Chapter Text
CLINT
Clint fucking hated Asgard.
There’d been some novelty to it the first time. Even if the Asgardians were condescending pricks, it was all very pretty and ornate and the food was excellent, and it had been nice to get away from SHIELD (all those sideways looks, all that shattered trust) for a while.
But Loki ruined everything he touched.
His “rescue” was really just a changing of the guard. Asgard was demanding that Earth extradite witnesses for an important trial and was prepared to start an international incident over it...or just start burning SHIELD headquarters to the ground. And Clint made the witness list.
Cool.
So instead of going back to Avengers Tower and drinking himself to death, he got to go on a magical vacation to fairyland. A vacation with no privacy to scream himself hoarse or even begin to react to the most recent in a series of fucking comical betrayals. A vacation to go face Loki in court and talk all about what had been done to him.
Sure.
When they’d all been reunited, Tony had babbled excitedly at him about some kind of natural law and some stupid contest he’d won and how Jarvis was a Real Boy after all. Steve was happy to listen and lap it up. Natasha had been too absorbed in some kind of fucking business card to look at him. Bruce was quietly ashamed of himself for some faux pas Clint didn’t even bother to ask about. And Thor had eyes only for his dear old mom the Queen.
None of them seemed to realize that Clint was no longer just standing on the edge, he was clinging to the cliff-face for dear life and his fingers were slipping.
Fine.
TONY
The whole week had been a rollercoaster of emotion. But that rollercoaster didn’t end with one last dip so much as careen off the rails and into a bottomless abyss of guilt.
He had never asked Loki to give himself up.
He had never asked Loki to put himself in danger.
He, Tony Stark, had been the one to fuck up his own mind. And because of that act, because of his stupid ignorant insistence that Loki get involved, because of his fucking pleading , Loki had put his own life on the line and was facing the possibility of execution.
The exuberance at Jarvis’s soul and his own successes was now painfully sour. He’d had this conversation with Loki what felt like a thousand years ago, how he was still the same selfish bastard as ever. But somehow he’d always given himself more credit than this.
Somehow, he’d never considered that other people might have to die to make his plans work.
In his excitement, his need to show off, in his absolute ignorance of Loki’s situation, he’d even brought Coulson back. One more selfish move. One more witness for the trial.
He was King Midas, changing the world to his own ends regardless of the consequences or how much suffering he caused.
And he was the worst friend in the world.
NATASHA
It wasn’t as though Natasha had never been attracted to someone before.
Being a consummate professional didn’t mean being asexual. There had been many beautiful women over the years who had caught her attention. Most of the time she ground those feelings out. On some rare occasions, circumstances had conspired to allow her to indulge herself. She had no shortage of fond memories.
But this wasn’t what attraction felt like. Attraction was a warmth in the chest, a fluttering in the stomach. Feeling awkward and overthinking. It was silly, it was sweet, it was harmless.
She wasn’t just attracted to the woman who appeared in a burst of fire to scold Tony Stark. She felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.
The woman--Death, it soon became clear--was tall, very tall, with a firm posture that conveyed just how comfortable she was being in charge. Her hair was wavy and dark, held back regally with a series of small braids and a tight ponytail. Her skin was black, literally black; the color of the space between the stars, and so smooth that she looked like a statue carved from onyx.
Natasha realized that her mouth had fallen open and felt like a cliche. She shut it immediately. This was serious. This was a serious situation.
When she finally tore her eyes away from Death, she was almost dumbfounded to see the reactions of the rest of the room. The Queen had moved behind a table and looked queasy. Her guards were actually shaking in fear. Even Tony, as he argued and bit back, had the unmistakable markings of hiding terror.
Of course they were afraid. This was Death .
This was Death.
She was attracted to, no, infatuated with Death . She was staring lovingly at the actual, physical incarnation of the destruction of all life .
There was something wrong with her.
She had plenty of time afterwards to stew on that, alone in a guest bedroom of the Asgardian castle, staring down at a simple black card.
There was something deeply, psychologically wrong with her.