ᴀ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ - ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ x ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟ ᴄʀᴏꜱꜱᴏᴠᴇʀ

[IV] F O U R

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"Different Songs"
By Set It Off

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N A T A S H A

To say that Clint Barton was furious would have been the understatement of the century. And judging from the murderous way Clint had thundered to and fro the Avengers Compound for the last week and a half, his lack of anger management had also resurfaced - alongside his youthful features.

His burning rage had cooled over the past few days, but his anger had transformed into silent despair.

Leaning against the wall of Nick Fury's office upon the Helicarrier, Natasha placed a comforting hand upon Clint's shoulder. She'd offered him words of reassurance, but he'd brushed them off saying that such words wouldn't change him back.

God, he was moodier than she was. Perhaps it was the hormones...

"Don't be such a baby, Clint." Natasha said, her voice soft and quiet, "By being angry, you're giving Loki the exact reaction he wants."

The criticism made Clint recoil. "I'll just accept what happened, shall I? Let's not forget how you reacted." He snapped back, his voice low, raising his eyebrows.

Natasha clenched her jaw and bit the inside of her mouth. Her eyes narrowed, and she hissed, "Hush."

He was exactly right. Natasha herself had been devastated - even more so than Clint had - but she had recovered well.

They were passed the "concerned" stage. Apart from their outward appearance, they were perfectly fine. Healthy, even. This probably hadn't been in Loki's best interests, but it was a stroke of luck.

Natasha lifted her hand and curled her fingers in front of her face. It was a gesture that she had come to repeat over the last few days. Her adult conscience had been compressed into this small body, and she was still growing used to it. Her mind had adjusted with an ease similar to riding a bike - you never truly forgot how it was done, but it still took time to familiarise yourself with the pedals and steering. It took time to remember how to balance.

And God, did Natasha remember how she had looked and felt when she was sixteen and seventeen. Her hair was a tornado of curls and inconsistent frizzes upon her head, and her once womanly body had been transformed into a short, flat-chested, girl.

All because of one god.

Now that Loki had been discovered, it didn't take a genius to figure out that it had been Loki impersonating Clint that night, and had been Loki impersonating Natasha that morning. They had also learned that Loki had visited Tony, Bruce, Steve and Thor - all of which had drunk something he'd offered them.

God, how could they have been so stupid?

Natasha shifted her attention to the large screen behind Fury's desk, where a live feed of Loki's interrogation was being broadcasted. Her neutral expression soured into a scowl - nothing had really changed over the half-hour they'd watched. In a small, dulled white room, Loki lounged upon a simple wooden chair, his wrists cuffed to the frame. He wore the same greyed uniform that all criminals at SHIELD wore (number 456 displayed in bold black lettering on his chest).

To Natasha, wearing the silver jumpsuit and number was a definite sign that SHIELD owned you - that you were to submit. Like a metal collar around an animal.