Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers; I do not reap any benefit from this story. All characters are credited to Stan Lee and Marvel.

"…and so," Tony said, his champagne glass pushed high towards the ceiling of his manor, Pepper gracefully standing behind him wearing that sideways crooked grin she wore so well. He'd been thanking people for about twenty minutes, namely himself, for Stark's latest scientific achievement that almost no one could remember or think of how to phrase. It was one of those accomplishments that didn't roll off of the tongue, but one that people held onto because they'd never be known for helping the scientific community again. "Here's to our achievement…"

Tony wasn't even saying it, the specific name. He hadn't uttered the phrase all night, and instead maybe mentioned it once or twice to someone who gave a damn or could pretend to care so they could feel special and important. But it was an accomplishment, again, that would never stick in the brain. The cows who wanted to gobble it up mindlessly couldn't spit it back out the second they turned to brag. And it was disgusting, it was pointless, especially to Natasha, who hung back with the people who couldn't find anything Stark and his scientists worth a second glance. Clint in particular was Natasha's choice to loiter by. He just kept a dead stare at Stark, his mouth twitching every so often out of habit or…a need to say something. It was hard to decipher. Natasha couldn't tell anyway. She was just staring through Pepper and Tony as he droned on through some reasons this was important to the scientific community.

She sighed, keeping her eyes on Tony as she mumbled to Clint. "I don't know why we all had to come."

She could almost hear him swallow a laugh as he kept his mouth stationed in a casual frown. He turned his head to the side, glancing at the crowd around them with the mismatched Avengers scattered throughout. Bruce seemed to be comprehending what was going on, which wasn't a surprise. He smiled, nodding in Tony's direction as he raised his glance in agreement to whatever Stark had added on. Steve seemed to be confused as to what was being said but appeared to be struggling through it, as if it was almost too much for him to swallow but he kept taking bites of what Stark was throwing out there.

Natasha turned her head the other way, looking for something to capture her attention the way the rest of the guests had captured Clint's. There was a gentle murmur of laughter throughout the crowd as Tony let a name drop, probably his own, or made some snarky remark about some scientist's lack of contributions. And her eyes fell upon Thor. He stuck out in the room, not only because he was the largest but just his presence. It didn't match.

Thor seemed the most out of place there, his eyes searching over every crevice of the room for some sense of normalcy or familiarity. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, he was wearing some tuxedo Tony had paid for. He didn't belong there, and he felt it. And part of him didn't want to be there either. This world wasn't for him, this part of the world anyway. Not Tony's world.

And Natasha could empathize. This wasn't her world either. Maybe it had been once, in passing as she went through the motions as her past self, but even then it wasn't hers. It never really had been. Thor tugged at his cufflinks, she felt a bitter pang of understanding before she swallowed it down and turned back to Clint, who now was looking in her direction.

He shrugged at her. "Guess…because we're friends?"

"Are we though?" she mumbled into her champagne glass as she took a tiny drink. She and Stark might have had a few words, a mutual respect when it came down to it, but she wouldn't consider him a friend. He didn't know her or much of her inner workings. He knew what the world knew. And he could guess she was tough to get to know.

But that was as far as it got. And Natasha didn't consider that friendship. She considered that an acquaintance at best, someone she could have as company is she desired it, but not more than that. The only real friend she had was Clint.

There was a round of applause and Tony stepped down from the staircase, pulling Natasha from her thoughts. She turned back to Clint, who already was making his rounds to avoid any direct conversation with the crowd of smiling people, all politely mumbling about Tony or the achievement, though none offered a more specific phrase than 'this is truly revolutionary'. Natasha sighed into her champagne glass, feeling like a chameleon as she smiled at those who looked in her direction, offering a quiet hello in place of a real interaction, letting them glide past her like a shadow.

She turned back to Thor, who seemed to be avoiding all contact aside from a couple of gawky and appreciative stares from some older women as they walked past. No one could speak to him. They knew nothing about him. They figured he didn't understand and they didn't want to make him feel stupid, some might have said more stupid. That wouldn't be polite.

It was evident on their sympathetic faces and their hushed tones as they turned to each other and nodded in pity. Natasha could only stand there and grit her teeth under a closed lip smile as she read them all like books, knowing every judgmental and incorrect thought as it rushed through their minds second naturedly. She glanced at Thor again, who didn't even seem phased by their pity and their observing him. Instead he'd taken a seat on one of Stark's armchairs, staring down at his cufflinks, though he seemed to be lost in thought.

And Natasha wondered why. It wasn't her business, but she wondered what he was thinking about, what made him stare into his cufflinks, through them, through the ground and into the core of the earth. His gaze was intimate, hurt, but eons away. And no one who passed by seemed to notice, no one who passed by knew him at all. They probably thought he always did that, troubled with some past burden from his distant galaxy or something. They romanticized him, made him to be a tragic hero.

Natasha wasn't like that. She didn't find his brooding romantic, or tragic. She found it odd, out of place. Thor seemed to have an optimism about him at all times, a heroic nature that never seemed to die no matter how hard others made it for him to continue to live that way. And Natasha rarely saw him brood, rarely saw him in his own world. And she saw nothing good coming of it; when one only has time and their thoughts, the results are disastrous. One needed to separate themselves from their past.

You couldn't brood. You couldn't get caught up on yourself. It didn't matter.

She walked over to him, her long black dress gliding along the floor as she moved silently over, like a ghost. He didn't notice her until she was feet away from him. He turned his head up, his blue eyes settling on her almost apologetically, as if he was sorry she'd caught him having time for himself.

"Hey," she said, her emotionless voice gentler than usual, his inner pain now fractured, shattered and hard for her to shy away from. He was hurt, he was aching.

She didn't want to see it. "What's up?"

"It is nothing of importance to you," he said softly, straightening out his jacket as he stood up, towering over her as he tried to hide what was so evident. "It is a personal trouble, nothing more."

"You sure?" she asked again, her voice distant as she watched him move, trying to process what could have happened. She didn't want to know, but she couldn't help but ask.

"It is most kind of you to inquire, Natasha," he said, a weak effort of a smile on his face. "But it is a problem that you cannot help with. It is an ordeal with my brother…" he trailed off, his eyes moving from Natasha to above her, watching nothing as if it were a scene playing over and over again in his mind.

Natasha's brow furrowed as she ran through possible reasons Loki would be troubling him, the most obvious that he was planning something else, that he was coming back with another army, a bigger army. He was angrier, more hurt, he wanted more damage. She looked up at Thor. "What's happening? What is he doing—"

Thor read the worry and concern on her face and immediately attempted to soothe her fears while simultaneously attempting to defend his brother's honor. "Loki's actions towards Earth will not be repeated, I can assure you. He acted irrationally, but you needn't have an army formed against him."

"You can't fight him alone," Natasha countered, eyeing him with concerned agitation. Yeah, he was his brother, but he also tried to destroy the world with an army. Thor wasn't apt to fight them all off on his own. "It's not smart…"

"This is none of your concern," he said quietly, his tone attempting to hide his pain, his deep rooted pain he would not unveil to Natasha. He turned his head for a moment, looking back at her, almost bursting at the seams with emotion and hurt. He needed some release, but he wouldn't give himself one. "There is no battle for you to fight, I promise. This is nothing more than a mixture of regret, concerm…and distance."

Natasha nodded, not one to push boundaries and make someone confess how they felt. She was good at building walls and was good at breaking them down. But she also…she also knew what it was like, to have your own secrets. To want to keep your pain to yourself because you're scared no one would understand. She assumed that was why Thor kept that pain to himself.

She shrugged, her champagne glass glittering in the dimly lit room. She was one for hiding and repressing, for denying and keeping pain away from visibility as much as possible. And alcohol was usually a pretty good way to do that. And not champagne either, heavy alcohol was. Bad alcohol you could get for cheap and was so strong it might blind you.

They both needed an out, an escape from everything. And this was it. She looked at him, calmly addressing him with complete assurance in what she said. "Let's get a drink."

Thor didn't need much convincing. They slid out of the party and into her car, where they happened upon some bar on some street no one cared about, no one wrote songs about. It was dark, not too crowded, nothing more than a location for artsy kids that had money to spend and really nothing to prove. But the liquor was hard, it was cheap, it was a good place to just lose yourself and your pain. Natasha had only been here twice, and both times were to drown out fits of pain and rage that bubbled over and frothed like the sea in her mind.

She knew a good table in the back, in the darker part of the bar. She sat facing the door, and Thor facing her, each of them with their own glass of something. She watched him drink down whatever it was sitting in his glass like glue like it was nothing, pouring it back like he had no time left in this miserable world.

She'd been silent long enough, watching him. His pain pricked her, it drew her blood and her interest. "Where is he?" she asked stoically.

"Where is who?" Thor asked her, resting his fist on the table and leaning towards her.

"Loki."

He tensed. "That is none of your conc—"

"Bullshit," she said, taking her mug of gin by the handle and taking a long hard swig. She plopped the glass down, raising her brow and watching him inquisitively, waiting and watching him like he was her prey, waiting to see what he'd give away.

Thor looked at her drink then at her, almost impressed. "You can hold your drinks well for a woman your size."

She shrugged coolly, brushing the compliment off. "I'm Russian. It's in my blood."

He nodded slowly, a crooked smile playing on the corner of his mouth as he leaned a little inward. Thor pushed a sigh out, looking her direct in the eyes. "My burdens are not yours to bear."

"The well being of earth is a burden we can all share," she replied coolly, keeping his stare. "And if your brother is threatening that, and you're trying to protect him, now would be a good time to give that up."

He laughed slightly, shaking his head and sitting back in his seat. "Loki's interests no longer lie on destroying Earth," he said, his eyes downcast on the table as his smile wavered. "He only meant to injure me with his plans, and to prove something to our father…and now our father is holding him as a prisoner."

"He's making the right call," Natasha defended. "Your brother went on a genocide. He's not right."

"Loki acted recklessly and selfishly, and what he did was truly horrendous," Thor agreed, pulling himself from the dimmed, warm light that hung above them, sitting back in his seat. "But I do believe he can be redeemed. Our father will not give him that chance, I know that."

"Not everyone deserves that chance," she mumbled, taking another drink from her glass.

"Our father was willing to give me another chance," Thor countered, looking towards her. "I was once as reckless as Loki. I planned to wipe out planets and gain power through fear. Loki only was living up to my poor example. If anything, it's my fault—"

"Everyone can make their own choices," she said quickly, cutting him off from another defense of Loki. "You changed. So could he."

"It's not that simple for him," Thor bargained again for his brother, leaning again into the light. "You must understand, I do not condone what he's done. And he needs to be punished, but my father will never grant him a second chance. His fate is sealed, no matter how he changes."

She was silent, staring into her drink.

Thor watched her, waiting but she never spoke. "One should never be denied a chance to change," he continued, his broken voice he feared was falling on deaf ears, her eyes now lost in the drink in front of her. "You must underst—"

"I do," she cut him off breathlessly, her own world crumbling around her as she thought of Clint, as she thought of how he spared her life, how he gave her that chance. She whipped her head up, catching Thor's gaze. "I do…understand."

He could tell he hurt her, a swarm of guilt and sheepish apologies swarmed his heart and mind. "I-I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend you, Natasha."

She took a drink of her gin, watching him. "There's nothing here to offend," she breathed, past memories and feelings and instances slapping her eyes and brains like wild waves at the sea. Her mind was a storm, and she couldn't remember what to feel or what to say.

She just needed somewhere else to hide, something else to occupy her mind and just get rid of her…

"What would you do," she breathed, not knowing what she meant or where she was going with what she was saying. But she needed more, more to drown herself in, more to hide and bend and contort until she could build a house, a sanctuary for herself away from her past, her ghosts that reared their ugly heads.

"What are you asking," he inquired after a moment, finishing his drink as he watched her move, watched her fingers as they traced the top of the glass delicately, daintily. He thought of Jane for a moment, wondering where she was. He saw her only yesterday, and he couldn't remember what they'd even discussed.

It was something about her work, something about how overwhelmed she felt with it. Something like that.

She glanced at him. "You're in pain," she said simply, looking at him as she felt her breathing get heavier. "What would you do…to hide your pain?"

He took a moment, his thoughts of Jane fading as he looked at Natasha. There was something raw, aching about their whole interaction. It didn't make sense, it wasn't anything but just emotion and hurt. And she ripped his hurt from him, the pain he masterfully had made a second thought for years, since he was young.

It was all their, as was hers. And all they could do was sit there in agony and just twitch and try to deny what was evident. They were all nothing but need, nothing but confusion and need that was ignored too long and repressed and now was just searching for solace. And the solace came from the other's pain, from the other's loneliness and need to be heard.

But no one knew what to say; no one knew how to alleviate the pain and the strife and the years of tortured anguish that had been swallowed and compressed. And instead they just sat there, desperate to find something to keep, to hide in, to hurt in.

And all they had was each other, each other in an otherwise silent and empty, dark bar—world, that would never understand. That would never care. And all they could do was hurt, hide, and try to fix the other's pain through nothing more than giving the other a body to hide in for awhile.

It started out simple enough; there was a kiss that neither one of them could admit to initiating. And it wasn't even real, it was a gnashing and desperate attempt to suffice for the pain they now had exposed. He pulled her closer and she'd held on tightly, trying to make it enough. They both attempted to house the other's pain, take on their burden as they kissed, knotting their fingers in their hair and pulling at clothing and trying to touch every inch of flesh to make them feel less alone.

But it wasn't enough for them to hide in; they needed more. They needed to hide.

It wasn't logical, it wasn't right. Thoughts of Clint and Jane blurred together in a sea of pain as they found themselves sandwiched in the back of her car, just trying to find solace as they scratched and bit and fucked. It wasn't love making, it wasn't for pleasure. It was nothing more nor nothing less than fucking.

It was hard and it was painful, but it let them hide. It let them brood and bleed without putting bandages on to hide it.

And soon it was over. They were nothing more than sweaty rejects who couldn't look each other in the eyes as they buttoned shirts and pushed their hair back from their faces. There was nothing to talk about, there were wounds now they wouldn't open up.

She fumbled with her keys, jamming them into the ignition and driving him to Jane's. The ride was silent, awkward as the two just tried to understand what happened, tried to think of lies to cover up why they did it.

But there were none. And when they pulled up to Jane's, he looked at her for a long moment, waiting for her to speak. But she never did, she kept her eyes ahead of her.

And then he got out; he got out and walked into the house and then she headed for home.

He wouldn't say anything, she knew that. It meant as little to him as it did to her. It was just…it was what it was, and no more. And she would forget about it soon enough. She'd had sex for worse before, and she'd managed to hide those times safely within the vaults of her memory.

This wasn't anything more. She'd forget about it soon enough.