{Chapter: 105 - The Berserker's Staff}
"I think Nick should regret sending me on this mission," Natasha muttered, leaning back in the worn-out armchair near the window.
Her tone was dry, but her eyes carried a storm of unspoken thoughts. It wasn't just a comment about SHIELD's mistake—it was layered with questions, quiet accusations, and a reluctant admiration for the man standing before her.
Since Aiden had told her the truth about the Berserker Staff, she knew—without a doubt—that this wasn't a mission Nick Fury would ever have greenlit if he knew the full story. SHIELD would have tried to confiscate the staff, maybe contain it, maybe bury it so deep it would vanish from history. But Aiden? He wasn't hiding it. He owned it. Literally and figuratively. And somehow, that didn't just concern her—it fascinated her.
Aiden gave a slight grin, the kind that spoke of confidence bordering on arrogance. "If Fury's got a problem with me, he can come talk to me himself. I'm not hard to find. But until then—" his gaze softened as he looked at her, "—you still need rest."
She huffed and rolled her eyes, though not without a smirk. "Okay, okay, Doctor Caveman. I'll rest."
Her body did ache—she wasn't about to lie to herself. It had been a very long while since she'd been this intimate with someone, and what happened last night was...intense, even by her standards. Passionate, primal, raw. The kind of connection she hadn't allowed herself to indulge in for decades. There was pain, yes—but not the kind she minded. Not when it came from something like this.
Still wrapped in his arms, she tilted her head up. "Where the hell is the staff, anyway?" Her brow furrowed. "You didn't leave the hotel last night. I would've noticed."
Aiden smiled—one of those calm, mysterious expressions that meant he knew exactly what she was thinking and wasn't going to satisfy her curiosity that easily.
"Let's just say it's safe. And no, you won't find it unless I want you to."
Her lips parted slightly, intrigued. "You're hiding Asgardian artifacts like a magician hides cards up his sleeve. Remind me again, are you applying to be an Avenger, a warlord, or a goddamn sorcerer?"
He chuckled, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. "None of the above. I'm just... me. And that's apparently dangerous enough."
Natasha's face turned serious again. Her voice lowered, firm and sharp like a knife being unsheathed. "This stick… it's only part of the Berserker Staff, right? You said it amplifies anger, fear, aggression. I've felt it. That kind of magic—it doesn't just amplify what's there, it feeds on it. It shapes people. Corrupts them. Are you really unaffected, or are you just telling me what I want to hear?"
She leaned into him, not sensually, but challengingly, trying to read beneath his skin, beneath the calm. Natasha Romanoff had survived interrogations, betrayals, assassinations, and mutants. She had trusted people who broke her and distrusted people who saved her. She didn't take anyone at face value.
Aiden looked into her eyes with rare clarity. "Yes, it affects me. A little. It's not like I'm immune. But I'm not drowning in it. I know what's mine, and what's the staff's influence. For now, at least."
"'For now,'" she repeated, narrowing her eyes. "That's the part that bothers me."
Seeing the shadow in her gaze, Aiden reached out and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. "I told you. The staff was split into three. I've got one. I know where the other two are. Once you're back on your feet, I'll track them down."
"And then?" she asked, still searching his face for cracks. "You'll keep them together? Fuse them into one weapon? You realize that's literally what villains do, right?"
Aiden didn't flinch. "I realize that's what people say villains do. But sometimes, the only difference between a villain and a visionary is who's telling the story."
Natasha was silent for a long time. Finally, she sighed, leaning back against him again. "You better be the exception, Aiden. Because if you're not, I'm going to be the one to take you down."
He kissed the top of her head. "I know. And I'd expect nothing less."
The two of them remained in that hotel room until the sun had long climbed past its peak. Natasha had recovered by then, her body limber once again, her mind sharper than ever. They didn't speak much during those last hours in the room—just exchanged glances, small touches, gestures of understanding.
As they stepped out into the sunlit street, Aiden caught the look from the hotel owner—somewhere between scandalized and impressed. Clearly, the walls hadn't done much to muffle their... late-night activities.
Natasha smirked. "He probably thinks you're some kind of god."
Aiden winked. "Only when the lights are off."
They found a quiet diner nearby and sat in a booth by the window. The hum of life around them felt distant, as if they were caught in their own little orbit.
"You going back to SHIELD?" Aiden asked after their plates were cleared.
Natasha didn't answer right away. She stirred her coffee, then took a long sip before setting it down. "Depends. Are you planning to jump into another world-ending mission?"
"Not yet. First, I'm going after the rest of the staff. I already have a piece, which means I'm a target. Better to find them before someone else does."
"And after that?" she asked again, her voice softer, more curious than accusatory.
He exhaled. "I'll return to base. Build it. Strengthen it. There's something coming, Natasha. I can't tell you yet—but I need to be ready."
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes searching his. "You're not just preparing for a fight. You're preparing for a war."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Natasha sat back in her seat, her decision settling into place. "Then I won't go with you—not yet. I'll report back to SHIELD, clean up the loose ends, and keep an ear to the ground. You do your part. I'll do mine."
Aiden nodded. "Deal. But rest before you go. Take a day. You earned it."
She gave him a dry smile. "You just want me to stay in bed."
"Maybe. Can you blame me?"
Their kiss was slow, lingering—not a goodbye, but an acknowledgment. Whatever paths they walked next, they'd cross again.
As Aiden turned and walked away into the horizon, Natasha watched him disappear around the corner.
She muttered to herself, almost amused, "You're either going to save the world, or burn it down."
Then she finished her coffee, left a generous tip, and slipped into the shadows—silent, unseen, and already thinking five moves ahead.
—
For most people, locating even one fragment of an ancient Asgardian artifact—let alone all three—would be the work of decades, a near-impossible feat buried beneath layers of myth, time, and cosmic concealment. But for Aiden, it was barely an afternoon's task.
The staff pieces, though scattered across the globe, had long since embedded themselves into the leylines of Earth's mystical structure, subtly resonating to each other's presence. By noon, Aiden stood at the center of a windswept canyon far from civilization, the three fractured pieces of the weapon laid carefully on the stony ground before him.
As if drawn by unseen threads, the pieces began to tremble. A low hum, deep and ancient, rippled through the air. One by one, they inched toward each other, their jagged edges glowing with a dull red light. Then, with a metallic screech and a flash of arcane energy, they clicked together—seamless, inevitable.
The weapon now fully formed resembled Loki's scepter in silhouette—sleek and slightly curved—but lacked the gleaming arrogance of the god of mischief's craftsmanship. It was simpler, forged for function rather than grandeur. There was a brutality in its lines, a promise of carnage etched into the dull black metal.
As Aiden gripped the staff with both hands, a violent rush of emotion surged through his veins.
Rage.
The kind that blinds. The kind that burns.
The very air around him crackled as a crimson aura bled from the weapon into his body, amplifying his heartbeat, quickening his breath. His muscles tensed, his vision blurred at the edges. He clenched his teeth to keep from snarling like an animal.
He wanted to break something. Anything.
No—everything.
Aiden closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. Control it. Dominate it.
He grounded himself, letting the flood of fury roll over his consciousness, not succumbing, but surfing the tide. Slowly, painstakingly, he stabilized his breathing and forced the weapon to go dormant. The red hue faded.
"It's... not easy," he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse with restraint.
He frowned at the staff. As a complete weapon, it was undeniably powerful—but also volatile. When the pieces were separate, they were more manageable, like fire contained in lanterns. Now, it was a wildfire in his grip.
Shaking his head, he decided to stow the weapon. With a simple thought, it disappeared into his system's spatial vault. In its place, he summoned twin weapons—two pitch-black tang knives with a slight ethereal shimmer.
"Much better."
Unlike the staff, these knives were much better—just precision and deadly silence. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling. The Berserker's Staff had too much potential to leave as-is. It needed... refinement.
*****
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