***WARNING!*** GRAPHIC TORTURE SCENE in this chapter.

AN: Finally, back in the building at work, the transition towards this new world of limited service and needing appointments has been an interesting experience (and an absolute clusterfuck in many instances). Haven't had as much time to focus on writing, but we're moving along!

***WARNING!*** GRAPHIC TORTURE SCENE in this chapter.

Natasha focused on the music, ignoring the sharp pain gnawing at her calf. Timing and rhythm was everything when it came to ballet. One moment of distraction, and you would fall entirely out of sync with the music and other dancers, ruining the graceful display. A ballerina had to be one with the music, elegant and effortless in their movements, turning unnatural poises and motions into liquid grace.

They were not allowed to make mistakes, they were not allowed to be flawed. They were not allowed to be less than perfect.

They were not allowed to be human.

Plier, bend at the waist, fluid and gracious, the center of gravity lowering. Relever, rise up with feline grace, back arching. Etendre, stretch for the heavens, fingers reaching as if to grasp the stars in your palms. Glisser, gliding like a cloud across the ground, feet barely audible, like the sweet whisper of death. Sauter, a leap into midair with a split performed at the pinnacle, body to twisting to land silently. Elancer, swiftly darting away to allow the next dancer to land their jump in the exact same spot with the precise same pose. Tourner, a quick twist of the body to turn into a tornado of dizzying motion that ended where the dancer began, just as the melody finished its cycle.

Again and again, it went, the music endlessly repeating, the motions ceaseless, her performance impeccable. Natasha didn't know how long they had been doing this, time was irrelevant during such exercise, only perfection mattered.

The muscle in her left calf tightened, a cramp threatening to ruin her as she twirled and balanced on the tip of her toes, the nail on her big toe chipped and painfully peeling away from the flesh. She did not allow her pain to show, but if she dared a glance down at her foot, she would see her the blood slowly dying her ballet slippers red at the tips.

Her pirouette ended, allowed her to briefly catch a glimpse of her sisters dancing beside her. Each of them perfect in poise, steely faces expressionless like hers. No amount of pain or suffering could falter their steps. Nothing could break them.

The screaming started again.

It was not as intense as it had been before, the victim now too weak to make the long drawn out piercing wail that had made it so difficult to hear the music. It was faded and scratchy now, the odd break between desperate inhalations an indication their vocal cords would give out soon.

Natasha continued moving, ignoring the pitiful animal sounds of human suffering intermingled with classical music, her ears tuned only to the harmony and rhythm of the instruments. She was an image of absolute elegance reflected and amplified by the eleven other girls mirroring her movements perfectly.

Despite her flawless performance, her eyes, unlike her ears, remained focused on the scene before her. A clear see-through interrogation room window gave an unobtrusive view into a well-lit white sterile room where a strapped down man was being dissected alive.

He was a prisoner, perhaps. Or just another unfortunate expendable with no real purpose or usefulness to those in power. A necessary sacrifice as the Madam would say.

The man's life may have been meaningless, but his death would serve a higher purpose that would resonate long after his passing. Hundreds of such insignificant men and women had been sacrificed to teach the girls putting on the elegant ballet routine. Their deaths had served to make them better killers, hunters, seducers, and interrogators.

The unfortunate victim could not move, his head buckled down to the slanted full-body table alongside his limbs with thick leather straps. All across his body, skin and muscle had been cut open and peeled back. The sickening image of human vivisection was completed by the pins that held back stripped flesh like a butterfly on display for an avid collector's collection.

Natasha could see into the cavity that housed his lungs, the bloodied white sternum cartilage sticking out like a wishbone on a half-eaten turkey. A barely visible pink mass rose and fell with each rattling breath. The odd gaseous sound of a slowly deflating balloon was barely audible through the observation window if she concentred hard enough.

The man doing the dissecting wore the gloves and mask of a surgeon, his bloodied dull brown apron slick with fluids. Instead of the instruments of surgery, the trays surrounding him were filled with tools one might find in a butcher's shop or a hardware store.

Natasha watched as he began chipping away at the sternum bone, each strike of the tiny oddly delicate hammer eliciting another rasping scream from the unfortunate victim. Still, she continued dancing, not allowing her observations to distract her from the music and the flow of motion she had spent hundreds of hours practicing.

That was the whole point.

A Black Widow had to be able to withstand pain that would break another, to continue to perform impeccably where a human should falter. Through a combination of physical conditioning and honed mental fortitude, they would be able to overcome obstacles that would shatter the will of anyone else. While doing the impossible, they had to also be able to learn and observe, to collect information, to remove themselves from the situation and focus on the objective.

Only the mission mattered. Everything else was expendable—even themselves.

To do less than that would make them a failure. And failure was not tolerated by the Madam.

She spun again, leaping through the air, briefly coming face to face with Angelina.

The others may not be able to understand the look in her eyes, but Natasha did. She knew that her sister was different from them, separate from her. Angelina was kind despite being taught to be cruel, soft despite her body being hard like marble. It pained her to see this man's suffering. Her battle sister thought what they were being forced to learn was wrong.

Natasha shot her partner a brief warning glance, a look to remind her of the price of failure for both of them. It was something they had developed over time they had been forced to suffer together, a silent language only they could decipher. Sometimes Natasha thought she saw a glimpse of something similar between the other girls, but she could not understand them. Just as they could not understand the wordless language, Angelina and Natasha shared.

Her partner jutted her chin up a little, a minute motion barely noticeable to anyone else. But Natasha understood the defiance gleaming in her sister's eyes. Angelina would not falter; she would not fail. Despite how she felt, she would persevere for both their sakes.

Natasha twitched an eyelid in acknowledgment as they passed each other again, trying to convey what little comfort she could with that minute motion. They could communicate sentences with but a handful of small nonverbal actions, to have entire conversations in what others may interpret as random meaningless body signals. They had to, for they were always relentlessly watched for weakness. And weakness was the greatest sin that could be committed in the Red Room.

Natasha turning her attention back to the butcher's room. She could not afford to be distracted by her thoughts. When the music finally ended, there would follow the test.

Each of the girls would be taken to their own interrogation room filled with the same tools, the same sterile aesthetic. A fresh victim would be found inside, screaming, and begging for help.

And they would be asked to replicate what they saw while dancing.

It would probably take them a few tries to get it right. The Madam expected perfection, but even she knew it wasn't possible to always succeed on the first try. Repeated trials led to punishment, something Natasha was determined to avoid. Too many attempts, and she would be deemed a failure. Failure meant washing out of the Black Widow program.

They all understood what happened to failures.

There had been one hundred girls when the program started six years ago. Fifteen had fallen to Natasha's hand, six during training accidents. She had been ordered to execute the other nine for washing out of the Red Room.

The remaining candidates of the Black Widow program had all done the same.

Natasha continued to dance, mind numb to the horrors before her even as she continued to mentally catalog everything that was done to the poor soul trapped in the room. There was a reason they were being shown these things, being forced to learn these skills. One day they will all be useful she was told. One day she will have reason to apply these skills.

One day she would graduate from the Red Room, and all she was being taught would make sense when they finally unleashed her on the world.

Scene Break

"I'm not authorizing physical torture, Romanoff," growled Fury as they stalked into his office. "We've been over this; it doesn't get us reliable intel. Hell, you said it yourself! Loki won't break no matter what we're willing to do."

The Director's office on board the Helicarrier was a mirror image of the one he had one a dozen other SHIELD bases around the world. Spartan, utilitarian, and utterly devoid of anything that would suggest a personality of the one who inhabited it.

"We have to try something," argued Natasha doggedly. "Psychological games won't work on someone who's been doing this since the time we still thought the Earth was flat. None of the chemical substances we use for interrogation have been tested on Asgardian physiology. Our only viable option is to extract the information we need by force."

In truth, she wasn't sure anything she had would make the rogue Asgardian Prince talk. Still, she figured action was better than inaction. Her powers may be new, but she could think of a few creative ways to make Loki sweat a little, alien physique or not.

"I'm not convinced there's anything you can do that will be any more effective than the conventional methods we use," responded the Director bluntly. "I agree that psychological warfare will more than likely backfire. I'd be risking any interrogator I sent in, you included!"

"I'm willing to take that risk if there's even a small chance I can get something out of him!"

"That chance is practically zero," snapped Fury. "It's a waste of time with a high risk of compromisation!"

The Director dropped heavily into his chair, suddenly drained of energy. The lines on his scarred face cut deep, the dark circle under his visible eye an indication of just how much stress the man was under.

"This isn't like you, Natasha. You don't run off half-cocked like this. What is this really about?"

Natasha glared down sullenly at the ground. "I need to bring Barton back. I owe him, I won't let his family bury a good man."

Frustrated silence lapsed between them. Clint Barton was not as complicated as most would think for a man who specialized in assassination. He was a good soldier, a decent man with too much talent for death. His life as an agent of SHIELD was an accident, a byproduct of exceeding expectations time and time again, a reward for coming back alive from one too many suicide missions.

Clint was a man who worked well in the shadows but arguably did not belong in it, unlike Romanoff and Fury.

"We'll get him back, Natasha," Fury said gently, a quiet conviction in his voice. "But unless you have something, you're not telling me, I can't risk sending you in to interrogate Loki. We need you at one hundred percent when we nail down what he's up to. You're the only one on this team I can trust to focus on the objective when the shit hits the fan again."

Knowing the Director wasn't going to budge on this one, Natasha decided to take a gamble.

Raising her left hand, she concentrated, allowing the reiatsu to call forth her connection with her shadow. Strands of living darkness wove its way up from the ground, snaking up her body and coiling like adders around her arm. The light in the room dimmed momentarily in the presence of her power, odd shadows playing out from the dark ghostly translucent flames encasing her arm.

She didn't know what to expect from Fury when she pulled up her powers, part of her wondering if the man could even see what she was doing. Her doubts were settled at the slight twitch of his lips, the self-satisfied gleam in his single eye a rare show of positive emotion.

"So, I was right after all," he chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

"You knew?" she asked flatly, letting her power fade and crossing her arms.

Honestly, she shouldn't be surprised. You could pull a con game on him for a while, but in the long run, Nick always knew.

"I suspected," he countered evenly, internal calculations turning his expression distant. "What else can you do?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet," she admitted hesitantly. "Still working it out. The long and short of it is, I can manipulate shadows. I can write up a full report later."

"No, let's keep it verbal. I don't want to draw unwanted attention to us from nonmortal eyes."

Interesting. That was a rather specific term implying Fury knew more about this mysterious afterlife realm that Ichigo and Yoruichi had refused to elaborate on.

"How much do you really know?" Natasha demanded warily.

The Director was a man who excelled at the espionage game, the running joke being that he kept secrets from his secrets. Only Nick Fury knew how deep the well ran when it came to inside information. She had reason to suspect he had gone through the extreme means of hiding information from himself even.

It wasn't unheard of. Natasha knew of two ways to do it, three if what Ichigo had threatened her with was real and not a bluff.

"Enough to know not to ask too many questions for my own good," Fury responded gruffly. "You think your powers will allow you to pry something out of Loki's lips?"

She didn't answer immediately.

The honest truth was she didn't know. She knew how to hurt a man in just the right ways to keep the pain going long enough to make them crack. Subjects of torture will indeed say anything while the thumbscrews were turning, which made it an ineffective means of information gathering for most people. Too much noise to distract from the truth. Natasha had been trained to filter out the lies with a relatively high rate of success, and she could identify half-truths to investigate further.

But Loki wasn't a man, he had talents and limits beyond anything she had ever dealt with. Despite her newfound powers, she was playing on a field entirely unfamiliar with rules she was still learning.

Fury observed her, a single hand rubbing warily at the eyepatch that hid his ruined eye from the world. Natasha could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighed the pros and cons of the situation.

Exhaling noisily through his nose, the dark-skinned man turned his chair away from her.

"My answer is final Romanoff; SHIELD will protect humanity without losing our humanity. No torture. Am I clear?"

Natasha scowled, not liking the answer but responded dutifully. "Crystal."

He turned around to face her fully again, propping his elbows on the desk, fingers laced together, hiding his mouth. "I've been informed that Stark may have placed a physical trace into our system. Our technicians will be performing a purge of our network to remove any outside malware to ensure we're clean. I've been advised there will be a fifteen-minute window during which our monitoring systems will be down despite outward appearances. I want you watching Loki and make sure there's no funny business while my eyes are off him."

So, it was going to be like that, was it?

Fury must suspect there were ears, even in his office on the Helicarrier, if he was playing it this safe. Plausible deniability should Loki end up turned inside out or something. The Black Widow would be cut loose and hunted down for going rogue and disobeying orders. Maybe even turned over to whoever showed up from Asgard looking for answers over their dead prince.

Hardly her first dance outside the officially acceptable parameters. It was why Fury had her on the roster. Natasha was an excellent infiltration, sabotage, and assassination specialist with a moral compass that swung more loosely than most. She was expendable. Not easily replaced mind you, but an excellent alternate option when reasonable means couldn't get the job done.

The Black Widow was the one ace up his sleeve while being the one card to burn if necessary.

She nodded, turning to leave. Natasha knew her place in the world, and she was okay with it. Now that she had unofficial permission to take the kid gloves off, she could really get to work.

"Romanoff."

Stopping, she turned to shoot her boss an inquisitive look over her shoulder.

"You still in touch with Kurosaki?" he asked hesitantly, seat half turned away from her.

"I have his cell number," she responded, seeing no point in trying to hide the truth from the spymaster.

Fury probably already knew that too.

"Keep him on speed dial," he ordered gruffly with a scowl aimed at the landline on his desk. "We might need another heavy hitter if this thing with space invaders goes sideways."

So, he knew that too. Figures.

SCENE BREAK

Dr. Banner glowered at the readings given by the scanner he had analyzing the energy signature of the scepter they had taken off Loki when he was detained. He supposed he should be happy that the missing piece to the puzzle as to why his algorithm hadn't worked was sitting in front of him. But he couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed with himself for not having thought of the possibility earlier. All those years away from the lab had been detrimental to his scientific mind, it seems.

"The gamma readings are definitely consistent with Selvig's reports on the Tesseract," Bruce commented to Tony. "But it's going to take weeks to process this much energy."

The latter was working opposite him on a device he had lugged into the lab with some effort. It had started off as a compact metallic-looking suitcase that was a bit larger than what an airline would let you put overhead. Once opened up, it had morphed into a futuristic computer display complete with projected holographic screens, a sample analyzer, and what appeared to be a drip coffee set up on the side.

The billionaire pointed both his fingers at the screen Bruce had been working on. A holographic representation of all the data the unit was processing manifested over his wrist. He quickly flipped through the miniaturized copy of the information hovering over his arm before transferring it onto his own device with a flicking motion.

Tony clicked his tongue as he began working on the newly incorporated data, his fingers a blur as he ran multiple screens at once. Dark brown eyes took in the rapid streams of information with little trouble despite the dizzying pace they were scrolling past on the holographic monitor.

"If we bypass their mainframe, we can directly route to the Homer cluster. We can clock this at around six hundred teraflops with what they have aboard the Helicarrier," the inventor responded absently as he finished up whatever it was he was doing. "Maybe 4 hours? 3 if we can convince Fury to let Jarvis sync up his networks with SHIELD databases. Doubt he'd go for that though. Even if the nuclear launch codes had been stolen, he'd probably still say no and wait for the world to burn."

Banner stared ruefully at the other scientist, self-deprecating smile on his face. "All I packed was a toothbrush."

The other man laughed, sliding his workstation aside so that they could see each other more clearly. "You know, you should come by Stark Tower sometime. Top ten floors all R and D. You'd love it, it's candy land for nerds like us."

The physicist chuckled nervously. "Thanks, but last time I was in New York, I kind of broke...Harlem."

Tony stopped talking for a moment, recalling seeing the aftermath of Hulk's tantrum in person. General Ross was even more insufferable than his usual self when drunk.

It had been an impressive amount of damage for sure, not so dissimilar to a major natural disaster. Of course, Tony could have fixed it all himself without even putting a dent in his personal accounts. He'd had Pepper donate a little something to the repair project, he couldn't remember how much. Shrugging, the engineer sauntered over to the other scientist, palming a stray electrical circuit breaker wattage probe.

"Well, I promise a stress-free environment. No tensions, no surprises."

The billionaire punctuated his statement with a jab to the unsuspecting Banner's side, the crackle and pop of electrical current jumping to flesh audible over the other's man's yelp of pain.

"Hey," barked Steve as he came in to witness the careless stunt. "Are you nuts?!"

"Jury's out!" responded Tony glibly, eyeing the startled Banner for signs of transformation. "Nothing? Really? You really have got a lid on it, haven't you? What's your secret? Mellow jazz? Bongo drums? A huge bag of weed? I got some personal experience with that last one. Changes your world. If weeds what keeps the big mean and green in check, you gotta try some mushrooms with me. Just one cap man, and I bet it'd transform you in a whole different way."

He tried to take another stab at Bruce with the probe but had the device quickly snatched from his hands by an irate Steve.

"I think it's safe for you to come back to New York Banner," Tony continued flippantly, disregarding the fuming enhanced soldier. "A few senators owe me some favors, I could pull some strings, get your papers signed. Dot the I's cross the T's, all sins forgiven. What do you say?"

"Is everything a joke to you?" demanded Rogers getting into the face of the son of his friend.

Tony did not back down from the larger man. "Funny things are."

"Threatening the safety of everyone on this ship isn't funny," Steve replied furiously, pausing briefly to shoot an apologetic look to the soft-spoken man they were arguing over. "No offense, Doc."

"No, it's alright," responded Banner calmly, trying to break up the tension. "I wouldn't have agreed to come aboard if I couldn't handle pointy things."

"You're tip-toeing, big man," tutted Tony circling the other scientist, leaning in to sniff the other man and getting an odd look in response. "You need to strut. Show them who's boss. You've got the brain and brawn, that's why you're here. Don't let them walk all over you just because you're a soft nerd on the inside."

"And you need to focus on the problem, Mister Stark," snapped the super soldier, getting between the two men.

"You think I'm not?" demanded Tony, eyes losing their playful demeanor. "Why did Fury call us in? Why now, why not before? What isn't he telling us? I can't do the equation unless I have all the variables."

Steve paused as he considered the other man's words, pushing aside his distaste for his personality to focus on the content. "You think Fury's hiding something?"

"Please. Don't be naïve, Captain," the former weapons tycoon scoffed. "He's a spy. He is The Spy. His secrets have secrets."

Tony waved a hand at the physicist. "It's bugging him too, isn't it? Come on, Banner. Don't tell me it isn't driving your big brain up the wall. I know it is!"

Bruce raised his hands in the air, expression uncomfortable. "Look, guys, I just wanna finish my work here and-"

"Doctor?" Steve interrupted, his troubled tone brokering no arguments.

Banner sighed, taking his glasses off to rub an agitated hand down his face. "A warm light for all mankind. Loki's jab at Fury about the Cube."

The captain frowned. "I heard him. What about it?"

"Well, I think that was meant for you," Banner said, jerking a thumb at Stark, who offered him a blueberry from the snack packet he had pulled out of his back pocket.

Absentmindedly taking a few of the dried fruit, the physicist continued his train of thought as he chewed on the preserved blueberries. "Even if Barton didn't tell Loki about the tower, it was still all over the news."

Steve stewed on the observation for a moment, before finally recalling what was being referred to. "What, the Stark Tower? That big ugly piece of-"

The good captain paused his words at the icy glare Tony sent him before adjusting his statement. "-building in New York?"

"It's powered by an arc reactor, self-sustaining energy source. That building will run itself for, what, a year?" Banner's question was directed at Tony, who puffed up his chest with pride.

"It's just the prototype," he boasted, turning to peer at a confused Rogers. "I'm kind of the only name in effective clean energy right now, that's what he's getting at."

"So, why didn't SHIELD bring him in to consult on the Tesseract project?" asked Banner rhetorically. "What are they even doing in the energy business in the first place?

"I should probably look into that once my decryption program finishes breaking into all of SHIELD's secure files," said Tony casually, ignoring the twin look of surprise he was given.

Steve Roger's lips tightened dangerously into a thin line. "Did you just say-"

"JARVIS has been running it since I hit the bridge," interrupted Tony unapologetically, cutting off the rest of the question. "In a few hours, I'll know every dirty secret SHIELD has ever tried to hide. Blueberry?

The displaced soldier glared into the insolent man's eyes, ignoring the mockingly offered snack packet.

"Yet you're confused about why they didn't want you around," he sneered.

"An intelligence organization that fears intelligence?" asked Tony mockingly. "You lived through some of that crap, you of all people should know, historically, not awesome. I'm just doing my patriotic duty and looking out for the American people Captain. We the people and all that jazz."

"I think Loki's trying to wind us up," growled Steve, not backing down from his position. "This is a man who means to start a war, and if we don't stay focused, he'll succeed. We have our orders. We should follow them."

"Following's not really my style," countered Tony carelessly.

They squared up across from each other, Tony's arms crossed defiantly, and Steve's hands balled into fists at his side. These were two men used to being right, the tension in the room was palpable.

"And you're all about style, aren't you?" asked Steve sarcastically. "You know what, don't answer that Stark."

"Steve, tell me none of this smells a little funky to you?" asked Banner imploringly, again trying to play the role of peacemaker.

Rogers's scowl deepened as the two intellectuals stared him down. It did stink, it stank to high heavens. He knew the minute Fury had come calling, he was being yanked back into the sort of clandestine operations he had hated working for during the war. Anything in the name of preserving peace and achieving victory.

Seventy years on ice and nothing had changed but the names and faces of the players. The world may have evolved in many ways beyond Steve's understanding, but it seems the game hadn't. It was both comforting and depressing for the man out of time.

"Just find the Cube," he ordered, doing an about-face and marching out the room, a determined fire lit in his eyes.

"That's the guy my dad never shut up about?" demanded Tony with a roll of his eyes. "Wondering if they shouldn't have kept him under. The man's out of touch, and not just because he slept through seven decades of pop culture references."

"Guy's not wrong about Loki, " responded Banner noncommittedly. "He kinda has the jump on us."

"None of this spy shit is sitting well with me," grumbled Tony, pulling on his goatee out of frustration. "Especially Ms. Super Spy. Still can't figure out how she messed with my suit, and it's driving me nuts! This woman was at Pepper's elbow for months; I'm willing to bet all my suits that she's the one who plugged SHIELD into Jarvis's system. I don't know how she managed that without leaving a single shred of evidence. It's like she's a fucking ghost or something. "

A queer expression crossed Banner's face during his rant, and Tony's observant eyes didn't miss it.

"What?" he asked obstinately. "You know something?"

"Look, I don't want to get involved," mumbled Banner skittishly, trying to get back to the monitoring device.

"Dude come on, science bros here. Give me something, I'm crawling up the walls here. How did she do it?"

"Look, you want my advice? Science bro to science bro?" asked Banner with a knowing look. "Leave that shit alone, man. Romanoff isn't another pretty face on a nice pair of legs you want to hit on. She'll carve out your heart and eat it."

"Kinky," replied Tony with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows. "Sounds like my kind of girl. You forgot to mention what a nice rack she has."

"Hey, don't say I didn't warn you," shot back Banner with a shrug. "It's your soul to lose pal."

"My soul?" Tony asked, perking up with renewed interest at that specific reference. "What's this about souls?"

But the physicist had retreated back into his shell, attention drawn back to tweaking algorithm he had been working on earlier with the new dataset.

"We should focus back on the Loki problem," said Banner. "We'll be up shit creek without a paddle if we let his plans run wild. You can go irritate Ms. Romanoff later, just do me a favor and keep it out of my lab. That way, it doesn't interrupt my work when they have to clean your brains off the floor when she finally decides to carry out her threat."

"What Loki's got is an ACME dynamite kit," Tony laughed, deciding to let the bit about the female spy go. "It's gonna blow up in his face, and I'm gonna be there when it happens."

"And I'll read all about it," Bruce responded with a shallow smile.

"Mhm, or, you'll be suiting up with the rest of us," responded Tony, coming closer to stand next to the other man.

"I'm not like you," Banner said with a tired look. "My superpowers aren't a suit of armor. I'm exposed, like a nerve, it's a nightmare."

"You know, I've got a cluster of shrapnel trying every second to crawl its way into my heart. This stops it."

Tony tapped the glowing chest piece that kept his heart from failing. "This little circle of light. It's part of me now, not just the armor. It's a terrible privilege."

"But you can control it," responded Banner listlessly, not looking up from his work.

"Because I learned how."

"You can also have it surgically removed if you really wanted to," pointed out the physicists sourly. "They can't really cut the Hulk out of me. Though God knows some people would love to try."

"Maybe," Tony said with a shrug. "I've had the top surgeons in the world consult on my case, best odds put me at a coin toss whether I make it or not. The best bet is to make with a new ticker, but not really my style. Plus, even with the most advanced medication on hand, rejection rates are still pretty high for organ transplants. I don't really fancy popping pills for the rest of my life with ten years shaved off, I'm stuck with what I have."

He emphasized his point by tapping his chest piece again. "This little bomb here could go off any day, and I'd drop dead in the middle of whatever I'm doing. Just like that."

Tony snapped his fingers to emphasize his point. "Lights out."

Banner looked up with an exasperated scowl. "It's different, Tony."

"Hey, I read all about your accident," Tony said with an enthusiastic wave of his hand. "That much gamma exposure should've killed you."

"So you're saying that the Hulk- the Other Guy- saved my life? That's nice. That's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?"

"I guess we'll find out," chuckled Tony, turning back to their work. "Just remember Banner. With great power, comes great responsibility."

Bruce laughed. "You get that off a fortune cookie?

"Heard some guy telling his nephew that when I was doing a Taco Bell run with Pepper," snickered Tony. "Sounds good, though, doesn't it? I should have stopped to talk to the guy, I bet he had a lot of other little bits of wisdom to share. The kid was a little scrawny though, poor thing. Probably gets stuffed in a locker at least once a week."

Bruce chuckled, bumping his knuckles against Tony's offered fist to show no hard feelings despite their disagreement. "He'd fit right in here with us nerds."

Sighing, the physicist turned back to his work, but his heart wasn't really in it anymore. A part of him remembered what his alter ego had said to him during his forced mental field trip that the mysterious Asian woman had taken him on.

High power and responsibility, huh?

Scene Break

Loki stopped midstride, his ceaseless movements since the beginning of his incarceration halted by that sense of empty twisting that tickled the edge of his awareness. It was like hearing something you're fairly certain you imagined, yet it rang loud despite it.

Turning around, he found himself facing the fiery-haired vixen who had apprehended him in the forest after Thor's impromptu "rescue". He had been startled by her arrival, her entrance from the shadows made flawlessly, escaping his notice until she cleared her throat. Loki had not put up a fight, curious to learn more about her, and later got to witness his brother being put in his place.

For that fantastic little display alone, Loki had decided on the spot that he'd kill her last of all these pests.

The woman was standing near one of the few walls that weren't made of transparent glass, observing him with intelligent eyes. She had a pretty enough face, there were greater beauties he had encountered during his centuries of travel, but not many. Even from the distance that separated them, Loki could tell this woman had a warrior's body, flesh hard from being regularly used as a weapon.

"Ah, and so the interrogations begin," the God of Mischief drawled, circling to put some distance from his captor. "Honestly, I expected them to start with the unspeakable tortures. Then you would appear as a friend, as a balm. A kind touch to soothe the aches, some soft words to ease the soul, a sweet smile amongst the vile darkness, and I would cooperate."

The corner of the woman's mouth lifted slightly at his jest. "Probably how they would have done it with anyone else. I've always been more of getting my hands dirty kind of girl to be honest. "

Loki took a few paces closer to the woman, reaching out his magical sight to see if he could get anything off her. He fought off a frown at the emptiness radiating from her form. Whatever gifts she possessed was not magical in nature.

His mother had been raised in a coven of witches, one of the most magically gifted Asgardians alive today. Frigga had made sure Loki had the best education in the mystical arts growing up when they had discovered his talents. Either by her own tutelage or under the mentorship of the best Asgard had to offer. His personal quest for knowledge over the centuries had only broadened his understanding and skills in the mystical arts.

There was no mistaking it, this woman did not have the gift.

"There are not many people that can sneak up on me," he complimented as he confirmed that the form before him was real and not some sort of illusion. "You must be an exceptional woman."

"I'm not most people, Loki," replied Natasha, taking a step forward for the first time.

"Would you mind answering a question before we begin?" he asked, taking a step sideways to keep a civil distance between them. "A simple curiosity on my part if you will indulge me."

The redhead didn't verbally respond, but neither did she try to stop him.

"You were the pilot of the aircraft when we were in Germany," he stated. "Would you have killed those innocents if you could have stopped me?"

"What do you think?" she asked, expression closed.

The coldness in her eyes left no doubt that she would have gunned down the entire crowd of civilians and more if it would have stopped Loki's plans. Not everyone had the stomach to carry out what needed to be done, but this woman was well versed in the cruel calculus of war. He would have to be very careful with this one.

These were the most dangerous foes to tangle with, one could never fully predict what they might do when backed into a corner. Or what they were willing to sacrifice to triumph. Heroes may die claiming the moral high ground, but people like this woman achieved results on a mountain of corpses if necessary.

Coming closer, she stepped into his personal space, her breathtaking jade eyes piercing into him like the tip of a burning lance. "What have you done with Agent Barton."

Loki let the question hang in the air for a moment, carefully examining the unchanged expression on his captor's face. Unrequited love? She did not seem the type. Comradery? Again, the spitfire did not fit that bill. Perhaps a debt to be paid? That seemed far more likely for such a composed individual.

"I haven't done anything to him per se," Loki said with a small smirk. "I'd like to think I've expanded his mind and given him a new perspective. He's simply been convinced that he should join the winning side."

"And once you've won. Once you are the king of the mountain. What happens to his mind then?" she asked evenly.

Loki gave the appearance of giving the question deep thought. "I hadn't really thought about it that far ahead, to be honest, I've always been more of a short term planner. He has proven himself most capable despite being a frail mortal. I'm sure there will be insurgents who will continue to resist my rule that could use his delicate eye for details."

Pacing around the woman, he continued probing her magically, trying to see if he could figure out what it was, she had powers over.

"Your powers are quite interesting. I can say for certain they are not magical in nature. Tell me, fair lady, what exactly are you?"

The frost giant froze mid-step, suddenly unable to move. He strained himself, pushing against the bind that held him in place, trembling as he tried to break the bondage through sheer force of might.

"You're far stronger than a normal human Loki, but you're no Thor," Natasha said serenely, eliciting an ugly feeling from the godling at the comparison to his adopted brother.

Oh, if only this wench knew. Were it not a part of his machinations to play the helpless captor, he would bring about all his magic and crush her like the insignificant bug she was.

She took a step closer, and Loki found himself compelled to mimic her actions.

The intimate look into her eyes sent an involuntary shiver down his spine despite his centuries dealing with beings far more powerful than this mortal. It was the eyes of someone with no conscious getting in their way. The reptilian gaze of a predator trying to figure out the best way to crack the bone to get to the marrow.

A cold-blooded killer stood before Loki; of that, he was absolutely certain.

"I don't know what I am," she continued slowly, flat affect unchanged. "But you were wrong about one thing. There is no trick, no balm coming. You're going to suffer until you tell me what I want to know. And I know you will lie; I know your kind, you simply can't help yourself. I'm going to hurt you, I want you to know that. I'd say it isn't personal, but that'd be a lie."

Loki could feel something creeping up his body with each word she spoke, the odd mercuric feeling of something slimy and cold oozing ever upwards. He tried to turn his eyes down but could see nothing from the angle he was trapped in. The freezing liquid consuming his lower half broke into what felt like strands, weaving their way up to his chest like alien tentacles probing for fresh meat.

"I wouldn't try this with a human, they'd die for sure," she commented sinisterly. "But I hear you Asgardians are pretty tough. I'm curious to see if you can live up to that reputation Loki."

He glared into her eyes, baring his teeth in a wide predatory smile. At least it seems she had no control over his tongue.

"Do you worst," he invited. "Just know whatever you may inflict on me now, I will visit one hundred-fold on your friend when I am freed."

The icy strands were now at his neck, caressing his skin and flicking aside his hair. He felt the tendrils creep into his ears, his nose, his eyelids, forcing its way past his lips.

And then they burrowed.

The agony would be challenging to describe with words. Loki felt impossible sensations, yet happening they were. The alien strands wormed their way inside through every orifice, breaking into ever smaller strands. They dug their way into his stomach, his intestines, his lungs, and other organs unused to outside touch. Not even his buttocks nor his urinary tract were spared the invasive molestation.

Every connected cavity in his body was being filled, the excruciating pain best likened to surgery done without anesthetic, but the molten fire spread everywhere. He tried to scream, but his lungs could not draw enough air to pass through his vocal cords.

Throughout the agony, his eyes remained forced open by dark strands pulling his lids apart, staring into the cold, impassive face of his tormentor. She raised a hand, and Loki could do nothing but mirror the motion despite the torture the movement caused him.

The woman began to squeeze, her fingers curling inwards to form a fist.

The threads inside tightened in response, constricting against organs, bones, and ligaments. The agony multiplied tenfold; the frost giant's entire body vibrated as if about to implode, the strain unbearable yet suffered in absolute inescapable silence. He could feel his own fingers imitating the motion as if he was afflicting the pain upon himself.

Loki's vision turned white as the pain reached beyond even his considerable thresholds. It was too much for him, even for a man who had suffered at the hands the most twisted minds the universe had to offer.

He blinked tears away from his eyes, returning to awareness to find that his insides were no longer being torn apart. Loki found himself upright despite having momentarily lost consciousness, the weakness in his legs not preventing him from standing.

There was a dull ache, unlike anything he had ever felt. He had read of a method of execution used by the Dark Elves. They would bind their victims and leave them in a hollowed sarcophagus, then fill the coffin with a handful of flesh-eating beetles. The insects would burrow underneath the skin, deep into the flesh, and slowly eat their victims alive from the inside. The first few would not be enough to kill someone, but they would eat their fill, mate, and lay eggs on the inside.

More would be born, and the cycle of feeding and rebirth would continue until the victim finally succumbed. It was a terrible way to go, one of the more wicked ways life could end. For those who possessed even a bit of regeneration, it was even more horrifying. He had just experienced a small fraction of what those unfortunate victims had gone through. The thought of having to live through multiple rounds of this was enough to give even Loki second thoughts about his current plans.

Whatever hold she had on him relaxed, and he was allowed to drop to a knee, lungs gasping for precious air he had been forcibly deprived of. He could smell the foul odors indicating he had soiled himself, the dampness in his loins an extra indignity on top of the tortures he had just been put through.

"That was ten seconds, Loki," the woman said coldly. "I can do this all night. Why don't you save us both some time and tell me what I want to know?"

Mastering the agony as he had done so many times in the past, he pushed himself back to his feet. He made sure to bare his teeth in an unnerving smile that hid whatever pain and humiliation he felt. It was a smile he practiced plenty of times while suffering under the hands of Thor's friends and their harassment.

"How exhilarating. It would seem we both have a long night ahead of us then?"

The excruciating pain he had been put through had brought about a certain clarity he had lacked moments before. The close touch of her powers had finally clicked as to why his senses felt it were so familiar despite obviously not being magic.

It was spiritual.

"A mortal shaman," he murmured aloud as he finally caught his breath. "Now, this is somewhat unexpected."

And indeed unexpected it was. Amongst Asgardians, it was not unusual to find someone with magical talents. Some estimated perhaps one in ten had some inkling of the gift even if they would never be able to develop it beyond mere cantrips. Those who could wield magical might as more than curious party tricks were rare, but again most knew of someone in their lives who could.

Shamans were the rare few souls born with the gift of manipulating their spiritual energies. There were only a handful of these individuals in all of Asgard. They were highly regarded and privately feared. How could one not be afraid of beings who had the power to manipulate the soul? Their domain extended beyond death.

Loki had been fascinated with the concept as a child. Frigga, despite not being a particularly powerful shaman, had been touched in the soul enough to show him what it was. He had later sought out a true practitioner to study with them but found he had no talent for the odd powers. That was more than half a millennium ago. He had never thought that a mortal could manifest the same abilities.

Perhaps she was not a mortal?

The odd thought triggered the memory of what his mother had taught him about the realm of death that took in the souls of mortals when they passed from the earthly realm. That plane of existence was the Valhalla equivalent for humans. The beings from that spiritual realm were made entirely of spiritual energies. Even Odin would think twice to cross blades with the most powerful members of their order.

Asgardian history had struck the event from their records, but unofficially, stories had been passed down orally. Frigga had been alive to bear witness to the mighty struggle between Odin and the one who had led the forces of the dead. She made sure to pass on those lessons to her sons, regardless of what the history books may say.

An entire planer pocket had been turned into an uninhabitable wasteland in the struggle between the two. The consequences of repeated clashes were too high for either side; an agreement to stay out of each other's business had been struck soon after. The spiritual beings were written out the history books of the material realm, existing only in the memories of those old enough to have been there to witness their interventions.

"Are you a Shinigami hiding amongst the mortals?" he asked as he reached out with a different set of senses, one he had not used in an age.

Though it was a distant memory, he managed to recall the grueling lessons he had stubbornly put himself through to try to gain some insight into spiritual energy. The coil of power around the woman was a shock to his dulled spiritual senses. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he realized it was nowhere near as powerful as the shaman that he had trained under.

Loki would have to be even more careful around her now. Even a little bit of spiritual power could go a long way if the user was determined to use it to hurt another. Their attacks did not just rend flesh, it wounded the soul, something a mere healing spell would do nothing for.

The coldness in her expression was replaced for a second by a shocked curiosity before blanking once more. But Loki did not miss her recognition of the term.

"And how is it that you know of the gods of death?" she asked, uncharacteristically showing interest in the topic.

"Our people have had dealings with the realm of death you mortals go to. Not much is written down of the time when our people crossed paths, but I know enough to be wary of one," he responded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Yet by all accounts, a Shinigami would never be caught without their sword, the manifestation of their true powers. So a human shaman it is. How odd. Long have I lived, yet life still manages to surprise me sometimes."

He meant to say more, but almost recoiled physically at the dark pits he saw in her eyes. Those were not the eyes of the living. Had he been mistaken?

"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?" he asked to buy himself a longer reprieve from another bout with whatever it was she had done to him.

"Love is for children," Natasha responded stonily. "I owe Clint a debt, a debt of blood. If you don't tell me how to get him back, I will start by spilling yours."

"And what will you do if I vow to spare him?" he asked, genuinely curious.

The brief light that entered her eyes surprised him. She was considering it seriously. That was unexpected. He would have to file away that little nugget for later; it seems her loyalty may be more fluid than her demeanor suggested.

"Not let you out," she responded flatly.

"What is it you want?" he asked, subtly drawing upon the naked magical energies that were always present.

Most people mistakenly thought that magic was only achieved with grand gestures and meaningless arcane words. True enough, for the flashier spells and incantations. The most insidious of the arts could be done with a whisper or a subtle tension of the body. They were nearly unobservable for one without magical senses.

Loki briefly called upon the enhanced charisma spell that would weaken the mind of a targeted individual. It was a subtle subversion of their consciousness that would allow him to sound more persuasive, be more charming than he already was. Not enough to gain sovereignty over them, only a few things in the universe had that power. The one he could have really used right now was currently sitting in a lab somewhere on this infernal vessel, out of his reach per his plan.

"What is it that you want?" he murmured.

"It's really not that complicated. I've got red in my ledger; I'd like to wipe it out."

"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red?" he asked, words turning to poisonous hiss, as he pushed his induced influence. "Drakov's daughter? Sao Paulo? The Hospital Fire? Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?"

He leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose, the seductive power in his voice pouring out like tainted nectar.

"This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer... PATHETIC! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!"

Loki's voice had grown in volume as he ranted, watching for the subtle hints that he was intimidating the seemingly fearless mortal before him. He drew on more of the subtle power and finally saw something shift in her expression.

"I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you! Slowly. Intimately. In every way, he knows you fear! And when he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!"

There was a long pause as his long speech came to an end. The spy looked back steadily at him, seemingly unmoved by his words despite whatever it was he had briefly witnessed.

"You're probably right. I've seen what happens to the souls of those who sinned too much, it's not pretty. After all, I've done, I don't doubt what awaits me at the end of my road."

Leaning forward, she smiled, the motion oddly menacing on what should have been a petite woman. Cold shark eyes stared out of the pretty face many men had been charmed by before they died in some dark alley. "What's a little more red on my ledger Loki? If staining my soul with a little cruelty has even a small chance of freeing my friend…well…"

Loki leaped back, gathering his will and bringing his hands up to fling her across the room before she could move, but once more, he found himself frozen in mid-step.

His face was angled lower this time, allowing him to see clearly her shadow had reached out across the distance to connect with his, trapping his likeness.

Gritting his teeth, the second son of Odin tried to push his will forward with the magic but found the energy dissipating as his hands were forced apart.

"I learned how to skin a man but keep him alive for hours when I was 13," Natasha said reflectively. "It took me three tries to get it just right. The first two test subjects they gave me died too quickly, but they let me try again since I had gotten close enough to the results they wanted."

The twisted little smile on her face gave her beauty a demented visage. Perhaps Loki had made a slight miscalculation. This was not a mortal whose soul had been touched by the gods, but a goddess of madness given flesh.

This was one of the people his father had warned him about with hushed caution. Broken beings who would gladly cross lines others couldn't even imagine to reach unfathomable goals.

"I wonder Loki," she murmured as vines of cold midnight crept up to caress the flesh on his hand sensually, sending gooseflesh across the limb. "If I were to skin your left hand underneath the dermal tissue, will your limited regeneration simply reattach the skin to muscle?"

As she spoke, the threads of darkness split outwards, forming five needle-thin appendages. Loki felt his neck turn. His captor forcing him to watch as the sharp implements begin to dig underneath the fingernails of his left hand, the dark blood dripping from his digits like water from a loose faucet.

He grits his teeth, preparing for the punishment to come, determined not to give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He would have his pound of flesh from her before this was over, Loki privately vowed.

A soft mewling echoed in the chamber, drawing Loki's eyes towards the front of his cell. A feline sat on its haunches, staring at the unusual scene through the transparent plexiglass, head cocked to the side. The black cat stared curiously at the scene before it, tail swishing through the air. It raised a well-groomed paw up and seemed to wave at Loki.

The icy coldness holding him in place vanished all at once.

For the second time that night, Loki felt one of his knees touch the ground. A twist in the atmosphere in front of him caused him to look up, the feeling not so different from a teleportation spell, but with none of the familiar trappings of a magical portal.

The woman was gone.

Turning, he caught sight of her hustling up the stairwell, dark feline tucked under the crook of one arm, the animal not protesting the rough handling.

Standing on shaky feet, the God of Mischief narrowed his eyes, spitting out the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. Something had just happened that was outside his plans, he could feel it. Barton needed to hurry up, things were getting out of hand.

AN: Thanks for sticking around guys, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please leave a comment if you have thoughts you want to share. I've been given a rare opportunity to temporarily work a position that I may one day aspire to promote into so I will be a bit distracted for the rest of the year, but I hope to continue to at least be able to crank out a chapter a month. Stay safe, everyone.