Madness of the Serpent

Loki was simultaneously delighted and nervous as he closed his hand around the slightly-damp doorknob – feeling as if he was starting a courtship, about to meet his beloved officially for the first time.

It was absurd – and exceedingly childish – but he could not help his giddiness at the realization of having created a unique being and the wisdom and power it would impart to him. It had been a creature of the vastness of space, a living spirit with untold knowledge and mystery. Who knew what secrets it held within its mind from its journeys throughout the branches of Yggdrasil? Even the All-Father did not have such an object sequestered in his Vault under the Golden Palace.

There were one of two ways to discover the phantom's secrets, and Loki had decided on taking the gentler, more cordial route. The spirit-woman was, after all, the glorious result of the combined powers of the sceptre and the Tesseract. That alone afforded her a modicum of respect – while she remained cooperative, at least.

Loki instructed Barton to wait in the hallway and allow no one to disturb him. The importance of this encounter was too great to leave to chance that some mortal would blunder in with news of the Tesseract's progress. As if he did not already monitor the status of the artifact closely – nearly every waking moment – waiting impatiently for the time when he could bring forth his army of deadly warriors.

The god took a breath to steady his nerves, put on his most charming smile, and opened the door.

The black-haired being sat cross-legged on the mattress, immediately staring up at him with eyes large and dark. They flickered to the golden sceptre he held in his grasp.

Loki closed the door behind him, leaving his hand on the doorknob for a moment longer as he drank her in. She met his gaze with neither terror nor panic now. In fact, her expression was almost entirely blank – a natural negotiation face.

He cleared his throat, having one of those very rare moments in his life when his silver tongue was tied. He was unsure as to what words to say first. How does one relate to a spirit made flesh?

"I suppose we have not had a proper introduction," he began confidently enough, his smile just a little too bright. "I am Loki… Laufeyson," he stated, hoping his hesitation and distaste for having to use his proper surname was not noticed by the celestial being. If she did, she gave no sign of it.

"I do not know if you remember me, but you… I released you from the sceptre's orb. You now have a physical form – human, by the looks of it. I spent an incredible amount of precious energy to do so."

The odd tugging at the back of his mind returned, and he paused in his speech. When he looked at the being he had created, he had the unsettling suspicion he had forgotten something – misplaced an important memory. But when he focused his thoughts and attention on the disquieting sensation, it slipped from his grasp.

Pushing aside the deviation from his mind, Loki continued to speak to the being, his fingers nervously tapping against the hard material of his sceptre. She did not respond to his previous statement, if she even understood its contents. Loki was beginning to doubt that she grasped language as strongly as Barton led him to believe.

He pondered if removing a few of Barton's fingers would impede the assassin's ability to shoot his arrows. Surely he did not need all of them to draw a bow.

"Do you have a name?" he inquired, the good-natured smile still on his face – though he wondered if the spirit recognized the expression and its meaning.

The being stared up at him, giving no obvious response. But her eyes flickered for a moment, seeming to process the question. Her eyes looked downwards, slightly moving from side to side as if she searched for an answer. When she looked up again, she had none.

"You can nod your head, like this, for yes. Shake your head to answer with a no."

The being stared for a moment before shaking her head slowly.

No name, then.

"Wonderful," Loki said, smiling gregariously. "A new identity for a new body seems very appropriate."

Her eyes flickered from his face to the sceptre and back again. Something lingered in her gaze that he was not able to identify. She had truly mastered the nonexpression. Or more likely, she had no experience with expressing emotions through body language and facial patterns.

The being would be an intriguing puzzle to solve, especially since Loki had nothing more pressing to distract his mind with while the portal stabilizer was being built by his mind-slaves. And distractions were something he sorely needed. He was not overjoyed by the prospect of the inevitable conversation he would be forced to entertain with Thanos' Vizier.

"What type of name would suit a unique creature such as yourself? Something… Savory? Sweet? Feminine or masculine? Meant for a blood-thirsty warrior or a blushing handmaiden?" Loki slowly approached her, and she immediately unwound her legs and rose to her booted feet, her eyes focused more pointedly at the sceptre.

There was definitely a recognizable hint of unease in her eyes.

Loki had once given the sceptre the same treatment until it had been placed in his possession. Once it had gone from being a tool of his… education, to the key to his destiny, he had been able to hold it without sweating in unease.

"You remember," he stated, his voice low and smooth. "You remember being inside of the orb. Of being bound there, helpless. Trapped with no hope of escape."

The being stared at him, her eyes sharper as she scrutinized his expression. She stood her ground, even as he approached, but he could see her fingers trembling.

Perhaps she was not as unexpressive as he had first believed.

Loki slowly set the golden weapon on the table against the wall and raised his hands palm forward in a gesture of peace. She seemed to relax the tiniest amount, though still wary and tense like a doe that had caught the scent of a predator in the air. She still eyed the sceptre as if it would jump from the table and attack her like a rabid beast, which was not without merit. The sceptre, even at rest, looked like a cruel fang or a deadly claw.

Loki cleared his throat and slowly placed his hands behind his back, smiling at her pleasantly.
The strange being merely stared back.

At least she did not shudder like his other minions when he fixed his smile upon them – which he found unfathomable since his smile was quite charming.

"Trinity," he said suddenly. Her expression did not change – not that he expected it to.

"It means 'three into one'. Many of these humans worship a god which has three distinct forms. A Father, a Son, and a Holy Ghost." Loki's grin widened. "Which is… quite apropos. Many a mortal army has invaded, pillaged and destroyed other civilizations in the name of the Holy Trinity.

"A fitting name for a spirit… and a spit in the eye of primitive human theology."

There was no reaction.

Loki's grin faded slightly, but he continued to speak. The name was quite whimsical, he thought.

"Now, what about a surname?" Loki hummed in the back of his throat, slowly walking from the table towards the middle of the room. She stared at him with more intensity for every step he took.

"You do not have a family heritage to speak of, so we shall start anew. What would be an appropriate name for…" he looked down for a moment, then back up, his grin showing just a little too much tooth.

"… Frost. Trinity Frost."

The spirit being blinked, her expression mostly blank, except for… something was there.

"It can be something of a small jest between us. You see, I am… not as I seem. I originate from a realm called Jotunheim."

The god hated speaking of it, even to one who most likely had no prior knowledge of Jotunheim or the Frost Giants. Perhaps the spirit being did not even care what he was – not like the Asgardians, with their precious pedigrees and proper bloodlines.

Still, it was a highly unpleasant endeavor when he had to contemplate the undesirable blood running through his veins.

"It is a world filled with Frost Giants, the Jotuns. They are… horrible beasts who thrive on the coldness, and ice, and the harsh bleakness of their frozen world," Loki continued to speak, focused on his own voice rather than on the being as he turned to stare at one of the windows. It was covered by metal shades, and gave him no distraction or respite from the bitterness in his thoughts.

"They are brutes. Cruel, stupid, vain creatures." Loki's voice became darker and more guttural as his loathing for the Jotuns boiled closer to the surface. It was almost cathartic, being able to speak so openly about his contempt for the barbarians – which inevitably meant he was also speaking of himself. Loki could speak as plainly about his indirect self-hatred as he wished – there was no one to interrupt his words with weak persuasions and half-truths. No Mother telling him he was still loved, ignoring the fact that if that were so, they would never have hidden the truth from Loki.

If there was no shame in his Jotun heritage, there would have been no reason for his family to keep it a well-guarded secret. Loki's not-parents had claimed it was to protect him, but it was truly only to protect themselves from the shame of having a Frost Giant sullying the hallowed halls of the Golden Palace.

And what of Thor? What would his not-brother think if he discovered he had been raised alongside the spawn of a monster? Loki had screamed, at the end, attempting to convey the truth that they were not brothers. Thor's only response had been to accuse Loki of madness, just before his throne had been stolen from him and he had been cast into the void.

But Loki had been right. He was always right. He hated to be right.

Blinking, he was startled out of his psychological festering as something entered his field of vision, causing him to snap his head back and turn sharply towards the source.

The spirit being had raised her small, delicate fingers, and they hovered near his face. Too close. Much too close.

The god froze.

"Lo-ki," she spoke tentatively, searching his face, and moving forward the last two inches to touch the side of his jaw.

He did not move. Could not move, as her soft fingers slid across his skin. They were so incredibly… warm.

Loki jerked backwards, as if he had been burned, gritting his teeth as an intense tingling sensation spread across the side of his face.

He could not see what was happening, but he could sense it. Somehow, the spirit-woman had temporarily peeled away Odin's enchantment, the Jotunness of his skin revealing itself to expose his heritage with its hateful cerulean hue and runic pattern.

Completely disturbed, his eyes widened in alarm as his own hand lingered on his skin, cool to his touch, as if the prickling he felt from where her fingertips had grazed his face had only been inside of his mind.

Loki was not sure what he had expected from this first interaction, but it had not been this.

He grabbed the sceptre from the table and took a small amount of pleasure in the uncertainty and wariness flickering in her eyes. She would be well reminded that he was the one in control of the entirety of their interactions.

But was he, truly? Even though the traitorous blue skin was fading from view, his composure had been completely shattered. He felt… brittle. As if something inside had shaken loose, threatening to come undone if he did not take great care.

"You will rest. And we will speak more at a later time," Loki said, forming his voice into the lie that said he was not deeply unnerved. He was not. He only needed time to process, and to think. He did not need to recover. There was nothing to recover from.

The creature he had named Trinity watched him, but remained frustratingly silent. She only followed the god with dark eyes as he exited her impromptu cell – the sensation of her gaze lingering long after he had removed himself from her presence.

______________________________________________________________________

The spirit did not know what it had done to upset the Jotun-Asgardian, but it believed it was responsible for his sudden departure.

It had not wanted to frighten him – its aim had been to uncover the mirage which shielded his natural state from reality, wanting to observe his authentic image with its new, physical senses. It had been curious to study the unique patterns across his skin. It had already glimpsed his crimson eyes from when he had been adrift in space, and it recalled the azure skin which had covered his body.

Did the Loki not remember it had already witnessed his true form, and was fully aware of his origin species? The being had thought, since the Loki had been speaking of his original birthplace, it would have been acceptable to witness the truth for itself.

Apparently, this was not the case.

The spirit had so many questions now – such as why the Loki had seemed to turn his hate inward as he spoke about the Jotuns. Why would he hate himself because of the species from which he had spawned? What would be the reason to hate oneself at all? Was not each living creature unique and treasured in its own way?

The spirit sat back down on to the bed and leaned its back against the hard wall, contemplating.
It enjoyed being engrossed with its thoughts – a drastic change from its former state of being: constantly in motion and always living in the precise moment of its existence. Spirits did not retain memories or philosophize, for the most part. They lacked the attention span and the desire to brood too much on the universe and its meanings.

That was a laborious task for the living.

And yet… contemplating one's own purpose and reason for existing were heading topics that were worthy of exploration.

What was it? The Loki had recognized it as bodiless entity, but what was it now that it had a physical form? Still a spirit, only trapped inside a living cage? Or was it something else, now?

The more pressing question, besides its own state of existence, was the state of the Jotun-Asgardian's mind and body. His pale blue eyes held a light which seemed unnaturally bright, absent from when it had come across him floating in the void. Darkness had encircled his eyes, and he appeared too pale, though to be honest, it did not know what skin pallor was healthy for him, as it only knew him by his light cobalt shade.

The Loki had not spoken of his rescue by the spirit. It did not think he had been so damaged that he was unable to remember their first encounter – it was certainly not an event the spirit would ever forget.

Perhaps he could not recall the event due to the agony he had received at the hands of the alien that had trapped it in the orb. It still did not know how long it had been trapped – how long he had been at their mercy, or lack thereof.

The spirit had delved deep into its churning thoughts, its attention so focused that the world around it had seemed to vanish in a swirl of analyzation and deliberation. It briefly wondered if this was what it was for all life forms, before the door opened abruptly. The spirit raised its head, curious to see if the Loki had returned.

He had not. Instead, it was the other one. The non-Asgardian, which it now believed to be a human, had returned. His crystallized eyes still remained in the thrall of the sceptre's orb.
"Hey, yo. Trinity, right? Thought you would need to use the facilities. It's been a few hours since you were… uh… born."

Even though it had grown to grasp this human's language with more expertise, it seemed there were still gaps to fill, as his statement made little sense.

It stared at the human blankly, and he made a type of noise which seemed to convey frustration.
"You know. Use the bathroom? Urinate? Take a piss? Whatever?"

Ah. Eliminating waste from the body. Another drawback to having a physical form. But it could see the merit to the human's inquiry. It did need to meet certain… needs.

The spirit nodded and stood, hesitant to speak again. The last time it had attempted communication, it had caused the Jotun-Asgardian to quickly depart with a lingering expression of dismay. It was better to stay silent until it more sufficiently grasped the nuance and pitfalls of language.

"Right. Follow me, then."

The spirit did as instructed, discovering its fleshy form ached and was in distress as it followed the human from the space it had been held. It seemed these forms were incredibly delicate, and it still felt the after-effects of its creation.

Muscles stretching across bone. Tendons contracting and releasing to cause movement. Bones grinding against each other in joints that made its breath catch in its throat.

"You all right?" the human asked, raising an eyebrow in an expression it did not understand but was witnessing more often. "Better not pass out, because I'm sure as hell not carrying you. Boss might not take kindly to that sort of manhandling."

His luminescent eyes sometimes watched it, sometimes not, as he strode beside it.

"He seems a bit possessive of his new pe-… of you."

The spirit walked silently but began to file away these pieces of information in its memory center. It wanted to understand the Loki and discover the reasons for his current actions. Understand why his eyes, though pale and blue, were not the sickly luminescence showing the influence of the mind-jewel. Why the Loki had attacked and enslaved the humans after the collapse of the space-tear. Why he wielded the tool of the evil one – the very apparatus with which they had drawn forth his screams.

Had he escaped from them? Stolen their sinister weapon and fled to this planet? What of the legions of hive-mind creatures that had been ready to follow him?

Why had he freed it from the orb?

Too many unknown variables – though this human seemed to be speaking willingly enough, and the spirit hoped he would continue.

Almost as if he knew it was thinking of him, the human turned to it and gave a lopsided smile which seemed to convey humor or amusement.

"I'm Barton, by the way. Clint Barton. Master assassin and expert archer."

He glanced at it, and when he received no reaction, he said, "That means I'm really good at killing people.

"And not to brag or anything, and no offense to you, but my skills are usually employed putting an arrow through someone's eye at 400 yards rather than baby-sitting a chick from space."

The spirit had nothing to say to that, as most of the words seemed to hold a context it could not decipher.

The human called Barton stopped in front of a plain door with an unknown symbol on it, and stared at the spirit expectantly.

It stared back at him.

The human blew air through his mouth. Yes, that gesture was most definitely frustration or exasperation.

"Well. What are you waiting for? Bathroom's right there."

The being looked at the door, then back to him.

"Oh. You don't… you've never used a bathroom, have you?" His face seemed to take on an expression of discomfort or embarrassment. It was unsure of which, but it was beginning to find interest in trying to discern what the different expressions meant.

It seemed there were not only words, and now symbols to master, but there was also the language expressed by the body. It was all far too complicated. Spirits could flash their emotions and expressions to each other as easily as stars winking across a swirling galaxy.
Physical beings, it seemed, had too many ways of communication. And too many ways to fail at sending the intended message.

"Okay. Um. Don't move an inch. Stay right here. I'll be back with… someone else."

It watched in fascination as he all but fled, wondering at the meaning of the sudden flush of pinkish color which had invaded his cheeks. Blood flow to the surface of the skin, though to convey what, it did not know.

There was nothing to do but wait, and wait it did. For a moment. Then the crease along the wall and floor interested it. And then the dull orange rectangular lamps that lined the evenly spaced columns. The dank and musty smells, of something half-forgotten and rotting.

It was a naturally curious and inquisitive being, prone to wandering and exploring, and the alluring mystery of its temporary freedom was irresistible. If it decided to seek new experiences while the Barton was gone, it was through no fault of its own.

The spirit did not realize it had traveled so far from where the Barton had told it to stay until it felt… a pull. There was a column supporting the corner of the hallway a few feet ahead, and it approached slowly and silently, suddenly feeling that it was near.

The mind-jewel.

The spirit peeked around a damp column and there the Jotun-Asgardian sat, cross-legged on the ground, the glowing sceptre perched delicately across his folded lap.

Its eyes widened as its physical brain attempted to understand what it was witnessing, as what was occurring lay outside the realm of visible light. There were thin, golden strands trailing from Loki's temple into the orb of the sceptre.

The Loki did not move, his back straight with his elbows resting on his thighs. His breath was slow and even, as if he were at rest or in some type of altered state of mind.

The spirit was frozen with indecisions and concern. Concern for the Loki for being connected to the unsettling, powerful mind-jewel. Concern for itself if it were discovered on its own – having slipped away from its chaperone.

So it continued to watch him, knowing not what else it could do. This was the first instance it had had to observe him without being under his intensely penetrating gaze. It examined his slightly curled hair, as black as the void. His armor was made from some type of stiff fabric and metal, dark and emerald with tarnished gold. His garments were imposing and impressive – completely at odds with what the humans themselves adorned. It must have originated from the realm of Asgard from whence he had come, though this was simply a guess, as it had paid little attention to the Asgardians when it had frolicked beneath their shimmering city.

Were the Asgardians aware of what had befallen their wayward citizen? Would they intervene to halt his actions? And if they did, would they spare him from reprisal? Or would they be without mercy for the human lives he had taken?

Its troubled introspection was interrupted as it saw the Loki severely flinch, as if something hidden from sight had struck the side of his head – yet they were still alone.

That was when the spirit noticed the Loki was trembling. His breath, though not loud, was coming in faster and shallower than before in his calmer state. Something, unseen and unknown, had driven fear into the Jotun-Asgardian.

The spirit had the illogical urge to place a hand on his shoulder. To comfort and soothe him, even though it did not know what had frightened him so – though it had an inkling as the gossamer strands that had connected his mind to the orb had vanished.

The Loki began to rise to his feet, and it felt a sharp panic sting at its throat. It could not be caught here. It had to return to the Barton, as it was fairly sure it had witnessed something not meant to be seen.

The spirit turned from the column, meaning to walk at a brisk pace down the hallway, but underestimating the adrenaline which had flooded its body at the prospect of being found. It had not intended to run, but run it did, and it plunged headfirst into the Barton, who it saw too late as he rounded the corner.

The assassin gripped it tightly around its upper arm, and it tried to twist away, its pathetic struggles barely registering on his frowning face.

Another human was with him, this one smaller and wearing a white overcoat, wavy reddish-brown hair pulled up into a compact sphere on its head.

"Hey, slow down! Where were you? Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

The spirit stared up at him with wide eyes, their size increasing as it heard slow, portentous footsteps from behind. The Barton looked past its shoulder to the owner of the footsteps, and it did not need to turn to know whose imposing shadow blocked the nearby lamplight.

"Is something the matter, Agent Barton?" the silky voice asked, all traces of his earlier distress gone. The Loki's voice was so convincing that it would not have believed he was even capable of fear had it not witnessed the emotion just a few moments prior.

"No, sir. Just went to get a female assistant to help with… uh… bathroom. Stuff."

"I see," he replied in the same low tone which simultaneously conveyed mirth and vague threats. "And that is why she was gallivanting about the halls completely unencumbered by your ever-watchful presence?"

"I… may have misplaced her for a second."

"May have?" The Jotun-Asgardian smiled in a way that held promises of dark, unpleasant things.

It opened its mouth. The spirit wanted to say something which would free the Barton of responsibility, as it had not meant for the human to be blamed for its curious nature. And the spirit was concerned, very concerned, for the manner in which the Jotun-Asgardian was speaking. It had not remembered him being so… so intimidating. So cold.

The Loki caught the movement and studied it closely. Their eye contact was so intense that it knew its only salvation lay in the fact that it could not fully display emotions yet. Its facial expression was completely blank, even as the spirit inside squirmed in discomfort.

The Barton was saying something, but it did not pay attention, and neither did the Loki. Not for a long minute of intense scrutiny in which the spirit felt a second flood of chemicals release into its body, causing its heart to race and its muscles to tingle in distress.

The Jotun-Asgardian was not harming it in any way – why was its body reacting in such an extreme manner to his presence?

"-it was just for a moment, and you couldn't expect me to go into the ladies' restroom and-"

"That's enough, Agent Barton. Your usefulness has not grown so thin that I would execute you for this single transgression."

The Jotun-Asgardian finally dragged his pale blue eyes from the spirit and as he passed by the agent, he paused and slightly tilted his head towards him.

"Lose sight of her again, and I will satiate my curiosity of knowing if blinded hawks will die of starvation."

The spirit did not understand the context of the words, but it could interpret the tone easily enough.

"Yes, sir," the Barton responded with a curious lack of fear, releasing his hold when the Loki glanced down at the hand which was still gripped tightly around the spirit's physical arm.

The Jotun-Asgardian glanced back at the spirit-made-flesh, the chilling look in his eyes causing it to dry-swallow in discomfort. A small curl at the edge of his mouth indicated that he had seen. But he said nothing, and departed down the hallway, his stride slow but purposeful – not even a hint that anything disturbed or plagued his mind.

This would not do. It had a growing sense of unease, that this Jotun-Asgardian was not the same as the one it had resuscitated. It would have to guard its emotions more closely if it hoped to navigate on what was quickly turning into treacherous ground.

"Come on," the assassin spoke briskly, interrupting its thoughts, not looking back as he began to walk down the dimly-lit hallway, his black boots hardly making a sound. It quickly followed, glancing at the other human who had remained silent the entire exchange. It noticed she had dark auburn hair, wrapped up in a compact style. Her skin was also a darker shade of brown than its own, as well as the Barton's.

"It is… sorry," the being spoke slowly, looking back up at the Barton.

"What?" he asked confusedly, looking back with glowing azure eyes.

"It was not its intention to endanger you."

Speaking felt very strange, and did not come at all naturally. It felt clumsy and foolish, stumbling through its lips and tongue to form coherent noises which could be interpreted correctly.

"Don't worry about it." The agent did not seem overly concerned, but the being doubted it was in the interest of a mind-thrall to prioritize self-preservation.

The other continued to remain silent, and the being noticed, curiously, that its eyes were a light brown – they did not contain the controlling light of the mind-jewel.

"What… what did the Loki mean? About the blinded hawks?"

"Ah. That. Well… my codename is Hawkeye."

The being said nothing, still not understanding. The Barton seemed to sense this.

"Hawks are birds of prey which hunt primarily by sight. So a blinded hawk would most likely starve."

He glanced at it before saying:

"It's a metaphor for slowly torturing me to death."

"Oh."

It did not know how else to respond to that alarming piece of information, other than to feel a sort of sickness growing in its midsection at the thought of the Loki tormenting this human, especially after he had endured such abuse himself.

The trio reached the end of the hallway, halting the alarming conversation which tangled the spirit's thoughts together in growing anxiety and uncertainty.

The silent companion opened the door and walked inside, and the Barton indicated through a series of hand gestures that it should follow.

It did, and the process of learning to use the waste-eliminating devices was simple but degrading. It was horrified to learn from the human that it would have to do this several times a day. How did the humans have time to be productive if they were constantly required to find a toilet facility?

Physical forms were so… messy. Inefficient. Awkward. Unable to ever be pristine or free of filth as the bodiless spirits were.

After it had done what was required, it exited the grungy partition and stopped short as it was confronted with a strange vision on the opposite wall.

It was… a reflection. The spirit slowly approached its replica, eyeing the startling, foreign image.
Hair as black as the void hung well past its shoulders. Large dark eyes and a complexion paler even than the Loki's. It had soft, round features, slightly different than the other human faces it had seen so far.

"What is it?" it asked, a hand reaching upwards to gingerly touch its own face.

"What is what?" came the voice from the unnamed human.

"It," the being repeated, pointing a finger at the reflection.

"Human. And you're not an 'it'. You're a she, or a her. Female. A woman."

"What else?"

"I would guess late 20s to mid-30s of Asian descent. If you were born to parents, that is."

"Female," the being repeated, its reflection mimicking the words. Gendered. Humans were gendered creatures. Sexual reproduction. A sexually dimorphic species with separate defining features and genitalia.

Complicated. Cumbersome. Irrelevant. It would have been much simpler if the spirit had been regenerated in an asexual form, not having to be concerned about procreation instincts and bothersome hormones.

It was truly beginning to pine over its former bodiless existence.

"Why did the Barton not want to enter this room? Is it dangerous?"

Curiously, the human laughed, a short noise of amusement that it did not understand.

"Not exactly, though he would probably be chased out. It's standard in some societies to separate bathrooms by gender."

"You are female?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why am I female?"

"Why are males not allowed in this area?"

"It… um… that's just how it is. To make people more comfortable, I guess."

"Ah," it said, indicating it had understood when in reality it was left more confused than before. It tried another question, unable to repress its natural curiosity.

"Your eyes, why do they not glow?" it asked, tearing its gaze away from its reflection, fascinated by the image of its new form.

"There was no need to… convince me. I came willingly enough," the female replied, her gaze narrowing.

"Why?"

"I'd gladly join any cause which plans to bring down SHIELD," she replied, her brown eyes meeting its own unwaveringly.

"SHIELD?" it asked again. This was the first being it had spoken to who was not the Barton or the Loki – who was not under the influence of another, at least overtly. Perhaps she could give the spirit new information that would help interpret its situation.

The female curled her lip, but not with the malice which it had seen accompanying such an expression on the Loki's face. She seemed more amused at the spirit's multiple questions.

"SHIELD is a covert, clandestine organization of assassins and spies. They make it their business to be in the business of everyone else. Anyone who can be seen as a threat to the United States, or to SHIELD, is closely monitored. Hunted down, even. Imprisoned without trial or jury."

The female crossed her arms and eyed it up and down.

"Especially someone like you."

"Explain," it requested. Did other beings like itself exist on this planet?

"A… person spawned from nothingness using the power of the Tesseract and the sceptre? They would lock you away, at the very least. Perhaps slice you up, see what makes you tick."

The spirit processed this information as it stared at the human, its brows tensed as it scrutinized the odd expression on her face.

"Is that why you fight them?" the spirit asked, needing to know why the humans would ally with the Loki, who nearly succeeded in bringing forth an army of foul creatures onto her planet.

The female hesitated before answering, her eyes unfocused and far away.

"My sister. She was… different. Special." A ghost of a smile flitted across her face, making her seem more youthful and not so heavily burdened with bitterness. "She could manipulate water. Make it move. Cause it to freeze, or boil, or simply evaporate."

The human's smile faded, the hardness returning to her eyes.

"She could also condense it. Create water out of seemingly thin air. In other words, SHIELD used their conveniently vague threat list to identify my sister as a target because she could potentially drown someone on dry land, filling their lungs with water."

The female's voice was a mixture of pained recollections and frustrated helplessness.

"Sophie was harmless. She liked to… to water the garden. Fill her glass because she was lazy, or dump water on our brother's head for fun. She never would have hurt anyone.

"But SHIELD took her away… We never found out where, or what they've done to her."

The female human stared directly into the eyes of the spirit, and something dark brooding in them.

"I never saw her again. Maybe if SHIELD is destroyed or dismantled, I'll be able to find her. Take her home."

It did not know what to say, but it felt the beginning of understanding. It was experiencing empathy for this human and the loss of her sibling. Despite being wrapped in layers of blood and bone, it seemed these bodies were still capable of sharing strong emotional empathy. It was glad to know this one aspect had not been lost in its new form.

"Thank you… for telling it," it replied, unsure of what would be the appropriate response. "It is sorry about your sister," it added, finding this statement both genuine and safe.

The female nodded and took a deep breath before she turned to open the door. But before she placed her hand on the handle, she slightly turned and said:

"If you really are sorry, then help the Asgardian open a portal." The human looked at the spirit with an expectant expression. "That is why he released you from the sceptre, right?"

Notes