A/N: I should slip my disclaimer in here, before I get into the thick of it, and say that I own none of these characters (at least not the notable ones) and all of these events are extremely unlikely. Also the characters are pretty OOC, though I hope you can all ignore that because I think I wrote it well or at least better than some of the drivel on this site? In terms of timing, let's say this comes before the upcoming Winter Solider, and in a slightly alternate universe.

Now.

This story is admittedly out of my normal comfort zone. I've always passively supported gay rights (I mean, what difference does it make to me if that dude is dating that other dude? If they're happy then why the hell should I care; it's not like my life is affected at all by their relationship) but I've never actively supported it or proclaimed it. This story, however, has been written lovingly and in honor of a wonderful friend of mine who has been slowly (except not so slowly because I've only known her for about five months) widening my horizons. She's a football loving, gay rights supporting, feminist ranting, pun popping persona, and I already count her among my best friends. Her birthday was December 23rd, and what better present is there than a nice slash fiction starring our favorite Christian superhero and mischievous god? (Also, yes, I know this is way, way late. But I went a little overboard, and also she was aware it wouldn't be coming for a while, and she loves me anyway.)

Anyway! Comrade, happy birthday. Just try to remember that when people tell you "It's your birthday! You can do whatever you want!" that they don't mean you can kill Joshua.

A Man in Uniform (AKA the Title That Made Me Giggle When I Thought of It)

The Avengers took away different experiences from New York; Stark got anxiety attacks, Thor felt heartsick, Banner felt validated. Romanov and Barton, perhaps, escaped emotionally unchanged, used as they were to the ebb and flow of battle and subterfuge.

Steve wasn't sure how he felt, exactly, but he knew something had changed. He didn't quite trust Nick Fury or even SHIELD in general, but being back in the action- standing up to tyranny- had felt a thousand times more right than anything else he'd done since he'd woken up.

He hadn't turned down the job he'd been offered.

At least, everything had felt right for those brief moments where he had been fighting. Post-evil-alien-invasion SHIELD played its cards close to the vest, refusing to trust its secrets with the outside world. Steve Rogers was one of those secrets, and that meant he sat around in boring meetings, listening to statistics and strategies and field reports for the vast majority of his day, throwing in his two cents now and then. Of course, as most everyone was swift to inform him, his two cents were worth a lot less in 2014 than they'd been worth in the 40's.

Inflation, and such.

The bounce his step had gained after New York slowly faded as he struggled under the weight of boredom and stress and SHIELD's omnipotent eye. He had no remaining family. No one who would remember him or connect to his past. His every move was calculated to avoid a grimace of annoyance from Nick Fury. His only role was to sit passively at the board table and nod along to whatever Nick Fury thought best.

He ducked out from one such meeting now, frowning in consternation that no one even noticed him leave. As he hurried away from the conference room, Steve blew out a sigh of relief. No matter the blow to his pride as no one objected to being deprived of his expertise, he didn't think he'd have been able to handle another hour of sitting in total silence. After a while, the words being spoken around him seemed to take to the air, a great sea of black letters wherein the tide slowly receded, threatening to drag him out with it.

In other words, he'd started to nod off.

Steve paused by the water cooler- water cooler, heavens, who knew SHIELD could be so boring despite its often operating out of a helecarrier- and surreptitiously glanced back. No one paid him any mind as he waited for his little cone-shaped cup to fill. Maybe if he hadn't just been wearing black jeans and a polo. Take away the tight pants and funny mask, and people's eyes just slid over him, no matter the pattern on his shield.

Or maybe SHIELD was just used to having superheroes strolling through the halls. Either way, he was free.

He took the stairs two at a time, humming idly to himself. The meeting he'd liberated himself from was supposed to have lasted the rest of the work day, so there was no need for him to hang around the headquarters any longer. No need to give them time to realize he was missing and track him down.

He felt a twinge of remorse, wondering if he shouldn't just turn back now. After all, it was his job- and, despite SHIELD's lack of dependence on him, his duty- to sit in on those meetings and advise. But he stiffened his resolve, pushing wide the doors and emerging into the sunlight. He hadn't taken a vacation day in ages, and this way he wouldn't even have to take a full one.

The justification felt weak even in his own mind, but at that moment even Steve Rogers couldn't muster the will power to turn back. Hopefully Fury wouldn't…

"Headed somewhere in particular?"

Steve jumped slightly, his thoughts having been so bogged down with thoughts of Nick Fury's… well, fury, that he almost hadn't noticed the woman leaning on the railing. She was beautiful, in that high cheekbones and glossy hair sort of way, the way that kept a true beauty separate from a girl who was simply pretty. Something about her made alarm bells ring immediately in the back of his mind. Perhaps it was the eyes- blue, smirking. Dangerous.

He smiled amiably, slipping his hands into his pockets. Kept his distance, stayed on his guard. "Not necessarily, ma'am. Waiting for anyone in particular?"

"No. Just lucky I guess." She continued lounging back against the railing, a smile slowly stealing across her face.

Steve frowned. There was something extremely familiar about her. "Excuse me, but-"

"Wondering if you know me?" she raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps this isn't a conversation to have directly in front of the door, blocking the way into SHIELD's headquarters?"

Steve felt himself twitch slightly with shock. This woman wasn't an agent of SHIELD. He certainly would have recognized her then, if just by sight; he typically spent his lunch hour people watching. "What do you-"

She was already walking away, snapping her fingers for him to follow. "Keep up!"

"I don't- who are you?" Steve demanded, jogging up to her side—forgetting that he'd been trying to maintain a solid five feet of space between them.

She took a moment to consider as they came to the corner. The light, he noticed, seemed to change much earlier than normal, letting them start across after just a few seconds. "Call me a friend of the family."

"You… must be mistaken, ma'am. I don't have any family." Steve cringed at the wistful tone he hadn't been able to avoid.

She looked at him—not sympathetically, but with a light of comprehension, of understanding. "There are some ties that are stronger than blood, Captain."

Steve's mind was racing. Did she mean the other Avengers? She had known about SHIELD, after all, and certainly he felt a great degree of kinship with them all. Particularly Barton and Romanov, considering they were all officially employed by SHIELD and so saw quite a bit of each other. But what sort of friend could she be to them? He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to say.

He certainly wasn't handling this well.

"Try not to think too hard, Captain, we don't want you hurting yourself," she uttered, voice monotone, just a hint of teasing smirk hovering about her lips. She stopped in front of his building, apparently having been steering him in that direction. (Steve's uneasy feelings grew.) "Sleep on it," she urged, feral smile suggesting she knew just how uncomfortable she was making him. "I'll visit again tomorrow, and then we can get to the fun part."

Steve swallowed roughly, finding it impossible to know how to respond to that. Her eyes raked across him, seemingly leaving fiery scorch marks along his skin. Her eyes met his again, that smirk hovering about her lips.

She turned on her heel, inspection completed, and called "Ciao," over her shoulder as she walked away.

He braced his hand against the wall of his building, wondering what had just happened. Wondering why his heart was pounding and his mouth unable to form words.

"Captain!" Nick Fury's voice rang out sharply through the room. "Please get your head out of your ass and listen to the man!"

Steve blinked, trying to focus his attention back on the proceedings. He felt like he was back in high school again, staring dreamily out the window as the teacher droned on and on in front of the blackboard (although he felt distinctly guiltier now than he had then). "Sir?"

Fury motioned disgustedly for the bespectacled intelligence agent to repeat his query, singular eye glaring at Steve.

The man adjusted his glasses, a square, wire framed pair that practically carved "no-nonsense" into the man's forehead, waiting for Steve to meet his gaze before he began speaking again. His voice was smooth, confident—the voice of a man used to giving such reports, a veteran agent of SHIELD. (Steve recognized him better as the only man who braved the cafeteria spaghetti.) "We've received word from the Asgardians—the criminal Loki has been expelled from their world. Unfortunately they… lost track of him." The man, despite his undoubtedly long years of training, looked slightly pained over the fact. Perhaps it hadn't been entirely the Asgardians fault, Steve mused. "We do believe that he wound up on earth and may be looking for revenge after New York. If-"

"I doubt it," Steve interceded. "He won't want to draw attention to himself and bring the might of Asgard down on his head. No, at this stage of the game he'll be keeping his head down until he figures out what his next move is." He shrugged, glancing between Fury and the agent. "Give the other Avengers warning as well, let them take precautions, but I find it unlikely that he'll move against any one of us. Barton and Romanov will be particularly difficult to track down, Stark is protected by an arsenal, and he'll be wary of Thor and Banner; they're both more than capable of handling him alone."

"You've neglected mentioning yourself, I notice," the agent commented drily, apparently not quite in agreement with Steve but unwilling to say so.

"I'm not one to brag, sir, and I would have thought the point was moot. I'm sure we can agree that I can, at the very least, prevent myself from dying," Steve answered somewhat stiffly. "However, I reiterate that I am fairly certain revenge is not Loki's current priority."

Fury raised an eyebrow. "You say that as if you have some idea of what his real priority might be."

Steve paused, considering how to phrase his next thought. Mentioning the mysterious woman, or the sudden flash of understanding that had left him staring blankly out the window when the agent had first mentioned Loki's escape, seemed somehow unwise. "Well, sir, if I were to hazard a guess—I'd say entertainment."

She was on his couch when he entered his apartment, booted feet resting on one armrest as she lounged back contentedly. Gone were the simple, nondescript clothes of the day before, replaced by a vaguely feminine parody of her typical green and gray uniform, ridiculous headdress and all. "Afternoon, Captain," she greeted, something taunting in her tone—she was daring him to turn her in. Her interlocked fingers continued to support her head, and she didn't bother turning to look at him.

"Loki," he answered cautiously, closing the door behind himself.

She turned now, smiling. "You don't sound surprised. Good for you, figuring it out." She spoke patronizingly. As if she considered his intellect more akin to that of an ant. (Stark would agree.) She stretched like a cat and rose to her feet. "Most people can't comprehend gender fluidity, you know. I was not certain you would figure it out without a bit more prodding."

"You don't sound surprised either," he countered, shrugging subconsciously so that his shield was easier at hand. "You've planned every second of this."

"Well… not every second," she shrugged herself (an action that seemed no less dangerous than his despite its lack of an overt threat). "I was contemplating walking in and applying for a job- just for the fun of sitting around watching the little SHIELD agents scamper around trying to find me while I was under their nose the whole time. But then you came out yesterday and presented me with a much more interesting opportunity."

Steve studied Loki's eyes, trying to judge what he saw there. Just because he believed she was only looking for entertainment didn't mean that entertainment couldn't include ripping out his entrails to wear as a scarf. But she merely stepped lightly, slowly across the floor toward him, blue eyes locked on his and hands clasped behind her back.

"I do work for SHIELD you know. My apartment could be surrounded right now by dozens of agents prepared to subdue you," he finally stated.

Her forward advance was not deterred, and he slipped his shield down off of his back, holding the straps in a death grip.

She closed the distance between them, easily breaking his hold on the shield and setting it aside. "No need for violence," she murmured, leaning down slightly to press her lips to his.

"What are you-"

"Enjoying my opportunities."

"I-"

"Shut up, Captain." Loki spoke quietly but firmly, effortlessly steering Steve away from the door. Her lips were soft and featherlight, her grip on his upper arm gentle but firm, and every protest he thought of faded from his mind before he was quite able to grasp it. He put his arms around her, pulling her closer.

He felt her victorious smirk against his lips. They fell backwards onto his bed (Steve couldn't quite recall who had opened the door to his room) and he fumbled to get his shirt over his head as she smoothly and easily shed her far more complicated clothing.

He hadn't realized how lonely he'd been until now.

Her lips met his again before trailing down his neck.

"Good God," he murmured, eyes closing, arms slipping around her waist.

She drew back, chiding him softly. "That's Goddess, Captain, at least for tonight."

The cool air on his skin woke him. He opened his eyes to the impure darkness of a city night and heard the screeching of horns and soft murmur of human life rising to his ears from the street below. He turned his head, seeing Loki's silhouette- masculine now- enshrouded in a sheet and leaning against the railing of his balcony. He was speaking quietly, voice barely distinguishable from the street noises below, and Steve stayed quiet to listen.

"It doesn't matter does it?" He seemed to be talking to the stars. "The body I'm in—man, woman. Yet how much weight these mortals put on it… and, if I'm being honest, the Asgardians are far worse. The trials Lady Siph had to go through to merely…" he sighed. "Perhaps they would understand, could they shift back and forth like I.

"The strength of a woman can be exactly the same as that of a man. The strength of a man can be exactly the same as that of a woman. The only truly distinguishing factor is the soul inside. The choices each person makes are what define them.

"That does beg a different sort of question, of course. A more personal one, regarding the choices I myself have made…" His voice was not regretful, but merely pondering; as if he didn't quite repent his previous actions yet couldn't quite condone them either.

Loki sighed again, turning away from the slumbering city, shadows flitting across his face as he moved back into Steve's bedroom. "Go back to sleep, Captain," he murmured, noting the absence of Steve's gentle, rumbling snores.

"I could say the same to you," Steve answered with a yawn, seeing no point to maintain the façade that he hadn't heard the Asgardian's quiet musings. He leaned out of bed to open his dresser and extract a pair of sweatpants.

Loki raised an eyebrow as Steve pulled them on beneath the blankets. "Feeling prudish this morning, Captain? Do I have to remind you that last night-"

Steve silenced him with an annoyed glance. "Don't." He slipped out of bed, yawning again, and ran a hand through his messy hair as he stumbled towards the bathroom. He ignored Loki's smirk and soft chuckle, focusing on the task at hand.

Showering. He felt disgusting, and maybe in more ways than one.

By the light of day- not that it was actually day yet- Steve wasn't sure how to regard the estranged Asgardian or their dual exploits. The man was a criminal, the brother of his good friend, quite certainly psychopathic, infuriatingly snarky, constantly smirking, possibly murderous, likely playing some sort of game…

The most intelligent course of action, of course, would be to turn Loki over to SHIELD. Perhaps contact Thor. It was the morally right thing to do, and, more cynically, it would be best to head things off as there was a good possibility that SHIELD had had eyes on his apartment and already knew that Loki had made contact (if not every scandalous detail of their night together).

But somehow he doubted that they had. They would have stormed the trenches the instant someone put two and two together regarding the beautiful woman and the escaped, mythical convict.

And, somehow, he doubted that he would turn the man in.

Hot water pounded on his back as he paused mid-shampoo. He felt distinctly and unequivocally averse to performing the ethically right course of action. He was about to let a murderous God walk freely through Manhattan.

Clearly he was insane and needed therapy, or Loki had him under some sort of spell.

Steve's mind continued to whirl as he mechanically moved through his morning routine, only settling on a course of action- or, rather, inaction- as his hand touched the bathroom doorknob. Whatever Loki's motives, whatever his own, the simple fact was that against all odds they now had some sort of connection beyond that of hero and villain.

He could only hope that that connection wouldn't prove dangerous. (Steve was no fool. He knew it would.)

Stepping out, he noted the Loki's absence in the bedroom; further inspection revealed the same throughout the apartment. The only hints of his presence were the sheet left at the foot of the bed, Steve's clothes strewn between the living room and the bedroom, the shield leaning against the wall.

The fact that Steve was up well before sunrise.

He dropped to the couch, sore and perturbed and tired and already dressed for work. His eyes closed, his head dropped back, and only a few moments passed before the rumble of his snores filled the apartment once more.

Fury paced back and forth at the front of the meeting room, frowning as he considered the information he had just been given. Latveria's suddenly closed borders and recalled diplomats were worrisome enough without news of a cessation of super-drug movement through Laos. Combine those with clandestine meetings between a rogue British android and a Mexican mutant with daddy issues, not to mention the recent of escape of Loki… Villains the world over seemed to be preparing for a coming storm… Preparing to cause it, or simply battening down the hatches to avoid it.

"I feel no shame in admitting to you, gentlemen, ladies, that I am intensely worried about events occurring outside of these walls. I can hardly doubt the power of our Avengers-" he nodded vaguely in Steve's direction, though else wise too preoccupied to acknowledge him further- "given past events, and believe in their ability to handle the schemes we uncover. But that's just the problem, of course. That SHIELD must uncover the threat before the full force of Earth's mightiest heroes can be unleashed."

Fury stopped his pacing and abruptly lashed out at his empty chair at the head of the table, teeth gritted and face twisted in rage. "As the foremost secret intelligence agency in the goddamn world I would expect us to have information more substantial than vague rumor and suspicion! We don't know what's happening! We don't know who's causing it and who's avoiding it! We. Know. NOTHING!"

Another chair fell sacrifice to his anger. "Can we all agree that this is unacceptable?! Can we all agree that you, my agents, should not be sitting here hemming and hawing when you could be out answering all of these fucking QUESTIONS?!"

His biting demands rose in volume until the entire room was filled with their deep tones, their only answers reverberations of themselves. Fury looked around the room, fists braced on the table. "Well?" he snarled. "GO!"

Loki's hands slipped under the edge of Steve's t-shirt before proceeding to slide slowly up his stomach and chest, both leaving a smoldering trail in their wake and pushing that unnecessary piece of clothing out of the way.

Steve struggled with the buttons of his lover's shirt, scowling in frustration. He paused, letting his own be lifted above his head, and petulantly met those mischievous blue eyes. "You know, this would be so much easier if you'd ever dress casually," he grumbled, finally reaching the bottom and brushing the shirt off of Loki's shoulders so it could fall free.

"If I wear a button down, my dear Captain, then I don't have to stop kissing you when you remove it," Loki responded, smirking as he set his hands on Steve's waist, drawing him closer.

Steve scowled, flattery unnoticed. "The point is moot. You aren't kissing me."

"Why is that again?" Loki murmured, hot breath tickling Steve's ear and neck, lips curving up in a smile as he felt Steve shiver in response.

Steve dragged Loki's lips to his, his main incentive to kiss that bloody smirk right off of Loki's face.

"You've been quiet lately, Captain."

Steve jumped, turning to face Clint Barton, who sat on the other end of the low wall that ran around the edge of the roof of SHIELD's Manhattan headquarters. His head in the clouds, as it had been so often lately, he hadn't even noticed the stocky agent already on the roof when he came up for a breath of fresh air. "Yes…" he shook away his brooding thoughts regarding his frequent, late-night visitor, and attempted a smile at Barton. "Yes, I suppose I have been."

"My first guess would normally be relationship trouble," Barton stated amiably, continuing to stare across the city so that Steve only saw his face in profile. "But I should be honest, Captain. In this case I already know that's exactly what it is."

Guardedly, heart pounding in his chest, Steve murmured his confusion. Barton turned to look at him, gaze piercing even behind his typical sunglasses. "Don't bother, Captain. Fury has had me watching your apartment for months. It would have been hard to miss such a frequent visitor."

Steve sighed, leaning heavily on the low wall. "I had wondered if he might have eyes on me. I should have known those eyes would be yours; Fury places great trust in you. I'm only surprised that neither I nor my… visitor have yet been clapped in irons. I would have expected Fury to act immediately."

"Correctly." Barton shrugged. "I place as much trust in you as Fury places in me. I haven't mentioned the name of your visitor in my reports; he's been classified as an insignificant civilian."

Steve stared at Barton. The archer shed his sunglasses, shrugging again, almost self-consciously. "I can't say that I fully understand what's happening or why, but-" he broke off as Steve began to laugh, quietly at first and then uproariously.

"'Insignificant civilian,'" he gasped, trying to get himself back under control. "He wouldn't even have to lift a hand to kill you if he knew you'd called him that; his ego would do it all on its own." Steve started laughing again, leaning back against the wall.

"Glad you're amused," Barton muttered drily. "But I hope you understand just how much of a chance you're taking here."

Steve nodded, sobering. Barton was a good man; honorable, intelligent, and more than deserving of an explanation for the events he was risking his job- and possibly people's lives- over. If only Steve could give him one. "I do. I wake up in the morning and I feel sick, completely and utterly aware that the man I've become involved with only appears at night, that he's gone before I wake up in the morning. Completely and utterly aware that I have let a murderer walk out of my apartment without even trying to bring him into custody. And then I get home from work, and when he's there waiting for me I can't think straight, and when he's not…" Steve gripped the wall tightly, face turned away from Barton, eyes unfocused. "I miss him," he spat bitterly, shoulders slumping dejectedly.

"He doesn't seem like the same person who killed eighty in only a few days, though he also doesn't seem like the kind of person I would even enjoy spending time with, much less…" Steve trailed off. "I can't explain it. Any of it. I'm glad you trust that I can handle it.

"I don't."

Barton nodded, a light of understanding in his eyes. "Just be wary, Captain. You may be a solid and trustworthy man, but he certainly isn't. I hope to God that this doesn't turn out as horribly as I rather think it might, but in case it does… remember your team. We have your back."

He walked away at that point, past Steve (clapping his shoulder as he went) and towards the gray metal door. His hand was on the handle before Steve responded.

"Natasha Romanov?" Steve looked up, seeing Barton pause in place. "Clearly you were involved with someone just as dangerous at some point in your life. Was it Natasha Romanov?"

"Yes." Barton turned his face back slightly, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. "Twice, actually."

"What happened?"

"The first time she shot me."

Steve's own lips twitched. That sounded like Natasha. "And the second time?"

Clint held up his left hand, thumb running over the metal band around his finger. "The second time she proposed to me."

Steve looked up, hiding his surprise well as Loki entered his apartment. Normally, was the Asgardian going to visit, he would have arrived before Steve got home, not hours after. Steve was less successful at hiding his pleasure, a smile breaking across his face despite his every effort to maintain the furrowed brow of concentration he'd previously been wearing. But his attention now successfully stolen away from London's White Fang, Steve set it aside, stretching.

Loki's eyes followed the motion, briefly, but as Steve's attention had been dragged away from the novel Loki's had almost simultaneously been brought to it. "London?" he asked, sounding disbelieving as he picked it up. "You read literature."

Ignoring the underlying condescension of Loki's disbelief, Steve shrugged. "I enjoy past times besides boxing and watching baseball." His lips twitched. "I'm also a capable cook and can recite the alphabet, in case you wondered."

So maybe he didn't ignore the condescension completely.

"And how do you know London?" Steve frowned, considering. "Asgardians like to keep up with the writings of Midgard?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Your short lives and general ineptness give you interesting beliefs and insights." Loki sat in the chair perpendicular to the couch where Steve reclined, one leg crossing over the other. In the suit and tie, with his hands set on the arms of the chair, with that stupid smirk of his, Loki seemed confident, at ease, like any place he sat was merely pretending it wasn't a throne. "So yes, some of us keep up with your literature and your art. Personally-"

"And the music? The movies?" Steve interjected curiously. He couldn't imagine Loki sitting around watching Psycho or Finding Nemo or any of the other movies that various SHIELD personnel had been forcing him to watch as he tried to catch up from the forties.

"Less often." Loki smiled. "But I do enjoy jazz."

Steve snorted, shaking his head. "Of course you do." He rose to his feet, consulting his watch. Normally he ate just after work, before he got back to his apartment and the occasional Asgardian visitor, but today he'd been too exhausted, too stressed from Fury's increasingly loud afternoon briefings. Nothing had yet been uncovered, but activity continued to escalate in a menacing manner. Now it was nearly eight o'clock, and he was starving. He'd rather been planning to order late night Chinese takeout, when the lady down the street would give him a large discount in exchange for his eating whatever she had leftover from the day. (His high metabolism gave him a huge appetite.) Having someone drop by his apartment whilst Loki was there, however, seemed a very poor idea.

He could always cook.

He slipped around Loki's chair to the kitchen, peering through his fridge and small pantry. Loki's footsteps came up behind him, his voice teasing as he peered over Steve's shoulder. "I believed you when you said you could cook, you know, Captain. There is no need to prove to me that you are proficient."

"Not everything is about you," Steve muttered. More loudly, "I'm just hungry."

"Too hungry to let yourself be distracted?"

Steve turned, attempting a scowl even as his heart began pounding over the fact that Loki was barely an inch away. "I haven't had dinner."

Loki raised an eyebrow, his hand settling on Steve's waist. "It's a bit late, Captain. Why have you not eaten?"

"Hard to explain," Steve murmured, turning back around to pull out spaghetti and marinara sauce. He could make it quickly and without too much trouble… Without Loki getting bored.

"Trouble brewing at the SHIELD headquarters?" Loki closed the space between them, hand slipping under the edge of Steve's shirt, his thumb tracing circles there. "Has Director Fury lost his favorite eye patch?"

Steve made a noncommittal noise. He edged sideways, loath to completely lose contact with the man at his back, and opened a cabinet to withdraw the necessary pots.

"Or perhaps there is a puzzle that Fury cannot solve," Loki continued to muse, finally giving up and merely sitting at the small table in the center of the kitchen to watch Steve work. "Or is it that he simply cannot find all the pieces to it?"

Steve waited for the pot to fill with water, glancing over with narrowed eyes. "Why so curious? Do you know something?"

Loki shrugged. "I may have heard a rumor or two."

"Such as?"

"Now you are the curious one."

Tony Stark stood abruptly, chair falling backwards, and slapped his hands on the table. "You've done what, again?"

Nick Fury eyed the genius neutrally, hands clasped behind his back. "What I have done is exactly what I had to do, Stark. Placing an Asgardian war criminal under my employ wasn't exactly how I planned to get the information you see before you, but it proved to be quite effective. Now-"

"If I may cut in myself?" Dr. Banner asked, frowning heavily. "You'd been scouring the world looking for Loki for the past seven months. You wanted him in custody. Maybe dead. Then, suddenly, you've got him infiltrating some amalgamation of villains on your behalf?"

"What can I say? We made him have a change of heart." Fury bared his teeth in some parody of a smile. "May I move on?" He phrased it like a question, but it wasn't one.

Thor scowled, arms crossed over his chest. "I cannot allow you to do so as of yet, Fury. You have had my brother in your sights for nearly a month and not informed Asgard."

"You would have wanted him back," Steve interjected, before Fury could respond less diplomatically. "And SHIELD needed someone with a reputation- someone this 'amalgamation of villains,' to quote Dr. Banner, would recognize. Anyone else who would fit the bill was already under their employ or had made it too obvious they were against either them or us. But no one outside of SHIELD and its liaisons knew Loki was on the planet; we were able to get to him first."

"We're still aware of past events," Barton added. "Ignoring the possibility of his discovery and death at the hands of this group, SHIELD has every intention of taking him into custody once they have been dismantled."

Assuming, of course, that Loki was unable to worm his way out of their reach, Steve thought, resisting the urge to sigh. He knew the Asgardian had every intention of disappearing into the wind once this was over.

"Will you all shut the hell up?" Fury demanded, scowling heavily. "It's like all of them are growing egos the size of Stark's," he muttered. Natasha Romanov, the only one sitting close enough to hear him, covered her snort of laughter with a cough.

"Let him in," he ordered the agents standing quietly at the back of the room, flanking one of the three doors.

Steve sat up slightly, forcing down the panic that had hit him as he realized that Loki was there. He should have known Fury would want the Asgardian to brief them directly; it shouldn't have been a shock. And Loki was more than aware of the silence surrounding their… relationship. His reaction, luckily, went unnoticed as every eye turned to the Asgardian stepping into the room.

He paused just over the threshold, characteristic smirk on his face, and surveyed the assembled Avengers. "Brother," he greeted, seeming to enjoy the poorly masked wrath behind Thor's answering head bob. "How good to see you. And the rest of you- the doctor, the billionaire, the spy, the Captain, the Director… my former pet," he winked at Barton, whose hand twitched as if he desired to put an arrow through the Asgardian right then and there. "How strange to see you all in a setting like this."

"You mean a setting in which you aren't trying to kill us all and take over the planet?" Stark snarled, retaking his seat.

Loki smiled, gaze sweeping over all of them and lingering ever so briefly on Steve. "Something like that."

"If you'd be so kind as to get the fuck on with it, now that you've all been reacquainted," Fury said loudly.

"Yes, yes… your little 'villainous problem,'" Loki mused, beginning to walk around the table slowly. "Getting them to think I was still interested in your funny little planet was honestly far too easy. It made me a bit sad, actually, that SHIELD had as of yet been unable to infiltrate their group considering how easy it was. Even the Captain should have been able to fake enough of an ignoble streak to get on their good side."

"You're not, then?" Banner broke in. "'Still interested in our funny little planet?'"

"Why would I be?" Loki scoffed. "I only ever was because I desired to anger my brother. I've moved beyond such petty jealousy to better pastimes…" His eyes flicked away almost unconsciously. They returned to Banner almost before they'd ever alighted on Steve, and he smiled humorlessly. "Things like origami, and button making."

Loki was a drama queen. Steve had suspected it for a while, but here was his proof. The man was savoring every moment of attention the Avengers were paying him, basking in their hatred and grudging acceptance of his help. He paced around the table, forcing them all to crane their heads to keep him in sight at every moment and causing each of them to tense in turn as he moved into their blind spots.

"In any event, I found myself quite easily on the inside of their operation. It stretches across the entirety of this world, involving a wide variety of people who are super-powered, mutant, technologically advanced, etc. and willing to work outside of the law. Few of them are… name brand supervillains. Most of them are more… generic, but no less dangerous for the fact. They are not only driven by the typical motives- greed, power- but many of them desire vindication in the eyes of the super-criminal community in general.

"Listing everything I have discovered regarding their names, powers, and weaknesses would have taken an annoyingly long time, so I trust the Director has already provided you with the information already." Loki glanced at the pages of notes they each had before them. "A trustworthy spy. How novel."

"Get on with it, Loki," Fury growled.

Loki smirked, stopping between Steve and Barton. "Their plan then. It remains relatively crude; they keep ignoring my suggestions." He winked at Thor. "They plan to kill each and every one of the Avengers. It would certainly make an impression… After all, an entire army of aliens has already failed to manage it."

He looked Fury directly in the eye. "From there, they are under the impression that SHIELD will fall easily. I have said nothing to make them think otherwise; should their initial stage succeed, their second will almost surely fail."

"Then you believe the first stage has some chance after all?" Steve demanded, looking up at his lover for the first time since he'd stopped moving.

"They may be individually less mighty than any of you heroes, but numbers are well on their side. Their plan very well might succeed," Loki affirmed grimly.

The attack didn't come when Loki had anticipated. Perhaps he had lied. Perhaps the other villains had known he worked for SHIELD. Perhaps they had simply wanted the glory solely for themselves. But no matter how it had happened, it had.

And caught by surprise, there was no way the Avengers could stand against that tidal wave.

They weren't dead yet, of course. These little villains fell into the same pit as their betters, preferring to monologue before their business was completed, but prospects were bleak. Steve, chained, in pain, shield-less, and SHIELD-less, could see the others in his peripheries. They were in no better shape than he, battered and on the verge of broken. He remembered several months ago when he would have given anything to have been on the front lines once more. Why did he always trick himself into thinking he wanted this life?

Why couldn't he have just died in the forties like he should have?

His eyes shut. Steve breathed slowly, trying to assess what state he was really in—nothing broken, only bruised, and healing already. But his chains were deceptively strong; tugging at them, even with his enhanced strength, yielded only pain. They held fast.

Time to turn his attention outward. "Barton, Romanov, report," he demanded quietly, eyes flashing back open.

"Hurting, Captain," Barton answered, a thickness and slowness to his voice that would have betrayed him even if he had tried to lie. He was on Steve's right, his wife on his other side. "But I'm in better shape than I could be."

"I think I'm doing slightly better," Romanov murmured, rolling her shoulders. "He was slightly in front of me when the place exploded. Caught the brunt of it."

"Stark? Thor?" Steve turned his head the other way. (Banner, of course, was just fine, as the "Other Guy" had handled all the difficult stuff for him.)

"All I have are questions, Cap," Stark, the closest to Steve, glanced over, eyes dark with frustration. "Why did Fury bring him in? He should have known he would turn on us."

"I, as well, am more confused than hurt," Thor added, from the other side of Stark. "Too much trust appears to have been placed in my brother."

Banner growled his agreement.

So Steve was the only one who thought that perhaps Loki hadn't betrayed them. Barton and Romanov did not defend their director, though as the only other ones (Steve assumed Barton had confided in his wife) aware of Steve and Loki's intimacy, as well as the only others employed directly by SHIELD, they also avoided decrying the decision. That almost certainly meant his emotions were getting the best of him.

Before Steve could admit his guilt in convincing Fury to let him bring in Loki (what a conversation that had been), his moment was stolen. The twenty-three masterminds of the plot entered the dungeon-like room, arranging themselves in a manner they had clearly rehearsed beforehand. Loki, of course, went off script, leaning lazily against the left wall and leaving a one-man gap somewhere around the center of the ranks. One of them, clearly elected as spokes-person, was slightly forward form the rest.

She stood somewhere around five foot nine or ten, with wavy brown hair and a face flushed with victory. "The mighty Avengers, brought down by a handful of so-called minor villains," she smiled. "How the world will respect us now!"

Loki scoffed from his position on the side. "This is hardly a handful. More of a… batch."

The brunette's head snapped around. "Loki…" she growled menacingly. "Do keep your mouth shut, unless you would like me to close you and Dr. Banner in a room together."

"Perhaps I would be more willing to let you have the spotlight-" Steve resisted the urge to snort. Loki would never willingly let anyone else be the center of attention- "had you bothered to keep me appraised of any schedule changes," Loki's eyes flashed dangerously as he straightened, moving away from the wall.

"We saw an opportunity and moved to take it. You may have missed the initial action, but you're here now, aren't you?" she demanded, refusing to be cowed by the four or five inches he had over her.

"What good will that do me, Veronica?" he hissed, beginning to pace back and forth along the line of heroes. "There are twenty-three of us, and only six Avengers. You have all managed to rush into this despite your many, many months of planning. Perhaps that extra week would have allowed me to talk some sense into this foolish little group, or at least managed to recruit a few to kill the rest of you.

"No, instead, you all have to fight over which hero- if any- you get to murder. Maybe the good doctor?" Loki stopped in front of Banner. "Of course, the binding spell placed over him won't contain the monster forever, and the odds of your actually being able to penetrate the thick skin of the Hulk are unlikely. Your better bet would have been to arrange his being dropped into a volcano or shot into space. But none of you listened to me!" Loki threw his hands up in annoyance.

The ranks of villains were stirring uneasily, and Veronica cut in to try and slow Loki's momentum. "You never bothered to suggest actual plans, Loki! You only ever told us why ours wouldn't work. We all began to wonder whether or not your allegiance really stood with us; after all, what did you stand to gain from this? You have the reputation, the power that we are all striving for! That's why the date changed. No one trusted you!"

"Of course they didn't trust me," Loki snorted, waving away her protestations. "I am the trickster. I am, by definition, untrustworthy. But I would gain the deaths of those who defeated me before! Revenge, my dear; it is sweet. That's what would make the killing blow to the spy and the archer so desirable, isn't it, fellow villains?" Loki disappeared, simultaneously appearing before Barton and Romanov at the other end of the line. "You've nearly all faced one or the other of them at some point. Seeing them here before you so…" he glanced them up and down. "Defeated. It really drives the point home that they don't have superpowers, hmm? That any one of you could easily kill them with one blow apiece. But who gets to?"

Loki stood directly before Romanov, smirking heavily, listening to the sounds of unrest growing louder. His hand slipped forward, quickly, slipping something into her hands, almost faster than Steve could notice. The villains, who saw only Loki's back, noticed nothing.

"There's also my loving brother," Loki called cheerily, voice rising above and drowning out Veronica's. "By Odin, I would love to do him in myself, but this situation just takes all the nuance out of it." Loki set an arm around Thor's shoulder's, turning to grin roguishly at the twenty-two other criminals. They eyed each other uneasily, finally beginning to question the plan that they had concocted. "Tearing his throat out with my bare hands while he stands helpless just wouldn't be as fun as tricking him into dying at the hands of frost giants—but maybe I'm just a romantic. Who would like the chance?"

"Ah ah!" Loki raised a hand to quell the figures who stepped forward, jeering. "Not yet. The auction will not begin until all of the items have been discussed. On my other side there is the intensely egotistical and unlikeable Tony Stark—and I know at least a few of you have been turned down jobs at his corporation. Would you not enjoy electrocuting him or throwing him off of a building? I know I would."

Steve, entranced by Loki's macabre method of stirring dissent, suddenly felt an elbow prodding into his right side. He turned his head, seeing Clint staring purposefully ahead. From the corner of his mouth, the man murmured, "Key," and pressed the self-same device into Steve's hands.

Relief flooded through his body. Loki hadn't double-crossed them; he himself had been double-crossed by the members of this villain's support group, then come up with a plan to help them escape. He maneuvered the key slowly and carefully, trying to twist the manacles into position without being too overt in his movements. All eyes were on him—he was the only Avenger not yet described by Loki, he realized. The animosity behind every gaze was vaguely unsettling, borderline frightening. Mob mentality? He tried to focus on the key as Loki was moving towards him, something in his eyes that wasn't confidence or lust or any of the other things that Steve was used to seeing there.

Concern.

Steve heard the click even as he realized that he needed to catch the manacles and not let them fall. The entire team needed to be free before the villains became aware of their release. He snatched them in the air, breathing out a shuddering sigh of thanks. He nudged Stark with one elbow, pressing the key into the billionaire's hand.

Loki was standing so as to block the transaction, knowing Steve would be under more scrutiny than Romanov or Barton had been when they passed the key along. He faced away from the Avengers, hands clasped behind his back. "Finally, of course, we have Captain America. The man out of time, ripped from the fangs of the Nazis and delivered here to us by virtue of being too stubborn to die. He has been a bit… quiet, lately, hmm? I doubt any of you have personal grudges against him. But still, he is the leader of the Avengers. To be able to claim his death as your own…" Loki shrugged, spreading out his arms. "Well. It has a nice ring to it."

"Move faster, damn you," he hissed, turning his head slightly towards Stark. "I cannot keep them distracted for long." He again pulled his trick of switching positions, appearing among the crowd. "Look at them!" he shouted. "Look at how few there are. Now look around you, you fools! Even if three drove their sword into each Avenger, some of you would still come out of this empty handed! And how impressive that would be, claiming less than one-third of each death? Not very."

He was off to the far right, smirking at the uneasy group of villains. "You are all already painfully aware of the solution to this problem. The Avengers are already out of action, chained and beaten, and how easy it would be for just one of you to kill each and every one of them…" he was slowly walking around the group, watching them spread apart from each other untrustingly. "Your only competition now is each other."

"Can you not all see what he is doing?" Veronica shrieked, finally finding a break in Loki's speech in which she could interject. "Does he not wish to bring about their deaths yourself? He only wants to watch you all kill each other, then stride in and kill the sole survivor, stealing all the glory for himself."

"Lies!" Loki slung back accusingly, pointing across the room at her. "For why should I care if I murder them myself? The end is still the same, and my hands will remain clean." He rolled his eyes. "Do you know how difficult it is to clean off bloodstains?

"Anyway," Loki smirked, "was that not your plan all along?"

The room erupted into chaos; Veronica's formerly relatively loyal supporters turned viciously against her (and each other). Banner, at the far end of the line, released his enchanted chains and transformed nearly simultaneously. Thor's hammer broke through the far wall, pulled to his hand, and the Avengers leapt into the fray.

Steve dodged the blows with a heavyset, heavily muscled man whose footsteps left impressions on the concrete floor. Steve, on the balls of his feet, spotted the man's balance beginning to shift onto one leg and lashed out with one foot, slamming his heel into the man's knee. The man cried out, collapsing to the ground with an earthshaking thump, and Steve clasped one of the chains previously holding Banner about the man's wrist. That plan would prove ineffective quickly, considering how few chains there were compared to bad guys. He needed to figure out something more inventive…

But he didn't have the time. Loki's grim assessment of their odds was proving true, even with the large degrees of infighting occurring within the villainous ranks.

The Hulk, though he could have smashed his way through the ranks of most of the villains quite easily, had been engaged almost immediately by a woman with hammers for hands. Her slight form seemed to imply a lack of strength, but the way the Hulk howled when she hit him clearly belied that impression. And she hit him often, that slight form also giving her far greater mobility.

Barton and Romanov, fighting as a unit, were faring decently—but Barton was obviously hurting, forcing Romanov to sacrifice offensive attacks in favor of protecting him. Behind the onslaught of a knife-wielding woman with neon green skin and a man who could see three seconds into the future, they were slowly losing ground.

Thor was performing the best of all of them, of course. He had been able to summon his hammer, and so had not been shoved out of his element. Yet the villains seemed to see this as a challenge, and so he fought the largest numbers of them at once.

Stark, armorless and poorly trained compared to the rest of the Avengers, was in over his head. He had been backed into a corner by a group of three with prehensile tails and sharp fangs, only saved so far by their bickering over who would get the chance to kill him.

Steve fought his way toward Stark, seeing the billionaire's situation as the most dire. He reached forward, seizing one of the whip-like tails and using it to yank its owner off balance and throwing out a hip to tip the creature over it. One of the other two, in the process of leaping towards that particular comrade, found itself slamming headfirst into the wall, where it slumped unconscious. Steve slammed his foot down on the windpipe of the one he'd dropped, taking it out of commission for a good while, and Stark launched himself onto the back of the final one to place it in a headlock. The tail snatched at his back in an attempt to pry him loose, but he stubbornly held on until the thing collapsed.

"Smooth moves, Captain," he panted, clasping hands briefly with Steve. "I just hope I'm as spry at your age."

"Try actually exercising," Steve retorted, ignoring Stark's responding eyebrow raise in favor of turning to survey the battlefield once more. Loki's gold head dress was obviously missing, but Steve shook off the concern. He'd probably just removed himself, considering his job to be over. "They're taking care of themselves before we even have to," he observed.

"Just means we'll be stuck fighting the most dangerous ones," Stark muttered, ducking a stray energy beam. "We won't be left with the ones whose aim sucks."

Sucking in his stomach to avoid a similar blast, Steve decided now was not the time for commentary. "Find some way to arm yourself," he ordered, shoving Stark back as he himself leapt back into the fray.

Thor had fought his way over to Barton and Romanov, incapacitating three on the way. Between that, the four felled between Steve and Stark, and the blob-like creature Romanov even now hacked her way out of (with a machete presumably won off of another opponent), the Avengers had defeated a total of nine of their opponents. With the absence of Loki and the deaths of another four at the hands of their own comrades, only nine villains remained standing.

Steve liked these odds.

He dodged the katana of a seemingly uninhabited (probably haunted) suit of samurai armor, fervently wishing he had his shield, and caught the thing's wrist as it doubled back for another blow. Lashing out towards its "face" and groin proved pointless, and Steve struggled to maintain his grip and prevent that deadly blade from lopping off his head. He rolled underneath the swing as it broke free, scrambling to return to his feet and expecting a new strike to hit home at any second.

But all he heard was a dull thud followed by an ear ringing explosion. Spinning, Steve discovered a charred pile of leather and wood, blown apart by an explosive arrow.

"Heads up, Captain!" Barton shouted. The archer, rearmed, stood side by side with Loki, whose arm drove Steve's shield into an elegant, arcing throw even as the words left Barton's lips.

So that's where Loki had disappeared to; he'd fetched their weapons (except for Stark's armor, as he hadn't been wearing it during the kidnapping. A gun, instead, had been sacrificed from Romanov's immense store). Steve's face split into a smile as that familiar metal slammed back into his grasp; how very much like home it felt.

The remaining scoundrels fell swiftly—with the assistance of Steve and Thor, the Hulk's antagonist was clapped in irons, while the rest found themselves at the receiving end of Barton's, Romanov's, and Stark's deadly projectiles. The Avengers stood, weapons in hand, surrounded by prone forms. Some moaned. Some did not.

Steve's heart raced, his body pumping with adrenaline. Through the haze of endorphins he saw Barton ceding to Romanov's concern, a grimace crossing his face as he let her pull his bow from his grasp. Thor tossed an arm about Stark's shoulders, great blonde head tossed back in amusement. Banner moved slowly across the room, feeling the pulses of their various victims—because, despite being forced into this predicament by those villains own actions, how could Stark see them as anything but? They lay too still or moaned too loud. Loki, that clever and uncharacteristically loyal man, stood off to the side, not included in the post-victory rituals of the others. He might, perhaps, have tried once or twice to have caught Steve's eye, but the Captain was not watching him.

Something was wrong.

Steve could sense it as a tingling at the back of his neck, not nearly the same as what that kid from Queens had, but no less reliable. He scanned the room furiously, grip tightening on his shield as the world seemed to stop around him. What did he see? Steve closed his eyes, forcing himself to ignore the questioning voices of the other Avengers as they noted his silence and listen instead to the whisper of his instincts.

The question wasn't what he saw—it was what he wasn't. The body of Veronica.

Name: Amelia Veronica Barnes

Alias: Veronica

DOB: Unknown

Nationality: Unknown

Loyalty: N/A

Powers: the alteration of pigments in her skin and hair allow her to camouflage herself. Combined with natural strength, speed, and agility, she uses this ability to ambush unwitting victims.

Steve spun, throwing up his shield as his formerly whispering instincts began to scream. The strength behind the blow that went screeching down the rounded metal was nothing special, not compared to what he'd withheld against previously, but the speed of her follow up shocked him. Her dagger, long and slender, slipped under his arm and between his ribs. He regretted not wearing his ridiculous star-spangled suit, with its built-in armor, as pajamas.

He struck out with his shield, vaguely noting the sickening crunch of Thor's hammer colliding with her falling form, but was more concerned with his own inability to remain standing. Strong arms caught him, eased him to the floor, the voice of their owner commanding him not to die.

"I had engaged in conversation with them long before you requested I do so, though I doubt you realized the fact."

The voice reached into Steve's subconscious, a cool wind that scooped him up from where he'd been lying and carried him upwards in a lazy spiral.

"Yes, the idea of partnering myself with such classless mortals was hardly appealing, but revenge did seem vaguely sweet. Particularly against my brother, of course. He might as well have been born a pig."

Steve felt dizzy, moving even in that slow of a circle. He rather wished the wind would let him back down gently so he could sleep for a bit longer.

"But upon hearing their plan… for one thing, it was so entirely vulgar. It lacked subtlety or cleverness… though, I suppose, you could argue that my whole 'loose an entire alien army on New York City' plan was hardly subtle either. At least it was interesting."

Steve was starting to remember now. Chains, arrows, shields, Veronica, pain…

"For another thing, I found myself very opposed to the idea of your death. That was not at all the plan. You were entertainment whilst I waited for SHIELD to grow lax in its investigations… but I had grown strangely attached to you, and your tiny little apartment, and the baseball games that always came on the instant you turned on your television… It's inexplicable. And yet it happened."

He felt the bed dip as Loki sat on the edge, cool hand covering Steve's. "Despite my stand up performance as you Avengers' guardian angel, SHIELD still intends to make my arrest… I orchestrated the death of thousands, after all. Goodbye, Steve Rogers. Good luck." His lips brushed across Steve's and he stood to go, but Steve caught his wrist.

"You're… awake."

"Don't even try to claim you made that speech for your own benefit," Steve murmured, tugging gently to urge him to reclaim his seat. Slowly he did. "You just couldn't resist one last dramatic exit."

"I suppose," Loki admitted, voice halfway between amused and disgruntled. "But dramatic or not, an exit is what I have to make right now. Even now SHIELD may be discovering that the 'Loki' they have in their custody is just a street vendor I set an illusion over."

Steve pulled him in for a long, soft kiss. "They won't look for you here."

"Not at first. But if the archer knows this secret, then odds are others on the SHIELD totem pole do as well, no matter if he confided in them or not…" Yet Loki didn't argue as Steve pulled him closer again, instead moving, carefully and without hurting Steve, to straddle the man's waist.

"You'll have to leave New York this time," Steve murmured, hands on Loki's waist.

Loki made a noise of assent, biting lightly at Steve's lower lip. "Not sure where I will go, what I will do, or how long I will have to stay away."

"That implies you'll come back."

Loki merely pressed his lips more firmly to Steve's in response, his answer clearly written in the passion there present.

Tony Stark was the last of the Avengers to arrive, finding Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Thor waiting somewhat impatiently down the hall from Steve's room. "You waited for me, then?" he smirked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm flattered."

"Don't get too inflated an opinion of yourself-"

"Too late," Natasha muttered.

Clint, the previous speaker, shot her an amused glance and began again. "Don't get too inflated an opinion of yourself, Stark. We did it for the Captain, not for you."

Tony shrugged. "The end is still the same. Now, who has-" he caught sight of the cake in Bruce's hands. "Ah. Excellent." He rubbed his hands together, grinning.

"It's for Steve, Tony," Bruce rolled his eyes. "Try not to eat it all."

Tony scoffed. "The man is sick, Bruce. He is sick and in the hospital, and he absolutely will not mind if I finish off his cake for him." He tried to scoop a bit off frosting off onto one finger, but Bruce batted his hand away.

"At least let him have the first taste!"

"Yeah, yeah," Tony laughed. "So if I'm here, why are we still standing around?"

Tony led the procession down the hall, counting room numbers under his breath. "C123, here we are," he beamed, pushing his way inside. The door closed behind him, as the other Avengers, a few paces behind, cursed him silently for not waiting for them all to arrive at once.

The man reappeared almost at once, shocked expression on his face. "Steve, uh… Steve's busy right now."

Clint, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, managed to maintain his composure as Thor and Bruce demanded explanations from Tony, but Natasha was forced to hide her grin behind a sneeze.