chapter viii.
(   avengers   )

let go of  the wheel,
it's   the   borderline
now i'm seeing red,
not thinking straight
never be the same — camila cabello

shield helicarrier
may 3, 2012

I somehow find my way back to the lab and, after he lets out a very large and very dramatic sigh of relief, Dad has me working again.

Oh, what joy.

An unbearable amount of time passes.

Someone clears their throat and I have no problem looking away from my work so that I can see who's waiting by the door. Phil Coulson, my wonderful Mr. Friendly Face, stands there with his usual small smile. I grin and spin in my chair so that I can face him completely. Bruce doesn't pay much attention; he's still caught up in his work, but Dad looks up too and he smirks as if he knows about some big secret.

"Change your mind? Wanna hitch a ride to a certain city to see a certain lady?" Dad raises an eyebrow at him, mockingly.

"Oh, Phil," I grin wider as he blushes just a bit, "Does my favorite agent have a lady friend?"

"Does my favorite sixteen year old," oh yes, he just said that, "have a man friend?" he shoots back with ease.

Oh Lord, I want a man friend. And now I want to cry. My excitement dies a miserable, pitiful death. My shoulders fall and I don't respond.

Dad scoffs, waving his hand slightly, "Psh, nah, she doesn't."

That's a low blow, Phil, a really low blow. And then Dad's easy answer of 'no' just makes it worse. Listen, I'm attractive looking, well, I hope I am. I'd love to have a boyfriend. Really, I would. But not a lot of guys are lining up to date a girl who could turn around and accidently murder them. Then, also, most of the boys I've ever met are a little intimidated by my dad. Then there are the few others who are just chasing after me only because of my dad's status and my inheritance. So, let's just say that my love life has been lacking these past sixteen years. Besides, as much as I'd enjoy it, I don't know if I'm exactly ready to have a boyfriend. I've just been so caught up in my life, with my dad, and with all the guys who keep trying to kill us. To add something else to the list just seems like a lot of work.

"Wait, you don't, do you?!" Dad turns to me sharply and I realize that my lack of a response could sound like embarrassed agreement.

Something weird happens then. A familiar, dark boyish face suddenly appears before my eyes and I feel myself smile a little before I flash back in memory for the second time in less than a week.

"Alright, now pass me the gunpowder," I stuck out my nine year old hand as I leaned over the pipe I had pulled out from underneath the hotel bathroom's sink.

The small can of the stuff was placed in my hand before twelve year old T leaned over my shoulder to look at how our homemade bomb was coming. I blew the hair off of my forehead and then shook the locks off of my bare sweaty shoulders. T worked at placing the wick very gently as I shook in the nearly shiny, black powder. We were both moving very slowly and carefully, worried that something would go wrong and we'd accidentally blow our hands off.

"And you're certain your father will not be returning soon?" T asked me as he began to twist the wick and connect it to the pipe underneath the gunpowder.

"Mmhm, certain," I confirmed as I blew my brown bangs off of my forehead before they fluttered back down, "He's doing a presentation at the convention."

T hummed, "Good. We do not want him to see this."

"And why couldn't we do this at your place again, Luke?" I asked in a slightly teasing tone as I walked to the other side of the table, adjusting the device's position.

"Because as angry as your father would be, my own would surely murder me and then deport you," he smiled over at me.

I smirked and nodded, "Ha, that's probably true."

I huffed irritatedly as I once again tried to blow the hair off of my forehead. I felt fingers pressing into my skin and I glanced up to see T taking one of my bobby pins and pinning my dark bangs back. He didn't look into my eyes or face as he did it, solely focusing on correctly pinning back my hair. I was glad he wasn't looking at me, to be honest. My cheeks were burning a bright pink and my heart had picked up its pace.

"What's next, Lees?" he suddenly asked, dropping his hands to his sides and walking over to be by me.

My heart did a flip-flop, but I still somehow managed to keep my voice level, "We need to put the cap on it, I think,"

He picked up the thick plastic cap and then began to glue it over the opening in the pipe. Without really thinking about it, I struck a match and then held it up against the wick. I yawned tiredly as I watched it catch fire and then begin to sizzle up the long string. When he suddenly caught sight of the flame, T jolted back and gaped at me in horror.

He yelled angrily, "What are you doing?!"

"What?" my voice was nearly defensive as I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Gah!" he just pointed at the burning wick as the flames moved up towards the gunpowder resting inside the pipe.

My eyes slowly widened in realization as I shrieked, "Oh my gosh!"

Both of us screaming, we dove for the wick and tried to extinguish the flame before it could touch the gunpowder. Naturally, our hands were just milliseconds away from stopping it from sliding underneath our homemade bomb's cap. The world slowed down as our heads turned to look at each other in terror. Then he suddenly turned, grabbed me around the waist, raised a foot up onto a nearby chair, and then launched us off of it. He threw the two of us back, allowing us to fly over the back of the couch just as our bomb went off. Our bodies were thrown even further before we crashed into the opposite wall, our bodies crunching against the cement like twigs.

My ears rung as my stomach laid on the debris-covered floor. With my elbows pushing me up a little, I blinked hard and my head slowly shook to clear my mind. I felt a warm hand on my back and my sore neck turned so that I could meet his soft, concerned eyes that were staring back at me. His mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear a word that he was saying. Parts of the ceiling were falling in, dust hung in the air, and the orange sunlight was pouring in, but I couldn't really focus on much else other than the boy across from me.

I was just a nine year old kid and I had no idea what it was that I was feeling inside of my chest. Even as a little girl, I loved him. He was the most beautiful person I had ever seen in my life and everything about T, or Luke, as the rest of the world knew him, made me want to smile. He wore confidence like it was natural and smiled as if wasn't. He had been trained in everything strong, proper, and proud, but he was still good and kind-hearted. He was a boy full of secrets, secrets that carried a weight that I knew I could never understand, a weight that seemed to carry the entire country. Perhaps that was why his father was never overly pleased with his son's "fascination" with me, but I could never be sure. T was like a storm; a beautiful, disastrous storm and I was lucky to be caught in the eye of it.

Men rushed in and hurriedly took hold of T, yanking and pulling him away from me. He struggled against them, but they had a job to do and I understood that. Happy sprinted in after the men left the room and he quickly pulled me off of the ground before taking me from the still crumbling hotel suite. Dad received about fifty messages and phone calls from my phone in the next hour as we waited for him to realize that I had accidentally blown up a bomb in our hotel. By myself. T was never there. Or so we were told we had to say. It didn't matter. He was there and that was a memory that two of us would end up laughing about for the next three years.

God, today really is the day for remembering the most random of things.

Why is that?

When I said goodbye to him as an eleven year old, it was the last time I saw T. I haven't really thought about him in years and I imagine that it must be the same way for him too, especially with all of the duties he was set to perform for his father. He was a cutie when he was younger; I can only imagine how he looks now. My cheeks blush a bright baby pink as I notice Phil and Dad still watching me.

Ha, I should just play along, pull Dad's leg a little.

His eyebrows raise to where they're nearly touching his hairline as he waits for my answer with panic dancing in his eyes.

"No, Dad, I don't have a man friend," I say with exasperation, regretting that I decided not to just mess with him even a little bit.

Somehow my voice seems false anyway though and Dad's fatherly panic must be at a new record high with how suspicious he looks.

Dad and Phil continue to eye me weirdly so I clear my throat and tap my finger against the touch screen, hoping to change the subject, "So, what's up, Phil?"

"I'm here to collect you for your meeting with Director Fury," he tells me with a small head nod.

I look at my high-tech watch and I'm actually surprised at the fact that three hours have gone by. Time flies when you're not having fun too, I guess. I give Phil a nod back and push myself out of my chair. Dad again raises his brows at me, but this time questioning if I'm still okay to go on my own. I give him a reassuring smile and squeeze his shoulder before I turn to follow Phil out of the lab. I smile at Bruce as I pass by and he gives me a small and polite wave.

Phil and I walk side-by-side as we exit the lab and walk down the long halls back to the briefing room. Thor is there with his arms still crossed over his chest, watching the screens with Loki on it. That man still scares me. I glance around and see that Fury is nowhere to be seen. That's kind of rude. He's the one who sent Phil to make sure I was on time and he's not even here to get started? Talk about being hypocritical. Imaging he'll just want me to stick around until he finally comes along, I wander over to stand by the computer screens so that I can watch Loki.

He looks so at ease. So comfortable. So arrogant. What is going on inside his head? I hear Phil and Thor talking about something called a bilgesnipe or something, but I'm not really listening. My thoughts are consumed with Loki and whatever the heck he wants. I can't even begin to guess. Suddenly the director walks through the door as loud, proud, and tall as ever.

"War hasn't started yet," he moves over towards us, "You think you can make Loki tell us what the Tesseract is?"

Thor answers honestly, "I do not believe so. Loki's mind is far afield, it's not just power he craves, it's vengeance upon me. There's no pain that would prize his need from him."

"A lot of guys think that, until the pain stops."

"What are you asking of me to do? He will not listen to any reason that I may say to him. He is too far gone from me. I have tried to convince him to stop this madness before and I failed," Thor shakes his head and I remember that that's why Mr. Muscles attacked us in the first place.

"Fine then," Fury suddenly turns to me, "This is where you come in."

I'm taken aback and I struggle to hide it, "What? Me? What?"

"He clearly has quite the fascination with you," he crosses his arms over his chest, one-eyeing me.

My voice raises in pitch, "He took control of my mind after I tried to shoot him and then you had to hit me over the head with a fire extinguisher! Then, as if that was not possibly bad enough, later on, he insulted me, I insulted him, he grabbed me, I punched him in his big fat Norse face," I shake my head as Thor raises his eyebrows, "If that's fascination, then I am very confused because usually when an older man grabs a teenage girl, it's called assault."

Fury rolls his eye (singular, oh, I'm so mean), "He pays attention to you. He talked to you when he talked to no one else. I saw how he looked at you when you arrested him. And I know that we all heard what he said when he was put into the cell."

My stomach twists at the memories and I shift on my feet uncomfortably, "Alright, s-so he's a creep, what does that have to do with me?"

"We need you to talk to him about his plan, about Agent Barton, about Doctor Selvig, everything."

I feel dizzy as his words spin around in my head.

"Talk to him?" my eyes trail from the leather-clad man and over to the screens where the frightening man paces nonchalantly but somehow still with purpose, "To him? I'm sorry, but do you see him? Y-You don't understand. After everything with Ed," I take in a quick breath as my face feels warm, "After everything with Edgar and then at the facility, I don't think I can," I shake my head quickly, "He's a prisoner."

"Then why do I feel like he's the only person on this boat that wants to be here?!" Fury snaps, making me flinch back from him.

Even as I avoid his eyes, I don't answer because I slowly realize that he's right. Loki wants to be here. He's no more a prisoner than we are. We need to figure out why, but I still don't want to be the one to do it.

"I do not think this the best idea," Thor steps closer with a firm expression, "As much as I dislike to say it, Loki is mad, and I do not like the idea of a young girl becoming part of his schemes."

My face falls and I inwardly sigh. Well, that did it, didn't it? I was completely against the idea until Thor accidentally called my ability and age into question. Now I have to go ahead and prove myself.

"Fine," I cross my arms over my chest, interrupting whatever discussion Fury, Thor, and Phil are having.

Phil looks at me with his concerned brown eyes, "Lisa, this isn't the best idea."

"Fury's right," I nod and put on a confident face, "Loki's crazy and he's crazy about me. If anyone can get him to talk, it will be me."

"Good. Agent Romanoff will walk you down there," Fury determines before anyone else can object.

"Okay," I say quietly, walking over to the doorway where Natasha stands in her tight, navy blue jumpsuit.

As I pass through the doorway and leave the room, I hear Fury say to Phil, "Call everyone down here. I want them to study Loki's interrogation."

Uh oh.

Natasha and I walk out of earshot without exchanging a word to each other. We don't speak for most of the way. She keeps her eyes set forward, not once glancing at me. I can't help but wonder what she thinks of all of this. Does she think I can't do it? Does she think I shouldn't do it? She's impossible to read, which makes sense because that is her job after all.

When we reach the door of Loki's cell, she finally speaks up, but still doesn't look in my direction, "Your father isn't going to be happy when he sees this."

I give a small, sarcastic laugh as I say in a soft voice, "No, he won't be at all. Don't let him murder Fury, okay?"

"Okay," she gives a side smirk.

I don't move to open the door. I don't know why this man scares me as much as he does. Just the way that he looks at me, like he can see into my eyes and understand my mind, like he knows me when I've never met him before in my life. It's not awkward like I said it was to Steve; it's frightening. My hands are shaking and I rub my fingers against the metal of my thrusters.

"Relax," Natasha takes my shoulders and makes me look at her, "Breathe in and out. Be relaxed, but also be controlled. You have to remember who is control."

I wait for her to tell me who that is.

Her face shows slight concern that I don't know immediately know, "You. You are in control. You're asking the questions. He can't get to you if you don't let him."

I nod quickly and my hands slide my hair behind my ears, "Yeah."

She squeezes my shoulders, "Stick to the topics and you'll be fine. You can do this."

"Mmhm," I quietly hum, trailing my eyes from her and to the door.

When I look back over at where I last saw her, she's gone. Spies. I swallow and take a deep breath. I allow my shoulders to drop into casualness and I roll my head around for a few seconds, trying to release the tension.

I can do this.

I can do this.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab onto the door handle and step inside the room. I carefully move closer to the glass, and I can practically hear my heart thumping in my ears. He is pacing around his cell, looking at the ground with his sharp features. As I draw closer, my boots make light noises against the metal grating. Hearing this, Loki suddenly stops, slowly turns, and I see that there is already a smirk on his face.

His smirk turns into a grin, showing me all of his pearly teeth that match his pearly skin, "Ah, the little girl."

"Name-calling based on appearances is dumb," ha, look who's talking, I am the queen of name-calling based on appearances, "And I wouldn't exactly be doing it if I were you," I put my hands on my hips before nodding to him, "Your hair looks like a sinister Christmas tree, my friend."

His jaw irritatedly clenches just a bit, "All the same, I am pleased to see that you have come."

I let out a disinterested sigh, sitting down on the floor casually. He watches me in confusion as I criss-cross my legs and rest my elbows on both of my respective knees. My fingers slowly tap against my cheek as I study him, giving him that same annoying look he's been giving me ever since I met him. I'm acting like I've got him all figured out. I, of course, don't, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Well, you knew I would," I shrug, nonchalantly.

"I imagined so. Have you enjoyed the memories?"

The memories? Howard. Grandma. Oh God.

My face pulls in confusion as realization slowly dawns on me, "Th-That was you? You gave those to me? But those weren't real!" he keeps a small smile on his face, "I-I don't understand. Why-Why would you do that?!"

Ignoring my angry, panicked questions, he goes on as his eyes light up a little, "Did your father send you here? Did he send his little child to do his bidding?"

I swallow back my confusion and panic so that my lips can pull into a frown. I mean, really? 'Little child'? I'm sixteen. This is really getting old and, obviously, so am I. At least I can be honest in my answer though.

"Nope," I pop the 'P', still trying to keep control as Natasha told me to, "Daddio doesn't even know that I've come to talk to the Sinister Christmas Tree himself."

He tilts his head slightly, almost amused, I think, "Then why have you come?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I smirk before rolling my eyes, "To be honest, I'm trying to figure you out. So, why,"

He doesn't let me finish, "Ah, the questions," he raises a mocking eyebrow at me, "You've come as a little spy who's desperate enough to bow and scrape for whoever as long as they're nice, is it?"

I put on a pleasant smile before I insult him in response, "It's better than coming as a little punk who's still peeved that he isn't Daddy's favorite and didn't get his throne, isn't it?"

He clenches his fists at his sides before he turns and paces a little.

"Oh," I pucker my lips, "That hurt a little, didn't it?"

I'm in control.

I'm in control.

He smirks over his shoulder and my eyes narrow. I don't like it when he smirks; it makes me think that he always has a card up his sleeve that he's just waiting to play. He's smart; smarter than I think most people expect a villain, if that's what I can call him, to be.

"Aren't you a devilish one?" he slowly eases back onto a bench on the other side of the cell.

And that's another thing. He's much too calm for my liking. If a criminal is in custody, shouldn't they be rageful and tense? It's never good when they're calm. I think back to Ivan Vanko and how calm he was when Dad went to go talk to him in the French prison. He didn't know how he was getting out, but he still knew he was going to find a way to destroy the Starks. Somehow Loki doesn't seem that different. He's so complicated and intricate, but much more confusing than any of the others that we have faced.

Trying to mask my thoughts, I shrug before referring to his comment, "Runs in my DNA."

"Ah yes, I know. The great Tony Stark," he tilts his head back, "Being his daughter must be exhausting."

"No, what must be exhausting is trying and failing to take over the world," I snap quickly, feeling both angry and defensive, "Where are Dr. Selvig and Agent Barton?"

"Why the interest?" he asks sincerely as he crooks a dark eyebrow at me, "You've nothing to do with them."

"Mutual acquaintances, that sort of thing," I nonchalantly shrug again, "So?"

"They're alive. Changed. Better."

How I felt when I was under his spell comes back to me. I remember how if felt like an infectious breath of fresh air. But I also remember the torture of it when I came out of it.

"How very cryptic of you," I roll my eyes before taking in a deep breath and speaking calmly, "But I don't believe that was the answer to the question I asked."

"Close by," he answers me carefully.

"Hm," I hum in acknowledgement, but I am still entirely confused as to where they could be.

He studies me for a long moment and I suddenly feel so very small under his watchful gaze. I feel like a little bug under a large microscope. I hate the feeling. Oh Gosh, where is Steve's shield when you need it?

"You understand it all, do you not?"

That takes me aback.

I raise an eyebrow, still trying to act cocky, "What? Understand the desire for world domination and global slavery? No, not really."

He ignores my sarcasm, "That pain, that rejection,"

My heart starts to beat a little faster at his insinuation.

"Feeling unworthy, feeling unloved,"

My chest tightens and my shoulders straighten ever so slightly. Unloved. Unloved. The word keeps repeating in my head. Loki must see my reaction because his lips turn into a slight smirk. He's hit a sore spot and he knows it. I struggle to remain calm, but I can feel my panic welling up in my chest and head, threatening to rear its ugly head. This is about to go very, very wrong.

"Oh, I know this pain more than most," he stands as his calculating voice goes on, "The pain of feeling unwanted by the people who should want you most in life. You see, you and I, we are the same."

I can feel all of my mock arrogance falling apart as his eyes stare into mine.

Angry that he's breaking through my mask, I snap back, "What are you talking about?"

"Your mother," his face becomes one of actual compassion and I soon believe that's what is the most terrifying thing of all, "Your father."

"Oh please, you don't know anything," I snap again, standing up to face him now.

"I know a hated child when I see one."

His brows are furrowed slightly and I don't understand how he can look so compassionate about it. I thought he was supposed to be completely evil; can people be completely evil? I don't understand. My lip quivers as I stare at him. The memories seize my mind and I can hear Howard and Grandma's voices in my head. My chest continues to tighten until I feel like my heart is being crushed and my lungs are being squeezed. As I start to suffocate, my fists furiously clench.

"I'm not hated," I sternly shake my head, trying to heave the breathy words out.

My head begins to ache and my ears begin to ring.

Something within him changes from compassion and I can see the darkness invade his face.

"Oh yes, you are," he breathes the words out so easily, "How could you not remember what you've always been? A child so hated that your mother would actually try to kill you?"

I shake my head again, wanting so badly to not believe it.

"You and I are the same, Lisa."

His eyes pierce into mine and they feel like they're on fire.

"Our fathers never wanted us. They've never loved us. He's never loved you."

He's right.

"Shut up!" I scream before trying to calm myself down although still stuttering, "Y-You're wrong."

I'm in control.

I'm in control.

But I can feel his eyes bore into my mind. Something tugs at my thoughts and something fingers my reasoning. No, no, I have to stay in control. I begin repeatedly shaking my head, attempting to knock out this infestation in my brain.

"Is that so?" his smooth voice mocks, "Then why did he allow your mother to strangle you?" the memories flash in my head and I wince, gasping in, "Why did he allow for a man to slice and tear you apart?!"

Suddenly I feel like my eyes are completely ablaze. In the reflection of the glass, I can see that they've turned into a horrifying, bright icy blue. But it's my brain that hurts the most; it feels like it's going to explode.

"You pretend you're not what they say you are, not the monster that parents tell their children about at night," I'm losing control, "You try to pretend that you have become something that makes up for the horrors, the scars, the beatings," not enough, it's not good enough, the words ring in my head, "But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!"

I have to stay in control.

I stare up at him with wide eyes, feeling the last of my castle walls of defense go down brick by brick. He's right. Oh God, he's right. My eyes are illuminated in the glazed over blue and my limbs feel weighed down. My brain shrieks and screams in agony.

I've lost control.

Suddenly Loki slams his fist against the glass and I panickedly flinch, stepping back as if he could actually reach me.

"I will kill your father," he spits out at me, "But not until I make him kill you! Slowly. Intimately," I feel something red and sharp pushing into my thoughts, "In every way he knows you fear!" my hands fly up to head as the images take over my mind.

"And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work," I see Dad snapping back to himself and he looks down at my dead, limp body in his arms with my blood smeared all over his chest, face, and arms, "And when he screams," I can hear it: piercing, guttural, desperate, horrified, "I'll split his skull!"

I'm breathing heavily, feeling sick to my stomach.

His voice hisses, "This is my plan, Little Girl!"

The images stab and my brain feels like it's ripping apart. I whirl around away from him, still clutching my head. The images fade away when his voice ceases. My hands slowly drop to my sides as I stare at the wall in confusion. His plan. I know his plan. I saw it. I turn around to face Loki and he still stands there, menacing but different. The glass no longer shows my eyes to be cold, but its usual warm blue. A small smirk takes over my lips as our eyes meet. The door bursts open and I hear feet rushing in, but I can't tear my eyes from Loki's. He is the one who looks entirely confused now. He doesn't know that he's given away too much.

"Lisa!" Dad is suddenly in front of me and he cups my face in his hands, "God, Baby! Smalls, are you alright?"

I step around my father to look back at Loki full on, still trying to sort through the images I just saw. We stare at each other for a long moment, his pale blue eyes meeting my warm ones. I feel the pressure of Dad's hand on my arm, and I can practically feel his muscles restraining from picking me up and hauling me out of here. I can see the others in the room out of the corner of my eye. Steve, Fury, Phil, Natasha, Bruce, and Thor have all come to join us. How nice. Loki visibly bares his teeth, angry and nervous at the same time.

My head tilts to the side slightly, "Bruce."

Wowza! That was definitely a little different from the movie, huh? That poor girl though. Oh man, I torture her so much. It's evil, it really is. Don't you just love his nickname? I got it from Tumblr actually and I just loved it so much that I had to include it.

SO, tell me your thoughts! Sorry if the ending line was a bit weak. What consequences do you think Loki being in her head will hold? What did you think of the thoughts in her head? What do you think about Lisa's flashback? I love that part so much! And Tony, he's being as awesome as usual. Next chapter is the bomb-diggity, Guys, seriously. Join me next time!

Vote, COMMENT, and follow!

Funny Thingamabob:

Hahaha. Oh man. Also, I found these heartbreaking gifs and I thought I needed to share. You're welcome.

Sad Thingamabob:

Seriously want to cry; wish they had kept this in the movie, ugh.