A/N: A belated happy new year to all of you. I hope you are faring well this year. One resolution is to get this story finished this year, which, hopefully, won't be too hard. We'll see how it goes anyway, a year feels like plenty of time and then it all seems to disappear. Hope you enjoy this chapter - let me know what you think!

The Interloper

by Flaignhan

Natasha releases the breath locked in her lungs. She has been so used to seeing Loki in his normal form inside the hotel suite, and their trips out have so often involved Loki hiding his face or directing his attention elsewhere, that, caught in the moment, she hadn't recognised him when he had walked through the door. She's amazed she didn't hear the door to the main suite open, but there's every chance that Loki took advantage of one of Sveltzer's screams to break the lock.

"He still hasn't told me very much at all," Natasha says sadly to Loki, who frowns, shakes his head, and tuts disapprovingly.

"Oh come now, Mr Sveltzer, we can't have that, can we?" He sits down on the ornate armchair in the corner of the room, resting his elbows on the delicately carved wooden arms, his legs splayed apart in a lazy fashion. His mouth curls into a very recognisable smile, and Natasha knows he's ready for a show.

"Last chance," she says to Sveltzer. "I'm not kidding, last chance or it's gonna get worse."

Sveltzer closes his eyes gently, and Natasha gives him a couple of seconds' respite before she loses her patience and snaps his index finger. As he screams, Loki's smile broadens, and his eyes meet Natasha's. He gives her a look that plainly says not long now, but Natasha decides to finish with a flourish, breaking Sveltzer's knuckles without saying another word to him, before she gets a good grip on his thumb.

"You gonna let me have the full set?" Natasha asks loudly over the sounds of his sobs. "Or two full sets?"

"It was just some hick!" Sveltzer says in a panicked rush, his voice cracked and strained. "He found the spheres, four of them! We have four!"

"And what are you doing with them?" Natasha demands.

"You've got the notes, haven't you?" Sveltzer spits. "You know more than I do about how they work!"

"The notes are useless. Your scientists are useless. They die before they learn anything of value." She tightens her grip on his thumb

"I know that they recharge," Sveltzer says quickly.

"Forget that," Natasha says, shaking her head. "What were you planning on doing with them?"

"We wanted to understand how they worked," Sveltzer tells her, his words coming quickly as long as she maintains her pressure on his thumb. "We wanted to see what they were made of."

"And then, after you had your little study session?" Natasha presses, waiting for something of value to come out of his mouth. So far it's all been nonsense, and she's not sure whether he's trying to fool her into thinking he's an idiot, or whether he really is one. After this evening's surprises however, she won't be taking any chances.

"We were going to sell. We weren't getting anywhere with them and there were a couple of guys looking to buy. Super smart, great credentials, very highly qualified - "

"And likely on the payroll of a terrorist organisation," Natasha adds with a shrug of her shoulders. She shakes her head in disbelief. "You have lethal weapons that you don't understand, on American soil, you think it's a good idea to sell them to the highest bidder?"

"They were going to pay three billion - " His sentence is cut short by the scream that tears through him as Natasha jerks his thumb, a loud crack cutting through the air. Sveltzer begins sobbing again, his face screwed up in pain.

"Oh dear," Loki says softly. He gets up from the chair and approaches the bed, crouching down in front of Sveltzer so he can speak to him in a soft, ominous voice. "Not the smartest thing to tell my good lady wife. She very nearly died because of your stupidity and your greed. She's angry. As am I. Don't try and put a price on it."

"She's not even your real wife," Sveltzer mumbles. "She's not even your real wife…"

Loki pauses, then a wicked grin spreads across his features. "No," he says, "But can you imagine how much fun we'd have if she were? What I wouldn't give to be in your position right now…"

Natasha rolls her eyes, and drops Sveltzer's useless left hand back onto the bed. He lets out a quiet whimper, bringing his arm closer to his body, but when Natasha closes her fingers around his right wrist, he tenses up, struggling beneath her, still labouring under the delusion that he's going to be able to throw her off of him.

"Give me names, Max. You give me names, and I won't even break your pinkie, okay? That's a promise." She pauses, then smiles to herself, before adding: "A pinkie promise."

"Ross," Sveltzer says in resignation. "Alexander Ross, and Stephen Tremaine."

"And where were you planning on meeting them?" Natasha asks. Sveltzer doesn't answer immediately, and Natasha grits her teeth, impatience surging through her. She takes his little finger in her hand, poised to snap it. "Talk to me Max," she says, her tone dripping with boredom. "You're running outta time here."

"Liechtenstein," Max says without hesitation. "Liechtenstein. There's a hotel in Vaduz, we were going to meet there in a couple of days."

Natasha looks across to Loki for a second opinion. She doesn't think a man like Sveltzer, who has no idea what cricket is, would have ever heard of Liechtenstein, let alone Vaduz, if he didn't have business there. He could have named any big city in any European country, but he chose little old Liechtenstein, tucked away next to Switzerland, a tiny little tax haven for those who can't bear to contribute to their own societies.

Loki nods minutely, and she trusts his assessment. He's got a better view of Sveltzer's face, and he knows a lie when he sees one, especially if it's coming from a source as pitiful as Max Sveltzer.

"What's the name of the hotel?" Natasha asks.

"I don't know, but it's in my email, I'll get it for you."

"No need," Natasha says, "Lucas can get it."

Loki shakes his head, just a fraction, and Natasha frowns, then continues on. "But we'll deal with that in a little while. Now," she carefully lifts her knee off of his back, and he heaves in a deep breath, his lungs wheezing as he tries to pull in as much oxygen as he can. "I'm going to put you in the bathroom, along with your friends, do you understand me?"

Sveltzer nods.

"And somebody will come and collect you tomorrow, all right?"

"Why not now?" Sveltzer croaks. "If you're going to have me killed, just - "

"We're not going to have you killed," Natasha tells him. "Not if you cooperate."

There is a soft knock at the door, and before Sveltzer can even think about calling out for help, Natasha shoves a fistful of the bedclothes into his mouth, pushing more and more in until he begins to cough.

"It's just me," Loki says, staring at her meaningfully. Natasha frowns, then looks down at Sveltzer, before drawing her fist back and slamming it into his head. He's out cold immediately, and with that, Loki's image flickers and vanishes.

Natasha gets up, heading quickly out to the main suite and crossing the room until she reaches the door. She takes a quick glance through the peep hole then pulls the door open, stepping aside to let Loki enter before anybody outside sees. He drops his disguise immediately and the first thing she notices is that he's soaking wet, his hair clinging to his forehead, his shirt sticking to his skin. His jacket is nowhere to be seen, and nor is his bow tie, but he is, apparently, unconcerned by that.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his brow creased in concern. He reaches out a hand to touch her face, his thumb gently wiping away the drying trail of blood left by her split lip.

"Fine," she says softly, then clears her throat. "What happened to you?"

"A couple of idiots ambushed me while I was looking for you. Trying to trace this," he says, taking her by the hand and running his thumb over the ring on her fourth finger. "I wasn't paying attention because I was concentrating and…" He inhales deeply, his jaw jutting out in a sulky expression, his frustration with himself still lingering. "They thought they could drown me," he says with a shrug, his expression changing to one of mild amusement. "Imbeciles."

"What did you do to them?" Natasha asks, a chill sweeping through her. This could be it. This could be them finished. This could be the end of her career.

"I let them drag me into a quieter street," he says, his brow twitching with displeasure. "And then I…well, I might have used a little more force than necessary, but nobody saw."

"They're dead?" she breathes, her heart standing still, mid-beat.

Loki shakes his head. "No," he says defensively. "Not even a nasty accident. I can follow the rules sometimes you know."

Relief sweeps through her, and her heart resumes its thudding in her chest. She lets out a sigh of relief, and isn't even irritated when Loki's mouth twists into a smug smirk. "What have you done with them?" she asks.

"They're hidden behind an illusion," Loki tells her. "Unconscious for now, but they won't be discovered until I decide to lift it."

Natasha nods, then glances across to the bedroom. "Come and help me move them," she tells him.

To give hime his credit, Loki does everything she asks without complaint. He carries the hefty security guards into the bathroom with ease, and Sveltzer as well. Between the two of them, they manage to utilise the room's resources (curtain ties, bath robe belts, and picture frame wire) to secure the four of them, giving them no hope of escape whatsoever. Natasha shoves a pillowcase in each of their mouths, in case they wake and decide to start hollering, and when they finish, she takes a step back to admire their good work.

"Well done, husband," she says with a small smile.

"Thank you, wife," he says pointedly, smirking down at the motionless bodies. "Shall we return to our room?"

Natasha nods. "I'll put the call into Fury tomorrow. Someone can come and collect them quietly, no fuss, after we've gone. There'll be too much curiosity if we check out this late at night, just as a team of special agents is coming in..."

Loki nods and Natasha retreats into the bedroom, waiting for Loki to come out before she closes the door and wedges a chair under the handle. She removes the magazines from the guns and places them on the bed, then heads out into the main suite to pick up Svletzer's discarded jacket and remove his cell phone from the inside breast pocket.

"A little gift for tomorrow's agents," she says as she places it on the desk near the window. "I don't wanna travel with anything, this whole place is full of crooks. You can't trust anybody."

"Except me," Loki says quietly.

"Yeah, except you," Natasha replies. "And that's saying something, right?"

He raises an eyebrow at her comment, but they go and take one last look around the bedroom, and he doesn't say another word on the matter. She closes the bedroom door behind them and wedges a chair under that, too, unwilling to entrust a likely unneeded contingency plan to just the one spindly piece of furniture.

"Done?" Loki asks.

Natasha heads towards the main door of the suite and picks up her heels, not bothering to put them on. "Done," she says softly. She grabs the do not disturb sign and pulls open the door, Loki morphing back into Lucas with a gentle glow of green. She smiles, certain he can control how much of a statement he makes, though she doesn't understand why he's being subtle when it's just the two of them here. He loves to show off. She takes one last look around before she leaves, and then steps outside, Loki following her. She closes the door, hangs the sign on the door handle, then turns towards in the direction of the elevators.

Loki slips his arm around her waist, pulling her gently into his side. She doesn't fight, still happy to indulge his undercover antics despite the assignment being nearly over. This must be the most fun he's had in a long time, and, if she's being honest, she's glad he was here. She's missed working with a partner these past few years, and on the rare occasion that she does get to head out with Clint, they often have their hands so full that there's no time for them to enjoy the finer points of being undercover.

They wait for the elevator in silence, and it arrives with a soft ding, the doors sliding smoothly open. They step inside and hit the button for their floor. As they descend, Natasha rests her head against Loki's chest, closing her eyes and taking deep steadying breaths until there is another ding, and Loki guides her out into the corridor.

When they arrive back at the room, Loki drops his disguise as soon as Natasha closes the door. She leans against it, resting her forehead on the wood and closing her eyes, taking a few deep breaths before she secures all of the locks. Without a word, she turns away and heads towards the minibar, pulling open the door and surveying the contents. She removes the two miniature bottles of Absolut without hesitation, twisting off the lids and pouring them into one glass. She downs the drink in seconds, places the glass back down on the counter, then removes the small bottle of Moët and closes the door of the refrigerator. She collapses into the nearest chair and presses the cool glass of the champagne bottle against her cheek to try and ease the swelling. When she winces at the contact, Loki heads into the bathroom, but reappears seconds later with a damp cloth in hand. He pulls over a chair and sits himself opposite her, reaching out and gently wiping the blood from her chin, a concentrated expression on his face as he cleans away every last speck.

"Did he hurt you anywhere else?" he asks quietly, turning her chin with the slightest pressure from his index finger to inspect the side of her face that isn't hidden behind a champagne bottle.

"No," Natasha says. "He just knocked me around a little while I was playing dumb."

"You were too easy on him," he replies quietly. He twists in his seat and drops the cloth, now tinged pink, onto one of the small, decorative side tables, then turns back to Natasha, resting his elbows on his knees and surveying her carefully. "Broken fingers, after everything you went through?"

"I'm in the business of information, not vengeance," she tells him with a sigh. "And besides, he won't be able to wipe his ass for a month."

Loki's lips twitch into an almost smile, but it doesn't hold. He sits up straight, unbuttoning his topmost shirt buttons, before resuming his position, gazing at her intently. She looks away from him, her eyes focused on the large oil painting hanging on the opposite wall. She turns the champagne bottle against her cheek, her body stiffening as she presses the colder portion of glass against her skin, then relaxing again once she becomes accustomed to the chill.

"What happens now?" Loki asks at last, breaking the silence.

"I call Fury in the morning," she says slowly. "He sends out a team to take Svletzer into custody quietly. Another team heads to Vaduz to track down Ross and Tremaine, SHIELD takes over the facility in New York, confiscates the weaponry, gives Tony, Bruce, and Jane a couple of weeks to experiment, then, if no good comes of that, they'll lock it all away."

"Just lock it away and that's the end of it?"

"Pretty much," Natasha says, nodding. She turns the champagne bottle again, though her face is now suitably numb for her to not react.

"But if we don't know where it's come from then it should be investigated more thoroughly, surely?" Loki persists. "It's dangerous equipment, and it's ended up here, you can't just assume that if it ever shows up again it'll be unattended."

"That's not my problem," Natasha sighs, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing them at the ankles. She turns the champagne bottle again, but it's less effective now, the glass slowly creeping up to room temperature.

"It will be if there's an attack," Loki says through gritted teeth. He leans forward, taking the champagne bottle from Natasha, then closes his eyes, his brow twitching into a frown as he concentrates. Moments later, the bottle is crackling with a thin layer of ice, and he passes it back to her, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a long slow breath. Natasha glances down at his hand and sees the faintest tinge of blue, quickly receding into more fleshy tones, and her breath catches in her throat. She's read about his origins of course, but she's never given them much thought, used to him as he is.

"Thanks," she says quietly, not wanting to appear ungrateful, but also not wanting to acknowledge his brief slip into Frost Giant territory. New Mexico was a testament to how poorly he took news of his adoption, and she doesn't want to have to foot a massive bill for room damage just because she says something tactless.

She presses the bottle to her face, gritting her teeth as the chill shocks through her, tensing her muscles, her jaw clenched as she closes her eyes and lets the cold do its job. She breathes slowly and steadily, her eyes closed, head resting back against the top of her chair, and very, very slowly she starts to relax.

"Don't you want to see the end of it though?" Loki asks after a while.

Natasha sighs and opens her eyes a fraction. "We don't work like that," she tells him. "I do my bit of the job, clean up come and do theirs, science division do theirs, and, if that doesn't finish it all off, then the caretakers do their job. It's a team effort."

"But the more people you have in the chain, the more likely it is that one of them will make a hash of it and lay waste to the entire assignment," he says, his cynicism shining through with the faintest hint of a scowl.

Natasha frowns, looking at him through half-closed eyes. "We don't just hire anybody," she tells him. "Everyone's a professional, everyone does their job well."

Loki shrugs. "I think if you want something doing properly, you ought to do it yourself."

"And how many of your plans have worked out exactly as you intended?" She doesn't snap, but nor does she mutter the question, as though it's something that she ought not to be saying at all. She says it clearly, calmly, and without sarcasm, and Loki's jaw clenches, his fingers tapping against the arm of his chair.

"Forgive me for wanting to ensure that this is dealt with properly," he says testily, clearly getting towards the ends of his patience. "It's just that I'd rather the thing that nearly killed you would not have the chance to do so again."

With that, he pushes himself up from the chair and heads into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Moments later, Natasha hears the sound of the shower, water pattering against the tiles. She lets out a sigh and sets the champagne bottle down, the side of her face now sufficiently numb. She heads for the bedroom, unzipping her dress as she goes, before she wriggles out of it, her aching body not possessing nearly enough patience to carefully remove it. She changes into her pyjamas, then digs her make up remover wipes out of her bag and sets about clearing away her war paint. She mops away the dark smears of her eyeliner, and leaves pale paths through her make up as she works her way around her face. She carefully tackles her lips, the colour tinged darker from blood, the flesh tender not just from being punched, but also from Svletzer's atrocious advances. When she's done, she settles herself in bed, plumping up her pillow before she lays her head down. She reaches up and flicks the switch for the main light, shutting it off, and leaving Loki's lamp on.

It's a long time before he joins her, and she thinks he might well have used up all the hot water in Monte Carlo. He doesn't say much as he gets ready for bed, and she hears him roughly towel dry his hair before he slings the towel into the corner of the room and climbs in next to her. She's very conscious of every breath she takes, and no matter how hard she tries to stay quiet, to pretend to have already fallen asleep, there is a tenseness in her that she can't shake off. He must feel it too, because each of his breaths is measured, a little louder than normal, and he doesn't move a muscle as he lies next to her, flat on his back.

"I appreciate your concern," she says at last, each word carefully chosen, and a little stilted because of it. "But as an organisation, SHIELD has been handling this stuff for seventy years. We know what we're doing, and even when we don't, we deal with it."

He stays silent for a long time, but somehow, Natasha can tell that he's on the brink of saying something, that his words are on the tip of his tongue, and he's just fine tuning them, evaluating them before he releases them to the world. She stays quiet, having nothing more to say on the matter, and the longer Loki says nothing, the closer she inches towards sleep, her eyelids growing heavy, the exertions of the evening catching up with her.

"I was scared when you fell ill." His voice has a softness to it that she's quite certain it hasn't had since before the mess in the New Mexico. He sounds somehow younger and older at the same time, and there's not even a shade of his usual sarcasm or snippiness that she's grown quite used to. She turns over to face him, but he's still staring at the ceiling, he doesn't even glance towards her.

"I was scared when I realised Sveltzer was going to try and kill you tonight," he says in that same voice, the hushed tone that wouldn't be out of place in a church confessional.

She doesn't know what to say to him. She's never had anybody tell her anything like this before. She can't remember the last time somebody verbally expressed concern for her wellbeing. She knows, without a doubt, that Clint, and the others too, have got her back in any situation, that she will always be able to rely on them if she's ever in a tight spot. But this is different, and she doesn't know how to handle it.

"Loki..." she says, unsure of what words will follow. She reaches out, resting her hand on his shoulder, drawing his gaze for the first time. Despite the dark, she can see the whites of his eyes, the slight tug on his lower lip that suggests he's biting the inside of it.

"You're all I've got," he tells her, and the words come out in a rush, scattering themselves into the air before cementing themselves into the walls. Some things, once they've been said, can never be unsaid.

"That's not true," she tells him. "Thor - "

"Believes me to be dead," Loki finishes for her. "He has his own life. He's happy."

"He misses you," Natasha tells him, propping herself up on her elbow. "He misses you terribly."

Loki shakes his head. "He doesn't. And that's not the point. You're the only person I see, the only person I speak to - "

"Only because that's the way you make it."

"And what if it's because that's the way I want it?"

"Loki, that's not healthy," she says quietly, as tactfully as she can. "All you need to do is let people know you're alive, and they will be there. You need more in your life than - "

"I had more," he interrupts. "But I don't belong anywhere. After Thor's mess in Jotunheim, after I learned what I truly was, I became useless to my father. I wasn't wanted in Asgard. I certainly wasn't wanted in Jotunheim, that was made quite clear by my real father casting me out to die. I don't have anywhere. I'm always the outsider, always the mutt, always the last resort and I don't feel like that with you. I feel like..." He trails off with a sigh, and Natasha looks down at him, trying to decode his tired expression. He rubs his hands over his face then lets his arms flop back down onto the mattress as he heaves another sigh. "I don't know how I do feel," he says, each word coming slowly, deliberately, with great care. "But I know that I don't feel bad. I know that even after all the things I've done, you...you don't treat my mistakes as the sum total of my existence."

"If we treated mistakes as the sum total of people's existence then nearly everybody on the planet would be a humungous fuck up," she says. She knows better than anyone that you can't be defined by certain events, no matter how terrible they are. She also knows that you can't pretend they never happened. She knows that mistakes on that kind of scale, loss of life, destruction and trauma, none of that can be atoned for in a day. Any attempt at redemption cannot be commenced until a stable foundation is prepared for it to be built upon.

The most important thing she knows is that second chances matter.

"Besides," she says, skewing her lips to one side before she continues. She's not sure if she's about to give him the inch that will lead him to believe that he can take a mile, or whether she's just cutting him a little slack. Either way, the words leave her lips. "I'm in no position to judge you."

"You've been wiping out the red in your ledger for years," he tells her. "You make the effort."

"You've been doing a little spring cleaning as well, these past few days," she tells him.

"Only to make sure you were okay," he says, looking away from her. He's not quite mastered the art of looking her in the eye while telling her that he'd be rather put out if she died, but that's okay. His discomfort, in her eyes, confirms his sincerity.

"Well that's a good start," she tells him with a shrug. "You know there's no such thing as a lost cause, right?"

He looks at her now, his eyes piercing her in the dark, and her breath hitches in her throat, and then he pushes himself up onto his left elbow, his right hand coming around to gently cup her face as his lips meet hers, kissing her softly. She's stunned, and she doesn't know what to do, and so she freezes, her muscles not moving even a millimetre, while her brain races, thoughts dashing through Formula 1 cars, speeding around a track, not stopping for one moment, not even a pit stop to allow her to consider them.

Loki pulls away from her and sits up, his face buried in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he says, the words muffled by his palms.

Natasha doesn't say anything. She pushes herself onto her knees, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looks down at them, just able to make out the shape of them. She presses her lips together, acutely aware of the slight tingle left behind by Loki's sudden display of affection. Her heart is beating rapidly in her chest, her senses heightened, but it's not the same way her body reacts when she's on an assignment. This is uncertainty, this is fear, but not necessarily the bad kind. She's not scared of Loki, but she is wary of the consequences of something like this, and the thought of the others finding out causes her stomach to twist itself into knots. The thought of Fury having her escorted to his office so he can chew her out, hurl exclamations of disbelief and disappointment at her, slam his fist on the table and pace back and forth in front of his window until he makes her dizzy just from watching him.

And she decides that she doesn't care. She's an asset to them. She holds value. She's less of a person and more of a tool. She's the most brutal Swiss Army Knife they have at their disposal. They pay her to do a job, and tonight she has done her job.

"I'll go and sleep on the sofa," Loki says, rubbing his face tiredly before he throws the quilt off of his legs and swings them out the side of the bed.

Natasha lurches forward, closing her fingers around his upper arm, stopping him before he can stand.

"Don't," she says, her voice soft.

She shuffles forward, the feather quilt rustling as she moves, and her hand moves from his arm, up to his shoulder, then, as she draws closer, she brushes her fingertips against the side of his neck, before resting her palm against his jaw, the faintest hint of stubble coarse against her skin. He straightens at her touch, his spine rigid, his rib cage expanding minutely with each shallow breath he draws in. His forearms are resting on his thighs, his brow twitched into a confused frown, and then Natasha takes the plunge, her eyelids fluttering shut as she brushes her lips against his. She doesn't feel any objection, no red flags raise in the back of her mind. In the darkness, there is him, and her, and the soft sounds of their shaky, uncertain breaths.

When he kisses her back, there isn't an explosion of fireworks in her head, no bright lights or beautiful colours. There is nothing, and the nothing is good. The nothing is so good that she finds herself climbing onto his lap without a second thought, without, even, a first thought. There is a time for thinking and there is a time for not, and this, she is certain, is a time for not.

One of his hands finds its way to her thigh, his fingers gripping the flesh as she deepens their kiss, the faintest groan emanating from his throat. The sound only encourages her, and so her fingers scrabble at the buttons on his shirt, and after a few moments of fiddling with the tight fastenings, she pulls in frustration, a series of faint pops announcing the destruction of the stitches holding his buttons in place. The buttons fall between them, then tumble down again, rattling over the floor as Loki pulls them both further back onto the bed.

She breaks their kiss, catching her breath as she works his shirt off of his shoulders before tossing it carelessly aside. Loki takes the opportunity to explore her throat with his lips, and Natasha closes her eyes, her arms slung loosely around his shoulders, fingers gripping his hair as she sinks her teeth into her lower lip.

No matter how hard she might try, no matter how deeply ingrained it is in her to never make a sound, in situations of either pain or pleasure, she cannot contain the breathy moan that escapes her when his teeth apply just the right amount of pressure at just the right spot. She feels him smile against her skin, not the smug smirk which is rarely off of his face, but a soft smile of achievement, and perhaps it is this that spurs him on, his hands carefully finding the hem of her top and sliding it up, over her shoulders, and then off completely.

He lets out a long breath, his eyes fixed on hers in the dark, and she wonders whether he has better sight than her, if, in this pitch blackness, everything is crystal clear to him. She feels a bizarre pang of jealousy over something that might not even be true, but it is silenced when he cups her face with both hands, gazing at her for a moment before he pulls her in for another slow and tender kiss.

She can taste the whiskey on him, and she can't help her smile.

She is, perhaps, too warm. The quilt is soft and heavy; cosy, but too much for the warmth of Monte Carlo. Regardless, she pulls the covers over her head, determined to lay there, comfortable, for as long as she can, before she heads to the airport, and back to New York. Her own bed is just fine, and, her own bed usually has Loki in it, which is also fine, but the luxury of Monte Carlo is something else. This movie set world has tipped her rather brutal world upside down. Perhaps all that time playing pretend with Loki allowed a little truth to come out for both of them.

Her face ought to ache. Nothing too unbearable, but there ought to be something. Her lips ought to be sore, Sveltzer's fist, while not particularly well trained, still managed to hit its target. If she concentrates, she can pick out a few dull aches around her body, but the moment she lets her thoughts move on to anything else, they disappear, her muscles relaxing, her lungs exhaling slow, calm breaths.

She rolls over, the spacious bed allowing her to stretch out, soft sheets heavenly against her bare skin. Her lips curve into a smile, but it fades quickly.

The bed is only so big.

She opens her eyes and sits up, her heart shrinking in her chest, her stomach twisting unpleasantly.

He's gone.

It must hurt, it must really fucking hurt, because when she's on the phone to Fury, a half hour later, her cell clamped between her shoulder and the side of her face while she packs, he asks not once, not twice, but three times if she's okay.

She does what comes naturally. She lies.

"Yeah," she says, forcing a smile onto her lips in an effort to lift her voice. "Yeah I'm fine."