Fic: Responsibilities of a Captor (Loki and Clint)

[bookishwench]

Loki was not used to the feeling of his conscience bothering him, but every time he looked at Erik Selvig, it did. The man, an elder by this world’s chronology, had been precisely what he needed when he arrived: a scientist capable of creating the portal. When he put him under the scepter’s control, it was with the hopes that perhaps this man’s intelligence would be able to prevent him from being utterly helpless. Loki hadn’t been wrong, not entirely. He was perfectly aware of the failsafe Selvig was building into the mechanism. There was no logical reason for it in the design, at least none that jibed with the plans of the Mad Titan or the Chitauri. It was remarkably convenient. Loki had carefully planted the blueprint for it in the man’s brain, but there had been consequences. Damage. Entering a human brain was something he hadn’t done in a very long time, and never for such a delicate purpose, or one so direly important. He had not wanted to hurt the man, but he undoubtedly had. Selvig did not yet show signs of the scrambling of his thought process, and he wouldn’t until sometime after he was released from the scepter’s control. All he saw was the beauty of the universe, the truth of it, with the innocent wonder of a child who just happened to be wielding a weapon capable of destroying worlds. For what small worth it had, Loki spoke kindly to the man, smiling at him, letting him enjoy what he could for now. Eric Selvig was another sin to add to Loki’s very long list.

After listening to Selvig enthuse for the twentieth time in six hours over the machine that could potentially end his world, Loki withdrew, sitting and staring at the wall, hoping not to be called upon for another report. He had long since learned to put up walls in his mind, and while they did not keep out the Mad Titan completely, a handful of his thoughts had managed to remain his own, most notably that he was doing his best to sabotage the invasion. But it was difficult. He was tired.

As he was trying to find solace in solitude and instead finding only his own far too loud thoughts reverberating in his mind, another one held in thrall to the scepter approached him. Clint Barton was still something of a mystery to Loki. He performed his required duties perfectly, though there was sometimes a slightly sarcastic tone to his responses. Oddly, he had the feeling that under normal circumstances, the mortal might be quite mischievous, someone he would rather enjoy. Just now, he was carefully examining his bowstring.

“Is all well, Barton?”

“Just dandy,” he deadpanned. “I need to replace this before next time. It’s not quite up to snuff.”

“Then do so,” Loki said, indicating a chair across from him.

The man sat down and set to work immediately, producing extra strings from a small case. In a few seconds he had removed the old string and was already starting to replace it. Loki had seen some of the Einherjar fire bows, but he knew they were rarely used in combat anymore on Earth. The choice puzzled him.

“You enjoy archery?” he asked, finding he wanted to hear another voice, anything to distract him from memories of torture or worries about the invasion succeeding.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “Been doing it since I was a kid, about age seven.”

“Why?”

“Just liked it. And I was good at it. Really good,” Clint said, checking the new string.

“Aptitude does usually make a thing more pleasant,” Loki said, smiling.

“Well, that and chicks love it,” he said, grinning while pulling out an arrow and admiring the fletching on it. “It’s the whole Robin Hood thing.”

Loki laughed. Men had done far more foolish things than shoot a bow to earn the attention of a lady.

“You find that works well?” he asked.

“Worked for Laura,” he said.

“Who is Laura?” Loki asked, his brows drawing together. He had searched the files S.H.I.E.L.D. had on Barton, and he was without any close connections with the exception of a female assassin from Russia named Natasha.

“My wife,” he said.

“Your—” he stopped mid-sentence, stunned. “You have no wife.”

“That’s the official line,” Barton said. “Director Fury kept it off the books so they’d be safe.”

He hadn’t foreseen that possibility. Then he realized what Barton had actually said.

“They?”

“Laura and Cooper,” Barton helpfully provided without the slightest concern.

“Cooper? A barrel maker?” Loki asked, completely confused.

“No, that’s my son’s name. I know, I know, I’m not crazy about it either, but Laura picked it, so I’m not arguing. He’s turning four next month,” Barton said, unconcernedly putting an extra half dozen arrows in his quiver.

“You have a wife and a small son,” Loki said, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

“And another on the way,” Barton said, smiling again. “Due in the spring.”

“Your woman is with child?” Loki said, cursing whatever fool had omitted the information from Barton’s records.

“Yup,” he said, giving Loki a bright grin. “It’s my turn to pick the name this time. I’m betting it’s a girl.”

Loki ran through a list of possibilities. The information Barton had so blithely entrusted to him could be used by the Mad Titan. In fact, Loki had been ordered that any potential sources of emotional blackmail for the mortals he had conscripted were to be reported immediately. Thus far, he had managed to avoid that by deliberately choosing those without families, though that might raise eyebrows if considered too closely. Those currently pulling Loki’s strings were perverse enough to enjoy torture as entertainment and Loki had been on the receiving end of more of it than he chose to remember. Worse, they had access to Loki’s brain. If things went poorly during the invasion, which was precisely what Loki was aiming for, Thanos or the Chitauri might choose to take vengeance on those whom they would consider responsible for the failure. If so, the consequences for Barton’s family could be too horrible to contemplate.

“Barton, listen closely,” Loki said. “You are not to speak to anyone about your family, including me. If asked, you are unmarried and childless. Do you understand?”

“Sure,” Barton said, slinging his quiver over his shoulder.

“Come here,” Loki said, and the man stood less than a foot from him.

Loki had almost no skill in mindreading. He could plant thoughts, but usually not draw them out. However, given the circumstances, he tried his best to pry into Barton’s mind. He was immediately hit with images of a farm, a woman with light brown hair, a boy. If his own meager talent in that area was able to detect it so quickly, someone more skilled would hardly have to try. Even with the order not to talk about them, it was a nightmare waiting to happen.

Glancing over at Selvig, still pottering about happily with the portal, Loki shuddered. He didn’t want to risk damaging this mortal’s mind too. Still, he felt he had no other choice.

“I hope this works,” he muttered under his breath.

As gently as possible, he cast a spell causing Barton to forget his family. It was far from easy, and the expression on the mortal’s face suggested the thrall was barely keeping him compliant. In the end, though, he whispered quietly that it was only for now, to keep them safe, and Barton, understanding whatever was happening was somehow for their good, reluctantly stopped fighting.

After a few minutes, Loki was certain he had managed it. Barton had no recollection of his family.

“You are still well?” Loki asked.

“Fine,” Barton replied mechanically.

“Are you experiencing any pain?”

“No.”

“Do you require anything further to prepare?”

“No.”

“Then may you be victorious and well at the battle’s end,” Loki said, allowing magic to seep through the words, forming a protection spell that surrounded the archer silently. “You may go.”

Barton left at once without a parting remark.

Loki spent the next ten minutes erecting a barricade in his mind to hide the knowledge of the mortal’s family from his controllers. He buried the information deep enough in his mind that no matter what torture the Mad Titan might use, he would not find it. He was sure it would work, but as certain as he was, he had been wrong before. He could accept no risks. Taking a breath, he added one last safeguard, a sort of booby trap. If anyone managed to break through all the protective walls he had put up, the spell would trigger Loki’s death before any information would be revealed.

“Of all the mortals I could have chosen,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Months later, long after the battle had ended and Loki’s spell had dissolved, Barton’s second child was born, a girl, as he had guessed.

“So, a name,” Barton said. “Hear me out, Laura.”

“I’m listening,” she said, holding the tiny bundle in her arms and looking exhausted but happy.

He had long since told her about everything that had happened during his time under the scepter’s control, including the very uncomfortable information that Thor’s hyper-dramatic, goat-horn wearing brother who everyone on the entire planet loathed had actually attempted to protect them. He hated the jerk, but he was also grateful.

“I was thinking—”

“We are not naming her Loki,” Laura interrupted firmly.

“No, no,” Clint said, looking horrified. “I would not saddle my kid with that.”

“Good,” Laura said.

“But, well, what would you think of Lila?”

“Lila?” she asked. “Is the epidural still hitting me hard? Because I don’t get it.”

“Well, Loki is sort of supposed to be the god of mischief and—”

“Lies,” Laura said, realization dawning. “Lie. As in Lie-la? You are seriously considering naming our innocent daughter after the word lie?”

“Yes?” Clint said, giving her an apologetic grimace.

“Yep, definitely the epidural, because, okay, I can live with the name Lila, all things considered, but don’t go around telling everyone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Clint said, giving her a kiss.

And if on Lila Barton’s seventh birthday she just happened to be mysteriously gifted a handcrafted bow made of wood nobody could identify, Clint and Laura decided not to question it too much.