So it goes with saying that only things I own with any connection to MARVEL I bought on Ebay or Etsy. MARVEL COMICS & MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE are their own creatures and I have nothing to do with either of them aside from the fact I enjoy reading or watching them, and am grateful for the ability to play in their world. I claim nothing, and I receive nothing for this, expect the pleasure of putting something out into the world.

You can also find this story on ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN under the same title and pen name along with a place to post suggestions.

Don't forget to check out the Photobucket album listed on my profile page too.

DAY TWO

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

1623 HOURS

S.H.I.E.L.D QUINJET

AIRSPACE OVER NEPAL

NATASHA

After Dr. Banner agreed to come with us peacefully we escorted him to collect his things from the shanty that passed as his house. We already knew where it was as part of our basic surveillance, and given his nomadic lifestyle he didn't really have much to pack. Then we made our way out of the city limits in un-companionable silence.

I don't blame the doctor for not trusting people, since not trusting people is what I do every day of my life. The man has been hunted across multiple continents for what lives inside him, and while the differences between a separate entity, and a specific skill set are rather vast I can still understand his cautions, I was hunted for what I had once too.

I know what it's like to live your life looking for an enemy in every face.

If I was still in his situation I would probably do the same thing as him, I would test the situation and the person just like he did. But I'm not in his position, and the last time we occupied the same space, he almost painted a wall with me.

The mixed SWAT and STRIKE team wasn't the best idea on my part to maintain a calm environment, but there was no way I was meeting 'his' host without some sort of security in place if things went wrong.

Yet I find part of me respects this man very much, because despite calling my bluff and scaring me to the point of putting a finger on the trigger, he hasn't asked me to apologize for my attempt at deceiving him about the men outside. He understands what he is to other people, he's just tired of being treated like a toy.

No one really spoke to anyone on the ride to the local Air Force base with the exception of instructions and radioed responses. The same can be said for the trip through the airport, and our departure from there. It wasn't until about twenty minutes into our flight back to the Hellicarrier that the first words of a conversation were spoken.

"Do I really make you that nervous Miss Romanoff?" That question set off about a dozen alarms simultaneously in my head before I forced them back into the abyss under the weight of a lifetime of training.

After I ran over the flight plan for him I showed him where we stored our supply of mild tranquilizers, mood stabilizers, and anti nausea medicine if he thought he needed it.

Then I made sure we were both buckled in and as comfortable as one can get on a small fighter transport jet, I set myself to focusing only on the information in front of me and try to not think about the fact I was going to share this space with him for several more hours. That is why to my nervous tension those words sounded too much like a precursor to this plane falling out of the sky.

That he startled me when he spoke isn't lost on either of us, and at this point I no longer have the mental or emotional reserve necessary to try and convince him otherwise, and settle instead on quietly accepting the small apologetic smile he offers me. "I'm sorry, it's just I couldn't help but notice you've been chewing on your cheek ever since we took off."

He isn't wrong about that observation, but at the same time he's not entirely right about the cause. Its only half about his company, but should I really tell him that?

This man isn't S.H.I.E.L.D in any capacity, in fact he is one of the most dangerous things S.H.I.E.L.D has ever met in its decades of existence. He might even, and we can't know until the encounter we hope to never happen occurs, be stronger than a certain muscular blonde haired 'God'.

Both of them do enough damage on their own. I never met this Thor, but I've seen the footage and trust Clint's first hand account as proof of that. I would personally be okay if they never met.

But at the same time, we are bringing Dr. Banner in, not for the muscle of the monster within him but for the cooperation of the brilliant man. A man who has loved and lost things, who feels emotions just like any other human being on the planet.

Do I really want to cross this line? I haven't received an explicit order saying I can't tell him anything about Nora, even though I know damn well they expect me not to, but humanizing 'myself' and 'my' reasons to him can only help S.H.I.E.L.D's cause, and the spy in me says that alone makes the risk of repercussions worth it.

I'm not thinking as just the spy now, but also as the sister she came to see me as. Loki has her in his possession, and everything we've learned says that Loki is the kind of man who will force a confrontation with us at some point, which means she will probably be there with him when he does, and now that we are bringing Banner in, so will the Hulk.

If there is even so much as a sliver of a chance that Banner having prior knowledge about Nora will protect her in some way from the Hulk if he comes out, I'm taking that chance.

"Did you know I've been to Culver University once, Doctor?" I ask him after I release out a resigned sigh and let the tablet in my hands rest in my lap for a moment.

The understanding look passing through his eyes and the small 'oh' he utters is all that needs to be added to that statement for me to know he has no confusion about 'when' I am referring to.

"My sister, Nora, saw 'you' throw a piece of a jeep in my direction on the footage, she isn't your biggest fan because of that. But she is the kind of person who tries very hard not to judge someone until she's met them herself so she said she would like to meet you face to face if she could." I add with a stiff sort of smile to his confused expression why I would bring up something like, at least until I open some files on the screen that he can see and slide them over to the pad in his hand.

"These are..." he says after a moment of his eyes dancing across the screen with increasing tension forming in his eyebrows. "...crime scene photos?"

"Its how we found her home after that сукин сын dragged my little sister from it." I elaborate for him. "This is all very personal for me but I'm praying she still gets to meet you someday."

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

1631 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

LOKI

I gave her some time alone because I knew she needed it to collect herself. What she agreed to would be taxing on her mind, and it has already endured quite a bit of stress as it is.

I also set that hired muscle with the irritatingly thick accent outside her door to keep everyone but myself from entering to make sure of her privacy, and left him with a firm reminder of just who the definition of 'everyone' included.

I cannot help but sympathize with her situation, but there is nothing I can do for her except what I already am, nor do I want to. I am trying to convince her that she is not what she thought she was, what she was always told and believed she was. A weak and short-lived mortal like every other citizen of this realm.

The parallels between myself and Odin are not lost on me in this situation and are weighted heavily with disgust.

I may not have been the one to deceive her about her heritage, but when she remembers the truth of what she is I will be the one she blames for shattering the comfort of that illusion.

I also gave her time, because I have other important tasks and plans that must continue to progress steadily outside her door. The mortals needed my knowledge to make their machine, and I need to get it done quickly enough to keep all prying eyes from prying too far. I will not let 'him' see her.

If the Chitauri or their master Thano's and his kin ever learned of her existence, she would not survive it. They would take her by force and torture her just to control me better and to satisfy that vile creature's pride. The Other despises me simply because I am more useful to his master right now then he is.

I do not think much of his people and I think even less of the Other himself, but even I have to acknowledge that against their numbers and skills at inflicting pain, I would not be able to save her.

Her anonymity is her best defense against them and her only one until she wakes and becomes herself again, an act I look forward to and will do everything in my power to make sure it happens in the manner of my choosing. I will have her with me again as she always should have remained. Odin's will be damned.

When I finally finish what I can and return to our quarters I find her not on the bed where I last saw her, but sitting in one of the padded armchairs on the right side of the room. She is accompanied by the feline napping contentedly in her lap yet again, and the glassware I left her with held in her hands as her thumb traces idly around the rim of it.

Having heard the sound of the door's hinges and my approaching steps her gaze lifts to meet mine and she offers me a brief smile. It drops back down quickly though, her eyes and her smile as if she does not have the strength to maintain it, to stare back at the now empty container in her hands. "I-It worked..."

I left her with a healing stone, dissolved within the liquid contained in that glass. Due to my somewhat limited supply and the intensity of her injuries I decided that it would be far more effective and less traumatic for her if she was healed from within, rather than forcing her to expose each wound and treating it by hand. More importantly though, I left her with it to see if she would actually make use of it.

The fact that she did so is very pleasing to me, it speaks of some progress between us. Even frightened and confused she will still accept some things from me. That is always a good sign, the willingness to at least consider my generosity.

But the more I continue to look at her expression the more I find myself becoming concerned about her again.

"And yet you do not seemed pleased?" I make the comment as I close the door behind me and step farther into the room, making a brief detour to set the package I'm carrying on the table for now, before resuming my direction and stopping in front of her.

She lifts her head again and I hear her offer the usual response of an 'I'm sorry' meant to appease me, but this time it does not sound fearful so much as just full of indecipherable need.

"My dear, what is wrong? if you tell me I will fi..."

"You already did." Her words are trembling, but they come out so quickly there is no time for a stutter to invade their syllables. "You already fixed it."

Her body is trembling too, a soft but consistent shiver overtaking her muscles despite the curiously neutral state of her face. Whatever it is that she is feeling in that head of her's, she is not going to let it show this time, and her efforts are much more successful than all the times before.

"Please my dear..." I let my hand reach for her, not to actually touch her, but simply to urge her face to lift to meet mine. I made the gesture without the intent to connect, but her own intentions were very different to my dismay, she reached for me! She lifted her hand as mine neared, letting the glass it had been holding drop and shatter at her feet, unnoticed except by the startled awake and fleeing creature as her hand wrapped those delicate fingers around my wrist.

"Arnora...?!" I cannot smother the joyous awe in my questioning tone, nor do I wish to. Even if there was a glove in the way she still touched me, completely by her own volition. But while I am pleased beyond measure by this I do not miss the way her own expression plummets or the tears that begin brimming in her eyes.

"Oh god, I was right." Her hand pulls back, and now rests with her other as she cups them in front of her mouth. "It looks the same! It matches!"

Those words stop me in my attempt to comfort her or seek an explanation for the sudden shift, and this time I find myself joining her in her pain. Letting my eyes drift closed I too lift my hand to cover the hardening set of my mouth as I turn away. I know exactly why she is upset now, and I loathe that knowledge.

There is but one reason she would seek out my hand and compare it to something. A single healing stone of that size if dissolved and consumed can repair any injuring, even a life threatening one. But repairing is not the same as removing.

There was no certainty either way, how much damage it would be able to reverse. I knew that when I offered it to her, but I still hoped it would see to that wound as well. I was wrong, and I take no joy in the fact that I am now the reason behind those scars burned forever into her skin.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 2ND 2012

1636 HOURS

SUBTERRANEAN BUNKER

LOCATION UNKNOWN

NORA

I wanted to be angry with him, I was angry with him actually. I drank that magickal elixir he left me with and I felt it tingle its way through my flesh as it spread. Then after it finished its work and I mustered up enough of my exhausted courage again, I looked.

I peeled back the bandages on my skin to see what it had actually done to me. I checked my shoulder, and felt my face, and looked at my hands. As I went on I became more and more thrilled with what I didn't find! It had actually healed me! Then I looked at my leg and I wept. Where Clint plunged a knife through my muscles there wasn't flawless skin as I hoped for, or even a thick line that I might have accepted, but a set of pale scars shaped like hand prints engulfing my thigh.

I'd been branded by hands, large hands with artistic fingers. His hands, and I needed to know why!

But now as I watch him realize what I am accusing him of, and confirm it to be true by his own reaction, I can't find that anger in me anymore.

I thought he did it to me on purpose, that he meant for them to be there like some twisted mark of his ownership over me. But then why would he shed tears at the fact? Even if he is a master at manipulation, I know a mistress in that same art, and even she has trouble summoning up physical tears on command.

He didn't mean to do it, however and why-ever he put his hands there, He didn't mean for them to leave scars.

The knowledge that he feels so strongly about it outweighs the knowledge that he touched me.

That thought makes me rise to my feet, for once without physical pain. Treading carefully I avoid slicing open the bare skin of my feet on the shards of glass as I make my way over to him, and the view of his back he still offers me.

"Loki..." I venture his name to get his attention with some uncertainty because I am not sure what title or suffix to use anymore, but I also pause because I'm unsure of the wisdom of what I'm about to do. "Y-You-re c-cry-ing?!"

While I half expected he might get angry at me for calling attention to his moment of 'weakness', instead the reaction I get is the sound of his weakly laugh infused huff, and the droop of his shoulders as he wipes away the tear that graced his cheek.

"Yes my lady, it seems that I am." He says humorously still not facing me but I can hear the sound of a genuinely sad smile in his tone.

"Why?" The question seemed obvious enough for me to ask, but as I watch his posture draw back up in alarm I realize it was not so obvious to him. After another second his body starts to turn at last to face me again, a look of lingering dismay on his features.

"Why...My lady?" When I don't answer his question, instead overcome by embarrassed discomfort he continues on. "You truly question why I would shed a tear at the thought that I was the one who..." he drifts off, his eyes closing and his jaw clenching with a look of guilty wrath. "...inflicted such ruin on your skin?"

I'm not sure which detail it is that makes the expression of pain in his face deepen; the idea that he did it, the fact I just can't figure out why, or that once again I don't know what to say.

"I'll pay whatever price you ask of me for this sin on your flesh." He says, ending yet another promise to me with a very rueful smile. "But know that as much I regret their existence, I put those marks there so to save your life, and I will never mourn that decision."

And I watch another tear grace his otherwise stoic cheek.

There are so many explanations in that. Some I already guessed at; I didn't miss the part where his hand prints were over the area that I knew Clint stabbed me in. I was checking for that mark, and I checked even more hoping to find it under those hand-prints somehow, but I didn't. His hands eclipsed it in whatever he did to put those scars there.

I also guessed that it would have had to be some kind of burn to cover a pre-existing wound, and actually make it disappear like that. It would also be a very logical step since they were there in the first place. When someone is stabbed and bleeding badly, cauterizing a wound closed is a well-known emergency measure to save a life.

It doesn't answer why the burns are shaped like a pair of hands though, and so specifically his hands, because I can't think of a way that's possible unless he burned his own hands in the process, unlikely as that is. Which if I am right in the question I'm about to ask, it only adds more evidence to my theory.

"Loki..." I don't know if I want the answer to match my assumption, or if I fear it, but I realize I need to know this too, more than anything so far. I need to know why he feels he this need for me. "Kjære? T-that word, i-it me-means beloved does-doesn't it?"

His only response is a small smile as he lets his head drift more then drop into a nod. Mine is much more severe.

NOTES FOR THE READERS:

The Russian Natasha uses when she says ""It's how we found her home after that сукин сын dragged my little sister from it" is Russian for "son of a bitch", at least according to Google Translate, which I know is not perfect. However I don't speak Russian so I'm going to take its word for it.

And when Loki mentions "Thano's and his kin" he is talking about Gamora and Nebula (and possibly others because I recall Nebula saying something along to Gamora along the lines of "out of all our siblings I liked you the best). I know they don't show up for several movies, but I can't think of any reason they wouldn't be there while Loki was in Chitauri Space.

Lastly for anyone who is particular about spelling, the word MAGICKAL is not a mistype. I added to "K" to differentiate the more theatrical sort of magic that you see in Las Vegas or from street performs, from the more spiritual and mythological MAGICK that Loki uses.