Thor watched over Coulson’s shoulder as Coulson showed him S.H.I.E.L.D.’s current files on Jane Foster. When he had learned that Loki had captured Erik Selvig, his first thought had been of Jane. Thor had destroyed the Bifrost to save the Nine Realms, but he had also cut himself off from her . . . or so he had thought. It was a terrible decision to make, sacrificing love for duty—yet Thor had done it. If necessary, he would do it again. He hoped it would not be necessary, and that was one reason why he had asked Coulson about Jane.

“As soon as Loki took Dr. Selvig, we moved Jane Foster,” Coulson explained to Thor. “They’ve got an excellent observatory in Troms. She was asked to consult there . . . very suddenly . . . yesterday. Handsome fee, private plane, very remote. She’ll be safe.”

“Thank you,” Thor said. “It’s no accident that Loki taking Erik Selvig. I dread what he plans for Erik once he’s done. Erik is a good man.”

“He talks about you a lot,” Coulson said. “You changed his life. You changed everything around here.”

Thor shook his head. At times like this, he wished no Asgardian had even come to Midgard—or, as the people here called it, Earth. “They were better as they were,” he said, meaning Selvig and Jane Foster. “We pretend on Asgard that we’re more advanced, but we come here battling like Bilgesnipe.”

“What?”

“Bilgesnipe,” Thor repeated. “You know. Huge, scaly, big antlers.” He mimed the antlers with his fingers. “You don’t have those?”

“I don’t think so,” Coulson said.

“Well, they are repulsive, and they trample everything in their path.” Thor looked out into the sky, gathering his thoughts. “When I first came to Earth,” he went on, “Loki’s rage followed me here, and your people paid the price. Now, again. In my youth, I courted war.”

“War hasn’t started yet,” Fury said from nearby at his command platform. “You think you could make Loki tell us where the Tesseract is?”

This possibility hadn’t occurred to Thor. “I do not know,” he said. “Loki’s mind is far afield. It’s not just power he craves. It’s vengeance upon me. There’s no pain that would pry that need from him.”

“A lot of guys think that, until the pain starts,” Fury said.

Thor held Fury’s gaze. It was not the first time he had looked at a one-eyed man who posed him a difficult question. “What are you asking me to do?” he asked, wanting Fury to be clear and to own his words.

“I’m asking what you are prepared to do,” Fury said quietly.

“Loki is a prisoner,” Thor said. He thought Fury was testing him, seeing if he would violate his ideals to find out something they all needed to know. But Thor would not.

“Then why do I feel like he’s the only person on this boat who wants to be here?” Fury asked. Thor had no answer.

Loki paced in his cell and became conscious that someone was near. He turned and saw the woman they called the Black Widow standing on the catwalk. “There’s not many people who can sneak up on me,” he said.

“But you figured I’d come,” she said.

“After,” Loki said. “After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm. And I would cooperate.” It was a typical approach. Cause misery, and then let someone appear as a friendly face. The miserable person would say anything to keep this friend. Loki had seen strong men break this way, many times.

Yet this did not appear to be what he had expected. No one had questioned him. No one had caused him any discomfort at all, save the embarrassment of being imprisoned in this cell.

“I want to know what you’ve done to Agent Barton,” she said.

“I would say I’ve expanded his mind.”

“And once you’ve won, once you’re king of the mountain, what happens to his mind?” she asked.

Loki started to think he had more control over this situation than he had known. “Is this love, Agent Romanoff ?” he asked, needling her a little.

“Love is for children,” she said. “I owe him a debt.”

He came closer to the glass. “Tell me.”

“Before I worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., I . . . well, I made a name for myself,” she said. “I have a very specific skill set. I didn’t care who I used it for. Or on. I got on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me. He made a different call.”

An interesting story, Loki thought. She has much to atone for. He could hear some of her memories, from before her first encounter with Barton. Little girl, he thought, you’ve done some very bad things. And now you think you owe Clint Barton your life . . . but there is more to it. Loki could tell there was something in her mind that he was not quite uncovering. He pushed a little more. “And what will you do if I vow to spare him?”

“Not let you out,” she said.

He grinned. “No, but I like this. Your own world in the balance, and you bargain for one man.”

“Regimes fall every day. I tend not to weep over that,” she said. “I’m Russian. Or I was.”

“And what are you now?”

She dodged the question, but again Loki had the sense he had come close to understanding something important about her. “It’s really not that complicated,” she said. “I got red in my ledger, I’d like to wipe it out.”

Red in my ledger. She spoke of life debts as if they were lines in an accountant’s records, black ink for profit and red ink for debt. Loki understood now . . . and he pounced.

“Can you?” he asked. “Can you wipe out that much red?” He listed for her some of the things he knew she had done. “Dreykov’s daughter . . . São Paulo . . . the hospital fire? Barton told me everything.” This was a lie. Barton had told Loki certain things about Romanoff, but he was also guessing some others. He pushed ahead. Now that he understood her, he could break her. “Your ledger is dripping, it’s gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? Pathetic. You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors, but they are part of you and they will never go away. I won’t touch Barton, not until I make him kill you. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows your fear. And then he’ll wake just long enough to see his good work and when he screams, I’ll split his skull. This is my bargain.”

He had done it. The Black Widow was weeping, and she turned away. “You monster.”

“Oh, no,” Loki said, loving every moment of this. “You brought the monster.”

Then she turned around and her face was completely devoid of emotion again. “So,” she said briskly. “Banner. That’s your play.”

“What?” Loki couldn’t understand how she had gathered her composure so quickly—and then he did understand. She was a superb actress! Or not even an actress, for he could see through a conscious performance. She was something else. She had been broken down and remade so many times, with so many identities, that she could put them on and take them off at will. And Loki had gotten lost in those emotional costume changes.

He had been outwitted by a mortal. Unthinkable.

She spun and started walking fast, talking into her mic as she went. “Loki means to unleash the Hulk. Keep Banner in the lab. I’m on my way. Send Thor as well.”

When she had gotten to the elevator, she turned. With infuriating courtesy, she said to Loki, “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Loki watched the elevator door close. He was astonished, and furious . . . and also, he had to admit, a little admiring. Not many people could beat Loki at his own game. But one of them, at least this time, was Natasha Romanoff. uXHwi7HGW8bSGoqC2uc1qxg06YCc+TMG8v1cwq5yGKlcI20dY66I9Tv7HMo8ALk/