A/N: Well, it's been a while, but here it is. This chapter is constructed mainly of blood, sweat, tears, and popcorn. A couple of things to mention before we crack on - first, thank you for all your support throughout this story. You're all a bunch of darlings and during my speedy update heyday it was certainly you guys that were driving me forwards. So thanks very much, I adore each and every one of you. Second, I can categorically state that there will be no sequel. I rarely do sequels, they're not my thing, I get bored with them so I think it's best to leave this one here. Third, I've a new fic in the works. It's set post-TDW and I want to hash a bit more of it out so I know where I stand with it before I start posting, but it's called The Interloper and it should be coming to a screen near you very very soon. Keep an eye on my tumblr for updates/mental breakdowns. Anyway, once again, thanks for joining me on this ridiculously worded ride, I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have.

Turn

by Flaignhan

When she wakes on Christmas morning, in a cold sweat, as is usual these days, it's still dark. Through the gap between the blinds, she can see a dusky blue sky - no rain, no snow, but in the distance, there is the faintest hint of sunlight, starting to peep over the horizon. She rolls over and pulls her duvet over her head, knowing she still has a good few hours before she even has to consider getting out of bed. She tries to make a mental list of everything she has to do before she leaves this afternoon, but she was so thorough the night before (out of sheer boredom) that all that really remains is for her to have a shower, get dressed and leave the apartment. Her gifts are already sitting in the back of the car, along with half a dozen bottles of Asgardian wine (courtesy of Thor) as well as more boxes of chocolates and sweets than they could conceivably eat in a month.

She's never done Christmas properly, has always sneered at it, always considered it an overly commercialised pile of sentimental shit, if she's honest. But this year, she wants to give it a try. Tony loves it, and Stark tower has a ridiculously complicated LED setup covering the outside of the building, which displays reindeers galloping along the length of the tower, a cheerful snowman, tipping his hat to the people below, or a great big Santa Claus, filling up his sack with presents. It's ridiculous, but every time she's been to see him, there have been masses of kids hanging around the bottom of the tower, staring up at it in wonder, their jaws hanging low, cheeks ruddy from the chill. Perhaps their delight is contagious, because Natasha finds herself smiling when she looks out of the window in her lounge and sees the lights glittering in the distance. Steve, she knows, is mesmerised by the display. She's lost count of the amount of times she's seen him standing with the kids at the foot of the tower, grinning like an idiot as he looks towards the sky. Clint on the other hand isn't so fussed. He's all for a decent party, and she knows he'll be looking forward to the food and the alcohol, but she's pretty sure that when she turned up at his place the other day, he was completely engrossed in the big family reunion at the end of Home Alone. He'd been a little too adamant that he was channel surfing at the time for her to fully believe him, but she'd shrugged it off, far more concerned with how they were going to convince Bruce that he should be joining in the festivities with them, rather than closing himself away in his lab at SHIELD headquarters.

Eventually, she dozes off again, and wakes to a much brighter day. She throws her duvet off of her and pushes herself up, before brushing the grit from her eyelashes and heading for the bathroom. After half an hour, she's looking festive enough to meet Tony's expectations for all of them. Emails have been sent which make it clear that anyone who turns up looking like Santa Claus has taken a shit in their stocking would be forced into more celebratory attire. Dreading that outcome, Natasha had headed out to the nearest department store and bought the first sweater she'd seen that hadn't offended her entire being. It's a deep forest green, with a stripe of white snowflakes across the chest, and some more, smaller flakes around the cuffs. She knows she'll never wear it again, but she'll take this over what she imagines to be a full, light up, all singing, all dancing monstrosity that Tony has probably ordered in especially. As she surveys herself in the mirror, fiddling with the ribbed hem and where it sits on her hips, she manages to take some comfort in the fact that this sweater is at least merino.

Natasha is the first to arrive. She's welcomed with hugs and kisses and festive cheer from Pepper, and despite it only just having ticked past midday, she presses a glass of red wine into Natasha's hand before she even has a chance to take her coat off.

"You're going to need it," she mumbles. "Trust me."

"Good job I brought this then," Natasha says, nodding towards the clanking bag of wine bottles in her other hand. "All the way from Asgard."

"Really?" Pepper asks, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe we should save it until later, when the boys have had enough."

Natasha smirks, but at that moment, the scent of roast turkey filters through from the air vents and she inhales deeply, closing her eyes. "That smells amazing."

"Jarvis is keeping an eye on things," Pepper tells her, a smile spreading across her lips. "Come on, Tony'll be getting impatient."

They head into the lounge, and Natasha eyes the stupidly large Christmas tree with the same expression of distaste and wariness that she has since it went up. The star on the top is brushing the ceiling, and the bottom branches have at least an eight foot diameter, probably more like ten. It's covered in baubles and lights, streams of tinsel spiralling around it, and at the base there are mountains upon mountains of gifts. Natasha adds her own to the pile, but as she's trying to arrange them in a vaguely neat stack, something catches her eye. It's large and green and made of paper and cardboard, and it looks very much like a certain scientist's alter ego.

"What's this?" she asks, turning to Tony. He approaches to get a closer look, and when he sees the decoration, his face softens.

"Some kids came from the local school for a science field trip. You know, part of the whole 'yeah, science is cool' thing that the government have got going on."

"And you let kids come to your lab?" Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow. "You let them touch your stuff?"

He purses his lips at this. "I've grown slightly more patient. Besides, it's Pepper that shows them around mostly."

"But what's that got to do with this?" Natasha asks, turning over the little cardboard Hulk between her fingers. She smiles at the scratchy, purple shorts, the lines of the muscles drawn in a slightly darker green pencil, and the strange round eyes that freak her out a little bit.

"The kids made them," Tony says. "As a thank you. I mean they could have at least gotten the detailing on my suit right, couldn't they?" He unhooks the Iron Man decoration and hands it to her. "Incredibly inaccurate, even the mark one looked better than that…good job they're going into science because art? Pfft, not a chance."

Natasha shakes her head and hands it back to him, then spots Clint's decoration and grins. It's not until she's spent a whole five minutes laughing at the kids' interpretation of Thor, who apparently has biceps that are thicker than his entire torso, that she spots a dark, slender body with a scribble of bright red hair. It's a very surreal experience, seeing herself dangling on a Christmas tree, with paper white skin and rosy red cheeks, a gun in one hand and a gift in the other. Some Christmas visitor she'd be. After the surrealism fades, it's actually rather sobering. These kids must have been sitting in a classroom with colouring pencils and glitter glue (most of which, it appears, was used on Steve's shield) talking about them, looking at pictures of them, idolising them. That's not what she ever envisioned, not even when, in the aftermath of New York, she was mobbed by photographers who just wanted a clear shot of the girl who stole the Chitauri hover bike. It was a long time before she could use the main entrance of her apartment block again, the concierge making sure to keep an ear out for her knock on the emergency exit at the back of the building.

She hates the idea that there are kids out there who will excel at something, become a protege in some field that Natasha's never even heard of, let alone understands, and will be invited to join SHIELD with the lure of You know Natasha Romanov worked for us… After her last assignment, which still leaves her waking up in a suffocating panic in the middle of the night, she's finding it difficult to see the worth in her job. She knows she did what needed to be done, and she knows that no one else on the team would have been able to make the call that Fury wanted. No one else would have wiped the entire thing off the face of the planet before it got out, before other people started getting ideas or inspiration. Because human life is nothing if it means that the rest of the world is under control, right? The more she thinks about it, the more her wine glass trembles in her hand, and she takes a shaky sip, letting it swirl around her mouth before swallowing, but it doesn't calm her. It doesn't have the same burn that vodka does, the burn that reminds her she's still human, just about.

"I dunno what pictures they were showing these kids," Tony says, his words filtering into Natasha's brain slowly and slightly muffled, as though he's talking to her through a solid brick wall. "But apparently everybody in a stupid outfit was a hero that day." He reaches into the thicker branches of the tree and extracts one last decoration, this one black and green with long dark hair and a pale pointed face.

"Surprised you let him be on the tree," Natasha murmurs, taking the mini Loki in hand and smiling down at it.

"Yeah well I couldn't exactly take all the others and say no, not him, he's an asshole."

Natasha looks up from the decoration and raises an eyebrow at Tony.

"He threw me out of a window," he says, his dark eyes wide as he tries to hammer that point home. "That window!" he points past the bar but Natasha doesn't bother looking. Instead she returns her attention to the decoration in her hand, brushing her thumb across the black and gold surface of his chest, shiny and bold from where the kid had apparently used all of their strength to press down hard on the pencil tip.

"Can I take this?" she asks.

Tony shrugs. "Sure, I don't care. Not sure Barton'd be too happy if he saw him on my tree but you know, that's understandable."

"Yeah," Natasha says, slipping the decoration into her bag. "Yeah, I get that."

"Steve's here!" Pepper calls, her heels clacking on the tiled floor as she appears in the doorway, Steve behind her wearing a smart button down shirt. Natasha has the horrible feeling that although he's clearly made an effort, it's not going to match up to Tony's ideals, and sure enough, an ugly, neon sweater with reindeer and snowmen littered all over it is forced over Steve's head, despite his protests.

"He got you too, huh?" Steve asks, once he has a drink in one hand, while his other smoothes his ruffled hair.

"What?"

Steve gestures towards Natasha's jumper. "The celebratory attire?"

"This is mine," Natasha says plainly. The look of horror on Steve's face at this nugget of information is almost enough for her to break her stony facade, a smirk threatening to twist her lips, laughter building in the base of her throat.

"It's very nice," Steve says. "Suits you."

"Thanks," Natasha says slowly. "I think…"

"No, it is nice," Steve assures her. "I just assumed that you didn't own anything…Christmassy."

"I didn't," Natasha says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "But I figured that whatever Tony had would be worse than this." She plucks at her jumper and searches through her messages. "I'm gonna warn Clint," she says, setting her wine on the bar to quickly type a text of caution. "He'll be sour all day if he has to wear one of those."

"Should I tell Bruce?" Steve asks, also extracting his phone from his pocket. Natasha smiles at its simplicity - Tony got hold of an old Nokia for him, after far too many questions about apps, and Steve appears to be far more comfortable with that. The technology at SHIELD doesn't phase him, but put that into a portable device and tell him it's for entertainment and he's suddenly suspicious.

"No point," Natasha says with a smile. "I don't think Tony's going to go up against the Hulk today."

Steve frowns. "But he'll go up against Captain America?"

Natasha pats him on the shoulder and decides it's probably time for her glass to be refilled.

She's so full that she can't move. Despite there only being six of them, the feast laid out on the dining room table was easily enough to feed two dozen people. If Thor had been present, she's pretty sure he'd have made a valiant effort at finishing it all off, but as it stands, they barely make a dent in the enormous turkey, and even after seconds there's still a small mountain of roast potatoes left, balanced delicately on top of one another, slightly brown at the edges. She had managed to swallow down some dessert too, ignoring the protests of her stomach and concentrating solely on the fact that Pepper had been looking hopefully around the table of nearly comatose guests and nobody was volunteering to take the first hit of Christmas cake.

Now, however, they're caught in the post-dinner haze, lounged on the sofas in a comfortable silence, glasses full, presents still sitting under the tree, pile bigger than ever, waiting to be unwrapped. Clint, who, like Natasha, had bought his own muted festive attire, (his sweater a deep shade of indigo) is half asleep in an armchair, his legs swung over the side, wine glass balancing dangerously on his stomach, his fingers curled loosely around the stem. Bruce is being sufficiently distracted by Tony's latest remote control toy, which hovers dangerously over their heads, while Steve keeps one eye on it, between taking his turns at Scrabble with Pepper.

Natasha closes her eyes and exhales softly, wondering if this is what Christmas is like in Stark Tower every year. She also wonders what Christmas is like for other people in the city, because she's pretty sure that this isn't an average experience. None of them really have any family to speak of, and this city is made up of families, stretching out across boroughs, traipsing to one another's houses to celebrate. Maybe Christmas for those normal families is really like the movies - not the Die Hards or the Home Alones, but maybe something a little more grounded, something with awful sweaters and too much food and people sitting all together just because of the date on the calendar and forgetting everything else going on in the outside world. She doesn't suppose she'll ever experience a Christmas like that, and quite frankly, she has no desire to. She's quite happy here, sipping on her wine, waiting for the consequences of her overindulgence to fade.

People perk up when it comes to exchanging gifts, and soon the floor and furniture is covered with sheets of patterned wrapping paper, streams of ribbon and shiny foil bows. Pepper asks Jarvis to put on some Christmas music, and Natasha groans inwardly as she unwraps a new scarf and mittens set with Bing Crosby warbling in the background. She's heard enough of this shit in stores this week, she thought that now they'd reached the actual day she'd be spared, but apparently not. It seems that Asgard is her only refuge from it all. She's been able to handle everything fairly well, but the music? It all feels so picturesque, and if there's one thing that her life is not, it's picturesque. It's as though she's masquerading as someone else, someone who likes wearing questionably designed sweaters, someone who doesn't have to remind herself to smile when other people are looking at her. She's not having a bad time, it's just that there are certain expectations at this time of year, particularly on the day itself, and she feels as though it would be rude of her to not smile and not cooperate when it comes to the festive clothing.

She sighs and takes a sip of her wine, watching the others as they open their gifts. Steve passes her an open box of chocolates, and she takes one without question, before nudging Clint so he turns around and chooses one for himself. When all the presents are open, and the underside of the tree looks big enough for a small family to live under now that it's clear, Pepper goes around and collects all the discarded paper and packaging, Steve jumping to his feet to assist her, while Tony weighs up his two new bottles of scotch, apparently trying to decide which one to open first. He pours several glasses, and offers one to Natasha, but she shakes her head.

"No thanks…I've had plenty of wine and…well, I've got that trip on the bifrost so it's probably not a good combination," she says, glancing towards the clock to check the time. She really should think about saying her goodbyes soon. She told Loki she'd be arriving in the evening, and it's just gone five o'clock. He'll be getting impatient soon, anxious, and she can picture him in his quarters, trying to concentrate on reading, but never turning a page, his index finger tapping rapidly on the arm of his chair.

"Oh yeah," Tony says, tipping the contents of Natasha's rejected glass into his own. "You uh, gonna be kissing him under the mistletoe?" He raises an eyebrow, and Natasha gives him a stern look.

"You could have brought him along, you know," Pepper says, her hands fiddling with the clasp on the pretty silver necklace Tony has given her. Everybody turns to look at her, but she doesn't falter, not even when she sees Clint's dark glower directed at her.

"Honey, probably not the best idea - "

"What?" Pepper protests. "If he's better, and he must be, because Natasha's not an idiot, then why shouldn't he get a second chance? God knows I've given you at least a dozen second chances this year alone. And besides, if Thor comes along, and brings Jane, then we won't have so much wasted food."

"Hulk Hogan can come if he wants, and he can totally bring Dr Foster, that is a-okay with me. But Loki threw me out of a window."

"You probably deserved it," Pepper says with a shrug, and Tony looks dumbstruck, towards Bruce for support. Bruce just smiles and stays out of it, grabbing the control of the helicopter and sending it hovering into the air again.

"I'm just saying, you know, maybe next year, Natasha won't have to split her time between here and Asgard. That'd be nice, right?"

Natasha hasn't given any thought to next year, she doesn't know if she'll even still be visiting Asgard by the time next Christmas comes around. She hopes so, but she can't really imagine Loki donning a sweater and playing nice with the rest of them because of some stupid Midgardian holiday. Thor, she's pretty sure will enter into the festivities with a great deal of enthusiasm, in part to make Jane happy, but also because he has a constant level of curiosity about Earth. Every time he learns something new, he smiles, shaking his head in amazement as though he can't believe the mortals have managed to achieve things. She's sure the feast that Tony and Pepper lay out will be more than welcome as well, and Natasha knows Pepper to be absolutely correct when she says that there'll be far less wasted food.

"I'm not sure Loki's really one for parties…" Natasha says slowly. "But maybe we can think about it next year."

Pepper smiles, satisfied with her answer, and Tony apparently interprets this as a victory on his part.

"You see?" he says to Pepper. "Not interested."

She rolls her eyes, and says nothing, crossing one leg over the other and relaxing in her seat. Natasha doesn't say anything else, unwilling to add any fuel to the fading fire, and soon everybody slips back into their merry, alcohol induced stupor.

He's not there when she arrives. She dumps her things in his bedroom, and settles herself on the sofa. The fire is crackling in the grate, bathing her in warm golden light, and it's not long before she's heated through to the bone, her toes curling in contentment. She's glad to be away from the busyness of Stark tower, despite having had a surprisingly enjoyable day. Now, all she wants is to relax with Loki, spend a quiet evening with him by the fire and make the most of the simplicity that their time together has to offer. After everything that's happened in the last month and a half, she feels as though she's earned some quiet time, and Fury hasn't even commented on her rolling up to work late because things never seem to quite add up time wise on Asgard. Even Clint hasn't said anything, though he knows full well that she spends a good number of her nights in a different realm, because it's the only way she can get anywhere close to a good night's sleep. Well, that's not the only reason, but he can work that much out for himself.

The door opens, and Loki smirks upon seeing her, lounged across the sofa. He puts his books down on his desk and approaches, Natasha lifting her legs up so he can sit down, then settling them in his lap once he's comfortable.

"Where've you been?" Natasha asks.

"In the library with mother," he says, his hand resting on her shin, thumb stroking her calf muscle gently. "Nice jumper."

"It was the lesser of two evils," she says sourly, plucking a small bobble of fluff off of the bottom of it. "It's Christmas, down on Earth, you know."

"Ah yes, the day when the Midgardians pretend to care about another god, all for the sake of a few gifts."

Natasha smirks. "So you don't want your gift then?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"I wouldn't say that," Loki says coolly. "You know how open I am to embracing other cultures."

"If by embracing you mean ruling…" Natasha says, swinging her legs off of Loki and pushing herself up from the sofa. She heads over towards the bedroom, and Loki cocks his head to one side, watching her curiously. She disappears behind the door, unzipping her bag to reveal the neatly wrapped present sitting on top of her clothes. She smiles to herself, anticipating his reaction, before zipping her bag shut again and heading back to the main quarters. His curiosity only increases as she approaches, his eyes narrowing as he tries to work out what's hidden under the wrapping paper. He holds out an expectant hand and Natasha rolls her eyes, passing him the present and taking a seat next to him.

"Merry Christmas," she says, making herself comfortable against his side. He automatically raises his arm and loops it around her shoulders, and Natasha shifts closer to him, watching as his long fingers carefully unstick the Sellotape. He only needs to see the corner of the box before he realises what it is, and he sets it down in his lap, his mouth twisting into a wry smile.

"Really?" he asks, tilting his head so he can meet her eye.

"Well you were so fond of the other one…" she says softly. "I thought you might appreciate a replacement."

"I was rather fond of it," Loki concedes with a sigh, pulling the rest of the wrapping paper off of the etch-a-sketch. He removes it from the box and immediately begins to draw, the board held at an awkward angle so that he doesn't have to sacrifice his arm around Natasha or the chance to play with his new toy. His eyebrows draw together into a concentrated frown, and Natasha rests her head against his chest, the overindulgence of the day catching up with her, and working with the heat of the fire to leave her feeling incredibly sleepy.

"Thank you, by the way," he says, giving the etch-a-sketch a shake and getting rid of a scarily accurate representation of the lake. She almost protests at its destruction, opening her mouth to speak, but it's gone in the blink of an eye.

"You're welcome," she murmurs, as he begins to navigate a new line across the board. "I have something else, too," she tells him. "Nothing exciting, but I thought you'd want it."

He stops drawing for a moment and Natasha reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and pulls out the Christmas decoration. Loki takes it from her, hooking his finger through the ribbon so the miniature cardboard version of himself dangles from his finger, swaying gently.

"What's this?"

"Some kids were making decorations of the Avengers for Tony's Christmas tree. They saw your outfit and thought you were a superhero…" she smiles, watching Loki's reaction carefully. He narrows his eyes at it, his teeth buried in his lower lip.

"A superhero?" he asks softly, tearing his gaze away from the decoration to meet Natasha's eyes.

"Yeah, I guess they missed the part where you led the attack…"

"Perhaps," he says, setting the decoration down on the table. "They've used the wrong shade of green though."

Natasha sighs and Loki picks up his etch-a-sketch again, giving it a shake and starting afresh. Natasha makes herself comfortable once again and watches his progress across the screen, trying to work out what it is he's drawing. After a few minutes, she recognises it as the huge dome where Heimdall spends his days, but as soon as he's finished, the picture is shaken away and he starts again.

"We should go down to dinner soon," Loki says after a while, setting the etch-a-sketch to one side, his fingers playing with the sleeve of Natasha's sweater.

"What?" Natasha asks, sitting up straight and turning to face him.

"Dinner…" Loki says slowly, as though he thinks that Natasha's temporarily been relieved of her sanity, his eyebrows twitching into a frown. "We should go…"

The thought of more food sends a shot of dread through Natasha. Especially Asgardian food, so rich and hearty and plentiful. She's used to eating in Loki's quarters, just the two of them, picking at the offerings until they're content, but the concept of going to dinner is one that she's not experienced before, not with Loki.

"I had dinner at Tony's," she says. "I'm not really that hungry."

His teeth pull on his lower lip, his fingers tapping on his thigh. "Mother and father are going to be there. I think Mother would like to meet you." He pauses. "Well, I know she would."

Natasha sighs, knowing that she can't possibly bail on this occasion. It's not like texting Bruce at the last minute and telling him she's way too tired, then asking to rearrange. This is the Asgardian royal family. You can't just rearrange that, especially not when you're a measly human.

"Fine," she says at last. "But I won't be able to eat hardly anything. I'm already dying from a turkey overdose."

"Just eat a little," Loki says, getting to his feet and straightening his shirt. He glances at his reflection in the mirror on the far side of the room, before turning to Natasha. "Please?"

"All right," she says heavily, accepting defeat. "I'll eat a little…" She takes his outstretched hand and allows him to pull her to her feet. His fingers lacing with hers as she quickly checks her own reflection too. Her sweater is slightly twisted from being sprawled on the sofa, and so she uses her spare hand to straighten it, wondering what exactly the king and queen of Asgard will think of her attire. There's no leather, and the only metal, apart from the zipper and button on her jeans, is the clip in her hair. She's hardly what she imagines their idea of the perfect match for their son is. She's not even the right species, for a start.

"Come on," Loki says, tugging her towards the door. She tears her eyes away from the mirror and falls into step beside him, leaving the familiar comfort of his quarters and heading out into the wide hallways with high arched ceilings and seamless marble floors. Her stomach churns as they walk, and she doesn't know whether it's due to the thought of even more food, or the prospect of meeting Frigga, after all this time. Her head tells her that it can't possibly be any more daunting than meeting Odin, but her contact with Odin has always had a purpose, there have always been other matters at hand. Plus, he's so cold and direct that it's easy to deal with him. Frigga on the other hand, she's not so sure about. Natasha knows that Frigga's the only member of his family that Loki has consistently cared for. Thor and Odin have probably been in and out of favour for entire millennia, but Frigga, no. Frigga is always in favour. Frigga is important to him.

When they reach the dining room, there are five seats arranged around a long rectangular table; one at the head and two along each side. She's pretty sure the table is bowing in the middle, under the weight of the platters of food, far more extravagant than that which Loki has ever been supplied with, even now he's back in his own quarters.

"They expect five people to eat all this?"

"Thor's going to be here, remember," Loki says in a low voice. "He always gorges."

"I have a healthy appetite, brother!" a voice booms from behind them. Natasha turns to see Thor strolling into the dining room, grinning broadly.

"You eat like an animal," Loki says loudly, before turning to Natasha and saying in a much quieter tone, "It's really quite disgusting, he's almost as bad as Volstagg."

Thor rolls his eyes and moves forward to inspect the food on offer. He peers down at the selection of meats, vegetables, breads and cheeses, gingerly sniffs at the wine and wrinkles his nose, before his eyes land on a huge jug of ale, and his smile returns.

"You're looking very…" Thor trails off, but waves a finger to indicate Natasha's sweater. "Different."

"It's Christmas," Natasha says, looking down at her knitwear and pulling a face. "And Tony had a dress code."

Thor smirks, and takes a sip from a tankard of ale. "You match," he says, his eyes darting towards Loki and his dark green shirt, who scowls at the observation. "It's funny."

"Yeah, it's super," Natasha says drily, fiddling with the hem of her sweater and hoping that neither Frigga nor Odin pick up on the colour and assume it's some sort of ridiculous cutesy couple type thing, as opposed to an act of self preservation. Had she known she'd be dining with the whole family, and not just Loki, she'd have brought something a little more formal with her. She knows that Loki doesn't care what she wears either way, but she does. She needs to not look like an idiot this evening, which is difficult, considering that her head is swimming with wine while her stomach works hard to digest the consequences of a Christmas at Tony's place.

"Your father's going to be late, the council has overrun. We'll start without him."

Natasha turns to see Frigga, who is everything a nothing like she expected. She is tall and exceptionally beautiful, and she carries herself with the grace that befits a queen. She has gentle features, a soft, gracious smile, and she seems to glide towards them, the hem of her dress brushing against the floor as she moves.

"It's lovely to meet you at last, Natasha," she says kindly, her eyes bright and twinkling, just like Thor's. "I've heard so much about you, from both of the boys."

"Really?" Natasha asks dumbly. She knows that Thor has spoken to Frigga about her before - how would she have known to provide such a useful gift without his input? - but Loki, on the other hand is secretive. He plays his cards close to his chest, and never shares, especially not with his family.

'Oh yes," Frigga says, beaming at Loki, who is shuffling his feet rather more than usual. "But come, sit down, please."

Natasha lets go of Loki's hand a takes a seat, Frigga sitting next to her while Thor and Loki circle round to the other side of the table, Loki sitting opposite Natasha, and Thor opposite his mother. The head seat remains empty, the high, carved wooden back strangely imposing, even without its occupant.

"Help yourself," Frigga says, nodding encouragingly.

"Thanks," Natasha says, but the word is drowned out by the clanking of platters and cutlery as Thor dives in, loading his plate with meat and potatoes, while Loki shakes his head and carefully spoons some vegetables onto his plate. As he goes to take a piece of meat, Thor sinks fork into a particularly juicy looking slice of beef, and adds it to the humungous pile on his plate.

"You're joking, aren't you?" Loki says, putting his fork down on the table with a little more force than necessary.

"What?" Thor says with a shrug through a mouthful of beef. "I wanted it."

"You know perfectly well I was going to take that piece."

Natasha sinks low in her seat, far too tired to be dealing with this now. She takes a sip of her wine, hoping that it will make the entire experience far easier. She can sense Frigga's impatience, and turns to see her gripping her cutlery tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"We have a guest," she says through gritted teeth.

"He took it because I wanted it," Loki protests. "He's the one acting like a child!"

Frigga takes a steadying breath and sets her cutlery down. "Thor, you're not to take any more meat until you've finished what's on your plate."

At this, Thor shrugs and continues eating, smiling to himself.

"Loki, there's an entire cow on that plate, I'm sure you can find a different piece."

"That's not the point though."

"No," Frigga says sharply, "The point is that you two are supposed to be adults and you're squabbling over food. What must Natasha think?"

At this, Loki tugs the platter of meat towards him and digs out the more tender pieces from the bottom of the pile, placing them carefully on his plate, his jaw set in a sulky expression. Thor meanwhile, catches Natasha's eye and winks at her, before he quickly polishes off what's on his plate and begins helping himself to more. Natasha continues to pick at her plate and Frigga, after sending a glare to each of her sons, picks up her knife and fork and resumes eating.

It's another fifteen minutes of small talk (though Loki remains silent throughout) before Odin joins them, sitting down heavily in his seat, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he pulls himself in.

"Good evening," he says gruffly, moving the platter of meat out from under Thor's fork so quickly that his prongs end up embedded in the table. There is silence as Odin fills his plate, opting for meat and potatoes, just like Thor, and casually ignoring the vegetables at the other end of the table.

"You're looking well Natasha," he says after devouring sufficient food to sate his hunger long enough to talk. "And there we were thinking you mortals to be such fragile things."

"Well I did get a paper cut that landed me in the emergency room yesterday but otherwise I've been coping." The words come out of her mouth before she can stop them, and across the table, she sees Loki smirking into his dinner, while Thor lets out a cough and pounds a fist against his chest, swallowing hard. Cautiously, Natasha turns her gaze to Odin, his eyebrow arched. From the corner of her eye, Natasha can see Frigga failing to suppress a smile, and figures that apologising is the worst thing she can do at this point in time.

"It's Christmas on Midgard, is it not?"

"Yeah," Natasha says, holding in a sigh of relief as he changes the subject. "It is."

"Oh I had no idea!" Frigga says, jumping at the chance to make conversation. "Have you been celebrating?"

"I saw my friends earlier today," Natasha tells her, then she turns to look at Loki and Thor. "You guys have invitations next year, by the way."

"Really? Thor asks, surprised enough to take a break from eating.

"Yeah, Pepper said you should have come today but, next year, maybe."

"Pepper?" Thor asks, his brow creased in confusion.

"Tony's partner," Natasha tells him. She sees Thor so often these days, more often than everyone else, that she forgets that he doesn't have any idea about what's going on on Earth.

"Even me?" Loki asks sceptically.

"Even you," Natasha tells him. She takes a sip of her wine but Loki says nothing, his face frozen in an unreadable expression. "Tony's a little sore that you threw him out a window but I think Pepper wants to shake your hand for it, so you know…"

"You threw a man out of a window?"

Natasha's stomach drops. She had assumed that both Frigga and Odin were completely aware of what had happened in New York, and that they'd been horribly awakened to just how low their son had sunk. Apparently, there are a few gaps in their versions of the story, particularly when it comes to Loki's more minor indiscretions.

"That's nothing," Thor says. "He stabbed me."

"Oh because it's all about you, isn't it?" Loki says exasperatedly, slamming his fork down.

"Boys, please," Odin sighs, a vein pulsing in his temple.

"Oh yes, because trying to take over Midgard didn't get you enough attention, did it?" Thor growls, his teeth bared as he takes on a horrible, feral quality.

"Boys!"

Loki's retort dies in his throat and Thor huffs, downing the rest of his ale and banging his tankard back down on the table.

"I'll send you both out if you carry on," Frigga threatens, her voice firm but her hands shaking. "I mean it - if you're going to act like children, I'll treat you like children."

Natasha can see Loki fighting the urge to say something, to have the last word, to lay his own defence out there, but when his eyes meet Natasha's, she shakes her head minutely and he sighs in resignation. The rest of the meal passes with Natasha doing her best to make polite small talk with Frigga, Odin occasionally commenting but focusing mostly on his food.

It's not until they're leaving that Natasha gets a chance to speak to Thor alone, while Loki is deep in conversation with Frigga, who is all smiles once again now that Loki and Thor have stopped arguing. Natasha can feel his eyes on her and from the corner of her eye can see his narrowed gaze, surveying her and Thor cautiously.

"Why are you provoking him?" Natasha asks, her hand resting on her hip. "He's doing really well, the last thing he needs is - "

"To be lulled into a false sense of security," Thor tells her softly, his eyes darting over to Loki to make sure he's not eavesdropping. "How else will he learn to control his temper?"

"What?" Natasha says, hardly believing what he's saying. He's going out of his way to piss Loki off to give his self control a work out? She's never heard of anything so ridiculous.

"It's working!" Thor says brightly.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes," Thor tells her with a grin. "He hasn't punched me for over a week."

She feels a deep tension slowly leave her with every single word that falls from her mouth. It's like poison being sucked from a wound, leaving it raw and painful, but ultimately better off. Loki is still next to her, his arm wrapped around her, and she can hear his heart beating gently in his chest as she rests her palm against his stomach, her fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt. She wouldn't be able to do this with one of Fury's therapists, nor would she even be able to do it with Clint, who she trusts even with her darkest secrets. She doesn't want to burden him with this, doesn't want him to see the old her, splintering through the facade that is her SHIELD identity, which she can only maintain as long as she's pushing things like this away to the back of her mind, mentally securing them under lock and key. He's under the impression that she's left those days of mass destruction and death behind, but really, it's become plain to her that she can never leave them. They are a part of her, and when things get complicated, she will always revert back to the stone cold killing machine that she was trained to be. She can't help it. The only trouble is, Clint, along with so many others, believes it's a choice, and so did she, up until she was running through those woods, a dry, rubbery eyeball bouncing around in the pocket of her stolen lab coat.

"I found his house, Daniil's, you know, the guy from the bar - "

"Yeah," Loki says softly. "I know."

"I broke in and waited for him to come home. I didn't know what else to do. I think I was panicking, but I'm not sure." Her eyebrows draw into a frown as she considers this. Panic is a very rare feeling for her, and even rarer is the complete lack of ideas on how to escape a situation. All she could think at the time was that she needed help, because she couldn't rely on herself.

"You only started panicking then?" Loki asks. "I'd have started panicking long before that."

Natasha shrugs. "I didn't have time to panic. He came back eventually…was a little surprised to see me…"

Loki's fingers close around Natasha's wrist, and he traces the soft pink lines - the only mark she still bears from her time on the assignment. She pauses in her story to watch him, her eyes following his index finger as it runs gently along her scars, leaving the slightly ridged skin underneath tingling slightly.

"He didn't have a car," she says, and the words feel like they're someone else's, her gaze so focused on Loki's hand that her brain's gone onto autopilot. "So we stole one and drove far enough way from the city to call Fury, he sent some guys to meet us…"

Loki's other hand comes to rest on Natasha's hip, on the bare patch of skin where her jumper has ridden up just enough to leave a naked strip of skin between it and the waistband of her jeans. She closes her eyes, and the rest of the story comes out in a slow murmur, how she was taken across the border and put on a private plane, how Clint came to meet her straight from the airport, how she'd gone to Asgard without even catching a wink of sleep or getting her favourite sandwich from deli two blocks away from headquarters. How she'd returned to the news that he'd been thrown back in his cell, how everything had fallen apart in less than a second…

He holds her tightly when she finishes, and she thinks she might just sleep the whole night through tonight. Either that, or reliving the whole sorry mess will leave her brain on a sick, nightmarish road, hellbent on waking her in the middle of the night as her screams fill the palace. She'd prefer the first one if she's honest, but everything's so fresh in her mind, so jumbled and confused as she remembers different, inconsequential details, that she needs something else to focus on before she can even consider going to sleep.

"Your turn," she tells him, giving him a gentle prod.

"My turn…" he sighs, his tone changing to one of resignation. She wonders if he might fill the silence and the time with lies, just to placate her. He might not be ready for her to know him this well yet. She won't complain, even when she considers that he already knows her darkest secrets. She won't push him any further, either. His fall from grace was a lot more severe than her own, but, like her, he's playing pretend that everything's fine. He's trying, and he's doing a better job than she is, frankly. His body count since the attack on New York is a big fat zero. Natasha's reaches triple figures. He has nothing to be ashamed of.

He stalls, plumping up the pillow under his head and fidgeting around a little, his heart rate speeding up, the thuds on the inside of his ribcage becoming more persistent, to the point where Natasha is sure she can feel them against the side of her face, not just hear them. He starts coiling a lock of Natasha's hair around his finger and, after a few minutes of silence, he begins to speak.

"I don't know how long I fell for," he says, his voice constrained, as though he's trying to squeeze his words out around a lump in his throat. "It might have been years, or it might have been seconds. I don't really know. But after falling, the first thing I remember was him. He'd found me. I don't know how he knew where I was…I didn't even know where I was. He'd been expecting me though."

She knows how difficult it is, especially at the beginning, to get the words out. She has to ask him the question though, just in case she gets an answer. She can't keep her curiosity at bay.

"If you could go back, would you have held on?"

"No," he says firmly, without hesitation. "No."

She's surprised by this. It suggests so little remorse and regret that, over the past months, she'd assumed he'd felt but was always to proud to show.

"Why not?"

"Because," Loki says heavily, fidgeting again on the mattress, playing for time. "Had I not done everything I did, you would never have been sent to guard me."

"We might have met another way."

Loki shakes his head. "People like me and you, we don't get to live a dream life…so knowing what happened, and knowing that I survived it, just about, and knowing that it led to you? I'm not willing to risk that on a 'might'. 'Might's never go in my favour."

"Things change though," Natasha says, even though she knows what he says is absolutely true. He's lived hundreds of years more than her, he's certainly learnt that, but perhaps he can be swayed by her youthful optimism.

"We'll see," he says, and then he continues with his story, his muscles relaxing as the words come out in a gradually steadier stream. He tells her of poisonous whispers, of an empathetic facade so well constructed that even he, the master of lies was fooled, how he was backhanded by the hand that fed. He tells her of his fear of failure, and even worse, his fear of the consequences. By the end, when his throat is dry and his words are hoarse, he's raw and sensitive, but Natasha knows that come the morning, for the first time in their lives, they will be able to take a deep breath, stop looking back, and start looking forward.

The End.