Chapter 1

"Steve," Freya pleads quietly, following his hurried footsteps as he storms away. "I didn't-"

"Enough!" Steve roars, tossing his hands to the side and sending his fist flying into the wall of the kitchen.

The silence is immediate - the clatter of plates in the kitchen ringing louder than the erratic beating of Freya's heart.

She's made a mistake - another mistake, she knows - and she only has herself to blame.

"You can't stop fucking up, can you?"

Steve's words cut like knives. She thought of all people, given his history, that he would understand Freya, that he would understand her reasons, that he would understand all of it.

Clearly, she'd been wrong.

"Steve," Wanda tries gently, "You know that she-"

"I said enough! I'm sick of hearing it." He spits venomously when he rounds on Freya. "I'm sick of it, and I don't believe you. You can't be sorry when you know what you did, when you did it on purpose, after we specifically told you not to."

"Steve, she-"

"Stay out of this Buck!" He roars, and Bucky backs down, hands up in defense, sitting next to Sam.

"Have care with how you speak," Thor implores, deep voice barely cutting through the thick tension. "We may be angry with her, but yelling solves nothing."

We? Freya thinks, heart sinking to her feet. They're all angry with me? They all think I did it on purpose?

Her sad eyes find Thor then, the harsh lines around his eyes, mouth turned downward.

In all the millennia they've shared together, she's only ever had his anger directed at her three times before.

None of them were as furious as he is now.

She looks to Natasha next - stoic and emotionless as ever, never giving away her inner thoughts or feelings - then Wanda, who can only consider Freya with a somber expression, then looks away to Bucky. Vision, the ever neutral android, keeps his eyes on his wife.

Sam and Bucky sit silently on their barstools at the breakfast bar, watching Steve with careful eyes. Bucky tries not to look at Freya.

The consensus is suddenly clear to Freya. She'd already been walking on eggshells, already been tiptoeing around all of this.

"I think," Natasha finally speaks. "We all just need to take a deep breath."

"I think," Vision adds, "Freya, it would be best for you to return to your room at this time."

She takes a long look around the room, at the people who once begged her to consider them her family, at Thor, and at the subtle shake of his head, she turns, heading back to her room and waiting until she's in the safety of its walls to allow her tears to flow freely until the heavy weight of her sadness pulled her to sleep.

~

It's been years since she'd cried herself to sleep.

But it was enough to allow the events of the night to play out.

Heavy with sadness, sleep came to Freya easily, pulling her deep enough that those who entered the compound found their task for the evening to be easier than originally anticipated.

Around two in the morning, she awakes to the feeling of a needle pricking her neck, and before she can ever reach for the dagger on her nightstand, she's under sleep's influence once more.

Once the drug takes effect, one person lifts her into their arms, while another escorts them back the way they came, out of her room, and three more enter it, taking necessary things from it while also staging it to look like Freya struggled to fight back.

They want the Avengers to know their friend was taken.

Her captors carry her off the residence floor, and out of the Avengers compound toward an awaiting black SUV, one among six. They await the others who staged her room, and once all is complete, they drive away, leaving upstate New York in the rearview for the bright burning lights of the city.

None of the Avengers stir once during the night.

~

It's pitch black when she awakes.

Her body feels heavy, sluggish, more so than normal as of late. While it should feel familiar to her, she knows something is off.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. follows Tony's programming and promptly wakes the entire compound by nine in the morning every day without fail, and Freya, in the years she lived in Avengers Tower and then in the compound, has never woken up on her own prior to the alarm.

Freya sits up, a cold chill running over her skin, too cold for the tank top and shorts she wore to bed last night, as she takes stock of what she can make out in the dark room.

She's on a cot, topped with a thin twin mattress, worn sheets, and a thin blanket over her. The pillow her head rested on is just as pathetic, though notably covered in a satin pillowcase.

Next to her bed is a small nightstand with a pile of clean clothes on them. Her clothes, she notes. Clean undergarments, sweatpants, thick socks, a sweater, all folded into a neat little pile. On the floor in front of them lies the little fuzzy slippers she normally uses to wander around the compound on a quiet Saturday morning.

Strange.

Her makeshift bed is propped in a corner of the room, and on the wall next to her, she notices a door that leads into what looks like a bathroom - toilet, sink, shower with a thin curtain. There's a second door on the wall in front of her, no light peeking through the door whatsoever.

For a second, her heart sinks. She thinks this must be where they hold prisoners, the kind of people she and the Avengers question and accuse of crimes abound. Bucky must've left her her clothes and slippers then. The only bout of pity she'd get from any of them because he understands her more than any of them.

But then she hears footsteps approaching. Footsteps that do not at all sound like Thor's, Steve's, Bucky's, or anyone else's. She knows the Avengers and all their body language and sounds by heart, knows the people who work for them, who typically approach them and rouse her from her sleep if she's needed before F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s alarm.

These are strangers.

And it comes crashing to her all at once.

The heavy sleep. The sudden moment she awoke to a prick in her neck before slumber consumed her again.

She'd been taken.

Freya quickly learns that the door that leads to her room is heavy, some sort of strong metal as it opens, pouring light quickly into the darkness of her room. She blinks, giving herself more time to adjust as a man enters the room, hovering just within the doorway.

He's tall, that much she can tell immediately. His brown curly locks are kept short to his head, almost reminding her of young Peter's hair. But this person, this man, is nothing like Peter. Where Peter is still into his boyish looks, this man resembles that of the men she bedded in battle, warriors - strong, muscular, rough around the edges, but when needed, clean up handsomely.

His piercing green eyes threaten to burn a hole into her own eyes as he catalogs her in turn.

She is everything he remembered her to be, and yet, a stranger still.

Honey blond curly hair, the color of wheat, brown skin, brown eyes, plump cheeks, short and curvy frame if the way her feet barely reach the edge of her makeshift bed. She seems as innocent as any other woman he's come across, but knows better.

This goddess in front of him is legendary - there are myths about her, her name is etched in stone, in mythology, in history books, her prowess and power in the headlines and on news channels for all to see her glory.

She is not to be underestimated.

He waits for her to launch herself at him, at the men that flank him, but nothing happens.

She continues to sit up in her lamely cot, stares, waits.

Freya tries to assess him, the threat he may pose, as best as she can. She can hear Tony's voice now, mocking as her captor approaches her. "Tanned like a Greek god, brown hair, green eyes. From his expense suit down to his obnoxious Oxfords."

They both wait, watching one another, assessing, before the man - clearly the one in charge, the one who ordered her to be taken - speaks.

"My apologies, goddess."

"And British!" Tony's voice says in her head. "My god, he's a Bond villain if I've ever seen one, Yaya."

Yaya, what a stupid nickname. But even now, she longs to hear it. She could cry with how much she misses him. How much she wishes he was here, that he would come to rescue her.

Even though she knows he won't.

None of them will.

"I'm afraid your presence here is a necessity." He continues, taking a couple of steps further into the room, his hands slipping into the pockets of his pants. "You see, it's to be believed that the Avengers have something of mine. And now, I have something of theirs. So, until we can arrange a time to exchange our stolen items, I'm-"

A laugh bubbles up in Freya's throat and spills past her lips before she even realizes it, can even contain it. It startles her captor, whoever he is, and he frowns, brows furrowed in anger.

"Something funny, goddess?"

Freya's laugh dies down, and she shakes her head. "They won't come for me."

He pauses, the anger leaving his face and replacing itself with confusion. "What?"

"I said they won't come for me," she repeats. "The Avengers? Whatever it is you want, I am definitely not the way to get it back. No one is coming to rescue me."

Confused silence encompasses the room. A moment passes before he calmly asks "And why is that?"

Steve's angry voice comes to her mind immediately.

The expressions of her so-called friends.

Of Thor, whom she thought was bonded to her for life, and his resentment that settles deeper into her bones now.

In a rush, more memories surface in her mind - a fight, a supposedly easy mission, a mistake, yelling, guilt, sadness, two hospital beds, the ceaseless beeping - and she shoves it down.

She has to.

"Because I mean nothing to them." As firm as Freya means to be, her voice falters, tears threatening to fall. "And I'm not worth saving."

There's another moment of silence before her captor steels himself, striding out the door with the two guards who threw Freya into the room flanking either side of him. The heavy metal door slams with a finality Freya feels in her bones.

She doesn't weep. She doesn't cry. She doesn't scream.

She accepts her fate.

She's going to die here.

~

"What should we do, Boss?"

Anger ripples through his whole body, the fragility of her statement rushing through his mind on a broken, twisted repetition that tugs at a heart he thought no longer existed.

"They won't come for me"

"No one is coming to rescue me"

"I mean nothing to them"

"I'm not worth saving"

He curses, swinging his arm and sending everything that was precariously placed on his desk tumbling to the ground.

On a monitor on the wall, he sees her moving from the camera hidden in a corner of the ceiling of her room, sees Freya get off the bed and grab her clothes, slipping into those ridiculous slippers before padding into the bathroom. The light in the bathroom turns on before the door shuts behind her, and he tears his eyes away, staring out at Manhattan beyond the glass windows in his office.

He thought he'd bring her some of her own items of comfort for a short stay. Thought if when the Avengers came for her and saw her well looked after they'd have no choice but to give him what he wanted, what they stole, what was his birthright.

And now?

"They won't come for me"

"No one is coming to rescue me"

"I mean nothing to them"

"I'm not worth saving"

He shuts his eyes, placing his hands on his desk as his head hangs.

"Boss?" his right hand man, Adonis, asks again.

"How long has it been since we've taken her?"

Adonis looks at his watch before looking back at him. "About thirty six hours in fifteen minutes."

Ah yes, he muses. The sedative dosage they administered to Freya was higher because of her otherworldly powers - to keep her and his men safe - but they still didn't expect her to sleep for that long.

"And has there been any word?"

Adonis is quiet for a moment, and he rounds on him, watching, waiting. Clearly, her words resound in Adonis' mind too, because he shakes his head slowly, no words.

He curses again, slamming his fists on the table. "Send them a message. Make it clear. We have something of theirs, and they have something of mine, and I want it back."

"On it." Adonis affirms. The door shuts behind him, and he finally lets out a lofty exhale.

"They won't come for me"

"No one is coming to rescue me"

"I mean nothing to them"

"I'm not worth saving"

For once in his life, he hopes for his own sake as well as someone else's, that his enemies respond.

~

That first day, after her shower, Freya found two things in her little captive cell.

First, after entering the bathroom and turning on the light switch, she re-entered into her room and found the light switch there, turning it on. It gave her comfort to know she wouldn't be spending her days in captivity in total darkness.

After her shower - which she found had been filled with her toiletries from her bathroom in the compound, down to her towels, products for her curly hair Sam had gifted her, and her hairbrush - she found a small screw under her makeshift bed, and used it to carve a tally mark into the wall behind her nightstand.

She knows the Avengers aren't coming for her. They made it very clear when she saw them last that there was a line in the sand, and they stood on opposite sides. So she figures, with nothing else to occupy her in the meantime, keeping track of the length of her captivity is probably a good idea.

She was brought lunch not long after her shower by a man who had flanked her captor when they'd met earlier. He identified himself to her as Adonis. At first, she scoffed, thinking her captor was mocking her, but Adonis raised a brow, and she swallowed an apology, not realizing he'd been serious. He brought her a sandwich, chips, apple slices and sparkling water on a tray, and another two men, Theseus and the other Hector, came into her room to set up a small table and chair for her to eat her meals at.

Adonis set the tray down on the table, along with a book that was most definitely on her nightstand in the compound the last she saw it.

It was a book she hadn't read yet, but one Peter had loved because it had been recommended to him by MJ, so he recommended it to her.

"It's called 'Shatter Me,'" she remembers him gushing, his words coming out happy and rushed in his eagerness. "It's super old now, but MJ said it's amazing."

And so she bought it in hopes of being able to discuss it with him.

The memory of it crept into her recesses, and as quickly as she picked it up to read, she put it back down, letting it rest on the nightstand and mock her.

Later, they brought her dinner, taking her tray and dishes from lunch away and replacing it with a dish that had a cover on it. It reminded her of one she saw in a hospital once, when she accompanied Sam to visit Steve after Natasha helped them to take down Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D in one fell swoop.

Adonis removed the cover to reveal spaghetti, two slices of buttery garlic bread, another sparkling water, and a small ramekin with tiramisu.

"Is this how you feed your captives traditionally?" She mused, a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

Adonis scoffed. "The Boss wants you alive for the exchange."

"The nonexistent exchange, you mean." She murmured. "Does your boss have a name?"

He didn't answer her, instead handing over another book of hers before turning away. Theseus had come in next, giving her a clean pair of her own pajamas and another change of clothes for the following day.

This book was one Thor had gifted to her, after she agreed to remain here on Midgard to protect Jane when he was called back to Asgard. A book titled "The Song of Achilles," which Jane and Darcy said Thor had stolen from Darcy in the first place.

So, these men had taken her, taken her belongings, and moved them here. While Freya thought she should be feeling violated, offended, she couldn't help but feel a fraction of relief.

At least her captivity would be accompanied by small comforts.

~

The tally marks add up.

Freya clearly didn't realize she'd lost time when she'd woken that first day, but he doesn't have the heart now to tell her. But when she's officially been gone for two weeks, he begins to realize keeping her in her cell, giving her meals and changes of clothes this way isn't going to work.

Especially because it appears she is right.

The Avengers aren't coming.

It fills him with fury of two kinds, for himself, and on her behalf.

She'd fought alongside them to no end. She'd fought beside Thor for a millennia, then swore allegiance to the rest. She'd fought beside them in New York, against Ultron, fought against Thanos twice, was by their side, and this was how they treated her?

He was sure he was missing something.

"They won't come for me"

"No one is coming to rescue me"

"I mean nothing to them"

"I'm not worth saving"

Perhaps something had happened?

It would explain why, after they'd presumably found her room completely upended, they didn't burst into action trying to save her. They'd taken some of her clothes, yes, a few books and odd things to occupy her time, but her toiletries? All brand new, all identical to the ones they'd left in her bathroom.

They should have known she was missing.

Why didn't they know she was missing?

There was the possibility they did catalog the things taken, such as her books, her hairbrush, and maybe thought she'd packed a bag and left, tearing her room apart in rebellion.

But even that variable didn't make sense. Especially since, thirty six hours after her disappearance, they'd sent the Avengers an email with a picture of her bound in a chair they'd taken whilst she'd still been sedated, along with a link to a clip from the footage the camera in her room collected. It was from her sleeping within those first hours, but it was clear she was being held captive.

And still nothing.

Freya, the almighty Asgardian goddess, has been missing from the Avengers for two weeks, and they've not come for her.

He expected the familiar thunder of Thor's anger, the rains of his impending terror, the clang of the vibranium shield of righteous Steve Rogers, even the telltale signs of Tony Stark flying around.

Nothing.

Absolute silence.

"They won't come for me"

"No one is coming to rescue me"

"I mean nothing to them"

"I'm not worth saving"

Fine.

If they didn't believe she needed saving, he would make it so that she truly didn't need saving.

So that if the Avengers did decide to storm in here with the rancid smell of their justice and vengeance, they'd see she was perfectly unharmed, fine without them.

It wasn't originally his plan, but plans can change.

~

She'd re-read her book from Darcy twice. Only managed to get through the first few chapters of Peter's book because the memory of him and the character within the book made her heart ache far too much.

So when she wasn't reading, anticipating the arrival of her captor's flunkies, or napping to pass the hours, she stared at the tally marks on the wall.

Nearly two weeks. She sighs.

Perhaps this is her punishment. Perhaps, they've made a decision and cast her out.

She was never really one of them anyway, she thinks. Maybe this is them just reminding her of that fact.

The door to her room swings open, and instead of Adonis standing there with her lunch, it's her captor.

She still hasn't learned his name.

"Freya," he says, all commanding. "Come, you'll be having lunch with me today."

She looks down at her gray sweatpants, oversized green shirt, and fuzzy slippers, then back up at his impeccable navy blue suit. He begins to walk away, and Adonis peers his head into the doorway then, motioning for her to follow his boss.

She does, albeit with confusion.

They head down a long hallway, one that reveals her room is one of three on whatever floor she's on, the others being supply closets. She follows her captor to an elevator, where she learns she's been kept on one of three basement floors, and he pushes a silver key into a slot in the panel, turns it, then presses the button for "PH," which she learned from Tony once-upon-a-time, that it stands for "Penthouse."

When they arrive, she's not surprised to see it pretty much resembles that of Tony's old home in Avengers tower. It's lavish, certainly, an open concept blending the foyer, kitchen, dining, and living room into one big space.

She's steered toward the dining area where she's sat in front of prebranac, punjene paprike and gibanica, accompanied by glasses of what she assumes are sljivovica, given the Serbian nature of the rest of the dishes.

He'd been doing this with each meal, her captor, feeding her food from cuisines all over Midgard. It kept her on her toes, to be sure, another thing that kept her slightly entertained.

Adonis, Thesesus, and Hector, line the walls of the dining room - presumably to keep watch, she thinks - and her captor doesn't speak as he lays his napkin on his lap and begins to eat.

Freya does the same, and they begin to eat in a comfortable silence. Every now and again, his phone vibrates on the table, and he checks it, thumbs flying across the screen.

She tries to take note of the things within his home, but they all seem too impersonal, too cold, and none of it tells her anything about who he is, where he's from, and if he's making his henchmen take the names of men from Greek mythology to entertain her or insult her.

"What do I call you, then?" Freya asks, poking the food on her plate around with her fork. "I figure I'm not allowed to know your real name, but surely you have an alias, too. Maybe even a pen name."

His head shoots up from his phone to look at her, clearly not anticipating her to have spoken to him at all. "What would you prefer to call me?" He asks, before directing his eyes back to his phone.

Freya shrugs. "Hildisvíni is an option."

He looks back up at her then, thumb poised over the screen, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "And where did you get that name from?"

She smirks, lifting her eyes from her plate. "It was the name of my pet boar back in Asgard."

He laughs, a loud, booming sound. It startles the guards around them, and surprises Freya, but it's a happy surprise, and she feels a small smile creep onto her own lips. As his laughter dies down, he settles his eyes on her once more, shaking his head.

A fond smile plays on his lips when he says "Absolutely not, dear goddess. Though I imagine your boar was a lovely pet, I'm afraid his name does not fit me."

"My apologies, would you prefer the name of someone from Greek mythology? As you seem to have an affinity for it." Freya says, gesturing to Adonis, Theseus, and Hector around them.

Her captor shrugs. "If you prefer."

Freya thinks for a moment. Tries to review what she learned in the many books she'd read trying to understand this strange realm, and finally settles on one she deems close enough to who she thinks he resembles.

"Orion."

He blinks. "And why that one?"

She shrugs, going back to her meal. "You're a hunter, are you not? You seek something that was stolen from you. That's kind of like hunting."

"If that is what you wish." He says, taking a sip of his sljivovica.

"Orion it is, then." She decides.

He looks at her then. Really looks at her. They catalog one another as they did the first day. He takes in her appearance, the thoughts dancing behind her eyes.

Recognition dawns in them suddenly, and for a moment, he swears she -

"What is it?" He asks. Needing to know.

"Did…did they not answer you?"

"What?"

"The Avengers."

Oh. Not recognition in her eyes.

Realization.

He almost lets out a sigh of relief, but doesn't.

"No." He admits. "They didn't."

"I figured as much." She says. "It has been almost two weeks."

Orion sighs. "It's been exactly two weeks."

Freya blinks, confused. "But I -"

"You were sedated for thirty six hours." He explains, which quiets Freya immediately.

He can see that it pains her, that the news hurts her.

The rest of their meal passes as they sit in her heartbroken silence, and he is all of a sudden very angry at them.

The Avengers.

All of them, especially Thor, who he knows has been by her side all her life.

He cements his new plan then with finality.

When their plates clear and Hector takes them away, he gestures toward his front door, asking Freya to follow him.

"Come, I want to show you something."

~

They took the elevator to the floor right below the penthouse, floor number thirty four. There are many rooms here, and for a moment, she wonders if this is a hotel of some sort.

Freya follows Orion to a door and he unlocks it with a white key card.

Okay, so possibly a hotel.

She follows him into the room to find herself in a large suite. Orion gestures forward, allowing her to explore on her own, and she takes his offer immediately.

There's a half bathroom to her immediate left, and as she leaves the short hallway, enters into a comfortable living area. There's a small kitchenette, a couch, two loveseats, a chaise, even, propped against the floor to ceiling windows. A large TV sits opposite the couch, and to her right, a door to a bedroom. A king size bed lays in the middle, along with a cushioned bench at the foot of the bed. To her right are two large dressers, and to her left along the wall, a large walk in closet with a washer and dryer. Beyond the dressers she can see the door leading to another bathroom, this one full sized, with a large shower, double sink, and a toilet equipped with a bidet - the thing Sam insisted on installing in the bathroom in his room in the compound.

She retraces her steps to the living room where she finds Orion sitting in one of the loveseats scrolling on his phone. At her presence, he looks up, gesturing to the space around them.

"Well, what do you think?"

Freya shrugs. "It's lovely. Comfortable, I imagine."

"Is there anything not to your liking?"

Her brows furrow in confusion. "My liking? What does that matter?"

She's only a little surprised when a lazy smile stretches across Orion's lips. "It's yours, obviously. That's why."

"Mine?" She exclaims, waving her arm around. "This is mine?"

"Yes. I would imagine after two weeks your accommodations in the basement aren't exactly ideal, and simply won't do, frankly, with what I have planned ahead."

Freya frowns.

She'd called him her captor, but until this moment, hadn't truly felt kidnapped until her dingy prison suddenly became a silver palace.

And of course, the silver palace comes with a silver lining.

Freya had quickly learned on Midgard that sometimes, doing seemingly nice things for people tended to come with a price. It would make sense that since the Avengers don't appear to be cooperating, he no longer has use for her.

"Was that my last meal then?" She can't help but ask, anger creeping into her tone. "Do you mean to give me one last night of peace before you kill me? Send my body back in pieces to the Avengers?"

She can feel her fists curling at her sides, can feel her magic that's sat dormant for over a month beginning to creep out, spreading from the core of her chest outward to her limbs. She can feel it dancing just beneath her fingertips, ready to strike -

And it weakens, settling solely in her hands as a safety measure.

Freya can feel the confusion seeping from Orion as the memory of the last time she used her magic flashes through her mind in painful recollection. Orion pockets his phone then stands, holding his hands out in surrender.

"Freya, that's not at all what this is. I swear it to you." He pleads, speaking slowly. "This room is yours to sleep in, to occupy, as the living goddess you are. I don't want to kill you. That's never what this was."

"You said it was an exchange." She recalls, guard still up. "And now that the Avengers won't come get me, won't cough up what you seek, you-"

"They don't have it." It comes out of his mouth in a rush, and she blinks.

"What?"

Orion lowers his hands a little, taking a tentative step toward her. "My men did a little reconnaissance for me. It seems, the Avengers don't have what I seek. But I still have you, and they don't seem too keen on coming to retrieve you, and it hardly seems fair to continue to punish you by keeping you locked up down there when it's clear you're punishing yourself enough for everyone involved."

Freya feels like she's been slapped in the face. Her magic vanishes from her fingertips, and she can smell the signature floral essence of it as it floats away in the air between them.

"I'm not punishing myself." She finally says, voice coming out quieter than she intended.

"You are." Orion insists. "I can see it all around you. In the way you carry yourself. Your body language. Your quietness. The tally marks on your wall and-"

Freya cuts her eyes at him then, her powers suddenly returning as she advances on him.

Adonis intervenes then, stepping between them even though Orion isn't deterred, doesn't even flinch at her approach.

"You were watching me?!" She all but screeches, allowing the white hot flames of her anger to fully return and manifest in her hands. Adonis seems to flinch, but holds her steady with his hands firmly on her arms.

It's useless - they all know it. She's a goddess, she can easily break his hold if she so desired, snap Adonis' wrists with the full force of her strength if she chose to move forward.

But she doesn't, she allows herself to be restrained. Wants to hear whatever pathetic excuse Orion has for doing so. Captive or not, the violation is there all the same.

To think she was beginning to trust-

"You're right." Orion says in a rush. "I violated your privacy and I'm sorry. It was wrong of me. But I had to be sure you wouldn't try to escape."

"Escape?! Escape to what?! I told you they weren't coming for me! I had nowhere to go!"

"I know!" Orion shouts, approaching Adonis from behind. He shoves his guard away, approaching Freya and risking the chance of resting his arms on her shoulders. "I know. I promise it was only in the area you slept in. Not in your bathroom. It was just to monitor you, a safeguard. It was still a violation, and I'm sorry."

The flames lick at her skin before she snuffs them out, taking a step back and out of his hold, shaking her head.

She shuts her eyes, clarity of the situation returning to her.

Perhaps Orion was right. Perhaps she'd been punishing herself so much that she'd lost sight of the truth of the situation.

Orion had kidnapped her. In the middle of the night, breaking into Avengers compound, sedated her, and stole her away. He'd had people trash her room, take her things, and lock her away in a dark room in the basement of this ridiculous building.

Sure, he'd kept her fed. Clothed - albeit in her own clothes - and comfortable, gave her a bathroom to utilize.

But a pretty cage is a cage all the same.

Her apparent "new room" included.

Despite the tension between her and the Avengers, she was still one of them. Rhodey explained to her once there's always going to be a line in the sand between the Avengers and everyone else, because no one would ever be able to understand the position they were in.

Natasha helped her understand that someone would always want something from them, demand things from them, things she didn't, couldn't, will never be able to offer.

There is a clear line in the sand between her and Orion. Even if he may be the only one to show her kindness at the moment, she is in a position he is not. He wanted something from her friends, her family, and now that they don't have it, he expects her to play the part of a willing captive, a pet, a toy.

She refuses.

Opening her eyes, Freya keeps her gaze on the floor. Sure, she could leave, could escape now and return to the compound, but what good would it do? She could have left the day that she awoke, but where would she have gone? It was clear she wasn't welcome with them anymore.

She didn't have a home. She'd made her home with Thor, at his insistence, no less, and now he didn't want her around. Asgard had been destroyed. She'd maybe last a day in New Asgard before Valkyrie would tell Thor of her arrival, then she'd be promptly kicked out.

And after everything she'd done - she wouldn't blame them.

This is her only option, for now. Until she can gather the rest of her strength and her senses to figure out an alternative.

"If I'm still your captive," she says, "then I should stay in my cell. Should I not?"

"You're not my captive anymore, Freya." Orion says softly. He reaches for her, but she steps back again.

"I'd like to go back to my cell now."

Fury dances behind his green eyes. "You'd rather sleep in that dingy basement than here?"

"If it's so dingy, why put me in there in the first place?"

He says nothing. Freya knows it's because he's well aware that she's right.

Instead, he takes a long look at her. The catalog one another again, just as they did that first night.

Only when Freya looks at him now, she doesn't see anything but someone who wanted something from her, and when he couldn't get it, began demanding something else.

Orion takes a step back, clearing his throat and heading toward the door as he speaks. "You'll find the rest of your clothes in the dressers in your room. There are additional clothes in the closet, should you need it. Your bathroom is fully stocked with the products used in your bathroom downstairs, but should you need anything additional, tell Adonis and we'll have it taken care of. We'll have your books brought up as well. There are guards on this floor monitoring your room, but there's no cameras in here. Your privacy is yours. You'll take your meals with me from now on. I'll see you for dinner later."

And with that, he and Adonis are gone, the door locking behind them.

It takes a few minutes for her brain to catch up to her, but when it does, she locates a pad of paper on the coffee table and a pen sitting next to it. She writes her tally marks down again, this time, with the accurate number of two weeks, and hides them beneath the couch cushions.

~

Orion.

She had named him Orion.

He had debated telling her the truth at that moment. Removing the illusion, the facade, ruining this whole plan all to show himself to her because for a split second, he could not bear the thought of having her call him by another man's name.

But he listened to her reasoning. Remembering that here, and now, they were strangers. She was still under the impression that she was a means to an end.

He accepted it, accepted the thought, allowed it to convince him that this was, afterall, a new beginning for them both.

In time, he tells himself. In time you can tell her the truth. There are things you must do first. Wrongs you must make right.

~

She doesn't watch TV, doesn't read her books, doesn't do anything that is meant to bring her comfort or sway her into complacency. She showers, waits to take her meals, keeps a more accurate track of the tally marks, and in the interim sleeps the hours away.

Freya hoped initially that sleep would carry her from one hour to the next, but all it does is resurrect her memories.

The day they all questioned if she could be trusted. Wondered if she was still on their side.

Each night passes, each nightmare the same. The screams, the dread, and then another nightmare enters her sleep.

One of great loss, grief, of heartbreak and sorrow.

Soon, she is torn between fighting to sleep to escape reality, and fighting to stay awake to escape the haunted recesses of her memories.

Days blend into weeks.

She eventually feels compelled to turn on the TV, watch one of those mind numbing shows Natasha and Sam are always going on about.

One of them manages to capture her attention, but is interrupted by breaking news.

News that the Avengers were off, one group to recover more stolen weapons, the other off planet following Carol Danvers.

While there is part of her that is happy they're doing okay, an overwhelming sense of sadness creeps in.

The Avengers will never come for her.

She is Orion's now.