I feel very still and very empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabuloo.
-Sylvia Plath, the Bell Jar

"What the hell is Barton doing in there?" Natasha was standing in front of the one-way view mirror, hands on her hips, as she glared lasers through the glass towards the tall lanky black hair man in the room.

After she had burst into the ambulance to deliver the message that nobody wanted to hear- the banging of the door and her rather flushed face had bought the others clamouring over- they had shared a moment of stupefied silence as all eyes zoomed towards Clint whose jaw was pressed so tightly that his face seemed to be carved out of stone.

Then, lightning was forking through the sky as Thor touched down, landing only feet away, his face painting as grim a picture as the catastrophe surrounding them.

And now, here they were, gathered in the room next to the chamber that had been designed to contain the Hulk.

And there was no need to answer the impeccable Black Widow's demanding question as one of the men inside leaned forward ever so slightly, breaking the strained silence.

It was just them; it was as if time stood still for a moment after the blonde had announced his presence with a single frosted two syllable word.

"Loki."

That one word rolled across the table to him and slithered into his ear like a snake curling around its prey.

And then, a raspy voice that turned stronger at every word uttered from a throat dried from anticipation and something akin to pain and expectations jumbled together. "Alone. You're all alone now. How does it feel?"

"You would know," he responded with curled lips to convey maximum nonchalance, even as he knew that his answer would curdle both him and the man sitting across from him. "You would know."

But something has changed since the last time they had met and the Hawk did not flinch at his words like he anticipated.

So he drove the point home even more because he knew what was the Hawk's worst nightmares, knew what made the Hawk stay up at night, knew what would break the Hawk until he can no longer fly through the air and will instead limp on the ground with broken wings. "Is it not anybody's fault but your own for being so susceptible to me?" He paused for effect, letting his words sink into the mind of someone who had almost been as close to him as his forsaken brother used to be. "For having heart?"

There was a precious moment where he thought the archer would lunge across the distance between them to strangle him before the door opened with a 'snap', making Clint flirt his grey eyes towards the Widow who now stood in the door frame, shadows making her face dark as she barks out, "Barton, with me."

The person in question just stared at her before taking a stand, palms flat on the table, shoulders tightening up before the man blew heavily through his nose. "Is there a problem, Romanoff?"

The woman just jerked her head sideways, an indication that she wanted to talk elsewhere, anywhere where he could not listen but the archer did not satisfy her with the answer she wanted. The archer continued his stare down with her, tension heavy in the air.

And all Loki the exiled Asgadian wanted to do was laugh because this is utter insanity and he thrived on the chaos that is ensuing through the air.

You lied in your report. Fury never thought to ask you or maybe it's because he already knew. Coulson probably knew. Fury's one good eye indeed.

As you sit across the God who had plagued your dreams form past to present to most likely future, you resist the instinct to curl your hands inwards to hide the pulpy bruised fingers that are the result of unsaid torment that still stews inside you.

After all, this isn't the first time you've been face to face with Loki, the God of Mischief who hails from Asgard. The first time you've seen him had not been when he erupted from the Bifrost in a whirlwind of blue and green but when he had stood forlornly next to the large artifact that had hurtled from the sky and landed in the middle of nowhere New Mexico.

You never mentioned it in your report because back then, in the midst of freezing sheets of rain and the clapping of thunder bellowing from the sky, you thought you saw a ghost next to the giant hammer in the ground. A tall gauntly spirit who had stood for a split of a second before reaching downwards to grasp the handle of the hammer. A lanky wisp who tugged the weapon before looking skywards in what looked like a sad desperate manner before vanishing from sight.

A figment of your imagination, you had said. After all, you had been up for the past 48 hours because Coulson wanted everything to be perfect- the tent set up with the interrogation chamber, the giant bubble like sheets wrapping them, the multitude of agents milling around the area were all under the orders of you.

But when the same haunted man spilled out of the portal and the same man blocked you from shooting the ever loving god out of him, you realize karma's caught up with you.

And that can never be a good thing.

- Sorry about the super long wait. Like half a year maybe? Please don't shoot me.

- Experimenting on different point of views and different styles of writing.

- Again, super sorry!

- Hope this chapter makes sense and meets expectations! Feedback, please?

- Reviews are much appreciated!