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Nature itself would rise in revolt: her hand, when it held that tiny scrap of paper last night, would surely have been struck numb ere it committed a deed so appalling and terrible...
Loki flips the pages back, incredulous. Foppish Sir Percy Blakeney is the daring Scarlet Pimpernel?
The guard outside Loki's glass prison puts a hand to his ear and bows his head, listening. Then he looks expectantly at the door. That means one of two things: visitors, or interrogation. Loki is annoyed. He wants to go back and read the book again, looking for the hints he missed. Earth stories follow different patterns from Asgardian ones. He wants to grasp their workings. He's tired of always being surprised.
Stark appears in the doorway, in one of the parodies of a suit he likes to pair with sneakers to emphasize that he has so much authority there's no need to flaunt it. It's the light gray linen today, a subtle gray pinstripe on his lavender tie. Loki's mouth curves up in spite of himself, but he wants to tell Stark to go. To stop trying to save him. He expected it from Thor. From Thor, it enrages him. From Stark, it's like an itch that won't go away.
Ever.
"Fluffy!" Stark calls. "How's it hanging, man? Oh, hi there, big fellow," he says to the guard. "I can see how it's hanging with you. Did they let Agent Coulson design your uniform too? I'm just saying, S.H.I.E.L.D. and tight pants: match made in heaven...or the other place? No offense to you, you're totally working it."
Loki grits his teeth. He knows every insolent word is a deliberate statement that Stark is on Loki's side, but he isn't really in the mood.
"I brought somebody to see you," Stark says.
Loki's heart leaps. Thor?
It must show in his face. Stark winces. "Uh, Thor's still in the lobby upstairs. I told him he should come down. He's kind of freaking out. Bruce says he sits there for hours just sticking his hand out and making a face." Stark demonstrates, and even through the mockery Loki can picture Thor's face as he calls his hammer. His heart lurches downward, abruptly too heavy to stay in his chest.
Mjolnir won't come. Thor chose Loki over justice, and Mjolnir may never come again.
"No, this is somebody else. I'm rallying the team. Come on in, guys," he calls, and Agent Barton walks in with Agent Romanov on his heels.
Loki's heart stops. He wants to move so his back is to the wall. He sits very still, the paperback dangling in his hands, and relaxes his face. His spine and shoulders curve as cold and unyielding as the horns of his helmet.
"Clint, Natasha, you remember Loki."
Agent Barton nods. Behind him, Agent Romanov smiles. Loki can't get enough air. He wonders if they can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
"Stark says the Chitauri might have been controlling you too," Barton says in his deep, no-nonsense voice. Loki knows that voice well. He made Barton talk for hours.
Loki carefully bends down the corner of the page and looks at Stark, who raises his eyebrows and rocks back on his heels as if to say Well, go on, I've lined them up and you just need to knock them down. Loki feels nauseous.
Is it a lie? Does Stark believe that's what happened? Or does he honestly not care one way or the other, so long as he gets what he wants?
It must be terrible for Barton to have to look at Loki.
"I never said that," Loki says slowly. "You can go, if you'd like." Barton settles more heavily in place. He always had a solidity about him that Loki liked. He can taste acid at the back of his throat.
"I don't need you to tell me that anymore," Barton says. Agent Romanov crosses her arms in silent agreement. "I don't mind doing Stark a favor."
Loki knows from Barton's own mouth that Barton doesn't care much about Stark--or didn't, anyway. But Stark is on his team now, and that's priority. What Loki did to him is irrelevant. He's irrelevant. Loki can't explain why that disturbs him so much. "Saving one murderer is a heroic act of mercy," he says. "Two is an unsavory hobby."
Tony shoots Loki a warning grin. "Everybody needs at least one unsavory hobby," he says. "Bruce collects salt and pepper shakers. Go figure. Some of them are pretty cute though. He's got a set that looks like angry watermelons--"
"So was Stark lying?" Agent Romanov steps up to the glass. He remembers the last time: how she played him, the promises he made her.
Barton watches him, face impassive. He takes everything in. That's what made him useful. He must have picked up plenty about Loki, too.
"He was carrying that spear for who knows how long," Stark says. "Half an hour and I almost punched Captain America. Captain America! How could anyone be angry at that face?"
"He's right," Romanov tells Loki. "I was affected too. It was different than what you did to Agent Barton. It didn't feel like--it felt like me."
Loki looks at the three of them. He could pretend that he's just like them. That it was a little Chitauri mind-magic. It would be easy. He's wondered, after all. He wondered then. He spent hours in front of his bathroom mirror, looking at his eyes. "Have you told Thor about this little theory of yours?"
Stark shrugs. "He was there when I said it to Fury. He thought it made sense."
Loki can imagine how happy the idea makes Thor. He bites the inside of his lip until it bleeds; the taste calms him enough that he can set his paperback down and stand. "My brother is always eager to believe the best of me."
Barton meets his eyes. "That's what brothers do." His voice is calm, but Loki remembers tears shining in the blue light from his eyes. Barton has a brother. "Look, we're just going around in circles here. I don't care whether you were under mind control or not. That's for S.H.I.E.L.D. and your therapist to worry about. I just want to know if you're sorry."
"Of course he's sorry!" Stark says. "Why the fuck would he be here if he wasn't sorry? Right, Loki?"
Loki takes a deep breath and walks to the glass. He stays there for a moment, meeting Barton's gaze. The agent doesn't flinch. Loki knows he wants to. "Yes. I'm sorry."
Barton raises his eyebrows: Really? Loki wants to turn away. He wants to smack the glass with the flat of his hand and see Barton's calm break. He wants to tell him what a fool he is, what a stupid fool, making the same mistake over and over. What difference can sorry make?
Agent Romanov is at his shoulder, steady as a rock. She's the best thing that ever happened to me, Barton told him on a dozen sleepless nights. Loki thought he was a fool but he wanted to hear the story, over and over in the same words, like a child. The murderer redeemed by love. He spreads his hands wide. "I really am."
Barton shrugs. "Good enough for me."
Stark claps him on the shoulder. "You're a prince among men. I've always said that about you. Natasha?"
She shrugs too. She hasn't taken her eyes off Loki. "It's Clint's call. I'll back him."
Stark beams. "Now we just have to get Steve on board! Okay, come on, we should let Loki get back to his book," and he ushers Agent Barton out with a hand on his back to keep Loki from ruining this perfect moment. "Later," he calls over his shoulder, blowing Loki a kiss. "I'll bring my phone, there's a video of a dog on a trampoline you really need to see."
Agent Romanov lingers. "I meant it," she says. "Whatever Clint wants on this one. But you ever go after someone I love again, and I'll kill you myself."
A grin spreads across his face of its own volition. "Good." Love is for children, she told him. She's a good liar.
She turns to go.
"That's it?" he says. "After--"
She turns back. "After you were so cruel to me?" Her mouth pouts mockingly around the word, as if he's nothing, and he wants to make her hurt. "I've seen worse." Her smile fades, her eyes meeting his seriously and without fear. "You were right, the horrors are part of you. They'll never go away."
His breath catches. He knew he came out the loser in their last battle of wits, but he's only now realizing by how much. She saw right through him. And yet--if it disgusts her, he can't see it in her face. He nods with difficulty.
"You think you can live with that?" She watches him closely.
"I suppose we'll find out." If S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't kill him first.
She glances at the door as if she can see right through it too, to where Agent Barton is waiting for her. He thinks this smile might be real. "It's not so bad." She raps her knuckles on the glass in friendly farewell and turns to go. "Remember," she tosses over her shoulder, "I'm watching you."
He finds that unexpectedly reassuring.