Loki is livid.

She knows why – and he has every reason to be. She, to state the facts, really screwed things up. Morgan understood how risky it was to so much as elude to her engagements with the thought-to-be-dead (ex?) prince of Asgard, but she trusted Joey – he understood her, from what she read, and that was something Morgan was instantly drawn to. Call it her weakness, perhaps.

Maybe she confided in someone who tried to understand her. Of course, she had her mom, Uncle Rhodey, Happy, Peter, MJ, Shuri, Harley, Riri, Cassie, Nate, Sam, Bucky...and just about every other Avenger; but for some reason, Joey seemed to relate to her in a way that no one else could; he understood her frustration and anger with the world. It was refreshing.

"Why on Earth would you think to tell that boy?!" Loki rages, snapping Morgan from her daze. His deep emerald eyes are sharp and dangerous, and if looks could kill, she'd be in a heap on the floor right now.

"Please, don't be ridiculous; like he'd tell anyone," she fires back, although she's certain he'll easily see through her façade. He always does, and she hates it. Sometimes his mastery in the art of deception is a little too invading.

The god cackles heartily, and everything about the way he moves and speaks is venomous. "You know what the consequences are of putting our little rendezvous in jeopardy," he taunts, hovering over her. Morgan trembles slightly standing in his imposing shadow. Somehow, she stands her ground, despite her rapidly beating heart and shallow breaths. "Still, the mortal in you indulges in disaster." Loki waltzes away from her, and in a few long strides he's standing across the room, peering out the window that overlooks the main courtyard. "Humankind is pathetic. You ruin everything."

Morgan closes her eyes and manages a shallow breath and says the only thing that comes to mind. "I'm sorry."

His eyes narrow at her and he scowls in disgust; he's told her repeatedly just how much he hates those words, rambled to her countless times that apologies are only prolonged pretexts for failure. "I can't fathom how an apology could suffice for your outlandishly foolish actions."

Unsure of how to take control of the situation, the teenager decides to simply be honest. Honesty was the best policy, after all. "I don't know what you're expecting me to say, then."

"How about, 'I'm willing to pay for my little fiasco.'"

Her gaze shoots up to meet his, and she's startled to see a familiar toxic glint in those endless green pools; it's the look of mischief, torturous, spiteful mischief. "My willingness to do as you please depends on what exactly you're asking me to do," she firmly replies, keeping her eyes locked on his.

"Darling," he laughs, stepping closer to her. "You misinterpret your freedoms in this situation. Your opinion means nothing to me."

She won't allow herself to be frightened because she knows he can sniff out fear like a shrewd bloodhound; another thing she hates about the incredibly perceptive god of mischief. Instead, Morgan gulps down the anxiety slowly eating away at the back of her throat and refuses to break eye contact. "You don't own me, Loki. I'm not your dog, I don't have to do everything you say. This is a partnership; we work together to get what we both want."

Unlike the hostile rebuttal she'd anticipated, Loki instead smirked and nodded, almost in agreement. "Very well," he starts. "If you're too proud and stubborn to obey, perhaps you'll need some incentive."

Her heart sinks as a familiar shape materializes from the sparkling green light in his hands; his grin is devilish and for a moment Morgan is second-guessing if she was right to take the madman up on this 'deal' in the first place. Loki's cast-iron grip is tight around her father's Iron Man helmet, the very one they'd found left on his workbench in the garage the day he died; the same one that held the very last memory of Tony Stark Morgan would ever have. To what extent she'd go to protect it, she wasn't entirely sure, but she knew that her moral judgement would go askew, and her will to do some horrible things would highly increase.

Just like that, he had her at his mercy.

"Loki," she attempts to warn him, feeling her heartbeat only quicken and her blood begin to boil. She wrestles with herself to keep her composure. As much as she wants to jump at his throat right now, she can't. She needs him, and it's frustrating that she feels so helpless.

"The boy, tomorrow, here," he snarls, and she can feel the anger radiating from his lithe, masculine frame. Even in the dim lighting of the room, Morgan can see his grip tighten around the titanium-alloy helmet. "No excuses."

And then he's gone in a flash of light blue florescent light, and her dad's helmet clatters to the hardwood floors in an obnoxiously loud clank, rolling a foot or so before stopping. Morgan looks to the floor, her mind completely blank. She doesn't want to abide by his stupid rules, and she knows better than to trust anything that comes out of that dishonest and disgusting mouth. Still, she can't help but feed the growing feeling in her sore heart; the feeling that's reminding her why she got into this mess in the first place. She needs to listen to him. She needs his help. As much as she hates to admit it, she can't do this without him; his insight is irreplaceably valuable.

Morgan won't let him hurt Joseph. She won't let him hurt anyone she cares about; that's not why he's here; and she's aware that he might try to, for the sake of his own ego just to assert his dominance over her; he's hard to read, which is a tad scary to Morgan. For now, though, she'll do as he says.

A sinking feeling is gnawing at her gut as she lays for sleep that night. She excuses herself from dinner and retreats to her room, not speaking or saying goodnight to anyone at the compound; she's afraid of what she might reveal if she chances it. Morgan is wary of Pepper's concerning look, and Harley's questioning eyes. She ignores it, for their sake, and for her own, too; she still needs to convince herself that what she's doing is right.