Alright well I didn't expect this story to get all the feedback it did. Granted only three people reviewed but it got a shite ton of favourites and story alerts. And you guys are lucky I messed up, that was supposed to be a oneshot.

For those of you who did leave a review, thank you so much.

You guys should review. It gets the creative juices flowing.

I own no one, and yeah.

Oh Mother Mary, take my hand

I'll be a saint; I'll be your man

I'll do most anything, y'cause I don't care ...

Oh Mother Mary, take my hand.

Warmth surges through him as he is thrust forward and returned to his position bound to the cell wall by chains. He's panting heavily and his skin is turning from electric blue back to its ivory tone. He does not know what just happened, but he knows he will soon enough.

He has no idea how it all worked. He was tortured, and his short-term memory erased. Cuts, burns, and bruises would decorate various parts of his body and he would be left to try and figure out how they had gotten there. Grotesque and horrid images would be the first to arrive in his mind. At night, when sleep finally came to him was when he would discover the atrocities his body was put through. It was both mentally and physically scarring. The nightmares were the worst part. In the middle of the night he would awake, screaming for bloody murder. The reenactment of what he had been through during the day haunted him for days after. And when he had lured himself into a false sense of security, thinking they had grown tired of him, he would be thrust back into his cell, knowing very well where he had just been.

He had not been the one to realize that he still possessed his magic inside the Asgardian prison but the Other. It was heavily weakened and it took much of his strength to create a duplicate of himself, but under brutal threat, he had no choice.

His head is hung and his left eye is aching. He makes an attempt to touch it but his arms are heavily bruised and the shackles around his wrists make it painful to move. Sleep threatens to come but he fights back the feeling. He knows what to do and where to go. It has been at least a month since he had gone to see her, and he would do anything to not fall asleep in that very moment.

Shutting his eyes, he concentrates on his position in the cell and after a few painful seconds he is sprawled on the floor. He winces and bites his lower lip in order to suppress a cry. The pain subsiding slightly, he turns to see a duplicate of him in his place, seemingly chained to the wall.

Slowly he stands, somewhat dusting himself off. He sighs and moves to unlock the cell, which he does with ease and swiftly disappears into the shadows and out of sight.

He drops into Midgard exhausted. Dark clouds fill the sky while small rays of moonlight manage to find their way through. Light raindrops fall upon his tired face as he sluggishly moves through the streets of New York rapidly switching from his Asgardian prison attire to what Midgardians consider normal clothing.

With a painful snap of his fingers his cuts and bruises disappear, but it is only an illusion. He can still feel everything all too well. He runs his hands through his hair, adjusting any loose strands to their proper place. He shuts his eyes as he waits for a streetlight, the woman beside him giving him an odd look. He sees her, and he opens his eyes.

He knows where she is, and so he waits. He calmly walks along the streets as fast as his bruised legs will take him. Upon reaching his destination he sits with his back leaning on right wall of the Stark Tower. His knees are brought up to level with his face and he has his face buried in his hands. His mind is blank, and he is grateful for that.

A sudden light pressure on his shoulder causes him to jump slightly. His head shoots up to meet with the source of it. His automatic glare instantly softens and he stares at a small boy of about eight years, mouth agape. The boy is small; he wears a blue and green striped shirt and a pair of jeans. His raven hair is at about his ears, and his eyes are a bright green.

"Are you okay, mister?" the boy asks.

"Yes, I am well." The Asgardian's voice comes out in a whisper.

"Johnny! Come here!" the boy smiles at him before running off to his mother. He can only watch as the small boy is embraced by both his mother and father. Distant memories are pushed aside as soon as they appear in Loki's mind. He attempts to stand and a few painful grunts later he is nearing her car.

She steps into her car, not bothering to look in any direction but forward. Her annoyed expression softens as she exits the parking lot and drives onto the street. It is only when she turns to look through her rear view mirror that she feels someone in the passenger seat. Within a matter of seconds she draws her pistol from her jacket and shoots him directly between the eyes.

"You can't exactly sneak up on me either, you know." She turns, expecting to find a bleeding Asgardian but furrows her brows when her eyes are met with nothing but a bullet hole in the glass window.

A chuckle is heard from behind her and he leans forward from the back seat, "I've missed you, too." His breath is ice on the skin of her neck.

"What do you want." she hisses, mentally cursing herself for not having guessed he put a duplicate in the passenger seat.

"I am in need of nothing. I-" he smirks, "Actually. I have come to take you elsewhere."

"Not on your life."

He is thrown to the left as she makes a harsh right turn and he raises his head to meet the barrel of her pistol. She immediately scans him for any possible weaponry he may have on him. He wears a black jacket much like hers, a white shirt and jeans. Once again, human.

He stares up at her, his lips forming a small smirk as he watches her eyes flicker up and down his body. She opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by his hand rapidly taking a hold of her wrist.

Her world begins spinning, but this time there are vibrant colours and flashing images of things she has never seen before. She suddenly feels herself being dropped onto what feels like poorly paved cement. Her body aches and her head feels as if it will implode. She groans as she's off of the ground before she can make any attempt to look around. A pair of skinny arms carry her bridal style down a staircase. Her head feels as if it will implode. She shuts her eyes tightly, hoping it will make the headache cease and she will be ready to attack upon their arrival to wherever it was they were going. The inside of her eyelids illuminate as he enters a brightly lit room.

She is set down upon a sofa and she opens her eyes to another beautifully decorated place, much like the first place he had taken her to. She looks down at herself; she still wears the same clothing as before. Looking around at her surroundings, she spots him at the bar area. His lanky frame is leaning across the wooden bar apparently speaking to the bartender, he's shaking his head.

She looks around and there are two large doors leading to the outside world. Her first instinct is to run, but her logic tells her that she has no way of knowing where she is. Surely someone must have a cellphone she can use to call somebody. As she stands and turns to leave an arm grabs her by the waist and slightly tips her over. Her eyes meet with his now dull emerald eyes. They lack something much more important than their shine, he's not the same. She knows this.

He grins at her, "Leaving so soon?"

"Why am I here?" She hisses, noticing they have attracted some attention.

He brings her upward and upon releasing her he shrugs, "Why I was just in need of company. If you do not wish to be here you may leave. I'm sure you will find the surrounding area to your liking."

She turns and walks out into the streets before he can say another word. Familiar symbols on various signs spell out words to her and she gasps. She is in Moscow, Russia. He had taken her across the globe in a matter of seconds. That meant he still possessed his special abilities, and that meant he was still dangerous. However as she had turned to leave she had noticed the saddened expression on his face as she left. And those eyes. They had changed so drastically in very little time. There is a small fraction of her that wishes to go back and find out what troubles the demi-god.

Her logic tells her it is best to leave things as they are. She soon gets a hold of a phone and calls Clint. He doesn't sound angry despite the fact that she had woken him up. Within a few hours she soon sits beside her friend inside an airplane headed back to New York. The archer had not hesitated in boarding the next flight to Moscow. When he asks what she was doing there, she just says she had gone to have some drinks with a friend. She assumes he'll believe it was a mission. And he does.

Clint falls asleep, his head leaning on her shoulder and she opts to do the same. Her consciousness slowly fades and she soon finds herself back by the lake. She's looking into the demi-god's face again, tears are flowing down his face and his seemingly dead eyes are pleading for help.

"Please..."he whispers as a dark light emerges from the ground and her body jerks violently as she wakes from the nightmare. Clint asks her if she is okay. She nods and soon succeeds in her attempts to fall asleep once again.

She continues to dream of the demi-god.