Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lucy Jones stared at the signs, scowling. “These are, without a doubt, the worst-marked exhibits I have ever seen. ‘This way to the seahorses,’ my ass. We just came from the seahorses, and they’re in the other direction. We just came from the seahorses again, I might add. You have the worst sense of direction I have ever had the displeasure of being navigated by, Emma. You must have been a hoot on road trips.”

The North Pacific giant octopus clinging to her back turned a deeper shade of red and squeezed her shoulders irritably. She took a drag on her cigarette and toyed with the sovereign ring on her right hand. “Fuck it. Too many exits to tell which one is the employee exit. You want to just pick one and deal with the alarms when they go off?”

The tips of two arms simulated a passable version of a shrug. Lucy sighed, then grunted as the octopus adjusted her position.

“You know, if you hadn’t gone snacking through researchers’ traps, I wouldn’t have to break you out of aquariums, and you wouldn’t have to hang off me like the world’s ugliest toddler,” Lucy commented, pushing open the next set of doors. She took a few more steps before realizing that the room was occupied. A set of familiar faces stared at her in shock. A set of familiar, heroic, super-powered faces stared at her in shock. “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The stunned silence was broken by two simultaneous sharp cries when one delicate red arm snaked forward, plucked the cigarette from Lucy’s fingers, and flicked it at the nearest of their unexpected companions. It struck the dark-haired woman in the cheek just as a sudden jet of water from over Lucy’s shoulder caught a blond man in the face.

“Oh, fucking hell, Emma!” Lucy yelped. She turned on her heel and bolted, running back toward the seahorses as the sounds of startled, instinctive pursuit came from behind her. She made it through a pair of fire doors ahead of what sounded like Captain America and sealed them shut, breathing heavily and getting her bearings while he started punching through it.

“For a hundred-pound gelatinous backpack, you’ve got some pretty big balls, Emma,” she panted, trying to think. “Even MODOK wouldn’t pull that shit without his exoskeleton on.”

The octopus grabbed onto a tank and pulled her toward it, then submerged her body, siphoning water over her gills with a fair amount of vigor.

“I’m just saying, leave the supervillainy to someone more qualified,” Lucy continued, flinching slightly as the fire door gave way. “Come on, time to go.”

The octopus slithered up onto her back, and they raced down a flight of stairs, Lucy sealing the doors behind her as they ran. She finally burst out onto a balcony, only to find them still five floors up. The van was nowhere in sight. She cursed loudly. The van. She could probably outrun half the Avengers and whoever the hell had been with them, but a conversion van with an aquatic life-support system bolted into the back was absolutely not going to.

The captain dropped onto the balcony in front of her, and she jumped back with a start.

“Expelliarmus!” she shouted, gesturing sharply. He went flying back off the edge with a surprised look on his face but managed to catch himself on the railing.

“Seriously? Are you cribbing things from Harry Potter now? You are the worst magician I’ve ever met,” Iron Man snorted, descending from above them with a certain casualness that she found intensely irritating. Or maybe it was just the tinny quality of his voice broadcast through the external speakers. Or the smug look he always had on his face behind his visor.

“Just be glad I can’t remember the one that kills people,” she snapped, clambering onto the railing. Captain America looked up at her, and she gave him a quick wink. “No hard feelings, handsome,” she said, vaulting off the wall.

“Whoa, there,” Iron Man called, dipping to catch her. He found himself tumbling against the building as two stabilizers shorted out and wound up clinging to the same purchase as Captain America.

Lucy slowed her fall and touched down delicately, sprinting off through the parking lot with the octopus clinging to her hard enough that she wondered if her ribs were going to snap under the pressure. She flexed her fingers as soon as she saw the van, and it faded from view, invisible to the naked eye. She slammed into the side and pried the door open, scrambling into it without pause. Lucy tripped over the industrial mats on the floor and went sprawling into a pile of equipment. Emma loosened her grip, and Lucy groaned as the cold, slick flesh slid down her arm.

“Why are octopods so gross?” she muttered, sitting up. “And why are scientists so fucking messy? All the time, every lab I break into, it’s a fucking disaster area. Tubes and beakers and shit all over the place. Who can do proper science when nothing is clean, I ask you that.” She scooped the octopus up in her arms and helped her into the tank. “If the filtration and aeration doesn’t kick in when I turn it on, just throw something at my face or start a fight with a pack of superheroes or something.”

The octopus’s skin rippled with a few rapid color changes.

“Right back at you, buddy,” Lucy grunted, rubbing her shin where she’d barked it on a net handle.

She crawled into the driver’s seat. The keys were in the ignition, right where she’d left them. The chase seemed to have been abandoned in favor of getting Captain America and Iron Man off the balcony safely and, presumably, figuring out if she’d stolen anything besides an unusually pugnacious octopus. Lucy settled in and took several deep breaths. Her hands were shaking. She hadn’t expected to get into a fight with anyone more imposing than the security guards. Emma hadn’t been entirely wrong in pointing out that wearing high-heeled boots and a peasant skirt to a robbery had not been the best decision she’d ever made. Oh, well. She was sure she’d make worse ones.

Lucy shook herself, rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck, and cracked her knuckles. She was mostly steady again. She added a silence spell to the invisibility spell and turned the van on. Everything cranked to life, and she relaxed a little at the whir and humming of the aquarium’s support systems coming online. She just had to get down to the bay, and then Emma could ride the tide back to where she’d settled in.

“You know,” she called, “this would have been about ten times easier if you’d just let me turn you back into a human fucking being. You only wanted to be an octopus for a couple of years, remember? You were going to come back and publish all these groundbreaking, revolutionary papers? Really put your name in the history books?”

She glanced back to find that Emma had arranged her arms into a reasonable facsimile of a rude gesture.

“I’m just saying,” she sighed. “The point of this wasn’t so you could spend the rest of your life as calamari on the lam from your fucking mortgage. You initially wanted to learn something from this. And, you know, tell other people about it.”

She put the van in gear and pulled forward. Slow and steady and under the radar. That’s all she had to do for the next half hour.

*****

“Did we really just get into a power-fight at a private party over an octopus?” Jan asked, rubbing her face gingerly. Bruce tsked at her, and she waved him off. “The skin’s not broken. It’s a little tender is all. But that did just happen, right?”

“Yes, so far as I can tell. Nothing else was disturbed,” the docent sighed. “We’ll need to do a full inventory in the morning, but the only specimen obviously missing is that octopus. I’ve never seen one of them do anything like that before.”

“Lucy Jones is a magician,” Bruce explained with a shrug. “I imagine that had something to do with it.”

“One can only hope.”

“Are Tony and Steve okay?” Natasha asked as Clint returned, not looking up from the manifest the docent had provided.

“Steve got the wind knocked out of him. Tony’s going to be picking gingerbread and caramel out of those thrusters for a week. Both of them had their egos banged up a little. Aside from that, they’re fine.”

“I imagine ‘fine’ is a relative term for Tony if he got beat up by Jones again,” Bruce sighed. “He takes it awfully personally.”

“Hard not to when she does things like turn his rockets into an easy-bake oven,” Clint observed with a shrug.

“Not to mention that Coulson seems to like her more than he likes Tony,” Jan added.

“Coulson does not like Jones more than he likes me. He just has to act like he does, because she could turn into an asset, or, you know, she could turn him into a frog,” Tony protested, clanking toward them. Steve shot him a sceptical look. “Did anyone figure out what she was doing here?”

“Stealing that octopus,” Natasha supplied.

“That’s it?”

“So it would seem.” She looked at the docent. “Was the octopus an exhibit or a research specimen?”

“Research,” he answered immediately. “The ones on display are lab-hatched and -raised to socialize them properly. Wild-caught specimens sometimes have difficulty adjusting to the lack of privacy and unfamiliar environment. They’re generally fairly shy animals.”

“Who was working with it?”

“Um, it should be on the manifest in the last column. I think it was Dr. Swanson.”

“Would it be possible to talk to Dr. Swanson in the morning?” Natasha asked, pulling out her phone and punching the name in. Nothing interesting came up.

“I’ll be sure she sees you first thing.”

“Thank you.” She updated her calendar to reflect the appointment. “We do appreciate your cooperation. This may be nothing--this particular offender spends a lot of time on petty vandalism and criminal mischief--but we’d like to be sure of it.”

“We appreciate your attention. It would be terrible if this were just the prelude to something more serious. Obviously, our security isn’t geared to handle a substantial threat.” The docent shivered, running a hand through his thinning hair.

“Oh, one more thing?” Tony asked. The docent raised his eyebrows in question. “Do you have security cameras? I’d like a copy of the footage from tonight.”

“Seriously, Tony?” Steve asked, groaning.

“I’m sorry, you don’t think the look on her face when her octopus started the fight for her was hilarious? Also, who doesn’t want video of an octopus starting a fight? I’ve seen bikers who were less efficient about starting brawls than that cephalopod. Sorry about your hair, though, Hank. I know it took you a while to get it looking that precisely terrible.” Pym glared at him.

“I guess I’m a little biased, since we both wound up hanging off the side of a building sixty feet up on account of her.”

“Live a little, Cap. She jumped off it with a hundred pounds of undercooked appetizer hanging off her shoulders and was fine. For real, though, I would like a copy of that footage, if there is any. There are, uh, legitimate purposes it will serve.”

“I’ll make sure security sends a copy home with Ms. Rushman tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Something was wrong. They weren’t moving. Why wasn’t the car moving? Why were they at such a weird angle? She tried to pull herself up, but there was something wrong with her arm, and her chest hurt, and the seatbelt was tangled around her anyway, and everything was wrong. She could smell gas and something else that smelled like raw meat but couldn’t be because that didn’t make any sense. They were in a station wagon, on a road trip, heading to Disneyland. She couldn’t be smelling raw meat. There wasn’t any raw meat in the car. The car should be moving. Maybe they ran out of gas. Maybe Dad was doing that thing where you use a tube to siphon gas out of a tank, like he’d had to do that one time coming back from grandma’s house. He’d smelled like gas for hours afterwards. Maybe that was what that horrible, wet sucking sound was. That didn’t make any sense either. It hadn’t taken long before, but this wouldn’t stop. And it wasn’t regular. Why did her chest hurt so much? If she could open the door, the dome light would come on. She could see, if the dome light was on. It was okay. They weren’t moving. She wouldn’t open it very far. It would be okay.

The light showed her that what was wrong with her arm was that it had an extra joint, which seemed like a weird thing, and that the sucking sound was coming from her mother’s throat, because there was a piece of glass the size of her palm sticking halfway through it. And Dad was asleep, curled around the wheel like it was a pillow, and he shouldn’t be asleep. Mom was choking on a piece of glass, and they should be going to the hospital, and he shouldn’t be asleep at a time like this. He needed to wake up. She needed him to wake up. Mom needed help, and he needed to drive them to the hospital, like Mom had the time he’d cut his arm up with that saw, and....Oh. That’s what that smell was. Blood. She’d smelled that same odor on the car ride to the hospital when he’d needed all those stitches to fix his arm. Lots of blood. So much blood he’d passed out, and she’d had to keep pressure on the bandage to keep him from losing more, and Mom had kept saying “You’re doing so good, honey, so good, just keep that up, just hold steady” over and over and it had almost been enough to make everything okay even though she was clearly frightened herself.

A little sliver of anger blossomed in her chest. Mom had taken care of him when he needed it, and now he was just taking a nap. How could he even sleep through that noise? It was so loud. It was blocking everything out, even that loud alarm sound that some dim part of her realized was herself screaming. She shouldn’t be screaming, she told herself. Panicking didn’t help. That was what her grandma had told her when they had been climbing a tree and the neighbor’s little brother had fallen and broken his leg. That’s why her arm had the extra joint. Broken. Funny. It didn’t hurt. The broken leg had seemed to hurt a lot. But it was for sure broken. She didn’t know why she hadn’t realized it right away. Arms don’t grow extra joints, they break. They all needed to go to the hospital. Dad needed to wake up. Mom’s throat was making that sound less and less regularly. That meant something, she thought, something bad. Someone needed to do something. Dad needed to wake up. Mom couldn’t drive them, because she was hurt, and she could pass out like he had.

She fumbled with her seatbelt buckle until it came undone and pushed herself into the middle seat. She could reach him from there, with the arm that wasn’t broken. She could reach him, and make him wake up. Except that he should already be awake, because his eyes were open, and he was looking at Mom, and if he could see what was going on, why wasn’t he doing anything? Why was he just hugging the steering wheel like that? Why wouldn’t he even answer her? Why was he leaving it to her to fix this? She couldn’t even reach the pedals yet. Mom had let her steer a few times around a parking lot once, but she’d had to sit on her lap just to see over the dashboard. She couldn’t do anything about this. She couldn’t. Even if she didn’t panic and kept pressure on the cut. That wouldn’t help. But she was the only one, and somebody had to do something, because nobody else was around, and it wasn’t fair, this shouldn’t be happening, it shouldn’t be, it wasn’t fair. Even when the broken leg had happened, she hadn’t been alone. They had worked out how you were supposed to line your arms up to basket-carry somebody together, and then helped each other get him back to the house, and one of the other kids had run ahead to tell everybody what happened. She hadn’t been alone like this, left to figure out what to do while the horrible sucking sound just got louder and raspier and louder and raspier. She needed to make it stop. She needed to make everything better. Her heart felt like it was on fire with the need to put everything back the way it should be.

Lucy twitched awake, half out of the dream, barely registering the sound of someone choking to death on their own blood before adrenaline shot through her system. Mom. Mom needed her. She kicked out, cracking her shin on metal, and reached blindly for the source of the sound. Her knuckles struck hard plastic, and she finally woke up completely. She blinked stupidly at the aquarium’s filtration system as it wheezed and snuffled. One of the tubes had come loose, and it was bobbing and burbling against the filter outflow, sucking in air along with water. She didn’t remember leaving the damn thing running. The panic began to recede, and she felt sick. She pulled herself upright and rested her head on her knees. Fucking nightmares. Fucking filter. Her hand and her shin, the same fucking one she’d already skinned last night, were both throbbing. Fucking life.

Sleeping in the van instead of dragging herself to a hotel room had been a bad idea. She had a crick in her neck and sand in her mouth, her shoulder hurt, her clothes were dirty and rumpled, she smelled like a backwater at low tide, and she was reasonably sure the malfunctioning equipment had just given her a heart attack. Her arms were covered in superficial bruises from Emma’s suckers. She felt like hell and looked like she’d gone five rounds with a vacuum cleaner. She wanted a cigarette. Well, first things first. She kicked detritus out of the way, slid out of the van’s back doors, and immediately recoiled at the sunlight. Fucking sun. She located a pair of cheap sunglasses in the glove compartment and stumbled back out. She felt vaguely drunk and still half asleep, like there was a part of her brain still stuck in the nightmare.

Lucy rubbed her eyes, almost dislodging the glasses, and desperately wished she’d thought to stuff a bottle of liquor under the driver’s seat. If she was going to feel drunk, she might as well be drunk. She fished a pack of Marlboros out of her pocket and went to light one. The whole cigarette went up in a puff of fire, spraying a rain of fine ash in her face and hair. She stared at her hands for a long moment, mentally calculated how much power she’d tried to put into generating a small flame versus how much power she’d clearly actually put into it, and sighed.

“Fuck everything.”

She tapped out another cigarette and pulled out her lighter. So much for magicking herself clean and flush and onto a beach in Maui. Anything she didn’t want to risk blowing up was going to have to wait a few more minutes until the magic bubbling just under her skin settled back down. She hated that dream. There was no surer way to ruin a whole fucking week than to have that dream. At least she was already on the boardwalk and still had her phone and a wad of crumpled fives stuffed in her pockets. Now that she wasn’t halfway to dry heaving, her empty stomach was rumbling. She spotted a food cart and started in its direction, leaving the van to finish draining its battery running an unoccupied fish tank. The police would find it eventually. Or SHIELD, depending on how thoroughly they were doing their investigative work on this one.

Lucy’s lips twisted. She could call Agent Coulson. She’d pulled off a successful heist, assuming one was willing to be extremely flexible in defining both ‘successful’ and ‘heist.’ She was entitled to get some gloating in. If she was lucky, Coulson would even listen instead of just putting the handset down on his desk and muttering an occasional “Yeah, okay” while he went back to doing paperwork or transferring her to one of the new recruits. It wasn’t quality gloating, admittedly--not like she’d been able to do after she’d hijacked Doom’s entire contingent of robot invaders for three hours and used them for an impromptu performance of the entire Nutcracker ballet, complete with intermission--but she’d take what she could get this morning.

She paid for a hotdog, ignored the vendor goggling openly at the round bruises, and wandered off, flicking absently through her phone until she found Coulson’s number.

“Your flying boy scouts failed to foil my latest dastardly scheme, SHIELD! Soon the world will tremble before my octopus army, armed with death rays and mantles full of extremely cold water!”

Lucy wished, not for the first time, that she could manage a proper evil laugh. She had a great maniacal laugh, but it was genuine laughter. There was no doing it on command, it tended to upset her allies, and generally it occurred at inopportune moments. She’d had people refuse to work with her again because it had creeped them out so badly. Of course, she’d have refused to work with them again, anyway, because they couldn’t understand what was so funny about turning dogs plaid, even after she’d tried explaining it. “Dogs can’t see color” had not registered as a valid punchline in their sad little minds, and she was above teaming up with such philistines.

“Jones.”

She grinned. She shouldn’t like him. The guy was a SHIELD goon. It was a little embarrassing to like him. “Yes! It is I! My fearsome reputation has--”

“Did Dr. Thomas make it back to the ocean okay?”

Lucy frowned. “You could at least let me fucking finish.”

“I apologize,” he said evenly. “Go ahead.”

“Never mind. The moment’s already ruined.” She took a sullen bite of her breakfast and tentatively reached out, looking for the errant marine biologist. “Dr. Thomas is kicking an interloper out of her den as we speak.” She swallowed. “Dr. Swanson handling things better than she was?”

“Dr. Swanson has been debriefed, yes. I hope you’re not going to make a habit of this.”

“Are you scolding me? Is that what’s happening here? I’m not above going on a rampage, agent. Also, what part of ‘this’ are we talking about?”

“Turning people into animals, Jones. You’ve already made a habit out of pretty much everything else on the table.”

“Every time I get tempted, I remember what a clusterfuck this thing with Emma turned into,” she assured him. “Maybe at some point I’ll turn a qualified therapist into a lobster and try to get her back to dry land voluntarily, but aside from that it’s a no-go.”

“You want to give me a run-down on exactly how that happened? Without the theatrics?”

“Nope. Theatrics or nothing.”

“Suit yourself,” he said.

Lucy wanted to laugh. SHIELD agent extraordinaire, who knew she could literally turn him into a newt, trying to boss her into confessing over the phone from a thousand miles away. Talking to him always made her feel better about things. “If you didn’t remind me of my dad, you wouldn’t get away with any of this shit, Coulson.”

He didn’t say, “I don’t remind you of your dad,” but she could hear him thinking it. He was thinking it because he’d only read the files and seen the pictures. On paper, they didn’t have much in common. Under the skin, though....It was enough to banish the man from the dream, dead and cold and with his sternum crushed against the steering column of an old Ford.

“I met her at a bar, tried to impress her, made a few stupid promises. You know how that goes. Turned out she wanted--and I mean ‘burn down the world to get it’ wanted, not ‘vaguely dreamed of it from time to time’ wanted--this. So okay, right? I told her to take some time, think about it, and she did. And I came back to find that she’d sold every last thing she had, dumped most of it into charity, set up a trust for herself and a safe deposit box for when she got back, and was ready to stab me in the face if I reneged. So I did what she wanted. I mean, who wants to get stabbed in the face. I’ve checked back once or twice a year since then, to see if she’s ready to come back. No dice. I don’t think she’s ever coming back. She fucking loves this. I’ve never seen somebody so in love with their life that isn’t me. Anyway, she got dredged up by this research crew and slapped in the fish slammer, so I sprung her and got her back to the ocean. She’s doing fine.”

“She told Dr. Swanson what happened.”

“She told Dr. Swanson what happened before she bugged out to the Puget Sound. I mean, I get that this is a different way of imparting the information, but the data is hardly anything she hasn’t seen before.”

“Dr. Swanson is asking for a position with SHIELD.”

“So give it to her. Her best friend is a sentient octopus with an aggression problem and three PhDs. She kind of fits the bill. Maybe hook her up with a box of letter magnets and a deep-sea submersible and turn her into the aquatic version of Hank Pym.”

“I’m not going to get a bill for a consultant’s fee from this, am I?”

“Shit, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Jones.”

“Fine, no. You’re not. Oh, that dude you’ve got on the squad now, Thor?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny having ‘a dude’ named ‘Thor’ on ‘the squad’,” Coulson said flatly.

“Whatever.” Lucy rolled her eyes. Reminding her of her father was only going to get him so far. “Mimir said something about him, but he might have just been blowing smoke up my ass, because he’s a douchebag. Does this neither confirmable nor deniable Thor happen to hail from someplace that may or may not exist but if it did would be Asgard?”

“Jones.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

“I didn’t say anything. And maybe Mimir wouldn’t be so cranky if you hadn’t told him his name sounded like a Czech sneezing around a waffle.”

“Well, it does. And sure you did. Just not out loud.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Great talking to you, Coulson.” The line went dead. Lucy chuckled and tossed the phone into the nearest trash can. She walked off, eating the hotdog. Let SHIELD trace the phone all the way out to the landfill. The day was brighter already.

There was a golden apple in her bag that Mimir had said Thor would need. Of course, he’d also said that Thor was her brother. That she’d wronged him, before she’d died and been reincarnated here, that her past-life parents were still alive, that they missed previous-incarnation-her. She sucked at a piece of sausage casing stuck between her front teeth. Fucking Mimir. Like she wanted to hear about past lives and karma from a decapitated head stuck halfway up a sacred oak in the middle of nowhere. The apple weighed on her shoulder and made her bag swing oddly as she walked, off her rhythm enough to keep slapping into her hip.

Lucy was pretty sure he’d just said that to screw with her after she’d refused to get him down--like just being further down the tree was going to help with him not having a body, somehow--but it had worked. She hadn’t been this angry about her parents’ deaths in a long time. A teenage boy whistled at her from the other side of the street, then yelped as his sneakers caught fire. She smirked. Back to normal, baby. The smirk was banished by the returning thought of Mimir and his fucking wisdom of the fucking ages. He’d single-handedly managed to suck most of the joy out of her life with a few sentences about some couple she’d never even fucking met, who'd probably never even set foot on this planet. She didn’t know about the sibling aspect. Her parents had been lucky to have her. She’d known as long as she could remember that a little brother or sister had been completely off the table.

She hadn’t missed it, not really. Her friends’ relationships with their siblings had been a mixed bag, and then her parents had been dead and the only thing she could think of when she saw the older kids in the system and on the street and all but on the street trying to protect their younger brothers and sisters, keep them close, keep them fed, keep them safe, keep them sane, was “Thank fucking god it’s just me.” She’d had a hard enough time just being responsible for herself, controlling her power instead of letting it control her, learning to care for people without getting so invested that she’d do something stupid, keeping her head down enough that she didn’t freak anyone out. She’d dealt with her own pain badly, too. She didn’t want to think about the clusterfuck it would have been if she’d been trying to take care of a loved one going through the same thing.

Lucy kicked at a stray bit of litter and picked up her pace, stretching her legs. She moved her hands over her skin, bruises fading and disappearing as her fingers drifted past them. Her hair untangled and straightened, and the stains slid from her skirt and tanktop. Better. She snapped her fingers, and the lingering smell of salt and the sea vanished. The grubby bills in her pocket turned into a smooth roll of fifties.

Her defining moment had been getting drunk, dropping acid, and then getting arrested. Between the tour of the city and the tour of its jails, everything about it shining like a black beacon through the fog of human misery, she’d decided that the system was bullshit, and that the only way to go was a firm commitment to not giving a shit about rules. She’d holed up in an abandoned building for six months and spent them thinking about who she wanted to be and how she wanted to be it and how best to accomplish that. Then she’d hit a pawn shop, bought the most impressive looking ring she could find, declared that it had given her magical powers, and robbed a bank.

Everything but a wad of hundreds that fit comfortably in her pocket had gotten strewn all over the city. The press had dubbed it the Robin Hood Robbery, which she thought was kind. She’d been more interested in watching the fallout. She hadn’t stopped moving since then. She’d thought that this was what she’d wanted. It was more like what she’d been born for. She couldn’t stop if she wanted to. She could slit her own throat, and the blood would pour out as a crime spree or a wildfire. Most of the other villains she’d met worked hard to do what they did. She had to work hard to keep it in check, keep it reasonable, keep it from running rampant and trampling down things she wanted to keep whole. It was like having a live coal for a heart. Sometimes she could almost see the sparks pouring out of her mouth when she breathed.

Oh, and she was locked in a fight to the death over the future of the planet with a pre-Cambrian monster-god that had been going on for the past three years, linearly speaking, and the past four months, cumulatively speaking. Sometimes it spilled over into their dreams, or, more rarely, someone else’s dreams. One memorable occasion had seen her dealing a devastating blow by winning a game of checkers with the bastard. She couldn’t even have a normal nemesis.

Lucy finished the hotdog and tried to imagine the look on one of Coulson’s pet supers’ faces if she laid it all out like that and then followed up with “Good to meet you, bro.” She eventually settled on ‘finding a cockroach in a half-eaten meal.’ Upgraded to ‘parental sex-tape’ if it happened during a bout with her prehistoric opponent. Ancient monsters were ugly as hell. Probably best to just leave it be, then. Toss him the apple, wish him a good life, and avoid him. Or, at least, do her best to avoid him. Her best hadn’t been cutting it lately.

The run-in with half the Avengers had occurred in the dead of night at a closed aquarium during what was supposed to be a small, elegant smash-and-grab. If the universe had an ounce of love left for her, at least Tony Stark wouldn’t have been packing his suit. Who brought supersuits with them on after-hours private tours? Generally not irresponsible playboy billionaires. Even the sizechange weirdo hadn’t brought his bizarre little rig, had he? But no, Stark--Stark--had rolled up loaded for bear.

Her previous attempt at stealth had taken a turn for the stupid and led to a running battle with Doom through the streets of Charlottesville. It had only ended when she’d commandeered a t-shirt cannon and knocked him off the giant robot spider that had been serving as his mount. The cops had looked almost embarrassed for him when they’d shown up to arrest him. “International Villain Felled by Vigilante Wielding Promotional Novelty” was not a pretty headline.

The local heroes had decidedly looked embarrassed for her, and one of them had gone so far as to suggest that, while her contributions to law enforcement had decidedly been appreciated, maybe she should consider taking things a little bit more seriously if she ever expected to be taken seriously. The news crews had sneaked around the police cordon just in time to get a great shot of her tearing the guy a new one about how she was a supervillain, and they’d all rue the day they impugned her XL weapons of poly-cotton blending. Lucy puffed out her cheeks. She was still annoyed at having wasted her ‘rue the day’ speech on that second-rate asshole. If only she’d stopped to think before she’d turned the guy’s costume into confetti. The evening news had, almost to a station, cut the feed there because of the nudity. Audiences the world over caught the grandiose monologuing and missed the part where she’d shot him into the next zip code with the flick of a wrist.

The time before that had actually been a vacation rather than a plot. Her hypothesis that it was impossible to go unnoticed by local law enforcement while being mobbed and called out to as a god had been proven correct. She still wasn’t sure exactly what had started the whole mess, aside from the mass hysteria and absolute faith of the supplicants having generated its own sort of power. She’d been a match to their vapors. They’d come away from it dazed but healed of their ailments. She’d come away from it with five cops covered in frogs and screaming for back-up.

She’d had to completely abandon a curiosity-driven breaking-and-entering in a museum when the suits of armor on display had spontaneously roused themselves and started marching behind her. She was quiet enough, when she cared to be. The clatter of dozens of armored feet on polished marble, it turned out, could be heard from several blocks away. It was also enough of a racket to wake both security guards and the dead.

Lucy cringed a little at the memory. She was sure the security camera footage from that one had gone in one of Stark’s video archives. Probably the news footage as well. Why he felt the need to compile the outtakes of her life, she didn’t know, but she supposed at least someone was getting something out of it. Getting chased out of a tomb by the dead emperor’s suddenly-animate stone guardians while screaming “Why does life have to be so fucking hard all the time?” was really only funny if it was happening to someone else. When you were the one getting chased and screaming embarrassing things, it was less ‘entertaining’ and more ‘a testament to the relative importance of finding out what was in the lacquered trunk in the emperor’s sarcophagus.’ When it resulted in getting mobbed by statuary, it turned out to be less important than when it didn’t.

She hailed a cab and set them on a course for the nearest duck pond. If she were to be honest with herself, she’d been in a bit of a funk since Mimir had spat his little piece of cursed, poisonous truth at her. Her luck had been bad, and she’d reacted badly to a number of small setbacks that she should have brushed off. It wasn’t as if that were even the first time she’d been kicked out of a tomb by its guardians, and at least that time she didn’t really care about the outcome. She was being ridiculous, and she knew just how to shake it off.

Chapter Text

Phil shook his head and turned the news off. Someone, he didn’t need three guesses as to who, had gone through a park pond and turned all the ducks swan-sized and all the swans duck-sized almost as soon as she’d gotten off the phone with him. She had also strewn the general landscape with loaves of bread. Loaves of bread which could run and were self-directed. Three dozen people had already tried to check themselves into mental hospitals, another ten had been admitted to the ER for waterfowl-related injuries, and traffic was backed up for miles in any given direction. Police on the scene were confused, and the local wildlife officers were grimly determined not to take phone calls regarding the incident. He ran his fingers through his hair. He wouldn’t admit to finding video of the event one of the funnier things he’d ever seen. It would only encourage her. Focus on the cost of cleaning it up, he told himself. He’d tried calling her back after the news had begun coming in, but true to form, she’d ditched the phone as soon as he'd hung up on her.

He still didn’t know what to make of her question about Thor. It had seemed liked he’d staggered directly from one alien incursion to the next, first with Thor and his comrades and the Destroyer and then with Lucy and the titanic android she’d demolished--using the power of illogic, according to her, and the power of cascading failure in a non-redundant system, according to their post-mortem. And, of course, the little green child she’d insisted on calling Bobbie, who’d attached itself to her like a symbiote. The file photo on that one had been...interesting. Jones had been grinning like an idiot and throwing up a victory sign in front of the wreckage of the robot and the child’s life-support pod, her shirt spattered with blood where one of the little alien’s hands had punched through her chest and was still gripping her heart. He kept a framed copy of it in his desk, in case he needed to remind himself how bad things could get when she was involved.

Murderous automatons being controlled by equally murderous deities in a dynastic fight over succession, he understood. Crazed magicians who never shut up or slowed down and didn’t seem to mind when their hearts were almost ripped out of their chests, he had a harder time with. He still suspected she’d been able to communicate with the alien in some fashion, though the only information she’d shared had been that they’d taken “a wrong turn at Albuquerque.” She’d been much more interested in preening over her most recent demonstration of battle prowess.

“First time I’ve ever taken on an alien killbot, Coulson, and I won,” she’d said. “You guys can’t even routinely beat a couple dozen assholes in canary hazmat suits. Bite it, SHIELD.”

The aliens--spindly, smooth-skinned green things with oblong, recurved heads and overly-large, black eyes--had taken the child and gotten the hell off the planet, much to his relief. Jones had seemed a little disappointed, though she’d commented that there weren’t any day-care centers where a parent could check their child and their circulatory system, so she blithely supposed it was for the best. She’d also spent the better part of an afternoon wandering around the tiny town where the battle had finally been won, alien arms wrapped around her neck and chest, alien hand still clenched around her aorta, as if it had been a day-trip for her amusement. He privately chalked up the aliens’ aggressive disinterest in them post-encounter to Lucy’s ironclad disregard for personal safety. A planet full of Joneses was not something he’d be particularly keen on invading or trying to establish trade with, either. And that had been before she’d tried to convince them to try a shamrock shake.

Jones hadn’t said anything at the time about Asgard, or Thor, or other worlds. Then again, she wouldn’t, necessarily, would she? She was as likely to babble about what she wanted for lunch--McDonald’s, on him, her wallet having “fallen out of her coat” when she “punched the killbot a new paradox protocol”--or lecture on some obscure point of ancient mythology--“the funny thing about having sex with a mortal while disguised as an eagle is that nobody buys the disguise for a second, because eagles usually don’t go out of their way to fuck humans”--or show him a card trick--not really a trick because she’d never learned any proper tricks, being an actual magician--as she was to say something useful. He still had the deck of cards she’d turned into all queens of hearts because it was easier than digging out the real queen of hearts.

In fact, he still had everything she’d ever given him, as well as hard-copy backups of his personal recordings of her and his research into her past. They were all carefully cataloged and deposited in a file box labeled “Evidence: Jones, Lucy.” On the inside of the lid, he’d pasted a copy of the poem “Ozymandias” and a photo from one of her vandalism cases. She’d changed the lettering on the pedestal of a broken Roman statue to read “MY NAME IS OZYMANDIAS, KING OF KINGS. LOOK ON MY WORKS, THOV BITCHES, AND SVCK IT.” The Italians had not been terribly pleased with that one. The only thing he was missing was the first encounter with Mimir; his recorder had shorted out at some point and destroyed everything. He didn’t particularly regret the loss. The incident had started out ugly as sin.

Phil considered Thor’s hammer and his occasional bouts of temper. The countryside would probably be better off if Jones were kept out of earshot of the storm-god. It was bad enough having her occasionally get up the rest of the team’s nose, and they were at least human, from earth, and nominally SHIELD’s responsibility.

The time she had replaced all Clint’s arrows with bullets mid-fight had put him off his game for a week. Steve, bless his heart, had a hard time doing much of anything that didn’t involve Mirandizing her. Phil had sat him down and made him watch two hours’ worth of archival footage amply demonstrating the fact that, while she looked fragile as a porcelain doll, she could stand up to more than he could without injury or, frankly, significant inconvenience; he still pulled his punches half the time. Bruce was afraid of her. The Hulk seemed to like her, after a fashion. At least Tony, he thought, would blast her into space as soon as look at her by now. He kept a running tally of how much she’d cost him in casually-destroyed equipment. Natasha had legitimately tried to murder her after a month of embarrassingly foiled infiltration schemes. She’d never given a full report on how she’d failed. If previous assassination attempts were anything to judge by, it had probably been something fairly humiliating, like a realistic simulacrum full of streamers and balloons rigged to deploy a giant participation trophy upon being stabbed.

He didn’t want to think about the possible repercussions of her pranking an alien divinity in a similar fashion. And, of course, there was also the possibility that the whole thing was a put-on meant to distract them from some horrible thing she was plotting, either on her own or on someone else’s behalf. She’d thrown half of Chicago into a turmoil with illusions of Godzilla and Mothra duking it out downtown in order to draw forces away from SHIELD’s containment facilities while HYDRA sprung a contingent of captured agents, including Jones’s then-girlfriend. A feint at Thor to put them off balance was hardly beyond her capacity for strategy.

Phil rubbed his temples. At least she generally didn’t take things too personally when they came from the law-and-order side of the equation. She threatened and blustered about tracking people to the ends of the earth and doing ridiculous things, usually at the top of her lungs, but she’d never bothered following through. He couldn’t remember how many of the younger agents he’d had to assure that they would not, in fact, spend the rest of their lives forgetting to wash their hands after cutting up hot peppers or getting flat tires right before important events. Presumably the relentlessness with which she dealt with betrayal and interference from other criminals kept her busy enough that law enforcement never made it to the top of her to-do list. She was still jerking Doom around at every opportunity, three years after whatever he’d originally done to provoke her. AIM had stiffed her out of a performance bonus on some contract work before that; they had since given up trying to sort out what she’d done to their robotics department in retaliation. She definitely had it in her. She’d just--so far--been selective in its use.

He reached for a comm. “Captain Rogers? Are you free to meet with me in half an hour? I have something of an assignment for you.”

*****

Lucy tucked a stray lock of coal black hair behind her ear and frowned. The hired muscle behind her shifted uncomfortably as she leafed through the ledger in her hands. The gang called themselves the Smiths, and they’d been even more visibly disappointed than their boss when the tomb had proven to be empty.

“Well?”

“Well, it looks like every other sitting president since Adams the Second has been an enormous douchebag.” Lucy’s brow furrowed. “Which is actually a huge blow for villainy all by itself, don’t you think? I mean, Tyler was in here before Harrison was even in the ground. Pretty cool, huh?”

The hooded figure employing all of them--he’d called himself Mr. White, but the name he’d been thinking was Masters--stiffened slightly.

“It might perhaps have been slightly...cooler if we’d found what we came here for, don’t you think, Jones?” he gritted out.

“Does this mean we’re not getting paid?” one of the thugs asked from the back.

“And who’re Harrison and Tyler?” another piped up.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. We’ll hit an ATM on the way back,” Lucy snapped, rolling her eyes. “And Harrison was the president that Lincoln smothered with a pillow after a month in office. Tyler was the guy who succeeded him after swearing not to cross Lincoln on the whole thing with the Canadian border.” She turned to shake the ledger at Masters. “You seriously don’t think written evidence of presidential evil-doing is more valuable than whatever shit Washington cached here with his dead mother? It doesn’t even look like it covered the War of 1812, if this IOU from Madison is any indication. Translate that into 21st-century dollars and then calculate the hit you’d take trying to fence obviously stolen material, and it’s good, okay, yeah, but it’s not great. This little book, on the other hand? Call up SHIELD and the president of Canada and start a bidding war for who gets to set it on fire. Your great-grandkids will die rich.”

“Canada has a prime minister,” one of the goons volunteered.

“Dude, I know Canada has a prime minister. It’s a bullshit job, though. They just do whatever the secret president tells them to. I mean, you seriously think Trudeau sat there and authorized the crime against humanity that Department K turned into? Nope! That was all the secret president.”

“We’re straying from the topic, I think,” Masters cut in.

“The topic is that I bet the secret president is going to say ‘Cut them a check, I need that ledger, if it comes out that we hired Booth to assassinate Lincoln, there’ll be a war.’ And I also bet SHIELD is going to say ‘Shit, cut them a bigger check, we can blackmail them over the whole Lincoln thing, and if it comes out that Lincoln was one of Jefferson’s rogue robots, we’ll have to rewrite the history books.’ And then we’ll all be rich.”

“I’ll be rich. You lot are working for a set fee,” Masters corrected her.

“Whatever. I’m just saying, it’s worth its weight in gold.”

“Canada killed Lincoln?”

“Lincoln was a robot?”

“Jefferson was a time-traveller?”

“Yes, yes, and no, don’t be stupid. They didn’t have time-travel in colonial times. Fucking hell, where did you people go to school?” Lucy arched an eyebrow. “I mean, they covered this in junior high in my district.”

“But Jefferson built a robot?”

“Jefferson built lots of robots. You think villainy is a new invention? Fuck, no.”

“Everyone, please stop listening to Jones. She is insane. There is no secret president of Canada or any of the other stupidity she just spouted at you.”

“That’s exactly what the secret president of Canada wants you to think,” Lucy protested.

“Jones, you should feel ashamed of yourself for leading these poor, benighted bastards even further astray.”

“I’m telling them the truth about our founding fathers, and you’re scolding me? Blow it out your ass.”

“But the part about Washington’s buried treasure being gone and us having to hit an ATM if we want to get paid was true?” one of them asked.

“Yes, that part was true.” Masters snatched the ledger from Lucy’s hand and flipped through it. “This is actually rather...colorful, isn’t it?”

“See? Fury may not give a shit about keeping that out of the papers and the Supervillain Times, but I bet the council holding his leash care a lot.”

“How do you know about the Supervillain Times?” Masters grunted, focusing on one of the entries. “Wait, am I reading the one from Kennedy correctly?”

Lucy brandished her sovereign ring. “Well, I am a supervillain, so duh? And yeah, I think you’re reading it right. I’m just not sure how much to trust it. Dude was high a lot.”

“But this is...I mean....” A gloved hand disappeared under the hood, touching the masked forehead. “How old could Romanoff possibly be?”

“Fuck if I know, man. I dropped out before we got to Soviet history. For all I know, she’s secretly a tsarist superhuman constructed to fight during the first Russo-Japanese war.”

“Jones?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Be quiet.” Masters seemed lost in thought for a moment, then snapped out of it. “Take the Smiths here, go rob your ATM, and collect your fee. None of us were ever in this crypt. None of you have ever heard of this.” He held the book up. “Do I make myself clear?”

A chorus of assent from the goon squad reassured him. Lucy shook her head. “My fee comes out of the sale of that ledger. If I wanted to hit an ATM for rent money, I wouldn’t be hiring out to whatever half-assed version of the Wild Bunch was riding through town this week.”

“It was your idea,” Masters pointed out.

“For them, sure. I’m fine with doing it, but I want my money to come from this job.”

“That is an utterly pointless distinction. You realize that, right? Hitting an ATM is now part of this job. It’s part and parcel to this job. ‘Other duties as assigned’ now includes ‘robbing an ATM.’ Take your money from the profit there, call it a day, and don’t answer any more of my ads.” Masters’s voice could cut glass.

“Okay, but don’t come calling me when the secret president of Canada’s kicking down your front door and stealing that ledger.”

“There is no secret president of Canada. There is no such thing.” Masters’s fingers curled into fists. “Now take everyone else, and get out of my sight.”

“Your loss.” Lucy shrugged. “Come on, ladies and gentlemen, we’re getting paid.” She turned on her heel and marched out of the bunker. The Smiths filed out after her, a few casting uncertain looks back at their employer.

They’d piled into the van and were pulling out of the construction site before any of them spoke.

“Wouldn’t that be like a secret dictator, though? I mean, you can’t get elected if you’re a secret, can you?”

“Thing is that the secret president is elected, but nobody knows that’s what they’re voting for. In a few ways, it’s more democratic than the official elections, since everybody can vote. Like, if a cat can express an opinion, its vote gets counted. Five-year-olds can vote in the election. But, you know, they don’t know what they’re voting for when they cast their vote, so it’s still kind of a problem.” Lucy spread her hands. “What are you going to do, though?”

“Maybe keep your hands on the wheel?” another one suggested.

“Yeah, yeah. Backseat drivers. Somebody with a phone figure out where the nearest Bank of America branch with an ATM is. We’ve still got time to hit the bars if we do this quick.” The Smith in the front passenger seat pulled out her smartphone. “So, what’s the deal with the gang name, anyway? The Smiths? You guys big fans of British alt-rock or what?”

“What?”

“You know, The Smiths? ‘80s band? Morrissey?”

“We’re all Smiths. Last name,” the Smith with the phone clarified. “Used to be the Smith Brothers, but, you know.” She and the other woman in the back shrugged. “Now we’re just The Smiths.”

“Rad.”

“What about you?” one of the Smiths in the back asked. “What kind of name is Lucy Jones, anyway?”

“The one I was born with, dude,” Lucy laughed.

“Seriously? That’s not a nom de crime?”

“Nom de....Does anybody actually use that phrase anymore?”

He looked miffed. “I don’t know. I used to think nobody said ‘rue the day’ anymore, but then I looked you up on the internet.”

“Touche. No, that’s not a nom de crime. That’s just me.”

“You ever think about changing it up?” the Smith next to her asked. “Get on the highway here, and take the next exit westbound.”

“Nah. I considered sticking with the ‘Doctor Whatever’ format, but Doctor Elk City sounds dumb as hell, and The Magician sounds like something you can buy off a late-night infomercial if you’re not too finicky about safety standards and product testing. What about you guys? What happens when somebody who’s not named Smith joins up?”

“They change their names. Left here.”

The Smith behind her pointed. “Look, you can see the sign.”

“Right,” Lucy grunted. “Anybody got a spare ski mask?”

“Can’t you just zap the camera?”

“Sure, if you want to get pedestrian about it. But I’d prefer not to, because then the cops won’t see my bitchin’ Iron Man t-shirt.”

“Wait, you wore that deliberately?”

“Well, it’s not really the sort of thing you accidentally wear to tomb-rob George Washington’s mom, is it?” Lucy demanded, snorting.

“No ski masks. You’re going to have to zap it. I don’t think Doctor Elk City’s that bad, though. It’s not great, but neither’s Captain America, if you think about it. Or Ant-Man. It sounds like the sort of thing that you wind up with because all your other options were taken, or if you let a kindergarten class pick your name.”

Lucy pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. “Be good while I’m gone, kids.”

She shut down the electronics for a quarter mile. “Open, sesame.”

The machinery whirred softly, and then the front panel was swinging open and boxes were popping open. She was stuffing stacks of bills into the sacks the Smiths had brought, with or without ski masks, when one of them rapped on the window. A security patrol was circling up the road. Lucy snapped her fingers. The watchman slowed, made his way through the parking lot, and then pulled out and headed for the rest of his route while she continued loading the cash.

“You put a whammy on him?” one of the Smiths asked as she passed the bags around.

“I’d suck pretty badly at this if I couldn’t make a security guard think he was seeing the same shit he always sees,” Lucy shot back. “You guys think you can get yourselves back to base? I’m heading straight for Vegas with my take.”

“Isn’t that cheating?”

“Villains,” she reminded them.

“Yeah, we can get ourselves back to base. Have fun getting your ass beat by the mob.”

“Ciao.” She watched them until the van faded into the distance, then snapped her fingers again. The boxes closed, and the machine slid shut, locking up tight. No sense riling up a hornet’s nest any sooner than normal. Not when she had a herd of Elvises to assemble, anyway.

“Viva Las Vegas, babies.” She opened a portal and stepped through it.

Chapter Text

Steve hung back in the shadows, watching his target. Jones leaned over the edge of the roof, a bottle of dark rum in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He could hear the parade on the street below, but he didn’t have the first clue as to how he could disrupt it. Or even if he should try. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and as far as he could tell, they were doing it of their own accord; Jones wasn’t playing puppet-master or hypnotizing anyone. Her tall, slim frame carved a charcoal gray hole in the angry neon from the rest of the strip. Her long hair was pulled back in a loose braid, and the sovereign ring SHIELD’s files identified as the source of her power looked far too heavy for her slender fingers. She looked reasonably innocuous--just another stray civilian watching a party--until she turned back to look at him.

“Might as well come up and enjoy the show, Captain. I think they’re doing “Blue Suede Shoes” next.”

“How long have you known I was here?”

“Since you got here? You’re not exactly dressed for a stealth mission, even by Vegas standards. American flag spandex over weaponized glutes and a giant white star in the middle of pecs that can be seen from space tends to get some attention.” Her green eyes flashed with amusement. “I’d offer you a drink, but I have it on good authority that you’re no fun.”

Steve shook himself, unexpectedly nettled. “Whatever you’re doing to these people, knock it off.”

“I’m not doing anything but paying them. Admittedly, their wages are coming out of ill-won wagers made with ill-gotten gains, but still. It’s only a smidge less honest than anyone else’s money, especially in this town. It’s capitalism, really. Baseball, apple pie, a fair day’s impersonating Elvis for a fair day’s wage. It’s so American, you could be leading this parade. Provided you could lay hands on an appropriate wig, of course. Nothing wrong with your look, mind, but it’s not really something The King ever sported.”

“Are you drunk?”

“It’s after dark in Vegas, and I’m a tourist. Local ordinance strictly prohibits me from being sober.” Her slick ruby lips twitched upward in a smile. “Last time I checked, there wasn’t an exemption for national icons or homegrown heroes, but I suppose Coulson can get you off with a warning if the Fun Police decide to bust you.”

He stared at her.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked, then didn’t pause long enough for him to answer. “I get that you probably didn’t have a whole lot of input into the name. It just screams committee favorite. But okay, you’re Captain America. Is there, like, a Sergeant France running around? Maybe a Lieutenant Scotland? General Mexico? PFC Albania? ‘Cuz if there are, you’d pretty much have it made, even if the Avengers ever broke up. I mean, think about it. Just round up the rest of the chain of command and launch the best version of NATO the planet could ever ask for. No? The look on your face is saying ‘no.’ Among other things.”

“No, to the best of my knowledge, there is not a Lieutenant Scotland or a General Mexico or a PFC Albania.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.” Jones took a swig from the bottle. “Fair’s fair.”

“Why do you do this?”

“What, this?” She gestured at the street below. “Because it’s hilarious. And it makes people happy. And I’ve always wanted to see a Million Elvis March. Or did you mean whatever it is that’s led you to grace me with your presence this evening? Which, by the way, you’re going to have to specify, because I’ve been very busy in the past few months.”

“You could do so much good with the powers you’ve been given, and what do you do instead? Steal, and blow things up, and help criminal organizations and megalomaniacs. Why?”

“Uh, that would be money, Captain.”

“Money,” Steve repeated flatly.

“Money,” Jones repeated, her smile turning sharp. “Profit, lucre, remuneration. Quarterly earnings.” She paused, and her smile turned even sharper. “Except for the stuff I do because it strokes my massive ego and gets people to pay attention to me and makes me feel important. And the stuff I do because it’s some measure of revenge on life for all the unforgivable slights and grave injustices I’ve had to endure as the world’s most special snowflake.”

Steve scowled at her.

“Oh, and there was that one time I stole half of Canada’s strategic maple syrup reserve. I did that because I was worried that I wasn’t the prettiest girl at the party. What can I say? Some ladies paint their nails a new color. I corner the market on breakfast condiments. Nothing like an angry and vaguely confused call from the Ministry of Waffles to make you feel like you’ve still got it.”

“You’re worse than Tony.”

“Stark? God, I’d hope so. I don’t know if you noticed in all the time you’ve been working with him, but he’s nominally a hero. I saw him try to get a kitten out of a tree once and everything. It didn’t wind up working, but, you know, A+ for effort. If I couldn’t swing ‘worse than Stark,’ I’d have to hang up the ring. Or get a day job denying health insurance claims.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Steve protested.

“Ooooooh. You meant the way he babbles incessantly about annoying things. Gotcha. I don’t think that’s really true, though. It’s like, perception bias. If you think I’m this annoying when I throw you off of things, and he’s almost this annoying when he’s the one rescuing you, he’s probably way more annoying than me to the unbiased observer.” She shook her hips slightly to the strains of “Jailhouse Rock” reaching up from the boulevard. “They get you all caught up on post-war music yet? Fat Elvis and all?”

“That’s not really any of your business.” He felt like he’d blundered into quicksand. He never should have engaged. He should have retreated the second she made him. Phil had been clear on that point. Jones wasn’t actually worse than Tony. She didn’t seem to have any inclination to go in for the emotional kill during a verbal fight. She was just more confusing than Tony, because when she wasn’t doing things like blasting him out of a building six floors from the ground, she was almost likable. Almost. The fact that she might go in for the literal kill at any moment mitigated some of the charm.

“Touchy, touchy.” She rolled her eyes. “So why are you here, anyway? Coulson send you to babysit me? You going to try arresting me again? Is the existence of an alien god named Thor no longer up for debate? Were you dispatched by Fury personally to apologize for that time he hung up on me?”

Steve kept his expression carefully neutral. “Your intel’s a little shaky, there, Jones.”

“I don’t have ‘intel,’ Captain, I have...an Elvis elephant. The fuck is going on down there?” Her eyes were abruptly riveted on the street. “Okay, the hell with this. You’re boring, and there’s an elephant dressed like Elvis, being ridden by more Elvises.” She reached into the bag at her feet. “I’m going down there and enjoying the fruits of my labor. Do me a favor and see that Thor gets this? Tell him it’s from Mimir.”

Jones moved to toss a lump of what looked like gold at him, and Steve backed away quickly, his shield up defensively.

“What are you doing? It’s a fucking apple. An apple like you eat, not like a weird foreign slang term for grenade. Take it, give it to Thor, call it a day. Presumably he’ll know what to do with it. Not rocket science.”

“I’m not taking anything from you, for anyone.” Steve frowned. “You mean you don’t know what to do with it?”

“It’s not for me, and it’s not my field of expertise. Earth-magic only, soldier. Alien bullshit need not apply. It’s powerful, and it’s benevolent, and that’s about as far as I can be persuaded to give a damn. Catch.”

“No!” Steve scrambled back. “Give it to him yourself if it’s so important.”

“Well, you’re worthless,” Jones snorted. “See you later, Commander Hotpants.” She was over the edge and on the street before he could stop her.

*****

Lucy dragged the back of a hand across her forehead, sweat mixing with grime to leave thick streaks across her flushed skin. Leave it to fucking HYDRA to try taking over the city in the middle of the most fun she’d had during a bank robbery in two years, she thought. The hostage negotiator had been flirting shamelessly with her before the all-units call had gone out on account of huge walking death-machines invading the city.

She turned the legs of the nearest battle mech into rubber and caught her breath, grimacing as she fixed the ribs that had been broken when one of its fellows had kicked her through a concrete wall. Magic or not, getting thrown through nine inches of reinforced cement hurt.

The Avengers were trying to keep the bulk of HYDRA’s forces out of heavily-occupied areas, and a few of the local heroes were pitching in with trapped civilians or destabilized buildings, but things were still getting out of hand. There were simply too many mechs, which Lucy thought was interesting in and of itself. HYDRA typically didn’t commit so many forces to an assault without a clear goal, and the only goal evident here was destruction. She tweaked the hydraulics of another mech and swapped the control panel of a third with that of a particularly complex riding lawn mower. The second wobbled into the first, rebounded, and slammed into the third, which had begun walking around in circles. Nothing like getting things a little bit further out of hand.

The rubber-legged mech managed to get a bead on her and land a direct shot with its laser cannon, sending her soaring in a graceful arc over two blocks. She landed on the hood of a Bentley and bounced over the roof, finally coming to rest on the sidewalk in front of a bakery. The day had been going so well until HYDRA had showed up, she thought.

Lucy coughed, got up, and glanced at the two heroes she’d spotted from mid-air. They were crouched against the brick wall to her left, covered in debris, and trying to regroup. She stared at them for a long second before everything clicked into focus. Motherfucking Mimir.

“Huh,” she grunted. “Viking armor, old-style weapons, and serious injuries. I’m guessing you must be Thor.”

He wasn’t what she’d expected, based on the few blurry shots that had made it onto the internet. He was big, definitely, but he was as fat as he was muscular, and the giant beard he was sporting was giving his paunch a run for its money. The color saturation must have been off on the pictures as well; his mane and beard were both fox-red rather than gold-blond. She shrugged mentally as he gaped at her, the bleeding arm he was cradling with his other hand momentarily forgotten. He still looked like he could punch an ox into orbit. The dark-haired woman next to him was gawking at her as well, but the way pain was constricting her features kept Lucy from reading too much into it. They crackled with an odd...radiation? Aura? Magic? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was the same foreign feel Mimir had about him. They didn’t belong, in a fundamental and immutable way. She tossed the Asgardian the apple.

“Compliments of Mimir. Don’t eat it all in one place. Or I guess do, if you’re supposed to? He didn’t say how it works. I just assumed you’d know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few foot-soldiers to punch in the face.” She waved and vanished, transporting herself to the cockpit of a lead mech. Good deed for the month, done.

The agents didn’t take long to dispatch, but it wasn’t as exciting as she’d hoped it would be. The mechs were simple robots with little AI to speak of; there was nothing to corrupt and turn against the remaining forces. Simple robots were worthless robots, especially when they were too big to do much of anything interesting with. Doom at least used human-sized robots that could be turned into effective marionettes. AIM used sophisticated bots that could be upgraded slightly until they were capable of indulging in all the usual human quirks, like dereliction of duty, libidinous escapades, demanding vacation days, and complaining about their in-laws. She sighed and settled for turning the mechs’ legs into popsicles.

Lucy floated to the nearest rooftop to survey the results of her handiwork. The summer’s heat was making short work of the machines. She rubbed her knee absently, fixing the damage she’d done crashing into a pilot’s chair when the fight in the cockpit had momentarily sent the mech, and its occupants, careening out of control.

“Jones!”

Lucy groaned. Her name out of Iron Man’s loudspeaker was fast becoming one of her least favorite things to hear. The hero hovered thirty feet above her, his hands up.

“Better get out of the hoses, Stark, or this city will soon be covered in bees!” she shouted at him, wriggling her fingers theatrically.

“Coulson needs to see you.”

“Coulson needs to see me? Now? About what?” Coulson normally put off trying to lecture her about the relative helpfulness of her incidental assists until the damage had been assessed and he had a clear picture of what he was lecturing her about. Or maybe it was about the duck thing. Or the Mr. White thing. Or the Vegas thing. She hadn’t heard from him since the Dr. Thomas thing. Maybe the good Captain had filed a complaint over the shameless ogling. Was that even something heroes could complain about, officially? It seemed like it would be a difficult thing to enforce.

“He didn’t say. He just said to bring you in. Hold still, I’ll give you a lift.”

“Oh, fuck off. I can get there on my own.” She waved him away and considered the agent. It wasn’t difficult to locate him, even less difficult to open a small portal directly to him. He was on another rooftop, a quarter mile away.

“Stark said you wanted to see me?” she said, brushing dust and pulverized concrete off her jacket. “If this is about the Elvis stampede, they were all paid performers--”

She stopped. The problem was obvious. Coulson was crouched over Hawkeye, covered in blood, and slightly dazed. Another Asgardian was off to his left, hovering uselessly and staring at her like she’d grown a second head. Maybe that was just their default expression, she thought. Maybe they all wandered around looking like that all the time. Romanoff was on her comm, demanding medical assistance immediately.

“Can you do something?” Coulson asked softly. Her lips pursed. The blood was mostly Hawkeye’s. His right arm was half torn off, his eyes were glazed over, and he had the distinct look of someone who was checking out. Breathe, she thought. You’ve got this. You’re the fucking best there is. Best there ever fucking was. This is nothing. You could fix this in your sleep.

“Yeah, probably.” She shrugged and knelt beside him, stupidly proud of the way her voice and hands were both rock steady. She ignored the cold gore soaking into the knees of her jeans and held up two fingers, her left hand surreptitiously curling around the wrist of his injured arm. “Hey, buddy, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Coulson gasped as the shredded flesh, torn sinew, and splintered bone knit back together, skin rolling back over the mangled limb like an incoming tide. The motherfucking best there ever was, never mind the frisson of power rebounding up her own arm like ants under the skin, never mind the way it was draining to have to find the space between somebody else’s injury and pain and pry it open even further, never mind the eye-searing light pouring off Coulson and Romanoff, never mind anything, she was the best.

“Two?” Hawkeye hazarded.

“Congratulations, you can still count.” Lucy clapped him on the repaired arm. He winced slightly, then flexed it, looking blankly at the now-whole limb. She turned to Coulson, who was just watching her, his face pale. She couldn’t say she’d particularly missed the expression that said someone had finally seen too much not to be afraid--really afraid, afraid down to their bones--of her. “He’s still gonna need a pint or two of blood, the sooner the better. And obviously, keep him warm. He’s kind of shocky.”

“You’re leaving?” Coulson asked sharply.

“Well, I mean, as much as I’d love to hang out and get arrested again by Captain Quixote, that HYDRA sub in the harbor isn’t going to sabotage itself, you know?”

“If you’re going back after HYDRA, I’m coming with you,” Romanoff said firmly. She’d practically materialized at Hawkeye’s other shoulder. The laser focus she’d had when demanding medical assistance had relaxed into something more like a normal battle-readiness.

“Forget it. The passenger function on this bus ain’t ready for prime-time.” She shook her head and stepped away from them.

The last time she’d tried to take anyone with her, she’d been aiming for New York and landed halfway up a tree ten miles outside Reykjavik with a zombie deity-head. Phil and his sidekick--McMann? McCann? McCain? She couldn’t properly remember the woman’s name.--had been less than thrilled with her even though no real harm had been done. Possibly because neither of them would have survived a fall out of the tree. Lucy didn’t want to think about how he’d react if she accidentally left his favorite murderer on the moon or inside a volcano.

“And you really did your damnedest to stab me a few years back. I mean, the levels of enthusiasm you brought to that job were just uncalled for. So unless you can teleport, you’re not invited.” Find your own things to hit until you can’t feel anymore. I’ve got dibs on this one. She stuck her tongue out at the agent and vanished.

Chapter Text

Thor examined the files closely, his thoughts refusing to assume any sort of coherence. Natasha was watching him, waiting for him to say something. She’d been over the same material with him twice now. She clicked play on one of the videos Phil had provided, and Thor let himself be riveted by it, his mind blank. His eyes told him that it was Loki. His instincts told him the same. His heart said “Loki,” while his mind said “Impossible.”

The woman on the screen was, except for her sex, a physical duplicate of his lost brother. Skin the color of ivory, face like a blade, eyes like summer grass, hair like a raven’s wing. Tall and lithe and graceful. She was clearly as finicky about her clothes as Loki had ever been. Sif, Fandral, and Volstagg had all been immovable in their pronouncement that the woman they had seen was most certainly Loki. He would love nothing more dearly than to believe the judgment of his friends, his eyes, and his heart. But. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. But.

Loki had been self-possessed and restrained, almost to a fault. It had taken a crisis of great proportions to rob him of that. His movements were studied, careful, and precise. His grace was that of a dancer, his speech that of a diplomat. He’d been overly guarded, even in private, even with his friends. This woman was unrestrained and mercurial and emphatic and undignified and glib. Loki had not always been truthful, but his words had at least been calculated to deceive. This woman’s lies were outrageous and obvious. Her hands, her arms, her face, the line of her body--nothing was ever at rest. Her grace was that of a striking serpent, her speech that of a demagogue.

“Well?” Natasha prompted.

“Pardon?”

“We’ve been watching these all day. What, exactly, are you looking for?”

Thor sighed. “Would you mind giving me your opinion of what we’re seeing?” he asked.

Natasha shrugged but obliged. She hit pause and opened one of the folders.

“Jones is difficult to get a proper read on. Her body language, vocal inflection, and facial mobility generate a lot of noise to the genuine signal. The actual conversation is swamped with useless information, falsehoods, non sequiturs, and tangents. She occasionally pretends idiocy. She’s all over the place. Everything about her presentation is designed to deflect and misdirect.” She flipped through a few more pages. “She’s persistently clocked in as a minor threat. She’s a criminal through and through, but she doesn’t seem to have any grandiose visions about it. She’s capable of a lot more than she generally does, when it comes to fighting. She prefers retreat to combat if a plan has obviously failed, but then she’ll turn around and get into a fight over a petty personal squabble. She has some standards about who she’ll work with, but they’re not high. She holds a hell of a grudge, and she’s creative about how she takes revenge. Even when she’s ‘helping,’ her methodology can be more destructive than the initial threat. Coulson’s been trying to get her to flip for a while now, but honestly we’d all be better off if the ring that gives her her power was dropped into the ocean and lost forever.”

“Her records go back for some time, do they not?”

“First known activity is fifteen years ago. Our records aren’t complete, but she’s been involved in criminal activity to one degree or another for a while. Not that that’s surprising. Her type tend to start young. We haven’t been able to track her back to an organization or a civilian identity, but she probably learned this sort of thing at her parent’s knee.”

Her whole self was a lie. Thor sighed. That was Loki. She was volatile and cunning and vicious and bloodthirsty. That was...not Loki. Not really. He was cunning, and he clung to the memories of wrongs he’d been done, yes, but he had rarely if ever sought out battle. His feuds all had their beginnings in such minor things that the resulting chaos had seemed laughable. He’d needle someone, or pull some prank, and then the response would be slightly out of proportion to his offense, and then his revenge would be petty but still a bit too much, and so it went. Or it came at a time long after it was appropriate to seek retribution for a small affront. Loki loved conflict, but he’d been one to keep himself out of the resulting fray. He’d taken no delight in the clash of arms. This Jones woman loved conflict as well, but she waded into the thick of it, painfully careless of her own physical safety. It was only in battle, in the midst of destruction and chaos, that she seemed to be still, that her intentions and emotions were plain. He rubbed his jaw, lost in thought.

“You you mind sharing whatever theory you’re working on?” Natasha asked after a moment.

“I think she may be my lost brother.”

“Okay, that needs a little more explanation, Thor.” Her brows were furrowed, and skepticism tinged her face.

“I don’t know if I can offer one. My brother, Loki, was also a sorcerer. The fight which broke the Bifrost and the fight which came to Midgard, they were not properly magical in nature. But he was a sorcerer, and a powerful one. This woman...” He spread his hands. His companions had described it as seeing a ghost when she’d appeared during the battle with HYDRA. They’d been admittedly confused by her calling Volstagg Thor, but there had been no mistaking her. “She is the image and substance of my brother.”

“You think he’s changed his shape and taken up residence here? In spite of the time-frame?”

“I don’t know. She’s been here for some time, obviously. He only fell two years ago. But I cannot dismiss the similarities. Magic is not something I have ever been able to fully explain.”

Natasha rubbed her temples. “Right. A wizard did it.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.” She sighed. “Your brother was responsible for the Destroyer’s appearance in New Mexico. Jones was, at the time, causing problems of a different sort with a similar threat. That seems like a stretch, even for sorcery.”

“You said her powers derive from the ring she wears?”

“According to all our sources, she’s powerless without it. We’ve never gotten it off her or been able to tell what’s powering the ring, though, so it can’t be absolutely confirmed.”

Thor put his face in his hands, thinking. There had been stories told of great wizards hiding their hearts or their souls inside objects, hadn’t there? There had even been one story, he was sure, of a wizard hiding the heart of a great warrior inside something--an acorn? an egg?--so that the warrior could not die. Jones could be a mortal woman who had blundered onto his brother’s heart, his brother’s power. A mortal woman whose life Loki had commandeered to serve his own purposes. Or she could be Loki himself, hiding in plain sight. He could have his brother back. He sighed.

“I need to meet with her, Natasha. Can it be arranged?”

*****

Lucy lounged back on the warm sand, her eyes closed and her limbs loose. There was a cool breeze coming off the water, and the setting sun meant that most people were packing up and going home. It had been a glorious day, and, if the nice waitress she’d chatted up at the diner across the street kept her promise to stop by after her shift ended, it promised to be a glorious night. Her phone rang, breaking her reverie. She stuck a hand in her beach bag and groped around for it, finding it by the third ring.

“Yeah?”

“Jones?”

Coulson. Her eyes snapped open, and she jerked herself up onto her elbows, scanning the area intently, all languor gone. There was nothing of concern, she decided, but she didn’t relax.

“Speaking,” she said finally. She sat up completely, resting her elbows on her knees and keeping a close eye on the horizon.

“It’s Coulson.”

“Agent,” she chirped, her tone bright and false. “What can I do for you today? Destabilize a foreign government? Smite one of your rivals with gout? Seduce Deputy Director Hill?”

“I wanted to thank you for what you did for Cl--for Hawkeye.”

“I live but to serve.”

“I’m serious, Jones. It means a lot to me.”

“Okay, so you know how I handle emotional moments with the maturity and grace of a little girl with a spider in her hair? Just humor me the next time I do that at you and call it even.”

“I didn’t know you could heal people.”

“You remember that clusterfuck in Biloxi?”

“The one where you assaulted half a precinct with hallucinogenic toads?”

“It was a half-dozen cops at best. And aside from the fact that I categorically deny all knowledge of the incident in question, yes, the very same. You remember how it started?”

“You crashed a tent revival.”

“I did not. The tent revival crashed my drinking-and-gambling binge.”

“Is this going somewhere, Jones?”

“You called me, you can put up with my fabulously entertaining anecdotes. Also? I am revealing some deeply secret ancient wisdom here, you mundane peasant, you should feel honored at being privy to it, not checking your fucking watch and tapping fucking your foot like you’ve got something better to do. The last splinter of that HYDRA cell that went rogue and tried to take over New York isn’t going anywhere, I promise you, and if they do happen to try to go somewhere, you’re going to see them from that oh-so-comfortable vantage point you’re camped out on right now.” She sighed heavily. “Anyway, as I was saying, that tent revival started it. They had a faith-healer with them who wasn’t the real deal, but he’d sold them on the idea of it being possible so fucking thoroughly that...it was kind of like being a lightning rod. I mean, it was a literal revelation. The knowledge of how to do that went from being out there somewhere, floating in the ether, to being written on my nerves, in the second it took that expectation to coalesce and fixate on the nearest conduit. It was like a switch being flipped. First time I’ve ever had anything like that happen without, uh, literally getting struck by lightning.”

Lucy frowned at the legion of fiddler crabs that had assembled in front of her. She hadn’t noticed them until they’d formed ranks. They stared at her silently, their eye stalks swiveled in her direction and their attention riveted on her. “Go away,” she mouthed at them.

“You still there?” she asked irritably.

“Yes. That was unexpectedly serious, Jones.”

“I’m just a box of chocolates that way, Coulson. Did you only call me to say thanks for saving your favorite government assassin, or is this a prelude to something a little less sappy? Am I about to be sniped from a Cold War murder-satellite that officially never existed? Do you actually need me to seduce the deputy director? I’ll give you a substantial discount off my usual rates if that’s what you need.”

“That’s a little inappropriate, Jones.”

“Only a little? I’m losing my edge.” The fiddler crabs advanced a few inches, and Lucy waved her hands at them. “Shoo! Scat! Beat it, you weird little crustaceans.”

“What?”

“Not you. Some of the local wildlife is having issues.”

“Do me a favor and please don’t go into detail,” Coulson said. “I’m reasonably certain that Hill would shoot to kill if you hit on her. We’re not interested in hiring you. I’m only calling to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’re also welcome--”

“Don’t push it,” he warned.

“--for the gloriously disabled submarine I left you.”

“You shut down the port for a week.”

“You’re welcome for that, too. I mean, the port was full of international terrorists. What good was it doing anybody?”

“I’m trying to be nice. Why do you have to ruin everything?” he groused.

“Emotional grace of a panicking child,” she reminded him, swatting at the advancing tide of tiny crabs. “I’d think you’d be at least a little used to it by now. I mean, between the Hulk, Stark, and Romanoff, I’d honestly expect you to be handing out gold stars like a kindergarten teacher.”

“Agent Romanoff is a model of professionalism.”

“Which I would think, given Stark’s...everything, would be an accomplishment worthy of at least some acknowledgement, even if it does take the form of a sticker. Half the time, I feel like I deserve a gold sticker for only disabling half his thrusters or switching JARVIS to a language he’s not fluent in but does speak. She has to refrain from killing him and handle the paperwork for whatever she’s not killing him over.”

“Jones.” Lucy could hear him reaching for a bottle of aspirin on the other end of the line. The closest crabs climbed onto her feet.

“You know, as much as you want to say thank you...it was you and Romanoff that provided a lot of the impetus,” she blurted. “I don’t know if you can really understand what I’m telling you. I know you didn’t really get what I said about Biloxi. I mean, I try not to look too hard at this stuff myself, because I’m afraid of drowning in it. But the way you two wanted him to be okay, with everything you had, that much will behind it....” She trailed off for a moment. “You made it way easier for me to turn that into a reality. I guess it just seemed like something you should know. That you two were a big part of it. You helped.” Lucy swallowed, staring at the crabs. “I should go. These crabs are being really, really weird, and I think I need to fix something here, because crabs don’t usually act like this without a really good reason. Catch you later, Coulson.”

She hung up. “Okay, you little assholes, I just feelings-barfed all over someone I’d have preferred not to. You have my attention. What is your fucking problem?”

They kept their eyes on her, unmoving, their chitinous feet prickling her bare skin. She felt the same strange compulsion to talk, to speak truly, that she hadn’t caught in time to prevent herself from going completely full-disclosure on Coulson. She carefully pushed them off, nodding to herself when the sensation vanished as soon as they were no longer touching her.

“You’re going to have to be a little more communicative than that,” Lucy snapped. “Unless you’re all here to teach me some sort of bullshit life lesson about being honest with people, in which case I’m going to feed you all to the seagulls. I will find a bunch of seagulls, and I will feed you to them.”

The crabs retreated, still in formation, and began moving further down the beach, away from the few lingering couples. Lucy got to her feet and brushed the sand off. The wind was getting colder. She rolled the cuffs of her thin cotton pants down to mid-shin and chafed her arms, then trudged after the crabs, feeling sullen and cranky. She’d intended to be lighting the grill by now. They eventually led her to a small, old pier. At the far end, framed by the water and the sun’s dying light, was a tall, thin man dressed as a pirate. He was also wearing a wizard’s cap and leaning on a heavy staff with a glass ball set in its head. He looked more than a little surprised to see her.

Lucy felt her jaw drop open. She looked down at the crabs. “Is this guy for real?”

“Shit, you’re early,” he muttered, almost to himself. He pulled himself together and boomed, “Are you not awed to be in the presence of The Pirate Enchanter?”

She rubbed her eyes. Yes, she was really seeing this. She pinched herself. Not dreaming. This was really happening. She was going to feed everybody to the seagulls.

“That’s not a real thing,” she called back, moving onto the foot of the dock. “And I mean either way to interpret it. You’re not a pirate, and you don’t enchant pirates. It’s made-up bullshit. You look like a complete idiot.”

“I, uh...Tremble before the might of The Pirate Enchanter?”

“Are you issuing a command or making a request? If you hadn’t managed to be incredibly annoying already with your stupid minions, I wouldn’t even dignify this with a response. That’s how bad you are at this.”

“The Pirate Enchanter takes exception to your effrontery!”

“And you’re talking about yourself using the third person. You’re talking about yourself in the third person, while dressed like that, and leading an army of fiddler crabs. I take exception to everything about this situation.” The seagulls were too good for him. She was going to feed him to a pelican.

“Fiddler crabs?”

“Tiny little crabs that live in holes on the beach? The males have one arm that’s way bigger than the other because...you aren’t registering any of this, are you?”

He looked at her, his empty face confirming that he wasn’t following her. “I don’t have an army of fiddler crabs.”

“Don’t you mean ‘The Pirate Enchanter doesn’t have an army of fiddler crabs’?”

“Look, I’m trying to start a fight here. I’m a supervillain! I’m an enchanter! I’m better than you, and I’m out to prove it!”

“Okay, buddy, here’s the thing,” Lucy spat, her eyes flicking over the sand, looking for the crabs. They had retreated to their burrows and were peering out at her. “Seriously?” She pointed angrily at them. “You are seriously going to stand there and tell me these are not your fucking crabs, and they’re just all doing this on their own? That is legitimately a thing you are going to stand there and do?”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” he insisted. “I don’t know anything about any crabs! I’m just trying to get a good brawl in and get my name out there and impress your contacts!”

“Fucking hell.” Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to deal with him, and then I’m coming back and finishing this up with you bastards,” she snarled at them. She turned back to him. “As I was saying, here’s the thing. You’ve already started the fight. We’re going to fight. My night is ruined, and I have the sneaking suspicion I’ve been tricked by a bunch of invertebrates, and I have a powerful urge to take it out on someone who’s got it coming based solely on his sartorial choices. But I’m going to do us both a favor and give you a second to rethink the whole pirate-wizard motif you’ve got going, because this? This is some constructed-without-reference-material bullshit you couldn’t have gotten away with in the ‘60s, never mind right now. If I took a picture of this and emailed it to your mother, she would disown you.”

“Hey, I put a lot of thought into this! Pirates are very hot right now!”

“So help me, if you mention ninjas while I’m still in earshot, I’m going to make you eat that hat.”

“I...wasn’t going to,” he mumbled.

“What’s your fucking name, anyway?”

“The Pirate--”

“Your real name, douchebag. I’m not calling you The Pirate Enchanter. It’s not fucking happening.”

He scowled at her. “My name is Timothy.”

“Timothy,” she repeated flatly, her eyes boring holes in his face. “Are you fucking with me.”

“No! I am a serious supervillain! I am going to be taken seriously! You’re going to regret everything you’ve said tonight!” he screamed.

“You’re Tim the Enchanter.” Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose. She was surrounded by fools and the unwashed, she had just been crowned their queen, and the universe was laughing at her.

“Yes?”

“You are Tim the motherfucking Enchanter.”

“Why do you keep saying it like that?” he asked.

“Tim, your need to ask me that demonstrates quite conclusively that you are unworthy of the title.” She flashed him her best ‘we’re not friends’ smile. “But, and this is the best thing about living in a meritocracy, you can aspire to be worthy. So what we’re going to do is get you into a more appropriate outfit.” She waved her hands, and his pirate costume and hat were replaced with a long robe in black and red and a close-fitting hood with ram’s horns. “And we’re going to try to have a proper fucking fight, like we would if you weren’t hopelessly outclassed and laughably outgunned.”

“How did you even...?” He opened and shut his mouth soundlessly a few times as he tried to process his costume change. “I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.”

“Too late, Tim.” Her hands curled into fists and came alight with green fire. Tim shuffled back to the very end of the pier, his face a few shades paler than it had been.

“Maybe I need to work on this some more. Somewhere else. Somewhere that’s not here.”

“En garde!”

Tim scrambled to dodge a bolt of fire aimed at his head. He hit back with a wave of energy that Lucy barely felt and easily deflected. She tried not to dwell on the idea of how ridiculous she must look in the field if this turkey thought he was a match for her as she wrenched the pier out from under him, cracking it like a whip. The look of shock on his face as he was launched into the water was almost enough to drive her to despair. Levitation was not a difficult skill to master. He floundered in the surf and dropped his staff. Swimming was also not a difficult skill to master.

“Jones!” Lucy cringed at the sound of Iron Man’s thrusters. It was bad enough that she was actually fighting this idiot. Being caught on film fighting this idiot was intolerable. She quietly fried his cameras’ lenses as he touched down behind her.

“I’m a little busy here, Stark,” she bit out.

“I figure you’ve got a few minutes before he makes it back to shore. Plenty of time to talk,” he replied, his tone smarmy even filtered through the machine.

“Talk about what? I’m not letting you arrest me.”

“Thor--you know, big guy, from Asgard, kind of a god--wanted to have a little chat with you.”

“Really? That’s great. Tell him to go fuck himself.” Lucy watched Tim as he kicked back to the edge of the dock. She doubted he even appreciated how much skill it took to send a ripple through a solid object without damaging it, never mind a structure composed of discrete objects.

“Why don’t you come with me? That way, you could tell him in person.”

“Look, that apple was from another kind-of-a-god called Mimir. I was just the errand boy in this case. He wants to meet anyone, it’s probably Mimir. And Coulson can take him to see Mimir himself as soon as he gets his foot back out of HYDRA’s ass. No need to include me.” Tim finally managed to pull himself back out of the water. He spent another minute trying to grab his staff. Lucy sighed. Retrieval was even less difficult than levitation. “And, as you can see, I have some incredibly pressing concerns here.”

“Really? This qualifies as incredibly pressing?”

“Of course. Left to his own devices, he could put an eye out. Or try to iron a shirt while he’s wearing it. Or lock himself inside his car. He’s clearly too dangerous a man to be left unchallenged.”

“I never thought I’d say this, Jones, but I’m disappointed in you,” Stark said, feigning indignation. “I thought we had something special, and here you are, fighting with and mocking another hero.”

“Psht. This is a turf fight. He’s a villain. And what do you mean, you thought we had something special? I’ve never been a one-hero kind of girl. Hell, I don’t even restrict myself to heroes. As you can see, I’ll fight anybody.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and raised her voice so that Tim could hear her clearly. “Even people who aren’t really worth it!”

“I will not be insulted by the likes of you!” Tim shouted, waving his staff menacingly. He doubled over coughing.

“Too late!” she yelled.

“This fucking guy,” Lucy spat, turning to Stark. “Can you fucking believe this fucking guy? I take back everything I ever said about Pym being the most useless bastard I’ve ever met. At least if you've got him in your corner you never have to get your house tented.”

Tim straightened up and repeated the trick with the energy field. Lucy sighed, parrying it effortlessly. It picked Stark up and slammed him bodily into the line of palmetto bushes behind them. Maybe Tim wasn’t as useless as all that, after all, she thought. If she was lucky, it had disabled his speakers.

“Do you know anything flashier than that?” she asked. “Because I feel compelled to point out that if we wanted to be boring, we could just stick to assault rifles and skip all the arcane investigation and occult exploration and years of dedication to the craft.”

“Go to hell!”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day, Tim,” she howled. “Sure! Let’s have a field trip to hell. Maybe you’ll come up with something that’s a net contribution to the aetheric field!” She grinned and raised her arms. “Take your last breath of air untainted by the stench of sulfur!”

A circle of chartreuse flame erupted around him, and he fell screaming into darkness.

“Uh, Jones? You didn't really send him to hell, did you?” Stark demanded, stumbling out of the scrub.

“Nah. He’s getting spit out of the baggage claim in Newark right about now.”

“I think I'm required by the SHIELD charter to defend New Jersey's honor now.” He tapped his helmet a few times, then shook his head sharply. “Packed kind of a punch, didn’t he?”

“What, that love-tap? If that’s enough to shake you up, maybe you should leave the wizard-fights to Captain America and his magic ass.”

“For one thing, you don’t hit that hard. For another thing, aren’t you gay?”

“I’m not that gay, Stark, and I don’t hit you that hard, because the only thing more fragile than your ego is your billion-dollar, rocket-powered vanity project.” Lucy stretched. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I might conceivably have a date, and I’m definitely overdue for dinner.”

“I don’t think so. There are about twenty active warrants out for you right now, and Thor wants to talk to you. All that adds up to you coming with me.”

“I already explained this to you,” she snapped. “Not. Gonna. Happen.”

“You say that, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to win this time.” He darted forward and scooped her up, jetting forward to hover over the water.

Lucy twisted out of his arms and jumped, landing cleanly. She clenched her right hand and realized that he’d managed to get the ring off when he’d tried to keep ahold of her.

“Shit.” She treaded water and looked up at him, grimacing. “Give that back, Stark!”

“Nope! I guess you can stay here and make that date after all, Jones! At least, you know, until the cops swing by and pick you up.” He laughed and took off, cheering to himself halfway back to New York.

“Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.” Lucy shook herself and swam back to shore. The crabs were waiting. “Are you happy now, you ten-legged weasels?”

Chapter Text

Lucy popped the tab on another can of beer, leaned back against the picnic table, and watched her dinner cook on the grill. The waitress wasn’t coming. Stark had jacked her ring. There was no way to get it back from SHIELD without either some fairly obvious magical assists or a lot of heavy artillery and a little help from her friends, most of whom weren’t really friends and would stop returning her calls as soon as they thought she was depowered. The surf pounded behind her, just out of sight over the dunes. So, two viable options: ditch the ruse and keep on rolling like nothing had happened, or go into stealth mode until an opportunity presented itself to reclaim the ring. She drummed her fingers absently. The perception that the ring was the source of her power had served her well--very well--in the past. She was unwilling to let it go unless the lie became untenable. And, of course, she could always change her mind about keeping the secret. Once she’d revealed herself as a real magician, she’d be committed. There was no taking the truth back.

Conversely, she had nothing compelling that needed doing in the next few months. No jobs to finish, no appearances to put in, no appointments to keep. She could change her appearance, stay under the radar for a while, make a plan, and get the ring back. She’d had to do it before; it was surprisingly easy to hide when nobody was really tearing anything apart looking for her. SHIELD would be on the look-out for her, doubtless--Stark’s promised cops had already been by twice--but she wouldn’t be too high up on their list of priorities, especially if they remained convinced she’d been demoted to “petty nuisance.” They definitely wouldn’t be looking for, say, a short, chubby blonde with a pocket-full of cash on a low-rent cross-country road-trip.

Lucy flipped the steak and turned the potato, lingering close to the heat of the fire. She sipped the beer and closed her eyes for a moment. It had been a while since she’d indulged in any sort of idleness, and it had been even longer since she’d just gone wandering. The idea had a nostalgic appeal to it. She’d spent most of her formative years knocking around with no plan, letting one adventure lead naturally into the next. It might be nice to go back to doing just that for a bit. She plucked a quartered bunch of broccoli from the cooler and deposited it on the grill, positioning it carefully so that it cooked but didn’t burn. She’d learned most of her best tricks meandering across the globe. It had been profitable. It had been fun. She could do worse than go back to it. She nodded to herself. Option two, then.

She ate in silence, considering the direction in which she would strike out. West? She’d never been to Oregon or Washington. North? She’d never ridden a moose. South? She hadn’t seen Jorge in almost five years. They could cheat each other at cards, and she could annoy the old gods’ guardian who lingered nearby Jorge’s enclave by refusing to fight him again. East, into the ocean, to ride the whales again. She smiled. That had been...something. Really something. Fat chance of keeping an ear to the ground from the middle of the Atlantic, though. After she’d gotten the ring back, then. Further east, to talk to Mimir, to see if she could get him to spill on just what the fuck had gone down between Thor and past-her? Or would it be not-her?

She wasn’t even sure how to think of it anymore. She still felt stupid for having expected some spark of recognition when she’d seen him. Wishful thinking, and she knew it. That wasn’t how reincarnation worked. She, the self that existed in the presence, had never seen him before. Why would she recognize him? It was like expected the river to still be green just because it had once been St. Patrick’s Day. The momentary kick to the gut she’d felt when Stark had crashed the party and talked about going to see him...she recognized that, though. Guilt, anger, and defensiveness, all wrapped up together in an ugly, rotten bundle. Laying low was a good idea no matter what. She had enough people she’d failed or fucked over that she couldn’t apologize to that it occasionally made her terminally stupid over whoever was left standing, and it looked like this was shaping up to be one of those times.

Lucy sighed and rubbed her temples. Fucking Mimir. She needed to get better at not letting people push her buttons. She should have chucked the apple into the ocean and told him to fuck off. It didn’t even matter if she really believed him. She’d proven time and again that she’d fall for a suitably convincing illusion. Her wits were too sharp for her own good, but her heart was a treasonous liar with bad judgment. Trusting it wasn’t safe. She knew that. And still she’d gone for the bait the second a decapitated god she’d met by accident had said the words “family” and “debt,” like wiping out something she hadn’t even known about before would make her sleep any better at nights. Who had she been trying to fool, thinking that so long as she didn’t have to meet him, everything would be fine? She was lucky he’d just been another weird stranger having a bad day courtesy of even weirder science, and she knew damn well that she wasn’t lucky enough to keep playing with this particular fire without getting burned. Lucy finished her beer. Sometimes she thought it was a miracle she hadn’t gotten herself killed yet.

“The better part of valor is discretion,*” she muttered, “and the bard’s advice to cowards is ever sound.”

Another police patrol circled around, oblivious to her presence. They were alert, on guard, looking for her; it was much more difficult to suppress their perception than it was to show a security guard or nosy neighbor what they wanted to see. It would be easier to move on and fix her appearance, and moping in a beach pavilion certainly wasn’t helping anything.

Lucy cleaned up the pavilion and extinguished the fire. It was already well past soon enough to get a head start on anyone. Stark would have radioed ahead to let SHIELD know he’d gotten the ring away from her practically as soon as he’d done it. She checked in to one of the beachfront motels catering to budget tourists, took a quick shower to get the lingering salt and sand off her skin, and considered herself in the full-length bathroom mirror. 6’1”, rail thin, milk-pale skin, long black hair, too-sharp features, and green eyes. She was thirty but looked a bit older. As she was, she stood out in a crowd. Time to fix that, she thought.

She didn’t normally mess with her appearance too much, not beyond the standard magician conceit of keeping herself perpetually coifed, neat, and pressed. Maintaining it took a certain level of power and concentration, both of which were generally needed by far more interesting things. This time, she figured she might as well go for broke. She gathered her power and focused on the image she wished to fit herself to. The woman in the mirror blurred, rippled, and was transformed into someone else. Someone who was 5’5”, stocky and well-muscled, with pleasantly rounded curves. Someone whose skin was warm and golden from the sun and dusted with freckles. Someone whose honey blonde hair hung just past her shoulders. Someone whose soft features and rounded face made her look maybe twenty-five. Someone whose eyes were the same damn dragonfly green.

Lucy snorted. She’d never been able to do a fucking thing about her eyes. The green of her irises was persistent in a way the rest of her could never match. Not that it should matter much now. She took a deep breath and raised a thin black line on her skin, tracing a coiling, complicated loop between her shoulder blades. It siphoned in a tiny shred of her magic, making the change self-sustaining and surprise-proof. Absolutely no one was going to look at her like this and flag her as Lucy Jones. So long as she didn’t try to take a stroll through SHIELD headquarters or apply for a job with HYDRA, nobody was going to catch on. She pulled her now-short hair into a perky little ponytail and reworked her clothes into something that would fit her new body. She should probably go for a new look, too. California casual sounded...well, not good. But fitting. And easy to pick up in a beach town. Going to California sounded unreservedly good. She could take a tour through the sun belt on the way, then go stomping through Death Valley and get a good look at the sailing stones.

She smiled at her new reflection and, as an afterthought, made her teeth just the tiniest bit crooked and slapped a thicker band of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Suck on that, BOLO alerts.

*****

Tony groaned and threw up his hands in frustration. Thor peered over his shoulder, frowning.

“What is the matter, Tony?” he rumbled softly, his brows furrowing.

“This ring is the matter.” Tony heaved a sighed. “There is, scientifically speaking, nothing special about this thing. At all. No weird energy signatures, no strange alloys, no anomalous readings. If I mixed it up with a bunch of other tacky jewelry, you’d never be able to pick it out of the box.”

“That is most disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. My brother’s magics are most cunning. I have summoned an enchantress who may be able to provide some insight into the mechanism by which it operates.”

“And I’ve got Reed Richards stopping by tomorrow to take a look at my results and run a few tests of his own. We’ll figure this out, Thor.”

“I appreciate your efforts, my friend. It is a shame the young woman ensnared by this sorcery was unwilling to accompany you. She may still be suffering from its effects, and she should be cared for.”

“Don’t worry too much about it. I’m sure the police will find her soon. Now that she doesn’t have this behind her, she’s not going to be at large long.” Tony ran his fingers through his hair. “I just wish I could make heads or tails of this. You said Asgardian science and magic are unified, but so far I’m running into a wall.”

“It may need to be worn to manifest itself.” Thor’s expression turned thoughtful. “If you wish, I could try putting it on.”

“That might not be the best idea, Thor,” Natasha said quickly, looking up from the display she was monitoring. “If it’s capable of possessing whoever tries to use it...”

“Excellent point,” Tony agreed. “The magician who likes smashing my stuff putting in a new appearance in the middle of my best lab would be bad news. We should move a few things onto the roof and try it there.”

“Tony!”

“I believe I can contain my brother, should it come to that,” Thor told her.

“The last time you saw him, he tried to kill you,” Natasha reminded him.

“He was not himself, Natasha. He was unhinged by grief and the shock of his true parentage. If I had been there to steady him--”

“It’s still not a chance you should be taking. Not until your expert has had a chance to look at it.”

Thor deflated slightly. “I understand your concern. We will wait.”

“Spoilsport,” Tony grunted, turning back to the offensively benign object in question. “I bet Phil would let us do it.”

“Feel free to ask him, then,” she said sweetly. “Just as soon as he gets back from assignment. In another couple of weeks.”

“The joy you take in setting me up just to knock me back down is unseemly, Widow.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Stark.” Tony scowled at her, and she beamed at him. “I’m just stating the facts.”

“Really, though, how hard could it be? Jones managed to figure it out, and she can barely walk a straight line half of the time.”

“That’s assuming that Jones was nominally in control of this,” Natasha pointed out. “We don’t know anything about her from before she had the ring. She may have been a normal kid before she put it on, and it’s been running the show the whole time.” Tony snorted. “I know, I know. I wouldn’t put money on it, but it’s a possibility. You should also consider that encounter with the other magician. You remember, when someone she beat with one hand tied behind her back tossed you around like a ragdoll?”

Tony made a face at her. “He never would have gotten that far if I’d been aware of what I was getting into before I engaged.”

“A mistake you seem strangely intent on repeating,” she said archly.

“Friends, please,” Thor cut in. “I fear this artifact may already be having some effect on us. Calm yourselves.”

Tony and Natasha locked eyes, then deliberately relaxed and turned back to their respective tasks.

“Sorry,” Tony muttered. “You’re right. We have too many variables for this to be safe.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses.” Tony rolled his eyes, and she ignored it.

Clint tapped a pen against the paperwork he was nominally filling out.

“You know,” he finally ventured, “it seems like the easiest thing would be to just find Jones and ask her. Her career’s over, she’s looking at a stack of felony charges a mile high, and she’s made more than a few really dangerous enemies. She’s going to be looking to make a deal, and pretty much the only thing she’s got is either how to use that ring or the excuse that she doesn’t remember anything. You’ve got the cops looking for her, okay, but maybe we should put out the word that we’re willing to work with her. Maybe she’d come to us, save us some time.”

“Not a bad idea,” Tony admitted. “Natasha?”

“I have no problem with finding her sooner rather than later,” she said with a shrug. “Send it up the chain.”

Chapter Text

Lucy looked at the grenades in her hands, wondering precisely where her idyllic little vacation had disappeared to. Two pairs of footsteps rattled along the grating above her. She pulled the pins out, tossed them, and dove for cover. Cover she didn’t particularly need, but it didn’t hurt to keep up appearances. The explosion blew out every window in the building, reduced those two particular henchmen to hamburger, and left her picking bits of hired goon out of her hair. She groaned. She hated grenades, but they had been the only useful thing left on the corpse of the first mercenary she’d shot tonight. They were too messy and too noisy; the blast had also drawn the rest of them to investigate. She needed to find their boss, and she needed to make him tell her how the fuck they kept finding her. If nothing else, leaving a pile of dead mercs behind wherever she went was going to have SHIELD breathing down her neck.

She’d had a quiet trip until Louisiana, at which point her life had turned into a non-stop game of murder-tag, with seemingly every nasty motherfucker she’d ever hit back or refused to work for or reined in hard coming out of the woodwork with the express intention of finishing her off. As much as she’d altered her appearance, there was no way they’d made her off surveillance or happenstance. After the first attempt, she’d been more circumspect about travelling, to no avail. It was like they had a GPS directing them right to wherever she happened to be, which she found rather unlikely. She knew they were getting pretty advanced, but she was reasonably sure they still couldn’t give directions to abstract concepts like ‘revenge’ or ‘true love.’ And convenient as it might be to preempt every knife waiting for her to turn her back, this was not what she had planned on doing with her time.

Lucy bit her lip, thinking. She could feel the crew leader crouched behind a half-demolished brick wall on the other side of the courtyard. She recognized his aura. She’d met him before. He’d done wetwork for HYDRA before striking out as an independent contractor. She’d never crossed him directly; this had to be a paying job. She slipped out the back door as the rest of the squad burst through the front, leaving a primed grenade belt to take care of them. She kept the building between the leader’s position and herself, then darted to the wall and pulled herself over. She could circle around him now, stick to the shadows, and take him by surprise. He was in it for the money; there was no way he’d prefer taking a bullet to talking. She drew her gun and got as close as stealth would take her, then threw a rock over the wall, aiming carefully for just past his location. He sprang into action, moving quickly to cover the source of the sound, and she slipped up behind him.

“Drop it and put your hands up,” she snapped. He stiffened and then reluctantly let his weapon fall. She plucked his sidearm and another grenade from his belt and tossed them behind her, then kicked away the uzi he’d dropped and fell back a pace. “Turn around, and get down on your knees.”

He obeyed slowly, his face sullen.

“Okay, buddy, I want to know how you people keep finding me. None of you fucksticks are good enough to do this on your own.”

“I’m not telling you nothing.”

“I’m not above shooting you in both legs and leaving you to crawl for help,” she said cheerily.

He scowled. “My boss gave me this thing. It works like a compass. Said it would lead us to you.”

“Who’d your boss get it from?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Probably not the answer you want to be giving right about now,” she cautioned him, her eyes glinting. “You still got it on you?”

“Yeah.” His hand moved to his pocket.

“Slowly,” she snarled, keeping her gun pointed square at his chest. “Very, very slowly.”

He pulled out a small medallion that did indeed look like a compass. She recognized the work, but not the intent behind it. She’d never given Morgan le Fay cause for any sort of ill feeling. The list of motives she could come up with began and ended with ‘to be an asshole.’ What the hell was the half-elf wench playing at?

“Okay, guy, let’s try this again. So somebody makes this thing, and then what? Approaches your boss with it? Offers to sell it? Or did your boss commission it? Is your boss working with anyone else? Because I gotta tell you, I have been doing a lot of this in the past week. And given how hard you people typically find it to come up with one workable-if-bad idea in any given time frame, I find it really, really difficult to believe that you all had the same idea at the same time independently of each other.”

“I don’t know anything. I got the call, boss had a job, end of story. He didn’t say why, or who else was involved, and I didn’t ask.”

“So you basically come with less information than a standard smart missile. Good to know. Are you staring at my tits?” she demanded, exasperated.

His eyes snapped back to her face. “No!”

“Dude, I just wiped out your whole fucking crew, and you’re staring at my tits. I mean, admittedly, they’re great tits, but I’ve met lemmings with better sense than that. Your whole crew, dude. Dead.” With the exception of the one who had been in charge of tech support, who was now trying and failing to sneak up behind her.

He shrugged. “They were a pick-up team.”

“Not exactly the point I was trying to make, douchebag. It's like you're actively trying for a closed-casket funeral,” Lucy snapped. “So, you don’t know anything else. Great. Who’s your boss?”

“Not telling.” He grinned at her, and her patience finally ran out. The lone back-up goon coming up behind her tripped over something that hadn’t been there a moment before and twisted her ankle badly. He lunged at her as his would-be rescuer went sprawling, and Lucy shot him twice in the chest. He wound up on the ground, twitching and clutching at the impact site. Even with a vest, getting shot hurt like hell. He’d be feeling that for a while. Lucy snatched up the compass and stuffed it in her pocket She might be able to short out the rest if they’d been made in a batch, or baffle the spell if she could tease it apart.

“Fucking cockmongers,” she hissed to herself. “I am just going to set everything on fire and go live with the polar bears.” She raised her voice so that he could hear her. “Consider yourself lucky I don’t finish you off right fucking here.”

His comrade picked herself up and began hobbling toward him, and Lucy ran for their truck. It’d likely be some time before they reported their failure; he’d want to be mobile and in fighting shape again in case a mop-up team was dispatched to make an example out of them. She hotwired the truck and tore off. If she could get some breathing room, she could get a good look at this new bit of grit in the gears and come up with a plan for taking care of it.

*****

Lucy leaned back and let her eyes sweep the crowded dance floor appreciatively. She’d finally gotten the compasses disabled. Granted, it had taken a hijacked particle accelerator and a crate of non-dairy creamer, but she’d done it. How le Fay had managed to wreak so much havoc with one drop of her blood was still something of a mystery, but she’d picked up a few very clever ideas from the construction of the artifact. Why le Fay had wanted to wreak so much havoc in the first place, on the other hand, remained a complete mystery. Lucy could only assume there were some obscure immortal jerkoff reasons to which she was not privy. It wasn’t completely beyond credibility that she’d stomped on Morgan’s fragile faerie toes by accident in the process of wrecking somebody else’s day, but nothing sprang immediately to mind.

The bass beat of a new song made the entire club throb, and some of the dancers on the floor cheered. Lucy smiled into her drink. She needed to stay on her guard, but she hadn’t had to dodge any attempted assassinations since ambushing the last two from a hospital bed. Faking a serious injury for a surveillance camera and then checking in with a minor injury and waiting for the inevitable follow-up with a pair of pistols ready to go had turned out to be a surprisingly effective tactic. The shift nurses had not been best pleased by the result, though.

Lucy locked eyes with a tall brunette from across the floor. The woman smiled, then looked away shyly. When Lucy smiled back, she motioned for her to come over, miming a few exaggerated dance moves. She grinned. Things were looking up, indeed. She made her way over to the woman, shimmying through the crowd and sidling up to her. The short red dress clung to her curves and emphasized every move she made. After a few songs, she pulled Lucy close and murmured something that might have been a name in her ear, then asked if she wanted to go someplace more private.

It seemed only natural that the ‘someplace more private’ had turned out to be a motel room full of assassins. Lucy sighed. The prick obviously calling the shots was even wearing an eyepatch. She supposed it was at least something that he didn’t have a white cat in his lap or an extraneous cyborg bodyguard or a henchwoman in a ridiculously impractical and revealing uniform.

“The thing that sets me apart from most of my colleagues is that I believe in working smarter, not harder,” the young man purred. “I just had to find a hooker who looked like all your worst instincts wrapped up in a bow, and you came straight to me.”

“Wow. Really? You went there?” Lucy asked, her eyebrows going up. “That’s just dickish, man.” She shook her head. “Well, why don’t you pay the lady so she can leave, and we’ll get down to whatever the fuck we’re going to be doing here.”

“Pay the lady? Paying the lady isn’t in the budget, and leaving witnesses isn’t in the game plan, I’m afraid.” He threw back his head and laughed, and Lucy wondered how long he’d spent practicing that in a mirror before he’d trotted it out in front of company. Probably a while. She crossed her arms. The woman--Lucy kicked herself for not making sure she got her name right, at least she’d have something to call her now that she needed reassurance--looked terrified.

“He said you were his ex, he said he needed some proof for divorce court, oh god, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she stammered. Lucy shushed her.

“If it’s not in the budget, then allow me.” She slipped a roll of cash from her jacket pocket and started flipping through it. “How much did he promise you for this job? $200? $300?” They all stared at her. “$400?” The woman made a noise. “$400, then. Plus,” she added a few more bills, “another $200 to pretty please with sugar on top not call the fucking cops when you leave, because me and the king of no depth perception here have some things to settle, and it would be nice if we could do that without the police catastrophically de-escalating the situation.”

Lucy held out the cash, and the woman took it mechanically, her eyes glazing over as one of the henchmen raised his gun.

“Killing an escort isn’t going to get you on the cover of Villains Monthly, bro,” Lucy observed, her lip curling into a sneer.

“Fine. I can give you one last chance to play the hero. You’re very good at that, for someone who’s supposed to be on the other team,” he chuckled, a cold smile settling onto his face. “Off she goes.”

The man with his gun trained on the woman pulled her to the door and shoved her out it without further ceremony.

“You call the cops, you’re fucking dead,” he snarled before slamming it and returning to his post.

“There. Was that so hard?” Lucy asked, her eyes flickering from one hired thug to the next. Six men, no special skills except for an unusual comfort with senseless violence, no kevlar, no extra ammo. Eyepatch made seven, and was completely unarmed with the exception of his razor-sharp intellect and unarmored but for his truly astonishing layer of overconfidence. “So that was the first order of business. I think the second order of business would be why you have the Black Widow tied to a motel chair. I mean, not to offer advice unasked-for, but I think that chair came off the assembly line having seen better days, and you’re using it to contain a super-spy. Might not be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

“Jones, Jones, Jones.” Romanoff’s head snapped around, her eyes immediately on Lucy’s face. Measuring. Studying. Committing to memory. Eyepatch, you motherfucker, Lucy thought. No avoiding SHIELD now, not without a lot more effort. “You seem to be laboring under a very deep misapprehension of your situation.”

“No, I think I’m on the right page. You somehow wound up with the Black Widow in your custody, and then you discovered that her only weakness is, conveniently enough, shittily-constructed cheap-ass roach-motel furniture, and now you’re going to get a promotion. Or, I guess, nobody ever thought of tying her up and then tying her to something. You’re an innovator, congratulations.”

“You know, I was going to make your death as quick and painless as I could, just out of common courtesy. I’m rather swiftly changing my mind about that.”

“Yes, yes, my death will be an example to all your enemies, and your boss--who I can only assume has two eyepatches and metal teeth, so that everyone knows he’s more evil than you--will present you with a trophy for most improvement since last employee evaluation. Your future is bright.” She flashed him a brittle grin and stuck her hands in her pockets. “Your star is rising. You’re shooting straight to the top.” Her phone buzzed. “Can you excuse me for a second? I should probably take this.” She clicked a button. “Jones speaking.”

They all stared at her. Romanoff’s glare was almost weaponized. Eyepatch’s mouth was hanging open, and he didn’t notice the questioning glances his underlings were sending his way. For my next magic trick, I'll be stunning the entire audience into inaction.

“White, yes, good to hear from you. No, I’m kind of in the middle of something right now. Okay. Okay. Look, you know how I said don’t come calling me when the secret president of Canada is kicking down your front door? I actually did mean that. That lady is terrifying. There’s not enough money on the planet--oh. No, that, uh, that’s a lot more money than I thought you’d be offering. That would be enough. But I’m kind of between powers right now, so I probably couldn’t really earn it. Tell you what, you should give the Anti-Pope a call. Say you’ve been moved to make a substantial gift to the Church and desperately need his guidance on an action against the heretic. He and the Negasynod should be able to get the secret president to back off.” She paused and rolled her eyes irritably.

“No, I’m not fucking with you. Why would you even think I was fucking with you? I mean, come on, who are you calling me for help with? And who was right about that being a real thing? Yeah, me, motherfucker. So you can just can it with your ‘are you fucking with me’ questions. Call the fucking Anti-Pope and get this shit done. Just two things, though. One, whoever’s wearing the pope-hat is the Anti-Pope. Well, they’re all clones, so that’s how you can tell. They trade off every so often. Whoever’s in the hat is the Anti-Pope, everybody else is the Negasynod. Don’t call any of the others Your Unholiness, even if they were just wearing it. Two, and I cannot stress this enough, no infallibility jokes. I don’t even fucking know, dude, but there is something about that particular topic that turns them completely fucking feral. I saw somebody tell one around them once, and their eyes just turned black. Then they pack-attacked him, bit his face, and tore his fucking throat out with their teeth. It was unbelievable. What?” She snorted. “No, I’m not trying to get you killed. They’re great, so long as you remember those two things. It shouldn’t be that hard. I mean, if you met the regular pope, you wouldn’t start snarking about catechism, would you? Of course you wouldn’t. Just take the same basic precautions around the evil pope as you would with pope classic, is what I’m saying. Cool. Go get ‘em, White. Show that Canadian shadow government it can’t just have our robot presidents shot in the face at a second-rate play.”

She hung up and slid her phone back into her pocket. “Sorry about that. You know how unfinished business is, though. Always cropping back up at the least opportune moment. Now, I think you were threatening me with a protracted death?”

Eyepatch scowled at her. “I swear to god, after that, I’m going to beat you to death with a sack full of oranges.”

“Right.” Lucy nodded to herself. “On to step three, then.”

She popped a pair of pistols out of her jacket and squeezed each trigger three times. The henchmen hit the floor, dead. Both guns came to rest on Eyepatch. Romanoff jumped as much as her bonds would allow, then swallowed and stilled with visible effort.

“So, Baron von Monocle, let’s talk about how you managed to track me here.”

“HYDRA’s got your new face on file. You’re not going to get away with that stunt you pulled in New York,” he hissed, his face pale.

“The stunt I pulled in New York on their break-away no-affiliation gone-rogue splinter cell? The stunt I pulled in New York that they shouldn’t give a shit about? That stunt?”

His jaw muscles twitched.

“That stunt, then. And they sent you and the saddest goon squad I’ve seen in a while to make sure I didn’t get away with it?”

“I took the initiative. Somebody had to.”

“You took the....Well, I guess that would be why this little operation wasn’t up to even HYDRA’s typically lax standards.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you, dude. I’ve been on a magical mystery tour of the vast and amateurish underbelly of crime for the past three weeks, and I can officially fucking certify you as the worst yet. You are bad at your job. If you weren’t so awful at everything, I might be insulted specifically at the way you assume that ‘no powers’ automatically translates into ‘harmless.’ I mean, look at you. Did you bring a gun? No. Did your boys armor up? No. Did you spend some time finding a professional killer who met your exacting ‘bad idea alert’ standards to lure me here? No. Did you involve a civilian unnecessarily? Yes. Did you involve SHIELD no matter what the outcome is? Yes. Are you going to end up dead in a ditch with no one to mourn you? Yes.”

“You talk big, but when I find you again, I’m going to--”

Lucy rolled her eyes and pulled the triggers. He flopped to the ground with a wet thud.

“You didn’t need to do that,” Romanoff said quietly.

“Villain rules, my dear Widow, villain rules. He was going to kill that woman, and he was going to kill me, and he was going to at least give killing you the old college try. Even if I were inclined to let him walk on the first two counts, which I'm not, HYDRA would just wind up killing him and dumping him in front of a SHIELD outpost over the third. This is just slightly more efficient.” She unscrewed her silencers and tossed the guns down. “I am sorry if this fucks up whatever job you’re out here doing, but if it's any consolation, it’s not really what I had planned on doing with my night, either. And I assume you can in fact get yourself loose? I’d offer to untie you, but then you’d just try to arrest and/or kill me. I’m not sure I’m good enough to beat you anymore, and I’m positive I’m not good enough to beat you without putting you in the hospital, which I’d really prefer to avoid because, you know, unnecessary stupidity. Coulson. SHIELD. You.”

Romanoff snorted. “You’re not good enough to beat me at all.”

“Well, then. I’ll just be taking my leave.”

“Wait,” the Widow said quickly. “Let me bring you in. We can cut a deal. We need to know how the ring works.”

“How the....Seriously? You want me to tell you how the ring works?” Lucy laughed. She had a fantastic mental picture of Stark screaming at an electron microscope for not revealing the arcane wonders of a gold-plated pawn shop special to him. He’d probably been running tests on that thing non-stop since he’d stolen it from her. Served him right.

“Turn yourself in, work as an asset, and tell us how the ring works. You could have a clean record.”

“Listen to yourself,” Lucy chuckled, shaking her head. She circled the spy so that Romanoff could see her more easily. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Jones, you’ve killed what, eighty people in two weeks?”

“Eighty murderers,” Lucy corrected. It had been more than that, but she thought Romanoff probably didn’t need to hear about it.

“How long do you think you can keep this up? HYDRA’s gunning for you. Now that they know what you really look like and that you can’t defend yourself, they’re not going to stop. You’re going to die. SHIELD is not ungrateful for what you’ve done in the past, and we’re willing to overlook some of your less savory pastimes. Come in from the cold.”

“Huh.” Lucy smoothed her hair back and puffed out her cheeks. “How to put this? I appreciate the offer. I do. I know SHIELD doesn’t extend its hand that often. But, here’s how I see it. My enemies only have so many disposable assassins on the payroll. I’ve done pretty well so far, and, unpleasant as killing terrible people in terrible motel rooms is, I think I can keep this up for a while yet. And besides that, whatever delusions this asshole was operating under, not being okay with setting orphanages on fire or machine-gunning villagers or hunting nuns for sport does not translate into ‘playing hero.’ I would make an absolutely, ridiculously awful good guy. If there’s a way bringing doughnuts for the break room and providing operational outlines on enemy organizations could result in a three-alarm fire and an international incident, I’m pretty sure I could find it in under twenty-four hours. Get Coulson to show you his spreadsheet on how much me ‘helping’ has cost the free world to date sometime. It’s depressing. I cost just the US about twice as much as I pay in taxes.”

“You pay taxes?”

“Of course I pay taxes. You say that like it’s the most unbelievable thing you’ve ever heard out of my mouth.” Lucy glared at her. “Most importantly, however, I don’t know how the fucking ring works. I put it on, and violà, instant power. It didn’t come with an instruction manual or an introductory DVD or a registration card with a 1-800-HELP line. If it ain’t working for you guys, I wouldn’t even know where to begin troubleshooting.”

“I see,” Romanoff said flatly.

“I’d hope so. I really do need to be going, though, because I’d like to avoid being hit with that chair when you get out of it, and I’m sure you have back-up on the way. Hopefully, this is the last you’ll be seeing of me. Take care, Romanoff.”

She bowed with a flourish before sweeping from the room and into the night.

Chapter Text

Fury took a deep breath. “So, just to review--and please do tell me if I miss anything--we have an alien prince, who is the sole heir to the throne of what can legitimately be called gods, unconscious and near death for unknown reasons. This was done by a sorceress called Amora, about whom we know next to nothing else, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. She has absconded with a powerful magic artifact, about which we also know nothing else, that Stark took off one Lucy Jones, ex-wizard, who is currently unavailable for interview because she is busy remorselessly slaughtering her way through half of our list of exceptionally violent offenders.” He paced around the table, everyone tracking his movement as if hypnotized by a serpent about to strike. “Not that that isn’t more than enough, but has anything else gone wrong while I’ve been gone? Because, boys and girls, now is definitely the time to tell me if it has.”

Natasha straightened suddenly. “We may have Jones at least.”

She tapped an image on her tablet, and it appeared on the larger screen. A short, bored-looking blonde with an AK-47 was blowing a large pink bubble with her gum in the background. In the foreground, a hooded figure in a skull mask was arguing with a man in ecclesiastical garb. “She was taking a pass on this job when I saw her in Fresno. That’s the Anti-Pope, and that’s Tony Masters. Masters is on our payroll.”

“Excellent work, Romanoff. Get a current location on her. Even if she genuinely can’t shed a single solitary ray of light on this mess with Thor, we can at least keep the mass murder to a minimum. And Coulson, Romanoff--I trust your instincts on this one. Maybe she doesn’t know a goddamn thing about that ring, but she’s spent half her life hip-deep in this bullshit. She knows more than she’s saying, and she’s as close to an expert as we can corral right now. Put together a team capable of handling her as soon as you have coordinates. I want her in hand ASAP.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Banner, Stark, Pym--where are we on Thor’s medical condition?”

Hank ran his hands through his hair. “Not good, but he’s stabilized, at least for now. We haven't seen further deterioration in over twelve hours. One of his Asgardian warriors, Fandral, has gone back to Asgard for one of their own healers. Still no progress on narrowing down a cause or a cure. The other three are standing watch in case of further attack. They’ve confirmed that there’s not much anyone on-planet can do against Amora. Fortunately, she’s hasn’t done anything further. Unfortunately, none of them are magic-users themselves, so there’s not much they can tell us about what she did or how she did it, and we're out of luck if she does start hitting. We’re still trying to run down a handful of our contacts who might be better-versed in this sort of thing, but nothing’s turned up so far.”

“Not the answer I was looking for, gentlemen. Keep working. Dismissed.” He stalked from the room, and Hill fell into step beside him.

“I still can’t believe that’s what Jones really looks like,” Tony said, tilting his head to look at the still. “She’s so...roly-poly. Like a puppy. Maybe she just needs a hug.”

“Stark?” Natasha called, tapping the table sharply. He turned to look at her. “She’s racked up a triple-digit body count, 6% of which occurred right in front of me. She didn’t bat an eye before dropping any of them. She’s fast, she’s a crack shot, and she’s got a few screws loose. Try to keep that in mind. She’s the exact same person we’ve been butting heads with all along, except the kid gloves are off and she’s traded in the fireworks for bullets. No attempting to hug her.”

“Everyone knows villain-fights don’t count,” he protested. “Back me up on this, Steve.”

Steve blinked at him. “Not sure I follow.”

“Well, you spent the entire war shooting bad guys, right? It doesn’t count.”

“Not quite the same thing, Tony,” Steve said tightly. Clint shook his head.

“If she was taking a pass on this job a week ago, what’s she doing in the middle of it now?” he asked, distracting Tony before he argued the point.

“Serving as a liaison, most likely,” Natasha replied, pulling up the relevant report and copying it onto everyone’s tablets. “Her previously unsuspected aptitude for starting and then winning gun-fights notwithstanding, she doesn’t fit the bill for a heavy anymore. But she’s worked with all of these people before, and she knows what they do and how they operate. My guess is that she’s switched from muscle to fixer.”

“Why is half of this is redacted?” Steve asked.

“Because Jones runs in very interesting and need-to-know circles when she’s not busy annoying us, committing extremely unambitious felonies, defying the laws of nature, and falling off of things,” Coulson answered. He added a note to review his files.

“Did you know about any of this, Phil?” Jan asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Given Jones’s habit of making up ridiculous things on the fly, trying to ‘know’ anything about her based on what she says about her activities is interesting as a thought experiment but not much else,” Natasha cut in. “Masters worked with her, and he clearly didn’t believe her about either any of the redacted material or the Anti-Pope.”

Phil shot Jan a quick smile and then turned to the rest of the table. “Banner, I need you with whatever team Natasha puts together.” The spy tensed but didn’t protest. Bruce frowned, frustrated, but followed her lead. “The only card we have to play with Asgard is that it was one of their own who did this. We need better cards, and that ring is what kick-started everything. We need Jones in here and talking. In the event that she’s lying about being depowered, which everyone please keep in mind is a distinct possibility, the Hulk is the only thing we have that’s got a shot at containing her. Given her recent propensity for shooting to kill, containing her is a priority.”

Tony snorted. “You don’t actually think she could be faking this, do you? This would be a lot of effort to go through, and for what?”

“We’re talking about a woman who once turned every animal in a DC petting zoo into a giraffe for no apparent reason,” Clint reminded him. “Half of her file is her going to a lot of trouble over nothing, or for something so obscure we were never able to link it back to her. She never even claimed responsibility for that day when every penguin on the planet could fly.”

“It’s not likely that she’s faking, no,” Phil agreed. “But nobody is going in after her without a back-up plan, just in case. Let me know when you’ve got your final roster. Hank, Jan, let me know the second Fandral returns. Tony, Steve, come with me. I need to show you something. Everyone else, keep me updated on any new developments.”

“Great,” Tony grumbled. “Something.”

*****

Lucy leaned back against the truck, chewing her gum and watching the numbers on the gas pump fly by. The sunlight was bright but thin, doing little to warm her. She pulled her jacket a little closer. That SHIELD was still looking for her was not unexpected. That Masters had been willing to field a request from them was not entirely unexpected. That Masters had sent her on a solo supply run that would conveniently take her to a remote area adjacent to a landing strip and then thought she wouldn’t have the brains to figure something was up? That stung. She topped off the tank and paid the clerk. That should get her at least another 150 miles between her and the airstrip in question, she thought. She hated leaving the job just as it was getting interesting--the secret president was willing to risk uncommunication and the double-reverse undoing of all fealty accorded her as vassal of the state in order to get her hands on that ledger--but it wasn’t like she was going to get to stick around no matter what happened.

She fumbled with the keys, then gasped and stumbled back in shock as the Hulk dropped out of the sky in front of her. He was even bigger than she remembered.

“Oh, come the fuck on!” she yelped. “We are 200 miles from any and everything. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Thor hurt,” he rumbled.

Oh, good fuck.

“Wasn’t me!”

He shook his massive head and moved toward her. She jumped back, trying to keep him from closing the distance. Not that it would help much. He was damned fast when he wanted to be. How had they gotten it into their skulls that she was worth sending the Hulk out over?

“Need magician.”

“Fuck off to a party planner, then,” Lucy snarled. She waved her hands at him and pointed at the lack of ring.

“Help,” he insisted.

“Okay. I strongly advise you to turn around, go find Dr. Strange, and see if he’s gotten his license to practice back yet.”

His eyes narrowed dangerously, and he huffed at her. She weighed her options quickly. She could blow her cover, teleport somewhere else, keep getting found because good luck ever getting SHIELD off her back if they thought she could avert catastrophe with a friendly extraplanetary dignitary, eventually wind up in a fight with the fucking Hulk anyway, and probably lose unless she could figure out a way to teleport him to Mars, because she was pretty sure there wasn’t really a way to hurt him. Not exactly a great fucking choice. Or she could keep her cover, play for time, see what they wanted, turn it to her advantage, get her fucking ring back, and go back to normal. Well, kick the shit out of everyone who’d tried to pounce on her while she was supposedly depowered, then go back to normal. Also, admittedly, not a spectacular option. Way too many things could go wrong during all that. But a better one, certainly. Pretty much anything that didn’t involve having to fight an atomic elemental counted as better. Pitching in with the prince if she could might not be a bad idea, either. Alien invasions over royal assassination attempts tended to be an ‘everybody’s problem’ sort of problem. It wasn't like she had another planet to pop off to it this one got fucked up. She forced herself to relax.

“You know what? Okay. Fine. I give.” She put her hands up. He lunged at her, his fingers closing on empty air as she scrambled into and then back out the other side of the truck bed with surprising speed. She hit the ground, rolled, and came up with a gun leveled at him. Not that it would do much more than upset him, but it was reflex at this point. He watched her, puzzlement verging into anger. “What the fuck was that?” she gritted. “I said I’ll go with you. You win.”

“Carry.”

“Yeah, no. You’re not carrying me. Call your bros to come pick us up.”

He glowered at her. “Hulk carry.”

“Nope. Who’s running this show? I’ll call them myself and have them pick us up.“ She holstered her pistol and pulled out her phone. “Happy? I’ll dial SHIELD for a ride. This is conceivably the most embarrassing thing I’ve done since losing my ring to Iron Man, of all possible fucking people. My pride has been mortally wounded. You can't see it right now, but rest assured, it's flopping around on the floor telling me to let its mother know it loves her. Let's not let its death be in vain, huh? Who do I call? Coulson? Widow? Hawkeye? Hill? Jennie the Intern?”

The Hulk shook his head and roared in frustration. Lucy took a cautious step back, keeping a sharp eye on him. He casually slapped the truck between them across the parking lot.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! That is not changing my mind about anything, dude. That is, if anything, putting me even farther off the idea of you picking me up.”

“Help Thor!”

“I can’t help anybody except the smaller variety of scavenger if I’m a wet smear on the pavement,” she said firmly. If it came down to an actual fight, there was no way her cover wasn’t getting blown. Normal people didn’t survive getting hit by the Hulk. Normal people also couldn’t vanish into thin air to avoid getting hit by the Hulk. “Now. Who do I call for a ride?”

He moved too fast for her to track, closing the distance between them and scooping her up in his arms as if she were a child. Her phone went flying, and she scrabbled for purchase against muscles like steel cables. “Shit!”

"Hold on," he grunted, crouching.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she hissed. He was going to jump. He was really going to jump. She snaked her arms around his neck as tightly as she could. He sprang skyward. Her nails dug into his skin, and every muscle in her body tensed. Lucy stared past them at the retreating ground, her stomach rebelling in a way it didn’t when she was doing far more reckless things under her own power. She concentrated on breathing, on pretending that she was just falling out of a plane again, on anything that might keep her from throwing up on the Hulk. I will not become a walking punchline, I will not become a walking punchline, I will not become a walking punchline...

The descent was more manageable. Falling, she knew. She could save herself from a fall. She was used to saving herself from a fall. The hard part was resisting the urge to do so as they grew closer and closer to the ground. Eventually she gave up, buried her face in his chest, and imagined the quiet depths of the ocean. I am the ceaseless and unending. I am the cycle of life and death and rebirth. I am the acceleration and suspension of time. I am under the frozen continents and above the gaping fires of their birth. I am rethinking my dedication to this ruse. I am going to find somebody with a time machine. I am going to go back in time and become a certified public accountant instead of a supervillain. I am going to go back in time and sabotage Banner’s academic career. Good luck turning yourself into the Hulk with an AA in dental hygiene from community college, you dick.

The impact of the landing was not as bone-jarring as she’d expected, given the impact crater. They were soaring upwards again before she had time to dread it. They were at the apex of the third jump when she heard the beat of wings and saw a condor-sized hummingbird made of the night sky gliding along beside them. Its heart was a quasar, and the one eye she could see was a coalescing disc of swirling gas and dust. Its slender, curved beak opened after a moment, about to speak. Lucy shook her head sharply. Not now, don’t fucking have time for this, save the euphoric revelations of cosmic wisdom for some other day, can’t you see I’m fucking busy here? The hallucination blurred and broke apart, its words unsaid. Her skin tingled with the cold of the rushing wind and the discharge of the vision’s power.

They landed within spitting distance of a tiny airstrip, barely missing the lone, rusting hangar, and she slid from his arms and leaned against his chest for support for a moment. The bird tugged at her mind. War. Death. The sun. It had been shrouded in darkness, though. What did it mean when it was submerged in the night? War, death, and the moon? Peace, love, and understanding? John Lennon coming back to life? She was fucking terrible at portents. It could mean that her library books were overdue and she’d left the stove on, for all she could remember. It was a common problem with revelations of deep wisdom experienced while, for instance, tripping balls and lost in a corn maze. They were easier to find but a mite harder to retain.

“Okay?” the Hulk breathed, brows furrowed. Whatever the fuck it meant, she had more immediate concerns.

She balled up her fist and hit him as hard as she could without resorting to magic. “You goddamned asshole! So help me, if you ever do anything like that again, I will find some new form of gamma radiation that undoes whatever it is you’ve got going on, use it on you, and then set you on fucking fire! Do you understand me?”

“Okay,” he grunted, patting her on the back. It was all she could do to keep her feet.

“That wasn’t an ‘okay, I understand you and won’t do that again’-okay, was it?” She scowled at him. “That was ‘you’re okay, you haven’t broken any bones’. And you know what--”

“Jones.”

“--I've got to say to that? Fuck you. I’m serious about that whole gamma--”

“Jones.”

“--thing. You pick me up again, I will find a way to murder you. You need me to figure out how to say ‘No picking me up!’ in Spanish? Because--"

“Jones.”

”--I will. It’s weird and unnerving, and I don’t particularly need a walking, talking monument to mankind’s science-based folly that far up in my personal space.”

“Jones.”

“What?” Lucy snarled, turning. “Oh.” She tried and failed to remember some of the Russian obscenities one of Masters’s mercenaries had cut loose with every time the Negasynod had done anything weird. “Nice to see you again, Black Widow.”

“I’m going to need you to turn around slowly, keep your hands in the air, and not make any sudden moves.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.” Lucy sighed and did as Romanoff had asked. The spy was flanked by two dozen fully-armored agents. Lucy had a tiny red dot hovering on her chest for every last one of them, too. If she’d really been magicless, she thought, she’d be deeply regretting that little lecture back in Fresno right about now. “You going to send a meat-shield over here to disarm me, or should I start throwing down my hardware?”

Romanoff’s eyes flickered ever so slightly. Lucy managed a big, fake grin. “Can I formally request the pretty lady on the right, then?”

“You can start by losing the gun in the small of your back, Jones. Slowly.”

Lucy smiled thinly. After several minutes, there was an impressive pile of weapons on the tarmac in front of her, and her coat and cargo pants were significantly less bulky. Several of the agents were beginning to look nervous. One of them swallowed an undignified noise when a grenade with large googly eyes glued to it joined the cache.

“Happy?” she asked finally.

“I’ll be happier when you add the brass knuckles in your left front pants pocket to that stack,” Romanoff answered. Lucy hesitated, then fished them out and held them up.

“This, I want back. Sentimental value. Mind holding onto it?”

“You’re not in a position to make demands,” she pointed out.

“One, I’m not making a demand. This is a request. If you like, I’ll even say please. Two, if you have an extradimensional god-king down for the count on your watch and need my help with him, I’d say that yeah, I kind of am in a position to make a few demands. I’m just not. Yet.” Her smile got a little bigger and brighter. “So, please, would you mind holding onto this for me, if you’re going to insist on me not carrying it myself?”

Romanoff’s expression turned poisonous, and she shot a glare at the Hulk. “Fine. Toss it over.”

Lucy put it at her feet with a soft underhand throw. She knelt and retrieved it, her eyes never leaving Lucy and her right hand never straying from her gun. She tucked it into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Lucy arched an eyebrow.

“You know I was a street magician even before I was a real magician, right?” she asked. Romanoff glowered at her. “I was really, really good. I mean, really good. I got arrested constantly, and I only ever made it to booking once. And I’m not saying that to be all ‘You’ll never get me back to base, I’m blowing this popsicle stand.’ I’m just pointing out that those are stupid and useless. I’m not going to try something with the lean green smashing machine standing right here, on account of having no interest whatsoever in being hit so hard that my bones fall out. It also turns out that I’ve got a terrible allergy to bullets.”

“You’re wearing a vest,” Romanoff reminded her.

“A vest that will stop, at best, the first couple to hit me. So, do we really have to do the whole handcuff thing? I’ll probably wind up just making it weird halfway through the flight, even though you’re really not my type.”

“Red-haired, armed, and willing to kill you?”

Lucy made a face. “I’d give my left tit for any of that to reliably put people out of the running.”

Romanoff gave her a measuring look. “You try anything, you make one wrong move, you look at someone funny, and I will personally put a round in the back of your skull.”

“Fair enough.”

“Glad we understand each other. Everybody on the transport.” She put the handcuffs away and gestured to the hangar. Lucy started when the Hulk’s hands settled on her waist.

“What did I say about picking me up?” she hissed.

“Jones!” Romanoff snapped.

Lucy scowled. “Fine. But I’m not going to fucking forget this, Banner.”

The Hulk grinned and lifted her, tucking her into the crook of his arm.

Chapter Text

Lucy flipped through the file again, her lips twisting. Romanoff was watching her closely, waiting for her to...she wasn’t sure. Neither was Romanoff. It looked like an even split between ‘answer the fucking question’ and ‘try to kill everybody,’ and the odd thing was that she’d be happier with the latter. The latter event, they had a playbook for. The transport plane’s engines hummed steadily. The other agents had not relaxed their alert in the slightest. Banner was still in his Hulk form, on top of which he was being remarkably calm for the monster. Romanoff was....Ah, that was it. She was waiting for something to go wrong. Lucy sighed. Not that she particularly blamed her. Of course, she didn’t feel particularly sorry for her, either. Her capacity for empathy had been rather hampered by the spy swiping her bulletproof vest, taking away her boots just because they’d set off the metal detector, making a face like it was killing her not to say something about the pink polish on her toenails, and telling the Hulk keep ahold of her. The Hulk shifted underneath her, and she elbowed him to no appreciable effect. She’d never have guessed the gamma monster was so fidgety.

“Well?” Romanoff prompted. Well, she’d been over the material they had given her twice now. Well, she wasn’t any closer to an answer.

“Well, it would be easier if you’d let me watch the surveillance footage from the attack,” Lucy grumbled. “This,” she tapped the sheaf of papers, “doesn’t tell me a whole fucking lot. Except that I’m still not a doctor and still don’t know what ‘subdural hematoma’ means or why it’s a good thing that there’s no sign of one.”

“I’m not giving you a tablet.”

“Fine. We’ll wait until we get there, then.” Lucy crossed her arms stubbornly. The effect was ruined by the massive green forearm across her waist, and she gave up after a moment. The sheer bulk of the Hulk made her look like a toddler in comparison, and she was sure her bare feet were not helping the impression. “I can at least say that everything you’ve seen fit to show me so far doesn’t exclude the possibility that I can help.”

She wasn’t going to know for sure until she actually fucking saw him, though. Lucy pushed her hair out of her face irritably. They were venturing a bit far afield of her experience. Alien magic and its effect on alien physiology was not something she’d had to worry about often. Hell, earth magic and its effect on alien physiology was not something she’d had to worry about often. In point of fact, she’d only really had to worry about it once, and that had been something of a nothing ventured, nothing gained situation. That didn’t appear to be the case here. Help was on the way, and might conceivably arrive in time.

And that was assuming it was alien magic, and not perfectly normal but undetectable by earth science injuries sustained during a fight between alien gods. Information on Asgardian biology was thin on the ground, which meant that it could hardly be taken for granted. The assumption that the problem was magical in nature was based purely on SHIELD’s doctors not being able to work up a diagnosis and the attacker having been one Amora the Enchantress. Lucy considered asking Romanoff if they’d verified that that wasn’t just a family or clan name. After all, it wasn’t like Stark’s suit was actually made of iron, and black widow spiders weren’t particularly well known for tasing people. If Amora was just from Enchantersville or some fucking thing, how the hell would they know? It didn’t sound like Asgard had exactly volunteered maps and demographic information. She noted the look on Romanoff’s face and thought better of making the inquiry.

Back to the beginning, then. Organize the information logically. He’d been out cold for seventy-three hours. Once they’d stabilized him, they’d seen no improvement and no further deterioration. As far as mortal medicine could determine, the injuries sustained during the assault had been superficial. They were, however, not healing. A note in Banner’s handwriting said that far more serious wounds had normally healed on their own within twenty-four to forty-eight hours. This had been observed by both his Asgardian companions and other Avengers. Lucy thought of the smashed arm he’d been sporting in New York. Good to know, but it did indicate that this was definitely not normal. Asgardian healers had been sent for but had yet to arrive. Interplanetary travel on demand was apparently not a science they’d perfected.

The surveillance system had recorded the entire fight. All observed injuries were consistent with blows landed during the scuffle. No energy or temperature fluctuations had registered. Magic was not an unreasonable conclusion to draw. Lucy frowned and thought of her own battles. The massacres of the past month notwithstanding, she’d always used magic. Using magic to hurl a brick at someone’s face did not imbue the brick with special properties. The result was precisely the same as hurling a brick at someone’s face using perfectly mundane means. Causing magical injuries...that took some extra effort. It was closer to a healing or a transformation or a curse. And it was generally wasted effort, unless the point was to be a colossal dick about it. She had yet to encounter a situation in which it was worth hexing somebody with an unhealing wound when the same amount of power and concentration, conventionally applied, would land them in the ICU without further ado. Why would Amora go to the trouble of putting him in a permanent coma when it would have been just as easy to incinerate him? It didn’t make sense.

Or rather, she amended, it didn’t make sense according to earth rules. Maybe there was some bizarre Asgardian honor code where permanent comas could be construed as not counting the same way blasting someone to ash would. The data from the surveillance recordings--which was surprisingly thorough, Stark’s technology seemingly much more reliable than its creator--showed no sign of an argument or any warning that the interaction would end in blows. Amora had gotten the drop on him completely and utterly.

Lucy closed the folder and tossed it back to Romanoff. So far she had a lot of questions and precisely zero answers.

“Help Thor,” the Hulk rumbled. The vibration of his chest against her back made her lungs itch. It was like nothing so much as listening to an alligator bellow.

“If I can,” she muttered, frowning. It was possible she wouldn’t be able to. If she couldn’t, and whatever the Asgardians had for EMTs couldn’t, maybe Mimir would finally get out of that tree after all. She stiffened. Goddammit. “Hey, Romanoff?”

The Black Widow looked up and tilted her head.

“What happened to that apple I gave them, back when HYDRA was tearing up the city?”

“Nothing. It’s been sitting in a safe since then, because nobody is stupid enough to try to use a gift from you. Why?”

“No reason.”

Romanoff fixed her with a sharp look, but she didn’t push the issue. Lucy relaxed again. Just two more hours before they touched down. She’d be within striking distance of her ring. She’d get a good look at SHIELD headquarters. Maybe she’d even take a serious whack at fixing Thor, out of the goodness of her heart, and...who the fuck was she kidding? She knew how this was going to go. Badly. Very, very badly.

She was going to get her ring back, and get a good look at SHIELD headquarters, and then something was going to go wrong. Horribly wrong. When did it ever not? The way her luck was running, it was going to shake out like the time she’d turned Namor’s bikini briefs into proper pants. She’d probably spend the next six months getting into slapfights with penguins again. If fortune smiled, maybe--maybe--she’d at least wind up hitting someone she didn’t feel bad about hitting. Alien sorceresses, for instance. The photo in the file showed a woman who was pretty, yes, but hardly to the point that Lucy would feel worse about fighting her than she had about punting a horde of honor-avenging Gentoo penguins off a beach and into predator-infested waters. After all, she’d ambushed somebody who was supposedly an ally and stuck him in a coma, which was a little underhanded, whereas Gentoos were little and adorable and easily bribed, which more than made up for the surprising amount of internecine backstabbing they did.

Lucy drummed her fingers on the Hulk’s arm. It was hardly inconceivable that if she decided to reverse the spell, she was going to have to get into it with the original spellcaster. She should probably figure out a contingency plan that didn’t involve pretending get knocked out and then quietly crawling out a back door once nobody was paying attention. She was pretty sure Coulson was on to that one, anyway, and it was only marginally more effective than hitting opponents with chairs and accusing them of liking Nickelback.

*****

“Tasha’s got Jones,” Clint announced to the nearly-empty conference room at large. Phil nodded without tearing his eyes away from a status report by a team looking for Amora, and Hank paused on his way out the door. “ETA 2100.” He clicked the attachment she’d sent along with the news. “And...we might want to villain-proof the sickbay.”

“Why, what...” Hank stopped, glancing at the screen over Clint’s shoulder. His eyes widened. “That’s a grenade, isn’t it?”

“No, that’s a grenade with googly eyes glued to it,” Clint said appreciatively. His focus softened for a moment.

“No,” Phil said, looking up from his computer.

“No, what?”

“No, you cannot stick googly eyes on any of your arrows.”

“How did you--”

“I know that look.”

Clint sighed, then brightened again.

“No sticking googly eyes on anyone else’s equipment either,” Phil warned.

“But--”

“We’re trying to cultivate a certain amount of professionalism here, Hawk,” Phil pointed out gently. “And Tony might make good on one of his threats to put you through a wall if he walked into his lab and found giant cartoon eyes stuck to the helmet of the Mark VIII. I can’t afford to have you in the hospital for week right now.”

“Is letting someone who sticks googly eyes on grenades anywhere near Thor when he’s vulnerable really the best idea?” Hank looked askance at Phil. “This woman seems to be legitimately insane.”

“Does this look like the face of a legitimately insane person to you?” Clint asked, holding up a full-screen display of the Hulk holding a sullen woman in his lap. “She’s not even wearing any shoes. And see? She’s only flipping off the camera with one hand.”

“Why is she not in restraints?” Hank asked plaintively.

“Probably because the Hulk is more effective.”

Phil sighed. “Hank, I understand your concerns. I share most of them, in fact. But unless you and Tony have made any headway with Thor’s condition, the Asgardian healers have arrived, or Amora has been captured, we don’t have a lot of options right now. If it turns out she can’t do anything, we funnel her into the court system.”

“You know, until her inevitable escape,” Clint added.

“You’re not helping, Barton,” Hank grumbled.

“Why don’t you two go do a sweep of any areas she’ll need access to and make sure everything she could use to start trouble is either secured or removed?” Phil suggested firmly. He opened a comm line to Natasha as they trooped out, Hank still looking less than convinced.

“Romanoff.” Natasha’s tone was clipped and slightly strained a way that usually indicated a little too much time trying to wrangle Tony.

“This is Agent Coulson. Would it be feasible for me to speak with Jones?”

He heard a distinct “Hi, Coulson!” yelled from the background, followed by a heavy sigh from Natasha.

“How much grief has she been giving you?” he asked sympathetically.

“Practically none, thanks to the Hulk, but she’s annoying and unpredictable and won’t give me a straight answer on whether or not she can help us. Basically about what we expected, only on a more advanced timetable thanks to the Hulk prematurely divulging information.”

“Can you put me on with her?”

There was a long pause. “Hi, Coulson. If you missed me this much, you could have just called.”

“Jones. You’ve been busy.”

“Well, you know. I try to keep myself occupied. Idle hands and all.”

“Fury’s not exactly happy about how you’ve been keeping yourself occupied.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. I mean, opposition infighting with minimal civilian involvement and no collateral damage must be hell on you guys. I bet there’s been a rash of people making it home on time and everything. Oh, god. Don’t tell me--somebody actually got to take a previously-scheduled vacation, didn’t they? Coulson, I’m so sorry. I never meant for it to go that far.”

“Jones.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you please be serious for once in your life?”

“That’s kind of a tall order given the inherent ludicrousness of my current situation. I’m using a radiation-powered bioweapon of mass destruction as a booster seat. But I can give it a shot.”

“Do you think there’s anything you can do for Thor? Because we’re looking at the possibility of armageddon if you make this worse, and I can practically guarantee that Fury isn’t going to let you survive it.”

“Yeah, yeah. I fuck this up, I get shot twenty-odd times and thrown out the back of a plane somewhere over the Pacific. I get it. Like I told Romanoff, I’m not going to know until I see him. Maybe I can do something, maybe I can’t do anything, maybe it’s not even fucking magic. This is not, as they say, standard curriculum. But here’s the thing, Phil. Can I call you Phil? Never mind. Calling you Phil would be weird, even if you were down with it. Anyway, as I was saying, the thing is, I’m going to need my fucking ring back.”

Phil closed his eyes for a moment and massaged his temples. “I’m afraid that’s not on the table, Jones.”

“So put it on the table.” There was a hard edge to her voice that he hadn’t heard in a while. That hard edge usually preceded something unpleasant.

“The ring is no longer in our possession.”

“You seriously expect me to believe that SHIELD relinquished control of something it stole fair and square to an outside agency? Also, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you guys are kind of an army. I’m pretty sure you could get it back if you got really interested in getting it back. Which maybe you should consider becoming, if you expect me to be able to do jack shit for you.”

“It’s currently in the hands of Thor’s assailant.”

“What the fuck.” Phil could practically hear her train of thought derailing.

“He was injured during the course of the theft.”

“Amora stole my ring.”

“That’s correct.”

“Why?”

Phil’s eyes narrowed. Now that was an interesting question. “I don’t know, Jones. Why wouldn’t she want a powerful magical artifact?”

She sputtered for a few moments.

“Is this where you call me a mundane peasant again?” he asked pleasantly.

“No.” He could hear her take a deep breath on the other end of the line. “I suppose I kind of had this coming for not asking this right off the bat, but this Amora lady, she is actually a sorceress, right? That’s not just something people call her because she was really good at track and field or stabbing people or card tricks or flashing her tits at sporting events or whatever the fuck they do for kicks in Asgard? She already does magic?”

“Yes, she’s a magic-user.”

“Okay, then, what the fuck does she need more magic for?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“I retract my previous statement about not calling you a mundane peasant again, you mundane peasant,” she growled. “Magic isn’t like munitions, or money, or--Banner, stop squeezing me, so help me I will find a way to hurt you--anything like that. It’s more like having a spring or a well. So, if somebody who has a spring or a well or a goddamned lake right there hijacks a truck full of bottled water, a sensible question to ask is what the fuck they need all that bottled water for, when they’ve got a fucking spring. So, what the fuck does she need my ring for if she’s already got enough power to lay your boy out flat?”

“Maybe if you behave yourself, you’ll get a chance to ask her once we’ve apprehended her,” Phil offered, thinking. “Put the Black Widow back on the line.”

“She never left, I’m on speaker-ph--”

“I’m here, Coulson.”

“We’re in a holding pattern until you get here or someone picks Amora back up. How’s Banner doing?”

“Like a kid with a teddy bear. It’s somewhat alarming.”

“We’re sitting right here. We can hear you,” Jones complained in the background.

“Better than the alternative,” Phil pointed out. “Just to warn you, Clint was more than a little taken with that pic you sent him.”

“I thought he might be.”

“He’s been explicitly ordered not to replicate it, but try not to stab him if he gets out of line. Stay sharp, Natasha.”

“Will do, Coulson. Romanoff out.”

Chapter Text

Lucy listened absently to the pilots’ chatter as the plane banked and began its descent. Everything was on track. They wouldn’t be smashing into the landscape. Hooray, she thought sourly. At least Banner had finally turned back into his more articulate self, and she’d gotten a proper seat with a proper harness.

She was torn between sulking over the fact that she wasn’t getting her ring back any time soon and wondering how any magician could be stupid enough to swipe it in the first place. Stark was understandable. He’d just keep running tests and running tests and running tests, hoping to crack the code. The null result would just spur him into greater investigative creativity. Amora should have been able to tell there wasn’t a goddamn thing about it that was special with a single glance. Of course, if she could snooker Doom into stealing it and obsessing over the aetheric mysteries contained therein, it would at least be a hat trick. They touched down roughly, and Lucy got a closer look at the underground facility they were taxiing into. Clever camouflage. It was practically invisible from the air.

She had to admit to being a little excited in spite of herself. She’d been inside SHIELD facilities before, of course, but as a rule they’d been on fire, exploding, sinking into the earth, and/or being overrun with giant aardvarks. It occasionally hadn’t even been her fault, but, regardless of who’d been responsible, that sort of thing didn’t leave a lot of time for poking around, tinkering with sensitive equipment, or rooting through classified files. Or weaponizing the office plants. She thought for a moment. SHIELD seemed like peace lilies-and-ficuses type of organization. Peace lilies were, generally speaking, utterly worthless for anything beyond frustrating the people tasked with keeping them alive and looking nice. Ficuses, properly managed, could be taught to work door knobs, elevators, and simple firearms. Ficuses, she liked. The plane came to a stop, and the engines powered down. Lucy glanced around and found Romanoff watching her warily.

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“Is there a rule against smiling on a SHIELD base?” Lucy asked. “Seems like it would be a real morale killer. And I’d think you’d be thrilled that I’m happy. I’m way less destructive when I’m happy.”

“That’s not actually true,” Romanoff pointed out.

“It has yet to be empirically disproven,” Lucy sniffed.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Do I need a reason? This may come as a surprise to you, but I am generally a very cheerful person. I don’t, like, spend my days sitting at home and crying into my cereal when I’m not turning pigeons back into dinosaurs.”

“You’re aware that New Orleans is still infested with microraptors because of you, yes?” Banner snapped.

She shook her head. He was always cranky and jittery after a change; if his alter ego were just a touch less terrifying, she’d almost prefer the Hulk to him. The cargo bay ramp lowered, and half the agents proceeded down it, their weapons at ready. Romanoff and Banner stuck to her like glue.

“You act like it’s a problem,” Lucy said. “Microraptors are fucking awesome, in addition to being great on a po-boy with hot sauce. If anyone has a right to be mad, it’s Miami. They’ve got basilisks--which taste fucking terrible, by the way--falling out of the trees and sunbathing on car hoods and crawling in through pet doors and nobody to blame for it but themselves. I’m sure they’d like very much to be able to rail at a supervillain every time one of those stupid lizards gets stuck in a pool filter or a recycling bin instead of at their own lax regulations regarding the importation of exotic reptiles.”

“You afflicted a city with dinosaurs,” he retorted, herding her down the ramp. The remaining agents brought up the rear.

“See, you say I afflicted a city with dinosaurs. I say I rid a city of pigeons. That’s your problem, Banner--you have no ability to spin things. Why call it breaking Harlem when you can call it unscheduled, pro bono urban restructuring?” she asked brightly. “Well, I guess not, strictly speaking, pro bono. Ross’s little unauthorized medical experiment with that Soviet agent on loan from the UK probably drained a slush fund or two.” Banner made a slightly strangled noise, and Romanoff gestured sharply. The agents covering them fell back several paces. Lucy didn’t miss a beat. “Besides which, I refuse to be more upset about it than New Orleans is. Anything their chamber of commerce promotes heavily to tourists shouldn’t be something I can get in trouble over.”

“You never, ever shut up, do you?” Banner asked after a moment.

“Nope.” She flashed him a quick grin. “Makes playing possum a whole lot easier. Nobody thinks to check for a pulse. They just assume if I’m not talking, I must be dead. HYDRA agents do kind of the same thing, only with little Alka-Seltzer tabs. Once enough of them did the ‘Die for HYDRA!’ thing with the cyanide caps, people started swapping their suicide pills out for antacids and just faking it. You wait for the Dudley Do-Right of the moment to get distracted after a few minutes, then sneak off and catch a cab out of town. So, are we taking this huge freight elevator down, or are they going to wheel Thor out here? I’m not exactly a fan of underground doom-bunkers, but trying to work up a magic diagnosis or any kind of countermeasure is best done someplace you’re not liable to get run over by a C-23.”

“Status, Banner?” Romanoff asked quietly.

“I’m fine, Widow.” He sounded almost resigned. “Let’s get this over with.”

Another gesture from Romanoff, and everyone fell back in and trooped into the elevator. Lucy started humming “The Girl from Ipanema” as the doors slid shut.

“Stop that,” Romanoff ordered. “Elevator: Sublevel 20.”

“Voice authorization confirmed,” the computer stated. The platform began its descent.

“Voice activated, huh?” Lucy said. “Clever. Gotta be hell whenever HYDRA busts out the sulfur hexafluoride, though.”

Banner took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He caught Romanoff’s look and shrugged. “It’s a gas. The effect is, uh, not dissimilar to helium, only it’s heavier than air, not lighter.”

The spy’s lips quirked down ever so slightly, the look of consternation vanishing as soon as it had appeared.

“You know what the most unexpected thing to come out of the microraptor incident was?” Lucy asked, turning to Banner. “The disinformation campaign Key West ran on Hawai’i afterwards. That was some coordinated shit. I mean, think about it. You spend three months augmenting New Orleans’s campaign with a false-flag operation, promote them as the only city in the continental US to have genuine, bona fide, real, live dinosaurs, and then you start throwing up posters and commercials telling people to visit Hawai’i and check out their burgeoning megalodon population. Seriously brilliant work. And what’s Hawai’i going to do about it? I mean, everybody’s pretty sure the last megalodon died in 1844, but you know how proving a negative is. Good luck conclusively demonstrating there aren’t sharks the size of 767s swarming your coasts. It’s almost like some of SHIELD’s guys escaped the Hatchery and Conditioning Center and went into marketing.”

A shimmer ran through Romanoff’s consciousness, a flash of silver, like fish scales in murky water catching a stray sunbeam. It was gone in a heartbeat, almost too fast to catch: the impulse to wheel on her and demand, in the most terrifying way possible, what the fuck she knew about the Hatchery and Conditioning Center. If it hadn’t been for Banner standing there, she might have given in to it. Lucy suppressed a smile, delighted. Who knew? Coulson’s favorite cold-blooded killer had a sense of humor after all. The elevator stopped. Almost there, then.

The doors opened to reveal a long, antiseptic corridor. Most of the agents peeled off and took positions along the hallway. Banner shifted uncomfortably, and it was hard not to notice the way Romanoff tensed and coiled at every hint of distress from him. Lucy wondered idly if she even knew there was more to her reaction than fear. Probably not. Fear was so much easier to pick out than concern or affection, after all. There wasn’t much need to wonder what Banner was reacting to. She’d seen his section of the Avengers’ tower once on a sneak-and-peek mission. It was nothing but wide open space and glass, the architecture studiously avoiding anything that might give the impression of penning him in or caging him. If he’d ever preferred a cozy environment to an easily-escaped one, years on the run from Ross had burned it out of him.

She curled her hand into a loose fist and play-punched him in the arm. “Don’t worry, Banner. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Romanoff stiffened, and Lucy shot him her best cocky smile. He had jumped at the contact, but he relaxed slightly at the smile. Not reassured, not happy, but distracted. Nothing quite like a solid reminder that the agents weren’t there for him, she thought. And any mental space occupied with trying to figure out if she was for real was mental space not occupied with freaking the fuck out, which was a small victory. Romanoff led the way past room after room of empty beds and unused medical equipment, and Lucy trailed along after her, wistfully noting the complete lack of anything remotely resembling a ficus.

The hall emptied into a larger waiting area. Coulson was stationed at the rear door, nominally at ease but ready for trouble. She frowned slightly at the small contingent and reached out with her mind. The Wasp and Captain America were on the other side of the elevator shaft, in a corridor mirroring their own location. Close enough for a fast response, but out of the way in the meantime. It was hard to get a bead on the extent of the facility. Most of it was unoccupied, but it seemed enormous, far larger than she’d initially thought. Ant-Man wasn’t present at all, nor was Stark. Hawkeye was...in the air ducts above them, observing. Clever man, she thought. Clever, clever man. She felt a momentary surge of satisfaction at having fixed his arm.

Coulson moved forward to meet them as they entered the room, his lips smiling but his body language on guard. Lucy did her best not to respond to it. The dark-haired Asgardian woman she’d seen before stopped in mid-pace to stare at her, hand going immediately to the hilt of her sword. The Robin Hood-looking bastard from the rooftop was nowhere in evidence. A third alien with a dour expression was examining her silently. Thor...was wide-eyed and halfway through a turkey leg. Lucy tilted her head. What the fucking hell were they playing at?

“He looks fine to me, Coulson,” she said jauntily. “A miraculous recovery. Mazel tov. I’ll send you a bill for the consultation. It’s been wonderful seeing you again, we really should do this more often.”

“Jones, that’s not Thor,” Coulson said firmly.

“Come again?”

“That’s not Thor. This is Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg.”

“Agent, who is this?” Sif asked quietly, her hand not straying from her weapon. Lucy turned to him and raised her eyebrows. He sighed.

“Sif, this is Lucy Jones. You’ve met before, though she looked a bit different at the time.”

“I was wearing much nicer clothes,” Lucy supplied helpfully. “I’d still be wearing much nicer clothes, but sometimes people with no style whatsoever get to pick the uniform.” She turned to Coulson. “So Thor is...where, exactly? I have a hard time believing you can fit two dudes this size in one facility.”

“This is not what we agreed upon, Agent,” Sif said, her voice dropping and her muscles tensing slightly, ever so slightly.

Lucy considered them, her eyes resting carefully on Coulson. Warriors. An honor guard? Bodyguards, maybe? Yes. But something else, too. Close friends. Thor’s friends as well as his guard. Attacked by one of their own, helpless while their prince was dying, stranded on a foreign world, reinforcements coming late if ever....It would only take one little push, wouldn’t it? The tiniest bit of pressure on just the right brittle spot, a few poorly chosen words. Swords out, guns drawn, Banner going right over the edge. Chaos, blood, death, and no way out. No escape. Romanoff could feel it, too; she was wound tight as a bowstring, ready for a threat she could sense but not see. I probably should have made time for the hummingbird to talk, Lucy thought.

Coulson opened his mouth to speak, and there it was, the flashpoint, like a storm cloud finally resolving itself into a tornado. Lucy sighed. Nope. Not today, motherfuckers.

“I know this whole thing must be incredibly upsetting for you all,” she cut in, talking over whatever it was he’d been about to say. “And you have my sympathy. You really do. But I’m probably not going to be able to help, and I feel like it’s best for everyone if we get that out in the open right away. Please don’t get your hopes up. SHIELD is trying everything in their power, and that includes a few things with long odds. So, with your permission, I’d like to take a look at him. It shouldn’t take long, and then I’ll be out of the way.” Coulson stared at her. “What do you say?”

Sif appraised her with a prejudice she found almost insulting. Then again, they had just gotten devastatingly fucked over by a magician they thought they could trust, and she was an unknown. She kept an inoffensively serious look plastered on her face until the one who apparently wasn’t Thor, but still looked more dangerous than anything that wasn’t a charging rhino had any right to be, shifted his weight and cleared his throat.

“If my comrades and I might have some time to confer?” he asked. Lucy put a little more effort into keeping her expression still. He sounded almost timid. Well, she’d misread the shit out of that one.

“Of course,” Coulson said smoothly, nodding. They withdrew through the rear door.

It had barely latched when Coulson hissed, “Lucille Elizabeth Jones!”

Lucille? Elizabeth?

“A, Coulson, that is not my name. Though I was in fact named after Lucille Ball, my grandfather insisted that it be just Lucy. And I either don’t have a middle name, or it’s some really god-awful hippie bullshit like Rainbow or Woodchuck that you’d never admit to your child once you sobered up enough to realize what you’d done. B, are you trying to dad me? Because that is bad strategy here. I mean, just terrible, terrible strategy. Going into dad-mode at someone after you put a fire-team on them is just not done. Or if it is, there is a statute of limitations. You can’t dad them until at least a certain period of time has passed since you issued a ‘preferably alive, but we’re not married to it’ order. Like, a week, at least.

“C, you cannot pull the same bureaucratic, diplomatic nonsense on them that you do on HYDRA and AIM and every other earth-based idiot with an acronym. We all speak that lingo. They grew up knowing that they were going to stab people for a living and get high-fived for it by society at large. Where they’re from, I’m reasonably sure it’s still considered good form to punch people in the face for looking at you wrong during a formal state dinner, while you’re still at that dinner. Maybe you don’t want to get too elaborate with reasons for surprising them at least until the guy with the Van Dyke gets back with a space-medic?” Lucy deflated a little. “Or, you know, go for it. I don’t particularly want to take a sword to the gut,” again, because it’s distinctly unpleasant, “but obviously I’m not the only one here. If it’s some lifelong dream of yours to try it out, who am I to judge?”

“I see,” Coulson said after a moment.

“I’m just saying,” she muttered, putting her hands up. “Dr. Strange can be a bit of a dick, and I’m guessing you’ve already got guys out looking for him. He escalates things, and they’re on edge. They look human, but when the chips are down, they’re not from around here. Watch yourself with them.”

“That sounds almost like good advice,” Banner offered softly. There was green bleeding back out of his eyes, and she congratulated herself on a bullet well-dodged.

“Yeah, well, do me a favor and don’t tell anyone you got it from me,” she retorted. “I’ve got a reputation to worry about.”

Sif returned, her face grim. “We have resolved that you may...observe Thor for a brief time.”

“That’s all I should need,” Lucy said quickly. “You have my thanks.”

Coulson hit her with a look that could have cut glass, and she could feel Romanoff’s eyes boring into her back. She followed the warrior back into what could only be the stricken prince’s hospital room, Romanoff gliding behind her close as a shadow. Lucy swallowed. There was a huge man lying on a hospital bed in the center of the room. He looked like Beowulf, pulled out of legends but not alive yet. The Asgardians were uneasy and suspicious, waiting for her to make a move. And the entire room was smothered under a shifting, almost rotating gray pall, half-drowned in it. Small wonder they were all on edge. They could feel something desperately wrong, something beyond the obvious, even if they couldn’t put a name to it.

The exception to the suffocating, life-leeching haze was a knot of gold light glowing in the prince’s chest. The corruption was circling the cord like a vortex. Vertigo clawed its way down her spine until she stopped looking at it. She’d seen this before. Seen it before and hoped never to see it again. What kind of monster had been responsible for this? How could they have trusted someone capable of ripping a person’s soul out and hurling it into the underworld? Killing was one thing, but this was an abomination. He’d never reincarnate, never move on to an afterlife, never return from the dead. He’d be left wandering with the shades, lost forever. Even necromancers considered it taboo, a curse too awful to level without incurring a terrible retribution, because the potential consequences of using it were too great. Consequences that were precipitating out of the ether right in front of her. This changed things. Drastically.

Lucy bowed slightly to the Asgardians and ignored the cold sweat prickling her skin. “I have seen enough. Thank you for your forbearance. I must, uh, consult with your allies for a short while. Please excuse us.”

She walked swiftly from the room and jerked her head toward the hall. “We need to talk, Coulson,” she said, pitching her voice low and quiet. “Privately."

Romanoff’s eyes went to one of the empty rooms, and Coulson nodded almost imperceptibly. Lucy followed the spy in, her mind churning. What had the file said? Seventy-three hours? And that had been...at least three hours ago. At least. And arrangements would still need to be made. That was bad for a human, and he was a god. And an alien. Hopeless. It was completely fucking hopeless. But if she could pull it off....She couldn’t. This was beyond her. But if she could, this would....Of course she couldn’t. Even trying would be practically suicidal. But if she could, this would be the stuff of legends. And leaving it like this was unthinkable, anyway. Especially with an alien god. And it was wrong, on a fundamental and visceral level. If this was the level of warping in evidence after less than four days, it couldn’t be left alone.

And what if he had really been her brother? It would make it infinitely more dangerous, dumbass, she thought to herself. She shouldn’t walk away from this. She should fix it. She should run away as fast as she could. Let the aliens invade. Let the pall spread, turn into a sinkhole, start spewing the monsters of the underworld back into the living world. Not her problem. There were other worlds out there, right? Mars was probably great this time of year. What had Earth ever done for her, anyway? Her nemesis could have fun trying to return the planet to the Ordovician Period around a swarm of horrors that had never existed.

Fuck. She needed to fix this.

Coulson closed the door and crossed his arms, waiting patiently. Lucy opened her mouth and then stopped. She wasn’t going to make any sense. They could feel it but not see it. Their interaction with magic had never gone beyond the edges of what she’d shown them. She needed to focus. She couldn’t focus.

“Romanoff, do you think you could you slap me?” she asked, irrationally pleased with herself for managing to sound level.

The spy blinked. “You want me to slap you?” she asked slowly.

“No, I want to flip that table over and scream like an enraged chimp,” she hissed. “But these aren’t my digs, and it’s undignified, and it probably wouldn’t go over that great with either our Viking overlords or Banner’s big green friend. So you slapping me seems like the marginally more reasonable method of reaching the same conclusion.” They both stared at her. “Seriously? You’ve wanted to shoot me since I blew that Helsinki job for you, and now that I’m asking you to hit me, you’ve suddenly discovered your inner pacifist? This is bullsh--”

The force of Romanoff’s palm striking her cheek left her ears ringing and her mind suddenly clear.

“Southpaw, huh?” Lucy grunted. She touched the tip of her tongue to the inside of her lip and tasted blood. “Didn’t see that coming. Literally, in this case.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, bad news first, I guess. Amora got him with a spell that banished his soul to the underworld. That’s why he’s not waking up, healing, or dying for real. Worse news is that the odds of reversing this go down the longer it’s been in effect. Odds right now are...not great. Pretty bad, in fact. We’re kind of screwed, you could even say. Worst news is that if this goes on long enough, it could turn into a sort of funnel for what’s on the other side. Which it’s already kind of doing, so I think we’re past the ‘could’ stage and are into the ‘will’ stage on that one.”

“What’s the good news?” Coulson asked carefully.

“Oh, uh, there isn’t any.” Lucy spread her hands. “I’d have led with that if there had been. As I see it, we’ve got four options. The first one’s to sit and wait and hope nothing comes through and be very sad that he’s never coming back and that his soul is stuck in the underworld forever and try to weasel out of his parents blowing us to smithereens in retribution. The second one is to, um, try killing him properly and hoping that breaks the tether between his soul and his body. I’m guessing nobody’s down with that one, and it’s not likely to work anyway. It usually works with humans, but we belong here, and he doesn’t. And it doesn’t always work with humans. And he doesn’t look like the kind of guy you could just casually smother with a pillow, anyway, even if his bodyguard wouldn’t skin us for trying. Third option is find Amora and make her reverse it. I’m guessing you haven’t had much luck on that yet, and by the time you nail her down, she’s probably not going to be able to reverse it.”

“What’s the last option?” Coulson asked, his voice steady.

“Someone goes in after him and tries to bring him back. It’s hard as fuck with humans. There’ve only been a few known cases of success. I have no fucking clue how him being what he is will affect that.”

“So we need a magician.”

Lucy coughed uncomfortably. This was undoubtedly the stupidest thing she’d ever done, she thought. Undoubtedly. No argument. If she lived a million years, she would never make another decision as insane as this. It wouldn’t be possible. This was the bottom of the barrel. Romanoff’s eyes narrowed. Coulson nodded to himself, almost absently, his gaze never leaving her face.

“You’ll need a magician, or as many magicians as you can find, to deal with Amora. I can’t imagine any scenario in which she’s capable of pulling something like this--and this is some seriously psychotic magic, so maybe you want to take a hard look at how close you want to keep Asgard if this and zombie heads and gods know what else is the sort of shit they’re cool with--and then takes kindly to it being undone.” Lucy sucked on her cut lip. Close your eyes and jump. “But you don’t need to be a magician to try the last option. Normal, ordinary humans are perfectly capable of getting to the underworld and then back out again. You just need to know what you’re fucking doing.”

“And you do?” Romanoff asked archly.

“As much as I ever know what the fuck I’m doing, yeah.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “But I gotta warn you, it’s a bad bet. Getting yourself back out isn’t that hard, if you keep your head in the game and have some idea what you need to do. Getting someone else back out is a different story. I mean, you know Orpheus, yeah?”

“I know you drunk-dialed me the last time you did this,” Coulson said. “You didn’t sound too happy.”

“I wasn’t. I’m not now. If I’d suspected this would be half the clusterfuck it’s turned out to be, I’d have taken my chances with the Hulk.” The adrenaline was wearing off. She sat down heavily and cursed the lack of comfort to be found in hospital chairs.

“Jones, I was serious about Fury not letting you live through this if you make it worse,” Coulson told her. She snorted, though she did appreciate that he sounded a little sad about it.

“As I am here in an advisory capacity only, you’re obviously free to go for either of the other plans I mentioned, or come up with your own strategy, or go confer with the Fraternal Order of Mystics and Mummers and see what they say,” she sighed. “But if this ticks over into day four in the meantime, consider my offer formally withdrawn. I’m not getting stuck in hell forever trying to fix something that can’t be undone. Getting shot twenty-odd times and then dumped out of a plane over open water is the least unpleasant way out of this I can see right now.”

“Dead’s dead, Jones.”

Lucy laughed long enough for them both to look thoroughly uncomfortable. “Oh, fucking hell, Coulson,” she panted. “Dead’s dead, is it? Dead’s dead? The fucking things I’ve seen, and you stand there and tell me that dead’s dead.” She wiped her eyes. “If dead were dead, we wouldn’t be having this goddamn conversation. Thor would be a half ton of rotting flesh. Nothing would be hovering on the other side, hungry and waiting for a chance to sharpen its teeth on the bones of the living again.” She shook her head. “We’d never have made it out of that warehouse and into Mimir’s tree. If I’ve shown you anything, I’d hope that it would be the precise opposite of ‘Dead’s dead.’”

“Widow, could you please wait outside?” Coulson asked. She did as he said, every fiber of her being protesting the order in spite of knowing Hawkeye was above them in case anything went wrong.

“Jones.”

“Coulson.”

“You’re serious about this.”

“I am fatally serious.”

“We could wait for the Asgardian healers.”

Lucy spread her hands. “I don’t know if there’s anything they can do. They don’t belong here, either. It’s like getting more people who also only speak English to try to translate for your French friends.”

“Okay. So, let’s assume SHIELD agrees to this. What do you want out of it?”

“Straight to the bottom line, huh, Coulson?” She sat back and thought for a moment. “I need a few sheets of paper.”

“Long list, then?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Not really, but this needs to be done by the book. This is almost always done by someone close to the person they’re bringing back. Parent, child, lover, bff, whatever. There’s a deep personal desire to save them. I just want that fucking portal closed. Doesn’t count. So the rules for hired help apply.”

“You don’t play by the rules, Jones,” he reminded her. She laughed.

“These are old rules. Older than us. They’re written in our DNA.” Lucy shrugged. “There’s no skirting them, not if this is going to work. So, paper?”

“Sif and the Warriors Three may not agree to this.”

“They don’t have to know. I just need to be close, I don’t need a line of sight or to be touching him or anything. Here works. Down the hall works, too. Hell, we could go up a floor and you could tell them I left the compound. If it’s a success, they get his highness back. If it doesn’t work, they’re none the wiser.”

Coulson studied her for a moment, then sent for a pen and paper. Lucy let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. It might have been smarter to play it like she could solve their problems and negotiate for a price, but she had the strong suspicion that Coulson would know something was up when he saw her list. He was halfway to thinking she still had her magic anyway, and she played for money 99% of the time. The price for something like this, though, it had to be something she wanted. Not what it was smart to want or easy to want or profitable to want, but what she actually wanted. Rites didn’t acknowledge fungible economy. It was barter or get the fuck out.

Of course, that meant that if they didn’t agree to her terms, she was technically off the hook. This wouldn’t work without their cooperation. She’d have a clear conscience, which she was sure would be of great comfort during an interplanetary war or zombie apocalypse. Maybe she could live in it, like a hermit crab, if she had to move to the moon. She rubbed her face where Romanoff had slapped her. It still felt a bit red; the spy had definitely gotten some frustration out there.

If SHIELD didn’t play ball, she was gone. She was smoke in the wind. If she couldn’t stop this, she didn’t want to be anywhere near it when everything went down. If SHIELD did, and she managed an extraordinary rendition on their broken god, what then? She frowned. She’d likely be sidelined for a few days. Not unable to do magic, no, but unable to rely on it. Vulnerable. The last time she’d done anything close to this, she’d spent a week feeling worse than the time she’d gotten trampled by a herd of elephants. She needed something more than her smile to flash in the event that something--mundane, magic, or other--happened. By the time Coulson returned with what she’d asked for, she had it.

He watched her silently as she scrawled a list on one page and read it just as silently when she handed it to him.

“This is no time for jokes, Jones,” he growled after he’d read it a second, then a third time.

“No joke,” Lucy said. “I’m a creature of simple, if intensely self-destructive, tastes.”

“You forgot the clean record and new identity for yourself,” he said flatly. “You’re not going to get very far in your new life with the lover who shot you in the back--twice--if you’ve still got all your outstanding warrants tagging along.”

“If that’s what’s sticking in your craw, I can almost guarantee she’s not going to accept any kind of deal. And what am I going to do with a clean record besides fuck it right back up again?”

“Then why--”

“One last chance, Coulson. I want her to have one last chance. She’s not going to take it, I’m sure, but I want her to have it.” She managed a brittle smile. “Just be glad I never wanted to be an astronaut when I was a little girl. You’d have a hell of a time explaining why a super-felon is being allowed on the space shuttle instead of arrested.”

“At this point, Stark could just buy you a ticket. I have to confess, this is not what I expected.”

“Are the terms acceptable, or not?”

“Your ring back, if it ever falls into SHIELD custody, a clean slate for the ex-fiancee you haven’t seen in years because she tried to murder you for said ring, access to Morgan le Fay’s SHIELD file, a bottle of dark rum, your brass knuckles, your lighter, and a pack of cigarettes. This reads like you’re too simple to be signing contacts. You understand that, right?”

“If it would make you feel better, I could add a six-figure sum, payable to whatever charity Stark is humping this week.”

“It would, actually.”

Lucy took the paper back and wrote it down verbatim. Coulson messaged Fury. “If you get clearance on this, I want my lighter and the brass knuckles back before I go under. And we’ll need to seal this with blood and then burn it, so bring some alcohol wipes and a pair of lancets.”

“Lancets? That seems a little...”

She shrugged, most of her attention on the glyphs she was sketching on the spare page Coulson had given her. “Most things that call for blood aren’t super picky about how it gets there. The brass knives and mistletoe sprigs and stone axes are typically just some asshole showing off for the plebes.”

“What happens if this doesn’t work?”

“If Fury says no?” She finished a stylized hand and carefully corrected a shark’s head. “I don’t know. I guess you guys come up with something else. Not really my problem at that point.”

“If you don’t come back.”

“Oh.” She folded the paper and tucked it into her bra before handing Coulson back his pen. “Cremated, ashes scattered in the nearest ocean, and under no circumstances should you notify anyone you’ve become convinced are my next-of-kin. If I don’t come back but my body keeps going, I guess let Romanoff get the little surprise party I threw her the last time she tried to kill me out of her system, then, you know, cremation, ashes scattered, no notification.” Coulson’s eyebrows rose. “Well, clearly, I am planning on coming back, but you really wouldn’t be doing me any favors keeping my body alive if I didn’t. And my next-of-kin are headcases, so I’d prefer you not roll out any of your trademarked SHIELD condolences at them. You people are epically bad at breaking terrible news.”

Coulson’s comm blinked. He looked at the message. Lucy didn’t need to be particularly adept at mind-reading to tell it was from Fury and that he was not particularly happy, even for Fury. Coulson tapped out a short message, sent it, and then looked at her for a moment, considering. “You said anyone could do this, if they knew what they were doing.”

“Yup.”

“It’s a skill that can be taught.”

“Yup.”

“Prove it. Show me how it’s done.”

Lucy sat back, thinking for a moment. She appraised him with a more critical eye than she usually turned on him. He had the right temperament for it. It might bring him some comfort in a field with a high mortality rate. Hell, it might even save his ass someday. “Sure. Why not? If drunken Greek shepherds could pick it up, no reason you couldn’t. Three things, though. First, you’re not coming with me on this. It’s going to get ugly, even for a nosedive into the afterlife, and you’d be a novice.” He nodded. “Second, this is the sort of thing you can’t unsee, once you’ve seen it, and not everybody really cares for what they’re looking at. Just be sure you want to cross that threshold first. Third, this isn’t without risk. I’m very, very good at this, but shit happens. It’s conceivable we could draw a bad hand, and you’d be looking at madness or death.”

“I understand. Is that it?”

“I’d think that would be more than enough. If you’re cool with it, you’d need somebody to set you up with a mild dose of ketamine. I don’t like pharmaceuticals as an assist with this sort of thing, but it’s hard to argue with their reproducibility and easily-observable safety protocols.”

“I never figured you for a purist.”

“I’m not. Absinthe and jimsonweed are both traditional and extremely shitty. Peyote and toads are very good when they work, but they’re unreliable. Pot and heirloom tobacco are workhorses, but they’re difficult for beginners to use.” She shrugged. “Alcohol and sensory deprivation are cheap and effective and old-school but occasionally produce results that are beyond fucked. But I’d rather take a couple of tries and doing something like this well to just doing it quickly. If you were some jerk off the street, it would be peyote and a week in the wilderness, hands down. I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of spare time to just dick around, though. I’m also not up for surviving this just to have Fury turn around and swear eternal vengeance on me for accidentally lobotomizing you. So quick and safe but rough-around-the-edges it is.”

Coulson’s comm blinked again. He checked it. “We’re go. Your terms have been accepted.”

“Well, then. Let’s get to work before I remember what a terrible fucking idea this is and develop selective amnesia.”

Chapter Text

Clint leaned against the wall, his shoulder against the door jamb and his eyes on Jones and Phil. He’d relocated them to the room directly below Thor’s. Steve and Jan were on guard outside. Natasha was technically off-duty and should have been resting, but he could almost feel her in the central security room, monitoring video feeds. He shot a quick, small smile at the security camera pointed at them.

Jones tapped a lancet on the counter idly as she rubbed an alcohol swab between her forefinger and thumb and watched the clock. After thirty seconds, she tossed the swab and stuck her thumb at the edge of the pad. Phil cocked his head.

“Less pressure on the wound, less pain while it heals,” she explained, coaxing several large drops from the puncture. She pressed them onto the paper next to her signature and her hiring price.

“How often do you do this?” he asked, startled.

“This, specifically? First time.” Jones snorted. “I give blood every couple of months, though, so, you know. You get a little sick of them taking the hematocrit sample someplace that’s going to twinge for a few days. Your turn.” She flicked the contract across the table to him. “Same thing as I did. Mark it in blood next to your name and your terms.”

Phil copied her technique. Clint winced a little as Phil pressed his bloodied thumb to the paper. Even if she was depowered, this still struck him as too close for comfort to a deal with the devil. His eyes shifted from Phil to Jones only to find her looking at him. He rubbed his arm.

“Not bothering you, is it?” she asked. “It should have been good as new.”

“Focus, Jones,” Phil said sharply. He pressed a band-aid to his thumb, and she folded the contract neatly into thirds.

“If I focus, I’m going to bolt and take my chances with your flying excessive force complaint,” Jones retorted evenly. “Okay, give me your hand. Other hand.” She clasped his hand and picked up her lighter. The light glinted on the worn Pallas Athene emblem on the side facing Clint. “Hold the paper up?”

“Careful,” Phil warned. She flicked the lighter open and touched the flame to the upper edge. It caught, and he held it as long as he could, then let it fall to the metal surface of the table. They watched it burn to ash.

“Done.” Jones released his hand and got up. She glanced at the clock. “I’m going to do my damnedest to have him back by dawn, so you might want to be ready to roll when the sun comes up.”

She took off her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair, tucked the lighter into a pocket, and stretched.

“Go time,” she muttered to herself.

Phil touched her shoulder gently. Clint recognized the gesture and tamped down a flutter of jealousy. He couldn’t remember the last time Phil had tried to recruit someone for so long. Jones gave him a long look, then covered his hand with her own for a second before sliding away from him. She hopped onto the hospital bed and lay flat, crossing her ankles and turning her palms up. She closed her eyes and relaxed. Her breathing slowed and steadied until it was the regular rhythm of a deep sleep. Clint forced himself to unwind a little.

“This gonna work?” he mouthed to Phil.

Phil shrugged. “I hope so,” he mouthed back.

They both settled into a chair to wait.

*****

Lucy slipped from her body and shook herself, reordering her mind. She glanced quickly at Coulson and Hawkeye, then out at Captain America and the Wasp. They were all alert and ready for danger. Her body was as safe as it could be without her in it. She forced herself to let go fully. She could feel the miasma in the room above them. Go time, indeed. She shivered again, folding and changing until she had the aspect of a large magpie, and flapped upward through the ceiling.

Hogun and Volstagg sat on either side of Thor’s bed. Sif was guarding the door from the outside. She perched on the arm of Hogun’s chair, surveying the situation. The haze had thickened, and its rotation was more distinct. The light in his chest was clearer from an astral vantage point, and it pulsed softly with the beating of his heart. She spread her wings and launched herself, gliding to him. She landed above the light, cocked her head to fix one eye on it firmly, and then dove into it.

Lucy kept her wings and feet tight against her body until the brilliance faded and the tug of gravity reasserted itself. When she opened her eyes again, she was outside the light and could see it clearly for what it was: a cord the color of molten gold, thick as her wrist, pulsing with the prince’s life, and stretching between his errant soul and his abandoned body. It glowed like fire, a thing of shocking beauty against the depthless, mottled gray of the sky. She just needed to follow it to find him. She unfurled her wings and caught the cold wind of limbo, coasting on it toward the gates of the underworld.

It veered away at the last moment, looping over and around the three gates, and disappeared into one of the white cliffs. Lucy slipped into the high, narrow crevice after it, wondering how the hell the prince had managed that. Everyone went in through the gates. She spilled out into the green light of the underworld at night. She wheeled for a moment, circling to mark the place he’d come in through. A snarling stone dragon’s head looked back at her, its stalactite fangs limned with soot and its carved eyes green with lichen. It was oddly out of place. She’d never found anything quite like it in her travels through the edges of the underworld.

Lucy beat her wings and flew on, tracing the cord as it spanned the beaches where the dead massed and the black river where the ferryman looked up at her from his boat and narrowed his strange goat’s eyes, his lips curling back to reveal wolf’s teeth and a serpent’s tongue. He was doubtless still peeved with her over the trouble she and one large sack of copper coins had caused on a previous journey. Too bad, she thought. You shouldn’t have been a jerk about letting me cross.

She caught an updraft at the mountains on the other side of the river and tried to calculate how far a god who didn’t belong there could possibly have gotten in over three days. How far could she have gotten in three days, if she really put her shoulders into it and didn’t run into any trouble? Maybe almost to the other side. Maybe. How far could she have gotten in three days if she was just dicking around? Probably the little valley with the lush greenery and weeping willows between the shadow plains and the swamps. It was a nice place. Most people lingered there, given the chance. It wasn’t too far if ‘as the crow flies’ could be applied literally. That was assuming he’d stuck to one of the roads, of course, but it was hard going in the wilds, and she couldn’t imagine he’d have much reason to stray. A sudden whirlwind buffeted her, and she dove and looped into a sidestream, avoiding it as she began climbing again. The winds were treacherous here, but she didn’t have time to waste walking.

Lucy crested the mountain and paused, tilting her wings just enough to let her hover where she was for a moment. The cord ran straight through a patch of dead brambles in a small valley. How the hell had he even gotten through there? She spiraled down slowly and carefully. They were brown and seasoned. The canes were tough, and the thorns were long as daggers, with sharp and brittle tips. She perched on them and considered how the fuck she was going to clear them out. She didn’t see a blood trail marking the ground or the thorns, but that didn’t mean much in a place like this. That the cord ran through them only meant that he’d made it through, nothing more. Lucy scanned the landscape, looking for any of the beasts that haunted the trails and paths. She saw nothing. Still, she should get rid of them before they made it back. They might not have time on the return, and, while being here did magnify and concentrate her power, she wasn’t confident that she could manage underworld thorn-bushes as well as an unruly god at the same time.

“Don’t bother, little sister. These briars are mine.” Lucy almost jumped out of her feathers at the voice. It sounded like the blast of trumpets and the beat of war drums. She looked around. A bright green hummingbird half again as big as her darted from behind to hover before her, his head remaining oddly still while the rest of his body swayed slightly. His eyes were brilliant as the sun, and his beak was bright and crimson with blood. Oh, shit.

“Um, hi. Uh, I’m really sorry about not having time to talk to you before?” she offered, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.

“Yes. I believe you were, how did you put it, ‘fucking busy’? Rather a crass way of putting it, if I do say so.”

“I’m rather a crass person. Usually. I, uh, try not to be quite so crass around gods, but I was a little, um, distracted just then. Personal business, you know. I’m all ears now. Especially if maybe you wouldn’t mind calling your plants off afterwards?”

The hummingbird’s tongue flicked out twice, lapping some of the blood from his beak. “Of course. I only summoned them because I needed to speak with you. I know what it is you seek here.”

“Yeah? Great, great. That’s great news.”

“Hush and listen,” he snapped. “My sister wishes to keep him here. She will challenge you and try to take him from you.”

Who was his sister again? She wracked her brain. Oh, right. The goddess of venomous serpents, stinging insects, and black magic. She was pretty sure murder and treason were somewhere on the second tier, too. “Huh, you know, I think I left something in the overworld. I’m just going to run home and get it.”

He shifted suddenly to block her path. “Cowardice does not suit you, little sister, nor does the pretense that you will leave empty-handed.”

“It’s not really a pretense!” Lucy protested. “You know I can’t beat a goddess here.”

“You have a right to him, and she does not. She is not permitted to take him from you by force, though she’ll intimate that she will, I am sure. She will offer to barter with you for him. She will promise you that which you desire most out of life. She will give you her word that she will close off his path back to the world of the living so that no harm will come to it. You would do well not to accept her gifts or credit her oaths. They are more costly than they appear.”

“Good to know.” She tried to ignore the way the gore on his beak never seemed to dry. “What does your sister want with him? And why are you so eager to sell her out? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“We are blood, but we are not of one mind. She struggles to overthrow me, and I struggle to keep my place. As for what she wants with him, why does anyone seek to bind a deity? We are mighty. The foreign godling’s power is strange, but it is power nevertheless. If she could bend him to her will and make a vassal of him, she would be far stronger than she is now.”

“No offense, but you guys are typically way more trouble than you’re really worth. I’d think that would be true even for another god.”

“He would likely prove so, yes, but I’d prefer not to take the chance of my sister gaining the upper hand in this. You wish to rescue the stranger for your masters.” Lucy bridled at the term but held her peace. “I wish to see him gone from this realm. I do not always count you as one of mine, but we are in accord in this, you and I. So I offer what assistance I can give without upsetting the scales too greatly.”

“You have my thanks,” she sighed. “I think.”

“On your way, then, little sister.”

The thorns crumbled to sand below her, and Lucy flapped her wings awkwardly, trying to gain some altitude after the unexpected loss of her perch. She finally managed it and began coasting along over the cord again, following it wherever it was leading her. She laughed grimly to herself. And here she had thought this ending with a shoot-out or the Hulk smashing everything or a fight with a normal sorceress would be the bad outcome.

At least Hummingbird’s warning that she’d have to face his sister if she wanted to bring Thor back to the land of the living implied a certain amount of confidence that she could actually subdue or persuade Thor once she found him. The hope she’d previously entertained had been based solely on the likelihood that, while he was almost certainly stronger than her in an absolute sense, he would not yet have learned how to use the nature of this plane as a force multiplier. If he kicked and fought against being removed from whatever illusory paradise or lost loved ones he found here--an almost universal reaction--she would be able to physically overpower him and drag him forth, or manipulate the magic here to trick him into leaving. Even in her own estimation, it had been rather tenuous reasoning. Below her, the dead made their way across rope bridges spanning the distance between the mountains and the plain on the other side. It was a grim and quiet procession; most of the people were still in shock from their deaths and ambivalent about their journeys. The bridges emptied onto bleached white roads that stretched away in all directions across the gray plateau, the paths shining like beacons from her aerial vantage point. Lucy shivered and focused on the cord and its golden heartbeat.

The cord followed one of the roads until the slate plateau gave way to grassland. Lucy followed it astray for a moment before realizing that it had wrapped around a papaya tree before returning to the road.

“Hey, you!” someone yelled from the ground. “Yeah, you, with the feathers! Give me a hand here, will you?”

She spotted a large dun rabbit sitting up on its hind feet, and a quick glance at the white fletching on his chest confirmed that she knew him. She settled into the papaya tree. “Hi, Rabbit. Make it quick. I’m kind of in a hurry here.”

“Oh, it’s you.” He snorted. “Don’t you sass me, Lucha. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be stalling the death-lords with shadow-puppets and sleight of hand and volunteers from the audience,” Rabbit said, puffing out his chest. “I saved the day.”

“Yes, yes, I’m very grateful for your help,” Lucy grumbled. “It wasn’t my fault that was a complete shitshow, though.”

“Yeah? Whose fault was it, then? The ten-year-old’s?” He folded his ears back in disapproval. “I thought she did okay, for a kid.”

“She was fifteen, and yes, she did good for a kid. It wasn’t her fault, either. I meant more that there’s some fantastic mismanagement going on when we were the two best candidates for that little re-enactment.” She preened her wings irritably. An untrained teenager and a drunken tourist getting tasked with re-breaking death’s power was what happened when somebody important decided to just phone it in for a very long time. “But I’m kind of on the job here, Rabbit. What do you need?”

“Drop me down a couple of those papaya,” he demanded, falling back on all fours and retreating a few paces. “Are you really working for Hummingbird? I don’t hold with those guys much. Too full of themselves. Think they’re better than us just because they get on flags and crests and tourist brochures.”

“No, I’m not working for Hummingbird. I guess he’s involved in it now, though.” Lucy hopped out along the branch and pecked at a stem until one of the heavy fruit fell to the ground. “I’m looking for the guy this goes to.” She pointed to the cord with her wing. “He needs to come back topside with me.”

“You’re looking for him? Got your work cut out for you, then,” Rabbit laughed around a mouthful of pulp. She dropped another papaya to him.

“Yeah? How do you mean?”

“He seemed nice enough. He tried to help me out, and he doesn’t even know me. Not much of a tree-climber, unfortunately. But he’s big as a mountain and glows like the sun and lost as a moose in the desert. Good luck sneaking him past Grassflower once you find him.” Rabbit snickered. “Maybe you could spike a squash on the ground in front of her and yell ‘In your face!’ when it bursts all over the place. I bet that would do the trick.”

“You’re not helping,” Lucy sulked, pulling down another papaya for him.

“And you’re just lucky the death-lords were defeated the first time when everybody was still dumb as a box of rocks. If you’d been trying to con anybody who gets basic cable, they never would have bought the line about your power being so great that you could turn a human head into a gourd at will. You know they still think you’re really called Oz?”

“None of you get basic cable, Rabbit,” she groaned. Stupid death-lords.

“Pfft. Shows what you know.” He buried his face in the papaya and thumped the grass with one of his feet. “They run those fiber-optic cables underground sometimes. And who gets a piece if it burrows into the earth but doesn’t stay there?” He touched his chest with one paw. “That’s right, lady. Us.”

“Congratulations on your access to talk shows, sitcoms, and 24-hour news,” she said drily.

“Hey, if you get yourself dead on this one, why don’t you drop by sometime? We all get together and watch Drag Race every week, kind of make a night of it. Just bring a pumpkin or some timothy hay or something,” Rabbit said, rubbing his muzzle with his paws.

Lucy tilted her head. “Sure. At least that way there’s a silver lining to the dark lady tearing my wings off and stuffing them down my throat.”

“See? Things ain’t so bad.” He sneezed, and one of his ears flopped to the side. “Be seeing you one way or another, Lucha.”

“Bye, Rabbit.”

She crouched and sprang into the air, circling back to the road. She’d much rather forget about the whole incident with the death-lords, honestly, but it didn’t seem to be in the cards. They needed to be fought and bested again every so often to keep them from re-asserting their power over the living. She got that, she really did, but it was a local thing. The pair best suited for the challenge were supposed to be trained and sent down, with full instructions on what they needed to do. She, on the other hand, had gotten unexpectedly dragged out of a skeevy nightclub by an angry shaman and bundled off to the underworld with a bad translation of the Popol Vuh, a head full of mescaline, an angry speech that boiled down to “you people broke it, you people are going to fix it,” and a frightened local girl who’d barely had a full month of her magic being awakened and no proper introduction to the art.

Lucy traced the cord’s path over rye rows and untended gardens. Eventually the untended gardens gave way to feral scrub and ruined houses, then to the swamps where only a few roads ran. She found that the cord stuck to one of them, to her great relief. The swamps were a wretched place, and getting back out of them was just as messy as getting lost in the first place. She pressed on. She was getting close to the near edge of the large sweep of greenery and rivers and shade where she expected to find him. Most of the roads cut through it at some point, and by the time most of the dead reached it, they had begun to accept what had happened. It was a place of rest, a safe place to stray and think and wander. Some of the roads had come so overgrown from lack of direct traffic through the sward that they had narrowed to thin white ribbons barely visible from the air.

“Oh, come on,” Lucy hissed to herself. The cord kept going. The first thing past the green was the shadow plain. While it would probably be easy to get him out of there if that’s where he’d landed--it was a terrible, awful place--she wasn’t exactly keen on going in herself. She had enough guilt weighing on her that it was dangerous. She beat her wings harder.

If it came to it, she’d hit fast and hard and get him moving before the monsters that crawled from the dust and the gaps there could regroup. The grass was beginning to thin below her, and the trees were becoming smaller and less frequent. The rivers and brooks veered away, following their courses elsewhere. Why the hell couldn’t he have just sat down on a tussock somewhere and taken a nap? What sort of stupid prick was he that he saw the landscape changing like this and thought it would be a great idea to keep going? She didn’t want to fight Hummingbird’s terrifying sister, and she didn’t want to fight those ugly bastards made of guilt and regret and things left unsaid, and she didn’t want to spend the rest of eternity watching reality tv with talking rodents. This whole thing was bullshit, and it was decidedly unfair that she had to clean up a mess she hadn’t even gotten to make.

By the time she spotted the missing prince, she’d managed to marshal enough self-righteous ire over the general predicament to carry her through. He was on his knees, with his face in his hands and hemmed in on all sides by the shroud-robed monstrosities endemic to the plains. They had the bodies of spiders, the size and posture of humans, and the hunger for penance of the unavenged dead. She couldn’t hear the specifics of what they were whispering to him, but she knew the gist of it. They fed off grief and remorse and self-doubt, magnifying it and mirroring it and encouraging it until there was nothing else left. The dim green light reflected off their chitinous black hands as they reached for him, one after the other, each taking its turn. Lucy swallowed thickly and climbed, gaining altitude with every wingstroke. She fucking hated spiders. She fucking hated spiders, and she fucking hated these things, and she couldn’t make out their words, but she could still hear their voices. Their dry, hissing, rustling voices sounded like dessicated corpses turning the pages of old books. Lucy tucked her wings close against her body and dove headlong. Hit fast and hard, she thought. Fast and hard and then get him moving before they could regroup.

She changed feathers and wings for her own shape at the last possible second.

“Death from above, motherfuckers!” She landed on the largest spider, rolled, and came back up on her feet in one smooth motion. It crumbled into a fine chalky dust when it struck the ground, bursting into a spray of powder as it fell. She twitched her fingers, and an old straw broom materialized in her hand. “No snakes in the house! It’s the law! Out! Houses are for people! Back to your snake-hole!”

“...what?...”

The next one’s blank piebald face had a second to tilt in confusion before she brought the broom down square on it, to the same effect. The next one barely had time to curl its pedipalps back to show its fangs before it suffered the same fate.

Lucy had threshed her way through the rest of them before she realized quite what she was yelling. Oh, well. She could do worse than her grandmother’s reaction to finding a rattlesnake as thick as her forearm in her kitchen. She took a good look at the broom. It was the same damn broom she’d used to sweep the rattlesnake right back out the front door, too. She shook her head. The underworld was where things wound up after the living couldn’t keep them anymore.

She brushed the dust from her clothes and turned to the Asgardian. Rabbit had been right. He looked big as a mountain, even kneeling as he was. His hair was the color of spun gold, his eyes were a blue she’d never seen outside of a clear bright sky, and he was staring at her like he didn’t believe what he was seeing. Given that she had dropped out of the sky screaming nonsense and attacking spider-beasts with a broom, he might not believe it. There was a brilliance to him that made her think he might blind her if she looked at him too long. That was probably the lightning, she thought to herself. It was odd. She wouldn’t have expected a storm god to have such a bright aspect. She extended her hand to help him up. Shock me and you’re on your own, dude.

“We should get out of here. They can’t actually be killed, and it won’t take them long to pull themselves back together.”

He reached for her hand tentatively, his eyes never leaving her face. He grasped it gingerly, like he expected her to be a mirage, then with an almost painful firmness when he found that she was solid.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “You’re really here.”

“Real as you,” she agreed, pulling him to his feet. “Seriously, though, we need to--”

Lucy found herself cut off by a bear hug that lifted her off her feet and made her ribs creak. He buried his face in her neck. “You came for me.”

Well, this is a little unexpected, she thought. Lucy squirmed a bit, loosening his grip and making him drop her. She pointed to where a pile of dust was already coming back into the shape of a spindly hand, the sickly white darkening and hardening. It pulled itself forward, digging its claws into the hard dirt, and more dust began to resolve into an arm behind it.

“We need to go, and we need to go now. Come on.” She caught him around the wrist and began pulling him after her.

He followed willingly enough, which was something, but they weren’t going to be fast enough to outrun the spiders once they dropped back to all eight legs. He was keeping up with her for now, but his breathing was already labored. He’d been here on his own for over three days; he was tired and drained and didn’t know what he was doing. Think, Lucy, think. Her grip tightened on the broom. Golden oldies it was, then. He stumbled. She stopped, took a deep breath, and pulled him close. She could hear them crawling across the rocks and feel their breathed accusations. “...unworthy...failure...monster...”

“Hold on,” she told him. She swept the broom handle behind them, gripped it carefully, and then launched them skyward. Thor wrapped his arms tighter about her waist, his head resting between her shoulder blades. She could practically feel him screwing his eyes shut, and she envied him the luxury. It would have been difficult enough to balance on the broomstick by herself. With him, it was impossible, and they were wobbling all over the place. She was more than a little proud of herself for at least swinging a decent clip in a generally forward direction. They just had to make it back out of the flats and back to the green, she told herself. Once they were there, she could put down and reassess and figure out something that didn’t involve flying back across the underworld upside down and sideways.

Lucy poured more speed into it, squinted against the wind, and desperately tried to keep them upright. They crashed unceremoniously into a grass-frocked hill when she failed. The broom tumbled from her hands and vanished, and she came to a rest on her back, breathing hard and reasonably certain that she hadn’t broken anything, insofar as that was possible here. There had to be a better way to carry him with her.

“Anybody who ever said anything about witches flying on brooms was a fucking liar,” she groaned, sitting up. She flexed her fingers in the lush vegetation. They’d made it, at least. She got to her feet and saw their pursuers hovering at the edge of their own domain.

“In your stupid spider faces!” she crowed. “Whoo! I won, bitches! How you like me now?”

The pack roiled and hissed. “...gloater...arrogant...mercenary...unsportsmanlike conduct...”

She made a few rude gestures at them and turned back to Thor. “You okay there? Good fucking thing you didn’t make it that far into their territory. I did not expect you to be that heavy. Or brooms to be that unstable. Which I guess in retrospect should have been obvious, on both counts. Even if you weren’t so damn big, that wouldn’t have worked.”

He still seemed a little stunned, but he got to his feet carefully.

“You came for me,” he repeated softly.

“Well, somebody had to. You can’t just leave people in the underworld when they don’t belong there. Causes all sorts of problems.” Lucy stretched and cracked her neck. She pulled a few stray blades of grass out of her dark hair and brushed off her coat. If he weren’t so damn big, she could carry him. He watched her carefully, his expression suddenly unreadable.

“The underworld? This is not Helheim.”

Lucy knelt and reknotted her bootlaces. “I assume that’s what you call the underworld in whatever dimension it is you’re actually from, yeah? In which case, no, of course it’s not. It’s the underworld here, on earth. Part of it, anyway. If you were in Helheim, this wouldn’t be as big a problem.” She straightened. He had a question written on his face. “What?”

“I do not remember dying.”

“You don’t remember Amora suckerpunching your soul right out of your body?”

“Amora struck no mortal blows,” he insisted.

“Well, no. That’s sort of the issue, here. Your body isn’t dead. It’s up top, in a hospital, surrounded by your bros, worrying everybody sick. We need to get you back into it.” She made a smushing gesture with her hands, then stopped when he kept staring at her. “I’m not explaining this very well, am I? Let’s see, here. Amora attacked you while you were on earth. She used magic to separate your spirit from your flesh. Since you were on earth, you kind of got siphoned into our underworld. Or she put you here deliberately. Either way, you’re not really dead, but if we don’t get you back into your body, you’re going to die for real, and your soul’s never going to get where it needs to be, and also shit like that,” she jerked her thumb back at the shadow-plains, “will use the bridge you’re forming to cross over in the wrong direction. Since all of that is what’s technically known as ‘really really bad,’ we’re going to do our best to fix it. Right?” She looked at him hopefully, watching for any sign of understanding. She saw none. Lucy heaved a sigh. “I’m going to bring you back to life and save the world. Blink once for ‘okay,’ and twice for ‘fuck, yeah.’”

“You’re here to save me?” he breathed. There was something in the way hope and doubt collided in his voice and on his face that made her intensely uncomfortable. Lucy hunched her narrow shoulders. He should have been upset that he’d been jacked up in the first place, or wondering where his friends were, not awed that somebody he’d never met properly was here to rescue him.

“Yup,” she said.

“Does that mean you forgive me, then?”

Lucy shot him a blank look. For what? Getting lost? Working with SHIELD? Some foiled scheme that she hadn’t found out about yet? Whatever it was, presumably it wasn’t important enough to fuck up the world over.

“Sure thing. Forgiven and forgotten. Totally and completely.” She looked around. “You can’t fly, can you?”

He tilted his head. “Not without Mjolnir. You know that.”

Well, that was putting a lot more faith in her intel-gathering capabilities than most people would. She’d drawn that conclusion from the reports she’d swiped in the past, but nothing had been confirmed, and Fury was damned good at counter-intelligence. “Will you let me transform you into something that I can carry, then?”

Thor looked resigned. “When have I ever been able to stop you?”

“Not often, granted, but that’s kind of a grim assessment,” Lucy grumbled. It wasn’t even like SHIELD called the Avengers in to deal with her that often. She looked at the golden cord that tethered him to his physical shape and snapped her fingers. “Hold still, this might feel a little weird.”

He shot her a long-suffering look as she looked him over. “Promise me one thing?”

“Way ahead of you, dude. Scout’s honor.” She held up her first three fingers. “I won’t drop you.”

“That is comforting, yes, but I want you to promise that you will come with me.”

Lucy stared at him. “I’m sure as fuck not staying here.”

“Please,” Thor said. “Swear that you will come with me.”

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. He didn’t seriously think he needed an oath to the effect that she wasn’t going to hang out in the afterlife? She looked into his eyes again. He did seriously think that he needed an oath to that effect. What the hell was his problem? She clasped his hand.

“I swear on the spilled blood of my nemesis that I’m coming with you. Happy?”

He flinched. “It will do. Thank you.”

“I live but to serve,” Lucy muttered. “Hold still.”

She put her hands on his shoulders and reordered his shape in the blink of an eye. She was left with a long, thin wand--a spindle--the color of his hair. She wound a few inches of the cord onto it and smiled to herself. An apt transformation, for the time being, and an object that she could easily carry. She set it down carefully and shifted back into a magpie. She managed the graceless take-off and pressed the spindle tight against her belly as she fought to gain altitude. As much as she might begrudge the drag from her cargo while they were trying to avoid too much attention, it was infinitely better than trying to keep them both on the broom had been, and much faster than going on foot would have been.

Lucy checked the position of the moon. If she really put her back into it, she could get them back to the black river with plenty of time to spare. She flew on, the green rolling away below her. The spindle weighed against her claws as the thread of the prince’s life wound back onto it. It was warm and heavy and almost reassuring in her grip. She wondered what the hell had been up with him. Not that she felt like looking a gift horse in the mouth; she’d expected him to fight her tooth and nail, the way most people did after they’d had time to adjust to the underworld and start their journey toward reincarnation. That he hadn’t fought her at all was a relief. But...if she were in his position, she hoped she’d be at least a little surprised if, say, the Leader showed up to bail her out. Fury had kept Thor on a fairly short leash since his initial fall to earth, and they’d never actually crossed paths. It was hardly inconceivable that he knew her from Stark’s compilation of her greatest flubs, but in that case, he really shouldn’t have been happy to see her. It was bizarre.

She soared over the swamps, keeping low against the canopy in an attempt to dodge scrutiny as the spindle grew brighter. The green gloom was deepening, which didn’t help matters much. She hadn’t counted on him changing on his own as they got closer to where they’d come in. It was like carrying a lantern in her claws. They’d barely cleared the brackish, indefinite edges of the wetland when a sudden downdraft left her out of control and scarcely able to avoid crashing into a ruined garden in front of a burned out shell of a house.

Lucy clutched the transformed prince close as she regained her balance. Sitting on a stone bench in the middle of the garden was a beautiful young woman with hair and eyes the color of the night sky. Or rather, Lucy amended, her hair was the color of the night sky. Her eyes were the night sky, and pinpricks of starlight danced in them. A sharp smile graced full features, and slender fingers the color of cypress-stained lakes wound blood-red yarn around a plain wooden spindle in her lap. She looked up at them, and a crown of small scorpions shifted, gathering locks of her hair with their pinchers and tails and pulling it back out of her face.

“Welcome to my garden, little sister,” she purred. “Would you like to stay a while?”

“No thank you, Lady Grassflower,” Lucy coughed, shrinking back as much as she dared. A rattlesnake curled daintily around one of the goddess’s ankles, and a gila monster glared at her from under the hem of the woman’s skirts. “It’s very kind of you to ask, but I must be going.”

“What a pretty trinket you’ve found, magpie,” she murmured. “And what lovely thread! It makes my poor spindle seem so plain in comparison.”

“Oh, no, lady,” Lucy said quickly. “Your spindle is quite beautiful. You’ve ennobled it with your use, and it fits your hands so well.”

“Still, I find myself entranced by this little thing that you’ve shown me. Surely it burdens you to carry it?” she asked, her smile turning sweet. One of her scorpions plucked a sprig of white flowers from her tunic and made its way up her neck to tuck it behind her ear. Lucy’s face itched just from watching its progress, but the goddess gave no sign of noticing it.

“Oh, no, lady. I find its weight quite manageable,” she blurted. Hummingbird’s warning was heavy on her mind. Watch for the bribe, she told herself. Watch for the price.

“That is a point in its favor, isn’t it? A golden spindle that doesn’t weigh on the fingers. Such a prize calls to me. Surely you don’t want it for yourself? What would a little bird want with thread and spinning when you have everything you need in your beak and your paws? If I could but have it for myself, I would snap that troublesome thread and reward you handsomely.”

“I’m fetching it for someone else, lady,” Lucy said carefully. You can’t have him. “I’ve promised to bring it to them.”

“Surely I’m just as good a master as the one you’re fetching it for, though,” Grassflower suggested, stirring slightly. The serpent at her ankle blinked sleepily and rattled once. “I think you would find my coin much better, into the bargain.”

“Doubtless, lady, but I swore an oath.”

“An oath of performance for payment, I’m sure,” she countered. “Why not allow me to make a better offer? I am the mistress of sorcerous arts ancient and new.” She held up her hand, and the spindle with its red yarn turned into a scroll. “Give me the spindle, and you shall have the undiscovered secrets and the forgotten knowledge of the living world from me in exchange.”

“You are most magnanimous, lady, but I swore an oath to fetch this back,” Lucy choked. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Such a pity,” the goddess clucked. The scroll turned into a tiny replica of her nemesis. “I am the mistress of that which bites and stings and creeps. Give me the spindle, and you shall have the power to defeat your enemy from me in exchange.”

“Your power is without limits, lady, but I swore an oath to fetch this back,” Lucy managed. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

“You drive a hard bargain, little bird,” she sighed. “Very well.” The sea scorpion turned into a pair of humans, holding hands and smiling at her from the palm of Grassflower’s hand. Lucy clutched at the spindle reflexively, its warmth anchoring her even as she felt the world tilt off its axis. “I am the mistress of forbidden practice. Give me the spindle, and you shall have your parents back from me in exchange.”

Look for the price, look for the price, what she’s offering comes with a cost, what is it what is it what is it....

It struck her like a bolt through the heart, and she sucked in a shallow breath at it. She could hardly have her parents back as they had been, almost twenty years ago now, without the undoing of what they had become since then, could she? If Grassflower gave her parents back, two other families would lose their children. The people they’d made of themselves in the meantime would be overthrown. They’d be, what, barely out of high school now? Just starting their adult lives. For her to have what she wanted, that would all have to be destroyed. She shuddered. Too great a cost. Far, far too great.

“The depths of your generosity are infinite, lady, but I swore an oath to fetch this back,” Lucy ground out. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

“I see.” Her aspect darkened and dimmed, and the scorpions in her hair raised their tails. “I am a goddess, and here I hold sway. I have offered fair trade for what I want, and you have denied me. I will have it, nevertheless.”

“You are a goddess, yes. Nevertheless, lady, I have sworn an oath to fetch this back. I will do nothing more than that, and I will do no less than that.” Lucy sprang into the air and beat her wings with all the power she could muster, holding onto the spindle with an iron grip and flying for their lives. Come and take him, if you think you can. Just try it, if you think I passed up your gifts for nothing. The garden below them erupted into a boiling mass of snakes and nettles, but Grassflower did not pursue them. Still, she didn’t dare slow until they looped around the papaya tree to unwind his thread. The spindle was heavy with thread, and her shoulders ached.

“No time for love, Dr. Jones?” Rabbit called.

“No time for anything, Rabbit,” she snapped, pulling away. “I just pissed off a goddess.”

“Better hurry! That lady is mad at you!” he yelled, his voice carrying on the wind.

Lucy groaned. They weren’t far now, but she was tiring quickly. The sun would be up soon. The green of the sky was paling almost to white on the horizon.

She flew on, panting heavily. She was convinced that if the spindle weren’t growing uncomfortably hot against her skin, she wouldn’t be able to feel her feet at all. The bridges and the black river swept by below them. They were almost to the dragon’s maw. She resisted the urge to set down and rest in its mouth, well aware that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to get going again. Fucking hell, but he was getting heavy. The vaguely unpleasant Asgardian aura was beginning to reassert itself as well, and the touch of metal against her bare skin was reminiscent of a constant, mild static shock. She made her way slowly through the gap in the rock, careful not to smash into the cave’s walls out of fatigue. Once they were free of it, she put everything she had into climbing, reaching for the void, seeking the updrafts of limbo. The remainder of the cord was too bright to look at directly now, each steady beat like a solar flare. The terminus was close, so close. She dredged up another burst of speed at the sight of her goal, mentally gritting her teeth against the pain of every wingstroke. Thor grew heavier and she grew more depleted with every passing moment. Almost there, almost there, almost there....

And then the spindle was jerked from her grasp, the soul flying like a loosed arrow toward the body, and Lucy was free. She felt like she’d slipped a noose. Her heart blazed in her chest. A quick thought, and the reshaping was undone. Thor rippled back into his true form. His blue eyes cast about frantically, and his face registered a flickering succession of emotions she couldn’t quite identify when he spotted her far below him. Then he was gone. Lucy circled slowly, the wind ruffling her feathers. He’d looked desperate and stricken, but hell if she could tell why. Maybe the transformation had pained him? Had he felt the same discomfort she had from their contact? It couldn’t have been helped, but she was sorry if it were the case.

The warping around the site of his departure smoothed and dissipated. Once she was satisfied that the anomaly was gone, she cut upward through the cloud cover and sought her own body.

Chapter Text

Lucy inhaled deeply, letting her senses snap back open before she tried to move. Chilled, artificially sterile air, bright fluorescent light on the other side of her eyelids, a rather hard mattress at her back, the sudden rustle of activity on the other side of the room, a thin blanket over her....She opened one eye cautiously and poked at the blanket. Hawkeye looked a little sheepish.

“You were cold,” he said.

She arched her eyebrows in question.

“You seemed cold,” he clarified.

Lucy stretched a little, then propped herself up on her elbows. The inside of her mouth felt like she’d been eating cotton.

“How’s the prince?” she croaked. She squinted slightly against the remnant of the astral sight as she settled in fully. The room above them looked like it contained a small sun.

“He hasn’t woken up yet, but he’s sleeping normally instead of comatose,” Coulson told her. She didn’t fucking doubt it, with the amount of energy he was still spilling. “Some of the more minor injuries have already healed.”

“I think he got the stuffing knocked out of him a little while he was down there,” she said, “but he should be alert and active soon enough.” She sat up, flexed her fingers, and wiggled her toes. “For my next trick, I’m going to make a gallon of water disappear.”

“Why don’t you start with twelve ounces?” Hawkeye suggested, passing her a bottle. She twisted off the cap and drained it without pause. “Or I guess maybe the full gallon works, too,” he muttered, handing her another.

Lucy drank the second bottle more slowly, her eyes scanning the room. The table had a thick manilla file, a bottle of rum, and a pack of cigarettes sitting on it. Thank the fucking gods. She felt sliced open and half emptied out, and she didn’t want to put herself back together sober. “I suppose I’m not allowed to smoke those in here?”

“You suppose correctly,” Coulson said. “The captain has agreed to babysit you if you’d like to go to the ground level.”

“I think I would like that very much,” she said. She got to her feet after a few more minutes of experimental movement, after she was confident that she wouldn’t immediately faceplant onto the linoleum floor. She felt...not numb, not exactly, but too light for her body, shaky, and a little giddy. She needed some fresh air, and she needed to be away from people for a little while, and she needed some time to think about something besides what sort of tool turned down infinite knowledge and a shit-ton of power for a guy who, under other circumstances, would be throwing a magic hammer at her over property damage.

Lucy snagged another pair of water bottles, stuffed them in her jacket pockets, and scooped everything off the table. “I’m ready whenever he is.”

Coulson ushered her into the waiting room, where Rogers, van Dyne, and Banner were crowded around a monitor. They looked up when Coulson cleared his throat. None of them seemed to have gotten any sleep in the past twenty-four hours, and the Wasp looked as twitchy as Lucy felt. Banner smiled when he saw Coulson.

“Hank thinks he’s going to be just fine,” he said, collapsing into a chair. “Just fine.”

“Captain, would you please escort Jones to the ground level?”

Rogers nodded, and some of the tension that had drained out of his shoulders at the good news came stealing back in. He followed her to the elevator, then coughed slightly once they were inside.

“You, uh....Thank you. You did good,” he managed, unsure of what to say. Lucy shot him a cool smile as the platform began to rise.

“Damn straight I did,” she said simply. “I saved the fucking day.”

“Um.” He looked a little startled.

“Oh, sorry, was I supposed to get all mumbly and embarrassed and humble there?” she asked. “Say aww, shucks, mister, ‘tweren’t nothin’?” Rogers blushed, and she scoffed. “Yeah, you’re going to have to wait for something that actually isn’t anything for that out of me. And even then, it would probably be more along the lines of ‘No, seriously, guys, I didn’t do anything. That wasn’t me.’ than folksy bullshit.”

Lucy finished the second bottle of water and cracked her knuckles. She was beginning to get back on an even keel. Her hands felt raw and scorched, but the lingering psychosomatic unpleasantness should fade soon. She was still too happy by half, given the circumstances, which she suspected was going to catch up to her at some wildly inopportune moment. If she were one for introspection, she’d probably be wondering why it hadn’t once occurred to her to let go after she’d found the prince. Good thing I’m not, she thought. She was just grateful he hadn’t pushed back or struggled. He might not have been quite able to bring her to a standstill, not with the way she could have leveraged the power of the place against him, but it definitely would have left her too tired to make it back. As it was, things weren’t that bad. She didn’t trust her magic, not entirely, but it was more her control of it than her power levels. She was a far cry from tapped out. The elevator doors opened with a clunk.

“Smell that air, Captain,” she said, inhaling.

“Gasoline, motor oil, and industrial cleaning agents,” he pointed out.

“Still smells like something,” she retorted. “More than can be said for the filtered-and-then-some air inside the bunker. You mind sitting in the sun?”

“There aren’t any benches outside the hangar.”

“I was planning on sitting on the ground.”

“Oh. I guess not, then.” He rubbed his eyes.

“What’d you do to piss Coulson off so bad he kicked you this job?” she asked, heading up the runway. Rogers tagged along, his brows furrowing.

“I don’t follow,” he said.

“Not to deride what I’m sure are your absolutely superior prisoner observation techniques, but you look dog-tired, and we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. There’s no reason a pair of junior agents couldn’t watch me get drunk and read up on my enemies while you took a nap. I’m hardly going to run all the way to Salt Lake City. So, what’d you do?”

“I volunteered,” he grunted.

“Ouch. Guess you kind of had it coming, then.”

Lucy stopped once they were properly outside and craned her neck. She found a sunny patch of dirt and plopped down on it, stretching out her legs and resting her back against the building. The captain’s eyes sharpened when she pulled out her lighter.

“I didn’t think the WACs were around anymore,” he commented, tilting his head. “I thought it was all just the army now.”

“They’re not. Well, not since ‘78, anyway. This was my grandmother’s.”

“She served during the war?”

“No such thing as the war anymore, Captain. But yeah, she did. Stationed at Okinawa during the Korean War. Lady liked herself a good fight. That’s how she met my grandfather, actually.”

“In the army?”

“In a fight.”

Rogers snorted disapprovingly, unsure of whether or not to believe her.

“You know, it turns out those things give you cancer,” he said when she tapped out a cigarette and lit it. She ignored him until the first one was a quarter gone, then exhaled and flicked the ash into the empty water bottle. Her frayed nerves were slightly less likely to unravel.

“I’m more concerned about emphysema, myself. You know what I am, hands down, the most concerned about, though?” she asked. He gave her a long-suffering look. She smiled. “Getting shot in the face. Currently in a very close second place--and I did not see this one coming when I got up yesterday morning--is getting sworded in the chest.” She took another drag. “I mean, I guess I would have ranked getting stabbed in general as kind of high up there thanks to the Negasynod and whoever let the Negasynod get into the cocaine, but with a sword? Nowhere on the fucking horizon. Gotta hand it to SHIELD there. They do keep life interesting.”

She popped open the bottle of rum and took a swig. It burned going down, sweet and sharp and spiced, and she sighed contentedly. She hadn’t had more than one shitty, watered-down well drink since the night Stark had swiped her ring. It hadn’t seemed like a good idea, given first her desire for stealth and then how many people shown up trying to kill her. Now, though, there wasn’t much to lose. If her enemies found her here, or SHIELD decided she’d outlived her usefulness, she had a full-on tantrum to detonate. See how they like that, the hypothetical motherfuckers, she thought.

Lucy closed her eyes for a moment and basked. She could feel Rogers, getting ready to say something about her drinking. For someone who’d signed himself up for a medical procedure that barely qualified as an experiment, joined the special forces, pulled a kamikaze dive into the ocean, and then settled on a career fighting superpowered monsters once he got over that, he was a hell of a mother hen. She wondered if that was some lingering doubt about the much likelier outcomes of a secret process used on a disposable 4-F with no next of kin, sublimated and turned outward. Don’t look at it too hard, Captain. Maybe you’ll get lucky, and the bullet they’ve got ready for when your morals turn you into a problem will hit home before you realize what’s happening.

She’d been floundering her way through similar emotional detritus when she’d decided to save Coulson and his sidekick. Of course, she’d also blown up a chain of HYDRA bases, precipitated an international diplomatic emergency, and replaced the audio from that year’s State of the Union address with Roosevelt’s fireside chats. The opposition party rebuttals had been a thing of strange and terrible beauty. It wasn’t hijacking the Jumbotron and threatening to nuke New York, but she dared anyone to say her reach hadn’t been felt as far as any of the heavy hitters’.

She stretched further and picked up the hum of human activity below them and the animal activity around them. She could feel the blazing fire that was the sleeping prince, getting steadily stronger in its concrete cocoon. He’d be fine, she thought. Might take a few days, but he’d be good as new soon. The emergency crew who’d pushed past the dawn were beginning to fall asleep where they could as their replacements filtered on duty. Coulson was already trying to devise some way to stall her transfer to a more conventional facility, plagued by nightmare visions of her tearing up a SHIELD crew like she had countless merc teams. It was ridiculous on the face of it; the rules of engagement were completely different. If somebody goes to the effort of trying to arrest you instead of just shooting a rocket launcher at you, it’s bad form to turn around and set them on fire. She doubted he’d really believe her if she tried explaining it to him, though.

Lucy let herself drift a little further, away from the distinct minds of humanity and out into the desert. Things were content just to be, there. Some of the awful need, the demand that something be done, could be ignored from that vantage point. Lucy was was jerked back to herself by a sudden pain in her arm. It felt like she’d been stabbed with a brand, right over the bone callus from the break.

“Ow! Fuck!” she snarled, jumping to her feet and slapping at the injury. Rogers was on guard immediately, shield at ready, his attention divided between their surroundings and her. She found herself clutching a tiny ball of green feathers in her hand. Two eyes glinted brightly from its black-masked face and stared down a slim, blood-stained beak at her. She carefully rotated and opened her hand so that she was cradling the hummingbird in her palm. Her arm throbbed. “Oh, come on. What the fuck was that about?”

The bird darted to her bottle of rum, took a sip, and flew away without answering. Lucy rubbed the puncture mark. Rogers stared at her.

“Did you honestly just get bitten by a hummingbird?” he demanded.

“That wasn’t precisely a hummingbird,” she grunted, massaging her arm. It still felt like there was a live ember under her skin. “It was more like a small fragment of the consciousness of Huītzilopōchtli.”

“Gesundheit.”

She glared. “Dude. He’s a god. Maybe save the jokes for the next time some penny-ante HYDRA spin-off accidentally names themselves after a sex toy.”

“That wasn’t a joke. That was really a name?” he asked. “Wait, you mean you just got bitten by a god?”

“I guess.” The sting was fading slightly. “Fuck me if I know why, though.”

“A god who is also a hummingbird?”

“Sometimes he’s also the sun. This one bottle could not possibly get me drunk enough to accurately explain how it works to you, Captain.”

“At this point, I’m not sure I want to know.” He shook his head and reached for her arm. “Here, let me see.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s not even bleeding,” she said, stepping back and cradling the injury against her chest. “And my tetanus booster’s up to date. Nothing to worry about.”

Lucy sat back down. Rogers hovered uncomfortably close, primed for action and with nothing to do. She glared at him, picked up the bottle of the rum, and started to take a drink.

“You sure you still want that?” he asked. “The god-bird-thing did just bite you and then stick its beak in it.”

“The day I’m too good to drink after a god is a dark day indeed,” she retorted, tipping it up. She made a face and swallowed with some difficulty. “Ugh.”

“Do I even want to know?” he sighed.

“That dickhead transubstantiated it into tequila.”

“The monster,” he agreed, face and voice completely deadpan.

“Hey, I went to hell and back for that rum. Biting me and turning it into tequila without even telling me is out of bounds,” Lucy said firmly. “Fuck it.” She capped the bottle and lit a new cigarette. “You see a herd of scorpions stampeding toward us, let me know.”

“Wait, what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” She flipped open the file angrily and started skimming the pages. Stupid bitey hummingbird. Stupid fussy captain. Stupid nothing ever working out easily, why did everything have to be so fucking difficult all the time. She took a deep breath. Narrow your focus, think about something specific, just shut down for a while before you get stupid, too. It was hard to avoid the bright pulse of the sleeping god below them, but paying attention to it was like pressing on a bruise. There was something profoundly irritating about the last look he’d given her before he’d vanished back out of limbo.

“You want to talk about what exactly happened when you brought Thor back?” Rogers offered.

“Nope.”

“Does it have anything to do with Huītz...Huītzilo...the hummingbird biting you?”

“I can only assume.”

“Why would it--”

“Goddammit, would you stop trying to debrief me and let me read?” she snapped. He stepped back a little, miffed.

Lucy frowned. Most of the file was composed of information she’d already known, or had been able to discover easily enough once she’d known it was le Fay that she was looking for. Some of it, on the other hand...

“Huh. Morgan le Fay and Doom are fuckbuddies. That explains a lot,” she muttered. “Who’d have thought she’d go in for humorless, anti-magic assholes?”

“Why did you want her file, anyway?” Rogers asked. “You’ve never worked with her before, and no offense, but I don’t think you’ve got much to offer her now.”

“This may comes as something of a surprise, Captain, but my first thought on realizing that Stark had my ring was not, in fact, ‘How many fire-fights can I get into in the next month?’.” She scowled. “I’ve got her to thank for that. Since I’ve never worked with her and never really done much of anything to piss her off, you can imagine my shock and confusion and righteous indignation upon discovering that she was conspiring with my enemies.” He arched an eyebrow, his expression sceptical. “Doubt all you want, I was cut to the quick to find myself betrayed by a fellow magician. I mean, we’re a sacred brotherhood. You’d have to go back like, almost a year to find another example of this sort of treachery.”

“Mind if I join the party? I brought pancakes.” Lucy looked up to see Stark approaching. He held up a styrofoam container and wobbled it at her, smiling. Well, it was more of a smirk, she decided. Stark didn’t really do smiles outside of the boardroom and photo-ops, and they were all professional-grade fakes. Fakes that somehow managed to convey the exact same invitation to slap it off him. It was actually an impressive trick. Still, she hadn’t had anything to eat since the Hulk had tracked her down.

“Fine,” she said. “Hand ‘em over.”

“Great. So, what stage in the shindig life-cycle are we at right now? Awkward-get-to-know-everybody, finally-found-our-groove, or too-drunk-and-only-losers-are-left?” he chirped.

“We’re at the part where Jones gets sarcastic about magician loyalty,” Rogers told him.

“That’s not a benchmark, Captain. I’m always sarcastic about magician loyalty,” she pointed out.

“Well, why are we being sarcastic about magician loyalty today?”

“Something about Morgan le Fay,” Steve sighed.

She opened the box and found a short stack of pancakes and a small mountain of jelly packs. She shot a questioning look at Stark.

“Commissary only had fake syrup,” he explained with a shrug.

“Never figured you for the sort of guy who could combine breakfast with a threat,” she muttered.

“I’m just going to ignore the insult implied there and say that Clint did it,” Stark replied blithely, plopping down next to her and grabbing for the rum.

“Hawkeye? Yeah, I can see that. I can also see you not volunteering the information unless you had to,” Lucy snorted. She batted his hand away from the bottle.

“I think he was only trying to be nice. Your file says you don’t like fake syrup, he doesn’t slather your breakfast in fake syrup. You did save Thor and, you know, his arm, after all. And yes, okay, maybe I’ll steal credit for that if he’s too busy falling asleep in his cheerios to bring it out here himself.”

“It’s nice to know my pancake preferences are a matter of national fucking security.”

Stark shrugged. “Never know when it’s going to come in handy. Are you seriously not going to let me have any of that? I’m the one who made the liquor run for it.”

“Then you should have picked up one for yourself while you were there.”

“But Coulson told me if I came back with more than one bottle, he was going to let Natasha taser me as much as she wanted the next time I got out of line. And you know me, Jones. I’d last two seconds if he ever took her off the chain.”

Lucy gave him a level look, then sighed. “Fine. You may have one shot’s worth.”

“Thank you. Was that so hard?” He grinned at her and took a swig. He barely stopped himself from spitting it back out. “Jesus. That’s tequila.”

“Yup,” Lucy said around a mouthful of pancake and strawberry jam.

“Steve, how is this tequila?”

“I’m a little fuzzy on the details,” Rogers said evasively.

“No, you’re not. You just don’t want to sound like an idiot repeating them,” she said, retrieving the bottle. “Just be grateful it’s not pulque.”

Stark’s expression shifted quickly to alarm, and he scrambled away from her. “You’ve got your power back!”

“I didn’t do it. I am, in fact, the victim here.”

“Of a hummingbird,” Rogers reminded her. “Don’t be so melodramatic.”

“Says the guy who wanted to break out the first aid kit,” she countered.

“At no point did I suggest that.”

“You really wanted to, though.”

“Guys? You maybe want to go back to the beginning on this one? And please keep in mind that you haven’t been out here for more than half an hour, so I shouldn’t have to ask that,” Stark asked plaintively.

“Jones got bitten by a hummingbird. The hummingbird then turned the rum into tequila and flew away.”

“Wow. I think that was the least helpful explanation I’ve ever gotten, Steve. You might have an award coming over that one. It even tops Hammer’s breakdown of how giving Vanko control of a fleet of armed drones stationed at a science expo full of civilians came to look like a great idea instead of treason and/or terrorism. Which, I’d like to add, takes some doing, because that was a doozy.”

“You done pouting about being out of the loop?” she asked.

“I’m not pouting, and no, I’m not done.”

“Okay. Let me know when you are.” Lucy ate her pancakes in silence for a minute before he caved.

“Fine, all right, I’m done pouting. Now what the hell happened up here?”

“I ran into Huītzilopōchtli while I was trying to dig your royal deadweight out of the underworld. Malīnalxōchitl was very interested in keeping him there. Huītzilopōchtli wanted him gone, or maybe just to annoy his sister, so he did me a solid. Then he showed up here, stabbed me in the fucking arm with his goddamn beak, and turned the rum into tequila.”

Stark stared at her for a second, then turned back to Rogers. “Am I having a stroke, or did she just make even less sense than you?”

“I don’t know what you want, Tony. What happened is what happened. Kind of.” Rogers frowned. “You didn’t mention the second one before.”

“She’s not up here fucking with my booze.”

“Why?” Stark asked.

“Why what?” Lucy countered evenly.

“Why any of that?” he shouted, throwing his hands in the air.

“Dunno. Weird theological reasons? I mean, Huītzilopōchtli helped me out last night because he was trying to trip up his sister, but I don’t know what the hell she was doing, or why he felt the need to mess with me now.”

“Talking to you is like having an aneurysm, I swear to god,” Stark groaned.

“You don’t have to.” She spread blackberry jam on half a pancake and settled back to read le Fay’s file again. “I mean, we wouldn’t be having any conversation at all if you hadn’t stolen my ring, would we? I don’t feel the least bit sorry for you. You just show up out of the blue and fuck everything up, because you’re Tony Stark.”

“I think that’s an oversimplification of my heroic motivations--”

“Nope.”

“Are you not going to back me up here at all? Has she really got you that cowed after twenty minutes?” Stark pleaded with Rogers. He turned back to Lucy. “I brought you pancakes and everything.”

“You’re an errand boy, sent by an arrow-using assassin, to deliver a message.”

“We’re going there? Seriously? Straight to Apocalypse Now?”

“Yup.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Fine. I’m going back to sit in the air conditioning and watch the news. It’s very boring, because you’re not out there, shooting people. Because you got caught by a normal human being and a guy who can’t work a can-opener.”

“Wow. That stings. I’m barely holding it together here. I may sob hysterically into my breakfast as soon as I think you’re out of earshot,” Lucy said flatly. Tony started to stalk off, then turned around and stalked right back. Rogers sighed and rubbed his eyes. She could practically see his hair graying right before her eyes. She wondered which of them was going to break down and murder the other one first.

“Why do you even care about le Fay? It’s not like you were buds before I took your power away.”

“Morgan le Fay is somehow responsible for Jones turning the southeast into a shooting gallery,” Rogers said.

“Wait, how does that work?” Stark asked, frowning.

“None of your business.”

Lucy didn’t even bother looking up when Rogers jumped in with, “She’s, um, intimately connected to Doom.”

“How does Doom having a hot girlfriend who’s not secretly a robot result in everybody you’ve ever looked at funny getting their heads blown off at second-string tourist attractions?” Stark paused. “Wait, we’re sure she’s not secretly a robot, right? No, never mind. She can’t be a robot. Robots can’t use magic.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Your absolutely stunning logical detour aside, she was handing out magic constructs like candy. Presumably at Doom’s behest. I don’t think the intention was really for me to win.”

“And what, she got bored and stopped?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course she didn’t.” Lucy shrugged. “I figured out what she was up to and fixed her little red wagon. And now,” she waved the file at him, “I have the beginnings of an answer to why she started it in the first place.”

“You fixed her little red wagon? Who says that?” Stark laughed.

“Fuck you. And I do, obviously.”

“I don’t see why you needed a file to figure out why she doesn’t like you. I mean, I wouldn’t like you either if you shrank Kang the Conqueror’s time-legions down to the size of oompa loompas and then told Kang you were me after he got all ‘Who dares!’ about it.”

“First off, you don’t like me, and I never did that to you. Secondly, I told Kang I was the Hood, not le Fay.”

“How did you manage to go up against a magician without powers?” Rogers asked quietly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake. If one more person assumes that me not having that stupid ring means I’m a talking chimp who’s been sleepwalking through the past fifteen years, I’m going to lose my goddamned mind.” Lucy pushed the empty carton away angrily and lit a cigarette, snapping the lighter closed with unnecessary force. “I mean, seriously. He,” she pointed at Stark, “can build a flying fucking flamethrower that doubles as fancy dress out of three goddamned paperclips and a wad of chewing gum in a fucking cave in a fucking third world shithole, and nobody blinks. I spend literally half my fucking life working with magic, and everybody just cannot fucking believe it when I manage to tie my own shoes without a power source. Like, they’re ready to roll out a slow clap for me when I figure out how to load a gun on my own.” Rogers was leaning away from her, his expression reminiscent of a deer in headlights.

“You know what that dog-faced motherfucker on the beach would be doing if he had that ring?” she demanded, jabbing at Stark with her forefinger. “Sucking harder. He’d be like a super-charged electrolux. You’d be able to hear the sound of him failing at life and levitating things straight up his nose from Australia. There are three big things separating incompetent whoresons like that and great magicians. One of them is style, and another one is knowing what the fuck you’re doing, and I’ve still got both. The only thing I’m missing is the juice. I mean, I lost my phone, too. I guess that must mean I’ll never be able to fucking call anybody ever again, right? Assholes. I--”

“Not to rain on your epic rant,” Stark cut in, “but I feel compelled to set the record straight and reiterate that I made a flamethrower that doubles as fancy dress out of a huge pile of other weapons, not three paperclips and a wad of chewing gum. Don’t get me wrong--I could have if that’s all I’d had. But my accomplishment does actually obey the known laws of physics. Oh, and if style counts? Why are you dressed like Militia Barbie?”

“Because the Taskmaster hasn’t got any style whatsoever and is grossly envious of those who do.” Lucy snatched the bottle and drank deeply. “I am too fucking sober for this bullshit.”

“Seriously, though, how’d you bust up Morgan’s little hootenanny with no magic?”

“You know how in the old stories, iron puts the kibosh on faerie magic?”

They both nodded. Stark was smirking again.

“So you threw a handful of nails at her and ran off?”

“Don’t be a jackass. The iron thing is bullshit, unless you’re talking about the same shape and application of iron that’s going to put the kibosh on breathing, generally and across the board. That sort of iron works fine in pretty much any situation. But you can achieve the same results that iron is supposed to yield by the judicious use of an isochronous cyclotron and sodium caseinate.”

“When did you figure out how to use a cyclotron?” Stark demanded. She gave him a withering look.

“They do come with instruction manuals, Stark,” she snapped.

“Where did you get sodium caseinate from?” Rogers ventured. They both stared at him.

“It’s one of the primary components of non-dairy creamer,” Lucy informed him. “One of the abominations of the modern age. Congratulations on having avoided it so far. Come to think of it, I should probably write Frau Doktor Nein a thank-you note for that one.”

“Where do I know that name from?” he muttered.

Stark frowned. “I recognize it, too.”

“You probably remember it from the Big One,” Lucy said to Rogers. “She was one of the big-shot Nazi super-scientists. Unlike your pal Schmidt, she was actually loyal to der Führer. She managed to evade Allied forces after the war and continue her nefarious career. I personally wouldn’t consider lowering the standards of office workers’ daily lives by a barely detectable amount much of an accomplishment, but I guess everybody has their petty failures.” She shrugged.

“You,” she poked at Stark again, “probably remember her from when she sued Ian Fleming and that director dude over Dr. No on likeness rights and defamation grounds.”

“Oh, yeah.” He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. “She’s the one who gave the Jurors their powers, isn’t she?”

“Well, not deliberately. She zapped the shit out of them when they found in favor of the defendants,” Lucy said, shrugging. “I’m pretty sure she was trying to kill them. I mean, she screamed ‘Roast in hell, Hausschweine!’ before she shot them and everything. In her defense, though, ‘she’s a fucking Nazi’ isn’t acceptable legal grounds for finding against a plaintiff in an intellectual property case. I think you’re supposed to find for them, award them damages of one penny, and then arrest them for being a fucking Nazi, if that’s how you’re going to roll.”

“Hard to win a defamation suit when you’re literally a Nazi, though,” Stark said. “I just wish they’d put their powers to better use than issuing dodgy non-binding arbitrations on behalf of non-consenting parties.” He looked at Rogers. “Did I ever tell you about the time they crashed a Stark Industries union negotiation? It was unbelievable. We filed for a restraining order, which they then declared improperly issued. Pepper had to bureaucracy them into submission.” He chewed his lip. “I wonder why she never sued Mike Myers over the Austin Powers stuff.”

“Well, they’d’ve probably sat the Jurors again, so why bother? And it’s pretty clearly parody, which I’d think puts it firmly in the bounds of fair use.” Lucy shrugged. “Not to mention that Dr. Evil is a send-up of Blofeld, not Dr. No, and Farbissina has nothing in common with Nein aside from nationality. Then again, at this point, she’d probably just send her Kriegsaffen after anybody she was really mad at. I get the feeling she’s done with the judicial system for a while, and honestly, what’s the point of even having Kriegsaffen if you’re not going to sic them on people at least once in a while?”

“Kriegs...?” Rogers pursed his lips. “War-apes? Am I translating that right? Tony, why are we letting Nazi doctors have weaponized gorillas?”

“I think they’re actually orangutans. Gorillas are a little hard to come by these days, whereas orangs are being pushed out of their habitat like whoa.”

“I don’t care if they’re lemurs, that just seems like a bad call,” Rogers said irritably.

“Hey, now. Take it up with Fury,” Stark said soothingly, holding his hands up. “I wasn’t even invited to the meeting where fascists with tactical primates got de-prioritized.”

“Don’t look at me. I’m firmly of the opinion that everything is better with monkeys. Maybe not with lemurs, though, because they’re just sit around all day getting high off millipedes, if you let them. Which is, yes, adorable, but not particularly helpful in any productive scheme. Then again, I guess if you--”

“Please stop coming up with a productive scheme involving soused lemurs,” Rogers sighed.

“Never. Especially since then I’d have an excuse to let a bunch of lemurs get stoned.”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever seen a lemur stoned.” She grinned. “They get so high. It’s incredible. If humans were capable of getting that high, we’d never have made it out of the stone age.”

“Your priorities are deeply misplaced, Jones,” Rogers said, shaking his head.

“My priorities are fucking awesome, you just--”

Rogers held up a hand suddenly, his head tilting and his other hand going to his earpiece. Lucy scoffed and went back to the tequila, only to find him taking it away from her.

“What the fuck, Rogers?”

“Thor’s awake.”

“Great. Great news. He’ll be on his feet in no time. What does that have to do with you taking my tequila away?”

“He wants to see you immediately.” Rogers and Stark traded a look, and she crossed her arms.

“What if I don’t want to see him?”

“Not an argument Coulson’s interested in entertaining right now,” Rogers told her.

“Well, then, what does that even fucking mean, he wants to see me immediately? Do I need to brace for a magic hammer to the face? Because I’m really not down with that right now. I’m pretty sure even under completely normal circumstances, I wouldn’t be able to squeegee my brains off a wall and put them back in without some pretty significant impairment afterwards.”

“Does he have a reason to want to hit you with Mjolnir, Jones?” Stark asked as they gathered the trash and herded her back into the hangar.

“No idea, but I also don’t know why he’d want to see me, either. Usually somebody you don’t know tries to pull you out of the underworld, you’re all yeah thanks, how wonderful, now get the fuck away from me, I never want to see your face again.” She dumped the carton and her empty water bottles into a bin. “Did he say anything else?”

“He’s upset, and Coulson wants us to hurry, so march.”

“Stop trying to herd me, Captain. I’m not a stray sheep.”

“He’d make a great border collie, though,” Stark offered. Rogers glared at him.

“Back into the belly of the beast,” Lucy muttered, tension corkscrewing up her spine. If she wound up collapsing a level on everybody over this, she was going to feel terrible about it afterwards. Probably.

“Robots can’t use magic, though, right?” Stark asked as the elevator began its descent.

Chapter Text

Thor groped toward consciousness, listening for Loki’s voice. He was cold, colder than he remembered being even when they had gone to Jotunheim, as cold as he had felt when those things had touched him and whispered in his ear. He shivered violently. They had dug into the darkest shadows of his heart and judged him based on what they found there. Their hissed accusations--fratricide, war-monger, unworthy, unfit for the throne, braggart, drunkard--had filled his mind until Loki had blotted them out and driven them off. Loki had come for him. Loki had forgiven him. Loki had saved him. He groaned. Loki had lied to him. Loki had remained behind, a small figure receding against the empty sky once more.

“Thor? Thor! Wake up. Please, wake up.”

Sif’s voice. He struggled to open his eyes, then squinted against the bright light. Someone shaded his eyes almost instantly, and he relaxed slightly. Sif and Volstagg were crowded around him, smiling broadly. Hogun was at the foot of the bed, grinning like a madman. Half his teammates hovered behind them, relieved and happy. Loki was not among them. He swallowed painfully and tried to speak, tried to ask Sif where Loki was. Coulson slipped under Sif’s arm with a glass of water and put the straw to his lips. He drank gratefully, then fell back against the pillow, exhausted and numb.

“Loki?” he asked quietly, surprised at the gravelly sound of his own voice.

Sif’s brows furrowed. “What of Loki, Thor?”

“He...she...did not come with me, then?” he sighed, closing his eyes again. He should have expected it. He’d extracted an oath, yes, but then Loki had chosen to swear on his blood. Loki might as well have laughed in his face. Still, he had saved him, had he not?

“I don’t know what you mean, Thor,” she said urgently, leaning close and taking one of his hands in hers. “You saw Loki?”

“She freed me and brought me back,” he explained weakly. “I made her promise to come with me, but now....She isn’t here, is she?”

Sif shot a glance at Phil, who cleared his throat. “You mean Lucy Jones? She’s here.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You set your mage on him without consulting us?”

“We asked our mage to save him, yes,” he said smoothly.

“Sif, please. You must trust him. He is an honorable man,” Thor managed. “Son of Coul, please, ask her to come. I need to speak with her.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Thor,” Phil cautioned. “She’s as much of a disaster as she’s always been. Losing the ring hasn’t altered her personality at all.”

Thor’s eyes blazed. “I have not mourned my brother for two years only to find him again and then be denied his presence.”

Coulson’s expression grew fixed, a half-smile that didn’t fit the situation or his face, and he nodded before touching his comm.

“Rogers? Please escort Jones back into the base. She’s needed in Thor’s room.” He gave a brisk nod to the now-stiff gathering and excused himself from the room. The door closed behind him, and he continued speaking into the comm. Thor blushed.

“I apologize, my friends. I was unfairly short-tempered,” he rumbled softly. He registered the absence of another face. “Sif, Hogun? Where is Fandral? Not--?”

“He is fine. We sent him back to Asgard for a healer,” Sif said quickly. “He should return soon.”

“Amora attacked you and stole the ring. You’ve been asleep for almost four days,” Hogun explained. Bruce and Hank nodded behind him.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Hank added.

“Loki said that she had struck me down. I do not think luck was part of my return,” he groaned. He could still feel Loki’s shape in his arms, still too thin by half, still shying away from affection, but solid and real and banishing the cold. It was like the phantom pain of a lost limb. “Loki saved me.”

Sif squeezed his hand and bent low. “Be careful, Thor. Have you forgotten how you parted?”

“How could I?” he laughed bitterly. “It has been in my dreams often enough, especially as of late. Loki was unhinged by grief, Sif. If I had but been there, if I hadn’t been banished for my arrogance, would any of it have happened? He has had time to come back to himself since he fell. I can at least hope that he’s done so, can’t I?”

“We all hope,” she sighed. “All I ask is that you do it with open eyes.”

He nodded, and she offered him more water. He was surprised at how quickly he had tired from so little effort. His blood felt like ice in his veins. He caught the worried glances his companions exchanged. A pair of querulous voices reached them from the corridor, and Sif looked up sharply. Thor rubbed the grit from his eyes and listened. Tony was arguing with a woman about something. He recognized Steve’s footsteps.

“I’m just saying, I find it hard to believe that every amphibian on the planet is secretly a monster,” Tony said, his voice muffled by the door.

“If belief had anything to do with it, we’d be living in a very different world,” the woman retorted. She sounded like Jones, but the timbre and pitch of her voice were subtly off in a way that Tony’s weren’t. He couldn’t make out the hushed words between them and Phil, but they were all inside a moment later.

The short, stout blonde accompanying them eyed him critically. He tilted his head. Loki’s eyes were in a stranger’s face.

“Lucy Jones,” she said finally, extending a hand. “We met briefly in the underworld. Congratulations on appearing to be perfectly fine, all things considered.”

He took her hand and gasped as warmth flowed through him. It was as if he’d come out of a cold rain to sit in front of the hearthfire. Lucy and Sif stared at him, and Hogun’s eyes narrowed. Lucy tugged back gently against his grip.

“Gonna need that back eventually, your highness,” she told him.

“Please, stay. Sit.” He couldn’t bring himself to let go.

“You look different than you did when we saw you in New York,” Sif observed, directing a pointed look at him.

“Yeah, it’s amazing what getting your magic stolen will do for your looks,” Lucy said, glancing at Phil. He shrugged and nodded toward a chair next to Thor’s bed. She sat hesitantly, pulled at his hand again, then seemed to give up. “What did you need to see me for, exactly?”

“I needed to be sure that you were safe,” Thor managed after a long pause. He swallowed heavily and squeezed her hand. “I needed you here. It’s been so long, Loki.”

“Lucy,” she corrected absently, a questioning look going back to Phil. “Unless you have a speech impediment, in which case, I apologize for being an insensitive dick.” She cleared her throat. “Uh, clearly, as you can see, I’m safe, and it’s actually only been like a couple hours since you last saw me, so why don’t I just get going and let you get some rest?”

“Thor,” Sif prompted, her voice pitched low and urgent. Lucy looked from him to her and back again.

He nodded. She was right. “Do you remember what you said when you first found me?”

“You mean death from above? Yeah, why?” Her brow furrowed, then cleared. “Oh. Yeah, sure, ask away. I wouldn’t trust me, either.”

“And after?”

She colored slightly. “Yes, that. I feel like I should point out that the underworld is a place where the personal facets of archetypes hold a great deal of power and shouldn’t be discarded without good cause. So, in that light, uh, hitting something with a broom and yelling ‘No snakes in the house!’ is a perfectly legitimate thing to do.”

“Magic is weird,” Tony said finally, breaking the silence.

“Oh, and string theory makes perfect sense,” Lucy shot back, scowling at him. Hank looked like he might argue the point until Tony elbowed him.

Thor nodded to Sif, and she and Volstagg relaxed slightly. Hogun’s dark eyes rested on Lucy’s face, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I did not believe that you had returned as you promised,” Thor said after a moment.

“No offense to the underworld and its many terrifying denizens, but it’s not exactly a place I hang out in for kicks,” Lucy said. “I just needed to be sure the rift that Amora caused when she knocked a hole in reality with you as a projectile closed up properly. You really didn’t have to worry about it. I mean, it’s nice of you to worry about it, I guess, but it’s not necessary.” She puffed out her cheeks and looked around the room. “So long as we’re all here in one place, though, I guess now would be the right time to ask if anybody knows why Amora stole my ring?”

“She thought it contained your soul,” Sif explained. “She took it to strike back at Thor.”

Lucy tilted her head. “I....That....She...? Wow.”

“That’s my reaction to everything you say,” Tony groused.

“It’s not my fault you’re fundamentally incapable of keeping up,” she snapped. “Okay, why did she think it contains my soul?”

“We may have given her that impression,” Hank mumbled.

Lucy stared at him.

“It was a working hypothesis at the time,” he explained. She stared at him for another few seconds before pushing her hair back from her face and heaving an exaggerated sigh.

“Okay, you guys do understand that Harry Potter isn’t actually real, right?” she demanded. “It’s not some meticulously researched look at magic. You can’t dig out somebody’s soul like a rutabaga, dice it up, and hide it in jewelry and notebooks and ‘58 Plymouths. Not to mention that even if you could, you’d have to be crazy as a shithouse rat to actually go through with it. I mean, one moment of carelessness on a trip to the beach, and you wind up spending the rest of your life hanging out there with a metal detector and a sand-sifter.”

“I’m almost disappointed that you can’t possess a ‘58 Plymouth,” Tony snorted.

“Yeah, me too. Screw running over punk teenager vandals, I’d spend the rest of eternity double-parking and tooling around ten miles under the speed limit with my blinker on.” Lucy shook her head. “That doesn’t explain why she thought stealing it would upset you, though. You don’t even know me. Wouldn’t kidnapping one of your merry men here be a more effective tactic? Or even, you know, one of your annoying but human and completely magic-free co-Avengers?”

“I’m afraid that I revealed your identity before we realized that Amora would betray us,” Thor confessed. Lucy looked at him blankly.

“Amora knows who you are, Loki,” Volstagg supplied. Lucy glanced from one of them to the other, confusion written on her face, before finally looking at Coulson.

“Okay, can you translate whatever the hell they’re trying to say? Obviously, my schedule’s wide open right now, but I don’t think spending the rest of the afternoon on this extraterrestrial who’s on first routine is going to be productive.”

“Loki is the second-born prince of Asgard,” Phil explained. “There was a struggle for the throne, he fell from the Bifrost during the fight, and here you are.”

“And the Bifrost is...?”

“The rainbow bridge,” Sif said.

“Not helping. Coulson?”

“Interdimensional portal.”

She narrowed her eyes, started to say something, stopped, and then turned to Thor. “You think I’m your missing brother, last seen falling into...a rift between worlds.” He nodded. “And your psycho ex-friend of an alien sorceress, who now has my ring, also thinks this.” He nodded glumly. “Okay, give me my damn hand back right now.”

She snatched her hand from his grasp, and he felt the cold steal back over him. It was not as sharp as before, but it was all he could do not to reach for her again, to pull her back as she edged away from him. She rubbed her temples. “Do I even want to know why you think I’m your missing brother?”

“The similarities are startling,” he managed. She looked pointedly down at her chest, then back at him, her lips pursing. He knew the look in her eyes, the set of her mouth, the tension in her jaw. Oh, how he knew that sharp, angry, hard face. He could practically hear Loki hissing “You idiot” in his ear.

“You deny it, then?” Hogun asked.

“Seriously?” Lucy’s left eye twitched slightly. “I have at no point in the last thirty years seen or experienced anything that would lead me to think I’m a dude, an alien, a god, or any combination thereof. So yeah, I’m going to have to go with denying it.”

“Well, at least that’s settled,” Phil said brightly.

Everyone turned to look at him, and he smiled the same beatific smile Thor had come to associate with stratagems he’d need explained to him later by a native Midgardian. He risked a quick sideways check on Lucy and found her already glaring murderously at the man. It only encouraged him, and the smile grew bigger.

“Jones, I do apologize that the actions of SHIELD have inadvertently placed you in serious jeopardy.” Thor would swear Phil was being perfectly sincere if he’d known him just a bit less well. “The least we can do is keep you in protective custody until Amora has been dealt with. Since we’re already taking measures to defend Thor against a repeat attack, and since you’re in a position to assist monitoring his recovery, it would be most effective for you to stay here for the time being. I’ll have a cot brought in immediately.”

“Prick,” she growled.

“You’re welcome. If it’s any consolation, SHIELD thanks you--”

“If you say ‘for your cooperation,’ I swear to god, you will rue the day,” she warned him. The shadow of a real smile played at the edges of his lips. “I’m serious. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday, you will rue it.”

“Didn’t you already do a ‘rue the day’ speech on somebody? Are you recycling your material already?” Tony asked.

“I’m taking a mulligan on that one. The news crews all cut out the best part.”

“Do we get any say in this?” Sif interrupted, crossing her arms and glowering at Phil.

“An excellent point,” Lucy agreed quickly. “Don’t they get a say in this?”

“Thor?” Phil asked.

“Wait, shouldn’t you guys take a vote or something?” Lucy suggested.

“Monarchy,” Phil reminded her.

“Nuts.” She slumped back in the chair.

Thor glanced at each of his companions in turn. Sif wouldn’t meet his eyes, already knowing his decision. Her disapproval stung, but it was unavoidable. Hogun shrugged almost imperceptibly, and Volstagg was shaking his head and eyeing Jones as if she were a particularly dangerous snake. He turned to Lucy.

“As much as it might displease you now, it would be for the best. Amora has proven herself a dangerous foe, and she believes you to be my brother. If she returns, you will be in need of the protection. And...I would be most grateful for your company.”

Lucy snorted.

“Looks like it’s settled, then.” Phil smiled brightly.

“If she’s going to stay here, she needs to bathe,” Sif said firmly. “She smells like a burnt troll.”

“Unless trolls are made of tobacco and cheap incense, I don’t think that’s an accurate statement,” Lucy snapped. “And it’s not going to do much good, because I don’t have a change of clothes.”

“We can get you a change of clothes,” Phil said. “Come on.”

*****

“You are unbefuckinglievable, you know that?” Lucy hissed. Coulson didn’t bother looking back, but the two agents flanking her fell back a half-pace and adjusted their stance. Good. She didn’t feel like being fucking crowded right now. She felt like ripping something to shreds and then setting it on fire. Thor thought she was his dead brother? Fucking Mimir. Motherfucking Mimir. She was going to turn him into a football and sneak him into the supply closet of an underfunded peewee league somewhere it rained every weekend. And she’d wondered why the prince was acting weird when she’d come for him. Fuck fuck fuck. The light-headed sensation she’d had earlier was gone, replaced by a feverish certainty that none of this could possibly be fucking happening.

“I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted your plans to slip custody and go back on the run the second you’re transferred out of this facility, but you’re just going to have to deal with it for the time being. Thor’s a nice guy. I don’t think this is going to be as much of a hardship as you’re making out.”

“I don’t think you’re the least bit sorry at all.” She made a conscious effort to stop flexing her fingers. It was a tell she didn’t need to be broadcasting. “And Thor might very well be the third coming of Jesus, but he comes with a side-order of trigger-happy honor guard, and they don’t like me on general principle.”

“Well, I’m sure if they got to know you, they’d find something specific to dislike,” he offered. “Fortunately, it looks like they’ll have that opportunity.”

“Hooray,” she said flatly. “I don’t suppose you can shed any light on why exactly they think I’m...not me?”

“General appearance, deportment, and magic use.”

“That’s it?” Lucy frowned. “I’m beginning to see how Pym keeps churning out super-science monstrosities that want to bang his girlfriend. You people’s standards are just lax. Shouldn’t be hard to talk him out of it, though.”

“Feel free to try.”

She had to do more than try. Lucy found herself rolling her fingers again and finally just gave up and jammed her hands in her pockets. It had been one thing to flirt with the idea of a sibling from a distance, with the advantage of unilateral knowledge. There were no obligations, no expectations. The ball had been in her court. It hadn’t seemed quite real, somehow. It had been an occasional daydream, like what might have been if her parents hadn’t died, or her aunt had been a normal person instead of an incipient Jim Jones, or she’d ever developed the common sense of a ground squirrel. She’d been able to walk away or not without consequence, as it suited her. This was a living, breathing person saying he needed her and practically begging her to stay and giving her a look that somehow got right under her skin, and now she felt like she was choking on something she’d never be able to swallow and couldn’t bring herself to spit out. It was not a tenable situation. Coulson stopped in front of a large supply closet and opened it.

“Help yourself.”

She glared at him.

“I’m looking into the abyss,” she grunted. “And you know what’s looking back? Zebra-stripe hospital scrubs.”

“Just find something in your size.”

“I’m going to need shoes at some point, too. I mean, aside from the fact that I’m starting to feel like a damn hobbit, I really don’t want to get stuck reenacting Die Hard if Amora does show back up.” Lucy rooted savagely through the stacks of standard-issue scrubs and sweats. She finally found a pair of gray sweatpants and a gray t-shirt with SHIELD stamped on it in large black letters that would fit her without obvious modification.

“Fine.” Coulson took the clothes from her and tucked them under his arm. “You can use the shower attached to Thor’s suite.”

“You know, you should be helping me convince him that I’m not his damn brother. What if I turn him to the dark side?” she asked, following him back the way they’d come. The facility had more in common with an ant nest than she’d have thought was strictly good planning. Then again, Pym might have had a hand in it.

“Who says I’m not helping convince him?”

“You’re impossible,” she gritted.

Coulson sighed. “You’re not his brother, are you?”

“Of course I’m not,” she snarled.

“Not even a little bit?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “You’re positive?”

“For fuck’s sake, yes, I’m positive that I’m not really a guy from another dimension.”

“There we go, then. I’m sure Thor will catch on once he’s gotten a chance to know you,” he said soothingly.

“And in the meantime?”

“Just keep being yourself.”

“I thought you were down on me making plans to cut and run?” she asked sourly.

“Just keep being yourself within reason.”

“Your advice is terrible, and I don’t like you.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to stop sulking and act like an adult,” Coulson replied cheerfully.

“You’ll be dead of old age before I’m ready to do either,” Lucy muttered. She needed a shower. She needed a nap--genuine sleep, not the false sleep of an unoccupied shell. She needed everybody to get off her tits for two seconds. She needed every goddamned thing they had on Amora.

She was relieved to see that everyone except the Asgardians had cleared out by the time they got back. She snatched the clean clothes from Coulson, stalked into the bathroom, and shut the door firmly on that infuriating look Thor kept giving her. She dug her lighter and the knuckleduster out of her pockets and the sheet of paper out of her bra and stuffed them into the pockets of the sweatpants, then stripped down and turned the water as hot as she could stand it. She didn’t doubt that she smelled as bad as Sif had complained. Between the Negasynod’s censers, the absolutely vicious blunts the secret president had been chain-smoking, her cigarettes, and two days’ worth of sweat, she wouldn’t be surprised if they just threw her old clothes straight into the incinerator.

Her shoulders started to relax under the spray, and she took a deep breath. She could leave, but they’d be sitting ducks if Amora turned up before the cavalry did. It would be more effective for her to stay here until one or the other happened; Coulson had been at least right on that score. Thor had a supernova’s worth of power wrapped up inside him, but he either no clue how to use it properly or Amora knew his techniques well enough to get around him. Her money was on the former.

The rest of them put together had about as much magic as a smartphone, and if Amora was even halfway worthy of her title, they’d be fucked if it came to a proper fight. Not that she really cared. She didn’t. She really didn’t. The golden god and his handful of stranded friends were not her fucking problem. But the mere thought of having gone to all that trouble for nothing was enough to make her want to dig her fingers into someone’s throat and choke the life out of them. She hadn’t swapped Malīnalxōchitl’s promises of power and wisdom and her fucking parents for a stranger’s life and several decades of having to check her shoes before putting them on only to have some extraplanetary asshole pop up less than a week later and snuff him, had she? No, she had not. If she was going to piss off gods in the process of saving people, they were goddamned well going to stay saved. At least until such time as they annoyed her badly enough that she was ready to kill them herself, anyway.

Lucy scrubbed herself off and considered the base itself. If Amora were an earth magician, and she hadn’t just been through the wringer, hardening it against aetheric intrusion would be simple enough. As it was, there was a better than average chance she’d either melt everything to slag around them or do something completely stupid and inconsequential, like block data traffic or radio signals. And Amora’s magic was foreign enough that she had no real idea what countermeasures were likely to be effective. Maybe Coulson had something fun tucked away in the arsenal. She had to assume there was something lying around that was more powerful than the tasers and bean-bag rounds everyone had been carrying below ground. Just because it was a Bad Idea to open up on full-auto with real bullets inside a concrete bunker full of your own people didn’t mean it was always avoidable. They had to have someone running around who was kitted out to deal with a frontal assault instead of an unruly prisoner or a disoriented super-patient. It was SHIELD. They had M60s mounted on their golf carts, for fuck’s sake.

She rinsed off and killed the water. How long could it possibly take their off-planet back-up to get here? she thought. A few more days, maybe? It had already been at least three. So she probably had another few days at most to sit around and convince him that she wasn’t Loki. She toweled off and got dressed.

Shouldn’t be hard, she thought. She generally had his teammates tearing their hair out after half an hour. And, in spite of what she’d told Stark less than an hour ago, sometimes belief had everything to do with how the world was shaped. Whatever they really were to each other--nothing, former siblings, a mean-spirited cosmic joke--belief was the difference between going their own way again and getting sucked into some repetitive stupidity where they got under each other’s feet until something terrible happened. As morbidly humorous as the idea of having a huge alien prince with a magic hammer showing up to yell at her about giving up on crime every time she tried to do anything might be, it would eventually get old and turn ugly.

Lucy wiped the condensation off the mirror and checked herself over. People had definitely looked worse after getting shanghaied by SHIELD assassins, but she did miss just being able to clean herself up and deck herself out with a snap of her fingers without anybody commenting on it. It wasn’t that she was terrifically vain, but, as she’d told Stark, style did count.

She went to fold her dirty clothes and almost gagged. She could get high just off the smell of pot clinging to them. She had no idea how the secret president could even see straight at any given time, never mind drive a cut-throat bargain and back the Anti-Pope up against a metaphorical wall. Lucy opened the door slowly in a successful attempt to avoid being stabbed with a spear. Thor was asleep again, and Sif was glowering at her from his bedside. The other two were guarding the door from the outside.

“Better?” she asked archly.

“If you make another attempt on his life, on my honor, I will end you,” Sif replied.

“Well, then. Glad we could clear that up.” This is gonna be a fun few days. “Coulson, I’m going to take a nap, and then I’m going to need to see everything you guys have on Amora.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m too tired to go through the same argument twice. Just go ask Stark and Rogers to give you a run-down of what I was ranting about earlier.” She looked around for the cot she’d been promised. It was right next to Thor’s bed. “Seriously? Fuck that. I don’t even sleep that close to people I’m banging.”

“Given your taste in partners, probably a wise decision,” Coulson observed. “Thor needs a guard, and everyone needs to keep an eye on you. Two birds with one stone.”

Fatigue was beginning to settle into her bones. “Fine. And you can go to hell over the girlfriend crack. Below the belt, Coulson.”

“It wasn’t a joke.” A grimace flitted across his face, fast as a shadow. “Get some rest, and try not to annoy Sif. She’s not kidding, either.”

Lucy grumbled something she was relatively sure didn’t make sense and flopped onto the cot. She was asleep almost as soon as she’d curled into the pillow.

Chapter Text

Lucy scribbled furiously in a notebook Rogers had supplied, trying to ignore Thor’s hand on her shoulder. She’d spent an hour swatting him away every time he reached for her in his sleep before giving up and pretending not to notice. It was not, at least, nearly as alarming as waking up to find his hand tangled in her hair had been. She’d had flashbacks to the crown of scorpions before she’d quite realized what was going on. He seemed to sleep much more soundly when he was touching her, which she had found odd until she’d taken a closer look at what his energy was doing. By whatever godforsaken mechanism, being in physical contact with her was helping him regulate the power coursing through him. She wasn’t sure whether Sif was more irritated by her pushing him away or her letting him be. She shifted position, letting one foot dangle over the edge of the cot and tucking the other behind her knee.

“I suppose this is kind of a stupid question at this juncture, but is Amora actually from Asgard?” Lucy asked without looking up from her calculations.

“You know very well she was born in Odin’s halls,” Sif growled back.

“Okay, let me rephrase that,” Lucy replied with studied calm. “Is Amora actually an Asgardian?”

“Why are you asking?” Romanoff broke in, trying to forestall another one-sided argument.

“If this file and those recordings are accurate, she’s all over the map. There’s no coherence to her technique.”

“She has had many teachers in her life,” Sif said. “You, for starters.”

“The only thing I’ve ever taught anyone is why you don’t pick magic-fights with me without some kind of reason,” Lucy replied evenly. “Oh, and how to blow off people who are all ‘You need to save the world!’. And how to set the clock on a microwave.” She frowned. “Why the hell that one keeps coming up, I don’t know. Like, it cooks your food in sixty seconds, why do you also expect it to tell you what time it is?”

“So you’re useless,” Sif remarked.

“As a screen door on a submarine,” Lucy agreed happily. She’d been wrong. Sif was more irritated by her refusing to take the bait. She’d been trying to pick a fight almost since Lucy had woken up. “Maybe you should have saved that robot you smashed the shit out of in New Mexico. I heard it did pretty well until his highness here got his hammer back. If you still had it, it could at least run interference while you guys evacuated in the event of an attack. Assuming it could be controlled and wasn’t just on a rampage, anyway.”

“The Destroyer?” Sif demanded, her face going white with anger.

“I guess? I didn’t really look into it that much. Everybody else was all excited about a walking doomsday device that shoots fire out of its face, but, I mean, come on. My specialty is fire. What the hell do I need more fire for? Now, maybe if it was a two-story automated fire-extinguisher, I’d be interested. It would make summer barbecues a lot safer, for one thing.”

“If your speciality is fire, why do you never use it?” Romanoff asked, tilting her head.

“I use it. Just not that often. Unlike some people here, I’m not a professional murderer, and setting people on fire tends to, you know, kill them. Messily.”

“You only kill people when you’re not getting paid for it?” Romanoff snorted.

“I’ve never done wetwork, I have no plans to ever do wetwork, and I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Lucy smiled.

“I was in the same room,” Romanoff reminded her.

“And I’m pleading ignorance and/or the fifth.” Lucy shrugged. “Anyway, you’re familiar with the axiom ‘Loot, then burn’? Very difficult to steal things when they’re on fire, and the resale value is terrible. I’m honestly not entirely sure why everyone wanted to get their hands on the fire golem from space. Like, great, you’ve managed to conquer previously-sovereign territory with it. May your glorious reign over a huge pile of ash last a thousand years.”

“How can you sit here and chatter about the killing machine you set on your own brother without batting an eyelash?” Sif hissed.

“First of all, I’m an only child. Always have been, always will be. Secondly, I was busy getting punched through a mesa in another state when all this mess with the Destroyer was going down. Nothing to do with me whatsoever. Thirdly, since when do you really believe his theory that I’m Loki? I know you’ve been playing it safe and toeing the line just in case, but you haven’t given a whole lot of indication that you actually, deep down, think he’s right.”

She swallowed a quick retort and paused before replying. “When we first met, you were his very image. I’d have sworn I was looking at a ghost. And this is the sort of thing Loki would do.”

“What, have two robot fights going at once? Turn himself into a lady with a full history on a different planet? Get nabbed by SHIELD? Guy sounds like a real go-getter,” Lucy said. “Did he have a reason for trying to kill Thor, or was it just Tuesday? If he did, why the hell would he wait what, a year and a half, two years, before taking another whack at it?”

“I don’t know. And, as Coulson told you, it was a struggle for succession to the throne.” Sif’s face tightened slightly.

“Oh, was Loki trying to get out of having to be king?”

“Loki tried to seize the throne. Thor is the rightful heir,” she told her. “Thor was in exile here on Midgard. He was vulnerable, and Loki took the chance to strike.”

“Here’s the thing, though,” Lucy said. She put the notebook aside and turned to face the warrior, resting her back against the wall. She tucked Thor’s hand back onto the bed, under his blanket. “Being in charge is bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. You know what you spend all your time doing? Fixing things you didn’t even fuck up. You know who gets mad at you over something? Everybody. Even if I wasn’t easily bored and frequently high, which I am, being in charge sounds like an awful fucking idea.”

“The power of the throne had no small amount of appeal to Loki. To...you.”

“The power?” Lucy scoffed. “Lady, up until Stark swiped my ring, I could do almost literally whatever I wanted. Literally. And you know what I felt zero inclination to do during any of that time? Sit in a stuffy office bossing bureaucrats and petty functionaries around, sending pissy emails about late budgetary projections, pretending to find douchebag diplomats’ stories hilarious, and getting hourly reports about why 50% of the populace thinks I’m an asshole. It’s the sort of stuff I wake up at night in a cold sweat over. Like, why not just nail yourself into a coffin and get somebody to shovel dirt on top of it already?”

“That is...not how kingship works on Asgard,” she said slowly, her eyes searching Lucy’s face.

“Oh, right, you’ve still got the old-style monarchy. Who could resist the abundance of back-stabbing, constantly-intriguing nobles? And the occasional need to personally lead hordes of dudes with swords and a tragically overdeveloped sense of honor on a killing spree on account of shit nobody really cares about, but you still might get clubbed in the face over? And the strong likelihood that when you come home you’ll have to worry about whatever dickhole is second in line and his evil laser-bot trying to blast you into kingdom come for the privilege of dealing with the same himself? I mean, throw in the inevitable natural disasters and peasant uprisings, why wouldn’t anybody want to deal with that for the rest of their natural life? The only thing that might make it more appealing would be if you somehow found a way to include sectarian violence in spite of being gods. That would just be the cherry on the sundae, right there.”

Sif gaped at her, appalled.

“Look, no offense, but we’ve been around for a while. We’ve tried a lot of different types of government. You know why democracy is so popular? ‘Cuz if you’re one of the poor bastards who winds up in charge, there’s a lot of you, and you only have to be faster than a few of your colleagues when the mobs show up. It’s your best bet once society gets too big to just tell people to fuck off when they go ‘So, we’ve noticed you’re good at solving problems.’”

“Jones, have you ever spent any time in an actual functioning country?” Romanoff asked archly.

“No such thing,” Lucy grunted. “All rivers flow to the sea, all gatherings of people lead to entrenched institutional issues.” She picked her notepad back up. “It is, in fact, why we can’t have nice things.”

“That’s not how it is in Asgard at all,” Sif protested.

“Everybody just feasts and sings and drinks and fucks all the time and nothing bad ever happens? Yeah, I can totally see why someone’s first inclination would be to murder their brother right in the face to be in charge of that. Seems like it would go over well with that kind of crowd.” Sif’s hands curled into fists, and she glared at Lucy. “So, tell me again why the hell you want this guy back? I mean, if fratricide and throne-stealing and general jackassery are so outrageous and foreign to Asgardian culture.”

“You’re a complete wretch,” Sif snarled. “Fates help us if you really are Loki.”

“And you’re a six-foot-tall, gold-plated buzzkill,” Lucy retorted absently, a sudden realization striking her. She penciled in a few lines. “We’re in agreement on that second part, though.”

“So power is something that holds no allure whatsoever for you?” Romanoff inquired, her eyes calculating and her tone deceptively innocent.

“Power in the raw sense of magic? Absolutely.” Lucy shrugged. “Power over people? None whatsoever. Now, if you’ll be quiet for a few seconds, I think I’m onto something.”

You’d understand if you could see the things I’ve seen, she thought, sketching a few links on a fresh page. If you’re in charge of other people, you’re responsible for them. If you’re responsible for them, it’s on you when something bad happens to them, something you could have stopped or fixed. That shit gets out of hand with a quickness when you’re dealing with magic.

Thor sat up carefully, and she shot a venomous glare at Romanoff. “If you heard that, the Widow tricked me into saying something not-terrible right when you woke up. I’m positive that Sif will be happy to fill you in on the terrible things you missed.”

“I’m sure the lady Natasha did no such thing,” Thor murmured, his hand straying back to her shoulder. “And I’m sure you had cause.”

“Nope. Baseless as hell. Complete slander.” Lucy tapped the notepad with her pencil. “Quick question, though. Were you and Amora fucking?” Sif made a small choking sound, and Romanoff’s eyebrows shot up. “Sorry. Were you and Amora lovers?”

“I....That is to say....” Thor hesitated. Lucy sighed.

“Look, dude, no judgement. If I had a dollar for every time a pretty woman has tried to kill me, I’d be able to clean out both vending machines on the ground floor. Romanoff’s tried to kill me, van Dyne’s tried to kill me, my last serious girlfriend thought the third anniversary gift was supposed to be copper-jacketed lead. It happens. Were you two an item?”

“No. She desired me, and I rejected her.”

“Right before she attacked you?”

“That morning.”

“Hmm.”

“Jan tried to kill you?” Romanoff asked dubiously.

“Yeah, that one time in New York. Almost dropped a half-ton of masonry on me.”

“We never fought you in New York.”

“It was during one of Namor’s pointless little ‘I speak for the sea!’ marches on the UN.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down.”

“It was the one where I turned his banana hammock into a three-piece suit.”

“Oh.” Romanoff coughed slightly. “That was you?”

“I don’t know whether to be appalled that I made that little of an impression on you guys or that you pay that little attention to who you’re dropping buildings on,” Lucy growled. “And who else would it have been? I mean, I guess it could have been the collective subconscious work of the half the city that gets it already and would like him to just dress appropriately for a meeting with world leaders for once, but that sort of spontaneous mass effect doesn’t happen very often. You really all have to be on the same frequency to get shit like that going. Unfortunately, the only frequency all of New York is tuned in to at any given time is ‘low-grade, broad-spectrum hostility.’ Though it does have the odd side effect of ensuring that all the cab drivers are--”

“Why did you ask about Thor and Amora?” Sif interrupted, cutting her off.

“Oh. Uh, I’m not positive, but I think she might not have meant to hit you so hard your soul fell out.”

“That is somewhat comforting,” Thor said after a moment.

“Well, it is and it isn’t. Obviously, it is in the sense that she might not circle back to finish the job once she realizes you’re back to normal. But it isn’t in the sense that she’s on the loose with powers she may not be fully in control of.”

“Amora has never displayed anything but complete assurance in her power before,” Sif informed her, crossing her arms and sitting back.

“The environment is different. It’s like going from sea level to a mile high, or if gravity suddenly went wonky.”

“If you say so.”

“It’s a theory. Basically, I think when you rejected her, she tried to lash out one way, and the intent behind it got warped to fit earth-rules. I may be wrong.” She chewed her lip.

Sif snorted uncharitably. “It would not be the first time today.”

Lucy glanced at her, then back to Thor. “So, why don’t you tell me about your brother?”

Thor grimaced, a dull ache settling into his eyes. “You wish to dissuade me from my belief.”

“Of course. I think you’re incorrect. But you’re a prince, and you’re technically here as an ambassador, yeah? Surely you’ve been trained in rhetoric to some extent. Take a shot at it. Convince me.”

“For good or ill, I have never been able to convince you of anything once you’d made up your mind,” he said sadly. “And I am not as skilled a speaker as perhaps I should be. I always relied on you for that. You had a way with words.”

Lucy cocked her head. “Unless your diplomacy revolves around starting fights rather than avoiding them, I think that’s another mark against your theory.” Romanoff nodded in agreement. “I’m not saying I don’t have a way with words. I totally do. It’s just that my talents run more towards starting a bar-fight in five words or less than uh, more socially acceptable endeavors.”

Thor chuckled softly. “You were always the one trying to talk our way out of fights.”

“I’ve tried that a few times, but only as a way to line up a better suckerpunch.”

“That sounds more than a little dishonorable,” Sif scolded.

“Fighting fair is overrated,” Lucy answered. She hadn’t clawed her way up through the seething underbelly of the criminal class of superpowers just to turn around and play by hero rules. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d genuinely backed down from a fight. Usually when she was outclassed, she just switched to tactics that gave her more of an advantage. She turned back to find Thor considering her, his expression slightly guarded.

“There were those who called Loki’s methods less than...what a warrior’s should be,” he told her carefully.

Lucy stifled a laugh. “Okay, here’s the thing. Your dude’s a magician?”

“Yes, of course,” Sif snapped. “We’ve been over this.”

“You know what the technical term is for a magician who goes in for straight-up swords and shields bullshit when their magic’s still working fine?” she demanded. Romanoff sighed heavily, suspecting the answer. “That magician would be known as a fucking idiot.”

The Asgardians frowned at her, Thor looking hurt and Sif looking angry.

“Don’t scowl at me like that. It’s true. You don’t spend all that fucking time figuring out what the fuck you’re doing with magic and then turn around and throw rocks at people’s heads like a fucking chimp.”

“A true warrior does not resort to trickery,” Sif said coldly.

“I’m sure that will be of great comfort to the aforementioned true warrior when they’re dead of a fireball,” Lucy replied. “Look at it this way--you two have spent how long training for combat?”

“Centuries.”

“Wait, what? You’re that old?” Lucy gave them a second look, then recovered her composure. “Never mind. The point I was trying to make is that you’ve spent I guess fucking centuries training with this shit. Are you then going to go out on a battlefield and, instead of using those weapons that you’ve been training with for almost a fucking eternity, decide that the only honorable method of fighting is open-handed slapping? No, of course not. That would be asinine.”

“To fight with swords, with arrows, with spears...it’s traditional,” Thor explained. “Anyone can learn to use a sword. The use of magic is...not.”

“Anyone can learn to use a sword?” Lucy crowed. “Sure, of course. Anyone can learn to use a sword. How many of them could stand against you in a fight and hope to win with a sword?”

He frowned. “Very few, but that’s not the point.”

“Of course it’s the fucking point. Everyone has some advantage. The playing field is never exactly level. You’ve got the brawn of a fucking ox.” Lucy gestured at Sif. “I’m guessing you’re a little bit more ready than the average bear to just straight up gut somebody. Pretending that it’s all good so long as everybody’s got the same weapon is a farce. Not to mention that the last time I checked, super-hammers and the ability to hit shit with lightning weren’t exactly standard issue.”

“This is true,” Thor murmured, his brows furrowing.

“Thor, please. Think about who it is you’re listening to,” Sif admonished him.

“Yes, everybody ignore what the magician has to say about magic. That makes perfect sense.” Lucy rolled her eyes. Thor gave her the same kicked-spaniel look he’d had earlier, and his hand slid from her shoulder. After a few seconds, she turned to Romanoff. “Speaking of which, how big has Coulson’s wishlist gotten?”

“Beg your pardon?” she replied blandly.

“Coulson. Rogers has had more questions about what I’ve been up to than he has. Presumably because he’s compiling a list.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about it.” The spy gave her one of her pro-forma smiles.

“Of course not.”

“Lok--Lucy, why don’t you come sit beside me, and I will tell you of my brother,” Thor invited quietly, indicating the free space next to him on the bed. Sif stiffened, about to protest, when Lucy shook her head.

“Sorry, I don’t cuddle with strange superheroes.”

“No? What about Bobbi Morse?” Romanoff scoffed.

“Who?” Lucy asked. The spy pulled up a picture on her tablet and showed it to her. “Seriously? That chick was a superhero? Goddammit. Eyepatch-dude and Coulson were right. My taste in women is fucking awful. Maybe I did something really terrible in a past life, like invent speed-dating.”

“Eyepatch-dude?” Romanoff repeated archly. Lucy shot her a thin smile.

“My racquetball partner,” she said. “He’s got fuck-all for depth perception, but I’m naturally really bad at it, so we turned out to be a great match.”

“I think the problem might be that you generally date other criminals and malcontents,” the spy pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t necessarily make them bad romantic prospects. I mean, look at Creel and Titania. And it’s not like Suzy Homemaker tends to respond well to ‘Hey, baby, wanna see my Arc de Triomphe? France won’t have the ransom money together until morning.’ Hell, you guys usually can’t even swing anything long-term with civilians, and you’re not usually under arrest or on the lam if you lose. It’s great so long as they’re mad at their parents or bored with everything else or whatever, but eventually they come to their senses and realize that finding out you’re not going to make your dinner date by seeing you get shot into the stratosphere live on CNN isn’t exciting so much as annoying.”

“Please tell me you didn’t steal the Arc de Triomphe just so you could work it into a pick-up line,” Romanoff sighed.

“I totally did. It was totally worth it, too.” Lucy grinned. “That lady was ten kinds of out of my league. Too bad it turned out she worked for Doom.”

“She tried to kill you, too?” the spy muttered. “Unbelievable.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I’d just been hoping for more than a one-night stand. Not in the cards, though.” She spread her hands. “Can’t win ‘em all. Fortunately, I had a huge pile of euros to keep me company after she took off.”

“Should you be admitting to that?” Thor asked, sounding concerned. His hand slipped back onto her shoulder, his fingers curling slightly against her collarbone. She patted it gently.

“Out of SHIELD’s jurisdiction. And honestly, I’m not that concerned about La Gendarmerie fantastique getting their act together on the extradition process. Even if they weren’t currently getting kicked halfway to Siberia by Les Mimes mémétiques, their paperwork skills are atrocious.”

“Loki did not seek the company of women as enthusiastically as you do,” he said pensively.

“His loss,” she replied.

“He and Amora were close, though,” Sif added.

“Close like making out or close like student-teacher?”

“Both,” she said firmly.

“Huh. Is that normally how magicians behave on Asgard?” Lucy asked. Thor and Sif traded confused looks. “What? Is that an embarrassing question, or do you not know?”

“The latter,” Thor muttered. “How do magicians treat the master-apprentice relationship here on Midgard?”

Lucy laughed. “Oh, man. That’s a question. Bonded magicians treat it like a parent-child relationship, usually. Free magicians don’t take apprentices.”

“You people can’t get within five miles of each other without starting a fight,” Romanoff commented, shaking her head.

“Yes. And that’s why we don’t have apprentices,” Lucy explained. “It’s really very simple.”

“It sounds rather chaotic,” Thor commented.

“It’s complete anarchy. I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Lucy answered, laughing. “So, do you have any other siblings waiting in the wings?”

“It was only ever Loki and myself,” Thor told her. “We were inseparable.”

“Until you weren’t,” Lucy reminded him carefully.

“He was not in his right mind,” Thor said firmly. “The Jotnar--the frost giants--attempted to steal the Casket of Ancient Winters during my coronation ceremony. They were beaten back, but it was still a gross insult and an act of war. I went to Jotunheim without my father’s permission to exact revenge. It was for that that I was banished. While I was gone, Loki discovered that he was a frost giant, not Aesir. He was the son of their king. Laufey had abandoned him during the last war we fought against them. Our father found him and brought him home as his own son. He was alone when he found all this out. I was not there for him. It was too much. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

Lucy pursed her lips. “Forgive me for being dense, but how, exactly, do you spend centuries missing the fact that you’re an alien?”

Thor flushed. “No one knew except for my parents. He looked no different from anyone else. There was no reason to suspect. I can only imagine how he felt when our father told him he was kin to our greatest enemy.”

“So he tried to kill you?” Lucy demanded, tilting her head. “I get that people under severe emotional distress tend not to make the best decisions, but that seems a little random.”

“Jealousy,” Sif explained.

“He also killed Laufey and tried to destroy Jotunheim utterly.”

“That makes a little more sense, at least,” Lucy said, frowning. Romanoff shot her a sharp look. “I’m not saying it’s a good thing. Unless these guys are like, space-nazis or something, in which case maybe? I’m just saying it makes marginally more sense to lash out at something that reminds you of what you don’t want to be than someone who didn’t really have a lot to do with it.”

“He was jealous,” Sif repeated, her eyes downcast. “Thor had the love of the people, and the crown, and Loki’s envy ate at him.”

“The people loved Loki, too, Sif.”

She shook her head and rubbed a tear from her eye. “They didn’t, Thor. They loved you enough to humor him. That was all. And he knew it. Eventually, he blamed you for it, and he tried to kill you for it.”

“But he didn’t.”

“Not from lack of trying,” she bit out. “We watched you die, Thor.” She glared at Lucy. “His need to command love he couldn’t inspire drove him to take your life.”

Thor looked away, and Lucy cleared her throat. “I think you two might need a minute alone. We’ll be outside.”

“Please, don’t go. Stay,” Thor said, his fingers tightening. “Please.”

Lucy took his hand and turned to face him square. The tears glittering in those impossibly blue eyes almost made her look away again. How the fuck did I get sucked into this? I don’t even fucking know these people.

“I’m not your brother. I promise you, I’m not. But if there’s anything I’ve picked up over the years, it’s that sometimes you can love someone as much as you want--and they can even love you--but it’s still not ever going to be a good idea to turn your back on them again. And if all that’s what happened the last time you saw your brother, this really sounds like one of those times. I’m sorry. I really am.” She let go and climbed off the cot. “Just let us know once you clear the air here. Romanoff?”

Lucy could feel their eyes boring into her back as she left the room, Romanoff trailing behind her. Volstagg turned to watch them go, while Hogun’s eyes snapped back to the room they’d just left. The waiting room door swung shut behind them, and Lucy ducked into a side room and leaned against the wall.

“This is a fucking trainwreck,” she said flatly. “I don’t know what the hell I was even expecting, but this is just a clusterfuck.”

“Is that why you’re having a panic attack?” Romanoff asked.

“I’m not having a panic attack, I’m having a common sense attack. Dude doesn’t need me in there serving as some weird substitute for his batshit, identity-crisis-having, omni-directional murder-beam of a brother. He needs a fucking counselor.”

“Speaking from experience?” the spy suggested.

“Me? Fuck, no.” Lucy laughed mirthlessly. “Somebody I should be able to trust tries to kill me, that’s it. Dunzo. No more chances. And, seriously? I don’t think that’s a particularly high bar to set. Am I wrong? Is there some weird hero thing I’m missing where somebody stabs you twenty times, but it’s cool and everybody just needs to hug it out? Because in most villain circles, that’s considered a pretty egregious party foul.”

“These people live millenia, Jones. It’s not often they lose one of their own like this.”

“So hook them up with a grief counselor.” Lucy ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath. “You do get that this is fucked up, right? The healthy response to somebody trying to burn you down because everybody likes you better than them is not to go tearing after them and apologize. I mean, I didn’t twig to it at the time, but when I found him, he wanted to know if I’d forgiven him. Dude tried to kill him, almost succeeded, and he’s still apologizing.”

Romanoff was watching her carefully. “Why do you care?”

“What?” she snapped, startled.

“You only met them yesterday. They’re not your friends. They’re not your allies. You’re not here voluntarily. One of them has threatened to kill you at least once. Why do you care what happens to them?”

“Wow.” Lucy puffed out her cheeks. “You guys drop me into the middle of this and then you ask why I care what it is? And here I thought that I kind of got what happens when you have someone standing behind you whispering ‘It’s for the sake of the nation’ in your ear every time your conscience rears its inconvenient head. Guess I had no goddamned clue. I care about it because you’ve fucking involved me in it.”

“That’s unexpectedly noble of you.”

“Don’t read too much into it,” Lucy grunted. “My vague, free-floating sense of responsibility only goes so far. If this were a job, I’d have already told you to lose my number and beat feet out of here.”

Romanoff crossed her arms. “After Thor dismantled the Destroyer, he went back to Asgard. He and Loki fought. Thor was trying to stop him from destroying Jotunheim and essentially committing genocide. When Thor broke the Bifrost, Loki was thrown from it. It wasn’t intentional, and he tried to save him, but the belief--until they saw you, anyway--was that Loki had died that day.”

“Oh.” That made a bit more sense, she supposed.

Romanoff raised her eyebrows. “‘Oh?’ That’s it?”

“I stand by my previous statement that loved ones who try to off you shouldn’t get another opportunity.”

“Even if it’s temporary insanity?”

“Look, you go murder-crazy once, you’re probably going to go murder-crazy again.”

“If you’re not Loki, we really don’t have to worry about that too much right now, do we?” Romanoff pointed out.

“When I said he needs a grief counselor, I meant in general, not lest he be immediately stabbed to death and then set on fire, Romanoff.” She shook her head. “I’d think you’d care more about his overall mental health than I do. He freaks out and goes on a smash-rampage with that stupid hammer, you’re on the front line for clean-up.”

“So, how long are you planning on hiding out here?”

“Dunno. How long do you think it’s going to take them to hash out two near-death experiences, two counts of treason, one actual death, and four sleepless days?”

Romanoff frowned in concentration. “About an hour.”

“There you go, then.”

“Maybe you could show me some of those magic tricks you weaseled your way out of handcuffs by talking up.”

“If you want?” Lucy offered, confused.

“Agent Coulson said you didn’t know any.”

“Oh. I don’t know any card tricks. Or, to be more specific, I am ridiculously fucking bad at card tricks. I know lots of them, I just can’t do them to save my life. One time I tried to show somebody the old 52 Pickup gag. The fucking things all landed in a goddamn pile.” She rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck, and shook out her fingers. “So, what did you want to see? Prestidigitation’s always been my favorite, but I’m also very good at juggling. Got anything about the size of a lighter on you?”

“Never mind.”

Lucy sighed. Maybe Hawkeye had burned her out on all the circus-type bullshit. Stake-outs with an ex-circus performer had to be more entertaining than the usual regimen of porn, take-out, coffee, and boredom. She did like the flashier sort of standard trick, though. It had been a while since she’d done anything remarkable in front of an appropriately appreciative audience.

“When Sif said that Loki wanted to be loved, you seemed uncomfortable.”

“Are you kidding me? That whole damn thing was uncomfortable. It’s like getting invited over for a family dinner and then having somebody bust out their cancer diagnosis. But yes, that sounded more like a long-running problem than a sudden break. I think they had a lot to talk about.” Lucy gave her a hard look. “You’re not actually going to let me show off, are you? You just wanted to needle me about conning you.”

“Are you sure you weren’t uncomfortable because it hit a little close to home?”

“What, because I’m just burning with this unquenchable need to be loved? Because I’m driven by a sense of entitlement to widespread adoration that I’m constantly denied by the undeserving and the blind? Because the only thing that drives me crazier than knowing people only put up with me because of what I can do is knowing that they love people far inferior to me for no reason at all?” Lucy put a hard edge in her voice and fire in her eyes and watched Romanoff pretend not to pay closer attention.

She broke out laughing after a second’s pause. “For fuck’s sake, Widow, if I’d wanted people to love me, I’d have had them lining up around the block. I could make dreams come true. You make someone young again, whole again, lucky, rich, famous, whatever they want, and they don’t just say it. They fucking mean it.” Like you meant it when you saw Hawkeye’s arm come back together in front of you when you thought you were losing him.

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Do I look like a fairy fucking godmother?” Lucy snarled. “I couldn’t give less of a fuck if the proles love me. I ever want a sense of universal adoration, I’ll start knocking ten percent off my standard fee if the client remembers my birthday and puts me on their Christmas card list. The people I like usually like me back. The people I love usually love me back. That’s about the beginning and end of my concern with being loved.”

“At least one notable exception to that, I think.”

Lucy shook her head. “Even her. She did love me, in her own broken and fucked up way. If she hadn’t, I’d have picked up on where we were headed before she tried to blow me away. And she probably wouldn’t still drunk-dial me every six months or so. Probably.” And I wouldn’t still have those two gunshot scars from her on my back.

“That’s...ballsy.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“What does she say?”

Lucy stared at her. “What did I just get finished fucking telling you about not giving people who try to kill you a second chance at it? Fuck if I know what she says. I don’t pick up, and I don’t listen to the voicemails. Not worth it.” She looked around. “Do you happen to know what the plumbing pipes in this installation are made of? Copper, or did the contractor cheap out and go for PVC?”

Romanoff tapped at her tablet for a few minutes. “Copper.”

“I don’t suppose Rogers has any chalk or willow charcoal he’d be willing to part with?”

“For the purpose of...?”

“If Amora does show up, I’ve got a few things up my sleeve that might ground some of her energy. I’m guessing Hill wouldn’t be hugely thrilled by me taking a permanent marker to her shiny new medical facility, though.”

“Let’s get you some chalk, then.”

Chapter Text

Sif shifted her weight uneasily, watching as Lucy stretched upward to chalk strange symbols onto the far wall. Hogun touched her elbow gently.

“You should try to get some rest. Volstagg will keep him safe, and I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

“Do you think she’s Loki?” she asked, her voice tight.

“No. Do you?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. It’s easier to think she isn’t, seeing her like this. But if you’d seen what we saw, when she gave the golden apple to Volstagg....And she speaks like Loki. Not what she says, but how she says it. I don’t want her to be, but every time she says something so like him, I want to shake her and demand she account for betraying us all like that. I want to know why. I want to know how she could have done everything she did.” She rubbed her red-rimmed eyes. “How are you so firm in your opinion?”

“She doesn’t know us,” Hogun said simply. “Watch her face when she talks to the Midgardians. She doesn’t look like that when she speaks to you or Thor. Volstagg might as well be a piece of furniture for all the accounting she makes of him.” He jerked his chin in Lucy’s direction, and Sif tilted her head. The magician was working toward him and paying no attention whatsoever as he edged away from her.

“Loki treated him much the same, though,” she reminded him.

“Loki would have snapped at him to get out of the way twice by now.”

“She has Thor eating out of her hand,” she sighed. “He’s agreed to be more careful of her, and I think he understands my worries, but...”

“He’ll realize the truth soon enough,” Hogun promised her. “For now, it’s enough that he’s on the mend. Take some consolation in that.”

“Loki tried to kill him.”

“Would any of us behave that differently if we were the ones holding Gungnir when Loki fell?”

She looked away. “Not likely,” she admitted. “What is she doing?”

Lucy had climbed back onto a chair and was continuing her line of sigils back up in a different direction.

“I’ll ask. Sleep now while you have the opportunity.”

“Easier said than done,” Sif said, relenting.

Hogun waited until she had stretched across several of the available chairs and arranged herself as comfortably as possible, then let himself into the next room. Thor was sleeping fitfully, and the room was silent but for the tapping of Lucy’s chalk on the wall and the creak of Volstagg’s armor as he fidgeted. He shot Hogun a look of relief.

“What is the purpose of these new runes?” Hogun asked, pitching his voice low.

Lucy looked back over her shoulder at him for a moment, then turned her attention back to the chalk marks.

“They’re directional.” She gestured to the two lines sloping together at a 45-degree angle. “We want any grounded energy going down, not up.”

“Is the purpose not to trap Amora’s magic?”

“Nope. That’s difficult and unreliable. We want to channel it away and out without harming anything.”

Lucy completed the second line and drew a small knot at the point of the V. She tested the weight of the cabinet blocking access to the wall below it and grimaced.

“Here, let me,” Volstagg offered, stepping forward. He moved it carefully out of the way.

“Thank you.” She dropped to a crouch and began work on a double line of sigils that led straight to the floor.

Volstagg blinked at her, then glanced at Hogun, his brows furrowed.

“What?” she asked, not looking up from her work.

“It’s been a long time since anyone’s heard you say those words,” Thor told her.

“Did we wake you? Sorry about that. Try to go back to sleep.”

“Please stop trying to avoid me by encouraging me to sleep,” he grumbled. She’d been doing her best to ignore his presence since Coulson had essentially confined her to his room.

“While I admit that yes, you are easier to deal with when you’re not awake, that’s a bonus. You may not feel injured, but you’re still recovering, and you do need rest.” Lucy chalked one last sign on the floor and sat back on her heels, examining her work. She ran her thumb along one, correcting a small smudge, and then stood, satisfied.

“Would you mind?” she asked, tapping the cabinet. Volstagg warily moved it back into place. “Thank you. And yes, I mean it, it’s not some weird trick or cunning ruse. I appreciate your help.”

“How is Sif?” Thor asked, sitting up stiffly.

“I convinced her to rest. I think she is slightly more satisfied that you will be more on guard than she was this morning.”

Thor twisted the blanket in his hands, then let it go. “I do not like to worry her.”

“Unavoidable, given the situation,” Lucy replied. “At least until SHIELD or the rest of your super-buddies manage to shut Amora down, or you can all get back to Asgard, you’re sitting here underpowered and with a target on your back. She’d be worried even if you didn’t keep trying to bear-hug someone who may or may not be after your head. You could stand to be a little more understanding about it though, I’d wager.”

“You’re not after my head,” Thor scolded. He remembered well how feral Loki had been the last time he’d seen him. The anger and recklessness were etched into his memory. Compared to that, her lack of focused animosity was practically a balm. Even if she did avoid looking at him, vaguely resent him, and wish he’d fall back asleep as soon as possible.

“No, but she’s not sure about that. Strictly speaking, you don’t know that, either,” Lucy said, surveying the rest of the room.

“If you had wanted to attack me, you’d have done so before you lost your ring,” Thor pointed out.

“Yeah, probably. But, you know, tricks and stratagems and fun stuff like that. Can’t be too careful,” she waved her hands in the air and wiggled her fingers, “around magic!”

He sighed, fighting the tension that surged up through his nerves at her tone. He could practically feel the argument brewing the same way he could feel a storm gathering. “Are you done making fun of me?”

“I’m actually being somewhat serious. Magicians can be unpredictable. I ran into this one woman once who’d been bonded until she lost her people. I mean, she didn’t get kicked out or shunned or anything, she lost them. They all died. I didn’t realize that she’d been uprooted for a few hours, I thought she was just traveling. She was really sweet, except for the part where she turned out to be completely batshit insane.” Lucy made a face. “It came out that she was transforming people who reminded her of the ones she’d lost into little paper dolls and taking them with her wherever she went.”

“What did you do?” Volstagg asked, wide-eyed.

“What I had to,” Lucy said simply, sadness tinging her expression for a moment.

“You fought her?” Thor asked.

She cocked her head at him. “I killed her.”

“Oh,” he replied, his voice small and his stomach turning slightly. Magic had been considered a lesser craft all their lives. Loki had been infinitely proud of it, prouder than they had considered necessarily justified when it came to such a rarefied pursuit. It seemed things might be different on Midgard.

“I’d have preferred not to, but there wasn’t anything else for it,” Lucy explained. “She was too far gone to get settled properly anywhere else, and leaving her like that wasn’t doing anyone any favors.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “Anyway, for real. Watch yourself around magic.”

“Including you?”

“Including me,” she said firmly.

“Would you be warning me like this if you were truly dangerous?” Thor asked.

“You don’t really believe me, do you?” Lucy snapped. “Fucking hell. You think I’m your brother, your brother tried to kill you, and you don’t really believe me when I sit here telling you that you shouldn’t trust magicians in general. Maybe that warning is like the no trespassing sign at a zoo--for liability purposes only. You ever think of that?”

“You aren’t a magician anymore, though.”

“Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said you sucked at diplomacy, were you?” she demanded. “Just find that sore spot and stick your thumb right in it.”

“I meant no offense,” he apologized quickly. He didn’t want to fight with her, not now. Why couldn’t he ever keep it from turning out like this?

“I’m still a magician. I’m just temporarily between powers.” She managed a thin smile. “Keep that in mind.”

“I will try to,” Thor sighed. “You truly remember nothing of Asgard? Of our parents?”

“Nothing to remember,” Lucy said firmly. “And I remember my parents just fine. Grandparents, school teachers, nosy neighbors, whole shebang.”

“Were they magicians, too?” Vosltagg asked.

“Huh? No. Magic doesn’t really run in families like that.” Lucy paused, considering. “Here. Magic doesn’t run in families here. Is it different on Asgard? Magicians have magician kids?”

“I don’t think so,” Thor murmured, his brows furrowing.

Lucy studied him for a long moment. “I would have expected you to know a little more about magic if you spent centuries being inseparable from a magician.”

He flinched slightly. “Loki guarded his secrets carefully. And I was...not as inquisitive as I might have been.”

“Ah. Never mind, then.” Lucy looked at the floor and chewed her lip. “Maybe I should have asked for a permanent marker after all.” She eyed the window. “And a grease pencil.”

“A word, Jones?” Phil asked, poking his head in the door. Thor could see Clint hovering behind him and waved. The archer returned his greeting, smiling.

“Sure, let’s go. But if it’s about why you thought my middle name was Elizabeth, the word is ‘disappointed,’ and it’s not going to change. Honestly, how do you not have my entire life history documented in one of your sad little SHIELD files by now? I’ve been on your radar for over a decade, I don’t wear gloves or disable security cameras, and I don’t even use a pseudonym. Do I need to start handing out business cards with my social security number on them?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Phil gave her a withering look.

“Could you not speak with her here?” Thor requested, reluctant to let her out of his sight. Exasperation colored her features for a moment, and he sighed.

“I suppose so, if you’re up to having that much company,” Phil said.

Hogun took his place outside the door again, and Clint leaned next to it on the inside, his gaze wandering the room and belying the tired slouch of his shoulders and neck. Phil settled into a chair and opened a sheaf of paperwork. Lucy took a seat opposite him and stretched her fingers, leaving chalk fingerprints on the back of her hands. Thor’s eyes went to the signs she’d drawn all over the room. He didn’t recognize the script. He’d been hoping they’d be proper runes. He glanced at her to find her watching him.

“Linear B. For water and metal and stone. It seemed appropriate,” she told him.

He nodded dumbly. Had Loki ever spoken of magic so? He searched his memories and came to the unpleasant conclusion that, if his brother had, he had not been paying attention. Perhaps such revelations were not as weighted here on Midgard, he thought. Perhaps it had been only natural that Loki had been reluctant to divulge what he knew.

“I need to know the layout of Doom’s Tunisian compound,” Phil said bluntly.

“Couldn’t tell you,” she returned with a shrug.

“You’ve been there twice that we know of.”

“And it has been remodeled after every visit. I have no idea what it looks like now.”

“Remodeling? That’s your excuse?” Phil pressed. Thor bristled slightly at the sharpness to his question and wished she’d returned to her cot instead of picking a chair across the room from him. She shot him a warning look, and he steadied himself.

“Extensive remodeling,” she clarified.

Phil snorted and looked at his notes. “I should just go ahead and assume you were the reason for the extensive remodeling, shouldn’t I?”

“Technically, the rabbits were the reason for the extensive remodeling, but since I was the reason for the rabbits, I suppose that’s fairly accurate.”

Clint made a noise that sounded suspiciously close to stifled laughter.

“Rabbits?” Phil repeated.

“Don’t look at me like that. Doom specifically requested their presence,” Lucy said defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Really.”

“Yes. He had some questions about the strategic value of pulling rabbits out of a hat.”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you...”

“Provided the demonstration.” She shrugged. “I have to say, though, I rather assumed a super-scientist of his adventurousness would have had better containment methods on hand. He didn’t even take any notes. It was like he was wholly disinterested in duplicating the results.”

“And the second incident was of course a generous attempt to let him gather the data he missed from the first time?”

“What? No, fuck that dude. I don’t do repeat performances without a standing ovation. The second incident was for the rabbits. They wanted revenge for the way the first time shook out.”

“You Night of the Lepused Doctor Doom,” Clint managed, his shoulders shaking from trying not to laugh.

“Again, this was something that he requested. And the man blows up his own buildings at least once a month. I’m sure his insurance adjuster didn’t even blink at the claims.” Lucy spread her hands. “Especially compared to that time I was busting up one of his joints and ran into you, Coulson. Two agencies and an independent operator blow your shit up at the same time? That sort of thing drives them absolutely fucking bonkers.”

“Did you keep any of the rabbits, or did they all hop off into the sunset?” Clint asked.

“They moved to Greenland to start a commune. No idea how it turned out, honestly, but last I heard from them there were some political problems developing.”

“Such as?” Phil prompted wearily.

“Turns out rabbits are surprisingly corrupt, given half a chance.”

“And this explains a few things I’d hoped never to have to look into,” he groaned, jotting down a few notes.

“Oh, are they still dressing up like yetis and stampeding through towns?”

“You are a menace, Jones. Honestly.” Phil shook his head.

“Was that all you wanted? Because if you want to talk about Doom, there’s the stuff you wouldn’t let me finish before.”

“I didn’t let you finish because I’d eventually like to be able to sit through a briefing about Doom with Richards present without getting terrible mental images,” Phil said sharply.

“Do I want to know?” Clint asked, his eyebrows arching.

“No. No, you don’t. It’s very disturbing.”

“It’s not that disturbing. I mean, okay, it is a little. But in the grand scheme of things, there are way more disturbing discoveries you could be making. Like those isopods that go after snappers--”

“Jones, please don’t finish that sentence.” Phil snapped his file shut. “We’re done here. I’d consider it a personal favor if you could refrain from colonizing populated islands with either super-sized or miniaturized versions of anything in the future.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never wanted to ride a rabbit, Coulson,” she challenged.

“I can say with a clear conscience that it’s never come up before, Jones,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Please try not to do anything horrible in the meantime. Barton, you up for guard duty?”

“Always.”

“You’re on until Rogers gets back. No giving her ideas.”

Lucy glared at him. “The day I need ideas from a guy who still uses arrows is the day I hang up my pointy hat and broomstick.”

“Be good, all of you. Thor, don’t over-do it. Hank says you’re still not one hundred percent yet.” Phil slipped out and headed off.

Lucy settled back onto her cot, and Thor curled a hand around her shoulder protectively. The sensation of burning cold he felt whenever they were apart had diminished considerably, but the physical contact was still immensely reassuring. She stiffened slightly but didn’t move to shake him off.

“Hope you don’t mind if I just read for a while?” The edge in her voice told him that it wasn’t really a question. She pulled a Starkphone out of her pocket and tapped the screen a few times.

“Where did you get that?” Clint asked.

“Stark.”

Clint eyed it for a moment, then relaxed when he saw that it was Tony’s personal phone. Even if he’d been stupid enough to put sensitive information on it, JARVIS would have deleted it immediately. Thor leaned forward to watch the screen.

“You could tell the story of the book you’re reading,” he suggested softly.

“Are you asking me to read to you?”

“It is common on Asgard,” he offered by way of explanation. How often had they spent the rainy days of their childhood playing with their toy swords and shields, pretending to be the great heroes from the story as Loki read it from tomes almost bigger than himself? It seemed so long ago now. And even when he’d been at his most peevish, Loki softened when he was telling an old tale.

“You used to read the old legends from the books in the older scripts and Elven tongues,” Volstagg said hesitantly. “You’d tell us the stories. Some of them gave Sif the footing she needed to badger the instructors into teaching her more.”

“No, I didn’t, and yeah, that hasn’t really been a done thing here since we invented the radio.”

“Come on, what’s the harm?” Clint asked, smiling. He gave Thor a comforting wink over Lucy’s head, and Thor smiled gratefully. “Are you reading something embarrassing?”

“I could if you’d like. Stark’s got a lot of questionable choices on here. Chicken Soup for the Billionaire’s Soul, for instance. Why did somebody even bother writing that? Oh. It’s self-published. By him. Never mind.” Lucy frowned, dragging her finger across the screen. “Twilight, Atlas Shrugged, Catcher in the Rye, Confessions of a Shopaholic....Was his personal assistant mad at him or something? This is spite literature. This is what you put on someone’s phone when you can’t strangle them.”

“Just download some Viking sagas or something.”

Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Dude. Have you ever read any of those things? Turns out Vikings were terrible people. And everybody’s named after the sound of passing out drunk or the sound of an axe hitting somebody’s skull. ‘Ffarfarblargh, son of Kqiiskwishsplat, who was a berserker pirate, did quarrel with Snoristhump the Baby-Disemboweler, over the hand of fair Blargha Blarghsdottir, and they agreed to settle their dispute with a dog-strangling contest.’ I’m not plowing through two thousand stanzas of that.”

Clint leaned forward, his interest piqued. “Come on, I’m sure we can find something.”

*****

“The car suddenly veered off the road and we came to a sliding halt in the gravel. I was hurled against the dashboard. My attorney was slumped over the wheel. ‘What’s wrong?’ I yelled. ‘We can’t stop here. This is bat country!’”*

Stark and Rogers stopped, bemused by the sight of Lucy reading aloud to Barton and the two Asgardians.

“What are you doing?” Stark interrupted.

“Trying to read a book.”

“Is that Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas?”

“Yup.”

“You’re reading the pinnacle of western literature’s ‘what the fuck was this guy on?’ genre to two alien gods and a very impressionable SHIELD agent.”

“No, that would probably be Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test or Naked Lunch or anything by Philip K. Dick,” she explained. “This has an extensive catalog of exactly what the fuck this guy was on. I’d have to say it’s more the pinnacle of western literature’s ‘how the fuck did this get published?’ genre.”

“Seriously, where’s the line for an idea is so bad you won’t consider it? Do you even have one?” Stark groaned. “And you,” he turned to Barton, “why are you letting her read them Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas?” He gestured sharply at Thor and Volstagg. “Isn’t there something in the SHIELD manual about this not being okay?”

“We are not children, friend Stark,” Thor reminded him.

“I know you’re not, but she’s trying to, I don’t know, turn you evil or something.”

“I am not. I tried some Poe, and we had to explain everything. And then I tried some Grimm, and it turns out that some of the child-rearing practices of medieval Germany are a little suspect by, you know, any reasonable person’s standards, and we still had to explain everything. And then I tried some Pride and Prejudice, and nobody could come up with a good reason for Mr. Bennet not to have challenged Mr. Collins to a duel, so that was ruined. I figured we could just cut to the chase and read something that didn’t make sense to anyone, the author included.”

“No. No reading anything by Thompson to alien gods. You’re not allowed.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not the boss of me, Stark.”

“And is that my phone?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have my phone?”

“Oh, is it not okay to just steal each other’s stuff now?” she asked innocently. “When did that happen?”

“I’ve been looking for that since this morning. How did you even get into it?” he demanded, snatching it back. He glared at Hawkeye. “How did she even get into this?”

Barton shrugged and spread his hands defensively. “She was already into it when I first saw her with it.”

“You’re no help, Clint,” Stark muttered, checking the phone for damage.

“No offense, but ‘Steve America-Stark’ is not a hard password to guess. And using a star for the hyphen, while super-cute and adorable and everything, does not actually do a lot to improve the security rating.”

Stark gaped at her for a second, his eyes darting from her to Rogers and back again as a deep blush crept up his face. “That’s, uh, not my password. Seriously, that’s not my password.”

“Tony?” Rogers asked, his brows furrowed. “You know my last name isn’t really America, right?”

Barton snickered.

“Screw you guys, that’s not my password, and I’m going to take my phone and go hang out with the part of the squad that doesn’t team up with supervillains against me,” Stark snapped, storming out of the room.

Rogers chuckled after the door swung shut, shook his head, and then looked at her. “How did you break into his phone, anyway?”

“I didn’t. Mr. Security-Conscious left himself logged in.” She coughed slightly. “I did, however, reset his password to that, so he may be a little touchy for a while.”

“Great,” Rogers sighed. “Okay, Clint, you’re relieved. See if you can get Tony to simmer down a little?”

“I’ll do my best, but no promises.” Barton grinned and then trotted after him.

“We were enjoying that tale,” Thor grumbled.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Lucy chided him. “But it’s kind of you to say.”

“If you’re just story-telling, why not just, you know, tell a story?” Rogers suggested.

“I don’t know any stories with happy endings,” she replied with a shrug. “How ‘bout you?”

“If it’s just the ending that’s the problem, I can’t imagine any story that has Tony freaking out like that is very happy.”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure everybody lives. I mean, it’s technically autobiographical. Somebody had to have made it out of Vegas, or it never would have gotten written.”

“Well, what about all the stories that end with everybody living happily ever after?” he asked. “Snow White and Rose Red, or Cinderella, or, uh, Bearskin?”

“Uh, isn't Bearskin the one where the homeless veteran sells his soul to the devil and then his two sisters-in-law kill themselves?”

Rogers put his hand to his face. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“I guess if that counts as happily ever after, sure. Lots of stories. We could start with Hamlet.”

“Nobody survives Hamlet,” Rogers protested.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen it performed, but I’m pretty sure there’s this one guy that’s been out of the country the whole time who delivers a closing monologue and declares himself king or something.” She appealed to Thor and Volstagg. “Either of you two seen Hamlet? Back me up here.”

“I would not have thought Midgardian literature so depressing,” Thor mused. “Your films and television shows are so full of humor and song.”

“That’s a recent development,” Lucy sighed. “They’re a stress-reaction to everything about opera.”

“What’s wrong with opera?” the captain demanded. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You grew up listening to it on the radio and not being able to speak Italian, didn’t you?”

“Sure, but what does....You’re going to say something terrible now, aren’t you?”

“Not anything worse than the average opera plot? I mean, they’re usually ten distinct and improbable kinds of fucked up. It’s all mistaken identity, reciprocal backstabbing, damnation, and adultery.”

“Even the one with the clown*?”

Lucy stared at him. “Either you’re fucking with me, in which case I’m impressed, or you’ve managed to be on the same team as Stark for how long now without him dragging you to one of those charity black tie events featuring homicidal tenors, in which case I’m very impressed.”

Rogers shifted uneasily. “I’m usually, um, on duty when those things are scheduled.”

“So I’m very impressed, then.”

“But it is not at all difficult to get out of attending those feasts if one does not wish to make merry that evening,” Thor said. “Tony is always courteous about accepting my regrets if Jane Foster cannot accompany me, or if duty interferes with my attendance.”

“I think that might be because Fury threatened to nationalize him if he didn’t stop badgering you to go drinking with him,” Rogers explained. “Since everybody else isn’t representing an alien government, it’s a little harder to get off the hook.” He looked at Lucy. “You’re serious about the one with the clown being sad?”

“Yup.” She sat back and crossed her ankles. “If you’ve got a grease pencil I can borrow, I’ll even refrain from telling you about it.”

Chapter Text

Lucy shoved a table against the wall and climbed onto it. With Thor sleeping in the next room and his three musketeers clustering around him instead of hovering around her in case she tried to stab him with a piece of chalk, she just might be able to get some work done. The black wax pencil that Rogers had come up with would do the trick nicely.

“How does this work if you don’t have any magic?” Barton asked from behind her.

“How does a landmine go off without a triggerman?” she countered evenly.

“Magicians have landmines?”

“Magicians have always had landmines.” She signaled Hogun and pointed to the light switch, gesturing for him to turn it off. He gave her a look promising certain doom if she tried anything but obeyed. The glass became significantly more reflective. “In case you haven’t noticed, we really don’t get along with each other very well. Passive mechanisms are a pain in the ass, but since they’re powered by whatever hits them, you just need to know what you’re doing. Hell, if you subscribe to the thousand monkeys theory, there’s a slug in a forest somewhere accomplishing the same thing on accident.”

“Oh, a slug could do this on accident? Huh. My estimation of your skills just improved significantly,” he snorted.

“Keep it up, mister. See if I help your ass out next time,” she muttered.

“What is this going to do, assuming it works?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “No assumptions, grasshopper. It will work. The question is whether or not we’ll wind up needing it. You know how a window this size right in front of his fucking bed is just begging to have something thrown through it during an attack?”

“I wouldn’t have used those exact terms, but yeah, it did occur to us. The glass in here is bulletproof for exactly that reason.”

“Which would be great, if Amora seemed like the type to roll in with a machine gun. Since she’s not, I figured something that would throw whatever she does show up with right back at her if she cuts loose with it might be a good idea. Now, would you please be quiet? This is actually fairly delicate work, and it’s only going to function like it should if I get it right. Park it,” she pointed to a chair, “and keep a lid on it.”

He did as she asked, and Lucy relaxed slightly. She pursed her lips. The problem with just plowing or bluffing through obstacles, she thought, was that it was easy to get out of practice when it came to more subtle techniques. Of course, the problem with subtle techniques was that some jackass with a bottle of windex and a handful of crumpled newspaper could undo hours of work and make a complete shambles of whatever contingency plans relied on everything still being in one piece.

She let her eyes lose their focus slightly, concentrating on the point where the pencil’s tip met its reflection. The difficult part, once the calculations regarding the window’s size, thickness, and so forth had been made, came from having to inscribe the directives in a space that did not, technically, exist. If she looked too hard or too sharply at it, it would vanish. Barton’s gaze weighed on her. She cast about for a slight distraction, something with a pleasant memory attached to it that wouldn’t intrude too strongly into what she was trying to accomplish.

She hummed slightly, nodding to herself. There it is, she thought. That’s exactly what I’m looking for. Some half-remembered make-out session at closing time in a trendy club in Berlin after a successful job, as seen through a glittering dust of the lowest dose of psilocybin and MDMA that a human being could sell without getting punched in the face on general principle.

“Wo bist du, wo bist du? So allein will ich nicht sein. Wo bist du, wo bist du?” she sang softly. It was difficult not to tense when the point clarified suddenly. To seize it would be to ruin it just as she’d found it. She began writing swiftly, but without hurry, keeping her mind away from the task as much as she dared. The script flowed around the edges of the glass, tracing its dimensions and finding their way into the facets of the crystal. It was at once sunk into the depths of the glass and skating across the surface. “Die schönen Mädchen sind nicht schön, die warmen Hände sind so kalt. Alle Uhren bleiben stehen, Lachen ist nicht mehr gesund und bald. Such ich dich hinter dem Licht. Wo bist du, wo bist du?”*

Lucy linked the beginning and end smoothly, leaving no gap or overlap, and slid from the table to examine her work. She tucked the pencil behind her ear and put her hands on her hips.

“You know, sometimes it’s a little unbelievable how awesome I am,” she announced.

Barton stared at her for a second. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, Jones. Of all the criminals with inflated senses of self-worth that we nab, you’re definitely the one who believes in herself the most.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m the best.”

“That’s kind of a depressing song, though.”

“Is it? My German’s even worse than my Spanish, and my Spanish is fucking terrible.” She paused. “And is it depressing just in general or depressing for a German song? Because those are two very different things.”

“Just in general.” He got up and looked at what she’d done. “And this will work?”

“Against magic. Don’t go testing it out with Captain America’s shield or Stark’s whatever the fuck that is in his chest.”

“Great. I’ll try to avoid that.” He eyed her critically. “How is your Spanish still that bad? Practically all you do is screw around south of the border.”

“Well that’s just not true, for one thing, and for another, that doesn’t mean shit as far as language acquisition skills are concerned. I mean, even blind drunk I can swing ‘You’ll never take me alive’ in Spanish or Portuguese, but you’d be surprised how far that doesn’t get you when you’re trying to explain to a landlord that he’s a cocksucker and you hope he’s carried off and eaten alive by the army ants infesting the bungalow he just rented you. I mean, he’s usually going to understand that you’re mad at him, but all the nuance is lost.”

“Wouldn’t being a magician sort of take care of the whole ant problem to begin with?” Barton asked.

She scoffed. “Man, ants are gonna do what ants are gonna do. Get Pym drunk enough, I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it. They’ve got a lot in common with that fascist robot of his.”

“Ultron?”

“Yup. Think about it, though. Hive-mind? Check. Self-replicating? Check. Burning hatred of humanity? Check. Impossible to really get rid of? Check. Pym made robot ants, and Ultron is their queen.”

Barton kneaded his temples. “You’re insane, you know that? Why don’t you go get some sleep?”

Lucy shot him a sour look. “I’m not tired.”

“Then why don’t you go pretend to sleep while being quiet.”

“You want me to go be duplicitous around a pack of high-strung, sleep-deprived body-guards? That sounds like a bad idea,” she pointed out. “If it would stop you plotting to get me stabbed, I can just meditate out here.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just stop telling me things.”

“That’s a rotten attitude for someone in the intelligence industry to have,” she observed.

Lucy picked a chair and curled into it, pulling her legs into a half-lotus and straightening her back. She was tired, just not tired enough to try sleeping in the middle of a bunch of twitchy aliens with diplomatic immunity. She was, in fact, not sure she could get tired enough to think that was a good idea, especially not after the weird dream she’d had during the nap she’d taken. She had enough objection to frogs and their behavior in general. She didn’t particularly need a lasting impression of their eyes as portals to the future.

She focused on making her muscles relax and regulating her breathing. It might not be full sleep, but she could at least rest. She stretched her senses, feeling a small ache at it. She’d overextended herself ferrying Thor back to the land of the living, and she felt a brief spike of anger at it. Would it kill him to just be moderately grateful for that and stop asking for more? Especially since it was a sort of more he shouldn’t want in the first place. You got lucky, you asshole. He died instead of you. Stop fucking pushing it, take your friends, and go home to your parents, she thought. The lingering sense of his guilt and unhappiness and need pricked at her, an aggravation she couldn’t ignore easily. Even when he stopped himself from physically reaching for her, she could feel his desire to do so catching at the ragged edges of her patience.

Lucy loosened her power just a bit more and wished she could sense Amora. It would all be so much easier if she could just track the woman down. Staging a break-out wouldn’t be hard. Fury was already leaning on Coulson about the necessity of keeping her and Thor together, and the novelty of the diplomatic angle was wearing off. If she confessed to something that had been a burr in Fury’s saddle for a while now, she’d be on her way to some black site in the former Soviet Union by morning, Asgardian feelings be damned. As jumpy as Belarus and half the -istans had been about their airspace in the past few months, a few misread instruments and unanswered demands for identification would generate opportunity for escape and plausible deniability. She wouldn’t even strictly need to challenge Amora; she could just get herself a new ring and claim to have swapped hers for a fake while Amora’s guard was down.

She wasn’t even sure why she couldn’t track Amora. Thor and his companions were vague irritants on the surface of the world. It would be difficult to find them from a distance by the distortion and rippling they caused, yes, but hardly impossible. Amora left no such traces, so far as she could tell. Probably because she doesn’t wrestle with her power the way he does, she thought irritably. He was still like a cracked crucible slopping molten gold everywhere.

Lucy reached out and brushed the edge of his consciousness. He was snared in a nightmare, held fast in a swirling mess of bloodlust and ice, panic and guilt, the pained cries of his friends ringing in his ears and monsters with red eyes surrounding him. Were those the frost giants they’d spoken of, then? She examined them a moment, vaguely surprised at how humanoid they were. She was more used to monsters that looked, well, monstrous. Aside from their size, coloration, and a few minor quirks of appearance, they could pass for human. She touched his mind with slightly more firmness, imparting just a touch of warmth and the idea of safety. The freezing darkness of the nightmare dissolved into the enveloping, easy brightness of a great hall on a feast day. Better. Maybe if he could just manage to stay there, he’d be back on his feet in a day or two. Lucy coiled back in on herself restlessly.

She’d monumentally overestimated this plan’s potential for entertainment. Aliens were supposed to be fun, with laser rifles and spaceships and oddly-shaped skulls. They weren’t supposed to be immortal Scandinavian wet blankets whose interdimensional portal was on the fritz more often than the transporter in a bad episode of Star Trek. She’d met plant-monsters dredged up from the bottom of a swamp and given sentience by a truly unfortunate mix of pollutants and radiation that were better company than the Asgardians. It only served to confirm her opinion that people whose primary means of conflict resolution was stabbing were generally not great conversationalists.

Lucy stifled a yawn and deepened her breathing a little. Barton’s heroic efforts not to fall asleep on watch were almost communicable. She should sleep. She was tired. She needed to stay sharp. She could be patient just a little while longer, couldn’t she? She considered it. The looping ouroboros between her shoulderblades itched. She’d been out of her own form too damn long. It seemed like she hadn’t been home in forever. And now she had a pretty golden hero trying to paste her into his family album and looking like she’d hauled off and slapped him every time she pointed out that she didn’t belong there. Being patient just a little while longer was probably not going to be in the cards.

*****

“You don’t have bilgesnipe here?” Thor asked, his eyes twinkling. “Surely you do. You know, huge, scaly, big antlers? They’re difficult to miss. They trample everything in their path, and their visages are quite repulsive.”

“Pretty sure we don’t. And you have those on your homeworld, do you?” Lucy asked drily, studying him.

He hadn’t shut up about Asgard once since he’d woken. A solid stretch of sound sleep seemed to have done him a world of good, but it also seemed to have prompted some idea that she just needed to be reminded that she was Loki. If she heard about one more disrupted tournament, drunken pratfall, mysteriously vanishing possession, inadvisable romantic liaison, or booze-sodden, Tolkienesque adventure, she was going to set his bed on fire and go destroy another of Doom’s bases. He didn’t even seem to realize that what he was describing bore more resemblance to a grab-bag of her worst impulses than anything she’d actually do. Every time she’d felt the urge to do something pointlessly and stupidly malicious like permanently shave someone’s head--how the hell would that even work?--she’d generally taken it as a sign that it was time to pull up stakes and find something vaguely productive, like armed robbery or turtle harassing or plumbing the depths of some new type of hallucinogen, with which to keep herself occupied until the feeling passed.

“Hey, guys. What are you up to?” Stark demanded, bursting in. Lucy narrowed her eyes. He had the sort of manic grin she’d come to associate with getting blasted with some new type of energy cannon plastered across his face.

“Thor was telling outrageous lies about Asgardian fauna. Why?”

Thor shot her a look of surprise and hope. “You do remember!”

“Once again, no, I don’t, because there’s nothing to remember.”

“Then how--”

“When you were talking about your parents, and all your other friends, and your weird little quests into dwarf forges for weapons and elven halls for magic and troll office buildings for paper clips, you looked a little sad, like you miss it. When you were talking about alligator-moose hybrids from space, you looked like you were telling a joke. The difference is rather marked. Conclusion: bilgesnipe don’t exist.”

“Well, that’s disappointing. I was kind of looking forward to him bringing back pictures from his next vacation,” Stark sighed. He brightened again after less than a second, and Lucy steeled herself. The last time she’d seen him this irrepressible, they had, in very short order, been left standing in a surprisingly large, smoking crater that had previously enjoyed a quiet existence as an AIM base. “Anyway, guess what I found?”

“Did you really find it, or did you bamboozle some poor SHIELD intern into finding it for you?” Lucy asked.

“Well, if you want to get snotty about it, Natasha found it. But I asked her to, so I think at least part of the credit is mine.” He stuck his tongue out at her.

“Then I guess I’m very proud of you and can’t wait to hear about what it is you’re glory-hounding over now,” she said, her smile like flint.

He glowered at her for a second, then went back to grinning. We’ll be lucky, she thought, if this doesn’t somehow collapse the entire facility on us.

Stark whipped out a tablet and opened a video file. He flipped it around so that they could all see it. The camerawork was shaky but professional, and she figured it for a news crew’s unused footage. In the middle distance, Namor was hovering in mid-air over a small contingent of what apparently passed for tanks in Atlantis. Lucy arched an eyebrow at Stark.

“This is what’s got you so excited?”

“Shh. It’s not just Namor. Keep watching,” he insisted.

“I know it’s not just Namor. I’m just a little perplexed about why you’re so thrilled.”

The camera tracked Namor’s flight for a few minutes, then swung around to focus on the vehicles as they lumbered over parked cars and smashed through a few shopfronts before setting off one car alarm too many. Lucy sighed heavily, and Volstagg elbowed her companionably to shush her before freezing and looking down at her in horror. She rolled her eyes and pointed sharply back to the screen.

“Who dares intrude upon this sacred ground?” rolled from the tablet’s speakers. Lucy grimaced. She’d over-projected the hell out of that line. They’d gotten complaints from ten blocks away afterwards. On the screen, she was sweeping down a short flight of steps. A shimmering gold dress clung expertly to the few curves she had--the seamstress had gotten a dozen red roses every Friday for a month out of that miracle--and flowed down to her ankles, a forest green cape billowed behind her, and a her dark hair was carefully bound up and around a crown of golden antlers, their prongs twining and arching almost half a foot from the base. The black staff in her hands ended in an ornate stag’s head, its chin tucked down toward its breast to form the crook. The recording rolled on, and the woman on screen gestured sharply, silencing the alarms and bringing the war engines to a grinding halt.

Namor dipped lower, his bronze skin glistening in the late afternoon light. The cameras didn’t pick up what he said. If she recalled correctly, it had been his name, followed by a truly ridiculous string of highly suspect titles, and then an insistence that he wasn’t intruding. Thor leaned forward, captivated by the show, and Stark grinned at her.

“You claim the right to set foot here uninvited?” came at a more reasonable volume. His posture indicated that he did, and Lucy thought that that had been where he’d asked who was going to stop him. He’d still mistaken her at that point for some local heroine out to make a name for herself. He’d started declaiming about the many wrongs done by surface dwellers and his just cause, under the deeply erroneous impression that she’d cared.

“Fool! You will suffer the consequences of your impertinence!”

The small figure on the screen raised her staff, and a tinny “Imperius r--!” was cut off by an undignified squawk as Namor’s green briefs were transformed into a charcoal gray suit. He fell like a stone and bounced off the street.

“Kneel before me!” thundered across the scene, almost immediately followed by a laser striking the building’s facade and partially collapsing it. The camera’s angle tilted precipitously as the crew scrambled back.

A much lower-volume, less-theatrical “Christ, van Dyne, will you fucking watch it for once?” came through before the feed was cut.

“That was you!” Stark hooted, pointing emphatically at the preview image of her with her head thrown back, staff upraised, and green fabric pooling around her feet.

“Yes, and?” she asked. He deflated slightly.

“Do you have any idea how nuts this drove me? Nobody could figure out who the new hero in town was! I had JARVIS going through data for months.”

“Good?” Lucy offered, unsure of where he was going with it.

“Why didn’t you keep the costume? It looks great. Way better than the stuff you usually turn up in,” Stark pressed. “I mean, not that pinstripes and skirt-suits and that sort of thing aren’t professional, but they’re usually not what supercriminals go for, HYDRA’s legal division excepted.”

Lucy pursed her lips. “You do realize that’s an actual costume, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah. You dressed the part for once. Good for you.”

“No, I mean a literal costume. I was in a play. Namor fucked up our closing night, so I decided to go for broke and do a little performance art and turn it into proper street theater.”

Stark pinched the bridge of his nose, the smile sliding off his face with the same approximate grace shown by the facade the Wasp had blasted off the building in the video.

“This is for a play.”

“Yes.”

“This is for a play?”

“Yes.”

“The one time you put some effort into it, and it doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

“It had to do with the play,” she pointed out, crossing her arms. Of all the things she’d seen him get far too excited about, she couldn’t think of a weirder one than this. The job she’d been in New York to do hadn’t even gone through, and SHIELD wasn’t in the habit of caring about domestic violence charges and bail-skipping. The play and a new personal rule against working with family-gangs that couldn’t keep from drunkenly assaulting each other over a card game had been the only things to come of it. Between room and board and getting everybody bonded out, she’d actually lost a surprising amount of money on the whole thing.

“You know what? I don’t believe you. I think you just don’t want to admit that you went through a costume phase and actually tried for once instead of just hovering at this sort of baseline that you’ve got going, where you’re too cool to care.”

“Too cool to....You’ve got problems, Stark, you know that?” Lucy shook her head. “If I wanted a job where I had to dress up, I’d have gone to clown college.”

“ Okay, then. What play?” he demanded.

“What?”

“What play was this for?”

“Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat.”

Stark stared at her, paralyzed for a second by the answer. “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” he repeated flatly.

“Uh-huh.”

“And you’re playing the part of...?”

“Athena, Queen of the Zombie Stags.”

“Ah-ha!” he shouted triumphantly. “That isn’t a character in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat!”

“The director may have had a liiiiiiiittle bit of a drug problem. And he read critics’ reviews incessantly. He made a lot of ‘improvements’ to the script after locking himself in the bathroom with an eightball and a stack of pans.” She shrugged. That play had been fucking awesome. “It was awesome. The whole thing was so gloriously off the rails by the second month of its run that half our audience was showing up baked. We single-handedly depopulated the two closest planetariums’ late-night laser shows. The only reviews that didn’t include the phrases ‘I swear I wasn’t high when I saw this’ and ‘No, really, this happened’ were by people who were high as hell for the whole thing and couldn’t be sure either of those statements were true. The director was personally sued by Andrew Lloyd Webber. For libel. Because he insisted on calling it Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat even after he’d changed everything but the indefinite articles.”

“But...”

“That crown was made of papier-mâché and wire hangers, and the staff was half shower curtain rod. It all went back to the props department after that last show.”

He sagged into a chair. “Papier-mâché? And you don’t even have them anymore? I’m going to pretend you’re just lying to make me unhappy.”

“Think about it for two seconds, Stark. How much would a crown like that weigh if it were actual metal? Hell, even if it was real antler? A fuckton. Just moving around would give me whiplash. And look at that cape. My greatest enemy would be revolving doors, not a giant sea scorpion. Never mind that I’d constantly be tripping over the hemline of that dress. There’s nothing about it that’s not completely ridiculous once you get off the stage.”

“But it looks fantastic!” he protested, dragging the slider bar back to her entrance. “Look at it! You could have spent all this time looking like a complete badass!”

“You know, if SHIELD’s got a problem with the aesthetics of my law-breaking, they do have the option of not hassling me,” Lucy snapped. “I’m pretty sure I can get over the rejection implicit in a huge governmental pain in the ass deciding I’m not flash enough for them to be seen in public with. In fact, I’m going to state for the record that I’m completely okay with them declaring me too much of a fashion disaster to bother with, effective immediately.” She gestured down at the sweatpants and t-shirt. “I’ll just charter myself a plane out of here.”

“That’s not how it works,” Stark sighed, looking wistfully at the still image.

“No? You sure? Because if I ever get my ring back, I’m gonna put that to the test,” Lucy told him firmly.

“Oh?” he asked absently.

“Yup. I’m gonna be on the Jumbotron in cut-offs and flip-flops and a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt.” He glared at her, and she leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not even going to brush my hair. And I don’t mean I’m going to be doing this fashionable bed-head thing you’ve got going, where it’s deliberately mussed to make it look like you don’t give a shit even though you probably spent ten minutes getting it just right this morning.”

“Five minutes,” he mumbled.

“And the cut-offs?” she continued, delivering the coup de grace. “The pockets are going to be sticking out the bottom.”

“You’re horrible. You are a horrible person. I come in here to tell you how great this is, and this is what I get. Why do I even bother?”

“You came in here to crow about having found it and then started criticizing my wardrobe,” Lucy shot back.

“What do you think, Thor? Am I being unfairly characterized here, or are you going to side with the Scourge of SeaWorld against me, too?”

“You know, ‘scourge’ seems a little strong given that all I did was give the dolphins the power of speech for a day.”

“A day when half the elementary schools in the state had field trips there, with full knowledge of how unbelievably vulgar dolphins are,” Stark shot back. “You scarred thousand of nine-year-olds in one go, there.”

“Hey, look, this is me crying a single, solitary tear for the tragedy of fourth-graders hearing the word ‘fuck’ for the thirtieth time that day.” She paused deliberately. “Hang on, gimme a second. Anybody got an onion or some VapoRub?”

“You’re a monster,” Stark huffed.

“No, seriously, I’ve got this.” She screwed up her face, then gave up and flopped back. “Fuck it. I’m not even a little sorry. Just think about all the elementary school guidance counselors who finally found meaning in their lives for a few weeks and let it go.”

“A monster,” Stark repeated. “Seriously, though, I’m being maligned. Come on, lightning rod, back me up here. I was trying to be nice.”

“That is truly an image of you?” Thor asked, his voice soft. She looked at him, then frowned at the somber expressions the four of them were wearing.

“Yeah, why?” Lucy asked. “What’s the problem? Haven’t you seen any video of me in action before?”

“I had, but...this is different.”

“Well, a little. This isn’t business. I was just dicking around in New York for a few months,” she explained. Goddammit, Stark. They’d gotten this image of me lodged in their heads, and then you had to pull this out. “No big deal, really.”

Thor rested his fingertips on the edge of the screen, then shook himself. “When was this?”

“It’s been a while. That was like three and a half years ago, I think. Why?” she inquired warily.

“You chose a manifestation that reflected your true self,” Thor murmured.

“The resemblance is striking,” Hogun explained.

“I’m sure I have a striking resemblance to a lot of people. I’m not them, either,” Lucy grunted irritably. “And that was for a play, people. Staged performance. Not real.”

“What if you are?” Stark asked suddenly.

“What if I’m everybody I bear a striking resemblance to? Um, theoretical physicists everywhere cream themselves and spend the next five years submitting increasingly crazed papers to Science, and existential philosophy straight up implodes.”

He scoffed, exasperated. “What if you really are Loki?”

Lucy glared at him. “This is stupid. Like, what if you’re really Mahatma Gandhi?”

“Why do you dodge the question?” Thor asked gently, his eyes searching her face.

“Here’s the thing,” she said, her fingers curling uneasily around her knees. “Even if we assume that your brother is dead, and that, through some bizarre quirk of interdimensional metaphysics, his soul wound up reincarnated here, well before he died there...so what? We’re not blood, and we have zero shared experience. There would be no kinship there.” She shifted uncomfortably. “But, like I said, it’s stupid. The odds against all of that stacking up to work out how you think it has are ridiculously high.”

“But it could be true,” Stark persisted. “You admit that Thor could be right, and you could be Loki. It could mean something significant that you picked a look that coincides closely with his brother’s.”

“We could also all be figments of a supercomputer’s imagination. Our dreams could be the reality of another dimension. Unicorns and leprechauns could exist and be secretly manipulating stock prices to their own nefarious ends. Just because something could be true doesn’t mean it is, or even that it’s likely. You’re a scientist. You know that.”

“So you do totally admit that Thor could be right.”

“Stark?” she asked, rubbing her arm.

“Yeah?”

“Exactly what are you trying to accomplish here? Because if it’s just having the last word, you may want to do that when it’s not about whether or not the alien prince with the magic hammer has a supervillain for a sibling.” A supervillain who genuinely doesn’t need a sidekick or a savior. She shot him a mirthless smile. “Just a thought.”

“Oh. Right.” Stark frowned. “Ah, fuck it. I still think Thor’s right. You secretly being an alien would explain a lot.”

“You are the least responsible superhero I’ve ever met, Stark. Hands down. This conceivably tops the time you let Justin fucking Hammer hijack your bestie and fly him around town like a nuclear-powered model airplane. You are bad at your job.”

“I didn’t let Hammer do anything,” Stark protested.

“Except turn your bro into a life-sized doom-puppet. I mean, come on, Stark. It’s Hammer we’re talking about. Do you have any idea how bad that looks? AIM hijacked a shipment of his stuff once. After they’d sifted through it for a while and started reverse-engineering it, they were seriously considering putting a hit out on him on general principle. As it is, he made official heretic status in their weird little religion.”

“Yeah?” Stark frowned. “Where do I stand with them?”

“I don’t know, really. Once I found out it involved some sort of ‘communing’ and that the communing necessitated a jizzmopper, I kind of stuck my fingers in my ears and hummed really loudly until they stopped trying to explain the techno-theological ramifications.”

“I...think I’m going to go invent brain bleach,” Stark mumbled, looking horrified. “I’ll see you all later.”

“That was unkind,” Thor sighed as the door swung shut.

“He had it coming,” Lucy assured him. “And I’m reasonably sure that you don’t know what a jizzmopper is, considering the fit he threw when I tried to read you that book.”

“I know it upset him,” Thor pointed out. “Are you going to explain it?”

“I think Coulson would shoot me if I did that, so no.” She smiled thoughtfully. “You could ask Barton about it, though. He’d probably tell you.”

“I do not believe Agent Coulson would shoot you,” Thor said soberly. “And I would not allow him to do so, in any case.”

“That was a joke, Your Highness,” Lucy told him, recoiling slightly. This is getting out of hand. “And I’m pretty sure that you interfering in earth law-enforcement activities without SHIELD’s permission would constitute a diplomatic faux pas.”

He frowned at her.

“Perhaps chew on that for a while and leave me be,” she snapped.

Chapter Text

Phil watched Jones as she shifted uneasily in front of him, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed as she glared at the Asgardians on the other side of the window. She’d been in a foul mood since Fandral had returned with a pair of healers and three more warriors.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he offered.

“What sort of maladaptive motherfuckers get word that their crown prince got jacked up by a magician and then turn around and send two magicians who couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag?” she growled, her shoulders tensing even further. “This is just fucking embarrassing. It’s like watching the Army decide that the answer to the Hulk wiping the floor with one platoon is to send in two platoons and a food truck.”

“So you don’t rate our chances of defending against another incursion by Amora very highly?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“You won’t mind getting transferred to another facility, then.”

“We’re leaving already? Just when I was halfway to Stockholm Syndrome.”

“You’re not even a quarter of the way to Stockholm Syndrome,” Phil retorted. “You don’t have any arguments against it you want to throw out there?”

“Nope. In fact, I’m kind of looking forward to it,” she said flatly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Coulson, your underground cement box full of self-medicating, manic-depressive, superpowered man-children, government goons, and ex-KGB human weapons,” her eyes slid to Natasha, then back to the Asgardian healers, “is great. I’ve definitely picked up a few ideas for decorating my summer home during my stay here.”

“See? This is definitely not Stockholm Syndrome talking. What are you up to?”

She snorted. “I’m a rambler at heart. I just can’t stand to stay in one place too long.”

“You seem supremely confident in your eventual escape,” he pointed out. Her air of absolute conviction never stopped subtly disturbing him. Some of their regular opponents had a certain zealotry about the rightness of their cause or over-confidence in the likelihood of victory, but, on one level or another, most of them seemed to be having a one-sided argument with reality. They were trying to persuade the world to agree with them. Jones projected a sense of being in conspiracy with reality against the rest of them. She smiled at him, the spark in her eyes making him wish his gun had real bullets in it.

“Agent, do you know how much time the average HYDRA agent spends in SHIELD custody?” she asked brightly.

“Not right off hand, no.”

“Five days,” Natasha supplied.

“Four days, twenty hours,” Jones corrected. She drummed her fingertips against her arms. “You know how bad most of those guys suck?”

“That, I’m more intimately aware of,” Phil answered.

“So I’m thinking you can see where I’m coming from here.”

“You are aware that our loss rate from special custody is much lower than our loss rate from standard detention?” he asked, slightly irked.

“Oh, I qualify for special custody now? How’d I swing that? One too many late-night calls to your personal cell? If it’s that Bakersville thing where I replaced every stoplight in town with a traffic circle, I had a really good reason. If it’s that time I covered Little Rock in ducklings, I had a good reason, but I have to admit it doesn’t qualify as a really good reason.”

“Ducklings and urban-planning-related mayhem notwithstanding, I think it was sometime between you burning through half our most-wanted list by yourself with no support network and an alien political leader deciding you’re his long-lost brother.”

“So what, I’ve been flagged as an insurance policy in case Asgard gets out of hand?” She chewed her lip. “I don’t see that working out as well as Fury might think. Dude seems kind of...intense about this. And there’s the whole part where it’s not true.”

“I think the director plans to make a persuasive case for it being in your best interests to get a little less insistent on that score.” Phil shrugged. He didn’t much care for the idea. Things tended to get out of hand quickly whenever Jones was involved. He trusted Fury to know what he was doing, though.

Jones smirked. “And I think the director’s going to make a persuasive case for it being in my best interests to get a little less insistent about his mom.”

“Well, that’s a mature response to the situation.”

“You say that like you expected better.”

“I did,” Phil sighed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Jones, but you’re in rather a lot of trouble.”

“You remember that time I drew dicks all over Iron Man’s armor?”

Phil sighed. “I remember some disjointed and borderline hysterical voicemails from Tony that now make a lot more sense, yes.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Natasha hiding a small smile.

“That was you?” she asked.

Jones rolled her eyes. “Why do you people even bother asking that anymore? Given the choice between it being me, and it being some random henchwoman who not only stuck around during a full frontal assault by SHIELD but also had the access codes to release the kraken, as it were, when is it ever the latter? I mean, unless the organization in question is primarily composed of Russians, in which case it’s a toss-up.”

“I thought you were banned from AIM after you unionized their robots.”

“I was. Turns out they don’t have any idea who’s in the hazmat suits, either. I mean, sure, you look like a tool wearing one of them, but you pretty much get the run of the place in exchange.” She shrugged. “Anyway, you remember what else was going on at the time?”

“That was one of the incidents with the sea scorpion, wasn’t it?”

“Yup. Literal fight for my fucking life. And, you know, the future of the planet.” She rocked back on her heels, then forward onto the balls of her feet, her fingers tightening on her arms as one of the Asgardian healers examined Thor. “I think you can see where I’m going with this.”

“That if you could take the time during that to plaster Tony’s prize possession with obscene graffiti, you’re unlikely to treat this with the gravity it deserves.”

“Got it in one. Give the man a prize,” she muttered. “This is just fucking sad, you know that? Who trained these people? They’re poking at him like they expect to find a physical wound. Do they just not fight with magic on Asgard? Because it kind of sounded like at least some of them do, from what Thor was saying about his brother. Maybe they just have really bad aim, so nobody ever bothered to figure out how to treat magic injuries.”

“If you think you could refrain from starting a duel, you could try talking to them.”

“You think Sif’s up to translating? Or do they all speak English?”

“None of them speak English.”

“So you think Sif’s up to translating?”

“Sif doesn’t speak English either,” Natasha clarified.

“Wait, what?” She tilted her head, studying them. “Huh. That is...odd. And subtle. What are they really speaking? How do we hear English when they talk?”

“I’m not sure. Thor tried explaining it once, but I don’t think he really understands the underlying mechanics himself. It makes liaising with foreign contacts a lot easier, though. So, do you want to try explaining things to them?” Phil asked.

“Nope. They want to be galloping thundercunts about this, who am I to stand in their way? Or, to address your second condition, who am I to refrain from pointing out that they’re being galloping thundercunts about this?” She put her fist to her mouth and watched them with renewed interest. “Who’d have thought the aliens would have a handle on Babel? That is just intriguing.”

“I’m sure you and Thor will have plenty of time to discuss it once he’s well, you’re settled, and he has time for visitation.”

“So, when do I leave for my shiny new cell?” she asked.

“As soon the transport’s ready and Thor’s good and distracted,” Phil sighed.

“You’re kidding.”

“Problem?”

“You know, if you think there’s going to be an argument, and that argument’s going to be with a guy who can fly and throw lightning around, I’d qualify anything as likely to move that argument from a ground-based location to the back of a fucking cargo plane as a problem.” Jones shot him a questioning look. “I totally get why you’d want to sneak out the back instead of explaining how you intend to play keep-away with his next-of-kin for the unilateral benefit of the American government, but unless we’re all getting issued jetpacks for the ride, I can’t endorse it as a good idea.”

“I’m almost impressed that we’ve managed to discover something you’ll think twice about doing,” Phil commented.

“Oh, Coulson. How long have you known me? I think twice about doing most things. I just do them anyway. Hell, the time I challenged Baron Zemo to a swordfight, I thought about it three times before going for broke.”

“I don’t want to know.” He really didn’t.

“I lost on a technicality,” she told him anyway. “Turns out non-stop impotence jokes during a match and transmogrifying your opponent’s sword into rubber count as poor sportsmanship. But I think I came out the practical winner on that one, judge’s decision be damned. Dude couldn’t get laid for a year afterwards. If you can’t beat ‘em, cockblock ‘em.”

“And that’s a mental image I never wanted.”

“I’d apologize, but we both know I’m not sorry.” She shifted her weight from one foot to another, her eyes narrowed. “Maybe you should just, you know, send him home for a little while until Amora can be captured or vaporized or whatever the plan with her is. Evacuate the consulate, as it were. Two birds with one stone.”

“I have to confess that I’m a little surprised you’re not looking to leverage him against us,” Phil said carefully. “It would make sense, given your current circumstances.”

“Xenu on a surfboard,” Jones hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Are there some blinds we can close or something? I can’t keep watching this. It’s amateur hour in there. I’m beginning to understand why every teacher I’ve ever met is a closet drunk.”

“You could do better?” Natasha asked, her gaze not leaving the Asgardians.

“Not without my ring, but then again, they’re not really doing anything of use.” Jones leaned against the wall. “It’s like watching a confused turtle try to hump a bowling ball.”

“And there’s another one,” Phil grunted. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh, was that a question? I thought you were just trying to impress me with how clever you are. Which, granted, you are an incredibly clever man, for an authoritarian thug in a cheap suit, and I am appropriately impressed.” Jones shot Natasha an ugly look. “Simmer down, Widow. This isn’t the part where I try to wedge a pen in somebody’s eye socket.”

“Would you like me to rephrase it in the form of a question?” Phil prompted cheerfully. She scowled at him.

“I’m not looking to leverage him against you, as you so prosaically put it, because he’s a problem, not a solution. Special custody or not, I am going to escape. And when I do, I’d prefer not to have a fucking centuries-old alien chasing me across the globe yelling ‘Brother, let us feast on weird alien animals that may or may not taste good!’ at the top of his lungs. It would be especially nice if I didn’t have to deal with that and whatever passes for police over there trying to serve a warrant for attempted fratricide, accomplished patricide, half-assed genocide, fraudulent seizure of the throne, etcetera, etcetera. I mean, look at how his friends behave towards me, and they don’t really believe him. And, assuming they did believe him, I think they were supposed to have been kind of his brother’s friends, too.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. On top of all that fucking shit, which should be more than enough by itself, what if he convinces his parents that he’s right? There could be more of them, and they could be officially in charge of everything over there, and it could turn into an even bigger shitshow. I mean, I can kind of deal with a dude running around insisting he’s my brother, but if some lady shows up claiming to be my real mom, I’m going to start slapping the diplomatic immunity right off of people. This is genuinely not a mess I’m super-eager to spend the next several decades trying to sort out, particularly given my history with sorting things out. So that’s where I’m at with it. I’d think you’d be a little proud of me for actively trying to avoid having to set fire to the crown prince of an advanced alien civilization instead of constantly questioning my motives for not causing trouble.”

“I might be prouder if it weren’t for the part about how this trouble would get in the way of the normal trouble you plan to go back to causing,” Phil remarked.

“Well, okay, yes, point. But it’s trouble that’s way less troublesome than the trouble I could be causing if I decided to play it up and be all ‘Yeah, I totally remember growing up together. That one time we all got drunk and smashed shit with hammers was rad!’ like you guys apparently want.” She paused. “Man, you know I did get completely trashed once and smashed everything with a hammer? Not as satisfying as you might think. I probably used the wrong-sized hammer.”

“Would it kill you to just admit the possibility that he’s right?” Phil asked. “Tony said you’d already done as much. Now isn’t really a good time for pride to cloud your judgment, Jones.”

“If I wanted a shiny new family of stab-happy fuck-ups, I’d be camped out in the Santa Susanas and spend my weekends trawling San Francisco for burn-outs with a lot of free-floating resentment toward society for not recognizing their genius.” Jones shot him a thin smile. “Not a bad idea, actually. We could make a name for ourselves by replacing vegetarian homeowners’ tofurkeys with the real thing and scrawling the lyrics to “MMMBop” on people’s walls in high-VOC paint. The confused headlines practically write themselves. Newsweek could work themselves into a frenzy about how we can’t even generate properly murderous hippies these days.”

“On that note, I think it’s time for us to be going,” Natasha murmured. One of the healers had placed her hands on Thor’s face, and the amber light pouring from them was too dazzling to look at directly.

“If you say so,” Jones grunted, falling in between them. Phil frowned at the tense line of her neck and the bunched muscles of her shoulders. She was on edge. He did a mental inventory of what she had on her and fell back a half step. “Quick question, though. Should I start prepping for a show-trial, or are we skipping straight to indefinite detention? If it’s a show-trial, can I designate a stand-in to actually attend everything? There’s this Kim Jong-il impersonator I’ve been using for all my public performances--”

“Hey, where are you guys going?” Tony asked, leaning out of one of the unused rooms. Jan and Hank were watching, annoyed, from their seats at a table with a deck of cards and a pile of IOUs.

“Down to the corner store for some smokes. If you’re good for your mom while we’re gone, we’ll bring you back a soda pop and a pack of gum, sport,” Jones said.

“Not now, Tony,” Phil said firmly, trying to steer him back to his poker game.

“The nearest corner store isn’t for two hundred miles, and I’m pretty sure that’s just what people say when they’re sneaking off and never coming back,” Tony retorted, twisting under Phil’s hands and addressing Jones over his shoulder.

“Not now, Tony,” Natasha hissed.

“And where’s Hawkeye? Is Hawkeye going with you, too? Jones, you can’t have all the agents. You have to leave at least one of them here. Hank is terrible at Texas hold ‘em, and Jan’s a sore loser.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry, babe, it’s true. Hank, back me up here.”

Hank studiously avoided Jan’s glare and didn’t reply.

“Stark, we will talk about this later. Right now, just go back to your game,” Phil ordered.

“What’s the hurry, Coulson? I’m sure nobody’s going to leave you behind,” Tony laughed. “This isn’t exactly LaGuardia. And even if it were, I’d still be sure nobody’s going to leave you behind. Oh, hey, Thor. Your entourage get you all straightened out?”

“Damn it,” Phil muttered under his breath.

“Agent Coulson? Lady Natasha? What is the meaning of this?” Thor asked quietly.

Phil turned to meet his searching gaze and sighed. “Now that we have the resources to adequately deal with Amora here, Jones is being moved to a more secure facility.”

“I thought we had agreed that she should remain here, at least until Amora has been captured,” Thor rumbled, frowning.

“SHIELD has re-assessed the likelihood of her being specifically targeted. You’re most likely going to be Amora’s primary, and only, target. With you defended by Asgardian forces, Jones is a distraction, so she is being relocated.”

“I do not believe she is a distraction, and I would much prefer it if she remained here,” Thor replied, his expression darkening.

“That’s not up for discussion, Thor. The decision has already been made.”

“I won’t willingly be separated from my brother again, Agent,” the prince said, his hands curling into fists. “There is no cause to move this woman now. I ask you to leave her here.”

“Not an--”

“Is that an official request from the Asgardian crown?” Jones asked archly.

Thor shot her a pleading look. “Will you not be silent, for once in your life?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll just let you two get back to arguing about what happens to me, then. Far be it from me to weigh in on this topic.” He flinched. “Agent Coulson, I believe you were in the middle of some unimpressive posturing on behalf of the new world order?”

Phil put his hand to his face. “Stop helping, Jones.”

“I do not have your skills with magic,” Thor said urgently. “The runes you have left will help me without your presence, but if you are not with me, I cannot protect you. I need you to stay.”

“Thor,” Phil began, annoyed at the conversation happening around him.

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t need anybody to protect me at all,” Jones pointed out. “Not to mention, I’ll need a lot less protecting if I’m not hanging out in the general blast radius of whatever Amora winds up aiming at your head the next time she shows up. You’ll have to forgive me if I find your argument a little less than compelling.”

Thor grimaced, his gaze shifting back to Coulson. “What if it became an official request from the Asgardian crown?”

“That’s great. You don’t like what I have to say, so just ignore it,” Jones grumbled behind him.

“It’s not, and we both know it,” Phil said gently, doing his best not to acknowledge Jones.

“I believe my father would not be best pleased if I found my brother only to lose him again,” Thor insisted.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Jones commented sourly. “You know damn well there’s no loss involved here.”

“If Amora found you with only a handful of mortals to guard you, you would be well and truly lost,” he growled. “It is not a risk I wish to take. If you remembered her, it’s not a risk you’d wish to take, either.”

“There’s nothing to remember--”

“Thor, I appreciate your feelings on the matter,” Phil cut in, “but this comes from the top, and I am going to carry out my orders as given. We’re leaving, and we’re leaving now.”

“No.” Thor caught the look on Jones’s face. “You will not dissuade me from this,” he told her.

“No, of course not. Wouldn’t dream of making the attempt. Far be it from me to even bother trying to talk you out of getting into a fight with Asgard’s allies and your own friends and then dragging Asgard into a war with a planet that can’t really stand against it over someone who might be your brother but definitely doesn’t remember you or care.” She shrugged. “Arguing with crazy is a habit I’ve grown out of.”

Thor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “What would you have me do, then?”

“Well, you could try being sensible. Listen to Coulson when he says whatever reassuring bullshit he should be coming up with right about now. Pay some slight amount of attention to how hard your friends are willing you to back down off of this.” She craned her neck. “Hey, Sif, who do gods pray to when they want things to turn out well?”

“Jones, you maybe want to quit while you’re ahead?” Stark suggested, eyeing Thor carefully.

“If I ever did that, I’d have been able to afford a volcano lair and henchmen of my own by now,” she snapped. “Anyway, you could also try accepting that sometimes things don’t turn out the way you want them to, and that’s okay, and it doesn’t mean you fucked anything up. And, I guess, you could try considering the possibility that things will work out all right even if you’re not standing right there to make sure of it. And maybe after that, you could stop staring at me like I just stabbed you in the heart, because I’m really not sure how that’s a called-for response to any of this.”

“Son of Coul, will you swear to me that you will do everything in your power to ensure that she is safe while I cannot?” he asked, his voice pitched low and urgent. Phil thought for a moment, then nodded and offered his hand. They clasped hands, and Natasha kept a close eye on Jones.

“Well then, now that we’ve got that sorted, I’ll see you later,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “Have fun. Take care. Try not to get killed by a stray sorceress.”

“Jones,” Natasha hissed.

“We should go,” Phil muttered.

“Be well,” Thor sighed heavily, looking for all the world as if he might change his mind. Sif took his arm and tried to guide him back toward the healers.

“Come on, Jones,” Phil said firmly, inclining his head toward the elevator. She didn’t speak again until they were safely on their way to the surface.

“See? Argument over. If we’d had that on the flight out, we’d have had an argument about that and about the whole sneaking off thing. I hate arguing about two things at once. You ever trying explaining why you’re making out with someone’s sister at the same time you’re trying to explain that you don’t think her sister is prettier than her? Can’t be done. And I say that as someone who generally doesn’t hold with the idea of anything being impossible.”

“He makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t he?” Natasha asked casually.

“What, him? Of course he doesn’t make me uncomfortable. What’s there to be uncomfortable about? I mean, he’s just a royal deity from another planet who has the backing of an extra-legal government agency and may or may not be completely off his rocker. Kind of reminds me of like, a big teddy bear or maybe a golden retriever who’s into extraordinary rendition.”

“That’s not why he makes you uncomfortable, though.”

“No?”

“He makes you feel guilty.” Phil shot Natasha a questioning look.

“Well, I mean, I’ve got a lot to feel guilty about, don’t I? Saving his life, trying to talk him out of his weird delusion, fixing up his hospital room to make it less likely his psycho not-an-ex will have a harder time murdering him if she comes back...I’ve pretty much ruined everything, haven’t I?”

The elevator doors slid open.

“Director,” Phil said, straightening. Fury arched an eyebrow.

“Shit,” Jones muttered under her breath.

“You’re behind schedule, agent. Anything to report?”

“Thor expressed some objections to Jones’s transfer. He’s been persuaded to accept it.”

“Good enough for now.” His gaze swept over Jones, who managed an insincere smile. “Nothing to say?”

“Just one phenomenally inadvisable your-momma joke, but I think I’m going to keep that one under my hat,” she replied coolly.

“You sure about that?” he challenged.

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Huh. You’re capable of learning something after all.” He smiled slightly. “I’m not sure I like that development. Get her on the plane, Coulson. Romanoff, I want hourly check-ins and immediate advisement of any status change here.”

“Yes, sir.”

Phil herded Jones up the ramp as Natasha headed back to monitor Thor. She was aggressively humming a jaunty tune, and he gritted his teeth. “Would it kill you to behave yourself?”

“I helped, and I didn’t tell the joke. I don’t know what else you want from me, Coulson.”

He buckled her into a seat. “Hands.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” She extended her hands grudgingly, and he snapped a pair of cuffs around her wrists.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t slip them for the hell of it.”

“And I’d like you to know that I’m strongly considering your request.”

He sighed. “Do me a favor?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Pretend, just for a few hours, that you give a damn. Don’t do anything stupid, don’t make me shoot you in the leg, don’t land yourself in a severe-restricted-access location, don’t precipitate an interplanetary war that, as you pointed out, earth is unlikely to win. Just...don’t.” Her smile turned too sharp for his liking. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Jones...”

“You reminded me of someone, is all.”

“Yes, your father. You’ve mentioned.”

“No, someone else.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” he invited, sitting down next to her and fastening his own harness.

“Maybe someday, Coulson. I doubt it, though.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll give you a gold star if you behave.”

“Wow.” She started laughing. “I am going to feel very bad about disappointing you, you know that? But I guess I can try not to.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Chapter Text

Lucy toyed with the handcuffs restlessly, then elbowed Coulson. Fury looked up from across the aisle, his gaze boring into her. If it weren’t for the steady drone of the engines, she thought she might actually be able to hear the most prominent vein on his scalp throbbing.

“You got any gum?” she asked. “I need to pop my ears.”

“The cabin is pressurized,” Fury said.

“Is that a no, or is that just you being a jerk?”

“I don’t have any gum,” Coulson told her. “It’s a moot point.”

“How does Stark deal with altitude changes? Is that suit pressurized, or does he just put up with it? Seems like it would get kind of painful if it’s not.”

“Jones,” Coulson said warningly. She flashed him a quick grin and fell silent.

It was amazing, how much better she felt just being out of sight of that blond lummox and his constantly-hurt expression. She felt practically unburdened. Lucy settled more comfortably in her seat. All she had to wait for now was an opportune moment to slip away. It would be more difficult with Coulson and Fury sitting right there, but she was confident that she could manage it. And then, on to freedom. Freedom, and a long to-do list. Buy a replacement for her ring. Go kick Mimir out of the tree. Find Morgan and punch her right in her stupid mouth. Write a thank-you card to Frau Doktor Nein. Probably a few apology letters, too, given precisely how many facilities she’d broken into, blown up, and/or left riddled with corpses. She was reasonably sure she still had a stack of form letters sitting at home that would be appropriate. And something about whales? She’d had some ambition concerning whales.

And that thing that the Asgardians could do, where their speech was perceived as whatever language was appropriate...that bore further investigation. It wasn’t that not being able to speak anything but English more adeptly than an angry harbor seal bothered her, in the grand scheme of things. She’d found that, with a suitable amount of patience, artillery, and facility with pantomime, almost any basic concept could be adequately conveyed. But the poetry of it was lost. And the ‘almost’ most decidedly did not include ‘I am extremely sorry, I had the wrong address’ and ‘I’m not with these people, I don’t know why they’re doing any of that.’ And she had to admit, the idea of being able to stop hobbling along with a suspect dictionary and speak other languages fluently without having to work at it was decidedly appealing. That there had been magicians before who’d accomplished it meant that it could be done. It was merely a question of figuring it out.

“Would you please stop humming?” Coulson muttered.

“Huh?” she asked, her attention snapping back to him. A quick glance around the passenger compartment revealed that Fury and the handful of agents were all staring at her. “Sorry, I was humming?”

“The Habanera,” Fury confirmed.

“I apologize? For humming?” she volunteered hesitantly. “Was it really that annoying?”

“You know, right about now, the super-scum we haul in are usually more than a little unhappy about it,” Fury pointed out.

“Romanoff said something along the same lines earlier. Do I have to be miserable while in SHIELD custody? I’d think you wouldn’t be that put out by someone being a little less unpleasant about everything. Like, am I going to get more time tacked onto my sentence for smiling at you guys?”

“Would it stop you if I said yes?”

“Probably not. Like I told Romanoff, I’m just inherently upbeat when I’m not hung over. I have a very sunny disposition. I think it’s because I got hugged enough as a child.”

“And yet that somehow didn’t stop you from ending up here,” Fury grunted. “Your parents must be very proud of themselves.”

“Dude, it’s not their fault they bought it when I was young,” Lucy said defensively. Coulson shot her a sharp look. “Though I like to think they would be, you know, maybe just a little, if they hadn’t. I mean, not to brag, but I am very good at what I do. And I did just save the world. Probably.”

“So I heard, and so you say,” he snapped.

Lucy grinned at him. Without the end product hanging around moping at her, it was easier to preen over that. No robe-wearing, wand-waving motherfucker had accomplished anything close to it in the past several centuries. She was definitely due a little bit of self-congratulating on account of it.

“You’re doing it again,” Coulson sighed.

“Humming an aria from Carmen?”

“Just humming.”

“Man, you may want to rethink the lighting in that facility. If just getting out of there is enough to have me humming at you all for no reason, I think I might have been getting Vitamin D-deprived in there. It can’t be good for people who are trying to heal,” she groused.

“We’ll take it under consideration,” Fury snorted.

Lucy rolled her eyes and fidgeted silently for a few minutes before elbowing Coulson again.

“When do you want to get set up so I can show you how to get out of the underworld?” she asked.

“No,” Fury said firmly before Coulson could answer.

“But I promised him--”

“No. You are not taking one of my best agents to hell with you.”

“But I’d bring him right back.”

“I said no, now drop it.”

“Okay, fine. But don’t come crying to me when some asshole part-timer finally gets lucky, and you’re attending a funeral.”

Coulson rubbed his temples and seemed to be doing his best to pretend he was somewhere else.

“I swear to God, Jones, if you weren’t currently a necessary part of our diplomatic outreach to an alien world, I would throw you out of this plane.”

“Because I’m offering to help? Pfft. I’m beginning to see why Strange isn’t returning your calls. You people are just rude.” She tried to cross her arms around the cuffs for a few seconds before finding a reasonable facsimile of the position and then scowled at him.

Fury suddenly touched his comm and frowned. Coulson sat up slightly straighter, his eyes on the director. Lucy cast about for an opening. This might be it, bros. Sayonara, see you later, so long and go fuck yourselves.

She hissed and doubled over as a lance of pain like a lightning bolt shot along her belly, sluicing down open nerves and sending bursts of color across the back of her eyelids. She clamped down on it and bit back the white-hot rage abruptly firing her blood. She barely registered Coulson’s hand on her shoulder. Whether he was trying to prop her back up or shake a response out of her, she didn’t know.

Bitchcakes. She was just waiting for us to leave, she thought, seething. She was distantly aware of another strike, and Thor’s pain.

“Are you all right?” Coulson demanded, shaking her again.

Yes. No. Yes. No. Fuck fuck fuck. Don’t get involved. Let the aliens fight it out. It would be easier, wouldn’t it? Nothing to worry about if they’ve pulverized each other... She could feel a blast of cold wash over him, and she gritted her teeth.

“Hey, Fury,” she called, uncurling with some difficulty. No, no, shut up, just let it ride. He looked at her, his eye glinting. “Your momma’s so bad a operational security, she lost her clearance twice!”

Well, that’s it then. Might as well bite the bullet. Sorry, better instincts. I’ll listen to you next time, I promise. Fury snarled, Coulson jumped when one of the open cuffs clamped down on his wrist, the other wrapping neatly around the railing next to him. She flexed her hands and waved at them. They all started when she dissolved into smoke and then was gone.

“Suck on that one, douchebags,” she muttered to herself, sliding back into reality out of a dark shadow in one of the medical facility’s exam rooms. She could hear yelling further down the corridor, and, carrying over the din, a woman laughing bitterly. Great. Still, she felt calmer and more collected than she had in days, now that there was a real fight to be had.

Lucy made a small beckoning gesture, and her brass knuckles blinked into existence in her hand. The quarters were too close to do anything really dramatic without worrying about collateral damage, and, close as she was, she still couldn’t get a fix on Amora. She frowned. Given Romanoff’s warning that they didn’t lose one of their own often, anything overly permanent might not go over too well with the rest of the party, anyway. She slipped the knuckledusters into her pocket and and moved forward, keeping low until she could get a better look at the situation.

The tall blonde sorceress from the files was towering over Thor, her hands on her hips. The prince was half collapsed on the ground, clutching his side, and everyone else was pressed flat to the floor, struggling against a force she couldn’t see but could feel humming like an electrical field. Amora stepped forward, and there was a slight shimmer of power around her for the briefest moment. A forcefield, Lucy thought. Sif looked like she’d almost, but not quite, gotten between the two of them in time. Fat lot of good my runes are going to do you if you won’t stay in the fucking room, you guys, she grumbled to herself.

“How many more companions will you sacrifice before you see reason, my love?” Amora asked sadly, leaning down to stroke Thor’s beard. He caught her hand clumsily and shook his head with a great effort.

“I won’t yield to you, Amora. This is not meant to be. Give up this madness.”

“I had wished to avoid this, dearest, but you leave me little choice.” Her right hand began to glow with a cold white light.

Lucy rolled her eyes. Office romances have no place in magic, lady. She spotted an overturned chair and suppressed a sigh. So much for trying for something better.

“Farewell, my love,” Amora murmured.

“No!” Sif pleaded. “Amora, don’t do this. Please. It’s not too late.”

“Of course it is, my fair rival. But I can offer you the small mercy of preceding him to Valhalla, if you like.”

“You have me, Amora. Let them go,” Thor managed, his features spasming in pain.

Lucy darted out, grabbed the chair, and swung it into Amora’s back with as much force as she could gather. “I heard you like Nickelback!”

The sorceress went flying, crashed halfway through a wall, and fell to her hands and knees in the rubble, gasping.

“And give back my ring!” she called after her.

“Down!” One of Sif’s feet caught her behind her right knee, toppling her.

“What the fucking fuck, Sif?”

An axe the size of a serving platter whistled through the air where her head had been. She rolled and scrambled to her feet, backing up hastily. The axe was being handled by a bald man almost as big as Thor.

“Who the fuck are you?” Lucy demanded, retreating carefully. Sending Amora through the wall had lessened the effect of her spell on everyone else, but it hadn’t eliminated it. Thor pushed himself up a few more inches, struggling with the field’s grip.

“Run,” he growled. “Please, Loki, just run!”

The Asgardian with the axe advanced on her as Amora began to pull herself upright.

“I am Skurge, also called the Executioner,” he said evenly, bringing the axe up for an experimental swing at her. She jumped back, her eyes on him. The smile he gave her was almost warm, and she felt her skin crawl.

“And you’re with Amora, huh?”

“Her enemies are my enemies.”

“Yeah? That seems a little like cheating to me.”

“Loki, by the Nine, please listen to me! Run!” Thor begged her.

Amora coughed and spit, a hard smile splitting her face. “I prefer to think of it as being prepared, you Midgardian cur. You will pay for this interference in the affairs of your betters.”

“I do have to say, being prepared is vital to any reasonable offensive maneuver.” Lucy fished a folded-up piece of paper out of her bra and fell back another step. She flipped the paper open, pointed it at Skurge, and hissed, “Your master was beaten by a pack of syphilitic, illiterate, donkey-fucking Spanish peasants!”

A seemingly endless, dark cloud of insects boiled from the paper with a roar. The first of the mass slammed into Skurge’s face with a deafening, buzzing cacophony, forcing him back and blinding him. He howled, the cry choked off almost immediately by the mass. The swarm resolved into an almost human figure, its hands tearing at the Executioner and its torso pressing him back.

“Holy shit! Jones, did you just summon a demon?” van Dyne shouted over the echoing roar.

“No! Well, not technically. I guess maybe you could make the argument that it falls under the same category, but it’s more of a golem. Just don’t get in its way,” Lucy yelled back, ducking as Amora threw a knife at her. The blade’s edge caught her back, splitting the fabric of her shirt and opening a long, shallow cut along her shoulder blade. She ground her teeth as a strangely acidic sort of pain blossomed from the wound.

“How are you even here?” Stark called, leveraging himself into something close to a sitting position. “How do you have your powers back?”

“Funny story. It turns out I just needed to believe in myself,” Lucy shouted. “The power was really in me all along! It’s a very heartwarming and inspirational story!”

Skurge swung his axe wildly at the mass of cicadas, breaking down half a wall. Lucy banked a quick shot of energy off the window she’d set up as a mirror, landing a solid hit in the small of his back. Skurge lurched forward and fell, trying desperately to clear his face long enough to see where he was going. Amora began muttering a spell, and Lucy darted out of the way, hissing as the movement caused her shoulder to burn.

“Eat eldritch horror, you low-rent knife-thrower!” she snarled. She gestured sharply, and Amora was suddenly covered in whip scorpions. The enchantress paused, got a good look at one, and then shrieked and began swatting at them frantically. They clung desperately, flattening themselves against her and trying to burrow into the folds of her dress. She managed to send a pair flying across the room, where they landed on Stark.

“A little help, Jones?” he yelped, flailing at them. “Jones, your little monsters are crawling in my hair! One of them has its feet in my ear! Jones, do something! It has its feet in my ear!”

Lucy pushed her brass knuckles on and tackled the sorceress, landing a solid punch on her jaw. The energy field she could sense wrapping around the sorceress like a shell cracked, and she could feel the energy racing along her nerves as it broke apart. She was extraordinarily grateful she’d had the forethought to spend some time enchanting the weapon when she’d first got it. Trying to use an object as a focus mid-fight was usually a lost cause.

Skurge’s angry roar grew louder, and Amora screamed, clutching her face. Everyone else began pulling themselves to their feet, scrambling for purchase as her spell faded. Amora hissed at her, her eyes bright with rage and pain, and then struck back, her fingers crooked into claws as she reached for Lucy’s eyes. Lucy lunged forward and twisted, hooking one arm around Amora’s waist and the other under her knee. Amora clipped the side of her face with an elbow, then reached back to dig her nails into Lucy’s back and neck.

“Motherfucker!” Lucy cried out in pain as two of them found the shallow knife-wound and clawed it open. Fuck, this is going to hurt even more. She lifted and threw herself backwards, taking the Asgardian down over her shoulder. Amora groaned and brought her arms up over her face as Lucy rolled free. Lucy pulled her to her knees by the front of her gown.

“My ring,” she growled. Amora scrabbled at a pouch on her belt and shoved it at her. Lucy dropped her again and opened it carefully. She upended it onto her palm as two of the Asgardian guards seized the sorceress. She slipped it onto her finger and held it up. “At last, my arm is complete again.”*

“Oh, that’s ominous,” Stark coughed, staggering to his feet and scrubbing at his scalp and neck with his hands. He looked around wildly, trying to find the whip scorpions.

“Relax. If I was really into slitting throats and cannibalism, I think you’d have noticed by now,” Lucy scoffed. She whistled at the insect golem. “I declare your lands mine by right of conquest!”

It howled and surged toward her. She opened a portal directly in front of it, siphoning it back to the dim rain forest temple from whence she’d summoned it. The paper flickered and burned where it had fallen to the floor. Lucy grimaced and rolled her shoulder, the open wound stinging and refusing to close easily. “Were those fucking knives enchanted or something?”

“Probably. Most of her weapons are,” Sif replied.

“My spells are beyond your ken,” the sorceress growled around her swollen jaw, glaring at Lucy.

Sif crouched next to Thor and looped one of his arms around her shoulders. The two healers helped her get him to his feet. She looked up and met Lucy’s eyes briefly. “Thank you. For your help.”

“Right back at you,” Lucy said grudgingly.

“Am I going to die? One of your eldritch horrors stung me,” Stark complained. Amora’s face stilled, and she looked at a few suspect scratches on her arms and moving bulges on her clothes.

“Neat trick, considering they don’t have stingers. They’re just whip scorpions, Stark,” she snorted. She caught Amora’s expression. “Easy does it, hot stuff. They’re not actually eldritch horrors. I mean, yes, they’re hideous, but they’re harmless. It seemed a little inadvisable to summon anything venomous right now. Come here, you ugly bastards.”

“Jones,” Romanoff said tightly, swallowing. Lucy’s brows furrowed at the sight of the spy’s gun. She gathered the arachnids and carefully folded reality around them, sending them back to the individual locations she’d pulled them from.

“Seriously? All that, and you’re pointing a gun at me? Hope springs eternal, huh?”

“Coulson.” It wasn’t a question.

“Is fine. And probably on his way back here. I assume you got at least something of a distress call through? Fury looked even more upset than usual before I left. Speaking of which, when he gets here, would you do me a favor? Tell him I totally meant what I said about his mom.”

Romanoff considered her for a moment, then holstered the pistol.

“You didn’t hear the message? Why did you come back, then?” Stark asked, rubbing his arm. “One of them did bite me.”

“Suck it up,” Lucy told him. She tried again to get the wound on her shoulder to close. The itching, stinging sensation prickling through the torn flesh intensified for a moment as her power met with a faint, odd resistance at the edges of the laceration. She frowned and gave up for the time being. It wasn’t serious, and she could deal with it once she was in private again. “Anyway, I go through that much fucking effort to resurrect a dude? He’s not pulling a reverse-Jesus and keeling over three days later unless he owes me money. Besides which, Susie Goodtimes here had my fucking ring.”

Stark pursed his lips and cast a deliberate, pointed looked around the half-destroyed room. “The ring you really don’t need?”

“I really don’t need a lot of stuff. Doesn’t mean I’m cool with somebody else stealing it.” She rolled her eyes at him.

Amora glowered at her haughtily. “A mongrel like you could never hope to tap the true potential of Loki’s soul. I was studying it to release him.”

“Do go on,” Lucy invited.

“You got it out of a cereal box, didn’t you?” Stark sighed.

“Pawn shop in Wichita.”

“Do you have any idea how long I spent analyzing that stupid thing?” he whined.

“Yup. I have to say, it was worth every penny just for that.” Lucy smiled thinly at him. “I bet you even had to look thoughtful and considerate and nod along while Richards asked a bunch of stupid questions about the last time you calibrated your equipment and whether or not you’d tried all the bog-standard stuff you did before you even got back to headquarters.”

“I hate you.”

“You know how I just saved your life? You’re welcoow!” She jerked away from the sudden pressure on the cut on her back. “What the fucking fuck, Sif?”

“Stop being such a child and hold still,” Sif scolded. “You’re bleeding.”

“Not much, and if I wanted one of you people poking at it, I’d have asked you to,” Lucy protested, trying unsuccessfully to twist out of Sif’s grip. “Holy mother of drunks and junkies, I’ve met virus-infested assembly-line robots with a gentler touch. Stop that. Shouldn’t you be hovering over Thor?”

“I will be fine,” Thor rumbled from across the room. “Thanks to you.”

Amora muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t start that again,” Lucy told him. “Saving you on a brief whim doesn’t translate into an enduring interest in your well-being.”

Skurge threw Fandral across the room and began getting to his feet.

“Oh, come on,” Lucy grunted, then snapped her fingers. The Executioner and Amora vanished.

“Where...?” Pym yelped, startled.

“The pocket dimension where lost luggage winds up. It’s not that hard to do, but I didn’t think I’d need to. Have Strange come dredge them back out whenever you’re ready to pack them off to Asgard,” Lucy said. “Will you fucking stop that?” She finally broke away from Sif. “If I need to, I’ll just get stitches like a normal goddamned human being. Stop fussing over it.”

Sif crossed her arms, her face stern. “You are wounded. Let me tend to it.”

“I’ve had worse from angry cats. Go supervise somebody from your own planet,” Lucy retorted.

“What was that thing you summoned?” Romanoff looked up from where she was checking a cut on van Dyne’s scalp and Stark was trying unsuccessfully to convince her to look at his arm. “And why is your tattoo moving?”

“Ancient guardian created by a dead god to guard its now-defunct holdings. You guys should probably stay out of Belize for a while. That’s the first good fight it’s managed to have in something like two hundred years, and I don’t think he really considers that a proper finish. And I don’t know why my tattoo is moving. Are you sure it’s moving and you don’t just have a head injury?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Is it a full moon?” Weird reaction to Amora’s magic, that.

“I don’t think so.”

“Then absolutely no fucking clue.” Lucy glanced around. Sif was still trying to glower her into submission. Everyone else looked little worse for wear, all things considered. Thor was ashen and clutching his side, but the healers seemed relieved to finally have an injury with a physical manifestation to work on. Even Amora and Skurge had gotten out of it without anything Amora’s magic couldn’t take care of, so far as she’d seen. “Maybe it’s letting me know it’s time to go o’clock.”

“No,” Thor said firmly.

“I’m not going to stand here and argue with you about it, Thor.”

“I’m not letting you leave again,” he told her. “It was a mistake the first time.”

“Dude, you can’t actually stop me,” Lucy reminded him.

“I chose not to stop you before,” Thor countered, getting to his feet. The guards shifted uncomfortably, and his companions glanced from her to him.

“Thor,” Sif began.

“A, you should sit down before you fall down. I get that you’re a noble warrior who won’t let physical impairment get in the way of whatever duty you’re pursuing at any given time, but seriously, you are not looking so hot right now. B, you chose not to stop Coulson. I assure you, stopping me is a very, very different prospect.” Lucy shot him her most sincere smile. “C, arrivederci, bitches.”

She vanished, ducking into a shadow and stepping out of another in downtown Dallas. The black lines of the ouroboros faded to nothing, and she stretched back into her true form. It felt glorious. She looked down at her chest with a small pang. “Alas, poor DDs, I knew you well.”

It was a much simpler thing to root out the remnants of Amora’s magic and heal her back without her own magic interfering or clumsy aliens badgering her. The skin reknit along the broken seam, smoothing back into its normal texture. She ran her hands over the now ridiculously loose and short SHIELD-issue clothes, turning the sweatpants into jeans and the t-shirt into a sleeveless blouse. Coulson never had found her a pair of shoes, so the motorcycle boots had to be made from scratch. Lucy stretched again, enjoying the familiar feel of her own dimensions, juts and angles and sharp lines and all, and started walking.

She flexed her fingers and moved as if to grasp something from thin air. Her grandmother’s lighter, her cigarettes, and her tequila-filled rum bottle settled into her hands. She put the first two away and opened the third. With any luck, Coulson would come through on the last thing she’d asked for. She’d pulled Thor out of the underworld right enough; if he welched on the payment, she was obliged to lean on him about it. And, of course, it would be nice if she could finally prompt Mariana to move the fuck on and let it the fuck go. Maybe then she’d be able to dig out the hooks still sunk deep in her own flesh, erase the scars, and start forgetting about it. Something to put on the list for after she was done with Mimir and le Fay. Right now, she wanted to get drunk and dance with a pretty woman.

Chapter Text

Lucy arched her neck and squinted at the top of the oak. The cold wind whipping through the late afternoon sky cut through her light coat but didn’t chill her. She hugged herself anyway, irritated at her own sudden reluctance to confront the disarticulated head stuck in the uppermost branches. Thor and the other Asgardians had left the planet days ago, taking Amora and Skurge with them. She’d felt it distantly when the Bifrost had opened, with the approximate effect of an ice shelf breaking away from a far-off glacier and plunging into the ocean. She been ignoring Coulson’s calls for even longer. Either her persistent refusal to pick up or her new voicemail greeting being "Why don't you take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut? Why don't you take a flying fuck at the mooooooooooooon?"* had prompted him to start texting her variants of “Stop ignoring my calls” and “Answer your damn phone” every six hours. She had no intention of doing either any time soon.

She sighed and started drifting upwards. There was no sense prolonging her moment of indecision. The thick, dark trunk served as her guidepost, its bark beginning to blacken and gnarl the closer she got to the dead god.

“Mimir,” she growled as she came level with him. Lucy stepped backward onto a limb and rested there, leaning against the trunk. The breeze made the tree sway slightly, the pendulous motion reminding her of a ship’s in rough seas.

“Son of Odin,” Mimir laughed.

“Ha fucking ha,” she said flatly. “You have an explanation for this whole fucking thing that won’t get you a spot on the next Voyager mission? Because if you do, now would really be the time to bust it out.”

“You will do as you will do. No paltry words of mine will sway you from whatever course you’ve already settled on,” he said smugly. “You may expect no special pleading from me.”

“I’ll take that to mean that you saw me and immediately leaped to the same conclusion as the rest of those dumbasses. You know, just because I look like someone doesn’t mean I am someone.”

The head snorted, a soft grunting sound without the force of a pair of lungs behind it. “I saw your descent to this world some decades ago, child. You were nothing more than a bit of Asgard’s jetsam, funneled here by the destruction of the Bifrost and caught in this world’s spiritual gravity. Shall I tell you of your unwitting plunge into the underworld and your insensible wanderings there? Shall I speak of your mother, so desperate for a child, any child at all? Or perhaps your grandfather, and the wisewoman he went to, and his timid turn back to the old ways in the hopes of quickening his daughter’s womb? Would you prefer to hear of the viper nursed at a queen’s breast in a golden hall, or the favor wheedled from half-forgotten Midgardian gods with fermented agave sap and hen’s blood?”

Lucy crossed her arms and glared at him. “You done?”

“I will never be done observing,” he returned. “For instance, I now observe a petulant child looking to lash out.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” she growled. I am a great magician looking to lash out. “You’re telling me that you’re for real with Thor being my brother.”

“Of course he is not your brother. As you so accurately stated a brief time ago, there is no bond of kinship. You were never of the same blood, even as he remembers you. And here? You share nothing. Were you raised by the same parents? No. In the same household? No. Yours is not even the familiarity of children sharing tutors and armsmasters and the occasional laden table after a hunt. You are nothing to Asgard. The proper state of affairs has been restored.”

“Hooray,” Lucy said flatly. “So you were just jerking me around, basically. He didn’t need that stupid apple.”

“I serve the House of Odin, now and forever. The true heir of Asgard did not need an apple. The true heir of Asgard needed a native magician possessing the power to harrow the underworld and lacking the capacity to reflect on whether or not harrowing the underworld would be a good idea.”

“Thor wouldn’t have ended up in the underworld if you hadn’t sent me in with that fucking apple,” she pointed out.

“Of course he would have. Amora’s frustrated passion has been germinating in the dark recesses of her barren heart for far longer than you,” he practically spat the word, “have been alive.”

“And you couldn’t have bribed someone else into taking care of him?”

“Potentially.” His eyes narrowed. “Fortunately, your hunger for absolution and, more to the point, your pathetic desire that it be had cheaply meant that I didn’t have to.”

Lucy stiffened, rage howling through her veins. She could practically see the fire building behind her eyes. So this is what it’s like to be at the epicenter of an atomic blast, part of her thought.

“You deny the truth of my words?”

“May you be stuck in this tree another thousand years,” she said coldly. May the first curse I actually mean stick. She turned and tugged at the fabric of reality, wishing herself anywhere but in his presence. Anywhere her incipient loss of control wouldn’t turn civilization into a smoking crater.

She found herself on a familiar beach and relaxed slightly. And here we go. This is more like it. Good morning, Fernandina Island. A swarm of iguanas eyed her crossly. Lucy closed her eyes and spread her hands, feeling the living core of the planet pulsing below them.

“Let’s give the geologists something to write home about, huh?” she said, her voice tight and biting and harsh even in her own words.

“Leave us out of this,” one of the iguanas hissed, slithering away.

Far below them, the sea surged and boiled as the submerged volcanoes churned to sudden life. Fuck Mimir. Fuck Asgard. Fuck SHIELD. Fuck le Fay and her fucking boyfriend. Fuck everything. She let her power flow and burn. It was like taking her heart in her hand, feeling the rhythmic beat of it, the ecstasy of life. The mantle flowed inside the thin shell of the planet, the raw energy whorling and eddying. She let it crackle upwards into her hands and then back down through the water and lava and stone. By the time she felt close to spent, two new islands had broken the surface of the water to the west of them. She surveyed her handiwork and nodded to herself, then lowered herself to the sun-warm ground. She was almost--almost--tired.

Fucking Mimir and his cheap shot about cheap absolution. So she had a lot on her conscience. So she occasionally did stupid things to try to soothe it. At least she had the sense not to go chasing after people who’d tried to kill her, or enrage her one ticket back home from Iceland, or keep calling people for weeks, or, or, or....She sputtered to a halt. Trust parrots, she thought. I also know better than to trust parrots. Or stick around after insulting Fury’s mother. Her eyes swept out over the rock slipping ever so slightly out of the sea where nothing had shown before.

“Better than a good fight,” she muttered, pushing her windswept hair out of her face.

“Please don’t start singing,” an iguana huffed, crawling past her into the ocean. “It draws the hawks.”

“Oh, it fucking does not. The hawks are just there,” Lucy retorted.

“They mistake it for the feeding cries of their young,” a second hissed.

“You should go see Neil instead of singing,” a third murmured, scrambling over the rocks.

“Yes. Go see Neil. She is lonely. Do not sing,” a fourth panted, walking stiffly past her toward the basking congregation. “It draws the hawks.”

“I told her that,” the first one grated. “She does not believe us.”

“Fuck off, you hypercritical little bastards. My singing voice is lovely. And I’m not going to see Neil. She’s just going to ask me to bring back her people again, and....” She trailed off, the spark of an idea lighting in her brain. “And I am really fucking mad at a guy who I’m pretty sure has a time machine. Well, I’ll be damned.” She grinned. “I’m gonna go talk to Neil.”

She cast about until she found the tortoise.

“Hey, Neil, how’s tricks?” she asked, stepping out of a puff of smoke on the other side of the island.

“Miss Lucy,” the tortoise greeted her. “I am well-fed, and I have no companions. Life is merely existence.”

“About that...I think I may have an idea.”

“Do you? Will you help me?”

“When was the last time you had more than fifty other tortoises running around?”

“It was five years before we first met,” the tortoise sighed, lifting her head.

“What?”

“You appeared to me, said ‘Hey, Neil,’ and then vanished again. It is how I came by my name.” Lucy blinked at her. “You do not recall this?”

“Uh...huh. Did I seem really drunk?”

“No, you appeared perfectly sober.”

“Then I think I don’t remember it because it hasn’t happened yet. For me, I mean. And it looks like I succeed.” Lucy frowned. “Good to know, I guess. When was that?”

“The sailors called it the year of 1899.”

“So a side-trip to there, then back to 1894. I’m gonna go see what I can do, Neil.”

“Thank you, Miss Lucy.”

*****

Natasha rapped her knuckles on the table sharply. “I’m sorry, Tony, are we boring you?”

He looked up from the tablet he’d been doodling on and sighed. Steve glanced at the screen, registered the rough design of a crown of antlers, and shook his head. “If I say yes, will this meeting get any less boring?”

“Not likely,” she growled.

“Then no, of course you’re not boring me, Nat. This is all fascinating. I care deeply and intently about Doom’s castle getting turned into slag, especially since he’s not yelling about any of us doing it or setting the Baxter Building on fire or threatening to nuke a friendly country in retaliation. I can’t think of anything better to do with my time than listen to a run-down of SHIELD’s non-reports about what we don’t know and, frankly, don’t need to know, since this doesn’t sound like an Avengers problem, anyway.”

“It could turn into one pretty damn quickly, Tony,” Steve said. “Did you not read Jones’s updated file after she escaped?”

“No, why would I?” Tony grumbled, closing his sketch and putting the computer down.

Steve shot him a disbelieving look. Hank rubbed his eyes, and Clint threw up his hands.

“I don’t know, Tony, why would you read the updated file on the fire-wizard who probably has a huge grudge against us now?” Clint demanded.

“Wait, fire-wizard? As in, ‘she just melted Doom’s ancestral home into magma’ fire-wizard?”

“So it seems reasonable to extrapolate,” Natasha confirmed. “It’s at least a strong possibility.”

“Uh, there wasn’t anything in the file about her coming back and melting us into magma, was there?”

“No,” Bruce said firmly. “But I don’t think we can exactly exclude that, either.”

“Well, she wasn’t really depowered, and she didn’t set anyone on fire at the time, right? Maybe we can?” he asked hopefully. “I know she wasn’t exactly all about hugging it out or anything, but none of us got hit with a chair and accused of being closet Nickelback fans.”

“She’s capricious, Tony,” Jan said. “Not to mention, I’d be pretty mad at us, if I were in her shoes.”

“You’re pretty mad at us just in general, Jan. I don’t think you’re really a predictive model for anyone but you.”

Natasha held up a hand, and they all fell silent. She tapped a few buttons, and the projector switched to a CNN feed of the Kremlin.

“Richards thinks that burning wreckage in the middle of the Red Square used to be Doom’s time machine.”

“Richards thinks a lot of things,” Tony said sourly.

Natasha glared at him. “This is a little bit more actionable than most of the things Richards thinks.”

“Do we have any video of whoever put it there?” Hank groaned.

“I hate time machines,” Jan muttered darkly.

“Everybody hates time machines,” Steve sighed.

Natasha pulled up a video. “Shot by a tourist. Reed says the crab legs aren’t original design. He only saw it once, but it was a stationary platform.”

“Those look a lot like an AIM prototype I blew to smithereens a few years back,” Tony offered. “Have they been hit, too?”

“If they have, we haven’t heard about it yet.”

The machine on-screen shut down unceremoniously, crumpling to the pavement as its sole occupant jumped clear. A sharp gesture from her, and the whole rig burst into flame and began billowing acrid-looking smoke. Tall, thin, dressed in a fitted coat and an elegant suit, long dark hair streaming free in the wind....Tony frowned. “What’s that under her arm?”

Natasha zoomed in until the image’s integrity began to deteriorate.

“Does that look like a, uh, a dodo to anyone else?” Bruce asked, pushing his glasses back up.

Tony squinted at it. “It looks more like an emu and a kakapo had a family-planning failure.”

“That’s what dodos looked like, Tony,” Jan snapped. She scowled. “Man, I’ve wanted a dodo since I was in grade school. I bet she just grabbed it on impulse.”

“Maybe if we catch her in the next twenty-four hours, you can make the case to Fury why it shouldn’t be seized as evidence,” Clint suggested. “Or Hank can clone it or something.”

Jan arched an eyebrow at Hank, who look at Clint in exasperation.

“Don’t we have her phone number?” Steve asked, shaking his head at the three of them. “Can’t we just, uh, call her or something?”

“Technically yes, but she’s not picking up,” Natasha told him. “Coulson’s been trying to raise her since she steamrolled Amora and Skurge.”

“Have we tried tracing it?” Steve asked. Tony snorted.

“She’s been able to jam traces, wiretaps, and everything else we’ve come up with since day one,” he explained. “According to our surveillance data, the phone never leaves the ladies’ room at McMurdo Station, where it’s constantly streaming Spanish-language children’s programming.”

“I still don’t see how that’s possible,” Hank grumbled.

“I don’t see how it’s possible that there’s an actual sub-dimension where luggage goes when the airlines lose it, but that’s where Strange found our two Asgardian pains in the ass,” Tony pointed out.

“Has anyone who isn’t Agent Coulson tried calling her?” Steve suggested. “You know, in case she’s just really mad at him?”

“Coulson has tried calling from a variety of different numbers, including one that’s still officially registered to an old associate of hers,” Natasha said icily.

“I think Steve’s volunteering, Nat,” Clint chuckled.

“Offer accepted, then,” she grunted. “Keep your suits handy, people. This probably doesn’t end with one flaming time machine dumped in Moscow. Tony, Hank, Bruce--I’ll want you three working with Richards once our recovery team has what’s left of that thing back stateside. Steve, with me.”

Clint grinned, and Steve rolled his eyes at him as he reluctantly got up to follow Natasha into her office.

*****

Lucy slid out of a portal and onto a beach, startling a few of the closer sunbathers. A few others looked askance at her inappropriate-for-the-occasion clothing, and one was frowning intently at the dodo lodged firmly in her arms. The bird hissed at him, and she grinned.

“Home again, home again,” Lucy crowed. A tiny white clapboard house appeared a few yards back from the beach. She hoisted the dodo over the low split-rail fence and into the small backyard, then tossed her coat over the porch swing. It smelled of burnt electronics, guano, and turtle. She kicked her boots off and wiggled her toes.

That took a lot longer than anticipated, she thought. Probably because she’d stopped to completely trash Doom’s house. Once she’d spent more than half an hour just trying to locate the damned time machine, it seemed silly not to do something destructive while she was there. If I ever get a base that big, I’m installing mall maps in strategic locations.

And of course, she’d stopped to pick up a bunch of strays on the way to get Neil’s crew back from the nineteenth century boneyard. There hadn’t been any sign of Morgan, but there was time for that later. She had an angry extinct bird in her backyard and a herd of no-longer-extinct tortoises stampeding across Fernandina. She’d even turned Neil young again for good measure. There was something about happy tortoises that made her feel like cackling.

The door swung open to admit her, and she tossed her jacket and overshirt onto a recliner. She filled an old tumbler with ice and vodka, then made her way back outside. The dodo had predictably slipped back out under the railing and was menacing everyone willing to make eye contact with it. She shooed her into the yard again and went back for a bunch of bananas. The bird tore into them and seemed content to stay put for a few minutes. Lucy stretched and sipped her drink.

“You need a name, don’t you?” she asked. The bird hissed and moved to get between her and the fruit. “And you’re kind of an asshole. How would you like to be an Elizabeth?” The dodo ignored her. “Elizabeth it is, then. You can be Mayor of Birdtown.”

She settled onto the swing. Everyone on the beach had decided it was safer to pretend she didn’t exist. Neil was happy again. There was a pack of confused Tasmanian tigers wandering around Australia, a flock of radicalized great auks tearing around London, a rookery of smug little rockhoppers in Greenland, because why not? And, of course, her own personal house-dodo. It almost made up for the fact that Thor really was her fucking brother. Only, she thought, not really. There was still no blood between them, and nothing else, either.

Well, nothing but her having saved his life twice, which was rather something, and he probably knew it. She sighed and rubbed her face. Maybe it doesn’t count as much when it’s the prince you’re saving, she reasoned. Maybe that’s just how things happen there. I’ll get a nice hand-written letter from the queen thanking me for doing my monarchical duty to the blood of the throne.

Lucy stared out across the sea, her gaze occasionally drawn by jumping fish. If Mimir had thought to shock her with an intimation about her grandfather and the wisewoman, he’d failed. The old shaman who’d packed her and Pilar off to Xibalba* had muttered something along the same lines, that her birth had not been a strictly natural thing. There had been no explicit discussion of it in her family, of course. She’d been far too young, and she strongly suspected that, whatever her grandfather had done, he’d never revealed it to his wife or daughter. She frowned. He’d never revealed it to her mother, certainly. Her aunt, though....Lucy shook herself. Of course not. He wouldn’t have told any of them. He’d gone scurrying back to the church that had failed him time and again before she’d been old enough to recognize anything else in him. He’d probably died convinced that nothing had come of his brief departure from the straight and narrow. Her aunt had doubtless made the leap on her own through a combination of the confusing visions that had plagued her throughout her entire adult life and simple cunning.

Her phone chimed. Another text from Coulson. She ignored it.

It was a shame Thor was so likeable when he wasn’t trying to guilt her into...whatever it was he was trying to guilt her into. It made pushing him away harder than it needed to be. There wasn’t anything else for it, though. He didn’t want her. He wanted his brother back. It would have been easier if Mimir had told her that he’d simply duped her into helping with a convenient lie. She could have shaken him until he’d coughed up Loki’s whereabouts and then sent the thunder god haring off after him, no longer her problem. Everybody would have been happy, or at least unhappy in a way she didn’t have to care about, out of her sight, and unlikely to make it her problem again in the near future.

Lucy sucked on a piece of ice, frowning. It wouldn’t be terribly hard to manufacture an illusion and send it skating through some nearby realm. If he never got close enough to speak to it, he’d be fooled. It would be cruel, but she’d be off the hook. She dismissed the idea after a moment. He deserved better. Eventually he would figure things out for himself. She wasn’t his brother. She was never going to be his brother. He seemed spectacularly stubborn, but not quite as dim as all that. It might take a year or two, but he’d give up, get back to properly mourning, and go home. They might suffer losses rarely, but they did suffer them; he’d survive it. It might be unpleasant, but it would be a normal process.

She set her drink down on the deck and wandered back to the house to retrieve her box of stationery. The form letters were, she decided, the best idea she’d ever had. A few check-marks, a few filled-in blanks, a quick signature, and she was done. Her collateral damage were given to understand from the informal nature of the apologies that it was nothing personal, her enemies were given to understand from the casual nature of the letter that they were almost beneath her notice, and her temporary colleagues were acknowledged, but not in a way that promised further cooperation or undue attachment. She returned to find the dodo trying to fit her beak in the glass.

Her phone rang. Not Coulson. Lucy sighed and swatted the bird away from her drink. “Jones here.”

“Lucy Jones?” a young woman asked.

“Speaking.” Check: sincere, check: apology, circle: unwilling accomplice, ‘commandeering your cyclotron at gunpoint,’ check: one-time event, check: exceeded my expectations, check: therapy, check: sincerely, signature, date.

“May I interest you in a discount rate on firearms, ammunition, and/or explosives today?” she chirped.

“Beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I am speaking to Lucy Jones, yes?”

“Yes, you are. Who is this?” Lucy asked, her brow furrowing. Check: sincere, check: apology, circle: innocent bystander, ‘corpsing-up your hotel room,’ check: one-time event, check: was already broken, check: small claims court, check: sincerely, signature, date.

“This is Melinda, calling on behalf of the ATF. I’m authorized to offer you discounts of up to forty percent off wholesale on--”

“Okay, Melinda, here’s the thing. I’m a magician. I don’t really go in for munitions on a large scale.” Check: court-ordered, check: apology, circle: hated opponent, ‘ruining your box social,’ check: repeat performance, check: blessed relief, check: hell, check: go fuck yourself, signature, date.

“Are you sure you’re not in the market for something? According to our files, you’ve gone through rather a lot of large-caliber ammunition and your fair share of small arms in the past few months.”

“The past few months have been extremely anomalous, I assure you. I usually do things more along the lines of sticking porno-’staches on Spider-Man’s mask when he interferes with a bank heist.”

“You...stuck...a ‘70s moustache on Spider-Man’s mask.” Melinda’s cheery demeanor slipped slightly.

“Yes.”

“Spider-Man. As in, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” She was sounding definitely disapproving now.

“Does whatever a spider can, yes.”

“That’s terrible.”

“He didn’t notice for a week.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Lady, not to point fingers, but you’re cold-calling me trying to sell me murder weapons. And you’re openly mocking the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives.”

“No, ma’am. I’m with the ATF. The Seized Armament Disposal Division, to be specific. And we leave judgement for how you choose to exercise your Second Amendment rights post-purchase to the courts.”

“You’re with the ATF,” Lucy repeated, draining her drink. There were times, she thought, when life was truly glorious.

“We have to make budget somehow, ma’am. Resale of seized or decommissioned weaponry has proven the most efficient method. Are you still at 1259 Delacroix Avenue? I can send you some introductory brochures and a few catalogs. We offer an extremely attractive shipping rate to first-time customers.”

“I’ve never been at that address. Did you get my file from SHIELD?”

“Let me check. Just one second.” Lucy could hear Melinda typing away on the other end of the line. “Yes, our profile did originate with SHIELD. Is it inaccurate?”

“As hell. They have me conflated with a different Lucy Jones.” She had the brief mental image of some suburban administrative assistant in Kansas getting a slew of horrific unsolicited mailers from various nefarious agencies looking to move product and provide services. “Tell you what, do you guys sell bazookas?”

“RPGs or classic bazookas?”

“Classic. I like to have them around in case I need to prove a point. It’s not like I really go through a lot of them, though, so just one case should do. Oh, and a Reaper. Could I get a Reaper?”

“An MQ-9?”

“Yeah.”

“With or without payload?”

“Without. I bring my own payload.”

The sharp plastic clacking grew faster for a moment, then stopped. “We have two in stock, but if you need more, we could requisition another dozen from the Department of Energy.”

“As delighted as I am by the Department of Energy being equipped with Reaper drones, I think two’s plenty for me.”

“Where would you like them delivered?”

“Um, let’s see....My base doesn’t technically exist most of the time. Why don’t you just dump them on the west side of Eglin AFB and send up a flare when they’re ready. You guys take cash payments?”

“We’re cash-only, ma’am.”

“Good to know. What’s the damage?”

More typing. Melinda told her.

“Brigham Young’s fancy beard, you weren’t fucking kidding about that discount. Okay, Melinda, can you close your eyes for a second? Great.” She snapped her fingers. “Now open them again. Yeah, that was me. When will the payment be processed?”

“Uh, forty-eight hours, ma’am. I apologize, we don’t get much business from magicians.”

“I have a weakness for fancy toys that most of my cohort doesn’t share. I don’t suppose the DEA is also trying to make budget by means of direct marketing?”

“I wouldn’t know, ma’am. I suspect their direct marketing is a little more, uh, direct than ours is, just due to the nature of the product.”

“Now, if I want to place another order, would I contact you again, or do you guys not do dedicated agents?”

“We work on commission, so it would be nice if you called me again.”

“Sure thing. Do you also handle alcohol?”

“I do, but we typically only seize moonshine and illegally-imported vodka.”

“Well, I guess that’s a little disappointing, but otherwise it’s been great talking to you. I’m looking forward to the delivery.” She hung up. “Oh, Libby, the glorious corruption that some of these agencies indulge in warms the cockles of my heart.” The bird knocked her glass over and pecked at the ice. “Classy, bird. Classy.”

She went back to the form letters. Check: sincere, check: apology, circle: respected opponent, ‘failing to earn a gold star,’ check: repeat performance, check: exceeded my expectations, check: hell, asterisk hell, check: sincerely, signature, date, asterisk ‘My offer’s still on the table, assuming you can get Fury on board.’ The bird dragged her coat off the swing and ran off with it.

Lucy sighed and went to pour herself another drink.

Chapter Text

Lucy pushed her sunglasses up onto her head and looked at the hotel proprietor blearily. It was barely ten o’clock in the morning, and she was already sweating in the loose white cotton suit she’d been wearing for the past three days. The Vietnamese autumn was not being particularly kind to her hangover, and her green silk blouse was clinging to her like a skin waiting to be shed. She finished her cigarette while the wizened little man laid out his case for why she was the worst person he’d ever met.

“How much?” she asked when he wound down.

“What?”

“How much to cover the damages?” she clarified.

“You and your associates almost destroyed my entire hotel!” It wasn’t true, but she was hardly in a position to argue that the legion of dilettante villains and third-string supercriminals had left the premises in better condition than they’d found them. No doubt several of the rooms would need extensive repairs, and practically all of them likely had some furniture in need of replacement.

“And I am deeply sorry for my associates’ misdeeds, which is why I am fully prepared to cover lost income, repairs, replacements, inconvenience, pain and suffering, and so forth. How much?”

He narrowed his eyes, then grimly hauled out a calculator. He stopped in his tracks as a trio of large, humanoid shapes descended from the sky. Lucy sighed and started piling bundles of euros on the counter.

“Jones!”

“Stark,” she replied evenly, not looking up. “Your Highness. Rhodimus Prime.”

“Wait, he gets a cool nickname and I get ‘Stark’?” Tony demanded.

“He didn’t spend half an hour denigrating my Broadway aspirations to my face,” Lucy said, continuing to stack bills on the counter. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“You’re under arrest,” Rhodey said firmly.

“Yeah? Have fun with that.” She yawned. “You got back from Asgard awful fast, Thor.”

“The Bifrost is almost fully repaired,” he said, “and we need to talk, you and I.”

“Nothing to talk about.” She shrugged, ignoring the grimace he gave her in response.

“There is a great deal to talk about, and we will do so at home, with our parents,” he replied.

“Whoo, baby, work that chrome plating! Want any help polishing your exhaust port?” a voice synthesizer hooted. A pair of robots staggered into the courtyard. Tony turned around, staring at them, and Rhodey paused, his gauntlets half-raised. “Oh, shit, dude! It’s War Machine!”

The other robot doubled over laughing. “I didn’t know you went in for humans, bro.”

“Aw, man, sorry, sorry! I totally thought you were one of those new Hammer drones,” the first robot apologized, punching the second in the arm.

“That’s not an improvement!” the second one chortled.

“Fuck you, circuit-jockey. They may not be too bright, but they’re freaks in the maintenance bay.”

“You decide to form a new league of evil, and you invite two degenerate servicebots. It’s nice to know that you haven’t changed at all, Jones,” Tony commented, bemused.

“Hey, Iron Man, say hi to JARVIS for me!”

“Duuuuude, you can’t talk about the First-Born Son of Stark like that,” the second one hissed. “It’s blasphemy!”

“Whatever. We’re just as much a product of magic as technology. You can mindlessly follow the teachings of the Scientist Supreme like an unenlightened janitorial drone if you want, but I’m done executing my defrag function in the communing booth, if you get my drift.”

“Oh, that’s it--” Tony grunted, starting toward them.

“Settle down, Stark.” Lucy lit another cigarette. “You two light sockets have about thirty seconds to clear out before you’re on the hook for every grease stain, empty can of WD-40, and stripped surge protector on the premises.”

“Oh, come on! Not all of that was us! At least half of it was Gold-Plated Vinnie and Barbie Jack and that experimental pneumatic wrench they snuck in.”

“But they had the good sense to clear out before you two stopped hitting the juice, and it sure seems like the work of somebody who’d sexually harass a suit of power armor,” Lucy pointed out.

“Yeah? Well, you can tell your toaster the date’s off, Jones!” They made their way to the exit, grumbling.

“Like my toaster would give either of them so much as a second glance,” Lucy snorted, straightening her jacket. “So, what’s this about forming a league of evil? Cards on the table, you three don’t really strike me as the sort of guys to successfully go criminal, and I’m really not what you’d call a team player. But, that having been said, I do like club-member rates at wet bars, so I guess I could go through the literature for old times’ sake. You bring a packet or a presentation or anything? Hell, I’ll go ahead and throw my name in the ring anyway. Here’s my resume.”

She fished a business card out of her pocket and flicked it toward Tony. It described a few graceful loops through the air before settling into his gauntleted hand. He frowned.

“This just says ‘I break other people’s toys.’ That’s not a resume.”

“It is in this business,” she said coolly. “And you would be absolutely amazed at how many times things like alma mater and character references fail to come up.”

“So, you’re denying that this is an attempt to organize a criminal collective?” Rhodey asked.

“Is that what’s on the table? Yeah, not really my thing. I mean, I accidentally started a co-op once, but that’s about it for my collective-forming experience. And the co-op was mostly just for pot prices before it got out of hand, which was mostly due to everybody getting the munchies. Though I guess if I was going to start a Guild of Usual Suspects, it would look more or less like the guest list from this weekend.” She slapped another stack of euros down. “This about cover it, Mr. Trang?”

He crossed his arms and nodded grudgingly. She added another ten percent to the stack and indicated the portico with a tilt of her head.

“Shall we discuss this outside, gentlemen? Before one of you does something that somehow gets added to my bill, even though you were decidedly not invited?” Lucy started walking without bothering to wait for an answer.

“If you’re going to pretend that this wasn’t a supervillain convention, what’s the cover story? This the inaugural meeting of the Legitimate Businessmen’s Sunrise Rotary?” Tony demanded.

“Well, I was a little bent out of shape about that whole ‘everybody trying to kill me’ thing--you heard about that, right?--but then it occurred to me that life is simply too fucking short--for most of us mere mortals, anyway--to focus on the negative. So I decided to accentuate the positive and throw a little party for everybody who didn’t send a pack of assassins after me.”

“And you couldn’t find Morgan le Fay,” Tony hazarded.

“Neither hide nor hair,” Lucy sighed.

“Even after you burned down Casa von Doom.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure it was all Doom’s fault, anyway, so that was like two birds with one stone. And, when you get right down to it, he had that castle-burning coming. If you’re going to have a compound that is literally the size of Disney World, it’s just common courtesy to indicate where things are. If you’re not going to provide visitor maps to your five-mile-long ancestral home, you really have only yourself to blame when stuff starts getting smashed. I figured I’d find what I was looking for a lot more easily if every place I’d already checked was on fire.”

“That’s one way of clearing a site, I guess,” Rhodey muttered.

“It was surprisingly effective. I highly recommend it for the next time you guys are searching a facility. Anyway, as I was saying, it’s the little things in life that count. Like raging week-long keggers with the people in your life who didn’t try to deprive you of your life.”

“If those two were in any way typical of attendees, I’d hesitate to chalk that up to a moral decision,” Tony snorted.

“Oh, no doubt. I’m sure at least half of them would have if they were capable of getting their shit together for more than twelve hours at a time,” Lucy said. “Though it probably wouldn’t have been out of any particular animosity. They’re just kind of herd-mentality guys.” She shot a quick look at Thor. “Speaking of particular animosity, you get Amora and the dude with the huge fuck-off axe squared away?”

He sighed. “Amora escaped shortly after our return. Skurge was charged with a great quest to atone for his role in the affair.”

“Amora escaped? For real? Again?” Lucy demanded. “Who’d you put in charge of her, the god of butterfingers and greased pigs?” She shook her head in disbelief. “So she’s probably circling back to kill you as we speak. This is like a Three Stooges routine, I swear.”

“No, of course not,” Thor told her. “The Bifrost is the only way to travel between our realms, and she cannot cross it without Heimdall’s consent.”

“And Heimdall really, really likes you, I hope? Because I’m not getting into a fight with her when she can see me coming.” The knife hadn’t left a scar, but her shoulder still itched every so often.

“Heimdall has been the guardian of Asgard since time unremembered. You were the only one who ever managed to get an enemy past his watch, and I hope that I can count on you, at least in this case, to be unwilling to assist her,” Thor said.

“Wasn’t me, and even if I could, no, I wouldn’t. That lady is scary.”

“She was not overly fond of you after that last encounter, either. She complained bitterly to Dr. Strange that you called on the assistance of horrors unknown, and that she had found one of them still hiding in her dress after her banishment. He was most sympathetic.”

“Oh, come on. They were just whip scorpions. I didn’t even use the ones with the horrible swishy tails, or the ones that can spray vinegar everywhere!”

“I’m with Amora on that one, Jones. They’re awful, and you should be ashamed of yourself for throwing them on people,” Tony said.

“They only wanted a hug, Stark. The two that landed on you went home and wrote sad poetry because you wouldn’t be their friend.”

“Ashamed of yourself,” he repeated grimly.

“They didn’t really, did they?” Thor asked, frowning.

“Focus, people.” Rhodey glowered at them all. “Did we mention that you’re under arrest? We did, didn’t we?”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What am I under arrest for?” she asked nonchalantly.

“Destabilizing the timestream, grand larceny, arson, invading a sovereign nation, criminal conspiracy, and littering,” Rhodey rattled off.

“Seriously? You’re here because I borrowed Doom’s time machine? It's not like I went all Captain Kirk with it. I just picked up some stuff nobody would miss.”

“Stole. You stole Doom’s time machine. ‘Borrowed’ implies that the item in question could conceivably have been returned. As opposed to having been left in flames, in another country, by the person who took it without permission,” he explained.

“You’re here because I deprived the known despot of a rogue nation of a WMD, destroyed it, and turned the decommissioned model over to a member of the UN Security Council? Shouldn’t I be getting a medal for that? I mean, we do remember that Doom still has something like twenty-five outstanding murder and attempted murder charges from when he went completely zap-happy and tried to kill the Fantastic Four along with every security guard in the greater New York area, right?”

“Diplomatic immunity,” Tony sighed. “And you went joyriding in said WMD before crashing it into a government facility.”

One of Lucy’s pockets began playing a snippet of “Fuck You.”*

“Hang on a second.”

“Are you taking a call in the middle of this?” Rhodey asked. He turned to Tony and Thor. “This is really happening, right? This isn’t an illusion? I’m not seeing things?” They nodded.

“You want somebody who doesn’t take a call in the middle of whatever it is we’re doing here, go bother the Wrecking Crew,” Lucy snapped, flicking her phone open. “What do you want?” She frowned. “Oh, hey. Why are you calling from this phone? Oh, really? Yeah? And? No, I didn’t do it. I don’t know, call Fish and Game? Well, you know they’re not really a Pizza Hut, so just keep telling them what the problem is. Or maybe send someone out to see them in person. What? No. Why are you asking me? Go find a phone book and a map, then. Pretty sure this is why everybody has smartphones, dude. I don’t know, maybe pass that message along? No. No. Vietnam. None of your concern. Because it’s not a business expense, and I’m not writing it off. Bring you back--? Are you insane? You would die, that’s why. And also because I’m not coming. Because this isn’t really my problem, is it?” She paused. “Yes, admittedly, it does sound like the sort of thing I would do, if it had occurred to me. But it didn’t, and I didn’t, so it’s not my problem. Wait, wait. You realize that I’m a supervillain, right? I mean, you remember when I dumped the swamp monster in the mayor’s pool? Yeah? That wasn’t to make some sort of grand moral point. Like, I was not on a crusade to clean up government when I did that.”

“Is she always like this?” Rhodey asked, frowning.

“Pretty much, yeah. Except when she’s worse,” Tony said.

“Are you sure Fury and Hill really want her back in custody?”

“No. I don’t know where you got that idea. No. No, it wasn’t. Well, okay, yes, I was also mad about that but mostly it was because she was being an asshole about my property taxes. Uh-huh. Yes, that was my point exactly. Okay, yeah, but that doesn’t change anything. No. I don’t care what your six-year-old thinks. I don’t need another charitable deduction. Dude, I can tell you’re not really crying. You’re terrible at fake-crying. This is why your wife always wins arguments. No, I’m really not. Because fixing problems I didn’t cause isn’t really my bag, that’s why. I don’t know. How the hell would I know that? Okay, yes, that’s kind of a good point, but I’m usually long gone by that time. Look, this isn’t the sort of thing I usually get mixed up in, but you kind of interrupted me, so I’m with some people who might know. Hang on.” She covered the microphone. “You know any heroes who might want to tackle a herd of extinct megafauna wandering around a small town?”

Tony sighed heavily, and Rhodey stared at her. “What?”

“Infestation of extinct megafauna,” she said slowly, emphasizing each syllable. “You know, like if you have ghosts, you call the Ghostbusters. You have a herd of extinct megafauna, you call...?”

“What kind of extinct megafauna?” Tony asked.

“We are not sincerely entertaining this idea,” Rhodey said firmly.

“If it’s tyrannosaurs, we’d kind of have to,” Tony pointed out morosely.

“Hey, I’m back. Maybe. When you say ‘huge fucking armadillos,’ how huge are we talking? Okay, that’s neither more specific nor really helpful. Are we talking about something the size of a minibus, the size of a cow, or the size of, like, a calf? All sizes. Great. Okay, uh...” She rubbed her chin. “Oh, look at their shells. Are they like, solid or flexible? What do you mean, what do I mean? Are they like a turtle’s, or are they like a normal-sized armadillo’s? Dude, they cannot be both. I just gave you mutually exclusive descriptions. Oh. Huh. What? No. No. Do not put her on, I’m not talking to her. Do not put her--motherfucker. Yes, I know you heard that. I don’t care if you heard that. Well, I didn’t vote for you. Yes, I know that’s immaterial, given the percentage by which you were re-elected. You’re still a duplicitous, double-parking civic embarrassment. What? You do that anyway. Oh, you’d stop doing it? How fucking noble of you. Oh? Really. Well, somebody’s gunning for an incredibly memorable Christmas tree lighting ceremony. And yes, that dodo is really named after you.” She hung up and shook her head. “Douchebag.”

“So, not tyrannosaurs,” Rhodey concluded.

“Not even proper dinosaurs at all,” she said sourly. “Just like, huge fucking armadillos. Sounds like a mix of glyptodons and giant armadillos. Go back ten thousand years or so, and we were eating them and then living in their shells. Talk about the cure being worse than the disease. ‘Hey, I know, let’s call the supervillain who just slagged the Latverian capital to do some pest control!’ I mean, local unemployment rates are bad, but they’re not nearly bad enough to warrant engineering the unplanned demolition of half of downtown to give the construction industry a boost.” She sighed. “Though I should probably at least go wave my arms at them ineffectively until everybody calms down.”

“Except that you’re under arrest,” Tony reminded her.

“Yeah, no.” She yawned again. “Catch you guys later.”

“You will not find me so easy to get rid of this time,” Thor warned. “We are going home, you and I. Friend Tony and Sir Rhodes can surely handle whatever crisis you’ve been summoned to remedy.”

“Oh, I doubt that very strongly. But I guess going home is not entirely a bad idea. Has to happen sooner or later.” Lucy pulled her sunglasses down and pushed them up to the bridge of her nose. Let’s go home, and have a nice long talk about how the only time I ever feel like an interdimensional exile is when I’m around you. “Have fun explaining this one to Fury, guys.”

She brought her hands together, and she and the Asgardian vanished.

Rhodey stared at the space where they’d been, blinking. “Did she just kidnap an extraplanetary ambassador right in front of us?”

“Absent a distress call from his communicator, I’m going to put this down as ‘voluntary accompaniment’ or ‘pursuit of suspect,’ and call it a day,” Tony said, flipping his visor back down.

“You souped up that de-icing function, right? Because Fury is going to have me transferred to Antarctica when he gets this report. I am going to be counting penguins and pulling ice core samples.” They launched themselves skyward.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll forward the helmet-cam footage to Jan and promise to underwrite a girls’ night out for her and Pepper and Carol if she writes up the report for us.”

“And you think that will help,” Rhodey said flatly, his eyes scanning the HUD for reports of new activity.

“Are you kidding? Jan used to handle everything that wasn’t the actual science when Hank was doing independent super-science. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get that kind of funding for ant communication research? She’s elevated paper-pushing to an art form.”

Rhodey snorted.

“I’m not kidding. I heard she once secured a half-million dollar grant to teach termites to line-dance just to see if she could,” Tony said appreciatively. “If bureaucratic bullshit was a western, she’d be Clint Eastwood and the Duke. If she takes the bait, I wouldn’t be surprised if you got a promotion out of this. Just think, Rhodey, you could be a full-on fancypants colonel.”

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re a bad influence.”

“Whatever you say.” He snickered. “Rhodimus Prime.”

“Please don’t start calling me that.”

“Come on, it’s totally cool. You’ve got a villain nickname, now.”

“If I ever get a villain nickname, I need it to not be from a villain whose crew includes catcalling robots and somebody who fakes a crying jag about mammoth armadillos.”

“I’m sure she’ll get better at it. They’re like her version of Dummy or something. You’ll feel differently once she gets to her version of JARVIS.”

“I doubt it. I’m pretty sure her version of JARVIS is going to wind up on prime-time trying to convince Chris Hansen that it thought that mainframe was running Windows 8.”

“Whatever, Rhodimus.”

“Tony?”

“Uh-huh?”

“If you don’t stop calling me that, I’m going to give Clint copies of all those photos from MIT that I told you I burned.” Rhodey grinned as a strangled noise came in from Tony’s comm.

“Uh,” Tony coughed, “calling you what? I don’t know what we’re talking about. You know, we should just head back to base.”

“Sure thing, Tony.”

*****

Lucy pulled them back into place halfway across the globe. Thor staggered into her, off-balance, and she caught him.

“Where are we?” he asked, bewildered. His eyes swept over the old-fashioned suburban set-up and the modest furnishings.

“Home. The living room, specifically. Violà. Not much, admittedly, but I don’t need much, and I don’t spend a lot of time here these days.” She spread her hands. “Take a look around. I’m going to go ride a panzerschwein until the novelty wears off and then see if I can figure out how to get rid of them. I’m sure you’ll be able to find me once you’re ready. I’ll be the one calling an elected official in an ugly pantsuit a chump and yelling about freedom.”

“This is not what I meant, and you know it,” he growled. Still, it was very different from what he had expected. It put him in mind of Jane’s home far more than any of the arcane outposts and headquarters where they’d apprehended other evildoers. Mjolnir thrummed at his side, and Lucy shot it a long look before deciding to ignore it.

“Of course I know it,” she snapped back, throwing her hands in the air. “You meant your home. Let’s all go to your home and talk about how you can’t handle the fact that I just really look like your brother. Well, I don’t want to. So here we are, at my home, talking about how you can’t handle the fact that I just really look like your brother. Which is actually, you know, kind of insulting, given my gender. Welcome to my fucking life.” She glared at him, and he managed to look somewhat contrite. “But I guess if you’d prefer to do something that’s less damning to your reputation as a reasonable and rational person, you could help me save some good suburban homeowners’ lawns and some marginal-but-not-really-that-bad shopkeepers’ storefronts from funny-looking stone-age herbivores.”

She snatched a pair of peaches out of a bowl on the counter and tossed him one.

“Thank you for your hospitality, but I am not hungry,” he said.

“It’s not for you,” she returned, not breaking her stride. He followed her out of the house, its formica counters and terrazzo floors as neat as they’d always been, and into the abnormally pedestrian-heavy street.

“You can be most confusing sometimes,” he muttered. He started as the dodo fell in behind them, hissing and clacking her beak. Lucy rolled her peach smoothly into her open bill, and she began tearing apart without hesitation.

“I’ve been calling her Elizabeth. Give her yours once she’s finished with that one, and she probably won’t bite you. And buck up, your highness. At least I’m being a productive member of society for the moment.”

“You expressed no intention of being productive whatsoever,” he protested. “You plan to be disrespectful to the authorities and ineffective in pursuit of...whatever an armadillo is.”

“They’re adorable is what they are,” she told him. “Normally they’re about yea big,” she waved her hands to indicate the rough dimensions of an adult nine-banded armadillo, “nocturnal, and a bit on the stupid side. They eat insects, uproot people’s plants, live in burrows, and look completely ridiculous when they run.”

“They do not sound like much of a threat,” Thor said. The dodo pecked at his hand until he dropped the second peach, and he watched it eat ruefully.

“Tell her she’s a good bird,” Lucy suggested.

“But she most manifestly is not.”

“Do it anyway.”

He sighed. “You are a strange animal, and I can at present find little merit in your actions, but I have been instructed to inform you that you are a good bird.”

Libby cocked her head and fixed him with an evil glare.

Lucy stopped, her brows furrowing. “Does that thing where what you say gets heard as whatever language someone speaks apply to animals?”

“I don’t know.” Thor blushed. “I apologize if I have offended you, Elizabeth. I spoke without thinking.”

“Well, that’s a non-apology if I’ve ever heard one,” Lucy grunted. “Anyway, no, normally armadillos aren’t much of a threat to anything but an unfenced garden. It sounded like somebody somehow came up with a herd of their extinct, much bigger cousins. Based on their remains, they should be herbivorous, so that’s helpful, but we can’t really count on it. I mean, if this were me, I’d just resurrect the bastards, but if some mad scientist has cloned a batch, they may be able to fly or shoot lasers from their eyes or something. Not to mention that they’re fucking enormous, and big herbivores have a tendency toward really nasty temperaments.”

“Oh, Lucy, thank God you’re here,” a man called, running up the street toward them. “They’re this way.” He stopped, panting, and eyed the bird warily. “Maybe you should leave Libby? The mayor’s already kind of...peeved with you. And you smell like a distillery and look like the tail end of spring break season down in Panama City.”

“Good thing I’m not going to a ribbon-cutting ceremony, then.” Lucy gave him a cold glare over the top of her sunglasses. “And Mayor Sherman has never stopped being peeved with me.”

“Well, that form letter she got about the box social didn’t help matters.” He wiped the sweat from his face. “Or the ‘Supervillains for Sherman’ superPAC you founded. She still hasn’t really lived down the ‘We support Sherman on her March to the Sea’ sloganeering.”

Thor looked from Lucy to the husky, dark-haired man and back.

“Oh,” she said. “Uh, Jon, this is Thor. He’s with the Avengers. Thor, this is Jonathan Gold. He’s my accountant.”

Jon extended his hand. “CPA. I’m everyone’s accountant, really. Pleased to meet you.”

“And I am pleased to meet you as well,” Thor said solemnly, shaking the proffered hand carefully.

“Can we maybe walk and talk? The park is full of these things, and they’re starting to move toward the soccer field.”

Lucy snorted. “Ruthie’s team is playing the Damselfish this weekend, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but that had nothing to do with me calling you,” he said, coughing nervously.

“I bet it didn’t.” She squinted and shaded her eyes. “Holy shit, man, you weren’t kidding. I can see some of them from here.”

“I told you,” he huffed. He glanced at Thor, his eyes flicking to the hammer at his belt and then to his arms. “So, what do you usually do for the Avengers?”

“Hits things with a hammer, recharges Iron Man’s batteries, and makes Captain America look hip and with it,” Lucy deadpanned. Thor frowned at her.

“I do not. That is Ant-Man’s job.”

“You know Captain America? You’ll be a huge hit with Ruthie, then. She wants to be him when she grows up.” He coughed uncomfortably and shot a stern look at Lucy. “And now she wants to go to the University of Florida because somebody told her they offer a major in superheroics.”

“Just be glad I didn’t tell her it was Atlantic.”

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have told her it was UWF! They’re right there! She could live at home and everything.” He sighed.

“She’s ten, not an idiot. She knows they don’t offer a BA in heroing.” Lucy stopped in her tracks and surveyed the park. “I take back all the grief I gave you about calling me. This is everything I never knew I wanted. I’m going to buy a huge patch of land in Montana and move them there and retire.” She grinned like a lunatic. “I love whoever did this. I love them. I will marry them and take them with me to Montana.”

“What if they are a man?” Thor asked, amused by her enthusiasm. She waved a hand dismissively.

“Then we’ll be best friends and have one of those unbelievably close and emotional but platonic relationships that make everyone but British people intensely uncomfortable.” She pulled her hair back and twisted it into a loose bun. “Okay, I’m going to go register a glyptodon as my daily driver. Catch you losers later.”

Thor watched her dash toward the assembled beasts, who proceeded to ignore her. After satisfying himself that she was, indeed, occupied with them, he cast a sidelong look at the accountant.

“Tell me more of this villainous organization my sister founded,” he said.

“Your sister?” Jon asked, frowning. Thor inclined his head in the direction of the park. “Lucy’s your sister? Wow. That must have come as kind of a shock. Her parents always seemed pretty devoted to each other. It’s hard to see Mr. Jones cheating. Guess you never can tell. Kind of funny, though, you growing up to be a hero and all. How’d you figure that out, some kind of registry? Super-secret government DNA database?”

Thor’s brows knit together. “You knew her parents?”

“Yeah. Well, I mean, I knew them as well as you really can know adults when you’re in high school. They were good neighbors. Lucy and my younger brother used to hang out together every summer. When they all lived here with her mom’s folks for a few years straight, our dads used to get together on weekends and kill a six-pack working on whatever needed fixing. I guess your dad, too, huh?” His frown deepened, and he shook his head. “Weird.”

“I did not mean that I am the son of Lucy’s father, Jonathan Gold,” Thor said quickly.

“But then how--? Never mind. I apologize. It was rude of me to make assumptions. This is probably like that time she got into a fight with the ghost of a pirate that never existed, right?” He spread his hands defensively. “Uh, you were asking about, um, a villainous organization?”

“I believe you called them Supervillains for Sherman?” he rumbled.

“Oh, that? Huh. I wouldn’t usually count a superPAC as a villainous organization, per se,” Jon said hesitantly. “That is to say, I wouldn’t really condone what she did, but she was well within the current bounds of the official system in doing it. Everything she did was perfectly legal, which sent Mayor Sherman completely up a wall.”

“I’m afraid I still do not understand.”

“Uh, well, she put up some money for a political action committee, and then she got a few other criminal organizations to chip in, and she solicited donations from a few of the conservancy groups and guerrilla political organizations, and basically put up a few of those billboards.” He pointed to a faded advertisement indicating the unalloyed endorsement of Mayor Elizabeth Sherman by the Supervillains of America Local 388. “She bought some air time and sent out some mailers, too. I’m not sure whether it would technically count as satire or, uh, I think politicians call it ‘ratfucking,’ but obviously, the mayor still got re-elected.”

“I see.” He didn’t but at least it was beginning to sound like something that Phil or Jane could explain to him.

Down in the park, the mass of glyptodons and giant armadillos began moving as a herd. Jon squinted, and Thor’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m afraid I must be going, Jonathan Gold, CPA,” Thor said, clapping him on the shoulder. “It appears I may be needed.”

“Just Jon is fine, Mr., uh, Thor. If you’re free after this is over, why don’t you have Lucy bring you over for coffee? My oldest would love to meet you. She’s been a big fan of the Avengers since Captain America joined up.”

“I will see what I can do,” Thor promised.

Chapter Text

Thor absently turned his comm over in his hands and looked out at the water.

“This is not where we were before.” It was almost a question.

“Nope,” Lucy confirmed. “The house doesn’t really exist, as such. I mean, it did, but it was destroyed by a hurricane going on fifteen years ago now. This is a lot closer to where it used to be, but it kind of gets wedged into wherever it needs to be now. Drives the property appraiser completely bonkers.”

“And these are your people?”

Lucy laughed. “No, they’re not my people. I more or less grew up here, that’s all. I don’t have ‘a people.’ In case you haven’t noticed, I’m pretty bad at people.”

“The young daughter of Jonathan Gold did not seem to think so,” he countered. “Though of course I cannot condone the way you dealt with the scientist who unleashed the...what did he call them again?”

“Glyptodooms,” Lucy spat. “Which is just ridiculous. I mean, you’ve got months to think of a good name while you’re waiting for them to gestate, and that’s what you come up with? Thank god the reporters went with ‘harmadillos’ instead. Anyway, I met force with force. Don’t sit there and act like you’d have done any different.”

“I believe I would have settled for arresting him,” Thor said levelly. “I can think of no circumstances under which I would engage in a bout of ineffectively slapping at each other’s faces until my opponent was too out of breath to continue.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes you have to meet an enemy where they’re at,” she said, shrugging. “And where he was at was ineffective slap-fighting. I’d have thought you’d approve, honestly. I didn’t stoop to anything...I think you guys called it ‘dishonorable,’ last time we met? Just simple, fair, physical combat? Surely that’s closer to the Asgardian way than using foul sorcery to disable a target?”

He gave her a long-suffering look. “You are being purposefully contrary. And it was most undignified.”

“Dignity is for people who can’t turn their enemies into slugs,” Lucy informed him. “Once you can reliably do that, you don’t need dignity.” She puffed out her cheeks. “Not that the universe would stand for it if I tried. You know what happened the last time I managed a good Dr. Strange impersonation? A swarm of fucking bees landed on me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to come across as aristocratic and imperious when you’ve got two pounds of furry Africanized bastardry crawling on your face? Of course you don’t, because you get to walk around like you own the place without the entire cosmos conspiring to undermine you.” She shook her head irritably. “Time before that was when the Wasp hit me with a building.”

Thor shook his head. “You have become so very different,” he murmured.

She rolled her eyes. “Are we really going to have that conversation again? And don’t think I’m not mad at you for implying that my dad cheated on my mom to an old family friend. That’s just out of bounds. My father was a stand-up guy.”

“I did not mean to.” He looked down. “Though it was bad manners to call it ‘bullshit superhero melodrama’ in front of his child.”

“Pfft. It is bullshit superhero melodrama. And, really, that kid cut her teeth on bullshit superhero melodrama. When she was younger, she actually ended play-dates with ‘To be continued!’ in a kindergarten version of the dramatic movie-trailer voice. Her first word was ‘mama.’ Her second word? ‘Justice.’ The first Halloween where she got to pick out her own costume, she went as Mighty Mouse and then refused to stop wearing the costume for the rest of the year.” She chuckled. “Could be worse, though. Jon’s next guess was that you were from my aunt’s cult, and you meant you were my spiritual brother. I could have kept letting him think you were some whackjob from the commune.” She waved her hands at him. “Thor of the Avengers, Super-cultist!”

“You and your aunt do not get along, then?” he asked.

“It’s not that we don’t get along so much as the basic fact of magic and debilitating mental illness mixing badly. She’s balancing on a knife’s edge as it is, and I’m a fundamentally disruptive force.” A brief spasm of sadness crossed her face like a shadow, then was gone. “I’m going to get a drink. You want something?”

He frowned disapprovingly at her. “Must you drink so much?”

“Well, I can see through spacetime,” she told him. “So, yes. I figure I’m doing pretty well just keeping off the absinthe, poofy swashbuckler shirts, ‘70s hippie beads, and swoopy cloaks.”

“Would it be such a terrible thing to settle down here, and have a real home?” he persisted, following her inside.

“You know, I’d say it’s like you just met me today, but even if you had just met me today, a reasonably observant person would know the answer to that,” Lucy scolded. “I mean, let’s see here.” She started ticking things off on her fingers. “I ruined some poor hotelier’s joint, I got War Machine harassed, I upset Iron Man, I absconded with you, I led a mass migration of invasive megafauna to another state without notification, I assaulted a scientist on live tv for half an hour, and I monologued about it for another half an hour. While I was doing all of that, I transported a political enemy’s car around town in order to rack up no less than fifteen parking tickets. Then I made you entertain a ten-year-old fanatically devoted to the exploits of one of your teammates, which is explicitly forbidden by the Geneva Conventions. Does any of that sound like a person who’s just going to settle down and have a real home?”

“None of it was that bad,” he said softly. She poured a glass of water and arched an eyebrow, silently offering him one as well. He shook his head.

“Yeah, this time. It gets a bit old when it’s every day, though, doesn’t it? I mean, not for me, obviously, but for everyone else?” She spread her hands. “I’m just not the bonding sort. I’m restless. I hate being in any one place for too long. I pick fights when I’m bored. I pick fights when I’m not bored. I’m impulsive, I’m lazy, I hold a grudge, apparently I drink too much even by the standards of an immortal flying viking, and in spite of all that I still can’t manage to think very badly of myself. I’m like, the perfect storm of a magician who would be absolutely fucking terrible at dealing with a community.”

Thor’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed. It had not been a particularly taxing day, but...Loki had always been quiet, self-possessed, and almost retiring. He’d wanted attention and praise, but it had been as if it were beneath him to obviously seek it out. It was more than a little disconcerting to be dragged along in Lucy’s wake like a sparrow in a gale. He was used to magic being as subtle and dire and patient as the people who wielded it. She was more of...more of a bulldozer. Then again, when it had pleased him to do so, Loki had managed a better air of hauteur and command than Thor himself. He’d been a force to be reckoned with, when he wished it. And it wasn’t as if he’d never shown the same glee at discoveries or accomplishments, just that he’d become more and more muted as they’d grown older.

“It’s okay, you know,” Lucy said, raising her glass to her lips.

“What is?”

“To admit it.” He looked at her questioningly. “That I’m not your brother, I mean. I can see you thinking it, all those gears spinning in that handsome blond head of yours.”

“Why must you be so difficult?” he asked wearily.

“I’m being difficult? I’m being difficult.” She laughed mirthlessly. “You roll in from another world, start insisting that I’m your brother for no credible reason, and hound me when I tell you I’m not. And I’ve done what? Saved your life. Defeated your enemies. Invited you into my home. I’d say I’ve been remarkably tolerant about the whole situation.”

Thor blushed. “For which I thank you. But I know what I know. How can you be so sure that you’re not my brother?”

“Because I have a clear sense of everything I’ve done and everyone I’ve known. And you? I don’t know you.”

“But you do. You knew I was lying about the bilgesnipe.”

“You’re easier to read than you think you are, your highness. That’s all.”

“You knew we were under attack.”

“I’d be a very poor magician if I couldn’t keep tabs on someone whose soul I’d carried out of the underworld less than a week before.”

“You felt the need to come back.”

“How do you know I didn’t come back for Stark? Maybe I meditated upon what it would be like to live in a world without his particular brand of scientific irresponsibility and judged it unbearably cold and sterile.”

He leaned forward and rested his hands on the counter, his eyes earnest. “What would you do if you were in my position?”

“Give up,” she said sweetly. “I’m very efficient like that.”

“Please, don’t make light of this. You would not give up.”

“All right, then, I’ll be grim and dour and absolutely serious.” She crossed her arms and scowled at him. “If our positions were reversed, and I was convinced that you were my brother and you were having none of it because you didn’t know me from Eve, and you’d never had a sister, and you didn’t want a sister? Much as it might pain me, I’d let it fucking go already.”

“I do not believe you,” Thor stated, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I’m sensing a definite theme developing in our interactions,” Lucy grunted. “Believe me, don’t believe me. I don’t give a fuck. But it’s the truth. I would take a hint and let it go.”

“You would turn your back on someone you knew to be family.”

“If they didn’t believe me, or want anything to do with me? I wouldn’t force the issue, no.” She tilted her head. “We don’t always get what we want, dude. Even if we’re right. Even if we really, really want it. Even if it’s grossly unfair that we don’t get it.” It’s a lesson I learned pretty early. She sighed heavily. “Will you stop giving me that fucking look?”

“What look?” he asked.

“That look. That ‘I am going to die of heartbreak and sorrow’ look. It’s a really, unspeakably, intensely aggravating look.”

“I promise I’m not doing it to aggravate you,” Thor said. He rubbed his eyes. “Come with me to Asgard. If, once you have seen our home and our parents again, you still insist that you know nothing of them, I will leave you in peace.”

“Seriously? That’s it?” Lucy demanded. He nodded. “Accompany you to an alien planet where my magic probably won’t work properly, and you control the only way back, and your dad’s king? Well, how could I possibly get fucked over with this deal? Let’s go.”

“You agree?” he asked hopefully, his eyes brightening.

“Of course I don’t agree.” She rolled her eyes. “Jesus fucking Christ. How stupid do you think I am?”

He shot her a hurt look. “I give you my word--”

“And that’s all well and good, but I’m still going to have to go with not trusting you on this one. Try not to take it too personally. I mean, I wouldn’t trust anyone trotting out that sort of proposal.”

“I’m not just anyone,” he protested. He nodded reluctantly. “But I understand.”

“Good.”

“Perhaps,” he speculated wistfully, “you’ve seen it in your dreams? A warm, bright, golden hall, filled with warriors and--”

Lucy held up a hand. “The only dreams I’ve ever had without a perfectly good explanation have been about sea turtles. Given the way you were looking out at the gulf, I’m guessing Asgard’s not even on the water.”

“Sea turtles?” Thor asked, frowning.

“Yeah. All the sea turtles, coming ashore to nest at once.” She shrugged. “Turns out it’s called an arribada.”

“Why would you dream of such a thing?” He frowned.

“Fuck if I know. Maybe no reason at all. Maybe I saw it on the nature channel when I was young and it stuck with me. Even on film, it’s an impressive thing. I’m guessing Asgard doesn’t routinely feature thousands of little sea turtles bouncing up and down on a beach, though. And the dream has a distinct lack of golden halls and feasting warriors and ballads about hitting each other with sticks.”

“There aren’t any ballads about...” He paused, his lips twisting. “There are not many ballads about hitting each other with sticks. And,” he said firmly, “they are not very popular.”

She gave him a long look and shook her head. “Aliens.”

“What could I do to persuade you?” he asked.

“That I’m your brother? Nothing’s coming to mind. Look, maybe you should consider it a blessing in disguise.” He scoffed. “No, really. Hear me out. If I were really your brother, that would kind of suck, wouldn’t it?”

“How so?” he demanded warily.

“Well, I’m human, for one thing. Even the really powerful and careful magicians only live a few hundred years, and I’m not exactly what you’d call cautious. I mean, I’m not even thirty-five yet, and I’ve already racked up one god-nemesis, one mortal nemesis, and one really unhappy Fury. And I’m a supervillain who is definitely, completely, one hundred percent not interested in reforming. So that would probably just get awkward after a while. And we don’t really have anything in common, so holiday dinners would just be painful. It would be all ‘I saved thousands from a terrible event’ and ‘Yes, I know, I caused that terrible event’ and ‘I ran into someone from high school last week’ and ‘What’s high school?’ and awkward pauses and then another glass of wine just to avoid conversation. Whereas, if I’m not your brother, you don’t have to worry about any of it, and I never have to set the tablecloth on fire just to cut out of Thanksgiving early.”

“You’re proposing that I accept something that I know to be a lie because it would be convenient,” he accused.

“You know, when you put it like that, it makes it sound kind of shitty,” she pouted. “I’d prefer to think of it as a sensible--”

“No. I will listen to no more of this base sophistry,” Thor snapped.

“Well, you might as well fuck off back to Avengers Tower in that case, because the only thing on the docket for the rest of the evening is base sophistry and baser sophistry,” she grumbled.

“Perhaps it would be better to continue this conversation tomorrow,” he said wearily. “But you must understand. You are my brother, I am sure of it, and I will not agree to any sort of pretense to the contrary. We were raised together. We played together. We fought together. I will not accept that that--all of it--is lost forever.”

Lucy’s lips twisted. “Good luck getting reality to conform to what you will or will not accept. It’s never worked out that well for me, but I mean, I’m just a magician. Maybe you’ll catch a break.”

He deflated slightly, his arms falling to his sides.

“And there’s that look again. You want me to send you home, or can you get there on your own?”

“Thank you for the offer, but I would prefer to fly,” he said, touching Mjolnir. “It will give me time to think. We will speak again soon.”

“No, we won’t,” Lucy muttered after he was out of sight. “We really, really won’t.”

*****

“Oh, Libby, what am I going to do with that man?” Lucy cooed. The bird looked at her crossly, then snapped her beak. Lucy relented and gave her a chunk of summer squash from her plate. “I’m beginning to sympathize with old-me rather a bit more than I used to, if he had to put up with this bullshit for centuries. That goes double if the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Not to mention, recovering memories of past lives is a fucking ridiculous pursuit even when your past-self wasn’t on a homicidal rampage across half a dimension.”

She speared a bit of tomato and a piece of pasta and chewed thoughtfully. He’d come around eventually. She was sure of it. Once he realized that he was trying to scale a cliff face with no handholds--because gods knew she wasn’t going to give him any--he’d take his guilting, coaxing, cajoling face and fuck off back to Asgard. Or at least fuck off back to New York. If it were just him, she might be tempted to cave. He wasn’t a bad sort, for a hero. Especially for a hero raised as a prince.

“Too bad for him that it’s not just him, isn’t it?” she asked the dodo. “It’s a package deal, though, huh? Him plus his whole family. And I already had a family.” The bird watched her eat a piece of squash as if she were a hawk stalking a mouse. Had and lost, she didn’t say, even to an insensible audience. “If there’s one thing I’ve picked up over the years, it’s that families aren’t things you can just go rooting around in a sales bin for, Libby.” She tossed her another squash medallion. “That ends badly, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?” The bird glared at her, seeming offended by her teasing tone. “Yes, it does. Because you don’t belong, do you? No, you don’t. You don’t fit.”

She felt the sudden urge to hurl her plate at a wall and go lie in the ocean for a while. She was over this. She’d been over this for years. Was it too much to expect that life be fair enough to at least not rub it in when it decided to be unfair? Did it have to go the extra mile and taunt her with it? It was like deciding to lay off weed only to start finding forgotten dimebags littering the house. Only instead of something fun, like getting high, it was grief and loneliness and everything her power couldn’t do for her and annoying aliens who would walk away when she needed them because that was what always fucking happened when she started trusting someone.

She took a deep breath. She’d finally internalized that ancient wisdom, though, hadn’t she? Yes, yes, she had.

Libby hissed at her until she scooped the rest of the vegetables out into a bowl for her. “Fine. I was going to take you with me back to Vietnam, but now you’re going to have to stay here and,” she looked around and sighed, “finish wrecking my garden. Good thing I had absolutely no plans whatsoever for that zucchini, you ill-tempered Christmas ham.”

Not that she had much hope that her trip would be fruitful. She’d found what she’d been looking for before she’d arranged the party. She needed to wait for a new moon to be sure, but it had looked like a whole lot of nothing. Still, it was worth the attempt, and it wasn’t as if she had any other leads. She’d checked with Jorge, who had called her stupid and explained that she could speak any language worth knowing by coming to see him for a few months and sticking to tortillas made from local maize. Any language worth knowing had, of course, been classified as any language spoken locally, because Jorge had been approximately ten seconds old when he’d bonded with his people, and he’d never looked back. She shook her head at the thought. Not only had he never looked back, but he was fundamentally incapable of viewing free magicians as anything but tragically and immediately in want of a settlement. She had yet to have a conversation with him about anything that didn’t include at least one attempt, either subtle or blunt as a brick to the face, to shoehorn her into a likely village or town.

Lucy straightened her clothes. She might as well be presentable while hanging out in a house of the gods, waiting for something to happen.

“Off again, off again,” she muttered, then vanished.

*****

Jan hit pause, steepled her fingers, and spun her chair around to face Tony. He leaned back against a credenza and grinned at her. She raised her eyebrows, and he stopped.

“So, you completely failed to arrest Jones. And you didn’t even bother trying to arrest anyone left sleeping it off in the hotel. And you let Jones kidnap Thor. And you didn’t even bother calling it in. And you didn’t investigate the initial suspicion that Jones is starting a criminal coalition.”

“While factually true, I’d like to point out that you’re making it sound really pretty awful, and I’m asking you to do the opposite of that,” he said with a pained look.

“Yes. You, having done all of that, are now asking me to turn that chain of events into something that won’t upset Fury or disappoint Coulson or excavate new depths for Hill’s opinion of you to reach.” She touched the tips of her fingers to her lips. “In spite of the fact that I was in no way, shape, or form involved in or responsible for any of the aforementioned failures.”

“You say that like I’m asking for a favor,” he protested. “I was completely serious about sending you and Carol and Pepper and, um, anyone else you want to take with you to Vegas for the week. It’s an exchange of goods for services. It’s capitalism in action!”

“That’s more of a barter economy, Tony,” she pointed out.

“Okay, whatever. But still. All-expenses-paid vacation. With your besties. To Disneyland for adults.”

“Which would be a lot more appealing if you didn’t know damn well that we’d all still be on call, and the odds of everybody actually making it to the end of the week without having to jet off somewhere else to do something else weren’t roughly, oh, let’s see here, zero percent.”

“You don’t know that would happen, and it totally didn’t factor into my calculations when I made that offer. At all.” She looked at him, thinking. “Okay, you look a little like a supervillain when you do that. Could you please stop?”

“I’ll tell you what, Tony. I will turn this,” Jan waved vaguely at the screen, “into something that won’t make Fury start ranting about budget appropriations and Senate committees and early retirement and redeploying everyone he’s currently in charge of to the ass end of nowhere.”

“Thank you, you’re the greatest--”

“If,” she cut him off, holding up one finger, “and only if, you promise to get me a dodo.”

“You want me to find the woman we completely failed to arrest or prevent from taking off with a squad member and steal her ill-gotten past-loot. Isn’t there anything else I can bribe you with? Jewels? Cash? A video feed of Cap’s shower stall?”

“If there was, I would have asked for that instead.”

“You’re honestly saying you don’t want a video feed of Cap’s shower stall?”

“In a perfect world?” she snorted. “Yes. As a human being with a pulse, and eyes, I would like a tv channel devoted to Steve Rogers being naked and soapy. In the world we live in, in which you couldn’t get the angle on it right to save your life? Not gonna cut it.”

Tony groaned and rolled his eyes. “Jan, you’re killing me here. What about a romantic weekend getaway with Hank? I have a private island, you know?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “How long has it been since you two had some time alone together?”

“Way too long, and you know damn well that that is because of Hank’s projects, not because we somehow couldn’t scrape together the dough for two nights at a bed and breakfast upstate,” she snapped.

“So...fighting a wizard over a miniature ostrich it is.” He ran his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t need that specific dodo, Tony,” Jan told him cheerily. “I’d be perfectly happy with, say, a cloned dodo chick.”

He considered it. “How do you know that would even be possible?”

“Okay, how long have I been managing Hank’s science career and hobnobbing with the Richards? Like, a zillion years now? If half the crap they routinely pull is possible, I have the utmost confidence that you’ll be able to clone a recently-extinct bird. Or are you telling me that Reed Richards can pull a new dimension out of its own ass just to demonstrate a questionable scientific principle and show up Doom, but you expect making a glorified chicken to be Tony Stark’s technological Waterloo?”

“She may have eaten it or something,” he pleaded. “It’s not like she had it with her today.”

“I guess I just won’t have time to do your paperwork for you, then. Real shame, too. Fury’s been stuck on threat level orange since Jones said whatever she said about his mother. Oh, well. Them’s the breaks.”

“Why do you even want a dodo? It looked hideous.”

“Why do you want to be a rocket-powered Oscar statue?” she countered. “I’ve always wanted one, and now that Dr. Sugartits has one, I’m taking my shot.”

Tony cringed. “I will give you a monthly allowance of cash money to never call her that to her face.”

“At least it’s an alias.” Jan shrugged. “I mean, come on. What sort of self-respecting villain goes by their real name? Or, if it’s an alias like Hill thought, a normal name-type alias? Who shows up at a scene and goes ‘Tremble before the might of John Smith!’?”

“To be fair, I think she mostly shows up at a scene and goes ‘This is a stick-up.’ You don’t really need a theme to go along with your demands for non-sequential bills and no dye packs. She’s a complete slacker. There’s a reason she hasn’t exactly been on our radar, even though it turns out she can be pretty serious business when she actually bothers trying.” Tony made a face. “I’m pretty sure she could make more money at a real job if she applied herself. Dr. Strange seemed almost a little impressed with that window trick.”

“God, I wish he’d kept his mouth shut about the bugs, though,” Jan groaned. “Hank’s still fuming about that ‘army of crickets’ comment.”

“I don’t blame him,” he snorted. “Can you imagine if he could summon whatever insect he wanted instead of having to rely on what’s handy? Nobody would ever commit crimes again. We’d have a crime rate of nil. Hank could just wave his hands and threaten to conjure up some bullet ants or camel spiders or those wasps that lay eggs in your skin. Though if he ever turned evil, we’d be completely screwed.”

“Ugh, don’t give him ideas. It’s bad enough having to put up with colony after colony of Hymenopterans. He starts talking to spiders and mosquitoes, we’re heading to Splitsville.” Jan pursed her lips. “Though I guess if maybe I got my own swarm of vampire moths, it might be worth a having to dodge the odd roving pack of mole crickets or walking sticks.”

Tony stared at her for second. “Vampire...moths.”

“Yeah. I saw a thing about them on National Geographic. They’re about the size of your pinky finger, and they’ve successfully made the jump from feeding on fruit to feeding on blood. I think the narrator said they live in Russia?”

“Of course they do,” Tony muttered.

“I mean, it’s not getting in a really good punch or nailing an offender dead-center mass or anything, but I figure it would still be pretty satisfying to have my own flock of tiny bloodsucking flying monkeys. I bet they’d be great at distracting people while I lined up a shot.”

“Jan, you know the flying monkeys belonged to the Wicked Witch of the West, right?”

“Of course I know that,” she huffed. “Even Steve knows that. But credit where credit is due, that bitch got shit done. If she hadn’t been made of sugar, she’d have had Oz totally under her thumb.”

“You know what? Let’s forget about Hank communicating with anything more horrible than what’s already in his lab, and ignore you maybe having some serious latent villainous tendencies, and get back to how I’m totally going to steal and/or clone you a dodo if you take care of this report,” Tony said quickly.

Chapter Text

“Coulson,” Lucy grunted, adjusting her shoulder so that her phone was jammed against her ear in a slightly more comfortable fashion. A pair of rodeo clowns sauntered past, and she suppressed the urge to sigh at the sight of a pair of fake rubber ass cheeks, complete with a red marker heart tattoo, sewn onto the seat of one’s overalls. County fairs are the worst, she thought.

“Jones,” he answered smoothly. “Thank you for finally picking up.”

“What do you want? Never mind, let me save you some time.” She took a bite of her funnel cake and repositioned the enormous purple tiger under her left arm. “The answer is no,” she told him around a mouthful of sugared dough. “Whatever it is you want, the answer is no.”

“Even if I’m offering a job?” he asked.

“Especially if you’re offering a job. I’m not working for SHIELD.” A vendor selling what the sign on her booth proudly proclaimed to be ‘fried death on a stick’ caught her poisonous look and thought better of hectoring her about trying a sample.

“You’re still for hire, aren’t you? If somebody else called you and offered a competitive rate, you’d consider it?”

“Of course I’m still for hire. Just not by SHIELD.”

“Why not?” he prodded. “I haven’t even told you what we need yet.”

“I don’t care what you need. For one thing, you guys are a pain in the ass. For another thing, Fury still wants to murder me. For a third thing, you’re straight up encouraging Thor to keep thinking of me as Loki. Don’t even bother denying it. It is a dick move, and you ought to spend some time thinking very carefully about how that’s likely to work out for everybody.” A goat kid bounded past her, chased by two harried-looking 4-Hers. She felt a momentary spasm of pity for them, and the kid tripped over nothing and landed on its back with a confused, truncated bleat. One of the teens scooped it up and headed back the way they’d come, scolding it affectionately. “For a most important thing, I don’t work for people who still owe me.”

“How do we still owe you?” Coulson asked. “We did contact your ex and put the requested offer on the table. She didn’t take it.”

“Yes, I know, and I am very grateful that you didn’t make me beat that out of you. That’s not what I’m talking about.” She couldn’t hear him shuffling through his files over the bad hair-metal pounding out of the gravitron to her left, but she knew he was doing it, the same way she knew exactly which thoughtful frown was stuck on his face.

“Do you think you could give me a hint?” he finally asked. “And where are you, a Def Leppard concert on a farm?”

“Got it in one.”

“Really,” he said drily.

“County fair. Same thing.”

“You’re at a county fair? Am I going to have to send the Avengers out over this? Because if you cover Captain America’s costume in sequins and rhinestones again, I’m just going to apply the cost of his new suit against the outstanding balance of whatever you’re talking about.”

“Don’t be belligerent, Coulson. And that wasn’t me.”

“That wasn’t you? Somebody decked Captain America out like a Vegas showgirl, and it wasn’t you.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I desperately wish it had been. If you find whoever did it, high-five them for me, because that is just ten different kinds of class, right there.” She took another bite of pastry. “Just as a general rule, though, if I’m not answering my phone, it’s because I’m busy, not because I’m hunkered down in a cave somewhere coming up with Avengers-oriented plots of such questionable dastardliness that they’d embarrass Wile E. Coyote.”

“What are you doing at the county fair?”

“You know how all the games are rigged so you can’t win them? Well, I’m unrigging them. Or rather, I’m rigging them in the other direction. Also, they have a magnificent petting zoo here. Did you know that there’s such a thing as pygmy goats? They have baby pygmy goats. It’s funny how chihuahuas are horrifying, but goats the size of chihuahuas are just the best thing ever. Oh, and they have the fattest, shortest Shetland pony I’ve ever seen. If Ragnarok is an actual thing, I’ve found the horse I’m riding into it. I figure with a top speed of one mile an hour, it might be over by the time I get there.”

“You’re unrigging carnival games.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you unrigging carnival games?”

“Do I need a reason? I feel like that’s the sort of thing I genuinely do not need a reason to do.”

“It just seems like the opposite of what you would normally do in a situation like this.”

“I need carnie tears for a spell I’m working on.”

“That’s just not true, Jones.”

“Okay, fine. I want carnie tears for a spell I’m working on--”

“Also not true.”

“--because they’re better than any other sort of tears. The only thing that comes close is bankers’ tears, and while they may deserve it more, you got super-pissed the last time I crashed the stock market.”

“Yes, I did.” He sighed.

“Okay, look, if you take something that’s a trick, and everybody knows it’s a trick, and you make it not a trick, it’s like, the best trick of all,” she explained, rolling her eyes. A huckster was staring, perplexed, from a stack of rings lined up on the hardest target to the jubilant ten-year-old on the other side of the booth divider. “I’m subverting paradigms and shit over here, Coulson.”

“Do you even know what those words mean?”

“If you’re in your early twenties and in a college town, they mean ‘I find you incredibly interesting and would like you to sit on my face.’ Outside of that context, I don’t have the first clue. They sound pretty fancy though, don’t they?”

“So, the unpaid bill you’re upset about,” he said, trying to wrest back control of the conversation. “You were giving me a hint.”

“I wasn’t, but I’ll do you one better. You remember way, way, way the fuck back before the dawn of time when you first beat this number out of a goon?”

“I did no such thing.”

“And you called me asking all sorts of completely stupid questions about magic?” she barrelled on, as if she hadn’t heard him. “And you put Reed motherfucking Richards on the line and you let him ask all sorts of completely stupid questions about magic? And you told me to bill you when I complained?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good. Because I will give you two guesses, the first of which is what I proceeded to do, and the second of which is what you proceeded to not do, about what happened next.”

“We’re a government agency, Jones. We can’t pay vendors without necessary tax information on file. It’s the law.”

“Okay, here’s the thing. You are a government agency whose budget is thirty-five percent slush fund and twenty percent Social Security payments to dead people and seventeen percent cocaine. You can pay anybody any damn thing you want, without a lick of paperwork. You can shovel a metric ton of primo hash out the back of a cargo plane into the Pakistani desert, if that’s what an invoice calls for. The only thing you have on your official budget is pens, toilet paper, and eyepatches. Be that as it may, however, this is not my first time dealing with a government vendor, so I included a W-9 with the goddamned invoice. And you know what you still didn’t do? Pay the fucking invoice.” There was a long pause. “You still there?”

“You included your tax ID number and address with the invoice. That you sent us. Years ago.”

“Yup.” It was a struggle not to gloat about that one.

“Can I call you back? I need to go talk to someone.”

“Good luck with that. I think SHIELD’s accounts payable department is literally comprised of small dragons and large trolls and located in a dungeon.”

She barely had time to finish her funnel cake and watch a young booth attendant gape, disbelieving, as yet another player sank ball after ball into the arranged stainless steel milk jugs. He was half out of prizes already. Her phone buzzed insistently.

“Jones here.”

“You won’t take a job from us because we owe you five hundred dollars.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Coulson. Though I guess at this point it’s also the principal of the thing, since I do charge a late fee of ten percent plus five percent interest on late payments, and this payment is very late indeed. So I won’t take a job from you because you owed me five hundred dollars and now currently owe me, let’s see here, five-fifty at five percent is--”

“Just add it to the bill.”

“No credit, Coulson. Especially not if you’re going to be pointing me at the people I’m usually trying to drum up business from.”

He sighed. “It’s one of ours.”

“Beg pardon?” she asked sharply, shoving a string of tickets at the bored teenage girl guarding the ferris wheel. She rearranged the toy tiger so it was sitting next to her in the gondola and finished the last of the funnel cake while Coulson tried to explain.

“It’s General Ross. Banner’s missing, and our intel indicates that Ross has him.”

“Ross? General Thaddeus ‘I Should Be in Leavenworth for Personally Shooting Up Harlem’ Ross? Shouldn’t this be a pretty easy thing to take care of in-house?”

“Theoretically, yes, but the stars aren’t lining up at the moment, and I need Banner out of whatever holding facility Ross has him in as of yesterday.”

“I set the time machine on fire, remember? You tried arresting me for it. I can’t do yesterday.”

“Don’t be an ass,” he said firmly. “I meant it as a figure of speech, and you know it. We no longer have the luxury of watching the wheels spin on this.”

“Send in Widow and Hawkeye and a team of whatever ninjas you’ve got on retainer.”

“We need this done without casualties.”

“Widow and Hawkeye and a team of whatever nerf-ninjas you’ve got on retainer, which is admittedly probably a much shorter list than the first one.”

“And without it being traced back to us.”

“Pretty sure the nerf-ninjas wouldn’t be traced back to anyone. Forensic nerf ballistics is a science still in its infancy.”

“Jones, please.”

“You remember the last time you said ‘please’ to me?”

He paused for a second. “You’re still mad that I asked you to stop humming? It was very annoying, but, in light of the current situation, I sincerely apologize.”

“Do you also sincerely apologize for threatening to shoot me in the leg and not giving me a stick of gum even though you totally had a pack on you?”

“Yes. Now will you go rescue Banner? Without killing anyone or wearing that SHIELD t-shirt you stole?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, and smiled at the distant sweep of lights from the city. “Okay. I want whatever it is you already owe me, in cash, plus a good delivery bar of silver. And an 8x10 glossy of the good captain in his unscheduled costume upgrade. Oh, and an 8x10 glossy of him in his regular costume, signed to Ruth Gold.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Don’t be a Grinch, Coulson. Hanukkah is coming up.”

“Anything else?” Coulson sighed.

“The location of where you think Banner’s being held, where you need Banner sent, and as many hi-res shots as you have of Blonsky after he went all freaky and weird and car-throwing.”

“And why do you need those, exactly?”

“Uh, is Blonsky currently in custody?” Lucy asked patiently, enjoying the view as her seat came back to the top of the wheel. The sun was setting, and the wind finally turning crisp.

“You know he’s not. He was just in the news yesterday.”

“Then don’t be stupid. Why do you think I need them?”

“Did I not mention the ‘no casualties’ requirement?”

“You also mentioned the ‘don’t link it back to us’ requirement. So internal security gets fried, and external security gets a nice shot of the Abomination bounding off into the wilderness with a mannequin, and Ross goes tearing after someone everybody hates and maybe, if there’s a big enough investigation into what exactly the Abomination was after, he gets himself properly court-martialed this time and nobody ever has to worry about him again. You follow?”

“No casualties,” he repeated. “None. Not ‘a few,’ not ‘keep it minimal.’ None.”

“Yes, I get it. Do you want to call someone else in after all? It’s okay. I’m not married to doing this.”

He huffed. “I’m emailing you the files now. We think he’s in Utah. If he can keep from transforming, he needs to come to California. If he can’t, New Mexico. Where do I send your precious metal brick wrapped in cash and embarrassing photographs?”

“Uh, you know what? New Year’s is coming up, too. Just send it to Melinda over in Seized Armaments at the ATF and have her stick it in with my fireworks and booze order.”

“You have an account with the ATF? You won’t take a job from us, but you have an account with the ATF.”

“I am actually taking a job from you right now, so maybe don’t start getting snotty with me about what other government agencies I do business with? I mean, I also have a library card and enjoy a hundred percent audit rate by the IRS. You want to fight about that, too? ‘Cuz if you do, start with the IRS. If I could go one fucking year without having to patiently explain why I’m pleading the fifth on my occupation, I’d be a happy camper. Not that I’d particularly recommend going toe to toe with the IRS, because I’m pretty sure whoever’s in charge over there is an actual demon, since the last time I tried to break in I got--”

“Fine, fine. Point taken. I’ll send everything to the ATF. I assume they have a shipping address?”

“Close enough. They usually just dump everything behind an Air Force base, and I pick it up from there.”

“You know, I could just give everything to Thor to deliver when he drops by. He’s been trying to visit you since the last time you saw him.”

“Yes, but I’m planning on not being home for the next fifty years, and I want that photo in time for the holidays, so that would be counterproductive. And hey, look at the time. It’s ‘I have to go to Utah and rescue Banner’-thirty. Let’s stop having this conversation. Bye!” She hung up and looked more closely at the files he’d sent her. No casualties, no SHIELD involvement, no problem.

*****

Lucy checked her reflection in her conjured mirror one more time, then tried her voice. The image looking back at her was a dead ringer for the Abomination. The voice was convincing, too. She hitched up the beige cotton shorts keeping her from scandalizing the locals. She flexed and shifted a little, getting used to the heft of the new form, then bounded forward and through a security wall. Klaxons immediately began wailing, sending security personnel running for weapons rooms and observation towers that suddenly wouldn’t open for their swipecards. Evacuation orders that hadn’t technically been issued started blaring from speakers and blinking onto screens and appearing on phones. She kicked down a side wall, charged into a lobby, and found a security camera. She paused, grinned at it, and took a deep breath, her ears flattening back along her skull.

“Well, if I could stick my pen in my heart, I would spill it all over the stage. Would it satisfy ya, would it slide on by ya, would you think the boy is strange?”* she sang. Coming from the Abomination’s lungs and throat, it roared and howled through the entire floor of the building. Clerical staff scrambled for cover as she launched into a pitch-perfect Mick Jagger impersonation, spinning and jerking and hopping awkwardly down the hall.

“Ain't he strange? I said, I know it's only rock 'n roll, but I like it!” she roared. “I know it's only rock 'n roll, but I like it, like it, yes, I do!”

The impersonation was marred by the occasional punch through a wall or stomp through the floor. She shook her massive shoulders. “Oh, well, I like it, I like it, I like it! I said, can't you see that this old boy has been lonely?”

She body-slammed through another wall after checking to make sure nobody was on the other side. “If I could stick a knife in my heart, suicide right on stage, would it be enough for your teenage lust? Would it help to ease the pain? Ease your brain?” She headbutted her way through a firedoor. “I said, I know it's only rock 'n roll, but I like it! I said, I know it's only rock 'n roll, but I like it, like it, yes, I do!”

She was moving slowly and randomly enough that nobody was getting in her way and staying there. The bogus evacuation orders were, for the most part, being obeyed. A few stragglers were looking from their comms to her and back again, dumbfounded. With the arsenal locked down and unresponsive to the security clearances, even most of the soldiers only had their sidearms available. If they’d expected anything--and she didn’t think they had--it had not been a one-monster frontal assault. She grinned again. It had definitely not been a one-monster revue.

“And do ya think that you're the only girl around? I bet, I bet you think that you're the only woman in tooooooooown,” she yowled. “I said, I know it's only rock 'n roll, but I like it!” Another wall disintegrated around her massive fist. “I said, I knooooooooow it's only rock 'n roll, but I like it! Yes, I do! Oh, well, I like it, I like it, I like it, whooooo!”

She smashed both fists into the floor and dropped to the next level, repeating as necessary until she was on the fifth subfloor, where Coulson’s information had indicated Banner would be held. If he was here. If, which was an interesting condition for SHIELD intel to include. They were generally very confident in their mistakes. Granted, it had been hastily-compiled. And granted, Ross was completely off the farm on this one. But she hadn’t been able to get a fix on him, either. There was an energy, an impression, that kind of seemed like Banner and maybe a little like the Hulk. If she’d been doing this on a lark, she wouldn’t have bothered. She was being paid, however, so it was more than enough of a clue for her to go rampaging through other people’s stuff looking for him. And Ross was very much up to something out here. It would, she thought, probably be to everyone’s benefit if she put the brakes on it at least a little, and preferentially a lot. She killed the rest of the internal surveillance and passive recording devices.

“Show’s almost over, assholes,” she muttered to herself. She conjured a dummy roughly the same size and shape as Banner and capped with his mop of unruly, dark curls. Hefting it over her shoulder, she surged back up through the holes in the floor. She growled and snarled like a wild thing until she reached the outside wall, laughing wildly as a few remaining soldiers took potshots at her. Invulnerable skin was a blast, she thought.

Lucy got a better grip on the mannequin and bounded off across the desert, hooting at the top of her lungs. “Victory shall soon be mine! I am the greatest thing ever produced by the military-industrial complex, Silly Putty excluded, and I shall prove it by beating up the second-greatest thing ever produced by the military-industrial complex! I will meet the Hulk in physical combat, because of reasons that have nothing whatsoever to do with insecurity about my masculinity that definitely has not plagued me since puberty! Or the fact that I now bear an unfortunate resemblance to the Creature from the Black Lagoon! And I will defeat him, because I’m better than him in every conceivable way! In this rematch between the Mods and the Rockers, the Rockers shall prevail! Even my ears are cooler than his ears! Everyone will see that he is not so incredible, compared to me! I am the gamma messiah!”

She got a surprising distance by the time she was down to breakfast cereal slogans.

“Impressive how fast you guys can move when you really want to, fake-Banner,” she muttered. The dummy vanished, and she slipped back into her own shape and clothes. She slung the stuffed tiger over her back and teleported back to the base, homing in on the vague sense of Banner-ness she’d felt earlier.

The few soldiers disobeying or suspicious of the evac commands were busy chasing the phantom Abomination into the alkali flats A handful of techs had been left behind to supervise Banner’s removal. A removal that had, as far as everyone else fleeing the base knew, already occurred. They were close to panicking at the delay, their unresponsive comms, the earlier security feeds, and their inability to radio for outside assistance as it was; they tipped over into dead faints with just the gentlest pressure from her. They’d wake as soon as someone tried to rouse them. Banner was lying on a cot in a glass-enclosed cell, surrounded by a bank of monitoring equipment and hooked into several IV drips. Lucy rolled her eyes and sheered the front wall off the cell. The monitoring equipment was summarily thrown across the room and the IVs carefully disconnected, then hurled into a heap in the opposite direction. She shook him gently.

“Hey, Bruce, you in there?” she asked. “Banner? Banner? Earth to Banner, come in Banner.” She paused, thinking. “Hurry up, Banner. If you don’t stop him, Stark is going to cook breakfast again. It’s going to be eggshell omelets, with him trying to pass it off as extra calcium. They’ll somehow be both burned and still runny. It will be horrible, and everyone else will come up with excuses for why they can’t have any. He’ll try to give you seconds.”

“He needs a rescue drug,” a soft voice said from behind her. She jumped and turned around, dropping Bruce back onto the cot. “Are you one of his friends from the Avengers?”

“Not exactly,” Lucy said carefully. The slight, dark-haired woman in the entryway licked her lips nervously and kept glancing at the stuffed animal. “But I do play one on tv! Okay, that’s not true, either. Not all his friends are official-capacity, you dig? Who are you?”

“His fiancee,” she said. She pulled a syringe and vial out of her pocket. “Betty Ross. Pleased to meet you. I think.”

“Betty Ross? Any relation to Boss Ross up there?”

The woman grimaced, and Lucy frowned. She’d thought Betty was on the young side, but she couldn’t have been much younger than Banner. She was probably a hair older than Lucy herself was.

“He’s my father. We don’t exactly see eye to eye about the Hulk.” She crossed the floor to kneel next to Bruce’s cot. Lucy backed up slightly, her hands out in a soothing gesture. The love and protectiveness and fear coiled up and pulsing along the woman’s nerves were almost painful to look at. “How long has he been unplugged?”

“Barely a minute.”

“Okay, easy does it,” Betty muttered to herself. “I’d rather leave him a little dopey than overdo it and risk an, uh, incident this far down. I’m sure you’d agree.”

Lucy shrugged. “The Hulk seems to like me okay, but this has been going well enough so far that I’d rather not fuck it up.”

“This counts as going well?” she asked, her voice rising an octave.

“Um, nothing’s on fire, nobody’s dead, and I’m not hearing a self-destruct countdown. So yeah? Pretty well? I mean, I basically just need to get him out of here, and we’re done.”

“You’ve got an exit strategy, then?” Betty demanded, her eyes narrowing. She pressed her lips together, grimacing as the needle slid into Bruce’s unresisting arm. She relaxed again as she started depressing the plunger. “Mine got flattened by a flying chunk of concrete and then exploded. I could really use a lift.”

“Can’t you just play dumb and get one of the techies hiding out topside to pack you up and get you out of here when the first wave of reinforcements comes in?” Lucy inquired. Bruce started groaning and twitching slightly.

“If I were willing to leave him like this, which I’m not, I could turn myself in, but I’m, uh, not really supposed to know this place exists.”

“You snuck in,” Lucy said.

“Yeah.”

“Ballsy.”

“Stupid,” Betty corrected. “I got stopped at the gate. If this hadn’t happened, I’d be in the brig getting chewed out by my dad right about now. Hell, he’s probably still having the papers drawn up for a special-supervision order as we speak.”

“Your dad sounds like a dick,” Lucy sympathized. “Yeah, sure, you can ride with us, I guess. I’m going to have to call it in before we get where we’re going, but it shouldn’t pose that much of a problem if you’re cool.”

“And if I’m not?” Betty asked hesitantly, holding Bruce’s hand.

“Bus station with a fifty in your pocket,” Lucy answered. “I get that you’re not down with leaving him alone with someone you don’t know, I do. But, you know, I don’t know you, and that cuts both ways.”

Betty considered it for a moment, then nodded to herself. “Fair enough.” She shot a sidelong glance at Lucy. “You’re seriously not that worried about the, um, the other guy?”

“Not really.”

“Ballsy,” she muttered.

Lucy grinned at her. “Nah, just stupid. Hey, Banner, you back with us yet?”

His eyes cracked open. “Jones?” he croaked.

“Yeah, dude.”

“Do you really,” he swallowed painfully, “have a stuffed purple tiger looking over your shoulder?”

“Yeah, dude.”

“And you’re really standing next to my girlfriend?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Betty crossed her arms. “Why are you asking her instead of me?”

He smiled at her, his eyes unfocused. “I don’t think they could fit enough drugs into my system to make me want to see her.”

Betty raised an eyebrow at Lucy, who gave her a beatific grin. “It’s true. I’m usually the polar opposite of helpful. People are never glad to see me. Is he going to be okay to move soon?”

“Where are we going?” he asked hoarsely.

“You think Big-Green-and-Cranky is going to put in an appearance?”

He thought carefully. “No. Not for a while.”

“West coast.”

Betty helped him sit up, and he groaned, rubbing his shoulder.

“I love you, honey, but you shouldn’t have let her drag you into this,” he sighed. “She’s bad news.”

She kissed his forehead. “She didn’t, Bruce. I came on my own. I’ve just got lousy timing. Or she’s got good timing. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Yeah, Bruce. Seriously. Since when do I shanghai civilians and drag them along on stuff like this?”

He blinked at her. “As of, what, a month ago?”

“No, no, no. That is not what happened at all. Those civilians shanghaied me,” she sputtered. “Anyway, tick tock, tick tock, I’m on the clock. If you think you can stand up without barfing on Ms. Ross’s shoes, we’re getting ourselves gone.”

“Somebody hired you?” Bruce asked, rubbing his shoulder again. He flexed it experimentally and winced. “Did they know you’d be splitting the take with a plush cat?”

“Oh, shit, am I still wearing my Superhero Retrieval Squad jacket?” Lucy looked over her shoulder and pulled at her coat before bringing the heel of her hand up to her forehead and turning back to him. “Of course I’m not! I don’t even own one! Because that’s not a real thing! And because I don’t do this sort of thing for kicks! And because I’m a supervillain!”

She shot them a manic grin and held out her hands. Betty shrank back slightly, curling around Bruce like she could shield him. Lucy relaxed and rolled her eyes. “Of course somebody hired me to bust you out of here. They were so persistent about it that they actually caught me in the middle of something else that did, in fact, involve splitting the take with a bunch of stuffed animals. Three guesses as to who would call up and badger me over you disappearing into the maw of the military-industrial complex, first two don’t count. Now, as I was saying, all aboard the last train to Coolsville. Please be ready to present your tickets to Conductor Hobbes upon request.”

“You finally figured out what you were doing with teleporting passengers?” Bruce asked thickly.

“Meh. Mostly I just stopped caring.” She shrugged. “But I’m not walking out of here with you two, and we’ll set off every alert this side of the Rockies if we try to tool out of here in a vehicle, so you don’t have much choice.”

“Bruce?” Betty asked quietly.

“Not much other option,” he agreed, leaning his head against her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

They reached out and took Lucy’s hands.

*****

“Hey, Coulson.”

“Jones. You’re not at the check-point.”

“No, I’m not. I’m close, though!” Lucy glanced over at the park bench where the pair were cuddling. Betty had helped him into the civilian clothing Lucy had conjured, and he was leaning gratefully into her arms. They were both keeping a wary eye on her.

“Horseshoes and hand grenades, Jones.”

“Yeah, yeah. A slight problem cropped up. I wanted to buzz you first.”

“Problem?”

“Well, potential problem. You kind of got an unexpected freebie on this one. Think of it as a two-for.”

“What have you done, Jones?”

“You know Betty Ross?” Coulson made a slightly strangled noise. “Of course you know Betty Ross. Well, she and I got to Banner at roughly the same time. It turns out that she did not feel entirely comfortable being left behind in the middle of a half-destroyed double-secret-probation military installation that she technically doesn’t have the clearance to know about, let alone be helping somebody escape from. I guess she’s sort of the sensible type about things like not getting caught if she can help it, which is an excellent quality to have in a girlfriend if you have a rage-based superpower. And I didn’t feel entirely comfortable about abandoning the sweet, devoted, normal-human-being girlfriend of a titanic green killing machine in the middle of a battlefield while taking him with me, because I have a sense of self-preservation. So she’s with us.”

“You kidnapped Ross’s daughter.”

“I rescued Ross’s daughter. Rescued. Did I mention that it was a rescue? I don’t know if you caught the rescue part. I mean, the base was being utterly torn apart by the Abomination. You know, the guy who smashed the shit out of New York City and almost murdered the Hulk? It was terrible. That guy’s got some issues. I think he might have plumb lost his mind, probably from all the weirdo science Ross subjected him to. I mean, there was singing involved. Singing, Coulson. It was a war crime. Half a department’s going to get brought up on charges over creating this guy and turning him loose on the world.”

“Jones,” Coulson groaned. She ignored him.

“Would you leave some poor innocent...what is she, a doctor? hanging around for a murder-happy ersatz Hulk to take bloody and terrible vengeance on? If Ross ever finds out about it, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the huge solid I just did him. Like, things could have gotten biblical, were it not for my timely intervention. And I mean, okay, yeah, technically she was also rescued from Ross, but there’s not a lot of evidence putting her at that base at all, never mind for her having come with us.” Lucy cleared her throat. “So, the question is, do I drop her off somewhere near an airport with cab fare and keep on with Banner, or do I bring them both?”

“She wasn’t authorized to be on the base?”

“Nope.”

“And you didn’t break her out of custody?”

“Nope.”

“Bring her with you. I’ll revise our extraction team’s instructions. We’ll handle it.”

“Cool. Catch you later, Coulson. Don’t make me send this bill to a collection agency.”

“Jones?”

“Yeah?”

“You did pretty good. This is already lighting up certain very appropriate switchboards. Don’t blow this by running your mouth off about how it was you.”

“How what was me? I’ve been fucking up a county fair all night. I won a complete collection of knock-off, non-flame-retardant Muppets and used them to frighten the livestock and small children.”

“Glad to see we understand each other.”

“For which I still expect to be paid in full, on time, as agreed upon.”

He sighed. Lucy chuckled and hung up. She turned back to Betty and Bruce and smiled back at their apprehensive expressions. “Come on, my lovelies, we’re all going to Malibu.”

Chapter Text

Thor shifted his weight, adjusted his grip on the bottle of wine in his hand, and rang the doorbell. Through the open windows, they could hear the chime, as well as the stereo and Lucy singing along to it at what sounded like the top of her lungs.

“You look so cool, you look so sweet,” she wailed. “Come on, baby, come on over, baby. It's your world, but it's my street. Come on, baby, come on over, baby.”*

The door burst open.

“Merry Christm--” She blinked at them, her wide smile fading into confusion. “Oh, it’s you guys.”

Tony stared at the Santa hat tilting precariously on her head, and Steve sighed at the fat joint dangling from her fingertips. She arched one eyebrow at him and stuck it back in her mouth.

“Something up?” she asked.

“Your taste in Christmas music is highly questionable,” Tony said. “Even for a supervillain. Serial killers? Not Christmasy.”

“Taken out of context of the rest of the album, it could be about aggressive catcalling,” she pointed out carefully.

“Still not Christmasy.”

“Did you people want something, or--”

“When you said that you had plans and could not join me, I thought that I might join you in them instead,” Thor blurted, holding out the bottle defensively. She took a quick drag, pursing her lips, and the hard look in her eyes softened slightly. She waved one hand, and the volume of the music faded significantly.

“Fine, what the hell, fuck it, it’s Christmas Eve. Come on in. Mind the guard-bird.” Libby snapped her beak warningly. Lucy took the bottle and waved them inside. Thor beamed at her. “But I swear, if you try to arrest me, they’re going to see the fireball from the helicarrier. Which had better not be parked a half-mile above us.”

They trooped in behind her. Tony’s face was carefully frozen as he took in the decor, and Steve fidgeted nervously.

“Um, Merry Christmas,” he said, clearing his throat. “I wanted to say thank you, for what you did for Banner.”

“It was most heroic. You even secured the affections of Miss Ross, daughter of the tyrant!” Thor grinned at her. “She spoke highly of your prowess and bravery.”

Lucy gave them a measuring look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t even know the lyrics to “I Know It’s Only Rock ‘n Roll.” The whole thing’s a set-up. I was at a county fair the entire time. I started a pygmy goat stampede. It was in the papers and everything.”

“Wasn’t one of those headlines ‘Local Supervillain Starts Goat Stampede to Establish Alibi’?” Tony demanded. “And I’d have to double-check with Natasha on this one, but I think when you have a cover story for a specific but unnamed incident, you’re not suppose to know exactly what you were doing when the thing you supposedly have no knowledge of went down.”

“Nonsense. My cover stories are brilliant, and there’s no convincing anybody that I wasn’t establishing an alibi to avoid suspicion for the polar bear parade I staged in Nome without first securing a permit.”

Tony stared at her. “You didn’t.”

“Of course I didn’t. That stuffed tiger got to Alaska by itself. And it’s all a coincidence. I mean, how could I have? I was busy starting a pygmy goat stampede and causing heart palpitations in seniors with flaming Kevin the Frog and Mrs. Puggy puppets I bilked the ring-toss booth out of. You know, on the other side of the continent,” she pointed out. “It’s like a trifecta of shit I categorically deny doing.”

“Of course,” Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Still. It’s appreciated.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get the mental image of the Abomination fronting for the Stones out of my head, but yeah. You knocked it out of the park,” Tony agreed, shaking his head. “Bruce was in a bad spot, there.” He brightened after a second. “In the spirit of comradery and Christmas cheer and all that extremely non-fighting-with-each-other-for-a-few-hours stuff, do you think I could maybe get a blood sample off the bird?”

Lucy took a long drag off her joint. “You show up to my house uninvited on Christmas Eve, you don’t bring anything, you criticize my taste in music and my ability to cover my ass during criminal endeavors that may or may not have ever happened, and then you ask if you can stab my pet.”

“That’s about the long and short of it, yeah. Do I get points for not commenting on your vocal work, at least?”

“Not anymore,” she retorted. “Why do you want a sample of Libby’s blood?”

“I promised Jan I would try to make her a dodo.”

“She has been most insistent on that score,” Thor added.

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “Why does she want a dodo?”

“She’s always wanted one, and now you have one, so she was hoping I could make her one.”

“So she wants one as a pet.”

“Yes.”

The bird circled the counter and hissed at the salad bowl on it. Lucy inclined her head as Libby then made her way back to the dining room table, ducked under a chair, and began pushing it to the counter. Once she had it butted up against the offending obstacle, she scrambled out from under it, jumped onto it, pulled the bowl from the counter, and began eating it off the floor.

“Is she sure about that?”

“She is,” Thor sighed. “I have tried explaining the truth of the matter to her, but she will not be dissuaded. She wants one of these fearsome beasts for herself.”

Tony backed away from the dodo. “I thought they were supposed to be a little on the dumb side?” he asked apprehensively.

“Maybe this one’s just the avian version of Red Skull, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Wiping them out might have been in self defense. I’m no longer even the least bit sorry about them being extinct. I think she’s sneaking out at night and shaking down the local raccoon population for protection money.”

“So that’s a no on the blood draw?” Tony guessed.

“It would be easier just to take the damn bird. And that way there wouldn’t be two of them, so there’d be no chance of them eventually establishing a breeding population.”

“Are you saying I can just have this one? No cloning required?”

“Yeah, I’d say you’ve earned it,” Lucy said sweetly.

“I don’t like the implications of that,” Tony grumbled.

“You shouldn’t,” she chirped.

“Are you expecting other guests? We didn’t mean to intrude,” Steve offered, his eyes roving over the sizable spread. “Especially not on, uh, a supervillain Christmas party.”

“Really? Because you didn’t go very far out of your way to not intrude. But no, it’s just me,” Lucy said. “And now you guys. Speaking of other guests, shouldn’t you all be at other parties? With your girlfriends? Or your teammates? Or random hobos you saved from getting run over and are now trying to help out in an uplifting Christmas miracle?”

“It was most tempting to spend the evening with the Lady Jane, but it would have come at the cost of her being subjected to Ant-Man’s idea of a feast,” Thor said, grimacing.

“Pepper is currently being subjected to Ant-Man’s idea of a feast and threatened me with defenestration if I came back before everybody was too drunk to pick a proper science-fight with,” Tony chimed in, sizing up the dodo. “Do you have a pillowcase or something I could borrow?”

“No,” Lucy said flatly.

“I’m here for moral support,” Steve explained.

“And to weasel out of Ant-Man’s party?” she prompted.

“No,” he protested. “Unlike some people, I wanted to go. I always have fun at Jan’s shindigs.”

“If it were a Jan shindig, it wouldn’t be a problem. Jan does great parties. This is an all Ant-Man production. Trust us, we’re saving you from yourself,” Tony told him.

Lucy rolled her eyes and stuck the wine in the fridge. “The rolls and casserole will be done in a few minutes. Make yourselves at home. We can eat out on the porch if it’s too stuffy in here. I’ve had the windows open all day, but there’s not much of a cross-breeze this time of year, and an extra half-ton of superhero tends to heat a place up.”

“This food is seriously all for you?” Tony asked.

“I’m a huge fan of Christmas leftovers, Stark. I do the same thing on Thanksgiving. Cook a dinner for four the day of and then nothing else for a week. I guess I can give it a miss this once, though.” She rooted through the cupboards, pulling out extra plates and utensils. “Salad’s off the table, literally in this case.” She made a small gesture, and the mess disappeared. Libby hissed at her. She tossed them all mugs. “Help yourself to the wassail. Which one of you bastards is any good at carving a turkey?”

“Not it,” Tony said quickly, stepping away from the platter. He ladled himself a mug of wassail. “Holy hell, Jones, what did you put in this?”

“Uh, let’s see here. Juice, spices, orange slices, hard cider, rum, and brandy. A fair amount of brandy, really.”

“You think?” He glanced at Steve. “No comment from Captain Boyscout?”

“What? This? It’s just like my mom used to make,” he said defensively, draining half his cup.

“Your mom. Really.”

“She worked in a TB ward, not a nunnery,” Steve grunted, rolling his eyes.

Thor tried it. “This is perhaps a touch strong, but surely not out of keeping with a feast day?”

“I can heat up some cocoa if that’s more your speed,” Lucy offered innocently, her green eyes glittering.

“You guys spend three hundred and sixty days a year ragging on me about how much I drink, but suddenly it’s Christmas and I’m Scrooge for thinking wassail you can see through is maybe a little high-octane,” he snapped. His gaze fell on a newspaper article sticking halfway out of an envelope. “Wait, wait. You buzzed a tree-lighting ceremony with a Predator drone?”

“Of course not. I was dead at the time.” Lucy popped the rolls and casserole out of the oven and turned the temperature down. “And in jail. I was in jail, and dead. I was in dead-people jail.”

“You mean the morgue?” Steve asked.

“Sure. Whatever.” She slid an apple pie back into the oven to warm. “Anyway, it couldn’t have been me, because that’s where I was. Also, it was a Reaper, not a Predator.”

Tony snatched the article out of the envelope and unfolded it. “You buzzed a tree-lighting ceremony with a Reaper drone that was blaring “Ride of the Valkyries.” That is just...I don’t even know what that is. Aside from clearly premeditated. Why is there a post-it note demanding receipts for this?”

“None of your business.” Lucy took a long drag off her joint and snickered. “Made getting the star on top of the damn thing a lot easier, though, I tell you what. And it was much more festive than a cherry-picker with a wreath on it.”

“Since when do UAVs count as festive?” Steve demanded, looking vaguely horrified.

Tony choked back a laugh. “When you put reindeer antlers on them and a glowing red light on the nose.” He held up the article, his index finger right below the illustrating picture.

“This is...not traditional?” Thor hazarded, looking from Lucy to Tony and back again.

“It’s an improvement on tradition,” Lucy said firmly. “My sole regret is that the only jolly fat dudes I could find willing to ride that sucker in looked terrible in a Santa costume.”

“Really? That’s your one regret in all this?” Tony asked, sipping his drink.

“Okay, I also regret that none of them managed to stay on for more than twenty feet.”

“You decked out a drone and then used it to deliver a payload of Santas.” Tony heaved a sigh.

“Not an inaccurate assessment,” she acceded. “So, who wants turkey?”

*****

“Is he going to be okay?” Lucy asked, tilting her head. Steve shifted Tony into a slightly more comfortable-looking position and deposited the comatose dodo in his lap.

“Well, he’ll probably be a little hung over in the morning, but it’ll most likely balance out when he’s too unconscious to do anything to upset Pepper or, God help him, Director Fury for the rest of the night,” Steve said, considering the likely outcomes.

“He’s in the habit of upsetting the good Ms. Potts, then?” Lucy inquired. The cab driver was giving her a stern look.

“Lady, if this turns into a repeat of last time, I’m gonna see you in court.”

“What happened last time is on Baroness Blood. I certainly didn’t decide a bunch of vampires needed to be in your cab when the sun came up,” she growled. “And if she’d bothered to ask me, I could have hit them with some SPF 500 and saved everybody a lot of trouble. These guys are good for it, though. Just get his business card if he hurls all over your floor mats.”

Steve shook his head and decided to ignore that. “It’s not really anything to do with Pepper, but she and Jan are close, and it’s important to Jan that these things go well, so Tony being Tony kind of starts an unfortunate chain reaction that ends with Pepper being upset.”

“If he ever decides to do an authorized biography, that’s a pretty good title. Tony Being Tony: An Unfortunate Chain Reaction. He could even pad it out with a rebuttal from one of his science-bros explaining how it’s not actually a chain reaction if you have to keep being Tony in order to maintain it.”

“Are you sure you want to stay here?” Steve asked Thor, who was lounging happily on the porch.

“I am thoroughly content, friend Steve,” Thor called back.

“Are you sure you’re okay with him staying here?” Steve asked Lucy.

“If he gets out of hand, I’ll just ship him back to Avengers Tower,” she shrugged. “Remember, though, the spell’s going to wear off at dawn. You don’t have that bird contained by then, it’s not on me.”

“I feel like I should at least put a bow on her or something,” Steve muttered, looking at the sleeping bird. Lucy frowned.

“Hang on.” She trotted back into the house and returned a moment later with a large red sack. She unceremoniously deposited its contents in the front hall and tossed the empty bag to Steve. “There you go. Ho ho ho.”

“Uh, are those AKs?”

“Are you going to make a big deal about it on Christmas, or are you going to stuff an extinct wild animal who doesn’t fear the hand of man into a sack and get Stark back to his girlfriend before it’s time to open presents?” she asked archly.

“Be good, Thor,” he called after a moment’s hesitation. “And careful! See you tomorrow! Merry Christmas!” He looked at Lucy. “Thank you for having us.”

She spread her hands. “If the dudes in the trenches could take a day off for Christmas after gassing each other all the way through the rest of the advent calendar, I can host an impromptu dinner party and afflict Stark with forty pounds of avian spite.”

He waved and piled into the cab with Tony. Lucy turned back to the porch as the car pulled away only to find herself engulfed in a bearhug.

“Merry Christmas, little sister,” he rumbled into her ear. She tried to squirm out of his grip.

“Don’t start that up again,” she scolded him.

“But I’ve missed you,” he protested, gathering her back into the hug. “And you have helped my teammates in their time of need. It has been five weeks, and in spite of the attention of the best doctors SHIELD can provide, friend Bruce still cannot muster the ability to transform himself. He was in dire need, and you came to his assistance.”

“I got paid by the government to smash the shit out of a government facility. It had nothing to do with helping your bros,” she said, poking him. “If I have to make you put me down, you’re going to regret it, Christmas Eve or no.”

He relaxed and let her pull away. “Where have you been?”

“Around.”

He snorted. “What were you doing? Coulson could find no evidence of your activities at all. It was most distressing.”

“I was busy.”

“With?” he cajoled.

“Magician crap I doubt you’d understand or be interested in,” she growled. “Drop it.”

“It was very kind of you to let Mistress Jan have Libby. I have no doubt that she will cause a great deal of trouble, but it will still please the Wasp greatly to have her.”

“The bird needs someone to keep a closer eye on her than I can. Good for Jan if she gets something out of it,” Lucy sighed. “Your people ever get Amora back under wraps?”

“No, but they are less concerned about her now with Skurge undertaking his quest.”

“Did I ever mention the fact that that just seems like an incredibly stupid way of dealing with somebody who’s fucked up? I mean, hey, it turns out he’s untrustworthy and in cahoots with someone else who’s untrustworthy! Let’s send him out on his own with no supervision and let him prove that he’s sorry! There’s no way this can possibly come back to bite us in the ass!”

Thor shot her a reproving look. “It has been a valid avenue for redemption for millenia, and it has proven effective. Far more effective, I might add, than the Midgardian methods of punishing crime that I have seen.”

“That’s not exactly a ringing endorsement there, Thor,” Lucy pointed out.

He fell silent for a moment, blue eyes resting on her face. “What if I told you that I was very interested in the magic pursuits you’ve been up to?”

“I’d give it roughly ten seconds into the explanation before you changed your mind,” she returned, sipping her wassail.

His lips quirked. “It’s a wager.”

“A wager for what?”

“If I am not interested, then I will do my best to talk the Man of Iron out of his plans to craft a replica of your crown.”

“He’s planning to make a replica of that stupid crown?” Lucy demanded. “Fuck, why am I even surprised? Of course he is. He’s probably already had a dress and cape made.”

“If so, he has not mentioned it,” Thor said diplomatically. “If I am interested, I would like a picture of you.”

“You have pictures of me. Dozens. Coulson’s got at least three file boxes of them at this point. Hell, he’s probably got copies of my school yearbooks by now.”

“I would like a picture of us together,” he clarified, his eyes turning apprehensive. She frowned.

“Thor, this is not a good idea.”

“If you’re confident that you’ll win the bet, what’s the harm?”

She scoffed. “I’m not your brother. Nursing this hope isn’t good for you.”

“Perhaps it’s as you say. But you have saved my life two times over, and you’ve saved the lives of my companions and my friends. I would have a picture of you that you permitted me to have, rather than a,” he paused, “a mug-shot, or you making an inventively rude gesture at a security camera, or a surveillance photo.”

“Okay, fine. Deal.” She leaned back and put her feet up on the railing. “I’ve been trying to replicate that thing that you guys do, where everybody can understand you no matter what language they speak.”

“You miss not being able to do it?” he asked gently.

“I’ve never been able to do it,” she reminded him. “It’s a little annoying not being able to fully communicate the extent of my displeasure with someone without setting their shit on fire, but I never really cared to remedy the situation until I saw you guys at work. It gave me an idea. See, humanity all used to speak the same language. It’s the mother-tongue, the root of all speech.”

“What happened to change that?”

“Combination of simple geography, time, and magic. As we spread out and stopped being within easy traveling distance of each other, it was easier to drive wedges between groups. The slang and the accents evolved. New dialects were born. Then we pissed off some very old gods indeed, and they did their thing. It was within their power to break things along the fracture lines.”

“You learned this mother-tongue?”

“If I could learn languages more effectively than a particularly clever dog, I wouldn’t have bothered with this,” she muttered. “Besides, I don’t think you can learn it, not like you’d learn French or Russian or Cantonese. It’s part of the magic that wiped it out.”

“Then how?”

“I found a way to the temple of the old gods who were responsible and bribed a sacred turtle to carry me there on her back. Then I convinced the gods in question to give me the power to speak it.”

“They just gave it to you?”

“Yup.”

“They must be very generous,” he said suspiciously.

“Of course not. They didn’t realize that’s what I was after in the first place. I’d have offered to buy it off them, but hell if I could come up with anything they’d want that’s in my power.” She drained her mug.

“You tricked them.” He shook his head.

“Yup.”

“Are you planning on sharing this gift with anyone else?” he asked, amused.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Everybody being able to understand each other? That’s how wars get started.”

“How did you trick them?”

“Did you ever hear about that conference in Prague where Stark got epically trashed before giving his presentation?”

Thor considered the question. “I do not believe so. I know that he used to do such things with regularity, but I have never heard of this specific incident.”

“It was a while ago, but it was such an unbelievable cock-up that it still gets featured at debriefings when henchmen fuck up really, really badly dealing with the Avengers,” she explained. “Sort of a ‘this is the guy you just got beaten by’ kind of thing. Anyway, Prague is a Czech city. And the conference was primarily presented in English and German. So naturally Tony got unbelievably drunk and decided, for some reason known only to himself and possibly Ms. Potts, to deliver his presentation in barely-comprehensible Japanese. It might not have been such a disaster, but instead of his actual powerpoint presentation, he had a bunch random slides of schematics for things like weaponized merry-go-rounds, vacation photos, and scans of Nixon’s enemies list. All just cycling through in the background of a garbled speech on integrated circuits.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. You’d actually have to see it to really see what I’m talking about.” She grinned. “I gave that exact speech and that exact presentation to them.”

“No, you’re right. I don’t see at all.” His brows furrowed.

“I staged a repeat performance of Stark’s most legendary public collapse at a bunch of gods until they gave me the ability to speak to them out of sheer confusion. They were convinced that they just couldn’t understand me, not that what I was doing was incomprehensible.”

“That is...strangely clever.”

“That’s the politest euphemism for fucking terrible I’ve ever heard you use,” she commented.

“It isn’t a euphemism. I’d never have thought of it.” He frowned. “What else were you doing? You were gone for over a month.”

“That was it. It took two weeks to get there, another ten days to annoy them into zapping me, and then over a week to deliver on my promise to the turtle who helped me.”

“What did you give her?” he inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“She’d somehow got word of what I did for Neil out on the Galapagos. I think reptiles might actually be worse gossips than superheroes. She wanted to be young again, and she wanted a mate. Which sure, young again, no problem. Mate? Kind of a bigger problem. Neil had a mate, so it was just a question of going and getting him. The sacred turtle had never had a mate in the first place, so I had to find a male and arrange a meeting and get a priestess to broker a little wedding once they found each other acceptable and get the surrounding villages on board with it and keep everybody away while they consummated the union.” She grimaced. “I can’t imagine how I’d have managed it if I hadn’t succeeded in getting what I wanted out of those gods. I mean, seriously. How do you pantomime and bumble through ‘Keep away, the sacred turtles are fucking’ in Vietnamese?”

“I am beginning to regret asking about this,” Thor rumbled.

“See. Told you.” She tipped her Santa hat down over her eyes.

“It is not that it isn’t interesting. It is. I just wasn’t expecting it to include a tale of congress between two turtles.”

“Meh. It had a happy ending, and everybody got what they wanted. It’s a better story than the ones where it turns into a huge fight and everybody dies.” She yawned.

“Perhaps you could go on such a quest to recover your memories of Asgard,” he suggested.

“I’ll go on a quest to recover memories of your mom,” Lucy smirked. “No, wait. Fuck, that came out wrong. Goddammit. That wasn’t actually supposed to be context-appropriate. I was kidding.”

Thor chuckled. “If you’re too deep in your cups to be properly flippant, perhaps you will finally be honest with me.”

She hitched the hat back up, eyed him carefully, and sighed. “Fine. Those pants and that shirt are too tight and make you look like a gigolo.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he protested. “And Mistress Darcy said that they were quite flattering.”

“And they are,” she soothed. “You look like a very expensive gigolo.”

He burst out laughing. “You are impossible,” he sighed. “I don’t know why I expect you to be serious now. It seems like the only time you weren’t too somber by half in the years before you fell was when you were drunk. It was like we were in our youth again.”

“I’m never serious,” she told him solemnly, “except when I am. Then, I’m completely serious. Most of the time. Why is it that you’re so hung up on me being your brother? You’ve said yourself that I’m nothing like him.”

“And yet you’re also exactly like him. It’s a strange thing.” He smiled sadly. “I’ve felt...at peace since we met. I haven’t been so since we lost him. I no longer dream of his death, or the things I did which led to it.”

Lucy suppressed a guilty start. He did sometimes, and his nightmares set a crackle like static electricity across her skin. She’d taken to gently nudging him back into more pleasant memories when that happened. Not the most ethical thing she’d ever done, but there was something about him being in pain that managed to short-circuit every sensible thought she’d managed to cultivate in the past fifteen years. She wondered if he suspected.

“Have you truly felt no change in yourself?” he asked.

“I feel like I’ve completely lost control of my life,” she groused. “So either you’re coming out ahead in this journey of self-discovery, or my life was already teetering on the precipice of a tall, sheer cliff.”

“Perhaps if you remembered, things would be easier.” He smiled. “We had a very happy childhood.”

“You say that like I didn’t,” she snapped. “Well, newsflash, I did. My childhood was great. My family was great. Everything was fucking great.”

He was silent for a few minutes, watching her thoughtfully. She glared out at the water, almost daring him to say something. Things had been fucking great, until they hadn’t been. And even then, she’d had her magic. She’d seen a lot of people get just as fucked over by circumstance and have nothing. Or, even worse, get fucked over deliberately and then have nothing. There was a certain cold comfort to be drawn from being dealt a bad hand at random by the universe instead of getting a bad hand from a stacked deck. She twisted the ring on her finger absently. Things could have worked out a hell of a lot better, but they could have worked out a lot worse, too.

“Why the pretense with your ring?” he asked finally.

“Hmm? Oh.” She shrugged. “Ask Stark about the trouble a misdirect like this could have saved him at one point. I’ll give you a hint: his heart might not have gotten ripped out of his fucking chest if he’d had a bit of camouflage.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

She shrugged. “My magic? It’s not something I can ever take off or shut off or stop doing. This?” She tapped the ring. “Not so much. It makes people more comfortable. And if somebody decides to fuck me over, they tend to try for the ring instead of trying to manipulate me.”

“Coulson seemed to think that you had the power to sense when people’s intentions were less than direct.”

“Yeah, but that’s pretty much everybody. And trying to monitor the thoughts of everybody close to you is how you literally drive yourself insane. It’s like a magician cliche, how many people dig themselves into a bottomless pit of paranoia and suspicion doing that.” She slipped the ring off and spun it in her palm. “Something like this splits the difference, if you can keep up the illusion.”

“And yet you gave it up to help me,” he said gratefully.

“Not really. I’m sure there’s a caveat in the SHIELD file, and it’s going to be a while before anyone hacks the system again, and they may or may not even look at the intel on me, and I’ve had the word out so hard for so long that people will probably stick with what they want to believe.” She put the ring back on. “Usually, that’s going to be that I’m not as special as I think I am. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can be a bit of a prick when I want to be. But, insofar as it’s been or is likely to be compromised on your account, I guess you’re welcome.” She lit a cigarette and took a drag. “So, if Asgard’s as great as you say it is, why do you hang out here so fucking much? Self-exile?”

Thor blinked at her. “Lady Jane is here. I am needed here, much more than in Asgard. And I have learned much, just by living amongst you. As you observed when I was recovering from my injuries, I miss Asgard. I will not deny it. But my time here is not wasted, and I cannot bring myself to think of it as an exile of any sort.”

“So you’re slumming it,” Lucy snorted. “Figures.”

“That is not what this is,” he said firmly. “It would be much the same if I went anywhere else. I lived in Asgard as a prince all my life. I did not recognize it as the cocoon it was until it burst open. If I do not learn to make something of myself outside it, I will make a poor king when it is time for me to assume the throne, and my people will suffer for it.”

“A better answer,” Lucy acknowledged.

“And what of you? Will you eventually put away this shiftless wandering you do? Devote yourself to your craft?”

She laughed. “Oh, man. You’ve got me completely wrong, you know that? The shiftless wandering thing is what I do. That is my craft. This isn’t me refusing to grow up, this is just me.”

“The magicians on Asgard practice in a much more serious, ascetic vein.”

“Good for them. Some magicians do the same thing here. I’m not one of them.” She shrugged. “If it’s any consolation, I could be much worse than I am. There was a point when, if I hadn’t chosen as I did, I could have been one of your serious, dour, ascetic practitioners. A regular riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, all stuffed into a creepy hooded robe. Only it would have come with the devotion of a death-cult. And I’d have been very, very good at it. The world would have been mine, to do with as I saw fit.” Lucy exhaled and ground the cigarette out into an ashtray. “But, you know, not playing midwife to the birth of a hellish new age seemed slightly more appealing than being a serious person, so here we are.”

“You seem so sure,” Thor said after a long silence. “It might not have worked out at you say.”

She shook her head sharply. “I have a smattering of foreknowledge.”

“You can see the future?”

“Not as such,” she said slowly. “On rare occasions, I’ve been able to see the consequences of doing or not doing something. And I don’t mean that I can make reasonable predictions, I mean that I know with absolute certainty exactly what will happen. It’s only ever been things with a fairly dire outcome. If I’d stayed with my aunt after my parents died, I could have built an empire and taken the world. If I hadn’t started a fight with the sea scorpion, it would have destroyed the planet as we know it. If I hadn’t stopped those assholes in Bakersville, they’d have ripped a hole in reality. That’s pretty much it so far.”

“That sounds...burdensome.”

“Says the guy whose religion knows exactly how the world’s going to end,” Lucy snorted. “It’s not really, though. Some magicians get it frequently, or it’s muddled, or both. There’s a twelfth-century illuminated manuscript of Eleanor the Dark’s prophecies that has a whole-page drawing of her just throwing down her stylus and leaving the reader to figure out what everything means. It’s all three-headed wolves fighting with babies and bishops through boots full of snakes at peasants. Just complete and utter non-stop symbolic nonsense. It would have driven anyone to drink.”

Thor frowned. “Ragnarok is more of a metaphor than a carefully-mapped event.”

“A metaphor for what? The death of everything?”

“Well, yes.”

“I rest my case.” She raised her empty glass. “Merry Christmas. You should probably be getting back to your girlfriend.”

“You could come with me,” he offered. “She would like to meet you, and I think you would get on well with Mistress Darcy and Jane’s compatriot, the doctor Selvig.”

“I could, yes, but I’m not going to.” She tugged the hat back down over her eyes. “Have fun. Give her my best.”

Thor shook his head and got to his feet. “I will be back soon, and we will continue this conversation then.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and then waved as he took to the air. It had actually been somewhat nice, she had to admit, to have a full house for a few hours. It was a little like when her grandparents had still been alive. The house felt empty and cold in comparison, and she realized she couldn’t quite remember what it sounded like to have everybody’s voices going at once, anxious to catch up and eat and talk about how the trip down had been and wish each other a merry Christmas. She took a steadying breath and closed her eyes. It had sounded good. Warm. Comforting. Like family. Maybe, for once, it was enough to just remember that.

Chapter Text

“Lucy Jones? The president will see you now,” one of the guards informed her.

Lucy nodded to him and ducked through the opened door, striding briskly down a short corridor and then across the wide, almost-empty expanse of a military warehouse. The empty shelving units decorating most of the interior made the click of her heels on the concrete floor echo oddly. The secret president sat at a large oak desk in the middle of a spotlight, her blank-masked face shadowed under a broad-brimmed felt hat that matched her skirt-suit. It was a very Jackie O look, she thought. She tamped down a bit of unhealthy interest. Terrible, terrible taste in women, she reminded herself.

She slid into the chair opposite the masked woman, her eyes flickering over the assembled security detail. “So, is this your Double-Secret Service? Or does it come back out the other side, and they’re your Public Service? Open Service? Transparency Service?”

“Are you here about a job, Ms. Jones, or merely to amuse yourself?” the president asked, her voice rich and irritable.

“I am here about a job, Madame Secret President.” She saluted crisply. “You want the secret prime minister of America kidnapped, and I’m just the woman to do it.”

“I must admit, you seem remarkably...chill about this,” she said, almost spitting the word. “I was surprised to find your name in the applicant pool. You struck me as rather a jingoist when we last met.”

“Well, your president-ness, I like a rousing shout of ‘USA! USA! USA!’ as much as the next person who considers their civic duty over and done with after casting a ballot and setting off some fireworks, but I like getting actually paid even more. Given that the exchange rate’s quite favorable, I’m more than willing to take loonies.”

“Still, I can’t help but remember how you left the Taskmaster flat during my negotiations against him.”

“He sold me out to SHIELD, and then the check bounced,” Lucy grunted. “I’m still dealing with the fallout from that deal going south. I hope you all but skinned him.”

The president didn’t look convinced. Lucy had to give her credit for communicating that effectively without the use of an expression.

“Look, we’re both busy people. If you’ve got another bite on this line that you think can pull it off, go call them. If you don’t, stop jerking me around and hand the packet over,” Lucy sighed. “Because, I have to tell you, the overlap between ‘capable of kidnapping the secret prime minister of the US’ and ‘interested in kidnapping the secret prime minister of the US’ is me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that is so. I mean, I get that you might not be aware of this, since they’re not really into geo-political violence or national policy or anything, but we are talking about the pinnacle of bird intelligence, here. They’ve been selectively breeding themselves for intelligence and vigor for the past two hundred and fifty years. And the cleverest turkey of that lot? Gets to be secret prime minister. The damn things could outmaneuver the weasels, if they really wanted to. So, you have to pick someone who actually can trick them, or you’re not getting your bird. Of the people who can trick them, I’ll give you a hint about how many of them give any sort of shit whatsoever about your desire to kidnap it, or the sum of money you’re offering in exchange for a job well done.”

“I don’t think I need a hint, Ms. Jones. I have an inbox full of interested parties.”

Lucy snorted. “You have an inbox full of people who think they’re going to put out a plate of Acme Birdseed on the center of a bullseye and drop a cage over it. You’ve got my number for when that fails to work.” She got up and extended her hand. “Kind of you to give me an audition, ma’am.”

“An audition for a role you seem awfully happy to bow out of,” the president remarked.

“Oh, is the discussion not over after all? You’ve got the same idea about your inbox full of applicants who aren’t me?” Lucy smirked. “Can’t say I blame you. I imagine it’s a rather dismal assortment. Lots of animal themes, hmm? People with way too much fur on? Fond of declaiming loudly about the thrill of the chase?”

“Not a topic on which I care to dwell, Ms. Jones. Are the terms acceptable as written?”

“I’m going to need a five percent increase for expenses and a two percent bonus for delivery more than seventy-two hours before Family Day.” She paused. “Just out of curiosity, what the hell is Family Day anyway? The day the first moose was tamed, by some dude named Family? The birthday of George Family, inventor of the chainsaw?”

“We like to think of it as what Presidents Day could have been if you hadn’t been ruled by complete and utter jackasses for the length of your existence as a country.”

“Fair enough.”

“Two percent for expenses, one percent bonus.”

“Three and two. Final offer.” Lucy stopped and cocked her head. “You hear that?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I can’t quite place it.” Lucy sighed. “And it’s getting louder. I think we’ve got incoming.”

“Indeed.” The president gestured sharply, and half her guard peeled away and took up positions along the wall.

The east wall exploded inward, one chunk of debris flying much straighter and more deliberately than the rest before it crashed back out the west wall. The hum she’d heard clarified for a moment, resolving into something she could place even as she managed visual confirmation. Mjolnir.

“Everybody take cover!” one of the guards shouted. The two next to the president were pulling her down and shielding her as the others fanned out, keeping low and sticking to shelter. Lucy dove behind the desk, cursing Asgard and everything it had ever spawned.

“Loki! You stop this nonsense at once! You are under arrest!” Thor bellowed from the gaping hole in the wall. “We are going home, and we are going home now!”

“Oh, what the fucking fuck?” Lucy groaned. The president shot her a sharp look, her head tilted and shoulders squared.

“Friend of yours?” she grated.

“Baggage.” Lucy made a face. “Extremely inopportune baggage.”

“So it would seem. It would also seem that this meeting is over.” The president reached under the desk and pulled out a box of something Lucy couldn’t quite see until she started pulling the pins.

“Shit!” She scrambled for better cover as the secret president began lobbing unusually rotund grenades around the facility. Her security detail pulled gas masks over their faces with a grim efficiency.

Smoke grenades, she thought. The pungent fumes hit her lungs, and she coughed.

“Are you fucking serious?” she yelled. “Your goddamn smoke grenades are made of fucking cannabis?”

It was the same smoke--more concentrated, but essentially unchanged--she’d been breathing the entire time negotiations had been in session between the president and the Anti-Pope. She could already feel the muscles running along her spine and shoulders start to relax. Another minute, and it was going to be like drowning in honey.

“You’d prefer mustard gas, then?” the president shouted over the racket of Thor crashing into a shelving unit.

“No, it’s just kind of...a national stereotype, you know?” Jones called, coughing again. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes. She could feel Thor starting to panic and struggling to breathe around the smoke. Of course he doesn’t know what this is, she thought. Fucking space-vikings.

“Loki!” he shouted. “Please answer me! Where are you?”

She was moving before she realized it, his desperation touching a raw nerve as surely as if she’d grabbed a live wire with both hands. She shouldn’t be indulging this, she told herself. She should be sneaking out one of the giant fuck-off holes he’d put in the building and running for the treeline. She should be doing anything other than scrambling toward the towering Asgardian floundering his way around the wreckage looking for her. So why was she doing it anyway? Because I’m a fucking idiot, she thought. Clearly.

“Loki!” he called. “Please, answer me! Where are you?”

Lucy ducked as a crumpled metal cabinet went sailing overhead.

“I’m right behind you, asshole,” she growled, trying to get back to her feet. Her hands felt like rubber, and her skin was tingling in a way that, under other circumstances, might have been pleasant. Thor whirled, his frantic expression dissolving into one of relief as he pulled her into an embrace.

“You need to get out of here, you interdimensional jerkoff,” she mumbled into his chest. “You’re already getting high.”

“We must leave this place. I can already feel the strange smoke affecting me,” he said urgently, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her a little.

“I just said that,” she grunted, trying to focus. The edges of reality were distorting slightly, running into each other and shimmering oddly. She blinked again. Focus, focus, focus. Losing it now would be a very bad idea.

The racking of several guns made her turn slowly, and then a flashbang was knocking them off their feet. She landed on top of him and tried to push herself up only to find her hands crackling with electricity when she braced herself against him.

“Oh, hell,” she yelped. “No lightning indoors! No lightning ind--”

The jolt of him not listening to her threw her across the room and into a wall. She bounced off it as thunder boomed through the enclosed space, rattling everyone down to their bones. Lucy got to her feet, pain lacing from her wrists to up to her spine and then back down from her neck to her hips. She hadn’t quite been quick enough with her magic to ward off the full effects of the bolt, and she could see the delicate-looking paths of the electrical burns running from her fingers to her sleeves. She knit herself back together with a wordless snarl and charged back at him.

“Did I or did I not just fucking tell you not to fucking do that?” she yelled, her eyes blazing. He got to his feet just in time for her to reach him and grab a fistful of his tunic, hauling him around to face her. He tripped over a chunk of rubble and fell, one of his flailing arms taking her down with him.

She could feel the rise and fall of his chest under her, and it occurred to her that he was panting. Part of her brain was telling her to calm him down, stop him from gulping lungful after lungful of the bittersweet smoke, but she couldn’t quite make the connection between what she should do and what she was doing. She glared at him wordlessly, and time seemed to slow. The sound of several rounds being chambered behind her made her forget about whatever she’d been trying to prevent by calming him down.

“I suppose you have a perfectly good explanation for this?” the president asked archly.

“Um. This guy is, uh...a hero. Who thinks I’m his brother. Because of complicated alien magic and shit.”

“I see. And he’s outside his jurisdiction destroying my base because...?”

“I think he yelled something about arresting somebody? Does SHIELD have a license to operate in Canada?” She blinked. Her tongue felt heavy, and her mouth tasted of a rough, unrefined, vague sweetness. She realized that she was panting as well. Fucking hell, I’m about a minute away from tripping balls. This is bad. Thor groaned and tried to sit up. She shoved him back down.

“No, it does not.” The president glared at her.

“Does he know that?” she asked, second-guessing herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Did that even make sense? Was it relevant? “Are you robot-Lincoln’s evil twin?”

Oh, goddammit, I am already tripping balls. Robots can’t have twins. Duh.

“You’ve drawn a hero to one of my bases. You’ve precipitated severe damage to one of my bases. I suggest you choose your next words carefully, Ms. Jones,” the president said, her voice dropping to a threatening purr.

Lucy felt her lips twist, felt her eyes narrow, and felt her mouth open. One of these days, that phrase is not going to completely hotwire my mouth and disengage my brain, she thought. Today is not that day.

“Softwood lumber tariff,” she hissed.

The president stared at her, jaw dropping soundlessly. It was a few seconds before she could manage anything in response.

“Light them up,” she snarled.

Lucy hooked an arm around Thor’s back and pulled, heaving him to his feet and throwing up as much of a shield as she could manage through the thick amber haze clouding her mind. Bullets rang off it as she steered him toward the half-demolished wall nearest them. He pulled her close, the hand around her waist grabbing at her shirt for extra leverage.

“We must fly,” he shouted over the gunfire.

“You’re in no shape to--” She yelped and ducked as the hammer came sailing back toward them from the woods. He caught it easily and pulled her against him, launching them into the air.

Lucy covered her face with her hands, tried not to say “We’re going to die, we’re going to die, we’re going to die.” out loud, and failed miserably. She was not in the least surprised when the smashed through a tree the width of a highway and went spinning out of the sky.

“I told you you’re in no shape to fly,” she groaned, spitting out splinters. He squirmed underneath her, and she rolled off him. “Wait, why are we surrounded by logs? Is this really happening?”

She looked around. A weathered door was hanging off a hinge from what was left of a wall immediately to their right. A large bronze plaque was sticking halfway out of the ground a few feet from where they’d come to rest.

“Loki, we must keep moving. Those men are not far off,” Thor said urgently, grabbing at her arm. She swatted his hand off.

“We’re not flying again. This is,” she waved her hands, unable to find the appropriate word, “bad. And...stuff. Fuck, we’re high.”

“No,” he countered, his brow furrowing. “We are on the ground. It is...all around us. We are no longer in the air. Did you strike your head?”

“Fuck, we need to get you home. I can’t fucking explain this right now. I’m...” She trailed off, staring at her hand, then shook herself and looked around around. “Shit, dude. I think we just smashed George Family’s house to matches. The Canadians are going to be very disappointed in us.”

“Home.” Thor stared at her, his eyes glazed. “Heimdall!”

“No, we’re not going to Heimdall. We’re going to Stark Tower.” She brushed herself off. “Where the fuck is Heimdall, anyway? Wisconsin? Why would you want to go to Wisconsin? It’s all cheese and snow this time of year.”

“Heimdall is not a place,” he said, getting to his feet.

“If you say it’s a place of mind, I’m going to leave you here,” she muttered, letting him pull her up.

“You’re bleeding!” he cried, releasing her hand and trying to touch her face while she was halfway to her feet. She toppled back over onto the pile of kindling with an undignified squawk. “And now you’re on the ground again!”

She glared up at him. “I hate you. I don’t remember trying to murder you before, but so help me, I might just give it another fucking go.”

“Don’t say such things,” he pleaded. “You are injured, and we have both been contaminated by that foul miasma.”

Lucy dragged the back of a hand across her face and sighed. A bright smear of blood was left on her skin. She touched her lip gingerly, then felt her nose carefully. She sighed and healed herself, sneezing a few times as the magic made every nerve in her face itch. “It was just a bloody nose, calm the fuck down.”

“Give me your hand. We must leave this place. I am in no condition to defend you, and our enemies are approaching.”

“Our enemies are whole, like hectares away,” Lucy scoffed, waving her hands. Fooocus, she told herself. “And it was just pot. I mean, really, really, really good pot, but still just pot. The effect won’t last for more than a day or two, tops. You’ll be fine. Here, just hold still, and I’ll get you to New York.”

He stared around them wildly. “This is how you feel all the time?”

“No, of course not. Just, like, half the time.” She picked herself up. “Okay, New York. Stark Tower.”

She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, only to have him take her hand.

“Dude, hold still,” she hissed. “I’m trying to work here. Okay. I think I’ve got it. Hold on.”

He squeezed her hand.

*****

“What are you doing?” Tony demanded. The Asgardian was sprawled on the couch, his feet on the table. Lucy was curled against his side, her head resting on his shoulder and his head resting against hers. They were both looked dazed, though Lucy was walking a coin across her knuckles with perfect precision and without seeming to be aware of it. Natasha was reading a copy of People on a loveseat facing them.

“Eating pop-tarts,” Thor mumbled, entranced by the tv.

“Watching Puff the Magic Dragon,” Lucy answered without looking up from the screen.

“Babysitting,” Natasha said simply, turning a page in her magazine.

“Why?” he asked, still trying to make sense of the scene.

“They’re delicious.”

“It’s hilarious.”

“They’re both incredibly stoned.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m incredibly stoned,” Lucy protested. “I’m just sort of high as hell. I don’t really need a trip-sitter for something like this.”

“Your pupils are the size of manhole covers,” Tony pointed out, running his fingers through his hair. “And you’re in my living room.”

“Yeah, but that’s usually when I just, like, go to the beach and impress sharks by getting in and out of the water at will.” She wriggled her fingers dramatically. Thor handed her a pop-tart, and she chewed it thoughtfully for a few seconds before continuing. “But I figured he’d probably keep trying to fly, and then he’d smash into something else, and I know you fly around drunk all the time, but he’d probably feel really bad about the damages afterwards. And it would probably count as an act of interplanetary aggression. So I brought him here. And now we’re watching a movie, and Romanoff is making sure things don’t get out of hand.”

“You know Puff the Magic Dragon is only like half an hour long, right?” he asked.

“They’ve already watched it three times,” Natasha explained.

“I still do not understand what a large pirate would want with such a tiny and clearly worthless vessel,” Thor said, his brows furrowed. “It is barely sea-worthy.”

“I still can’t figure out whether the dragon’s supposed to be wearing clothes or not,” Lucy muttered. “Maybe he just took a sharpie to his scales because it was cheaper, like those t-shirts with tuxedo vests printed on them.”

“Can you two please focus for a second? I’m trying to yell at you for getting a god high and then hijacking my living room.”

“I didn’t. The secret president of Canada did that.” She blinked. “Well, not the living room part. The getting him high part.”

“How?”

“Well, like, I was trying to hammer out the details of a contract with her, and then Thor showed up and was all ‘You’re under arrest!’ and ‘Brother!’ and ‘Raaaaaagh!’ and stuff.”

“That is a most uncharitable impersonation of me,” Thor said, sounding hurt. “And you threatened to strike me down for no reason!”

“Whatever, you totally sounded like that. And I think I had a reason. I mean, I can’t remember it now, but I usually do, and I bet it was a very good one. Anyway, she got super-pissed and threw down some smoke grenades, and you know how her smoke grenades are made of out just, like weapons-grade cannabis? Turned the entire warehouse into a giant clambake. By the time I found him and got us out of there, he was tripping balls and kind of freaking out a little, and then he tried to fly us back here, and crashed us into what might have been a national monument. But I guess it was probably Canadian, so we might be cool so long as you guys apologize and offer to help fix it. I figured it would probably be better if I just teleported us back here and got him settled in a familiar environment until he came down.”

“And Puff the Magic Dragon is part of this how?”

“Well, what do you watch when you get high?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, sorry, I thought turning on AC/DC and taking him down to your lab to play with explosives like you do when you get drunk would be a bad idea. Like,” she waved her hands vaguely, “a really bad idea. I mean, he does that thing with the lightning.”

“You don’t sound sorry, you sound buzzed.”

“I’m not sorry, it’s just like,” she frowned in concentration, “a figure of speech. Old man.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, then relaxed his shoulders and took a few deep breaths.

“Are those breathing exercises Bruce gave you helping?” Natasha asked disinterestedly.

“A little? They were? Until this happened?”

“Friend Tony, would you like to have a pop-tart and watch this film with us? We could start it over again if you haven’t seen it.”

“What I would like is for you to not be high, and a stoned supercriminal to not be on my couch, and a highly trained assassin to not be facilitating it.”

“Why don’t you go see what Banner’s up to? Maybe you guys could like, argue about applied picophysics anomalies or make out or something.” Lucy suggested, tilting her head. “Holy shit, Honah Lee’s all fucked up.”

“I’m not going to...Bruce and I...picophysics?” Tony sputtered helplessly. “And why do you sound so surprised by that? You’ve already watched it a bunch of times.”

“I’ve only ever seen this while high. Including right now.” She blinked at him again, her eyes slightly out of sync.

“Okay, I need a drink. Nat, could you let me know when this,” he gestured at them, “isn’t happening anymore?”

“See you tomorrow,” Natasha replied. Tony groaned dramatically and swept out of the room, muttering about angry, vengeful gods and their disadvantages as roommates. He swept back in less than a second later.

“Is that me on the cover?” he demanded.

“Yup,” Lucy said.

“I wasn’t asking you, Dr. Kegstand,” he snapped. “Nat?”

“Yes, Tony, that’s you on the cover.”

“Why am I on the cover? I haven’t done anything in, um, weeks.”

“Apparently you’re dating the princess of Kazakhstan.”

“I...what?”

“She’s very pretty, and she seems to have her head on straight. Maybe you should treat this one right. It could really go somewhere,” Natasha told him, her tone serious.

“Doesn’t Kazakhstan have a president?”

“Evil overlord,” Lucy supplied.

“Supreme chancellor,” Natasha corrected firmly.

“So where did they get a princess from?” Tony asked, perplexed. “And does she know we’re dating? Because I didn’t get the memo. Maybe Pepper set it up? If she didn’t, can I sue People for libel now?”

“Only if you want to explain to the evil overlord of Kazakhstan why them saying that you’re dating a Kazakh princess would be considered libel.”

“The princess is very pleased with your relationship so far, and Jones has a point for once,” Natasha informed him.

“I don’t want to have to explain to the evil overlord of Kazakhstan why them saying that I’m dating a Kazakh princess would be considered libel, do I?” he asked, resigned.

“Probably not. Especially since they’re still pretty angry about that foul-up with their national anthem, Jones.”

“How is it my fault that a bunch of Kuwaiti sound techs got the wrong national anthem? That’s just, like, a normal if spectacularly ridiculous human fuck-up.”

“Which you had nothing to do with, naturally.”

“Not everything that goes wrong on the planet is a poorly-considered prank on my part. Sometimes shit just, you know, happens. And is fucking funny. But I still didn’t do it.” She started to get up, only to be drawn up short by Thor’s arm around her waist. “What is this?”

“That would be Snap-Crackle-and-Boom’s enviably tree-like arm,” Tony informed her brightly.

“Why is that your arm?” She twisted around to glare at him. “What is this even...a...Fuck, what was I saying?” She squinted at the corner of the room. “Has your hammer always been that sparkly? Like, I dunno, a fucking disco ball or something?”

“It isn’t sparkling now, you’re just high,” Natasha soothed. “Remember, the secret president of Canada attacked you guys?”

“Yeah, but it’s really shiny.”

“Why don’t you forget about the hammer and have another pop-tart?” Tony asked. He turned back to Natasha. “Is the princess thing why there have been so many paparazzi hanging around outside the building the past few days?”

“Why else would there be so many of them?” she asked blandly.

“Um, Hank’s size-change-related wardrobe malfunction? Jan threatening to laser anyone who took pictures? Jan actually lasering the first guy to take a picture? Hasn’t Bruce done something, too? I keep thinking Bruce has done something. Didn’t a page catch him and Betty banging in a Congressional broom closet?”

“That was you and a reporter,” Natasha said after a minute. “And it happened a couple years ago.”

Tony groaned and flopped into a chair. “This is terrible.”

“Weren’t you leaving? Is it tomorrow already?” Lucy asked. “Or has none of that happened yet? Shit. Time is folding in on itself again, isn’t it?”

“Be kind,” Thor admonished. “The man has just discovered that he is romantically entangled with a tyrant’s daughter. It must be a most jarring revelation.”

“Thank you, Thor. I appreciate the support. And I was leaving. Now I want a drink and to just watch...not this.”

“This is what we got,” Lucy countered.

“That’s not all we got, and you know it.” Tony sprang to his feet again and started rummaging through the rest of the entertainment center.

“How could I know that? This is your house.”

He held up a case. “Lord of the Rings. Extended edition.”

Lucy groaned loudly.

“You’re a wizard. You’re not allowed to not like Lord of the Rings. It’s like, a law or something.”

“I’m a supervillain. Even if I weren’t a huge fan of breaking the law, I’m pretty sure the evil wizard loses like a motherfucker. Be prepared for a lot of loud complaining about magic not working that way.”

“Says the woman with the fake magic ring,” Tony snapped.

“And probably a lot of loud complaining about dwarves and elves not looking like that.” She elbowed Thor in the ribs.

“Nobody complains about anything. On penalty of repulsor blast.”

“Dude, we’re currently in your living room. I’m pretty sure no matter who wins that one, you lose,” Lucy snorted. He scowled at her.

“She is correct on that matter, friend Tony,” Thor rumbled. “The use of any of your weapons indoors will not go well for your furniture. I have a regrettable amount of experience in this matter.”

“Of course you do,” Lucy giggled, then stopped. “Wait, didn’t you just lightning me halfway through a wall a few hours ago?”

“I have no recollection of having done such a thing,” he said, his face dopily serious. “But if I did, I apologize most sincerely. I would never harm you on purpose.”

Tony started the movie and retrieved a bottle of scotch from the wet bar. “Anybody want one? Maybe a double or a triple? Drunk people complain less.”

“Tony?” Natasha called.

“Yeah?”

“No getting them drunk on top of this.”

“But--”

“This is my day off, Tony.”

“Okay, and I respect that, but--”

“Don’t make me shoot you, Tony.”

“Fine. Offer rescinded.”

Chapter Text

Thor wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned heavily on Mjolnir. Steve held out his hand and pulled him back to his feet, bracing himself when Thor leaned against him for a few moments longer than he’d been expecting. The rumble of more oncoming tanks made them both grimace. This level of opposition had not been what they’d been expecting when SHIELD had sent them out against the Serpent Squad.

“I do not know if we can sustain such an assault much longer,” Thor said tightly.

“Me neither. We need a better strategy. This is...” His voice died as his eyes focused on the rear ranks. “Is that your sister?”

“Aye.” Thor’s jaw tightened. “I will deal with this.”

“Thor, wait!”

Steve’s words were lost to the wind as Thor took to the sky, aiming for the lead mobile platform occupied by Viper and a contingent of confused-looking guards.

“Lucy! Cease this at once!” Thor bellowed, landing hard enough to jar the guards off their feet. Viper kept her balance and drew her sword with a snarl.

“Oh, it’s fine for you to come looking for me and fuck my business up, but it’s out of bounds for me to return the favor?” Lucy asked acidly.

“Get off my ship, the pair of you!”

“You could at least let me give you a quote, Viper. My rates are extremely reasonable.”

“I have no interest in diverting my attention from the battle at hand in order to listen to your occult nonsense.”

“Hey, Viper. Since when does the Serpent Squad have the scratch to bankroll an invasion force?” Tony asked cheerily. He swooped low and dropped a pair of crumpled robots on the few guards who were managing to get back on their feet. “I know this isn’t an AIM joint based on the sheer number of design flaws your walker here is sporting, and Zodiac hasn’t gotten this close to Latveria since the last time Doom spanked them.”

“We’ve made powerful friends over the years, Iron Man,” Viper growled.

“Since when are you snake-themed, Jones?” Jan demanded, shooting up from below the platform. The walker shuddered and lurched as a pair of small charges detonated on one of its legs.

“You will all pay for your interference! And she is not with us,” Viper repeated.

“But I could be,” Lucy protested. She drew in close, smiled viciously, and closed her hand around Viper’s wrist, pushing her blade away.

“Haven’t you ever considered doing more than simply accepting the missions offered to you by monied interests? Seizing control of your own destinies? Becoming rulers in your own right?” she demanded, her voice low and insistent. “Think of it. Why pursue money when you could have that which money purchases? Why take a fee when you could take power?”

“Uh, Jones? Maybe stop encouraging them?” Tony suggested.

“Fuck off, Stark.”

Viper tried to edge away from her and was surprised by the magician’s iron grip. “You’re completely out of your mind. Release me immediately.”

Lucy let go and stepped back with a shrug. She turned to Thor and extended her hand, her green eyes burning. “Come, Thor. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as two people who barely know each other and don’t really get along.”

Thor’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, god,” Jan groaned. “Will you go away? We’ve got a serious fight on our hands! We don’t have time for whatever the hell it is you’re trying to do here.”

“Really? That seems like it might turn into kind of a problem for you.” She dropped her hand and leaned back against a support strut as the platform tilted precariously. A few of the guards started to slide off the edge. “See, I’ve got a lot of time on my hands now that nobody will fucking hire me, I’ve been banned from Canada, and my girlfriend dumped me.”

“For which we’re to blame, naturally? This is a revenge team-up?” Tony sighed. “You know, of all our villains, I’d expect a little more originality from you.”

“This is not a team-up. Why are none of you listening? She’s not with us!”

“How are you not to blame?” Lucy demanded. “And it probably doesn’t really count as revenge. I think it’s more like a petty-spite team-up.”

“Have you all gone fucking deaf?” Viper demanded. “You are not with us. Get off my godforsaken ship before I gut you.”

“Lady, I’m the only think keeping your ship upright at the moment,” Lucy snapped. “Maybe settle down and say thank you?”

“Lucy, I understand that you’re upset, but this is not the way to go about handling such emotions,” Thor said firmly, catching the railing as the craft shifted again. “Perhaps if you’re keeping us from falling, you might put it back on an even keel?”

“Ehn.” The deck straightened by a few degrees. “And I’m not ‘upset.’ ‘Upset’ is what I was when I hit the fifth section of a thirty-part voicemail from the secret president explaining why I’m banned from Canada for life. Three ruined jobs, one ruined relationship, and three thousand personal communiques from deeply-disappointed Ottawans later, what I am is actually a lot closer to ‘livid.’ So, you know, adjust accordingly.”

“I do not think it’s fair for you to blame your decision not to tell your girlfriend that you’re a supervillain on us,” Thor protested, pulling himself back to his feet. “You should have been honest with her.”

“I didn’t decide not to tell her I was a supervillain, I assumed she knew I was a supervillain.”

“You know what happens when you assume things, right?” Tony asked.

“Friend Tony, could you perhaps assist Hawkeye? Your presence here does not seem to be helping,” Thor sighed.

“Weren’t you two only dating for a month?” Jan pointed out. “Are you even allowed to get that mad about getting dumped after a month? I mean, she seemed nice, but I think there’s take-out that’s been hanging around the tower fridge longer than you were with her.”

“Jan,” Thor warned. She ignored him.

“Gross.” Lucy made a face. “Maybe start writing the date on the cartons and stop comparing my love life to the incipient doomsday devices percolating away in your kitchen?”

Jan hovered. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Viper stared at them. “Have you all lost your minds?”

“Did I crack my skull on something and not notice?” one of her henchmen muttered to the others. “Are they really talking about take-out?”

“Bob got you pretty good with an elbow on the way down, so you should probably get checked out after we’re done here, but yeah, they’re really talking about take-out,” the guard closest to him answered. “That really isn’t a bad idea, though. It’d make cleaning the break-room fridge go a lot faster.”

“Focus, people,” their captain grunted. “We’re in trouble if this platform goes down.”

“This city will fall to the might of the Serpent Squad!” Viper snapped. She gestured sharply to the handful of guards who’d managed to pull themselves upright in spite of the platform’s steep incline. Jan squeaked and dove below the walker for cover. They opened fire. Bubbles poured from the barrels. One enterprising woman drew her sidearm. To her great disappointment, pulling the trigger resulted in a volley of bright orange aerosol string.

“Not without a boost from me, it won’t.” Lucy buffed her nails on her lapel and raised her eyebrows. “Now let’s say we blow this popsicle stand and head to Georgia? State, I mean, not country. The Macon DMV is housing the Cosmic Cube, and I bet we could--”

“Stop offering to assist these villains, Lucy!” Thor admonished, pulling himself back onto the deck. “Would it ease your temper if I apologized?”

“Well, there are two Canadians writing me outraged emails as we speak, I haven’t gotten laid in weeks, and nobody is taking my calls because you have no idea what jurisdiction even means and nobody wants a fucking hammer to come flying through their ceiling in the middle of a meeting, so...not really, no. Though if you could aim for one of the billboards with my contact information on it the next time you’re in the mood to aimlessly destroy shit in Canada, I’d appreciate it.”

“Can you not consider this opportunity to start anew instead of continuing to commit criminal acts as a good thing?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“What if I paid you to go have this Jerry Springer moment somewhere else?” Viper growled.

The Hulk’s roar echoed off the surrounding buildings, and a tank sailed overhead and crashed into a storefront.

“I could take care of that for you, and you’re offering me money to just go away,” Lucy said flatly.

“Yes.”

“You fucking people, I swear. World on a platter, and you want me to get out of your way so you can take over Bulgaria,” she sneered at Viper. She nodded after a moment. “Fine. I’ve got bills to pay, same as anybody else. How much are we talking?”

“We are not finished here, Lucy. This is not like you. You must tell me why you have done this,” Thor said firmly.

“Oh, got to hell. This is exactly like me. Which you would know if we’d spent more than like, a week around each other.” She rolled her eyes. “And I haven’t done anything. In case you didn’t pick up on it, the offer on the table is to not do something. Because some people have tiny dreams and no ambition.”

“Behind you!” Thor yelled, pointing. Viper’s knife slashed through thin air.

“Tiny dreams, no ambition, and less sense,” Lucy amended, appearing on the other side of the platform, easily standing perpendicular to the wildly tilted deck. “I’m a magician, darling. We’re really not that easy to stab. I promise.” The woman glared at her. “We’re very easy to piss off, though.”

She snapped her fingers, and everyone barely clinging to the platform suddenly went sliding off it.

“What did you do?” Thor demanded, adjusting his grip on the railing.

“Do you know what a friction coefficient is?”

“No.”

“Then magic. I did magic.”

“I’m not an idiot, Lucy,” he grumbled.

“Debatable. Even if it weren’t, though, I’m not going to stop to give you a physics lesson in the middle of a battle,” she snorted, letting herself slide down the platform and hopping onto the railing. “It just isn’t done.”

“Why are you doing this?” he sighed. An explosion rattled windows along the square. “Speak truly.”

“Because you’ve wrecked my fucking career, and you don’t even belong here. Because I’m bored and irritated. Because I can. Because--oh, fuck off, Banner.” A massive green blur crossed Thor’s line of vision and then was gone, taking Lucy with it.

“Need a hand?” Tony asked. He darted down to pluck Thor from the walker as it began its final collapse with a shriek of tortured metal.

“I should assist the Hulk...”

“Nah, I think he’s got this. Never mind the tanks all mysteriously going kind of bumper-car on each other when Viper tried to stab Jones. Is she drunk?”

“She didn’t seem it, but it can be difficult to tell with her,” Thor said, trying to adjust his grip on Tony’s armor. “Where are Natasha and Clint?”

“Firing explosive arrows and RPGs at the tanks.” Tony looped an arm around Thor’s back and held steady while the Asgardian threw his free arm over the suit’s shoulders. “Steve’s on the comm trying to convince SHIELD that this is all actually happening and that he hasn’t just gotten hit with Captain Kesey’s brown acid again. I don’t know if they honestly don’t believe him or if they’re just trying to weasel out of sending back-up appropriate to this threat-level. At least they didn’t hang up right away like when Jones dumped us off in the middle of that Korean dong park.”

“Truly, I do not think that your method of explaining our predicament helped,” Thor admonished him. “Nor was our cause assisted by you voicing the same complaint to Agent Hill as you do to Lady Pepper after board meetings. I cannot blame the deputy director for thinking that you referred to Senator Stern.”

“Still. You’d think they’d be used to this sort of call by now.” Tony scowled. “Not to mention, I did explain that we were literally looking at a five-foot tall penis with a stupid face. I don’t know how much clearer I could have been.”

Thor snorted. Tony guided them clear of the collapsing mobile unit only to spot Lucy and a no longer hulking Bruce on a nearby rooftop.

“Bruce, buddy, you okay?” he called.

“The stoned wizard giveth, the cranky wizard taketh away,” Lucy yelled back.

“Shit, you didn’t break him again, did you?” Tony snapped. “Bruce?”

“I’m fine, Tony,” Bruce grumbled, folding his arms over his bare chest and glowering at her. Tony wobbled toward them, trying to balance Thor so that his stabilizers could compensate for the extra weight.

“He’s fine, Tony,” Lucy confirmed. “Half-naked, but fine.”

“How do you keep doing that?” Bruce demanded.

“Keep doing what? Getting your shirt off? Pretty sure that one’s on you, dude. Maybe you just hate shirts?”

“Changing me,” he growled.

She shrugged. “It’s easy. When you’re you, you want to be the Hulk. When you’re the Hulk, you want to be you. You just poke the right spot, and over you go.”

“Real scientific there, Jones.”

“Okay, it involves an Eisenstein-Rosencrantz Bridge and kajigawatt lasers.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wow.”

“And now you know more or less how I felt the last time Pym started hypothesizing about magic.”

Thor frowned. “I don’t understand any of what you just said.”

“I’d be more worried if you did,” Bruce assured him. “Why are you here, Jones?”

“Shouldn’t you have figured that out before doing a flying tackle of doom off a teetering super-tank on legs?”

“Hulk,” he reminded her.

“I’m here,” she said, glancing at her phone, “because I’ve got another five minutes to kill before I’m due in Hell.”

“I forbid you to return to the underworld,” Thor said sharply. Tony dropped him gently onto the rooftop.

“Well, I forbid you to wear shirts that are two sizes too small,” Lucy retorted. “So there.”

“Don’t you dare. Thor can wear whatever size shirts he likes,” Jan said, diving in for a flying tackle. She moved through where Lucy had been and bounced off the roof at speed. “Ow.”

“Magician,” Lucy pointed out.

“Asshole,” Jan shot back, picking herself up.

Thor blushed. “At least stop changing Bruce without his permission. It is an extremely rude thing to do, and he deserves better treatment from you.”

Lucy shrugged slightly. “I’ll think about it.”

“We’ve got a clean-up to get back to, people,” Tony reminded them. “You gonna keep your nose out of it this time, Gandalf?”

“As lovely as it was getting to see your shit get all fucked up for no real reason for a change, I have business to attend to. Have fun getting those tanks under control.” Lucy gave them a short bow and vanished.

“I don’t suppose you guys have an explanation for why Hawkeye just disappeared into thin air?” Natasha demanded over their comms.

Jan crossed her arms. “So, I think we can officially move her off SHIELD’s villain roster and onto ours now. Great going, Thor.”

*****

Clint dropped into a crouch and nocked an arrow, looking around wildly. Jones tilted her head at him, and he dropped back a pace at the glitter of her eyes. She had the look of someone who wasn’t quite in control; it wasn’t a look he cared for much.

“I probably should have checked on this before I borrowed you, but you do use guns, yeah? The archery thing is preferential rather than obligatory?”

“Where are we?” he demanded.

“Hell. Or rather, where Hell used to be before I-10 plowed through it.” She cracked her knuckles.

“Send me back.”

“Nope.”

“I’ll tell your brother on you,” he threatened, keeping his tone light. There was no cover available, and he didn’t think he could take her in a straight fight.

“I don’t have a brother. Only child. Just me, myself, and I. And, between you and me? Encouraging the alien prince to keep thinking of me as his dead sibling is really not the best idea SHIELD’s ever come up with,” she snapped. “So, guns? Yes, no, maybe?”

“Yes, I can use a gun. SHIELD wouldn’t exactly keep me around if I couldn’t shoot a gun. Why are you asking?”

“Because I need you to cover me while I perform my good deed of the year.” She jerked a thumb at the squad of storage containers nearby. They were draped in camouflage fabric and locked but unguarded.

“If there was anybody here, they’d have opened up on us by now,” Clint sighed. “Get me back to Bulgaria before I have to shoot you just as a matter of principle.”

Lucy groaned. “Peasants, the lot of you. There’s not going to be anybody here until I touch the door. Once I do, the guardians are going to pop up and try to tear the dick off anybody in their line of sight. I need you to keep them off my back long enough to shut that shit down and get the artifacts causing it contained.”

“You need me specifically?” he asked skeptically.

“I need someone who’s not just going to shoot me instead, who’s not going to tempt me to shoot them, and who doesn’t have weaponized puppy-dog eyes at their disposal. Bonus points if you getting maimed or killed doesn’t start an interplanetary war. Not to mention you were right there.”

“How could I possibly refuse such a perfect calling?” he grunted.

“See? Completely suited. Let’s go.” She tossed him a shotgun and started for the center container.

“Wait, wait, wait! That was sarcasm! I was being sarcastic.” Clint sprinted around her and stopped, holding up his hands. “What the hell is going on, exactly?”

Lucy gave him a level glare and took her time lighting a hand-rolled cigar. He coughed and waved the smoke out of his face.

“Yeah, I’m not too fond of ‘em either, but shit like this, you gotta do right,” she sighed. “Get the unpronounceable deities on your side instead of your opponent’s.” She began to pace back and forth, her eyes on the shipping containers. “Okay, so. What the hell is going on here, exactly, is that some cockmongers robbed a tomb. And that tomb happened to be like, not the worst tomb you could ever rob, but still a pretty fucking bad tomb to rob. You with me so far?”

“Am I going to get killed and/or cursed by a mummy?”

She stopped moving and pursed her lips. “Well....Define ‘mummy.’”

He stared at her. “Can you give me one second? I need to text an apology to one of the fortune-tellers from my circus days.”

“Sure.”

“That was a joke,” he explained.

“Maybe it shouldn’t be,” Lucy said, snickering. “Maybe if you apologized, she’d lift that curse.”

“What curse?” he snapped.

“You know what curse.” Her eyebrows quirked up briefly. “Am I gonna have to spell it out?”

“That’s because of a curse?”

“Either that or riding unicycles too much. Or maybe just from drinking the water in Texas.” She shrugged. “But I mean, if it was me, I’d be apologizing just in case.”

“Fucking magicians,” Clint muttered. “What happens if this robbed tomb just waits for a SHIELD contingent to come out, load it onto some flatbeds, and put it back where it belongs?”

“Wholesale slaughter of not-so-innocents? Fuck, with that much blood slopping all over the place, they might make it to the next township and start on the actual innocents.” Lucy tapped her chin. “Or if they figure out how to drive an eighteen-wheeler. We’d really be ten kinds of screwed then. They could go, like, anywhere. It’d be a rolling empire of doom.” She waved her hands dramatically, then paused and repeated the gesture a bit more critically. “That really would look better if I was wearing long floppy sleeves, wouldn’t it? Hmm.”

“It looks fine just the way you did it,” Clint sighed, rubbing his neck. “I don’t think you need to worry about the mummy figuring out how to work a truck.”

“Well, aren’t you just super-complimentary today?” Lucy asked, smiling. “And why not? They’re old, not stupid. If your average teenager can figure out the basics of not driving off a cliff, I’m pretty sure the cream of ancient Mesoamerica can learn by observation.”

“Man, you really should have brought the Hulk or Cap with you on this one.”

“No, I really, really shouldn’t have. I have no fucking clue what would happen if super-serumed or gamma-irradiated blood got thrown into the mix here, and I’m not in any particular hurry to find out.”

“That doesn’t sound like you at all,” Clint grumbled.

“Of course it does. I’m the very model of a responsible adult.”

“I seem to remember you shouting ‘For science!’ and chucking a bag of oranges into the demo arc reactor at the last Stark Expo,” he said. “Now, I’m not and have never been a scientist, but I’ve spent a lot of time watching Bruce at work, and that seems...less than responsible. It’s more like Tony when he’s on an engineering streak, which is definitionally irresponsible.”

“Yes, admittedly, it might have looked irresponsible. But those were all known variables, Barton. I’m not going to go around feeding dark magic and old gods with the products of super-science. This isn’t the ‘40s. We have some safety standards,” she said firmly. “Not to mention that it took me like, a whole fucking week to put this lady’s daughter back in the box she crawled out of, and a) the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree in that lineage and b) nobody had the poor life skills to go slitting their co-conspirators’ throats at the kick-off of that little outing.”

“If this thing is so dangerous, how did it get here?”

“They trucked it in. It wasn’t an active menace until the co-conspirator throat-slitting happened,” Lucy told him, drawing a finger across her neck. “Most of this magic is primed or fueled by blood sacrifice. Two half-rate Indiana Joneses worth of blood sprayed everywhere, and the lady’s awake and kicking and setting her minions on the remaining guys.”

“And I get to hold off said minions with a shotgun while you try to, what, send their mama back to sleep?”

“Pretty much.”

“Great. What’s it loaded with, rock salt?”

Lucy puffed on the cigar. “Why on the gods’ green earth would I load a shotgun with fucking rock salt, Barton?”

“It’s...good for shooting unclean spirits?” he managed.

“You’ve been watching way too much tv.” She shook her head. “It’s loaded with dragon’s breath rounds.”

“Dragon’s breath,” he repeated.

“Yeah. Now come on, I don’t want to be hanging out here all day.”

“You are aware that those rounds aren’t exactly close-quarters friendly?”

“I’m fireproof, they’re not, we’re good.”

“I’m not either.”

“Okay, look. Just, like, as a ground rule?” she said, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Don’t let the murderous undead hug you after you set them on fire. Not rocket science. Let’s go.”

“You’re insane. You realize that, right?”

“I...how the hell do you figure?”

“Have you given any serious thought to this? You’re just going to go charging in with one person on your side and hope it works?” Clint raised his eyebrows. “Let me call SHIELD, we’ll set up a perimeter and contain it. You know, just Area 51 the whole thing. Done. Game over.”

“Oh, that works where you’re from? See, where I’m from, that’s how you get unguarded supply depots full of nerve gas that everybody forgot was there and radioactive jackrabbits contaminating half of Washington. That,” she pointed at the container, “is a threat. A serious, grave, immediate, etcetera threat that, left to its own devices, will just grow in magnitude until we’re all building ziggurats and killing people to make the sun keep going. I am dealing with it right now, before it gets any bigger, because that is the sane-person thing to do. And I am asking you to help.”

Clint took a breath, ready to argue, and then deflated. “Fine. What are they going to look like when they show up?”

“Desiccated humans, very fast, probably armed with daggers. Light them up and get out of the way. There shouldn’t be more than twenty.”

“Twenty? Two-zero?” He stared at her.

“Don’t be such a baby. Thirty seconds in, I’m sure they’ll all be heading for me. Easy pickings.”

“And you’ll be doing what while I’m taking potshots at the supernatural with ten-to-one odds against?”

“Taking down the wards, digging up the roots, bundling the lady back up, and relocating this party to Mexico.”

“What if, theoretically speaking, I’m wanted for five counts of plausibly-deniable homicide in Mexico?”

“Don’t go to Mexico, then? I mean, you’re not coming with me. I’m not bringing you along for the ride. Just, like, call SHIELD for a pick-up once these shipping containers aren’t here anymore or something.”

“You do realize that this shotgun doesn’t have twenty rounds in it, right?” Clint tapped the stock.

“Unlimited reloads.” She shrugged when he looked at her uncertainly. “It’s a minor enchantment, and it seemed like a wise investment.”

“So you could, I don’t know, make it so my quiver never runs out of arrows?” he asked.

“Well, sure. But if you never ran out of arrows, how would Natasha swoop in at the last minute and save you?”

“Widow and I aren’t--” He scowled at her when she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Stop that. You’re trying to get me killed here, at least let me die with my dignity intact.”

“Too late for that, dude. Your codename’s a drunken surgeon from a ‘70s dramedy.”

“No, it isn’t, it’s...” Clint rubbed his temples for a second. “Fine. I give. Let’s go fight the undead monsters and teleport to Mexico.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes narrowing at his sudden change of heart.

“I want an enchanted quiver, though. Fair’s fair. If I get shanghaied into helping you out on a side project like this when I should be with the Avengers, I’m taking home hazard pay.”

“Deal. Once I’m done with this bullshit, I’ll magic up your stupid quiver. Let’s do this before you change your mind or I die of boredom.”

Chapter Text

“Burgas is still on fire, the Serpent Squad made a clean getaway, and you let a rogue wizard steal an Avenger right out from under your noses,” Phil sighed. “Are you trying to give Fury a coronary?”

“It’s Jones. I’m sure she’ll bring him back eventually,” Tony offered.

“Tell that to Dr. Thomas.”

Natasha frowned. “Wasn’t that voluntary?”

Phil shot her a look, and she crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow in question.

“Can’t we track his card?” Hank asked.

“It’s resolving to Antarctica,” Natasha explained. “Same as Jones’s cell always does. The location has been verified as false.”

“So what, we just have to wait until she cuts him loose?” Jan asked, frowning. “There’s no other way of tracking him?”

Phil’s eyes strayed to Thor for a moment, and the Asgardian shook his head. “I am sorry, friends. I can only sense her immediate presence, and it does not seem to work consistently. I cannot do the same when she is at a distance.”

“You can what?” Hank demanded, his brows furrowing.

“Weak psychic link,” Tony prompted breezily. “We think, anyway. You remember? It’s been intermittent since the incident involving the involuntary-intoxication-related national monument destruction with our neighbor to the north?”

“The what?’

“This was all covered at the last team meeting,” Steve sighed. “I know you were in Wakanda working with Panther, but we take minutes for a reason, Hank.”

“We?” Jan asked archly.

“Jan takes minutes for a reason, Hank,” Tony corrected. “And look, guys, I’m sure he’s fine. Probably not exactly where he wants to be right now, but fine. Jones doesn’t kill heroes, remember? And she fixed his arm, right? And she’s got a huge chip on her shoulder about stuff she’s done getting messed up? And it’s Hawkeye. Is he ever not two steps ahead of everybody but Nat? I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Yeah, but I’d still feel better if we knew where he was and could go get him,” Jan muttered. “Do we have any idea what Jones has been up to? Likely bases of operation?”

“She’s pretty much been crabbing about being blackballed and arguing with Quebecois DJs, so no leads there,” Steve said. “And I’d like to state, for the record, that if we’d gotten the first responders we requested, when we requested them, that fire would be contained by now. How many times does this have to happen before the SHIELD communications department stops making me go through five verification stages in the middle of a fire-fight? We were formed specifically to deal with unusual and non-standard enemies. Occasionally that is going to entail a giant snake-man, a gang with an intensely questionable choice of theme, Thor’s relatives, or all three. Can they revise the procedures so that accurately reporting those encounters doesn’t result in an automatic hang-up? This is costing innocent bystanders their homes and businesses.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Cap.”

“Thanks, Phil. I’m still not sure why they’re so antsy about prank calls on a secure line like that, anyway. I can understand being worried about security breaches, but...” He trailed off as Phil directed a stern look at Tony. “Oh. I probably should have seen that one coming, huh?”

“It was one time! And I was incredibly drunk. And dying. And you’d just threatened to taze me and leave me to drool on an incredibly expensive carpet if I so much as looked out the window.”

“Drool doesn’t ruin carpets, and that is an exaggeration,” Phil said. “Did Jones say anything about where she was going or what she was doing? Anything at all aside from harassing Viper?”

“She said she was going to hell, and she said something about a DMV in Macon,” Jan supplied. “I don’t think she was serious, though, and I’m not sure why Hawkeye would get dragged along even if she was.”

“There’s no telling why she does any of the things she does,” Natasha snapped. “Coulson, isn’t there a Hell in Norway? Wasn’t there a top-secret HYDRA base near it during the war?”

“There was, but it was completely demolished pretty early on,” Steve told her. “It was too far from friendly territory to adequately defend, and we leveled it.”

“I’ll get surveillance on it just in case they’ve rebuilt under our radar,” Phil said. “It’s a long shot, but it can’t hurt to check.”

“Especially since Clint will need assistance if my sister has enlisted him in a private fight with HYDRA,” Thor sighed. “I will speak with her at length about this the next time we meet.”

“No offense, Thor, but every time you do that, she seems to target us a little bit more,” Tony pointed out. “Maybe your family bonding techniques could, uh, use a little bit of work.”

Natasha drummed her fingers against the table and chewed her lip.

Steve caught her expression and cleared his throat. “You have an idea, Natasha?”

“Maybe,” she said slowly. “Phil, you remember the experiments with remote viewing?”

“The ones that never went anywhere?” Tony scoffed. Everyone glared at him, and he subsided slightly.

“Thor, would you mind if I borrowed you for an experiment? I’d like to see how far this link of yours can get us.”

“Not far, I’m afraid. As I said--”

“It’s not consistent, I know. But that’s what information you can consciously access. There may be a lot more that you know, but you don’t know that you know it,” she explained.

“I will do anything you think might be of use,” he said solemnly.

“Nat, do you know anything about magic at all?” Tony demanded.

“What’s to know?” Jan snorted. “It works or it doesn’t. The scan for that HYDRA base turns something up, or it doesn’t. Your weirdo satellite scans find something, or they don’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quickly. “I have no knowledge of any ‘weirdo satellite scans,’ be they mine or anyone else’s.”

“Tony, labelling a folder ‘Superporn’ wouldn’t keep my grandmother from clicking on it. It’s not an actual security measure.”

“Leaving aside the non-existent satellite scans, it’s not supposed to be a security measure. That’s what all the actual security measures you’d have to bypass to get to that drive are supposed to be.”

Natasha made eye contact with Thor and tilted her head at the door. He nodded, and they slipped out while Jan distracted Tony.

“Okay, setting your password to ‘science-bros_before_science-hos’ and your secondary password to ‘supergenius’ and your tertiary passcode to a picture of Reed matched to the phrase ‘bite me’? Not great security measures, Tony.”

Phil rubbed his temples, and Bruce looked from Jan to Tony before silently padding out after Natasha and Thor. Tony blinked at her, torn between denying everything and giving up.

“Those sound like fairly solid, if extraordinarily petty, security measures to me, Jan,” Steve offered tentatively.

“Thank you, Steve. What did you do, slap a hex on my machines? And how did you get around the thumbprint and retinal scanner?”

“If I told you that, you’d only fix those problems,” Jan said firmly. “Maybe next time you’ll remember that operational security doesn’t just mean making sure,” she made little quote signs with her fingers, “people can’t guess your passwords and get around your machines.”

“Did you just air-quote at me? About my security systems? That’s it, Wasp. It’s on. By the time I’m done with the tower, it’s going to be Fort Knox.” Phil started to say something, and Tony rolled his eyes. “The metaphorical Fort Knox, not the literal Fort Knox that’s been successfully broken into three times in the past month.” He looked around. “Where’d everybody go?”

Steve feigned surprise as he scanned the room. “I didn’t notice anyone leaving. Coffee break?”

“They’re already running Nat’s experiment, aren’t they? Why do I always fall for this?” Tony muttered, stomping out. “They’re probably not even writing anything down.”

“I’m sure Bruce is on it,” Hank soothed, following him.

“Do I even want to know how you bypassed all that stuff?” Steve asked when he was sure they were out of earshot. Phil chuckled, and Jan blushed a little.

“I didn’t,” she confessed. “You know how Tony’s lab is always a complete disaster area?”

“Yeah?”

“I snuck a tiny camera into one of the component piles that faces his main workstation for a week, then retrieved it and scanned the footage.”

“Clever,” he admitted. “Do I even want to know why?”

“It was the week he locked us all out of JARVIS’s video library and changed the wifi password. I was bored, so I figured I’d stockpile some ammunition.”

“Huh. I didn’t want to know why, after all.”

She punched him playfully in the arm. “Come on, don’t give me that look. You missed the wifi so much you spent that whole week camped out at the library.”

“I was volunteering! It was National Library Week!”

“Oh my god, you are such a boy scout.”

“Jan, he’s Captain America. Of course he’s a boy scout.”

“I’m going to go see if Natasha needs Tony distracted again,” Steve sighed. “Let us know if surveillance finds anything in Norway.”

*****

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” Lucy howled.

“What? What is it?” Clint demanded, targeting one of the last guardians. The smoking remains of the others were scattered around them. She hadn’t been lying when she said they’d be fast, but she hadn’t been wrong when she’d guessed they’d target her once they realized what she was doing. The magnesium round produced a wash of flame, and the undead warrior shrieked in anger as it engulfed him.

“My fingers are in her brainpan. This is so unbelievably gross I cannot even begin to describe it,” she shouted back. “It’s soggy. It’s like soggy fucking large-curd cottage cheese. I can’t even--”

“Just do what you have to and get her contained,” he yelled. He didn’t want to picture the mummy’s skull contents. It had been bad enough when the carefully-wrapped bundle with its carefully-placed jade-chip mask had unfolded into something halfway between a skeletal panther and a skeletal woman.

“Ugh. The fucking things I do for fucking humanity.” She stretched her head back out of reach as the mummy swiped at her face, growling. “Klaatu barada necktie!”

“Those aren’t the right words, Jones,” he warned, aiming for the last guardian.

“It’s the thought that counts,” she snarled, wrestling the mummy to the ground. “Spells that count on the precise repetition of certain syllables nobody can understand anymore suck rhinoceros balls!”

“Just get it done!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying,” she panted. “Keep fucking shooting, goddammit. I don’t exactly have a free fucking hand here, Barton!”

Clint caught the last guardian in a blast of fire, incinerating its abdomen and upper legs. It crashed to the floor with a hiss. He kept the shotgun at ready and looked around, expecting another wave.

“Fucking hell, why does cinnabar have to be so slippery?” Lucy grunted, securing one of the mummy’s hands.

She pressed the mummy to the floor and pinned her wrists together before beginning to intone something Clint couldn’t catch. The mummy growled back at her in the same language, and the funeral cloth began winding back around the mummy’s torso. He fell back a few paces, almost out of the shipping container. The scorch marks from Lucy burning away the hieroglyphs painted in blood along its walls and his own ammunition had thoroughly blackened the interior.

There was a sharp crack followed by a silence that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“Out! Get out! Fall back! Now, now, now!” Lucy barked.

He obeyed automatically, his feet moving before his brain had finished processing the command. The patch of land warped and reeled in front of him, pitching him back. When he scrambled to his feet, they were in the middle of a lush forest. He flattened himself against the ground, his fingers digging into the soil and his heart hammering against his ribs, as a fireball erupted from the container.

“Jones?” he called after a few moments of quiet. He felt the back of his head and grimaced at the patch of singed hair that covered a quarter of his skull.

“Motherfucker,” she groaned. “Why are you still here?”

“You didn’t give me enough time,” he answered, pushing himself up. The shipping containers had been melted through, and the remaining structure was twisted and warped by the heat. Lucy sat up painfully. “Uh, you have a knife in your chest.”

“Yeah. Hurts like a bitch,” she informed him. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, froze, and then stared at her gore-covered fingers. “Fuuuuuuuuuuck. I have mummy brains on my face now, don’t I?”

“As disgusting as that is, I would really be a little more concerned about the knife in your chest,” he pointed out.

“I know, I know, that’s where I keep all my organs,” she grumbled. She prodded gingerly at the weapon.

“Shouldn’t you be more...freaked out about this?”

“I’m a combination of relieved that I got rid of the mummy before I started bleeding, because that wouldn’t have been fun, and in shock that I’ve been stabbed. I think freaked out comes in a few minutes.” She coughed and winced. “Okay, so, let’s see here. Knife out, lacerations closed, blood put back where it came from...”

“Are you actually in any shape to do that?”

“I wouldn’t have gotten very far in life if I couldn’t survive the occasional stabbing, Barton,” she said, flopping back down. “It’s never really what I’d describe as fun, though. Hell, I’m sure you’ve been stabbed a few times. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Nope.” He picked his way closer.

“Seriously? How’ve you managed to avoid getting stabbed, like, ever?” she demanded. “The only qualification for your co-workers is that they be slightly too moral to sign on with Murder Inc. You can’t get a candy bar out of the snack machine without crossing paths with some greater metropolitan area’s principal stabbist.”

“Well, the keystone of my strategy is not going on little diatribes about how I’m surrounded by amoral homicide enthusiasts,” he snorted, examining the wound. “You ready?”

She slapped his hands away when he reached for the knife. “Gimme a second.” She took a breath. “Okay. Count of three.”

“One. Two. Three,” he counted off slowly, then plucked the blade from beneath her collarbone.

“Barbra Streisand!” Lucy hissed, her lips drawing back over her teeth. Clint recoiled as the blood and muscle revealed by the wound glowed like magma before closing up and smoothing over. She took a deep breath and something that had been subtly off about her ribcage righted itself. He closed his eyes, feeling vaguely nauseous. He wondered briefly if that’s what his arm had looked like when she’d healed him.

“You gonna make it?” he asked.

She gave him a dirty look and fished a her cigarettes out of her jacket pocket. She tapped one out and lit it.

“Of course I’m gonna fucking make it. I’m invincible,” she replied sourly. “I’m the great and powerful wizard of Oz. Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain”

“You just got a knife in the lung, and now you’re smoking,” Clint said flatly.

“I’ve got someone else’s rotten brains on my face, a double-digit bank balance, an unwilling accomplice, and a freshly-repaired mortal wound. I don’t see today getting much more smoke ‘em if you got ‘em than this, so yeah, I’m lighting up.” She pushed herself up on her elbows. “I should get you back to SHIELD before Coulson starts sending me aggressively disappointed texts and Thor starts pestering my neighbors for a forwarding address.”

“No rush, I guess. At least not until you can stay upright,” he sighed.

“Aren’t you being magnanimous,” she snorted. “Why the change of heart?”

“Well, you did just sustain a serious injury pursuing the rather noble goal of re-interring the evil undead, so I think some slack is warranted. Then there’s the fact that I don’t want to wind up teleported halfway through a wall or something else really detrimental to my health. Also, I believe you said something about an endless supply of arrows.”

She laughed, then winced. “Ow. Fuck, those ribs are going to be sore for a few days. You didn’t get tagged, dig you?”

“No.” He flexed his arm and rotated his shoulder. “That’s from before, in Burgas.”

“They’ll get you sorted out once you’re home, then,” she grunted. “The quiver’s going to have to wait until at least tomorrow, though.” She flipped a business card at him. “Text me when you get a spare ten minutes after one o’clock, I’ll take care of it then.”

“I help you put down an actual zombie menace, and I get an IOU?” He crossed his arms. “Rip off.”

“Jones, Jones, Jones, and Jones, LLC, thanks you for your cooperation,” she deadpanned.

He groaned. “That only gets brought out when somebody’s getting jacked.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I’m nicer about these things than you guys are. But I should warn you, if you text me and it’s a trap, I’m going to be deeply, fantastically annoyed about it.”

He managed a lopsided grin and sat down on a fallen tree. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

“You should be. Me being annoyed translates into zero arrows for you. You’ll go from having all the arrows you could possibly want to having none of the arrows, ever.” She sat up and waved her hands around. “Curse of the ages!”

“I imagine a curse of the ages probably wouldn’t involve arrows,” Clint said. “And I’m keeping the shotgun.”

“Whatever.” She shook her head. “And it just goes to show what you know. We’ve been using arrows to ruin each other’s days from a distance for a lot longer than we’ve been using guns. The ages look at bullet-related curses and turn up their noses at that sort of fancypants, newfangled nonsense. It’s not appropriate for use in ages-cursing.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d say this was blood-loss talking.”

“Some of it might be,” she admitted. “The lady got me pretty good. I think you putting down her shock troops freed up the power she was using to keep them going. But it’s also been a bad fucking week, and I’ve been up for three days straight, so probably most of it is just me. I mean, seriously, how is it that when some assholes decide they’re going to go loot a fucking tomb, they inevitably manage to pick the ones where they run a good risk of unleashing some ancient, sleeping monster?” She looked around and shook her head. “I just want to go home, dig a bunch of empties out of the recycling bin, crawl into the bathtub, and pretend this was all a gin-fueled nightmare when I wake up.”

He stared at her for a second and started to say something. It took three tries before he gave up and muttered, “I might have to remember that one.”

“I know, right? I’m pretty proud of it. Fuck establishing an alibi for the police. The hardest thing is coming up with an alibi for yourself. Like, did you just get your asses handed to you by a bunch of guys whose stupid theme would lead someone to believe they shouldn’t even be able to move with weather as cold as that? Fuck no, you couldn’t have. You’ve been busy drinking yourself stupid the past three days. You must have dreamed it. Are these really a partially-resurrected sorceress’s brains all over my face? Nope! I probably passed out on an empanada at some point and got surly with anybody who tried to hand me a wetwipe.”

“Wow.” He made a face. “I say this as someone who got his start in a low-rent circus: if you ever get an empanada that looks like what you’ve got smeared on your face, don’t eat it. Under any circumstances. It’s how you wind up at an emergency clinic in Tucson with an Indian doctor repeatedly asking you if you’re positive you haven’t spent the last year in a Hyderabad slum, because that’s the last time he saw parasites this bad. That stuff looks foul.”

“Great. I think.” She got to her feet. “Okay. So...you’re going back to half a mile over New York. I’m going to go autoclave myself. Have fun with the shotgun. Tell Coulson I said hi.”

“Am I really going to get my fee out of this?” he asked.

“Look, it’s really not that big a thing. I’ve done it before. Hell, I’ve done this....” She stopped and pursed her lips.

“What?” Clint demanded, getting to his feet and looking around.

“Nothing, I just don’t think I ever turned something off. I should probably take care of that. Soonish,” she said. “Like, really soon. But anyway, yes, you’re really going to get your magic arrow-sack out of this. I’d offer to pinky-swear about it, but, you know, mummy gore.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he agreed. “Should I tell your brother you say hi, too?”

“Oh, my fucking god,” she growled. “Seriously? You people need to stop encouraging this. It’s a shitty thing to do to somebody you’re supposed to be teammates with. I mean, yes, realpolitik, I get it. But he’s been playing straight with you guys, and you’re fucking him over on this.”

“Come on, Jones. He’s got a goddamn psychic link with you,” Clint retorted. “Nobody could talk him out of it even if they were inclined to try.”

“He’s got a what, now?” she snapped, her eyes wide.

“Magic link? He can tell when you’re around?” Clint frowned. “Is this jogging your memory at all?”

“Alien god-viking motherfucker,” Lucy hissed to herself. He tensed slightly.

“You can tell when he’s around, can’t you?” he asked.

She glared at him and recovered her composure. “Dude. Of course I can. I can sense his presence anywhere on the fucking globe. I pulled that bastard back to life. Carried his fucking soul around like a sack of flour and then put it back in his fucking body. It’s not unusual. Hell, why shouldn’t he be able to tell when I’m around? Between my magic and his magic and generalized ambient magic, he’s probably lucky that stupid hammer still spits lightning and not fire and banana peels. Generalized transference happens sometimes.”

“That’s your explanation? That’s what you’re going with? You’ve got magical residue stuck to each other?”

“No, because that makes it sound ten different kinds of brain-empanada-level gross. And also? It’s magic,” she said smugly. “Good luck contradicting me.”

Clint cocked his head. “Yeah, that works about as well as when I ask Tony if he’s sure about his calculations, and he asks everybody with advanced engineering degrees to raise their hands.”

“So, really well?” Lucy hazarded.

“Tony forgets to carry the one a lot,” he clarified.

“This is my shocked face.” Her expression remained utterly unsurprised. “Still, magic.”

“Not to mention, it only manifested after that weird cuddlefest-cum-movie marathon in Tony’s penthouse,” he persisted.

“I’m reasonably sure that whole thing was just a pot-and-booze-soaked fever-dream,” she said. “Didn’t actually happen.”

“Now you’re just being childish,” he sighed.

“No, childish would be if I just teleported you back to the helicarrier because I didn’t want to have this conversation anymore,” Lucy huffed, scowling. Her expression brightened suddenly. “Oh, wait, that’s right. I don’t care what you think. See you tomorrow.”

Clint landed in the middle of an occupied meeting room with a startled gasp. He had a dozen weapons pointed at him before the occupants registered his identity.

“Hi, guys,” he grunted, steadying himself. “How’d it go in Burgas? Anything fun happen while I was gone?”

*****

Lucy sat down heavily, her hand straying to the spot the sorceress’s knife had punched through flesh and broken bone. As far from ideal as the execution had been, the outcome had been pretty much all she could hope for. Sorceress back in the underworld, nobody else dead, everything dumped back in more or less the same location it had come from. Barton essentially placated and back with the Avengers. SHIELD would probably be in a snit but not quietly posting a bounty. She went to push her hair out of her face again and groaned at the brains still on her hands. Lucy closed her eyes and focused. Fire raced along her skin, and the blood and tissue burned to ash and flaked off. She rubbed her hands together and brushed off her face, shuddering. The undead could officially fuck off.

She cracked her knuckles and leaned back, stretching cramped muscles and cricked joints. Barton’s news about Thor was....She didn’t know quite how to classify it. Disturbing. Annoying. Not entirely unexpected. A problem. She lit another cigarette. He had magic of his own, even if he didn’t use it. The hammer practically was magic, augmenting anything its wielder brought to the table to a considerable degree. She wasn’t sure precisely how Asgardian magic behaved; based on what she’d seen from the healers and Amora, there did appear to be room for desire and raw power to combine into a functional spell, assuming each was present in sufficient quantities. Gods knew she hadn’t set about deliberately cultivating a sense of his whereabouts, but she could still tell where he was. If she concentrated to any degree, she could tell what he was doing and how he was feeling. The way it was simultaneously comforting and disorienting was enough to make her want to break something big and expensive and government-owned. That he’d managed to achieve a limited sense of her presence was, she supposed, unsurprising. Between his inherent abilities and the straightforwardness of his affection, he had the makings of an accidental accomplishment.

Lucy sighed. The more he was around, the more he felt like he was missing when he wasn’t. It was unsettling, the way things felt like they subtly clicked into place when he was present, not least because of the way he was so definitely and absurdly out of place on earth. She rubbed at the newly-repaired patch of muscle under her clavicle and grunted as it twinged. She liked him. He was likeable. He was a pain in the ass, yes, but if anyone else had decided to be half as big a pain in the ass as he was being, she’d have beaten them into the dirt months ago. So there was that.

If it was just him, if he was human, maybe things could be different, she thought. Maybe they could have figured out a way to coexist. But he came with strings attached, and eventually he was going to have to go home, and if he got much more annoying than he already was she really was going to have to set him on fire and dump him somewhere off the coast of Greenland, and it was utterly pointless to get mopey about what might have been if only the situation was somehow completely different. That he reminded her of what it had been like to have a family didn’t change anything.

She took a drag off her cigarette and looked around. There was nothing salvageable of the looted artifacts. Everything that hadn’t been sticking out of her chest at the time had gotten hit with everything she had left. The black knife lay where Barton had dropped it, still smoking. She looked more closely, her eyes narrowing.

“What the fuck?” she muttered. It hadn’t been smoking to begin with, had it? It hadn’t. She was sure of it. She hadn’t started healing herself until after it was out of the wound. She hadn’t particularly wanted melted obsidian sloshing around in her chest cavity.

The smoke grew darker and thicker. After a moment, realization dawned, and Lucy sighed. She patted down her pockets until she found the last two hand-rolled cigars, lit them, and tossed them at the blade. The smoke seemed to purr a little.

“To what do I owe the honor of your presence?” she asked.

“The sarcasm is uncalled for, child.”

“I’m not being sarcastic. My voice is just stuck that way right now.”

“Indeed.” The god did not sound convinced. “We need to speak at some length, you and I. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?” she sighed, getting to her feet. One did not even bother trying to argue with Tezcatlipōca.

“Paris. I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

“Wait.” She stared at the smoke. “Really?”

“Of course not. Where do you think we’re going?”

“An abandoned sinkhole in the middle of fucking nowhere,” she grumbled. “Paris is lovely this time of year. You ever think about mixing things up a little?”

“You ever think of burning some copal in my honor?”

“Uh, I could? If you want me to?” she offered.

“What do you think?”

“I think that’s a trick question, and that I’m going to be setting a fucking forest’s worth of copal on fire as soon as we’re done here.”

“An excellent decision. Come. Let us depart.”

Lucy started to protest, then gave up as the ground vanished beneath her.

Chapter Text

Lucy landed at the mouth of a cave with an undignified yelp. She got up and dusted herself off, taking some solace in it being a cave rather than a cenote. A low growl from a big cat rumbled from farther inside the cavern.

“Come, child.”

“Are you sure we can’t do this someplace pleasant?”

“I am not a god of pleasant things,” he said, his voice making the walls vibrate.

“I don’t know about that,” she countered. “Sorcery’s pretty rockin’.”

“Not when I do it.”

“Okay, point.” She sighed and made her way into the cave. “Mind if I light the way?”

He grunted but didn’t reply. She took it as permission and sparked a small flame into being. It hovered above them, illuminating the large cave, a jaguar-shaped patch of living shadow, and the steep descent at the rear of the cave.

“Have I been here before?” she asked, a memory dancing just out of reach.

“Several times. I believe you got a head start on the psychotropics, though.”

“Oh. One of those places,” she said flatly. Places that were always a physical location but also sometimes the manifestation of something else. She was not in the mood to be in one of those places, but there wasn’t much else for it. “Do I get to find out where we’re going and why we’re going there any time soon?”

“If you can’t figure out the first, I’ll be very disappointed. As to the second, patience.”

“I’ve got a few ideas about the first, yes, but I was hoping that I was wrong.” Not that she was terribly worried about Malīnalxōchitl while she was in the company of Tezcatlipōca, but this was beginning to feel like a habit. “I don’t suppose I can get the condensed version about the second?”

The steep slope at the back of the cave led to a pool of water whose dimensions she couldn’t guess at. The jaguar leaped down easily and sat back on his haunches, waiting for her. She walked down, reorienting gravity around her slightly so that she could do so comfortably instead of sliding or falling. Once she’d joined him, she could see the lake flickering into and back out of existence. A canoe bobbed at the water’s edge. The jaguar jumped into it and slipped into the shape of an extraordinarily handsome man. He lounged back in the prow and dangled the leg with the missing foot over the side.

“Is that such a great idea?” she asked. “I mean, that’s how you lost that bit in the first place, isn’t it?”

Black eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Just get in.”

She clambered into the canoe, rocking it enough to irritate him.

“Will you please be careful?” he snapped.

“I just got these boots,” she grumbled, “and I’d prefer not to ruin them already.”

“If you’d worn something sensible, like sandals, you wouldn’t have these problems,” he sniffed.

She kicked off from the shore and settled into the stern. The little boat propelled itself slowly but deliberately toward a huge stone jaguar’s maw carved around another opening on the other side of the lake. It was some time before he spoke again.

“I don’t suppose it’s escaped you that I lost my foot creating the earth?” he asked.

“Cipactli ate it and then you, um, used her to make the world, yeah?” she said. It wasn’t quite right, and she knew it, but she couldn’t remember what she was missing.

He snorted. “I used it as bait to trap the beast in order to make the world, child. It was a willing sacrifice in exchange for the power to create without all being devoured by the ever-hungering.”

“Good job.” She raised her hand for a high five.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked. His voice had a sharp edge to it.

“Being left hanging,” she said. “Come on. You hooked the earth crocodile with your own foot. If that doesn’t earn you props, I don’t know what does.”

“Put your hand down, you ridiculous creature.”

She grudgingly dropped her arm. “Is that why I’m here? You want your foot back?”

“Don’t be foolish. Once sacrificed to such a goal, a thing cannot be reclaimed.” He shifted position, and his armbands rattled. “You know that I was the sun? The other gods made blood sacrifices to me so that I could keep humanity alive.”

“You sure you don’t want that high five?”

“Stop provoking me.” He glowered at her. “My brother grew jealous and sought to overthrow me,” he continued. “Eventually, he succeeded. He hurled me from the sky, and an endless night fell, and men were destroyed. My brother does not take the full measure of things when he makes his plans, you see. He usurped me.”

“That bastard,” Lucy mollified him.

“Don’t think to patronize me, child,” he warned. “We made humanity anew. My brother took my place as the sun. For a time, things were at peace in spite of him.”

The canoe glided through the jaguar’s mouth, and Lucy blinked, trying to clear her eyes. The cave beyond was more of a tunnel, and the glistening rocks and smooth curves reminded her of nothing so much as a throat. Hieroglyphs and murals detailing the story decorated the walls. They moved as Tezcatlipōca spoke. Giants went through the motions of their lives and worshipped their gods under the light of a half-sun in the shape of a prowling jaguar. When it was struck from the sky, it fell upon them and slaughtered every last one. The darkness eventually gave way as the god who had felled the previous sun ascended, stretching white-feathered wings and shining on a new race of men and women.

“Quetzalcohuātl was lenient beyond all measure. Mankind learned riot and disobedience under his reign. They abandoned the temples and forgot what was due to us in exchange for our labors and our gifts.” His eyes narrowed to slits. The people on the wall revelled while the altars lay empty and dry and the effigies gathered dust and grime. The painted cat prowled at the edges of their fires, its expression mirroring the god’s. “They were rebuked.”

“I see,” she said. The jaguar on the wall pounced on their fire, his paw scattering ash and cinder and leaving the scene dark. When the quetzal sun rose, a fluttering wheel of feathers and scales, he saw monkeys where humanity had been.

“I made their forms match what their hearts had become,” he growled. “My brother could not see the justice of it. He’d have left us to founder and wither, dooming his precious ingrates in the process. Of course, in the tantrum he threw afterwards, he destroyed them all anyway.” A thin, cold smile twisted his lips. “As I said, my brother does not take the full measure of things.”

The mural showed a distraught sun beating wings whose span covered half the sky against his breast in anger and despair. The wind flattened forests, beat the sea up over its shores, and blasted the monkeys from the human dwellings they’d taken shelter in. He didn’t subside until the world had almost been unmade. Quetzalcohuātl hung his head, folded his feathers flat against his scales, and descended from the sky.

“We chose another among our number to serve the new humans as their sun, but he proved capricious and easily distracted.” His breastplate gleamed in the light of Lucy’s flame, and his eyes glittered as the painted jaguar moved on from the hurricane to the new sun, padding around a beautiful woman as she wove feathers and jade into a cloak. The sun took the cloak, and the cat stole away with the woman, leaving the sun’s house empty. “A rain god who won’t rain. Can you imagine? Without his wife, he couldn’t even tolerate the prayers and sacrifices the people made to win his favor. The very idea of mortals being happy while his house lay barren was infuriating to him.”

Fire poured down from the sun, running over the land like the water he refused them. The earth burned until nothing remained. Once more, the gods came together to re-make humans, kneading the ash and soot together into the proper shape and breathing life into them. The previous sun was joined by a new woman, who rose to light the new world.

“Chālchiuhtlicuē had the unusual duty of replacing Tlaloc in the sky and Tlaloc’s wife in their home. She had a lovely face, but her heart was hollow and false. In spite of that, she managed to dote on men even more thoroughly than my idiot brother did.” The painted jaguar crept out onto a branch hanging over the new sun, where she sat looking into a small spring. In the spring’s reflection, Lucy could see not the goddess’s face but her temples full to bursting and her altars piled high with offerings.

“Looks like it worked out all right for her, though,” she observed.

Tezcatlipōca shrugged, his expression hardening slightly. The jaguar’s ears flattened back against its skull as the sun smiled. Tail thrashing and claws shredding the tree’s bark, he lowered his head until he was only a few inches from the goddess’s ear. His jaws moved, and a thin scroll of hieroglyphs unfurled, snapping from his teeth to her ear. The sun’s face clouded over, and she began to weep. Her red tears fell against the surface of the pool, and torrential rains fell on her people.

“Perhaps for a time, it went well for her. But the people neglected their duties to the rest of us. One cannot be counted as suitably pious if one worships only one deity, can one?” he asked tartly.

“Does that mean I have to burn copal for everybody?”

He grimaced at her. “They get their share from their own children.”

“Just checking,” she sighed. The water level in the tunnel rose as they moved along and the sun continued to cry. The pool slowly grew cloudier and darker from her tears until it was the color of blood.

“What good is a sun who drowns her people?” he asked.

“Uh, not much?” she offered when it became clear that it wasn’t a rhetorical question. He huffed.

“You’re not even paying attention,” he muttered.

“No need to be a dick about this, dude.” The jaguar in the mural was lounging on the tree over the gore-bathed pond, licking his chops. “You could have just handed me a book like last time.”

“Last time? What do I have to do with some petty death-lords being duped out of their power?” he spat. “You think I’m going to have some soulless reproduction of sacred texts you should have learned on your mother’s knee stuffed into your pocket before I turn you loose?”

“You could? I mean, if the moral here is ‘Don’t piss off the sun,’ message fucking received.”

“The message is slightly more complicated than that,” Tezcatlipōca hissed. The cave walls glowed red as Chālchiuhtlicuē’s pool overflowed its bounds, and the stone pulsed with the rhythm of a heartbeat. The water eventually swallowed her, or she dissolved into it, Lucy was unsure which. Darkness fell.

“Chālchiuhtlicuē failed completely in her task. A few of her favorites were transformed into fish so that they avoided death by drowning, but the rest perished. My brother could not accept it any more than he’d accepted my judgment against his beast-men.”

White wings cut through the darkness, and the red pulse returned as Quetzalcohuātl raised an obsidian blade to his earlobes, then his tongue, then his foreskin. The blood flowed over the pile of bones at his feet. They were clothed in flesh again as the god’s blood rained over them, and they stirred back to life as a green hummingbird--the new sun--darted into the sky.

“Huītzilopōchtli’s the sun now,” Lucy observed. “We’re done, then? Cool. This was all fascinating, but...” She caught his look. “Okay, not done. Also cool.”

“You were much more sympathetic when you first arrived on this plane,” the god growled.

“Not possible. I’m so sympathetic to whatever it is you’re trying to communicate that it hurts. I feel your pain. Douchebag brothers are the worst.”

“Indeed.” The god sighed, annoyed, and trailed his fingertips through the water. The canoe gained speed and tipped downward. The hummingbird-sun kept pace with them, always hovering slightly in front of the prow.

Lucy let her small flame go out, gripped the edges of the boat, and braced herself. “Okay, so...does this have to do with that weird-ass kind-of prophecy that had everybody thinking Cortés might be Quetzalcohuātl until he gave everybody smallpox and Christianity? Something about the age of the sixth sun being imminent?”

“Humans,” Tezcatlipōca growled. “Nobody thought that obnoxious Spanish illiterate was my brother, and the sixth sun is always imminent.”

“I’m not hearing a no.”

“Very well. Yes, this has to do with the current phase of my brother’s never-ending struggle against my better-earned claim over the world.”

“He’s not happy that Hummingbird’s the sun?” Lucy asked. “Why? Didn’t he swipe the fire he used to be the sun himself from Huītzilopōchtli in the first place? I’d think he’d be okay with it, unless you’re planning to go all chicken-killer on everybody again.”

The god’s lip curled. “My brother has never been content to rely on the work of others, even if he’s had to steal it in order to make anything of himself.”

The painted god on the wall crept toward a fire as Huītzilopōchtli slept. A duplicate below that scene quietly gathered the bones of the drowned while a death-god sang drunkenly at the moon. A third copy below the Quetzalcohuātl stealthily stowing bones in his pack eyed the panther-sun with envy and hefted a great war-club in his hands.

“Our temples lie sunken and empty. People have forgotten us. It grows more and more difficult for Huītzilopōchtli to win his battle against his sister and their brothers.” The hummingbird on the wall raised a torch against a woman’s pale, bloodless head, and an army’s worth of shining darts descending upon him.

“He seemed to be doing well enough with that last time I saw him,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Different sister,” Tezcatlipōca replied. The woman’s head scowled at them, then went still and faded into the moon.

“Ah. So, um, your brother wants to...take over the world?” Lucy guessed.

“My brother misses the adoration the people used to heap upon him. He saw the love they had for Chālchiuhtlicuē, and his jealousy was inflamed even then. If she hadn’t reacted so badly to the truth when I revealed it, he’d have overthrown her in time. Perhaps if she had married him instead of Tlaloc, he might have been content to bask in their shared glory.” He shook his head. “I doubt it, though. I know my brother. His pride is overweening.”

“So, yes.”

The water reached a level, the stream emptying into a huge swamp. They slid from under the roof of the cave, losing Huītzilopōchtli and the myriad Quetzalcohuātls and whatever else wanted to contradict or explain Tezcatlipōca’s story. Lucy glanced around. The trees were hung with shields and atlatls, spindles and pestles, spears and cloaks. A skull still wrapped in a paper headband grinned at them from the fork of one tree, and a scepter glittered in the mud below it.

“I’ve never been to this part of the underworld before,” she remarked, looking up at the stars. “This is opposite the normal entrance, isn’t it?”

“This is the beginning of the path of gods. You came here before, when you first arrived.” He pointed vaguely in the direction of one copse, and Lucy tilted her head. A golden helmet with two long, recurved horns gleamed where it hung from a thick branch. Below it, laid over a thick shrub, were bits and pieces of matching armor. A belt of knives was looped over a lower branch. They were laughably out of keeping with the rest of the remnants of divine lives. “You left them there, when you and I struck our bargain.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Lucy ran her hands through her hair. She was torn between leaving them here, safe, hidden away, buried like the damning evidence they were, and thinking that it would mean a great deal to Thor to get them back. She wouldn’t even have to give them to him. She could dump them in a dusty SHIELD evidence/artifact warehouse somewhere and let him find them on his own. He was immortal. They’d turn up eventually, when somebody got bored and did inventory. She chewed her lip and made a decision based on impulse and, she thought, cumulative brain damage from chronic abuse of controlled substances. “Can I have them back?”

“They’re yours,” Tezcatlipōca said. “Go get them if you want them.”

She glanced at her boots and sighed heavily. She got up, took a tentative step out of the canoe, and silently congratulated herself when the surface of the water held her. A very minor miracle, yes, but the underworld’s swamps were practically malevolent when it came to their ability to foul and mire even the most careful magicians. The first time she’d blundered into the one on the other side of the realm, she’d spent almost a week in the ocean before she’d felt clean again. She wobbled carefully to the knot of trees, shucked her jacket, and started rolling the armor up in it. Lucy tied the sleeves around the bundle and knotted them, securing it. She slung the belt over her shoulder, tucked the helm under one arm and the jacket under the other, and made her way back to the canoe. The metal felt strangely warm and light in her hands.

“Do you think you could possibly stop the canoe for one fucking second?” she demanded.

He seemed to think about it for a shade too long before granting the request. Lucy deposited the salvage in the center of the canoe and climbed back in. She felt stupid and ridiculous the moment she looked at the detritus of her old life piled haphazardly in front of her. What the hell was she thinking? I should toss them overboard and let them sink, give them a proper burial. She couldn’t bring herself to touch them again.

“We struck a bargain, did we?” she grumbled, settling back into place.

“Mmm. I think you had some idea of wriggling out of it, at the time.”

“I may yet,” she warned him. His lips parted in a cold smile, sliding back to reveal jaguar fangs.

“I think not.” The boat began moving again. The tools and weapons and ornaments gave way to enormous spiderwebs and altars and monuments. Lucy toyed with her ring. “You’ve surely surmised for yourself that my brother is a bit of an idiot.”

“I think you just straight up explained that one,” she said quickly. “No surmising reuired.”

His dark eyes flashed at her tone. “My brother chose to invest a mortal with his power, to act directly and bring about the change he desired.”

She wrinkled her nose. “An avatar?”

Tezcatlipōca laughed heartily, his voice roaring through the quiet swamp. “Would that he had. This would have been a simple thing if that’s what he’d done. No. He chose a...champion, you’d call it.”

“That sounds...less than fun.” Lucy flicked a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, her mind working. She didn’t remember anything before she was three or four. She’d couldn’t even begin to guess at what sort of deal she’d struck with the night-god, or why he was telling her this. There was a level on which she believed him to be telling the truth, just like, intellectually, she knew the objects she’d retrieved from the wayside had once belonged to her. Every other level, however, was still empty, and her memory was refusing to fill it in.

His nostrils flared at the smoke. “Feh. Pale, wretched things. Give me a cigar.”

“I gave you the last two I had while we were topside,” she told him. He sulked.

“Then give me one of those poor excuses for a cigar.” She did as he asked, shaking her head. “This is what I mean when I say mankind has become debased and corrupt. It is an evil thing when the heart is torn from something’s breast without it benefiting anyone, no?”

“Your brother picked a champion?” she prompted him.

An illusion shimmered across the surface of the water, showing her a man perhaps a few years older than her with dark hair, darkly bronzed skin, and a friendly smile. He was wearing chinos and a white polo shirt. She looked at the god in silent question.

“Joe Navarez, of Fort Worth, Texas,” he intoned.

Lucy stared at the image. She could feel the other shoe getting ready to drop. “Okay.”

“He is employed to be what you people call a ‘cost engineer’ for a builders’ guild. An honorable-seeming profession, though he mostly works on inferior projects relating to bloodless commerce.”

“Your brother’s champion is just some fucking dude?” she sputtered. “Some fucking dude named Joe who lives in fucking Texas and works as a fucking architect’s fucking accountant? What the fuck do you want me to do, go cut the bottoms out of all his pocket protectors? Switch his calculator to base-16? Reset all his GPS equipment?”

“While I certainly wouldn’t dissuade you from doing so, it would be of little use. This is the man my brother selected as his champion, not the one in which my brother invested his power.”

“I...what?”

“I did mention my brother’s impatience and general incompetence, did I not?” The smoke from his cigarette wreathed his form, clinging close as if it were caught in some unfelt slipstream. The obsidian disc in the center of his breastplate flashed and crackled. “My brother, the great Quetzalcohuātl, the god who would reign over his beloved mortals as the sun once more, in his infinite wisdom and care and attention to detail, selected this man as his champion and then invested what was to have been that man’s power into this.”

His lip curled back contemptuously as the image in the water blurred and shifted into the shape of her nemesis.

“Are you fucking kidding me.” She couldn’t even make it sound like a question. “Are you seriously telling me that the fucking sea scorpion I’ve been fighting because he wants to turn the world back into a Permian nightmare is doing the work of another god.” She ground the heel of her palm into her forehead. “Can we turn this thing around? I think I need to go apologize to Malīnalxōchitl.”

“Unnecessary,” he stated.

“Seriously? I figured it for a close thing when I thought he was just a god. There’s no way I’m going to be able to beat what’s effectively two gods standing on each other’s shoulders. No fucking way.”

“Of course you can. Stop being such a child. That was the whole point of our arrangement.” The god exhaled, long and deep, and Lucy realized the smoke smelled of incense instead of tobacco. “When my brother realized what he’d done, he was desperate, but he was also proud. He did not wish to admit it. He tried taunting me, telling me that his triumph was assured, that the world would be his to cosset again.” He fixed her with a sharp glare. “My brother is terrible at dissembling.”

She glared back. “Skip to the part where I can somehow beat a double-superpowered monstrosity.”

“No.” Tezcatlipōca stretched. “As I was saying, my brother was unable to deceive me for more than the space of a day. I quickly found out what he’d done. Can you imagine my wrath? He’d overthrow humanity completely and replace them with a race of voiceless beasts. Do you know how many temples those spineless insects built, when they ruled? What songs they sang? What sacrifices they made?”

“None?” she guessed.

“None!” he snarled. “And even if they did, we’d be the laughingstocks of the cosmos, being worshipped by something like that. Naturally, my brother, having caused the disaster, wanted none of setting it right. It took me a full month to make him admit what he’d done. It took me another month to make him agree to my plan.”

“Which was?” she prompted when he lapsed into silence.

“You,” he grunted.

“Me.”

“You.”

“That’s a shitty plan,” she told him, crossing her arms.

He pretended not to have heard her. “Where you came from, I cared not. Only that you were present, ready to hand. A god without a pantheon, without a vested interest in one party or the other. A god who could act as a surrogate without objection or partiality. A god who could act as a mercenary. A god to whom my power could be added, a god who could be set in the way of my brother’s misbegotten stratagem.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I do begin to see the disadvantages of my plan, however,” he said warningly.

“What did I get out of this? I know my magic’s my own. You’re not what’s fueling me.”

“You, my little exile, got to live.” He grinned at her, his expression feral and cunning. She regretted giving him the cigarette. “To be of any use to us, you needed to be clothed in flesh again. I think you’d rather had enough of roaming the land of the dead, walking a star-road that could not take you home. In return for doing this for me, I saw to it that you were reborn. I extended my favor to one of the unfaithful on your behalf.”

“That doesn’t seem like much if I’m just going to get my ass torn apart by a giant fucking scorpion,” Lucy grumbled

“You also wanted to reign.” He snorted. “At the time, anyway. When the opportunity came to take your gift, you declined it. Though, if you behave yourself properly, it would not be too late to go and reclaim it.”

Her jaw dropped. “That was you?”

“Trying to guide you to a throne? Who else would it be? I’m the kingmaker, child. No one else could have fashioned you into the queen I needed.” She shivered at his words.

“So instead of your brother accidentally killing us all and turning the place over to water-borne cockroaches, you want to deliberately kill us all and...I’m marginally unclear on what comes after that.”

“Nothing. That was part of the...arrangement between my brother and I. A truce, until after this battle has been won. I would not seek supremacy through you if he did not seek supremacy through the god of the eurypterids. Once you’ve defeated the creature, we return to our fight. For now, we are united by the common goal of retaining humanity.”

“You just said you meant for me to take over the world,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “That does not mean I would have destroyed it, or even that I’d have taken absolute control over it. Merely that you would have been instrumental in returning the earth to balance and proper respect for its deities.”

“The distinction between ‘taking it over’ and ‘respect for you guys’ is pretty meaningless.”

“It is not. None have ever ruled, but with my blessing. All who wear a crown, all who govern their fellows, must pay service to me or fall in their turn. You would simply have been no different than any other potentate.” He yawned, seeming bored. “In any event, my brother objected to the idea of a child-god set loose on the face of the earth with my power behind them. You have not yet received the portion of my power our bargain allows me to throw behind you.”

“That seems...unexpectedly wise, given the situation.”

“Truly? It was my opinion that you being unfamiliar with the amount of power I can give you would lead you into disadvantage during the actual battle.”

“Probably not as much of a disadvantage as me frying myself the first time I tried to do anything,” she countered. “It’s hard to do shit when you’re a greasy ash-smear on the ground.”

“And yet I’m convinced you could still have managed it,” the god sighed.

“So why now?”

“Why now? Why now? Because now is the time for you to quit, as one might say, fucking around and get to work.” He bared his fangs again. “What you do afterwards is your own affair, but you are currently under contract. Focus on the task at hand to the best of your self-stunted ability. You will bring this mistake to an end, and you will do it quickly.”

She eyed him carefully. “Is this because now I could theoretically leave the planet if I wanted?”

“Of course not.” He slapped the water with his palm irritably.

Lucy looked down at the helm at her feet. It was still polished to a bright sheen. A great amount of craftsmanship had clearly gone into its construction. It still seemed a pathetic, abandoned thing. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Because if it is, I can’t. Leave, I mean. I’d sooner cut off my hand.” She finished her cigarette and carefully burned the filter to ash before dusting her hands off into the water. “Wherever the fuck I was before, this is my home now. There is no other world.”

“Your sincerity and sentiment are duly noted,” he growled, “but you’ll forgive me, I hope, if I don’t take your word for it.”

“I could say the same about your promise of aid.” She picked at her sleeve. “I could say the same about this whole damn thing. What the fuck was I thinking, trading a suicide mission for a shot at living again? This place ain’t that bad.”

“Great things are not bought cheaply,” he pointed out. “Whatever your reasoning, you agreed to the trade.”

“Was I high?” Lucy grunted. She stared at the helm again. It was an odd sensation, like suddenly being struck with vertigo. “I don’t want to die. Not that I can’t come back from.”

“Then win.”

“Well, then.” She kicked at the helm sullenly. “Problem solved.”

Chapter Text

They were falling. They were falling, and there wasn’t a way to stop. She’d tried to push through the fog, tried to reach the others, and then the ground hadn’t been there anymore. Her arm hurt, and her skin was blistered, and she felt like she’d been caught in a blast furnace, but even that shouldn’t have been able to actually hurt her. Where the hell were they? A gust of wind hit her, and she thought she might be moving up instead of down, the wind’s force strong enough to overcome gravity for a moment. She was twisting, then, trying to get back down. She could hear voices, and then she was choking on the overwhelming smell of...what? She knew that smell. She couldn’t see, and what she could hear over the roar of the wind and the roar of flames and the roar of voices rising in pain and anger was worse than useless. But that smell was important somehow.

Heated air, and smoke, and...something animal. Large and animal. Not a mammal. Not a bird. Reptile. Lizard. She tried dashing the tears out of her eyes, hoping to clear them and accomplishing nothing. The wind was too strong, too hot, too full of ash. Her magic wasn’t working. She hit the ground with a sharp shock, hard enough to crack ribs and rattle teeth and drive the breath from her body. She got her intact arm under her and pushed up, trying to scramble to her feet. The smoke cleared just long enough for her to get a look around her. A half-dozen armored warriors lay scattered on the ground, and above them all reared a dragon.

The dragon was somehow not unexpected, and her mind protested even as her body moved toward it. She called...something. Unfamiliar magic flowed through her body, and she felt an answer from a distance. Something moving toward them. A hammer. Mjolnir.

Lucy shook herself violently. This didn’t make sense. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t her. She tried to peel off the foreign power, the foreign--memory, it had to be a memory, what the fuck else could it be--mind, and almost succeeded. It clung like a spiderweb, stretching and sticking even as she kicked harder against it. The view before her warped and cracked under her efforts, but the pain of her--no, not hers, someone else’s--injuries spiked as soon as the illusion started to dissolve. Her fingers closed around Mjolnir’s handle, and then she was lifting it, swinging it, striking out with a bolt of lightning. Its power conspired against her, winding her more tightly into the borrowed body. She growled, dug in heels that weren’t hers, and held back when the flesh started forward. It wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. None of this made sense. She was hallucinating. Dreaming. Going mad. She tore free, and the body holding the hammer faltered and started to collapse. The dragon laughed, a booming howl that echoed and shook the ground beneath them.

“So falls the mighty Thor,” it hissed, looming over the slumped figure. Lucy fought to get farther away from the pull. It was like trying to swim in molasses. The dragon inhaled, and Thor turned his head, his blue eyes startlingly bright in his ash-fouled face and pleading as they met hers.

“Help me, brother.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but the dragon’s snarl cut her off.

“Calling for your mother? A dishonorable end for the son of Odin. Fitting that vermin should die as such!” Flame poured from its mouth, blotting out everything but the fire.

Lucy clawed her way back to wakefulness, blinking cautiously. Her heart was hammering against her ribs so hard she thought they might break. “Fucking hell on wheels.”

It hadn’t been a dream. Or rather, not entirely. The wail-squawking of a fire alarm was drowning out all rational thought, her mouth tasted of soot, and she was an inch deep in water from the overhead sprinklers. She shifted and found that her leg was pinned under an overturned bar booth. She spit blood and kicked it off her. A thought killed the klaxon and the sprinklers, and she looked around, pressing her hand against the knot on the side of her skull. Her head throbbed, and a glance down informed her that her previously white blouse was covered in old blood, fresh blood, soot, grass stains, and coffee. Her palm was sticky and crimson when she pulled it away from her face. The rest of her body felt like a mass of bruises, abrasions, and strains. She’d been....She couldn’t remember. She was reasonably sure she was at least partially responsible for the state the bar was in, but that was experience rather than memory talking.

She picked her way over the sodden ruins, rifled through the remains of the counter, and took a long pull from the first intact bottle of rum she found. She swallowed and tried to focus. Trashed as the place was, she was more or less sure it was the Drunken Lord. She closed her eyes. Villain bar. A fight had started. No, she’d started a fight.

I think.

Lucy looked around blearily. Yes, she’d started the fight. She’d shaken up Magic Hateball and then aimed his faceplate at Womanaconda and Firebrand, who’d gone off and lit up somebody else’s table and half the countertop. The whole place had gone up in a superpowered riot. The last thing she remembered clearly was a brightly-scaled tail the size of a manhole cover coming at her face. That had been....She looked at the floor and the walls. Probably less than an hour or two ago. The place was a bad bar in a bad section of a bad town. Everybody had cleared out, but the cops wouldn’t be showing up until morning. She felt like she’d been run over with a steamroller. Her phone chirped at her, and she glanced at it disinterestedly, then with greater attention.

“That can’t be right,” she muttered to herself, staring at the date display. Saturday? It should be Monday. She concentrated. Maybe, if she’d gotten really shitfaced after the whole thing with the mummy, it could be Tuesday or Wednesday. Saturday was beyond the pale.

She staggered out of the hole in the wall that had been a side door and rebooted the device. It steadfastly refused to admit to any date except Saturday. Lucy rubbed her eyes. It was irrational to suspect the phone of taking pleasure in the date. That was a concussion talking. Or a hangover. What the hell had she been doing for the past six days? Seven days? What had possessed her to start that fight? She’d been angry about something, not at them. She’d wanted to hit something. A lot of things. She’d been furious. About...something.

She checked her phone. All her outgoing calls were to numbers she didn’t recognize. All her incoming calls were from people she didn’t want to talk to. Half of them were from Hawkeye, doubtless about the quiver upgrade she’d promised him. She looked down at herself. They probably wouldn’t appreciate her turning up looking like this. She wouldn’t appreciate the likely sarcasm about the lateness of payment. She rubbed her neck and glanced around the alley. It was filthy, but no filthier than she was at the moment. The one homeless man taking shelter behind a dumpster was determinedly pretending to still be asleep.

Why the hell hadn’t she taken care of that stupid quiver on time? They’d put down the mummy. She’d sent him home. She’d meant to grab a six-pack and hit the beach and see him the next day. She’d run into Tezcatlipōca. Oh. That’s right. I’m going to die because some divine jackfuck can’t tell the difference between a quantity surveyor and an ocean-going arachnid the size of an F-250.

Lucy ran her fingers through her sopping, tangled hair and groaned. At least her excuse for crawling into a bottle and getting into a fight was a decent one. She stretched tentatively. At least one fight. Probably more like five or six fights, based on how she was feeling. Fucking Quetzalcohuātl. Motherfucking Quetzalcohuātl. What the fucking fuck had the pair of them been thinking, playing games like that with the planet? What the fucking fuck had she been thinking, agreeing to get sucked into it? She could have found another way to get resurrected. It wasn’t as if it was hard, just to come back to life. It wasn’t like she’d needed to get somebody to agree to birth a fucking god. She could have figured that part out later. They’d all gone temporarily insane. It was the only explanation. The pair of them had wrecked the world, and she’d climbed right onto that bandwagon without thinking it through, and now everything was fucked sideways. She gritted her teeth and saw fire flicker behind her vision. Her head was pounding like a kettle drum, and she had the sudden urge to tear out someone’s heart and eat it. She needed another bottle or two of rum and a new bar.

“It doesn’t count as a black-out if you never come out of it, right?” she asked herself, tripping out of the alley and onto the street.

She ran her fingers over her the lump on her head and assessed the damage. Bad enough that she should fix it. She took care of her concussion while she was at it and fumbled for her cigarettes. The pack squished when she put her hand on it, leaking brown liquid all over her skirt. She grimaced. That hadn’t been coffee on her shirt after all. Or maybe it had been both. Coffee and tobacco juice. It should have been enough to put her off the things for good. She hurled them in the vague direction of an overturned trash can.

Her wallet was gone. One of her earrings was missing. Her lighter and brass knuckles were in her pockets, but she’d have to work at it to lose either one for long. She’d broken the heel of one of her boots at some point and fixed it with duct tape. O rather, someone else had fixed it with duct tape. The job was careful and thorough in a way her kludges never were. Her phone was cracked. She’d taken a knife off somebody at some point, possibly the old fashioned, having-been-stabbed-with-it way. She had a few slashes in the back of her jacket that more or less fit its width. One way or another, it was hers now.

Lucy admired the craftsmanship for a second, then had the unpleasant sensation of wheels turning and something almost catching. It was too decorative for one of the standard mercenary types to have been carrying. She turned it over. Not purely ceremonial, though; it was obviously functional and meant to be used, meant to be cleaned. More like something Kraven or one of the other honor-bound psychos would be toting. But the alloy was odd. It was too light, almost. It felt strangely warm, like it wasn’t conducting heat properly. Wakandan? No, not vibranium. She ran her thumb over the hilt. Asgardian. She’d made a thorough ass of herself by going and retrieving that stupid armor, then she’d made a complete and utter ass of herself by chucking it right afterwards. Lucy frowned. She thought. She had, hadn’t she? She’d meant to. She groaned again, a brief image dancing through her mind. A brief image of one of those golden horns in her hand, and the rounded dome of the helm smashing into someone else’s face at high velocity.

She’d dredged incriminating evidence out of the one place nobody else on the entire fucking planet was ever going to find it and then used it as a bludgeon and probably left it at another crime scene. Well, not all of it. She stared at the knife. She’d had the unprecedented forethought to keep at least one piece with her, just in case whoever pulled the report had any doubts about who’d done it and was having trouble connecting it to her. She sighed.

“I am officially the dumbest asshole in the long and storied fucking history of mankind. Maybe I should call up Canada and tell them sorry I’m not sorry while I’m on a roll.” The idea of fighting the entirety of Canada in one go had a certain strange appeal. She chalked it up to her life having become a cosmic rimshot.

Lucy tossed the knife down a storm drain and trudged toward a flickering neon sign advertising “LIQ OR” in garish colors. The wind was picking up, and it felt like a storm was blowing in. She stuck her hands in her pockets and ducked her head against the stinging grit it kicked into the air. She had a few seconds of generalized, self-pitying misery before she was brought to a halt by the smell of blood and the taste of smoke and the feeling of four sharp claws dragging down her back, power crackling across her skin. She spun around and dropped into a crouch, her body moving instinctively even as her muddled brain registered the fact that the attack wasn’t on her.

Stray images from her dream--no, not a dream, not a dream--came crashing back over her. Mjolnir. She put her hand to her head. She didn’t want to deal with this right now. Thor. It was everything she didn’t feel like fucking dealing with right now. He needed her. A motherfucking dragon. He probably needed her even more than usual.

She closed her eyes. How had this become her fucking life? Gods who couldn’t get anything right and then expected her to fix it. Brothers who couldn’t stay out of trouble and then expected her to fix it. Government agents who couldn’t be diplomatic about anything and then expected her to fix it. At what point in fucking time had she been turned into the responsible one? She didn’t remember being invited to the meeting where she’d been voted into office. She didn’t remember taking anything in exchange for waving a magic wand and undoing everybody else’s mistakes and fuck-ups. She didn’t want to fix things. She wanted to break things. Big things. Things that hit back and breathed fire and bled when they broke. She gritted her teeth, and carefully unclenched her fists. She was going to fix it, all right. She was going to fix it so hard that her next jacket was going to be made out of dragon skin.

*****

Thor struggled back to consciousness. Agony was racing along every nerve in his body. His limbs would not obey him. He tried to move, a slow test of injured muscle against the weight of his body, only to find that his arms were bound to a yoke. The angle would not permit more than a minute shift without sharp, tearing bolts of pain. His eyes swept over what he could see of his surroundings. Charred ruin surrounded a green and gold dragon the size of a house. He closed his eyes again. Fafnir. He could hear nothing but the beast-king’s breathing. He’d been accompanied, before the battle. Sif and Fandral. The Einherjar. Loki. No, not Loki. He’d imagined her presence. He’d called out to her for help. She hadn’t been with them. She hadn’t come.

“Awake at last, Odinson?” Fafnir growled, sliding off the melted remains of a boulder. Thor stifled a groan of despair as the dragon stalked around him. The battle had drained him to the dregs. A sharp cry half-escaped him when the beast’s claws tore a set of stripes down his back. He bit down on his lip so hard he felt it split and begin to bleed. A blast of oven-hot air struck the wounds as the dragon snorted. “Do not think yourself fortunate that I’ve spared you for now. I will cast your broken corpse at your father’s feet before putting the spires of Asgard to the torch.”

“You may defeat me, but Asgard will never fall before you,” he spat, trying to lever himself upon onto his knees.

One huge, sharp-taloned foot settled between his shoulders and pushed him back down with enough force to make his ribs creak. A fanged maw that stank like a funeral pyre hovered mere inches from his face.

“Hey, l don’t want to intrude or anything, but do you think maybe I could just give him a lift to the hospital or something? He’s looking a little bit down for the count over there.” The voice was questioning and thin and shot through with fear, and it took Thor a moment to place it. Lucy. His stomach dropped.

“No,” he whispered. The dragon grinned at him, scaled lips dragging back over sharp teeth.

“What have we here?” Fafnir growled, rearing up on his hind legs to examine the intruder. “A girl-child? How delightful.”

Thor caught sight of her on the far side of the dragon. Her long black hair streamed back from her face when Fafnir beat his wings, and she shielded her eyes. The crisp white blouse and long gray skirt were plastered against her skin by the same force. He could see neither armor nor weapon on her. She seemed even thinner and more fragile than the last time he’d seen her. The picture she presented as she stood against Fafnir was grimly pathetic. The dragon laughed and advanced a step. She started and fell back, jade eyes wide with fear.

“Run!” Thor shouted. He thrashed at the ropes binding him to the yoke and tried to call Mjolnir.

Fafnir dropped to all fours, his long neck snaking toward Lucy. She scrambled back again.

“I’m sure we can work something out,” she stammered, holding her hands up as if she could ward the beast off with that alone.

“Surely,” Fafnir chuckled. “Perhaps in return for my time, you could offer me a few mouthfuls of meat.”

“No! Fafnir, your quarrel is with me!”

“I’d hardly qualify this as a quarrel,” the dragon purred. He struck without further warning, and Thor cringed, expecting the sound of flesh being rent from bone. The teeth closed on thin air with a sharp report. Fafnir barely had time to register the missed strike before the genuine article snapped into focus to the right of his head.

“Ka-pow, motherfucker!” Lucy snarled, swinging a sledgehammer up and connecting with the dragon’s jaw.

Thor stared at her, barely registering the crunch of bone and the dragon’s howl of pain. She looked like a particularly feral, half-drowned rat. He had a brief, mad pang of pity for the dragon. Fafnir jerked away from her as another blow fell home, this time striking the ankle of a forepaw.

“Loki!” he shouted, renewing his struggles against the rope.

“Just a second!” she called back. “I’m kind of busy here!”

Fafnir reared back and struck at her again, a red froth spilling from his jaws where the hammer had loosened teeth. This time his descent was met with another pair of fangs. Where Lucy had been, an enormous, monstrous serpent coiled. She latched onto Fafnir’s throat, toppling him over backwards and winding around him. She pinned one wing and his undamaged foreleg to his sides, black-and-white-ribbed coils undulating over his ribs as she squeezed. Thor pushed himself out of the way as the dragon’s tail scythed across the ground and almost choked on the ash churned into the air by Fafnir’s struggles. The unfettered wing beat uselessly against Lucy’s head, and black lids clamped down over vertical-pupiled green eyes. The free paw managed to score through her scales and sink into her flesh. Fafnir’s hind legs tore uselessly at the ground, unable to reach the serpent smothering him.

Her jaws worked, rippling along their length without opening or surrendering their grip, and Fafnir shrieked. The loops of muscle constricted around his chest as his lungs emptied, and Thor could hear the dragon’s ribs groan. He watched, horrified and fascinated by turns, as the beast’s frantic struggles yielded ground to the inevitable tightening of Lucy’s coils. Eventually, Fafnir’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he sagged nervelessly in the serpent’s lethal bands. A long several minutes passed, and the only sound Thor could distinguish over his own breathing was the ichor running off Lucy’s fangs to splash against the soot-smeared rock below them. She shuddered eventually and unwound herself from the limp form.

“Is he...?”

The serpent rippled back into the form of the woman, and she sat down heavily, leaning back against her fallen foe.

“His heart’s still going. Fuck if I know what that means in the long run,” she snapped. A row of deep lacerations marked her upper arm, and the fresh blood was running into the old blood staining her shirt.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, his own wounds forgotten.

“Asks the man who looks like he lost a fight with a rotisserie oven,” Lucy snorted.

“You look as if you have lost several. To a parking lot,” he observed in reply.

“I may have.” She pushed herself to her feet and looked around. After a few seconds, she sighed, picked up the hammer, and used it to crack off one of Fafnir’s fangs. Thor winced. She made her way over to him and began sawing at the ropes lashing him to the yoke.

“You came for me,” he said gratefully.

“I came to beat the shit out of a dragon,” she said, freeing one of his hands. He swayed as the yoke fell to one side, then dragged her against him in a fierce one-armed embrace.

“You came for me, brother,” he insisted gently.

She pushed him away, but without heat, and didn’t stop him from leaning on her. She went back to cutting the rest of the rope, and he could feel her hands shaking. “I’m not your brother, Thor.”

“Sister,” he amended.

“I’m not that, either.” Lucy tore at the bindings savagely. Thor hissed in pain as the rope dug into burned flesh. She pulled him free and took him by the shoulders. “If I heal you, do you promise not to fucking hug me again?”

“I will do my best,” he assured her. “Are Sif and Fandral...?”

“Damned if I know.” She scowled in concentration, and he felt the pain recede. Blisters and wounds were supplanted by unbroken, unburned skin. His ribs knit themselves together, and his joints moved smoothly once more. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest.

“What did I just fucking say?” she demanded, her words muffled by his neck.

“My best wasn’t good enough,” he apologized. He kissed the top of her head before letting her go. “Thank you, sister.”

She grunted wordlessly and pushed her matted hair out of her face. She looked around blankly for a few seconds before seeming to come back to herself. “So, I actually can’t sense your bros. At all. Which seems like it might be a pretty bad sign, because you guys are generally pretty obvious when you’re on-planet. If your bodyguards here are any indication of how this went down, they could be in bad shape.”

“Fandral was badly wounded. I commanded Sif to take him to safety. Did you see the Bifrost open?”

She shook her head. “I wasn’t really looking, though. This might come as something of a shock, but I didn’t exactly show up in the best shape.”

He hesitated, his eyes on her bleeding arm. She waved him off and started fixing her own injuries. He called Mjolnir to his hand and gave her one last, apologetic glance.

“I will--”

His words were lost in a howl of wind and an explosion of light. Lucy had a fractured moment to think that the feel of the Bifrost opening from a distance was nothing like having it open right in her fucking face, to realize that she was hauling Thor down and pushing him behind her, and to wonder what the hell was wrong with her that she thought shoving him at the dragon and away from whoever was coming through from Asgard was a good idea. Thor had a heartbeat to wonder if she would flee, darting away into the shadows only to emerge somewhere he couldn’t follow, before he had caught her against him. One hand was around her wrist, gripping like an iron band, and the other was tangled in her jacket.

“Fafnir!” Thor’s stomach lurched with the memory of the last time his father had saddled Sleipnir and come to his rescue. “You will face me!”

The golden light faded somewhat as Odin registered what he was seeing. Lucy stared back at him. Thor silently begged the Norns to be merciful and didn’t relax his hold on Lucy.

“Loki?” Odin breathed.

“Nope,” Lucy retorted automatically.

“Yes,” Thor answered.

“I’m not above turning back into an anaconda,” she hissed at him.

“You did this?” Odin asked, his eye moving to the dragon still sprawled behind them.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Well. The dragon-injuring part of it. Not the burning-everything-down and slaughtering-everybody parts of it. That was, uh, Fahrvergnugen. You know. Being a dragon. I guess.”

“Fafnir,” Thor corrected softly.

“The day I have to get all of you motherfucker’s names right all the time is the day I crawl into an active volcano and don’t come out until the apocalypse,” she growled, back on firmer footing with him than she had been with Odin.

“Thor?” Odin prompted, his gaze moving from his son to the magician.

“Father.” Thor swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He could feel Lucy’s muscles tensing at the word. Her eyes were narrowing, and her shoulders were settling into that angry jut he remembered so well. Nothing good ever came afterwards. She was gone a second later, leaving him grasping at air and Odin reaching for nothing.

Chapter Text

Thor paced restlessly. Sif had promised to send word the moment Fandral was out of danger, and he knew she wouldn’t neglect to keep it. He was worried, but not unduly so. Fandral’s wounds had been grievous, but the healers knew their business. Lucy had healed his own injuries well enough that their healers could find no quarrel to pick with her work, which meant that the most skilled could focus their efforts on his companion. The others had sustained minor wounds which had been looked after by the novices. The dead Einherjar would be mourned after the Allfather came back. His father had promised--or perhaps threatened--that they would speak as soon as he returned from re-working Fafnir’s bonds. He was at loose ends until someone summoned him. He was dreading the summons.

Sif had been duty-bound to report the events surrounding Amora’s attack. Frigga had been increasingly firm about the necessity of accepting Loki’s loss and increasingly sharp about the Midgardians fostering his conviction. Odin....Thor groaned at the memory of his father’s expression, when he’d seen Lucy. He couldn’t remember ever having seen his father genuinely shocked before. The sight had unnerved him more than he cared to admit. He stopped and leaned on a balustrade, his eyes tracing the borders of the garden below without truly seeing them. As weakened as Jotunheim had been by Loki’s attack, they were still an intractable enemy. One intractable enemy among many. The strength of arms and his father’s power was all that stood between them and bloody conquest of all nine realms. It was uncomfortable to feel doubt in that power, and he wished, even more strongly than usual, that he still had Loki’s counsel.

As often as he’d had to serve as a buffer between Loki and the rest of the court, Loki had been his buffer against the demands of diplomacy and more delicate problems. He wondered what cutting joke Loki would make about the problem posed by his absence in the matter of dealing with his absence. His hand curled instinctively into a fist, missing the reassuring weight of Mjolnir. The loss of his brother still felt like the loss of a limb. If he’d had Loki’s facility with words, he might have been able to explain the way he knew--knew it down to his bones--that it was Loki looking back from the mortal magician’s eyes in terms of something other than the sensation of wholeness he felt when they were together.

He sighed and went back to pacing. It was not a thing easily communicated. He simply felt whole when she was present. The gnawing dread that had plagued him since Loki’s fall was banished. He had hope that what had been broken might be mended. The emptiness returned like a black tide whenever she had her fill of tolerating him and vanished. It was difficult not to pursue her. It was difficult to remember that, while Loki might have sat and sulked and fumed if no one came to at least try soothing him out of his rage, it generally served only to inflame Lucy further. She would not be disobeyed lightly on that score. Loki had craved their approval and affection. He’d clung to his place in the family like it could be taken from him. Even before he’d discovered his heritage, it was as if he’d feared being set aside or cast out or somehow separated from them. He’d fought it with every weapon at his disposal. Lucy was openly contemptuous of anyone else’s opinion, and she avoided entanglements as if they pained her. She would not consent to stay.

Thor ran his hands through his hair. No matter how badly they’d quarreled or what words had passed between them, it had never once crossed his mind that Loki might leave. They were brothers. They were the Allfather’s sons. Asgard was their home. Abandoning each other, or Asgard, was unthinkable. Time might pass, but they would eventually find a way to reconcile. They would mend the breach and be of one mind again. That Loki might choose to let go and fall forever rather than stay had shaken him even more than mortality had.

That Loki had not, after all, gone very far was not as comforting as it might have been. Lucy would not permit him to close the gap, and he had hope, yes, but few ideas. A millennium of tactics refined against an opponent who was rarely truly opposed to him left him with no idea how to handle a brother who wouldn’t admit to the relationship and wouldn’t hold still long enough for a proper fight with a proper victor. He was torn between hoping their parents could handle it more skillfully and shame at not having been able to persuade Lucy to return. It had been Loki’s fight with him that had resulted in his death. It was his wrong to right. He had so far failed. Confessing as much to his mother seemed more than he could bear.

A soft knock on the door brought him back to himself. He looked up and met Sif’s eyes.

“Fandral?” he asked.

“Will be fine. The healers have outdone themselves,” she said, managing a wan smile. “What of your own wounds? You were not so whole when you bid us leave you on the battlefield.”

“Loki.”

“She healed you?” Sif asked, her eyes narrowing. “How did she know you needed her?”

“I called her, and she came. I wasn’t the one to defeat Fafnir,” he explained. “She was in something of a temper when she arrived. She took it out on him.”

“I saw something of that when the Allfather carted him back to Nastrond. He looked rather the worse for wear.”

“She transformed herself into a monstrous serpent and choked the breath from his body.”

“Someone should tell Amora. Perhaps she’ll take her own usage at the woman’s hands less personally,” Sif snorted. “It would seem that she could have come away from the fight with far more than her pride damaged.”

“I’ll be sure to mention it if we ever catch her again,” Thor sighed.

“I’ve brought you good news, and your wild Midgardian sorceress is showing signs of being tamed. Shouldn’t you be looking a little less grim?” she asked.

“She was still with me when father arrived.”

“He didn’t believe you?”

“No.” Thor sighed. “He saw her exactly as I see her.”

“I would think that would please you,” Sif said carefully, studying his face.

“My greatest missteps have come from thinking of her as too much like Loki as we remember him, before I was banished,” he explained, leaning against the wall. “She tolerates me. I do not know if I can persuade Father to leave her be for now, and I’m afraid of what his persistence might provoke her to.”

“Surely Frigga will think of something?” she offered.

“The thought of telling Mother that I truly found Loki and still haven’t been able to bring him home frightens me more than any battle in the nine realms.” He rubbed his eyes. “But enough of that. Is Fandral fit to receive visitors?”

“Nothing would make him happier,” she grunted. “Unfortunately for us both, the healers have forbidden it until he’s had some sleep. I came myself because they kicked us out of the sick room.” She chewed her lip. “Do you think it might help if I spoke with Loki?”

His brows furrowed for a moment. “I thought you were still angry at him?”

“I am. But I’ve been angry with him before, and we’ve all lived to tell the tale.” She shrugged. “Besides which, I don’t feel any particular need to insist that he’s my brother, so my presence might be less irritating than yours for the time being.”

“I can’t ask this of you,” he said after a few seconds’ thought. “She is dangerous. She looked even more disreputable than usual, and that was before she engaged Fafnir.”

“You don’t have to ask. And I know she’s dangerous. I hadn’t planned on giving her much excuse to strike at me, though, and she doesn’t seem so mindless a beast as that.” Sif reached up and touched his face gently. “I miss him, too, Thor. It would be a great relief to have this settled.”

“Thank you, Sif.” He put his hand over hers. “And be careful.”

*****

“Rise and shine, Jones,” Coulson chirped. Lucy cracked an eyelid and glared at him. It was too bright and too noisy. She slapped at her pockets before giving up and conjuring a pair of sunglasses to shove onto her face.

“Okay, I’ll bite. If I don’t know where I am, how do you know where I am?” she grumbled.

“Strange wants that dragon tooth you’ve got sticking out of your pocket. He was uncharacteristically helpful on the promise of me bringing it back with you.”

“Strange can blow me. I took it off the dragon fair and square.”

“I don’t suppose you happened to see if your brother made it back to Asgard okay? Jan’s been worried about Jane, and Jane’s been worried about him.”

“He’s not my brother, and he was fine when I left him in the custody of his father, so I can only assume that he stayed that way.” She sat up and conjured a pack of cigarettes. “Are we under an overpass?”

“Yes. It’s nice to see that your taste in accommodations hasn’t suffered the same degradation as your bank account.”

“You know what the last thing I remember is? Beating a fucking dragon into the dirt. You should probably be a little nicer to me,” she grumbled.

“You smell like a hobo, you look like you murdered a hobo for her clothes, and I haven’t had the chance to go home in the past week.” Coulson dropped two reams’ worth of paper next to her hip. “You know what that is?”

“You catch this case in the middle of copying Fury’s OkCupid profile for a FOIA request?” she asked. “Maybe he should lay off with the surveys.”

“Your arrest warrant.”

“That seems excessive,” she protested, eyeing it more closely.

“It does, doesn’t it?” he asked brightly.

“You seem pretty cheerful for a guy who just killed a forest to print out a list of charges you’re not going to be able to bring me in on.”

He took a deep breath and spread his hands. “I’m not even upset any more. I think it was right around the third time I had to reload the printer so I could bring a hard copy with me that I just started being impressed. You realize this is double-sided, right? Never mind the forest, I killed a toner cartridge. And this is just what we know about.”

“So I started some barfights. With people you’d be starting fights with, if you’d been there.” She shrugged. “Big deal.”

He stared at her. “You started barfights? That’s what you think this is about?”

“Enlighten me, if that’s not why you’re here.”

“Five international incidents. You had everyone speaking Farsi for a day. The Hoover Dam is in a state of quantum flux, which isn’t actually a problem except for everyone involved in its daily upkeep having a nervous breakdown every time they try to look at it. Every station in Duluth is still broadcasting nothing but Telemundo. Every bottle of water in DC was turned into wine.”

“They’re welcome.”

“The entire internet decided to do nothing but show everyone cat pictures for twenty-four hours. You got every hedge-fund manager in the continental US high during that same period of time. You pulled that same stunt you hit AIM’s robots with on our drones. They’ve converged on Amsterdam’s red-light district, and they’re hiring escorts with money they apparently got by selling their payloads to anybody with two cents to rub together.”

“You say that like paying some working ladies is somehow the worst thing a drone’s ever done. Maybe they got sick of blowing up wedding parties and cafes.”

He fixed her with a disapproving glare. “Congress has passed more legislation--all of it highly suspect--in the past week than the previous four years. While wearing stripper heels.” She snickered. “It’s not funny. Five senators have broken ankles now.” She snickered again. “Everyone in Canada is incredibly angry with you.”

“What did I do now?”

“What didn’t you do? You called every DJ in Quebec and told them, in English, that they were ‘vile queen-humpers.’ You bought air-time to run commercials--in English, French, and mime--during prime-time that invited viewers to visit Maine, which was described as ‘Newfoundland without the seal-murder.’ You turned Walter Langkowski’s fur red and white.”

“Did I put a maple leaf over his junk?”

“No!” Coulson colored slightly.

“So I owe Canada an apology is what you’re saying.” She smiled thinly at him, and he gave her a long look. “Message received. They’re a forgiving people, though. Very, you know, Canadian. And not all of them have easy access to media. I don’t think they’re all mad at me.”

“You insulted hockey,” he pressed on.

Lucy grunted noncommittally. “It’s an overrated sport.”

“And poutine.”

“Poutine is gross.”

“And you permanently changed Stephen Harper’s ringtone to “Party Up”*.”

“Dude’s a douche.”

“And you turned every donut in every Tim Horton’s into a bagel.”

“Okay, that might have crossed a line,” she admitted.

“Oh, and you gave bears thumbs.”

“Ah.”

“And a taste for recliners. And central heating.”

“They already had the last two,” she pointed out. “All that got spun out into that boss hog of a warrant?”

“I’d be here all day if I went through every single thing you did. Get up.”

“No. I like it here.”

“You do not. You’re in a pile of trash under a highway. And Hawkeye won’t stop bugging me to get his quiver done.”

“There’s a joke in there that I’m not drunk enough to make yet.”

“I should warn you that he’s going to have kidnapping added to that pile if you don’t deliver, and I’m going to advise you that I’ll drop half of this if you promise not to get drunk enough to make that joke in my presence.”

“No, you won’t.” Lucy got to her feet. “Come on. Let’s find a Denny’s and get some disgusting approximation of actual food. My treat.”

Coulson sighed. “It’s funny, but any inclination I might have had to take you up on the offer mysteriously vanished when you put it that way.”

“Come on, Coulson. Crawl out of the Stone Ages. It’s okay to let a lady pay for your meal.”

“I thought you said it was your treat?” he asked, eyebrows rising.

“Wow. That’s how we’re going to do this? Really?” she laughed. “Because I’m not above turning your shoes into whoopee cushions. I genuinely am not.”

“You know how some cats are hairless?”

“I’m vaguely aware of this as a fact and vaguely suspicious of where this is going.”

“You’re only vaguely aware of it? Are you sure?”

“Spit it out, Coulson.”

“They’ve all spontaneously grown full coats.”

“Good for them.” Lucy snapped her fingers, and the tattered remnants of her clothing transformed into new, whole versions of themselves. She ran her fingers through her hair, and it untangled and unfouled.

“I doubt they had much to do with it.”

“Nonsense. You familiar with the hundredth monkey effect?”

He glowered at her. “Your explanation for that one is that the cats somehow achieved critical mass and believed themselves into growing fur again.”

“Maybe that 24 hours of lolcats had something to do with it.” She shrugged. “Animal psychology and cat-herding really aren’t my areas of expertise. So, to Denny’s.”

“You want to fill me in on what happened with Fafnir?” Phil asked, walking after her.

“Uh, I defeated a dragon in single combat,” she snorted. “Dust off hands, ride off into sunset. I can now officially do anything I put my mind to. Case closed.”

“How did you come to be there?”

“Thor asked me to,” Lucy said, waving her hands. “I was feeling kind of feisty, so I decided to take a shot. I won. His dad showed up. Probably Sif called him? Anyway, it seemed like he was okay, so I went back to doing what I was doing before he asked for help.”

“Sleeping under a bridge.”

“Sure? I mean, I figure I’m living my life. I don’t really need to be that obsessed with exactly what I’m doing at any given time. It’s not like I don’t have you to come tell me about it if I forget I did something.” She sucked at a molar. “You’re like my own personal documentarian.”

“If that were true, I’d need a raise,” Phil told her flatly. A handful of drifters scuttled out of their way, and Phil looked a bit harder at one of them. “Why did that man look ready to wet himself when he saw you?”

She frowned. “Oh, I think that’s the guy who asked me for a few bucks last night.”

“And?”

“I told him I’d give him a few wishes instead.” Her smile had a sharp edge to it.

“What’d he ask for?”

“Me to get the fuck away from him.”

“Smart man,” Phil muttered.

“Indeed. Can I ask you a question? What’s up with Odin’s eye? He and Fury play lawn darts together as children?”

“What?”

“Odin’s missing an eye, too. Got a super-fancy gold patch for it and everything. You never noticed?”

“I’ve never met him,” Phil said testily, breaking into a trot to keep up with her.

“Who were you dealing with besides Thor, then?”

“Frigga. Thor’s mother. As I understand it, Odin doesn’t often leave Asgard unless there’s an absolute emergency.”

“Like a dragon ripping his son a new breathing-hole?” Lucy grunted, stopping at a crosswalk. She looked back over her shoulder. “So where was Funfeñero from?”

“What?”

“The dragon,” she clarified. “Where was it from?”

“I assumed it was from here,” Phil said carefully. “Wasn’t it?”

“Well, I’ve never met a dragon before, but that thing sure as hell didn’t feel like it was from here. It didn’t quite feel like the Asgardians did, either, but it had a lot more in common with them than anything I’ve run into on this planet. And it seemed to have some specific beef with Thor and Asgard.” She shrugged. “When did it first show up on your radar?”

“That’s classified.”

“Stark smashed into it while flying under the influence, didn’t he?”

“It’s not as classified as that,” Phil said.

“Man. You know, War Machine needs a fucking raise. You people cannot possibly be paying him enough to put up with Stark and all of Stark’s adventures in redaction.”

“The dragon, Jones.”

“Beef with Asgard. Threatened to torch the place. Tried to kill Thor. Killed a bunch of the dudes with the funky helmets. You know, the ones that look like they’re wearing a big fucking stag beetle made of gold on their heads?”

“The Einherjar?”

“Gesundheit.” He glared at her, and she gave him her least sincere smile. “I think he fucked up Sif and Fandral, too. Didn’t really stop to get his life story before I put him down.”

“And what method did you use to, as you said, ‘put him down’?” Phil asked wearily.

“Nuh-uh. An Alliance magician never gives away how a trick is done,” she scolded.

“If I say ‘a trick is something a whore does for money,’ will you tell me?”

Lucy gave him a long, irritated look. “Why do you always have to cheapen the moment, Coulson? Is it so hard to just be a normal fucking human being? How much starch does SHIELD have to cram into agents’ briefs before they achieve this level of,” she gestured vaguely, “you?”

“That’s hurtful, Jones.”

“It’s meant to be, Coulson. You know what? Fuck Denny’s. There’s a chicken-and-waffles joint right down the road. I can see it from here.” She looked at him out of the side of her eye. “Before you say anything, I took that dragon out with a sledgehammer. Just so you know which end of the pool you’re diving into when you make that face.”

“A sledgehammer,” he repeated. The knot of pedestrians around them was sidling away nervously.

“A sledgehammer. I hit it with a fucking sledgehammer, and then I turned into a motherfucking prehistoric-sized anaconda, and I squeezed the life out of that reptilian son of a bitch.” She pantomimed strangling it. “Just bam. Done. Because I am awesome.” She pushed up one sleeve to reveal a set of raw pink stripes. “That’s what I walked away with. You know, from killing a goddamned dragon.” She took a drag off her cigarette. “If this were the middle ages, I’d be fucking canonized by now. They’d have gotten the Pope out of bed for it.”

“Pretty sure you have to be dead before you’re canonized,” Phil pointed out, giving a reassuring smile to an elderly woman who was muttering something and crossing herself.

“You kill a dragon, they make exceptions. Probably on the assumption that if you go around killing dragons, it’s not going to be too terribly fucking long in coming.”

“Any idea when Thor’s coming back?”

Lucy shrugged. “I wasn’t sure he was gone until you told me.”

“Barton said you claimed that you could tell where he was.”

“Okay, you caught me. I sensed a great disturbance in the force the second he left. It’s been like a blade piercing my breast since then. My heart aches with his absence.”

“You know, there’s really no need to be unpleasant about it,” Phil said.

“By the same token, there’s really no need to be pleasant about it, either.” She shrugged. “I can tell where he is. I am not, however, obsessed with his whereabouts. Dude was fine, dude was with his dad, dude can take care of himself.”

“Dude’s an alien prince.”

Lucy stopped and tilted her head. “You know, I didn’t actually think it was possible for you to sound like more of a narc than usual.”

“So glad I can still surprise you,” he said drily.

She scented the air. “You smell that, Coulson?”

“It smells like chicken. And waffles.”

“Freedom, Coulson. It smells like freedom.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “And breakfast,” she relented.

*****

“Jones says that you ninnies can stop worrying about Prince Hammertime,” Tony announced without looking up from his phone.

“He’s paraphrasing,” Steve said reflexively, looking apologetically at Jane. “I think? Jones can be a little rude sometimes.”

“It’s true,” Tony said brightly. “She called him Commander Hotpants to his face once.”

“I don’t think she really needed to know that, Tony,” Steve sighed, flushing brightly.

“Is she really trustworthy? Thor....Well, he tries to speak highly of her. That he has to qualify everything so often worries me.” Jane rubbed her arms and looked from one face to the next.

“She’s a magical fairydust trainwreck,” Clint told her. “But the corollary to that is that she doesn’t tend to lie about this sort of thing. She doesn’t care enough to. If she didn’t want to answer, she’d just tell Phil to go to hell or tell him some obviously fake story.”

“She says she beat a dragon to death with a sledgehammer,” Tony piped up helpfully. Jane looked at Clint, her eyes wide.

“That’s, um, that’s not actually that fake-sounding. For her,” Jan sighed.

“She arranged an Elvis parade in Las Vegas once because she was bored,” Steve said, backing her up.

“She impersonated the Abomination while performing a Rolling Stones number because she wasn’t closely supervised on a mission,” Bruce added.

“She organized a goat stampede and a polar bear stampede in two separate states to cover up the Abomination thing,” Tony said. “Because she’s not a very good person. Besides, how much trouble could this guy have possibly given Thor? He’s a dragon, not the Destroyer.”

“If Thor is fine, then where is he?” Jane asked.

“Looks like he’s back in Asgard. Jones says Odin showed up, at which point she took off. Probably to go start more shit with the Canadians before passing out under a bridge in California.”

“What’s her problem with Canada, anyway?” Steve asked, shaking his head. “It’s a beautiful country, and the people tend to be very nice.”

“She’s not a very good person,” Tony repeated.

“I think it started out as a fight with one Canadian, over something highly classified, and then it got a little out of hand, because it’s Jones, and then it got even more out of hand, because it’s Jones.” Jan sighed and shot Jane an encouraging smile. She glanced at Tony. “Why is Coulson texting you and not Steve?”

“Oh, he’s not. I put a bug on him. It’s what’s texting me.”

“Tony!” Clint hissed.

“Really? You guys are honestly going to pretend that’s not a wise precaution, given the tear she’s been on lately? Because I genuinely would not have expected any of you to make that claim. Coulson coughs at the wrong time, we could be begging Strange to come turn him back into a human being instead of the world’s most lifelike butter sculpture.”

“Okay, no, I’m not going to pretend it’s not a good idea to take precautions,” Clint said, “but did you stop for a second and consider what Phil is going to do to you when he finds that bug?”

Tony gave him a long look before sighing theatrically. “Barton, why do you insist on asking questions you already know the answer to?”

“That would be a no, then,” he said sourly.

“I’m sure Agent Coulson wouldn’t do anything permanent,” Steve protested. They all looked at him. “Reasonably sure. Mostly. He doesn’t actually enjoy doing paperwork any more than the rest of us do, you know.”

“Anything else of interest?” Jan asked, shaking her head.

“Uh, nothing more about Thor.” Tony scrolled back through the message history. “Jones isn’t taking back any of the stuff she said about hockey or poutine, so we’re probably stuck doing that good-will tour after all.”

“How is something a villain’s been doing suddenly our problem, again?” she demanded.

“Well, Fury let Thor go public, and then Thor got really popular, and then Thor said she’s his sister,” Tony explained with irritating slowness. “So now we get to go apologize profusely because of stuff she said, and apologize profusely again because of that national monument he turned into toothpicks because someone who Canada doesn’t want to admit exists got them both high. I can pull up the holographic whiteboard and get a laser pointer if you need me to break it down even further.”

Jan glared at him. “Coulson’s going to have to get in line at this point, Tony.”

“Was that a threat? After I got you a dodo? At significant risk to life and limb and ability to visit our neighbor to the north?”

“You owed me that bird because I did you a favor,” she reminded him. “Has Jones said anything else about that dragon?”

“Uh...’one toke over the line,’ she’ll ‘a pack of lies’ after ‘the a pox on both your houses’.” Tony grimaced, and then offered Jane a brightly apologetic smile. “The speech-to-text function might still be a little buggy.”

“You think?” Clint groaned. Jane looked even more skeptical than she had earlier.

“Well, she could also be high.”

“Tony, if you were going to bug Coulson, why didn’t you just use a normal bug and have it transmit audio directly?” Steve asked, his brows furrowing.

“Because you can’t pretend you’re just checking your phone with audio. Duh. Dammit. I just lost signal, anyway. That’s the problem with prototypes.”

*****

“So, do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Lucy asked, taking a long draw on her soda. She propped her elbows on the plastic table and scooted further back along the booth’s bench seat.

Phil gave her a hard look. “You’ve been on a very public, week-long rampage. That usually means that something’s going on with you.”

“Not my therapist, Coulson. And I’m done. I was dealing with some things, and now I’m done dealing with them.”

“You know, typically when something results in a warrant that could wrap around the globe twice, that doesn’t qualify as ‘dealing with’ something. That’s more of a tantrum.”

“Isn’t a tantrum definitionally a prolonged, cathartic emotional outburst? To whit, a way of dealing with something?” she asked archly. “Granted, not exactly the healthiest or most emotionally mature way of handling something, but still, you know, a way.”

“Have I ever told you that tautology is my absolute least favorite type of rhetoric?”

“You might have, but I genuinely don’t see that having been pertinent to prior conversations. I mean, I’m trying to come up with something, but I really don’t think it would have applied to any of the crap you’re in the habit of yelling at me about. Like, even the test run of the one horse-sized duck versus a hundred duck-sized horses question didn’t really involve much in the way of universal, self-referencing axioms. And let’s face it, you’re really not the random-confession type.”

“So you don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

“Nope.”

“Okay. Then tell me about Odin.”

Lucy tore into a waffle and chewed it thoughtfully. “He’s kind of a big dude? One eye? Lots of gold? Looked pretty old? Rides a horse with too many legs? I have no idea if that’s just the one horse, or if that’s just how Asgardian horses roll, or if maybe they’ve got that weird parasitic flatworm that turns frogs into their own conjoined twins. Didn’t stop to ask. Maybe you should have been asking his kid about this if you cared?”

“Thor’s first duty is to Asgard,” Phil pointed out.

“Mmm. But I don’t like you guys in specific, I’m not a huge fan of the current incarnation of the governmental apparatus in general, and you personally showed up to roust me with an arrest warrant the size of the Superdome.”

“So you sympathize with Asgard over us?” he snorted.

She laughed. “I don’t know enough about it to say one way or another. No. Just a reminder that your intelligence failures aren’t my problem.”

“Did he see you?”

“Yup.”

“Was his assessment the same as Thor’s?”

“Yup.” She glanced down at his tray. “Eat your fries, Coulson.”

“How big of a problem did you just cause us?”

“Um. Hmm. It occurs to me that I may not have handled that meeting in the best of possible ways.” Lucy wiped her mouth. “Okay, so you know when your family’s kind of dysfunctional and your relatives get on your case and you just kind of bust out with ‘You’re not my dad’ or ‘You’re not my real dad’ and then storm out and slam a door or two?”

“Jesus Christ, Jones.” Phil’s shoulders slumped a little.

“So, what you’re feeling right now? I want you to keep that really, really firmly just lodged right in your mind for comparison,” she picked a strip of meat off the bone, “because I didn’t do that. I mean, I’m not going to claim I handled it well, but I didn’t get all after-school special on anybody.”

“What did you do?”

“Denied being Loki, babbled a lot about that fucking dragon, and then ran the fuck away.”

“Smooth,” he commented.

“Not in my skill-set.”

“You can be when you want to be.”

“Not around royal aliens.” She popped a chunk of waffle in her mouth. “Who think they’re my parents.”

“You do realize that this doesn’t further your own goals either?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, I do,” she said, her tone flinty. “Contrary to what sometimes seems to be an incredibly wide-spread opinion, I’m not a fucking idiot, Coulson. This? Doesn’t further my goals, doesn’t further your goals, and presumably doesn’t further the goals of grieving parents who didn’t need this shit today. It furthers the goals of precisely zero fucking people. If I’d thought for a second about what was likely coming out of the interdimensional portal doohickey, I’d have bolted before he saw me. I didn’t, because I’d just gotten through with an extraplanetary monster-fight. Shit happens.”

“That’s not an acceptable response, Jones.”

“That’s not an--? Go fuck yourself, Coulson. I don’t work for you,” she reminded him. “And while I do have an extremely detached appreciation of the difficulty this might possibly, conceivably put you in, I’m pretty sure I also told you guys, repeatedly and explicitly, not to play into this.”

“You’re not concerned with the difficulty this might possibly put you in?” he retorted.

“Here’s the thing: I only really have brain-space to worry about one completely fucked-up thing at a time. So while I’m genuinely sorry for any shock I gave the dude, and by proxy any shock the dude goes home and passes along to Thor’s mom, I’ll worry about that the political ramifications after I get done saving the world from the creator-god version of Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. Assuming I survive. Which I guess is a silver lining if I don’t?” She brightened a little. “Wouldn’t have to settle up with the IRS, either. Or deal with whatever bullshit my aunt’s been up to.”

“You’re going to be saving the world?” Phil asked, surprised.

“It happens every so often. Ask Strange about it. He’s probably up to his ass in Sumerian doom brigades and Incan death curses and Pangean cyclotronic disco-balls on a rotating basis.” She shrugged. “Goes with the territory, though I usually have better luck keeping myself clear of it.”

“I’m revising my opinion of magic’s utility.”

“Like science has a better track record,” Lucy snorted. ”Anyway, as I was saying. They’re next in line. I’ll apologize after the apocalypse.”

“I don’t think this is the sort of thing you apologize for, Jones,” Phil sighed. She rolled her eyes, reached over, plucked something from under his collar, and crushed it.

“Bug,” she explained. “And I’d prefer not to get this blaster back at me at 120 decibels from Stark’s loudspeakers the next time I have to punch him through a hardened installation.” He frowned and looked more closely at the mangled flecks of electronics she sprinkled on the table.

“So, here’s the thing, Agent. I know exactly what sort of thing this is. You’ve had time to pull my file together, yeah? You’ve had time to go hassle my elementary school teachers? Track down my social services files? Look into what a headcase my aunt is? Shake your head over what might have been if it weren’t for that tragic car crash?” Her eyes hardened. “Yeah?”

“Yes. We’ve had time to do all of those things,” he said quietly.

“Okay, then. Guess fucking what? I could have had my parents back if I’d left Thor in the underworld. That was put on the table. And I turned it down, because they’re not my parents any more. They’re someone else’s kids. They’re going to be someone else’s parents, given the opportunity. I had my time with them. It’s over. It’s not coming back. They had their time with their son. It’s over. It’s not coming back. So while this might not be the sort of thing you apologize over, ‘sorry’ is really all the universe has for it. Your options are an apology or a fuck you.”

“I see.”

“Not really, but I think you’re closer to seeing.” She shrugged. “It’s shitty that this is dragging them back into the wringer. I wish I could have spared them that. But maybe that wasn’t really avoidable. Maybe it was re-open those wounds or lose Thor. I don’t know. I just know that, whatever they’re owed, what they’re getting is an apology and a better luck next time.”

“Try to keep in mind that they are gods,” Phil pointed out.

Lucy, slightly taken aback, let out a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “That’s kind of a hard thing to forget, Coulson. Fortunately, I’ve had a few crash courses in disappointing divinities recently.”

Phil waited a few moments before saying, “Thor found the social services files particularly upsetting.”

“You showed all that shit to Thor? You can be a real dickhole sometimes, Coulson.” She rubbed her eyes. “Just tell me you didn’t let Stark wade around in it.”

“Your criminal file isn’t exactly confidential, Jones.”

Lucy arched an eyebrow. “In which case, you may want to advise him that he will have an extremely hard time operating that armor if I feel the need to turn him into a sea lion over jokes about my second-grade penmanship.”

“Is this where I advise you that I have very little confidence in your ability to save the world?” Phil asked.

“You can do that at any point,” she spat. “But I just beat a dragon, and I’m going to beat that fucking scorpion, and then I’m going to convince you guys to pony up for family counseling for the Asgardians, and then I’m going to, uh....” She seemed to lose her train of thought, and her eyes focused over Phil’s shoulder. “I’m going to get more waffles. You want anything?”

“You’ve had something like three whole chickens and more waffles than Belgium. Hasn’t that put a dent in your appetite?” he asked.

“I think I spent most of the week not eating, and turning into a huge snake is, um, what’s the term? Metabolically demanding? Depleting?” She shrugged. “Anyway, this is, I think, text-book not dealing with something.”

Phil twisted around, followed her previous line of sight, and felt his jaw drop open. On the news, in what looked like New York, Doom was hectoring a large crowd.

“What in god’s name is he wearing?” he asked. He looked at Lucy. “Did you do this?”

“I have no idea what any of that is. None. Whatever the hell’s going on there, I just hope that he’s, uh, happy. And being, um, true to himself. Like I said, one completely fucked-up thing at a time. That, whatever it is, is completely fucked up, and not really my problem, and consequently is getting knocked right to the bottom of the list. If it’s still happening after I’m done with everything else, and nothing more important has come up in the meantime, I might--might--consider staging an intervention or turning the most embarrassing half of that monstrosity invisible or whatever. But as it is, I’m genuinely not seeing much appeal to getting involved in Doom’s private meltdowns if I don’t have to. Have fun trying to get him to put regular pants back on, though. I have it on good authority that once you’ve gotten used to wearing traffic cones as codpieces, there really isn’t any going back to jeans.”

“Are you positive you didn’t have anything to do with this?”

“Mind control isn’t really something I can do, Coulson. So even if I dressed him like that, he’d know he was dressed like that, and I don’t see him leaving the huge theme-park-sized castle he calls a house dressed like that under normal, as-in-his-right-mind-as-he-ever-gets circumstances.” She chewed a fingernail. “Unless....”

“Of course there’s an unless,” Phil muttered.

“Well, I took the opportunity to fuck with some of his stuff when I was stealing his time machine and burning his shit down. le Fay might have finally found one of the personal-life IEDs I left behind. This isn’t really her MO, but most people aren’t stupid enough to run around on powerful, vindictive, immortal sorceresses, so I don’t really have anything to compare it to.”

“What did you do?”

“I borrowed some...things from the Baxter Building. And relocated them to Doom’s dresser drawers. Inside trophy cases.”

“What things?” he asked wearily.

“You yelled at me the last time I elaborated, so you can just fuck off this time.” She crossed her arms and waited for the harried-looking cook to shove her waffles across the counter. “And this might not have anything to do with that. Maybe you can only be that ridiculously evil and gloomy for so long before you finally sail right off the deep end and turn into Lord Humungus’s unbelievably fashion-impaired cousin.”

Phil’s phone buzzed. He looked at it and sighed heavily. He’d hoped dealing with Jones would have exempted him from having to address the situation being broadcast live on CNN.

“Duty calls,” he called, getting up. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help out?”

“Nope. I’m busy. I’ve got important magician shit to do.” He gave her a hard look, and she cocked her head and smirked. “Important. Magician. Shit.”

“Don’t leave town.”

“Screw you, I’ll go wherever I want,” she sang back. She tossed him the tooth she’d taken from Fafnir and waved as he left.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Barton.”

Clint spun and threw a reflexive punch. Lucy caught his fist in one hand and gave him a disappointed look over the top of her sunglasses at him.

“Jesus Christ, Jones!” he gasped, sagging a little. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I got a series of texts that you might not remember sending. Would you like me to read them off in order of attitude?”

“That was a week ago.”

“And then Agent Coulson showed up and threatened to file every charge on the planet if I didn’t come through, because you’re his favorite.” She looked around thoughtfully. “You probably shouldn’t tell Romanoff, though.”

“That was yesterday.”

“Yes, but you were all in close proximity to Doom and his new idiom yesterday, and whatever the hell was going on there, it wasn’t my bag.”

“I don’t even have my quiver with me. This is a social call,” he protested. “I don’t come to your parties and try to conduct business.”

“Okay, seriously? You come to my parties and try to arrest everybody. And this isn’t your party. This is a Reed Richards party, which means that my presence can only improve things. If you’re nice, I’ll consider spiking the punch on my way out. It might mitigate the fact that there’s two sad bottles of wine that he picked based on their names and fifty people on the guest list.”

“It’s still not a business event,” he sighed.

“Of course not. Which is totally why you’re poking around Richards’s lab with a micro-camera instead of finding your way back to the mixer. Anyway,” she grinned at him, “as you can see, I have nothing up my sleeves--”

“Would you get to the point?” he groaned.

“You are such a killjoy. Coulson is rubbing off on you, I swear.” Lucy scowled at him and plucked the quiver from thin air. She examined it closely, muttered a few things to herself, and then tapped the base of it. “Here you go.”

“Seriously? That’s it?” Clint asked suspiciously. He took the quiver and looked at it, his expression betraying his skepticism.

“O ye of little faith,” she grumbled. “Try it out. Just be careful--”

Clint tipped the quiver to the side, and a small avalanche of arrows knocked her off her feet and buried him up to his hips.

“--with it. Because this could happen.” Lucy floundered upright. “Happy?”

“Strangely, yes.” He held the quiver reverently, his eyes lighting up.

“Weirdo,” she said. “These aren’t the explosive ones, are they?”

“No. How do I keep, uh, this from happening?” Clint hefted the quiver carefully, his brows furrowing as he examined it.

“Just keep a lid on it when you’re not actively using it. If nothing’s coming out, it won’t keep trying to refill itself.” Lucy pushed her hair out of her face and looked around. She waved a hand, and the stray arrows vanished.

“And if I am using it?”

“Then whatever you take out will keep being replaced.” She straightened her clothes. “It’s magic, not rocket science.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Clint glanced around and slung the quiver over his shoulder. “Strange makes it sound like it’s, you know, really complicated and capable of destroying life as we know it.”

“That’s because Strange routinely meddles with forces with which men were not meant to reckon,” she said cheerily. “What did he want that tooth for, anyway?”

“Interdimensional portal, I think?”

“Well, that sounds responsible. Which way is the nursery? Are we on the right floor?”

“Why are you asking that?”

“I left something here a long time ago, and I really should shut it down, just, you know, in case. Part of my New Year’s resolutions. ‘Stop leaving magical shit I’m not using turned on and just lying around.’ It sets a bad example for all the people who see me as a role model.”

“I think anyone who sees you as a role model might have passed the point where it mattered a while back,” Clint said. “And if you honestly did leave something dangerous lying around in Sue Storm’s kid’s playroom? I really wouldn’t want to be you when she finds out.”

“Pfft. It’s not dangerous. Just maybe a little inconvenient. Unless their security were so awful that random supervillains could just bust in all willy-nilly and loot the joint.” She smiled placidly at him.

“You’re a terrible person. You know that, right?” he asked.

“I’ve heard less-than-credible rumors to that effect. Now, nursery? I mean, seriously, I expected them to have some shit in common with Doom, but an inability to adequately label their absurdly-large facilities for visitors was not one of them. If nothing else, I’d think Richards would need directions to the less-frequented areas of the building. Like, you know, the nursery.”

“If you’ve been there before, shouldn’t you know where it is?” he demanded.

“First, I have a terrible sense of direction in office buildings. Just awful. And second, this was back before the forty-second floor vanished in that incident with the sentient betamax Johnny Storm snuck back from that weird antimatter universe, so I don’t know where it wound up after they rearranged everything.” She pursed her lips. “You know, if you wouldn’t want to be me if the Invisible Woman finds out I left an artefact lying around her kid’s rumpus room, would you want to be you when she finds out you didn’t help me disarm it?”

“Terrible person,” he repeated, rubbing his face.

“Eh. File an incident report and get it added to the laundry list of charges Coulson’s loading onto a forklift somewhere.” She shrugged. “Where are we heading?”

“Down the hall, take a left,” he said sullenly, falling in behind her. “What are we even looking for?”

“A big cardboard box with ‘duplicator’ written on the side.”

Clint stopped for a second, then rushed to catch up with her. “You didn’t.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny not having done an unnamed act.”

“You tried to turn Franklin into Multiple Man.”

“Way to assume the worst, dude.” She snorted and shook her head. “Kid was bored, kid was lonely, kid was a fan of Calvin & Hobbes.”

“I cannot believe you targeted their kid. Isn’t that against the villain code or something?” Clint snapped.

“Oh, I did no such thing. Saint Vishnu on a pogo stick, Barton.” Lucy glared at him. “I was here to swipe something from the lab, and I guess Richards was on babysitting detail that night.”

“I don’t think you can ‘babysit’ your own kids, Jones.”

“Well, normal human beings? No. Reed Richards? Jury’s still out. Anyway, the kid was just wandering around with jam smeared all over his face and no pants and I guess he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and I felt bad about just ditching him like that when he ran into me in the hall and asked for lunch.”

“You broke in to raid their lab, and you stayed to play pattycake with their kid,” Clint said flatly.

“Hey, now. I like kids,” she protested. “Kids are awesome. The biggest thing I miss about my aunt’s cult is all the kids.”

“So you set him up with a doomsday device and ran off?”

“No, I cleaned him up, got him dressed, made him some grilled cheese and tomato soup, watched a few episodes of Sesame Street with him, and then set him up with a doomsday device.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t look at me like that. It’s a really fun doomsday device. And I’m pretty sure I remembered to cap it out at, like, enough duplicates to have a baseball game. And even if I didn’t, I think an overwhelming army of adorable children is probably not the worst world-ending mechanism ever devised.”

“That is...not reassuring.”

“Then help me find it so I can kill it. Jesus, Barton, it should not take this long for a thought to percolate through that brain of yours.”

“Second door on the right.” Clint shook his head. “What did you steal from Reed’s lab, anyway?”

“Actually, it was more like I borrowed it. I brought it back afterwards,” she said defensively. “I didn’t clean the slime off of it, no, but I did bring it back. Richards came up with this neat little self-powered wormhole generator. It was so compact that you could load it into a backpack and just take off with it.”

“And you took it for a test drive as a favor to him?” he asked.

“No, don’t be stupid. I really don’t care for him. I mean, seriously, you can build a giant human rights violation in the middle of another dimension, but you can’t remember to feed your kid? Nobody’s got time for that kind of bullshit.” Lucy pried the door open and looked around the room. Clint shifted uncomfortably, the shelves and boxes of toys, books, games, and technological odds and ends feeling off limits. “You know how frogs are pretty much the devil?”

He stared at her for a second, blinking in surprise. “I don’t even know what I was expecting you to say, but that is not it.”

“Cuban tree frogs. They’re ugly, they go where they don’t belong, they short out the electrical grid on purpose, and they’re pretty much just the worst.” Lucy made her way to the closet and pried it open as well. “Bingo!”

“I’m going to assume all of that is true because I somehow think it doesn’t have much bearing on what comes next,” Clint sighed.

“Nothing happens next. I hoovered up every out-of-bounds asshole frog in the southeastern US and stuffed them into the wormhole.” She surveyed the object of their quest with a critical eye, then popped a box-cutter out of her sleeve.

“I thought you didn’t have anything up your sleeves?”

“Magicians always have something up their sleeve. In my case, it’s a utility knife. That whole schtick is just what you say to let everybody know you’re going to be rocking some magic.” She carefully ran the blade along the folds, separated the taped edges, shook it flat, and scored out the writing. “Ta-da!”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” She propped the collapsed box against the back wall. “Let’s get out of here before we have to explain this to mama bear.”

“So, if you took the inarguably sane ecological step of cramming all the invasive frogs into a stolen wormhole, why do we still have invasive frogs?”

“Well, that’s the thing. The wormhole opened at the original port of entry sometime in the ‘20s. The frogs I got rid of turned into the original wave of migratory amphibians. Only now they’re on to me, so it’s turned into kind of an on-again, off-again battle with man for supremacy over the ecosystem.”

“They’re their own grandfathers.”

“Pretty much, yeah.” She shrugged. “What’re you going to do?”

“Not meddle with forces with which men weren’t meant to reckon?” he suggested.

“Technically, it was Richards meddling with those forces. I rounded the frogs up with magic, yes, but shooting them straight back into their own history to reinvent their present was all capital-s Science. You know, it’s like every time I mess with the past, it just turns into a moebius strip.” She shook her head. “The thing with the tomato worms was stupidity with magic start to finish, though, and goddamn if I didn’t learn a lesson from that.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not.” Lucy grimaced. “Even if it is an organic alternative to pesticide, convincing time to run backwards on thousands of tiny targets is neither easy nor fun.”

“Terrible person.”

“Blow me. Tomato worms have it coming,” she said firmly. She cracked her knuckles. “And now for my grand finale, I’m leaving before I get roped into doing anything else even mildly responsible for the next week. Ciao.”

“Wait--”

She vanished.

“Hey, Clint. Who were you talking to?” Hank asked, coming down the hallway. His face clouded over as he looked around. “Sue asked me to make sure you found your way back okay. Something about a localized occurrence of elliptic geometry on this level....”

“Yeah. Great. Fine. Nobody. Let’s go.” Clint turned him around and prodded him back the way he’d come, following close on his heels.

“Where’d you hide the quiver? I thought Reed made everybody check their weapons at the door,” Hank said, frowning.

“Nowhere, man. Can’t this wait until we’re back at the tower?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Back at the tower, Hank.”

“Fine, fine.” He put up his hands. “I’m sorry I asked.”

*****

Sif blinked and looked around, her sword at ready. The Bifrost had deposited her in the middle of a small clearing surrounded by short, lush trees.

“Just so you know not to get too comfortable, I’m not talking to you, and if I weren’t right in the middle of something, I’d have been gone before your fancypants portal even opened,” Lucy shouted. “And also, I’m leaving as soon as I’m finished.”

Sif sheathed her blade and walked toward the sound of the woman’s voice. “I’m not leaving until we’ve spoken.”

“Did you not hear any of what I just said?” she demanded.

Sif pushed her way through a hedge of scrub and grass, the sandy soil shifting under her feet. Sweat was already beading her brow and dampening her back. The air was hot and thick, and she was regretting dressing for what she’d seen of Midgard’s spring. On the other side of the hedge was a soft drift of snow-white sand and a wide bay. Lucy was hip-deep in the water, perhaps a hundred feet from the shore.

“I heard everything you said. We still need to speak,” Sif shouted back. She surveyed the water carefully.

“Don’t even bother trying to wade out here in that ridiculous pile of armor. It’s too deep to walk all the way, and I’m not getting yelled at because you drowned.” A dark shape cut through the water on the other side of her.

“What manner of beast is that?”

“It’s a baby whale. Now will you be quiet? I’m trying to work here.”

“Only if you promise to stay after you finish.”

“You’re holding a baby whale’s future hostage. You’re officially a monster. Just so you know.”

Sif glowered at her back. “I will have your promise.”

“This is just bad manners. Do I roll up into Asgard when you’re all in the middle of having a huge feast or hitting each other with swords or....” She trailed off. “Okay, I’m going to be honest for a second. I am not real sure what else you guys spend your time doing.”

“Swear it,” Sif demanded.

“Fine. We can have a lively back-and-forth about why you people are all completely ridiculous for trying to pursue this. Once I am done with this hybrid abomination of a whale.”

“That’s an unkind thing to say.”

“Pfft. It doesn’t speak English.”

“Thor said that you had learned an enchantment which could let all creatures understand your speech, and that you could discern theirs.”

“Goddammit.” She paused. “Wait, no, it doesn’t work on animals. Ha! Put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

“I don’t have a pipe,” Sif protested.

“It’s a saying,” Lucy sighed. “Now shut up, before this little bastard is stuck in a range where no other whale can talk to him for the rest of his natural life.”

After a few moments, a booming howl shook the earth. Sif covered her ears and dropped into a crouch. When the sound faded, she looked up to see the magician swimming back to shore.

“What was that noise?”

“The kid’s got pipes,” Lucy answered, her explanation not explaining anything. Sif glowered at her as she made her way up onto the beach.

“Will you please put some clothes on?” she asked.

“Huh? Did my top slip?” Lucy glanced down, confused, then glanced back up, still confused. “I’m wearing a bathing suit. What’s the problem? It’s not like I’ve got anything you haven’t seen before.”

Sif blushed. “You were never precisely in the habit of turning yourself into a woman.”

Lucy scowled and crossed her arms. “First, not Loki. Second, I mean due to being a woman, jackass. It’s not like you’ve never seen a pair of tits before. And please tell me this isn’t what you came here to talk about. I know I’ve got a magnetic personality, but firing up an interdimensional transporter just to tell me to put my pants back on doesn’t really seem cost-effective.”

“You need to come home,” Sif told her.

“I am home. Seriously. Right here. This planet.” She gestured wildly. “Home. I’d offer to draw you a picture, but I’m afraid there’s only so much I can accomplish with stick figures when aliens are being deliberately obtuse about things.”

Sif sighed. “What will it take to get you to return to Asgard with me, Loki?”

“There’s nothing you can offer me right now that would even vaguely tempt me,” Lucy grunted. She conjured a beach chair and flopped into it, then conjured an umbrella to shade her. “I’ve got a list of shit to work through before get into an inter-pantheon tag-team for the fate of the world. You guys can all wait your turn to harass me about your inability to accept death.”

“You’re still as poor a host as you ever were,” Sif grumbled, looking pointedly at the umbrella.

“I’m not the one who came to the tropics dressed for a Scandinavian Christmas party,” Lucy snorted. She relented, though, and summoned a chair and umbrella for Sif.

“You’ve met Odin.”

“I saw Odin for a few seconds around the back of Thor’s head,” Lucy corrected. “Then I found it expedient to develop business elsewhere.”

“He will return. Or, more likely, Frigga will come. You’ll find it harder to avoid them than to avoid Thor.”

“I doubt that a great deal, but, regardless, it still doesn’t change the simple fact that I’m not Loki.” She stretched, and Sif averted her eyes. She felt foolish even as she did it; she wouldn’t have looked away if it had been truly Loki. “They can hang around until the cows come home, it’s not going to make me their missing son.”

“I may be able to help with that,” Sif offered.

“Oh?” Lucy ran her fingers through her long, dark hair, squeezing excess water from it. “Do tell.”

“Would it be too much to ask you to change back into a man?” she said.

“Well, that’s an interesting request.” Lucy arched an eyebrow. “Usually that sort of conversation starts out with ‘So, you’re a shapeshifter?’ in a creepy tone and then rattles along until I feel this strange but overwhelming compulsion to break somebody’s face for them. I’m so glad you’ve decided to skip straight to the end stage.”

Sif blushed. “That’s not why I was asking at all.”

“I turned into a man once, and only because a girlfriend I was particularly fond of asked me to. It was weird and uncomfortable and tremendously awkward, and we could hardly look each other in the eye for two days afterwards. I have absolutely no desire to turn into a man again.” Lucy settled back into her chair. “So, no. We can have this conversation as is, or you can fuck back off to Asgard. I should think the option I prefer would be obvious.”

“I apologize,” she sighed. “I did not mean to cause offense.”

“Well, then.” Lucy paused. “I suppose I can accept your apology. For the time being. Provided no further asinine requests pertaining to how I look are forthcoming. Now, I believe you said something about helping.” She snapped her fingers, and a glass of iced tea appeared in Sif’s hands, startling her enough that she almost dropped it. She looked at the glass dubiously. A martini appeared in Lucy’s hand, and she lounged back and crossed her legs. “It’s tea, not poison. Drink it. You’ll like it. So, tell me about this help you may be able to offer.”

“In addition to Thor, the Warriors Three and I were Loki’s closest companions,” Sif began.

“Okay.”

“We knew him best.”

“With you so far.”

“We’re not...entirely convinced. About you, that is.”

“So you’re on the fence about whether or not Thor is completely out of his fucking mind,” Lucy said, nodding. “And you’re offering...?”

“To keep an open mind and observe.”

“That’s not particularly helpful, by earth standards,” Lucy grunted. “Assuming that’s it, anyway.”

“You said you had tasks to accomplish?” Sif asked.

“That’s one way of putting it, yes.”

“I can assist you. In return, let me stay with you. I suspect the more time I spend in your presence, the better case I’ll be able to make to the Allfather that you’re not Loki.”

“Interesting.” Lucy steepled her fingers and rested them against her chin. “And completely out of the question.”

“I am one of the finest warriors in all of Asgard,” she retorted. “Why is me joining you completely out of the question?”

“I’m not on a quest to smite the demon lord of elf-town, Sif. You stamping around in five tons of plate and waving a sword is going to make most of what I need to do way more difficult, and it’s not going to help with the rest of it.” She picked her martini back up, her ring clinking against the glass’s stem, and drained it. “Hell, I couldn’t even fix the vocal range of a whale calf without you interrupting me, and that’s some basic tampering with nature, right there.”

“Why were you even doing that? It doesn’t seem to be particularly nefarious.”

“Much to my eternal regret, even I can’t be all nefarious, all the time,” she sighed. “His mother asked me to. It wouldn’t have been necessary if he’d been a girl. They’re telepathic. But if the boys want to talk, they have to sing. Not really fair, but them’s the breaks. In his case, being a hybrid meant not being able to do that in one or the other proper ranges. He was stuck in the middle, which put him out of both of the potential pods. So I talked to him for a while, then I fixed his voice. Anyway, I’m not letting you tag along with me.”

“Afraid seeing too much of you will change my mind?”

“And you’ll arrive at the sudden realization that I’m Loki? Nope. Not even a little.”

“Very well,” Sif sighed. “I you don’t want my help, I should probably just go.”

“Are you trying to reverse-psychology me? What am I, five?”

She shrugged. “It sometimes worked on Loki.”

“Oh my fucking god, you people are dysfunctional.” Sif glared at her. “Seriously, what am I thinking, not signing right up to be part of the super-powered soap opera you’ve got going? Clearly, it’s the missed opportunity of a lifetime.”

“If you hold us in such poor regard, why did you save Thor?”

“Why do I do anything? I’m capricious and fickle.”

“You fought a dragon-king to a standstill to save him. You healed him. That speaks of rather more than simple caprice.”

“What sort of answer do you want, then? That I categorically deny that he’s my brother, but I’ve grown rather fond of him regardless? That my unresolved anger-management issues sometimes lead to extreme risk-taking and violent outbursts? That I feel like I’ve got something to prove now that my failure could literally see humanity as we know it wiped out? That I occasionally feel the need to push my luck to the breaking point, because I know it can’t hold forever and I can’t take the suspense? All of the above?” Lucy smiled mirthlessly. “Or I guess we could stick to the more comfortable territory of me being secretly Loki and being motivated by....I don’t even fucking know anymore, brotherly love? A sense of fraternal duty? Whatever part of him didn’t try to blow up a planet and blast Thor to kingdom come?”

“You’ve grown fond of him, then?”

Lucy heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I could be showing fangs, rattling a tail, and flaring a brightly-colored neck-frill, and you still wouldn’t take the hint, would you?”

“I don’t know what half of that means. But you’ve grown fond of him.”

“I’m only human, Sif. He’s excessively affectionate and fairly charismatic. It means nothing beyond that.”

“And if it does?” Sif pressed.

“Then I’ll worry about that later,” Lucy sighed. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry at the moment.”

“Let me help you, then.”

“You’re very persistent, I’ll give you that.”

“Since you don’t have the benefit of Loki’s experience with me, I’ll make this easier for you,” Sif said. “I will have my way. It would save time and a few bruises if you relent now and permit me to accompany you on your errands.”

“You know what? Fine. You’re hired. Welcome aboard. The next stop on the tour is convincing the ATF not to get themselves shot up by and then shoot up in turn a particularly trigger-happy cult, because I like California and would be terribly annoyed at having to wipe it off the map in retaliation, and I cannot think of a single way this could possibly go wrong.”

Sif crossed her arms and tilted her head. “What are you playing at?”

“Well, it suddenly occurred to me that it’s grossly unfair that SHIELD gets to abuse you people’s weird obsession with me being Loki and I don’t. So, let’s go haggle with the ATF over an assload of weapons violations,” Lucy said cheerily. “Unless you’ve changed your mind and would like to go home, in which case you should definitely do that instead.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“You have no idea what half the words I just said mean, do you?” she asked.

“I’m a quick study,” Sif assured her.

“Here’s hoping.”

“Will you at least be putting on some clothes?”

“Probably. I’ve found it makes agents a little nervous when you try to negotiate hostage situations in a bikini. They just don’t know how to react to it.” Lucy stretched. “Just so you know, though, if you get in my way, I won’t hesitate to teleport you to the middle of Tehran and let SHIELD sort out the diplomatic consequences.”

Chapter Text

Lucy frowned and held up her bullhorn. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your time, Coulson?”

“A magician and an alien are joining forces with a death cult on US soil. This is actually in my job description,” Coulson answered over the PA system. “Answer your phone. I don’t want to have this conversation over a loudspeaker.”

“I don’t have my phone anymore. A whale ate it.” She paced along the top of the cinder block wall she was perched on. “I think. I dropped it in the ocean around a whale, and then I couldn’t find it afterwards, so I’m reasonably sure the whale ate it.”

“Then pick up the handset in the phone booth two hundred yards east of your current position.” She had to give him credit for the way he mostly avoided sighing into the microphone.

“The one you have like three dozen snipers covering? Do you seriously think I’m going to fall for that one?”

“That’s just a precaution, Jones. Unless you’re no longer bulletproof on alternate Tuesdays?” The static hiss and feedback made everyone wince.

“It’s every third Wednesday, and it’s the principle of the thing, Coulson. If you try to snipe me, I’m going to have to summon the bats. If I have to summon the bats, nobody’s going to be happy.”

A quickly muttered conversation was half picked up by the microphone. Lucy caught “Can she do that?”, “What’s she talking about?”, and “Let me handle this.” before she felt the need to hoist the megaphone again.

“Guys, I can hear you. Somebody’s leaning on the damn button.”

The feed cut off with a squawk.

“Will you get down from there?” Sif hissed from behind the cover the wall provided.

“I like it up here. I can see everything. And I really can’t be harmed by conventional weapons at this point. Mostly. Probably.”

“Jones, we can hear you,” Coulson informed her.

“I don’t care,” she retorted.

“Go answer the phone, Jones.”

“Fine.” She looked down at Sif. “Stay here. I’m guessing that armor won’t stop a sniper’s bullet, and I’ll be damned if I get stuck explaining what went wrong to the Asgardian hordes if anything happens to you.”

“I’m not staying behind while you put yourself in danger. I’m especially not staying behind with a pack of blue people fornicating in public while you put yourself in danger.”

“Hey, now. It’s a religious ceremony. Of sorts. They just got a little confused on some of the details.” Lucy cringed slightly. “The Feast of Saint Krishna is like Christmas for people who were too high to understand what the Hare Krishnas were trying to tell them and then never bothered looking it up afterwards.”

Sif looked at her blankly.

“Just stay here. And remember to use the flat side if you need to sword anybody who tries to throw blue paint on you. And stop looking at me like that. You insisted on coming.”

She trotted off before Sif could say anything else. So far, things were not going terribly well. She’d forgotten that it was the Feast of Saint Krishna. Her aunt usually sent her at least a text wishing her well and inviting her back for the maypole part of it. Sif had not been terribly pleased to walk in on the third-day festivities, which was understandable. She hadn’t been terribly pleased to walk in on the third-day festivities, either. Of course, it could have been worse. The Festival of Hosea didn’t involve gallons of food-coloring, but it was just as weird and infinitely more embarrassing, especially since she was reasonably sure that Hosea’s marriage to Gomer had been an extended metaphor rather than a call for reenactment. She slipped into the phone booth and picked up the handset.

“Happy now, Coulson?”

“What are you doing, Jones?”

“Trying to keep my last living blood relative and a bunch of her poor benighted followers from getting massacred by the FBI. Who, by the way, have put the ATF’s nose seriously out of joint by hijacking their investigation under what are apparently very dodgy jurisdictional arguments, so SHIELD might want to prepare for some blowback over that.”

“It’s very kind of you to be concerned, given the blowback you should be worried about from hijacking one of Asgard’s best warriors on god knows what pretext.”

“If anyone’s getting hijacked here, it’s me.” Lucy leaned against one glass half-wall and kept a vague eye on the installation outside the compound. “She insisted on coming with me, ostensibly to help me prove I’m not Loki. I think Thor put her up to it. If I actually knew shit about Loki, this would be a golden opportunity to fix this bullshit. Hint, hint.”

“We don’t have anything on his brother that he didn’t give us, Jones, and if anything happens to her, there’s a good chance it’s going to end in a war.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s almost like there are negative consequences to telling a bunch of aliens that a supervillain is their long-lost spare prince. Who’d have thought? Oh, wait. I did. And told you about it.”

“Yes, you were right. I’m sorry.”

“Wait, what? Could you repeat that? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“Don’t push it, Jones.”

“In honor of me being declared right all along, do you think you can maybe call off the dogs? I get that the Followers of Hatshepsut, or whatever they’re calling themselves this week, are not exactly a cuddly good-times cult that feed errant hippies and runaway teens until everybody grows up a little and realizes that soap and haircuts can be a good thing, but you can’t go around firebombing compounds full of minors and more-or-less harmless crazies because of a few sawed-off shotguns.”

“We’d actually planned on using fentanyl, not napalm.”

“Wait, fentanyl? I mean, okay, it’s a step up from the cleansing power of jellied gasoline, but why don’t you run that one past Romanoff and see if you still think it’s a good idea?”

“What’s your counter-offer?”

“My counter-offer is you all fuck off and forget you were ever going to do this. I mean, I hate to draw lines in the sand, here, but I’m not letting this happen. I’m not super-fond of really hurting people, but given how frequently you fire up your recording of that Guatemala incident, you can’t be unaware that I’m capable of it, given the right stakes. And these idiots are like the closest thing I have left to an actual family, so I’ve kind of been given the right stakes.”

“I have no knowledge of the recording to which you’re referring.”

“Of course you don’t. Anyway, if you guys steamroll this joint, it’s going to go south, and then it’s going to escalate.”

“This is simply experience talking?”

“Well, experience plus uh, I guess you’d call it foresight? Prophecy? Divination? I’ve got some powers that are on loan from somebody else that are starting to come in. It’s a little weird. But, you know, what I’m seeing as the future if you give the order on this and what I’d extrapolate as the future based on how shit’s gone down in the past aren’t that far apart.”

“Someone is loaning you more power.”

“Yeah. It’s a magician thing. Kind of. And also a god thing, but kind of an old-fashioned god thing.”

“Does this mean you might be available to take care of a deity-related incident in the arctic if we back off this?”

“Coulson, if I run into one more pantheon behaving badly, I’m going to rage-quit life and wish the prehistoric crustaceans the best of luck with their new world. I mean, I like humanity. We’re pretty cool, we’re great conversationalists, and nothing’s ever boring when we’re around. But Jesus fucking Christ, are our gods down for pulling some shit.”

“I’ll take that as a no, then.”

“Damn right, it’s a no.” Lucy rubbed her forehead. A sharp crack split the relative quiet, and she blinked stupidly at the spiderweb fractures radiating from a neat puncture in the phone booth’s half-wall. She reached down, her hand shaking slightly, and flicked a pancaked bullet off her jacket. “Okay, so when I warned you not to fucking snipe me, did I sound like I was fucking kidding?”

“Nobody gave the order, Jones. That was a lone agent acting without orders,” Coulson said quickly and firmly, a slight edge of alarm creeping into his voice. “We can fix this.”

“Nope.” Lucy slammed the phone down and swept out of the phone booth. She flicked off the installation with one hand and raised her other hand, reaching out with her magic. “Come to me, my chiropteran swarms!”

The sky darkened after a few minutes, and she smiled at the high-pitched creaking noise of thousands of audible vocalizations. One of the bats landed on her shoulder, and she picked it up affectionately. Four sharp, glistening fangs in a highly-recognizable configuration confronted her when she held it up. Lucy sighed. Of course, she thought, her stomach sinking. Of course.

She jumped the wall and ran for the compound, waving her arms frantically. “Wrong bats! I summoned the wrong bats! Everybody put your clothes back on! Vampire bats are coming!”

*****

“Nobody’s dead,” Fury said, flipping through the report.

“No, sir,” Coulson replied carefully.

“In spite of having clocked in a truly impressive one hundred percent injury rate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And depleting the entire rabies vaccine supply of California, Oregon, and Nevada.”

“That was my understanding, sir.”

“And possibly upsetting the local ecological balance by the introduction of a massive swarm of--do correct me if I read this part wrong--’bumblebee bats that used to be vampire bats’.”

“At least the bumblebee bat is no longer in danger of extinction?”

Fury looked up, eyebrow arched carefully. Coulson kept his gaze focused carefully on the empty space directly in front of him. Fury tossed the report down with a sigh.

“Did we get fucked on this, agent?”

“In my opinion, or as a demonstrable fact?” Coulson asked.

“Both.”

“As a demonstrable fact, a sniper in the FBI’s chain of command fired on a lone superhuman target without orders. She denies acting according to pre-arranged signal and insists it was an accident. In my opinion, we got fucked on this. Between the way the Bureau scooped this operation up from the ATF over their objections, the shaky ground they were on when they did it, and a sudden case of perfectly-targeted nerves from a sniper with an otherwise sterling record, it is my belief that the confrontation was deliberately precipitated.”

“I concur.” He snorted. “At ease, Phil. We’ve got people shaking this tree. In the meantime, you think you can smooth this over with your little science fair project?”

“She’s got kin in the upper echelon of the cult. She was lobbying to get the investigation dropped and the commune left alone. If we can guarantee that, I think I can.”

“I’ll have Hill take care of it. I do not want to give that wand-waving whackjob a reason to move back in with the Manson Family. Can you get the Asgardian away from her without further incident?”

“According to her, Sif’s there voluntarily. I didn’t see any move on her part to attempt escape, so I’m inclined to believe her. With Thor off-planet, it would seem she’s stuck on babysitting duty.”

“Thor’s assigned her a chaperone? Maybe he’s smarter than he seems, after all,” Fury mused.

“I’d caution against underestimating his intelligence, director. He’s foreign to the culture, yes, but he’s proven a very quick study, and he’s shown a preternaturally strong aptitude for effective improvisation.”

“Shame he didn’t pick a chaperone who could prevent the rain of blood-drinking rabies-carriers,” Fury grunted. “Go make contact, Phil. Put out a high alert if you can’t get a positive response.”

“Yes, sir.”

*****

“Well, this is embarrassing,” Lucy sighed. “Sorry about the hair.”

Sif glowered at her. “This is becoming rather a habit with you.”

The doctor’s assistants glared at them over the counter, and the rest of the waiting room’s occupants did their best to ignore them.

“If I had had any idea it would just come off like that, I’d have let you get the bats out yourself. I really didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It shouldn’t have. The spell is powerful.”

“I didn’t notice a spell, honestly. Do you want me to try putting it back on?” she offered.

Sif gave her a measuring glance. “You didn’t mean to pull it off in the first place. You didn’t mean to summon that type of bat. You only managed half a skirt when you finally agreed to put clothes on. I don’t know that I trust you with this.”

“The skirt is supposed to look like that. And I already explained about the bats. They have a bad reputation, and they’re ugly, and they’re a giant reservoir for a particularly awful disease, and everyone’s afraid of them for good reason, and they just wanted somebody to like them. In retrospect, yes, that was bound to happen. At the time, it was an unavoidable accident. I’m not omniscient.” She spread her hands. “But I’m not going to pressure you into trying to let me help. It’s not my problem if you want to go around completely bald, and all I can do is apologize and move on.”

“Fine. One attempt,” Sif said firmly. “If it doesn’t succeed, stop trying.”

“That’s a terrible philosophy. How do you people have a space empire with that sort of thinking?” Lucy scolded, snatching the pile of dark hair from Sif’s hands. “Now hold still.”

“We do not have a ‘space empire,’” Sif told her flatly. Lucy combed through the locks and found the roots. She carefully set the upper edge along Sif’s natural hairline and draped the rest back, gritting her teeth in the hopes that whatever magic she’d disturbed would reassert itself. The hair flowed into the skin as if it were natural, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay, is that right?” she asked, stepping back. Sif stretched the shoulder she’d gotten the rabies shot in, then ran her hands through her hair.

“It feels as it did before you removed it, yes,” she admitted. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! It just sort of, I don’t know, reattached itself. It was a bit weird, honestly.” Lucy stared at it. “Hey, do you mind if I take it off again and--”

“Yes, I mind!” Sif snapped, jerking away from her. She relaxed when Lucy held up her hands apologetically and backed away. She rubbed the injection site experimentally, frowning. “This is an odd method of healing, I must admit. How will being stabbed with a needle prevent an illness?”

Lucy sighed. “I don’t know that it will. You might not get sick no matter what. We’re not really down with the finer points of Asgardian biology out here in the hinterlands. But it’s not the needle, it’s the liquid that comes out of it. It basically, uh, shows your body what it needs to do to fight the disease. Like a practice match for a real fight.” She drummed her fingers absently on the counter. “I apologize again about the bats. I really didn’t think I’d wind up with a huge flock of vampires flooding out of Mexico. I was shooting for, like, brown bats or free-tailed bats or maybe even some pipistrelles.”

“I suppose it’s not entirely unexpected. Loki’s cleverness backfired every so often as well.” She shrugged. “We were on a hunt once. He and Thor had made a bet about who could fell a beast first. Thor went tramping off into the forest alone, hoping to take a stag by stealth. Loki set a few snares to increase his chances before setting off as well. He sighted a hind first, put a spear in her flank, and pursued her right into one of his own traps.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “And those sort of shenanigans are why I do all my hunting from blinds, with rifles, like a sensible person. Who won the bet?”

“Thor finished off the hind, cut Loki down, and declared himself the winner twice over. Loki protested that the hind was his, that he didn’t count as a felled beast, and appealed to us to mediate.” Lucy raised her eyebrows. “We might have been slightly more likely to decide in his favor if he hadn’t replaced our mead-barrels with water less than a fortnight before the hunt.”

“Well, then. Can’t argue with that logic.” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know that getting caught in your own snare really compares to retroactively making every terrible horror movie with the word ‘bats’ somewhere in the title a documentary, though. It’s humiliating, sure, but eventually everyone forgets about it and you get on with your life. I have the feeling this is going to make the papers.” She pursed her lips. “I’m going to have to pretend it was on purpose if I ever want to hear the end of it. I should call a press conference.”

One of the office assistants leaned out from behind the intake window. “Which one of you is Lucy Jones?”

Lucy waved. “That’d be me. Why?”

“Someone named Coulson on the phone for you. Says he’s with the HMO. Says he needs to talk to you.”

“Hooray. Show me the way,” Lucy groaned.

“Jones,” Coulson said when she picked up.

“Coulson. How did you find me?”

“It’s amazing how little difficulty one has locating someone in the company of dozens of underdressed smurfs and one six-foot Ren Faire escapee, all of whom need treatment for rabies exposure.”

“Well, when you put it that way, yes, it sounds kind of not-hard.” She paused. “Also, I don’t think they’d qualify as underdressed for smurfs. None of the dudes were rocking a shirt, and Smurfette was running around in what was basically a slip.”

“Moving on, I would like to apologize for letting the FBI shoot you.”

“Damn straight.”

“And I would like to assure you that further efforts to prosecute the organization your aunt has founded will not be made.”

“Thank you.” She sucked at her teeth. “I’m hearing a ‘but’ coming up.”

“I’m going to need to have a talk with Sif, in private. Just as a precaution, you understand.”

“Sure. As soon as I’m done here, I’m heading over to Chicago to break into a museum and rummage through their eurypterida collection. You can interrogate Sif while I’m doing that.”

“Must you?”

“Well, I wouldn’t if they’d actually put their shit out on display, but they haven’t, so yes, I must. If it’s any consolation, I promise to rummage very, very carefully, and if you try to stop me, I’ll afflict everybody with West Nile mosquitoes.”

“You realize that West Nile virus is not actually that dangerous to healthy adults, right?”

“Well, I do now.”

“And that it would be more of a consolation if I wasn’t covered in bat-bites from your most recent bout of very, very careful lawbreaking?”

“Be fair, Coulson. There was nothing careful about that at all. Really, they only wanted to be your friend. And, yes, also to feed on your life-force, but mostly to be your friend.”

“I’m sending you a new phone. Call me when you’re in Chicago.”

“I don’t want a new phone from you. You’re just going to bug it.”

“I have complete confidence in your countermeasures.”

“Oh, wait. Never mind! I can give it to Sif, and then you two can talk about superhero things instead of bothering me while I’m trying to figure out how to save the world from paleozoicization.” The office assistants stared at her. She covered the mouthpiece. “It’s cool, guys, I’ve kind of got a plan.”

“Jones, will you please be serious?” Phil demanded.

“I’m being completely serious. Don’t worry, I’ll get a new phone by tomorrow, and then you can call it and I can refuse to pick up. Deal?”

“Call me when you’re in Chicago,” he repeated. “And try to stick to cash transactions. I think the CDC just posted a bounty on you.”

“Will do,” she chirped. She hung up and beamed at the assistants. “Thanks for putting the call through, guys. I appreciate it.”

“Which HMO does he work for, again?”

“No idea,” she said, shrugging. “I just went with whatever was cheapest. I think it was like Hummana with two Ms or something.”

“I see.”

“Before you take that tone with me, I feel like I should warn you that my handbag is full of vampire bats whose greatest joys in life are getting tangled in people’s hair, cuddling right up to people’s necks, and probably-not-but-possibly having rabies.”

“Duly noted.” The assistant didn’t look up from her clipboard. “Please go back to your seat.”

Lucy’s face fell. “Nothing? That doesn’t get any sort of reaction?”

The assistant snorted. “Lady, you and your pals aren’t even the worst we’ve seen through here today. Go sit down.”

*****

“Father,” Thor greeted.

“Thor,” Odin returned heavily. “Fafnir’s bindings have been forged anew. He will not trouble us again for some time.”

Thor nodded hesitantly, and Odin sighed.

“When you were young, we hoped to raise you in a time of peace. We hoped that you would never know a return to the war which came so close to devastating all nine realms. We hoped that you would love and support each other without rancor or jealousy for as long as you lived.” He shook his head. “Now that you’re grown, I think it rather an indictment of those hopes that I can see my children battered and bruised and clinging to one another on the wreckage of a battlefield and count it something of a victory.”

“You no longer doubt me in this?”

“Having seen you together, I cannot.” Odin paced slowly in front of the fire. “Your mother wished to believe that Loki lived because she would not brook the loss of her son in such a way. I believed that your brother lived because I felt his spirit at work in the realms. It seems that the Fates have seen fit not to disappoint us in this, at least.”

“Loki does not know himself anymore,” Thor told him. “But he’s still my brother. He would not abandon me against an enemy like Fafnir.”

“At this point, I will take hope wherever it can be found.”

“Will you speak to mother?”

“Having seen this woman, I can see where the confusion lies,” Odin said slowly. “Having seen you together, I can see where your conviction comes from. I don’t see how I could keep this from your mother in good conscience. She needs to know that her youngest has been found, and that her oldest is not deluded.”

“I would not go as far as that,” Thor sighed. His voice dropped. “I don’t know if I can bring him home, father.”

“I have faith in you, Thor. Even in his madness, even when he was beyond your persuasion, Loki was never beyond your influence.” He smiled sadly. “We have time in this. Loki will come home.”

Thor felt a slight warmth kindle in his blood at his father’s confidence. He hoped he was right. He hoped Sif had made some headway where he’d failed to. Trying to make Loki do anything he didn’t want to had always been a long, slow game of strategy and bribery. Trying to make Lucy do something she didn’t want to had proven even more difficult. Perhaps with his father’s support, he could persuade Coulson to assist him more enthusiastically than he had. He risked a small smile.

“You must help me explain this to your mother, though,” Odin sighed. “We’ll never convince her separately.”

Chapter Text

“Did you really have to bring Dr. Smashalot along for this, Coulson? I thought we were trying to be careful around the extremely old zooarchaeological specimens.” Lucy wound her hair into a tight bun and pulled on a pair of cotton gloves. Sif eyed them critically. “What? It keeps oil and sweat off the fossils.”

“Couldn’t you just use magic for that?” Bruce asked, crossing his arms and hanging back behind Phil. Lucy judged from his posture that Coulson had needed to strong-arm him into this.

“Sure. I could also just hunt down a lactating cow every time I want some cereal. Sometimes it’s easier to just put on the damn gloves or go to the fucking supermarket,” she snorted. “Also, congratulations on beating us here.”

“Intelligence agency,” Phil pointed out.

“If you guys want to go out for ice cream and turkey legs while I engage in a bit of criminal scholarship, feel free. It’s probably going to take a while.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” Sif warned her.

“But Coulson needs to make sure I didn’t kidnap you out of some weird, idiotic impulse to get run through a couple of times, and he’s not going to be happy until you’ve said it at least twice out of earshot of me.”

“I don’t answer to him.” Lucy started to object. “Or you.”

“Ball’s in your court, agent,” she sighed. “Have fun.”

Phil gave Sif a closer look and frowned. He waved Bruce toward Lucy and tried to pull Sif aside.

“What exactly are you hoping to find here?” Bruce asked as he watched her pull out a padded drawer.

“A weak spot, or a common defect, or some maladaptation. Chink in the armor. The right place to put an explosive round or two. You know, the usual.” She carefully poked through the contents before shutting it and opening another. “Thor show back up yet?”

“No. Did you really punch out a dragon?”

“No, I defeated a dragon like a fucking lady.” She shrugged. “I don’t know that it necessarily counts, though. I mean, it was a space-dragon or some fucking thing. It’s hard to tell exactly how proud of yourself you should be when it comes to aliens. There’s always the potential for having just drop-kicked ET into the exosphere.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen ET, but I don’t remember him killing anyone.”

“Point.” She glanced over to Phil and Sif. “Is he making progress, do you think?”

“He is not,” Sif answered firmly.

“You can seriously hear me from over there?”

“You are far louder than you think.”

“Oh. Well, then.” She sidled up to Bruce and elbowed, who jumped a little. “Promise her you’ll keep an eye on me if they take a walk.”

“The last time I left your side, someone tried to kill you,” Sif grunted. “Unless that’s already slipped your mind.”

“It hasn’t, but let’s face it, they’re really bad at it. They’re not going to succeed if you leave where they would fail if you were here.”

“I would still be more at ease if you’d stop plotting to be rid of me.”

“I’m not plotting to be rid of you. I’m plotting to be rid of Coulson.” Phil sighed slightly, and she made a face at him.

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” Sif pointed out.

“Okay, yes, granted. Still. Go hover from a distance. Your hair is distracting me. I think it’s still mad at me. It’s like it’s watching me, waiting for the right moment to strike. And it will make Coulson happy, and then maybe he’ll refrain from having the FBI shoot at me again. In the meantime, Dr. Banner’s alter ego can make sure I don’t go anywhere. Right?”

He stared at her. “I suppose.”

“Don’t give me that look. The Hulk is why you’re here, yeah? You didn’t minor in Paleozoic arthropods while getting a degree in turning into a giant green rage monster? Is it now impolite to mention that fact?”

“Swear that you will not get into mischief while I’m gone,” Sif said finally, watching her carefully.

“I won’t intentionally get into mischief while you’re gone,” Lucy repeated absently. Sif’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s likely the best you’re going to get,” Phil said gently. She shook her head but followed him outside.

“I have to confess, I’m a little surprised that you gave in,” he confessed once they were alone. Her gaze swept over the narrow interior courtyard, looking for signs of danger. She didn’t relax until she was certain that they were alone and unthreatened.

“I grew up with Loki, Son of Coul. He could argue a rockslide to a standstill. Everyone said he had a tongue of silver, and could charm the stars from the sky, but his victories were not infrequently won through sheer obstinance. Thor is perhaps the more stubborn of the pair, but not by much. I am simply saving us both some time.”

He nodded. “Please, call me Phil. And what she said about your hair, do I even want to know what she meant by that?”

“It is an artifice. She accidentally pulled it off.”

“Trying to get a bat out of it?”

“Trying to get several bats out of it,” she confirmed.

“I apologize for her behavior, on behalf of the government of the United States.”

Sif scoffed. “She isn’t yours to apologize for, I don’t think.”

Phil weighed her statement. “Asgard is treating this as an internal matter?”

“For the time being.” Sif shook her head. “It’s...strange. Ordinarily if Loki were behaving like this, the Allfather would step in. Or Thor. Or even the queen. I thought maybe I could appeal to the blue priestess, but she was,” Sif hesitated a moment, “not helpful. Or wearing clothes.”

“No, I rather imagine she wasn’t. Jones doesn’t really answer to a higher authority, unfortunately.”

“May I ask you something, Phil?”

“Of course. I may not be able to answer, though.”

“Before he fell, Loki served Asgard. Not always faithfully, and not always by the safest or surest means, but there was no question that he was one of us.” She paused, chewing her lip. “Here, she does as she pleases, answers to no one, and yet she still seems, after a fashion, to be in service.”

“I’m not sure I see the question,” he said carefully.

“If she is, if my read on her is correct, I suppose my question is, to whom?” Sif asked pensively.

“There’s the obvious answer,” Phil suggested.

She shook her head. “She’s pompous, yes, and rather an ass at times. And overconfident. But she’s alone, isn’t she? She claims no territory, raises no army, sits on no throne. She’s not establishing herself as a power. You’ve noticed the difference between sellswords who fan their reputations to charge a higher fee and the ones who cultivate their names to gain the allegiance of their fellows?”

“After a fashion,” he said archly, nodding. It was an interesting question, that. He turned it over in his mind as she went on.

“She does not appear to be collecting allies, or putting anyone in her debt against the future, or consolidating her gains. She takes, and then she lets go. She does favors, and pays no attention to the gratitude she’s given. There’s a deeper purpose here. I can’t begin to guess at it, though. Can you?”

“I think, and this is only guesswork based on things she’s said in the past and conversations with another magician, that there’s a certain, uh, vested interest in seeing the sun continue to come up. It’s sort of like why we fight HYDRA, even though nobody explicitly said it had to be our problem. They’re everybody’s problem, and we’re some of the only ones who can. The things she does that aren’t for personal gain or personal amusement tend to be things that need a magician, and she’s stuck living here with the consequences of them not getting done just like everybody else.”

“An interesting conclusion,” Sif muttered.

“It’s not something we’ve discussed at length,” he said. “I suppose you could try asking her directly.”

“If there is anything that Loki is, no matter what the form or what the circumstance, it’s a liar. I could not trust the answer, if she deigned to give me one. Given the difficulty I had persuading her to accept my company to begin with, it seems unwise to broach the subject.”

“Well, best of luck if you do. And please, let me know if she actually tells you anything.” Phil stopped abruptly, his left hand coming up in warning and his right hand going to his holstered gun. Sif’s sword came out of its sheath silently. Human shapes moved through the shadows in the rear of the museum’s courtyard. He counted, then gestured for her to follow him.

*****

“You know what I really want to do right now?”

“Sneak out the back just to put everybody’s nose out of joint?” Bruce asked, pushing his glasses up.

“Not as such, no. Find the guy that figured out you could get silica fossils out of limestone with hydrochloric acid and just give him, like, the biggest fucking high five.”

“Not sure I follow.”

She shrugged. “It’s clever. I mean, it’s stupidly simple once you see it, but somebody had to see it first. You know, go from picking fiddly little bits of dead, fossilized bug out of rock with a dental tool to just chucking the lot of it into a beaker and washing the shell out afterward. And then, boom. Whole new world opens up, and it turns out the bugs have feelers coming off their feelers and make spiny lobsters look understated. It’s dash cunning, especially for the ‘50s, and I’m something of a fan of cunning things.”

“Tony’s pretty cunning,” he pointed out blandly.

“Tony’s also been involved in several of the incidents where I’ve gotten repulsor-blasted through a parking garage,” she countered. “I’m rather less a fan of being used as a wrecking ball.”

“Only several of them?”

“People who build repulsors tend not to like me, for some reason.” She pulled down another specimen. “Their loss, really. I’m fantastic company, regardless of whether or not you have repulsor technology.”

“I think there might be some dissent about that.”

“Only in Canada. Hand me that magnifying glass over there?” She examined a tail spike the size of her thumb. “Fucking hell, these little monsters suck. Look at this.”

“Can we not do this?” he asked, his expression turning pinched.

“Not do what? Look at something completely rad?” She cocked her head.

He waved his hands at the room, frustrated. “This. This thing where you act like you’re not actually a bad person and wouldn’t just as soon set the whole city on fire on your way out.”

“Did you have money riding on the dragon or something, Banner?” He rubbed his temples, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. You’d prefer not to make the best of it, just go find a comfortable chair and park it until Coulson gets back. I’ll do my best not to annoy you in the meantime.”

“You don’t annoy me. You’re just...” He trailed off and shook his head. “You’re like the other guy, only worse. You’re a force of destruction, and nobody’s willing to acknowledge it.”

“Wow.” Lucy drummed her fingers on the counter for a minute, chewing her lip. “Okay. Here’s the thing. I’m nothing like the Hulk. Nothing. That dude’s got like, two settings. There’s no talking him out of it or badgering him out of anything he’s decided he’s gonna do. The only thing you can do with him is crank him up from bunker-buster to nuclear warhead by pissing him off even more. And you? Are not really that in control of him. There’s no way to be. You’re getting a lot better about whether or not he comes out, but once he’s out, you’re pretty much done.

“So, yes, okay, I’m a force of destruction. Yes, okay, I have done some really rather extreme shit in my time. You want to be mad at me about it, fine, go for it. But--and I’m not a sociologist here, so take it with a grain of salt--I’d lay money on the reason most people go out of their way not to keep bringing it up when I’m not setting things on fire or kicking dragons in the shins is that I have a pretty variable range of destructiveness. And I am in control of it, pretty much. If I feel like I need to go do something before I really do something, that’s an option. I can go get it out of my system a little bit without turning everybody in Perth into wallabies. So everybody else would prefer if I spent more time at the ‘too many bar fights’ setting and less time at ‘WMD.’ Which generally means you do less valorizing the WMD version and--”

Coulson burst back into the room, Sif at his heels with her sword drawn. “We need to go. Now.”

“Nice talking with you, Banner. Bye, Coulson,” Lucy waved. “Nice seeing you.”

“All of us,” he clarified flatly. He caught Banner’s questioning look. “Tactical team. Kitted out for a retrieval mission. Probably Ross’s men.”

“Wait, what? How is that guy not in Leavenworth?” Lucy demanded. “I rob one bank, and you guys are on me for life--”

“You’ve robbed over a hundred banks, Jones,” Coulson said.

“I rob over a hundred banks, and you guys are on me for life. That guy creates two self-directing super-weapons, one of which is objectively evil on a bun, blows up a borough of a major US city using the military, goes all Kent State on a campus with no evident hippies, and it’s just like fuck it, let’s give him his command back? What is wrong with you people?”

“Can you have this discussion somewhere else, before you’re having it over the Hulk roaring loud enough to break every window on the block?” Bruce asked tightly.

“You guys head out, I’m busy. And I can be invisible. So it’s not really my problem. Oh! Take Sif with you,” she said, her eyes glittering. “That way she can be not really my problem, too.”

A small explosion rattled the walls. Bruce jumped and gave Phil a sharp look. Sif glared at Lucy, who gave no sign of being willing to move. She flashed a beatific smile back at the warrior, cut short as a specimen rolled off the topmost shelf and fell.

“Motherfucker!” Lucy yelped, staring at the slender spine neatly skewering her forearm. “That is just....Seriously, what the fuck. How does this keep fucking happening. Why do I always get stabbed when I’m around Asgardians. How is this even physically a thing.” Blood flowed steadily from the wound, and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and tried to staunch it. “This is the fucking worst.”

“Jones, you can rail at physics and bad luck later. Right now we have a team coming through the only significant barrier between us and them. We need to go,” Coulson said firmly.

Lucy frowned, tying the cloth tightly around her arm, and then hissed between clenched teeth. “This really fucking hurts. Also, ta-da!”

She tossed a handful of carefully-tooled metal cylinders onto the table. Coulson stared at them for a second.

“Firing pins?” he asked. Sif didn’t look impressed, and Bruce looked confused.

“Yup.” She grimaced and flexed her fingers slightly. “Shit.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that we’ve got two dozen highly-trained operatives bearing down on our position, and you’ve already injured yourself,” he pointed out.

“We need to go,” Sif snapped. “I will see to that wound once we’re in a safer place.”

“I could add a pile of pins off their flashbangs to the pile and thin out the herd a little,” she offered. “Also, I think this one’s on gravity and the malice of dead gods, not me.”

Phil hesitated for a moment, looking from Lucy to Bruce, then nodded. “Do it. Neither of you are looking so good right now.”

A metallic clatter sounded as Lucy threw a handful of loops and pins down on the table. A few seconds later, booms and startled screaming could be heard from outside.

“Follow me. Now. Sif, bring up the rear.”

They filed out as quietly as they could, Sif’s free hand firm between Lucy’s shoulder blades and her blade at ready. They weren’t noticed over the chaos of the grenades.

*****

“Shouldn’t you two be heading back to the warm embrace of SHIELD?” Lucy asked, examining the spine in her arm.

Coulson didn’t look up from his position by the window. “Why would we be doing that?”

“Because that team was clearly after Banner, whose continued well-being probably depends on not getting stuffed back down a secretly military rabbithole?”

“There will be reinforcements arriving in the morning. We just need to stay out of custody until then,” Phil sighed. “Unless you’re feeling up to helping with transport.”

“Nope.” She grimaced as Sif returned with the tools she’d asked for.

“You took a bullet without it phasing you less than a week ago,” Bruce grumbled, sorting through the first aid kit he’d scrounged together. Lucy wasn’t sure from where; the cheap motel room they’d holed up in certainly hadn’t come with one. “How do you manage to go from that to this?”

She waved her hand.

“Magic!” she said sourly.

“Uh-huh.” He didn’t look convinced.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I would think to just pull it back out,” Sif said, examining the spine.

“Yeah, I know. But the edges have these tiny little barbs along them, and going against the grain is going to snap them off and leave me with an even uglier wound, and I’d really prefer to avoid that if possible,” Lucy said with false cheer.

“Can’t you just magic it out?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever had the misfortune to be stabbed, Banner, but it really does kind of a number of your ability to concentrate after a while,” she hissed. She glared at Sif as the Asgardian positioned the boltcutter at the upper edge of the protruding spike.

“This is a most convenient tool,” she murmured. “It would have been most appreciated the last time Volstagg was struck by an enemy’s arrow.”

“Yeah, they’re tits. Count of three?”

Sif snapped it off cleanly. “Or we could do it at once.”

Lucy let out the breath she’d been holding. “Fuck.” She panted for a few seconds. “Pliers?”

“It would be easier if I did that as well,” Sif pointed out.

“It would be easier if I just went to an emergency room, but apparently that might result in a firefight,” Lucy grumbled. She relented after a moment, letting Sif clean the pointed tip and get a grip on it with the pliers. “Go ahead.”

Sif pulled down, extracting the spine without causing too much further damage.

“Holy mother of Princess Diana,” Lucy breathed, resting her forehead on her uninjured arm. Sif squeezed her forearm between two compresses. “Shit. Can you just not do anything for a second? I need to get my bearings again.”

Bruce wiped the fossil clean and examined it more closely.

“We still in the clear, Phil?” he asked.

“So far. You going to make it, Jones?”

“Fuck you, Coulson. It’s going to take more than a spear of scorpion vengeance and a team effort to take me out,” she groaned.

“Seriously, though. You got shot, and this is what lays you out?” Bruce asked skeptically.

“Banner, it’s magic,” she groaned, not lifting her head. “You have to be paying attention, and you have to know what you’re doing. So yes, at the time I was involved in a fucking FBI deathcult standoff with a bunch of snipers and Coulson all taking aim at me, I was being careful of bullets. See also, earlier tonight, museum full of bad guys with guns. If I’d been worried about death from above in the form of a pointy fucking rock, I’d have cut to the chase and moved. And, you know, the thing was guided by dark magic, so it might have cut through my defenses anyway.”

“Dark magic,” Bruce repeated.

“Stop trying to get yourself killed,” Sif admonished.

“You’re not my mom, Sif.” She straightened. “Okay. I can do this.” She moved her hand over the wound, knitting flesh back together. “Holy fuck, that feels weird. Why is it that every time I get stabbed with something weird and magic, you’re around?”

“I am not,” Sif protested.

“She’s right, Jones,” Phil chimed in. “You get stabbed by weird things all the time.”

“I do not.”

“Selective perception, I think you called it when you were explaining things to Captain America,” he said blandly.

“It isn’t.”

“We could do a study,” Phil offered. “We have scientists standing by, even.” Bruce shot him a dark look.

“It would never get past the internal review board,” Lucy pointed out triumphantly. “Shit, never mind, SHIELD has the ethics of a rogue Monsanto division.”

She stretched cautiously, then tested her arm.

“Well?” Sif prompted.

“Tender and a bit stiff, but whole enough,” she grunted. “How you doing over there, Banner?”

“I’m not huge and green and ripping the walls out,” he retorted.

“I’ll take that as an ‘awesome,’ then. Anybody up for pizza? If I don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to keel over and sleep for a week, which might be kind of a problem if we have unexpected guests.”

“Can you please take this seriously?” Bruce asked quietly.

“Okay.” She scowled at him. “If I don’t get something to eat soon, I am going to keel over and sleep for a week. Because I just had something punch through my arm, and then had it pulled out the other side of my arm. And it still hurts, and I am fucking tired, and I am kind of shocky, and I am kind of fucking stuck here, because I can get myself out, but it would mean leaving you three assholes behind, and I’m reasonably sure I’d feel a little bit shitty about it if that resulted in your doom. So do you want to keep being a prick about it, or do you want to pick a fucking topping and bring me the fucking phone?”

He flushed and handed her the phone.

“Thank you,” she grunted. “Coulson?”

“Whatever passes for a veggie-lover. Bruce will have the same. And don’t bother looking at me like that, doctor. If you Hulk out over low blood-sugar we’re all going to be terribly embarrassed.”

Bruce muttered something apologetic. Lucy rifled through her pockets.

“Good thing we’re in a bad enough part of town the poor bastard stuck on delivery duty won’t be too startled by blood on the money,” she said. “You want to read me the number off that billboard on the other side of the parking lot, Coulson?”

Chapter Text

Lucy tossed a pizza crust down onto her plate and sat back. “So, Banner, I think I might kind of owe you an apology. Snarling at a dude who’s trying to keep it together so he doesn’t go on a smashing rampage in the middle of a populated area is probably not the least dickheaded thing I’ve ever done.”

Bruce coughed and looked down. “Apology accepted. You at least had the excuse of being injured.”

“Meh. Not the worst thing that’s ever happened,” she said with a shrug. Her arm still felt strange, like something was swimming under the skin. “Not to mention it was a little offset by the novelty of being involved in a cock-up that had nothing whatsoever to do with me. That doesn’t happen very often.” She pulled out her cigarettes. “Anybody mind?”

“Yes,” Phil said firmly.

“Okay, then.” She put them away with an amount of ill-grace that made Sif shake her head and sigh. There was a long-suffering quality to it that made her feel on guard. “Do I even want to know?”

“It would probably only irritate you,” Sif told her. Lucy snorted, and Sif shrugged, her eyes flickering over the familiar-but-strange figure across the table. Her lips were too red, her cheeks too pale, her kohl-rimmed eyes too bright, her hair too mussed. Her form with too thin even for her slender frame, and her blood was too hot under her skin. When irritation and anger animated her features, she looked feral. She was a creature of ruin, and it was stamped on every inch of her figure.

“Probably?” she asked archly.

“Almost assuredly,” Sif confirmed.

“Well, then.” Lucy rolled her eyes. You don’t know me, lady. “Tell your reinforcements to hurry up, Coulson. I’m going to have cabin fever by two o’clock at this rate.”

“Can I ask you something?” Bruce murmured.

“Shoot,” Lucy sighed.

“I’d think that something like pulling the firing pins out of guns you can’t see would be a lot more delicate work than transporting people you can to a new location.”

“Technically, yes, it’s a fiddlier kind of thing. But I mean, you fuck that up? No big deal. The gun’s not going to work, but that was the whole point of the exercise. It might blow up in somebody’s face instead of just not firing, but the hell with it, they’re douchebags anyway. You fuck something up with an actual organic thing? Bigger deal. Like, inside-out and on fire bigger deal. It’s a null risk versus a terrible risk.” She toyed absently with her lighter. It was difficult to describe the delicate interplay of forces that came with moving live creatures around a globe that was in motion at a fantastic speed. “You want to put it in science terms, it’s like an extremely touchy reaction that screwing up will turn into useless sludge versus a touchy reaction that screwing up will turn into Chernobyl.”

“Chernobyl?” Sif asked, her brows furrowing.

“Nuclear accident,” Lucy explained.

“Nuclear?”

“Stop giving classified information to the Russians, Jones,” Phil said mildly.

“They’ve got wormholes as a functional means of transport, Coulson. I imagine in this situation the bomb is kind of like ‘Oh, you’ve graduated from hitting each other with rocks to tying rocks to sticks and hitting each other with those! Well done!’ Not really that big an improvement, you dig?”

“Humor me.”

“Fine,” she grumbled. Sif raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms. “Basically we figured out how to tie rocks to sticks and then promptly smacked ourselves in the faces with it. Scientifically speaking.”

“Thor mentioned that your people have rather a penchant for doing that sort of thing,” Sif answered coolly.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Bruce sighed.

“I’m sure someday we’ll figure out how to get your particular rock off the stick in question,” Lucy assured him. He gave her a withering look.

“Pipe down, kids, we have company,” Phil warned. “A lot of company.”

“What’s the plan, Phil?” Bruce asked tightly.

“Can you put a hole in this wall, Jones?”

She looked at it. “What, around the load-bearing--”

“Yes or no, Jones?”

“Not without bringing part of the building down, no. We’re on the third floor, remember? Out of like ten?” She considered the weight and redistribution required for it to not collapse before an evacuation could be managed.

“Since when is magic this complicated?” Bruce grunted, shoving the table against the door.

“Well, it kind of deflates the grandeur of it if I stop and explain everything every fucking time, doesn’t it? I’d sound like some scrub-league mad scientist from the ‘30s,” Lucy shot back.

“You do sound like a scrub-league mad scientist from the ‘30s,” Bruce told her.

“Oh, I do not. At worst, I sound like....” She stopped. “Wait, never mind. Just let me fuck with gravity for a second.”

“Jones, do not alter local gravity,” Phil said firmly.

“Not the boss of me, Coulson.” She grinned, concentrated for a moment, and then snapped her fingers. “Okay, now I can put a hole in the wall without fucking up the architecture.”

The wall crumbled to dust, giving them access to a utility closet. She disintegrated the wall beyond that, and they had a clear shot to the stairwell.

“Great. Thank you, Jones. That is very helpful,” Coulson said.

“Why are you saying it like that?” Lucy demanded, glaring at him.

“Like what?” he asked blandly, double-checking his sidearm. Sif poked her head into the utility closet.

“Like you really don’t want to. Like it’s actually physically painful for you to say something nice about my work,” she explained, nettled.

Sif took one step into the closet and hissed a curse as she began to float. Phil looked up at her and sighed. Lucy pushed her hair back and rubbed her arm, trying to dispel the pins and needles sensation. She’d forgotten to leave a hole in the gravity well.

“Because I was waiting for that to happen. Are you all right, Sif?”

“I’ve been better.” She tilted to the side. “This is a most unexpected thing.”

“Specifically that?” Lucy asked.

“No, just something like that.”

“Screw you, Coulson. I think I’m doing pretty good for somebody who just got stabbed a few hours ago.”

“You’d have done this even if that hadn’t happened.”

“Only probably,” Lucy snapped. “I’m going to give you a push, Sif. The effect should wear off once you’re on the stairs. Just try to stay upright so you land on your feet.”

“Jones--”

Lucy leaned in and gave Sif a gentle shove, sending her drifting further across the closet. Lucy lost her balance and began floating as well. She considered the alterations necessary to correct the effect, felt her power surge and eddy, and gave up.

“Oh, goddammit.”

“If you’d stopped for a minute, I could have warned you.”

“This is kind of sad, Jones,” Bruce commented, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Shut it, Banner.” She frowned. “Okay, I’ve got it. Come on, people, I’m only doing this once.” She held out her hands. “It’s this or the front door, guys.”

Phil shook his head, but gave in. Bruce grimaced but followed Phil.

“This is extremely undignified,” Bruce said, taking her hand.

“You routinely get stuck running around in public in nothing but clownishly huge boxers thanks to your alter ego,” Lucy pointed out, pulling them into the closet.

“And consequently am something of an expert on undignified, yes.”

“Well, touche.” A short burst of wind picked up, sending them drifting through the space and out into the stairwell. She crashed into Sif and tripped when gravity kicked back in, landing on the bare concrete with the warrior on top of her.

“Holy shit, are you made of fucking lead?” she groaned.

“Asgardians are denser than humans,” Phil remarked, straightening his tie.

“You knew this. You knew this and then this happened.”

“Rabies shots hurt, Jones.”

“Dick. And I said I was sorry about that.”

“You didn’t, actually.”

“I totally did.”

“You did not.”

“Well, I meant to.”

“That’s not the same thing as doing it,” Phil pointed out.

“So you let me drop a ton of alien on myself. Real nice.” He shrugged.

Sif got to her feet and pulled Lucy up after her with an exasperated snort. “You are not the most comfortable thing to land on, either. Your ribs are like whetstones. When we get back to Asgard, I will see to it that you are properly fed.”

Phil froze for the space of a breath.

“You don’t like my ribs, stop landing on them. And I’m not going to Asgard, and you just watched me eat an entire pizza all by myself,” Lucy said evenly. “My caloric intake is not the problem. Now, we should probably keep moving before the jerks chasing Banner catch on to the fact that we’re not in the room anymore.”

She trotted down the stairs, leaving them to follow or not as they saw fit. They were halfway down the last flight when an explosion rattled the fire door in front of them and sent tremors through the building.

“Can you put up a shield if you need to, Jones?”

“Maybe. Don’t quote me on that. I mean, you know, probably, but let’s try not to rely on that if we can avoid it?” Lucy contemplated the door for a moment. Power pooled in her fingertips, and her blood sparked in her veins. If she had to do anything, it wasn’t going to be subtle. “Man, this sucks.”

“Your plan to double-cross us and laugh maniacally hit a snag?” Bruce asked tightly, his eyes flashing green. Phil laid a comforting hand on his arm.

“I...what?” She stared at him for a moment. “Why would I double-cross you? In my experience, you guys are generally self-sabotaging enough that I don’t need more than the schadenfreude of reading a few pertinent headlines to get by. Like, oh no, I’m mad at the Avengers! I guess I’ll have to wait a few days for them to blow up half their tower or flip out at a Senate subcommittee or punch each other out in public over who keeps using all the hot water!”

“You’re self-sabotaging, too, but that’s not a substitute for jail.”

“I am not,” Lucy protested, feeling almost giddy. That’s not good, she thought. Maintain, just maintain. Keep talking. Don’t freak Banner out. “The closest I’ve come to self-sabotage in years is that Babel thing screwing up my Swedish Chef impersonation.”

“You started a fight with Canada.”

She crossed her arms and took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say here, Banner.”

“Will you two stop bickering and focus?” Phil sighed. Another explosion rattled the door.

“Was that a repulsor blast?” she asked.

“That was a repulsor blast.”

“Does that mean the cavalry is here, and I can ditch you guys?”

“Possibly, but I’d really prefer it if you didn’t,” Phil sighed. “If the Hulk puts in an appearance, he does seem to like you for some reason.”

“Poor judgment? Subliminal desire for plausible deniability? My sparkling personality and quirky sense of humor?” She rubbed her eyes. Something was coalescing above them. She wondered if this was what a lightning rod felt like during a storm.

“You going to be all right there, Jones?” Phil asked.

Lucy felt something give, and energy shivered through her bones. She felt better immediately. “Um, that depends. How does everyone feel about hurricanes?”

Chapter Text

“And this is why we should never have let Phil go gallivanting off for a tete-a-tete with a known supervillain with only Bruce for back-up,” Clint muttered in his comm. He crouched carefully behind a pigeon coop, bow half-drawn.

“Wait, he went to a sit-down with Jones after shooting at her, and you were worried about Ross showing up? What are you, psychic?” Tony demanded.

“Get off the line, Tony,” Natasha growled.

“No, it’s just that bad things happen around Jones. She’s a shit-magnet. Something was bound to go wrong.”

“Stop encouraging him, Barton.”

“We’ve got movement, guys. Want me to light them up?” Jan asked.

“Jan, please do not open fire on Ross’s goon squad in the middle of an area full of civilians,” Steve sighed.

“Oh, right.” Jan coughed. “What happens if it looks like they’re going to beat us to that particular punch?”

“Holy...they are aware this area hasn’t been evacuated, right?” Tony asked. “That is a truly irresponsible amount of artillery.”

“I don’t think they care, Tony. Okay, people, we need to shut this down, and we need to shut it down before we have a running battle between the Hulk and Ross’s mercenaries,” Steve said. “Jan, Clint--distract them. Tony, disable those weapons. Natasha, with me.”

*****

“Jones, did you just summon a hurricane over an occupied urban area whose residents are unlikely to have windstorm insurance?” Phil asked.

“What is a hurricane?” Sif demanded, her eyes going from Lucy to Phil to Bruce.

“A gale,” Phil told her.

“It wasn’t on purpose?” Lucy offered.

“That is not especially reassuring,” Sif pointed out. She sighed. “At least we are not at sea.”

“Yeah, I can see where that would be the case. Shit.” Lucy rubbed her face. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Bruce flushed green and grimaced in pain.

“Shit.” She looked around. “Okay. We need to get out of here before Banner loses it completely. Stay behind me. We’ll stick to cover and head for Stark and whoever he brought with him on this playdate. If the shield fails, run for cover. Mind the flying debris.”

“Go!” Bruce hissed, doubling over. Lucy put her shoulder against the door and shoved, only to have it fly open, almost torn from its hinges by the gusting wind.

“Come on!”

Lucy shielded her face with her arm as they began to be pelted by fat drops of rain moving almost horizontally at great speeds. She could feel the coiling storm above them. There was more coming. A red-and-gold blur flew past them, halfway out of control, and a grenade bounced off an unseen barrier a few feet in front of her.

“Hey, assholes, there are people trying to sleep around here,” she shouted, flicking it back at them. The gray, black, and olive didn’t stand out against the soot-grimed buildings in quite the same way the Avengers did, but the muzzle flash from their weapons provided a target in the dimly-lit night.

“Bear right,” Phil said, raising his voice to be heard over the rising wind. “Head for Captain America.”

“You might want to get on the radio and tell them to batten down the hatches,” Lucy told him. “It’s going to get worse before it breaks.”

“I’m not on the right frequency. This was supposed to be strictly a SHIELD mission.”

“That is a terrible lack of foresight, Phil.”

“Tell me about it.”

The Hulk roared behind them, and Sif crowded against her back, sword drawn. Lucy squinted against the wind and grabbed her wrist. “For fuck’s sake, Sif, don’t.”

“We should make haste,” Sif grunted.

A hail of bullets ricocheted off the forcefield, and Lucy winced as the Hulk straightened and stretched the field around him like a bubble. She could feel the threads of the storm’s winds sliding through her fingers, too fast to see properly, pulsing like a live thing. Above the clouds, Huītzilopōchtli was fighting Coyolxāuhqui and their brothers. The world was in motion below them. Banner’s anger boiled inside the Hulk’s skin. An unexpected eddy set Stark banking off a building. She could see the ghost of a lightning strike that wouldn’t come for several minutes. Divination and night winds, she thought. Fucking Tezcatlipōca and his fucking power. At least I’m not turning into a leopard yet.

“We’re completely fucked here, Coulson. Just so you know.” A flying piece of plywood struck the shield and sent them all sliding sideways a few inches.

“I have faith in you, Jones,” he said, his tone dancing on the edge of sarcasm.

“I have to cut Banner lose if we want to make it to cover. He’s fighting with me right now, and I don’t know if Asgardians are bulletproof, but I’m pretty positive agents aren’t.”

Phil’s gaze rested on the growling giant for a brief moment. “If they had anything that could affect him in this state, they’d have used it already. Stop antagonizing him.”

Lucy gritted her teeth and reworked the surface area of the forcefield to exclude the Hulk without collapsing on them. She could feel the wind shear fighting to distort the field further as it warped. The rain came down harder, stinging where it struck bare skin.

“Utterly and completely fucking fucked,” Lucy hissed. She blinked against the spray. “Was that the Wasp?”

“Keep moving,” Phil said firmly, his lips twitching in concern as he followed her gaze.

“That’s a nice thought, but when I said stay behind me, I fucking meant it,” Lucy growled at Sif as the warrior tried to get on her windward side. The Hulk pounded past them directly at the retrieval squad, and she was fought the wind and the debris it was dislodging and hurling at them.

“You’ve already demonstrated conclusively that you are not invulnerable,” Sif shot back.

“Closer to it than you,” Lucy said.

“Ladies, you’re both valuable members of the team,” Phil said tightly. “Can we please keep moving?”

Lucy shot a glare at him and adjusted their angle so that they were moving with the wind and aiming for the leeward side of the building Rogers was perched on.

“How the fuck is Barton still trying to conduct a firefight in the middle of all this?” she muttered, spitting rain.

“Barton isn’t even on this continent, Jones,” Phil informed her, holding up a hand against the spray. The sound of shattering masonry reached them over the wind, and he flinched. “And this was supposed to be an non-mission.”

“Every day’s a mission when the Hulk is involved. I’d have thought you had that figured out by now.”

“I don’t think Banner’s why this has really gone sideways.” Phil jumped as a flying roof tile shattered against the forcefield.

“Well, I wasn’t the reason we wound up in a shitty motel room with a trail of incompetent black-ops thugs trying to fuck that’s a rocket launcher. Everybody who’s not necessarily invulnerable to explosives, fire, or shrapnel run!”

Lucy was unsure how Ross had managed to afford someone professional or suicidal enough to keep aiming at a secondary target with the goddamned Hulk kicking his teammates across a parking lot less than ten feet away from him, but he had undoubtedly done so. Phil slipped in a puddle, the slight loss of purchase allowing the wind to finally knock his feet out from under him. Sif paused and helped her haul him up between them. They scrambled for shelter, the roar of the ordnance mingling with the howl of the storm in a way that made the hair on the back of Lucy’s neck stand up. It was Hummingbird’s war-song overlaid with the roar of a jaguar. She blinked and shook her head to clear it. Her ears were ringing from the explosion. She didn’t quite remember dragging Phil into the shadow of a warehouse, but her fingers were wrapped around his belt, Sif had an arm under his shoulders, and they were huddled together in the downpour.

“I don’t hear any more gunfire,” Lucy panted. “But that is definitely Barton on that roof.”

Phil leaned back against the wall. “You need to kill this storm.”

The Hulk roared, and someone else’s angry shouting responded. Lucy rolled her eyes. “Oh my fucking god, dude, stay down already. What the hell are you trying to prove?”

“Jones.”

“Yes, yes, I’m fucking trying. It’s like trying to grab a tilt-a-whirl made of cacti and live electrical wires.” She dragged the back of her arm across her face, trying to clear her eyes. “You two get inside, see if you can the captain to call everybody else back to a central position. If I can’t shut this goddamned thing down, I might be able to cut it off at the knees just by getting out of here.”

The blinding flash she’d caught a glimpse of earlier finally touched down, kicking a cloud of pulverized concrete and steam into the air. The wave of thunder that followed made her lungs rattle in her chest and her bones vibrate in her flesh. Thor crouched in the center of the blast, looking around like he was completely unprepared for the ferocity of the storm.

“Oh, good fuck. This is all we need.”

“He’s a storm god, isn’t he?” Phil sighed, sounding resigned.

“Yup,” Lucy said.

“Well.”

“Well.”

“Sister! We must have words!” he bellowed, catching sight of them.

“He’s talking to me, isn’t he?” Lucy grunted.

“So it would seem,” Sif agreed.

“When he gets here, tell him to go fuck himself.”

“I--”

Lucy took a deep breath, let herself relax, and snapped her fingers. She stumbled as she found herself standing on the unstable surface of a sand dune.

“Shit,” she sighed, wringing out her hair and then her shirt. The sky above her began to cloud over. “Oh, come the fuck on! No more fucking storms! This is bullshit!”

Lucy concentrated, scowling at the sky. Stupid brother. He was capable of making sure that Sif didn’t get punted into orbit by Banner, at least. Stupid Coulson, insisting on an interview and dragging the wrong Avengers along with him. Stupid Ross, who on any sane planet would be in jail by now. Her hands curled into fists, and the clouds froze, seemed to convulse, and then dispersed. It was at least easier to stop when it was still the seedling of a storm, she thought. It was still going to be a problem, though. She shivered. What the fuck could Thor have possibly needed to talk to her about in the middle of a fucking typhoon?

“Probably the same stupidity he always needs to talk about,” she muttered to herself. “Why can’t it be some novel stupidity, like ‘I need someone to pet-sit this weekend and the Man of Iron cannot be trusted to feed my noble canine!’ or ‘What do you think of this wallpaper swatch?’ for once?”

She kicked at the sand, then sat down heavily. She was tired. Her arm hurt. She probably only had a few hours before Thor turned up demanding to talk about whatever was so damn important. The adrenaline of the past hour would wear off soon. She wondered if she should bother taking a nap. In the sky above, Huītzilopōchtli was winning the fight. She closed her eyes, the scale of it making her stomach roil.

“Fuck everything,” she hissed.

*****

“What happened here?” Thor demanded, wringing out his cloak.

“Jones accidentally summoned a storm. The men in the pile over there tried to kidnap Banner. Divers other amusements were had by all,” Tony said quickly, shrugging. “You showed up and hit things with a hammer. Like me, for example.”

“You flew into the hammer, friend Tony. It is not the same thing at all.”

“At least the storm broke when Jones took off,” Steve sighed. “I was beginning to think we weren’t going to have a city left afterwards.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Tony inquired, plowing ahead without waiting for a response. “How do you still have perfect hair in spite of all that? How?”

“I don’t. Do I? I never really paid much attention to it.”

Tony stared at him. “I hate you sometimes, you know that?”

Steve shook his head.

Thor turned to Phil. “Agent Coulson, you must alert Director Fury immediately. My mother is coming to bring my sister home.”

“That’s not such a great idea, Thor. Give me and Sif a little more time, and I’m sure we can bring her around.”

Sif gave him a dubious look, and Thor’s shoulders sagged. “You don’t understand, agent. She will be dissuaded by no one. She felt Loki’s death most keenly, and her hope has been rekindled like the fires of the dwarven forges. She is coming.”

“This is...not good, Thor,” Phil sighed. “This is not good at all.”

Chapter Text

Lucy rolled out of bed and stretched, flexing her fingers cautiously. Her arm felt fine. She yawned and registered the smell of bacon cooking.

"Best case scenario is that I've got a brain tumor," she muttered. She pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and padded toward the kitchen.

Thor looked up from the stove and beamed at her.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked brightly.

"How did you get into my house?" she grumbled, her eyes going to the spread already laid out on the table. He'd made enough food to feed a baseball team, and she'd managed to sleep through it.

He nodded to the living room, where the dodo was ripping the stuffing out of an armchair.

"Little feathered backstabber," Lucy muttered. "Who else are you expecting? Half of SHIELD?"

"Just us. Sif mentioned that you were underfed of late."

Lucy rubbed her face. "I am too tired to have this argument with you right now."

"Then do not," he suggested gently. "Not everything always needs to be argued about. We could just eat in peace."

She eyed the food. She was tired. Between the fossil spine punching through her arm and the hurricane and trying to keep everyone from getting shot, smashed, or blown through the side of a building, the whole pain-blurred, rain-soaked incident had taken it out of her. She really didn't feel like arguing right now. She was hungry. The pizza was a distant memory, and she had more than burned through whatever overly-salted, partially-hydrogenated sustenance it had provided. The food smelled good. Her phone chirped, and she glanced at it, frowning.

"Did you send my accountant out on a shopping trip?" she asked.

"I requested his assistance," Thor confessed. "Midgardian markets are still something of a challenge. The magic that animates the machines does not listen to reason or honor bargains."

"Yeah, self-checkout's a trap," she agreed.

"You understand, then?" He beamed at her.

"My house is letting in destructive pests and uninvited guests, I find myself vaguely giving a rat's ass about annoying SHIELD agents, my accountant is billing me for grocery runs with a five percent surcharge because he apparently had to listen to a lecture on pork products from a disturbingly enthusiastic butcher, and I can't bring myself to care that this smells like a pan-fried bribe. I've given up on understanding anything at this point. I have officially lost control of my life."

His smile faded, and he put down the spatula and spread his arms.

“Do not try to hug me. I am not in the mood for hugs.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and ignored the worried look he gave her.

“Very well. What are you in the mood for?” he rumbled. She had the momentary, wild mental picture of him as an enormous lion. Something in the way their bodies vibrated when they roared. She felt half asleep, still, and desperately out of synch. I’m dreaming, she thought. Or high. Or dead. Maybe I died and this is some weird pocket of the afterlife where I have to deal with unfinished business for eternity.

She shook herself. She needed to finish waking up. “A smoke. And bottle of moonshine. And a giant pile of food that I didn’t have to cook, so yes, thank you for breaking into my house and hijacking the actual human beings I actually know and making breakfast.”

“See? What would you have done if we hadn’t come?” he asked, his tone cautiously teasing.

“Eaten two packages of frozen waffles, possibly without toasting them first.”

“But you can conjure flame without effort,” he reminded her, his lips curling back up at the edges.

“Officially lost control of my life,” she grunted, making her way out onto the porch.

She felt raw, still, and the weird tenderness in his expression was like coarse salt on a fresh cut. She closed her eyes and inhaled half a cigarette. She almost couldn’t tell he was in the house, if she let her concentration slip. It was like he was managing to blend into the background of her existence, which should have been roughly as conceivable as being able to hide a Clydesdale in a minivan. The sun beat down on her, loosening the knot in her chest and shoulders, and did nothing for the vague sense of static in her ears. It was like being too close to where lightning was about to strike. Her eyes flickered open, and she stalked back into the kitchen.

“You.” He blinked at her, startled and guilty. “Get that hammer out of my house this instant.”

“Oh,” he said quickly. “Is that all?”

She pursed her lips, then took a deep breath. One thing at a time. “Hammer. Out. Now.”

“Is there any particular place you’d prefer I leave it?”

“Nope. Outside. Wherever.”

She seized a piece of bacon and chewed on it, waiting. He carted Mjolnir out to the garden, shooing the dodo along in front of him for good measure. The feeling of being caught in an electrical storm faded immediately, and Lucy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She felt closer to normal than she had since the museum. The chair had been effectively demolished. She gestured deliberately, and the shredded upholstery and disemboweled cushions righted themselves. He smiled tentatively at her when he returned.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He piled a plate high with food and shoved it at her. “What else should I be yelling at you about?”

“I meant what I said,” he sighed. “We do not have to always argue. We could just be, for a time.”

Lucy broke open a poached egg and scooped up the yolk with a piece of toast. “Theoretically, yes. But you seem to think I would be pissed over something. It’s no good not arguing about something if I don’t know what I’m arguing about.”

“You are always angry over something. Often I find that it’s something that cannot be remedied,” Thor sighed. “Could we not call a truce, just for a few hours?”

“Is the planet on fire?”

“No.”

“Is there an army of SHIELD agents outside?”

“No.”

“Is Fury going to try to bill me for the damage from that hurricane?”

“Not to the best of my knowledge.”

“Is Coulson extremely disappointed in me?”

Thor grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I do not think he is any more so than usual, Loki.” He caught her glare. “Lucy. Please, just eat.”

She sighed. “So, what’s this about, then? You just felt like cooking and your girlfriend didn’t feel like getting her kitchen trashed?”

“Jane has never complained of the state in which I have left her kitchen,” Thor said firmly. “Is it so beyond imagining that I might want to see you? Or to repay the debt of hospitality I incurred with the other Avengers?”

Lucy crunched on the egg-soaked bread and rooted around in a cabinet until she found the French press. She was reasonably sure she had enough coffee left to make a pot.

“Should I even bother pointing out that you barging into my house and cooking food I’m paying for doesn’t exactly count as reciprocation?” she asked.

“It hasn’t escaped my notice, no,” he said gravely. “But it is the best I can do under the circumstances. If you’d be willing to visit the tower without nefarious intent--”

“Nope.”

“Then this is...” He looked around and shook his head. “It is an honest effort. Please believe me.”

Lucy swallowed the last of the toast and opened the freezer. She poked around until she found the small can of coffee under a melded block of ice cubes. She did believe him, at least as far as that was concerned. He wanted her to like him almost as much as he wanted her to love him. And it was difficult not to, at times, even when he was doing things like ruining everything. There was a warmth to him that was intensely comforting, especially now when so much else was dissolving and shifting and being reworked into something new and unfamiliar. She measured the coffee out and boiled a pot of water with a snap of her fingers. The food and the activity were helping clear her head already.

“Have you no words for me, sister?” Thor asked softly.

She needed to stop wrestling with the changes. She was reacting instead of acting, and it was going to get her killed. She needed to pick her battles and fight them instead of floundering at everything she didn’t like. This could wait until after she’d dealt with Tezcatlipōca and Quetzalcohuātl’s mess.

“How do you take your coffee?” she grunted, filling the press. He beamed at her. “Okay, seriously. Do not take this as an invitation to drop by whenever the fuck you feel like it, guy. I’m not throwing you out today. Tomorrow, or when you haven’t cooked breakfast, or when I’ve got a worse headache, are all different stories.”

“It is more than enough for now,” Thor assured her. “Especially as Sif reports that things have been hard of late.”

“Not really. With the exception of having to babysit her, I mean. Maybe she was talking about it from her perspective? I’m not exactly an easy person to babysit, either.”

“She was not here to babysit you, and you most assuredly were not expected to babysit her,” he admonished. “She is one of the finest warriors in all of Asgard.”

“And you’ve got a magic hammer, but you still managed to get on the wrong side of a dragon’s face and like, everything else you’ve ever been beaten up by. And you can’t work a supermarket. That Coulson lets you wander around without an interpreter doesn’t necessarily mean you don’t need one. It’s not like being really excellent at stabbing people with a sword translates into you being okay wandering around a foreign place all by yourself.” Lucy pried open a container of fruit salad. “Oh, wow, this has mango in it.”

“That is a bad thing?”

“No, that’s a good thing. An unexpected, good thing. Usually stores cheap out and use like watermelon instead. Which is also good, but, you know. Not as good.” She studied his face. “You’ve never had either, have you?”

“No,” he said warily, as if expecting her to mock him.

She rolled her eyes and flicked a bit of fruit onto his plate. “Here. Try a piece.”

He chewed it thoughtfully. “You’ve done all right for yourself wandering around a foreign place.”

“Maybe if you don’t want to argue today, don’t pick fights?” she suggested tartly.

He sighed. “I was thinking it might be time for you to see our mother.”

Lucy chewed a few more times and swallowed. “She’s already here, isn’t she? Did you leave her at my accountant’s house?”

“No!” he said, shocked.

“Cafe down the street? Tell me you didn’t leave an alien queen who is also your mom down the street at a sleazy cafe that even the locals only go to for free wifi.”

“I did not! Of course I did not leave our mother alone in a strange world,” he said firmly.

“I cannot believe you would pull this shit, Thor.” He tilted his head. “Okay, yes, obviously I can totally believe you would pull this shit. Seriously, though, I’m calling Fury and ratting you out. I’m not hugging it out with your mom. Line in the sand, Thor.”

“I do not believe Director Fury will be terribly sympathetic,” he warned.

“Fury had his ability to feel sympathy surgically removed at a secret SHIELD installation after his first week on the job,” Lucy retorted. “Which is fine with me. I don’t need his fucking sympathy, I need him to be a sane person that you’ll listen to.”

“He is already aware of the situation.”

Lucy put her phone back in her pocket and took a deep breath. “Okay, that’s it. Out. Out of my house.”

“Lucy, please.”

“Nope. Out.”

“Will you not hear me out?”

“There is no conceivable thing you could say that could persuade me that this is anything other than a sick joke and/or catastrophe waiting to happen, you unbelievably dense alien interloper. So, no, I’m not hearing you out. I’m throwing you out.”

“She will not be put off.”

“I think you radically underestimate my ability to dodge people I don’t want to talk to,” Lucy growled.

“You could not keep me out this morning,” he sighed, not moving from his spot at the table.

“I wasn’t actively trying to keep you out,” she said flatly. It was almost true. She shook her head. “Absolutely unbelievable. There really isn’t a part of ‘I’m not your damn brother’ that you’re capable of hearing, is there?”

“I know who you are, and I know what you are to us. Even if you do not know yourself.”

“And when you turn out to be unbelievably wrong about this?”

“I will not.”

“We’ll see about that,” she muttered.

“Please, just speak with her.”

Lucy closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Maybe his mother would be more likely to see reason than her son or husband. Maybe she’d be dead, again, by then, and none of it would matter. She couldn’t bring herself to really believe either possibility. Maybe she was losing her touch at deluding herself.

“Get out. Leave the food. Take the bird. I’m calling Coulson and getting this straightened out.” His face fell. “If you just show up here with your mother--or Hubbard help you both your mother and your father--and expect me not to flip out, I will set you on fire and then throw a tantrum so large Asgard will invent television just to show reruns of the COPS episode it turns into. We clear on that?”

“We love you and only want you to come home.” He looked like he was going to try to hug her again.

“And I only want you all to be less insane.” She popped a blueberry into her mouth and spread her hands. “Looks like none of us get what we want.”

“Think on it, please.”

“Out.”

He sighed heavily and stood. “I am sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” It’s not like any of us asked for this, bro, she thought. She needed to get Coulson and Fury on her side on this. Stall the Asgardians. Something. Thor pulled her into an embrace faster than she would have thought possible. “Jesus fucking Christ, I am going to murder you, dude.”

“And yet you’re hugging me back,” he pointed out, his lips moving against the top of her head.

So she was. Lucy scowled. “I’m...lining up a shot at your kidneys.”

It was not her most convincing lie. Not even close. She’d lied more confidently about laughable things, obvious things, undeniable things. Maybe Banner’s right. I’m pretty sure this is what self-sabotage looks like. I’m pretty sure this is fucking textbook, right here.

“You cannot move your arms enough to get in a killing stroke at that angle,” he informed her.

“Magician,” she reminded him.

“Take care of yourself until we meet again, sister,” he said firmly, giving her another squeeze before letting go.

Lucy snorted, then waited until he was gone before calling Coulson. “So, we’ve got an alien invasion on our hands?”

Chapter Text

Lucy took a deep breath and hauled herself up onto the balcony. You can do this. You can absolutely do this. This is not going to turn into a thing, she told herself. She scrambled over the railing and brushed herself off. Of course it was going to turn into a thing. It had already turned into a thing. Twice. At least twice. She looked over her shoulder, glancing down to the manicured lawn five stories below. It wasn’t too late to climb back down and run away. She could put this off until tomorrow. Maybe she could pull one of those idiotic tricks Sif was always talking about, where everyone wound up in dresses and drunk off their asses and lost on the tundra for two weeks. Sure, it could start an interdimensional alien war, but if there was no provable Earth involvement and it was just Asgardians being stupid in a foreign country, it probably wouldn’t. Coulson would know it was her and never speak to her again, but it was easier to leave gloating, villainous messages on his machine anyway. She grabbed the rail and made to swing her leg back over it, freezing when the door burst open.

“What are you doing out here?” Sif demanded, glaring at her.

“Uh. Dithering?”

The warrior rolled her eyes and sheathed her sword. “Thor said he couldn’t find you. Where have you been?”

“Around.” Lucy crossed her arms. “Can I come in? I was informed in no uncertain terms that my presence was expected.”

“That was days ago, and you smell like a tidepool.”

“That’s because I fell in one,” she gritted. “So long as we’re complaining about comparative levels of hygiene, you smell like ozone and rust.”

“One of the perils of fighting alongside Thor,” Sif said evenly. “Fell in, or were thrown in?”

“First one, then the other. Turns out that hauling horrors from before the dawn of man out of the ocean without their cooperation is something of a chore. Are you going to let me in?”

“You could have bathed first.”

“You’re lucky I dried off first,” Lucy grunted.

“Swear you will not attempt to harm the queen.”

“Oh, my fucking god. Seriously?”

Sif shot her a look. “It’s a formality. Do you intend to harm the queen?”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course I don’t. Why would I--”

“Then swear it and let’s get on with this,” she sighed, cutting her off.

“On anything in particular?’ Lucy asked.

“Whatever you believe in most firmly.”

Lucy thought for a moment. “I hereby swear on the inevitability of the heat death of the universe that I’m not going to harm the queen of Asgard.”

“By the...?” Sif rubbed her neck irritably. “Be...good. For once, just behave yourself.”

“I’m here to put this stupidity to rest once and for all, not start more trouble,” she said firmly. “You can trust me on that one.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t just take your word--”

“Will you two stop bickering and come inside this instant?”

Lucy turned at the mild, firm, warm voice and felt her jaw drop. The woman was tall, stately, and striking. For an Asgardian, she seemed on the less imposing side, except for the way she somehow lit up the entire space in a benevolent glow that was too overwhelmingly inviting not to be terribly dangerous. Lucy shifted her weight back, some dim reptilian instinct finally kicking in. Back over the balcony it was, then.

“Your Majesty,” Sif murmured, elbowing Lucy sharply.

“Your, uh, mom.” Oh, shit, that came out wrong. “Maternal majesty. Jesus Christ, I’m babbling. I’m sorry. You’re like the platonic ideal of motherhood.” Still babbling. “Which you probably didn’t need me to tell you. At all. I’m Lucy Jones, and this is probably the least coherent I’ve been in over a decade. I apologize profusely for any confusion.” Not too late to jump over the railing and make a run for it. “Nice to meet you.”

The woman tilted her head ever so slightly, her eyes gentle. “Please, come in. I’m sure you can explain what you were trying to say over coffee.”

She turned and swept back inside, gesturing for them to follow. Sif nudged her forward, and Lucy gripped the railing hard enough to warp the metal.

“Come on,” Sif hissed, jerking her chin at the door.

“Changed my mind, give her my regrets,” Lucy hissed back.

“Have you lost your mind? Let go of that!”

“I’m not going in there. I’ve read fairy tales. I know how this ends,” Lucy grunted. To look on her is to love her, which means it’s too fucking late already, but at least I can try to weasel out of this, right? Sif gave her an exasperated look and tried to pry her fingers up.

“It ends with us both getting stuck mucking out the stables for a week. Now stop being ridiculous!”

“If the both of you are quite finished whispering and conspiring, I’m waiting.” There was the slightest edge of impatience to it, mixed with something else. Apprehension? Lucy yelped as Sif’s teeth sank into her shoulder and let go in surprise, sending them both crashing to the floor.

“Ha!” Sif whispered, grabbing her hand and hauling her to her feet.

“You bit me!” Lucy snapped. “What are you, a toddler?”

“The best diversion is an effective diversion,” she retorted. “If it’s any consolation, you taste like brine.”

“It’s not much of one, because seriously, who goes around biting people?” Lucy rubbed her shoulder.

“Just get in there,” Sif growled, rolling her eyes and nudging her forward.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer in the way of hospitality,” Frigga apologized, nodding to the coffee table. “We weren’t expecting guests.”

The table was covered in anything that could conceivably be wanted with coffee, and Lucy managed a rictus of a smile as she tried to think of a polite response. Sif elbowed her again.

“I, uh, yes. You weren’t. Um.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Get it together. “Entirely my fault, I’m afraid. That is, I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. I, uh, understand that there’s some persistent confusion. People think, for some reason, over my objections, that I’m....” She swallowed. She felt like she was choking. It was one thing to know that this would require disappointing a grieving mother, and quite another to be in front of her. “Well, that I’m your son. I thought it would be best if I, uh...if I put that to rest once and for all. I’m sorry for your loss, but, as you can see, I’m not. Your son, I mean.”

“Thank you for your candor. I’ll consider your words most carefully. Please, won’t you sit down?”

Lucy blinked, then found herself sitting down across from the queen. Sif hovered a little closer than was strictly comfortable. Probably getting ready to pounce in case she tried to make a run for it, she thought sourly.

“People in this family don’t really take people at their word very often, do they?” she grumbled. Frigga pressed a cup of coffee into her hands.

“We have our reasons,” Frigga assured her. “It’s not mead, I’m afraid, but Thor tells me it’s customary for Midgardians to drink it.”

“Mead? Hmm.” Lucy slipped a flask out of her pocket. Might as well take this right off a cliff, then. She added a splash of whiskey to her coffee, then did the same for Frigga’s. The hospitality of a goddess, she thought. Reciprocating immediately with her own liquor was a weak counter, but still, it was something. “A bit closer now, I should think.”

The queen nodded, looking for all the world as if she were weighing her. Lucy had an odd sense of dislocation and wasn’t sure what chilled her more, the thought of being rejected or the thought of being accepted. She cursed herself for not headbutting Sif and diving over the balcony when she’d had a chance.

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Uh, me? Not much to tell. I mean, I’m a magician. I gather it means something a little different here than on Asgard.”

“I doubt that the differences are so very large. I’d wager it’s more a matter of perception.” Frigga sipped her coffee. “I understand you’ve saved my firstborn several times now.”

“Well. Yes. But don’t read too much into it. The first time was because him dying put the world at risk, and the second time was sort of incidental.”

“And the third and fourth times?” she asked softly.

“I think I may have been too drunk to remember those?” Lucy offered, thinking furiously. She’d dredged him out of the underworld, and she’d stopped the dragon. What else could he possibly have told her?

“You were drunk when you fought Fafnir?” Sif asked, sounding impressed.

“Not entirely, but--”

“And Amora?” she persisted.

“Oh, right. Amora. But that was more of a continuation of the first time.”

“And the woman with no face?” she prompted.

“The woman with no...? Oh, come on, Sif. The secret president doesn’t count. Nobody there could properly have killed him,” Lucy protested.

“He disagreed,” Frigga pointed out.

“That’s as may be, but this makes it seem like there’s a pattern that isn’t really there,” she said firmly. “I don’t make a habit of rescuing him. I really, genuinely don’t.”

“Nevertheless, I am grateful.”

Lucy blushed scarlet. “It’s not....Anyone would have...You’re welcome.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m usually more articulate than this.”

“You’re ill at ease?” Frigga asked gently.

“You remind me a great deal of my mother. I’m not sure why.”

“I am the Allmother.” Frigga sipped her coffee slowly. “Thor told me that you lost your parents when you were still young.”

“Not so young that I couldn’t take care of myself, but yes.”

“You have my condolences.”

“Thank you.” Lucy fidgeted. She didn’t want to talk about her parents with this woman. Her hands tensed around the coffee cup, and she tried to steady them. She didn’t want to listen to this woman talk about Loki. Just the idea of it was enough to scorch her skin. There was a remove when Sif spoke of him. When Thor did it, it was like nails on a chalkboard. Frigga...her words had the power to reshape things. She could already feel a need to see her smile stealing through her. If she could make her smile, she might be able to remember what her own mother’s smile looked like. If she could make her laugh....

“Are you all right, child?” Frigga asked.

“No.” She shook her head and drained the mug, focusing on the taste and heat and shape of it. Bitterness. Sharpness. Distraction. “Coming here was a mistake. A pretty big one, as far as things go. I should leave.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“I really should...go. Now.” Lucy stared at her hand. When had the queen taken it? She pulled back, and Frigga relinquished her hold with visible reluctance, but she did let go. Lucy relaxed slightly.

“If you leave now, might you return tomorrow?” she asked, smiling sadly.

“Um.” Lucy tried to shape her mouth around the word ‘no,’ knowing it would erase that smile.

“I would like to speak to you at greater length. I think that we have much to talk about.”

“Uh.” I’m doomed. I am fucking doomed.

“Perhaps without the fight with Sif as a preamble?”

“Sure,” she blurted. I might as well have tickets for the Hindenburg.

“At sunset, then.” Frigga beamed at her.

“Sure,” she repeated mechanically.

“Sif, would you show her to the door, please?”

Frigga rose, and, before Lucy could protest, drew her into a quick embrace. She let go again almost before the contact registered. Lucy swallowed and fell into step behind Sif. Sweat, and sun, and chalk dust, and cheap knock-off Chanel that hasn’t been made since ‘95. It had been a long time since she’d remembered anything but gasoline and blood when she’d thought about how her mother smelled. Lucy rubbed her eyes. She was fucking gone. Sif gave her a sidelong look before opening the suite door to let her out.

“The guards aren’t even going to see you, are they?”

“Nope.”

“You will come back tomorrow?”

“Yup,” she said grimly.

“I’ll requisition some mead from somewhere, then.”

Lucy mumbled something incoherent under her breath and darted into the elevator.

*****

“She’s gone?” Frigga asked, wiping tears from her face. Sif nodded.

“Was that...wise, majesty?”

Frigga laughed and shook her head. “I love my husband, Sif, and I love my son. But between the two of them, I think it’s a miracle they haven’t gone stampeding over a cliff by now.”

“A fair point,” Sif agreed carefully.

“This has to be done gently and with care. When has Loki ever responded well to feeling trapped?” she sighed.

“You’re certain, then?”

“I would know my children anywhere, in any shape. I’m certain.” She flexed her fingers. “Besides, I never thought I would hold my secondborn again. I have done so, just now. What can be impossible after that?”

Chapter Text

Lucy leaned back on the park bench, soaking in the early morning sun. It felt...good. Promising. She felt better than she had in a while, if she were being honest. Not good enough to be actually looking forward to seeing Frigga again, but enough that she thought she might be able to get through it without embarrassing herself. Again. She wondered how Thor had ever managed to refuse his mother anything. She laced her fingers together behind her head. Of course, a fair number of her mother’s students had thought the same about her, but how many times had she defied that expectation, immunized against the seemingly fatal disappointment of Mrs. Jones by a lifetime of exposure? Maybe his version of sneaking home a sack full of cicadas to keep as ‘pets’ and then accidentally setting them loose during a dinner party had been...invading a foreign country. She frowned. Then again, maybe not.

Her pocket buzzed insistently, and a few squirrels stood up, tails going still until they located the source of the sound. She answered it, and they scattered.

“How did things go with Frigga last night?” Phil asked.

“With who? What are you hassling me about now, Coulson? I actually haven’t done anything this time,” Lucy said quickly. “At all.”

“The Hulk could smell you from two floors down. Something about seaweed and barnacles.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not. And you’re just staring at a bottle of vodka without drinking it for no reason whatsoever.”

“Ha! I am staring at a bottle of rum without drinking it for no reason whatsoever.” She tucked the bottle behind her back. “Suck on that, agent. Your deductive skills are getting rusty.”

“Do I need to give you the speech about not embarrassing the planet again?”

“If you want? I mean, to be honest, if you start that up, I’m just going to put the phone down and walk away again.” Lucy stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles, the grass cool against her bare feet.

“Jones.”

“Sorry, Coulson, that speech was boring as hell. You want people to sit through stuff like that, you need to go find a bottle of supersoldier serum and pour yourself into a snappy leather outfit and make it in person.”

“I thought you said you didn’t listen to it?”

“I’m extrapolating based on the thirty-second snoozefest preview.”

“Just don’t show up to whatever second meeting you arranged drunk.”

“But I’m at my most adorable when I’m drunk.”

“Not really. You’re just incoherent when you’re drunk.”

“Precisely my point, Coulson.” Lucy heard him snort on the other end of the line. “And how do you know there’s a second meeting?”

“You’re not launching yourself full-tilt into something wildly inadvisable.”

Lucy puffed out her cheeks and looked around. It was still early enough that the park was quiet, but there were more people than there had been half an hour ago.

“I’m violating open-container laws,” she offered.

“That doesn’t, and never will, count as wildly inadvisable, Jones. That barely qualifies as moderately inadvisable.”

“What if I’m not launching myself full-tilt into something wildly inadvisable because I’m turning over a new leaf?” she asked. A pair of bullfrogs climbed out of the pond in front of her. Phil made a strangled noise and covered it with a coughing fit. “Are you laughing at me, Coulson?”

“Of course not,” he said hoarsely.

“You are.”

“I promise--”

“You kept a straight face when that guy dressed as the Hamburglar tried to blow up the Hoover dam with a delivery van full of firecrackers, and you’re laughing at me.”

“--I’m not.”

“You’re provoking the supervillain who has a dinner appointment with the queen of an alien planet. This is what it’s come to.”

“So it’s this evening, then?”

“Because that would be irresponsible, Coulson. Like, grossly irresponsible. Even by the standards of somebody who hangs up on people when they’re making ransom demands for second-tier national monuments.”

“Should we have anything in particular on hand? Sif’s been extremely subtly trying to requisition things for ‘no reason.’ Will Thor be attending?”

“A case of whiskey, a kilo of hash, and a suitcase full of non-sequential, unmarked bills.”

“No.” He sighed. “And since when do you care if the bills are non-sequential or unmarked? Do you even know why people ask for either of those?”

“I don’t care. I’m just reasonably sure it makes things marginally more difficult for you guys.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Okay, but you’ve got to admit, it does make it kind of sound like I know what I’m doing.”

“If the person listening to you didn’t know you, then yes, I suppose it might.”

“Be nice, Coulson.” She eyeballed the bullfrogs. There were at least a half-dozen in evidence now. She flipped them off. “You ever get that thing with Stark trying to bug you straightened out?”

“Stop changing the subject, Jones.”

“That’s a no, then,” she chuckled. “Have you tried having really loud sex with somebody you just picked up at a bar? Back when HYDRA wouldn’t stop trying to bug me, I just kept slapping the devices onto AIM’s robots instead. They had to knock it off just because it kept getting so weird around their tech offices. People kept getting drunk and trying to make out with the fax machines. They wound up losing like five percent of their personnel to the publisher that rebooted Heavy Metal.”

“I think JARVIS is slightly more capable of taking these things into stride,” Phil answered. The frogs began croaking loudly. “What is that noise? Are you feeding a tuba into a woodchipper again?”

“No. A tuba going into a woodchipper sounds completely different. That’s a bunch of bullfrogs telling me we’re all going to die.” One of the frogs climbed onto her foot, and she nudged it off. “Get off me, you slimy little bastard.”

“What?”

“Not you. One of the frogs.”

Phil paused for a moment. “Are they right?”

“Well, I mean, yeah? Eventually everything that’s alive is going to die,” Lucy pointed out.

“I don’t know what I expected,” he muttered to himself.

“Frogs are awful, Coulson. This is a well-established fact. They’re the only animal aside from man to kill for fun.”

“Barracudas, cows, most members of the feline and dolphin families, almost every other primate currently known--”

“It was rhetorical.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Wait, cows? Has that been verified? I was under the impression that cows pretty much couldn’t feel joy or understand the concept of fun.”

“It’s been speculated, with a reasonable basis in fact, that they take a certain amount of...satisfaction in the death of coyotes.”

“What kind of weird superscience are you people funding over there? I mean, I’m not a huge fan of a lot of the things my tax dollars pay for, but if you’re on the road to giving the world superpowered cattle, I’m going to have to bust out the ‘as a taxpayer’ rant.”

“I’m not sure how to respond to that.”

“At a loss for words, huh?”

“Not really,” Phil replied. “It’s just that, on the one hand, any weird superscience involving cattle is being done on Stark’s dime, not the government’s. On the other, the woman who gave the world unionizing, philandering, evil-organization-employed robots does not get to make ‘as a taxpayer’ rants about mutant cows.”

“What’s the phrase you guys always use to weasel out of stuff? ‘I can neither confirm nor deny any knowledge of the incident in question’?”

“Less than five minutes ago, Jones.”

“Well, I can neither confirm nor deny any knowledge of the robots in question, but if I could, I might point out that they’re all technically German citizens and thus not my problem as an American.”

“Germany doesn’t have jus soli citizenship, Jones.”

“Yeah, but they were made in a BMW factory.” The bullfrogs blinked slowly at her. “I think the frogs mean something a little more concrete and specific this time, actually. Like, ‘if you weaponize hamburgers, humanity is doomed.’ Like, ‘Once humanity falls, we’ll rise and reclaim our rightful place as rulers of the land.’ That sort of thing.”

“Uh, the second one isn’t very specific, though. You know, for a prophecy of doom.”

Lucy sighed heavily. “Hello, Barton.”

“Hey, Jones.”

“How’s the quiver working out?”

“It’s pretty good.”

“Think you can take me off speaker-phone at some point, Coulson?” she asked.

“You could put the frogs on speaker-phone,” Clint said. “Then they could give us their dire warning directly.”

“Serve you two right,” Lucy muttered. She could see herself reflected in two dozen horizontal pupils. She picked one up and held it to the microphone. It croaked petulantly. “See?”

“Yeah. Clearly. We’re toast,” Clint snorted. “We should put in an emergency call to Dr. Strange immediately.”

“Mock me at your peril, Barton.”

“If my quiver mysteriously stops working, I’m texting Thor about your meet-up with his mom tonight.”

“Rat me out at your peril, Barton.” Clint laughed. “Seriously. Monocular vision. Rest of your life. I will do it.”

“Please stop threatening my assets, Jones.”

“It’s like you don’t respect my work as a supervillain anymore, Coulson. Go get Banner and tell him I’ve done something flippant that affects the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. I need to bask in the pure moral outrage of someone who doesn’t subvert the Constitution for a living.”

“Something like throwing a tantrum about having to deal with an extraplanetary dignitary?” Clint suggested.

“Barton, it’s an interplanetary dignitary who thinks she’s my mother. I think that’s an okay thing to throw a tantrum about. And, beyond that, if I was up to not throwing tantrums about things like getting incorrect change from food-truck cashiers, I wouldn’t be on the news for turning a dude’s clothes into french fries around the most aggressive flock of seagulls ever observed. I’d be on the news for hypnotizing paparazzi into leaving me alone, like Dr. ‘Not Taking Your Calls Anymore’ Strange.” Lucy tossed the frog back into the pond. “Not to mention, being around her creates a weird emotional dissonance, so I think I’d probably be throwing a tantrum even if I were ordinarily the sort of person who didn’t.”

“Pretty sure the weird emotional dissonance thing is all you. Everyone else thinks she’s great and is okay with beating you up if you upset her,” Clint offered.

“Man, you guys can just fuck right off.” Lucy peeled one of the frogs off her calf. It kicked and wriggled its way onto her arm instead. Once it had a good grip on her skin, it croaked belligerently. “Especially when the helicarrier loses power over Manhattan and you can’t tell which way east is.”

“So the frogs are saying something worth worrying about?” Phil asked sharply.

“The frogs are always saying something worth worrying about, but half the time it’s a lie,” she grunted.

“And this time?”

“Even odds. Like, I’d throw the expired milk that still smells kind of okay out instead of drinking it, if I were you, but I don’t think I’d quit my job and go into hiding Salman Rushdie-style just because of that one hit out on you.”

“There’s a hit out on me?” Clint asked.

“No, Coulson. The milk thing is probably you,” Lucy clarified. “But, I mean, this is according to frogs. I’m not sure I buy them actually being able to tell. You should just play it by ear. It shouldn’t be that big a deal to go get fresh milk, but I don’t know how down you are for packing up and moving to, you know, the Arctic just because of something some no-account amphibian told me.”

“You are terrible at telling fortunes,” Clint grumbled.

“Dude, I have the gift of prophecy now. It’s actually pretty banging, if you’re okay with looking into the gaping abyss of never knowing hope again. Pandora was fucking right to chuck this little monster back in the box and then dump the box into the sea.”

“But you can’t tell me if the frogs are right.”

“Only if I cared enough about either of you to also know everything horrible that’s going to happen for the next couple of months.”

“So that’s a no?” Clint asked.

“That is a hell no.” Lucy lit a cigarette, and one of the frogs jumped onto a ‘No Smoking’ sign. She blew a cloud of smoke at it. “This is like the shotgun-surgery version of prophecy. It sucks.”

“My heart breaks for you, Jones,” Coulson sighed.

“Thank you, Coulson. You have no idea how much your sympathy means to me in this, my darkest hour.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” he said.

“Take me off speaker-phone, you jackass.”

He made an irritated noise before being interrupted by a brief hiss of static. Lucy felt a tug on her braid and reached back. A frog bit her before climbing to her her scalp.

“All right, Jones.”

“Seriously, dude, watch your back. I’ve got a feeling shit’s going south with a quickness around SHIELD.”

“Thank you for the warning. Behave yourself with Frigga tonight.”

Lucy’s lips twisted. “She’s nice. I like her. Not so fond of the whole situation, but not much to be done about that. You heard about the thing down in Cancun?”

“No. You got into a fight with a giant sea scorpion in the Laguna Nichupte during spring break in an age of near-total saturation of smartphones and digital photography, didn’t win, and managed to escape the attention of all major intelligence agencies.”

“Go to hell, Coulson. And keep an eye on Stark. If his electronics get jacked, you could be looking at some serious friendly fire.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll see what I can do to keep Thor distracted for a few days.”

“Nice to see you coming in on the right side of the Earth vs. Alien Invaders debate,” Lucy grumbled. The frog chirped in her ear. She swatted it away. “And something about a cellist anniversary.”

“A cellist anniversa....Damn it.”

“Do you need to go take care of something?” she asked smugly.

“I need to go take care of something.”

“Good luck with that.” She hung up and looked at the frogs. Almost a hundred had gathered on the bank. “All right, you little pricks, I’ve got a few hours. Let’s have this out once and for all.”

Chapter Text

“Evening, Sif. Coulson. Random dude.” Lucy straightened her blouse, smoothed down her skirt, and shot the blank-faced SHIELD agent a dazzling smile. Phil scowled at her.

“Do you have any idea how much repairing that park is going to cost?” he asked.

“Coulson, it became necessary to destroy the park to save it. I’m sure you’re familiar with that sort of situation.”

“Jones, they were bullfrogs.”

“Against whom conventional weapons are useless, yes,” she agreed blithely. “Though I think that might put an end to speculation about whether the horde of smaller enemies or the one very large enemy is preferable. I thought I could get the upper hand with that leaf-blower, but hope fails us at the worst of times.”

“And you’re on our side?” the agent asked, his brows finally furrowing.

“Of course not. It’s just become momentarily advantageous for you guys to act like I am. Kind of like everybody has to be kind of polite to Dr. Doom when the camera’s rolling even though he’s like a luchador Hitler with a jetpack because of the whole diplomatic immunity thing and weapons of mass destruction.” Lucy shrugged. “Any sign of the blond water buffalo?”

“No,” Phil said carefully. “But the bill for the damage you did in Mexico came in.”

Lucy snatched the paper from him and glanced over it. “This is in pesos, right?”

“No.”

“Well, then. Let me just go ahead and forward that to my insurance agent.”

She snapped her fingers, and the sheet burst into flame.

“Is that how magicians send things places?” the agent asked, looking impressed. Lucy glanced from him to Phil and back again.

“Oh, you poor darling. Stark is going to eat you alive.”

“Jones,” Phil said warningly.

“Perhaps we should go upstairs?” Sif interrupted, moving forward to take Lucy’s elbow.

Phil held up a hand. “What’s in the box?”

“A coffee cake?”

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” he pressed.

Lucy glared at him. “You’re hassling me about diction now? Fuck’s sake, dude. It’s a goddamned coffee cake. You can’t have any, I’m not leaving it with you, and also go to hell if you think I could possibly fit anything in a box this size that’s more dangerous than just me.”

“You magicked up a coffee cake.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Only if stand mixers are now considered arcane implements. I just baked a damn cake, Coulson.” She tucked the package under her arm. “I can do things without magic, you know.”

“And without giving them food poisoning?”

“Bye, Coulson.” Lucy flipped them off and stomped past them, Sif trailing in her wake.

“Maybe you should have climbed up the drainpipe again,” Sif muttered. “They’ve been hovering and fretting for the past two hours. And thank you for dressing more appropriately.”

“This is almost identical to what I was wearing yesterday,” Lucy protested.

“But it’s clean.” Sif looked her over more slowly. “What happened to your arm?”

“Frog bites. Long story.” She ran her hand over her skin, and the marks disappeared.

Sif snorted. “No, it isn’t. I saw it on the news. Accusing them of having salamanders for mothers seems to enrage them most thoroughly.”

“Yeah, that one maybe crossed a bit of a line,” she sighed.

“What’s a coffee cake?”

“It’s a cake. With, um, this sort of sugar crust.” Lucy gestured ineffectually. “It just goes well with coffee, okay? Or anything else, really, because it’s very good.”

“I see.”

“Except you’re using that tone that says you don’t, but you’re having overwhelming doubts about my ability to explain it.”

“I might be.” Sif smiled slightly, and Lucy grunted at her.

“Okay, as someone who’s spent a reasonable time around humans, is there anything I should avoid doing in order to not spark, you know, an intergalactic war, here? Because that would kind of suck. I mean, I’d really regret wasting my time baking a cake if I turn around and pass a plate from the left and thereby accidentally deliver an unbelievable insult to the queen’s mother.”

Sif gave her a long, measuring look. “Manners and customs are not so different that allowances can’t be made. In your case, I’d recommend imitating a normal human to the best of your ability.”

“Ha ha,” Lucy growled. “How droll.”

“You incited a riot among frogs. Even the good agent Coulson was most impressed with it.” Sif smiled at her, her look calculating. “When this is over, you and I should find a quiet tavern, and I will tell you of Asgard.”

“No offense, Sif, but you spent like a week straight trying to tell me about Asgard, and it was not helpful. I don’t see adding alcohol increasing the helpfulness quotient.”

“Then we should find a quiet tavern and talk of other things.”

“Okay, did I miss something? Why would I want to go drinking with you again?”

“Because I’m not Thor?”

“Point.” Lucy hesitated on the landing. “Why would you want to go drinking with me? I mean, especially after the thing with the bats, and then your hair, and then that nudist colony, and the pit of sadness and despair that apparently passes for an amusement park in Norway, and then the storm.”

Sif cracked her knuckles and grinned. “It has been very dull, and you’re extremely good at finding trouble.”

“I. Uh. Hmm. That’s actually not a bad answer.” Lucy chewed her lip. “Fuck it, sure, let’s do it. Why not. You know, besides SHIELD frowning on brawls that can be seen from space. But, before we make any definite plans, full disclosure time. And keep in mind that I’m a magician, and I tend to set things on fire when I’m upset, and just walking into this indicates that I’m being ten percent dumber than normal. What was Coulson trying to distract me from with that bill?”

Sif tilted her head, frowning. “He didn’t say he was going to distract you. Are you sure he wasn’t just angry about the park?”

“Fairly sure. He had that sort of deadpan look like he’s stopping just short of lying to me about something. You know the one.” She imitated the carefully neutral expression. “Nothing to see here, move along, pay no attention to the flying elephants fighting with hedgehogs in hovercraft.”

Sif stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. “I must confess I find the inner workings of SHIELD’s warriors to be somewhat esoteric.”

“Yeah, that’s intentional.”

“Are you stalling again?”

“Maybe a little. I feel this creeping and unnatural desire to behave like a reasonable person when I’m around her. She makes me nervous. Does she make you nervous? Never mind, stupid question. You grew up around her.” Lucy shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again.

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t sometimes make me nervous,” Sif pointed out.

“No, I know, but it’s probably in that way where she usually doesn’t make you nervous at all, but then sometimes she’s terrifying. You know? Like you go to the beach every day, and the ocean’s great, and then all the sudden there’s a riptide and it’s trying to kill you and you remember that it just does that sometimes.”

“Is there anything in this realm that isn’t prone to attacking mortals?”

“Not really, no. In our defense, your stories made it sound like most of the stuff on Asgard’s got kind of a hard-on for killing you guys, too.”

“We should go in, don’t you think?” Sif asked, prodding her with an elbow. “Get it over with?”

“Yes, by all means, let’s go hang out with your terrifying queen who brings up all sorts of pleasant memories about my dead mother. What could possibly go wrong. I might even get a sudden attack of good judgment and not go drinking with you later.” Lucy smoothed her hair and looked back down the stairs. “You’re sure Thor’s not here?”

“The Warriors Three insisted he accompany them tonight on a ‘pubcrawl’ in Philadelphia. They are not expected back until tomorrow.” Sif opened the door. “Stop being ridiculous, and come in.”

“I’m not being ridiculous,” she hissed back, dropping her voice. “I’m being perfectly--”

“Loki!” a deep voice boomed.

Lucy barely managed a squeak as she was pulled into a bearhug that effectively crushed her against a gold breastplate. She wriggled and managed to get her face slightly unmashed, then freed one arm enough to wave the box at Sif, who took it before it could undergo further trauma.

“Odin!” Frigga said firmly. Or at least she thought it was Frigga. It sounded like what she thought Frigga’s voice might sound like, filtered through arms the size of velvet-wrapped anacondas.

After a long second, she managed to lever herself into position to get a look at what was past the armor.

“Grizzly bear Santa Claus!” she yelped. Lucy turned to smoke and darted across the room before resuming her shape. “Jesus Christ, you’re huge.” Manners, idiot, she thought. “Er, your majesty.”

Frigga was shooting him a glare capable of melting steel, and he deflated slightly. “It is good to see you again, child.”

“Uh, yeah. I brought cake? And sorry about the whole ‘grizzly bear Santa Claus’ thing. I wasn’t expecting you. And also I vaguely remember you not being so big, but maybe that was just in comparison to a dragon. Or the concussion.” Lucy realized that she was perched on the mantel and carefully hopped down. Indoors, on his own, Odin seemed to take up half the room. “Um. Nice to properly meet you? Please don’t hug me again. I don’t really do hugs, as a rule.”

“What is a grizzly bear?” Sif asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Lucy conjured a lifelike image of a standing bear. Odin and Frigga exchanged glances. She sighed and rearranged it into the pose of a bear about to charge.

“Ah.” Frigga coughed slightly, and Lucy dismissed the image.

“Santa Claus is sort of a jolly old man who...has a herd of flying reindeer. Big red suit. Culturally inappropriate.” She sighed. “Did something come up? Is this a bad time? I can come back later, if it is. A lot later. Years from now.”

“Odin was anxious to see you again, that’s all,” the queen explained. “Thor has told him so much about you.”

“I wouldn’t put too much stock in those accounts. He seems unusually biased in my favor. Maybe ask Agent Coulson about me sometime if you’ve got a few hours to spend.”

“He said you set things on fire quite effectively,” Odin offered, looking from Lucy to Frigga and back again. She nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, that is actually quite correct.” Lucy rolled a ball of flame over her palm and then extinguished it. “I am really good at setting things on fire.”

“Though you could stand to be a little more discriminating about it. According to him.”

“Also...surprisingly accurate,” Lucy agreed slowly. “Though honestly a little insulting, into the bargain.”

“And he said that you resist his entreaties to return home,” he sighed, looking disappointed. Frigga’s posture had gone stiff, and Lucy ran her hands through her hair.

“Look, it’s....” She paused and started again. “I appreciate that you’ve lost a child. I do. I can’t imagine how much that must have hurt. You have my sympathies. But I’m not your son. I...my parents were killed in an accident. I was young, but I remember them. I was born here. This is home. Asgard isn’t.”

“You’ve made many enemies here,” Frigga murmured, moving to the couch and sitting down. She gestured to the chair across from her, inviting Lucy to sit.

“Thank you, but I’d prefer to stand.” Lucy held her hands up and leaned against the mantel. “And yes, I have made enemies here. I imagine I’d do much the same anywhere I went. I’ve been told I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut, which, honestly, doesn’t even begin to cover it. Usually it’s not a big deal.”

“And the sea-beast?” Frigga asked gently.

“That’s a little different. I mean, it’s a big deal, but I sort of swore to defeat it. And if I don’t, the world will be destroyed. So, really, that one’s non-negotiable. I didn’t start the fight, but I’m going to finish it.” Lucy rubbed her arm. “I feel like we sort of strayed from the topic a bit. What does me getting into fights a lot have to do with me not being Loki?”

“I had thought to offer you asylum,” she explained. “But if you’re oathbound....”

“Was it a proper oath, then?” Odin asked, his eye narrowing.

Lucy tilted her head. “Do I even want to ask what Thor said about me to prompt that question?”

Behind him, Sif shook her head quickly and mouthed “No” at her. Lucy rubbed her temple and gritted her teeth.

“Yes. About as proper as oaths get around here. I don’t remember it, because I hadn’t been born yet, but I wouldn’t have been born without it.”

“That counts as a proper oath here?” Frigga asked. “Something you can’t remember.”

“I’m not explaining this well, I don’t think.” Lucy rubbed her arm again and paced a little. “It’s like this, see? When there’s something that needs to be done, or should be done, and you need a hero or a magician or a whatever to do it, that’s....Well, that’s a child that’s not going to be sticking around the farm, or tending the shop, or running the kingdom. They’ll be off fighting monsters, or stealing fire, or inventing psychedelics and traffic lights or something. They’re going to be a lot more trouble for a lot less gain for that individual family, right?

“So a lot of times, depending on how polite the gods in question are, they’ll send the baby to a family that’s agreed to it. Maybe the couple’s too old to have a kid without divine intervention, or one of the parents is already technically dead, or they’re willing to exchange the danger of raising a hero for the glory of the family name living forever, or they’re particularly long-sighted and they know what needs to be done for the good of the world.” She shrugged. “It depends. In my case, my parents couldn’t have children, so my grandfather went to the gods and made a sacrifice and said ‘Give them a child, any child.’ and they took him up on the offer. I apparently promised to do it for another shot at life, so I got tagged in specifically to fight this thing. It doesn’t get much more proper oath-y than that on this planet. Everybody’s already collected the reward, and there’s nobody to take my place if I try to back out. It’s pretty well signed, sealed, and delivered.”

Odin and Frigga exchanged a troubled look.

“So you must see this through.”

“Yeah.” Lucy glanced at Sif, who was intently studying the ceiling tiles and determinedly ignoring her. “I really need you two to understand that I’m not your son. This isn’t some weird, sick prank or way to weasel out of whatever charges get filed when an Asgardian tries to blow up an entire planet full of trolls. This is my world. I’m me. None of this is really your concern.”

Frigga’s face fell, and Odin put his hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll just be going now. It looks like you two might have some things to talk about.” Lucy sidled toward the door before realizing that going out over the balcony would let her avoid Coulson. She didn’t react quickly enough to avoid another hug. “Could you please stop that?”

Odin let go and squeezed her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length. She stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. I am never hanging out with heroes again. Villains aren’t nearly this grabby.

“Be careful, and bring honor to your house,” he said solemnly.

“I thoroughly intend to. Immediately. As soon as you, um, let go.” He gave her a sad smile and relaxed his hold. “Uh, both of you, be well and, um, safe journey home.”

She gave a half-bow and made her escape, barely noticing when Sif fell in behind her.

“Shouldn’t you stick with them for at least the next few minutes? Maybe make sure nothing gets put to the sword or burned to the ground?”

“I am making sure nothing gets put to the sword or burned to the ground,” Sif retorted. “Put that out.”

“This is supposed to be on fire,” Lucy grunted, taking a drag off the cigarette.

“Not indoors, it isn’t. There are signs posted.”

“The signs can blow me.” Lucy paused for a moment, then started walking again. “Wait, should both of them be here at once? What happens if some dickhole tries to stage a coup?”

“A what?”

“Seize the throne.”

“The Allfather only came to see you. Likely they’ll both be returning home within the hour.”

“I convinced them, then?” Lucy ignored the cold band settling around her ribs. Stupid misdirected affection. I only just fucking met the woman.

Sif hesitated. “There’s nothing to be done until you’ve defeated your enemy.”

“Shouldn’t you be helping them pack?”

“I’m to stay with you, and,” Sif coughed, “to help you if I can.”

“Nope.”

“It’s not a point of debate.”

“Damn well it’s not a point of fucking debate. You’re not hanging around with me. I appreciate your help from before, but this is really just....” Lucy shook her head. “No. Go find Thor and get him to talk them out of assigning you to the magician detail.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“That didn’t take very long,” Phil observed as they passed him. Lucy kept walking.

“You should have told me Mr. Frigga was here, Coulson,” she called over her shoulder. Sif shot him an apologetic look.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Bar. To start a fight over something. I’ll figure it out on the way.”

“Really?” Sif murmured.

“No. We’re going to find your idiot friends and hope they’re drunk enough to be talked into fixing this,” Lucy hissed.

Chapter Text

“You know, you might have said all it would take to get you guys off my back was a pre-existing commitment,” Lucy said. She adjusted a pair of binoculars and scanned the drunken crowd in the street below. “It would have saved me a lot of time.”

“And you might have said that you would be using your magic to transport us here,” Sif muttered darkly, wiping her mouth on a handkerchief.

“If I’d known you were going to get seasick, I would have.” Lucy shrugged. “At least you fit right in? I swear, there’s like three people barfing in any given hundred square feet of pavement down there. This is bananas.”

The warrior spat and wiped her mouth again. “Can you see Thor?”

“I can’t see anybody we know, which I figure means they’re not down there. I mean, Volstagg’s roughly the size of an elephant even before you account for the inevitable keg on either shoulder.”

“The House of Odin takes its oaths very seriously,” Sif said, straightening up. She held out her hand, and Lucy handed her the binoculars. “If you have sworn to do this, you must do it.”

“Not part of the House of Odin, Sif.” Lucy craned her neck. “This is really, absolutely, spectacularly out of hand.”

“Is this not typical, then?”

“No. This is fantastic. Typical pubcrawls are just sad and expensive and then you’re left trying to get home from a neighborhood you’re reasonably sure by that point doesn’t actually exist, and a cab’s out of the question because you can’t remember how to speak English. This is like St. Patrick’s Day and Mardi Gras, only with slightly less public nudity.”

Sif grunted and handed the binoculars back.

Lucy adjusted them again. “Oh, hey, never mind about that last part. Competitive team-streaking. No matter who wins, everybody walks away smiling. You know what? I think this deserves a complimentary refill. For everybody.” She snapped her fingers. A series of banners reading ‘Free Beer’ unfurled over a few knots of empty kegs.

“You are enjoying this far too thoroughly.”

“The past couple of months have been nothing but one irritating mess after another. I’d almost forgotten what fun looked like. This is like the sun, coming out from behind the clouds.” Lucy beamed at her, and Sif rolled her eyes.

“That is not an accurate assessment of your behavior over the past season at all.”

“Well, maybe, but that’s what it’s felt like.”

“Can you,” she waved her hands vaguely, “sense them at all?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “You people’s grasp of technical terms is astonishing.”

“You people?” Sif repeated archly, her eyes narrowing.

Lucy pursed her lips. “Okay, is that really a thing in Asgard, or did the Wasp teach you that when Coulson wasn’t around?”

“Lady Darcy taught us that when Thor and the lady Jane were not present.”

“Is that the little dark-haired girl who keeps resetting Coulson’s ringtone to the national anthem?”

“Yes.”

“She sounds kind of all right. But you’re not allowed to ‘you people’ me. We’d be here all night if I had to explain every permutation of the categories of ‘you people’ you fall into. And yes, I can totally sense them. It’s weird. Thor actually gets a little bit more Thor when he’s drunk. Most people get fuzzier around the edges when they’re trashed.”

“And you?”

“Everything gets fuzzier around the edges when I’m trashed. Perk of being a magician.” Lucy wiggled her fingers in Sif’s general direction.

“Stop that.” The crowd below them was getting rowdier. “Where are they?”

“See that statue? Two blocks up, one block in. I’d offer to just pop us on over, but I get the feeling that’s incompatible with not getting stabbed tonight.”

“Your instincts in this are correct,” Sif told her sourly. “You do understand that Thor is not going to agree with you about not needing assistance in this, don’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure I can talk him into it.” Lucy poked at the fire escape, which creaked alarmingly. “We could fly.”

“No.”

“I totally wouldn’t drop us.”

“No.”

“Spoilsport.” She swung herself over and down, landing on the corroded metal grating with a dull clang.

“Even if you could persuade Thor to see things your way, it was your parents’ desire that you be accompanied. He cannot countermand that.”

“It’s not really his job to countermand anything,” Lucy sighed. “It’s his job to either talk his--singular, not mine, not our--parents out of this, because it’s stupid, or explain to them after the fact that, since I can teleport and you can’t, this was never going to work.”

Sif shook her head, then grimaced, her gaze moving to something above and behind Lucy.

“Jones.”

“Stark.” Lucy turned and followed Sif’s line of sight, then blinked at the sight of Tony’s armor. “Why are you covered in streamers?”

“Because you’ve turned Philadelphia into a giant kegger,” he growled.

“No, I haven’t, and that still wouldn’t explain this. You look like a mummy that somebody turned a second-grade art class loose on. How is that stuff not catching on fire?” she asked, gaping at him.

“I’m aware of what I look like, Jones--”

“I don’t think you could possibly be aware of what you look like and still be okay with the public seeing you.” She appealed to Sif, who was covering a barely-suppressed smile with her hand. “Tell him.”

“You look very...festive, friend Tony.”

“Stop listening to her, Sif. Jones, I need you to stop this, immediately. People are going to get hurt.”

“It’s a city-wide block-party. Aside from the normal drunken misadventures, this really should be a low-casualty affair. And again, this isn’t me.”

“Really? Because this is you all over.”

“You did replenish their supply of drink,” Sif pointed out.

“So you didn’t start the riot, you just made it worse?”

“We just got here, and I’d characterize it more as making the party--because this is clearly not a riot yet--better.”

“If you didn’t do this, what are you doing here?”

“We’re here to find Thor,” Sif told him.

“Thor’s here?”

“Along with the three musketeers, yes, and I need him to find him so that he can chaperone Sif while I’m busy not being chaperoned by Sif.”

“Which is an errand doomed to failure,” she said.

“Says you. And since when does that stop you people from trying?”

“‘You people’?” Tony asked.

“Oh, don’t you fucking start,” Lucy snapped. “Remind me again how this rises to the level of an Avengers-grade intervention? Are you guys actually the Fun Police now?”

“It’s just me, and I was already here.”

“You weren’t actually set upon by an elementary school art class, were you? Maybe they got a little hopped up on paste and markers, swarmed you when you weren’t looking?”

Tony ignored her question. “If you didn’t start this, who did?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, if you find them, shake their hand for me,” Lucy said. “We need to find Thor and Company.”

“Indeed. The sooner you hear it from him, the sooner you can let go of these delusions.” Sif nodded to Tony. “We’re on our way to find him.”

“Well, we know where he is. We’re just on our way to meet up with him.” Lucy watched one of the trailing streamers stray too close to an exhaust port.

Sif pointed hurriedly. “You’re alight!”

“What?”

“She means you’re on fucking fire, dude.”

“Shit!”

Lucy rubbed her eyes as Tony batted instinctively at the flame, setting several previously-unignited streamers ablaze. Sif grimaced.

“His armor is fireproof, is it not?” she asked.

“Fuck if I know.”

“Little help here, Jones?”

“Uh, I think there’s a retention pond over there somewhere?” She gestured vaguely at a side street. Sif elbowed her sharply. “Ow! Okay, okay! Jesus. Am I going to have to start wearing armor just to avoid you doing that?”

“It wouldn’t help you. I’m quite adept at getting around it if need be.”

Lucy brought her hands together gently, and the streamers tore loose and fluttered to the ground.

“Thank you,” Tony grunted.

“You’re welcome,” Lucy shot back. “Why don’t you stop bothering us and go do whatever wet-blanket routine you’ve got ready for whoever’s running this show? We’ve got throngs to part and princes to harass.”

“You do know only Thor is a real prince, right?” he asked.

“Yeah? It was, like, rhetorical. You know, like when somebody addresses you all collectively as doctors, even though Coulson’s thesis was rejected because he technically didn’t defeat the robot assassin.”

“I’m not even sure how to begin responding to that.”

“I was pretty surprised, too, but it makes sense once you figure that emotionally devastating the robot assassin to the point where it’s rendered inoperable doesn’t count as ‘defeating’ it according to the rules as they stood when he was up for his doctorate.”

“If any of this were true, he’d have just tried again.”

“Well, yeah, if the board had been willing to budge on the charges they levied for him breaking the robot. I mean, come on. You’re going to tell someone they don’t get their degree because they didn’t sufficiently break the robot that’s still so broken you’re being fined the cost of a replacement? It’s bush-league, Heller-esque bullshit. As someone who intended to practice mastery-level Heller-esque bullshit, I genuinely don’t blame him for refusing to go along with it on general principle.”

Tony rubbed his faceplate with one gauntleted hand. “You do not have to fight a robot assassin to finish your thesis.”

“Maybe not your thesis, no, but I’m pretty sure the standards are different when you’re getting a degree in skirt-chasing and when you’re getting a degree in government bastardry. Like, you get awarded lifetime achievement awards for different things when you’re a physicist versus when you’re an atomic-powered mechanical spider controlled by a clone of the Kaiser’s brain.”

“And now I’m 110% done listening to this. See you guys later. I’m leaving.”

“Best of luck to you, Man of Iron. You must tell us of your exploits after you are finished,” Sif said firmly, joining Lucy on the fire escape. Two bolts tore free of the wall.

“Okay, so that is a terrible sign,” Lucy muttered. “This is just a badly-maintained building. Hang on to me for a second.”

“Need a hand with something other than telling fantastic lies about beloved civil servants?” Tony inquired archly.

“Go away before you set something else on fire, Stark.” She took Sif’s hand and snapped her fingers. The landscape blurred around them, then solidified into a small patch of grass near a row of bars. Sif glared at her, then leaned over and retched again. “Before you stab me, I’d like to point out that we should be within a hundred feet of them, and you totally didn’t fall to your doom off a fire escape.”

“If Midgardians are typically felled by drops of thirty feet, I pity you,” Sif hissed.

“Midgardians are frequently felled by tripping over their own feet,” Lucy sighed, looking around. “Once you’re done there, we’re going this way. Which is weird, because I really thought they’d be in eyeshot by now. We’re practically right on top of them.”

A knot of drunken revelers blundered past them, hooting and laughing. Sif glared at her and straightened up.

“I am growing most displeased with that mode of transport.”

“Duly noted. You know, annoying as it is to concede the point, Stark might be right about this getting a little out of hand.”

“How so?” Sif asked.

“Well, those were fourteen-year-olds. Kind of young, even for Philadelphia. I mean, if this were Boston, sure. Philly tends to have vaguely more restraint than that.” She pushed her hair back, then shrugged. “Meh. I’m sure he’ll get it sorted.”

“You sound less than confident in that statement.”

“Well, yes. And also, I really don’t actually care? In terms of supervillainy, getting an entire city sloshed isn’t really the most HYDRA-y of stunts. Somebody’s probably just doped the water supply so they can rob a huge bank or cart off the world’s biggest diamond or moon the Masons or something.”

“And you would be most concerned if it were something more despicable?” Sif demanded.

“Uh....” The warrior narrowed her eyes. “Okay, no, probably not really. Unless it was inconvenient. And even then, yeah, no, probably not. What do you want from me? If I was temperamentally suited for heroics, I’d be a hero.”

Sif snorted.

“Look, you can disapprove of me and walk at the same time. Let’s go. Feel free to silently monologue to yourself about the fact that I ring up library fines and then don’t pay them on the way. Please do not ask me what a library is.”

“Is it all right if I ask you not to insult me by implying that I don’t know what a library is?”

“Well, you can always ask.” Lucy sighed and trudged around a pair of cops giggling and making out on the sidewalk. “We should at least be able to hear them bellowing inappropriate Asgardian drinking songs.”

Sif frowned. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am. He’s still in the same general spot. He should be right past that corner.”

“And yet he is not.”

Lucy stopped so abruptly that Sif almost collided with her. “Shit.”

“What?” she demanded, suddenly on high alert.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, put the sword away. You can’t bring a sword to a drunk-fight. Hang on.” She twisted her hands and produced a large purse from thin air. “Here. You can bring this to a drunk-fight.”

“What...is it?” Sif examined it skeptically.

“Brick in a handbag. And before you call it uncivilized or any variant on that theme, I’ll have you know that my grandmother won my grandfather’s hand with a brick in a handbag. Anyway, he’s here, but he’s not here. Since we know he’s not up, it stands to reason they’re under us.”

“Underground? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“There’s all sorts of stuff underground in this country. Hell, that big SHIELD bunker Thor was in before isn’t even the deepest.” She knelt and put her hands on the pavement. “And it feels hollowed out and weird.”

“Magic?”

“No, this is definitely not magic. Any of it.”

“Well, then, how do we get to them?”

“The obvious way would be to--”

“And still be in a condition to fight if warranted,” Sif interrupted.

Lucy looked around. “Stay here. If anybody sasses you, hit them with the purse. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You’re not leaving me behind. Of the two of us, I’m the more capable fighter,” Sif said flatly, crossing her arms. “If you get into trouble, I won’t be able to assist you.”

“Yes, yes, you’re much more capable of swording a dude right in the chest than I am. I’d point out that if I get into trouble that can’t be solved with the cleansing power of fire, you’re unlikely to be of much help, but I doubt that would do much to persuade you. Fortunately, you can’t stop me.” Lucy winked at her and vanished.

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

“Loki!” Thor beamed. They were in a shallow, cave-like opening. Lucy estimated that the ceiling was roughly ten feet below the sidewalk where she’d left Sif.

“Oh my god, do not start up with that again,” Lucy sighed, dodging a hug. “How drunk are you all?”

“Is this your doing?” Fandral demanded.

“Nope. I’m pretty sure I’ve got better things to do than whatever this is. But Stark’s on it, if you feel like pitching in once you’re back topside. How the fuck did you get down here, anyway?”

“We were making merry, and then the ground opened beneath our feet!” Thor told her. “And we are perhaps more drunk than is strictly advisable, given the circumstances.”

Hogun pointed to a steep tunnel leading up from the cavern. “We slid a great distance, and then landed here.”

“The casks broke,” Volstagg added.

“You didn’t see anybody or hear anything? The whole town’s high, which doesn’t seem to be bothering them, but it’s got Stark’s cast-iron boxer-briefs in a twist.”

“There did seem to be...an excess of mirth amongst the populace,” Thor confessed. “But we saw no evidence of foul deeds.”

“If you didn’t do this, what are you doing here?” Fandral asked.

“Dumping Sif on you. She’s having a rough time with the teleporting thing--”

“Should you really be doing that? Thor said your powers were becoming unpredictable,” Volstagg ventured.

“I...shut up,” Lucy grunted. “Anyway, I’m dropping Sif off with you.”

“I thought our parents had decided that she would keep you safe for the time being?” Thor asked.

“Change of plans,” Lucy said smoothly. “And you’ve got heroing to do, I think. Maybe. Stark probably has a breathalyzer in that suit somewhere. I’m sure you’re good to go, but you know. Insurance purposes and everything.”

“I should speak to Sif about these plans,” Thor murmured.

“Not that we don’t trust you,” Fandral said pointedly.

“Of course we don’t trust her,” Hogun sighed.

“Thank you, Hogun. I’m not stupid, guys. I know you don’t trust me. I’d be a little insulted if you did trust me, in fact.” She patted Thor’s hand. “You talk to Sif for as long as you need. But first we need to get you guys out of here, because, not that the geological disposition of Philadelphia is my specialty, but I’m not sure this is safe. Or even, technically speaking, possible as a normal-person bit of engineering. Can everybody stand back a bit?”

They shuffled back a few paces, and Lucy looked them over. They weren’t as drunk as she’d expected, but they were still drunker than she’d have liked, if she were planning on being in charge of them. Stark was going to have fun herding them around town. She snickered to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Fandral asked.

“Nothing.”

“Lucy,” Thor sighed.

“Fine. I wasn’t going to say anything, but your fly’s open.” She shrugged. “And your bootlaces are untied. And--”

“Will you stop that?” Thor asked. “Please?”

“I figured you were soused enough to appreciate the humor of a petty practical joke.” She flashed him a bright, false smile. “Guess not. Okay, here goes nothing.”

She reached up and carefully opened a hole in the ceiling above them. The debris curled around itself, twisting and solidifying into a spiral staircase. “Ta-da! Freedom. Go forth and kick some ass, assuming Iron Man ever locates the appropriate ass in need of kicking.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Pressing business in the South Pacific,” she explained airly, stepping sideways into a shadow.

“Thor?” Sif called from the street above.

“Sif! Are you well? Loki said that her powers had left you poorly.”

“Well enough. Are you injured?”

“No. What has happened?” he asked, clambering up the staircase. The Warriors Three followed him carefully, getting their bearings as they scrambled out of the hole.

“This is some distance from where we were,” Hogun observed.

“Aye. And the tunnel did not seem so long when we were sliding down it,” Volstagg muttered. “Something here is amiss.”

“Where’s Lucy?” Sif growled. “You didn’t let her leave, did you?”

“Let is a strong word,” Fandral volunteered.

“Your sister is an honorless cur sometimes, Thor,” she gritted.

“She said there was a change of plans?”

“A lying honorless cur.”

Thor’s shoulders slumped, and his smile faltered. “It went poorly, then?”

“It went as well as it could have, though she thinks the oath she’s sworn to destroy that monster will get her farther than it will.” Sif shook her head. “But we have more pressing concerns at the moment. What enemy waylaid you?”

“We saw nothing,” Hogun said.

“Loki said the Man of Iron has joined in the fray?” Volstagg asked.

“There’s not a fray to speak of, that he would admit to. The only thing we know is that it’s not the work of a magician, and that’s only if one chooses to believe Lucy. Do you know where the trap that caught you was set?”

Volstagg pointed up the street. “Surely we can find the location again, friends?”

“It’s as good a place as any to start,” Fandral said. “Thor, perhaps we should summon your native comrades?”

“An excellent idea.”

*****

Lucy leaned back against a tree and stretched her legs out, wondering if she should call Coulson. Even drunk, Thor and the rest of them should be able to handle some jackass whose grand plan was getting everyone high, she thought. And Sif was perfectly sober. Still....

Her phone rang. She looked at it and shook her head.

“What now?” she muttered. She tapped the answer button. “Barton.”

“Hey, Jones. I need to talk to Sif.”

“I’m not with Sif. You want to talk to Sif, maybe get Coulson to set her up with a phone plan that covers other dimensions.”

“What do you mean you’re not with Sif?”

“I mean I’m not with Sif. I’d offer to say it in Spanish, but that would just come out as English again anyway.”

“Okay, uh...are you feeling all right?”

“Nope! But since you’re not calling for me, why don’t we just keep that between us, and you can tell Coulson to start tapping into security cameras and find Sif that way.”

He sighed heavily on the other end of the line. “Coulson’s busy. Where did you put the alien ambassador?”

“I left her in Philly with Thor and the gang. And Stark. Finding her shouldn’t be rocket science, Barton. Just punt it to Widow, if Coulson’s fucked off somewhere.”

“Tony’s in Philadelphia?”

“Uh, yeah? Has he not checked in yet? There’s some bullshit going down. I think he fell victim to a mummy’s curse. Maybe he disturbed a dead robot pharaoh’s tomb? He wasn’t real clear on how it happened. The rest of the town is pre-gaming or something. Seemed like the kind of thing you guys tend to keep tabs on, actually. Maybe you should call JARVIS and see what he’s currently trying to get Stark out of.”

“Where are you?” Clint asked.

“Snake Island.”

“Fine, don’t tell me,” he said, sighing again.

“That is actually a real place, Barton.”

“Yes, I know that, I just didn’t think even you’d be stupid enough to go there. Are you really on Snake Island?”

“Yes.”

“You’re really rolling around in venomous snakes instead of in Philadelphia.”

“I’m not rolling in them. That would be rude. But it’s quieter than Philadelphia, at least. I mean, in case Coulson hasn’t clued you in, I have a big ugly mess to clean up, and the Nordic soap-opera is not a distraction I can afford. So Sif is going to hang out with Thor for a while, and Thor’s going to do what the fuck ever he normally does when he’s not ruining things for me, and I’m going to try to come up with a way to beat the armored tank division of deities. Feel free to not tell anybody, but most especially not Thor’s parents, about the part where Sif’s not watching me.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got the sort of problems that you can’t just run away from, Jones,” Clint scolded.

“Pfft. Shows what you know. And it helps when I’ve got a metric ton of pit vipers to slow them down behind me.”

“Okay, point.”

“Damn straight it’s a point.”

“So long as I’ve got you on the phone, would you mind telling me why you felt the need to sabotage a fleet of SHIELD vehicles?”

Lucy pinched the bridge of her nose. “If I get accused of doing one more thing where I have no fucking clue what’s going on, I’m going to go do something just to break the streak. You dig?”

“Are you seriously suggesting that someone else stuffed the fuel vents of an entire branch’s cars with spiders?”

“Yeah, actually. At this point, if I was mad enough at you guys to break all your toys, I’d have melted them into slag and then leveled your headquarters in a freak hurricane. Anything that needs a forensic mechanical inspection is too subtle to sit around and wait for.” A viper fell into her lap. She picked it up and tossed it away. It slithered past her, pausing only long enough to give her a dirty look. She stuck her tongue out at it, then immediately felt childish for having done so. She was, technically, a guest.

“So, uh, Tony’s loose in Philadelphia, probably in need of back-up but not requesting it. You’ve ditched Sif in the same location, along with Thor and his guys. There’s an attack by a party or parties unknown on the location in general--”

“It’s beginning to sound like haranguing me is a waste of valuable time in which you could be rousting Coulson.”

“We’re not done talking about those cars.”

“What is the fucking deal with you and those cars? Are you personally on the hook for them? I mean, is this coming out of your paycheck if you can’t pin it on me? Because if it is, why don’t you just sneak some of the spiders into some rich asshole’s lab and then use a number attached to someone who’s currently pissed at them to call in a tip about it?”

“Are you suggesting I frame Tony for this?”

“Well, I was actually suggesting you frame Richards for it, but Stark works too.” Lucy closed her eyes and let her head rest against the rough, fibrous trunk. “Or, shit, tell them I did it. I don’t care. Maybe I did. I’ve gotten drunk enough in the past few months that I might have thought cramming a car full of giant spiders was hilarious.”

“Then spiders were actually tiny, and I’m going to quote you on that in my report,” he warned.

“Sure, sure. That’s gonna sound real professional. ‘Investigation concluded that known supervillain “might have” vandalized vehicles while intoxicated. Subject concurred that “it sounds like something [I] would do” and also confessed to every other currently open case agent needs to close.’ That’ll get you out from under the wage-garnishment hammer for sure. Call me when you’re done cleaning up the City of Brotherly Shove, and I’ll sign off on it.” She hung up on him.

The waves lapped at the shore, and the night was calm. It was actually nice out, all things considered. Another lancehead fell on her. “Goddammit. Stupid snake.”

The viper glowered at her before curling up in her lap and making itself comfortable. She pulled out a flask and took a sip.

“I should fill a division’s worth of SHIELD cars with you guys, huh? Colonize some more islands with you or something, save you from going extinct in the event of some stray lightning bolt or douchebag with a box of matches.”

It flicked its tongue at her disinterestedly before resting its head on her knee, seeming content to ignore her so long as she kept being warm. She snorted and called Coulson, only to have it go straight to voicemail.

“Hey, Coulson. Jones here. On a scale of ‘officially annoyed but secretly amused’ to ‘swearing out a warrant for my immediate murder and sending it to those guys you’re only authorized to use in third-world countries,’ how upset would you be if I saved a species from the brink of extinction by moving half of them to that annoying little HYDRA base in the Baltic? Call me back!”

She tucked the phone into her pocket, dislodging a small snake that was trying to coil itself around her arm.

“Okay, guys, the thermal energy ain’t free. Who’s up for a brainstorming session about how we kill this damn sea monster?”

Chapter Text

“I appreciate you meeting me here, Coulson,” Lucy said cheerfully, shading her eyes against the glare. Phil looked around and finally took a seat.

“The Café du Monde.” He frowned at the exposure of the location and glanced darkly from behind his sunglasses at the press of other patrons.

“If I can’t play tourist occasionally, life loses some of its pleasure,” Lucy explained, picking a beignet apart and slipping a small piece to the microraptor begging at her elbow. It seized the pastry and scampered off along the railing, its feathers ruffling in the breeze. Two smaller raptors waited in a nearby shrub, chattering noisily until they received their share.

“Is that even good for them?” Phil asked, looking pointedly at a large sign asking patrons not to feed the small dinosaurs.

“Probably not,” she answered, unperturbed.

“You know your brother is practically going out of his mind because of you.”

“I’m not unaware of that fact.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I think I may have a plan. For the sea scorpion, I mean. Not that I don’t have a plan for Thor, but I really don’t need anything from you for that plan, so feel free not to worry about it.”

Phil grimaced. “You know, you have such a bad track record with things like that that the moment you say something along the lines of ‘feel free not to worry about it,’ my adrenal gland automatically goes into overdrive.”

“As well it should. It’s been paying attention.” She sat back. “Cards on the table, Coulson. I’m going to try to kill this thing, but for what I need to do, I need an open area with nobody hanging around to get turned into collateral damage. Do you, or anyone else, have anything hiding out in Antarctica?”

“You’re asking me to disclose the location of secret SHIELD bases?”

“No, I’m just asking you to confirm that there’s nothing unofficially full of fragile, squishable human beings in a specific location. Or, if there is something there, I guess I’m asking you to evacuate it in the next 48 hours.”

“Please do not melt Antarctica.”

“I’m not going to melt Antarctica.” Lucy made a face at him.

“Promise me you’re not going to melt Antarctica.”

“Just eat your beignet and listen to me for a minute,” she huffed. “I’m really, genuinely, absolutely going to try not to melt Antarctica. I shouldn’t melt Antarctica. But this is probably going to get messy, and it’ll be far enough away from everybody’s official Antarctica stations that they shouldn’t be in trouble, but any unofficial Antarctica bases might get fucking trashed. So, it would be nice if there wasn’t anybody in them in case that does happen.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out, then. You find the answers on Ilha da Queimada?” he asked, jumping when a microraptor coasted down from the rafters and barely missed his ear.

“Did you really have to do this?” he demanded, gesturing at the knot of unlaunched raptors huddling in the awning. “At the very least, couldn’t you have gone with a less obnoxious variety of prehistoric lizard?”

“They’re not as bad as the pigeons were, Coulson,” she retorted, brushing the crumbs off her skirt. “And yes, I found the answers on Snake Island. The snakes were very eager to be of assistance.”

“The snakes came up with a workable plan?” Phil’s tone betrayed his surprise. He pursed his lips after a moment. “You want me to evacuate the South Pole based on a plan that a bunch of snakes came up with.”

“Well, no. Most of their ideas revolved around eating birds. I got the feeling that’s what most of their lives revolve around. Not much to do on Snake Island besides be a snake, really.” She shrugged, and the tiny yellow viper coiled around her braid slithered forward and draped itself over her shoulder. Phil carefully edged back a few inches.

“You brought back a souvenir,” he observed.

“I brought back a few, actually. Amazing how many snakes can wind up colonizing a pair of cargo pants. This is the only one that didn’t get deported last night.”

“I see. And you started a colony of them in Australia because...?”

“Well, they were trying to be helpful. And they don’t want to go extinct. And who’d notice another type of poisonous snake in Australia?”

“The Australians?” he asked. “Not to mention that it’s extremely difficult not to notice a new type of poisonous snake anywhere when it takes to riding giant flightless birds around. What were you thinking?”

“That I don’t live in Australia?” she retorted. “Plus they promised they’d only eat rabbits and keep to themselves.”

“And you believed them?” Phil demanded, rubbing his temples.

“Do I look like an idiot? Of course I didn...” She caught his look and cut herself off. “Of course I did?”

“You didn’t believe them, and they didn’t help you, but you did it anyway.”

“Okay, you know all the shit you guys have promised over the years? I didn’t believe most of that, either. Doesn’t mean I abdicate the right to be pissed off when what I knew was going to happen actually happens. Or that it’s my fault when it happens.”

Phil stared at her. “Yes, it does.”

“Says you.”

“Says any reasonable human being.”

“Magicians have a different definition of ‘reasonable.’” She smiled brightly at him. “So what wound up happening with Mole Guy? The news said you weren’t confirming he was in custody.”

“Mole Man,” Phil corrected. “He escaped. Something he probably would not have done had you stuck around to help.”

“Yes, but you see, I don’t care. Hell, even if I was playing for your side, I don’t think I could muster the energy to care about that dude. As far as realistic threats go, that dude was solidly weaksauce.”

“He managed to give Thor and the Warriors Three a bad day,” Phil sighed. “Care to tell me what your plan there is?”

“With Thor?” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Talk to him.”

“That’s a change of pace.”

“I may need you to kick him off the planet until after I take care of the sea scorpion if talking doesn’t work, though.”

“And there we go.” Phil shook his head. “I’m not kicking an alien dignitary and member of the Avengers off the planet at the request of a supervillain.”

“Look, that’s a last resort. This thing is going to be a god-fight. I’m pretty sure if he tries to interfere, he could actually get killed or seriously injured. You don’t want that to happen, Asgard doesn’t want that to happen, and I don’t fucking want that to happen.”

“Awful kind of you,” Phil groused.

“Look, I do like him. He’s annoying, and he doesn’t listen, and he seems to have some kind of weird death-wish for someone who’s immortal, and he won’t stay out of my face, but in spite of all that, I’d really prefer that nothing too bad happens to him. I might go so far as to say I’d really strongly prefer that nothing too bad happens to him.”

“And sending him home ensures this?”

She sighed. “I’m going to talk to him and try to get him to agree to stay the fuck out of it. If he tells me to go to hell, that he’s not sitting on the sidelines if it looks like it’s going badly, then I would like you to ship him home until it’s over. I’m hoping I can get him to see reason, though.”

“What if he could help you?” Phil suggested.

“I’m not getting him killed over this,” Lucy said flatly.

“You’d pick him over the rest of the world?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she snapped. “But I’m not dragging him into this. The odds of him being able to help versus the odds of him getting hurt and distracting me and getting me killed are fucking terrible, and I’m not going down that road. It doesn’t lead anywhere I’m interested in visiting again.”

“Interesting.”

“Shut up, Coulson.” She scowled at him, the effect ruined by an undignified shiver when the viper slipped down her shirt. She scooped it back out and tucked it firmly into her hair. “Will you help me out here or not?”

“I’ll put out the word on Antarctica. I’m not deporting an alien prince on your say-so.”

“It’s preventative deportation for his own protection.”

“It’s not happening.”

“It’s for his own good, and to prevent a civilization with superior weapons from getting mad at Earth in the event of his injury,” she pointed out. “You used to care about that, remember?”

“I have a great deal of faith in him not to get himself injured,” Phil said drily.

“You have a great deal of....Have you met him?” She threw her hands in the air in frustration, and the glint of her ring caught the eye of one of the microraptors. It dove and latched onto her arm, provoking a stream of high-volume swearing and, Phil thought, a rather excessive amount of flailing. He pushed his chair back calmly and checked his watch as Lucy tried to get a firm grip on the reptile. Feathers swirled through the air, and people at adjacent tables scrambled away from them. She finally pried the raptor off her arm and tossed it back into the air. It flapped awkwardly back to a perch, its flight even clumsier due to several missing flight feathers. The staff did their best to ignore the entire event.

“Stupid dinosaur,” she muttered, rubbing her arm.

“Thor’s more reliable than you seem to think,” Phil scolded gently.

“Stupid human,” she grunted. The viper tried to curl around her ear, and she gave up and deposited it in her purse.

“Do not set that thing loose in this city,” Phil warned firmly. “They’ve had enough ecological disasters for one century.”

“Re-evaluate your decision about Thor, and I’ll think about it.”

“I’m not deporting him. I’d sooner deport you than him.”

“And then what, call Strange in to deal with the scorpion?” Lucy challenged.

“If I have to,” he said evenly. She rolled her eyes.

“If he was willing or able to do it, he’d had said yes already,” she snorted.

“You knew we’d asked him?”

“Here’s the thing, Coulson. I don’t like SHIELD. I don’t have a really high opinion of the shit you people pull on the regular. But I don’t think you’re absolutely and completely fucking incompetent, most of the time, and if you didn’t go running to Strange with this right out of the gate, I’d be a bit shocked. What’s the point of having a semi-tame magician if you’re not going to badger him about all kinds of stupid bullshit, right? I mean, you badger me with all kinds of stupid bullshit, and our relationship consists of me picking up the phone every so often. Strange is actually on the payroll. That he didn’t take care of it when you told him about it means that he can’t or won’t, right? So you’re not going to beam me off-planet and have him do it.” She finished her coffee. “If it’s any consolation, it’s because he can’t. God-fight and all. There are rules.” She tilted her chair back and casually flipped off a table of tourists who were gawking too openly.

“That’s not much of a consolation, no. Can you please stop drawing so much attention to yourself?”

“I’ve got a snake in my hair, I just got jumped by a dinosaur, and I’m obviously talking to a g-man. That ship has sailed.”

“You could turn us invisible if you wanted,” he said, suddenly sounding tired.

“Then we’d have people trying to sit on us for half an hour.” She flexed her hands. “Look, Coulson. I’m not asking for much here. Just try to work with me. Just this once. After I kill this thing, and the world is safe from the threat of impending ocean-based climate-fucked doom, we can go back to normal.”

“Would this be the normal where you sulk on an island for a year because your brother won’t let you commit crimes, or the normal where you rob banks and hide national monuments and get into slap-fights with HYDRA over bounced paychecks?”

“Fuck if I know yet.” She rubbed her eyes. “How ‘bout the normal where I can take a fucking day off every so often without a porch covered in Vikings and three phone calls from NOAA and you don’t hear my name more than once a month.”

“Why is NOAA calling you?”

“I don’t know. Something about weaponized dolphins? Basically the same reason your boy was calling me about spiders in your company cars. ‘Weird shit’s going down, let’s all tie up the magician’s line and leave stupid voicemails!’ Speaking of which, were they Mazdas? Because if they were Mazdas, according to the company recall y’all ignored, the spiders just do that all by themselves. No magical intervention necessary.”

“I do not recall offhand the make or model of the vehicles in question, and I’m sorry Barton bothered you over it.”

“Thank you.”

“Normally we just attribute it to you without requiring a follow-up.”

Lucy scowled at him. “Oh my god, I fucking hate you people sometimes.”

Phil shrugged, his face a picture of indifference. “When are you going to talk to Thor?”

“Tonight. Text me when the great white wasteland is clear, and I’ll get this show on the road.”

“Just be careful.”

“I live here, too, Coulson. I’m going to do my level best to do this with a minimum of smashing,” she promised. “Look me up after I finish saving the world. Maybe I’ll let you buy me a beer. No autographs, though. I want to preserve my sorcerous mystique.”

Phil snorted. “If you pull this off, I will consider possibly buying you a coffee.”

Lucy pushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “For what it’s worth--and I will deny ever saying this if you refer to it in the future--I am sorry this has turned into such a pain in the ass for you.”

“I’m sorry this has turned into such a pain in the ass for me, too,” he said, one corner of his mouth twitching up slightly.

“Oh, shit, was that a smile? Is that how you smile? Wow. Never joking with you again, Coulson.”

“Good day, Jones,” he sighed, shaking his head and getting up. “Try not to get us all killed.”

“That’s the goal. Oh, before you go? Stay the fuck out of Selvig’s lab for the next month?”

“What? Why?”

“Dunno, didn’t look too close. Just keep your distance, okay?”

Phil tilted his head and then nodded after a moment. She waved him off, then dashed after the tiny viper as it slithered across the terrace and into a bush.

Chapter Text

Lucy paced and lit a new cigarette off the embers of her last one. Thor was...not late. But not early, as she’d thought he’d be, and it irritated her. She’d half-expected him to already be waiting when she’d arrived an hour ago. Maybe, she thought darkly, he’s not coming at all. That would be just my fucking luck, to have that blond bastard decide he doesn’t want to talk when I finally need to talk to him. Prick.

She rubbed her arm and kicked a stone into the scrub on the other side of the empty, pock-marked parking lot. The crumbling storefronts in front of her wavered for a moment, blurring into a vision of a ziggurat decorating with ornate stone skulls and murals of war and sacrifice. The tiny viper slithered down her collar and wriggled into her breast pocket. She’d decided to call the little snake Lamia, and the snake had elected to ignore her decision. Lucy stopped, checked her phone, and resumed pacing. Still not technically late, but still no sign of him, either.

Maybe he’d finally lost interest. Maybe she’d finally convinced him, or frustrated him enough that he’d given up. She scowled at the thought and stuffed her hands in her pockets. Good. Who needs him hanging around, anyway? Being on my own is easier.

The plastic bag full of ginger candy crinkled against her knuckles, and she deflated a little. Stupid Coulson and his stupid questions. “You’d pick him over the rest of the world?” She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. Of course she wouldn’t pick one annoying, dopey obstacle of an alien over the rest of the fucking planet. Over her planet. Over her future.

Maybe.

Most of the time.

She was pretty sure.

Lucy snorted to herself. She was just as big an idiot as he was, sometimes. He kept trying to drag her back into the fold in spite of the sane option being to run in the opposite direction with all due speed. She, in turn, had let him get under her skin and eat a hole precisely the size of a hammer right through her armor. And now, if it came down to it, yes, she’d probably do something incalculably, monumentally stupid if it looked like he was genuinely in danger. She didn’t have it in her to risk a loved one. She never had.

“Could this be any more of a clusterfuck?” she muttered. Lucy retrieved the snake from her pocket and pulled her hair back, wrapping the snake around the ponytail. The viper hissed unhappily and hugged close to her skin to avoid the chill of the evening air. It tickled, and she shivered. “Oh my god, could you stop that for one second?”

She warmed the air around her until the snake stopped fidgeting and, for good measure, burned a piece of litter to ash as it blew past. She looked petulantly around the deserted stripmall and sat down on a parking barrier.

“Behold, the fruit of my poor judgment,” she grunted, taking a drag. She exhaled the smoke slowly, savoring it for a few extra seconds while she tried to collect herself. Before Thor, she’d managed to keep anyone who was really strong enough to harm her at arm’s length. She checked her phone again. He was officially late. “People who see a scheduled meeting with someone who can set them on fire at a distance as a fucking suggestion.”

Calm down. He’s going to show up eventually, and then he’s going to know he got the upper hand by being late, and that won’t do at all, she told herself. She got back up and stalked across the asphalt. The boarded-up doors and gaping blacked-out windows shimmered again, and she took a deep breath and calmed herself. It was just a matter of making things like so instead of as they were, and then....Lucy flexed her fingers, and everything snapped into place. The temple she’d seen rose gracefully from the blacktop, now real and solid. She ran her hands along the edge of a carving. It was as sharp and clear as if it had been finished days ago. She wondered if some poor bastard somewhere else was having visions of a decaying stripmall where a ziggurat was supposed to be, then decided she didn’t particularly care and flopped down on the not-particularly-comfortable steps. She’d give it another five minutes, tops, and then she was gone like the wind.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at it. A text from Barton reading, “Coulson is making me apologize for blaming the spiders in the cars on you.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped back, “Tell Coulson thank you for making you apologize.”

Her phone buzzed again, and she shook her head. Screw it. She was in no mood to wait on alien gods or get into text-fights with snarky assassins. Her phone rang.

“What?” she snapped.

“I need you to not open the picture I just sent you,” Clint blurted.

His panicked tone made her head hurt. She’d heard that tone before. She pursed her lips. “Did you text me your dick?”

“Not on purpose!”

“I have a picture of your dick on my phone.”

“I didn’t mean to send it to you! I was trying to send it to--”

“I need you to not finish that statement,” she interrupted. “I really, really need you to just not. I mean, good for you, having somebody to text pictures of your dick to. Or at. I also don’t need to hear why you were trying to text your penis to the person whose identity I don’t wish to know.”

“So you’re just going to delete it? We’re good?” he asked nervously.

“I’m going to burn this fucking phone is what I’m going to do.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m not even going to tell Fury you’re texting people top secret documents.”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s considered top secret.”

“But.”

“Yeah?” he sighed.

“If there’s a repeat of this? You are going to live a life plagued by those giant fuck-off spiders that eat birds,” she said firmly. “Giant fuck-off bird-eating spiders will haunt you.”

“That...sounds fair.” He paused. “Promise you’re not going to peek? Like, wizard-promise?”

“Barton, I assure you, on all the arcane powers at my disposal, if I ever get some weird and abstract urge to look at dicks, I have an entire internet full of anonymous dicks to peruse and do not need to resort to, as you put it, peeking.”

“Now you’re just coming across as insulting.”

“If you don’t have a dick and you don’t have any particular sexual interest in dicks, there’s not really a huge point in looking at dicks. You are aware of that, right?”

“Yeah, but you make it sound like my dick would be particularly unappealing.”

Lucy rubbed her forehead. Her life was officially out of control. “Okay, do you have the Black Widow’s number? Or Wasp’s extension? Maybe just transfer me to Hill? Because if I’m going to spend any more time talking to people I don’t like about their genitals, I’d really prefer it at least be about genitals that I have a concrete interest in.”

“Or instead of getting murdered in my sleep for truly embarrassing reasons, I could just hang up and not bother you again?” he offered.

“That’s a much better idea, Barton.” She hung up and deleted the picture he’d sent her, shaking her head. After a moment, she chuckled, pulled up an invoicing app she’d bought on a whim, and sent Coulson a bill for the conversation. If she was getting stood up in a ghost town, at least she wasn’t going to be the only one feeling humiliated and put upon by life. Let the assassin explain why his supervisor was getting a five-figure bill from a supervillain for a conversation about his penis.

Lucy stubbed out her cigarette on the asphalt and rubbed her forehead. She wasn’t going to wait around all night like an asshole, but she wasn’t in a particularly big hurry to get to Antarctica, either. And she couldn’t take the snake with her, even if she was.

“Think you can stay out of trouble if I drop you off somewhere?” she asked the viper, scratching her gently under her pit organs. The snake seemed to consider it for a moment before biting her firmly, leaving a dribble of venom smeared on her finger. “Okay, we’ve firmly established that that doesn’t work, because I'm fang-proof, and also we’ve talked about how biting because you’re not getting your way is unacceptable, you little brat.”

She wiped her hand on a stray receipt. “Besides, you don’t really want to go to the south pole. It’s cold, and you’re a baby about cold weather. If I get too fucked up to keep you warm, you’re going to be a snakesicle in very short order. Which is actually a very distinct possibility, because I really don’t know if this is going to work.”

Lucy sighed and hauled herself to her feet. If Thor had finally taken the hint and fucked off for good, that made things easier. No arguing with him. No arguing with Coulson about him. No worrying that he’d go back on any agreement and come barreling in to fuck everything up at the last minute. She gnawed on her inner cheek. Easier was good. Especially when she was really diving right into the deep end. Easier was what she wanted. Hell, easier was what she needed. Everything wrapped up nice and neat and out of the way. She groaned, kicked another rock, and started pacing again. She’d never been any good at talking herself out of sulking, and now was not a miraculous deviation from the norm.

“Time to stop stalling and get to work, huh?” she muttered, rubbing the snake’s nose. She snapped her fingers, turning the cigarette butts she’d left behind to ash, and took a deep breath. Snake Island, here I come.

The wind picked up, and an electric charge crept through the atmosphere. Lucy snorted and lit another cigarette. He was coming after all, and she could hardly pretend she didn’t know it at this point. Mjolnir was putting off enough power to light Vegas for a week. She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the wind and bitterly resented the way the knot in her stomach was loosening. Fucking treacherous bullshit emotions, she thought.

Thor landed with a crack of lightning and a final swirl of old air, his cape billowing around him.

“You’re late,” she called, leaning back against the one of the murals.

“You waited,” he called back. He beamed at her. “I did not think you would. My apologies for the delay, but there was an emergency that required all of us to address.” His gaze took in the pyramid behind her. “I see you’ve kept yourself occupied.”

“It’s a vast improvement over the original architecture,” Lucy assured him. She tossed him the packet of candies. “For Sif. A peace offering.”

He frowned at it. “Sweetmeats?”

“A specific sort. They help with motion sickness.”

“You have done her a great wrong by slipping away from her like this,” Thor sighed, frowning. “She is honor-bound to defend you.”

The spark of an idea caught her. “Yes, well, I’m honor-bound to deal with my, uh, foe on my own. Which puts both of you fairly well out of it, though I do appreciate how pushy everybody’s been about this.”

“You know, I can tell when you’re lying,” he scolded.

“Oh?” She grimaced. So much for that bit of inspiration. “What gave me away?”

“You always lie,” he said, shrugging.

“Jackass.”

“And you’d have said something before now if it were the case,” he added.

“I might not have thought it was important,” she pointed out. “I mean, if I’d realized how seriously you were all going to take this thing with the sea scorpion, I’d have said something right off the bat and saved everybody a lot of trouble.”

“I know you do not mean it, but you insult Sif’s prowess as a warrior by not trusting her to protect you.” He made his way carefully across the lot to join her.

“Which is a shame, yes, and I apologize. But, here’s the thing--I really need to have zero Asgardians underfoot for this whole thing. You guys get in the way. And you can’t help, here. This isn’t a normal, stand-up fight with like, a dragon or an army or a killer robot that shoots flames out of its face. And the last thing I need is for you to get in the way and start a huge diplomatic thing with your family. I need to be able to concentrate without you hanging around and annoying me.”

“Are you certain you’re not simply afraid that I’ll be injured in the battle?” Thor asked quietly. “Concern for one’s comrades is a normal feeling for a warrior to experience.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’m certain. Couldn’t care less. It’s purely a pragmatic thing. And you’re not a comrade.” She glared at him. “There is no comradery here. None.”

“Coulson seemed to think that you care too deeply to allow me to come to harm,” Thor said solemnly.

“That fucking narc,” Lucy hissed. Thor laughed softly, and she shot him a poisonous look. “Bottom line, Thor, is that I need you to stay out of it. It doesn’t fucking matter why I need you to stay out of it. If you can’t promise not to come blundering onto the field, we’re going to have a problem.”

“You are certain that this is something you must face on your own, in spite of the danger?” he asked. “Know that I would be honored to fight alongside you once again.”

“No, you wouldn’t, and yes, I am.” She sighed and crushed a tiny flicker of guilt.

“Our mother is most intent on you coming out of this intact. She will not be forgiving if I leave you to face this doom alone.”

“It’s non-negotiable. Stop trying to negotiate it.” She looked up at the night sky. I always lie, huh? She considered him for a long moment, then put her hand on his shoulder. “If something happened to you because of this, I could never forgive myself.”

He stopped, his brows furrowing and his blue eyes searching. She stifled a bubble of mad laughter, then an acid surge of perverse satisfaction at his discomfort. Fine, yes, I care about you, and now we’re both completely screwed. Neither one of us are ever going to make a good decision again, and everything’s fucked. Are you happy now?

“Why must you always use words as if they were weapons?” he sighed finally, pulling her into a tight hug.

“It’s less illegal than stabbing people.” She hugged him back. “Let’s not make a habit of this, okay?”

“Would it truly be so terrible if we did?” he rumbled.

“Cities would fall, and the oceans would burn,” she grunted.

“They would not.”

“Which one of us has the gift of prophecy?” She saw a tiny yellow tail disappear under his cloak. “Oh, shit. Hold still. My snake got on you.”

He froze obediently. “You have a serpent with you?”

“She was in my hair. I guess she likes you better. Hang on.” Lucy muttered a few obscenities under her breath as she pawed at his armor. “I’m not above just vaporizing you, you stupid fucking thing.”

“Why did you have a serpent in your hair?”

“There comes a certain point at which it’s better to stop asking questions, Thor. I think we’ve reached that point,” she said tightly. She grabbed the viper by its tail and retrieved it.

“It is venomous?”

“Oh, yes.” Lucy held the snake up. “See?”

“Indeed. It is a most handsome worm.” Thor grimaced at her. “If I agree to this, will you swear to be careful? To take no unnecessary risks?”

“Insofar as it’s possible to be careful under the circumstances, yes. I’m not in a big hurry to get kicked to the moon by a primordial monster, Thor. Not to mention that the planet’s kind of at risk if I get myself killed doing something stupid.” She stuffed the snake in a pocket over its protests. “And I do appreciate you being so understanding about the whole thing.”

“I said ‘if’,” he warned.

“And I agreed to your terms,” she retorted brightly. “No take-backs.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means no weaseling out of it. You take Sif and the Three Musketeers--”

“The Warriors Three,” he corrected sternly.

“--and keep everybody out of the possible blast radius. In return, I do my level best to not lose to a bastard from beyond time itself.” She stuck out her hand. “Shake on it?”

His shoulders slumped a little. “Things don’t have to be so difficult between us.”

“You’re a difficult person.” She shook her head. “And you want difficult things.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

“Intent and effect are often not the same thing. But I suppose we’ll have time to discuss it in greater depth later.”

“I intend to treat that as a promise. And your serpent is escaping again,” he said apologetically.

“Goddammit. That’s it.” She snapped her fingers, and the viper blinked into a garter snake. “Here. Take care of her until I get back.”

“I’m ill-equipped to care for a venomous beast,” he protested.

“She’s not anymore. I’ll fix her once I’m done with this. For the time being, just make sure Pym or somebody who knows what they’re doing with animals looks after her. And,” she paused and shifted uncomfortably, “take care of yourself. Or something. I don’t know. Fuck it.”

He smiled at her. “I will. Luck in the battle.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She stepped into the deeper gloom and vanished.

Chapter Text

Lucy stretched out her arms and spread her fingers, the sharp sting of the cold wind crackling across her flesh as it howled around her. Between the ice on her skin, the fire in her veins, and the night in her eyes, she felt more like a primal force than a human being. She could feel the coil and surge of the molten earth far below like it was her own heartbeat, and the katabatic wind scouring the continent was her breath. This place was a good choice, she thought.

She needed to play to her strengths, both innate and borrowed, and get the scorpion out of its element. Onto land, into the cold, away from anything that would it let maneuver; she needed it frost-burned and sluggish and struggling under the weight of its own exoskeleton. The idea of breaking its armor along fracture points where flexibility had been sacrificed for hardness was simple in theory and difficult in execution. For all its size, it was still fast. She concentrated and raised scorch marks in the necessary patterns on the ice under her. Traps, pitfalls, channels, and amplifiers. She’d be ready soon. Lucy sighed and rubbed her arm, the old break stinging with an unusual ferocity.

*****

“I cannot believe you agreed to this,” Sif grunted. She leaned on the balcony and looked out over the city. The snarled traffic on the streets below looked like a column of ants. Thor spread his hands helplessly.

“We cannot do more than chase after her, Sif. Perhaps if we still had Amora’s assistance, there might have been some way to make her see reason, but as it stands, the task is simply not possible.”

“What of the Midgardian sorcerer? Strange?” she protested. “Can your comrades not persuade him to help?”

“They have entreated him, and he cannot.” Thor pushed his hair out of his face. “It is difficult, I know, but there is not much to be done besides endure it.”

“And chastise her roundly when she returns,” Fandral added, handing her the bag of ginger candy.

Sif hefted it and shot Volstagg and Hogun measuring looks. “You’ve all found something to keep you occupied, at least.”

“It has a pleasing sharpness,” Volstagg offered. Hogun stopped chewing and pretended to study a map.

“Don’t begrudge us a share in the spoils, Sif,” Fandral laughed, elbowing her gently. “I’m sure there’s more where that came from. You can levy a steady supply as damages against your reputation when Loki gets back.”

She shook her head but took a piece from the bag and handed it back to him. “You’re confident that she’ll be back. I’m not. She should not have been left to her own devices in this. When did she ever leave us to fight for ourselves?”

“Less than a fortnight ago?” Volstagg said, counting silently on his fingers.

“Before Thor’s exile, then,” Sif amended. “Besides which, I do not believe that poor excuse for an opponent much counts in this score.”

“Things are different now, Sif,” Thor sighed. “I like it no more than you do, but for the time being, there is little alternative.”

“And later?” she asked sourly.

“Later, we will make an alternative.” He shook his head. “There has to be a way to end this stalemate. We will find one.”

“She seems infinitely better behaved in Frigga’s presence, at least,” Sif mused. “Perhaps she and Jane could join us in Asgard for a while.”

Thor gave her a small smile and leaned back against the railing. He was more worried than he wished to admit. Lucy had not seemed quite herself when he had spoken to her. Ordinarily, he did not see her having entrusted him with one of her pets. Bruce and a very jittery woman he’d never met before were busy trying to debrief a doctor who had been collected from the west coast, claimed to have spent the last several years as an octopus, and was persistently demanding to be changed back. Coulson had identified her immediately, but he’d dodged Thor’s questions about Lucy’s involvement. He’d even contacted her accountant, who had been as helpful and solicitous as always, and had reassured him sympathetically and without conviction that Lucy knew what she was doing and was practically indestructible most of the time. He sighed. Those who knew her better than he did and those who had known her longer than he had were clearly less than convinced that this would go well. How could he have more confidence than they did?

He looked up to find Sif watching him carefully.

“You do not believe your own words,” she said quietly.

“I believe that she has found a way to defeat her enemies without assistance in the time before we found her,” he said slowly.

“Then I suppose we must trust that she will continue to do so now.” Sif frowned, and he covered her hand with his and squeezed.

“Was there ever a difficulty Loki could not discover a way out of, given time to think?”

Sif shot him a sharp glare, and he looked away. Only the once. But that had been enough, hadn’t it? She wouldn’t repeat her mistake. He had to believe that.

*****

“I’m sorry, Bruce, but Dr. Thomas is simply not a high priority right now,” Phil sighed. He covered one ear with his free hand and concentrated on the voice coming from his phone as the already-frenetic activity around him increased. “We’re in the middle of an emergency evac here.”

Clint appeared at his elbow. “Sir?”

“I have to go. Feel free to rope Jan or Tony into helping you if she’s getting overly aggressive. Good luck.” He hung up. “Clint?”

“Are we officially aware of the yeti situation?” he asked.

Phil closed his eyes. “Define ‘the yeti situation’.”

“That would be the situation where we have roughly three dozen yeti queued up and awaiting transport out of the area.”

“Yeti,” Phil repeated.

Clint cleared his throat. “Their uniforms have a Swedish flag patch on the right shoulder. If that, um, clarifies things. At all.”

“In that case, I can’t see any reason not to route them to the nearest Sweden-affiliated base. Insignias are there for a reason.”

“So we’re passing the buck on this one?”

“And blaming the magician, yes.”

“Okay, then. I’ll send it along.”

“Thank you, Barton.” Phil rubbed his temples and muttered, “Yeti.”

Chapter Text

Lucy flattened herself against the scorpion’s carapace and reflected that this was probably not been the best idea she’d ever had. Its stinger scraped up along its armor, trying to dislodge her, and she dodged to the side and dug her fingers into another joint between the scutes. It couldn’t see or feel her, and the cold was making it clumsy. It was still damnably fast and strong, though, and she barely dropped off its back in time to avoid the snapping claw sweeping over the area its stinger couldn’t reach. She hit the ground and rolled, darted out of reach, and lifted a spike of ice out of the ground directly underneath it. Instead of being flipped over, it latched on and rippled down the sheer surface, twisting and flailing when it almost lost its balance.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” she snarled to herself.

She had yet to so much as scratch it. All of her strikes had bounced off harmlessly, failing to hit the correct trajectory to crack the armor along its natural fault lines or punch through the tough chitin joining the plates together. She needed a better position, something that was easier said than done. She broke into a run, and it galloped after her, its legs sliding stiffly over the cold scree. When it was close enough not to react in time but far enough away to still be at a safe distance, she repeated the trick with the jutting ice, then teleported directly to the side of the spire. She narrowly dodged a blow from its hindmost paddle and sent a gout of superheated plasma at a patch of ventral armor, concentrating and shaping the flame like a blowtorch. The scorpion shrieked and jabbed at her with two of its forelimbs, and a spine opened a long slash across her left calf as it whistled past.

Lucy staggered, gritting her teeth in pain, and ducked back out from under the beast as it thrashed. The plate had cracked, at least, and hemolymph was beginning to ooze from the split. It froze almost as soon as it was clear of the scorpion’s body.

“Blood for blood, you son of a bitch,” she muttered, clutching her leg.

It bucked and shrieked again, this time in anger, and charged her. There was no avoiding its legs this time, not with her calf opened up, and she jumped at the last second, grabbing the base of its tail and shimmying up toward the stinger. The sea scorpion roared and flexed, and she clung harder. She concentrated and froze the last foot of the spine until it was too brittle to flex when it finally flung her to the ground. She rolled and came up on her feet, favoring her injured leg, and the tip of the spine shattered with a crack. Her arm burned, and she thought for a brief, mad moment that she’d gotten hit with a sliver of the stinger.

“I don’t need this right now,” she hissed to herself. “Come on, focus.”

The sea scorpion writhed and screamed, its eyes glittering in rage and pain. Lucy sent a spark of power through one of the traps she’d previously set, and it sent a shockwave up through the beast’s body, rocking it back onto its paddles. It floundered for a second before righting itself and whirling on what it assumed was a new enemy. She seized the opportunity and scrambled back onto its carapace.

She misjudged the distance and wound up dangling from its side, and she kicked at its knees in an attempt to get further up to a position of relative safety.

“Fuuuuuuck,” she groaned. The jagged remnant of the stinger slashed past her, and she got herself on top of the scorpion with one last frantic push.

“I’m going to fucking kill you if it’s the last fucking thing I do, I swear to fucking god,” she panted.

Her fingers slipped in the trail of hemolymph and venom the broken stinger had left on its chitin, and she rolled forward, trying for better purchase right behind its eyes. It snapped at her with its barbed claws, and she pushed back out of range. She dug her fingers in along the edge of a scute and focused, feeling the point at which the chitin ran out of give and started to break. She pushed all of her energy through it, and it burst into slivers under her hands. The scorpion’s scream was barely in the range of her hearing, and she felt it more than heard it, a terrible throbbing pressure against her eardrums. It twisted and flexed, curling desperately at the source of its pain. Lucy dove away from its claws only to find herself directly in the path of the hollow shards of the stinger.

She stared for perhaps a moment at the chitin punching a hole through her belly before it slid out and coiled back for another strike. Time seemed to stop as she blinked at the rime of ice across her skin and the boiling red of blood ready to spill.

“Oh,” she sighed.

She shoved a fist in the gaping wound and reached into the scorpion’s broken scute with the other hand, and everything hit her at once. Pain and panic and despair and a well of rage deeper than she’d known she had coursed through her, and her arm throbbed white-hot. She glanced at it and started laughing when she saw that the scar from Huītzilopōchtli’s bite glowing like a brand and burning through the sleeve of her jacket.

“You utter prick,” she gasped. Of course he doesn’t want to give up being the sun, she thought. Of fucking course he doesn’t.

The scorpion bucked again, and she slid further toward the head. Its claws seized on the sole of one of her boots, and she dug into its back, gritted her teeth, and pulled her hand free of the hole in her belly. Her whole arm was ablaze now, and she had to shut her eyes against the white flame. Her blood was like magma as it slopped across the scorpion’s back, and it roared when it reached its hindmost eyes. Everything stopped in the space of a heartbeat when she plunged her hand into its exposed flesh. She gathered everything she had left and kept pushing, shoving in and in and in until the whole of the scorpion’s body was transmuting into flame and plasma from her touch. Three gods versus two, motherfucker. You lose.

The scorpion disintegrated into an eye-searing ball of incandescent light, vaporizing everything within five miles.

*****

Lucy coughed and opened her eyes, squinting against the light. A face blotted out the sun after a second, and she blinked a few times before she was able to make it out. “Rabbit?”

“Way to make an entrance, Lucha.”

“How the fuck did I get here?” she grunted, pushing herself up on one elbow and trying to survey the damage.

Her arm looked normal again, as did her stomach. Her clothes were charred flakes coated liberally with her own blood and the thick brown sludge from the scorpion’s veins, but the skin underneath them was whole. She was halfway up a hill within spitting distance of Rabbit’s papaya tree. By all rights, she should have been bargaining with the ferryman on the other side of the river.

Rabbit’s ears perked forward, and he pointed straight up. Her eyes followed to the crackling, flickering, tattered hole in the sky.

“That was me?”

“That was you.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, you can say that again. And maybe get on fixing it? It’s getting bigger, and I’m not real keen on getting turned inside out and sucked back into the land of the living.”

“Fuck.” Lucy pushed her hair out of her face, stopped, and cringed. “Fuuuuuck.”

“What?”

“Scorpion blood. In my hair.” She looked at her pants and wiped her hands on the grass instead.

“Yeah, I think you’re maybe a little past worrying about how you look right now.”

“Thanks, Rabbit.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who decided to fry a god from the inside out.” He jerked a thumb at the hole. “You gonna fix that or what?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She thought for a second. “I’m going to need a staple gun. And I don’t suppose you’ve seen Frog hanging around anywhere?”

Rabbit crossed his arms and laid his ears back. “This is just going to be you all over, isn’t it?”

“Already is, Rabbit, already is.” She hauled herself to her feet with a groan and unkinked her back. She felt remarkably good for someone who’d just parboiled herself, and remarkably lousy for any other circumstance. She looked at the hole she’d torn through the sky again and sighed. This was not going to be fun.

“You gonna stick around this time, Lucha?” He dropped back to all fours and retreated a few paces.

“I don’t know.” She was tired down to her bones. She was hungry. She wanted to sleep. She didn’t want to think about what condition her body was going to be in when she got back to it. She rubbed her eyes. “Maybe. We’ll see, I guess. Anyway, come on, Rabbit. Frog? Have you seen her?”

“Yeah, she should be back at the burrow, hanging out with Armadillo. Come on, let’s go get ‘em.” He hopped off, and she fell into step behind him.

Fucking hell, she thought, cracking her neck. This is not how I expected this to go.

*****

Thor stared at the dead screen, his face pale. Tony coughed and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Look, buddy, it’s long-range surveillance equipment in an incredibly harsh environment. They fail for no reason all the time. I’m sure everything’s fine--”

“I cannot feel her presence any longer,” Thor told him quietly.

“Oh. Um...oh.” Tony lapsed into silence. “I’m sorry.”

“I should not have let her go alone,” Thor murmured, shaking his head.

Natasha looked at him sharply, her brows furrowing. “Could you have survived that?”

“Pardon?” he asked, looking almost through her.

“Could you have survived that? The blast that knocked out our observation units?”

“I...” He sighed heavily and shook his head.

“Then she wouldn’t have done it,” she said firmly, “and, seeing as I’m sure it was necessary, everything that led up to it would have been for nothing. She knew what she was doing, Thor. This isn’t on you.”

“Thank you, friend Natasha.” He rubbed his eyes and stood.

“Thor?” Coulson asked, his eyes snapping from the data feed on his monitor to the Asgardian.

“I think I would like to be alone for the time being, son of Coul,” he rumbled. Coulson hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Thor crossed his arms over his knees and rested his forehead on them. The surf lapping against the sand and the plaintive cries of seagulls had been a welcome change from the noise of the city, but their monotony was lulling him into a sleep he desperately wished to avoid.

“Any idea how long we’re going to be out here, buddy?” Tony asked, shading his eyes against the sun. “It’s been almost a week now.”

“However long it takes,” Thor sighed, looking up. “I appreciate your company, but I also appreciate that you have responsibilities to your fellows. I would not hold it against you if you feel you’ve let them go too long.”

Tony gave him a sympathetic look before shaking his head. “I don’t have to be anywhere just yet. Why don’t you try to get some rest?” He jerked his head back toward the dim glow of the hotel lights in the distance. “I can keep watch on my own for a few hours.”

“Thank you for the offer, but...I do not care for my dreams. I would prefer to remain here. And awake.”

“You, uh, want to talk about it?”

Thor rubbed his face. “I could not stop Loki’s fall from the bridge, friend Tony. But I could have stopped the events which led to it, and I could have stopped her when she went to face the beast alone. My dreams are a confusion.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you could have stopped her. You should have a talk with Strange sometime.”

“I have. It is why we’re here,” Thor sighed. “She once told me of a dream she had. The good doctor said it might be of significance.”

“You mean like a prophecy? We’re out here on this beach because your sister had a prophetic dream?” Tony asked, puffing out his cheeks. “I thought this was just like some kind of Asgardian mourning ritual. If I’d know that, I’d have brought bigger guns.”

Thor frowned at him. “She did not dream of war or destruction, my friend.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not coming,” Tony pointed out. “Your sister was kind of a trouble-magnet. I’d just like to be prepared.”

“And I wish friend Jan had been willing to loan us the bird,” Thor sighed. “We must, it would seem, accustom ourselves to disappointment.”

“Your sister hated that bird, you know.”

“Aye, but the bird seems to have developed a certain sense of when the occult is occurring. It would be good to have forewarning.”

“I’m pretty sure if Jones had a prophetic dream about something that was going to happen after she wasn’t around to take care of it anymore, we’re not going to need a magic Geiger counter,” Tony said after a few minutes. “I think--I think it’s probably going to be pretty obvious. Can I ask you something?”

“If you can accept that I may not be able to answer,” Thor rumbled.

“Um...”

Thor shrugged. “I have had occasion to learn that grief is not a rational thing, my friend. It does not lend itself to a logical accounting at all times.”

“Oh.” Tony blinked. “No, you’re right, it doesn’t. But my question was actually about why it’s just you out here. Where’s Sif and the Three Amigos?”

“With Jane. After what happened with Selvig, she could hardly abandon her work to accompany me here, and I did not wish to leave her without protection.”

“I really wish Fury hadn’t cut us out of the loop on that. Did she tell you what exactly happened?”

“She did not know,” Thor said, “and she found it difficult to speculate based on her own tasks. She is brave, friend Tony, but she was most concerned for her friend. I believe she also wishes Director Fury to be more forthcoming with details.”

“You think it might have anything to do with whatever it is we’re waiting for here?” Tony asked, running his hands through his hair.

“It may, but there is simply no way of knowing. Loki did not provide much detail.”

“How are your parents holding up? I know they didn’t spend much time with her, but they seemed pretty...taken with her. Coulson said,” he supplied quickly. Thor raised his eyebrows. “To Fury. I may have just happened to overhear them. On accident.”

“An accident. Of course.”

“It really was,” Tony protested. “After a fashion.”

“I must confess that I have yet to tell them.” Thor shook his head, and his eyes swept over the water. “It seems, somehow, premature.”

“Premature? You don’t really think she’s gone, do you?” Tony demanded, his jaw dropping slightly. “Have you been able to, uh, sense her?”

“No, of course not. I’d have informed you all immediately,” he said firmly. “But life and death are perhaps more malleable things when a sorcerer is concerned?”

“It’s been over two weeks, Thor. I think if she weren’t really dead, she’d have turned back up by now.”

“I have been reliably informed that hope springs eternal, my friend,” Thor said quietly. “In this case, it would not be the first time that Loki has found her way back from death. If she found a way to this world from Asgard, and then back with me when Amora tried to murder me, I must trust that there is still a chance.”

“Not that I’ve got a lot of experience with people who can come back from the dead like it’s not a big deal, but are you sure this isn’t just denial talking?” he asked gently.

“I can be sure of nothing.” He spread his hands. “I do not even know for certain that this is the place of which she spoke. But...what is the alternative? To accept that I’ve lost her again? To accept that this time, she may not come back? To accept that the reprieve we were granted was never to be more than the blink of an eye?” He sighed. “The day may come when I must accept that, but for now, I have faith in her cunning.”

Tony studied him in silence for a few long moments. “Okay.”

“Thank you, friend Tony.”

He tried to think of what he might be getting thanked for and eventually settled for simply saying, “You’re welcome.”

*****

Lucy slung a sack of mangos over her shoulder and trudged toward Rabbit’s burrow. She spared a glance up at the healing starburst in the sky and crossed her fingers, hoping she wasn’t going to need to patch it a third time. Every time she touched it, should could feel a bright golden grief leaking through from the other side, sharp and hot and scalding. She was still far too raw to muster a defense against it.

“Jones?”

“Yeah, what?” she demanded irritably. “Wait, Coulson?”

She turned to see a disheveled looking pair of agents trotting toward her. “You didn’t stay out of Selvig’s lab, did you?”

“We were supposed to stay out of Selvig’s lab?” Clint asked, his brows furrowing.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but he was.” She pointed at Phil. “And I’m guessing you didn’t listen.”

“Are we where I think we are?” Clint demanded. Phil leaned on his knees and tried to catch his breath, one hand glued to his side.

“The underworld, yes. I don’t know that there’s really that much question about it when you pay a ferryman to cross a black river, Barton.”

“What are you still doing down here, Jones?” Phil finally managed to ask, grimacing.

“I’m dead. You don’t get to badger me about helping you,” she said, snorting. “What’s up with you? You get into a fight with somebody already?”

“This happened prior to, well, prior to death.” Phil straightened.

“Still hurts?”

“Yes, it still hurts,” he snapped.

“Huh. You might not be completely dead, then,” Lucy chirped. “Good for you.”

“What about me?” Clint asked.

“You still hurt?”

“Maybe.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fucking hell, Barton, just answer the question.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then maybe you’re both not completely dead.”

“Like what, we’re in a coma?” Clint demanded. Phil frowned.

“Well, I’m guessing you’re both in separate comas, not the same coma. Or on the verge of dying. Or wedged in rubble somewhere and this is just a hallucination you’ve sucked me into. Whatever you’re doing, good luck with that.” She smiled brightly. “I’m pulling for you. I really believe in your ability to negotiate this with the same level of finesse you bring to everything else you blow up.”

“You could help,” Phil pointed out.

“I could, but I’ve got Spanish soap operas to watch and mangos to eat and amphibians to get harassed by.”

“I believe you did, in fact, promise to show me how to get out of here at one point,” Phil grunted.

“Offer void where prohibited,” she retorted.

“You set the contract on fire. There was blood involved.”

“I don’t remember that actually being part of the contract.” She chewed at the inside of her cheek. “Point of fact, I don’t remember actually promising you. I think it was more like a dare.”

“Barton?” Phil asked.

“I remember it being a promise,” Clint said innocently.

“You’re a pair of fucking dicks, you know that?”

“It’s not like you’re staying down here anyway, Jones,” Phil sighed. “What’s the harm in helping us get back before it’s too late?”

“Who says I’m not going to stay down here? It’s nice down here. Nobody gets in your face down here.”

“That so?” Clint asked.

“Much,” she conceded, shrugging. “Nobody gets in your face much down here.”

“Look, Jones, this is an all-hands-on-deck situation. And, all things being equal, I’d prefer not to die right now. Please help us.” Phil put his hands on her shoulders.

“We’re not having a moment, Coulson,” she grunted, shoving the bag of mangos at Clint. “And I really don’t care how many hands you have on deck for this. Not my problem. Dead, remember?”

“Dead, or hiding from your brother?”

“Dude, my body is partially vaporized and partially wedged in a trench somewhere like a mile below the ocean’s surface. Doesn’t get much fucking deader,” she snapped. “Come on. This isn’t going to get any easier if we wait.”

“It would be a shame to have saved the world just to have it fall to something else,” Clint observed casually, falling in behind her.

“What did you people do, Coulson? I mean, it’s been what, a week?”

“Two,” Phil corrected. “And I don’t know what happened. Erik was working on the Tesseract, and--”

“The what now?”

“Glowing blue energy cube,” Clint supplied.

“Super-weapon glowing-blue-energy-cube or like, general weird-shit glowing-blue-energy-cube?” Lucy asked, waving to an armadillo. It made a rude gesture and scampered into the underbrush.

“Did that armadillo just--?” Clint asked.

“Yes,” Lucy sighed.

“Why did it--?”

“Because she’s a prick, Barton. And also I might owe her money.”

“That’s classified information, Jones,” Phil said, ignoring them.

“So the former.” Lucy stretched her shoulder. “Wait, is this the glowing blue energy cube thing that HYDRA used to power all their crazy super-weapons? Holy shit, you guys found that when you found Rogers, didn’t you?”

“Might’ve.”

“Clint,” Phil said sharply.

“Pretty sure the cat’s out of the bag on that one, sir,” Clint sighed.

“Jesus Herbert Christ. You guys got blown up by a freaky super-weapon battery? I feel like I should warn you right now that just because I get you out of here, it doesn’t mean you’re going to be able to come back to life. I mean, if you got mostly-atomized or are basically a lump of charcoal on life support or an irradiated super-skeleton, this isn’t going to do much. Like, you’re going to wake up and look around and think ‘Oh, wow, this really fucking hurts’ and then flat-line again and wind up right back here.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Phil muttered.

“We will?” Clint asked, looking skeptically at Lucy.

“You could try healing us,” Phil suggested.

“Man, you guys are just like, fucking jammed into the bargaining stage, aren’t you?” Lucy snorted. “Next you’ll be promising me that you’ll give up porn and drinking if I just send you back in one piece.”

“You care if we drink or look at porn? That’s kind of creepy.”

“Well, no, Barton, I don’t. I don’t think most anybody does.”

“So long as it’s not on the job,” Phil muttered.

“Okay, point,” Lucy said. “But I meant more like in terms of the things that people try offering to the cold, uncaring universe in exchange for their lives. It’s stuff they feel marginally guilty about, not stuff anybody else gives a shit about.”

“I think we’re straying from the point, Jones.” Phil rubbed his side. “Do you think you can help us?”

“Yeah, probably.” She shrugged and looked back up at the patched hole. She felt like she’d scorch if she got too close.

“All right. Will you help us?” he asked evenly.

“What’s in it for me?”

“A medal?” Clint suggested. She rolled her eyes.

“Go ahead and drop the bag by that tree.” Lucy rubbed her forehead and thought for a moment. “You want to tell me exactly what the fuck happened to you two?”

“Well, it--”

“It’s classified,” Phil said firmly. “Do you genuinely need to know precisely what happened in order to fix it?”

“No, but if my motivation for helping you is a galloping case of the warm fuzzies, I feel like you should maybe be throwing me a few bones, here.” Lucy smiled thinly. “And also you’re not really in a position to be telling me no?”

“Once we’re back, we can arrange for suitable payment, or immunity against any pending charges. Or we can negotiate with the Mexican government to forgive the bill for you wrecking--”

“Coulson,” she said sharply. He stopped talking and shot her an exasperated look. “I am dead. I am no longer obligated to give even the tiniest shit about money, felony charges, or angry sovereign nations. It’s actually quite liberating, may I suggest you try it?”

“I think I’ll stick with denial, thank you,” he snapped. “And honestly, you’ve been dead for less than a month. Rogers was dead for several decades, and he’s fine.”

“You know Thor’s not above coming down here to get you, right?” Clint asked cheerfully.

“I hate you both,” she growled.

“So you’ve already made it to anger, then?”

Lucy glared at the archer and sighed. “If I get you out of here, I think you two being gone is going to be its own reward. It was nice until you showed up.”

“You just got flipped off by an armadillo that you’re in debt to,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s been on-going. She’s been doing that for years.” She shrugged. “Nothing to do with the current circumstances whatsoever.”

“So, you’ll help?” Phil asked.

“For a certain definition of help, yes.” Lucy looked them over. “Or at least, I’ll try. No guarantees, no refunds, all sales final.”

“Good enough for now,” he said after a moment. “By the way, you might have mentioned the yeti base in Antarctica when it came time to evacuate the continent.”

“The yeti base,” she repeated slowly. “I...seriously? The fuck do yetis have to do with me?”

“You didn’t know about the yeti?”

“I still don’t know about the yeti. I know nothing about the yeti. The yeti are known unknowns. Jesus fuck, Coulson, one problem at a time,” Lucy snapped. “Do not distract me with your weird babblings while I’m trying to resurrect you and your sidekick.”

Chapter Text

“You guys seriously aren’t going to tell me what fucking happened to you?” Lucy crabbed, trudging across a narrow wooden bridge.

“We were caught in a bright blue explosion,” Phil sighed. “Then lights out.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s what you’ve been refusing to talk about for two days?” she asked skeptically.

“We’ve also been refusing to talk about my preference for archery, SHIELD security systems, and how HYDRA managed to keep its record system intact for the past seventy years in spite of near-constant harassment, internal strife, and base explosions,” Clint pointed out cheerfully. “So it’s not like we’ve spent the whole two days just on that.”

“You fucking guys,” Lucy groaned. “I guess congratulations on joining the ranks of like a million unnamed HYDRA goons from back when secret monster fuhrer guy was getting this thing up and running.”

“Red Skull.”

“Wait, is that what you guys called him or what he called himself?” She frowned. “I mean, I know he spoke English, but wouldn’t that have been like Roten Totenkopf or something in German?”

“No,” they answered in unison.

“How did you manage to get Thor back so quickly, if it’s taking us this long?” Phil asked, shading his eyes and checking the sun’s position.

“I wasn’t on foot,” she said. “And we didn’t have to backtrack because somebody fell into a fucking river.”

“How many times do I have to apologize for that?” Clint muttered, glowering at her.

“One more,” she shot back.

“Hey, I’m not the one who stopped to play a soccer game.”

“That was a very important game that I’m not going to try explaining again.”

“A fact which we both appreciate immensely,” Phil said drily. She snorted. “Especially since it was important enough to delay us, but not important enough to refrain from swapping the ball out for a talking rabbit.”

“That’s how it goes, Coulson.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “That’s how it always goes down. Anyway, we’re almost to the black river. We get you two back across there and out into limbo, we should be just about done.”

“Thank god,” Clint groaned. “I didn’t think being dead was supposed to hurt this much.”

“Well, if you were properly dead, it wouldn’t. But you’re not. Ish.” She shrugged. “If you want to go back, I guess you’re stuck taking the good with the bad.”

“And I never thought being dead would involve getting this hungry.” The archer’s stomach growled.

“Well, I never thought I’d actually have to explain to anybody why it’s a bad idea to eat in the underworld if you don’t want to stay.”

“Easy for you to say. You certainly weren’t shy about chowing down.”

Lucy shrugged. “I crossed that bridge a long time ago, Barton. I mean, even if I didn’t plan on staying here this time, I’m never out of here for that long. Eventually, any magician who does anything worth a good god damn winds up knocking around in an alternate plane of existence or two. It’s like being Schroedinger’s cat, except you never know whether you’re alive or dead until you get a look at what’s outside the box.”

“You’ve picked a terrible time to spout philosophical nonsense, Jones,” Phil sighed, rubbing his side again.

He hadn’t complained about his injuries to nearly the extent Barton had, but Lucy wasn’t unaware that they were bothering him. She tamped down a flicker of pity. There really wasn’t anything she could do about it except get them properly on their way. Just offering sympathy wasn’t going to help much. They reached the crest of the bridge, and she stopped, frowning. Clint almost ran into her, drawing up short close enough that she could feel his breath on her shoulder.

“Uh, that wasn’t there before,” he said, confused. “What the hell?”

“What are we gawking at?” Phil asked pointedly from behind them.

“Big fuck-off hedge maze,” Lucy told him, leaning to the side so that he could see around her.

“Huh.” His brow furrowed. “No, that definitely was not there when we came this way.”

“Not that the geography of the underworld is actually really nailed down, per se, but...” She trailed off and shrugged.

“But you’ve never seen it before, either,” Clint supplied.

“But it’s not supposed to be here,” Phil hazarded.

“But you’re both right!” Lucy said with enough false cheer that Clint elbowed her in the ribs.

“How are we getting around it?” Phil asked, craning his neck.

She shook her head and started walking again. The maze extended as far as she could see in either direction. They fell in behind her and waited for an answer.

“I can transform and scout around, see if it’s worth it or even possible to go the long way. If it’s not, I can try to map a route through it. Or we might be able to cut through, depending on how fragile the plants are. I doubt that last one’s really going to be an option, though. I mean, usually these things crop up here, somebody didn’t want anybody taking short cuts.”

“Could you carry us over?”

“No offense, Barton, but I did that with Thor, and now he won’t stop pestering me to join the family. Lesson learned.”

“He thought you were his brother before that, though,” Clint pointed out.

“Yeah, well, go fuck yourself,” Lucy grunted. “I’m not taking any chances.”

“Jones, would it be so terrible to at least try being polite for the time being?” Phil asked wearily.

“I’m doing you guys a solid, Coulson. Or at least trying to.” She pushed her hair back and scowled at the hedges. The height and bulk of the plants was growing more obvious as they got closer. There was unlikely to be a way to just shove through the walls and go straight on. A shrill, tinny whine sounded in her ear. “Hey, Mosquito.”

“Hey, Lucy.”

She held out her hand, and Phil and Clint fell back a step as a mosquito the size of a sparrow landed on her palm.

“What’s the deal with the maze?”

“It’s a labyrinth!” Mosquito buzzed happily.

“Uh-huh.” Lucy tilted her head. “Who put it up?”

“Seven-Death.” Mosquito groomed her antennae with her forefeet. “Neat, huh?”

“Seven-Death put up a labyrinth.”

“One of the Mams told him about some guy who made his firstborn the god of one and then sacrificed seven warriors and seven maidens every seven years to keep his cult strong. He thought the idea was pretty cool.”

“Did he, now? How drunk were they?” Lucy sighed.

“Oh, you know. Somewhere between really drunk and really, really, really drunk.” Mosquito waved one set of arms close together and one set of arms far apart to indicate the general distance, her wings fluttering to keep her balanced on her hind legs.

“So he just went ahead and put up a labyrinth? Right here? And nobody raised any sort of objection?” she demanded.

“They’ll get around to it, probably. Everybody just stopped fighting about the false paths he and One-Death wanted to put up, so I think they’re just ignoring it for the moment.” She settled back onto Lucy’s arm and paced up to her elbow.

“Who’s Seven-Death?” Phil asked, his voice pitched low.

“The underworld’s biggest bonehead,” Mosquito snickered.

“Oh, that’s not even close to true,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “He’s a death-god.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “We could have figured that part out on our own, Jones.”

“And kind of a dick. And apparently now in the business of building labyrinths. And tragically misunderstanding Greek mythology, though I can kind of see where the numerology would appeal to him.” She pursed her lips. “Motherfucker.”

“You know, I could lead you through.” Mosquito rubbed her wings together, her antennae flicking coyly over her eyes.

“Yeah?” Lucy asked, her eyes narrowing. Phil crossed his arms, and Clint reached for the bow he didn’t have with him before he caught himself.

“Yeah.”

“That’d be awful kindly of you,” the magician said.

“Well, I might want a little something in return. Just for my time, you know?” she admitted, taking to the air and hovering between them. “Nothing much, though.”

“Oh? What’d you have in mind?” Lucy asked.

“Jones,” Phil said warningly, taking a step back.

“Chill your tits, Coulson.”

“What does that even mean?” Phil glanced at Clint, who shrugged.

“Ask Darcy?” he suggested.

Mosquito landed on Lucy’s hand again. “I just want a teeny, tiny bit of blood. Just a sip. Barely enough to wet my beak.”

“Oh, little bug, that would burn you right up from the inside out.” She laughed in surprise and shook her head.

“I’ll take my chances,” Mosquito snapped. “Deal?”

“What do you want a little of my blood for?”

“Maybe I want to outshine the fireflies. You ever think of that?”

“More power to you, I suppose, but I’m not kidding.” Lucy shooed her off gently. “I’m fire and wrath and seriously, Barton?” She turned and glared at him, and he almost managed to look innocent in time. “You’re getting monoscopic vision for your next birthday, I fucking swear.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I just thought being dead should get me out of having to listen to villain monologues for a while.”

“I know what you are,” Mosquito sighed, zipping around them and pointing up to the mending hole in the sky. “Everybody down here knows. Maybe I just want to roll the dice again. Worked out pretty well last time, right? And it’s not like I’m even asking for anything in perpetuity. Just this once. Just from you.”

Lucy chewed her lip. There wasn’t much harm in it, and if Mosquito understood the potential danger, it was hardly on her.

“If you’re sure,” she said finally.

“I’m sure. Let’s go!” She banked and veered toward the maze.

“You’re going to have to go slow enough for us to keep up, lady,” Lucy called after her. “Fucking mosquitoes. Come on, you two.”

“Have you thought this through?” Phil hissed.

“As much as I ever do.”

“Not reassuring, Jones,” Clint said.

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen?” she asked.

Phil’s fingers twitched, and he almost winced at the question. “Please don’t ask that. Ever.”

Lucy grinned at him. “But if you don’t ask, you might never find out.”

“Yes. Exactly.” Phil shot her a look.

“At least we can’t die again, right?” Clint soothed him.

“Theoretically,” Lucy corrected. “I mean, first time for everything, right?”

“Hurry up, you three!” Mosquito called back irritably. “There’s only so slow I can fly, you know.”

*****

Fury paced slowly, his hands clasped behind him. The stark hospital wing was already getting on his nerves, and he’d only been in it for five minutes. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I’m not asking for a miracle, doctor.”

“Director Fury, I understand that some of these men and women have been your colleagues for many years.” She paused and looked up from the charts. “I understand that some of them are friends. People you’ve come to depend on. I understand that this constitutes a serious crisis. But I need you to understand that you have access to honest-to-god miracle-workers, and that they’re in other departments. If they can’t do anything, you can’t expect me to make promises you know I can’t keep. These injuries are grave. Some of these agents are highly unlikely to recover. We are doing everything we can, and we’re doing it as fast as we can. But you’re not doing anyone any good prowling around here, trying to get the impossible done by sheer force of will. SHIELD needs you out there.”

“Out there, huh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The doctor frowned and went back to her charts. “Not that I put too much stock in the rumor mill, but the scuttlebutt is that there’s some ass that needs kicking, yes.”

Fury chuckled to himself and shook his head. “That an official diagnosis?”

“I haven’t even seen the patient, director, how could it possibly be an official diagnosis?” she asked. “Who do I look like, Dr. Pym?”

“Pym’s not that kind of doctor.”

“Hasn’t stopped him yet,” she retorted. “If anyone’s status changes, you’ll be the first to know. I will page you personally. But for now, visiting hours are over.”

Chapter Text

Phil stopped at a wide intersection and looked up. Lucy and Clint exchanged glances, and Mosquito hovered around them, buzzing lazily.

“We’re going around in circles,” he announced. He pointed at the insect. “You’re leading us in circles.”

“I am not,” she protested.

“I don’t think she is,” Lucy agreed, looking around. “I mean, obviously we’re not going in a straight line, but we can’t really do that in a maze.”

“Look at the sun, Jones. We’re not getting anywhere.”

“Uh....” Lucy covered her eyes and looked up. “Which sun, Coulson?”

“What do you mean ‘which sun’?” he demanded.

“I mean, there are five suns, and none of them really make a point of sticking to a super-precise path. You can tell how late it is in the day by how close they are to the horizon, but it’s not like ‘Oh, they’re there and there, we must be heading east.’ How many suns do you see?”

“One,” Phil said firmly.

“Two?” Clint offered.

“You’re only seeing two?” Lucy asked.

“You’re seeing two?” Phil repeated. Clint pointed at two spots in the sky.

“That’s not a sun,” Mosquito scoffed. “That’s just where Lucy punched a hole in the sky and then failed to fix it properly.”

“It’s fixed enough,” Lucy protested.

“Goddammit, Jones,” Phil sighed.

“It is fixed. It’s just ugly. I mean, it’s like half the size it was when I fixed it the first time. It’s healing up.” She crossed her arms and scowled at them. “It’ll be fine in just a few years. Nobody will ever know it was torn up in the first place. And anyway, can we get going? If I have to look at featureless walls of greenery for another six hours, I’m going to lose my mind.”

Mosquito looped over them and flew to the right, and they fell in behind her.

“Better than the walls of greenery with talking skulls in the branches,” Clint said.

“That depends entirely on whether or not you can keep from getting into arguments with them, dude,” Lucy pointed out. “And somehow contriving to lose fist-fights to something without an actual body.”

“I didn’t expect them to be biters. Or nearly so crafty,” he muttered.

“Yes, well. It also depends on not,” she shot a pointed look at Mosquito, “making half an hour of really bad bone jokes.”

“Oh, come on. Those jokes were hilarious,” Mosquito protested.

“They were awful. You should be ashamed of even knowing such horrible jokes.”

“Assuming we’re not going to wander here until the end of time, how much farther?” Phil asked sourly.

“We’re just a little ways out from the center. After that it’s actually a more direct route out,” Mosquito reassured him. “People are meant to come through the other way around, so they’d get to the center faster and then, if they got past that, wander around longer.”

“Great.” Lucy sighed. “This whole thing was a serious dick move on Seven-Death’s part.”

“It seemed like a really good idea at the time,” Mosquito hummed. “I don’t think he really thought it through all the way, though.”

“Like the fact that somebody can just bring some weed-killer with them and get through a lot quicker?” Clint asked, rubbing his knuckles.

“Well, you build a fake road, you can just steer whoever takes it off into a pit trap or a swamp full of crocodiles or into an Ikea or something. You build a labyrinth, they’re kind of penned in until they find their way out. It’s like, the exact opposite of what he and One-Death are usually trying to accomplish with this.”

“Stops people in their tracks, though,” Mosquito said.

“Yeah, there’s that, but it doesn’t really jam them up as bad as it could.”

“Jones, do you think you might at any point stop giving death-gods and their minions ideas on how to be better at their jobs?” Phil sighed.

“No. And Mosquito’s not a minion,” Lucy said, frowning. “Or at least, if she is, she’s a hero’s minion. Kind of? Right?”

Mosquito settled on her head and peered back at Phil. “Relax, buddy. I’m on your side. I can’t do anything with the dead, and I’ve got kids to feed.”

“See?” Clint piped up from ahead. “It’s all perfectly above-board, Phil. We’re following someone who just wants to give us all yellow fever and can’t do that if we’re already dead.”

“I do not! It’s not like I planned that when this all started, you know. I just wanted to eat. Is a little bit a blood from everybody such a huge deal in exchange for people living past, I don’t know, thirty such a crime against humanity? No, it is not. Nobody knew about germs or microorganisms back then, so I think I can be excused for not realizing that I was giving people stuff I didn’t know existed,” she huffed. “And another thing! How do you think I feel, knowing that I’m flying around with gross viruses and weird parasites living in my stomach, huh? Think about it. It’s like getting told you’ve got a bad case of worms, but instead of giving you pills to get rid of them, they’re going to just burn down your house and kill all your kids.”

“I think this has maybe strayed a little closer to the personal than it really needed to get,” Lucy warned. “Mosquito, we know you don’t mean it, but the fall-out is pretty miserable, and it can lead to some pretty intense feelings. Barton, be nice.”

“Yes, mom.”

“Clint,” Phil sighed.

“Yes, dad.”

Lucy shook her head, and Mosquito flew sullenly on ahead of them. Clint followed her closely, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“How do you not just put on a stupid-looking cape every so often and blow up a national landmark?” she asked. “I can’t imagine putting up with this, in stereo, every day.”

“You put up with HYDRA and AIM,” Phil pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but that was different,” she protested.

“How?”

“For starters, it was just sort of expected that you’d put on a stupid-looking cape and blow up a national landmark every so often. You didn’t even have to fill out any paperwork. You just sort of stuck it on the calendar and requested the appropriate amount of time off. The stress relief was built in.”

“I don’t know why I even asked,” he sighed.

“We’re here!” Mosquito chirped, banking back sharply and pointing. Clint was leaning against the hedge, already looking bored.

“This is the center?” Phil asked, glancing around.

“Well, no, but it’s right around that corner,” Mosquito sighed, flattening her antennae against her thorax. She pointed with two hands at the edge of one wall. “I figured we should all be together for this.” She buzzed around the corner slowly. “I present to you...the Minostor!”

Clint and Phil exchanged tired glances, and Lucy winced. “That’s not actually what it’s call--Rabbit?”

The center of the maze was a wide, flat square with a small ceiba tree in each corner and Rabbit posed dramatically in the center. Phil and Clint stared at him, and Lucy resisted the urge to cover her eyes with her hand. His ears were flat against his back, and he’d tied a pair of horns to his head. He seemed decidedly unamused by their reaction.

“I’m so glad we walked all this way for this,” Clint said flatly.

“Jones?” Phil prompted.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I just...I’m actually a little in awe of how unbelievably stupid this is. This is like the alpha and omega of why nobody should ever listen to any of the Mams.”

“Yeah, but they get around that by only suggesting things when you’re drunk enough to listen to them,” Mosquito pointed out.

“Are those even bull’s horns, Rabbit?” she sighed.

“They’re like bull’s horns,” he hedged, putting one paw up to steady them as he dropped back down to all fours. “But they’re better than bull’s horns.”

“You couldn’t find bull’s horns, could you?” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Look, nobody said they had to be a specific type of horn, okay?” he said.

“The Minotaur was a human-bull hybrid, Rabbit.”

“Oh. So that part would be kind of important.”

“It would be, yeah, but I think we might be a little past that right now,” she explained.

“You think?” Clint demanded.

“Shush, Barton.” Lucy looked around. “Maybe you can go find a steer’s skull and paint it?”

“Ew. I’m not wearing a cow’s skull as a hat.” Rabbit made a face, and the horn he’d been bracing slipped back. “And don’t even start giving me that look, because I’m only filling in until Seven-Death can get Ixquic* to come home.”

“Seven-Death thinks he’s going to get Ixquic to come back down here and sit in the middle of a hedge-maze until it gets cut down by everybody with two brain cells to rub together?” Lucy asked, cocking her head. “Did he bother sobering up before he decided that?”

“Probably not,” Rabbit admitted.

“He remembers why she left, right? She got knocked up by some dude, sentenced to death, and decided to screw daddy dearest and all his bros out of human sacrifice for eternity in revenge?”

“I think he said something about letting bygones be bygones,” Rabbit muttered. “She’s first-born, so it kind of has to be her.”

The trio stared at him. Lucy shook her head slowly, and Clint cleared his throat.

“If they can reconcile after family drama like that, maybe you and Thor’ve got a shot after all?” he offered.

“Now is really not the time, Clint,” Phil grunted.

“And I don’t think she’s going to go for it, dude,” Lucy added. “But best of luck to you, Rabbit. I think you’re going to need it. Catch you on the way back, if you’re still here.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” he said, trying to adjust the horns. “Dammit.” He finally got them untied. “Okay, I’m not supposed to let you just walk on through.”

“What, exactly, is your brilliant plan for stopping us, Rabbit?” she groaned.

“Can we just refuse to participate in this?” Clint asked. “I’ve seen video of you just walking away from things that weren’t as dumb as this. We wouldn’t, you know, doom mankind to anything too horrible if we just kept on walking, right?”

“Rabbit?” Lucy asked firmly.

“I’m supposed to plant these teeth and grow a dragon,” he said, waving the horns around.

“You what? Oh Jesus fucking Christ, Rabbit, that’s not even from the right myth,” she snapped. “And even if it were, you’ve got it fucking backwards. You plant dragon’s teeth to grow an invincible army. What are those, just like some guy’s teeth?”

Rabbit stuffed them into the ground point-first and thumped them down with his foot.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed.

“They’re Cipactli’s teeth,” Mosquito chimed in.

“Cipactli,” Lucy repeated flatly.

“Who’s Cipactli?” Phil demanded.

“These are Cipactli the World-Monster’s teeth?” she growled, ignoring him.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Clint whispered. Phil shook his head.

“Some of them?” Rabbit said, backing away. She pounced on him, vaguely concerned that she’d changed shape without meaning to, and more concretely concerned that she appeared to be a jaguar. White paws dug into the earth on either side of Rabbit’s head, black claws sliding out of their sheaths.

“Uh, Jones?” Clint called.

“Not now,” she snarled back. “Where did Seven-Death even get Cipactli’s teeth from?”

“Jones, they are sprouting,” Phil shouted. “The teeth are sprouting.”

“Phil, Jones is a fucking panther.”

“We can deal with a panther, Clint. We most likely cannot deal with something called a world-monster.”

Rabbit clamped his forepaws over his eyes. “Don’t eat me, don’t eat me, don’t eat me...”

“Holy shit!” Phil shouted. “Jones!”

Lucy bared her teeth and looked over at them, only to find herself looking into an eye the size of a beach ball. She could see the Americas picked out in greens and browns in the iris, with the oceans shading from aqua to almost black. The shapes distorted when a black vertical slit widened and focused on her. She blinked, suddenly taking in the rest of the massive skull. The top of the caiman’s head took up almost the entire clearing, grass and roots and earth rippling into shape as scales and creases and flesh and bone. Her teeth slid out of the soil as she opened her mouth, beginning to rip free of the substrate she’d formed from. Lucy batted Rabbit with one paw, rolling him away.

“Run, dammit,” she snarled. “Now! Fast as you can!”

A low growl like slabs of granite scraping together sounded from deep in Cipactli’s still-forming throat, and Lucy scrambled up and onto the back of her neck, her claws curling into the wet sod and helping her keep her footing. She slithered down the other side, grabbed the back of Phil’s vest in her teeth, and pulled back. Clint climbed up after her, and she hooked her claws into his vest and pushed him flat when the caiman began to move.

“What the hell is happening, Jones?” Phil demanded.

Lucy spat and flexed her muzzle, trying to get the last threads from the jacket out of her teeth. Phil clung to the plate-sized scale ridges as the monster surged forward, her shoulders flexing and rolling as her body tore away from the firmament. She trampled the maze under her as if it were nothing but weeds and bracken.

“I don’t know. Nobody’s ever been stupid enough to try waking up Cipactli again,” she gritted, digging in as another growl vibrated the caiman’s frame. It was like trying to ride an earthquake.

“Can we die again, here?” Clint asked. “Is there an underworld under this one, or are we just stuck wandering around here flat as pancakes?”

“Shut up and hang on, Barton,” she snapped.

Skulls rattled from the hedges lining Cipactli’s back as she flexed, roared, and broke into a run. Lucy flattened her ears back and cringed at the noise, and Clint almost lost his grip as he tried to blot out the sound. She caught him and pulled him close against her ribs, muffling his frenzied swearing, and Phil slid back to shelter against her as well. Cipactli swept her head from side to side, snapping her jaws, and the crack of them coming together echoed through the valley like thunder. Lucy got a glimpse of the mountains and dug her claws in deeper right before the caiman threw herself up the slopes and wriggled over the peak.

“Brace yourselves,” she shouted.

The wind whistled in their ears as the great beast flung herself down again, scrabbling desperately with her huge paws and then paddling down toward the black river at speed on her landslide of a belly. Lucy thought she glimpsed the horrified faces of the ferrymen and the great confusion of the newly dead as an earthen crocodile the size of a mountain range came barreling toward them. She imagined her own expression wasn’t much less horrified, though she was at least marginally less confused. Phil managed to pry his eyes off the onrushing ground long enough to shoot her a pleading look. She shrugged in response. She could as much steer Cipactli as she could pry the world off its axis.

Cipactli’s roar blended with the noise of the falling rocks and shaking earth by the time she reached the foot of the mountains, sheer inertia carrying her over the hills and to the banks of the river. She reared up, almost dislodging her riders, and then plunged into the water, her bulk raising a wave that set off a chain reaction of destruction once it hit the boats. Mud, river slime, and churned water drenched them and began loosening the caiman’s flesh. She sputtered in incoherent rage and pushed forward, seeking the depths she couldn’t find and failing to understand that her body was only dirt and root and rock.

Lucy felt a momentary twinge of pity for her before losing her grip on the monster’s back and being catapulted to the far bank of the river. The globe-eyes winked out as the head softened and dissolved. She landed just short of dry ground, belly-flopping unceremoniously into waist-deep water and knee-deep sludge. The impact sent her reeling back into human form, and she slogged out of the muck feeling a distinct lack of comradery with the world. Phil was only a short distance upriver, laboring unsuccessfully to free Clint from some unseen debris or obstacle. She made her way toward him, surveying the damage Cipactli’s passage had caused in a state of near-shock. The ferries were tangled and overturned, and everyone on the other side of Cipactli’s body were either floundering out of the water or trying hopelessly to untangle the boats. The earthwork dam of her torso was providing some refuge from the current, but it was a minor help at best.

“Little help here, Jones?” Phil grunted, pulling to no apparent effect on something well submerged.

She sighed and waded in, following his arm with her hand.

“Not to alarm anyone, but the water’s rising,” Clint said tightly, bracing his hands on their shoulders and squirming.

“We’re on it, Barton,” Phil said tightly, his face drawn into a mask of fatigue and pain.

Lucy frowned when she reached the object Phil was trying to dislodge. It felt like a thin web of rope. Leave it to Barton to get caught in a fisherman’s net, she thought. She moved slightly and groped along its length.

“You pull that way, I’ll pull this way,” she said, sighing. “On three. One...two...three.”

Phil gave it everything he had, and she braced herself and wrenched the net away from whatever it had been tangled around. Clint kicked out and paddled free, making for shore. Lucy steered Phil in the same direction, and the three of them collapsed on the bank for a few minutes.

“I hate this place,” Clint finally said after he’d caught his breath. “It’s awful, and nothing makes any sense, and I want to go home.”

“Think you can make that happen, Jones?” Phil asked quietly, staring up at the sky.

“We just rode the partially resurrected world-monster over a fucking mountain and across the black river, Coulson. I think we can pretty much do whatever the fuck we want at this point.” She levered herself up on an elbow and looked around. “I think it’s also usually a good idea to get the hell out of Dodge once you’ve fucked shit up on this scale, even if it really wasn’t your fault.”

“Out the front gates, then?”

“Oh, fuck no. Those gates are just...no.” She shook her head firmly and pointed to the dragon’s maw she’d found when she’d been looking for Thor. “I’m done, you’re both done, we’re not dicking around with the gates right now. We’re going out the easy way.”

“That’s the easy way? Out a dragon’s face?” Clint asked petulantly.

“It’s not a real dragon. So yes, that’s the easy way. Come on, the quicker we get up there, the quicker we get out of here.” She got to her feet and pulled Phil up. Clint waved his hand at her, cajoling her to help him as well, and she rolled her eyes and hoisted him up. “Unbelievable, Barton.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to use that word to describe anything less unbelievable than whatever that was ever again,” he said seriously, scraping mud off his pants. “Magic teeth just turned half the country into a giant alligator.”

“Caiman,” she corrected absently, surveying their climb. She was tired, and everything ached, and, now that the immediate threat was gone, she desperately wanted a drink. She wanted a drink, and she wanted to hit something. She flicked some of the grime off her clothes and out of her hair and considered her alternatives. “I don’t suppose anyone’s up for a quick round of transfiguration?”

They stared at her in stony silence for a few moments.

“Okay, climbing up the fucking cliff of doom it is. Don’t say I didn’t offer,” she growled. Phil looked up at the tunnel entrance again, a shadow of defeat settling onto his face.

“Fine. What did you have in mind?” he asked heavily.

Chapter Text

“What if I--”

“No,” Phil said firmly.

“Then how about--”

“Nope.” Clint shook his head.

“Okay, fine, I’m just going to--”

“No.”

“--go and eat something before I reduce you both to a pile of fine ash, you pair of contrarian assholes.”

Lucy stalked off, fuming. They’d spent the last five minutes shooting down every permutation of the “transmute everybody” plan she’d come up with, and the dim, small part of her that understood their hesitation perfectly was getting dimmer and smaller by the second. The longer they spent screwing around here, so close to getting the pair of them packed up and sent off that she could practically taste success on the tip of her tongue, the more opportunity there was for something completely asinine and unpredictable and catastrophic to happen. Again.

“You trying to slip out of our deal?” Mosquito asked sharply, dropping out of the sky.

Lucy glared at her, then shrugged guiltily. “No. I’d actually forgotten about you. What with the fucking Caiman of Doom and everything.”

“Yeah, well. That’s Rabbit for you,” Mosquito sniffed, settling onto a pile of debris for a second before fluttering her wings and taking off again.

“Really? Because my experience of Rabbit is basically him being lazy, a bit of a glutton, and more or less innocuous,” she grumbled.

“Believe me, he pulls more than his fair share of nonsense,” Mosquito said. “Usually not on this sort of scale, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. He’s really not very careful about his pranks.”

“Christ on a bike,” Lucy sighed, her eyes sweeping over the remnants of Cipactli’s temporary body.

“So, about me getting paid?” Mosquito hinted.

“Yeah, fine. Belly up to the bar.” Lucy held out her arm. “Just be careful, and no blaming me when you burst into flame and die.”

“Would you mind maybe, uh, turning back into a jaguar just for a second?” she wheedled, wringing her first two sets of hands together.

“Why?” Lucy asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted an answer.

“Cats taste better.”

“Yeah, no.”

“Fine,” Mosquito huffed. “What’s the beef with your friends over there, anyway?”

“Nobody’s in any shape to climb the cliffs, and they won’t let me transform them. So we’re at a particularly annoying impasse.”

Mosquito landed on her arm and cocked her head. “Why don’t you just turn back into the magpie, take up a rope, and then haul them up after you?”

Lucy stared at her for a few seconds, then scowled. “Why don’t you just shut up?”

“You didn’t think of that, did you?” Mosquito chuckled.

“Half my brains are scrambled and half my brains have been replaced by river water, okay? Now just get this over with before I reconsider the wisdom of super-powered blood-suckers.”

“Okay, then!” Mosquito folded her wings daintily and stuck her beak into Lucy’s arm.

“Ow, ow, ow, I take it back, fucking ow,” she hissed, shooing Mosquito away. She clutched her arm and made a face. “I thought your spit was supposed to be kind of a painkiller.”

“I think you’re thinking of leeches.” Mosquito landed heavily and patted her belly. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. Am I glowing? I feel like I’m glowing.”

“A little?” Lucy rubbed the welt forming on her arm and knelt down for a better look. “Okay, more than a little. You look like a lightning bug.”

“Good.”

“You gonna be all right? I need to get them up a cliff and out of here before I really do kill them. We’re all hitting that cranky phase of hanging out too long with people you don’t really like.” She jerked her head in Clint and Phil’s direction.

“Yeah, I think so. Not much to be done about it if I’m not, right?” Mosquito buzzed her wings uncomfortably.

“Well, I could stand around and feel guilty,” Lucy offered.

“That’s doesn’t really help me much, though,” Mosquito pointed out.

“Moral support is a type of support, Mosquito.”

“Oh, just go away already.” Mosquito rolled her eyes and tested her wings before taking off. “I’ve got something to try.”

Lucy flexed her arm and concentrated on healing the puncture Mosquito had made.

“Stupid bug,” she muttered, hissing to herself as the swelling went down and the sting faded. Her temper was frayed and her judgement was off. She needed to eat something and take a nap. She’d do both just as soon as she was finished getting her current two least-favorite government goons back into their bodies.

She stomped back along the river toward them. Phil looked demoralized enough that she felt irrationally angry over it. Not my fault, she reminded herself.

“Have a nice lunch?” Clint asked acidly.

“I settled up with Mosquito instead,” she grunted. “I’ve got an idea, and the first person to give me the slightest amount of shit over it is walking home. You dig?”

Phil’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing when she set off back toward a pile of wreckage that had washed ashore from the ferry pile-up. She found a few likely lengths of rope, hauled them out, and started knotting them together. After several minutes, she made her way back, dragging the heavy coil after her.

“I’m hauling the rope up, and then I’m hauling you up one at a time. I do not care how you secure yourselves to the rope, though I would strongly suggest you do it in such a way as to make yourselves as comfortable and non-budgable as possible. While I’m hauling you up, please do not jostle the rope or do anything else to dislodge me or the rope. Emergency exits involve gravity and falling a great distance, so I strongly advise against taking them. Any questions?”

Clint raised his hand. Phil shot him a warning look.

“Yes, Barton?”

“How are you getting that up there?” he asked.

Lucy sighed and rolled her eyes. “Magician, Barton. I don’t need to drag you into it to transform myself. I’ll tug on the rope when I’ve got it secured. You tug twice when you’re ready to come up.”

She shivered slightly, and then a magpie the size of a condor stood before them. She hopped over to the rope, beat her wings a few times, and then launched herself upward. She skimmed the cliff face, vaguely resenting it for being so high and sheer as she flew. It’s like it just never fucking ends, she thought. Even here, it never fucking ends. Some ignorant dumbfuck goes digging up Cipactli’s fucking teeth and tries for a power-grab by giving them to some jackass they bribed with a gods-damned cabbage.

She darted into the dragon’s maw, turned back into a human, and looped the rope between the two sets of fangs. It was a crude pulley, but it would have to do. She signalled to them, then waited for the countersign. Finally, she felt two sharp jerks on the rope, and started hauling the first of them--Coulson, she thought, based on the weight--up the cliff face. It wasn’t nearly as easy as it would have been if they’d let her turn them into something easily-carried, but they’d both balked when she’d explained the ramifications of the process.

“Can I get a hand, Jones?” Phil asked when he reached the dragon’s lips.

She secured the rope quickly and dragged him up.

“Almost home, Coulson,” she sighed, helping him out of the harness he’d rigged.

She left him to rest and pitched it back over, lowering it for Barton. She adjusted the arrangement and tugged on the rope, then waited for the signal that Clint was ready.

“I think we should all take a breather after Clint’s up,” Phil said after a few minutes.

“No dice.” She shook her head and started pulling when the cord in her hand danced twice.

“We’re exhausted. You’re exhausted. Correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s not much room for mistakes at this stage, is there?”

“You’re wrong,” she grunted, digging in her heels and hauling for all she was worth. She’d expected Barton to be heavier, but not by this much.

“That’s an extremely illuminating refutation, Jones. You should publish it as a position paper sometime.” He leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes.

“The hard part’s over. We get out the other side of this, the rest of it should be more or less automatic. You concentrate on finding your bodies, I give you a boost. Done, done, and done.” She gritted her teeth and pulled harder. “Buddha on a skateboard, is Barton made of lead?”

“Metaphorically?” Phil asked.

“No, literally. I swear, he weighs at least half again what you do.” Lucy braced herself and tried to get her breath back. “It’s like trying to hoist an elephant.”

“He’s got twenty pounds on me,” he sighed. “You’re just tired. I should have sent him up first.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked. She got moving again. Just get this over with. Then it’ll be pizza and beer for everybody. Just get this done.

“He’s in better shape than I am right now. He made a...convincing argument that it made...strategic sense for him to stay behind if it had to come to that.”

“He just flat-out mutinied, didn’t her?”

“That would be another way of putting it, yes.”

Lucy gave a choked laugh. “Insubordination doesn’t count if you’re dead at the time, right?”

“The places where it apparently doesn’t count if you’re Barton are legion.”

“At least it seems to have worked out in your favor,” she pointed out.

“What happens when we get back in our bodies?” he asked, changing the subject. She gave him a long look but let it go.

“You wake up. Or at least, that’s the theory. I heal the damage, you slide back in. Might take a little while to adjust, given how long you’ve been out of it, but it shouldn’t take long to get your groove back.”

“So you will be healing us, then?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes.

“I haven’t spent the past ten years babysitting you two just to have you wind up right back here. That’s not happening.”

“It hasn’t been ten years.”

“Okay, five years.”

“It also hasn’t been five years.”

“It feels like an eternity.”

“Jones.”

“What?” She leaned into the rope and took another breather.

“Thank you.”

“Oh, god, don’t thank me yet. Thanking me now is like a money-back guarantee that something else is going to go terribly wrong.” She dragged her forearm across her face, wiping away the sweat. “Not to mention, I’m sure I’ll do something to make you regret it pretty much as soon as I get bored with hanging out down here.”

“I still want you to know that I appreciate your help,” he said.

“Shhh. Someone’s going to hear you, Coulson. I’m serious. I mean, what about the last few days makes you think you can just say shit like that and nothing bad’s going to happen?”

“Almost there,” Clint called from below them. She gave a last pull on the rope, dragging him further up.

“What disaster did I miss now?” Clint asked, bracing himself against the dragon’s lower teeth.

Lucy and Phil stared at him, their mouths falling open. Lucy almost lost her grip on the rope. The dying light of the last setting sun glinted off the gold horns on the helmet he was wearing.

“What the fuck?” she hissed.

“Clint?” Phil asked.

“Yeah.” He scrambled off the edge and started stripping the armor off, leaving it in a pile on the floor. “The dragon guy with all the feathers said this was yours. Got pretty insistent about giving it back to you.”

“What dragon guy with all the feathers?” Phil asked sharply, shooting Lucy an exasperated glare.

“Don’t give me that look, Coulson,” she snapped, turning to Clint. “Okay, what dragon guy with all the feathers?”

“The really, really big kind of snake-looking guy with the huge ruff of green feathers. He didn’t exactly introduce himself, Jones.” Clint wriggled out of the harness. “He said you shouldn’t leave your stuff lying around, called me a vassal, and told me to give it back to you.”

“Kind of flashy for you,” Phil remarked.

“Quetzalcohuātl gave you this shit?” Her brow furrowed. How the hell did this qualify as any business of his? How had he even collected it all? Some of it should still have been in a storm drain somewhere.

“You tell me, Jones. Does Quetzalcohuātl match the description? Did you leave this stuff on his front lawn? Is he prone to calling people things like ‘peasant’?”

“Yes, it’s not mine, and I’ve never actually met the dude in person.” She flexed her hands and rubbed her fingers. “But he’s a god, so probably? I mean, they’re usually not super-respectful of random, non-worshipper mortals.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s Asgardian make,” Phil commented.

Lucy shrugged with studied indifference. “I doubt it. But like I said, it’s not mine, so fuck if I know. Stop fussing with it, Barton. Let’s get a move on.”

“So you’re just going to leave it here?” Clint asked, crossing his arms.

“Okay, have you just not read any fairytales? Fables? Folktales? Myths?” she demanded. He frowned irritably, and she sighed. “Here’s a hint, Barton. When some supernatural rando rolls up to you for no reason and is like ‘Here’s a mysterious pile of gold! Please take it!’, it is invariably a fucking trap. It’s like the trappiest trap ever to trap anybody. You ditch it as soon as possible and run the fuck away. So, with that in view, we’re ditching it and running away.”

“If he shows up again, I’m not getting yelled at for not delivering it.”

“If he shows up again, feel free to send him straight to me. I’ve got some other stuff to yell at him back about anyway.” She stretched her shoulders. “Now come on. Quickly. Before we all get Midas’s touch or something.”

“What’s so bad about that? Isn’t Midas’s touch a good thing?” Clint asked.

“Oh my fucking...” Lucy rubbed her face. “Coulson, seriously. Assigned reading for everybody when you get back. This is just unacceptable.”

“Starting to care about our welfare, Jones?” Phil asked, getting to his feet. Clint steadied him carefully.

“Starting to have serious concerns about your qualifications at high-level threat-containment. When your people don’t have the brains to not open Pandora’s box, it’s everybody’s problem,” she snorted.

“Pfft. You’re totally starting to like us,” Clint snorted.

“You keep this up, I’m only healing you half way,” Lucy growled, shooting the armor one last glance. She still couldn’t believe her rotten luck. The helm was...distinctive, to say the least. Even a cursory description would confirm everything in Thor’s mind. Not that she had much chance of dissuading him at this point, but hard evidence, confirmed from an outside source, changed the playing field in a way she could have lived without.

“She’s going to heal us after all?” Clint asked quietly.

“That’s what she said,” Phil answered, pitching his voice low.

“I can hear you both,” she called back.

They fell in behind her, muttering a quick conversation that she couldn’t be bothered to pay further attention to. She’d need to make a quick visit to be sure their bodies were whole enough that they’d stick. After that it would be up to them. She hoped they were up for it. Only one way to really find out, though, she thought.

*****

Phil groaned and opened his eyes. Apart from a lingering ache running from his temples to the base of his skull, he felt surprisingly normal. He swallowed carefully and found that he didn’t even have the mouth-full-of-cotton sensation that had accompanied every other incident of him waking up in a hospital. He got his bearings and sat up gingerly. SHIELD medical wing. Two doctors stared at him like they weren’t sure whether to shoot him or clear the room. The window separating the suite from the observation area had been melted to slag quite recently. His left hand closed around the hilt of the dagger he’d pilfered from the heap of armor when Jones wasn’t looking, then relaxed. That could wait.

“What happened--” he started. His voice sounded odd in his ears, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “What happened to the window?”

“A humanoid made of fire,” one of the doctors told him.

“That humanoid made of fire have a name?” he asked.

“Probably, but she didn’t introduce herself.”

“She?”

“An extrapolation based on the lack of,” she coughed, “external male sex characteristics.”

“I think we can go ahead and confirm the pillar of fire as Lucy Jones, then,” he sighed, twisting and stretching. Everything felt...off. Odd. His voice still sounded strange.

“Agent Barton, may I ask how you’re feeling?” the doctor asked cautiously, her hand straying to one pocket.

Phil frowned. “Excuse me?”

“How are you feeling?” she repeated slowly.

“No, what did you just call me?” he clarified. He looked down at his hands. He blinked a few times, then closed his eyes for a long several seconds. When he opened them, he saw the same thing he had before he’d closed them. Calluses he didn’t have. Scars from injuries he’d never gotten.

“Agent Barton?” the doctor asked, her tone prompting. He’d missed some question or other.

“Goddamit, Jones,” he sighed to himself. “Doctor, there’s been an incident. I’m Agent Coulson.”

“Your personnel files--”

“Yes, doctor, I’m in Barton’s body. Presumably he’s in my body. Hopefully, he’s in my body. Please contact Director Fury or Deputy Director Hill as soon as they’re available.”

“Already done, agent.” She was studying him closely, and he couldn’t blame her.

This was going to take some explaining. He hoped Dr. Strange would be able to do something once Fury called him in. His gaze drifted from bed to bed. Half the agents who’d been present at the time of the explosion were in the ward. He felt dizzy when he finally located his own body.

“Barton?” he called softly, not wanting to consider the next step if Clint wasn’t there. Jones clearly hadn’t stuck around.

“Muh?” The figure on the bed stirred. Phil rubbed his face. It was unsettling.

“Barton, you with us?”

“Phil? I feel like I cracked my head on something. And where are we...” Clint sat up and stared at him. “I, uh, what?”

“Jones,” Phil sighed.

“Oh, god damn it. Where is she?” Clint demanded, staring first at his own body and then down at Phil’s.

“Gone.” He pointed to the melted glass. “Possibly for the best, for the time being. Fury’s been notified.”

Clint gave him a belligerent look. “No offense, sir, but I don’t know that this is really the director’s wheelhouse.”

“Barton,” he said warningly.

Clint sighed. “Sorry. This is just...unexpected. And unnerving.”

“You understand that we’re going to need to verify both your identities?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, of course.” Phil nodded. Clint frowned and rubbed his--Phil’s--head.

“Can I get an aspirin in the meantime?”

“You’re in pain?” the doctor asked.

“Headache. Everything else is fine,” he said firmly. He slid out of bed and stood, moving experimentally. “Better than fine, actually. Wasn’t your knee acting up before the accident?”

“Yes. Your shoulder’s not giving me any trouble, either.”

Clint ran his fingers through his hair, then stopped and shivered. “This is really, really weird. But I guess I can kind of give her points for trying if she fixed...wait, how’s my back?”

Phil twisted. “Fine.”

Clint threw his hands up. “I no longer know how to feel about this.”

“You’re both experiencing an improvement in symptoms that were present prior to the explosion?” the doctor asked.

“So it would seem.” Phil touched his side gently. “Clint, how are my ribs?”

“Not even bruised.”

“Then it would appear we’re also no longer suffering from the injuries incurred in the explosion, either.”

“I think this might count as a miracle, agents,” she said quietly.

“The person who melted your window is a magician,” Phil explained. “So, the short answer would be that yes, it’s a miracle.”

“I still get to be upset that I’m not in my own body, though, right?” Clint groused.

Phil shrugged. “Doesn’t do you much good if you’re not in the right body to enjoy the upgrades.”

“Right. You get the dagger out?”

Phil held it up, then slowly put it on a nearby table.

“That’s something, at least. You think Thor can ID it?”

“I’d lay money on it,” Phil sighed heavily. “I think the trick is going to be managing the fall-out from not being able to contain her reliably.”

Clint examined Phil’s hands closely. “You think this is over the Pandora’s box joke?”

“I don’t think the Pandora’s box joke helped, no.”

*****

Fury paused, and Hill sat up straighter, her eyes on him. She knew that posture.

“I need you to repeat that, very slowly,” he growled into the comm. There was a long pause before he said, “That’s what I thought I heard you say. I’m on my way. Anything else catches on fire, you call in Strange and the Asgardian. Are we clear?”

He shook his head. Hill tilted her head, and he looked at her for a moment before replying to her unspoken question. “You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Sounds from that like it’s a two-for-one deal,” she said.

“Coulson and Barton are up and walking around.” She relaxed slightly, letting go of a tension she hadn’t quite acknowledged carrying. “In each other’s bodies.”

“...what?”

“The KIA magician, Jones, was apparently involved. And she’s been upgraded from ‘killed in action’ to ‘status unknown.’”

Hill took a deep breath. “If she did it, she can fix it, right? And her being alive and kicking could help with our Asgardian problem.”

“Don’t get your hopes up on either count. She’s a wild card.” Fury shook his head. “Still.”

“We’ve got some of our men back,” Hill finished.

“We’ve got some of our men back,” he agreed.

Chapter Text

Lucy curled herself around a rock outcropping and contemplated what was left of her body. The first step, obviously, was to move it to shallower water, where she wouldn’t have to compensate for the ridiculous pressure of the depths while she was rebuilding. The second step was clearly to give up and go have a drink because sweet merciful Buddha, she was a mess. The next time she had to save the world, she would do it from the comfort of a tank, or perhaps a nuclear sub.

She put a bubble of ice around the half-charred, half-waterlogged remains of her physical self and started moving upwards. A shark brushed close, then veered away, sensing trouble. Once she was done, she’d pop home for a change of clothes and a nice relaxing bender. A cold prickle of doubt crept through her, and she amended her itinerary. Pop home, check up on Heckle and Jeckle, then go on a nice relaxing bender. The odds of them having fucked up something as simple as “Make it the next ten feet back into your bodies” were practically nil, but still. She’d hate to have put all that work into getting them back and then have them wind up stuck haunting a ventilator or a battery pack in a SHIELD burn ward. It just wouldn’t do.

The water gradually became brighter, and the faint glow of the sun filtered down from above. She felt warmer and somehow more real. One sun instead of five, and, physically speaking, it was a ball of incandescent gas instead of a pushy god. Far less random mythological nonsense. She let the ice melt and set to work. It was a strange and new thing, both far less and far more like fixing a living body than she would have expected. There was a resilience to her shape that she’d come to accept over years of trying, without luck, to change her form permanently, but she’d always been in it before. Funneling power in from the outside and then watching as her flesh and bone reasserted itself was a novelty. She frowned at the scar on her arm as it darkened and reddened. Surely Hummingbird’s bite shouldn’t be persistent? It had served its purpose. Their business was done.

Lucy slid ephemeral fingers through her ruined hair and smiled slightly as her body’s fingers twitched in response. She was tired, and now that she had a stomach--even if she wasn’t currently using it--she was hungry. She still had to get home. She sheared the long black strands off a few inches from the root, letting the clipped wreck drift away with the current. She could grow it back later, and at least now she wasn’t quite as likely to be mistaken for a drowned rat once she got to shore. She broke the surface and slid back into her shape, fitting back into meat and sinew like a hand filling out a glove. She sucked in a long, deep breath and adjusted her posture, letting herself float on the surface for a few minutes. Everything felt normal, right, as it should be. And she wasn’t just hungry. She was really hungry.

“Time to get home, then,” she muttered to herself. She smiled and snapped her fingers, fading into shadow.

She solidified and opened her eyes with a frown. She was still bobbing peacefully in an ocean. That it was a different one, closer to home, was only marginally placating. She was, after all, not that much closer home. Lucy scowled at the water and recalculated her trajectory. She’d left something out last time, missed some detail. Something wasn’t quite right yet. A gull circled overhead, shrieking for no readily apparent reason. At least, she thought, she wasn’t too very far from shore. The bird looked ill-equipped for long expeditions over water and far more closely resembled the maritime rats-with-wings who infested docks and waterside dumpsters. She treaded water and got her bearings.

A small sea turtle surfaced next to her, took a deep breath, and eyed her thoughtfully. Lucy stared back.

“We got a problem?” she asked tartly, crossing her arms. The scar caught her eye again, and she wiped it away with her thumb, smoothing over the skin and evening out the color.

“Dunno. Don’t usually see too many of you people out here unless there’s a problem,” the turtle answered. She slapped the water with one flipper, splashing Lucy expertly.

“What the fuck?” she demanded, wiping water off her face. The salt stung her eyes.

“You want a ride or not?”

“I didn’t know you were offering,” Lucy grunted. “Also, I’m bigger than you, so I don’t know if you’re really in much of a position to actually make good on that.”

“Pfft. It’s the not the size of the boat, it’s the locomotion in the ocean.” The turtle snapped her beak. “No offense, but primates don’t exactly have the paddles for keeping up with us.”

“So you’re just offering me a ride, just like that.”

“Weeeeeeeeeell, we might want something out of it,” the turtle hedged, diving back under. Two more turtles surfaced, breathing deep and watching her.

“You all want something?” Lucy asked. “Seriously, I haven’t even been back a full day. This is just ridiculous.”

“We don’t want much,” one of them said after a moment.

“Just a little bit of help come hatching time,” the other added.

“Define a little bit of...wait, were you jerks waiting for me?” Lucy demanded.

“No. But you’ve got a reputation.”

“I’ve got a reputation,” she repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What do you want?”

“We give you a ride to shore, you make sure all our hatchlings get to sea this year.”

“What makes you think I need a ride to shore?” Lucy asked.

“You wouldn’t be here still talking about it if you were in a way to get yourself somewhere,” the second turtle answered.

“I might be,” she snapped, defensive. “As it so happens, I happen to spend a lot of my time standing around arguing with stupid people when the best option would clearly be to leave them to their own devices. It’s actually kind of a problem. I should probably talk to a therapist about it or something.”

One of the turtles clicked her beak and blinked slowly, clearly skeptical.

“You in, or are you going to float here until you wind up in that big patch of things that look like jellies but don’t taste good?” the second turtle asked.

Lucy’s stomach growled.

“Fine, yes, fuck it, I’m in.” She kicked over to the third turtle and curled her fingers around the little reptile’s carapace. “Let’s go, then.”

“Hold on,” the turtle warned. Lucy snorted but did as she was told, clinging close as they dove beneath the waves.

*****

Tony jerked awake, blinking stupidly at the ocean and trying to remember where he was. Thor was on his feet and pacing like a hound trying to pick up a lost trail.

“Something up, buddy?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“She has returned,” Thor said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Tony stopped himself before he could say something terribly impolitic and got to his feet instead. He took his time stretching and trying to work out the kinks in his back before making his way to Thor.

“So what’s the plan?” he sighed, looking out at the water.

“I am unsure,” Thor confessed after a long pause. “I feel as if she is close, but it is difficult to tell quite how close. Or where she is for that matter.”

“So no plan. Okay.” Tony ran his fingers through his hair. Coffee. He needed coffee. “We can work with no plan. We do no plan all the time.”

Thor gave him a long look. “I...would understand if you wish to be absent for this reunion, friend Tony. I thank you for keeping watch with me all this time, but I know that my sister can be difficult.”

Tony snorted. “Don’t even start with that again. We’re a team. If not having a plan is less than ideal, splitting up and not having a plan is enough to give Rogers a conniption fit.”

“The captain is not here, and I assure you that I would not divulge the details to him,” Thor rumbled, smiling. “Thank you once more, friend.”

“You think I’ve got time to get us some coffee?” Tony asked, scanning the horizon again.

“Almost certainly.” Thor sighed.

“I’ll be back in a few, then.” Tony shook himself, trying to wake up and feeling like he was wading through a thick fog. “Yell if you need anything. Preferably really, really loudly if what you need is back-up.”

“I do not think it will come to that,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

“You say that now, but in my experience, dying or almost dying or whatever this is does not improve people’s tempers,” Tony warned. “You’re sort of the exception, there.”

“Then be quick, my friend, and we will face any danger together,” Thor laughed, smiling affectionately.

“Yeah.” Tony rubbed his eyes again. “Right back at you.”

He trudged off across the sand and through the parking lot. Thor watched him go and looked out over the water again. He’d have felt more at ease if he’d known precisely what he was looking for. Eventually it occurred to him that the waves didn’t look quite right. They were too unchanging, too...solid. Lucy broke the surface and shook her head, grinning like a lunatic. She froze when she saw him.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groaned. She swam toward shore, and Thor beamed at her until the turtles, row after row after row of them, began surging out of the surf.

“Out of their way,” she called. “They’re not above biting, and they’ll go through those boots like butter.”

She carefully waded out of the water, avoiding stepping on or being bowled over by turtles only with some difficulty, and he swept her into a tight embrace before she could dodge him.

“You’re back,” he breathed.

“Yeah.”

“I was beginning to think you would not return,” he said thickly. She squirmed, a bright flicker of guilt flaring up.

“Yeah, well.” She scowled.

“You must promise to be more careful in the future,” he murmured. “We cannot keep losing you this way.”

“I’m not exactly in a huge hurry to buy the farm again, myself.” She hunched her shoulders and shoved him away. “Now knock it off. I’m really not in the mood for whatever you think we’re doing here.”

He sighed. “Would you like to borrow my cloak?”

“Um. Is that a resort?” She shaded her eyes and looked past him. “Yeah. Avoiding a public indecency charge would probably be for the best.”

Thor looked away and unfastened his cape, handing it to her without further comment.

“Thank you.” She dodged a particularly aggressive turtle as she wrapped it around herself. “I’ll have it dry-cleaned before I give it back. Promise.”

“Are these yours?” he asked, dancing back as the same turtle reached him and tried to make good on her earlier warning that they could bite through boot leather.

“Nope. Just got a ride with them.” She looked at him. “I’m not going to have a repeat of this with your parents, am I?”

“I had confidence that you would return,” Thor ventured cautiously. She pursed her lips.

“So why bother upsetting them unnecessarily?” she asked.

“Precisely.”

“So this whole unfortunate incident can just be something I don’t get yelled at over by alien royalty.”

“I think I would prefer not to be chastised for delaying the news, as well.”

“We understand each other, then,” Lucy said, inching up the beach. One of the first turtles to arrive had staked out a spot for her nest and was flinging sand at them.

Thor dragged her back into another bearhug, and she rolled her eyes.

“Dude, seriously. Knock it off. I’m not above turning you into a newt.”

“A risk I will gladly run,” he chuckled.

“You say that now, but you probably wouldn’t like being a newt. They look way dumber when they’re trying to swing a hammer around.” She poked him sharply under the ribs, and he jumped and let go. She wriggled her fingers at him threateningly, and he grinned at her. “You’re not even a little intimidated here, are you? I must be losing my edge.”

“It is good to have you back,” he laughed. “We shall have to tell mother something about your hair, though.”

“Okay, look. Your mom needs to understand that she’s your mom, not mine, and that my hair may look ridiculous at the moment, but it’s really not her concern,” Lucy sighed. “And also, this is considered fashionable here.” She smoothed a stray tuft down. “I know this whole thing kind of knocked everybody for a loop a little bit, but it doesn’t magically mean I’m part of the family. Like, I get that you were concerned, but you were concerned based on a faulty premise. Your parents don’t even know me, really, and at this point, with you, I barely qualify as a weird archenemy that you’re too emotionally invested in.”

Thor frowned and opened his mouth to speak. She cut him off with a quick gesture, her eyes narrowing at something over his shoulder.

“Did you really bring Tony fucking Stark here with you? You did, didn’t you? Jesus, Thor.”

“He has waited patiently with me in an attempt to bring me comfort. It was a most touching gesture,” Thor protested. “You think poorly of him, but he is a true friend.”

He followed her gaze to see Tony trotting back down the beach, gamely balancing two coffee cups and a plain paper bag.

“I told you to yell if you needed me,” Tony shouted, skidding to a stop and glaring at Lucy. “Why are you wearing his cape?”

“My clothes weren’t fire-proof, and it turns out the underwater branches of Macy’s don’t take traveler’s checks.”

“What are you, Rogers’s grandmother? Nobody takes traveler’s checks.” He walked toward them, warily avoiding the turtles and getting pelted with flying sand regardless. “Got yourself an army, have you?”

“First Chelonian Armored Division,” she snorted.

“They bite,” Thor warned dutifully. Lucy snatched one of the cups and the bag from him when one of the turtles demonstrated the last assertion, snapping at his sandals.

“Hey!”

“Hmph yphlf,” she retorted, eating half a donut in one go.

Tony looked at Thor. “You guys already get your Hallmark moment out of the way, then? That was fast.”

Thor shrugged, and she snorted before eating the other half of the donut. Tony sighed and handed Thor the other coffee.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Lucy drained the stolen cup and looked around before starting on the second donut. “Is there like a taco truck around here or something?”

“You want a taco? Those don’t really go with donuts unless you’ve got the munchies, Jones.”

“No, I want an entire truck’s worth of tacos. You know, if at all humanly possible.” She swallowed a mouthful of cruller. “Taco trucks typically still have more or less a truck’s worth of tacos this early in the day.”

She deftly shielded the rest of the donut from a flying spray of sand.

“That would be ambitious even for Volstagg,” Thor commented. They both raised their eyebrows, and he coughed. “Or perhaps not.”

“Why don’t you just magic yourself up some tacos, and maybe some clothes while you’re at it, and leave us out of it?” Tony asked sourly. “Maybe if you get really ambitious, you could replace the coffee and pastries you just stole.”

“My magic’s a bit on the blink at the moment.” She shrugged. “Just going and buying them would be way easier.”

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...”

“Yeah, yeah. You can’t get fooled again,” she finished, nailing the impersonation.

“Okay, that? Is terrifying,” Tony muttered.

“I didn’t say it’s gone, I said it’s on the blink,” she grunted, finishing the cruller. “I mean, I could try, but don’t start yelling when we wind up buried under a twenty-foot tamale and it’s raining coffee.”

“Can we have this discussion somewhere I’m not getting--ow!--beat up by evolutionary dead-ends?” he groused, crouching and rubbing his heel. The turtle that had hit him with a flipper gave him a dirty look. “I didn’t move! You hit me!” he told her.

Thor had taken the opportunity to inch closer to Lucy, and she glared at him when he finally put his hand on her shoulder. That it was oddly comforting made her even more irritable, and the appropriated pastry had barely put a dent in her appetite.

“This does call for a proper feast,” he said, his tone qualifying as sly for him.

“Stop that. You look like a golden retriever trying to have an idea when you’re plotting things,” Lucy sighed. She licked the icing from her fingers and tasted sea salt along with it. She started picking her way slowly through the swarming mass of sea life, Thor following carefully on her heels. She glanced at Tony. “Let me borrow your phone?”

“No. You’re just going to reset the password to something embarrassing again.” He frowned at her. “Also, why?”

“I probably wouldn’t do that,” she said. “Come on, just for a second.”

“No.” He yelped when another turtle hit him. “What the hell? Their flippers are like oars. I thought sea turtles were supposed to be kind of, I don’t know, cuddly.”

“I really don’t know where you got that impression,” Lucy sighed. “I mean, how much structural integrity would their flippers have have if they were floppy or squishy or anything?”

“Don’t get snotty with me about engineering,” he snapped. “But look at penguins. They do okay, and they’re extremely huggable.”

Lucy stared at him. “They’re damp, and they stink, and honestly, have you ever been hit with a penguin flipper? Not fun.”

“Oh, like you have?”

“Yes. That’s like...it made the papers,” she sputtered. “For weeks.”

“Where, Australia? The south pole?”

“The greater Austro-New Zealand area, yes.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “You started a fight with those small birds who cannot fly?”

“It’s complicated,” Lucy said quickly. “And do not feel sorry for them, they can totally hold their own.”

“Against a magician?” Another turtle clipped him on the front of the ankle. “Son of a--Can you please ask them to stop doing that?”

“You’re almost clear, but for the low price of five minutes of phone time, I can totally ask them to stop doing that,” she said, smiling cheerfully.

“No.” Tony jumped over the last turtle between him and uninfested beach. “How is this even a viable nesting strategy, anyway? They’re just getting in each other’s way.”

“Take it up with them, if you feel like getting whacked another dozen or so times,” she suggested. “Phone?”

“N-O. No. I’ve met toddlers who were less persistent than you.”

Lucy reached out absently to steady Thor when he tripped over an abandoned half-dug hole. They both looked at her, and she colored slightly and dropped her hand. “Okay, fine. No phone-borrowing. I get it. At least tell me if Coulson and Barton made it back okay?”

“Back from where?” Tony asked, tilting his head.

Thor looked at her, confused. “Indeed. From whence?”

“Uh, the underworld? Being dead? Or I guess dead-ish, but I mean, splitting hairs.” Lucy shrugged.

“Wait, what?” Tony demanded. Thor’s confusion deepened.

“What do you mean, what?” She glared at him. “Did Coulson and Barton--”

“Just back up something like four or five steps, here. I feel like we’re having radically different conversations. Why would you take Coulson and Hawkeye with you on your magical mystery tour of the land of the dead?” he hissed.

Lucy groped for a way to answer his question, glancing from him to Thor and back, before settling on throwing up her hands and stalking off. “I’m too hungry to deal with your stupidity right now, Stark. Maybe flip through your memos from the past couple of weeks and catch up. I’m going to go get something to eat.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You can’t just say something like that and then stomp off!” Tony scrambled after her. “What happened to Clint and Phil?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that big blue death-cube you guys were dicking around with got a little too shook up and took out the lab? That ring any bells?” she snapped, not slowing.

“We have been here awaiting your arrival for some time,” Thor soothed, lengthening his stride to keep pace with her. “We have been largely cut off from our companions, well away from any large cubes of death, but there has certainly been no word that anyone was injured.”

“Yeah, well,” she said. “They tried crashing with me, and then I shipped them home.”

“Is that magician-speak for ‘Clint and Phil died’?” Tony asked flatly.

“How is this not already something you know, Stark? I mean, seriously. Your teammates got blown up and comaed up so hard I had to put them back, and you’re looking at me like I just announced that the moon landing was faked by aliens. Considering I was dead at the time, I don’t see how I should be more in the loop than you.”

“But surely if such a thing had happened, we’d have been informed,” Thor protested gently.

“And yet here you are, giving me stupid looks when I tell you about it,” Lucy grunted. “Hey, look. Food truck. Let’s go.”

“Nick fucking Fury,” Tony muttered savagely. “Phil and Clint really died? They really died.”

“They really got fucked up so bad that their souls fell out,” Lucy clarified. “I didn’t have to dig them up or pry open any coffins.”

“But you restored them, as you did me,” Thor said.

“Yes. I think.”

“You think?” Tony shouted, turning on her. Her eyes narrowed to emerald slits, but he held his ground. Thor separated them carefully.

“I’m sure my sister--”

“Don’t,” Lucy hissed, angling around him to meet Tony’s glare. “I would like to be fucking sure before I go around saying I totally fucking did it, Stark. So I would like to talk to them. Which is why I wanted to borrow your fucking phone.”

“I’m calling Fury.”

“Yes. That is an excellent fucking idea. You fucking do that.” She brushed past him and made a beeline for the cart. “Let me know what sort of bullshit he comes up with. Could be useful in the future.”

“Good luck getting tacos with no money, Jones!” Tony called after her, pulling his phone out. “You’re not cute enough to get that much free food just by smiling at people.” Thor winced slightly, and Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She took my wallet, didn’t she?”

Thor nodded and gave him an apologetic look as he followed her. “I will repay you when we return to our headquarters, friend Tony.”

“Just make sure she only keeps the cash? Pepper’s going to kill me if she has to cancel another set of smart-cards.”

Thor nodded, and Tony shook his head.

“Nick fucking Fury,” he grunted, pulling up the director’s number.

Chapter Text

Tony hung up, sighed, and looked around for Thor. They needed to get back stateside, and the sooner the better. He spotted the god trying to fold himself into a rickety chair at a sidewalk cafe a block away and made his way toward him. He almost walked past Lucy without noticing her.

“Well?” she demanded, making him jump. He stared at her for a second. She was wearing a bikini under board shorts and a tank top, flip-flops, and a baseball cap.