Avengers 1. Death was a Kind Maiden

**AN: Sequel/follow-up to Tango (due to popular demand, lol). This will be posted in two, possibly three parts. Here's the first. :-)**

The God of Mischief coughed and immediately regretted it as a foul tinge of metal formed in his mouth. A lung was probably punctured, no doubt by the ribs he felt snap earlier. He wasn't even quite sure how he was able to breathe or even remain conscious as the body he inhabited was now very mortal.

And very broken.

It hadn't been his wisest decision to take on Amora and the Executioner alone. In fact, he would have preferred to have left saving realms he toyed with to his brother, but damned if the hope of redemption didn't plague him.

Yet, the scene from not five minutes earlier replayed in his mind: when he had seen Amora enter the room with the control panel for the Tesseract-enhanced weapon, he knew he had a quick decision to make. If taken, Amora would become the greatest threat ever encountered with that kind of power. She could destroy worlds or bend mass populations to her will, becoming a universal conqueror with the mere threat of destruction alone.

There was no way in Helheim he was going to let that happen, especially when it had been an idea in the back of his mind first. He had fought hard to keep the evil thought from escaping, damnit, and he wasn't about to let her take credit for it.

Even if that meant the loss of his life.

So, without hesitation, Loki had informed Agent Barton (who had stupidly followed him to this section of the floating station in space) to tell Thor's woman, the scientist, she had minutes to get the portal back to Earth open. Agent Barton's yell had trailed him before it was silenced by the metal door sliding closed behind him. He used every ounce of strength he had to rip the door's control panel from the wall, disallowing anyone to follow.

It also meant he was locked in the room with the Enchantress, preventing her escape.

Pain brought him back to the current moment. Loki pushed the floor with the three fingers on his left hand that weren't broken, fighting for purchase with the slick floor. He had lost feeling in his right leg and arm, and he was unable to move either. Blood seeped from the wounds on his body, but especially from the one in his thigh as he dragged it along with the rest of his body across the floor.

He had to get to the control panel. There was no other option and no one else to aid him. He alone was tasked with saving all of humanity.

The irony was not lost on him.

The pounding on the metal door adjacent to him resonated in the small space he occupied. Amora, the Enchantress, his former ally and lover, spewed vile obscenities at him through the round, glass window. Skurge, her Executioner, also pounded on the door in an attempt to break free. Their powers were temporarily stripped, thanks to the magic guarding the room. He had set off the Asgardian spell—the last and only spell he had been left with—as soon as he had the chance.

He paused, summoning a small amount of energy to inhale. He winced at the pain that rewarded him for the effort.

Only a few seconds had passed after ripping the door's control panel from the wall when Skurge had attacked him. A well-placed kick by a steel-toed boot had slammed Loki into the door. Skurge had impressive strength and brutal fighting skills to rival even Thor. Normally, Loki could've taken him on, possibly even winning in a match (he was a Frost Giant, after all), but today was not a normal day.

Today, Loki was human, as he had been for quite some time, as part of his punishment as deemed by the All-Father.

At Amora's command, Skurge had whipped him around, splintering Loki's nose with his fist. Blinding white light had exploded behind his eyes, as a gush of blood streamed from his nose. Loki had managed to take two additional blows to his face before he was thrown to the other side of the room. Pain had erupted on his left side and he was dazed just long enough for Skurge to grab his arm and twist.

He howled in anger and frustration, at both the loss of the use of his arm and he had known he was going to lose this battle quickly and additional lives would be lost if he hadn't done something fast.

A blow to his right eye had been greeted with a sharp twinge and he had fallen to the floor. His breath had literally been kicked out of him not once but twice before his leg was impaled by a metal pole. Skurge twisted the pole back and forth, seeming to enjoy the screams of pain it brought from the fallen god, before he ripped it out.

Loki had then been hauled into the air, by his throat. His windpipe was slowly and deliberately being crushed by the demon kicking his ass. Amora's scream to finish him brought additional laughter from her Executioner.

Loki had clawed at the hand crushing his windpipe, in a futile effort to draw air. Skurge had brandished a long, serrated dagger, the divided blade gleaming. Set against a black encrusted handle made of jewels and strange runes, it was the demon's weapon of choice. Skurge's dark and twisted sneer reflected in the steel as he turned it in front of the fallen god, as a wicked taunt.

It was then that Loki had managed to reach into his tunic to reveal a carefully guarded vial. It had glowed with a protected enchantment surrounding it—the enchantment kept it from shattering in the fight. With what air he had left, he had spoken three words before throwing it past the man strangling him and into the cell with the weapon Stark had created.

The Enchantress had followed it, probably in an attempt to keep it from completing its purpose. The vial shattering had been music to his ears and a purple mist had risen within the cell. At her alarmed scream, the Executioner surged the dagger he was toying with into Loki's flesh, into the lower right portion of his abdomen. Any hope of recovery after the severe beating he had endured, any chance at survival, had been crushed for Loki had known a vital, human organ had been punctured. Skurge had known this too, yet still twisted the blade. Loki jerked and flailed his one, good arm against his murderer in response to the new, burning sensation he'd been gifted with because of the action. Skurge easily caught his fist and had crushed his fingers out of spite before dropping him to the floor. Loki had watched as the demon ran after his master, like a good slave.

The safety protocols of the station had kicked in and closed the door to the cell, locking the Enchantress and the Executioner in there with him on the outside.

Perfect. That had been exactly what he had hoped the fools would do. The purple mist turned to green, and he knew the spell had worked. It had taken their powers away and they were now as human as he was.

He was racked with coughs once again, spitting blood this time, as he compelled enough strength to pull himself toward his destination using just three fingers and his left knee as leverage. The control panel was a mere two feet away or less, resting on a raised dais. He just needed to get a little closer.

It was imperative he not fail. He knew the consequences if he did. He needed to set the timer to detonate the weapon. It was a happy coincidence, perhaps a lucky one if he believed in fortune, if the Enchantress and her minion happened to go with it. And they would, as the weapon would obliterate them and the floating fortress in space.

And him. He was going to die anyways, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Humans were such fragile creatures and he had often mocked their delicacy, the consequences of such looming over him now. Oh, how cruel fate was. If he didn't die from blood loss or because some vital organ was ruptured, he would from the blast of the weapon.

The God of Mischief would die a human, weak and broken, and completely alone. Justice would be served.

Oh, irony.

The screams behind him intensified. Magic or no magic, a tiny sliver of fear that his enemies would break the barrier to the cell before he had a chance to get to complete his mission rooted into his brain.

Loki prayed. He had never prayed to Odin before and vowed never to even begin to do so once the truth of his true parentage had been revealed to him. Today, however, he would break that vow. If the All-Father could truly hear his prayers, then right now he hoped Odin would listen and grant him his request. He wouldn't ask for forgiveness for all his past transgressions. He wouldn't even beg for his life to be spared. No, he would pray for strength. Just one more bought of energy was all he needed to reach the dais and raise himself just enough to do what needed to be done.

_Please, Father… _

His vision clouded before him and a wave of nausea threatened to overtake him. This was it, his chance to do the right thing. He huffed and swung his arm up, his partially damaged hand hitting the top of the dashboard of the panel. He pushed, putting every ounce of strength he could into the action to lift himself up to stand. There before him, the red graphic of a circle glowed that, if touched and the code put in, would initiate the countdown.

The question was, had the Man of Iron trusted him enough to give him the right code? Stark had hesitated at releasing the code to him at the mission briefing, but acquiesced when he insisted he wasn't the bigger villain this time. Millions of lives were at stake and he had a vested interested in seeing this mission through and stopping the Enchantress. He only hoped Stark had believed him for he had truly been honest. Otherwise, it was all for naught.

Loki's hand shook as he palmed the button. He was greeted with the voice of Stark's AI, JARVIS, "_Code, please._" How polite.

He punched in the four-digit code he had been given with his unbroken index finger on the touch keypad.

"_Please confirm_," replied JARVIS.

He retyped the four-digit code, the tiny ounce of strength he had left quickly dissipating. Breathe, damn it. Just breathe.

"_Confirmed._"

The screen dimmed and flashed a countdown in big, white numbers, that were rapidly decreasing. JARVIS's accented voice reverberated throughout the room (and Loki suspected the station as well) as a warning, "Weapon armed. You now have three minutes, fifty-nine seconds to evacuate."

A small cry escaped his lips as his knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Stark had trusted him and millions of lives would be saved because of it. The rest of his teammates would be as well if they heard and heeded the warning.

He tuned out the incessant pounding on the door by the Enchantress and Skurge. No doubt they had also heard the AI's warning and knew of their impending doom.

His vision darkened, tiny pricks of color swimming before his gaze. He knew his end was coming. His extremities had turned cold, despite the warmth of his own blood pooling beneath him. His breath was shallow now, each intake bringing needles of pain into his chest.

He closed his eyes. He did not want to think of death. He did not want to think of his life and the actions that had brought him here. He did not want to think of his childhood and the happy memories he shared with his brother to bring him comfort.

No, he thought of her: his only saving grace and his chance at salvation in the last few months.

She had given him hope and honesty, a form of intimacy he could share with no other. She alone had trusted him, seen his true nature and accepted it, when no one else did. The idea that someone could believe in him and what he could do had been found with her. She had found redemption, a chance had been given to her, and she had given him hope that the same could be true for him.

He had wanted a battle of wits, a game of manipulation and seduction. Too long had he gone without challenging a skilled rival, yet just to see her had been enough to drive him mad with carnal need. She was just as talented as he in deceit and misdirection and that had intrigued him. From that day on the Helicarrier, when she had so smoothly fooled him, he the God of Lies, he had wanted nothing more than to make her his, to make her submit—but with a fight.

It had been a glorious battle to get into her bed the first time, but had rejoiced when he had succeeded. In the past, he had carelessly discarded a lover, using them for his own needs and then dismissing them from his mind. He had not cared of their feelings or growing attachment, for he had none. He erased them from his mind and found someone else to pursue as part of his games.

Yet, with her, he couldn't keep her from invading his thoughts and that had disturbed him greatly. How could one mortal, a Midgardian at that, so easily captivate him? To his dismay, he had sought her out again, slipping under the soft sheets to seduce her. Yet, instead of forcing her to submit to him, he had found himself on his back with a gun held to his head as she fucked him.

And if she had pulled the trigger, he would have walked into Helheim happy.

After that, he hadn't been so sure he won the battle after all and that appalled and fascinated him at the same time.

He focused on remembering the last night they shared: he had called in a favor with Stark, but he had truly wanted her. She had agreed to dance with him in exchange for what the rest of her team wanted, though he could have easily just given the information wanted to Stark.

They had danced and magic had been woven into the air to make her burn with need for him, though perhaps that hadn't been necessary. He had given her what she needed, the team taking care of the Skrull, and he had easily manipulated her into finding a secluded place for the night.

There he had claimed her, the memory of tasting her invading his brain.

That night, they had shared in secret, the rest of her team blind to their carnal activities. That night, she had seen his true, vile nature, and still offered herself to him. That night, she had had gifted him with honesty and a true confession.

Now, he thought of her stubbornness and arrogance. Now, he thought of her smile and the tears she thought he hadn't seen. Now, he thought of her.

For if love was truly just for children, then he had embraced becoming a child once again.

"_You now have two minutes to evacuate_."

He was ready. He was ready to face whatever eternal suffering was fated for him and he would gladly accept it.

And yet his brain still managed somehow to register another voice above and beyond just screams.

Thor. _Thor! _His brother had found him. Or was he just imagining it? Was his brain just tricking him to ease his suffering? Did it even matter? Loki's mangled laugh was wild and touched with hysteria, his amusement borderline maniacal. It was worth the extra pain and burning now welling in his chest and he choked on the pooling blood in throat as he continued to giggle.

His vision abandoned him, yet he wished he could see Thor smash through the door like it was flimsy paper. A steel, locked door would be no match for Moljnir, if it wasn't just Death playing the ultimate trick on him.

"Holy fuck…"

Loki was already fairly certain he looked like a mess, but Agent Barton's exclamation solidified his suffering was still rooted in reality. He felt strong arms lift him half off the floor and he felt knees at his back. The muscles in his face contorted in a wince, a silent gasp escaping as the knife was pulled from his body. He felt a gush of blood rush from his body in protest.

"Thor, buddy, you don't just pull a knife out!" protested Stark somewhere off to his right.

"Loki! Brother, please. Tell me where it pains you."

They had no time and what would it matter if he said he ached everywhere? There was nothing his buffoon of a brother could do.

"Guys, everyone else has already left and we have less than two minutes to get the fuck out of here," Stark announced. "Except them. They can stay in there and go ka-blooey. Jesus, Thor, is your brother even going to make it?"

"Why doesn't he heal? I thought you said he could heal?"

"Odin's… p-p-punishment. H-human," Loki answered Agent Barton's question in weak, strangled voice, proving he still had some life left in him.

"Brother, Father made you human? All this time…why didn't you tell me?"

"Didn't m-matter. C-can't…lie. All-Father took m-my—," Loki gasped, unable to finish his confession. He cringed at the memory of his greatest power being stripped of him by the All-Father. Painful and humiliating, indeed. Everything, every thought, every _word_ since his punishment was carried out a mere Midgardian month ago had been honest and true for it was physically impossible to speak otherwise. No lie or falsehood had escaped his lips since that day, and yet it was still assumed he spewed nothing but lies. It was a painful lesson, forcing silence on his own tongue for it did not matter if he spoke the truth or not. They wouldn't have believed him, even if he had told him he could tell no lies. His reputation had preceded him and Odin knew the suffering he would endure.

"No kidding. He can't lie? Wow. Wonder what else Daddy All-Father did…"

"Not now, Stark. My brother needs—"

"Oh God…Loki."

There she was. There was her voice—soft, yet defiant over his brother's gravel. Damn it, why was she here? She was supposed to be far, far away from here. That was the agreement he had made with Thor in exchange for his assistance on this mission. She was supposed to be safe and out of danger!

A sob rattled in his chest. He felt so betrayed. They probably assumed it was because of severe pain and trauma that brought tears to his visionless eyes.

They were wrong. The thought of Stark, Agent Barton, or even his brother dying with him didn't bother him. In fact, it brought him a sense of comfort and perhaps that's why he had chosen to laugh upon their entrance and discovering his sad, horrific state.

But, not her. No, not her. _Never_ her! She needed to live, to survive. She didn't deserve to die! She didn't deserve his fate!

He had given her a gift, a truly wondrous gift that he didn't just bestow upon anyone, that needed to be cherished. Had she even realized yet what he had given her? If she had, why would she be here? Why would she endanger her life like that if she did?

_Nononononono! _

His gift to her would be all for naught because if they didn't leave now, she would die with him.

Bleak desolation filled his soul.

Guilt rolled over him like boiling lava. Of all the mortals he wanted to save, despite not truly caring about their puny, fragile lives, he wanted her to survive. He wanted her to know love and perhaps a tiny bit of happiness. She deserved all of that and even more.

All the things he had ever wanted, but could never dare to have. Instead, he would be responsible for her death.

And that was the thought that truly broke him.

"_You now have one minute to evacuate._"

"That's it, gotta go," Stark announced. "Portal is open and waiting, boys and spider."

"L-leave me…pl…please," he struggled to keep the desperation and shame out of his voice. They needed to go _now_. "G-go."

"Not without you, my brother."

When Thor lifted him into his arms, he wailed in unexpected agony. White starbursts of pain zipped through his brain, through every limb, and through every vein. His breath left him in short, quick gasps and he was quickly losing the battle not to slip into unconsciousness and perhaps even death.

If Death was gracious enough to claim him, that is.

"Stay with me brother. You are not allowed to leave us just yet." Thor's arrogant whisper—or was it a shout?—was the last thing he heard before darkness finally overtook him.

Death, it seemed, was a kind maiden after all.


	2. Hope

Six Avengers, a scientist, her assistant, and a very stern doctor waited outside recovery room 4A on the 11th floor of a hospital in Nowheresville, Nebraska. That was where Jane's portal had dumped them and in the middle of a cornfield nine hours ago. Half their team had been waiting on the Earth side of the portal when they arrived. JARVIS had immediately conveyed to Tony where the nearest hospital was and with a handoff of a very limp and cold Loki from Thor to him, he reached it in a minute and a half.

To give the hospital staff credit, they were only stunned for a full six seconds or so before they jumped into action. It wasn't everyday that a big, green rage-monster entered an Emergency Room, begging for help from any who were willing.

Only one staff member offhandedly commented if Loki was "that guy who tried to take over the world."

"Doc, tell us. How is he?"

"Mr. Stark, I've already told you, I can't tell you. HIPPA laws were created for a reason." The doctor clutched a clipboarded-chart to her chest.

"Look, Doc, I'm a very rich man. Yes, I will bribe you. I'll even buy the hospital. Whatever it takes," Stark insisted. "I'm also Iron Man. You know that, right?"

"I don't care who you are, Mr. Stark, I cannot disclose his—"

"The guy's not even human. Well, he is, but he wasn't before, so HIPPA laws don't apply, right?"

"Unless he has family—"

"I am his brother," Thor interrupted, stepping forward. "Whatever these laws are, you have my permission to break them."

As if that would settle it. The doctor—Doctor Mason—slipped her black-rimmed glasses off, pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "None of you are going to leave unless I tell you, are you?"

They all shook their heads in unison. "It's your patriotic duty to tell us, ma'am."

Natasha rolled her eyes. Erm, okay Steve…

The old-fashioned Boy Scout flashed an all-American smile, full of sunshine and rainbows, and the middle-aged woman melted.

Well, damn. Clearly, the man had serum-enhanced powers of smile-manipulation Fury needed to know about.

"Alright, if you must know…I could get fired for this, Captain Rogers, so being my daughter's date to her prom next month would be much appreciated." The Doctor pulled the chart in front of her and flipped it open.

"Really? That worked?" Tony scoffed and Natasha found the corners of her mouth twitching into a tiny smile.

"To be honest, I don't know how this man survived. He should be dead."

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"Shall I list his injuries, Captain?" She pulled out a pen from her coat pocket and tapped it on the clipped paper as she listed each one. "Multiple cuts and bruises. A broken nose, two cracked ribs, and four broken ones. Skull fractures. Head trauma. Internal bleeding. Stabbed. His spleen ruptured, his liver lacerated, and one of his kidneys has failed. Oh, and a punctured lung, the other partially collapsed. His arm was not only broken, but pulled out of its socket and ligaments torn. I'm actually surprised it wasn't ripped from his body. His leg impaled—that had to hurt—broken fingers, an eye socket fractured. His trachea was also partially crushed." She flipped the chart closed. "Young man, I don't know what happened to him, but I've never seen injuries quite like this, especially around here. I can only imagine the agony he was in when you found him. The fact that he was even conscious is amazing."

"Will he live?"

"Doctor Banner, I don't know how he's alive now, frankly. His heart stopped twice during surgery. Anesthesia was also ineffective. He woke up three times screaming in God knows what kind of pain before we were able to pump him full of unethical levels of morphine and sedatives to induce a medical coma."

"But, will my brother live?"

"Right now, if he wakes up—and I'm not sure he will—it's unclear what kind of person he'll be. He's had significant blood loss, was clinically dead there for a while, and an MRI scan on his brain shows severe trauma."

In other words, the news was dire and the mood in the waiting room soured. A wave of nausea threatened to make her lose her stomach contents.

"Is there nothing else you can do?" Bruce asked, quietly.

"Wait. Only time will tell," was her answer before she walked off leaving their group to face reality.

A moment of reflection and silenced passed over them, as each of them shot glances at the door to the recovery room. Through the see-through window, a pale and intubated Loki lay unconscious, covered in wires, gauze, and bandages. A sheet covered his waist and the long, dark hair she loved running her fingers through fanned against the white pillow case in a striking contrast. Beeps and the soft _shhhhhhhh-ing!_ of the machine supplying oxygen to him every few seconds served as a constant reminder to her of the fragility of life.

But, what now? That was the question that hung in the air. What do they do now? Do they leave and continue their duties saving the world and perhaps the universe? Does one or two of them stick around, just see if he wakes up? Thor would, no doubt, but what about the rest of them? What about her? There was no guarantee Loki would ever wake up and oddly, that thought terrified her. He was a pain in the ass, sure, but she had gotten used to his unexpected visits. He was her—_their_—pain in the ass.

"Hey, who's the creepy dude with the metal eye-patch?"

Clint, who sat beside her on the uncomfortable sofa, had noticed an older man standing behind Thor before any of them did. He had shoulder-length, white hair and a beard to match. He was dressed in a fine, tailored suit and leaned on a gold cane. His gaze, too, was directed at the recovery room where Loki slept.

"Father!" Thor exclaimed, turning to embrace the man behind him.

Father? As in _Odin_? Wow, Odin All-Father, essentially _the_ God of Norse mythology, was in a Nebraska hospital waiting room? How interesting…

"My son," the All-Father said softly to Thor.

"Loki will not wake, Father. They say he may never. He is in a sleeping death," Thor's voice quaked with fear of that very real possibility.

Stark cleared his voice. "It's called a coma, Thor. And he will wake up. He's too much of an annoyance not to." He turned toward Odin and extended his hand. "I'm Tony Sta—"

"The Man of Iron," Odin simply replied, ignoring the younger man's outstretched hand. Stark took his hand back and pretended not to be embarrassed over the All-Father's rejection of a greeting.

"Father, this is the scientist I was telling you about, Jane Foster," Thor said, pushing the petite brunette in front of him. "Her knowledge and dedication has been invaluable in repairing this side of the Bifrost. With her study of the Tesseract, she created the portal that allowed us to return."

Jane beamed up at Thor, who now stood next to her with his arm wrapped around her shoulder. Thor was evidently proud of Dr. Foster as he should be—Jane was a brilliant scientist and it was no secret the two were sweet on each other. It was because of her that he was able to return to Earth in the first place after the Bifrost's destruction.

"It's nice to meet you," she said, smiling at Thor's father.

Jane slowly lost her smile when Odin said nothing for a full minute, but continued to stare at her. Clearly nervous, perhaps worried about disapproval, she tucked a lock of brown hair behind her right ear and looked up at Thor. It was then that Odin moved forward and put his hand on her stomach.

Dr. Foster startled, but said nothing as the magnificent god peered at her with a one-eyed gaze. The move was extremely rude, but how did you tell a god that? She watched the tiny woman lift her hands and put them over where his was placed.

"You carry my grandchild."

Shocked murmurs and even a gasp echoed throughout the waiting room at Odin's words. Jane's assistant even squealed, but Natasha remained silent. She was curious how the All-Father would even know that, but then again…he was an alien and she knew nothing of so-called magic. Things like that simply didn't exist on Earth. Odin dropped his hand, allowing his son to turn to stand in front of the scientist she had come to consider a friend.

"Jane?" His face was a mixture of equal parts of confusion and elation.

Dr. Foster erupted into nervous giggles as the God of Thunder towered over her. "Uh, surprise! I just found out yesterday that—" The woman didn't have to say anything further. She was swept into the air and two of their team, Tony and Bruce, had to dodge her feet as he twirled her around. Clearly, Thor was happy to hear he was going to be a father.

A frown creased his brow when he put her down. "But you are so tiny…however will you manage to carry and birth a child born of my seed?"

Nevermind that of an alien, Natasha thought. "If she could adapt to your size in the sack, Thor, I'm pretty sure she'd have no problem with pushing a demi-god out." Tony's comment was reciprocated by a smirk from Steve and a flattering blush to spread over Jane's cheeks.

Words of congratulations and goading of Thor's virility were tossed around. The change was amazing. Thor's father had barely spoken two sentences in the last five minutes and yet he had managed to lighten the mood in the waiting room.

Natasha looked at Clint (who looked more bored than anything), still seated next to her, before she dropped her gaze. She focused on a particular smudge of dirt on the tile floor, letting her thoughts wander. She was happy for Thor and Jane, truly she was, and she would give her congratulations later to the happy couple. With so much death and destruction, the threat of war that had loomed over them, happy news was needed. What better irony than a death ushering in new life. Death… Loki wasn't dead yet, but still the elephant in the room remained: Loki's life still hung in the balance.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. Just thinking of his impending fate made her feel sick again, even if no one else cared. Yet the darkness made her feel worse, as the room seemed to spin.

Coffee. She needed coffee. Or…something. She opened her eyes and the smudge of dirt was now covered by shiny black shoes. She jerked her head up to find Odin staring down at her. It was as if he was expecting her to say something, but she didn't know what. She matched his stare and quirked an eyebrow, choosing not to be intimidated by Thor's father. Loki had tried to do the same once and had failed spectacularly, so there was no way that—

"You also carry my grandchild."

Silence. All chatter and conversation in the waiting room stopped at Odin's soft-spoken and ridiculous statement directed toward her.

"What?" Clint asked, startled. "Tasha?"

She stood—the motion making her dizzy, yet she ignored it—and kept her gaze directed at the all-powerful alien god still towering over her. There was no fucking way in hell she was pregnant with Thor's—

"Loki will always be my son. You carry his child."

She swallowed. What? Wait…what?

"That's not possible," she whispered. And it was true. Her time as a spy before joining SHIELD had taken care of that, as even the smallest chance to get pregnant was a complication when sex could be (and was) used as a weapon. Even if she had a choice, she wasn't so sure she would have wanted to deal with that possibility. Regardless, the decision had been made for her by the time she was old enough to have a monthly cycle. Therefore, it was _physically_ impossible to for her to—

"He healed you."

"Stop reading my mind," she whispered through clenched teeth. "It's rude." She felt a tear fall, the warmth gliding down her cheek and she swatted it away in protest. Everyone was staring at her and she hated their scrutiny.

No, it was ridiculous.

"My son…healed you." Surprised tinged his voice. His face softened and there was a catch in his voice as he continued, "He gave you his seed. Why would my son give you this gift?"

"She is a worthy and formidable warrior, Father. Her skills of manipulation—"

"Shut the fuck up, Thor!" The All-Father's lips twitched in a half-smile in response to the panic in her voice.

_That_ was the gift Loki had spoken of three months ago?! She did the mental math in her head. Yes, almost three months ago they danced a super sexually charged Tango, fucked like rabbits, and almost three months ago Loki had told her he would make her his Queen one day and oh, by the way, don't spoil the gift you've been given.

It made sense. She hadn't had a cycle since she was surgically made sterile as a teenager, so she hadn't been expecting bleed regularly. If she suddenly had the power of a menstrual cycle and it never came, she wouldn't have even noticed. But this… this was ridiculous.

_No! _If Loki didn't die because of is injuries, she'd kill him herself just as soon as she got the opportunity. Why that son of a bitch, how dare he—

"Agent Romanoff." She cringed. Aw fuck, it was Fury. "Is there something you need to discuss with me?"

She knew he wanted an update of the situation, but she didn't think he'd want it in person. And now he had overhead Odin's announcement that she was carrying the love-child of an egotistical super villain.

So did everyone else.

She glared at the All-Father, who simply nodded to her and vanished into thin air. No one noticed the disappearing act. All eyes were on her, including the one belonging to Director Fury.

She had never felt more small, more vulnerable in her entire life than she did at this very moment under their scrutiny.

"Now, Agent Romanoff," Fury stated before walking out of the waiting room.

She was going to be sick. Literally. And now she knew it wasn't just stress or nerves or lack of sleep… yup, baby. Damn, that also meant coffee was off-limits…right?

Oh, shit. "Ladies room?" she asked to no one in particular. _Stop staring at me!_

Jane, bless her nerdy-scientific heart, pointed to a door to her right. She was going to buy that woman a star or a kitten or something.

She heard Clint ask if she was alright before she slammed the bathroom door closed. She slid to floor and forced air into her lungs.

"Breathe. Just breathe…you can do this," she whispered to herself. _You have no choice._ But did she have a choice? Would Fury demand she have an abortion? Would she do that? _Could_ she do that? What ramifications did this have when it came to Loki? He was still a Prince of Asgard, and alien—_holyshitshe'dbeenfuckinganalien_—and a god, so what place would his child—her child—have there?

_OhGodohGod!_ She crawled to the toilet just in time to empty her stomach contents. Tears stung her cheeks as she continued to heave.

Oh, fuck. It was too much all at once.

Dry heaving turned into sobbing.

For the first time in a long time, the Black Widow sobbed. Was it out of fear? Fear of the unknown, fear of her future, fear of losing those she cared about? Her life was forever changed.

Or was it because of hope?

Hope. Hope was something intangible and elusive that she had only dared to believe in once before when someone else gave her a choice. That choice had changed her life and her future to bring her to this very moment, to the very situation she was in now.

Well, no, fucking a mischievous life-ruiner brought her to this situation…

She started laughing. She had never given thought before about having a baby. What would it look like? Would it look like her? Would it look like him? What about the genetic compatibility when it came to her being human and Loki, well, not being one? Oh God, what if she miscarried?

Hope. She needed to believe in hope, for the idea of being a mother, surprisingly, didn't actually horrify her.

Hope.

She'd put that on her list of baby names.

Right after she beat the shit out of Loki, of course.


End file.

Avengers, Angst, Hurt-Comfort