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.

11. A Sobering Thought

A/N: Hey! It's the-author-apologizes-for-late-chapter-update time again! YAY!

-_- So I made it extra long this time, mmkay? Don't be too mad, this chapter ran into a lot of problems.

Also, in response to my guest reviewer (Guest): I saw the Youtube video of Tom Hiddleston at Comic Con. I thought it was absolutely hilarious, fantastic, and that he had way too much fun with it. :D

---

We allowed JARVIS access back into the room after a while. Loki dropped the illusion, and the two of us decided to use our time as prisoners to our advantage. Following our conversation, we did not talk; merely sat together, on the floor, our minds merging. Practicing again. I'd flicked off the light, so that Loki and I could become more used to fighting his fear of the dark whilst simultaneously having our little Battle-Forged-Bond working to our advantage. JARVIS eventually turned the light back on, claiming that it was Stark's insistence, that he wanted to be able to keep a proper eye on us. I bitched and moaned for a while, but Loki returned me to the task at hand. We had work to do. Even if they Avengers thought they had time to take off for this petty charade of a decision, we knew that we did not.

It was noon by the time Banner entered the room, carrying a tray of food. Loki and I separated, and again, it made me feel almost sick as I stumbled to my feet. Loki even pressed his fingers against his temple, trying to quell the sharp pain that came with this sudden, unnerving loss of his second half. I tried to walk as straight as possible over to Bruce, but I was certain that I went in zig-zags.

The Hulk-in-Human-Clothing held up two trays. "Lunch," he said politely, setting them down on the nearby table.

"Thanks," I said, genuinely grateful. As Bruce set down the second tray and brushed his hands off, I picked up an apple and bit down into it. I'd forgotten how much I hated apples. But I found myself eating it, anyway.

"How goes it in there?" I asked, wiping juice off of my chin with the back of my hand, wishing he'd brought a napkin.

"Well, I'm not supposed to talk to you," he told me. "So there's that."

I lifted both eyebrows. "Yeah, but you don't care." It wasn't a question.

He smiled very lightly. "Not in the slightest." he agreed. Loki still remained seated on the other end of the room, and though Banner knew very well that he was speaking to both of us no matter how loud or quiet his voice was, he still lowered it down to a whisper. "Natasha's fighting tooth and nail to make sure everyone believes you. Clint is completely opposed to letting him" –he gestured to Loki- "Stay here. Thor agrees with Natasha; as do I. But Stark and Steve aren't convinced."

Steve. Steve didn't believe me. Didn't believe in me.

For some reason, this stung more than anything else. I hadn't expected Clint to be on our side, or even Stark, really. Hell, I hadn't even been certain about Thor. But Steve… Well, like Banner, I'd assumed that it wouldn't even be a choice for him.

I guessed I was wrong. Loki winced at the other end of the room; our emotions always affected each other a lot worse after we'd been that intertwined.

"It's really Stark that we need to be worried about." Banner added. "Majority rules don't mean anything without him."

Loki frowned. "Why?"

Banner seemed unsurprised that he'd spoken. Or, at least, he didn't seem as surprised as Loki did. "His Tower, his rules." Bruce explained. "If he decides that you're out, then you're out; at least until we find a place with enough security to hold you. And the only other option seems to be the Helicarrier."

As one, Loki's and my hand fell to our wrists. I tugged down my sleeve, to ensure the Key was covered. Security, we both knew, was not an issue. "The Helicarrier's no good," I put in. "The Council will never allow it. And besides. We have to be… you know. Grounded."

Banner nodded. "Agreed. Which means that Stark has to agree. Or…"

"Or we're screwed," I filled in glumly.

"Pretty much, yes."

Loki and I sighed quietly together. "Thanks, Bruce," I said, genuinely grateful.

He nodded and turned away, heading for the door; again, no one seemed more surprised than Loki was when he spoke up. "Doctor Banner?"

Bruce half-turned back, looking over his shoulder. "Yes?"

"What convinced you?" Loki inquired. "Why do you believe that Natalie is not simply… my puppet?"

Bruce considered, then turned to face Loki completely, face-to-face. He raised his shoulders about an inch before letting them fall again. "Because she's not that weak."

"Neither was Barton."

Bruce smiled softly, nodding slowly. "True," he agreed. "But Natalie forgave you. Barton didn't." His white teeth showed in the wryest of smiles. "And in a lot of ways… letting go of anger… is the hardest thing you can do." He turned away. "There is more than one kind of strength. And I think you both know that."

He was out the door before either of us could think of a proper response.

There was a long, hollow silence ringing in the room as Loki and I both considered the doctor's words.

"You know," I said at last, breaking the quiet into a thousand hopeless pieces, "The Hulk is one scary dude. But when Banner gets all philosophical n'shit? The man downright terrifies me."

---

"I don't see how this is an issue, Natasha!" Clint hissed, speaking directly to his partner despite the fact that the whole group was listening in.

"Clint, trust me," Natasha said, and though she was just as vehement, her voice was lower than his. "You don't have all of the information."

"And you do?"

She pressed her fingers against her temple. "Look, I know you're angry at Loki, but if you can just look past that, just once, you'd see it for yourself! It's obvious that Fraye hurt him, and you're acting so… blind!"

Clint slammed his hands onto the table, leaning on them. He and Natasha were both standing, face-to-face, not backing down. Around the room, the other Avengers sat with varying degrees of interest and exasperation. Steve was watching the two as their voices rose, readying himself to get between them should things come to blows. Stark looked bored, but his eyes were locked on the two of them as well. Thor seemed utterly exhausted, drained from the continuing fighting, and Banner was watching everything with a neutral expression. They all sat around the holo-table of the meeting room, and, as usual, nothing had been settled yet.

My mother and father had been allowed to stay in the room. My father's opinion had been made very clear from the beginning; he agreed with Clint. Fraye was obviously just another pawn in Loki's game; not the other way around. Once he had voiced this opinion, he and my mother had remained as silent watchers of the meeting's events, rarely-but sometimes- giving input on the situation. My mother's opinion had not been voiced, but it was assumed that she agreed with her husband.

"This isn't about Loki!" Clint shouted at the Black Widow. It was so rare that the two ever disagreed on anything, but the novelty of this new group dynamic had worn thin after the first two hours of fighting and discordance. "This is about Natalie! Her and that telepathic link! We should've seen this coming from the beginning! In fact, we did see this coming from the beginning!"

"He has a point, Natasha," Steve voiced quietly, trying to edge into the conversation, if only to temper it slightly. "It's always been a concern; whether or not Loki could gain control of Natalie through their mental connection."

"It is not likely," Thor put in, looking frustrated. "That connection is not an offensive type of magic. It is not meant to be used to control someone; it is meant to be used to understand them."

"That doesn't mean it's impossible," Clint pointed out. "He brainwashed me, didn't he? And I was perfectly happy to follow any one of his orders; so Natalie's emotions won't 'damage' him, because she'll be willing to go along with everything he asks!"

"He brainwashed you with the Chitauri's spear," Banner pointed out. "Not a mental link."

"A weapon that he now has in his possession!" Clint protested. "Stark, you have to see that he is dangerous! At the least, at the very least, that spear needs to be removed!"

"Natalie and Loki have been in that room for the past few hours, Barton," Natasha noted with a hostile tone. "Both of them are fully capable of escaping this Tower together, if they were so inclined. They are both fully armed. And they haven't even made an attempt."

"Because they know that they've got you wrapped around their fingers!" Barton snarled. "You're as much his puppet as she is!"

Natasha flinched, a barely perceptible movement. But Barton obviously saw it; and for a moment, his eyes softened. He hesitated, faltering in his argument. That one went too far and he knew it.

But Romanoff's eyes turned to steel. She looked to the Captain. "Rogers, you know Natalie better than most of us. You have to know that she is harmless. She's incapable of killing anyone; even under duress."

"Even under brainwashing?" Steve shook his head. "I can't guarantee that. Barton's right; he followed Loki's orders without question. He went where he was told to go and killed anyone who he was told had to die. Why wouldn't Natalie do the same?"

"Barton already had blood on his hands." Natasha answered coldly. "And right now, Natalie doesn't."

"What's that supposed to mean, Nat?" Clint demanded, immediately on the defensive again.

"It means the same thing for all of us, Clint." She responded, razors in her words. Her eyes touched those of everyone in the room, though they forwent my parents'. "There isn't a single person at this table that doesn't have blood on our hands. That hasn't been forced to kill. Now, given her line of work, I'm sure that Natalie will be faced with the same decision someday; but right now, she hasn't. And maybe that could make the difference."

"We can't rely on 'maybe'." Clint shook his head. "You saw how she was. She may not be a killer, but Natalie is far from perfect. She's putting Loki ahead of us, she's disregarding orders in favor of what he tells her… We should have seen this coming from the instant she said that she wasn't going to break the link with him. We should have seen this then. I mean, she just lost her best friend, for crying out loud, what sane, rational person would then permanently graft their mind onto the mind their best friend's murderer?!" He shook his head, a surprisingly violent gesture in his anger. "We should have seen it then, and we're blind if we don't see it now."

"You're wrong."

The words were not shouted. The voice did not rise above that of normal conversation. It was flat and toneless, and yet, everyone in the room fell silent to hear it. It came from the most unlikely of sources; after all, there wasn't a single person in that room-least of all Anna Rose herself- who had expected my mother to voice an opinion in this particular meeting.

But now, her words held a certain odd strength as she looked directly at Clint. "You're wrong." She repeated, standing.

"Anna!" Cameron hissed through his teeth, but she brushed him off.

"Hush, you," She growled. "I spent thirteen years with that child alone. And there were plenty of times before you left that you still did not see. I know my daughter. And I will not have anyone," her eyes darted to the Avengers, zeroing in on the Hawk, "Least of all a bunch of costumed freaks, villainizing her because of who she is."

"Mrs. Frost," Tony spoke up; but she raised a hand, quick, and cut him off. The Power of a Mom: she's one of the few people in the world who can get Tony Stark to shut up.

"I don't know what Loki has and hasn't done to Natalie." My mother went on. "I don't know if she's been turned into his puppet, or if she is doing everything of her own free will. But I can tell you right now that her decision to make her link permanent with Loki was hers and no one else's."

She walked directly up to the table. No one tried to stop her; in fact, Natasha even took a few steps back so that she could take 'center stage', so to speak.

Anna Rose sighed deeply. "It was the most terrifying moment of my life, when I discovered what Natalie had been doing, and when she told me that she was never going to remove her connection to this man… but it was also the proudest." There was no doubting the sincerity in my mom's words. "And to be honest… I wasn't surprised. Not in the slightest."

There was a brief moment of silence as my mother contemplated whether or not her point had completely gotten through. She clearly decided that it had not, for she asked, "Do any of you even know how she met April in the first place?"

Confused looks swept the table. It was an odd question; and so far off topic as to be almost ridiculous. But, after a moment, a few of them shook their heads no.

"They were friends since they were in the cradle, right?" Steve asked, seeming more willing to go along with my mother's out-of-the-blue question, more willing to believe that it would conclude on a relevant topic. I talked with Steve about April more than I talked to anyone else about her, so if anyone would know, it would be him.

My mother, however, smiled softly and shook her head. "No." Steve's eyebrows furrowed, and she went on, "I'm not surprised no one knows; I don't think even Natalie herself remembers."

Anna Rose pulled up a seat at the holo-table. The Avengers did not seem surprised by this; but my father was. His eyes widened, as though wondering if everyone was going to turn crazy on him.

"They were in preschool. Natalie was maybe four. She had a few friends, but no one close; she wasn't old enough to have anyone she was too close to. No 'best' friends, not yet. But she played along with the other children, perfectly sociable. She shared her toys and helped others when they fell down, and the others did the same for her. She barely knew April's name.

"But she had this toy; a nice shiny little car that was her absolute favorite. Oh, she had dolls and blankets and things that she loved; but there was nothing like this car. There was no particular reason why it was her favorite; it just was. She loved it, and she never, never shared it with anyone. She'd get upset if people called her selfish for not sharing, but she just didn't want it to get damaged. It was precious to her. A child's favorite toy is always a precious thing to them.

"One day, April asked to play with it. Natalie, tired of her teachers and the other students getting upset with her for not 'sharing', handed it over. Though she did hover next to April's shoulder like a crazy person." My mother chuckled softly. "And of course, what should happen the second she turns away? The car breaks. April sent it rolling, and lost control of it. It ran right into one of the other kids, who was running nearby, and it was stepped on. Crushed. Irreparable. Damaged beyond repair.

"Natalie was heartbroken, and furious. It didn't matter how many times April said she was sorry, Natalie hated her for breaking that which was most precious to her. She tried to get a teacher to fix it. Teacher couldn't do it. She brought it home to me to fix it; I couldn't do it. Her father couldn't do it."

Vague recognition sparked in Cameron's eyes, but he shook it off after a moment. He didn't always have the clearest memories of my childhood. Not anymore.

"Natalie was… devastated. She went to school every day, and every day April would say she was sorry, and every day Natalie would say she didn't believe her. She said that it was all her fault. That she meant to do it." Anna Rose shook her head back and forth. "She was a little terror sometimes, I swear, but she was angry. And she thought she had a right to be.

"Now, from an adult's perspective, a 'mature' perspective," My mother's eyes darted to Thor and back as she said this, "It doesn't seem like anything. A broken toy is just a broken toy. Get over it. But to a child, that means everything; and Natalie can certainly hold a grudge, if so inclined. I tried so many times to get her to just forgive April; and, since it was her absolute favorite, we tried to get a replacement. But of course, nothing worked; it wasn't her toy. It was some weird plastic thing in a box. It didn't have the heart that she'd poured into her own in all those years of playing with it.

"A little while passed. Natalie was always very into the idea of heroes and villains, good guys and bad guys, and she had convinced herself that she was the good guy, and April the bad. That she had every right to hate April for what she'd done. She had convinced herself of this; to the extent that I thought she'd never get along with April again. I literally thought that the two of them would be at each other's throats for at least a few years, until they were adults and perhaps old enough to see past it; if then."

There was a long pause in my mother's story as she took a moment to collect herself. Everyone stayed quiet. Listening. She held a quiet authority all her own; something that they hadn't truly realized until this moment.

After a while, however, my mother continued. "A few weeks after this happened, Cameron was out of the house. It had been a particularly nasty fight, and he hadn't been home in a few days; in fact, before he left, he had called Natalie a 'Nightmare', with her in earshot." My father winced, but my mother didn't even blink. She went on, "It was not our last fight, but it still held an impact on her. She didn't speak for a very, very long time. She was very quiet.

"She started to get very interested in earning money. She did little chores around the house, earning a nickel or quarter for whatever she could do. Finally, she'd earned what she clearly thought was enough, and after school, she asked if I would take her to the store. I did, and she seemed to know what she wanted pretty immediately.

"They were the cheapest pair of friendship bracelets you'll ever see in your life; but I know for a fact that Natalie still has hers. It's so small that it'd never fit her anymore, but it's still in her room. She paid for it herself, and didn't say anything to me about it. I assumed that she'd made a good friend in her class and left it at that; I knew better than to ask too many questions from Natalie after these… disagreements with Cameron. She never answered.

"She had them in her hands during the car ride to preschool the next day. Small, plastic pinks bands; one with the word 'Best' written on it, and the other one with the word 'Friends'. I dropped her off at school and thought nothing of it when she came home wearing the 'Best' one. But after that, I saw her playing with April again. And after a while, the two were nigh inseparable.

"I didn't make the connection between the two events until I met up with a teacher, later; and she told me the whole story. That day at lunch, Natalie had sat down next to April, who had become almost afraid of Natalie after so long. It had only been an accident, after all. So she was… startled, I'm sure.

"And then Natalie shoved the 'Friends' bracelet towards April, making it very clear that the other one was on her wrist. 'Here,' she said, plain as day. 'Take it.' When April did, Natalie said, 'Now you're the good guy again. So I don't have to be mad at you any more.'"

There was silence for a beat. Then, quietly, my mother said, "She has always been this way. She has always destroyed her 'enemies' by befriending them." She took a deep breath and said, with a harder undertone, "Say what you will about her actions now. But never question that her decision to stay with Loki was her own. Because you will always be wrong."

Her eyes were alight as they locked on Clint; the assassin didn't look away.

"No offense, Mrs. Frost, but we're not talking about a broken toy car, here." Barton said in a dark tone. "A kid can forgive a person for breaking their toy because they've got no choice. But not something like that. Not for killing someone that close to them. You knew their relationship; the two were practically sisters! No one can forgive that! No one can simply…forget that, just for the sake of helping someone they hate!"

"No one can?" My mother asked, lifting one eyebrow. "Or just you?"

Ringing, echoing, deafening silence.

Clint's hands clenched in fists.

"And that is exactly what we are talking about," My mother went on. She didn't seem to notice the absolute bloodlust that had sparked in Clint's eyes. He was going to kill something. Probably Loki, but whatever was in arm's reach was good, too. Stark moved away a bit.

"And Natalie knows it. Because as far as Loki was concerned, that was all April was. Natalie's favorite toy." Thor flinched. It was an accurate description, actually. "He broke her and he didn't understand why it hurt so badly. So Natalie showed him." My mother stood. "I repeat. Whatever Natalie is doing now may or may not be under his control. But that decision is where this all started; and that decision was hers." She turned away. "And now the decision is yours. I hope you make the right one."

She took a few steps and walked right out the door.

There was a very, very, very long silence following her words. And then Cameron sighed very heavily; almost theatrically so.

"What?" he demanded harshly. "You didn't think Natalie got that psychology gene from me, did you?"

---

I think I passed out for almost an hour before Loki shook me awake. Well, I say 'shook'. In reality, I kinda fell asleep on his arm; and when the door opened, he didn't bother trying to wake me up before yanking said arm out from under my head roughly and standing upright, so that the upper half of my body fell onto the couch cushions. I snapped awake, then scrambled to my feet as I saw Clint entering the room.

I'd meant to shift myself in front of Loki, to keep him from being attacked if the Avengers had decided against him. But as I stood up, I realized that Loki had the exact same idea, because he was standing in front of me in a very subtly protective stance. I'll admit, even though I knew it was just because of the link, the gesture almost made me smile. On a better day, I probably would have grinned.

Clint eyed us both and scowled. Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, he said, "Conference room. Both of you. Now."

Loki and I didn't exactly share a 'look', but our minds did kinda nudge against each other. Double-checking the other's intentions. Making sure we both agreed to move forwards in the same way.

The two of us followed Clint out of the room. I saw it as a bad sign that they'd sent the Hawk; if he'd been so against Loki staying here, then it was unlikely that they'd send him to fetch us if they were on our side.

Our side. Him. I hated this sudden redefining of the boundaries, this sudden Us vs. Them that had come into play. Ugh, I swear, it was enough to make me turn into a hippie. Why can't we be friends, why can't we be friends…

Or maybe this: Help! I need somebody, Help! Not just anybody, HELP!

Yep, I was losing it. I shook my head out a little, trying to clear away the lingering sleepiness. I was surprised that Loki let me nap for even a while; but then, with my anxiety out of the way, his might have been a bit more manageable. I knew the feeling. I'd been there before.

We entered the conference room together, trailing just behind Clint. I immediately started reading faces, scanning them all, but Loki's eyes went straight for Thor. He was always the open book; if we'd get any information ahead of schedule, it would be from him.

The Norse god of Thunder was smiling at us tragically. That could be a good thing or a bad thing; he was on our side, so he could be sorry about what he was about to do, or just sorry that all of this had happened in the first place. My gaze clapped onto Steve, but his features were neutral. Not that I'd have gotten much from him, anyway. I still didn't know what side he was on.

I looked, instead, to Banner. But none of these faces were giving us any information. My fingers brushed against Loki's, but I pulled them back before I could hold his hand, making it look like an accident. Of course. We were in front of the Avengers. We were putting on a show for them. We were two people now. We were lies.

Stark sat at head of the conference table, the others arranged loosely around it. My parents were nowhere to be found. Tony pointed to the seats closest to the door, farthest from him.

"Sit."

Loki made as if to do so. I, on the other hand, got irritated. "Say please." I answered, folding my arms over my chest. Loki rolled his eyes and seemed ready to lead me to the seat anyway, but I kept my feet rooted and my eyes on Stark. Loki glanced between the two of us, vaguely nervous.

"Please," Stark corrected himself.

I sat down. Loki clenched his teeth and did the same.

You're a fool, Frost.

Quite possibly.

The exchange lasted less than a second. Stark took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.

"All right," he announced. "The majority has decided. More importantly, I have decided." His eyes shifted to Loki. "You're staying. Anyone who has a problem with it can go. Anyone who tries to stop either of you can go. And anyone without a good attitude about the whole thing can go." He crossed his arms over his chest, half-covering the little arc reactor there. "Loki stays on his designated floors. Natalie stays with Loki." His eyes went around to everyone. "She's part of the team. And he's part of her. If we can't trust our own team, then we might as well shoot ourselves right now. Clear enough?"

I stared. Stared for a little longer. The words slowly sank in. I think I could have hugged Tony Stark right then. A proper, bone-crushing, spine-shattering, rib-reorganizing bear hug. Instead, however, I cleared my throat and, looking down, mumbled, "Thanks, Tone."

"Majority vote, Pizza Girl." He shrugged, as though it couldn't possibly matter less. "Fact is, we trust this slimy creep a lot more than we trust ol' Shadow-Breath, any day. At least him, we can beat up."

I still felt kinda glowy inside, despite his attempts to blow off all sentimentality. Thor clapped a giant hand on my back, and I realized that the other Avengers were trickling out of the room; and that they had been for a while. Thor's little gesture was one of farewell. I lifted an eyebrow. Tony was still looking at us both.

"Clint wants us to put double guards outside of your doors," Tony said, his voice lowering now that a large number of Avengers had dispersed. It was only him and the Cap left. "Both of your doors, I might add."

I exchanged a look with Loki; one of those long stares that made it look like we were 'talking' to each other, when in reality we were just… well, looking. Like normal people. "I'm cool with it." I said after a moment.

"Well, I'm not." Stark said. "We can't afford this useless, petty shit."

"Fraye managed to attack us as a very vulnerable point in time," Steve spoke up; and just like that, we were discussing strategy again. Or at least, getting up to speed on the Avengers' strategy. "When we went to retrieve your mother, we had just been training. The team was divided. We were tired and split apart and not at our best. We have to make sure that doesn't happen again." He looked at me and Loki, his gaze going back and forth between the two of us. However he had voted, he had clearly accepted Tony's rules on 'no hostilities among the team'.

"From now on, we are not all going to train at once. And we can no longer afford to keep a guard on Loki 24/7. And, given the number of times he's been left alone in the past few days, even if only for a few minutes, it's pretty clear that was never going to work, anyway." Steve pointed to me. "To the best of your abilities, however, we want you to stick to him like glue."

My eyes were wide. Two minutes ago, I'd been worried about Loki being thrown out of the Tower and sent back to Asgard. Now, they were giving him more freedom? What kind of sick punch line was about to hit me in the face?

"Clint's determined to sleep outside of your rooms, at the very least," Tony said, shaking his head slowly. "But other than that, I think you'll be left alone."

I looked down. Loki didn't seem to know where to look, so his eyes had phased out at a point somewhere to Stark's left.

"Training schedule will be on the fridge tomorrow morning," Tony added, walking to the exit; he stopped just beside Loki and placed a hand on his shoulder. I would've thought it a strangely friendly gesture if his fingers didn't dig into the Asgardian's shoulder so painfully.

"Welcome to the team," he said, dripping sarcasm, then left the room. Now it was only us and Steve left.

The room was quiet following Stark's exit. Subtracting Tony from the equation usually tends to make everything equal 'silence'. My mind was tumbling, trying to figure everything out. Of course, their reasons made sense and their plans were good ones; but why in the hell would they listen to reason now, directly after the single most unreasonable thing to ever happen in my life just… well, happened?

Steve stood slowly. "Welcome to the team," he echoed Stark's sardonic sentiment, heading towards the exit. Leaving us alone. Trusting us alone. It was… unreal. And all so fast, all too fast…

"Wait!" I called, whirling around just as he was a foot away from the door. He turned to me as I stood, almost falling out of my chair in my scramble to pull myself to my feet. "Wait," I panted, jogging those few steps up to him.

"Is this what you wanted?" I demanded, because it was suddenly very, very important that I know. My throat was clogged. Why was it clogged? It wasn't like I'd been that upset when I found out that Steve had contemplated believing Fraye, not like I couldn't live if I found out that he had decided against me…

Ok. Yes it was.

"Do you believe us? Regardless of Stark's rules? Do you believe me, Steve?"

His eyes tightened as they found mine. I looked up at him, trying to keep the pleading notes from my words. They slipped in, anyway, bleeding through the web of cracks.

After a long moment, he sighed. "The only person who voted to send him back to Asgard was Clint. The rest of us believe you, Natalie. Of course we do. We've been through too much not to."

And then… he just turned around and left.

---

Loki and I were still reeling a few hours later. The windows had gone dark, and the two of us had kept mostly to ourselves throughout the day; but not because the Avengers had ostracized us. On the contrary; they seemed to be friendlier to Loki than they had ever been (with Clint as the glaring exception). They even made eye contact with him, wonder of wonders. They were making an effort. It was not something that anyone had expected; but I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't something that I'd hoped for.

The two of us were walking back from the library together, pretending like nothing was wrong. Like nothing had happened. We had fallen into our old rhythm, (or at the very least, had pretended to, for JARVIS' sake) and were currently in a heated discussion about the Hunger Games. Well, I was in a heated discussion about it. Loki thought I was crazy, as usual.

"They're decent books, you know!" I protested as Loki shifted the large tome he'd retrieved under his arm; a collection of Shakespeare's works. The closest thing to 'tolerable' in Stark's Midgardian collection. "It wouldn't kill you to read something outside of Ye Olde English from time to time."

"You have read them four times, Frost. I know the basic storyline."

"What, you've never re-read a book a day in your life?"

"The characters are both mortal and fictional. Neither of which make them worth investing my time."

"Romeo and Juliet are mortals, too." I pointed out, jabbing a finger towards his book. "Macbeth, Cleopatra-she wasn't fictional, but you get the point- all of these people! You're still reading about them!"

He sighed heavily, exasperatedly. "Enough, Frost."

"Ok, not the Hunger Games, then, but come on! There's gotta be something that's more modern that you might like!"

"Nothing 'modern' holds my interest. And I do not see why you are so concerned with this."

"What if it's the last book you ever read in your life, huh? You really wanna be known as 'that dude who wouldn't even expand his horizons when a destroyer of worlds came knocking'?"

"Who will be around to call me as such?" He asked, dark humor in his eyes.

I was about to bite out a sharp remark when we passed by an open doorway; we were headed to the elevator, not this room, so we would have walked right past if it had not been for Loki, catching sight of a flash of red hair inside. He halted as I kept going, "Even so, you can't be totally blind to-"

Noticing that he had stopped, I skidded to a halt, turning to him. "Loki? What's wrong?"

He paused, considering. Recognizing his intent, my eyebrows rose, somewhat skeptic, and a little startled. I gave him a long, hard look as he debated with himself. After a moment, however, he held the book out to me, handing it over.

I didn't protest, taking it from him. "See you later, then?"

He nodded once and turned away from me. I shook my head a few times, a slow and somewhat bemused gesture, then tucked his book under my arms with my own, and headed up to deposit it in his room.

Loki stood outside of the doorway, just outside of the room's occupant's line of sight. He took a brief moment to collect his thoughts, then walked inside, silently and-above all- very, very carefully.

Natasha didn't seem to be doing anything. There was a file lying open in her lap and soft music was playing from the radio, but her gaze was turned to the window and was clearly far away from here. Loki knew that she was aware of his entrance into the room, but still she did not react, did not turn to him, didn't even blink.

The two didn't say anything for a while; perhaps because they didn't wish to, perhaps because they couldn't. But, in the end, it was Loki who broke the silence.

"It was not his doing."

Natasha blinked once, then turned her head to him, looking at him blankly. "Sorry?" She asked the question but did not bother to feign interest in the answer. Or perhaps she was interested and did not want him to see it. One way or another, her face was empty of emotion.

"Barton." Loki explained. "Whatever he said to you… those words were not his."

Interest finally managed to seep into her features. She crossed her legs at the ankle and sat back. "Then whose words were they?"

Loki looked down and away. "They were not mine, either, Agent Romanoff."

"I didn't say that they were."

"It is what you were thinking."

"I'm not Natalie. You don't know what I'm thinking."

Loki's lips curved up at the edges, a cynical smirk. "Perhaps." He admitted.

He took a few steps towards a chair near Natasha, but also facing towards her, so that the two were directly across from each other when he lowered himself into the seat. They were quiet again; Loki knew that Romanoff wished to know what he knew about Barton, but he also knew that she was incredibly patient; she knew how to illicit information from whomsoever she chose. If Loki did not speak on the subject in a timely matter, she could find a number of ways to ensure that he did so sooner or later. He chose sooner.

"Fraye has a wide variety of weaponry at her disposal," he said, his words oddly direct, for him. "But perhaps the one least noticed is her attack upon the subconscious." He paused, considering his words. "This… influence on her chosen worlds has always been a subtle one. But what little information that comes from neighboring planets, or planets that were in contact with the ones she destroyed… it all points to a thin selection of options, depending on the subject in question." He hesitated, but soldiered on momentarily. "In many cases- and in the case of Miss Frost and myself- it takes shape in the form of nightmares. This is the more typical reaction; and I would not be surprised if you or the others were also afflicted by them."

Natasha said nothing. Loki went on, "However, considering Barton's… ah… outlook on the situation, it would seem… logical to assume that her influence on him has taken shape in a far different form; that of an anger even beyond what is normal for him."

Natasha's eyebrows furrowed. Loki sighed. "Perhaps that is not the best way to explain." He pressed the tips of his fingers together, thinking. After a moment, he had his wording. "Fraye, by her very nature, can… exude certain dark emotions. Her telepathy can occasionally expand into empathy, in that her very presence can illicit very strong emotional reactions: acute fear, blinding pain, or, in Barton's case, uncontrollable fury."

Natasha considered that. "So he's being manipulated again. Brainwashed again."

"No. Not precisely." Loki hesitated again. "His thoughts are still his own. His actions are still done of his own free will; but his fury is such that he may… forget himself, from time to time. But he will feel as though his actions are justified."

Natasha nodded slowly, clearly understanding. But it was a slow nod, a thoughtful one. "Why are you telling me this?" She questioned, her eyes on him, as though attempting to fit all of the pieces together.

Loki could no longer meet her gaze; his head turned to the side, staring out of the window that she had been looking out of just moments before. "Because Natalie wished for me to."

Liar. I chided. Because he couldn't honestly expect me not to listen in on this.

"Liar," Natasha echoed my sentiment. "If Natalie wanted to tell me, Natalie would have told me. She wouldn't have sent you." She folded her hands over her knee. "So why?"

Loki tried to hide the regretful smile. Natasha was very adept at gauging others' emotions; and she was learning to read him just as well as I could, even without the advantage of the link.

"Do you think Barton would believe me if I said this directly to him?" Loki queried in response. "It is unlikely that he will believe anyone; his emotions are too clouded, too blinding. But he would listen to you, should you decide to tell him." His head turned away again. "But I leave that decision in your hands."

"But why are you even bothering to tell us about Fraye's effect on him?" Natasha pushed. "You know that it will only make the others suspicious; that they will believe you are merely saying this in order to sow distrust among the team. To turn us against ourselves; and against Clint, your greatest enemy within the group." Her eyes narrowed just slightly. "So why bother? Why say anything?"

In my room, I bit my lip. How to explain that one?

But Loki knew. He didn't particularly want to say it out loud, but he knew. He tucked his hand under his chin-he had not looked to Natasha since he'd turned away- and kept his gaze distant.

"Because you needed to know." He said after a long pause. "You have… kept silent about…" He trailed off; but he did not need to finish that particular sentence. There were so many secrets that Natasha now knew. He went on as though nothing was wrong, saying, "And, contrary to popular belief, I am not without honor."

His head turned, and his eyes clicked onto Natasha's. "And Fraye is not a curse that I would wish on my worst enemies. Not even you." He barely stifled a sigh. "If you are aware of her influence, even if he is not, then perhaps you can keep it from affecting you. From tearing you away from the one thing that may help destroy this nightmare; the Avengers."

He stopped talking now; not an abrupt halt, but somewhat jarring nonetheless. I blinked a few times. That meant a lot, coming from him. And it made me feel unbearably smug about the whole thing, what with Natasha seeing Loki as not-as-bad-a-guy-as-originally-suspected and Loki seeing Natasha as the genius-badass-super-spy she was, instead of a puny little mortal who managed to best him once. Loki was irritated by my smugness, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it.

Natasha studied the Trickster for a very long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. "All right," She said. "I can understand that." Another long pause. Then, "Thank you."

Loki blinked, looking to Natasha in surprise, but she was clearly finished with the conversation. Her gaze turned downwards to the file on her lap, and she thumbed through the pages, no longer even seeming to recognize his presence. She had… thanked him? For what, giving her the information she wanted?

No, I noted softly. For giving it to her willingly.

Loki stood and turned to leave, his eyes troubled as they stayed on the ground, as he listened to my explanation. She's a spy, Loki. She's had to beat Intel out of people in a thousand different ways, from a thousand different enemies. You are her enemy, and she is yours; so it means so much more that you would tell her these things… so that she doesn't have to resort to her… usual tactics.

Loki's eyebrows furrowed. I sighed and added, It means that, perhaps, there will be a little less red in her ledger.

He considered that, then shook his head and sighed. Mortals, he grumbled, giving up, and I smiled a little.

Without another word, Loki came up the stairs, picked up his book, and buried himself inside it.

---

"You're the one who got her killed, Natalie! The least you can do… the very least… is talk to me, dammit!"

I jammed my finger on the 'delete' button, then pressed the phone to my ear again. Another message rang soon afterwards, the same shrill voice shouting barbed accusations and cutting demands.

"I swear, if I ever see you at that grave again… She wasn't yours, Natalie, she never was, she was my daughter, and you… you had no right to take her from me!"

Beep. Deleted.

"I know you have her blueprint sketchbook! I know you had it last, Natalie! You're going to give it back! You have to give it back or I'll-"

Beep. Also deleted.

"It was you're fault!" The words were slurring as she got drunker and drunker. "It has always been your fault!"

Loki sighed through his nose, the back of his hand draped over his eyes, his other hand resting on his stomach. He was lying on his back in his bedroom, and I was on the floor next to the bed in mine. They had such similar themes that, with the link, it felt almost as if we were in the same room. "Why do you still listen to those, Frost?" he asked aloud, knowing I could hear him in my mind. "There is nothing to be gained from it."

Beep. Another delete. "I'm not listening to them. I'm getting rid of them."

"By listening to them."

"You know what, that's the phone's fault, ok? There just isn't a 'delete all voicemails' button." I grumbled and jammed my finger into the delete button again. It had been a few days since the Avengers' decision, and Loki and I were… well, bored. It was odd, the extremes of emotion that still took place, even under the looming threat of Fraye-inflicted pain and death. Oh, and Clint's crazy bird-eyed stare of doom. He still hadn't forgiven us for the travesty of being pronounced innocent.

And so Loki and I were both sitting in our respective rooms, bored out of our skulls. I'd decided to listen to the voicemails that had been steadily backing up every time I skipped a call. All of them were from Mrs. Blackthorn; I was pretty certain I was about to throw my head into a wall. How April ended up being so awesome with this bitch of a mother, I'd never know…

No. I pushed that thought aside. I was just tired of it. She was just grieving. She was just a person in pain.

Loki snorted; not at what I'd said, but rather, what I'd thought. "You know that is not true," he reminded me.

"You know what would be really awesome right now?" I snapped back. "If you shut up. That would just like, make my day."

Beep. Deleted. Loki was right, of course. Even before her daughter's supposed 'suicide', April's mother had always been…

No. I couldn't let myself think it. I shook my head out. I'd never hated her before, but I was starting to borderline on it. As if I didn't hate myself enough for April's death; now she had to hate me, too? Ugh, it was so much BS that I thought I'd throw up.

"Perhaps if you reminded Mrs. Blackthorn of this fact…" Loki continued.

"No!" I snapped. "No, no, no and another no. Understood? You don't get to talk about April. You don't get to tell me what to do, how to handle her family, how to deal with anything to do with her death. Clear?"

He half-shrugged. "As you wish," He said, but it was lofty and arrogant again. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Ugh, screw this," I jammed my finger into the delete button one more time before turning off my phone and chucking it at my pillow. "I'm outta here."

Loki almost rolled his eyes at me, but he didn't reply. I walked out of my room, closing the door behind me. I was frustrated. And bored. Any other day, and I'd head to the gym and start pounding on helpless punching bags. I'd gotten quite a bit stronger since I'd come here, let me tell you. I was no longer the little weakling shrimp that Loki had taunted and tormented a few years back.

But I couldn't do that today. I'd already been through my training session, and while Steve had okayed the spies to continue exercising after these sessions, he had thought that I should probably give it a rest. We didn't want anyone to be tired out if Fraye came knocking. Though the spies were pretty good judges of how long, exactly, they should be training and/or working out, I have been known to pull muscles and crap by pushing my limits a teensy bit too far. Oops.

It was surprising, though, how much easier things had gotten since we'd been training in separate groups like this. At least, in terms of Loki. Everyone was actually making an effort to be polite-if not nice- to him. They were trying to get the team to work together. And it was amazingly easy; as 'easy' as any of this could get.

I swear, nothing, but nothing, in Stark Tower helped the Avengers and Loki get… 'closer' together than the daily training sessions. We usually had one or two a day, with separate people; and while Loki hadn't gone through his yet today, he'd done it a few other times beforehand. And it was easy. It was freaking easy.

What better way to bring enemies together, than to stick them in a room for a while and let them duke it out? And then to force them to critique their fighting styles, their moves, to work together?

It was pretty impressive, if I do say so myself. I mean, it's hard to stay mad at someone whom you've got that kind of connection with; the bond forged in battle, as Loki had once called it. Loki was used to such connections- he and Thor had one that ran very deep, after all- but it was… different for him, to have that sort of thing with a mortal. And to have it with Thor again.

I'd been really antsy about allowing Loki and Thor to spar alone together, but Steve was two steps ahead of me, as usual. The two were never in a session alone. It was definitely for the best, though it did upset Thor a little. He missed being able to trust his brother.

I sighed heavily and started towards one of the living rooms. I would challenge Tony to a video game war, but he and Steve were currently in the training room together, fighting it out. It was strange, how normal it had gotten to ignore occasional explosions coming from the Tower's basement; how none of us freaked out if the entire thing trembled just the slightest bit. But that was especially in effect if Tony, Thor, or Clint were in training.

The first living room I came across was empty; which was good, but at the same time, I didn't really want to be alone right now. I just didn't particularly want to be around Loki right now, either.

I kept searching, not aware that I was looking for my mother until I found her. Unfortunately, I found my father as well.

The two still hadn't gotten out of the Tower; Fury said that they were still looking for somewhere to place them. I said that he was still full of shit. He still didn't care.

Thor thought that, perhaps, they'd be safer on Asgard; though it was still being debated on whether or not we should just send them there and be done with it. I was all for that option; my parents would be safer there than they would be on Earth. Anywhere on Earth; even in the Tower.

As I entered the room, I forced myself to give both of my parents a wary smile. Tony had said that my mother had spoken a bit in my defense: 'sort of'. What that meant, I wasn't sure; but I knew for a fact that my father wasn't happy about it.

We'd used these past few days to get him an appointment with a S.H.I.E.L.D.- appointed doctor. I hadn't been able to go with him, which only made things worse, of course… but it had reminded everyone of the pressing worry of the lesions on his brain, reminded us all exactly why Cameron Frost hated Loki Laufeyson so damn much…

To be honest, it was starting to grate on my nerves, his inability to let things go. I understood it; not everyone could just forget things like that. Not everyone bothered to.

But I still didn't like it.

"Hey, you two," I greeted them both with false cheer. I glanced to the TV, where some show was playing. "What's on?"

"Reruns," my mother shrugged. I plopped myself down onto the couch next to her.

"Cool. Better than what I was doing." I tried to identify the characters onscreen. "Erm… Lost?"

"Yeah." My mother nodded. My father didn't say a word. His hands clenched in fists beside him, and he cleared his throat, but he didn't say anything. "Your father didn't see them all," My mother added.

"Really?" I asked. He shook his head 'no'. I'd seen the entire series twice now, and it still gave me a headache. Then again, I'd had a lot of free time in the past year, hanging around the Tower doing nothing. I was used to that, to having time to watch and re-watch a bunch of TV.

We were silent for a long time, watching The Island do weird shit and people all freak out about it, with dramatic music and sappy love stories to go along with it… Loki, in my head and getting bored, closed his eyes and tried to sleep. Neither of us had slept well in a while, after all; Fraye's nightmares were really bringing out the worst in us. After a while, I cleared my throat and spoke up.

"So how did your doctor's appointment go, anyway?" I asked Cameron.

He paused, then, his words cautious and deliberate, he replied, "Nothing new, really. The lesions aren't malignant." He swallowed. "The doctor was fairly confident that they were due to Loki's… tampering."

I tried not to react to that. I'd already known as much. "Well, we did kinda figure that," I sighed heavily.

"'We'?" my father asked darkly, as though I'd only been referring to myself and Loki. My mother nudged him carefully, a silent scolding in the small gesture.

I wanted to roll my eyes; was he honestly trying to pick a fight? "Yes. I thought that you'd figured that as well. Sorry if I assumed wrong." I tried to shrug, to keep the ice from my words, but it was difficult.

He snorted. I took a deep breath. It only now occurred to me that if Clint was reacting to Fraye's influence by becoming angrier, then perhaps my father was as well. There was one more reason not to get angry, one more reason to just relax and let everything slide, to pretend as though none of his words mattered.

Besides; Cameron was fairly certain that Loki had taken over my mind, had turned me into his pawn. As far as he was concerned, he was no longer talking to his daughter when he was facing me; he was talking to Loki. It didn't matter what he said to me. It wasn't meant for me.

Hopefully.

I just wished that the two of us could laugh, could have fun, could act like a father and daughter should. I mean, really, was that so hard to ask?

We sat there in awkward, tense silence for a long time, watching the TV. I kept my eyes glued on it, trying to keep from looking at my father and knowing every time that his eyes landed on me. My foot started tapping, and I began to pick at my fingernails with reckless abandon. I knew that one of us was going to crack at some point. That one of us would bring up the elephant in the room, and it would all be over. Every so often, I tried to open my mouth, to be the person who cracked… but every time I'd clamp it shut, until finally, finally, my father spoke. His words were seemingly out of the blue and random; but I'd known that they were coming.

"You shouldn't have brought him back, Natalie."

In spite of knowing in advance that the conversation would come up, something cold still ran down my spine. It rolled out in droplets down each of my vertebrae, seeped in through my skin and spread out across my ribs. I turned to my parents; my mother was giving Cameron a 'Shut-Up-While-Your-Ahead' glare, but he ignored her. His eyes were locked dead on me.

"Oh?" I asked, my voice suddenly lofty. Airy. Detached. Everything that I wished I could be in that second. "And why's that?"

"Natalie, stop," My mother scolded. She was again ignored.

"You have to ask why?" My father snapped. It was immediate, instinctual. It was a rage that had been bubbling for a long time and now… now it had boiled over. "I don't care how bad you think that this 'Fraye' character is; you shouldn't have brought him back to 'fight' her." I opened my mouth to say something, but he cut me off, raising two fingers. My gesture. My gesture on his hands. "Siding with the lesser of two evils is still siding with evil. And after everything he did to you, to us, to this family… I find it incredible that you could even consider it, let alone go through with all of this." His eyes turned hard. "You can't fight evil with evil."

I snorted. "You're really one to talk, aren't you?" My word rang with a dark undercurrent, which swirled beneath each syllable, bent and black despite the airy loftiness that I knew, somewhere, that I had adopted from Loki. "You really think that hating him all the time is helping anything, dad? What do you think made people like him? Why do you think he is that way? Because of his hatred. Because he let it fester and breed and well up inside of him." The words were coming out faster then I could stop them, faster then I could filter them, and I found myself saying, "You're no better than he is."

"Natalie!" My mother chided. Cameron's fists tightened.

"Me?" He laughed. It was an oddly bitter sound. I tried to imagine that laugh wasn't his. That none of these words were really meant for me. That I didn't have to respond to them. I couldn't. I couldn't even pretend. Because, even without Fraye's influence… this was everything I'd ever wanted to say to him. And obviously everything he'd ever wanted to say to me. "Me?" he repeated.

"Cameron!" My mother was getting angrier. A touch more desperate. Reasoning with us both. Too late; in a matter of seconds, the two of us had been brought beyond reason. And why not? This fight hadn't been building for seconds: it had been building since Loki's arrival on Earth.

"You know what?" My father asked, his voice cutting, edged with a blade so fine as to be invisible; but nonetheless damaging and slicing. "I can't believe you. I honestly can not believe you. You talk about hate, you act like you're so much better than me, better than us, because of your damn Avengers, because you think that you're being a good person by forgiving Loki for what he did… but in the end, there's only one reason why you're doing that. Only one."

"Cameron!" My mother shrieked, horrified, terrible recognition in her eyes. That, more than anything, clinched it for me; convinced me that these were not Fraye's words, that these were his. Because why else would my mother recognize them, if he had not talked with her about it before?

"Oh, yeah?" I sneered. And I was suddenly seven years old again, watching the hate in my father's eyes… but now I didn't have to take it. Now I stood above it. Now I could be the one who walked away, if I could force my footsteps in the opposite direction.

Nope. I suddenly I realized that we were both standing up, that we were inches away from each other, and that I was stepping closer. "And what's that?"

"What do you think?" He laughed again, incensed. Wrath crackled in his eyes, hostility emanating from every feature.

"Dunno," I spat. My mother was trying to pull Cameron back, to pull him away from me… We still paid no attention to each other. "Maybe that's why I asked."

"You're so damn blind, Nat. You actually think that you're doing this because it's the 'right thing'." He shook his head out furiously. His brown hair- the exact shade as mine- shifted just a little with the movement. "But in reality, you're just doing this because he's just like you." He threw up his hands and laughed once more; it was an oddly irate sound, somewhere cracked in the middle between a joyful and aggravated sound. "He's just another monster!"

My heart stopped.

"CAMERON!" My mother shrieked. I only barely heard her in the echoing, roaring sound of blood rushing in my ears. Dimly, somewhere in the back of my mind, her voice registered; and I noticed Loki standing from where he was lying in his room, now walking towards me in an attempt to do damage control. Because we both knew how close I was to snapping, to going completely berserk.

But for the moment, I didn't. Because I had to hear what he had to say.

"No," I growled at my mother. "No, let him finish." Electricity zapped through my veins at the speed of light, warping my blood, curdling it. "Go on, dad. Say your piece. Get it off your chest."

His eyes burned. He was so much like me, this man with my face and blood and fiery fury, this man with my forehead and jaw line, my gestures and quirks, my sarcasm and my temper… But, in the end, he was everything that I was not.

"I've tried so hard to convince myself that you're not like him, that you aren't just one more monster." He was glaring at the ground. Not even looking at me. Not even looking me in the eye as he ripped my heart out, that son of a bitch. "But face the facts, Nat. You ignore us, ignore your family, ignore your normal friends… for them. For the Avengers. For S.H.I.E.L.D. But, above all, for him." He shook his head again. His blue eyes were still on the ground, those blue eyes that differed from my own brown ones, those blue eyes that I had once hated, had once loathed… and now could learn to do so again. "He killed April. He killed your best friend. And you just forgot about it. Pretended like it didn't matter, told yourself it didn't, forgave him for everything so readily, so quickly, because you had to, because he was a monster, just like you… and one monster has to forgive another, has to help another…

"And then there was me. I'm… I'm your father, Natalie. Your father. And you can't even look me in the eye! This man tortured and tormented you for months and that doesn't matter, but I was forced into saying things that I did not believe, forced into seeing things that were not there… and it's still my fault! Even after all this time, you can't call me 'dad', you can't look at me without sneering or flinching, and you always, always look the other way whenever your mother and I are happy, whenever we're together… because you can't stand it! You can't stand seeing us happy, because we're not like you! We're not monsters! We're not like him!"

"SAY IT AGAIN, DAD!" I was suddenly screaming. "SAY IT AGAIN!"

He obliged. "You're a monster, Nat! You always have been, and you always will be!"

"Again!"

"Natalie, please, stop!" My mother was pleading, begging. "Cameron, please!"

"Go on, one more time!" I shouted. "Say it again!" I was advancing towards him, and suddenly there were arms around mine, pinning them behind my back, restraining me. Keeping me from moving forwards. Keeping me from hurting my father.

"Let it go, Frost," Loki was right behind me, whispering in my ear. It was his arms that were binding mine, that were holding me back. "This isn't him."

"YES IT IS!" I screamed, struggling against him. "It's always been him! Always! Since the beginning! Since the damn beginning!"

"That's right, Natalie!" My father shouted, gesturing wildly to Loki standing behind me, to the Trickster whispering in my ear. "Back into his arms! You're his puppet, Nat! You're his willing slave, and you know it! You're his pet monster!"

I snarled, an inhuman shriek bursting out of me as I jabbed my elbow back into Loki's ribs. He grunted, the blow surprisingly fierce, but did not let go.

"You've no idea what I am, Dad!" I screamed. "I've done more for you, for this planet, than anyone else ever could have!"

"Please, Natalie, just stop, Cameron, stop!" My mother's frantic, frenetic cries remained unheard. Cameron came within a few inches of me, his nose just a breath away from mine.

"I've done everything for you!" I shouted into his face, twisting and writhing in Loki's grip. He struggled to keep hold of me, because we were both certain that I would hurt someone very badly if he let me go. "Everything! Who do you think I'm trying to protect, dad? Who do you think I'm trying to save? You think I'm just doing this because Earth is a neat place, because oh, who knows, maybe it's the only planet in the universe that has pickles?! Oh, and what the hell, let's save peanut butter, too!" I was switching back and forth between languages with rapid intensity; half of my conversation was in Spanish, with a few intermingled Danish words as well. "NO! I'm doing this for you! For you and mom and even Mrs. Freaking Blackthorn! I'm doing this for April and her grave, for the Avengers, for Benny and Jade and Adrian, and every single one of my friends, my family! I'm doing this for the people I haven't even met! And I'm doing this for YOU!" I was shaking from head to toe now, trembling. I wasn't crying. I was too furious to cry.

No, that's not true.

I was too damaged to cry.

I was all but in shock. There were no tears. I had no more tears left. Life had been throwing shit my way for weeks now, had been tearing me down and trying to rebuild me, had been ripping me apart and throwing so much pain and agony my way that I was just done with it. I was literally done with pain. I doubted I could have felt pain if I wanted to. Because I was exhausted by this, by this endless doubt and anger, fear and hate, by all of these dark emotions, these shadowed days with so little light to dispel my endless darkness…

"I do everything for you!" And then the words were out. They were out and gone and in the air and they were never going to come back, they were never going to lock themselves away again, never going to tuck themselves back behind my heart where they belonged. The truth beyond all other truths… "Dammit, dad, everything I've ever done in my life has been for you! Do you really think that stopped because suddenly you were here!? Because you were suddenly a part of my life? Do you really think I've stopped trying to prove myself to you!? Do you really think I've stopped trying to prove that I deserve to have a father? That I deserve to be happy!?"

My father took a step back.

"Do you really think that a single one of my actions has been anything but a desperate attempt to prove to you that I-I-I…" I stammered and stuttered, my words breaking apart. My hair drifted in front of my face as I looked down, abruptly ceasing in my struggle in Loki's arms. "That I am worthy to be your daughter?"

Silence rang in the air following this statement.

Slowly, carefully, Loki's arms relaxed from mine, releasing me. He said nothing to me, but he did not need to. It was a pain familiar to us both. Our fathers always knew that we were monsters, from the very beginnings of our lives, and no matter how hard we tried… we could never prove them wrong.

I allowed my arms to fall back to my sides limply, hair still trailing in front of my eyes as I stared at the ground, studying the carpet. And then I was laughing. I don't know why. I was breaking too badly to laugh.

"But apparently I did prove myself. I did prove everything I needed to prove. To you. To myself. To everyone." I looked up to Cameron, giving him a single, tight nod. "Thank you, dad. For your honesty."

It was the first time that I'd called him 'dad' for almost an entire conversation. Strange, considering how it seemed to be our last conversation. I turned away, to the side, and started walking…

Cameron was too close; when he reached out, his hand actually touched me. It caught my shoulder. "Natalie-" he growled.

I didn't think. I didn't breathe or pause or hesitate or consider or anything. To be honest, I couldn't think. Because it wasn't my father's hand that I felt on my shoulder at that time; it was an enemy's hand. And the only enemy I had was Fraye. And there was so much fear instilled inside of me from her, from Loki, from all the time that he had spent with her, that in that second, I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't pause, couldn't hesitate, couldn't consider anything. Instead, I just unleashed myself.

But what made that second so powerful, so devastating to my very core, was that in that second, I recognized that I was not unleashing the monster within. There was no monster 'within'. I had been fooling myself all along, pretending that there was. Pretending that I could even hide myself behind a shell of a good person. But the monster was everywhere. The monster was me, and it had a name, and that name was Natalie, Natalie Frost, and it was all I had ever been.

I whirled on him, my hand wrapping around his wrist, pulling him towards me, throwing him off balance. My other hand whirled around, and my palm heel went straight towards him with blinding speed. I barely managed to recognize that it was my father- not Fraye- in my hands, and managed to pull back. But only slightly; the blow struck him in the chest, hard enough to send him back a step when I released his hand.

He stumbled, almost falling, almost regaining his balance… and then fell completely to the ground. I looked down at him coldly, with dead eyes. It might have been an accident, I might not have known that it was him in that split-second… but nothing in the world could make this unleashed monster regret what it had just done. I was not sorry. I was, in fact, disgusted by just how weak this man, whom I'd looked up to for my whole life, who had defined my every action, truly was.

"Cameron!" My mother exclaimed, dropping down beside him, immediately falling to take care of him. Loki, on the other hand, was immediately beside me, pulling me away gently. Coaxing me away from the scene. With careful hands on my shoulders, he turned me to face him, looking me up and down searchingly. I looked blankly back at him.

For a long moment, our eyes were locked. His thoughts brushed up beside mine, our emotions synchronizing as he tried to determine the best course of action. Then, he sighed heavily, dropping his arms to his sides. "Go," he whispered. A dismissal. Giving me his permission. As though I needed it.

I didn't even blink. Shuffling out in silence, bleeding pure apathy, I walked out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the Tower entirely.

---

How many times had Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, offered me a drink that I had refused? How many times had he tried to stuff alcohol down my throat, claiming that I had not lived because I refused to drink anything for the rest of my life? How many times had I lied to them about the reason, first blaming my age, then, when it became legal, just saying that I simply didn't want to? How many times had I hidden the fact that I hated alcohol with a terrible passion? How many times had I hidden the real reason?

How many times had April snuck out of her house to come to mine, after one of her mother's little drinking fits, just to hang out there, because she didn't like what her mother became whenever she drank? Even if Mrs. Blackthorn didn't have a 'problem', per se, how many times had April and I sworn together that we didn't want to become that, and so determined that we never would? That we wouldn't touch the stuff, because what if we became addicted, what if our addiction was worse, what if the things we said were worse? What if we could not stop? What if the alcohol showed the world what I really was inside?

So why was I here, in a bar, of all freaking places in the universe?

Maybe it was like Loki said: "She's breaking all of her rules."

It was the only explanation that he had given to the Avengers concerning my whereabouts. Once I'd made certain of that, I had tuned him out in my head, throwing up walls. Not blocking him out, but not particularly letting either of us listen, either. I'd ordered a fruity, fancy-pants drink, the name of which I allowed myself to forget, because I didn't care. I just knew that I probably couldn't handle much stronger, given the fact that I'd never drunk anything in my entire life.

It took me a while to down that first glass. It didn't take so long to down the next. Or the next. It wasn't early in the day, not anymore, but it wasn't late at night, either, so the bartender wasn't worried that I wasn't going to leave, that I'd drink myself to death, or that I'd stumble out of here at two in the morning, shuffling like a zombie towards the brains of the living, because I would sorely need a brain of my own by the time this alcohol was done with me.

The next drink was stronger. What the hell. You don't break rules by being cautious, after all. My head started to float, my thoughts getting… swirled. My throat burned every time that I swallowed back the stuff, and that heat spread out to the rest of me, warm and drifting and odd. I had been determined not to see the attraction of the stuff. I realized too late that I really did.

Maybe rules were meant to be broken, after all…

I don't know how long I was there for before it happened; only that the sky outside was getting much darker, that the stars were peering in through the window, and the lights of the city were becoming the new sun of the night. My hand stayed on the glass, my eyes stayed on the counter, and my heart stayed in my toes.

I don't know how I recognized her, how I knew, beyond all reasonable doubt, that it was her. I didn't turn to look when I heard the door open, didn't swivel around on my bar stool to check her face. Maybe it was her walk, those silent footsteps that breezed across the ground with only the softest of noise. Maybe it was the way she sat down directly next to me. Maybe it was her voice as she ordered a vodka, maybe it was her hand as she reached forwards to take the glass. Maybe it was the alcohol, making me think crazy things that amazingly turned out to be true.

Is it strange to say that I was not scared? That there was no terror in me, that I was more exasperated than anything else? That I wasn't even angry or upset, just… annoyed? Is it strange to say that I felt nothing, that I didn't… care?

Because I didn't. Not in the slightest.

Fraye threw back a great deal of her vodka. She didn't turn to face me. I returned the favor. "You know, you're not the first species in the universe to think of using chemical substances to escape your reality. But I think your planet has the most." She set the glass down. Ice clinked against polished glass, and glass thunked quietly against wood. "Humans are odd creatures, I'll give you that much."

"You never wanted to escape anything?" I asked in turn, my voice surprisingly hoarse. My tongue didn't seem to want to obey me, so my words blurred together as they came out, my voice slurring. My lips felt numb.

"Perhaps I did." She said slowly, swirling the clear liquid about in the glass. "Perhaps I still do. But I couldn't, not back then."

"Back then?"

"Back when I was alive."

I looked to her then, a slow movement of my head turning me to face her. She glanced to me, a cool, even, steady gaze. Her face was still full of expression and life, but her eyes were, as usual, dead as doornails. Empty. Everything inside of Fraye had been poured out and burned, and now we were left with this shell of a person, a mocking imitation of life. She was a puppet, a wooden doll, pulled along by the strings of her shadows. Her shadows commanded that they be released, and she obeyed, for what was there to stop her? No heart lay inside of her, no soul weighed her down and held her back. She was a creature driven by her power and darkness. What else could she be, if she had broken a connection as deep as the one I shared with Loki?

Of course she wasn't 'alive' now. How could anyone live past that?

I nodded slowly and turned back to my own drink. It was getting dangerously low. "And why couldn't you, back then?"

She shrugged carelessly; I saw the movement in the corner of my eye, the ripple of black fabric. I heard its quiet rustle against her bone-white skin. "Even if there was a substance strong enough… Well, you'll find out for yourself soon enough. It's not a pleasant experience for your 'other half'."

I tried to think about that. To think about how this would affect Loki. I imagined that it wouldn't be pleasant for him, to have my thoughts convoluted and meshed and off-balance, while his were crystal clear. But, to be honest, I didn't want to think about Loki. That would be unselfish of me, that would be kind, that would be good, to think about someone else before myself. I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to do what I wanted to do for once in my damn life. I wanted to worry about me instead of everyone else, to be frightened for my life instead of my world's.

And why the hell shouldn't I? If I was a monster, then it didn't matter, anyway. If I was a monster, then I shouldn't have to care about anyone. What had this planet done for me, anyway? What had humanity done for me? What had my father ever done for me?

Fraye giggled very quietly. "Aw, Natalie," she said in a girlish voice. Reacting to my thoughts. "Are you really giving me the go-ahead to wipe this place out?" Excited. Joyous.

"Thinking about it," I grumbled, throwing back the last of my drink and waving the bartender down for another. She squealed with laughter for a moment… and for some reason, the sound seemed wrong. It was very her, it was so exact to Fraye that it wasn't even a question. That was the laugh that she'd had when she had tortured Loki, that was the laugh she'd had when she attacked the Avengers, the laugh she'd had when she burned my mother's workplace to the ground. But right now, for the first time, it truly seemed false. It had never seemed like a lie before; but now, I could hear it, so hollow and untrue, such a sad little deception, this lie of a laugh and laugh of a lie…

The two of us fell silent for a while. Enemies, sharing a drink together. Mortal foes with one thing in common; just as it had been for me in the old days, with Loki and I, and now just as it seemed it would always be. I would always have something in common with my worst foes.

Monsters always did.

I sighed deeply. I didn't want to think of it right now. I was done. I was too tired of it, I was too exhausted, I was done with pain and anger, done with self-pity and self-loathing… and yet it was all I could seem to do…

"I'm tired, Natalie."

The words were filled with emotion, despite her dead eyes. I looked to her, and she slumped over on the counter, lying her head down on her folded arms. "I'm just so tired," her voice sounded genuine. But with her, you could never tell.

Still. It was unlikely that she was being honest. She hardly ever was, after all.

Nonetheless, I decided to humor her. I turned to her, took a quick sip of my drink, and asked, "Tired of what?"

She turned those dead eyes to me; my alcohol-addled brain somehow dragged up an image of her child form, drudging it out of all the other images I had of her. Her innocent face, the childish eyes of such a cruel mind… and for just a second- just one- I found myself pitying Fraye. I found my hand reaching forwards to comfort her. I found my heart reaching out to her.

But then I remembered what I was. And that all vanished in a heartbeat.

"This," She answered quietly. "All of it. Every last second of it." Her hand came up to her chest, over her heart, and she curled it into a loose fist, gripping part of her shirt. Her face twisted, as though in pain. "I don't get it. I've told it to stop. I've told my heart to stop a thousand times over and it won't, it just… won't."

I snorted. "Give me time. I'm sure I can find a lot of people in this universe who can remedy that situation. They'll smile while they do it, too."

"You think so?" Her voice was tiny and soft and broken. "Is that what you really think, Nat'lee?" She laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Because I've been trying for thousands of years, and I haven't found one yet." She turned to her vodka and drained what was left in one gulp, until only the ice was left. It clinked against the glass again.

Maybe if I hadn't been where I was right now. Maybe if I wasn't drunk, if I hadn't had that fight with my father, if I wasn't feeling so self-destructive, if I wasn't feeling like a monster… maybe I would have been happy to hear this. Maybe I would have been interested. Maybe I would have been picking apart her every word and figuring out what it all meant. Maybe the shrink in me would have been dancing around like a lunatic.

But, instead, I didn't care.

"Is that it?" I demanded of her, turning around on my stool. A trace of blurred anger managed to creep into my numb voice. "You're suicidal? Well get the hell in line, sweetheart, cause half the team's got a death wish. Half the damn planet has one. You're not new. You're not special. And you're not excused from what you do because you're in pain." I looked back to my drink, losing myself inside of the bronze liquid, the glistening droplets of condensation draining down the sides. "The rest of us aren't," I added, moving the glass from hand to hand slowly. "So why should you be?"

Fraye looked at me, her head tilting to the side. I ignored her, leaning my head on one hand, trying to stop the numbness that was still creeping in behind my eyes by pressing my palm heel against my temple.

"I'm so sick of you," I went on after a moment. I looked to her, finding her eyes, twin black holes that devoured all light around them. "I'm so sick of you. With your little games and your little girly laugh, and what you've done and what you're doing and I just… I'm sick of it! What do you want, Fraye, do you want my pity? Of course not! You said that I'm not the first to try and figure you out, not the first who was curious, not the first who wanted to help you… well, obviously, you didn't want help! If you didn't want it from them, then you don't want it from me! All you want is to torment me, to make me think that I might have a chance of saving you, well it worked ok? I don't want you dead! Are you happy? I wanna beat the crap outta you, but what the hell, I wouldn't kill you, even if I could! You've broken me, all right, so do me a favor and just pester someone else for once!"

I slammed my head onto the counter for effect and left it there. It was too heavy to keep up on my neck, anyway; because someone had been stuffing boulders into my feather-light skull for the past few hours. I groaned quietly.

I felt a small hand on my shoulder; bony and cold, it was a touch I most absolutely recognized. The touch that had beaten Loki. The touch that had carved those symbols into his skin, marked him with her name, branded him forever… Residual fear made me want to flinch away from that touch. Not-so-residual alcohol ensured that I could've cared less.

"Don't you get it yet, Natalie?" Fraye asked, her words surprisingly gentle. "It's not about trying to die. It's not about you. It's not even about Loki. It's about blood, Natalie Frost. Their blood all over me." She closed her eyes. "Do you know what the stench of Fear is? That rank, vile reek of Death? Do you know what it is to breathe in the ashes of that which was once alive and flourishing, to feel the cinders of entire planets under your feet? Do you know what it is, to have the people you love and care about and would do anything for just ripped right out of your head? To experience their death? To feel their heart, always shadowing yours, just suddenly stop? Do you know what it is to run while everything burns, to feel the flames on your skin and know that there is nothing you can do to escape it, that there is no way for you to die? Do you know what that emptiness is? Do you know what it is to burn and burn and burn, the heart and center of a white inferno, breathing in the charred scent of your home and everything you love… and never die?"

I looked up at her. I think there should have been tears in my eyes. There weren't.

She laughed a little, this quiet, mocking laugh, this little girly squeal of such unparalleled joy. "I do. And do you know the best part of it, Natalie, do you know what is really, truly amazing about it?" Another giggle. "I love it. I love it so much. I love the scent of death, I love the feel of blood all over my hands, I love to hear everyone screaming. Because everything I loved burned to a crisp as I felt every second of it, over and over again, and if I had to feel it, Natalie, if it had to happen to me, then why shouldn't the whole universe feel it? Why shouldn't the entire galaxy smell the stench of blood?" She ran her fingers through my hair, looking down at me in much the way a parent would to their little lost child. Consoling. Comforting. Wise.

"And those that survive, if any…" she purred slowly, still running gentle, pale, ice-cold fingers through my brown hair. Tucking it behind my ear. "Then they will see it. They will see what it means to burn. What it means to love the blood, to love the death, to love the chaos. It's beautiful, Natalie. It is so beautiful." She smiled a crooked smile, laughed a crooked laugh, and watched me with dead eyes.

"And maybe, maybe one day… I'll get to do what all of those others do. Maybe one day, I'll get to die. But until then, I'll listen to the Song of Chaos, the Melody of Ruin." She chuckled and ruffled my hair, setting a few bills on the counter as she turned away from me, pretending to pack up her small black handbag. I don't know why she paid. Maybe she didn't want to make a scene. Who really cared? She shouldered her bag and turned back to me.

"I chose my name well, don't you think?" She gave another squeaky laugh. "It's odd to me, that you feel you must have two names… but I think mine fits very well." She smiled with every last one of her white teeth, which seemed somehow… sharper, than usual. It may have been the alcohol. It may have been the die-hard truth. "Burns." She reminded me. That blissful smile made her face so bright and beautiful and so terribly hideous all at once. "Fraye Burns. Because I always burn, Natalie." Her head lowered, but her gaze remained on me, so that she was looking up at me, a death stare. "And so I will burn everything."

And without another word, she was gone.

I watched her leave without comment. It was only after she had left the room, and there had been sufficient time for her to walk away and/or shadow-vanish completely, that I allowed myself to question in a grumble about how many more psychotic aliens I would have to endure before I gave up on it all. Turning back to the bartender, I flagged him down and ordered another drink.

---

Since my dramatic exit from the Tower, Loki had refused to say a word about my whereabouts, save for that one line: "She's breaking all of her rules."

The Avengers, naturally, had started out suspicious. Particularly Tony and Clint, but the others had their reservations, too. But after they learned about what happened between me and my father, most of them cooled down and backed off, despite Clint's blustering threats that if anything happened, Loki was getting his ass tossed into the darkest hole he could find. Loki hadn't bothered to reply.

He had, however, placed himself as strategically as possible; with the collected works of Shakespeare in hand, he sat down in the living room where Bruce, Steve, Thor and Tony were all congregated. It was the most occupied room in the Tower, and thus the perfect place for them to keep an eye on him. Though he was no longer required to do this, he found that it put the Avengers more at ease when they could keep him

within their line of sight.

He'd started the evening perfectly civilly, his eyes scanning the pages, taking in the words… but, over time, it became harder and harder for him to think. His thoughts grew clouded, a steady aching starting up in the base of his skull. The whispers in the back of his mind, the place where my mind resided, steadily became numb and vague. With half of his brain put completely out of commission by my drinking, he found it nigh impossible to keep reading, and was thus forced to snap his book closed.

The Avengers noticed the lapse in concentration, but instead of explaining it, Loki merely closed his eyes and forced himself to focus. He was forced to tune me out as completely as possible- which was the main reason why he did not notice and/or react to Fraye- as he tried to bring his thoughts together, to separate them from mine. It helped; for perhaps five minutes, he was not in pain. But then the headache returned with a vengeance.

He hissed in a breath through his teeth as his head throbbed; he felt the Avengers stares on him once again, but paid them no heed. While a problem, they were currently not the most pressing one.

Pressing. That was a good term for it. He felt as though his skull was being crushed in a vise, his brain squeezed through a toothpaste tube. We hadn't really known about this unfortunate side effect to drinking while linked; there hadn't exactly been an opportunity to find out. There were few chances to get drunk in a prison cell, for one, and I, of course, had never touched the stuff a day in my life. This was something he had not anticipated. The books he'd read on the subject, the tomes he'd studied in order to master this form of magic… well, they sometimes glossed over some of the 'minor' details.

He pressed his fingers to his forehead, as though hoping that his ice-cold fingertips may do something to quell the fire-hot pain that was lancing through him. It was almost like a death in and of itself; as though my thoughts were so numbed and swirled that I wasn't here, that I was gone, dead and buried… and yet, the painful emotions remained, my grief and hate remaining behind to plague him. The back of his throat felt dry, his insides hollow. It was never like this when I slept, when I dreamed; he was almost amazed to see that it was this way when I was drunk. He'd thought that the two states might be similar. Apparently, he'd been wrong.

An abrupt weight on his knee made his eyes flicker open, made his heart skip, made him jump… the weight remained, heavy and warm… Loki glanced to the problem and saw Jekyll looking back up at him, his eyes almost sad as he sighed through his long nose. His head rested on Loki's knee, a prompt for attention and a comforting gesture, all in one.

Loki blinked at the creature, surprisingly grateful for the distraction from the thick wall of pain in the back of his mind. He was surprised that Jekyll was even paying attention to him at all, really; since his first encounter with the animal, Jekyll had seemed oddly… standoffish towards Loki. Particularly when I was around; he would push himself between Loki and I, would walk directly up to me without even looking at him, would occasionally even growl at the Trickster…

But Loki had a theory to explain the animal's actions (for he had a theory on everything). He suspected that, in his own way, Jekyll was jealous of the attention I gave Loki. Jealous of the way that Loki seemed so prevalent in my life. He must have sensed that something was different between us, that we had a connection that most humans did not… and, if Loki ignored the idea of dogs 'sensing' things that people couldn't, then surely he'd be confused by the smell of things. For example: Loki had moved into my old room. It was a place that must still smell like me, and yet Loki had taken over. And of course, the more time we spent around each other… well, Jekyll would know.

And, as far as Jekyll was concerned, I was his Natalie, not Loki's. It must have frustrated him.

Loki did not smile at the canine, but he did reach out and stroke back the fur on the top of his head. The feeling of soft fuzz between his fingers was oddly… relaxing. He carefully scratched the animal behind the ears, and Jekyll immediately appeared to be in seventh heaven. Whenever I was not around, he tended to be friendlier to Loki; which did seem to confirm his theory.

As Loki set his hand back on the armrest, Jekyll placed a cold, wet nose against it, pushing it off of the armrest and burrowing beneath it so that it rested on his head instead. Loki fought the urge to roll his eyes and gave up, giving Jekyll the attention he craved, steadily stroking his head as he stared off into space, trying to ignore the throbbing at the base of his skull. Ugh, everything ached.

Jekyll eventually jumped up onto the couch next to Loki-which amused those Avengers that were present- and settled down with his nose beneath his fluffy tail. Loki continued to stroke him absentmindedly; for some reason, it partly alleviated the dull pain, despite doing nothing for his pride. Still, he was not going to complain; anything to be rid of this intense, still-building pressure.

Perhaps worse than that, however, was the pure intent behind each and every swig of alcohol that I downed. I was destroying myself-destroying him- from the inside out, and I didn't care. I was drowning myself in bronze liquid, burying myself in amber, trying to swallow my own thoughts back beneath gulp upon gulp, swig upon swig, until there was nothing left but me and the emptiness of the burning alcohol…

As time wore on, Loki grew more and more irritated, his anger adding itself to my own self-hatred… his eyes grew dark and brooding. If he had been quiet, uncooperative and moody before, it was nothing compared to now. His hand continued to run along Jekyll's uninjured side, but it was an empty gesture. There was no thought behind it, only mere reflex.

It was almost midnight when I finally stumbled home.

Though Clint had occasionally come into this room to make certain that Loki was still here, he had eventually left to keep watch on other things. Good thing, too, considering what happened; had he been in there at the time, I don't think he would have let Loki live.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I swayed drunkenly into the room; Loki had barely even blinked when I had entered the Tower, had not told the others that I had arrived… everyone jumped, or looked to me, or both, as I staggered inside the living room, leaning against the doorframe for support.

"Oh, hey, guys," I slurred. "What are you doing here?" I stumbled a step and righted myself quickly. "Shouldn't you be with my parents or something? Protecting my dad from the big bad monster?" I grinned wolfishly, a sneering, mocking look on my supposedly-innocent face.

"Natalie?" Banner was on his feet and over to me in seconds; the others were slowly rising, following after him. Even Jekyll bounced off the couch to greet me, his tail wagging so hard that his butt, and the lower half of his body, went with it.

Loki did not move.

"Where were you?" Banner continued. "What happened?"

I rolled my red-rimmed eyes. I hadn't cried yet, so my eyes shouldn't have stung so badly, shouldn't have hurt, shouldn't have been red. They were anyway; the white bloodshot around my brown irises. "Well, frankly, Bruce-Man, I was out deciding that I don't give a shit." I giggled, a hebephrenic sound, and it twisted my gut, made me clutch it tightly. The back of my throat was oddly parched; I found myself wanting another drink.

Tony caught on first, smelling the booze on my breath, hearing the slur in my words. "Are you…" His eyes popped. "Are you drunk?"

"Friggin' wasted," I confirmed in a hoarse voice. "Does it matter?" I tried to make my way over to the chair; but it was a lot further away than I thought it was, and I ended up sitting down on thin air. Thor caught me before I could fall, his large hands gripping me by the arms and holding me upright. I threw him off quickly. "We're all dead anyway. What the hell, right?" I peered at them all blearily, pointing a drifting finger at Tony. My tone implying that I was imparting great wisdom, I told him, "And all you can do… all you can ever do… is make sure that Fraye doesn't change you before you go. Make sure that you don't change, that you don't become the bad guy, that you die as yourself." I hiccup-laughed, and it hurt me, hurt my chest and stomach and my pounding head. "Guess I screwed that one up pretty decently, huh?" I laughed again. "Oh, wait," I bubbled, with all of the sweet, girlish-voiced glee of an anime character, at contrast with the words I was saying. "No. No, I didn't. Because I will die as myself now. I'll die as the damn monster that I am."

The others were exchanging worried looks. "Natalie…" Bruce said slowly. Consolingly. His hand rested on my arm for a brief second, but I threw it off violently. His touch irritated my skin; a clean hand against a muddied arm, my skin diseased, infected. His touch made me feel as though I would contaminate him. The very air I breathed polluted the room.

"You know we don't believe that," Bruce said, not seeming too hurt by my action, instead lowering his hands. He still kept them out, kept them pleading, open… but he did not try to touch me again. "You know we don't think that you're a bad person. None of us do."

I laughed bitterly. "Frankly? I don't give a crap what you think, Brucey. My father's what matters. He's all that ever mattered." I slouched against the wall, grateful that my depth perception hadn't thrown me off so badly that I missed this as well. "He's defined me since day one."

These were bitter truths that came from me, hated facts that burned my throat worse than the dehydrated sting of alcohol. Worse than the lingering scent of cigarette smoke that had clouded the entire bar and now clung to me, drying out my mouth and burning a hole in the back of my nose and throat.

"No one defines you but you," Tony insisted. I didn't want to hear it.

"Everyone has a past, Stark," I rasped, my throat still burning. "Everyone is made up of their past. My father is my past. He-"

That was when I was cut off.

I hadn't even really been paying attention to Loki. I hadn't been ignoring him, but I hadn't really been listening in, either. So I hadn't noticed him standing from his seat. I hadn't seen him crossing the room, hadn't felt his footsteps as he made his way over to me. By the time I caught sight of him, it was too late to react; even if I hadn't been as drunk as I was.

So I only noticed him about a nanosecond before he slapped me across the face.

It was a very well planned blow; his hand open, not closed in a fist. The sound it made-that unmistakable, ringing sound of skin smacking against skin- was probably a lot worse than it actually felt. Though it definitely, absolutely stung, I knew immediately that this was not a blow against me; it was more of a strike against my pride-my dignity- than an intent to do any actual, lasting damage.

That didn't stop the Avengers from freaking out, though.

"The hell-?!" Tony exclaimed as Steve immediately lurched forwards, gripping Loki's arms and pulling them behind his back, wrestling him away from me. Loki was anything but compliant, struggling like mad in the Soldier's grasp, snarling out accusations at me.

"You dare?" He demanded of me, a question and yet not the full question. I stared at him, in total shock. My face stung, began to throb. In my drunken state, I was certain that I already had red marks of his handprint across my cheek, though if I were sober, I would have easily been able to tell that it was not a hard enough blow for that.

"You dare?" He repeated, writhing in Steve's grip, trying to get to me. "You dare to show your face in this state? You dare allow yourself to become this weak?" Thor was already helping Steve, gripping his brother's arms as Loki managed to slip out of Steve's, squirming away, as slippery as an eel. His voice was serpentine and poisonous as he continued to shout at me.

"You are a monster, are you not?" He said the word as though it were something to be proud of, something I was supposed to achieve. "Are you not?" He prodded again. I think Thor tried to cover his mouth; I know that Tony was shouting for him to shut up. But I wasn't paying attention to the Avengers; their words did not pierce the haze that hovered around my head. Loki's did. And he managed to keep talking as I blinked a few times, trying to recover. If my head was clear, I might have been able to do so a lot faster. As it was, I just stared. Like an idiot.

Loki met my eyes, seeming to search them for a second as he half-hunched over, his face moving closer to the ground as the Avengers tried to force him away, to his knees, to the floor, anywhere that would get him to shut up. He looked as though he found what he was looking for inside of my eyes, because he laughed once. "No," he sneered. "No, obviously you're not. Obviously, I overestimated you. Obviously, you truly are this weak."

For some reason, the word 'weak' stung. Like a second slap to the face, right on the same place where his first had landed, making it twitch and throb and hurt. I flinched.

He laughed, somehow managing to escape from Thor's arms and evade Steve's attempt to regain his grip on the Trickster. Banner was not involved in the skirmish, but rather standing beside me, arms crossed over his chest, his feet planted protectively.

"You're pathetic, Frost," Loki's venomous words continued. They twisted around in the air and burrowed deep into my brain, cutting and slicing as they went. They hurt. Why did they hurt? Why this bad?

"You are utterly pathetic! How can you possibly be so useless, so childish, as to allow the words of one man, one man, to cripple you?"

"He's my father," I found myself blurting out, the rationalization spilling from me. Why did I feel the need to justify myself against this? Why did I feel as though I had to prove him wrong? And for the love of all that was sane, why did his words hurt so much?

If I'd thought that my words would have any effect, I was wrong. Loki just barked out a laugh; a single laugh, pitiless and fierce. His thoughts were currently half-blocked from mine, so I could not see the full extent of his disappointed hatred of me, but that laugh was enough to paint the picture for me perfectly.

"That is feeble, Frost," He growled. Why hadn't the Avengers managed to shut him up yet? Why was he fighting so hard to say this to me? Why was I listening? "He is still only one man. Do not excuse your weakness, do not hide behind your family ties! The fact remains that you have allowed yourself to be broken by his words. You are weak and frail and you are going to get us all killed because of your failures! Me! You! Your planet! The Avengers! Asgard! Jotunheim! All of the nine realms, gone, because you can not stand and fight Fraye, because you allowed her actions to break you! This is the only chance we have, and you are letting it slip through your fingers because you are too weak to hold onto it!"

I don't know when the pain turned to anger. I don't know when I snapped. I only know that I ended up charging towards him, my skin glowing, soft gold light emanating from just beneath the surface.

The Avengers released Loki just as I slammed into him.

There was no shield; it didn't matter how angry I was at him, I was not terrified enough for the bubble to make an appearance. At the moment, however, that hardly mattered to me. I threw a fist towards his face, which he dodged; but the other fist soon followed. I was stumbling and dizzy and I'm sure that each blow was fairly easy to evade, but Loki did catch one or two of them nonetheless.

"You?!" I screamed; the word ripped out of my very core, a screech not unlike the sound of a dying eagle's. "You're calling me weak?" I shoved him backwards; he stumbled back a few steps, bringing the two of us even further away from the Avengers. They stood, watching us, staring at us, entranced by the spectacle. "You tried to take over a whole planet because of your 'daddy issues'! Because papa didn't love you enough! You killed my best friend because you were having a temper tantrum!" I was trembling; I wasn't sure if that was the alcohol or my anger, but I suspect it was a mixture of both. My punches couldn't have been very strong, but Loki flinched away from them anyway. I barely noticed that he was not striking back, despite his desperate, feral struggle against the Avengers just moments earlier.

"I am not weak!" I screamed; again with the dying-eagle screech. "I am not frail! And I am not a child!" My hands gripped his collar and pulled him closer, suddenly unable to let go. I couldn't unlock my fingers from their grip, couldn't pull back to throw another punch. I could only spit the words into his face, fueled on by the reek of spirits, hopefully creeping up his nose and into that little peanut he called a brain.

"No one else would have helped you!" I shouted as loud as I could with my sore throat and burning eyes and the world swaying around me. "No one else would have stayed with you! No one else would have tried to forgive you! No one else was strong enough to stay with your sorry ass!" I released him with a push, throwing up my hands as my fingers finally pried themselves open. "So screw you!" I jabbed my index finger towards his chest. "Screw you, screw Cameron's opinion, screw weakness!" I took a step forwards, forcing him to move back. But there was no where left to move; we'd successfully crossed over to the other end of the room, and he was now pressed against the wall with no escape, no retreat.

"I'm stronger than you!" I kept shouting. As though raising the volume of my voice would make my point truer. "I'm stronger than him! I tried to forgive you, tried to forgive him, I tried to forgive everyone and that makes me stronger than you!" I slammed my fists into his chest, moving closer to him, striking him with each sentence. "Stronger than him!" Another blow. "Stronger than anyone!" A final blow, fiercer. And then my forehead pressed against his chest, my eyes squeezing tightly shut as I screamed, "STRONGER THAN ANYONE, DAMMIT!"

I was panting, my breathing heavy, my throat burning worse than ever. My heart was thudding a crazy rhythm in my chest, unused to the harsh treatment it had been getting; not just with the pain, but also the alcohol, and the sudden strange fight while under the influence of said alcohol. I think I was still trembling. My hands, I know, were still clenched in fists, resting against Loki's chest as I stayed there, shaking. I still couldn't cry. I felt wounded and raw, an animal that just chewed its leg off to escape a trap, but I was still too angry for actual tears.

Two cold fingers- the index and the middle of the right hand- found themselves just beneath my ear as I shivered where I stood. Slowly, carefully, they traced down my jaw line- leaving icy trails where they touched- and then tucked themselves underneath my chin. They lifted upright firmly, forcing my face upwards, forcing me to look up at him.

As I obeyed, I saw that Loki was smiling down at me. Of everything in the world he could do, he was freaking smiling. I was suddenly trapped by his green eyes, unable to look away from them, held in chains by the absolute certainty in his gaze.

His voice was just a whisper as he ordered, "And you are never to forget that."

My mother had a phrase: 'When the dam breaks, it's a flood.' It has never been truer for me than it was at that moment; because, just then, the floodgates opened, and the tears were pouring out of me. Absolute rivers flowed down my cheeks, and the sobs that choked their way out of my cracked throat were downright inhuman. I couldn't stop myself. I had literally no control over my body.

And that loss of control went double for when I threw my arms around Loki's waist, sobbing horribly into his shirt.

I held him close, held him tight, knowing that I'd never hugged him before, knowing that the Avengers were still watching, knowing that this was a breech in our usual protocol but not currently caring, not currently able to care. I was crying too hard to care. Somewhere, in the farthest corner of the darkest part of the back of my head, I sensed his awkwardness, his tension… I sensed him stiffening, uncomfortable with a mortal being so close… somewhere, I even sensed Jekyll trying to push his way between us and, finding that a failure, pawing my leg instead.

Somewhere, I knew that the Avengers were looking at us with a wide range of different emotions; from pity to compassion to absolute disgust. Loki was holding his breath, trying to figure out what to do…

Finally, he let it out in a sigh and draped one arm over my shoulders; just enough to pat my back twice. Then he dropped it back to his side. I just held him tighter; because I needed him, this anchor in sanity, this glacial heart that fought against my fiery, explosive, rash one…

After a moment, he pried me off of him. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, feeling pathetic. Feeling just like the child he'd named me as just moments before. But if that's what I looked like, no one commented on it. I was still swaying on my feet; and it was worse now that I no longer had Loki steadying me. Carefully, he took my arm.

"Come along, Frost," he said in a sigh. He was being surprisingly gentle, for him. "You should rest."

I nodded numbly, allowing him to lead me along, feeling drained and hollow, even though I was still crying, even though the tears still wouldn't stop. His arm remained in mine, keeping me from stumbling, keeping me standing and walking long enough to get me into the elevator. The Avengers let us pass without a word, let us go into the hallway, let us go to the elevator, let Loki push the button without saying anything.

Once the elevator arrived on our floor, Loki continued to lead me onwards. He directed me towards my bedroom, and then to my bed, as I kept trying to knuckle the never-ending flow of salty tears from my eyes. I ended up stumbling just as I reached the bed, and half-fell onto the thing, my feet dangling over the edge. I was abruptly too tired to really care about that, though.

Close enough, I thought to myself. I hadn't meant for Loki to hear it, but maybe he did so anyway, because he didn't try and fix it. I felt him pull a blanket over my shoulders, but felt little else as, almost immediately, I sank deep into sleep.

---

Loki waited until I was passed out before he walked back to the living room where the four Avengers still congregated. He hadn't been entirely certain that would work. He shouldn't have doubted himself; he'd said everything precisely right. He knew how I thought. He knew what to say, how to push exactly the right buttons.

He had to admit, it was better now that I was asleep. The headache, at the very least, had diminished. My thoughts were now entirely incoherent, as opposed to skirting the borderline between lucidity and insanity.

The Avengers looked up at him as he entered the room. "She's asleep," he informed them all in a smooth, even tone. He had been rather concerned for a moment, there, that something might have gone wrong and the Avengers might have succeeded in apprehending him before his words had been spoken. Had Thor not hesitated once or twice, it might have been far more difficult to evade them. He could have simply placed the words in my mind, he supposed, but they tended to have more effect when spoken aloud.

And now the Avengers were looking at him, mostly shell-shocked. He didn't know why they were so surprised; it wasn't exactly an uncommon way of dealing with a situation.

Perhaps they did not like that he had struck me. He did not particularly like it, either. Slapping one's own face is not usually the most intelligent of behaviors; but in this instance, he had found it necessary. He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for one of them to react, to say something.

For a long time, it seemed that they would not. That was perfectly fine by him; he did not particularly care what the Avengers thought of his actions. He saw their eyes dart away or focus on him, turn distant or zero in like lasers. It did not matter to him in either scenario.

He walked towards them, walked past them, and retrieved his book from where he had left it. Just as he was turning back, just as he was walking out of the room once more, Rogers' hand caught his upper arm, holding him firmly.

Loki halted. Steve was staring at the ground, his eyes surprisingly cold.

"Thank you," he said brusquely. "She needed an enemy. You gave it to her." His eyes turned to Loki, and his voice turned darker. "But if you ever hit her again…" he let the threat trail off; his dangerous tone more than filled in enough ideas for future pain and punishment against such a crime.

Loki only smirked. He was used to threats; very used to them, as it happened. "Understood," he responded, wrenching his arm out of Rogers' grip. "Captain."

He turned away and walked out of the room. It seemed that Steve had spoken for everyone with those words, for no one else followed him. He was left alone as he made his way to the other room; and, eventually, to the roof.

He had been wary of coming up here; particularly alone. It was too wide open a space, too filled with memories of a long-ago past that was best left forgotten; or, at the very least, forgotten by the Avengers. It would have made them too anxious, for him to be with that many memories and that much wide-open space…

Well. It may have been wide open, but where, exactly, was he supposed to go? Was he simply supposed to fly off of the roof?

He sighed softly to himself as he clasped his hands in front of him, draping them over the railing, staring down from the edge. He was not frightened by the death-defying drop to the ground below; in fact, it made him feel… alive. He had been locked away in the Tower for too long; and in his prison for far longer. He was tired of these cramped spaces, of walls that bound him and windows that alluded to a freedom that did not exist… he was tired of the stale air, recycled through the building's air conditioning. He was tired of staying inside. He was tired of not being able to see the sky above his head…

He looked upwards, up to that sky. I loved it up here, on this roof. It was my favorite place in the entire Tower, the place I went to think, to breathe, the place I went to when I needed to run from everything. Because, the instant I was outside, in that not-so-fresh air, standing so high up, looking up at my limitless sky and down at my towering city… it did not matter that I was only a few feet and a door away from the other Avengers. As far as I was concerned, I was alone.

And now, Loki could most certainly see the attraction. He stared at the stars, watching those silver lights in the sky… It was nothing like the skies of Asgard, with its nebulous colors, but the Midgardian sky held a… simplistic beauty, nonetheless.

It was strange, to be here, to know what he knew, and yet to know that he was looking up at foreign worlds, other planets. It should not seem so monumental to him, considering that he had stood upon the surface of many worlds besides this one, considering that he was, indeed, from another planet himself… and yet, there was something strangely breathtaking in the recognition that he was staring at another system's star, another world's sun, perhaps even other planets…

He wasn't entirely sure if this was by my influence or not. He supposed it must be; after all, my favorite places among every planet I'd ever been to seemed to include the open sky. The roof of Stark Tower on Earth. The edge of the Bifrost on Asgard (despite its… past). All of these places, where I could see other universes, could see the swirling lights of other worlds…

Yes, yes it must have been my influence.

But it was nonetheless magnificent, now that he truly allowed himself to look.

"You don't really believe any of that crap, do you?"

Loki was not surprised by Stark's words. He had, in fact, heard him arrive almost five minutes ago. But he had allowed the Iron Man to speak first. It seemed only 'polite'.

"About her being 'stronger' than everyone because she 'forgave' you. Forgave everyone." Stark elaborated, walking up next to Loki. He, too, draped his arms over the edge, leaning on the railing. His manner was far more relaxed than the Trickster's, but there was a faint tension behind the casual stance. Loki was not fooled by Stark's apparent flippancy; he knew that, should the opportunity present itself, Stark could strike very quickly against any threat that Loki posed.

Loki gave the man a quick, appraising half-glance before surveying the edge of the world one more time. "Of course not." He confirmed in a soft voice.

Tony turned around, so that he could slouch against the rails, spine pressed against the metal as he faced Loki as best as was possible with such a stance. His arms folded over his chest, and his legs kicked out, one foot over the other. "But you want her to believe it," Stark went on.

"Aye," Loki said, still quiet. He did not look at the heartless man (he had proven for himself that this was the case, after all; there whas no heart left in the man's chest. Only a circle of light that played pretend at being alive).

"Why?" Tony asked, as open and up-front as ever. Despite how Stark and I had frequent disagreements, Loki knew that he was one of my closest friends among the Avengers; mostly due to this openness, this cavalier attitude. Stark did not know-and Loki would not tell- that I secretly envied him this casual air, this ability to look at things as though he did not care for them… but I did not envy him his arrogance. That was one thing I'd never really had a problem with (as far as I could tell) and it was not something that I wanted to assimilate by hanging around him.

"You don't believe it," Stark went on. "You think she's dead wrong."

"It does not matter what I believe," Loki said, his gaze sliding over to the other man. "It never has." His hands clasped together in front of him. "Why would it? She and I disagree on beliefs that are rooted within our very core. She believes that all creatures are equal; I do not. She believes that no creature should bow before another. Clearly, I do not." He looked away again, watching the city of mortals below. An intricate anthill; but an anthill nonetheless.

"It does not matter what I believe," he repeated, again in a soft tone. "All that matters is that she believes it."

"Why?" Stark prodded again. His voice held the slightest-just the slightest- trace of a sneer. "Don't you want her to 'see the error of her ways'? Don't you want her to believe as you do? I mean, wouldn't that make everything easier?"

The corner of Loki's lip twitched downwards. That was slightly more difficult to explain. He wondered why he bothered; but he nonetheless found himself answering.

"Because her beliefs are the only thing keeping her alive." Loki took a step back, so that he could see the entirety of Stark's face. Stark did not move, still leaning with his back against the railing. "Those were not her father's words today. She knew this, and she elected to ignore it; because she believed that she was defined by his opinion of her. This, of course, is utterly ludicrous: Natalie defines herself, as she always has. But because she believed this, she allowed herself to fall apart; as you saw. Her refusal to touch alcohol was more than distaste; it was a law unbroken, a promise she'd sworn to keep. And, of course, the way she felt following this, her self-loathing…" Loki chuckled once, a breath of a sound. "Well, as you can imagine, it was not a pleasant experience for either of us." He half-turned away, looking up to the stars, which winked at him from distances unknown.

"I may not approve of Natalie's beliefs, but they keep her focused. They keep her sane. And above all, they keep her alive." He shrugged carefully. "However unfortunate it is that I am now forced to protect this mortal from herself, it is still something that I must do."

"And that's it?" Stark asked; as Loki found his eyes gravitating towards the man once more, he was disturbed by the knowing look on Tony's face. "That's the only reason why you did this? The only reason you helped her?"

"What other reason would there be?"

Tony shrugged, an apathetic gesture from an apathetic man. "Well, it seems to me, the last time Natalie had some big crisis concerning her father, she had someone else to go to. Someone else who helped her solve it."

Loki's eyebrows furrowed, confused. He took a step back, his head tilting ever-so-slightly to the left.

Stark explained. "When she found out what you did to her father, ages back? When she first found out everything? Someone else pulled her out of it. Someone else reminded her that she defined herself; that her father had nothing to do with it."

Loki found his mouth going strangely dry. He looked away from Stark; not a glance to the ground, not a surrender, but a subtle shift of the gaze, so that it now aimed towards the black buildings, with their little gold squares of light.

Yes. He remembered who that was. He remembered who had restored my mind to sanity (just to have him attempt to shatter it all over again). He remembered who had always been at my side, before Loki had removed her forever.

He remembered April Blackthorn.

"You can't replace her, you know," Stark said; he pushed himself off the rails, so that he lurched upright in a fluid, oddly graceful movement. There was a hostility in his eyes that Loki hadn't expected from someone so laid-back. "I don't know if you ever feel sorry for what you did to her. Frankly, I don't care. The point stands that you killed her, and you can't fix that. You can't take her place in Natalie's mind. You can't say the things that she would have said and think you got away with it." Stark laughed once; it was a bitter sound. He started towards the Tower, heading back inside, and threw the final comment over his shoulder as he went. "Maybe Nat's right. Maybe she's the strong one, to forgive you. But April was a good kid that you got killed in your stupid, pathetic dream." He made it to the door and turned back just long enough to say one last thing. "And I'm not strong enough to forget that."

The sound of the door slamming shut rang through the air. Loki watched Stark go with a mixture of intense apathy, mild curiosity, and vague irritation. He had no intention of 'replacing' April. He knew full well what he had done to me by killing her. And even if I may have let it go, the lingering pain in the back of my heart reminded him of this with every passing day.

But it seemed odd to him, that Stark would be so upset over some 'disgrace' to April's memory. The two had not known each other for long; perhaps a month or two…

Loki snorted. Then again, his brother had known his particular favorite mortal for perhaps three days before becoming infatuated with her. Oh, he had no doubt that any relation between Stark and Blackthorn had been entirely platonic; it was very clear to whom his affections were directed. And one would not refer to a person they had feelings for as 'a good kid'. But that did not mean that whatever bond of friendship that had been formed between them was meaningless, easily discarded. I had not known how often April and Tony talked; so Loki was, of course, ignorant of this fact as well. It was possible that they were closer than we'd suspected; he still had her phone number programmed into JARVIS' systems, after all…

Loki found himself sighing heavily. These people, mortals and his brother alike, could all find friendship and love so easily… he would never have suspected that Stark would have been in any way 'close' with April; for he could never have thought, could not understand that anyone could become close so quickly… because he could not do it. He was incapable of loving anyone, particularly in such a brief amount of time. He was a Jotun, after all; with a heart of ice, as I had so frequently noted…

He buried these thoughts as they came to him. What use were they? What use was such detailed introspection, with such erroneous conclusions? Perhaps he was a Jotun, perhaps his heart truly was made of ice, perhaps he was a monster, but at least ice was strong, at least it would not crack, so long as it did not melt…

So why did he feel so weak?

Because the ice was melting. Of course it was. Because it was attached to me, and I was fire; and I was making him soft. Fire and ice don't mix. Alone, they are destructive forces, capable of devouring life and sense and reason… but together, they are nothing. They only destroy each other, in the end…

He shook his head out in an attempt to clear his thoughts. This was pointless. Entirely pointless. There was no use in wishing that things were different, if there was nothing he could do to change it. He had learned this lesson many times, after all.

Loki stayed where he was for a very long time; long enough for the city's lights to become brighter and its skies to become darker, for the night to turn to pitch. It was past three in the morning when he smiled lightly to himself, turning his head down. A sly glint shone in his eye.

"I know that you are there, brother."

He heard Thor shift behind him, a slow sigh slipping from his lips as, caught, he walked forwards. Loki turned around to face him, the smirk that he always wore now making its appearance again.

"I was that obvious to you?" the Thunderer asked, looking very mildly sheepish. Loki lifted an eyebrow.

"Stealth has never been your…strongest attribute." He reminded his adopted brother, almost gently. But there was steel behind every word, and black ice in his gestures as he turned away again, coat flaring out behind him in the snap of wind that the movement made. "What is it that you want?"

Thor walked up beside him. His movements were almost hesitant, which was… odd. There was rarely such a thing as a tentative Thunder. "Are we so far distanced from each other that I can no longer even speak with you? That you and I can not simply… talk, as we used to?" His bright blue eyes hid a quiet pain as he looked at Loki. His voice lowered. "Are we not still… brothers?"

Imbecile.

Loki's eyes turned to Thor's, narrowing just slightly. But then they returned to the city skyline. He did not bother to answer Thor's question; it was an utterly ridiculous query.

There was hurt weighing down Thor's shoulders as he, too, turned away. "I know you worry for her." He said slowly. His tone was soft and uncertain. "And I know that you are… frightened, of what Fraye will do to you. To you both." His thick hands gripped the railing, the action showing in every one of his arm's muscles. Thor the Strong, Thor the Powerful, Thor the Perfect. A bitter taste flooded Loki's mouth as his jaw clenched.

"I had hoped," The Norse god of Thunder went on, "That regardless of what has been said and done… you and I could still speak when we… needed each other."

"I need no one," Loki replied, his green eyes frosting over. Icicles dripped down from every frozen word. Thor winced.

"You are afraid, Loki." As Loki opened his mouth to respond, Thor cut him off, his words growing a shade more intense. "Do not deny it! I may not know you as Natalie does, but you are still my brother! I still hear you waking at night, I still know of your nightmares!" Thor had turned to face Loki by now, and turned his brother around by his shoulders, his fingers digging into his arms tightly.

"I am not your brother," Loki found his own voice rising. Of course it would be Thor, who made him forget his arctic vengeance, his patience, who made him forget that his ire was slow-moving but inescapable. Only Thor could make him forget himself, could make his temper flare so violently, so quickly. He brushed Thor's arms off of him, throwing his grip away. The words hissed out of him, deadly, vile, and cruel. "I never was."

He had said this before; why had Thor not heard then? Why could he not understand? Why could he not get it through his thick, oversized skull? Why was he still so determined to believe that they were family?

Dark pleasure rang through Loki's chest as Thor took a step back, pained. A bitter smile found its way onto the Trickster's lips, curling the edges upwards. This was as they were meant to be. Jotuns and Asgardians warred with one another, despised one another. It was their rightful place in the universe.

He turned away from his so-called 'brother' once again, walking away, intending on returning inside of the Tower. And then Thor's voice sounded behind him again, ringing in the starry night, clear and firm and unyielding.

"You may not be my brother, Loki," he shouted his futile words against the biting wind that had picked up just moments ago, the wind that Loki had not noticed, for he could not feel the cold… Thor's words were echoing with painful clarity as he announced, "But I will always be yours!"

Loki's footsteps, which had been carrying him forwards, suddenly halted without his permission. His spine stiffened. All air inside of his lungs vanished, and his eyes closed.

No. No, stop it. Stop.

Thor was still talking. And now that Loki was no longer moving away from him, his words were not so loud, were not so desperate. But still each one cracked like a whip against the raw, open wound that resided inside of Loki's chest, pretended to beat, and called itself a 'heart'. "I will always be your brother, Loki." Though Loki could not see it, Thor's head lowered, his gaze on the ground. "I am not ashamed of you for what you are; nor for what you've done."

Stop it. Stop it now, stop talking, stop saying those things, stop doing this.

"I am not ashamed to admit that you are my family." Thor continued despite Loki's silent protests. "I am… disappointed, that you would think that I could ever hate you for what you are. That you believe I could ever hate you. I am your brother, Loki, no matter what you say to the contrary."

Stop it. Make him stop. I have to say something, anything…

"Stop it." Loki breathed; the words slipped through his lips like a sigh, but they were so gentle and quiet that, even if Thor heard, it would have been easy for him to brush them aside.

The Thunderer did not stop. He went on, as though Loki had not spoken, "And I want to help you. We may not be what we once were… but can we not… try?"

Please stop.

"Stop it," Loki said, and this time the words were louder, but these ones, too, were ignored. His hands clenched in fists.

"I know that we have both wronged each other. But…" Thor hesitated. "Can I not try to repair what damage I have done to you?"

Damn you.

Loki turned to face his brother so quickly, the movement so fierce, that Thor's next words choked off and died in his throat. "What damage you have done to me?" Loki hissed, a snake, coiled to strike. Fangs gleaming with poison, dripping black venom. "This is your concern? What you have done?"

Loki took a staggering step backwards, dark humor spilling out of his lips in the form of a half-deranged laugh. "You can't stop, can you? You are physically incapable of it." Another laugh, filled with so much pain that it must have been bleeding. "It does not matter what I do to you! No matter the things that I say, no matter the things that I do, you are always… always…" He was fighting the words; he did not want to say them, he did not want to voice them aloud. He did not want to speak this crimson truth. Too late: he already had.

"You are always better than me!"

There. Now it had been said. Now the words could not be taken back. They rang in the back of Thor's electric blue eyes as those same eyes widened, as shock wiped away all other emotion from his features, as a bewildered innocence crossed his face. Why was he surprised? He'd always known as such. He'd always known that Loki was his lesser. But perhaps he hadn't realized that Loki was aware of it himself, that Loki knew that this is what made Thor better then Loki. Not the throne or his bloodline: his ability to forgive, to trust, to think of others as his equals when clearly they were not.

Thor stared at his brother for a moment, still with that innocent shock. "Loki…" he said slowly, reaching out a hand to his brother. Loki pulled back and looked away, his face twisting in anger. Another acrid laugh found its way out of his mouth and into the night air.

"Do you not remember, brother, that I sent the Destroyer to kill you? That I sent it to the town and the planet that you loved?" Loki shook his head and, unable to meet Thor's gaze, turned once again to the skyline. This was such a hollow world, with its hollow people living hollow lives… how could anyone love such a city, where a person could vanish inside of it, swallowed whole by the sheer numbers of the people around you, the vibrant colors, the stinking air, and always the intense noise; traffic and talking and celebrations and love and pain and joy and false hopes and dreams dying inside the crushed asphalt…

"And still you…" Loki's vision was blurring. Tears were burning in the corners of his world. He hated this weakness, and he made certain that Thor could not see it, made certain that his face was turned away from his 'brother'. "You said that you were sorry, for whatever you had done to wrong me. And then you…you offered up your life." Loki tilted his head back to the moon and stars above, trying to smile, but the gesture was so twisted that it became more of a grimace. "After I tried to kill you, you apologized."

Thor said nothing -what could be said?- and, after a brief pause, Loki continued.

"I told you, did I not?" Loki asked quietly. "That the throne means nothing to me? That all I have ever wanted… was to be your equal?" He continued staring up at the stars, suddenly certain that they were staring back, that the black abyss that housed every planet and sun and moon was reaching deep inside of him and pulling these secrets out. "I was a king. I was a king, and still… Still I was less than you." His eyes closed; would that keep the stars from ripping these secrets out from behind his ribs? Would that keep the blackness from tearing these truths out from inside of his bones?

Apparently not. "I had everything, Thor. I sat on Asgard's golden throne, I was the rightful heir, I was everything that you were not… and still you stood taller, still father approved of what you had done, and not what I had…"

And now, what words were these? The ones that lingered behind his tongue, with their cloying and sickly taste, what were they? These were not things that he had ever thought of before, and yet, he found himself saying them, found that they were beyond truth, that they were beyond honesty, that they were… everything. That they were what had defined him for so long, without him ever realizing it…

"So if I could not be you… then why could you not be me?"

He dared not look at his brother as he said this out loud, as he realized what he was and what he had been for a number of years, since he had fallen from the Bifrost. As he realized what his true goal had been, the goal behind the lies, the goal behind the façade of the throne, the goal behind everything…

"If I could not rise to your level, how could I become your equal… unless I brought you down to mine?"

Why did these words hurt? Why was he breaking? The ice had cracked and was now splintering, thousands of glitter-sharp shards that shattered and cut and sliced… blue and red blood on white ice and bleeding, bleeding everywhere, how did the ice break, how did it melt, how did the monster become reduced to a man, how…?

And why was he laughing again? How could he laugh, when he was breaking?

No, he knew the answer to that one; he was laughing because these words were true, they were true and they were pure pain and anguish, and he could not tell truth, he could not reveal pain, and so he had to hide it, he had to pretend that it was funny, because the entire universe was so damn funny, playing its little jokes. And Loki Laufeyson was the biggest joke of all, the universe's cruel game…

The half-mad chuckle lingered in the air even as Loki went on, "And nothing I did!" His voice rose to a shout, "Nothing I have ever done! Nothing can make you break, can make you forget yourself, not even for a second… You are always Thor the Great, the Magnificent, the Golden Child, and everything that your father ever wanted! Congratulations, Odinson, you have proved yourself the worthy son!" His voice was even louder now, and harsher, abandoning his cold control, abandoning sense and reason, allowing himself to slip into the black abyss of the stars that had been calling to him since the day he escaped it. The abyss that had called to him since he had let go, since he had allowed himself to fall from the Bifrost. "You are the worthy one, because you are everything that I am not!"

As the world became silent, as the blackness swallowed him whole, Loki found himself wondering why he had not hidden this conversation from Heimdal's sight; an errant thought, but suddenly so prevalent in his mind. Because now he realized that he wanted his father to hear this. He realized that he was hoping that Heimdal was watching, that he was hearing every last word… he wanted his father to know that he had figured it out, that he had puzzled the pieces together at long last… that he had realized his father's sick joke, and was Odin proud of him now, proud that Loki had finally managed to understand him, proud that he had finally discovered the full truth, proud that he had become the darkness that better contrasted Thor's brilliant light?

"I am not your brother," Loki found himself repeating in a whisper. "And you are not mine."

Another silence wrapped the two of them in silver, carrying them away on their thoughts, sending them to other times and places; happier times and places, perhaps, as their minds wandered, as they thought of all that could be said, of anything that could follow such bloodied, crimson-and-sapphire-soaked truths. There could be nothing, naturally.

But, of course, Thor did as he had always done; what Loki could not. He found words in this blackness.

"I could have killed you."

Loki turned to face Thor at last, his mild, watered-down curiosity getting the better of him. But now Thor was looking the other way, his hands once again on the metal railing, his blue eyes on New York, watching the city from above, as he had watched this planet for so many years. As they both had, for so long…

"When you threatened Jane. When you called her 'that woman', when you said that…" Thor swallowed; Loki could see the action in his throat, could see the repulsed shiver that ran through him, could see the tightening of his hands on the railing. He did not finish, and Loki did not need him to; he recalled his own words quite clearly. "I could have killed you, brother," Thor repeated in the barest breath of sound. "I knew that I could have. I… I nearly did."

Silence.

But it seemed that Thor was not finished with his convoluted confessions, so far from the conversation… He went on, "And when Natalie…" Thor swallowed convulsively. "When she fought you… when she defeated you…" His eyes closed and tightened, as though the words were painful for him to admit, as though they were blades coming up through his throat. "There was a time when I thought that she would kill you. When I wondered if… perhaps… it would be better if she did." He did not open his eyes, but Loki could see the faintest shine of moisture in their corners.

Another, shorter silence, then, horrified, Thor went on, "You have always been my brother. I… how could I ever have thought…?"

Again, he choked, could not finish his sentence. It took him a long moment and a few slow, deep breaths before he could even speak at all. "I may not be like you in blood. And I may not have done the things that you have. But I declared a war that I could not have won. I started a battle with Jotunheim. I slaughtered the Frost Giants as though they were nothing, as if they did not matter." He turned at last to Loki, his eyes still watery, clouded, stormy. "They may not have been of Asgard, but they were people, Loki. People with families and lives and hearts that could stop, and thus could break." He looked down again. His voice was even quieter as he said, "The blood on my hands may not be red, but it is blood nonetheless."

Loki's mouth was suddenly dry. His hands were shaking and, despite everything, despite what he was, he felt… cold. A frozen sweat was beading on the back of his neck, his forehead, and down his backbone.

"And you… you tried to stop me." Thor smiled very lightly, very sadly. "Do you remember that? Do you remember the days before all of this death?" Loki swallowed, and Thor continued, "You tried to stop me from declaring war. Tried to save me from my own rash actions." His words grew softer again, quiet things that seemed as though they could blow away on the ever-increasing winds… "I had always believed… even if I were to inherit the throne… that you would always be by my side. That you would…. Help me. That you would give reason to my decisions when I could not, that you would stop me when I went too far, as you always have."

Loki couldn't tear his gaze away from Thor's broken face, from his cracked eyes. This was not true. This was wrong. Thor was a fool; he did not think, did not rely on anyone but himself. He did not realize what his friends would do for him, did not realize the leadership he possessed, the natural air that surrounded him, that made everyone want to serve him. He thought that his accomplishments were his own. Thor was oblivious to outside help, oblivious to the deeds of those who did everything to assist him… Oblivious to the deeds that Loki had done to assist him, over and over again…

"And now that you are not there… now that all of this has happened, now that I am sentenced to ruling alone, chained to the throne without you by my side… I do not know what to do."

What were these words coming from Thor's mouth? Were they lies? Were they truths, as bitter and bloodied as the ones that Loki had been forced to utter? Could Thor truly need him? Did Loki truly care?

No. No, he did not care, for he was heartless, merciless. There was ice in his veins, his blue blood frozen, his nerves frosted over. He was a Jotun and he was a monster and he did not care, he did not care if Thor needed him…

But I was a monster, too. A monster of fire and a monster of ice, bound and gagged together, keeping each other silent, reducing each other into nothingness. The ice forced fire to remain calm, and the fire forced the ice to feel, and now he felt everything, felt as though he was hearing the most impossible, most perfect of truths, and all he wanted to do was agree, all he wanted to do was stay beside Thor and help him become the greatest of Kings…

Loki blinked, forcing the treacherous thoughts away, burying them deep in the arctic soil, concealing them beneath the permafrost.

"Did you know that Father has offered the throne to me again?" Thor asked, and now he laughed, a quiet sound, pained. "He has been offering to make me King, Loki. He has been planning my coronation. But every time, I refuse. I know that it is pointless to wait, I know that it is futile to believe that you will return, that you will be there to help me, that you can even be free of your prison to do so… but I can not help but believe it nonetheless."

Loki stared at his adopted sibling. It had been too many years since his previous, disastrous 'coronation', and Loki had wondered when he would become king, had wondered how long his father had intended to drag out his final years as the ruler of Asgard… But he had not suspected, for even a second, that it was Thor's doing that kept him off of the throne, that kept the crown off of his head…

"Do you want to know that I am broken?" Thor asked slowly. "It is already true, already before your eyes. Do you wish to see that I am weak? You see it with every day that passes, with every day that I came to see you inside of your cell, and knew that I had put you there, knew what had been done, knew what had passed between us. Do you want to believe that I am afraid? I am terrified. I fear for my life just as you do, I fear what this creature shall do, and I, too, have nightmares." Thor advanced a few steps, and Loki's feet remained planted, rooted where they were, turned to stone and immobile, immovable. Thor was still speaking, "To be afraid, to feel weakness, to feel brokenness… that is not what separates men from monsters, Loki. It never has been."

His hand rested on Loki's shoulder. And as much as the touch burned, as much as venom began to scorch out the inside of his chest, to rise into his mouth, the Trickster found that he could not throw it aside.

"So if you want to know that you are my equal?" Thor said quietly, trying to meet Loki's eye. But Loki could not face him any longer, for these words sounded so like truths that they burned, that they wrapped chains around him and held him in place, forced him to hear them, but they could not force him to look at his brother, could not force him to believe them, no matter how they tried…

"Then know that it was never even a question." Thor said firmly. "Not then. Not now. Not ever."

Natalie is never going to let me forget this one.

It was strange, that this was all that Loki could seem to think. Because he could not face these words, these lies that tried to be truths and truths that danced beside lies. He could not look at them, could not hear them, did not want to hear them.

"Because, no matter what you are, and no matter what you have done… I am your brother." Thor's grip on Loki's shoulder tightened, and if Loki was mortal it would surely have bruised. And suddenly he had pulled Loki closer, and his arms were around Loki's shoulders, and he was holding him close, he was embracing him as though they were family…

And Loki was letting him…

"And because of that… because I am your brother… no matter how much you hate me… you can never stop me from loving you."

Why am I crying?

Loki's arms were pinned to his sides by Thor's embrace, keeping him from wiping away the treacherous tears that trailed down his narrow cheekbones. He felt nothing. He felt nothing but the cold, and he was not hurting, not anymore. Now he was numb. He was empty and lifeless and unfeeling and so very, very cold. So why, of all things, was he crying? Why were the tears there, if he could feel nothing?

Why were his arms straining so hard to hug his brother in return?

You are a fool, he wanted to say. You are an imbecile. You trust me. How can you trust me, after everything that I have done? How can you call me 'brother', how can you hug me, how can you wish anything but death upon me? I hate you. I hate everything about you.

And then something else entered his mind, something that I frequently said, something that I fervently believed, as I believed everything so fervently: The opposite of love is not hatred. It is indifference.

I hate you so much… Loki's thoughts gathered themselves together. That I just might love you.

Damn you.

As Thor released him, Loki turned aside, moving with quick strides, hiding away the tears, hiding away the weakness. Lies. Every last word was a lie. It had to be a lie, because lies were all that Loki could speak, and all that he could hear, and all that could be told to him.

He did not bother to say another word. What was the point in wasting his words? They would no longer be heard. Thor was a fool who still believed in the brother he thought that he had. Nothing more.

And just like that… Loki walked off of the roof, back into the Tower. His eyes remained blank and hollow as he strode to the elevator. His features remained empty as he took the short trip downwards inside of the metal container, his metal shell. He did not react as the doors dinged open, did not react to the sight of Clint, who was camping out in the hallway between our two doors, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. He did not say a word as Barton stirred in his sleep, woke, and shot death glares towards him. He only walked to his room, typed in the pass code, and went inside.

Only when he was in the sanctuary of his room, with its four walls that hid him away and its light fixture that banished the darkness. Only when he had shielded himself from Heimdal's and JARVIS' piercing gazes. Only when he had checked my mind to be absolutely and utterly certain that I was asleep.

Only then did he allow himself to sit down, bury his face in his hands, and silently weep.

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A/N: … Yep.

Anyway, like I said, this chapter had a lot of hiccups. A double apology for how long it took, and hopefully the next one will be up soon.

Please Review! For the Brothers!