I'm back! It's been a while (like several months) and the hiatus was frustrating especially after I said in the last chapter that all was well. Well, several things came up the past couple of months (mostly financial aid troubles) that I had to prioritize (and unfortunately fanfiction was at the lower end of the tier). But after all that hard work, I finally made it to university! (where there's even more hard work). But nonetheless, I'm back and ready to write. So thank you all for the support and patience.

Thanks to the reviewers for your words of encouragement (to both my updating and my writing skills). It really means a lot to a fledgling writer to know that the stories that I write/type are enjoyable not just to myself but to others as well. So, thank you so so much for everything. I can't even begin to describe. My gratitude isn't just for the reviewers but also for all those who followed, and added CS to their favorites. I thank you all.

Special thanks goes to my beta, E. Edwin, who's stuck by me even now (you have the patience of a saint). Her comments and corrections are essential for the quality of this story.

So quick recap:

So now mortal Loki is dumped into Midgard(Earth) as punishment for his crimes. By Shield's order, Natasha Romanoff is responsible for his protection and assimilation into Earth. It is there that Loki discovers that he is in fact under the control of Thanos, a powerful Titan, and that there is something terribly wrong with his head. He asks for the help of Natasha, who has experienced the same kind of mind-altering phenomenon, in hopes to break the control. Reluctant, she agrees after being thoroughly convinced by Loki's desperation. So, they negotiate in a quid pro quo type of deal wherein she tells him her story in exchange for his. Loki develops an attraction for the agent (something that the parasite in his head doesn't fail to take advantage of). Meanwhile, Tony Stark investigates the sudden escape of Justin Hammer, only to discover that his beloved Pepper Potts has been kidnapped by said Idiot and company. Clint is relocated to Alaska as a bodyguard of Prof. Selvig, who is trying to create a map of the cosmos in order to pinpoint the origin of the Chitauri and prevent future invasions. The marksman however discovers that in order to do that they would need the use of Loki's scepter, the source of his nightmares. In the previous chapter, Loki and Natasha are attacked by Yelena, Natasha's former protege. Wounded, Natasha manages to survive the encounter thanks to Loki and Yelena escapes. Confused by the rescue and the sudden switch in their roles, Natasha questions Loki's intentions as he returns her gun to her in her most vulnerable position.

Wow, that's some summary. Now, onward to the latest chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Avengers is Marvel's.

Chapter 14: Too Late

The old man sat onhis chair, still andregal as he rememberedhim. Not a drop of remorse shone on his old wrinkled face. Still a heartless cad, thought the younger man. They lied to him about everything. About who he was, his purpose, his identity. They will all pay. Every last one of them. A dark shadow passed over his presence, as the rage and thirst turned his vision red. The gun felt scorching hot in his hand and room suddenly felt smaller.

The old man closed his eyes; a small smirk curved the edges of his lips. "We have raised you well." Somehow the words infuriated him more. Was that pride he heard? Or was that regret? It did not matter now.

It was too late.

Too late.

The shot rang, followed by sound of a dead body slumping on an empty desk, like a monument crumbling to stone, the old man looked like nothing more than ancient history.Loki looked down on the pile of old bones, a bitter sneer morphing his lips, and spat on the corpse; his farewell gift to the deceased bastard. He froze at the doorway, catching the reflection from the glass door. A pair of blue eyes gazed back at him; the red hair framing his face was nothing more than a wild tangle of scarlet flames, ready to burn anyone who touches him. It was a banshee, he saw. And it unnerved him for some inexplicable reason. This was not his face.

What was this monster?

The image blurred and soon it was difficult to tell which person was which. Like a ripple on water, it distorted. The shadow of his face was hers; the shadow of her face was his. The mirror broke and soon their identity merged into one. There was no right or wrong, no black or white. There was only grey.

He was her; she was him.

Both players of this horrific game called betrayal.

"Hypocrite!"

And they were one.

Natasha woke with a gasp. Sitting up, careful to avoid her bandaged arm, she tried to calm herself. Cradling her head in her hands, her breathing eased. She should have gotten used to waking up from dreams like this; memories of past event—gruesome, often times—were frequent visitors to her vulnerable subconscious. She had gotten used to it; didn't mind them so much as long as they didn't interfere with reality. They were just memories after all. Terrible, but long past events that can do nothing more than haunt her. What has passed cannot be changed.

However, the dream wasn't just a memory.

It was only partly just.

Back then, it was Natalia who had held the gun, who shot the old bastard and spat on his face. But in the dream, Loki did the act. Or at least, at first it was Loki then…it changed. Natasha didn't dream abstractly. It was something she had long since lost the ability—or the privilege—to do. Her dreams were always grounded on reality, always a memory of sorts. She thought that's why they were always so disturbing. Never did she think that an abstract dream would be more so.

She didn't understand what it meant. Dreams were a gateway to someone's subconscious. They revealed more about an individual than initially thought. Dream Analysis was never her forte; it was a skill that wasn't often used in psychoanalyzing her targets, since they were never so enthusiastic about sharing their night troubles. Analyzing herself was almost nearly impossible.

Natasha shook her head. She should stop dwelling on it. There were more pressing matters at hand.

She spotted the gun that lay on the side table and tentatively reached out towards it. She hesitated for a moment, fearing that it was merely another dream, until her hand brushed the cool familiar metal. How easy would it have been for Loki to simply pull the trigger and kill her in her most vulnerable state? He was fully capable; she was too weak to fight back. Yet, he didn't.

Still half awake at the time, she saw how he returned the gun without a single shred of reluctance on his face, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for a prisoner to return a weapon. Just as natural for said prisoner to carry his bleeding guard and nurse her wounds. Of course, there was never anything natural about their situation.

"Hypocrite!"

She flinched. She had always hated that word; hated it to the very depths of the earth.

Though it pained her to admit it, he was right in some aspects. She was a hypocrite. Especially after she accused him of holding back his part of the bargain, only to realize later that she was doing the exact same thing. His past, as tragic as it might have seemed, was something that she still felt ambiguous about. True, she understood his decisions—related to them even. But she tried to block whatever sympathy she felt, because ultimately his past did not excuse him from his sins; the same way that her past didn't excuse herself from her own. To think otherwise would be foolish and incredible naïve. Still, she had lied. She had purposely attempted to delay her part, simply because such a confession would be her undoing. Yet, hypocritical it may seem, she refused to think it was wrong. It was self-defense after all.

Her finger trailed the loose bandage on her arm and tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut.

Loki said he did it to repay his debt to her earlier treatment of him. But the truth was, it wasn't a debt he needed to repay. She was doing her duty.She was assigned to be his guard and his well-being was one of her top priorities. Carrying him to his room and bandaging him up wasn't something that she did out of the goodness of her heart. It was more out of the goodness of her job. Surely, he understood that…didn't he?

He healed her, returned her gun without so much as a word of protest, and was she to believe that he did it all out of compassion? Loki telling the truth was already a stretch and now was she supposed to believe that he's capable of some measure of empathy? No. That was just too much; it was forcing a small favor into something beyond its boundaries. Natasha shouldn't be jumping into conclusions like that. Still…he had saved her. Surely that meant something?

She could always lie and pretend it never happened. Lying, she had always been good at that, but she was also aware that lies could only carry her so far. Eventually, a little honesty would be needed. This situation with Loki, twisted as it seemed, forced her to raise her shackles, gather up her defenses, and venture into a territory that was unknown to either of them. She had done bargains before, risky ones that pit one life against another. But, this was different; lives weren't the only things being placed on the table.

Closing her eyes, she released a heavy sigh. She needed to tell him the truth, the wholetruth—no more lies, no more distractions. Yelena's sudden appearance already hindered whatever measure of safety they had. For some reason, her ex-sister had known where they were and what they were doing. Her tracking skills were indeed impressive, but Natasha doubted they were thatadvanced. Besides, Yelena should not have been able to track them because of the image-scrambling device. Technology could not always be trusted (even if it was Stark tech), so Natasha had quickly crushed the device with her heel before venturing into the building. A tech used to make you invisible could easily be used to track you instead. All it took was a call to the right type of person. Which then brought the idea of whether Yelena had any outside help. If she did, that could cause quite a problem.

Strapping the gun on, she forced herself to stand uneasily. She needed to talk to Loki now. For both their sakes.

The sun had set and a moon, full and bright, sent silvery rays through her window—the only form of luminescence in the room. The day had gone by surprisingly fast, perhaps partly due to the encounter and the overwhelming exhaustion that came after. It was near midnight; possibly even past if the rest of her senses had been indeed dulled by the pain. She had changed out of the clothes from yesterday and had painfully, yet determinedly, managed to take a shower without opening her wounds. She then ventured out of her room and into the living room, only to be greeted by the sight of Loki intensely staring at an infomercial.

His back was crouched as he leaned forward, his chin cradled by his palms. His face was crunched up in a look of concentration, as though he were trying to decipher the usefulness of the chair massager worth nineteen ninety nine!". The sight was surreal—the former God of Mischief watching an infomercial—and once again reminded Natasha of how bizarre their situation really was.

Loki's head swiveled to her, his lips tight in a frown.

"You are not supposed to be standing yet, fool. Return to your chambers."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. Who the hell did he think he was, telling her what to do? "I'm fine." She bit out. And to think, she was just about to thank him for the bandage.

"No, you are not." He insisted, internally cursing her stubbornness. "That wound is still fresh. I will not have my work undone by your thoughtlessness. And do not think that I will bandage it for you again."

"I never expected you to."

He snorted derisively. "Good. That task was too tedious."

"Don't worry. You won't have to dirty your hands for me again. I won't need you to, you can be sure of that." Natasha stared back determinedly. She made her decision earlier and she would stand by it. "Because we're going to end this now. I'm telling you everything you need to know."

For a moment, she relished the shocked expression on his face. It was a rare treat considering he was hardly ever surprised about anything. He scrutinized her countenance, trying to see a trace of a lie or a bluff. The look faded away into disbelief then confusion. Finally, faint understanding glimmered behind his eyes. He nodded solemnly, looking away from her.

"Good. It has come to an end at last." And all it took was a bullet to the arm.

Loki noticed that his voice sounded weaker though. The bite that he thought he brought into it didn't seem to have appeared; instead he sounded a bit…disappointed. He abruptly dismissed the thought. He was getting what he wanted, right? What more could he ask for. Granted, this probably meant the end of their "partnership," but nonetheless, it also meant his freedom from Thanos. And once he was free, he would need to find a way to deal with the impending threat.

Too lost in his plans of how he was going to face the Titan without the use of his powers, Loki failed to notice that Natasha had drifted off to the kitchen. It wasn't until a mug of ebony liquid was shoved under his nose did he realize she had sat beside him. He smelled the familiar aroma and glanced at the Agent with a raised brow.

"Coffee?"

"For old times sake." Funny how despite their short time together, they managed to have these small inside jokes. He expected to find a similar mug in her other hand, but instead found a bottle of vodka was nestled tightly in her grip. She noticed his gaze and sighed. "I need something stronger to get me through this."

It was strange to think that they have been stuck in this situation for a while now. Never had he thought that during his exile, he would ever experience such a strange connection with someone who, weeks ago, he would not have hesitated to destroy. Now here they were; drinking as though they were old acquaintances. And here he was; attracted to the one woman who could either be his salvation or his end. Loki, like many gods, believed that the Norns—the Fates—had wicked senses of humor, but never had he experienced the truth of that belief until now. His thread was now intertwined with this mortal woman whether he liked it or not. And whatever she had to say next would decide what was to come.

The end began on the day a new life was supposed to begin: Natalia's wedding.

Not a wedding based off of some romantic notion of love and romance; there was no place for such things in their world of murder and conspiracy. The wedding was more of a contract, an experiment of sorts. They wanted to try something, an experiment that could very well change their recruitment methods. As time went on, fewer and fewer children were able to clear the initiation process. Many did not have the mental strength to endure and had simply gone mad; not surprising for children seemed to be getting weaker and weaker as years passed. The changes that have happened in society the past years may have contributed to the shift. It was hard to wipe clean an already jaded child.

Natalia's wedding (though it was hardly one considering all they actually did was sign the document) was to be the start of a new era for them. An era where recruitment wasn't just picking children off the street, but where they themselves would create their own children, who, from birth, would be trained to become the greatest weapons mankind has ever known. So by taking two of their best, they would eventually begin the process of breeding their new group of prodigy killers.

Never did it occur to Natalia that she was being used. To her, all this was simply a part of her duty to the organization that raised her. To her, this was nothing more than another mission to accomplish.

Her only regret was that she would be out of commission for several months.

"Do you know who your partner is?" Yelena, who by now had already completed her training, asked. The way she said partner—such a cold and detached title, as though they weren't going to commit the greatest act of intimacy ever—made the entire situation sound bearable.

"His name is Alexei Shostakov." She recalled reading his file during the briefing.

A look akin to awe graced Yelena's countenance. "Shostakov is a prodigy, a pilot and one of the agency's best. He's brilliant, they say."

"That's what I've heard as well." Natalia murmured, but Yelena continued on.

"He is the perfect candidate to balance off your skills, shestya. I'm sure the results will be what the organization wishes. It is a shame that you won't be able to spar with me for a while. But, to be chosen for something groundbreaking…I'm proud to have been the student of such an exceptional mentor."

Natalia nodded numbly, not at all affected by the declaration for it was a common thing that Yelena would say. She should warn her that such adoration was unbecoming for a spy. Spy did not admire anything other than a perfectly executed mission. The reminder of her months off duty sent a strange bitter pain in Natalia chest. Yet, she would never voice it out or admit such weakness. Doing so would be an affront to the mission and, in extension, to the organization.

So, she married him. No qualms were made from either side—at least not outwardly. Immediately, they were sent to a secure location; no doubt to encourage the "bonding process". They did their part albeit somewhat dispassionately. Natalia knew seduction missions like the back of her hand, but there was no need for seduction. It was simply biology—nothing more. Just a means to an end. Alexei was a quiet man, but behind that exterior she could see that he hid something far greater. She discovered that his physical prowess was subpar, exemplary but nowhere near her level. It was his intellect, the way he would assess the situation and immediately draw a conclusion that impressed her. In that way, he truly was brilliant. With that, it was no surprise that he managed to pick up some of her cues.

"You are displeased with this mission." He said suddenly during dinner. Her head snapped to him, surprised that he was able to read her. "Do not be shocked. I understand your frustration."

"Will you tell them?" She asked warily.

He took a bite off some stroganoff. "No," He left it at that. However, the shock on Natalia's face didn't fade.

He would disregard protocol and not tell on a fellow agent? The idea was unheard of! Completely against anything they were ever taught. Yet, relief washed over her. She would later learn that Alexei wasn't one to always follow protocol.

Weeks passed and Natalia was even more sullen with boredom and frustration. Still no progress. Every week, the same result. Negative. She threw the pregnancy test across the bathroom, feeling satisfied at the clang that resonated the walls as it dropped to the tile floor. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This mission was pointless. How was this not working? It was simple biology. They've been trying for the past weeks with still no results.

There was nothing wrong with them; that she was sure off. The medical examination they went through before the mission assured that she was fully capable of conceiving and that Alexei had no problems as well. Yet, they still failed.

Failure.

Natalia Romanovna hardly ever experienced such a thing. Only once had that happened—the hospital fire and Yelena—and never did she ever want to feel that overwhelming pressure of disappointment, both from her superiors and from her herself. Unfortunately, this wasn't any normal mission. She couldn't just aim her pistol at her uterus and demand it to produce results.

Alexei was gone for the day. He was technically off the field, but the organization needed his tactical skills far more in the intelligence unit. He was—as they said—an asset they couldn't afford to put aside. So, he left during the day and returned sometime later in order to continue their main mission. Something that Natalia felt inexplicably envious about. They allowed him to leave this prison while she herself had no choice but to wallow in monotony. She wasn't supposed to feel this way. As a trained professional, she was supposed to accept was assigned to her and question nothing.

However, as the days passed with nothing but the same mundane routine and pathetic attempts at intimacy with her supposed "husband," Natalia felt the mutinous rage boil inside her. Behind the indoctrinated teachings of the Red Room lay the seething tumult that wanted to erupt at any moment. Finally, as she bent to pick up the fallen pregnancy test, she realized that she needed to discuss this little problem with her partner—before she changes her mind and report it to the superiors.

That night, Alexei returned at his usual time: half past nine. Natalia was standing on the other side of the door, her arms crossed and her face blank. Inwardly, she relished the brief look of shock that passed over the agent's face. Her eyes narrowed and suspicion perked at how quickly he replaced that look with that of an impassive mask. This shed some more light onto the situation. She knew the look of someone with something to hide.

"What do you want?" He asked dispassionately, making a move to brush past her.

She took another step to block his way, her eyes warning him to keep still if he didn't want to get hurt. "We've been having a problem with the mission. A problem that I suspect you're fully aware of already. So let's cut to the chase and not waste any more time. How are we going to fix this?"

A sound, unfamiliar, came from the man in front of her. It took her a while to realize that the deep rumbling noise was actually him chuckling. Never has her partner smiled—let alone laughed—in front of her. However, she had a sneaking suspicion that he was laughing at her.

"What are you laughing about?" She growled.

He stopped abruptly, but a hint of a smirk still tugged his lips. "You," He answered simply. Before Natasha voiced her outraged, he continued. "After everything, even now, the only concern you have is how to continue with the mission." He shook his head. "I have sincerely overestimated you, Romanovna. You truly are a daughter of the Red Room. And here I believed you to be something more."

Natalia narrowed her eyes. That was the longest he spoke to her in the entire month. Yet the way he spoke…it was different from what she had heard from him before. There was a slight shift in his demeanor, a sort of spark in his eye that made her wary. No longer the quiet thoughtful man— but the deadly trained killer that stood with an air of confidence that wasn't there earlier. It was as though he were two different people sharing the same face.

What was he?

"Interesting question—there might still be hope for you yet." She didn't notice that she had voiced her thoughts out loud. "The answer, I believe, is something that we both know. After all—we're from the same flock, are we not?" He tipped his head sardonically, and paced around her like a predator; his voice echoing around the empty room. "I am what this organization made me. I am what they expect me to be. I am—to put it simply—a weapon. A monster. And so are you."

He paused in front of her. "Romanovna, the only difference in our answers is one thing. There is something that I am that you are not—or at least not yet." His raised his chin, as though he were proclaiming a great truth. "I chose who I want to be."

Natalia took a step back, momentarily stunned by the bold acclamation, especially from a supposedly dedicated agent. To say such a thing was akin to blasphemy for them. You did not own your life, the organization did. You did not chose, the organization did. This was treason.

Immediately, on instinct, she jumped to tackle him. It should have been an easy target; she had confirmed earlier that she was the better combatant. But, Alexai had the strength. He gripped her wrists as they wrestled on the ground and pinned them on top of her. She raised her knees to her chest to kick him off her, but he had pinned them down as well with his own legs. She struggled to get free but Alexei's strength won over. Apparently, he had been holding back this entire time.

"Listen to me!"

"No! You are a traitor to the organization. I will have you reported—after I kill you, you bastard!" She spat venomously.

"I said listen to me!" One of his hands fell threateningly on her throat as the other held both her wrists. "I could easily snap your neck if I wanted to and leave you here for your precious organization to discover."

She immediately fell into silence, her eyes wide, her heart beating rapidly as his grip constricted her exposed throat. With her airways cut off, she struggled to breathe with uneven gasps. But as quickly as it tightened, it loosened and her breath returned to her instantly.

His voice lowered to a murmur. "—But, I won't."

The red head eyed his sudden change. Once again like switching a mask, Alexei, the thoughtful returned. The loss of the spark in his eye was evident the closer she looked at him. The calm before the storm, she thought. "Do you know what I just did, Romanovna?" He asked her suddenly, not really expecting her to answer so she didn't. "I chose to be something more than what they expect me to be."

He could have killed her, she knew. In fact, it would have made sense for him to squeeze the life out of her and leave her for dead. He obviously had a goal in mind, and she stood in his way. Obstacles like her should be decimated before they cause troubles to the objective; that's what their training told them. Natalia thought he was either a fool to think that she would not stop him or was purposely trying to prove a point.

"I'm not going to kill you if that's what you're thinking. It would be easy, painless even…beautiful to see. Watching the light go out of someone's eyes—I'm sure you've seen it many times before. Seeing those bright blue of yours go dull as your last breath escapes you. It would be quite a kill—the top agent of the organization. But, it's not what I want. So, I won't do it.

"It's still difficult, you see. Like holding the world on your shoulders, or pushing against a rushing tide. Sometimes, I make little slips. Mistakes where the tide is just too strong and I drown in it and it crushes me with its raw force. But I come rushing back to the surface, taking back what is rightfully mine. Do you not understand, Romanovna? That's what they've taken from us: our will, our identity. We are broken men. Torn and lost, molded into monsters using our worst traits and imprisoning our humanity in the confines of our mangled selves. This is why I'm reaching out to you. Imploring that part of you to return." She looked away from his intense gaze. He was rambling. Lies, all of them. Nothing more than trickery to control her. It wasn't true. He was a traitor, a liar. He must not be trusted. She repeated the same mantra over and over, trying to tune out his voice. She gritted her teeth as he forcibly made her turn to him with a hold on her chin.

"Tell me, honestly, Romanovna. Do you really want to finish this mission? Do really want to be live cattle for the rest of your life? Is that what your training taught you to be? A tool, easily used and discarded? Impenetrable, emotionless, mindless. A dog that follows without question. Is that your worth? Is that who you are?" She stayed silent. His face showed no contempt, though his questions dripped with it. Something in Natalia's chest constricted with each inquiry. It was as though he was choking her again, though her throat remained free of his touch at the moment. A shuddering breath, a close of her eyes, and a stirring in her guarded heart that was strange yet familiar at the same time. It frightened her with its growing strength. She couldn't breathe as something in her throat blocked the air. Then, she heard what sounded like the shattering of glass.

"No."

Alexei stiffened at her reply. He was startled, she could tell. She was as well. Because she had finally voiced what was bothering her since the mission began. It felt relieving but a part of her felt like she has betrayed the organization. It was a declaration of her dissatisfaction, something that agents were never supposed to experience when given a mission. It was Alexei's fault she knew. It was his questioning that brought her to betrayal. But hasn't she already betrayed the organization the moment she started to feel that way, and that was before Alexei's influence. That was different; she had kept it to herself before. She was willing to complete the mission despite her misgivings. She was willing to—"Do you want to be live cattle for the rest of your life?"—no, she didn't. She couldn't breathe again, her chest felt heavy and her eyes started to water.

Suddenly, a palm on her cheek startled her from her panic.

"Natalia, look at me." Her eyes reluctantly turned to his. "I know it's painful but tell me, what do you want?"

It was a question that she could not answer. Alexei could see her struggle; see her indecision over the short yet complex question. She couldn't say what she wanted to do, because she doesn't know. He understood her resistance; it was a question she was not ready for, yet. Perhaps another one.

"What don't you want?"

It was hardly different from the first, but for some reason Natalia knew the answer to it. It was an answer that she held within her, that has tortured her for the past month. It was an answer that defied everything that was taught to her and would brand her death the moment she uttered it. It was then that she understood what Alexei was talking about.

She didn't want to do this…and she wasn't going to.

Disconnected. Fury slammed his fist into the fiberglass screen, creating a small crack at the impact of his knuckles. How had it come to this? How in the world could he have let this happen? The dreaded words still lingered on the screen, blinking neon red that appropriately reflected how bloody deep in trouble they were.

DISCONNECTED.

Motherfu—

"Sir, Stark just landed on the Helicarrier." Agent Hill's voice interrupted him mid-rant.

"Now is not a good time." Fury said through gritted teeth, his lone eye never leaving the blinking words on the screen.

"I don't think we have much of a choice, Sir."

The doors of the chamber opened, and in came said billionaire clad in his suit of armor. Fury, running out of patience, turned to Stark, planning on kicking out the obnoxious supposed philanthropist out of his Helicarrier—with or without the suit. But he froze at the sight of his face. Serious…dead serious. It wasn't something that was supposed to bother him that much but it did. Even the air around the billionaire changed, almost as though his cold expression was also influencing his surroundings. Only something important could cause such a drastic change in Tony Stark's demeanor.

"Pepper's been kidnapped." He said solemnly.

The director furrowed his brows. "By who?"

"Justin Hammer." Tony took off his helmet and merely held it in his hands. "I tried finding him. Managed to trace the call he gave me, but it came up nothing. Checked the last place Pepper was seen—no one saw anything and I found nothing. Checked satellite imaging even hacked into the NSA for any reports…nothing. Absolutely nothing."

He was out of options, so he came here. Tony hid behind a mask of calm very well, but Fury knew the look of a desperate man. Pepper Potts could have been kidnapped for many reasons; money, desire, revenge. With Hammer, there was no doubt that it was for the last one. It was unfortunate that the man who had already sacrificed himself for the world once would have to experience a greater loss. The red blinking letters on the hologram screen was demanding his attention. Disconnected, it said.

"I'll do what I can." He said quietly so only Stark could hear.

Stark nodded back. "It's not just Justin Hammer, we're up against. He said he had friends that were helping him."

"Friends?" Again, the blinking letters caught his eye.

"Yeah, there's a video of them helping him escape, but there're some weird stuff going on that—"

A loud thunderclap echoed outside, startling them and everyone in the Helicarrier. Looking up at the viewing screen, they saw the clouds turning an ominous shade of gray. The Helicarrier tilted precariously at the strength of the storm; its inhabitants frozen on their tracks as a burst of lightning passed by. A thud outside which suggested something impacted with the exterior rather forcefully. Stark and Fury shared a look, knowing exactly what just happened.

Fury had the urge to massage his temple. All these visitors weren't healthy for his sanity.

They reached the outside of the Helicarrier and walked out to the launch pad. A single golden figure stood, his hair in disarray, his armor scratched and burnt in some areas. Who knew that a god could look so beaten? Thor was kneeling on the metal floor, Mjolner by his side, and seemingly out of breath. The two men approached him, shocked to find the golden god in total panic. What could have caused such a thing?

"Asgard is under attack."

Again, in Fury's mind, the blinking words on the screen were clear and visible:

DISCONNECTED

Clint didn't wake up because of another nightmare. Although he felt like he had. He awoke to a heavy weight, as though a cloud of smoke was slowly suffocating him. He gasped for air, only to choke on it. Coughing, he sat up and tried to regain his composure. The weight didn't disappear and as he dragged his feet to the floor, it only intensified three-fold. His heavy lids suddenly widened with panic. There was definitely something wrong.

Hastily putting on his uniform and grabbing his bow and arrows from the shelf, he dashed outside to the hallway only to find it deserted. The lights above him flickered ominously as he felt a pull towards the Beehive. The heaviness increased with each step as it echoed across the empty halls. He halted as he was met by a barricade of guards, clad in armor and guns at the ready. They all seemed to have been wounded—several of them clutched bleeding gashes on their arms and legs.

"What the hell happened?" Clint asked.

"There's been a break-in. Intruder managed to sneak in as one of the agents and began shooting at random scientists in the main chamber." One of them answered. "Killed a couple of them and used the emergency lock grid to isolate himself in there."

"Wait, there's only one?" One intruder against a handful of trained, professional agents?

The guards seemed hesitant to respond as they exchanged looks with each other. One of them had the guts to step up and answered. "Barton, there's something…different with that one. Our bullets bounce right off of him, and he just throws the others like their ragdolls. It's almost inhuman."

Something in clicked in Clint's mind. Inhuman—why did those words brought such a feeling of dread within him? Not human could imply someone with impressive tech, or skills, or could mean he's not from this planet. And speaking from experience, the latter are the most dangerous ones. 'Great, and here I thought I left all that back in New York,'he thought. Trouble always had a way of finding him.

"We need to get this door open. Call HQ, report what's happened." Clint ordered.

"The intruder disconnected us from HQ. Used some kind of device and killed the signal. Nothing goes in and nothing goes out. None of the phones work. Sir, we're a blind spot in the middle of nowhere."

Shit, and no one noticed that until now?Clint anxiously ran his hands through his hair. He had a bad feeling about all this. It was one guy defeating an entire barracks full of trained agents. Only once has Clint witnessed such a feat, and that was the day he also learned that Norse Gods had the uncanny ability to bring down a 6-foot guard without blinking an eye. Could it be one of his lot? If it was, then after seeing what Loki was capable of doing, they definitely needed more muscle than what they currently have. If only they could contact HQ.

"Where's Selvig?"

Again, the guards exchanged a look that made Clint's stomach feel like lead. He knew that whatever the answer was, he wasn't going to like it. "Sir, Selvig is in the chamber."

Damn. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse.

"Selvig, we can't just stand here and do nothing." Jane had a firm grasp on his lab coat, her nails digging uncomfortably into his skin. Selvig looked down briefly at her worried expression and then turned back towards the intruding maniac in the room, who was waving a gun threateningly in front of another scientist. They were hidden in his office, looking down at the scene from one of the oversized windows above the main chamber. Thankfully, the intruder was oblivious to their presence and Selvig would like to keep it that way. However, after witnessing his companions being shot indiscriminately, it was getting more and more difficult to remain detached.

Jane once again shook him out of his trance. "Selvig," she said worriedly. She was scared, too. This was the first time she had seen this much violence in person. She wasn't there in New York; she wasn't there to see all the chaos and carnage. Selvig wanted to protect her from it—from this—but it was too late. 'I'm sorry, Jane,'he thought.

They were trapped like rats inside an impenetrable reinforced steel cage and this mad man would be the end of them. The gunshot echoed and the poor sod of a scientist fell in a graceless heap over his desk. The last two survivors watched anxiously as the man reloaded his weapon, an old German Luger that seemed out of place in time. He marveled at the chunks of brain that managed to splatter on the paperwork and was inwardly amused. "Seems like even in death, you still have your brains on the books." His eerie laugh chilled the spines of the two remaining.

But what happened next was what caused them to step back in shock and disgust. After surveying the scene, the man loosened his collar, unbuttoning a few buttons on his shirt, and rolled up his sleeves. The ID around his neck was ripped out in haste as his facial expression twitched and twisted disturbingly. His hands twitched as well, and soon a shudder enveloped his entire body. Even the ends of his hair seemed to have developed a mind of their own as they stood on end with each vibration. Then, the man transformed before them. His limbs lengthened, shoulders broadened, hair shortened, and eyes sunk into the skull. If his previous actions weren't proof enough, this sudden transformation was certainly enough evidence to prove the man's…inhumanity. The hue of his skin distorted into a sickening grey—except for that of his skull, which became a horrifying shade of red.

He heard Jane gasp as the half-Chitauri abomination stared right at them with his devilish black eyes.

"When he looked at me, all I wanted to do was run from him. I tried to convince myself that he was the liar, but the doubt had already been festering in me long before he tried to convince me. He let me go after that, and told me the truth about the Red Room and the organization, about how they made us what we are. I was skeptical at first, until he told me about how we might have had families before the Red Room. When he was certain I wouldn't betray him, he explained to me his plan to take down the organization from the inside. All I had to do was to keep the marriage charade going long enough for him to gain enough influence to meet with the top officers. We planned to take them all down together, so he promised to bring me when the time had come."

Natasha drained the last remaining vodka with a swig and relished the burning trail it left down her throat. Those times were both the most enlightening and the most tiring—for many different reasons. Alexei showed her so much. It was like waking up after a deep sleep and learning to walk only to stumble down again and again. He was the crutch that helped her throughout her falls and guided her to the light.

Loki's eyes narrowed as Natasha's gaze seemed to look far into the past. There was something more going on between her and Alexei. It wasn't just a partnership, but a more intimate relationship that went beyond professional boundaries. "You loved him," It sounded more like an accusation from his lips. Though, it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

She started at his statement but made no sound to deny it. Instead, she lowered the empty bottle onto the coffee table and clasped her hands together on her lap. "He didn't return one day and that's when I knew he had been found out. I ran away and left the country, believing that all our work had been for naught. They tried to find me, sent some assassins after me but they knew I was a lost cause—besides, no one could beat me.

"Without Alexei, I began to slip back into my old habits. Went to become an assassin for hire. I earned a name for myself in those years—the Black Widow seemed like a fitting moniker so it stuck. I took job after job until it brought the attention of Shield. My indiscriminate taste in missions was beginning to backfire as I earned more enemies with each paycheck. But honestly, I didn't care anymore. So, they sent Agent Barton to kill me." She chuckled sardonically. "They sent a soft-hearted marksman after me. I don't know which was more pathetic, him or the fact that I actually got caught by him. He could have killed me. But he didn't."

Loki noticed her hands shaking for a moment before she regained her composure.

"In exchange for my cooperation with Shield, I told them everything about the Red Room and the confidential information Alexei managed to gather. I helped them bring it down and shot the old bastards myself."

He noticed that she failed to mention Yelena. But she didn't need to. Loki understood why that little pixie of a girl still lived despite Natasha killing off an entire organization.Sentiment.Somehow it always broiled down to that. Or perhaps it was imitation. A monster's attempt to be more than what she is by chosingnot to kill. Of the two, he seemed to lean more towards the latter, but then again, Romanoff was always a difficult book to read.

"It's nice to know that you enjoyed your little brand of vengeance, however that still doesn't explain how you got out of their control."

It still frustrated him that all this talk of duality and inner conflict still did not help him. He was still trapped as evidenced by the tingling sensation of something crawling around his consciousness. That damn parasite was waiting for an opening, he knew. And it was frustrating to know that there was still nothing he could do to stop it.

Natasha looked at him—reallylooked at him—and realized something. "You see it, don't you?" Her eyes widened. "You've seen what they've put inside you."

"W-What?"

"If what you're experiencing is anything similar to what they did to me then you should be seeing it, too. I'm not really sure what 'it' is, but over the years I've associated it with what they've made me into—like there's another person inside me." There was a trace of fear in her voice, a quiver in her tone that he hadn't heard from her before. "It began when I became more aware of what I was and escalated later on. It was the reason why I returned to taking questionable jobs once I got away. It feeds on you and tempts you when you're at your lowest."

"How did you get it out?"

Turning back to him, Natasha's pale face seemed all the more paler. Loki's heart dropped at the look she gave him and he knew the answer long before she said it.

"I never did."

And just like that all hell broke loose.

She heard the door slam behind her, the loud bang echoing off the hall as it rattled on its hinges. It wasn't the only thing that was rattled. There were many things that she shouldn't have done in her life as a master of espionage—both as an operative in the Red Room and as an agent in Shield. Still, she did them without complaint simply because duty dictated she did. Duty has influenced every decision she has done. Whether it be to the Red Room, to Alexei, to Shield, or to Clint. She's done what most people would consider to be unethical missions for all of them. None of which she regretted doing.

Natasha wouldn't be here otherwise.

'There are some things that will I will never forget though.'Her hands were stained with so much blood that sometimes she wondered if one day she should just stop bothering to wash them. It was useless anyway. She would just go back to doing what she does best. Only now, she didn't even need a blade or a gun to do it. Amazing how so few words could devastate someone so greatly. 'If only Alexei could see me now. How proud would he be?'

Her gaze lingered on the floor for so long that she began to lose track of time. Had she really changed?

What the Red Room did to her never left. There would always be a part of her where Natalia resides. Sometimes, when she was at her lowest, Natalia would take over. A self-defense mechanism that she always had trouble repressing. It was years after she left the Red Room when she realized that there was something not right about her. Alexei was closer to the truth than he thought. They really were monsters.

During the initiation, the chosen child would be strip of all contact and stimulus for weeks, months, sometimes years. They'd leave the child a blank page, a cup ready to be filled. However, in order to remove all traces of the child's individuality, it was important that the first stimulus they receive would be the literal death of their past. For Natasha, it was Ivan. For Yelena, it was her parents. And for Alexei, it was his sister. It would lead to a split within their psyche, a repression of their true selves and the take over of a puppet hungry for more. The reason the Red Room had trouble in the last years of their operation was that more children weren't experiencing the desired split. Instead of a clean break, the child's psyche would become unhinged. And even when the split did happen, there were instances where the repressed memories would seep into the consciousness.

She knew beforehand that she couldn't help him. This was a simple plan to outwit the trickster; continue on with the charade without divulging too much (which she felt she did). As a spy, Natasha knew how blind a desperate man can be. She knew the outcome of her decision wouldn't be good. She damn well knew that he has every right to be angry. But what she didn't know was how tricking the god of tricksters would leave her feeling...

Well, whatever it was wasn't good.

It was supposed to be part of the mission. A simple extraction of information. Granted, Fury never authorized it, but she would expect him to do the same thing she's done. Only a spy like Fury would simply move on from this and think nothing of his actions afterwards. With Natasha...

The gun wound on her shoulder ached only adding more to the unpleasant feeling storming in her chest. A small voice in her head reminded her that had it not been for said trickster, that bullet would have been lodged in her heart. Though now, she doubted there would be even be a heart left to puncture. Had it not been for that one act, would she have felt less—for the lack of a better word—guilty? Guilt was something she felt after she learned she killed Yelena's parents; it was there when she allowed Alexei to leave that faithful night; it followed her—haunted her—during her years as a free-lancer. And here was another notch to her already soiled conscience.

Sighing, Natasha picked up the empty bottle of vodka but her hand hesitated on the cup of coffee. When she did pick it up, it somehow felt heavier than before despite being half-empty. She left them on the kitchen sink and headed to her room, planning on making a call to Fury. Hopefully, he'll have someone else capable of taking Loki in, because right now, anyone would be better than her.

As she turned the knob on her door, the door across from hers began to open. She didn't have to look, but she knew that the looming shadow behind her could only be one person. Her grip on the knob tightened but she still didn't dare turn it, nor did she turn to look at him in the eye. She waited for him to speak, but he didn't. So, she spoke for him.

"I know what you're thinking. I'm no better than you, and I never said I was. I played your game, and just like last time I won. I'm not saying it was right—but I expect you of all people to understand my motives. I'll call Fury and have you picked up in the morning. Obviously our living conditions aren't going to be comfortable from now on, so I'll have him relocate you and you can tell him all about this Titan of yours. You won't ever have to see my face again."

Natasha waited for him to respond, to make some sort of comment but still he kept his silence. Frustrated, she whirled around to face him. Only to get knocked back against her door. Strong hands kept her wrist pined to the wood—she winced at the pain it sent through her wounded arm—a warm body pressed against her, preventing her own small one from moving. She made a sound of protest only to get cut off by the impact of a pair of searing lips. Her eyes widened and she made a momentary mistake of gasping. That small instant was all Loki needed to gain access to deeper territory. Silver-tongued, indeed.

For a second, the master spy didn't know what to do. Her hands struggled from his grip but to no avail. Her legs, pinned by his own, were useless in this proximity. She writhed but only seemed to make the kiss more intimate as she brushed her body against his. 'Damn.'The frustration was boiling and her nerves were at their breaking point. Added to that was the growing heat within her that was threatening to burst.

He grinded his hips against hers and that was it. She lost it.

Natasha wasn't aware that she was waiting for this, nor was she aware of how long she's repressed it, but suddenly all the frustration, all those weeks, all those intimate interrogations have led to this. And she knew there was no turning back now. Natasha kissed back with equal fervor, arcing her back for more contact. Loki welcomed it, and matched her intensity as he continued to sear his essence into her. He bit her lip painfully and released her hands, allowing them to return the favor by pulling him down roughly by his hair. His lips left her mouth, and trailed down onto her neck. She gave him more access and he thanked her with a bite. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he returned by letting her feel how tense he was with a rough grind that made her moan.

Natasha knew that this was going to escalate into something dangerous and she should stop it while her brain was still functioning. But with each nip and sensation, she was beginning to wonder whether this was a better way to end things than with an argument. At least they'll both end up momentarily satisfied in the end.

'No. This has to stop.'She had enough things to feel guilty about and she will not add another to her list.

As if sensing her hesitance, Loki stopped his attentions and rose to whisper in her ear. "They say that the darkest aspect of a person is their truest self."

Suddenly, Natasha felt a pressure behind her neck.

The last thing she saw was Loki grinning and the glowing blue of his eyes.

Oh, you know how I love to end a chapter with cliff(or Clint) hangers. It's a habit I should break, but I'm too fond of it to try.

Yes, I did change the original Black Widow backstory and diverted away from the comics, though my version is still heavily based on it. I hope that you hardcore comic readers don't flame too much. But, please understand the necessity of changing it. The original version of this chapter (that I wrote like months ago) used the original backstory, but about a month ago, I decided to change that and develop my own. I tried using the original but I had trouble transitioning and making it fit with the story.

But, despite that, I hope you enjoyed the chapter and all its goodies that I managed to fit in it.

Thank you guys and please Review. I love hearing your reactions (positive or violent) :D

Love ya'll