Disclaimer: I don't own Loki (how I wish I did...) Avengers, or anything else from the MCU, yadda, yadda, yadda... (even when I forget to write this you know it already, so what's the point?

Once again we're in a POV shifting fic. Always assume that the chapter will be in Nightingale's POV (because, at least the intro line always is), after that, if it's someone else's you will find the note in the scene-breaker. If there's no mention of a changed POV that means it remains the same (either the original from Nightingale, or whoever else narrated the previous scene).

This was actually one of the first AUs I planned, though it took me this long to plan beyond the basic idea. I hope you'll like it, I know I enjoyed writing it. Suggestion: Listen to both "Echo" by Jason Walker and "My Immortal" by Evanescence, they are both sung by Nightingale in this story, and they will you into the right mind-state for the first chapter.

Songstress

(Alternative Universe to Nightingale)

By: Lalaith Quetzalli

She lived, day by day, with a hole in her heart and soul, unable to remember what was meant to exist there, but sure she was missing something. So she sang, she sang for the loss her heart mourned, which her mind couldn't remember. And she would keep on singing, until the day she was whole once again.

Echoes

There were times when all I could hear was the echo of my own cries...

xXx 3rd Person POV xXx

Thunderous applause echoing through the huge theater announced the end of the second to last song of who was, perhaps, in that moment the most famous English-speaking singer in the world. The girl had truly come out of nowhere. Her first single had stolen the hearts of thousands of people in America and Europe alike, and when her album came out... she was an instant star. And yet, what no one could understand, was her seemingly eternal sadness.

The Songstress they called her, the 'Spell of her Voice' capable of enchanting anyone as surely as if she were using the most powerful magic in the universe.

In the three years since she'd come out to the public many had tried to understand her, none had been able to yet. She was petite, with soft, unblemished, skin the color of strawberries with cream, hazel eyes that always appeared more brown than green, and locks of light-blonde hair she usually kept in low pigtails. Always dressed in the latest designer gowns and attires.

The media claimed she was beautiful, perfect, like a china doll or a princess... the lady with a voice like a choir of angels... they'd tried to use a different description once, she did not like it, even if no one ever knew why.

She was so mysterious, everyone kept trying to know her, to no avail. Singers, musicians, actors, even sportsmen and all other kind of celebrities had vied for her attention at one time or another; yet it was no use, for she was never interested in any of them. Just like she wasn't interested in having famous friends or 'making nice' with whoever happened to have the most power in the place where she traveled to perform.

Whenever she was interviewed she would answer the questions with a soft voice and a light smile, but the expression never reached her eyes, those were always shadowed (with no make-up involved); she hardly ever laughed, and even when she did, just like with her smile, it never reached her eyes. She never offered information on herself, and talked very little about her past; most of it was justified by her being a very private person, and that the cancer she'd suffered from age 5 to 14 made it so many of her memories were blurry.

All in all, she was a mystery wrapped in an enigma. One many had tried, and failed to see through. Some had begun to doubt there was anything to see. And also, some claimed, it was only when she was singing that she came truly alive...

A string of notes began them, and the audience quieted instantly. Everyone knew which song it was, the Songstress always sang it at the end of every concert; it was, simply said, her song:

"Hello, hello
Anybody out there? Cause I don't hear a sound
Alone, alone
I don't really know where the world is but I miss it now...
I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name
Like a fool at the top of my lungs
Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright
But it's never enough..."
"Cause my echo, echo
Is the only voice coming back
Shadow, shadow
Is the only friend that I have..."

The media and the fans all were right, when she sang was the one moment when she truly seemed alive, when she truly felt alive. And yet, even then, the only emotion that could be read on her body was sadness, the deepest, crippling sadness; as her eyes shone with tears that would never fall. In the end, the song were her tears, her cries and sobs, for all to hear and none to understand.

"Listen, listen
I would take a whisper if that's all you had to give
But it isn't, is it?
You could come and save me and try to chase the crazy right out of my head...
I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name
Like a fool at the top of my lungs
Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright
But it's never enough..."
"Cause my echo, echo
Is the only voice coming back
Shadow, shadow
Is the only friend that I have..."

There was always a moment when she was in the middle of a song, and lost herself in it. And suddenly she was no longer just standing in the middle of the stage, with the mike in her hand... instead she was moving, swaying, at times even twirling around; her voice never wavering, never missing a single note. As if, for those few moments, all that existed were her and that song...

"I don't wanna be an island
I just wanna feel alive and
Get to see your face again...
I don't wanna be island
I just wanna feel alive and
Get to see your face again..."
"But 'til then
Just my echo, my shadow
You're my only friend and I'm...
I'm out on the edge and I'm screaming my name
Like a fool at the top of my lungs
Sometimes when I close my eyes I pretend I'm alright
But it's never enough..."

And then she would stop. Not moving a muscle, as if the world had stopped turning, as if everything had stopped existing... everything but her own voice. Which carried slowly, but surely, towards the end of that melody. And no matter how many times any fan had heard it before, in that moment, it was like the first time. A performance none would ever forget...

"Cause my echo, echo
Oh my shadow, shadow...
Hello, hello
Anybody out there?"

The song came to an end, and for a few seconds nobody moved; it would seem like nobody even breathed. Then the Songstress returned the mike to its stand and, before the audience, she inclined her head down, eyes closed, as if in a sign of respect for some unseen individual; pressed the base of her right palm to her forehead, and then tilted her head back as if trying to look at the sky through the stone roof, while at the same time extending her hand forward, fingers still together, as if signaling for someone...

The gesture took her no more than five seconds. Then, once she was done she curtsied to the crowd (another curious detail about her no one had ever been able to explain, except that she might do it simply do be original and/or call attention to herself). Then she spun around and left the stage, to the roar of applause from everyone in the audience.

No one knew what her gesture meant, it was something she'd never given a reason for, beyond saying that it 'felt right'. It had soon simply become part of her mystery... a mystery some swore she herself did not fully know.

No one tried to stop Songstress as she walked silently through the backstage and to her private dressing room. She stayed there for almost an hour, just sitting before the vanity. Until a woman in her fifties, with blue eyes and short brunette hair, stepped into the room.

"Everyone's gone." She announced, as always. "It's time for us to do the same."

The singer just nodded, reaching with her hand to free her hair, and then she was ready to go.

The two women came out through the front door. Some people still remained outside the theater, mostly waiting by the side-door (the ones usually used by the performers); they were hoping to catch the Songstress on her way out, though they knew no one had ever managed it. In the end the two women, with their dresses covered by dark coats, stepped into the car waiting for them and left, with no one being the wiser.

"Well, that was the last performance here in London." The older woman informed the younger as she looked through the agenda in her cellphone. "Tomorrow we're on a plane for Germany, we have that gala in the House of Art, in Stuttgart... mostly it's a 'greet and meet' event, but there is a chance you might be asked to sing a song at some point..."

The Songstress just nodded half-absently, she was used to such events... they always asked her to sing, it was nothing new.

"After that we have a few weeks free..." The brunette went on as she kept checking. "On May 26th we're on New York for your interview, and the closing of the tour they convinced us to have there. Then Robert wants to talk about a possible new album..."

The younger woman nodded again. She need not say a word, she never did. The agenda was always planned by her manager; the woman was her family and always had the young singer's welfare in mind. So the girl never complained, just went along with the agenda. She got on planes, cars, got dressed in the clothes given to her, attended the events that had been approved, and the theaters; and when necessary she sang. About a second album... they would see.

That was her life; simple, routine... an tiring, endless cycle she couldn't seem to escape.

"Are you alright, Silbhé...?" The brunette, her aunt, asked her quietly right then.

The younger woman just nodded; to which the older just shook her head but did not insist; it's not like it would have made a difference. They both knew Silbhé wasn't alright, she hadn't been for years; and they had no idea of how to change it, because they didn't even know what was wrong.

xXx Nightingale's POV xXx

Aunt Kathryn and I arrived to Stuttgart, and later to the House of Art, as planned. She was in a beautiful midnight-blue one-shoulder dress with crystals on a delicate design on a side, it was floor length and had some train; silver high heels and jewelry, as well as a silvery wrap around her shoulders, complimented her attire. I was in black, as was usual for me; my dress was in two pieces, layers: the first was strapless and knee-length, with golden delicate embroidery on the top, snug on my small body; the second was sheer, translucent, like a floor-length, sleeveless dress that was secure around my torso and fell down from there. With that I wore crystal-like heels, my shoulder-length blonde hair half pulled back, except for a fore-bang falling near my left eye. I wore no jewelry other than my mother's gold triquetra earrings.

We were received by the rich museum owner and I let my aunt do the talking. No one reacted to that, it was usual; aside from when I was singing, and direct questions during interviews, I hardly ever spoke. It was like a part of me refused to allow my voice to be heard whenever it wasn't absolutely necessary... I wondered if it was connected to everything else about myself I did not know, everything I couldn't understand...

There was so much about me that simply wasn't normal... and it wasn't just my usual sadness, or my penchant for wearing dark colors; I'd heard people comment on the fact that even when I smiled, it never reached my eyes; and truth was, I simply never felt real happiness, not the kind that would fill my whole body. At times it almost seemed that I couldn't feel a thing... there was a hole inside me, in my heart and soul, that nothing could fill, no matter how hard I tried. Another detail was how some said I only seemed to truly be alive when I sang... it was the truth. There was something about singing that simply felt right, like I could almost fill the holes in me... but it only lasted for as long as the song did, then it was over, and the hole was still there.

For several hours I did nothing except walk this way and that, trying a few of the foods offered, and drinking water, or sometimes juice (no alcohol for me, I simply couldn't stand it). There was a lot of mingling on my aunt's part, and very little on my own (there was a reason she was my manager, in the end). At some point. I began feeling anxious in a way I never had before; like some kind of instinct inside me, that I'd never been aware of before, was telling me something was coming, even if I hadn't the slightest idea what it was exactly, or why...

It was really no surprise when I was asked to sing (anyone could have seen that one coming). My aunt had also warned me to try and sing something other than Echo... as famous as I might be with that song, the gala was supposed to be a fundraiser, and people were more likely to donate if they were happy, and what would make them happier than giving them something no one else had? Like... maybe a song I'd never sang in public before. I hadn't the slightest idea where the idea came from, but once it came to me I simply couldn't let it go; some kind of force was pushing me to do it. So, in the end, I decided to simply go with it.

If Aunt Kathryn was surprised when I announced I would be singing a totally new song, she did not show it. Instead she spun it all to make it so the guests would donate some more to the charity claiming my song as a sort-of reward. I just went with it. After all donations had been made, the owner himself guided me to where the orchestra had been playing during the whole event. I would need the piano for the song I was planning on singing. The guests simply saw it as being part of the new song, there was no pre-recorded track, everything would be live.

I silently sat on the comfortable bench, before the polished grand piano. Closing my eyes briefly to get in the right mood, when I opened them again I couldn't help but turn briefly upwards, to the second-floor balcony that overlooked the main area of the museum, where most of us were: I noticed a man standing there, looking straight at me. He wasn't the only one, of course, but there was something about him that simply seemed to draw all my attention to him: he was tall, with an athletic, slender, build; dressed in a tasteful charcoal suit, raven black hair that barely brushed his shoulders, a green scarf wound around his neck and a slim and strange-looking cane on his hand. I hadn't the slightest idea who he was, I couldn't remember having met him before, yet I could almost hear a corner of my heart, of my soul, calling to him in a way it'd never called to anyone else. It made me all the more curious about him.

"So, without further ado, we have, the Songstress!" The owner called loudly.

His voice pulled me abruptly from my odd line of thought, but I didn't show it. Instead I forced myself to look away from the man on the balcony. I directed a short look at the guests, who were all standing as close to me as they could without crowding me; I nodded at them respectfully before turning back to the piano, staring at my hands, I began playing ever so slowly:

"I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
Your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone...
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase...
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me..."

I'd never sang that song before, it was something I'd kept to myself for years. I'd begun creating it years ago, before I even became a singer, and I never really planned on singing it for anyone other than myself. It just felt too personal somehow... I knew not who the person I was singing about was supposed to be, if he even was an actual person and not simply the way my mind had chosen to cope with an absence it would never truly comprehend. And yet, something had pushed me to sing it that day, something told me it was extremely important, that so much depended on it: more than my life, more than any life: my heart and soul were on the line. So I sang.

"You used to captivate me
By your resonating light
Now I'm bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me...
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase..."
"When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me...
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along..."

Ever so slowly the crowd seemed to almost disappear from around me, until the moment where no one and nothing existed but me, the piano and the song I was singing... and the man on the balcony, watching me sing with an intensity that seemed to burn into my very soul. I didn't understand what it meant, but in the end I chose to simply not pay attention to it anymore. I ignored any thought, my own heart and soul, in the end I simply let go and sang with all I was...

"When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me...
Me...
Me..."

"Nightingale..."

When the song ended I couldn't help but sag. It felt as if I suddenly had no energy left, no breath even, I could hardly think. I didn't even notice when my aunt approached me, obviously worried, wanting to know what was going on.

Terrified screams woke me up from my stupor. I blinked several times, allowing my mind to clear, just in time to see the very same man from the balcony walk past my aunt and I; as he did his clothes shifted from the formal attire to something I would almost call mythological in appearance, and which seemed so familiar it pained me somehow. The clothes were green silk and dark leather, covered by golden armor, including a helmet with big, curved horns. Besides that, the cane had changed into a scepter with a glowing blue jewel near the top. The screams came from the gala's guests, running outside the museum in front of him.

I didn't move, not when the people screamed, not when he walked past me as if he couldn't see Aunt Kathryn and I... except I knew he could, he'd been staring at me before, after all. Why then was he ignoring us? Why was he so bent on causing terror on all the people who'd been in the museum, except for us?

I still didn't move when Aunt Kathryn decided to take a chance and moved near the center of the room. It was until then that I noticed the man on the table. Dr. Heinrich... something, I didn't actually remember; he was one of the richest patrons of the House of Art; and apparently a victim of whoever the man in green was supposed to be... and why did I feel like I should know exactly who he was? Like I'd felt when seeing those clothes, when noticing those deep jade-green eyes and the way they'd stared at me...

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I moved; part of my mind said I had to go to my aunt, either help her with the injured man, or just convince her to run with me. In the end, what I did was completely different. I went straight to the main entrance to the museum, where everyone had exited. I didn't even hear Aunt Kathryn calling to me, though I was almost sure she had... she was too busy saving the doctor's life to go after me.

For a short while I did nothing as I stood half-hidden by the museum's entrance, silently watching the strange, entrancing man in the odd clothing as he walked in between all the kneeling guests, giving some kind of speech:

"Is not this simpler?" He asked dramatically. "Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your

life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end... you will always kneel."

I became aware, in a fraction of a second, from the corner of my eye, than an old man was about to stand, about to defy the unknown man... I didn't like it. I knew he would fail, only managing to put himself in danger. I have no idea what made me think I'd a better chance than he did, in the end I simply stepped into the open and spoke.

"And what are you supposed to be then?" I called loudly.

"Excuse me?" He turned to me abruptly.

For an instant I could see a flash of shock in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. He then focused all his attention on me, seemingly forgetting the humans at his feet. Not knowing where I got the courage from, I simply stepped forward, pacing by the museum's entrance, a few feet from him, as if uncaring about how dangerous he was (though I was perfectly conscious of it, both due to what I'd already seen, and the instinct screaming at me that he was most definitely not human, and more dangerous than I could begin to comprehend).

"You say humans were made to be ruled, to kneel..." I commented. "And you obviously consider yourself different enough that you mean to be the one to rule so... what are you supposed to be? What makes you so different from us humans?"

"I am a God!" He told me strongly.

"Did you know the Japanese Emperors of old claimed they were sons of gods?" I inquired almost absently. "In the end they lost their power. Japan is now a democracy. Claiming divinity is not a way of really gaining power among humans."

"I am not a human making claims at divinity..." He grumbled, somehow sounding more petulant than truly angry. "I am a god! I am Loki, of Asgard, the God of Mischief, Lies, Chaos..."

"Norse mythology..." I mumbled, ignoring the pang the subject caused me. "Since only the Norse considered those as gods, does than mean that those of us that are from other religions don't need to see you as a divine being?"

"Are you mocking me, lady?" He almost demanded of me. "Do you find this funny?"

"To answer your questions in order." I told him serenely. "Whyever would I want to mock a man who's already proven he can hurt an innocent? And how could I ever find it funny to see so many people kneeling out of fear to someone who doesn't deserve it?"

"That I don't deserve it..." He grumbled.

He was angry, I could practically taste his change of mood in the air; yet I couldn't find it in myself to care, or to feel even the slightest bit afraid.

"Respect is not demanded, it is earned." I retorted strongly. "You demand for people to kneel before you, and they do because they're afraid. They've already seen you hurt others tonight. And are too afraid to fight back. Well, I'm not! I have seen what you're capable of and I do not care. Regardless of who you might claim to be, to me you are nothing but a man, one who deserves no recognition. I refuse to kneel to you!"

Beside us, people began to get up, beginning with the same old man I'd noticed earlier, about to defy the so-called god himself. It seemed like my defiance was enough to push them to be brave. I wasn't sure if it was a good thing or a bad, I could only hope for the best.

The raven-haired, for his part, was furious. Whatever it was he'd planned exactly, after getting the people to kneel, I was ruining those plans. However, the real surprise was that, despite his obvious anger, he wasn't trying to attack me. Something was holding him back, though I hadn't the slightest idea what, exactly.

And then we were interrupted by the arrival of a man in blue, wearing a cowl, carrying a blue, red and white shield... Captain America?! Just what was going on? I knew not, but his arrival seemed to give the people the final push they needed to get on their feet and run. I stayed where I was; though from the corner of my eye I could see my aunt standing at the museum's entrance.

"By the authority of S.H.I.E.L.D., you are under arrest." The Captain called as he stood on guard. "Ma'am, you better stand back."

"The soldier..." Loki called dramatically. "The man out of time..."

"I'm not the one who's out of time." The 'hero' quipped.

A second later an odd-looking aircraft was just above us, a huge machine gun was hanging from the underside, pointing straight at us.

"Loki, drop the weapon and stand down." A female voice called from the craft.

For a moment it looked like the self-appointed Norse God would ignore the warning and fight back; and then in the next moment he was lowering his hands in an almost submissive gesture, his armor seemingly dissolving into thin air. And I could almost swear he looked straight at me for a fraction of a second, that instant between one moment and the next. A part of me wondered if he'd really chosen to stand down because he worried the bullets from that gun might hit me... Except the rest of me insisted it simply wasn't possible, I wasn't that important. Then why? Why give up when he had the advantage? It wasn't logical!

I was still standing there, unmoving, considering what I should do next, when yet another person arrived; in red and gold armor: none other than Iron Man.

"What?" He asked, looking around as if not understanding what was going on. "What's going on here? Did I miss the party?"

Somehow Captain America looked uncomfortable at the new arrival, for he said nothing to him; instead, he was still staring at me, probably wondering why I hadn't followed his instructions to move back and get away from the 'criminal'; not like I could explain to him that I wasn't in any danger, especially when I had no idea where I got that notion from.

"There was no party, Stark." A female voice told him.

She was a redhead, dressed in black from head to toe. I also recognized her voice as the one that had come from the small jet that had aimed at Loki with the huge machine gun.

"Ah, Miss Rushman... oh no, that's isn't right, it's Agent Romanoff, right?" Iron Man sounded really sarcastic when he said that.

It was obvious there was some history between those two, even if I didn't know what. Why was I even interested? It's not like I had anything to do with them or with whatever was going on!

"Reindeer Games gave up then, just like that?" Iron Man inquired, disbelieving.

"He was talking with the girl when I arrived..." The Captain pointed out.

I was just about to point out I was no child when, unexpectedly, Stark pushed away his mask, looking at me in shock and obvious recognition.

"The Songstress!" He cried out.

I just rolled my eyes, catching a peek at my own blonde fore-bang, I should have seen it coming.

"So, you're the singer they call the Songstress?" The redhead wanted to confirm.

She extended a hand towards me, probably in politeness, but before she could get close enough my aunt was suddenly standing there.

"I imagine you're here to handle the matter now." Aunt Kathryn stated coldly. "Therefore, we shall take our leave."

"I'm afraid it won't be that easy ma'am." The Agent told my aunt. "If the girl has talked to Loki, Director Fury will want to talk to her."

"All my niece did was distract him with words, nothing extraordinary." My aunt insisted.

"Maybe, but you still need to come with us." The redhead insisted.

It looked like Aunt Kathryn wanted to hold onto her refusal (though I knew not why), but in the end she simply nodded. Why was she so against me talking to this... Director Fury? It's not like I was exactly eager, but I didn't see what the problem was. Besides, I couldn't help, deep inside, the strange need to stay close to Loki. There was something about him that drew me in, and while a part of me knew it was dangerous, that he was very dangerous; it also seemed somehow right, and I couldn't help but go along with that feeling.

"Aunt Kathryn." I called her quietly, though still acting pretty emotionlessly. "Yesterday you told me that after this gala we would be free until the 26th... that means we lose nothing by going along with these people."

What I didn't say was that I didn't think they would take no for an answer, I didn't need to, she knew as well as I did, probably even better; after all, she did work for the government for years, before leaving that life to raise me.

"Fine." She nodded. "But you're not going anywhere without me." She turned to Romanoff. "I don't care what your Director might think about it. Wherever she goes, I go, understood?"

Her voice was strong, authoritative; it was obvious that she didn't care what power the Agent might have usually; things would be done the way Kathryn Salani said, or not at all. Romanoff simply nodded, either because she agreed or thought they would get the chance to get their way later on, I did not know; I chose not to worry about it for the time being.

As we were lead to the small plane, quinjet as Romanoff, who happened to be one of the pilots, called it; I couldn't help but keep directing subtle looks at the 'criminal' Captain America was guiding to the vessel. There was just something about him that was so fascinating... and I would find out what it was, I needed to.

xXx

Things just got more insane after that. On our way to... wherever Agent Romanoff's boss was, a thunderstorm began out of nowhere. Only, as it turned out, it wasn't a normal storm, it announced the arrival of yet another so-called god, Thor this time. And while I did remember having studied European Mythology, Literature and History for three years... it was one thing to agree that men might have existed over a thousand years prior that were so remarkable in some particular way that others considered them as gods... but for there to actually be men who existed back then, and still did a little over a thousand years later, with powers that far surpassed those of any humans... Granted, I knew mutants, and some were quite amazing, like Prof. Xavier, his partner, and others like Rogue and the Wolverine... but still!

Thor's arrival caused some delays. Mainly because he, for whatever the reason, pretty much forced his way into the quinjet, only to take Loki and then jump off the aircraft with him. Iron Man and Captain America went after the two, and eventually Romanoff landed the plane to pick them all up. Then we were on our way again.

I knew several people were curious about me, about the fact that I had spoken with Loki, and somehow managed to distract him enough that there never was the fight S.H.I.E.L.D. had been expecting. However, I ignored their questioning looks, hiding myself behind my usual apathy and blankness. Aunt Kathryn was a completely different matter entirely, keeping herself firmly between me and everyone else on the vessel.

We both knew I wasn't a child, though when the Agent and even the so-called heroes kept calling me such neither of us tried to dissuade them, mainly because, as long as they saw me as a child, as someone small and vulnerable, I was more protected.

We made it to the helicarrier (that's what Agent Romanoff called the flying fortress S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest ranking members had quartered in) after a few more hours of flight. According to Aunt Kathryn's calculations we were somewhere in the North Atlantic.

Romanoff guided us to the bridge while Iron Man and Captain America went to get changed into more normal clothes and a dozen armed Agents lead Loki somewhere else.

Once in the bridge several screens were activated in the high-tech table we were all sat around, showing the same image: that of a surveillance camera in what could be called Loki's new 'cell'. It was cylindrical, glass all around, impact-proof, and connected to a mechanism that would allow it to be dropped off the helicarrier (approximately 30,000 feet) if the cage was damaged in any way. The measures were certainly extreme, especially if one considered Loki's own comment about it not being meant for him... I had no idea who it was meant for then, though I had my suspicions. The government had never been known to trust people with more power than they, a clear example of that being the conflicts that had happened between the mutants and the military, first in 2003 and then in 2006 (and that last one I would never forget, even if I'd just seen it through the TV). S.H.I.E.L.D. especially seemed like the kind of organization that wouldn't trust anyone, probably not even its own members.

The answer, to at least some of it, came when in between his too-scientific speech Stark suddenly mentioned something about Dr. Banner turning into a 'huge green rage monster'... I remembered then the news that had appeared a year or so before: about the 'titanic battle between two huge beings in the middle of Harlem'. I'd at first thought mutants were involved; apparently I'd been wrong in that assessment.

However, before I could think too much about that, or Aunt Kathryn could gather her wits enough to comment on it, a black man all in leather, with an eye-patch covering an eye, entered. I knew who he was without anyone needing to say anything, it was written in every step he gave, n the way he carried himself, in the very aura surrounding him: Director Nick Fury...

"Doctor Banner is only here to track the Cube. I was hoping you might join him." Director Fury announced calmly as he entered the bridge.

"I'd start with that stick of his." Steve suggested. "It may be magical but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon."

"I don't know about that, but it is powered by the Cube." Fury retorted. "And I would like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys."

He was obviously upset, but that was lost in the reaction of several of those present to the metaphor he'd used at the end.

"Monkeys? I do not understand..." Thor was evidently confused.

"I do!" Captain Rogers, as he'd introduced himself to my Aunt and I, seemed especially satisfied about that fact. "I... I understood that reference."

It seemed like Stark was about to say something to Dr. Banner, probably regarding the work they were supposed to do together. But Aunt Kathryn chose that very moment to make our presence known (everyone really seem to never really see us, as they talked previously).

"And since you're so focused on giving everyone tasks, what will you have us do, Nicholas?" She called in a smooth, low voice.

It was strange, the way Aunt Kathryn seemed to almost transform as she spoke. In the span of a sentence she'd gone from the soft, serene, easy woman who watched everything in silence, kept my agenda and followed me around through interviews and concerts; into a woman I'd never seen, one who stood straight, who held quiet authority and power inside her willowy, unseeming body, and she knew it.

Fury's reaction to the words, or more precisely, to the voice that spoke them, was instantaneous; and obviously nothing anyone on that bridge, on that vessel, had been expecting. He turned around sharply, his eyes searching for the person who'd spoken, and the moment he found my aunt... his mouth didn't drop open, his eye didn't widen... but there was still something in his posture that revealed his shock as clearly as if any of the other things had happened... or maybe that was only how it seemed in my mind.

"Katharine..." Fury's voice was so low I could barely hear it.

Still, at least two of the Agents on the bridge heard him, and it was enough to make them react as they turned to my Aunt instantly.

"Agent Adler." They said at the same time.

"Hey Philip... Maria..." My aunt smiled kindly as she turned to each of them. "And I must remind you the correct use of my title is Former Agent Adler... I am just Kathryn Salani now, I am and have been nothing more than a civilian for almost eighteen years..."

"Once S.H.I.E.L.D., always S.H.I.E.L.D." Maria Hill murmured something that seemed almost like some kind of motto.

"You were our SO, how could we ever forget you?" Phil added.

"That was almost a lifetime ago." Aunt Kathryn said, almost wistfully. "Things change, don't you think so, Nicholas? Or should I call you Director Fury now?"

"You've never been one to follow my orders, I don't expect you to start now that you aren't my subordinate at all." Fury stated with fake calm. "What I would like to know is what brings you here, now of all times?"

"Your Agent insisted on bringing my niece." My aunt stated, signaling to me. "She's my brother's daughter, Silbhé... though I believe these days people know her better as the Songstress..."

With that everyone's attention was instantly on me. I felt almost bashful, I'd never been one to like too much attention (ironic, considering how I became a singer), however, while on stage I didn't have to really look at anyone; and during interviews I tended to look only at the show's host and the camera, never anyone else so... Still, as shy as I felt, some instinct inside me stopped me from reacting as I usually would, an instinct that insisted that unless I stood my ground and proved I was no child, that was exactly how I would be treated.

"Yes, I am the Songstress..." I confirmed, with a serene demeanor I managed to call on somehow. "We were in that gala when the supposed-god appeared."

"Supposed-god?" Several people asked at the same time.

"I hold my own thoughts regarding divinity." I answered simply.

"I've been told that you were found talking with the criminal when my people arrived." Fury commented thoughtfully as he approached me.

"I was." I shrugged. "Really, someone had to stop him before things got too far. And if your people had fought him, innocents might have ended up hurt, or dead!"

Really, did he think I would deny it? Enough people saw me. It was quite possible that some surveillance cameras had caught the exchange, so denying it would be pointless.

"And you thought you had the power to stop an insane maniac claiming to be a god?" Maria Hill arched a brow in disbelief.

I could hear the snorts of several of the Agents on the lower levels. However, and surprisingly enough, neither Director Fury nor the man my aunt had called Phil, made any derisive comments about me or my actions; instead they just seemed more curious.

"What were you talking about?" Fury insisted.

"I asked him what he was supposed to be." I answered honestly, taking a deep breath before elaborating. "Since he was addressing humans as lesser beings, I wanted to know how he thought he was different... I mean, he did look human to me, so..."

"And you didn't think it was insane to go around challenging an insane man?" Stark inquired. "Especially after the power he was showing already."

"They were illusions." I said simply.

"What...?" No one was expecting that.

"What do you mean?" Maria Hill inquired.

"His doubles, the figures supposedly blocking the people from leaving, they weren't real." I tried to explain. "They were only illusions... They weren't tangible?"

Really, was I the only one who noticed that? I hadn't actually been there the moment the doubles had appeared (all the guests were already kneeling and he was doing his dramatic speech when I stepped out of the House of Art), but it had still been pretty obvious to me from the very moment I'd seen the 'clones' standing guard around the kneeling people.

"How do you know that?" Banner was very curious, all of a sudden.

"I have never known anyone to be capable of so easily identifying my brother's illusions as such, my lady." Thor commented, intrigued. "How could you see what so many others cannot?"

So really, no one else had noticed... how then did I? I couldn't exactly tell them that I just knew, though that was the truth. It had been an instinct. However, once I thought it over I began noticing details, things I had only seen in passing at the time.

"There were no shadows." I said, finally. "The copies cast no shadows, the light went right through them, showing they weren't corporeal. Also, they would flicker every so often... almost as if he didn't have enough power to hold them stable..."

And suddenly I was beginning to wonder myself...

"My brother's seidhr... his magic, is the strongest I'd ever seen, aside from the power our Mother, Queen Frigg, wields." Thor stated solemnly. "Never have I known his illusions to fail, unless he means for them to... or he's... low on energy."

He was avoiding saying weak, though I could hear it still. It was as if a part of him simply refused to see his brother as weak in any way. For whatever the reason I couldn't help but approve that line of thought.

"So, either Rock of the Ages isn't as strong right now as he wants us to believe or, what? He's playing with us?" Even Stark didn't seem to know.

"We will need to interrogate him to find out." Hill stated seriously.

"Agent Romanoff..." Phil began.

"Sir, Director, if I may." Romanoff interrupted softly before turning to look straight at me. "I think she should talk to him."

"What...?!" None of us was expecting that, especially not I.

"My niece is not part of S.H.I.E.L.D." Aunt Kathryn said immediately. "Nicholas..."

"Agent Adler." Romanoff interrupted again. "I don't mean to say she should be part of anything officially. But the truth of the matter is, he's already talked to her. For whatever the reason he chose to argue with her, civilly even! Rather than attack her. Whatever his reason was for that in Stuttgart, there's a chance your niece might be able to get him to talk more. And there is a lot we need to know right now..."

I realized what they were doing, they wanted to use me; I did not like that. However, a part of me really wanted to talk to the self-acclaimed god again; even if I knew he was dangerous, dangerous in ways I couldn't fully comprehend, I still wanted to talk to him, to be close to him... so I agreed.

xXx

In the end the Director insisted on waiting till the next day before I was allowed near Loki. I had no change of clothes, but I made due with what I had, the skirt was actually longer than I'd used it, nearly reaching my ankles, and a zipper opened up a side enough I could move easily in it. I removed the second layer of the dress, substituting it with a black wrap Aunt Kathryn had kept in her bag, for me, it covered half of my shoulders, and as far as my elbows, going around my torso snugly. I also changed my heels for a pair of simple, black ballet-like flats. Pretty nice for an alternate attire, if I said so myself.

Philip Coulson, one of the two Agents who had apparently had my aunt as a superior officer in the past, was the one who guided me to the corner of the helicarrier where Loki awaited in his glass-cage after lunch. He looked no different than he had the day before, not since he'd vanished his golden armor, in any case. There was no visible reaction in him the moment I stepped into the room, the guards leaving immediately, silently (they apparently had their orders). I knew the Director, my Aunt, and a number of others were watching on the bridge, thanks to the cameras all around, but I cared little for that.

"You know you don't have to do this if you don't want to, right?" Philip asked me one last time.

I nodded, not actually answering him. I knew, of course I did; and while I was extremely nervous, a part of me really wanted to talk to the self-acclaimed god again. So I just nodded at him and stepped fully into the room, allowing the door to close behind him.

It was quite obvious the moment Loki became aware of me, even if his posture did not change in the slightest, standing as he was in the very center of the cell; but his eyes bore on me, so intense I couldn't repress a slight shiver... and somehow it felt good. As if my body welcomed something in that look, in the intensity of that stare.

"Good afternoon." I told him with a nod, choosing to be polite. "My name is Silbhé Salani..."

"This, I wasn't expecting." He admitted, afterwards biting his lower lip slightly, as if not liking that he'd revealed such a thing.

"You knew the people working in this vessel, and the government they work for, would want you interrogated at some point." It wasn't a question, and we both knew it.

"True." He nodded, almost shrugging. "However, you are not one of them. Which begets the question, why are you here?"

"The Director believes that since you already talked civilly to me once, we might be lucky again." I didn't see any point in hiding the truth from him.

Truly, if he was half as good as human mythology claimed, he either already knew or could find out quite easily himself... and something told me he was even better...

"The Director believes..." He repeated with a slight sneer. "And what about you?"

"I find myself curious about you." I told him with the barest hint of a smile.

"Do tell." He nodded, sounding almost eager to my ears. "What is it that the woman-child whom humans have compared to a Sorceress and a Goddess herself, find so curious about someone like me, a true god?"

"I'm still not quite sure about all that divinity thing." I admitted with a shrug as I began pacing in the catwalk before the cell.

"The views of your own human religion conflict with what I claim to be." It wasn't a question.

"Maybe, though I've always considered myself to be very open-minded." I told him. "You could be one of many manifestations of the God I believe in, or maybe an emissary, like an angel..."

"Or a demon." He finished for me.

"I do not think you're that." I shook my head. "Demons are evil. And while Lucifer has been said to have a penchant for dramatics, back in Stuttgart you hurt no one but the doctor... I'm not saying it was right, but you could have done so much worse, and you didn't."

"So you think me an angel then?" He seemed to really be getting into the conversation.

"Not that either." I shook my head. "Too much free-will for that, and I just don't see you as someone who truly wants to be... just good."

"Too boring." He admitted without any compunction. "So then, if I'm not your god, or a demon, or an angel, what am I supposed to be?"

"That, I do not know yet." I admitted, my own brow furrowing as I added, without truly thinking about it. "Though a part of me feels like I should..."

His eyes flashed, just for an instant, but it was enough to leave me breathless for a moment.

"So, you're here to be my interrogator, but you have yet to ask any questions that matter." He pointed out after a few seconds, beginning to pace himself.

"Since I've never done something like this, I don't actually know what I should be asking." I half-admitted, half-acted. "In any case, if I were to make any questions, would you answer them?"

"It depends on whether you ask the right questions." He replied.

"And what would those questions be?" I was beginning to find our exchange so very interesting, the way we said so much, and then nothing at all.

"Ah ah." He shook his head almost mischievously. "I'm not going to make it easier for you. No, I wonder what you might consider as the right questions..."

"How about this for a start?" I suggested, suddenly thinking of something. "I've been told that you attacked the doctor in Stuttgart, because you needed his access, something he had, I didn't actually pay any attention to what it was exactly. However, I've heard what everyone else is saying, how you will use the Cube, the Tesseract, to open a portal, to let an alien army into our world, to conquer us."

"Is there a question somewhere in there." He asked in a bored tone, though it was contradicted by the expression in his eyes.

"Why?" I finished.

"Why?" He repeated, either not understanding, or not wanting to answer.

"Why do you have any interest in conquering our world, the human race?" I clarified. "I mean, from what I understand with what I've read of mythology, gods care little for mortals, you see us as small, insignificant, our lives too short to mean anything to those like you who either live forever, or long enough that we see it as forever anyway." I took a deep breath, stopping to consider things a bit more. "It's not like you have to defend yourselves from us in any way. We didn't know you, your kind, anything like it existed until you made an appearance! In fact, most of humanity still has no idea."

"What's wrong with simply wanting to rule this realm?" Loki inquired.

"I just cannot see what you hope to gain from it." I insisted. "If you managed such a thing... the world is still big, too many nations, many different nations. God or not, I believe even someone like the Loki mythology has described would be hard pegged to keep the whole world under control. And it's not like we could ever become one single nation... something like that hasn't happened since biblical times so... What do you really hope to achieve by provoking a war between Earth and this alien race? It cannot be conquest, or not just that, in any case..."

"Such a rare gem you are..." The god whispered unexpectedly. "A true diamond hidden among all those pieces of coal..."

I realized he was complimenting me, which meant I was right in my theories. Wondered what the people on the bridge might think about them... they might even be angry I didn't bring the topic up with them before, except it hadn't actually occurred to me then, not until I was already talking to the pseudo-god.

"So, what is it then, the reason, I mean?" I insisted.

"I think I might have been wrong." Loki announced abruptly. "Maybe you are a good little S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent after all..."

"I care little about them." I didn't care much about their opinion on that. "And I doubt they care much about the question I just made. I believe people like them... they care more about the hows, how will you do things? How can they stop you?"

"Yet you care much about the why...?" He murmured, intrigued.

"Motivation, it says a lot about a person, human or not." I commented, suddenly thoughtfully. "There is this show on TV I really like, it's called Criminal Minds. The government agents there are profilers; they study a case: the victims, the conditions, the context, and put it all together to get an idea of the criminal, all from what he's likely to look like, his age, physical condition, and even the kind of job he might have; they also tend to work out the kind of people they might attack and why they do it."

"This is not a tv show." He pointed out grimly.

"I know." I nodded. "I still think that if I could learn enough about your motives, I would be able to understand what you're really trying to do..."

"Really...?!" His tone went from disbelieving to sarcastic in an instant. "You think you know me? That you stand a chance at knowing me?" He snorted. "The stupid fool standing on the bridge of this vessel with the Director of your so-called Agency and the bunch of would-be heroes has called himself my brother for a millennia and he knows nothing about me, the real me! What makes you think you've got a chance, at all, in succeeding where he's failed for fifty times the years you've lived?"

"I don't know." I admitted with a little sigh. "But I'm nothing if not persistent."

"And very curious, maybe even too curious... tell me, what do you hope to gain from this? From any of this? Do you think your little human friends wil be able to stop me?"

"That's not something I really need to worry about."

"And what, do tell makes you so confident about that?"

"Because if you really wanted our world to burn... it would be on fire already." I rolled my eyes. "You know, I studied mythology in college, a few years ago... there's quite a lot I've forgotten, too much even, but I do remember that Loki was well-known for being the God of Mischief..."

"...and Lies." He finished for me. "Do not forget that part."

"I haven't, though it's of no relevance to the point I'm trying to make."

"And what is that point?"

It had been a while since my arrival, and by that point he'd stopped pacing, choosing to lay almost languidly against the glass wall across from where I was perched on the metal railings of one of the catwalks leading to the cell... cage, whichever. He seemed to truly be enjoying our exchange, and if I were to be perfectly honest, so was I.

"God of Mischief... while I think most would consider it a joke of a title, I think it holds some true importance. Bearing such a title, it's not just a matter of being able to make jokes, or play pranks, it's also a matter of planning them... strategizing. Logic would dictate then that you are a decent strategist at the very least, though I'm quite sure you're much better than that..."

"Does all this ego-stroking have a point?" He might have interrupted, but I knew he was still enjoying the 'ego stroking'.

"Yes, you are a strategist, a very good one, I'm sure. However, starting a war on Earth isn't exactly what I would call a sound strategy. If you've researched at least the basics of human history you must know the consequences starting such a war would have. Even if that alien army takes down the pseudo-heroes standing right now on the bridge, and every Agent on this vessel, it's not like humanity will just surrender. Others will rise and fight; individuals with remarkable abilities, like the X-Men and other metas, and even average humans. And if that proves not to be enough... well, the UN might insist on disabling missiles but I'm quite sure at least some nukes must still exist, and not just under American jurisdiction. The war that would come of that... the planet would be ravaged by it all. By the end you would have no planet and no race, nothing at all. Thus, conquest cannot be your plan..." I took a deep breath before jumping into the craziest part of my theory. "Which means that something else is going on. Something we cannot see, beyond what's happening right now, most likely connected to whoever is giving you the alien army... and quite probably something that, unless stopped in time, will be a lot worse than an attempt at conquering our planet..."

For a few seconds not a word was spoken. I was unsure if I'd gotten it all hilariously wrong, or so right the pseudo-god was about to go off on me, and then... then he began clapping.

"Oh that is... priceless, remarkable, truly." He said in a tone that seemed to mix cold honesty with something else I couldn't fully point out. "Such sharp eyes, and a quick mind, especially for someone so pitifully broken inside..."

"What...?" I hadn't seen that one coming. "Broken? What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about..."

"No I do..."

"I'm talking about the hole in your memories, in your heart, in your very soul!" He interrupted me. "You can feel it, can't you? Can you feel that void...?"

"What do you know about it?" I jumped off the railing, facing him directly through the glass. "What do you know about my missing memories? About me?!"

"Everything..." The sole word was said with such intensity I couldn't breathe...

"Do you have something to do with it?" I asked next, growing increasingly desperate. "Is that why you passed by me in the House of Art? Why you did not hurt me even when I defied you on the street? Is that why I feel this instinct inside me, screaming at me, every time I look at you?!"

He did not answer, but I did not need him to, the answer was written in the very tension charging the air all around me, around us.

"Why can't I remember?!" My voice came out as a wail.

For a number of very long, very painful seconds, not a word was said. I was on my knees, not even sure when exactly my legs had stopped holding me, panting, fighting to take in a breath, and yet it didn't seem enough, no matter what I did... the despair was so great.. I was probably hyperventilating, my heart beating too fast, my lungs not working quite right...

"Breathe..."

The word, the voice, it was almost compelling; but it did its job. I managed to get control of my breathing, and eventually my mind.

When I could finally open my eyes again and actually see clearly, Loki was crouched inside the cage, in the point closest to where I still knelt, looking at me with an expression that could almost be called... worry?

"Why don't you ask that oaf who insists on calling himself my brother what happens when one of us makes nice with one of you?" He suggested to me.

His voice was quiet, enough that, had I been in my five senses at the time, I would have realized he'd made sure the cameras didn't pick up on it. But in that moment I was just too exhausted to think too hard about it.

Suddenly I felt a pair of arms behind me, helping me back onto my feet. It took me a few seconds to realize it was Phil. He got me out of the room, and then back to the quarters Aunt Kathryn and I had slept in the previous night, where she was already waiting for me. I didn't say a word, not to him, or her; too tired to even think about anything that had been said and done. I just laid down and went to sleep.

xXx Kathryn's POV xXx

"Why can't I remember?!"

No matter what I did, how I tried to busy myself, I just couldn't get that heart-breaking cry (wail) out of my head. It had been a while since I'd last seen my niece so out of control, but I could still remember it, I could still remember that day...

It was late summer of '09 and Silbhé had just returned home after her two-month stay in Europe, half the time in Norway, the other half in Germany, she had reinforced her knowledge in several topics, including the local languages. She would be leaving for Norwich University in just two weeks for her second year of grad studies, and so I was enjoying the time we had together until then. The night before she'd left me in the drawing room after we'd shared some apple pie and cold water with lemon, while cuddling together on the biggest couch, watching one of our favorite TV shows: Criminal Minds. It was something we enjoyed a lot, our shared time. She had retrieved some lemongrass tea (her favorite) and a couple of chocolate chip cookies, said they were her midnight snack, before leaving for her bedroom.

Next morning I had an early shift at the hospital where I worked as a nurse, which ended turning into a double when some serious storms caused a traffic accident on the highway and there were just too many patients for me to leave. I left her a message in the answering machine (as she did not answer the phone) and continued working. After 24 hours straight working I was so tired I went to sleep on a bed in the hospital's break room.

I woke up mid-afternoon, taking a shower and changing into the set of clothes I had in my locker for occasions such as that one; then decided I might as well buy something in a small Italian restaurant just a couple of blocks from the hospital, a small apology to my niece for leaving her for over a day, especially without any warning.

"Silbhé!" I called the moment I stepped into the house. "I'm home sweetheart. And I brought dinner, some calzone, lasagna, and that garlic bread you like so much from Alfredo's..."

When I got no response I left the bags with the food on the kitchen counter, took a look out the window to make sure she wasn't in the garden (as that was one of her favorite spots) and went to the second floor. I imagined she was probably in the shower, or maybe even half asleep in the bath... it had happened before.

She was in her room, only not in the bathroom. Instead she was laying on the bed, deeply asleep. Which would have been perfectly normal for any seventeen-year-old... except her. My Silbhé did not take afternoon naps, she said they were a waste of time, time that was better used by reading, playing music, or even just discovering some new beauty in the world, time better spent living... still, I thought maybe she'd stayed up late the previous night, waiting for me, and that was why... and then, when I called to her, she wouldn't wake up...

I will never forget the absolute bone-chilling terror I felt when I called her name, repeatedly, with growing frenzy, shaking her shoulder, and eventually her whole slight frame, yet she wouldn't wake up, she just kept breathing deeply, sleeping...

She woke later that evening, after I'd spent over two hours sitting by her side, wondering if I should just call for an ambulance. Except I had no idea what to tell them, her vitals were perfectly normal for someone in deep sleep, and it's not like she had a history of any kind of problems besides the Cancer, and that problem was supposed to be behind us!

In the end, that probably would have been better than the expression of absolute confusion and the... the emptiness in her eyes when she finally did wake up.

It took no time to realize pieces of her memory were missing, but even after three years I still had no idea of what the connection between some of those pieces was. I knew she did not remember Luka, her dear friend, the one I'd never actually met; she didn't remember how she'd gotten the beautiful black jade flute she always had with her, though that didn't stop her from playing it; she remembered her languages, but her studies in mythology, literature, and even some of the history (her mayors) were so broken it simply wasn't possible for her to return to Norwich that Fall.

It had been a year later, in an outing I insisted she joined me (the girl spent too much time coped up inside the mansion), we were in a new Karaoke-Restaurant-Bar in Portland. I don't even know what made her decide to get on the stage, it wasn't alcohol, she never drank, and she'd never been one to bow to peer pressure (and it's not like any of those present were her peers). However when she sang, Jason Walker's 'Echo', in fact, it was as if, for the first time since that awful evening... she were truly breathing, truly living.

Someone heard her in that bar, and later on I had someone looking for me at the hospital, saying they had an offer for the 'girl with the voice of a crying angel' (his words, not mine). I was even more surprised when Silbhé heard his offer and actually agreed to become a singer, it just didn't seem her style. There was also the fact that I had to quit my job at the hospital to become her manager and join her when she went to record, and later on her concerts and tours. And yet... seeing her come alive whenever she sang, even if it was just for a few minutes at a time, it made anything worth it. She had even explained it to me once, somewhat, right after she'd finished recording her very first song...

"Oh Auntie... I know you don't understand this but, the truth is, it's only when I'm singing that I feel I can truly breathe..."

After a while I pretty much grew used to the new lifestyle. I could have never expected for things to change all over again, especially not in the manner they did, that night in Stuttgart. It was supposed to be pretty simple, a gala in the House of Art, rich people donating for a worthwhile cause, a song from the 'Songstress' at some point... I wasn't sure who or when it was decided that would be a good 'artistic name' for my niece, but at least it was better than the first one they'd tried, which had made her practically catatonic for almost an hour straight (and I never found out why... though I suspected it was connected with everything else that just wasn't right with her, and hadn't been since that thrice-damned evening).

Then there was Stuttgart, that song I'd never heard before and yet seemed to be coming straight from my niece's heart and soul in a way I couldn't fully comprehend... that awfully violent man, the way he'd destroyed Dr. Heinrich's eye with that strange torture-like device, and whatever insanity made Silbhé think it was a good idea to actually stand against him... only he didn't hurt her, he was actually civil towards her!

I never expected to ever come in contact with S.H.I.E.L.D. again, not after I retired almost two decades before; regardless of how some people, like Maria might say that 'once S.H.I.E.L.D., always S.H.I.E.L.D.', and as good as a part of me might feel seeing some of them, like Maria, Phil and even Nicholas again, see what had become of them, I still considered myself a civilian. Also, the thing I definitely wanted the least was for my niece (my already painfully hurt... damaged niece, to end up involved). Then Romanova had to go and say Silbhé should be the one to get the self-acclaimed Norse-god to talk... worse even, Silbhé agreed, and even I knew there was a chance she could do it. She proved me right, in more than one respect, more than I ever expected, or wanted...

I will never forget the expressions of absolute shock, and later on careful consideration when everyone on the bridge heard her outline her theory to the 'prisoner'.

"That girl is a genius..." Stark murmured, obvious fascination in his voice.

"You truly have a remarkable niece, Kathryn..." Philip said quietly. "She would have made an outstanding Agent..."

"I already told you Philip, this is the last thing I ever wanted for her, this life..." I shook my head, not fully sure how to explain it. "Even with what has happened in the last few years, Silbhé is such an idealist, a dreamer..."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. would destroy her." Philip finished grimly.

I didn't answer for him, I didn't need to; we all knew how being an Agent changed us; and much as some may like that life, it still wasn't one we would wish for those we loved most. I also didn't tell him I wasn't even sure if there was anything in Silbhé left to be destroyed... the mere idea was too painful to even begin to contemplate.

And then things took a turn for the dark and insane, when the pseudo-god called Silbhé on her broken state, how did he even know about her missing memories and how she felt about them? Even with her usual demeanor, no one had ever been able to see how bad things truly were; some reporters has claimed at one point that she was chronically depressed, or something along those lines, but the gossip had died down soon enough, and no one believed it in the first place. I think it was simply that the public refused to believe that someone who was so famous, who should have everything she could ever dream of, could be truly depressed... it went against the idea that things like fame, money, etc. could give anyone true happiness (some of us actually knew better, but still). At the very least no one was bothering my niece anymore with uncomfortable questions about why her smiles never reached her eyes...

"Why can't I remember?!"

The scream was enough to make everyone watching the exchange through the screens flinch, or at the very least wince. Some turned to me immediately, searching for answers, wanting to know what was wrong with Silbhé, but my first priority was her, her and no one else, so I ignored them and rushed out of the room with Phil, who at least had the sense to want to help rather than get in my way. He managed to convince me to get back to the sleeping quarters we'd been assigned the previous night, and I at least trusted him enough to get my niece to me.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had enough decency not to bother me for the rest of the afternoon. They sent a junior agent with some dinner; I ate most of my part and then returned the half-full tray outside. There was no point in keeping it, as I had enough experience with Silbhé's breakdowns to know she wouldn't be waking up till the morning, and even then she might take longer to completely recover. She hadn't had that bad an episode in at least a year, and that worried me; but what bothered me the most was connected to what she'd screamed at the pseudo-god the previous day. Did he really have something to do with her missing memories?

As expected, Silbhé woke the next morning and I was lucky enough to be able to get her to drink a glass of cool water with some lemon juice; just enough to be sure she wouldn't dehydrate; she still refused to eat anything, though. After that she sat down in the darkest corner of our room, legs pulled tight against her chest and flute in her hands. She began playing.

Hours passed, until I heard a light knock on the door, I hurried to answer it, stepping out of the room quietly, before the noise could interrupt Silbhé (it might make her worse). Once the door was fully closed again I paid attention to my visitor, it was actually Phil.

"Is Miss Salani alright?" He asked softly.

"As well as can be expected." I answered honestly with a sigh.

"Has she... well... these breakdowns..." Phil, as gentlemanly as ever, had no idea how to phrase the question without sounding rude...

"She has had them before, yes, though not for a year now." I told him truthfully. "At first they were more common, and her trances afterwards would last for days on end, the first one lasted a full week, even..."

"You know, if she needs help..." He began, hesitant.

"The last thing Silbhé needs is a shrink." I said with more bite than I'd planned, softening my voice a second later. "It would do no good. In the first place, to truly be of help, a doctor needs to know what's going on, to understand it... how can we explain anyone things we don't understand ourselves? It's just not possible..."

"She said something yesterday, about missing memories..." he prompted.

"Yes, it's like, almost like selective amnesia, except there's no reason for it, and I have no idea what the connection between all the missing memories might be." I sighed. "Look, I'm quite sure you're not the only one wondering, Nicholas must be going out of his mind by now..." I shook my head, the last thing I needed in that moment was to worry about Nicholas Fury... "Let me take care of my niece today, I promise to explain what I can tomorrow."

"I suppose that would be alright." Phil shrugged. "In any case, we still have world-security matters to deal with. Natasha will be going in to interrogate the criminal today..."

"I wish her luck." I said honestly.

And yet, we both knew I didn't expect her to be successful at all, and neither did he.

xXx 3rd Person POV xXx

On Wednesday morning Silbhé woke up, ate most of the breakfast waiting for her in the tray, and actually expressed a desire to take a shower. She wasn't fully back together just yet, but it was definite improvement compared to how she'd been the day before, doing nothing but staring at the wall, hugging herself and playing low, mournful tunes with her flute every so often. Once Kathryn was convinced she would be alright, she took the cup of coffee (half-decent, though it was better than nothing) that the junior Agent had gotten her and made her way to the bridge. It was no surprise for her to find Director Fury, Sub-Director Hill, as well as Agents Coulson and Romanoff, Captain Rogers, Dr. Banner, Stark, and Thor waiting for her.

"Would you mind explaining your niece's amnesia now?" Nicholas asked straight out.

"Good morning to you too, Nicholas." Kathryn replied in a huff. "Hope you had a good night, I hardly slept a wink, but that's no surprise really, when Silbhé is unwell." He tone became even more tense as she added. "How did Agent Romanoff's interrogation go yesterday?"

"You know as well as I the answer to that." Nicholas almost hissed at her.

"Actually, no I don't; after all, I hardly left my niece's side yesterday." Kathryn retorted strongly. "However, I can make an educated guess..."

"He gave nothing." Romanoff clarified. "Matter of fact, he refused to say a single word to me. However, he kept demanding to see the Songstress. At some point he said 'Min nattergalen'... or something along those lines..."

There was a gasp, somewhere in the room, but no one cared too much about that.

"What does that mean?" Kathryn inquired.

"We don't know." Maria shook her head.

"I don't know, and I know more than twenty languages and dialects." Stark pointed out, he seemed particularly incensed about that.

"My niece might be able to help." Kathryn offered reticently. "She's fluent in a dozen languages herself. Even with everything she has forgotten, she might know what those words mean, even if you do not know how it's written, as long as you can pronounce them as he did."

Romanoff nodded, they might not be able to research the phrase better as they had no idea how to write it down, but she could certainly repeat it out-loud.

"Kathryn..." Phil called quietly.

"Yes, Silbhé's amnesia..." She took a long sip from her coffee, let out a breath and began the explanation. "It happened three years ago. I'm not even sure what happened, actually, I got back home after pulling a double shift and sleeping at the hospital, when I got there she was laying on her bed, she wouldn't wake up... her vitals didn't show anything being wrong, so I refrained from calling an ambulance, she woke up a little over two hours later... it was awful... she looked so confused, so lost... she had no idea why she'd been sleeping in the afternoon, or what she was doing before going to sleep. The last thing she remembered was watching the latest episode from Criminal Minds with me, while eating some apple pie, and that had been two nights before!" She took a breath to calm down. "When she began to get truly hysterical I told her she had been ill, had spent most of the last two days sleeping."

"That worked?" Hill was surprised.

"Only temporarily." Kathryn admitted. "In the following days we realized she'd forgotten a lot more than just the last two days... there were small things: like time she would spend in the rose patch in the garden, or some songs she liked; but so much was far more important, and worrying: like parts of her studies; she didn't remember why she'd learnt some of the languages she knew, though she could still speak them; there were serious holes in the time she spent studying abroad: in Britain, Greece, Italy, Norway, Germany, France, Ireland, Spain... the black jade dizi flute she has, she doesn't remember who gave it to her, she doesn't even remember her best friend Luka, and those two had been tight since she was ten or eleven! I don't even know what all those memories have in common! Why forget all those things? Why those things and not others? I don't understand and it frustrates me so..."

"There is one other thing bothering me." Captain Rogers commented thoughtfully. "How did Loki know any of it? About your niece's amnesia? And the way he described it 'the hole in your memories, your heart, your very soul'..."

"Do you think he's involved?" Romanoff inquired, contemplating the possibilities.

"Or he might at least know something about it..." Banner suggested. "Do you know anything about this... Thor...?"

It was until then that they all turned to look at the blonde self-acclaimed god of Thunder, the expression on his face was like nothing any of them had ever seen: there was a mix of shock, horror, and something that none of them could fully comprehend.

"Thor..." Phil began, worriedly.

"Nattergalen..." The blonde practically gasped, his pronunciation perfect. "My brother called the Lady Songstress, min nattergalen?"

"Yes, exactly like that." Romanoff nodded. "You know what it means?"

Thor didn't answer, instead turning to look at the brunette former Agent very seriously.

"Is she really the Nightingale?" He asked in an almost hollow tone of voice.

No one understood the significance of the word, but still, Kathryn reacted instinctively to it. Eyes widening radically as she immediately looked, around as if making sure someone, her niece, wasn't there yet, that she hadn't heard...

"Don't ever say that word in my niece's presence." Kathryn practically hissed. "It may be yet another thing I do not understand, but the fact remains that the last time she heard it she went catatonic for an hour, and then had one of the most serious breakdowns she's ever had." Abruptly, she noticed something else. "How do you even know that name anyway?"

"That's what my brother said..." Thor revealed quietly. "The words he spoke, they're in the Old Tongue, you humans know the language as Norse... Min nattergalen, means 'my nightingale'..."

"Only one person that I know of has ever called Silbhé that..." Kathryn stop dead in her tracks, as the truth abruptly dawned on her. "Loki is Luka?! Loki is my niece's best friend, whom she can't remember? And why can't she remember him?!"

"That's what I would like to know too..." A voice called quietly from the entrance.

Everyone in the bridge turned as one to see Silbhé standing right there, she was wearing a light top, dark pants and jacket (with legs and sleeves rolled up several times to leave feet and hands free), she also wore her own flats. Some were surprised to see her blonde hair as perfect as always, in two ponytails (no sign of her having just showered).

"Silbhé!" Kathryn called, alarmed.

The Songstress directed a short, apologetic look at her aunt before turning away from her and focusing completely on the Thunderer; walking towards him with a fluidity no one had ever seen on her outside of a stage.

"Lady Songstress..." Thor murmured quietly, standing before her.

He was uncomfortable, and the young woman before him could sense that, somehow; in the same manner she'd instinctively known Loki's intent before.

"He told me to ask you..." She murmured quietly but with an odd, quiet power, something never before seen. "Said to ask you what happens when one of you makes nice with one of us... But I don't have to ask, do I? It's quite obvious..." She signaled to herself. "This is what happens, this is what happened. He was my friend, and you saw fit to destroy me simply for that friendship..."

"We didn't..." Thor began.

"Then what do you call ripping years of memories from someone's mind?!" Silbhé demanded hotly. "What do you call forcing your way into someone's head and taking away what does not belong to you? And while, for obvious reasons, I do not remember it, I'm quite sure I wasn't alright with you stealing my memories like that!"

"You did not fight..." Thor murmured quietly.

"What...?" The gasp was general from everyone in the room.

"I will not deny what was done." The god told her. "But we did not force you..."

"Because she would have managed much if she'd fought..." Romanoff scoffed.

"True." Silbhé shrugged. "I doubt you cared much. After all, I'm but a little mortal girl..."

"There is nothing wrong with being mortal..." Thor began.

"Well I'm quite sure I did not give my permission for you to violate my mind!" Silbhé snarled. "I'm also sure you've cared little about what your actions might have cost me... you destroyed me!" She did not allow him to say anything. "Have you any idea, what it feels like to wake up at one point and feel like a part of your life is gone?! To know there are pieces of your memories, pieces of you, missing, and you have no idea where they've gone, or why they're even gone?" She pulled the black jade flute out of the jacket's inner pocket. "I have this, I have no idea who gave it to me, or why, not even why I love it so much... I just know I do, and when I play it I feel peace... and when I sing... it's like my heart is screaming out things my mind cannot recall anymore. When you, your people did what you did three years ago, you took more than just the memories, you took everything that was connected to them, my knowledge, my feelings..." A tear fell down her cheek. "Many times, reporters all around the world have asked me why my smiles never reached my eyes, and I refused to answer. How could I ever tell them I did not even know what happiness was supposed to feel like?" She pointed at Thor. "That's what you did to me. You not only stole pieces of my mind, but also of my heart, of my very soul... you destroyed me..." She was fully crying by then. "This is what I am now... this broken shell of what I could be. And why? Because Loki chose to be my friend? What, in the name of everything that's sacred, is so wrong about two people choosing to be friends?!"

"There's nothing wrong about friendship..." Thor told the girl quietly, brushing tears off her face. "But a millennia ago, in the aftermath of the last inter-dimensional war, Odin Allfather declared that, while Midgard would always be under our protection, we were not to interfere in the lives of mortals, not for anything..."

"What kind of interference can friendship be?" Hill inquired, confused.

"I do not know." Thor admitted with a small shrug. "To be honest, at the time I didn't even think about it. The law was the law. It was discovered that Loki was too close with a human, one who knew the truth about him, and that wasn't how things were supposed to be. The Allfather declared her memories had to be taken, and that was that..."

"That was that?!" Kathryn hissed, slapping the table. "You decide to tear my niece's mind into pieces and 'that's that'?! What kind of people are you?! What gives you the right to play with our minds, our lives, as if we were nothing more than your toys?!"

The silence that followed was thick and full of tension. For several long minutes not a word was said, though Kathryn's fury was obvious, and echoed in most of the people in the room; Thor, however, managed to ignore it all, focusing on no one but the girl before him.

"There is one thing that doesn't fit." He told her quietly.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was hollow, tired.

"I was there when your memories were taken..." He revealed quietly, stopping the young woman before she could cry out again. "Father believed that if Loki tried to stop the sentence from being fulfilled, I was the only one who would have the power to stop him... and yet, he didn't fight it, and neither did you. I don't know why, I honestly was expecting him to at least try." He shook his head. "I will never forget the moment the mage took your memories, the way you collapsed, or how Loki held you afterwards, until I forced him to let go, when we left... however, when I talked to the mage, he said that there had been very few memories, and none too strong. He believed that, even if the memories hadn't been taken, you would have forgotten Loki eventually; he was also very confident that you wouldn't even notice there were memories missing..."

"But I did!" Silbhé finally interrupted him. "How could I not? There are holes in my memory spanning six years in my life! Some pretty big! How could losing those many memories not affect me? How could you consider that as little..."

The girl's mouth closed wth an almost audible snap, as her own words echoed in the back of her mind, repeating over and over again:

"Logic would dictate then that you are a decent strategist at the very least, though I'm quite sure you're much better than that... much better than that..."

Silbhé surrendered to instinct as she spun around, slapping Thor's hands away when he tried to hold her and ignoring everyone as she dashed out of the bridge and down the hall. She had no idea where she was going, hadn't exactly paid much attention the last time... but she could still feel, deep inside, like some kind of connection, pulling her in the right direction.

Everyone in the bridge just watched her go in shock, no idea whatsoever where she might be going, or what might be on her mind; except maybe one person, the one who knew her better than anyone else. And all she did was sit in her place, waiting in silence...

xXx Nightingale's POV xXx

I kept tripping and slipping as I ran (I'd never been very good at running) especially when I tried cutting corners; but I did not care, in that moment I cared about nothing except reaching the cell, the glass cage where the God of Mischief awaited.

When I finally reached the right door I was half-aware of the fact that there were several guards standing right outside, and none of them were looking at me, as if they couldn't see me... I chose to ignore them, slipping inside the room and locking it behind me, before spinning around once more to face the 'prisoner'. He was standing in the very center of his cage, in an almost martial stance, staring straight at me...

"You're a strategist..." I whispered, breathless.

"Yes..." He nodded, waiting.

"Thor says I didn't fight when my memories were taken..." I said next.

"Yes..." His voice almost sounded pained as he confirmed that.

"And you're a very good strategist." I insisted.

"The point being..." He seemed even more anxious than I in that moment.

"I am not stupid, the only reason I wouldn't fight is if I had a plan, if I knew there was still a way to win, a hidden ace..." I began rambling, before cutting myself off.

I walked in silence until I stood right in front of the cage, open palm pressed to the glass.

"You have my memories." It was not a question, and we both knew it. "And I want them back."

"You had but to ask..." He whispered.

In an instant his hand was holding mine and I was pulled inside the cage, as if the glass wasn't there, had never been there. For an instant I panicked, until I decided it simply didn't matter, there were others, far more important things to focus on.

Loki didn't wait a single second more than absolutely necessary, the moment I was fully inside the cage with him he pressed our foreheads together, and the world around me disappeared.

Yes, the whole 'missing memories' didn't last long, though it will still have consequences you will see in the rest of the chapters... as well as an explanation of what exactly happened when Nightingale was seventeen...

As always then fic will be updated every other week.

Poster and set of wallpapers can be found in my deviantArt account (I go by Princess-Lalaith there).

If any of you follow my other MCU-verse, Menel, consider this as the official notification that a longer version of it is in the works. Menel itself will remain as is. A series with the same name is being worked on, the first part will be called "Lokidottir" the first three or four chapters will be the original Menel expanded on (more and longer scenes, especially some detailing Skye's past), then a somewhat modified version of the original story (adapted to fit with episode 1.14 TAHITI) and then connecting that to what happens afterwards in the series.