Archive of Our Own

The days were getting colder, and the sun was beginning to set as Clint made his way down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets and glaring at the cement behind his sunglasses. He wended his way through the foot traffic without really seeing anyone.  His thoughts kept drifting to his last mission, and he was starting to see how he’d taken his previous freedom for granted.  Since the shit-storm surrounding the Tesseract, the invasion and the subsequent failed nuclear strike on New York City, he’d been assigned a handler.  Or a babysitter.  Same difference.

It could be worse, he supposed.  He’d heard the Council wanted him gone.  Not fired.  Not transferred.  Gone, permanently, a severance package delivered by lethal injection or a high-caliber sniper round.  Fury had used the nuclear strike to keep them off his back.  So… he guessed he owed the old cyclops one.  Which is why he’d accepted the handler business without too much fuss.

The constant surveillance was another story entirely. 

Getting out from under the watchful eye was starting to become his life’s goal.  He didn’t know what they wanted from him, it had been months - nearly a year - since he’d been turned into Loki’s reluctant second-in-command, and they were still waiting for him to go all glowy-eyed and try to take over the world. 

Like he had time for that bullshit.  Leave that to the megalomaniac aliens with an inferiority complex.

Clint’s feet were bringing him to the snobby part of town, he finally realized.  It was all coffee shops and bookstores and coffee shops in bookstores and bookstores that sold coffee.  Not really his usual stomping grounds, but he was never one to pass on good coffee.

Looking up, he froze in his steps when his eyes fell on the tall, stoic figure that had just stepped out onto the sidewalk not a dozen paces in front of him.  It felt as though the ground fell away from his feet and he was caught in freefall, his stomach tight with the vertigo of a sudden plummet from the edge of nothing.  All sound stopped, his vision tunneled and he could see nothing but that one lone figure.

He couldn’t stop the name from falling from his lips.

“Loki…”

Stepping from the coffee shop, Loki lifted his eyes to the red streaked sky and allowed himself a small smile.  The air was crisp, the beverage cradled in his hands warm, and he felt strangely content.  Raising the cup to take the first sip, he suddenly caught the sound of his name on the slight autumn breeze.  Looking to his left, he was met with a familiar sight.  His Hawk.  And judging from the set of his jaw and the clenched fists at his sides, the archer was not pleased to see him.

Clint started forward, his gait measured and determined.  As he drew near small details seemed to jump out at him.  Loki seemed somehow different.  His frame not nearly as whipcord thin, eyes less sunken and startlingly clear.  And was the bastard actually smiling at him?  Drawing abreast of the God, Clint wrapped one strong hand around Loki’s arm, just above the elbow, and steered him toward the alley between the coffee shop and the adjoining building.  He had a few choice words in mind for his former ‘boss’, and he was not about to cause a scene on the sidewalk.

As Clint drew him into the shadowed depths of the alley, Loki studied his former thrall.  The mortal was the very image of tightly coiled rage.  His shoulders tense and trembling, neck corded, fingers gone white where they gripped Loki’s arm.  Satisfied they were far enough from prying eyes, Clint released the God and wheeled around, fixing Loki with an intense glare.

“What the fuck are you doing here,” the archer growled.

The corner of Loki’s mouth lifted into a sardonic smirk.  “Why, Agent Barton.  One would think you were displeased to see me again.” 

Clint could only stare at first, mind still reeling.  Why was he here?  How was he here?  Did anyone else know, and were they planning to tell him?  

“‘Displeased’?  You have five seconds to tell me what the actual fuck you’re doing here,” he ground out in a voice as rough as a gravel bed.

Clint was more shaken than he wanted to admit.  He’d seen plenty in his time as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, and even before, but he’d never been blindsided this badly before.  Even just hearing Loki’s voice, low and smooth as an oil-slick, caused the hair on his nape to stand on end. 

He’d thought he’d seen the last of him the day Thor took him back to Asgard in chains, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel like a heavy burden had gone with him.  His guilt was a near-tangible thing, and even Natasha hadn’t been able to convince him that nothing that had happened had been his fault.  The only thing keeping him sane in those first few weeks was the knowledge that justice would be served, even if he wasn’t around to see it carried out.

But if Loki was here, walking around free, then there was obviously a gaping loophole in the Asgardian justice system.

And he was still staring at him, a tiny amused smile on his face.  Clint glared back, teeth grinding.

“One…”

“It should be relatively obvious what I am doing here, Agent Barton.”  Loki gestured to the cup in his right hand, that hint of a smile still playing about his lips.  ”I was procuring myself a hot drink to chase away the chill of the day.”

Without breaking the steady glare he had leveled at the God, Clint batted the coffee cup from Loki’s hand, ignoring the splash of warmth around his feet as he growled out, “Two…”

Loki afforded his fallen drink one mournful glance before returning his emerald gaze to the man before him.  ”Was that truly necessary, my Hawk?  Such anger you have within you.”

“Three!” Clint snarled.  Loki’s pet name set what was left of his insides ablaze with seething rage, until he was almost sick with it.

Loki merely stared back, brows drawn into a frown, though Clint couldn’t tell if it was for his lost drink or his own anger.  Perhaps it was both.

Counting to five was taking too long, Clint finally decided.

Hands gripping the fabric of Loki’s coat, Clint shoved him roughly against the wall at his back, shaking with the effort of reigning in his anger.  He wanted to scream, he wanted to hit, he wanted to make the bastard feel every bit of his rage.

“Fuck it, I’m done playing this kid’s game with you,” he hissed. “What are you doing here?  Why are you back?”

“Contain yourself,” Loki soothed.  ”I mean you and your ilk no harm, Agent Barton.  I have come to Midgard simply because there is nowhere I would rather be at this moment.”  Loki’s mouth turned down slightly in a small display of distaste.  ”I had no desire to return to Asgard once my…punishment had been carried out.”

Loki eyes searched Clint’s face, watching as the muscles of the smaller man’s jaw clenched and released in a thinly veiled display of rage.  Surely time had allowed his Hawk to heal somewhat from his time spent as a thrall.  The fact he still held such anger over that which was long passed came as a surprise to the God.

Clint’s breath caught in his throat, not just at Loki’s words, but the way they were spoken, as if trying to placate a rabid animal. 

“Why?”  Clint’s voice was cracked and strained, forced from a throat too tight and between teeth clenched until they ground together.  “Why here? Why not anywhere else but here?”

His fists were shaking, the muscles of his forearms cramping from his grip.  He didn’t notice, too preoccupied with those eyes searching his own.  There was no malice hidden behind them, no anger, not even irritation at being manhandled.

“I’ve already said, my Hawk,” Loki began, his voice still pitched in that soothing murmur that set Clint’s nerves on edge.

“Don’t call me that,” Clint said, his voice low and deadly.  “I’m not your anything.  I never was.”

Loki’s mouth snapped shut and Clint told himself that he hadn’t seen a flash of hurt in those emerald eyes at his denial.  

“I was unwanted in any Realm, archer,” Loki replied stiffly, the soft tone gone from his voice.  ”At least here I knew I would have access to my brother.  And there were…other…reasons I chose Midgard, as well.”

“Such as,” Clint demanded.

Loki glared down at the smaller man before answering, “Nothing I wish to divulge at this time.  Suffice it to say that I mean no harm.  If I did, would your precious SHIELD have allowed my return?”

The hands fisted in Loki’s coat went slack and fell to his sides.  Clint took a stumbling step back, his rage momentarily forgotten.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. knows you’re here?”

Loki merely looked back at him, tilting his head slightly, brows knitting together.

“No one saw fit to tell you, it seems.  They’ve known since I first came here.  That floating fortress was my first stop.  They have made vast improvements to their holding cells, I will give them that.”

Clint could only stare as Loki stepped away from the wall, brushing the wrinkles from his coat and kicking forlornly at the empty cup at his feet.

“You’re lying,” he growled.  “They would have told me.  They would have said… someone would have told me!”

If Natasha had known, she’d have told him straight away.  There was no way she would let that stay a secret.  She would have told him, whether she was ordered to stay silent or not.

Wouldn’t she?

“Apparently they saw no need to inform you of my presence,” Loki stated dryly.  ”And I assure you that they are very aware that I have returned.  My brother made it one of the conditions of my return.  He is honest to a fault.”

Loki noted Clint’s growing dismay.  The man was cycling through emotions at an alarming pace.  Shock, rage, and suspicion all warred on the archer’s usually placid face, and Loki wondered how much more he could take before he snapped.

“Perhaps,” the God said in a contemplative tone.  ”Perhaps their failure to disclose such information to you was a test.  A test to see whether any of our previous…connection remained.”

A test?  The last year of his life, spent under a magnifying glass, every move, every word, every action questioned and dissected and analyzed… was nothing but a test?  To see if he still had some misplaced allegiance to the demigod who had crushed every last bit of who he was under his boot?

There was little warning, the merest tightening of his fists, before Clint turned and kicked at a pile of discarded crates piled against the wall behind him.  The shower of splinters was quite impressive; almost as impressive as the bellow of rage that accompanied it.

He stood with his back to Loki, his shoulders tense and heaving.  For several beats, there was no sound save the blood pounding in his ears and his panting breaths, and Clint tried to calm himself before he did something to tip off his superiors as to how he was spending his afternoon off.

“Who else knows you’re here?” he asked.

“Why, everyone, I would assume,” Loki answered.  ”I did say that I made the Helicarrier my first stop, did I not?  Thor accompanied me and spoke with your director, after which I became a…somewhat reluctant guest for a time.”  He shook his head ruefully.  ”I still do not know exactly how Thor convinced S.H.I.E.L.D of my…redemption, but if was Fury himself that eventually sent me on my way.”

Loki studied the set of Clint’s shoulders as he spoke.  The strain of holding himself together was becoming too much for the agent; that much was quickly becoming obvious.  And the God found himself at a loss as to his next move.  

Soothing the archer was absolutely out of the question. And walking away was not an option as Loki was curious to see this exchange through to the end, no matter the cost.  So he crossed his arms across his chest, and leaned against the bricks at his back; waiting.

Clint’s mind was reeling with everything he’d just learned.  In those few short sentences, Loki had just unraveled the delicate thread holding him together.  Ever since he’d come back to himself, tied to a bed and being talked at by his partner, his grip on himself had been tenuous at best.  His mind hadn’t made the transition from the thrall nearly as smoothly as it had gone into it, and he was beginning to think it had never been meant to be undone. 

If this was what he had to come back to, he thought maybe it would have been better.

His agency didn’t trust him, that much was clear.  That much was to be expected. 

His best friend?  That hurt.  How was he supposed to trust someone to watch his back when they didn’t trust him to watch theirs?  All the times he’d taken their partnership for granted, she’d been hiding this… Clint was starting to feel sick.

“So they let you loose,” Clint muttered, “and kept me on their fucking leash.”

He turned slowly, his eyes hard and cold behind his glasses, and faced Loki once again.  The nonchalance of his posture brought a snarl to his mouth.  Loki obviously didn’t consider him a threat.

He wanted nothing more than to change his mind.

Loki tilted his head, leveling a curious look at Clint as he turned.  He ignored the feral snarl and said slowly, “I was not ‘let loose’, Agent Barton.  I was delivered unto my punishment, where I served the full measure of the sentence.  At which time I was released.”  Spreading his hands wide, he asked, “Is that not how things are done here on Midgard?  And what is this leash of which you speak?  I see no such hindrance upon you.”

Clint took a step forward, his hands fisted at his sides, body trembling.  Loki eyed him warily as the smaller man closed the distance between them, stopping just an arm’s length away.

“What exactly do you think you are doing, Agent,” Loki asked.

“Nothing,” Clint said. “Yet.  Tell me how they do things where you’re from then?  What kind of punishment fits your crimes, Loki?  What can redeem someone like you after what you did to us?”  To me, he finished in his own mind.

He took some small satisfaction at the guarded expression on Loki’s face.  He might not be a serious threat to someone who could shrug off a bullet to the head, but there was no mistaking the tense posture and the tightness around his eyes.  Loki was waiting for him to do something, he knew that.  He was going to let him squirm for a little while longer.

Loki pushed away from the wall at his back, squaring his shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height before replying.  ”My punishment is not of your concern.  All you need know is that it was chosen by the All-Father to fit my crimes, and I served every second of the sentence given me.”

Loki could tell that his answers had done little to satisfy the man that stood before him, but he would be damned before he would be forced into a retelling of all that had been visited upon him since their last meeting.  No.  He was in no way ready for that, and there was little that the Hawk could do to pry such tales from the God of Mischief. 

Clint glared up at the looming god trying to tower over him.  An intimidation tactic, and not a very good one. 

“Like hell it’s not my concern,” he growled.  “You owe me at least that much.  A slap on the wrist from dear old Dad doesn’t count as punishment.”

Oh, there it was; that flash of anger in those eyes, the snarl that twisted those lips, and there was the Loki he remembered.  He met the god’s anger with his own, strangely pleased to feel the resistance.  This he knew, this he could deal with.  The familiarity of having an enemy in his sights was something he hadn’t known he needed until this very moment. 

Clint knew, on some level, that Loki could end him with little effort.  He found himself caring very little.

“Still your tongue, you insolent brat,” Loki hissed, his words coming fast and clipped with rage.  ”You know nothing of what I endured, nor do I believe you truly care to know.  You simply wish to be certain that a pound of flesh was extracted in the name of all I harmed.  I ensure you, Agent, that I suffered the full measure of the All-Father’s displeasure…and then some.”

Loki briefly closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.  His rage had stirred the memories of the early days of his punishment, when he was still filled with anger at his sentence.  Before he had realized the futility of plotting revenge or dreaming of escape.  Before he had been fully broken.  When he opened his eyes again, the shadowy confines of the alleyway seemed to lean in over him, looming in a terrifyingly familiar way.

Shrinking back against the wall, Loki uttered a quiet whimper, the archer momentarily forgotten.

Of course, Clint immediately suspected a trick, a way to let his guard down.  He made no move as he watched the scene play out, as Loki folded into himself and cast his gaze around the alleyway.

He might have gone on thinking that, if it weren’t for the look in those haunted eyes.  There was no mistaking that hopeless, despairing cast.  He’d seen it often enough in the mirror, on the nights he woke before dawn, sweating and panicked to the point of nausea. 

Clint watched Loki carefully, as the god seemed to come back to himself with a tiny shiver and a shake of his head.  When he looked back towards Clint, he was as stoic as ever.

Impressive.  Clint usually threw up.

“Whatever punishment you may have been through, it doesn’t mean a damn thing to me,” Clint said in a voice much calmer than it had any right to be.  “You can’t make up for what you did to me.  You can’t even try.  I haven’t been free since you came through that damn portal, and I don’t think I ever will be.  So you don’t have to tell me a damn thing about what you endured.  It means absolutely nothing as far as I’m concerned.”

With that, Clint turned and began to walk back the way they’d come.

“Wait,” Loki called softly.  ”For just a moment, if you would, my…Agent Barton.”  

Clint paused, his back to Loki.  ”What,” he snapped.

“I am afraid I do not understand what you mean.  When the link between us was severed, my control over you ended.  You were entirely freed in that moment, and there is no logical reason you should still be feeling any…after-effects.”  Loki paused and huffed out a small sigh before continuing.  ”As for the anger you still nurture; that I do understand.  But surely it brings you some measure of peace to know that I was punished?”

Clint finally turned, to see Loki standing there, looking entirely confused.  He felt it should piss him off, but Clint had used up all of his piss-offedness and he just didn’t have it in him anymore.

“Let me ask you this,” he said instead.  “When you were taken back to Asgard in chains, did you think those people would ever trust you again?  You think they would ever look at you like they used to, now that they know exactly what you’re capable of?  When you turn on your own, you think they’d ever let you back in with open arms?”

Loki was silent, so Clint went on.  He’d gotten a good head of steam, why not keep going?  He had no one else to listen to him.

“You turned me into a monster.  You forced me to hunt and kill my own.  You made me try to kill the one person I couldn’t bring myself to, even before I knew her.  I’m no saint, I’ll be the first to admit that, but you took what I made of myself and turned it inside out; you made me your personal wind-up assassin.  You used me in a way even Fury wouldn’t dare, and that is saying something.

“You want to know about after-effects?  I can’t sleep.  When I do, all I can see is that fucking cube.  And you.  You just… keep taking things from me.  When is it gonna be enough?”

Clint’s voice broke with that last, the buoy of his anger spent.  He was glad of his sunglasses; Loki wouldn’t be able to see how deep the cracks went.

Loki listened quietly as Clint explained in no uncertain terms exactly what he had done to earn the archer’s hatred.  And when he had finished, Loki found he could not bear to look upon his former Hawk’s face.  Instead he dropped his gaze to the half-flattened coffee cup, resting on the bricks near his feet.

“For what it is worth,” Loki murmured, “I do not wish to take anything more from you, Agent Barton.  And I…regret what I have already taken.  I know my word means very little to you, and for good reason.  But it was not until my own freedom was taken that I began to understand how I had so wronged all I had pressed into my service.  Perhaps you most of all.”  

Loki swallowed, his tongue suddenly feeling too large by half for his mouth.  He was unused to apologies, and he knew deep down that words could only deliver a message, not show the truth behind it.  ”I have nothing else to say beyond this.  I wish you peace, Clint Barton.  And I am sorry to have unmade you so completely.”

Clint was silent, simply staring as the words he never thought he would hear left the mouth of someone he never thought he would see again.  He wasn’t sure what he should do.  How does one accept an apology for this?  And did he want to accept it?  Could he really believe anything Loki told him?  Everything he was saying could just be more lies. What he had to gain from it, Clint couldn’t be sure, but it was easier for him to accept a lie than an honest apology.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he finally said.  “Even if I accept your apology, what does that mean?  I can’t get back what you took from me, and you can’t do anything to make it right.  You can tell me how sorry you are until you’re blue in the face, but it won’t mean anything.  Not to me.  Not when I’ve lost everything.”

“Again,” Loki said softly.  ”I do not want anything from you, Agent Barton.  You are free to accept my apology, or not.  I know that mere words cannot make amends, or earn your forgiveness, but I nonetheless felt compelled to offer them.”

Loki raised his head then, turning his gaze Clint’s way, and the archer noted that the God’s mask of composure was firmly back in place.  

“I may not be able to set things right, or even return that which I had stolen from you.  But there is a chance that I may change your mind about me, Agent.  And perhaps that will bring you a measure of peace.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed slightly.  ”What do you mean by that?”

A slight smile rose on Loki’s face as he stepped away from the wall.  ”You’ll see,” was all he said.  And then he was gone, seeming to unfold into the deepening shadows of the alleyway, leaving Clint behind to ponder his words.

Clint stared at the empty space where Loki had been standing, his mind swirling with every possible meaning behind the trickster’s parting words.  The whole here-one-moment-and-gone-the-next was kind of creeping him out, as well, and he cast his eyes around the alleyway as if expecting any second to be attacked.  There was nothing to be seen, however, but the empty, discarded cup on the ground; the only proof Loki had ever been there at all.

Bending down, Clint picked up the cup and turned it over in his hands.  His mind might be fractured and taking its sweet time to mend from the damage Loki had cause, but he was reasonably sure he wasn’t prone to hallucinations before today.

Well, at least he had something to serve as proof that he wasn’t slowly losing his grasp on reality.

Clint turned and put the empty alley at his back.  It was a long walk home, and he had plenty to keep his mind occupied on the way.

==========================================================================

It had been several days since his chance encounter with Agent Barton, and Loki had found his thoughts frequently turning to their exchange.  He knew he had wronged the mortal, and caused him a great deal of grief during their short time together.  But it was not until Clint had stood before him, shaking while spewing out his rage that Loki became aware of the full depth of the damage done.  He had felt a sharp pang of regret over his broken Hawk, yet he was unsure what, if anything, could be done to mend the man. 

Every day since then, the urge to speak with Agent Barton had intensified, until it became simply overwhelming.

It had been easy enough to pry Clint’s home address from Thor, and as Loki mounted the stairs to the archer’s apartment, he hoped that the mortal would be a bit more receptive to speaking with him.  Raising his fist, he knocked twice and then waited.  After a moment he repeated the motion, but to no avail.  Agent Barton did not seem to be home.  

“Well, that’s easily remedied,” Loki murmured.  With a quick flick of his fingers, and a bit of magic, he let himself in to await Clint’s return.

Well, that could have gone better, Clint thought as he made his way home after what could only be described as the most epically dismal attempt at getting a straight answer from anyone he worked with.

Of course, they knew about his meeting with Loki.  He would have been surprised if they didn’t, with how close an eye they’d been keeping on him.  He wasn’t happy about it, but at least they were consistent.

Natasha was still avoiding him.  Clint wasn’t going to bother fooling himself that it was anything other than that.  Once she’d learned that he knew Loki was back, she’d found a very convenient excuse to be elsewhere.  She never could hide anything from him, and she knew he knew that.

Didn’t make the sting of betrayal any less painful.

Fury was pissed, of course, but then, when wasn’t he?  It wasn’t like Clint had been looking for the bastard.  Apparently, their chance meeting had jeopardized whatever intricate plans were in place to keep Clint on his leash and Loki under his thumb.

As if either was going to last very long.  Clint had become adept at slipping his collar, and Loki… well, he had a problem with authority.

As Clint neared his front door, an alarm went off in his head; something wasn’t right.  Looking closely at the knob, he saw the tiny divot he’d scratched into the brass veneer didn’t quite line up where it was supposed to.  He glanced down at the floor and saw the white thread he’d affixed to the door jamb was broken.

His door had been opened.

He reached behind him and pulled his sidearm, bringing it to eye level as he turned the knob and slowly, silently, opened the door.

Loki heard Clint’s approach long before he ever touched the doorknob.  The sound of that measured gait drawing up his memory of their time together, and freshening the sliver of regret that festered in his heart.  And along with that regret, the god felt a strange anticipation at seeing the archer again.  He was an intriguing mortal, and Loki would know more of him now that he was fully himself.

Leaning forward, Loki clasped his hands between his knees and waited for Clint to enter.  He did not expect to suddenly be staring down the barrel of a gun, pinned under the intense glare of his former Hawk.

Clint’s first reaction upon seeing Loki sitting in his living room, looking for all the world as if he was supposed to be there, was to pull the trigger.  His finger even twitched to do so, his teeth gritted in anticipation of the kick of the recoil and the cough of gunfire.

What stopped him wasn’t his conscience, or even a desire not to disturb the neighbors.

No, it was the look of utter shock on Loki’s face.

He didn’t know what the god had been expecting when he arrived home and found his most hated enemy sitting calmly on his couch, but it looked as though this wasn’t it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Clint ground out between clenched teeth.  He had yet to lower his gun.

He snarled as Loki raised his hands from his lap, palms out, and gave him a look he was sure was meant to convey harmlessness.  Clint didn’t trust it for a moment.

“I simply wished to speak with you again, Agent Barton.  You were not here when I arrived, so I let myself in to await your return.  I meant no harm.”  Loki studied Clint’s face.  The tic of the muscles in his cheek, the narrowed eyes; it all spoke of a deep and unflinching rage.  He knew he had nothing to fear from such a simple Midgardian weapon, but it shook him nonetheless to be caught in the sights.

“I suppose I did not think this through fully,” Loki said slowly, with his hands still raised.  ”You know of my impulsive nature, and that does not lend itself to making the best decisions, it seems.”

Clint snorted, the gun still trained on Loki.  ”Yeah.  You could say that.”

Clint kicked the door shut behind him, his gun steady and aimed at Loki’s left eye.  He moved farther into the room, circling the sitting god like a hawk would a dangerous viper, trying to find the one vulnerable spot to strike.  Despite the situation, or perhaps because of it, he was glad to see the nervousness in Loki’s eyes. 

“I don’t know what they call it where you’re from, but around here, inviting yourself into someone’s place without permission is called breaking and entering.  It’s generally frowned upon.” 

The gun was a heavy, solid weight in his hands, and the longer he held it, the less he wanted to use it.  His fingers were getting twitchy and he had to fight the urge to holster the damn thing.  He wasn’t letting Loki out of his sights until he knew for sure he wouldn’t try anything. 

“I’m beginning to realize a great many things about your people I never considered,” Loki murmured.  “I will admit, it was presumptuous of me.  I have no intention of harming you, Agent Barton.”

Clint just glared and firmed his grip on his weapon.

“You came here to talk. So talk.”

Loki slowly lowered his hands, giving Clint a wary look as he did so.  ”I have been unable to stop thinking of our previous conversation, Agent Barton.  As such, I have found myself wondering if there is some way to help bring you the peace you so desperately need.  To mend the fractures my selfish act inflicted upon you, and restore you to your former self.”  Loki sighed then, dropping his gaze to his hands as they twisted and twined nervously. “I meant what I said about being sorry that I unmade you so completely.  You were…magnificent.  And that is one reason I wanted you at my side.  It pains me to think I have stolen that from you.”

Raising his face back to the archer, Loki fixed him with a pleading look.  ”If you would allow me, I would like to help you…and perhaps learn more about who you truly are.”

The gun wavered just the slightest bit as Clint’s hands began to shake.  Loki’s words scraped up against something inside him, some wound he hadn’t dared acknowledge.  To hear that Loki regretted anything surprised Clint, let alone what he’d done to him, but to hear him say that he wanted to help him regain even a bit of his former self was pushing the limits of even his ability to suspend disbelief.

“You are a real piece of work, you know that?” Clint said, his voice laced with disgust.  “What makes you think I want your help?  What makes you think you can help me at all?”

He watched Loki’s face crumple into an expression of hurt before he erased it.

“There is nothing I can say that will convince you of my sincerity, is there?” he asked.  “I suppose I cannot fault you for that.  Your distrust is something I have earned, and rightly so.  It does not mean that I do not regret, nor wish to make amends.”

Clint’s face remained impassive, but his mind was whirling.  He knew Loki to be a liar and a clever manipulator even without the Poking Stick of Doom, so he would be an idiot to believe anything he was being told.

On the other hand, there was some part of him that wanted to believe the words; to find that, somewhere in this monster’s heart, there was a path to redemption. Because he sure as hell hadn’t found it in himself.  It would be nice to have someone to give him directions.

“Say I do believe you,” Clint said.  “Hypothetically.”

Loki’s face took on an expression of guarded hope, and he quickly said, “I made no assumptions that you would want my help, but I felt compelled to offer it nonetheless.”  When Clint remained silent, Loki continued.    ”Since our discussion, I have searched my stores of knowledge, looking for anything that may be of assistance to you.  The Tesseract was a fickle beast.  She forged a connection between us, yes, but it was not a full path.  I could bend your will, access some of your memories and there were times I could hear your thoughts as clearly as my own.  But the path went only one way, and it was narrow, at best.”

“Get to the point,” Clint growled, his patience growing thin.

“There are two routes that can be taken in attempting to heal what I so callously wounded.  One is by magic.”  And here the God paused, looking distinctly uncomfortable under the archer’s gaze.

“And the other,” Clint asked pointedly.

“That one is a bit more difficult, I’m afraid,” Loki sighed.  ”It would require that I place myself under your thrall, and that the pathway be fully opened.  We would have lay ourselves bare to the other, and then, perhaps, the cracks in your psyche will begin to mend.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Clint said.  “I’ve spent the last year trying to get you out of my head, and now you want back in?”

Clint felt sick.

Let the lying bastard back into his mind?  He wasn’t even sure he’d ever really left.  Even if it was a two-way street, even if Loki let him into his own mind, that was the last place Clint wanted to be.  

But that part of him that was desperate for anything that would bring him some kind of solace was trying to grow, and damned if it wasn’t succeeding.  He really must be pathetic if he was willing to entertain even the thought of possibly believing anything Loki said. 

The god was still watching him carefully, studying his stoic face with equal parts hope and despair.

“I know I have proven myself a liar,” Loki said, “and you have no reason to trust anything I say.  My regrets are many, and I did not realize until now just how many of those are due to the pain I’ve caused you.  I take no pride or pleasure in the knowledge that I was the one to break you, my Hawk.”

Clint’s vision washed red at the return of that hated endearment he still remembered in his dreams. 

“Don’t call me that!” he roared, finally lowering his gun to stride across the room and take the front of Loki’s shirt in a tight fist. 

Loki raised his emerald gaze to meet Clint’s angry glare, and the amount of misery contained within shocked the archer.  

“Please,” Loki said quietly.  ”I did not mean to upset you further.  What can I do to prove my sincerity to you?  To prove the depth of my regret? To show you precisely how sorry I am for all I have wrought?  Simply name it, Agent Barton, I shall comply.”

Clint’s fist twisted the fabric of Loki’s shirt, and the corner of his mouth drew up into a half snarl.  The God slowly raised his hands, cupping them loosely around the smaller man’s wrist, almost in an attitude of prayer.

“Please,” Loki begged, his voice rough with barely contained emotion.  ”I will do anything you ask.  If you wish to extract your pound of flesh; then take it.  If you must witness my suffering firsthand; then I will endure it.  Just…tell me what I can do to fix this.”

Clint froze at the feeling of Loki’s hands on him, the pleading words in that broken voice seeming to break through some barrier that had kept him from truly hearing them.  Those eyes looking up at him seemed almost as broken as he felt.

“What did they do to you?” he asked quietly, his anger forgotten in the wake of this new revelation.  “If you really mean what you say, then tell me.  The truth.”

Loki gave him such a desperate, pleading look that Clint almost wanted to take back his words.

“Don’t… please, don’t ask me that,” Loki whispered.  The hands wrapped around Clint’s wrists began to tremble.

“You can’t fix me, Loki,” Clint said, hardening his eyes against the sight of the once-proud god reduced to begging.  “There is no putting me back together.  You took something from me, and you broke me to do it.  I will always be broken.”  The hands around his wrist squeezed almost painfully, but he went on regardless.  “My pound of flesh, you said it yourself.  This is it.  Tell me.”

Loki’s eyes shut as he said in a hollow voice, “I was sentenced to Hel, Agent Barton.  The lowest of the Nine Realms, and where those unworthy of Valhalla spend their eternity.  Time…moves differently there, and as such, I was able to suffer a millennium of torment in just a little under one of your Midgardian years.  And as a God, I was able to be taken apart again and again, only to be remade before being broken once more.”

Heaving a shuddering sigh, Loki opened his eyes and speared Clint with a haunted look before continuing.

“I was chained to a rock while a great serpent dripped venom upon my body, searing away my flesh.  I was made to face all the men I had ever slain, and they were allowed to exact retribution upon me.  I wandered the mists of the afterlife, alone and hunted.  And I faced death a score of times, in every way imaginable, only to be resurrected and killed again.  These were the things visited upon me.  These were the things that changed me.  The pain, the fear, the crushing loneliness of Hel.  It all served to show me the error of my ways.  To teach me to regret.  To allow me to feel compassion towards those I had wronged.  That was my punishment.” 

Clint really was going to be sick.  Loki’s hands clamped around his wrists were gripping at him desperately, as a drowning man would cling to a lifeline.  To think that Clint would be his anchor was a sobering thought, and one that just made the sick feeling in his stomach even worse.

He yanked his hand away and took a step back, putting some space between them.  Loki looked up at him, his hands falling back to his lap, and watched the anger and rage twist Clint’s face into a snarl.

“That’s not punishment,” he growled.  “That’s torture.”

Loki blinked, unsure why his words had only made Clint angrier.  “But… I deserved it, did I not?  Do I not deserve to suffer such torment for all I’ve done to you?”

The silence that met those words was louder than a gunshot.

“You think that’s what I want?” Clint asked, his voice rough and shaking with suppressed rage.  “Even after what you did to me, I never would have wished that on you.  Even when I wanted to kill you myself, at least it would have been clean.  I’m not like them.  I’m not like you.  No one deserves that.”

He turned then, sliding his pistol back into its holster.

“There is truly nothing I can say that does not spark your rage,” Loki whispered.  ”You asked for the truth, and against my better judgment, I delivered it.  I never said that my punishment was in line with what you wished for me to endure.  But it was what I was handed, and I survived it.  I came through it changed.  And is that not the purpose of punishment?  To modify thoughts and behavior?”

Clint uttered a small noise of rage, his posture tense, back still to Loki.  

The God lowered his head and sighed, despondent.  ”I fear I have made a grave error in coming here.  In trying to help I have done nothing but make things far worse.  I should just…go.”

Clint’s anger was a restless creature, circling around inside his mind like a caged beast.  He was angry at everything lately, it seemed, until he wasn’t even sure anymore exactly what he was angry at.

He took a deep breath and finally turned to face the hunched form on his couch. 

Loki wouldn’t meet his eyes; he kept them trained on his hands, clutching to each other in his lap.  He looked so small there, as if he were somehow defeated by Clint’s rage.

“You said you wanted to help me,” Clint said.  “Why?  What do you get out of it?  Your punishment is over, you don’t owe anyone anything anymore, right?  So why?”

Loki’s head jerked up and he fixed Clint with a glare that was made up more of hurt than anger.  

“I will not ‘get anything’ out of helping you, Agent Barton,” he said stiffly.  ”Nor am I looking for any sort of gain or reward.  I wish to assist you, in part, because it is the right thing to do.”  

“In part,” Clint echoed skeptically.  ”Why else, Loki?  There has to be a reason.”

At that, the God seemed to shrink into himself again, shoulders hunching forward as he dropped the archer’s gaze.  There was a long moment of silence before he haltingly replied, “I-I find you…intriguing.  And I would see you whole again.  Unblemished.”  Loki paused again momentarily before finishing in a tone of pure misery, “To have you restored to all that you were before our paths ever crossed.”

This again, Clint thought, running his hand over the back of his head with a frustrated sigh.

“See, I don’t get what that means,” he finally admitted.  “How you plan on doing that?  You can’t.  What’s done is done.  You can regret it until the day you die, that’s the fucked up thing about regrets.  They suck, no one likes them, they ruin your life sometimes, but you’re always going to be stuck with them.  Believe me, I know.”

When Loki still wouldn’t look at him, Clint felt his anger slowly begin to recede.  He couldn’t imagine this being an act, he was pretty sure if it was, he’d have run even Loki’s patience out by now.

“Look,” he said into the heavy silence.  “I get that you’re sorry.  I get that you want to do something to help.  I don’t really get why you’re… curious about me, but I guess everyone needs their hobbies.  Just… don’t make this something you feel you need to do for my benefit.  It’s not helping.”

“Wounds can be healed,” Loki murmured.  ”With time, trust, and patience all manner of things can be remedied.  I understand your misgivings as to the methods I have suggested.  You do not wish to be subjected to my magic, nor do you want to hold me as your thrall.  But there has to be another way to bring you peace.  Even if it is no more than convincing you that I mean you no harm.  That I am no longer the monster that haunts your dreams.”

Loki stood then and paced restlessly across the room, glancing out the window before turning back to Clint and stating, “I am curious because I do not know the real you.  I never did.  The man that I had dealings with before was nothing but a shade.”  

A hint of a smile played over Loki’s lips as he added, ”And I assure you, Agent Barton, that I do not intend to make you my ‘hobby’.  I wish only to help, not drive you mad.”

Clint watched Loki pacing his living room with a wary eye.  He wasn’t entirely convinced there wasn’t some ulterior motive behind his words, but Clint was trained to pick up on the subtle signs of a falsified story. If Loki really was lying, he was doing a damn good job of it, because as far as Clint could tell, everything he’d said so far was the stone cold truth.

He wasn’t sure he was glad of that or not.

“This… isn’t easy for me,” he said, turning his conflicted gaze towards Loki.  “I’ve spent so long hating you, I don’t know any other way to feel.  I don’t want to hate you, but it’s not something I can just turn off, like a switch.  But the sad thing of it is, I think you’re the only person around here who understands that.”

Loki nodded slowly.  ”I have found,” he said, “that there are two ways to neutralize hatred.  One is to have the object of your hate redeem themselves to you on the most basic level.  The other is to have it torn screaming from inside you.  I have experienced both, and I much prefer the former to the latter.”

Stepping away from the window, Loki skirted the back of the couch, prowling the borders of Clint’s living room as he spoke.  ”Just after my sentencing, and upon my arrival in Hel, I was a thing made of hatred.  I hated everyone and everything.  Those that foiled my grand designs.  Those that enforced my…punishment.  All that befell me was the fault of some other; never my own.  And it was as you said.  I could not just stop.  I could not flip that switch.”

Loki ran his fingertips over the mantle as he moved past, stopping to examine a carved wooden mask that hung to one side.  He smiled gently before continuing.  ”It will not be easy, Agent Barton.  But then, few things worth having ever are.  And I understand the struggle you will face in allowing yourself to relinquish the hatred you carry for me.  But I have hope that one day you will do just that, and that in your eyes, I will be redeemed.”

Clint swallowed and looked away from the guarded hope in Loki’s eyes.  Redemption wasn’t easy to come by in his line of work.  So many times, he’d had to fool himself into believing it was the right thing he was doing.  The lives he took were a small price to pay for the ones made better.  He was following orders.  The blood may stain his hands, but it was someone else who decided whether they lived or died.

But that was bullshit, and he knew it.  Sparing Natasha’s life was proof of that. 

There were so many reasons for him to hate Loki.  Turning him into a puppet was only one amongst several.  Clint had spent so much time focusing on his hatred, he hadn’t even remotely considered the opposite, had never taken the time to question why Loki did what he’d done.  There were times under the thrall when he’d noticed the desperation, the frantic need to see his plans through.  Why?  It was clear he was never going to succeed, and even the thrall couldn’t stop him from wondering why he persisted when all of the odds were against him.

Maybe this was his chance to find out.

“Right,” he finally said, still not looking at Loki.  “So… how do we do this?”

Loki watched as Clint turned his head away.  He watched as the archer’s brow furrowed, his jaw muscles clenching and releasing as he mulled over the God’s words.  And when he at last spoke, his gaze was still directed across the room, seeming to find something of interest in the blank wall opposite him.

“I haven’t the faintest idea, Agent Barton,” Loki replied as he crossed into Clint’s line of sight.  ”How does one form a bond?  Earn another’s trust?  Dare I say, even become friends.  I came here ready to perform any action you desired, if only it would prove my sincerity to you.  Yet you seem to want nothing from me.”

Stepping closer, Loki caught Clint’s eye and asked,  ”What would you ask of me, Agent?  What would set you at ease?”

Ease?  He was kidding, right?  Clint hadn’t been at ease since before that damn portal had opened.  He’s always known there was something about that cube, it just didn’t sit right with him.  He’d learned to trust his instincts over the years, and they were telling him that thing was bad news from the very beginning.

His instincts regarding Loki weren’t so cut-and-dry.  His mind screamed at him not to trust him, he’d been damaged by the callous infiltration of his mind once before, he’d be stupid to open himself up to the same kind of thing a second time. 

Something else within him was almost desperate to believe, however.  It was almost as strong as the anger, definitely stronger than the fear.  Something that wanted to put things right; he’d had too much of being angry, he wasn’t built for holding grudges, they were too much work. 

So what would put him at ease?  What could Loki do to let Clint know once and for all that he could begin to trust him?

Some answers would be nice.  The whole taking-over-the-world stuff could wait, however.  Clint couldn’t care less about why he wanted to run this shit-hole.

When he looked back up at Loki, he was met with openly curious, if wary, eyes. 

“I want to know why you took me.”

“Such a simple request,” Loki mused.  ”With an equally simple answer.  You were the only person in that room that presented a threat to me.”

Loki crossed back to the couch, Clint tracking his movements all the while.  Sinking back into the plush cushions, Loki sighed before continuing.  ”When Fury challenged my arrival, it was your quick reflexes that saved his life.  Fifteen seconds later, after I had disabled or destroyed nearly everyone, you were the lone man that stood against me.  I was…impressed.  And that made me want you at my side.”

Tilting his head slightly to the side, Loki fixed Clint with a direct stare.  ”You were a warrior of the highest caliber, Agent Barton.  That is why I took you.  I knew that with you watching over me, I would be nearly untouchable.”

In a motion that looked careless but what was anything but, Clint removed the holster at his waist and set the gun on the mantel’s ledge, still within easy reach.  He was careful to keep Loki in his peripheral vision, even as he pretended to be interested in something outside his window.

“So you wanted a bodyguard,” Clint said simply.  “I guess that makes sense.  I mean, I get why you took Selvig, he’s the only one who knew anything about that cube.  And taking me gave Hill an excuse to shoot at me.  She’s been wanting to do that for years.”

Loki merely followed him with his eyes, making no move one way or the other.  Clint took a chance and slid his hands into his pockets, the fingers of his left hand brushing the hilt of the throwing knife he kept hidden there.  He doubted it would do much good if the occasion to use it ever came, but it made him feel a little less vulnerable.  He’d managed to impress a demigod with his skill once before.  It would be a shame to disappoint him.

“Yes,” Loki agreed.  ”I needed a bodyguard.  But I had you marked for more than that from the moment you regained your feet and turned to face me.  I saw in you the ability to be my second in command.  You were a man of action; a man who did not shrink from that which needed done.  And my first words to you were made of absolute truth.  You had heart, Agent Barton.”

Clint winced slightly at the memory of those words, and the sharp point of the scepter touching his chest immediately after, siphoning away his will.

Loki frowned lightly at Clint’s expression.  ”Forgive me,” he said quickly.  ”I’m afraid that it will take me some time to familiarize myself with what is still painful for you to hear.  I do not wish to rekindle the fires of your rage in my attempts to answer your queries.” 

Clint scoffed and turned to face him.  “And it’s going to take some time for me to stop being pissed off at every little thing.  We can’t keep pussy-footing around each other, that’s not how we’re gonna fix this.  Whatever ‘this’ is.” 

Clint took a few steps closer to the couch, noticing how Loki’s posture stiffened as he approached. 

“Tell me something else, then, since we’re having this little heart-to-heart,” Clint said, coming to a stop a few feet from where Loki sat.  “What do you want?  Besides trying to make up for, you know, fucking with my mind.  I’m still not sure why you’re trying so hard to play at being harmless.  We both know you’re not.” 

The corner of Loki’s mouth twitched up into an amused smirk as he fixed a contemplative gaze upon the man before him.  ”Harmless?  No.  That is one thing I definitely am not, Agent Barton.  But for all the menace you exude, I feel no need to remind you that I am more than capable of protecting myself.  You are already familiar with that aspect of my personality.  It is the more…vulnerable side that seems to have given you pause.”

Clint’s eyes remained trained on the God, and he nodded slightly, before saying, “Yeah.  That’s…new.”

“Very,” Loki remarked dryly.  ”Opening myself to the rejection of another is not something I ever held in high regard.  And to answer your question, what I want is merely to do what I feel is right.  And perhaps, in the process, I will manage to see myself as…less of a monster.” 

The smirk crossed Clint’s face before he could think to stop it, amused despite the situation.

“So, you weren’t worried that I would try to kill you, just that I would tell you to go fuck yourself,” he said, cocking his head to the side like a curious puppy.  “What if I had told you to get lost?  You seem pretty determined to make me not hate you.  Is it really that important to you?”

Clint wasn’t sure why, but the longer he talked to Loki, the easier he felt in his presence.  It was quite possibly the longest conversation he’d had with anyone in months, and they hadn’t killed each other yet.  That was a miracle in itself.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Clint leaned against the mantle and waited for Loki’s answer.

“Had you denied my attempt to set things right, then I would have respected your wishes and retreated,” Loki said simply, before a mischievous grin spread across his face.  ”But, of course I would not have been able to leave it at that, and you would have eventually returned home to find me splayed across your couch, awaiting the chance to try again.”

Clint gave the God a withering look.  ”That seems familiar somehow,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his words.

Loki uttered a small laugh and leaned back into the cushions.  ”Doesn’t it, though?”  He paused for a moment, his expression growing more serious, and then he continued.  ”But yes, it is of the utmost importance that I earn your trust.  Out of the many vile acts I committed, and of all the mortals that I wronged, you were the one that haunted me.  If I can earn your forgiveness, then perhaps I can find it within me to forgive myself.” 

Clint frowned at that. 

“Even after all that shit you went through,” he said, no trace of amusement to be found, “and I’m the one you’re worried about?”  He looked away, his eyes growing troubled.

That thought bothered him more than it should.  By all rights, he shouldn’t care whether Loki redeemed himself or not.  No one would blame him for telling him to go fuck himself and which hole to stick it in. 

But Clint knew a thing or two about guilt.  Even if Loki had paid with his life over and over, countless times in countless ways, if his guilt hinged on Clint, all the suffering in the world wouldn’t be enough to make it go away.

He wasn’t sure he could handle that kind of burden.

“What if I can’t forgive you?” he asked, eyes still averted.  “What if, after all this effort you’ve gone to, I can’t give you what you want?  That’s something I’ll have to live with.”

Loki’s brows drew together at the sudden change in Clint’s demeanor, and he leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees.  ”Do not do that, Agent Barton,” he said quietly.  ”My guilt is my own, and I’ll not have you taking it upon yourself.  If you cannot forgive me, then that will be because I fail to earn such a gift.”

Clint shook his head.  ”Doesn’t work that way,” he murmured.

“It absolutely does,” Loki replied, rising to his feet and taking a hesitant step toward the archer.  ”Please.  Do not concern yourself with what you can or cannot give me; only with what I can attain through my own effort.”

Clint still wouldn’t look at him.  He kept his eyes trained on the blank wall as if it held all of his interest.  He could sense Loki moving closer, but he kept his body still, refusing to let him see the way his shoulders wanted to stiffen, his hands ball into fists.  His eyes hardened at the sound of footsteps drawing closer.

“I watched the footage from the Helicarrier, you know,” he said, his voice calm despite the tension in his body.  “They didn’t want me to.  Said it wasn’t important.  I hacked into the database and watched it anyway.  I gotta admit, Natasha’s interrogation methods can be a little unorthodox, but they worked on you pretty well.”

Clint turned then, to find Loki frozen in place, his face an unreadable mask.

“I heard everything,” he said, letting his arms fall to his sides, deceptively relaxed.  “What you had planned for me to do to her.  I have nightmares about that, when I manage to sleep.  And every time I wake up from them, I hate you just a little bit more.  So maybe it was centuries ago for you.  You paid for it, you suffered, you’re sorry.  I get it.  But I can’t forget when I have the constant reminders shoved in my face every damn night.”

For the first time since they’d met, Clint looked Loki directly in the eye and held his gaze, letting him see whatever it was to be seen.  He didn’t bother hiding anything this time.

Loki blanched at the heat of Clint’s gaze.  So many emotions fighting for dominance, and all so damning.  Hate, rage, and pain flashed out at him, mixed with grief and the ever present suspicion.  And Loki felt the crushing weight of the knowledge that he had been the author of all the hurt contained within the archer.

“And this is why even after all I endured, you are the one I worry about,” Loki said softly.  ”I am well aware of all I did and said while in the service of my selfish ambition.  I have had a thousand years in which to examine all my choices, and to damn myself for ever aligning with the Chitauri.”

Loki’s brow furrowed as his eyes searched Clint’s.  ”I cannot change what I have done, Agent Barton.  All I can do is hope to repair the damage.”

Clint could only look back hopelessly,  “How?” he asked, his voice breaking.  “How can you fix me when I don’t even know how broken I am?”

He knew he sounded pathetic, it was grating to his own ears, so he made himself stop there when all he wanted to do was grab Loki by the throat and throttle the answers out of him. 

His eyes felt too hot, his breath too quick, he could feel the thump of his pulse in his fingertips.  The urge to move suddenly overtook him and he pulled away from Loki’s gaze to pace the length of the room restlessly, like an animal in a cage much too small.

He wasn’t ready for this.  It was too much, he’d taken all the emotional turmoil he could safely deal with and was on the verge of the epic freak-out he’d been waiting for since this whole thing started.  He was suddenly glad he’d taken off his sidearm earlier, his fingers itched, he knew this feeling, at least.  He felt cornered, caught out, threatened by something, anything,everything.

Loki winced at the pain in the archer’s voice; the way his words shattered apart under the weight of his emotion.

“We can rarely see how broken we are, Agent Barton,” Loki said, holding his ground while Clint paced.  ”Others are usually in a much better position to see how deeply the cracks run.  And as such, they can offer assistance in ways we have never considered.”

Clint uttered a strained laugh, but nothing more as he circled the room in the grips of nervous energy.

“Forgive me if this offends,” Loki continued slowly.  ”But I can think of no better way to state this.  When an animal has been broken and abused; all of its trust washed away by a cruel master, the only way to mend such a break is by showing it nothing but kindness.  I have no other answers as to how to ‘fix’ you.  And I am unsure that is even the proper term for what I can accomplish.”  

Clint stopped his pacing and turned narrowed eyes on Loki.

“Is that what I am to you?  A fucking animal?  You think I’m so far beneath you?”  His feet carried him across the room before he could even form the idea of doing so.  “A fucking dog who should be grateful for a pat on the head instead of a kick in the ribs?”

His hands fisted in Loki’s shirt, meeting solid resistance for a beat before he propelled him backwards to slam into the wall.  Something fell to the floor, knocked loose from the impact, but Clint couldn’t care less if the whole place fell down around him.

He glared up into green eyes gone wide with shock, his anger obliterating everything else he might have been feeling.  This he could deal with, he was used to being angry.  It almost felt like coming home.

“Is this what you need, then,” Loki asked in a quiet tone, his eyes locked on Clint’s own as the archer trembled with barely restrained rage.  ”Is this what will start you on the road to healing?  I may have served my punishment, but not at your hands, Agent Barton.  If this is what you need, your pound of flesh, so to speak, then take it.  Perhaps hurting me will help.”

Clint’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent.

“I once had the misguided notion that all mortals were beneath me.  But over time I came to realize that, if anything, you are so far above us that we should aspire to rise to your heights.  You burn so brightly; live so fully; feel so deeply.  We of Asgard have ages in which to accomplish all that you do in your short span.  Animals?  No.  You are the Gods, and we but pale imitations.”

This was all wrong, Clint thought.  Nothing was going the way it should, he should be reveling in the chance to get his own back on the monster that ruined his life.  He should take that offer, twist his anger into something useful for once, make the god scream.

The mere thought made him sick.

“Hurting you won’t help a god damn thing,” he growled, pressing his fists harder against Loki’s chest.  He felt slender fingers wrap loosely around his wrists, though they made no attempt to pull him away.  “I’m tired of hurting.  So fucking tired.  If I thought it would help, I’d have done it already.  Don’t think I need your permission for that.”

Clint released his grip on Loki’s shirtfront, but didn’t step away.  The threat of physical violence was always going to be there, but he’d be damned if he gave into it because of some misguided notion that it would help make him feel better.

Loki’s thumbs rubbed over the soft flesh on the inside of Clint’s wrists, feeling the archer’s pulse thundering beneath his touch.  He relinquished his hold when Clint let go of his shirt, and the two men stared at each other, separated by mere inches.

“I have offered all I can, only to be rejected at every turn,” Loki whispered.  ”Magic, submission, kindness and revenge all cast aside.  Tell me, Agent Barton.  What would you suggest as the best course of action?”

Clint’s brow furrowed, and the look he gave Loki was steeped in confusion. He gave a weary shake of his head as he mumbled, “I have no fucking idea.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Loki replied.  ”You yourself said that I have been in your head for the last year.  Surely you’ve examined your hate from every angle; considered every small shred of it, and pondered every possible act and related outcome.  Something tells me that one as thorough as you may have even mulled over the redemption of your most despised foe.  What must I do to start down that path?”

Clint felt like he was shoving at a brick wall; there really was no dissuading Loki from this.  His anger was still forefront, but the longer he kept pushing, the more he began to see that perhaps Loki really did want to make things right.

He was right about one thing; he had been in his head, he hadn’t been able to get the bastard out no matter how he’d tried.  Whether it was waking thoughts of vengeance or dreams of his subjugation, Loki had become the one constant his mind always turned to.  Some nights he woke shaking with rage, sick with the images his subconscious saw fit to torture him with. 

Other nights, he couldn’t help the suffocating despair from dropping over him like a heavy, black veil.  He would lie awake, blinking at the ceiling over his bed, or wherever he happened to be sleeping at the time, and wonder what would lead someone like Loki to such desperate measures. 

He remembered everything from his enthrallment, there was no clichéd memory-loss or dissociation.  He could see quite clearly the almost maddened, hunted look that overtook the god’s face whenever he went off by himself to commune with his shadowy ally. 

It became clear to Clint very early on that Loki was not entirely his own master in his grand scheme.

What if things had gone differently?  If he’d come to them, not as a threat, but as what Clint had finally realized he really was; a refugee, an outcast, a hunted pariah in over his head with forces he couldn’t hope to stand against on his own?

So many wasted opportunities from stubborn pride and a twisted sense of superiority.  It was a small consolation that Loki had finally learned his lesson, had accepted his role in all he’d brought on himself.  It was just a shame he’d had to suffer so much in order to get to that point.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do,” Clint finally said, dropping his pretense of anger.  “You know it’s not that easy.  I don’t want to hold onto this shit, it’s fucking me up, but I don’t know how to stop.”

Loki’s brows knit together, and his eyes took on a mournful cast as he considered the man standing before him.  So much pain and rage contained in his compact frame.  So much hurt caged behind those eyes.  And he exuded weariness; from the pinched look of his face to the way his shoulders slumped as he stared up at the God.  

But the archer’s obstinate nature was like none Loki had ever encountered before.  The way he fought against any attempt to soothe his pain; railed against all apologies and pleading.  It was maddening.  And then Loki stilled, realizing why Clint’s behavior seemed so familiar.  Had he not exhibited such stubbornness himself?  Had Thor not stood in his place, begging for Loki to throw away his hatred?  And was Clint not now in Loki’s role, spewing venom and jealously guarding his rage?  What had Thor done when all other options had been exhausted?  

And suddenly, the God knew exactly what he had to do.  

Steeling his spine against the probability of a violent reaction on the part of the archer, Loki slid his arms around the smaller man and pulled him into a firm embrace.  

“You must simply let go, Agent Barton,” Loki murmured into Clint’s ear.  ”It will not be easy as long as you keep such a tight hold on your rage.  Just…let go.”

Clint’s mind went silent at the feel of Loki’s arms around him.  One moment, his thoughts were buffeting around inside his head warring with each other, each trying to make themselves heard above all others, and the next, there was nothing.  It was the first time in almost a year that Clint’s mind was his own, and the silence was deafening.

When Clint made no move to break the contact, Loki’s arms tightened, pulling him closer to his chest.  In his bemusement, he could feel the thumping rhythm of his beating heart.  And here, Clint finally realized, this was not an act, he was not being tricked.

Because Loki was terrified.

All his anger and rage spent, Clint just stood there in the circle of Loki’s embrace, reveling in the silence of his mind.  That ever-elusive switch had been flipped, he could think clearly again.

“I am so sorry, my Hawk,” Loki was muttering into his ear, his arms tightening around him even further. 

Clint didn’t bother to correct him.

As Loki took Clint into his embrace, he tensed, awaiting a struggle, or perhaps even the sharp sting of a dagger between his ribs.  But as the smaller man placidly accepted the contact, Loki felt his apprehension wash away to be replaced by something that almost resembled joy.  And Clint himself seemed nearly content to allow such a liberty to be taken, giving no outward sign of resistance.

Pulling the archer closer, Loki wound his arms around him, placing one hand at his waist while the other rose to stroke gently up and down the curve of Clint’s spine.  As he whispered apologies, the God marveled at how quickly the situation seemed to have reversed itself.  And how grateful he was to be allowed to show the full measure of his regret.

The longer Clint stood there, Loki’s arms wrapped around him, the more he realized this was not just about opening the path to forgiveness.  There was too much desperation in Loki’s whispered apologies, too much tension barely held in check in the tense line of the body he was crushed against. 

Loki did not just want to make amends for his past wrongs.  Clint wasn’t sure what more he wanted, but now that he was able to see the truth of his words and deeds, it was obvious that more was held just beneath the surface. 

Clint had to decide if he wanted to find out just what it was, or leave it buried.

Without much thought, Clint raised his hands and let them rest on the dark god’s hips, pressing his forehead into his shoulder as if to hide his face. He felt the hard thump of Loki’s heartbeat before it quickened even further, and waited.

Loki felt a smile rise on his face as Clint leaned into his embrace, resting his forehead against the god’s shoulder.  It was the first genuine smile he could remember having in quite some time, and the feel of it was foreign, yet somehow wonderful.  

Raising his hand from the archer’s back, Loki slid his fingers hesitantly into Clint’s short, brown hair, cradling the back of his head, and lightly stroking his scalp.  There was still no sign of rejection, and if anything, the smaller man seemed to relax further within the circle of Loki’s arms.

He continued with his quiet apologies, acutely aware of Agent Barton’s hands at his hips, and the thunder of the mortal’s heart echoing his own.  And for the first time in many a long year, Loki felt utterly and completely at peace.

It seemed strange to Clint, how easy it was lose himself within the new-found calm of his mind.  Some distant part of him still balked at the thought of even being near Loki, let alone let him touch him, but it was easy enough to ignore when it wasn’t screaming venom into his ear.  He was still angry, yes, and the hurt hadn’t disappeared, but it was different now; like lancing an infected wound.  There was pain, and a hole was still there, but it would heal, and leave scars behind to prove that he’d suffered and come out the other side.

Clint wondered what Loki’s scars looked like.  The thought sent a twinge of guilt through him, and his hands tightened their hold, pulling the god closer into a protective embrace.  He’d suffered, yes, but nothing like what Loki had gone through.  He didn’t care how anyone else had justified it, nothing could convince him that Loki’s punishment was a fitting one.  It made Clint sick to think even half of it was true.  And in his own pain and hurt and anger, he’d caused him even more torment.

The fingers in his hair were gently scratching over his scalp, lulling and soothing, and completely the opposite of what he’d thought Loki’s touch would be like.  In all honesty, he’d never had a thought about Loki’s touch; he’d been very aloof during his enthrallment, nothing so much as a brush of fingers or a bump of a shoulder as they walked side-by-side. 

Well, it certainly didn’t seem to be a problem now.  Clint couldn’t find it in him to protest.  He wasn’t hurting him, and it seemed to make him feel better. 

And… it was kind of nice.  Clint hadn’t allowed much contact with anyone in a very long time, always wary, skittish like a feral animal.  It had just seemed safer to keep to himself.  His anger could be… unpredictable.  He never knew when something would trigger it, and he didn’t want anyone close who could end up getting hurt. 

He really had no one, Clint finally realized.  The one person he’d thought he could trust above all others had been lying to him for months, and when he finally discovered it, she was nowhere to be found. 

Clint huffed an unamused breath and tightened his arms around Loki’s waist.

The acceptance Loki felt flowing from Clint took the God utterly by surprise.  He had hoped for nothing more than to lessen his anger; perhaps still that raging tongue.  He had never dared allow himself to hope that simple contact would be the thing to fully dampen his Hawk’s ire.  

But here they stood, locked in a quiet embrace as the smaller man’s arms clutched him ever tighter. 

Loki wondered exactly what hurts had befallen Agent Barton since the battle of New York.  How difficult had his life become due to the God’s selfish need to take the mortal as his own?  Just the way the archer was clinging to him spoke volumes on his treatment during the past year.  Loki felt that familiar sting of regret rise in his chest, but it was tempered by the fact that Clint obviously trusted him enough to allow this show of kindness.

Leaning his cheek against the side of Barton’s head, Loki closed his eyes and savored the moment.  It had been a millennium since the God had felt any touch other than the cruel hands of his foes, or the crushing grip of his brother.  He had nearly forgotten how calming a simple embrace could be…

Clint wondered if this is what forgiveness felt like.

He knew it would take time before he could fully put the past to rest, but the first steps - Loki’s apology and Clint’s acceptance - had been taken, and they could move forward from there.

But Clint was almost loathe to release his hold.  What would happen when they stepped away from each other, when that distance spread between them like an abyss.  Would it sever the fragile bond they’d formed?  He didn’t want to go back to what he’d been, made of bitterness and rage.  He didn’t want to hate anymore. 

For the first time since they’d met, Loki didn’t feel like an enemy anymore.  He wasn’t a target.  And Clint was glad of that, because he found himself wanting to know more about this being that turned everything he was inside out and then felt bad enough about it to try to make it right again.  He wanted to know what drove him, and what frightened him. 

Above all, he wanted to know why his forgiveness was so important.

Reluctantly, Clint pulled back, his arms slipping from around Loki’s back with just the slightest hint of a lingering touch.  He lifted his eyes to meet Loki’s open emerald gaze.

“You tell anyone about that, and I will put an arrow through your eye socket,” he mumbled.

With a quiet laugh, Loki shook his head.  ”Never fear.  I will not tell anyone of this, Agent Barton, as it is none of their concern.  And I value my eyes far too much to test whether or not that was an empty threat.”

Clint allowed the corner of his mouth to lift slightly, gracing Loki with something halfway between a smirk and a smile.  ”Good,” he said.  ”Because I don’t make empty threats.”

“No.  You do not seem the type that would,” Loki mused as he bent to retrieve something from the floor near their feet.  

As Loki straightened, Clint saw he held the carved wooden mask that had formerly hung next to the mantle.  It had snapped neatly in half upon impact and a ghost of smile played over Loki’s face as he pondered whether there was a deeper meaning to this bit of happenstance.  

“I’m afraid your mask has broken, Agent Barton,” the God said softly.  ”If you like, I could repair it.”

Clint looked at the broken thing, and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember where it had even come from.  He took one half of it and turned it over in his hands, trying to remember and failing.  It was one of those things he must have picked up in his travels.  Ultimately meaningless, just something to fill the empty spaces.

With a grunt of distaste, he handed it back.  “Don’t bother,” he said.  “Thing’s ugly as sin, anyway.”

Loki’s eyes crinkled with amusement, and he nodded as he held the two broken pieces beside each other, creating the semblance of the whole.  “I agree, Agent Barton.  You would be much better off without it.”

And with that, Loki was gone.  The same trick he’d pulled in the alleyway days before. 

“Damn it,” Clint growled at the empty wall he now faced.  “He needs to quit doing that…”