The morning sun wasn't as harsh, but it woke me up nonetheless. The faint song of a bird in flight accompanied the wake up call and I could not find one reason to open my eyes yet. For what seems like the first time, the light doesn't necessarily come as an ill omen, and perhaps I could convince myself that to be true enough so I don't have to move.

I stir lightly in place to stretch myself into consciousness, running my arm up the smooth pillow I'm laid up against until my hand hooks the top, pulling it closer into me. I take a deep breath in as I do, releasing it into a series of light, faint hums after tasting the freshness of the morning air.

When the fuck did I get so soft?

I'm too comfortable to care. Never have I felt this sedated without actually having been injected with sedatives. I've never understood drug addicts more than in this moment and, all the same with normal, civilized people. This is addicting—wrapped gently in soft sheets, grasping onto a pillow that can withstand my hold, and the simple pleasure in fingertips slowly gliding along my spine. Abuse never felt so good.

And in that moment, as if on cue to spite me, the sun seemed to beam a bit more blindingly, the sheets worked to suffocate me, and the pillow I had been running my hands all over grew a rather fit chest.

I shoot my eyes open and push myself up, meeting the god at eye level with a hand still on his chest. He sat up against the headboard with a book in hand, his other still trailing softly up and down my back.

He lazily shuts the book and discards it on the side table, grinning idly at my sudden rise. "Good morning."

My lips part slowly as if to speak, but my eyes made the mistake of watching his mouth as he spoke. You would think Loki's smirk was the sexiest thing those lips could do, but my mind was quick to remind me of the countless things they could do better. 

His voice didn't help. It made me feel like a raw nerve. That deep, raspy groan that only morning could give him is alone the reason good girls don't go to heaven and the trigger that will put me under him again, gladly letting him drag his knife along my throat.

I'm fucked.

My loss for words didn't go unnoticed. He drew his fingers lightly up my spine, slowly marking the path to the back of my neck as my eyes forced themselves from his lips back to his eyes.

His fingers gently laced themselves through my hair, spreading his palm flat against the back of my head.

"I never thought it was possible," he whispers, leaning into my lips, "that you would be able to shut up."

Why does everything he says have to sound like a caress?

I smile before starting my hand up his chest, slowly leaning in to meet him until my hand settles comfortably around his neck, stopping him before he could reach my mouth. "Come any closer and I'll rip your heart out of your chest."

"There she is," he grins, the movement making his lips brush mine.

I slid my hand from his throat down to his chest, eliciting a dark groan that tightened the grip on my hair. It was a warning, as it always is, but his stormy eyes wanted to rebel against any sense. 

He raised an eyebrow after too long into our glance that prompted his own fingers to trickle down to my back again. Those eyes followed my lips as I pushed myself away before taking his hand off my back and returning it to him.

"I'm leaving this bed," I softly announce, though his eyes seemed a bit too preoccupied. I gather the comforter in my hands and bring it up against my chest before moving to the edge of the bed.

The sheets rustle ever so slightly behind me as he lazily rolls onto his side, eyes running up and down my back. He props his head up on one arm as he seems to battle with a thought. "No one's ever said that to me before."

I hum softly to keep back a laugh. "That makes me want to do it even more."

My foot just barely kisses the floor before Loki pulls me back, finding a comfortable position hovering over me. "If you don't stop making those little sounds, I can't be expected to be responsible for my actions."

The groan escapes me without a thought to it. "Stop. talking."

He smirks down at me before taking his bottom lip in, scanning over all the marks he made last night once more with great, sadistic pleasure.

Both of my hands rise to press against the chest above me as if to keep him back. I'm extremely lucid to the fact that I can't stop touching him, and his persistence isn't helping. "This isn't happening again."

"No?" He so innocently narrows his eyes down at me before kissing my jaw, slowly making his way down my body. My hands force themselves to his shoulders as they go soft against him.

"No," I breathe through a gasp that unexpectedly finds me as he shapes my waist with his hands. "It can't ha--never again," I whisper as my own eyes close to betray me.

"Never again," He hums against my stomach, nodding to words that clearly don't register.

I start panting under my breath, keeping myself as composed as possible. "Bad idea."

He nears closer to my core with hungry, languid kisses, growling darkly undoubtedly at himself into the skin of my inner thighs. "A very, very bad idea."

"Very...very..."

He stalls at the point of no return, eyes keen like that of a predator. "I feel like I'm going to make it anyways--"

"...very bad—"

"I'm very good at making bad decisions."

"—very good..."

He death grips my thighs and dives in between my legs, staring into me as if there were no other thoughts in his head. "I can make this the best bad decision we've ever made."

I throw my head back and instinctively arch into him, trying to think of something—any reason for him not to.

"I hate you."

"By all the gods I despise you," he growls as his head dips into my center.

My breath hitches before I squeeze my thighs against his head, keeping him in place so he can't indulge any further. He retaliates, latching his mouth onto the skin of my thigh while massaging the outside with his large, capable hand. Against my bodies clear, painfully clear wishes, I steady my breath and squeeze harder. "Does Asgard have computers?"

I soften my hold on him as he raises his head up, lust gazed eyes looking up at me, not fully registering anything yet. "What?"

My legs fall from his head down to his shoulders. "One that will take a flash drive."

He narrows his eyes as he catches his breath, staring at me for a moment longer than anticipated. "What about this made you think about that?"

"I have things to do," I breathe smoothly, pushing my leg into his chest, sending him back whilst propping myself up on my elbows. "And you're not going to stop me."

He grabs my leg from his chest and holds it in his hand, raising an eyebrow down at me. "Stop phrasing it like a challenge and maybe you'll make it out of this bed."

I kick an eyebrow up to fight him, initiating a standoff that didn't last more than a minute before he broke with a deep, masked sigh.

"Computers are a bit mundane," he starts, bringing my leg up on his shoulder, kissing my ankle and down my shin. "Everything about Midgard is mundane so it is quite possible your flash drive is not compatible. But I'll have Khalil bring you to the tech room and you can do your...things."

I push off my elbows and throw down my hands, extending myself up to him only a few inches away from his face, my eyes roaming between his lips and his eyes. "Thank you for your permission," I coo, furrowing my eyebrows sincerely as if I could hide the glorious sarcasm.

He grins, humming a syllable note that rang something similar to we both know you would have done it anyway.

I slowly drag my foot down from his shoulder to his stomach, pushing him back gently to escape from his very, very tempting caress. I take all the sheets with me as I roll of the bed, wrapping myself with them tightly and leaving him fully bare, to which he takes full advantage of, laying like a model on the mattress.

I'm really fucked.

I turn my back to him to reduce the risk of jumping right back in bed, but the first thing that comes to mind are all the places I've found on him last night to be the most responsive. I suppose he doesn't like people knowing about the spot right under his ear, because every time I reached it, he retaliated in the most delicious way possible. And I want to bite it again.

I'm really, really fucked.

"I need clothes," I cough out with clear, misplaced urgency.

I lazily turn to him again as I hear him get off the bed and in that second, he starts towards me just as unhurriedly.

"Yours are quite..." He takes my jaw under his finger, pretending to think of his next words as he brings my head to follow him as he passes me. "Unsalvageable," he whispers, narrowing his eyes playfully into mine that don't look nearly as amused. 

He turns back once he's reached the bathroom, leaning against the doorway ahead of me in all his glory. He kicks the side of his lips up for just a second before he waves his hand and I feel a weight cover my body.

I drop the sheets once I could see a different fabric for myself-- a strappy, simple sundress, tightly fitted at the top, but at an appropriate length. For once.

I won't fight it.

He looks me up and down before slowly pushing off the doorway, grabbing two towels and finally covering himself with one. "I have meetings all day today and two induction feasts. I have no time to tend to any other surprises." He leans up against the doorway again once he's situated, crossing his arms over his chest. "So please don't burn anything down in the meantime."

I raise an eyebrow before leaning against the bedpost and less than subtly look him up and down. "We'll see."

We standoff for a moment, mirroring the other as our eyes scan over our favorite spots of each other. Every second we left unoccupied tempted me more to go grab his face, but that look in his eye told me I would never leave, and I have yet to decide if I was okay with staying in that bed for the rest of my life.

"Kahlil will be at your door in one minute," he rasps, getting the attention of my eyes on his before stalking towards me. "We're going to have to push our plotting murder until tomorrow."

My head tilts up as he gets closer, keeping our eyes fixed on each other. It was early, but he wanted to start playing.

I glared up at him, hiding the smirk that threatened my lips. "That's unfortunate."

"Mm," He hums and grins beside himself, tilting his head to let the silk flow from his tongue more effortlessly. "Unless you want to join me in the bath, of course."

I part my lips to speak, but he cuts me off before I could even get a breath out.

"Ah, but what did you say?" He starts, his towel brushing the inside of my thigh as he moves to press me against the bedpost. "Never again, I think it was."

He slowly dips his head into the nape of my neck, keeping his lips hovered just over the skin. "Say it again for me," he whispers, brushing his lips in a line down the side of my throat.

I lean up to his ear, whispering as sensually as I could while smiling to myself. "If I told you to take me up against this post right now, would you do it?"

He groans, retreating from my neck to give me his face that looked annoyingly defeated, whether he intended to show that much or not.

"Dangerous," he whispers as if its a curse, furrowing his eyebrows to try and mask the grin growing on his face.

He brings his hand to my face, pushing back my hair so his fingers could have my cheek to themselves. The sudden look of sincerity threw me off, and it seems he didn't expect it either. He rubs his thumb gently against the skin, taking me in for whatever I had faulted to hide.

"You're going to kill me."

He spoke slowly, as if to convince me it were truth and the fact that I didn't want to accept it at first scared me more than anything. I was more than eager to summon the appropriate amount of darkness to deal with that. The way he looked at me battled with the inflow itself.

"That's the plan," I whisper back, waiting for that blackness to fill all my wounds.

He brings his other hand to the open cheek, holding my face between his hands, bringing his lips too close to mine. "Ten seconds."

It takes me a second to register he even spoke before I narrow my eyes up at him. "What?"

He winks, "Deep breath."

And within the next two seconds, I'm flashed back into my room, choking on air.

I fucking hate that.

And within the next second, a small cup of tea appears on my nightstand.

I fucking love that.

I grab the cup and sit on my bed, taking the last second I have to drink before Kahlil comes running through the door.

He stills in the doorway, looking at me like he's just been caught in another dimension.

"It's early," he states as if I didn't know it.

I crossed my legs and sat more comfortably. "It's morning."

"You sleep through the morning."

"I was feeling rebellious."

I take another sip of my tea, watching him over the rim. He moved his head up as if he wanted to see what I was really drinking.

"You're wearing a dress."

"Yes."

He reels himself in as if he needed to tread carefully, but couldn't help himself.

"Did you dress yourself?"

"Sorry, did you want to do it?"

"Where did you get the tea?"

"I'm feeling attacked," I murmur, bringing my hand to my chest as if to emphasize the end of  my involvement in the conversation.

I lean over to the side table and open the drawer, pulling out the flash drive. With that in hand and my cup in the other, I walk towards the door, pushing past Kahlil with an enthusiastic, "Field trip!"

He catches up to me by the time I'm halfway down the hallway, rushing to my side as if he was afraid anyone would see him trailing behind.

"Can I ask why of all places you want to go to the tech room?"

"Depends." I round the corner in a confidence that would fool anyone into thinking I know where I'm going, but taking in the fact that Kahlil has yet to tell me otherwise, I can assume I'm doing something right. "Who am I to you?"

"Safiya, really, you need to stop making advances."

I let a subtle laugh slip as I hit him gently in the stomach, to which he takes as dramatically as he can.

"How much do you know about me?" I rephrase, rounding another corner to which he still doesn't correct me on.

"The saviour of Midgard," he starts, listing off titles into the air around us with a disgustingly theatrical performance. "Loki's final match, the woman who hates prison guards a lot, possible just overall men hater, the one who drove a dagger through Khalil's boyfriend's shoulder--"

"I'm sorry again--"

"The one who burnt Asgard to the ground," he continues, "Odin's least favorite, yet most preferred--"

"Oh come on."

He raises his eyebrow well above the other. "Am I wrong?" We round another corner in silence, making it almost halfway down the hallway before he's finally burdened by my silence.

"He treats you better than anyone here, you know."

I sighed without any conscious thought, a bit of a groan leaving with the breath. "What are you talking about?"

"Every time you try to leave, he upgrades the treatment. Did you not notice your sheets last night? They're satin now. And your food order? It's the same meals as the high lords, the kind of food you would eat on special occasions, but you never request it. Am I jealous? Maybe. Bitter? Absolutely."

I head straight and my eyes trained ahead of me. "He's not making out to be a very good captor."

"I think he may be the best," he grins to himself. "It's clear he doesn't want you to know, but maybe that's the secret to keeping you here."

"Don't phrase it as a challenge or I'll take it as one," I groan, finally spotting the pair of grand, clear double doors that basically radiated the signature blue and black technical hue.

"Well," I shout rather broadly as I push a door open and walk in. "In that case, order it all for tonight. Everything on my exclusive menu."

"That's kind of a waste just to make a point." He narrows his eyes at me. "Whatever the point is your making."

"I agree," I lull absentmindedly, scanning my eyes over the never ending room that doesn't accompany anything that looks remotely close to a computer. "It's a good thing I have more than enough maids and guards near me at all times. And a rather relentless assistant."

"Not an assistant--"

"Oh, and tell Sif. And get all of the alcohol."

I stall in place, taking a second to look up into the room in awe. Every word that left his mouth was of distant regard, and I would feel horrible if I weren't staring at hundreds of technological breakthroughs that will take Earth at least a hundred years to just conceptualize. The curiosity of the astrophysicist in me will never leave, and a place like this doesn't help.

I start my way down the narrow hallways within the gallery, hoping Kahlil gets the hint to trail behind. "What I meant to get out of that conversation was that this flash drive has to do with just a little part of my life on Earth. I have been lots of things in my life, but in a way, more literal towards the end, I've always been just one."

"A pain in my ass?"

"Close," I grin to myself.

I find something pushed to the edge of a large table amongst an endless amount of novelties. It looked to be the size of the flash drive itself, but something about seemed familiar, and that's enough to go off comparably in this place.

"Actually killing someone is only a quarter of the job of an assassin," I start, placing the flash drive tentatively on to the transparent, blue waves, letting it analyze it. "You learn how to lie, adapt, analyze—living your whole life perfecting the great con that the con itself quite literally becomes your life."

"But the greatest skill you get, and perhaps the one you use most often, is the ability to spot when someone else is playing the same game. Living the same faulty life." I lean down to the drive, watching it carefully with my full attention. "Trust is valued too high for something so acting, and in the end it is perhaps the one thing in this world that is utterly useless if it is not the trust you have in yourself. And to have that, you must learn that investing your faith into gods or friends or even organizations that are built to do one job and one job only, is the biggest expense of your life."

It was silent for a few moments before Kahlil leaned down to examine the flash drive himself, us both waiting for something, anything to happen.

"What the hell did that stick do to you?"

"I don't know yet," I whisper, eyes fully fixed on the way the fixture flips and turns the drive. "Before I came to Asgard a second time, I helping on a job for an organization I loosely worked with. I had to erase some files, move some things around, but there was one file that was left unmentioned. It was the only one sealed...with one code...and one access key."

"Conspiracy?"

"The directors an asshole, but he's perhaps the one person most loyal to that organization—whatever's left of it." I shake my head to myself. "But I don't know why he would hide an agent from everyone else."

"You know, I wouldn't doubt there's a good reason to keep something or someone hidden like that. If he's a strategic man, I'm sure he wouldn't want to play all his cards on the first round." He folds his hands over his chest, still bent down to my level before the flash drive. "But if he has gone to great lengths to keep this information away from the common people and the people around him who want nothing but power, then I would think he knows what he was doing."

It's quiet for a few seconds. Whether this feeling is me resenting the fact that I'm possibly fixating all my problems into one unsolved problem that doesn't necessarily need to be fixed...is a distant concern.

"Also," he smiles so damned softly, "we've been staring at reflex monitor."

I turn my head to his side and raise an eyebrow.

He softens his eyes as well. "It's not doing anything to your stick."

I groan under my breath as I snatch the flash drive back, starting my way down the path again.

Khalil follows behind, keeping a distance he didn't need to, but it's appreciated nonetheless.

His steps get heavy after a moment which prompts me to slow down just a bit, but to no extent that he would be able to recognize.

"If we used everything we had, and revealed everything we are, everyone would be ugly," he breathes, subtly shedding the distance between us as if he knew I wouldn't retaliate as much as I would want to.

I scoff quietly, turning onto a different path than we were on. "Ugly stop scaring me a long time ago."

"You are not who I'm concerned for," he laughs, stalling for a few seconds before closing a bit more of the distance as we walk.

"It's so easy to say something is ugly when you've only known the pretty. And it's only once you've known both states in such an intimacy when you realize everything is both ugly and pretty, thus the words themselves are quite meaningless."

We round another corner, speaking rather freely in the company of hundreds of people working around us, but Kahlil could not care any less.

"The people who put weight on the words are those who don't want to know anything else," he starts again, "And it is us who needs to be mindful of that because we are, in fact, in the minority."

I scoff, a bit of a laugh lingering through the breath. "We?"

"Yes. Wow. I'll ignore that."

I roll my eyes and walk forward to only god knows where, but at this point, I just want to see every little thing in this room.

"Most people aren't quite ready for that yet—losing the comfort in what they think to be true. They won't understand it, or they won't let themselves. And with that, you can't preach to a choir without understanding it yourself, and being able to show it in a way you know others will be able to retain it."

"That is what doing things for the greater good is, I think. Sacrificing your own comfort, using the strength and information you have only when you need to, and in that work, if you do it right, you will be considered ugly at some point."

I stop in my tracks and turn back to him, but he seemed to have anticipated it.

"That's a special kind of power," he rasps rather proudly, "And if I were to trust in anything besides myself, it would be that."

"It's the best kind," I say straightly, scanning his face for a moment before taking off again. "Unfortunately, I am in no way one of the best kind."

He laughs from behind me, but keeps it's full potential at bed. "Perhaps. But once you find out what's on that drive, you're not going to ruin it."

"See, now that sounds like a challenge."

"The throne and the common people under it both yearn for the same thing despite their polars, and perhaps they don't know it. In the same way black and white know each other so well, but the other colors between them are so blind to the fact that they are made from them both whilst working tirelessly to keep the opposites apart." He pauses, building a subtle confidence that I can't tell is defensive or just stressingly conclusive.

"But you do," he breathes. "You know it, and you don't necessarily take me as either the throne or a commoner. Black or white."

Whatever his intentions, this wasn't at all reassuring, but they stopped me from walking any further nonetheless.

I turn to him as a smile threatens my lips. "You're a poet now?"

His own lips kick up at the side, much softer than any grin should be if it were playing some kind of game. "Just a guard to Asgard's throne, who was somehow the only one okay guarding an assassin."

I take a few steps closer to him, finally closing the space that makes us any less of friends. "If I truly only wanted to hear what I wanted to hear, then I would've killed you a while ago."

He smiles lightly to me as if it were the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to him. A little too lightly for my own eyes.

"Did you just want to stop walking around?"

"That also may be possible," he admits, "You usually hate when I talk."

I bring the drive lazily up next to my face. "Will anything here take this?"

"Most definitely not. Look at that thing."

I gasp as if it the words were intended to offend me. "This can hold up to 64 GB."

He shoots me the most pitiful look I've ever been given. "Don't tell me you still have to use gigabytes."

... ... ...

I had no idea what any of the food really was, but they all seemed to enjoy it. The guards outside my door finally caved to join us, Laini and Kari needed no such persuasion, and the chefs that brought in the trays of our dinner stayed to have some themselves. It didn't take long before every piece of furniture in my room that could be used as a seat was pulled up to the table on the balcony.

Whether it was intentional or not, I truly do think I have one of the more gorgeous rooms in the palace just for the view. The balcony sat behind a pair of large, decorated glass doors that overlooked Asgard in the best way possible. We were up well above the trees, but it was entirely possible to feel completely consumed by the city lights and the life below it.

Everything about the night seemed to incentivize our feast. A nautical twilight started it all and as the sky grew more enticingly black, so did the dinner affair.

It turns out there's no drinking age on Asgard, and that fact could not be ignored as each person, young and old, drank as skillfully and heavily as a dying man on his last night.

The idea of shots intrigued them—to my benefit only. I was basically skating around the room with Kahlil's blind, drunken encouragement, taking the bottles of wine from everyone's hand and replacing it with a tiny glass that they all made sure to laugh at.

I'm not sure if it was necessarily the size of the glass that offended them or if they were just looking for an excuse to drink more, but during the main course, they all took a liking to filling up the shot glasses. One, two, five, ten times and on.

By the time I excused myself for the bathroom, Sif and Kahlil were on the table shouting down to the guards posted at the front entrance 20 feet below our balcony, pouring down shots from above and hoping it reached their mouths.

It turns out Asgardians like to have a good time when the sun goes down. I guess I could have tested that before going through the trouble to get enough tranquilizers to drug them all for the night, but it's all the same as I gently slip out of my own room, locking them in as I leave.

The only people that would stop me from snooping are now all properly drunk and locked in, and even though it was fairly easy, it would possibly be the only time I would be able to explore parts of the palace without a specific reason. And in more ways than one, it became a clear now or never.

Trust.

Trust.

No, it sounds just as bad a second time. Heavily romanticized, irrationally priced—we've made trust sound so important if it's to be given to anyone but ourselves. It's prettiness is all to thank for its fruitlessness.

I don't trust him. And I never will.

I don't know if everything he said was true. The words did come from the mouth of the God of Lies himself, but talk of a mad titian or the urgent need for murder...I have to believe him.

There's one thing I have always relied on, and it has yet to fail me. Perhaps it's because I've found it to be the one thing I trust most in myself.

I trust his rage.

His hunger for revenge, his itching need for his own kind of justice—for a man with such complexity in his morals and delusion that comes with his own self perception, there is only one thing you can rely on to make him act out. One motivator that will bring the truths to the surface. It's what makes gods so quick to vanity and swift to their own destruction.

Rage is a comfortable place. It has its own behavior, and does not ask for an identity at the door. It let's you in, you let it consume you, and it blinds you to anything else, because that is what you want.

True, imbedded, flowering rage. In the end, fire will always burn just the same, with no regard to good or bad. It will all turn to ash. It's the only thing that brings an inevitable end.

I accept his words. But with the fire as reliable as can be, my main concern, as it always has been, is the aftermath. The ash—and what will rise from it.

I walk myself past the throne room, past the dungeons, dodging the eyes of any guards on the way until I get to that staircase leading into what seems like the pits of hell with how far down it goes.

Kahlil and others have gone to great extents from keeping me from this side of the palace. Hell and I know each other better than most here, and I wouldn't be intrigued in the slightest if it weren't for their insistence otherwise. So naturally, I start my way down.

The god and I have had one talk. Only one, but I could assume my own worry would not be addressed in the second. Or the third, or ever until the day comes.

That's the big question.

We will strategize. We will discuss how to that day. We will discuss everything up until the last second before what he wants is placed into his hands.

It's inevitable, that ruinous day, when I realize I've been played by the God of Mischief.

He will do all the work for us. The words rang through my head piece by piece. Us—how cleverly placed, molded by deceit, yet it rings loudest. Us—inferring that the blood we each shed lands on the others hands almost instantly, sharing every act, every struck of guilt, every regret. That's all my involvement is, isn't it? A special kind of torture? In the end, all of it is synonymous to the question I should have spit right back, but instead repeats continuously in following.

If or when he gets all the stones for himself... what will he do with them? What will rise from the ashes?

I'll help him take down a mad titian, as if I could have refused. I don't just get that information and have the luxury of ignoring it.

But when that day comes when we stop fighting side by side and come for each other once more, I can promise myself I will no longer be in the dark. I will know everything he does and more. Our game will end and my opponent will finally rest because I will know how to kill him. And he will fall.

I walk slowly down the rest of the steps, the following taken more hesitantly than the one before as a golden hue starts to consume the dark corner I have emerged from. This grand hall was below the prisons, deep below the ground, and perhaps if it weren't for the way the large doors were pushed open, I wouldn't have recognized so clearly that is was in fact Asgard's infamous vault. The much talked about vault, only brought up when they speak about me not being allowed anywhere near it.

Despite the golden brightness, the ground floor had a more than enticing view. It's almost fitting that the first thing I would see was the back of Loki with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

It's a picture that had probably painted itself in the minds of one or the other—possibly Odin in his nightmares or Loki in his dreams—him amidst Asgard's greatest stolen relics, locked away to contain each and every one's dangerous, unmatchable power. And now it imprints itself in my own as if it should be bookmarked for later, or stored away for easy reference.

His illusion of Odin was down and he stood still at the sound of nearing footsteps—all signs he already knew I was here before I knew he was. I hate when he does that.

I lean against the closest side of the doorway despite the towering doors making me look like a speck in comparison, but I cross my arms across my chest to try and make myself look just as tall.

We both knew we were a few feet away from each other, but between us stood a great staircase down like that of a throne, a few powerful, galactic relics, and the heavy, unmoveable stubbornness in us both that would rather let us die than be the one to speak first.

I hear him lightly scoff at the silence before turning his head in line with his shoulder, giving me a nice view of his profile which may or may not have persuaded me into breaking first. I push off the side and slowly take my first steps down the stairs, the sound of each heavy step replacing the silence with something much more impending...dooming, to be determined.

"Looking for something to use for a realm's destruction?"

Things are only funny when they could be true.

He hums a deep tune that could be mistaken as a laugh, gripping me hands tighter around each other. "You would like that, wouldn't you?"

"It would make things a hell of a lot easier if we were who everyone thinks we are," I breathe, taking the last steps down until I reach his level, settling a fair distance away from him.

He unhurriedly turns his body towards me with a grin that flashed much weaker than normal. "I agree."

I would think his eyes were more ruthless than usual if my own weren't as searching. He stared into me at the base of the stairs, and after last night the fact has never been more clear that I'm nothing but an obstacle between him and the top. Despite working for the same goal, there's no doubt that the throne and the dethroner have compromised each other in perhaps more ways than one.

A muscle in his jaw ticks before he lets his arms fall to his side, finally breaking the silence that would have suffocated us if it lasted a second longer.

"There's been a small uprising in Alfheim, a neighboring realm. Apparently Odin did not hold up his end of a treaty and it has costed more than a few lives," he starts, eyes lingering a bit longer on mine than they should have as he turns his back to me again, walking down the narrow hallway and deeper into the vault. "I'm taking a few men with me to go contain it before a full rebellion forms. We don't need more people hurt than there already has been."

I tentatively follow far behind him as if any of the relics on either side of the path could kill me in a second—which is not at all far from the truth for anything in this room. I stop silently in front of the blue hue that could not be missed and refused to be ignored. Amongst everything in here, this stood out the most, perhaps because we've been the most intimately acquainted, but what fascinated me most was the fact that he could walk right passed it.

I keep my eyes locked on it, hearing his feet stop when he hears my own halt, but stilling to keep the great distance between us.

"And you're going to use the tesseract to wipe them all out?" I spit loosely with a ghost of my usual sarcasm. It wasn't that I necessarily believed in the literal notion, but the sight of the bare power had me tranced in thoughts beyond our own conversation.

He scoffs playfully before meeting with the silence, undoubtedly watching me invest my attention in anything other than him, and perhaps less dangerously, the tesseract itself.

"I would like to think of myself as a bit more clever," He sneers casually before stepping to close some of the sacred distance between us, "And that does not leave Asgard."

I tear my eyes from the cube and meet with his which stills him in place as casually as he could pretend it to. A slight kick at the side of my lips is enough of a response, almost laughing at the accusation that I would be the one to take it. But it was fleeting, and the grin fell as I rolled my lips together in deep thought about speaking. There was a great chance I won't like the answer, but the people will. Whoever the people are at this point, I don't know. Of Asgard? In all the realms? Who cares.

I should, shouldn't I? This is for them, isn't it?

I walk slowly to the center of the path. Gentle, soft fire lights either side, but god is it blinding.

My head whips around the room, my body following slowly behind until I've made a complete twirl around in place and I'm staring back into the gods eyes. Those damn eyes. They were right to stay at least ten feet away. And he seemed to know that.

"I haven't even scratched the surface, have I?"  I start with more of an insane fascination than my reflexive roaring fire.

He throws his hands behind his back again as if it would show him unphased, but the muscle in his jaw ticked again, even more so when I took an unconscious step forward.

I take another slow step, painfully conscious at the need for distance, but my eyebrows furrow together as if that is of a distant concern. "Has anyone?"

I wish there was some kind of playfullness in the air, something our game could grasp onto as an indication of war, but unfortunately, nothing in me could mask the sincerity I had wished to keep secret.

"You have this entire vault at your fingertips, weapons that could scar the whole universe, and your own magic that I have yet to see besides the duplicates you made of yourself for fun." His eyes bored into mine whether he intended them to or not, but I had no mind to stop. "Why don't you use your power?"

He scoffs at me mockingly, releasing his hands and taking a step forward. "How are you convincing everyone you're a military strategist? Where's your value on the element of surprise--"

"Shut up."

He stills in place, raising an eyebrow as he tilts his head warningly. "Oh, I want to have you make me--"

"No games," I snapped, glaring at him until he straightens himself. "For one second."

He fixed himself in place as he eyed me down, no doubt picturing himself burning holes into every pore of my body, but something in him held great restraint. He took a deep breath, releasing it as he shook his head right at me, speaking straightly and with a dead cold look.

"They would fear me beyond anything."

The infamous they makes their presence again. And so does the silence. But for once, I'd rather let it burn me thoroughly than speak before he does.

"It's very easy for me to be the monster again." He aims coldly, stalking towards me with a hesitation he does a great job at hiding. "If that ability comes so easily, perhaps I always was and still am."

His eyes run across my face, seemingly analyzing the depths of my every thought . "There is nothing more dangerous than an eloquent, dark mind."

He slows his stride as if he could have moved any slower and looked to his side before his body follows his mind. He moves off the path to a display that's nothing but a simple flame, but he looks thoughtfully at it as if it were speaking to him.

"Fear is the only thing in this world that has control. It drives us all in more ways than one, and most of the time, we let it." He grins to himself before sharing it with the fire. "It makes everything so easy. People are so damn easy."

I slowly start towards him until I'm just a few feet behind his back.

"I've always been one for easy," he starts again, trailing his finger along the stone edge that held the flame. "Real satisfaction is not in my nature, but some things require a control beyond what you thought you were capable of. And to overcome that grasp fear has on you..."

He turns back to face me, standing tall as ever.

"That's total control," he rasps. "That's true power."

I raise an eyebrow just slightly above the other. "And you think you have it?"

The corner of mouth lifts for a moment before he takes a step towards me, knowing full well that these steps actually mean something. "No," He huffs with a surprising amount of definition.

"I've been told I'm very perceptive to everything but myself. I suppose it takes a bit longer to admit that we fear something. Especially when the thing we all fear the most is ourselves." He takes another step forward, my eyes darting to his feet as he does. "And why would I put myself through all that stress if I'm great at illusions?"

I roll my eyes back up to his. "Be serious."

He smiled for only a second at me before it turned weak, and the sudden softness in his face greeted his eyes. He studied me for a moment, tilting his head so slightly that I would have missed it if I wasn't looking for every little move he makes.

"Safiya, if you could cast one yourself, would you ever drop it?"

I narrowed my eyes into his, but he was ready to take it. He darted between them, trying to find the answer in each one even though he already knew it.

Oh but don't I have a million already up. It's a painless thought that is perhaps always in the back of my head, and I have no intentions of letting any of them go. But if we do in fact feel the same, then what am I missing from him? How many does he have?

I furrow my eyebrows together, letting the whisper just barely leave my mouth, but not without the necessary aggression that just screams hypocrisy. "Don't hide from me."

He smiles again, but this time it stays. "Be careful what you wish for."

The crackling of the flame near us accompanied the silence well, as if it were the cause of the screams in the air. We sat in it for a moment, listening to the indistinct yells that kept us from thinking any further, but his eyes were just as consuming.

"I should ask how you got down here." He stares into me like he wasn't quite done, but he knows he should be. "I sent the two guards at the vault doors home, but I have ten people assigned to you."

"I have ten people and then some locked in my room right now."

He closes his eyes, letting a breathy laugh escape despite his best efforts. "I'm not trying to tame you."

I hum back in blatant disagreement, grinning wildly until he opened his eyes again. Our faces fell slowly in sync with each others as the seconds passed. The walls screamed and the flame heated the room to a new high, but nothing was as loud as the last step he took towards me and nothing could possibly be as hot as his expressive fingers finding their way to my face once more.

He gripped the back of my neck, my jaw, my cheeks—god he touched me everywhere with just his hand.

My breath hitched at its familiarity, like imminent danger in a touch, and the faint, "Not again," left my lips in such a desperation where neither of us knew if I meant the teleporting or his kiss.

He hovered over my mouth for just a moment. His breath warmed my lips like the way wine will flush your cheeks, and I couldn't help but bring my tongue across them and taste what he left.

But it was just a second later when he sends me into the air again, quickly and without warning.

... ... ...

I composed myself before opening the door to my room, ensuring I have enough air to breathe again and bracing myself for the wrath of everyone inside.

But the cheers were no more and I couldn't hear glasses clinking together any longer, so when I opened the door to see them all asleep, scattered around the room with their choice of liquor in hand, I couldn't be too surprised, but the fact that I wouldn't have to explain myself in the morning was astounding.

After a few moments of carefully navigating myself between the bodies on the floor, I reach my bed and climb into the space between Kahlil and Sif.

It's good to know that these are the only two who weren't scared of what I might do if I found them. I still burrowed myself in nonetheless, and if they fell off the bed in the middle of the night, so be it.

But holy shit.

The sheets are a nicer satin now.