A/N: I have no idea where this is going. This is one of those meandery ones where I'm just like 'fuck it, let's roll'. My main concern is that this is 5,500 words long, and I actually started it way before Golden, so maybe don't expect the next bit before next week. Also, just a note on how early it was started - it was before the trailer where we saw Loki kicking off in his cell, having his little magic tantrum, so here he's stripped of his powers, as part of his sentence. Anyway, that's about it, hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think! =]

Turn

by Flaignhan

She doesn't know whether to feel honoured or uneasy. Of all the people he could have chosen, it was her roof he had come crashing through in the middle of the night.

The ceiling of the hallway is as high as a mountain, and it's completely deserted. The sound of her shoes clicking against the marble floor echoes around them, and soon, Thor leads her through a huge set of heavy, wooden double doors which, despite his impressive strength, she's still amazed he can open.

"We are most grateful for your assistance," he says at last. "You will be generously rewarded."

"Cool," she says with a shrug, not really caring about any sort of reward. She's still being paid by SHIELD, so it's not like she's here as a freebie. And besides, she's curious.

"My father's birthday is traditionally a day of rest for all, including the guards. But you understand he cannot be left alone. Even in his cell."

"D'you think he can escape?"

"I think it unwise to assume anything about my brother. He is full of surprises."

Natasha frowns. She is fully aware that she's a damn good fighter, but she's human, and he's not. It'd be like going at a tiger with your bare hands.

"He has been stripped of his powers, you have nothing to fear."

"I'm not afraid," she says, and immediately, she wishes she hadn't said anything at all. The words sound so childish as they fall from her lips, but Thor says nothing. Eventually, they descend down a set of stone steps, flaming torches hanging from iron brackets on the walls, their orange glow giving just enough light to see to the bottom of the stairwell.

"I take it there's no wi-fi down here..." Natasha says, not even bothering to glance at her phone.

Thor chuckles and they turn into a long, narrow corridor. "We have no need for your mortal magic here. If you grow bored, I can have somebody fetch you books."

"I'm good," Natasha says. "Maybe your brother can entertain me." She smiles wryly, and Thor chuckles.

"I doubt it. He fluctuates between apathy and the foulest of moods."

"Sounds like fun," she says with a sigh.

Thor gives her a small smile before removing the chains from the last door at the end of the corridor. It's only now that Natasha realises how low the ceilings are down here in comparison to the halls above them. She glances down at the thick chains that Thor is pulling away from the handles.

"Are they going back on when you leave?"

"Yes."

"Locked in a dungeon with a psychopath... awesome," she says, her breath hitching slightly in her throat. Thor smirks, but says nothing, and after a moment, he pushes the door open.

The room is large, but claustrophobic. Thor's head is inches from the ceiling, and the lighting is so poor that she cannot see into the darker reaches of the room.

Loki's cell, however, is brightly lit. It is a ten by ten square in the centre of the dungeon, surrounded by glass. Inside, there is a table with a jug of water and a small cup. Loki himself sits on the floor, his pale skin almost lost in the stark white of the walls. His hair is long, scraggly, and so far removed from the way she remembers him. He casts a bored glance in her direction, then looks up at his brother.

"You brought a mortal to guard me."

"She will be more than sufficient."

"The feast will be starting at any moment...run along, brother."

"Ring the left bell should you need assistance," Thor says, ignoring Loki, and gesturing to two ropes by the door. "And the right for sustenance."

"Okay," Natasha says. "That everything?"

"Not quite," Thor says, taking a step up towards the wall of Loki's glass enclosure. "You can enter the cell, and you can leave the cell."

"What?"

"Put your hands on the glass," Thor says, though his gaze is focused on Loki, his eyes narrowed, daring him to try something.

Natasha follows orders, and places her palms flat against the glass. She feels disoriented, just for a second, but the feeling passes, and when it does, she is inside the cell. Thor is on the outside, still glaring at Loki, who rolls his eyes and turns to Natasha.

"I'd be lying if I said it were a pleasure, Agent Romanov," he says silkily.

"The feeling's mutual," she replies, her jaw set. She reaches her hand back, just a few inches, and presses it flat against the glass once more. The dizzying feeling is gone as quickly as it comes, and she is standing next to Thor once more.

"If you behave," Thor says darkly, "I will have some of the food from the feast sent down."

"That's good of you," Loki sneers.

"Take it or leave it," Thor says, stepping back, away from the glass. "But if you so much as breathe the wrong way, you'll have nothing at all."

Loki rolls his eyes, and it's only now that Natasha realises how sunken they are, how hollow and gaunt his face is in the harsh light. She remembers a damaged Loki from New York, pale and sweating, and covered in scars, but this is a new level, even for him.

Thor inclines his head towards Natasha respectfully, then turns on his heel, his scarlet cape billowing behind him. In the distance, she hears the door shut with a quiet thud, and then the heavy clinking of the chains as they are secured. She wonders how long the feast will go on for, whether the lure of good food will be enough to keep Loki's desire for chaos at bay.

There is a high backed chair in the corner, which she presumes is meant for her, and so she drags it towards Loki's prison, the legs scraping noisily against the floor. He sighs heavily and leans his head back against the wall of his cell. When Natasha is satisfied with the new furniture arrangement, she takes a seat, tucking her legs under herself and leaning against the intricately carved armrest. The patterns and notches dig into her flesh, but she doesn't move; the chair had been far more difficult to manoeuvre than expected and so she is determined to make it worthwhile, to appear as though the effort had been worth it, even if that means ignoring the fact that she would have been just as comfortable on the floor.

"Just like old times," she says after a long silence.

He looks up at her, his face haughty, and says nothing.

"Fine," she says, "You don't wanna talk, we don't have to talk. I just thought after you've been locked down here for so long…" she trails off, and his expression doesn't change. She had thought that the change for him might be something exciting – an anomaly in an endless sentence of monotony and isolation. But no, it appears he'd rather be left to rot in silence, which is absolutely fine by her, it just means that it will probably be the most boring babysitting job she has ever had to do.

After a while, Loki stands. Natasha follows him with her eyes, making a note of everything he glances at, every muscle he moves, but all he does is walk around the perimeter of his cell five times, before heading back to the same spot and sitting down again, his legs crossed at the ankles. He fiddles with the hem of his loose fitting shirt for a while, but that doesn't appear to entertain him for long, because after a few minutes he huffs, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his arms on top of them.

"You were a murderer," he says eventually. "You are a murderer, I should say."

Natasha doesn't respond, though she will admit some curiosity as to where he's going with his blunt, provocative line of questioning.

"Yet, here you are, entrusted with the secrets and weapons of Midgard. My brother chooses you, of all people, to take the watch this evening. How did you manage that? Who did you kill to get that job?"

"Why don't you tell me why you think Thor chose me? And then I'll tell you how I managed to convince the people that mattered that I was changed for the better."

Loki's eyes flash at her choice of words, the ambiguity of her statement, which she knows will lure him in. He must know the answer already, will have cleaved all of her secrets from Clint's brain when he was controlling him. She will indulge him, for now.

"My brother…" Loki says slowly, turning his head and resting it on top of his hands while he looks at her. "He will have judged you on our conversation from your ship. The one where you were so very smug, just before Banner unleashed his full ferocity on your men. Thor will have considered that a triumph on your part."

"And you don't?"

"I didn't consider it to be my loss - that part of my plan went as it should have. Ergo, you did not win that round, Agent Romanov."

Natasha smirks, running a hand along the calf of her jeans smoothing out some of the creases. She knows how desperate he is to get a reaction from her, is well aware of how low he will stoop in order to break her cool demeanour. She is, however, prepared for that. She knows she has to be even more patient than usual today, because he is acting out of boredom, more than anything else. And really, she can't find it within herself to blame him.

"How is Agent Barton?" he asks after a short while. "Still having nightmares?"

"You know," Natasha says, "I think that could count as breathing the wrong way. Watch your mouth, if you want food sent down."

"You think I'd eat anything they send me? You think I'd let them bargain with me?" For the first time he appears agitated, his hands twitchy as he picks at the hem of his shirt. "Be a good boy, Loki, and we'll send you whatever the dogs don't eat. No thank you. I'd rather starve."

From the way he's looking at her, Natasha supposes that he's expecting her to laugh, expecting for her to turn around and tell him he deserves it. But she doesn't. Yeah, he's an ass, and he's done some terrible things, but so has she. She knows all too well what it's like, when food becomes a bargaining chip, when pride and stubbornness try to muffle out the dry, aching, painful hunger, and inevitably fail.

"I had to make some difficult choices," she says, breaking the silence. He blinks, then sits up a little straighter, watching her closely. "You know, you do all these things for other people, and it's great when it's all going to plan, but as soon as it doesn't, you realise you're the fall guy. You realise how disposable you are to them. And when you need them, and their influence, or their money or their resources or even just their word, they vanish, and you're on your own."

Loki says nothing, resting his chin on his knees and staring into space.

"Any cause can sound just, if it's worded the right way," she continues. She can feel her mind reaching out for words that won't jar him too much. She doesn't want to sound sanctimonious, because there's no way she could stand here and lecture him on right and wrong and he knows that. They both know that. "And I know with the others, they're fighting for someone, which gives them a reason beyond themselves, and I know that that's not gonna be reason enough for you. It certainly wasn't enough for me."

"Fighting for Agent Barton isn't enough for you?" There's less malice when he refers to Clint this time around, the curiosity overpowering the distaste.

Natasha shakes her head. "I'm not naturally inclined to…attachment. But he's a good friend."

Loki rolls his eyes in disinterest and resumes his staring at the far side of his cage.

"If I'm ever in doubt as to what I should be doing, whether it's right or wrong or whatever shade of grey lies in between, I just think, if I were a kid again, which version of the world would I wanna grow up in? The version where choice A is made, or choice B?"

"How disgustingly touching," Loki sneers. "Think of the children. I thought you were above such tedious sentiments. I have to say I'm disappointed."

"But it's not the children," Natasha argues, ignoring the curl of his lip, his narrowed eyes. "It's you. It's you before everything got fucked up. If you could go back and do it all again, what would you have preferred before you became a monster and a murderer? It's about finding that clear space, forgetting that one more splash of red won't make much difference to your body count now, because what's one drop in an ocean? One drop on a blank piece of paper though, that's…that's a big deal."

"Instead of being the fool that tries to drain the ocean, perhaps you should try setting sail instead."

Natasha leans back in her chair and considers him for a moment. What irks her with Loki, and what probably irks Thor and his parents too, is that Loki is not an idiot. He's not evil, he's not even cruel, not really. It's plain to see when she talks to him, just the two of them, nothing at stake, no real games to be played other than those to ease the boredom. He's just…a little bit fucked up. And aren't they all, when it comes down to it? Aren't all of them, the so called heroes, only fucked up people who were recruited by the right person at the right time? There's not a normal person among them, not one person who doesn't have an extraordinary story. Loki's story though, is no more remarkable than her own, and as a result, he's no more a villain than she ever was. They just differed on their desires for recognition – while she has always enjoyed getting away with things without leaving a trace, no fingerprints, no blood spatters, nothing, Loki has always craved recognition and adulation, of which she has had plenty since New York, while he's been stuck up here, paying for his sins in silence. Funny how the tables turn.

"If you could start over, go back to before things snowballed out of control, and make the other choice, would you? Honestly?"

"Honestly?" he repeats, his eyebrow quirking as though the word is foreign to him.

"Yeah, the opposite of what you usually do."

He almost smirks at that, almost.

"Honestly, it's for me to know and you to not."

Natasha sighs. "What are you, a five year old?"

This time he does smirk, and then he gets up and paces around his cell again, five laps, pale hands clasped behind his back, clothes hanging loosely off of his thin frame.

"You know what I said about convincing the people that matter?"

He halts his pacing and twists to face her, seeming somehow far taller, now he's just on the other side of the glass, looking down at her in her chair. "Yes?"

"Remorse usually helps. Even if you don't feel it. But I bet the chances are that you do. You're not that far gone, not yet."

"Remorse," he says, resuming his pacing and looking up towards the ceiling. "Yes I've heard of that before. Isn't that something that the weak feel? When they lack conviction?"

Natasha smiles and shakes her head. It's almost funny how blasé he is about things, how desperately he tries to cling to this façade of strength and malevolence, and how he is far too proud to take even one scrap of food from the feast, despite the fact that his ribcage is visible through the thin material of his shirt. It's not even a question of him lying to get an improvement in his living standards, it's a question of him telling the truth, for once, to his family, and that's harder for him than an endless eternity of isolation and stubborn starvation.

"Well, I hope you're comfortable in here," she says, stretching her legs out in front of her and then readjusting her position in the chair. "Because it seems to me like you're gonna be in here a while."

"One day at a time," he murmurs, and it's almost as though he's speaking to himself, instead of to her. It sounds like a well-rehearsed mantra, something that he's constantly using to reassure himself. He leans his forehead against the glass and closes his eyes, falling silent, his fingertips tapping softly against the surface.

There is a clatter and Natasha twists in the chair to find the source of the noise. By the ropes attached to the two bells that Thor had shown her earlier is a dumb-waiter type device carved into the wall. Natasha gets up and heads over to it, finding a huge silver tray loaded with delicious looking food – tender meat, roasted vegetables, crusty bread, various cheeses, a large jug of red wine and some odd looking chargrilled delicacies that have an unusual aroma about them. Tucked under one of the platters, is a folded piece of thick, yellow, parchment.

Try and get him to eat. He might take food from you.

Thor.

Natasha tucks the note into her pocket quietly, hoping that Loki won't notice. If he suspects interference from Thor then he won't eat at all.

"Hungry?" she asks, picking up the tray and carrying it over towards the cell. She balances the tray against her hip and presses her left hand flat against the glass, closing her eyes as the odd, disorienting feeling washes over her.

Loki looks up at her, almost surprised at her willingness to enter his prison, but she's not worried. He's weak, as much as he tries to hide it, and she's fairly sure she could handle herself should the need arise, though she's willing to bet a considerable sum that the need will certainly not arise.

She places the tray on the floor and sits down opposite him, pouring some wine into the two goblets and passing one to him. He takes it reluctantly, his eyes following her every move, and then she sips her wine. Her eyebrows raise high on her forehead at the strength of it. She can already feel the heat of the alcohol washing through her, and wonders if she might be better sticking to the water. Perhaps the wine of the gods is a little beyond her capabilities as a human.

Natasha hands a plate to Loki, and he stares at her for a moment before taking it and putting on the floor beside him.

"Not eating?" she asks.

"I refuse to turn this into a game for them. I'm not a dog."

"What if you eat and they never found out?"

Loki says nothing, and so she takes that as an invitation to elaborate on her plan.

"I'm not even that hungry," she says, "Though I think I'll try a little because it looks tasty as hell. Either way, we can pretend that I pigged out, and you flat out refused to eat. You keep that plate," she points at the one on the floor next to him, "And you use this one instead, so it looks like one person's eaten, and the other person hasn't."

"Why would you even bother?" he asks with a sigh, his eyes flicking down briefly to look at the food then stubbornly returning to look at Natasha.

She treads carefully now, knowing that her motive needs to be believable enough for him to not suspect any influence from Thor. She bites her lip and pauses, which she has often found to be her best feign of insecurity. "Because I know what it's like to be so god damn stubborn that it almost kills you."

"What do you care if I die?"

"It's a blot on a clean sheet of paper," she replies softly. "So come on, I promise I won't say a word." She holds out the second plate and after a few seconds' hesitation, he snatches it from her and begins piling it high with food. He chews the meat steadily, his jaw working hard, as though he's long since forgotten how to eat real food, and when he swallows, it's with a large gulp. He washes it down with wine and, realising she's staring, Natasha takes some bread, breaking off a piece and popping it into her mouth. It's delicious, soft and still a little warm, and she immediately regrets her decision to not eat too much. She takes the spare fork and spears a small piece of particularly juicy looking beef, before lifting it to her mouth. She closes her eyes contentedly as she chews, leaning back slightly, her lips curving into a smile.

"Could you seriously have refused this?" she asks in amazement. "This is…astonishing."

"I would have slept," he replies. "It's the easiest way to deal with most things."

Natasha nods, remembering many a day spent curled on her side, staring at the blank wall inches from her face, trying to retain a grip, no matter how fragile, on her dwindling sanity. Eventually, her eyelids would grow heavy and she would be able to slip into unconsciousness, passing perhaps an hour or so until she was next disturbed.

She looks down towards the strange chargrilled things and reaches out to take one, but Loki moves, quick as a flash, his hand gripping her wrist, halting her. Her heart stops in her chest but she doesn't react; despite the shock, she's not sure she feels threatened. His grip is surprisingly strong, even with his emaciated frame, his hands particularly skeletal.

"The smell won't come off for days," he says, wrinkling his nose. "And they taste like vomit."

Natasha pulls her hand back gently and he lets go of her, his attention falling back to his own food.

"Right. Thanks. What are they?"

"Awful," he says between mouthfuls of vegetables. "Just awful."

Natasha skews her lips and cuts off some cheese instead, the tanginess causing her jaw to clench pleasantly. They continue to eat in silence, Natasha picking at bits here and there, Loki continuing eat as fast as he can. Every so often, his eyes flick towards the door, as though expecting someone to burst in, catching him red handed in the most sinful act of eating. Eventually, he reclines against the wall, putting his empty plate on the tray and taking one last sip of wine before placing his goblet on the tray too.

When he doesn't move for a good ten minutes, while Natasha picks out all the crispy bits of meat at the edge of the plate, she realises that he's fallen asleep, and decides that it's probably time for her to leave him be. She gets to her feet quietly, her balance a little off kilter from the wine, and picks up the tray, before stepping softly to the edge of the cell and pressing her hand against the glass. She feels stomach acid rise in her throat as everything shifts, but as soon as the feeling comes, it's gone, and she's back on the side of the free.

She sets the tray back on the dumb-waiter and takes one of the goblets and one of the forks, then heads over to the large marble sink in the corner to wash them. When she's satisfied that they look as good as new, she places them back on the tray with the rest of it, picks up one last piece of bread and heads to her chair, tearing off pieces and chewing them slowly. She sits there quietly, watching Loki closely, trying to decide whether he really is asleep, or whether he's just grown tired of her. After a short while, she comes to the conclusion that he's definitely sleeping, and decides that the impromptu feast after such a long period of self-inflicted starvation must have worn him out.

He doesn't stir for the next hour, and soon he starts to slide slowly down the wall, until he's lying down, head resting on his forearm, hair tangled beneath him. His chest rises and falls steadily, the indentations of the spaces between his ribs still uncomfortably noticeable. Natasha traces the carved patterns on the arm of her chair with her index finger, growing more and more tired as the silence presses in on her. In the dark depths of the dungeons, it's easy for her to lose track of time, but just as she's wondering whether she ought to settle down for the night and make herself comfortable, she hears the heavy clink of the chains from the other side of the door. After a moment, the door creaks open, and Thor enters, a little more colour in his cheeks than earlier on in the evening, though his expression is serious. He steps carefully, trying to keep quiet, and glances over to Loki as soon as he rounds the corner.

"Thank you," he whispers when he reaches Natasha. "I'll take over from here."

"You sure? I don't mind if you wanna go back to the party…"

"No, it's late now, I'll take you back to the Bifrost and send you home. Did he eat?"

Natasha shakes her head. "No, he's stubborn as shit and far too proud. I ate tons though, delicious." She gestures to the dumb-waiter and Thor turns to look, then approaches the tray.

"You didn't care for the Lostocks?" he asks, picking up one of the chargrilled oddities and turning it in front of him. "Loki detests them, always has. He had some when he was a boy and spent the whole night vomiting. He tells me they smell but -" Thor lifts the Lostock to his nose and inhales, smiles, and then pops it into his mouth, chews, and swallows. "I can't smell anything untoward."

Natasha smiles. "I trusted his judgement one that one – especially as the wine was a little too hardcore for a mere mortal like me, thought I'd give them a miss."

Thor nods. "And he didn't eat anything at all?"

Natasha shakes her head.

Thor sighs heavily, running a hand through his thick blond hair. "I worry for him. He's not the man he was when he attacked your city but…"

"He still did, I know," Natasha finishes for him. Thor nods, a tired expression on his face. His usually twinkling eyes have lost their merriment, his mouth set in a grim line.

"I don't know what to do," Thor continues. "He's still my brother and yet I know that we can't let him out because he can't be trusted."

"Well," Natasha says, standing and stretching. "I wouldn't lose hope. We all make shitty decisions, some just have more drastic consequences than others…and granted invading an entire planet is pretty drastic, but you know, things snowball, don't they? Doesn't mean he's lost forever."

"You sound like I did in the beginning," Thor says sadly. "But he's so determined to punish all of us by ruining himself…But come, I'll take you back to the Bifrost."

"What about -" she jabs her thumb over shoulder and Thor shakes his head.

"He'll be fine on his own. It's only a little while." He gestures towards the door and Natasha glances over her shoulder to where Loki lays. Just as she's about to turn back towards the door, she sees his eyelids open a fraction, revealing a narrow slit of green iris and dark pupil. Her lips twitch into a small smile before she heads for the door, Thor following behind her, closing the door and securing the chains. They climb the stone steps in silence, and they traipse down several corridors, passing a number of tipsy revellers, leaning heavily against stone columns, clutching goblets of wine, laughing and joking amongst themselves.

"Did he eat?"

"Loads."

Thor sighs in relief, placing a shaky hand against his forehead. "He's been getting so thin. Nothing we say makes him eat, not even if we give him the good food. I thought you might be able to convince him. You seem to…" Thor pauses, apparently struggling to find the right word. "Empathise with him in a way that he doesn't find offensive."

"I won't lie," Natasha says, pushing her shoulder against one of the heavy wooden doors until it swings open, revealing yet another corridor. "I've been there, and he knows that. He knows me better than I'd prefer but…"

"But you don't hate him, not like the others do."

"Well," Natasha says, "I've been there. There are people that hate me, good people with good reason who'd be happy to see me strung up by the neck. But that's life, isn't it?"

"Yes…it is," Thor says, though she's not quite sure he really understands what she's saying. He is the beloved Prince of Asgard after all, loved by everyone bar Loki, and she's not even sure Loki truly hates him. It doesn't make Thor naïve, just exceptionally fortunate, and perhaps a little sheltered.

They finally reach the great golden dome and Natasha climbs the steps of the dais, standing in the rough spot where she landed in a heap earlier on in the day. She waits for Thor to work whatever magic he has to in order to send her back to her own planet, but he pauses, sword in hand, next to the centre of the dais.

"Something wrong?" she asks.

"How would you feel about coming back? If I spoke with Director Fury and requested your assistance on a more regular basis. Perhaps if I offer up my services to him in exchange for yours? Do you think he'd agree? Would you want him to agree?"

Natasha shrugs. "If the food's that good then I'm in," she says. "If he needed me for a mission or if we had another crisis then obviously I wouldn't be able to babysit, but -"

"Of course, of course," Thor says, nodding emphatically. "But maybe once or twice a week? He doesn't eat if it's anybody else. I don't want him to starve." Thor's voice cracks at his last words and Natasha feels something stir in her chest that might be some vague feeling of sympathy, but the notion is so foreign to her that she just swallows it down and ignores it.

"I'll speak with Fury tomorrow. He's not gonna be sympathetic to the reason, but maybe if I…omit that particular detail."

Thor looks up at her, his eyes bright and hopeful. "You'd do that? I don't wish to cause trouble for you."

"I'll think of something. He'll probably ask me to check out some of your technology but…" she shrugs. "It's not what he thinks up here. It's certainly not what I thought. But again, he doesn't need to know that."

"Do not lie to the Director on my account," Thor says seriously. "Do not jeopardise your standing."

"It's not lying if it's him making an assumption," Natasha argues. "But I'll talk to him and gauge it, he might be glad to get rid of me for a while."

"I can't imagine that," Thor replies, so quickly that Natasha can't help but smile.

"I get a little…antsy when I don't have much to do."

Thor smiles and nods, and this, Natasha knows he can understand.

"You'll have to return anyway," Thor says, far more casually now. "Your reward isn't ready yet, but you'll have to collect it when it is."

"Oh?" Natasha says curiously. "Not ready how?"

"It needs a little tweaking from my mother," he replies, and by the smirk on his face, Natasha can tell that it's all he's going to say on the matter.

"Right…well, I'll let you get back to Loki and…yeah." She raises a hand in farewell and Thor nods, before raising the sword.

The next thing she knows, she is falling and twisting and flailing and then she is face down in her bed, her body sore, her head spinning. She rolls over, pressing her palms to her face, her lungs heaving as she tries to catch her breath. She'd best get used to it, she supposes, if she's going to be making it a regular thing.

She chews her lip and wonders why she exactly she's agreed to be a babysitter for a man who tried to enslave the entire planet, and the only sane reason she can come up with is that if she can help turn him around, the same way that Clint turned her around, then maybe a little of that ocean of red in her ledger will be wiped out.

The only problem is, she's not sure that that reason is top of her list.