Chapter Eighteen: The Things I Do For You

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"What?" Hermione's voice pitched so high it cracked on that one little word. "The entire planet is abandoned because of one creature?"

Loki tipped his chin up, peering over the top her head toward the other side. The one called Steve was trying to wrest the thing to the ground while Thor seemed quite puzzled that repeated smacks from Mjolnir over the crown of the creature's skull seemed to leave it unfazed. Her own personal arsenal proving useless against it, Natasha had pulled back, observing the melee as she tried to assess a weakness.

She would be there a long time, Loki wagered, as he was not quite certain the beast had any weak points, at all. His brows pinched together for a half-second. He could certainly be wrong, of course, and would that not be a pleasant surprise?

"I do not believe now is the time for a lengthy chat, my witch, but I do apologize if I implied that that creature is the only one of its kind."

Swallowing hard, Hermione spun to face the open chamber doors, expecting another such monstrosity to barrel into view, any moment.

Shaking his head, Loki closed the distance, leaning to balance his chin atop her head as he watched the struggle in the physical plane. "Not here, of course. Time is a luxury we currently do not possess. Bucky working with those two could manage the strength to end that miserable thing's existence."

Bucky blinked a few times as he tried to make sense of that. "How durable is that thing?"

It did not cross his mind until he spoke that he'd not batted an eye over Loki's possessive gesture toward Hermione, just now. He shook his head—probably that stupid koblet tre thing, he reasoned, as he was pretty sure if anyone else tried, he'd tear their head off in heartbeat.

"I cannot express this any more than I already have, there is much to explain and we do not have time, now," Loki said, in an exasperated whisper. Midgardians, always wanting to chat at the most inopportune of moments. The only reason he had not whisked them away to safety was the certainty that they would never forgive him if he left their friends to die.

Sweet damnation, fate was a cruel mistress, linking him to beings who actually cared for others so easily.

"Return safely to Midgard and I promise you, I will explain all when next we dream."

Hermione had not moved out of Loki's not-quite-embrace, though, she wished the familiarity of being near him wasn't something that caused her cheeks to warm so fast. Especially not in this sort of situation. "So, Bucky helps them kill that thing, we leave, and what? We go to sleep and all just sit around and talk?"

Loki turned his head over the top of hers to look at Bucky. Their brute was puffing out his cheeks as he exhaled, his own head shaking.

"That is precisely what I am saying, yes."

She watched the conflict. Projectiles jutted from the creature's chest, and Clint appeared frustrated to note he'd just come up empty on anymore arrows. Natasha had made short work of its hamstring—or, Hermione was pretty sure where the hamstrings would be on a human—and though it moved in pained staggers, the thing was still up and struggling with Steve and Thor.

Eventually they would all tire. It would probably take a few hours, but it would happen. She did not think the same could be said for the creature. She didn't want them dying here, but she also didn't want to send Bucky out there, despite her awareness of his strengths.

But, if sending Bucky into the fray was the thing that would see to all of them leaving here alive . . . .

"Leave us the orb."

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