than we had ever been.

For a reason, Loki knew. A reason he still hadn't admitted to, for it was still only a theory…

"I won't let you take my daughter from me."

The words were said. They were in the air and they were final, strong and resolute. Loki sighed very quietly and turned to face Cameron at last.

My father's hand was clenched in a fist as he glared at Loki. The other hand was pointing an accusatory finger towards him. "You may have Natalie fooled, you may think that you have her wrapped around your finger… but you'll never fool me. And I won't let you take my little girl from me. Not again. Never again."

Did this mortal even know how pathetic he looked? His bluster and pride and firm reassurances… it was rather pitiable, actually.

Loki smiled, letting out a short, breath of a laugh and shaking his head back and forth slowly. "Then take her from me, please, I beg of you." He laughed again, just the barest shade louder. Cameron's eyes darkened. "Your daughter has been nothing but a bane to my existence since the moment she made our connection permanent. But nothing that you or I say will ever change the fact that we are now inseparable; to tear me from her and her from me would cause her a great deal of agony." A smirk danced on his lips. "Which, I'm certain, is not something that you want."

"Just because she's linked with you does not mean that she can ignore me." Cameron snarled in response, his features curling in a decidedly ugly sneer. "You are taking her away from her family. The people who truly matter to her."

"Taking her!" Loki scoffed. "You seem to forget, Cameron, that Natalie is 'your little girl' no longer! She is not the child that you left behind; she is an adult! She can think for herself and make her own decisions, whether you or I agree with them or not!" his voice did not rise in the slightest, but there was a trace more emphasis on his words.

"I only left her behind because of what you did to me!" Cameron snapped in response; and his voice did rise. Louder and louder, a thundering crescendo. Loki rolled his eyes; he was still human. He was still weak, no matter the volume of his voice. In fact, he found it rather amusing, that a human might think that yelling would make them somehow more intimidating and stronger. Like watching an insect scream its hate to the stars.

"Perhaps," Loki admitted with a gentle shrug. "But you left her nonetheless." He smirked dangerously. "And your dear little girl, no matter the things she says, no matter what she forgives… well, I'm afraid that's something that she can still never forget."

"Only because you won't let her," Cameron answered tightly. His fists were clenched so tightly that they trembled. He appeared to be holding himself back, trying not to strike, trying to remind himself of how useless it would be to do so.

"She's not a puppet," Loki said, half incredulous, half disgusted. "She's not a slave. She remains inside of my mind but that does not mean that she sacrificed her own. I do not dictate what she feels for you. She does, as she always has."

"Then why does she still hate me?" Cameron snarled. "Why does she still shy away from me, why does she look the other way when I'm around, why can she still not stand me?"

Was he truly this blind? Could any creature be filled with this much… folly? Could any creature be so gullible as to swallow their own lies? "Because you rejected her."

"Only because you made me!"

Loki rolled his eyes. "Back then, yes, but no longer." He took a step forwards. "Do you not understand the nature of the connection we share? Has she not told you, repeatedly, that she and I are… the same? She made a decision to keep me as a part of her, and her as a part of me, and you…! You reject me so completely. I could care less for the opinions of humans- of any human- but Natalie? She sees it as nothing more than another rejection of her; because I am her. I am a part of her, she made the decision to make me into a part of her. And you continue to despise that decision, the defining moment of her past years. You act as though she is still the child you left behind, as though if you simply disagree often and loudly enough with what she has become, she'll change it. You think that she's still a little girl who just wants to do anything to avoid arguing with her parents… but she no longer can change it. What she has done to us is irrevocable. No matter what you say, no matter how much you plead and argue and shout, it can never change. And you would do well to remember it."

Cameron was staring at him with wide eyes. There was still so much hate in them, but somewhere, perhaps, it might have been registering. Perhaps. Loki was uncertain why he was still bothering to argue. He knew it wouldn't get through, and he suspected why it wouldn't. But he found himself unable to stop.

"'Everyone has a past'," Loki quoted, tilting his head to the side. "Is that not her mantra? She understands your past. And somewhere, in some way, she has already forgiven you for it. She may not be aware of it yet, but your past is not why she still fears you, still dislikes you. It is your rejection of the person she is now that makes her despise you." Loki's eyes glinted dangerously. "And I shall certainly never correct her for that. So if you wish for her opinion to change, I would suggest you try to do so yourse-"

Loki froze suddenly, his words cutting off abruptly as he stiffened. His spine went completely rigid.

"Natalie," he breathed.

He didn't even bother to explain. Didn't bother to finish his conversation. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Instead, he started forwards, pushing past Cameron and all but running down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, "Thor!"

When he received no immediate response, Loki continued shouting. "Thor! Rogers!"

Cameron watched him go, stunned, as the Avengers- three of them, at least- peered outside of the door; obviously, they'd been listening fairly intently to the goings-on in the hall, curious as to what my father might have to say to the Trickster. And what the Trickster might have to say in return. Seeing Loki running, disappearing down the hall, they exchanged looks before following after him. Thor was beside his brother in moments.

"What is it?" He inquired, immediately falling into a quick stride, tensed for battle.

"Fraye. Natalie's room." Loki half-explained in short, choppy sentences, his eyes turning cold. A shimmer started to take over his skin, a golden glow that soon solidified into battle armor, his spear appearing in hand. His face was hard, his features set.

Thor glanced back to the others; Rogers was already ordering JARVIS to talk to Stark; but then Stark's voice came over the intercom; the building had seen Fraye already. He and Banner were on their way.

We're coming, Frost, Loki promised silently, somewhere inside of our minds.

---

I can tell you from experience that there are a lot of really, really awful ways to wake up in the morning. I've been through a lot of them personally. But I think this may have been the absolute worst.

Fraye had been sitting on the foot of my bed when I woke. She'd tilted her head and given me a quick wink before leaping lithely to the other end of the room while I scrambled to my feet. By the time the Avengers arrived, I was on one side of the room, glowing, but not yet protected by the bubble. My blood was hot, though Fraye had not yet said even a word to me, beyond that cryptic little wink. She was at the other side of the room, curled in a ball, looking… pathetic. Weak. Frail.

Looking exactly like a little kid.

She was back in her child's form, her big black eyes round and pleading as the Avengers stormed inside. She cried out softly at the noise, flinching, blood covering her arms and legs. As the Avengers-and Loki- all aimed various weaponry at her, she cringed in on herself. Her black hair was matted again, her clothes tattered and torn, covered in dirt. Her breathing was quick, rapid, her tiny fingers trembling, fear all over her features despite how dead her eyes remained.

For a moment, no one moved. I was trying to force anger to spike through me, to force my blood into fire, to mix in just the right degree of fear, so that my bubble would explode again… I felt suddenly exposed without it, powerless… Loki's mind pressed up against mine, and I allowed it inside, allowed our thoughts to converge, allowed him to take control over my emotions. In seconds, my force field was out, and cloaked around my form, my invulnerable second skin.

Silence rang in the room as Fraye whimpered, turning those enormous, heartstring-tugging black eyes towards the Avengers, flinching away from Loki's cold stare.

"Please," she pleaded; her voice was as quiet and timid and childlike as the rest of her. "Don't let them take me away again."

Silence.

Absolute, complete, utter, dead silence.

The world went cold.

The words echoed in the air for the longest time, a dull, resounding note that reverberated behind my rib cage. How stupid did she think we were? She'd attacked us, what, twice now? Did she really think that we were going to believe her innocent, child's façade again?

Tony voiced what we were all thinking. Repulsors aimed directly at her small chest, he said, "Nice try, kid. We're not buying that again. Not after what you did."

Her lower lip trembled. Tears welled up in her eyes, pooling in the blackness and spilling down her cheeks. "Please," she begged, his voice so like a child's it was unbelievable. "Please. I'm… I'm so sorry…" She was shaking. She was actually shaking. She cowered against the wall, trembling from her head to her bare toes. Her eyes went to Loki. "Please," She pleaded, this time directly of him. "Don't make me… I don't want to…"

She clapped her hands over her ears suddenly, cringing, writhing against the floor, screaming at the top of her lungs, a child's scream, the scream of an innocent. She thrashed, clutching her head desperately, crying, "No, please, get him out, get him out! I don't want to be that again, please, please don't make me kill again!"

Horror filled my eyes. Loki and I exchanged a look, brief, a flash of panic spreading through us both as our thoughts mostly separated; jolted apart by the fierce surge of anger that had overtaken me. No. She wasn't doing what I thought she was doing, she couldn't be…

The Avengers were looking slightly wary now; or, at least, most of them were. Banner, Steve, Thor and Clint included. Tony's repulsor hand wavered. But Natasha's aim remained locked dead between Fraye's eyes, her face cold, emotionless. There was no pity in her features, not even a trace of compassion or mercy.

I know the bond between torturer and tortured very well…

Her words echoed in my ears, though I clamped down on them quickly. Now was not the time for Loki to learn about that particular conversation, thank you very much.

Fraye groaned, rocking back and forth slowly, then allowed it to fade off and die in a whimper. "I'm sorry, your majesty," she repeated in an exhausted whisper. Her eyes were still locked dead on the Trickster. "Please… I just… I can't do it anymore, please!"

"You lying little bitch." It was out before I could stop it. The tension, already thick in the air, snapped like a whip over to me, filled with the heavy weight of the Avengers' stares. "Don't… How…" Fury was rendering me speechless. Did she really think that we were so stupid as to believe that Loki was responsible for all of this? That it was all his fault? That he was manipulating her?

No. She didn't think we were all that stupid.

She just knew our weaknesses.

And what we wanted to believe.

She turned sad, rueful eyes to me, taking a few steps forwards, suddenly clinging to my hands in pathetic desperation. She leaned her weight against me, holding onto me, as though I were the only thing keeping her upright. "You've gotta fight him, Nat'lee. You can't let him make you into a killer. I know you didn't want to do it, Nat'lee, but you've gotta be stronger than this, you've gotta-" She was cut off in another bout of hideous, tormented screaming. I was still standing stunned. Loki was watching me, fear in his eyes. Fear that could easily be interpreted as guilt and shame and the terror of being caught red-handed…

Fraye stumbled back onto the ground again, collapsing in a small heap of tiny bones and pale skin. As she quivered again, I felt certain that she would rattle. "Please," she begged of the Avengers, holding out a hand, reaching towards them. It was trembling, her tiny white fingertips quivering in pure strain and fear and exhaustion. "Get. Him. Out." Each word was broken apart into a sentence, interspersed with a desperate, fish-out-of-water type of gasp; as though she couldn't get enough air, as though she couldn't breathe… She sobbed quietly.

Tony's repulsors slowly lowered. Steve's grip on his shield slackened. Thor started watching his brother more intently.

"No!" The word came from the basest parts of me, a roar of a sound, and I found myself lurching towards Fraye, my hands ready to wrap themselves around her throat… Loki's hand whipped to my shoulder, pulling me back; that movement, more than anything else, made up the Avengers' minds. Or, at the very least, Clint's.

"Get your paws off of her!" The archer snarled, turning his aim to Loki. Immediately, Loki half-raised his hands, surrendering… but the damage had been done.

"You've got to save me," Fraye kept pleading. "I… I keep fighting him… but… I… I can't… I can't hold him back much longer…" She whimpered. "My head… it hurts so bad… I can't… can't fight… can't…" her words died off, and she sobbed, quiet little noises that sent my blood aflame. Every single word that came from her mouth was a lie. Every twisted statement, every wretched word was dipped in poisonous deceit and I wanted her gone, wanted her out of our lives, wanted the manipulation to end…

But I could see it. Her words were having the exact intended effect. The Avengers were bracing themselves, separating away from Fraye, yes, but from myself and Loki, too. After all, for all they knew, Fraye's newest act could be the real truth; they all wanted to believe that Loki was behind this, and here was the perfect outlet for that belief… Loki was a known telepath, after all; and with his connection to me, it was just possible that he could manipulate my thoughts, make me believe that he was on our side… make me into his puppet… after all, it had been our biggest worry since the very beginning, hadn't it…?

And here was this innocent little girl… pleading, begging, apologizing… so helpless and small, with the bad guy standing nearby, wearing that crazy horned helmet and holding a spear that could brainwash people… All that he was missing now was the curly moustache.

And then, of course, there was me. I'd been changing recently. I'd barked out orders yesterday. I'd been more stubborn, more fierce, angrier than ever… the monster had slipped its leash a few times in recent history, and they had seen it… how easy would it be, to blame Loki for that? To say that it was all his fault, because they did not want to blame me, because I was their friend, I was human, I could do no wrong, it was only Loki, it was only ever Loki…

"Damn you," I found myself growling out the words, dark and dangerous and completely unhelpful. Loki was giving me a shut-up-Frost look, but I was ignoring him, I was desperate to get my hands on that little girl, that little girl that was actually a nightmare… my nightmare, Loki's nightmare, the entire world's nightmare…

"Damn you!" I shouted. "Wasn't it enough? Will it ever be enough for you? How can you even say this, how dare you, after what you did?!" I was shaking, too; but not from fear. No more fear. Only rage. "After everything you've done to him? Everything you've done to me, to my parents?" I was advancing now, and the Avengers were torn; help me, stop me, save me, save Fraye from me…

"When will it be enough for you?!" I roared, taking another step forwards. Fraye flinched into the wall, wincing away from an inevitable strike… I knew better than this, I knew this looked bad, knew this looked awful…

Why couldn't I stop myself?

And suddenly, Steve's arms were around me, pinning my own arms behind my back; I struggled in his hold, but he held me fast despite the bubble. "Natalie, stop!" He shouted. "We have to consider all possibilities here!"

"There is one possibility!" I shrieked. "She is a liar! She's tearing this team apart, she wants us against each other, she's attacking our weakest link, just like I said she would, just like we all knew she would!"

Fraye gave me another one of those rueful smiles; a kind of sick camaraderie in her eyes. One slave, giving a sad acknowledgement to the other. As though I were as imprisoned as she pretended to be. "It's ok, Nat'lee," she whispered. "I know what he made you believe. It's not your fault." The watery smile stretched, and then froze on her face, twisting abruptly into a grimace. Another cry burst from her lips, and she turned around, looking in abject terror to the shadows behind her, shadows which had begun to reach towards her, to claw and grab at her… Whispering horrible whispers, hissing vicious, undeterminable words…

"No!" She screamed, launching herself towards the Avengers; she landed against Bruce and clung to him tightly, desperately. "Please, Uncle Brucey, please, don't let them take me again, don't let me hurt you again!" Pure desperation leaked into her words as she looked up at him.

"Kill me!" She begged, dropping to her knees, clinging to him desperately. Bruce looked down at her in horror. "Shoot me, kill me, please, just don't let them take me again! Don't let me hurt you again!"

The shadows were wrapping around her ankles. I could barely hear anything; the world was crashing behind my ears, powerful waves against rocks, slowly grinding them into sand… My fury kept Loki out of my mind; it was an emotion so central to me, so distinct to me that it excluded everything else. This was not Loki's rage. This was not his indignity. This was all mine.

There was the crack of bullet fire as Natasha took Fraye up on her offer; a shadow immediately flicked out in front of her, snatching the golden bullet out of thin air and flinging it to the side; the clattered to the ground, and Natasha fired again. And again. It didn't work.

"I can't control them!" Fraye screamed, holding her head… the shadows seemed to hesitate, as though she were battling them in her mind, as though she was holding them back… but then they surged forwards with renewed strength, wrapping all around her body, thin tendrils that I knew from experience were all too strong…

Bruce gripped her hands; it was unthinking, an immediate reaction, an inevitable response. See someone who needs help, help them. Cause and effect. That was what the Avengers did. As the shadows pulled her away from him, yanked her out of his grasp, Clint and Thor reached forwards, gripping at the child, trying to wrench her from the shadows grasp. Steve remained gripping my arms as I tried desperately to struggle, shouting at the top of my lungs.

"She's lying to you! She's always lied to you, it's everything she is! Lies and lies and more lies! That's everything!" I was screaming.

Frost, stop! Loki snapped in my mind. You are not helping the situation!

Neither are you! I snapped back. Standing around, doing nothing? Coward!

He ignored the last comment. He knew that I did not mean it. Knew that I would say anything to provoke him into fighting, into standing up for himself… but what was the point in standing up for himself? No one would believe him. No one.

No one but me and Natasha… the spy remained watching the spectacle with a coldly neutral stare, her gaze even. Steady. Watching the child being devoured by the darkness.

The shadows swallowed her whole; for a long, terrible moment, we could all still hear her screaming from within the blackness… and then it imploded inwards on itself, and she was gone.

Everyone stared at the spot where Fraye had been just seconds before. Steve's grip slackened on my arms. Horror was in all eyes, horror and fear…

And then slowly, slowly, Clint's eyes turned to Loki. One by one, every one of the Avengers' stares followed.

"You." Clint said, his words ringing with finality. "You did this." His eyes grew dark. "Again."

---

"This is such bullshit."

I paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth on one side of the room. Loki sat on the couch, his legs folded, his eyes closed, and his mind working. I tested the door for the thousandth time, as though that might change the fact that it was locked. Nope.

"This is such bullshit," I repeated in a hiss, resuming my furious pacing. Loki was taking our newfound imprisonment rather well; or, at the very least, better than I was. I supposed he was used to it by now. I, on the other hand, was pissed beyond belief.

It wasn't like the locked door meant something. It wasn't like Loki couldn't just break right through it, if so inclined, or I couldn't flare into the bubble and break the entire door down. Hell, I could bring the entire building crumbling down if I wanted to. The lock didn't matter in the slightest; but the very fact that it was there seemed to represent just, exactly, how badly Fraye had screwed us.

Following Fraye's little show, Loki and I had been confined to the sixteenth-floor living room. There was no guard posted outside of our door; the Avengers were only one room over. We could not make it to the exit without passing through said room, and JARVIS was keeping an eye on us, so as far as anyone was concerned, we were trapped here.

But of course, Loki had already established an eyes-free zone; shielding us from Heimdal's and JARVIS' view. There was an illusion in place, should the Avengers think to check the footage whilst we were here. All they would see would be the two of us; me pacing, him sitting, and every so often exchanging a look as we 'said' something to each other.

"Like we're common criminals," I found myself muttering. "When Fraye's still out there… she's going to kill them all, and they'll just stand there 'making a decision'…" I continued grumbling for a very, very long time, pacing furiously. The contrast between myself and Loki was striking; he, too, was angered by the turn that events had taken, but he was far calmer about the situation than I. He grew more immobile as I grew more impatient, pacing faster and faster.

Finally, I huffed out a sigh and collapsed onto the couch. The Avengers had promised to retrieve us both after a 'decision' had been made. A decision on how, exactly, they were going to proceed. That was what they said, anyway. I saw it more as a decision on who, exactly, they were going to believe.

At the very least, I knew there was one person was on our side; and it was the last person I would have expected a few days ago. Natasha had led us to the room we were inside now, had locked us in… but not before giving me a few words of advice.

"Tell them," She had suggested. I, of course, had known immediately what she was talking about. Loki, on the other hand, remained oblivious for the moment. "It could mean the difference in their decision. Show them the scars- he has some, right? It could mean everything."

I'd tried to explain to her that I couldn't, that it wasn't my secret to tell… but she had simply closed the door and walked away.

When I explained everything to Loki, allowing him to see the memory of the night before… I must admit, I'd actually been mortally terrified of him for the first time in a very, very long time. I'd even flinched. But, after a long, silent moment of deliberation, he had sighed very heavily and let it slide.

"You're not mad?" I'd asked.

"Furious," he had corrected me. "But Agent Romanoff has fooled greater minds than yours, Frost. I could not expect more out of you."

I didn't always know when he was insulting me or not; but I was pretty sure this was one of those times when he was.

Since then, we'd been fairly quiet; at the very least, we hadn't spoken to each other. I was still muttering curses under my breath, wishing painful things upon Fraye and all of her shadow-controlling crap. I resorted to my old tricks of imagining nice, pretty little visions of her being dropped into an alligator pit, or of wrapping my hands around her throat and throttling her until her tongue flopped out. But not even that could keep me from worrying for long.

Despair took hold. I curled up in a ball on my end of the couch, arranging myself at an awkward angle so that I could still see Loki's face. "What are we going to do?" I asked, in a strangely hushed voice.

His eyes opened, turning his head-but only his head- so that he could face me as well. He didn't seem to have an answer. We were quiet for a long time.

"If they decide that Fraye's telling the truth…" I bit my lip. It was too horrible to contemplate. There were very limited options as to what, exactly, we could do if this was the case. "They'll throw you back in prison, Loki. They'll send you back to Asgard." I started tracing my fingers over the Key on my wrist. "And nothing I can say will stop them."

His gaze flickered away. He still said nothing.

"I won't let you go back."

The firmness of this statement surprised us both. He looked to me again, an incredulous half-smile on his face, disbelief in his eyes; not that he doubted my sincerity, but more my ability to do anything to stop it.

"I mean it," I said, sitting upright, turning my entire body to face him. "We'll run. We'll run if we have to, but they're not taking you back."

He blinked, mildly startled by my sudden belief that this was the right thing to do, that this was what we would have to do. "Run where?" He inquired, his tone soft. "It will only convince them that Fraye was in the right. They will take her back, allow her back into their lives… and then they will hunt us down. They will follow us across the planet, the very universe, if they must." He looked away. "You know this."

I winced as he said 'allow her back into their lives'. He was right, of course. And I did know all of this. I scowled anyway. "Well, we have to do something. I'm not just going to sit around while they throw you back in jail, lock me up somewhere, and let Fraye…" I swallowed. Let her do what? Let her run rampant? Let her hurt them again? Let her destroy the world?

With Loki and I out of the picture, there was quite a lot that Fraye could do. I hated admitting this, but I was one of the more powerful members in our little group; the Death Bubble ensured that. Unless they got in through my weakness, then the shadows could not touch me. And Loki, well… he was pretty freaking powerful, too; it was good to have another Asgardian on the team. That was why I'd gotten him out of prison in the first place. At least with us here, we could all fight together. With Loki and I gone… well, divide and conquer. The Avengers wouldn't last; particularly if they no longer suspected Fraye of anything.

We were silent again. My words were looming in the air, hovering above us like vultures. Our thoughts twisted into separate directions as I worried, gnawing on my thumbnail anxiously. I'd meant it when I said that I'd run. Even if it meant that I spent my last days fleeing from those I'd called my friends, even if it meant that they'd think I was a traitor, even if it meant that Fraye would likely destroy us before I ever got to say 'I told you so.' Loki was our best option for survival. Loki knew Fraye better than any of us. Loki was all we had left. Sad, when you thought about it, but nonetheless true.

"You haven't even considered it, have you?"

Loki's words shook me out of my thoughts. I turned to him, eyebrows furrowing, confused. "What?"

He was watching me. Studying me. Trying to figure me out, just like always. "You haven't given thought to what Fraye said about you. Not once." I couldn't quite figure out his expression; it was something between bemusement and frustration. Not quite angry, not quite smiling. He shook his head slowly, laughing just quietly, a single breath of a sound that was similarly unreadable.

I thought about what Fraye had said about me. Her little charade about how I 'had to fight him'. I frowned. "Well, duh. That was for the Avengers' benefit, not mine; I'm not your puppet. I know that." I frowned. Why would I even consider that? Why would Loki expect me to?

He saw my thoughts and sighed deeply. "That was not all she said, Frost." He reminded me, and a memory flashed between the two of us; Fraye, her face innocent and rueful, telling me, "I know what he made you believe. It's not your fault."

"You haven't once considered that… perhaps… This is all another lie." Loki continued. "That I fabricated this tale of what Fraye did to me in order to gain your sympathy, your trust. That I have manipulated your mind so that you can no longer tell the difference between my truths and my lies, so that I could tell you anything, and you would hear it as nothing more or less than the absolute truth."

I bit my lip.

"It could be true," he went on. "It could just be possible that I twisted your mind. Those scars I showed you could have been an illusion. I could be lying to you. I could be using you."

"You aren't," I answered bluntly, stopping him as he picked up a head of stream.

"I could be."

"Yeah, but you aren't," I said resolutely. There was no doubt in my mind. No hesitation in my words. Not a single pause. I didn't even have to think about it.

His eyes narrowed. Searching me. Trying to see through me. "And what makes you so certain of this fact? We both know that I am not beyond faking injury and weakness in order to get that which I want. Why are you so sure that I am not doing so again?"

"I just am, ok?" I snapped, unable to help myself, glaring at the ground and crossing my arms.

"Why?" He insisted.

"What do you care? I'm on your side, aren't I? Isn't that enough?"

""Are you too frightened to consider the possibility that I may have control over your mind?" he shook his head before I could even respond. "No. You do not run from unpleasant truths, do you?"

"Drop it."

"Perhaps you feel you have no choice?" He was relentless. "Due to our connection, you think that you must trust me? Beyond even the realm of what is logical?"

"Screw logic." I answered. "And it's not that."

"Then why?"

I scowled at him, then sighed very heavily; he waited me out as I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. After a long moment, in a quiet voice, (quiet, but not submissive), I told him, "At some point, someone is going to have to trust you. It might as well be me, and it might as well be now." I looked down. "I trust my instincts. And I trust Natasha. And they both say that you're not lying."

"Romanoff," he spoke up, latching onto the name. He nodded slowly. "Of course. That makes sense."

I gave him a dirty look. It irked me, that out of what I'd said, that was all he'd really heard. "No. Because even if Natasha didn't believe us, I still wouldn't listen to a single word that came out of that Shadow-Bitch's mouth. Not one word. Your history might call you a liar, but my instincts call her one. I'll listen to the present more than I'll listen to the past any day."

He blinked, watching me again. He had this look on his face, like he wasn't quite sure what I was going to do next: sprout wings, maybe? Hop onto the table and dance like a maniac? The wry glint in his eye suggested that nothing would surprise him at this point.

We fell silent. He turned away, gazing out towards the window. After a second, twisting my hands absently, I added, "I can't spend my whole life being afraid of you; being all paranoid about whether or not you're plotting against me. If you are using me, you are. But I just don't think so."

"Hmm." His chin was resting on his thumb, his index finger resting just below his lip as he concentrated. He didn't give a proper response; and the two of us didn't say anything to each other for a very, very long time.

We were usually pretty content with silence, but at this moment… my mind kept going back to a very problematic truth. I tried to keep my thoughts away from it, tried to stop myself from voicing it aloud… particularly seeing the hardening of the ice that coated Loki's heart every time that I thought about it, every time he heard it in my thoughts…

But still, it was a truth, and we had to face it. I cleared my throat, my lips dry as I attempted to say, "Maybe we shou-"

"No."

"But-"

"No, Frost."

I scowled. I didn't like the idea any more than he did, but he had to be logical. That was his thing, wasn't it? Logic and reason? Like a friggin' Vulcan. I fell silent for a moment, and he did the same, both of us brooding quietly; him at the fact that I'd even considered this, and me at the fact that he wouldn't even consider it.

"The scars are the only proof we have of what she did to you, Loki. And if the Avengers knew what she did, then they'd understand why-"

"Natalie." He growled, eyes turning icy. I shut up.

But me being quiet doesn't tend to last for long. My toe tapped a few times on the carpet, impatient, quick. My arms crossed themselves over my chest. My index finger started picking at the thumbnail of the same hand. I tried to bite my tongue. I really did. But the words wanted to come out; and they had a mind of their own.

"Are you really willing to lose the best chance you have, just for the sake of your pride? Are you really willing to go back to prison, just because you were too damn arrogant to show a little weakness?"

His eyes narrowed. "It is not a matter of pride, Frost; that has already been damaged quite sufficiently."

"Then what is it?" I asked, partly curious, partly irritated.

He turned away and didn't answer. The 'irritated' part swelled.

"Look. They already know she beat you in a fight. They already know that she's dangerous as hell. After all, she made the Hulk bleed; or did you forget that already?" His eyes slid sideways to me, watching me out of the corner of his eye, but still he said nothing. "I don't think they'll blame you, or think any less of you, if something that beat him also beat you." I tried to be a little more casual, more flippant, as I added, "Besides. Their opinion of you is pretty much in the toilet, anyway. This might make it a little better; and easier on both of us."

His jade gaze sparked dangerously. "'Easier'? This is not easy, Frost. But, by all means, if you have already made up your mind to tell them, then tell them. You know that there is nothing I can do to stop you, after all."

I didn't even bother to take offense at that; choosing instead to roll my eyes and sigh with heavy exasperation. "Oh, come on. That's just downright childish." I shook my head a few times, my still-messy hair rustling in my ears as I did so. "Your secret, not mine. I'm not gonna tattle if you don't want me to. I just want to know why it's so damn important to you that they don't know."

"You gave Romanoff plenty of valid reasons last night," he pointed out. "Could you tell this to your worst enemies?" He turned the same argument that I'd given to the spy around on me. "Could you show them your scars?"

"Yep," I answered without hesitation; mostly because I already had. Most of my 'scars' were inner ones; and Loki had picked at them pretty ruthlessly when we'd first met. One of my eyebrows rose up in a hopefully-dignified arch. "And you showed me, didn't you?" The other eyebrow went up. "I always kinda thought that you considered me your 'worst enemy'."

"That's strange." He answered, without pause. "I thought you considered me your friend."

The words seemed to come from straight inside of him; bypassing his usual walls and barriers, the tight lid he kept on everything he ever said. I blinked, startled. It took me a few moments to pull myself together enough to respond, to force a careless note into my voice. Still, despite the flippancy, I couldn't look at him as I said, "Well, yeah. I do. But I'd be an idiot if I thought that you felt the same."

He snorted; a soft, quiet sound. We both recognized the truth in those words, and, for some reason, that sent a strange pain flaring through me. I brushed it aside. No time for that. Not anymore.

There was a brief pause in the conversation. Then, a breath of a sigh escaped through Loki's lips. "Whether or not I view you as my enemy, Frost, there is still a great difference between you and the Avengers. The first of which being the simple truth that, eventually, you are going to discover everything about me; every secret that I have."

I rolled my eyes again as irritation forced away any lingering traces of pain. "Nope. I call bullshit." He gave me a flat look, and I elaborated. "You don't believe there is an 'eventually' anymore, Loki. Oh, sure, maybe you plan for it, just in case… but you showed me those scars right after you found out that Fraye was the same woman who had tortured you. At that point, you didn't think we'd last until the end of the day, let alone long enough for me to discover your deepest darkest secrets." I slouched back on the side of the couch, my back to the armrest, my arm dangling down over the edge. "So. Next?"

He didn't quite scowl. But his eyebrows did furrow together in irritation. "You also do not ask questions."

"Also bullshit. I probe things all the time. It's my nature."

"Not like the Avengers," he whispered softly, turning away. Ok. Now we were getting somewhere. I tried not to betray my interest as he smirked ruefully at the ground.

"The… intent behind your questions, however misguided, is always… honorable. You wish to help. Your methods are wildly erroneous; but your intent remains the same. The Avengers… ah…"

"Not so much," I filled in. He nodded grimly.

"And thus," He continued, "You did not ask what I am certain that they will. Because you did not believe it was a question necessary to help me." His face twisted a little on the word 'help', like he couldn't believe I was wasting my time with something so ridiculous, but he was pretty much used to that by now. And I was pretty used to him being totally against it; I barely batted an eye. Some days, he accepted it, took it for what it was… some days, he'd look at me as though wondering who in the hell thought it was a good idea to give me crack.

"And what question is that?" I asked carefully, gently, tiptoeing around each word.

He looked to me and sighed deeply. "You accepted the scars here for what they were." On 'here', he gestured to the inside of his forearm, then turned away, not meeting my eyes. "You did not ask to see the rest."

I frowned. I didn't see how that would be important. Unless there was something more; something he wasn't telling me. There usually was.

"When I told you that those scars were everywhere, you took me at my word. That is something that the Avengers are not prone to doing."

Ok. Ok, he had a point there. The Avengers couldn't afford to trust Loki, to take him at his word on anything. There might be questions like that; and if Loki showed reluctance in answering any of them, then suspicion would abound. It always did, around him. We needed the Avengers to trust us completely; as completely as possible.

Still… we had a better chance of that if we did show them the scars on his arm and not whatever else it was that he was trying to hide. But the risk that they'd force him to show them… I didn't like the odds of that working out in our favor. I started chewing my index fingernail, thinking.

And, of course, trying to keep my curiosity from overwhelming me. What didn't he want to show the Avengers? What was so bad that he didn't even want me to see it? Me, who had seen his other form, who had seen most every bleak secret he ever had, who knew his every thought and would one day know his soul? Me, of all people…?

But I forced that thought aside. I was trying to be logical. Reasonable.

It would be a risk, to be certain, if Loki showed those scars… but perhaps he could tell them that they were the only ones visible… no, no that wouldn't work. Why would Fraye only damage his arm? Why would a painter only color one corner of their canvas?

I sighed heavily. I didn't want to have to run. I didn't want to get caught afterwards. I didn't want him thrown in prison, with me locked away while the Avengers tried to 'fix' me, to cut the puppet's strings, to destroy the chains that supposedly bound me to Loki, made me his mind-controlled slave. I didn't want them to decide against us, to believe Fraye over me and Loki… and right now, telling the truth about what she did to him was the best proof we had.

Loki laughed quietly; it was such a pained sound that I found my eyes whipping to him. He'd been following my line of thought. Attentively. "Oh, it would certainly be more than enough proof." He muttered, more to himself than to me. But I caught it anyway.

I just didn't know what the hell it meant.

"Then why?" I asked him, feeling an old irritation smoldering beneath the surface of my skin. "Why won't you show them? It'll keep you out of your cell. Keep you out of the darkness. Keep you from being locked up in a cage until Fraye comes to retrieve you."

He winced; a gesture so subtle that, in the old days, I would have missed it. The very notion terrified him. But he kept his mouth shut.

I sulked. "Oh, come on. Give me something more than that." Still nothing. I started half-rambling."One logical reason. Any reason. Any reason at all! I don't care! I truthfully, honestly, do not give a cra…what are you doing?"

As I had been speaking, Loki had been standing up. I was about ready to roll my eyes and call him 'real mature' for 'running away from a conversation he didn't like', but he merely stood beside the couch that he had just risen from.

His long fingers quickly undid the buttons on his jacket. With swift-yet-precise movements, he slid it down off of his arms and draped it carefully over the cushion where he had just been sitting. Not for the first time in that conversation, my eyebrows shot straight up, hiding themselves beneath my matted bangs.

He wasn't looking at me any more; his back was turned to me as he gripped the hemline of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

"Ok. Probably not going to get an answer for this, but why, exactly, are you taking your shirt off?" I asked, giving him an incredulous look that he could not see with his back turned to me. He draped the shirt next to the jacket. Of course, his only reply was a cryptic one.

"You asked for a reason, Frost." He said; it was so low that I literally could not hear it; and had to rely on his thoughts to tell me what, exactly, he had said.

"No reason to strip, though," I grumbled, turning my face away, suddenly very aware that, though Loki was a 'part of me', he was also- ahem- a guy.

Loki didn't respond; to either my spoken words or to the embarrassment that was staining my cheeks a hot red. Though I was no longer looking at him, I knew his eyes closed, knew that he was focusing, bringing the magical energy in his veins towards his fingertips, letting it flow through him…

I identified the feeling, the movements; he was dropping an illusion. Allowing it to fade away. I remembered suddenly that this was what he had done to his arm- created an illusion of undamaged, unbroken skin to conceal the true horror beneath- and found myself turning to look at him, the pieces clicking into place.

I expected to see scars, to see damage, to see something beyond repair.

I didn't expect this.

My breath caught in my throat, clogging any words that thought they might have a chance at life. My embarrassment was forgotten in an instant, because my emotions had been quelled by instinct: an instinct to protect, to help, to fix that which was broken.

I barely realized that I'd gotten up off the couch until I was standing directly behind Loki. My hand reached out for the scars that cut across his shoulder blades, fingertips quivering. It was instinctual. See wound, assess the damage, then heal it. An age-old process for an age-old fact of life; the fact that people will always be damaged somewhere.

There were scars everywhere across his back; hardly an inch of his skin remained unblemished, and that was more than enough to make me hate Fraye, more than enough to explain everything to me. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Not even close.

My fingers brushed very, very lightly against the scars that went horizontally across his shoulder blades; the deepest, ugliest, and clearly the most painful of them all, lash-marked into his skin. They were pure black around the edges, ugly burn marks bubbling up all around them…

But the ugliness of them did not concern Loki; the Avengers had already seen how ugly these scars could be. No, it was something worse: because engraved there, written there, inscribed in his misery, were three words.

They weren't written in English; they weren't even written in any type of Asgardian text; no, the four strange symbols there were very distinctly Jotun. I recognized them, of course; Loki was well versed in reading and writing in most of the languages of the nine realms; and that more than included his true home world. Thor, too, would have recognized this, should he lay eyes on it; they were the children of royalty and were educated as such.

I swallowed hard as I stared at the name in Loki's shoulders:

Child of Shadow.

It was such a loose translation; it couldn't quite describe the true horror behind each and every one of those four symbols. Fraye had earned herself a title entirely separate in the Jotun text, a 'name' that had no real translated equal.

But, since its inscription into Loki's shoulders, and since he had learned the Shadow Child's real name, he had realized it bore a very close resemblance to another group of symbols: one whose meaning, quite simply, was "The Red Mists in Battle."

Or, more accurately, "The Fray."

Each symbol, these ones that represented her name, her every Jotun Title… they stared at me, watching me, mocking me. I made a weird noise in the back of my throat as I just barely managed to hold in my choked scream. Loki wasn't looking at me; he kept his back towards me, his gaze on the ground. He hated this. He hated showing this to me. But really, what was the point in hiding it? We were part of the same person. Two halves, one whole. Loki and Natalie, Natalie and Loki, never separate, knowing everything about each other… our names were practically interchangeable…

"Could you do it?" His words were less of a whisper and more of a rasp as he repeated the question he had posed to me earlier. The one that I had posed to Natasha the night before. My fingers finally brushed against the scarred word as he continued, "The Avengers are my enemies, Natalie, but they are your friends. Could you do it? As close as you are to them, could you show them this?"

I swallowed. I didn't answer. I didn't have to. If this was me, if these characters had been cut and burned and shadow-marked into my skin, then there is no way in hell that I could have shown anyone. Not even the Avengers. Especially not the Avengers. Even if most of them wouldn't be able to translate, there would be one who could: Thor. And he would share its true meaning with them without hesitation. No, the only person I'd even consider showing was Loki; for the same exact reason that he was showing me.

"She branded me, Miss Frost." His voice trembled. "She claimed me, she-" He couldn't keep talking. He couldn't say another word. I carefully ran my hand over the scarred area; despite how his skin was usually freezing-ass cold, beneath my fingertips the damaged tissue burned with a feverish, sickly kind of heat.

I was shaking, too. Fearful and pain-filled at first, it morphed quickly into the rage that was so ever-present these days. "She marked her territory," I found the words slipping out. "Like an animal." I looked at him, tearing my eyes away from the word on his back so that I could look at his face instead; as much as I could see of it, at this weird angle. "Is that why she said she 'owns' you? Because of this?"

He nodded once, mutely. I pulled my hand off of the injured tissue, and I heard him hiss in a painful breath through his teeth.

"They still hurt?"

"Shadow Wounds never heal," He reminded me, turning to the side, so that I was studying his profile. From this angle, I could see a few nasty scars on his chest, too, and I found myself wincing. "I can… forget it, from time to time. But they are always there." He scooped his shirt up from the couch and pulled it over his head, pulling it down firmly, closing off this weakness again. The scars still showed on his arms, though; he hadn't put up the illusion. Yet.

"And you never went to a proper Healer to get them looked at." I guessed, sighing heavily.

"Would you have?"

Nope.

"I get your point, all right?" I said, the words cracked. I blinked away the blurriness in my vision. Loki draped his jacket over his shoulders and placed his arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up with deft fingers.

I waited until he had reestablished the illusion of real, undamaged skin and sat down before I said anything more. I sat down after he did, directly beside him, my hand automatically reaching out to take his. Neither of us really noticed when our fingers intertwined.

"Loki…" I said slowly. "I'm sorry. I… I shouldn't have asked."

"You would have found out eventually," he said, but his words seemed to come from far away, some distant land that only he was aware of. He wasn't even looking directly at me.

"She… she carved her name into your skin. I just…" I ran my hand down my face, abruptly exhausted. "I just… I hate her. I hate her guts."

"Yes, you've made that quite apparent." Loki still seemed in shock by the fact that he'd even shown me at all. The emptiness in his eyes seemed to be created half by his rage that I now knew, and half by his bewilderment that he had told me this secret himself. His hand, I realized, was shaking just slightly in mine, despite his vacant stare.

"I can't see how anything would be that cruel," I looked at him. "To anyone." I swallowed. "Especially if they were telepathic… if they knew exactly what would hurt someone the worst…" I shook my head, very, very slowly. "I mean, what a bitch."

He seemed to fight rolling his eyes. My eyes kept darting to his back, as though I could still see the scarred area through his shirt; not to mention the illusion. But even though I couldn't see them, those scars were still burned into the back of my retinas, branded onto my mind, just as they had been on his back. Fraye had laid claim to him, had marked him as 'hers' in a way that would remain with him for the rest of his life; regardless of what we did to stop Fraye. She would always own him, even long after she was dead and buried.

I squeezed his hand a little tighter; for the first time, he noticed that we were actually… holding hands. He looked down at our interlaced fingers with a blank stare. I wasn't sure how to describe what he felt about it; mostly because he wasn't sure how he felt about it. But I'm pretty sure that neither of us really cared; it was kinda… normal, by this point.

"She doesn't own you, you know," I said after a quiet moment. I felt his eyes on the side of my face, but kept my own gaze on our hands. "No matter what she did to you… you're not hers." I bit my lip, trying to explain what I was thinking, trying to get my words exactly right. "You know how I view these things, right? She can do a lot of things to you, but there are some things that she just… can't take? Things that you have to give to her? Like… your dignity?"

Of course he recognized this. It was my constant view on most situations involving megalomaniacal bad guys. (Which was pretty depressing, that I actually had to have a view on that situation; since that situation occurred so frequently in my life.) As far as I was concerned, a person could cause you pain and take your life… but you had to give them your dignity. And, in some situations, you had to let them make you afraid. Then, and only then, could a person possibly own you.

But Loki merely sighed. "And look where that view has gotten you." He said, light sarcasm brushing across his words. "Willing to run away from your friends and family in service of a man whom you've always hated."

"I don't hate you," I corrected him swiftly. "And it sure as hell would not be in your service. It's for my planet."

"So you keep trying to believe."

I scowled. He was getting annoying again. Reminding myself that this was just his way of coping, I kept from biting out an acidic remark. Barely.

Instead, I told him, "That doesn't make my views any less valid. You don't have to let Fraye convince you that she owns you; because she doesn't."

There was a lengthy silence as Loki looked at me. For a long moment, he just sort of… stared at me. Blank, and empty, this shell of a person that had always seemed so broken to me… But then, something seemed to occur to him; something way off-topic, something that actually had him… smiling.

He suppressed it quickly, looking away. "Given… the state of things… I'm afraid I'm having a hard time taking anything you say seriously, Frost," he told me, his words broken as he tried oh-so-diplomatically to find the right words. His eyes were on the ground, away from me, and he was still smothering a half-grin.

I, on the other hand, scowled. The look on his face was highly condescending; the same look he usually had when he decided to disregard everything I was saying because, well, I was human. "Why?" I demanded. "Because I'm mortal? Is that it?"

He shook his head, still not looking at me. "It has more to do with your… ah…" He hesitated, his eyes clicking back on me for just a fraction of a second before darting away again. "Current state, than your birth one."

My nose wrinkled. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Loki, seeing as I still wasn't getting it, kept his smile hidden as he looked back to me, pointing out, "You are still in your nightwear."

"No!" It was complete denial. I didn't even look down to check for a moment. "No, no way, it's not possible!" My eyes went down at last, and I cursed. He was right. He was absolutely freaking right. Mis-matched PJs, with a baby-blue, holey T-shirt that had little yellow moons and white pants with green polka dots. A laugh slipped through my lips.

And now I saw what was so funny. Once the laughter started, it didn't stop; because it was so inevitable. This morning alone, I had been woken up by a killer of worlds, who, in the course of three minutes, had turned almost every one of my so-called 'friends' against me. I was practically on trial for my life here; in that I would almost certainly die if the right decision wasn't made. I was locked in the same room as the Norse god of Mischief, who might have killed me when I told him about Natasha's discovery of his darkest secret -but thankfully didn't- and then he'd shown me an even darker one.

And I, by the simple virtue of being Natalie Freaking Frost, was still in my damn Pajamas.

"I am going to die in these things!" I exclaimed, burying my face in my hands and trying very hard to hold back the near-hysterical laughter. Loki, though he was not laughing with me, was actually smiling for the first time in a very long time; a smile that was almost -almost- genuine. "I am going to die just like this! That is going to be my epitaph: 'Natalie Frost: Died in her PJs. Looked Like an Idiot.' And everyone I've ever known and loved is going to just look at each other, say 'yep', and walk away." I threw my hands into the air. "I give up! I just give up, already! That is it, I am way too human for this crap!"

That elicited the smallest of chuckles from Loki. As my hand fell back down again, his fingers wrapped around it; instinctual, unthinking. His gaze turned away from me as I sighed deeply.

After I'd fallen quiet for a moment, he told me softly, "You have always been too human, Frost."

I didn't reply.

There was nothing to say.