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“I hate to do this to you again, Sam…”

“Hey, no problem, man. Giant fire demon invades Earth…government’s put a bounty on your head…I’d say that’s a decent excuse to crash here for a while.”

They stood in the warmly lit kitchen of his house, on the outskirts of Washington, D.C. Sam Wilson, otherwise known as the Falcon. Steve ran a hand briskly through his dirtied blond hair, exasperated. Emma watched him uncertainly, her heart heavy. She was at a loss as to what to do. How could they stop Surtur when they couldn’t even get to him?

Pepper sat silently at the table, looking thoroughly traumatized, and Tony was next to her, staring blankly at the far wall. In the living room, Natasha was lying on the couch, her head resting in Clint’s lap. Her eyes were closed, but Emma doubted that she was sleeping. Pietro and Carter sat together, speaking in hushed tones. Thor, Bruce, Bucky, and Wanda had gone upstairs, presumably to seek some peace and quiet. Thor could barely tolerate being in the same room as Loki, let alone looking at him or speaking to him.

Stepping over to the window, Emma peered outside. Loki stood alone on the front porch, his silhouette faintly defined by the yellow glow of the street lamps beyond. No one had spoken to him since their arrival, and Emma felt a tinge of compassion creeping into her heart. She had been in a similar situation after Ultron attacked and she had been forced to travel with the Avengers. Natasha and Clint had been her only friends at the time, and often, she had felt very alone.

Glancing briefly over her shoulder, Emma saw that Steve and Sam were immersed in conversation, and she quietly opened the front door, slipping out into the cool night air. Closing it quietly behind her, she stepped cautiously forward, folding her arms tightly over her chest to ward off the chill. She still wore the same black hoodie she had borrowed that morning. Loki stood with his back to her, unmoving, though she knew that he must have heard her.

“Please tell me that you know something I don’t.”

He turned, a sly smirk on his face. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific. The list is quite long…”

“Tell me that we’re not stuck here, helpless, while Surtur annihilates an entire race,” she said seriously, moving closer. “Tell me that you have a plan, or something…anything.”

“So you wish for me to lie, then? Very well—"

“Just—stop, all right?!” she demanded, frustrated. “How can you be so cheerful when your entire world hangs in the balance?!”

“I suppose I have a rather twisted sense of humor.”

Emma stared at him silently, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was struggling to suppress a fierce urge to slap him.

“You know, I thought that you really cared,” she said quietly, her voice dripping with anger and disappointment. “I thought that you truly wished to save your people and mine. I thought that maybe, despite what you did in New York, you had had a change of heart. That maybe your motives were misrepresented. I guess I was wrong. All you care about is yourself.”

She turned to go. Suddenly, Loki seized her arm and spun her back around. Emma blinked uncertainly as she met his fierce gaze. He was uncomfortably close.

“I tried,” he hissed. “I tried to stop him. You were there—you saw what happened. There was nothing else I could do.”

She searched his face, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why were you here in the first place? Why weren’t you in Asgard, preparing to defend it?”

Loki didn’t answer. His face was a blank slate—unreadable. They both stared intently into each other’s eyes for several moments, attempting to discern the other’s intentions and motivations. He was not playing his true hand, and she knew it. He, too, saw that she was no stranger to manipulation. Slowly, Loki released his grip on her arm, and the corners of his mouth curved upward into that insufferable smirk of his.

“Earlier, when I was wounded, I couldn’t help but notice how distraught you became. In fact, you seemed quite ready to strangle your comrade.”

Emma’s heart clenched, and she moved away, blinking uncertainly. Swiftly recovering, however, she lifted her chin and assumed an air of indifference.

“You are little more than a weapon in my eyes,” she answered coldly, “a device for defeating Surtur and preventing the Earth’s destruction—nothing more.”

“Mmm, I see,” he replied calmly.

But there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes that made her blood boil. Narrowing her eyes angrily, Emma turned and stormed inside, slamming the door behind her.