Epilogue: The Wolf at the Door

. . .

Natasha saw him in the exit bay of the Playground as she prepared to depart, not really lurking as he waited for her. He had something under his arm, some narrow bag that crinkled a lighter brown against the plain black jacket he wore. She crossed her arms and walked up to him, studying his pale face much as he studied hers. "So, has debriefing been fun?"

"An absolute joy. It yet continues, but I suppose I must endure." Loki gave her a thin smirk before taking the item from under his arm and presenting it to her in a way that was almost awkward and diffident both. "I don't expect you to accept this, but I offer it regardless. A mark of some gratitude for not killing me when you had all the chance and more. For your meet next with Agent May."

Curious enough to at least find out what it was that the demigod considered a peace offering, she took the heavy item and studied it. A bottle. She could tell that much just by the way its weight changed and sloshed in her hands. She spoke without looking up for more than a quick glance. "You tell Coulson what I said to you?"

"No, I didn't." Loki clasped both hands behind his back, looking down at her with a mild, considering expression. "If that's the least you do to me this year, that's well more than I could hope for. No doubt, by your reckoning, more than I deserve."

Her brows furrowed as she pulled the neck of the bottle free of the bag to peek, then widened as she realized what it was. "Starka," she said, letting her surprise stay visible as she read the tan paper label on the rare Polish rye vodka. "You can't even import this. How the hell did you get it?"

"I cheat." He shrugged, the shoulders moving light and offhandedly. "That much has not changed."

She lifted her face to look at him again, letting the bottle slide back into its bag. Her next question was blunt. "What the hell happened to you?"

Another shrug, this one more rueful. At first she thought he wasn't going to respond. "I... remember what you said. When I was in a glass cage, with you on the other side. That hour I targeted you with crudity and rudeness. I don't simply look for openings when I attack, I listen. You talked of red in your ledger, yes, used the truth of your story to lure me out. Blood red from all the things you've done, and that painted you into a target." He studied her when she didn't interrupt him. "And when that debt came due, your friend... that Barton, who I've also done ill by, yes, he made another call. You took that chance he offered and you walked away from what you'd been. I heard you. I listened, and I marked it down well. At the time, no, it would not have been for good cause. But I did not forget."

He lifted a dark eyebrow. "This is a rhetorical, you owe me no answer – is there still not the night where you might wake up, afraid the past will knock again and drag you into the darkness? That the wolves will never entirely leave your door?"

The question alone told her his answer. But yes, there was a truth there. She could hear the shape of the story behind it, and there was some familiarity in the tale. She looked away and tucked the bottle under her own arm. "We're not friends."

He uttered a sharp, short laugh. "Not hardly."

Her free hand lifted a single finger in warning. "Behave yourself."

"Absolutely not." The laugh narrowed itself into a thin, wry smile. He bowed his head once, low, in the start of a farewell.

Natasha Romanoff nodded back, bobbing her knotted red hair. "Under the circumstances, that's probably the best answer." She swept the bay with a quick glance, her travel bag on one shoulder and her other hand coming up to steady the bottle under her arm. Damn right she was keeping it. The last time she'd found a bottle of starka... well. "I still don't know what I'm telling Clint." She glanced at him one more time. "Because it's way better I explain this to him, than he find out like I did. I'll keep it low otherwise, like Phil asked. But I have to tell him. He deserves to know."

"Perhaps I should have found a second bottle, then, for that conversation."

That gave her a laugh, an honest one. "He's not that classy. A crappy domestic six-pack and he'll be fine." She shook her head and started to move towards the monitored door out. "Though by the end of it I might need one. Oh, well." She shrugged, not looking back. "Tell May her new sense of humor still sucks."

The drawling voice caught up with her, a sardonic ghost. "I find I like living."

Another laugh, this one light and bell-like, followed the spy on her way out the door and into the greater world once more.

. . .

The rec room and its warm kitchen was doubling as an ad hoc bar as the hours ticked towards midnight. Director Coulson slouched in a seat by the small fridge, his suit jacket off and his tie half-undone. To his left was Agent May in a comfortable dark tank-top and to his right was the less-tired looking Skye. Across was Loki, still worn and again unusually pale, the sharp face floating above a black shirt of his own. The table between them was littered with beer bottles, two half-full pints of whiskey, and cartons of reheated Korean takeout from a tiny South Carolina dive. May brought food back for everyone in the core team via an abrupt use of the smaller plane she didn't want to expand on, claiming it was part of finishing off some little loose ends.

May put her cards down. "Full house."

"Awwwwww." Skye dropped her set while Coulson chuckled. "So much for my bluffing skills."

"You're dreadful at it," Loki told her.

"I really am." She reached out and grabbed a corn chip, gesturing at him with it. "Come on, you're still in?"

"No. Two pair. I thought I had something." The demigod sighed and pushed the results of his lost bet further in. "This is why I don't gamble easily."

"You can never win them all," said May through a thin smirk.

"Is that the lesson for the month?"

Director Coulson ran a finger along the side of his nose, sighing. "Might be." He looked to May at his side. "We got Latveria off us for now, but at what cost?" He shook his head, reaching out for his beer and finding it depressingly empty. To remedy that, he tilted half out his chair and hooked the fridge open, barely managing to snag a cold one. "The more I think about it, the more I think the real shake-out of all this is that Doom guy marking us out on his mental map with big bold letters. Don't think I like how I feel about that. I don't know what we could have done differently, not without losing a lot of our people, but there it is. Anyone else?"

Skye lifted a hand. He snaked out another beer for her.

"To have his eye turned toward you may well be a waiting threat, yes." Loki's voice went quiet. He let May take his discarded hand away from him, reaching out for one of the whiskey bottles himself. "I saw those eyes, and there was no kindness in them, much less humanity. What that lord does, he does solely for what he perceives is the best and most righteous route. He has a care for his people, but it's a cold and distant care. Like a god over good-natured livestock. He has plans for their lives, whether they have a will or not." His mouth twisted into a dour smile as he filled his glass. "I'd know."

"Your brief did read pretty hairy." May folded the cards back together into a neat pile, preparing to deal for the next round. She ignored the snickers that followed her words.

That got her a sharp look. "Please tell me that was an unintentional jest, a pun not meant to be at my expense."

She lifted an eyebrow as she split the pile in half. "I'll never tell."

Skye giggled from across the table at Loki's sigh. "Was it necessary to pin that picture of me from Ms. Romanoff's phone in the hall?"

Coulson nearly choked on his new beer at the weariness in the voice. "Absolutely. Official orders." His chest heaved in a quiet laugh when the demigod's piercing stare turned toward him. "Oh, come on. I'm probably never gonna see something like that again."

"If I have any say about it, no." Loki slumped in his seat, checking the cards dealt to him. At his side, Skye mumbled her opening bet. He put his cards back down with a grimace. "No saving that hand," he said, pushing the cards back into the center. "I lose my taste for the game for the night, I apologize."

"It's not the cat joke, is it?"

He shook his head. Arriving back at the Playground had seen him with a meal in his stomach and a brief nap, but there had been no hiding the exhaustion still deeply marking his face. "The jests ultimately do not bother me. I understand the perspective. But I find that Latveria does."

"He saw through magic." Skye took a chug off her beer. "Your magic. That had to be a nasty knock."

"More than you can realize. SHIELD collectively may have his eye, yes – and now so do I." He slumped further, crossing his arms as the trio bet against each other. "We knew there were possibilities. Your Strange. That Vernei. Yet still, I did not expect him. The humanity he lacked might have been his own bargained chip for the abilities he holds, thus proving the rumors. Well, it seems at least he did not expect me, either. That bought me time to run." He shook his head, a stray strand of hair falling into his face. "Your world holds more dangers than any here or in the galaxy realize. When one situation resolves, a thousand more arise, and from angles never considered. Are you, are we truly prepared for the future that is coming?"

"Oh God, he's getting his morose on." Skye grabbed another corn chip from the bowl. "Here we go."

That broke the downward spiral, the dour expression filtering into an unwilling smirk. "Oh, very well. Leave the dire predictions for another night. You'd prefer another topic?"

"Well, since shapeshifting is now a thing, what was the deal with the horse? I've been wanting to ask that for-ev-errrr."

Loki unfolded his arms, staring at her. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Skye." Coulson didn't know whether to be horrified or to just let it ride. Oh crap, another unintentional pun. He bit his lip, then decided to drink his beer and hope the urge to laugh passed.

Skye didn't notice the attempt to divert her. "Did you get to that bit in the Norse myths yet?" She looked around the table as Loki pulled out his phone, the white screen indicating it was probably Google he was navigating quickly through. "I mean, I'm totally prepared to not believe it..."

The phone clattered to the table in front of the outraged demigod at the search results. "What in Hel is wrong with this planet?"

"You're on it, you tell us. I mean, given a chance to talk, you usually do."

"I did not give birth to a horse!"

"Well, there it is." Skye gestured at the table in front of him. "On the record."

"Why would you even think to ask me that?"

"I was curious?" She giggled loudly at his aghast expression.

A long hand passed across his forehead. "Oh Gods, if I have earned any largesse amongst this crowd, change the topic yet again and immediately. I beg you."

. . .

"This is Ali Velshi for Real Money on Al-Jazeera America. Breaking news tonight, both Roxxon Oil and its Brand division took a nasty tumble on the stock market this morning on rumors that the long-time king of the fuel world is looking at allegations of international interference in the politics of multiple countries. Not only are established OPEC countries are starting to speak out, but even Vladimir Putin is coming forward and claiming that Roxxon, established in the early years of World War II, has been fooling around with pressuring everyone from Hungary through the Ukraine and, yes, even Putin's Russia itself. This is dispelling the even zanier rumors that suggest this has something to do with the tiny, secretive Latverian nation.

"Roxxon has a history of turning itself around from even the worst knocks, but this one's gonna have ramifications for a while to come, if they bear out. Dario Agger, the current CEO, is being summoned to Capitol Hill next week to testify..."

. . .

Clint turned the still-cold but mostly drained can of beer over in his broad hands, studying the label without actually reading it. He still didn't know what he felt. Next to him on the ratty couch was Natasha, an empty bottle of some better pedigree of beer dangling from a finger trapped in its neck. "Just one question."

"Just one?" She smirked and leaned out to put the bottle on the dinged up old plywood table. The ugliest centerpiece in Barton's favorite Brooklyn nest. "God, Barton, you know you can afford actual wood, right? And cleaning spray?"

"Just one." He finished his beer and slumped back against the couch, looking at her. The whole wild story was ringing in his ears. From her, he knew he didn't have a choice but to believe it. Still. "Are you kidding me?"

"I know, right?" With a laugh, she pulled out her phone and showed him the picture she took at the edge of Romania.

He took her phone to stare at it more closely, rubbing two calloused archer's fingers across his eyebrows. Yeah, it was still somehow definitely that guy. He was stuck between disgust and weirded-out amusement. "I don't understand anything anymore."

"It's a brave new world, Clint. Doesn't change what we're needed for."

"Doesn't it? Nat, come on. We're having a hard time keeping up."

She shrugged, unruffled by his doubt. "Gods and kings. I know. But none of them mean anything without the people to hold them together. Without the hard lessons we fight for. We keep the light on, when all other candles go out." She gave a quiet little laugh, pulling a knee up to her chin. "It's the essence of the human experience. Nobody can take that away from us. When kings topple and gods falter, it's up to the people to pick it all back up. We can change, we can drive others to change. Change is everything. Evolution. Adaptation. It's our nature. It's the one thing we bring to every table."

Barton watched her as she talked, still thinking about putting an arrow in the demigod's eye. "And you think he did. He changed, at least partially because Coulson and his folks are decent people. That good old human spirit can conquer all." He watched her shrug, not able to keep the disbelief out his voice. "Nat."

"I do." She looked across the room, out the window into the warm New York night. "I really do. There's some hope in that. Y'know. For everyone." She looked back at him with a laugh. "More beer?"

He studied her, remembering the other person she'd been, one on the very edge of killing him without remorse. He'd taken that chance anyway, taken a risk on her without a whisper of hesitation or wondering what that might mean for the future. There'd been something else in her, something other than just what the Black Widow program instilled into its broken kids. He couldn't put a finger on it then, still had a hard time narrowing it down sometimes, but he guessed he understood Phil Coulson's love of the second chance rhetoric anyway.

The core of Loki's story was the same, listening to her distill it. As much as he didn't want to believe that, she was all the proof he really needed. Sitting right next to him. The best friend he'd ever had. "Absolutely more beer."

. . .

Victor von Doom regarded his prisoner in the deep cells below the castle, the eyes in the silvery mask pitiless and curious both. He understood, he thought, her long-hidden fury with him. The bitter costs of the kingdom he forged, and she blamed him for that steep price. "Do you not see, Lucia? That the fury you turned on me was but the same we could have shared, endured with you?"

"All I wanted was to save the world from you," she whispered dully, not looking up from the rough stone beneath her feet.

"And all we..." He tilted his steel face inside his green cowl, allowing himself a single moment of attempted humanity to offer his once-loyal servant. "That I want, old friend, is to save the world from itself. And from all the threats beyond it. All paths end in despair. Except one, Lucia. Save the one I can make. There are no other choices. No others that can turn a fated path into a new, golden road."

"I don't care what you think you see in your dreams. You're damned, Victor. You sold out to demons, and you paid with my father's blood to do it."

"To protect myself from other, greater demons. I've seen those futures, Lucia. In them all, everything burns. There is only the striding god and his infinite power. The emptiness that follows him close. The end. I understand sacrifice, to stop the flood that might drown us all. Had you shared trust with me, not merely squandered it in pettiness and revenge, you would be in the great hall with me now, preparing to save not only a world, but perhaps a universe entire."

"You talk of nothing but madness. I've listened to you before. There is no one on this planet that thinks like you. No thing like you. Forget your dreams of the universe, Victor. What about what the people need? My people. Yours... I suppose."

Doom thought of the cat, the creature that survived against his stacked odds. That strange pet of SHIELD's – yes, he would find that trail again. And he smiled within the mask. "Again, Lucia. I believe you are wrong. In your anger, you nearly destroyed what I might have saved. The stability of the world, in the hours before darkness comes. As it is for our own people, we cannot trouble their peace overmuch. You nearly cost everyone that, by stirring me to fury."

"Damn you, Victor. I don't want to hear your justifications. Do what you will to me. It doesn't matter anymore."

Doom put a steely hand on the bars, looking down at his servant. The gulf between them was too vast. She would not see. Not with the eyes she had now. The moment of humanity drifted away, leaving only Doom and his fire-forged resolve. "We will not let you go, Lucia. You will serve us again. We will ensure your faith in us is... strengthened. And you will ever be our glory."

He turned and looked at his staff, those fine, gleaming robots and their tools. "Remake her," he told them. "The future calls its soldiers to war."

~ Fin

"All warfare is based on deception." ~ Sun Tzu

3/9/15 MDS. All relevant rights remain in the hands of Marvel with no infringement intended. All realities are fair game. All half-mad demigods do whatever the hell they want.

. . .

Notes:

There's clearly something wrong with me in that I wanted to write a story where Loki shapeshifted into a cat (while making it read as serious business and not too goofy), so I just blithely pull together all this weird Tom Clancy action to go with it. Like 'ooo, here's this fairly sincere murder/spy drama and now there's DOOMBOTS AND SHAPESHIFTING AND NOW YOU'RE THINKING OF LOKI'S CAT BUTTHOLE.'

Man, I don't even know. Thanks for coming along for the ride. And sorry about that. Next time will be less weird. Or more weird. One of those.

I do Skye (Daisy Johnson) a major disservice here. When the comic universe's Lucia von Bardas moves against SHIELD and the rest of the world in 2004's Secret War event (during which time Vic is in actual Hell), it's Daisy's actions that stop the overt threat. Although the rest of the story is a pretty grim one about Nick Fury's willingness to cut throats, any throats, to do what he thinks needed to be done. Well, there's always next time.

Dario Agger is the current CEO of Roxxon in the comics, and unlike here, the dude is a literal freaking minotaur. (maybe he is in Codexville, and I just haven't figured that out yet) He is a pretty angry dude, however. As a relatively new character, you can find him in the pages of the latest version of Thor (yes, that one, which is actually really fun), brokering deals with, weirdly enough, the Dark Elf prince Malekeith and the Jotun.

Hans Stutgart is an actual Latverian agent from the comics, but a pretty minor one. I don't feel bad about killing him off. This time, I just picked his name off a list while I was researching Latveria and said 'you die on page one.' Maybe he liked puppies. This version liked teaching kids. And in my head, Aimee Rodgers grows up just fine. Though she never forgets about the death of her teacher, and the weird guy that came to question her about it. Maybe she got a note someday about that. I don't know for certain. But's it's possible.

Latveria's secretiveness, location, and history is cobbled together from all sorts of sources. Also, I studied Google Maps alongside some Marvel map sketches long enough to probably end up on some kind of watch list. Vic's not real into the tourism industry, and he's got a bigger fetish for naming things after himself than Queen Victoria. Gotta say this for Vic; where most villains run their mouth about taking over a country and aiming high with their future goals, Doctor Doom gets it done. He's also sometimes a terrific example of a well-intentioned extremist. In the comics, Doom often genuinely believes he's the last great hope for mankind. And, like others of that stripe, it's not always clear that he's in the wrong. Though his methods are... um... yeah.

He's got some creepy ways of showing his interest and affection for people.

The Codex is going on a brief hiatus until after Age of Ultron & the AoS season finale while I try to focus on my own work, although I still have stories planned out. There's probably a one-shot coming online in the near future (angsty little fluff piece), and as for the next full-length story, I can tell you this much: By the hoary hosts of Hoggoth!