Friend or Foe - Iamnotreal (2025)

Chapter 1: The Weight of the World

Chapter Text

“Uhm,” Clint hums, narrows his eyes, and lowers his bow, aiming it at the floor. “Is he dead?”

Tony examines the asshole extraordinaire currently adorning an asshole-extraordinaire-shaped hole in his living room’s floor they are all gathered around, and scratches his chin. It’s awfully hard to tell. He does look dead, with all the blood and that lying-completely-still thingy going on, but Asgardians seem to be fucking indestructible, so who could say?

Hulk roars, but it doesn’t work this time.

“Thor?” Tony prompts, but gets no answer and Thor continues to just stand there, staring at the unmoving figure with a dumbfounded expression on his face. “Jay?”

“My cameras are down on your level, Sir, but I’m getting a readout of life signs,” Jarvis says. The voice comes just from one speaker in the corner that was somehow spared when all the rest was destroyed, and even that is distorted and overlayed with static, which could mean further damage somewhere deeper in the network. “Although, they’ve seem to be fading in and out for the last twenty-three minutes and I have nothing in my database to use it as a baseline to compare the readings to.”

Clint grunts in displeasure, and – as awful as it might seem – Tony understands where he is coming from. The whole awful mind control affair notwithstanding, it would make it easier for everyone – including Thor’s lil bro himself – if Loki decided to just shove off. No such luck, apparently.

Well, that seems to be still up in the air. Loki’s chest rises as he draws a quick, ragged breath. He chokes and coughs and blood bubbles on his lips and trails down from his nose and the corners of his mouth, which means there’s blood in his airways or lungs, which means internal injuries of an unknown scale.

That finally seems to knock Thor out of the stupor. He falls to his knees and places his hand under Loki’s neck to lift him up.

“Wait!” Tony finds himself saying, even though he wouldn’t be able to give a reason if someone asked why.

Thor frowns, but stops for a moment and glowers at Tony.

“We shouldn’t move him,” Rogers takes over, bless his heart, then drops to his knees next to Loki and leans over, with his ear an inch above Loki’s lips. His brows furrow and the wrinkle between them only grows deeper when he presses his fingers to the god’s neck. “He isn’t breathing and the pulse is barely there,” Steve reports.

Thor stumbles back a step, his face now completely lost, with an expression of panic mixing with shock. “No… That’s not possible. He can’t just… die,” he mutters.

“He will if we don’t do something,” Steve says and the urgency in his tone makes Tony sure he isn’t exaggerating.

The decision pretty much makes itself in his brain, without his conscious participation. “Jay, is the med bay still operational?”

“Yes, Sir. Doctor Powell is on duty, as well as her entire team. Should I make the call?”

“Yes.”

Having a private medical center on the lower levels of one’s home becomes less of a whim and more of a reasonable precaution if one’s flying around in a metal tin, fighting crime.

“Friend Stark?” Thor says, his gaze – just as lost as it was a minute ago – now parked on Tony.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get your brother sorted out in no time,” Tony says cheerfully and it’s just as optimistic as it’s baseless of a promise. Tony’s seen enough death and grave injury over his tenure as Iron Man to know how it looks. Loki has been out for a good while already, even for a human it’s not a good sign and who can say what it could mean for someone as sturdy as the Asgardians? Even without that, he doesn’t look so hot, with blood still dripping from his lips and the wounds on his face and neck – and that’s as much as Tony can see, with the armor hiding the rest – and there’s enough of it already pooling in the hole the god still lies in to suggest that – even if he lived somehow – it wouldn’t be without lasting effects and a long, painful recovery.

Still, letting him just die here without trying to help would be a shitty thing to do. They are supposed to be the good guys after all.

Thor nods, his lips pulled into a thin line. Tony can see a query forming in Thor’s brain and showing up on his face, but the elevator dings before he gets it out. Four paramedics step out, carrying medical equipment and a stretcher.

Tony moves away and signals the others to do so as well, leaving the EMTs to do their job, as they are loading the unconscious god onto a stretcher and placing a brace around his neck and an oxygen mask on his pallid face.

Thor is watching their machinations with suspicion, but doesn’t protest, then – once the paramedics lift the stretcher – he follows them into the elevator.

“I’ll go with them,” Steve offers and – when nobody voices an objection – trudges behind Thor.

Tony’s rather sure Rogers’ initiative is dictated as much by his bleeding heart as it is by his sense of duty and strategical thinking, but he isn’t going to look the gifted horse in the mouth. They need someone to keep an eye on the Asgardians – both of them, since Loki might be still a threat and Thor’s just as unpredictable when it comes to his reactions to his brother – and Steve has better chances of survival than Tony (now that his armor needs repairs), or Barton, or Romanoff. Hulk simply wouldn’t fit into the elevator.

Barton lets out a sigh once the door closes. “Remind me, why do we even bother?”

Tony shrugs. “I’m guessing Thor wouldn’t take it too kindly if we just left his shithead of a brother to die in the pool of his own blood in a hole in my floor,” he says, and realizes it’s not the only reason and there’s a part of him that hopes Loki doesn’t die. Mostly to have an opportunity to ask him what the fuck this mess was all about.

---

Fury calls him thirty minutes later.

“I’ll send my med team over to pick him up,” he says, once Tony informs him how the fight has ended.

“Don’t,” Tony says quickly, then amends, “I mean, I don’t care, but it doesn’t look like he’s going to make it anyway, my team is already on it and Thor might be kinda hard to convince after you promised him he could keep his baby brother as a war prize.”

Fury grunts in displeasure, then agrees. “What about the Tesseract? Is it secured? I have Selvig with the device Thor requested at the ready, but the Council is growing restless.”

“You can tell the Council to shove it, along with my regards,” Tony snarls into the microphone. “They fired a fucking nuke at us! A nuke, Nick!”

“Stark. I understand you’re upset, but–“

“I almost died carrying a missile my own fucking government fired at me, got my home wrecked and currently have a dying Norse god in my med bay. You’re goddamned right I’m upset! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t be!”

There’s a rustle on the line as Fury sighs. “I’ll get back to you later. Just let me know if anything changes.”

It’s one of the times Tony wishes they were still using landlines. He could smash the handset down if that was the case. He cannot, so he just snarls “fine” and drops the call.

Still, it means he dealt with Fury for the time being and now only has to wait for Loki to die to start sorting this whole mess out.

---

Loki doesn’t die, and, by the time Tony goes down to the infirmary the next morning – having showered, eaten, and slept for twelve hours – he’s still kicking. Figuratively speaking, because he’s still unconscious.

Romanoff’s already there, sitting by the glass pane dividing the Hulk-proof enclosure that currently contains Loki’s bed from the hallway. That’s the only window in the room, all the other walls – and the floor and the ceiling, Tony wasn’t fucking around when designing it – being made of twenty inches of reinforced concrete with additional, puncture-resistant padding on the inside. It used to be empty, containing nothing that could be ripped off the wall and used as a projectile, but now houses an array of medical equipment and a hospital bed. And its current tenant.

The medical staff have removed Loki’s armor, replacing it with a thin hospital gown, and – along with his deathly pale skin and all the tubes running to the IV ports in his arms and chest and to the hole in his throat – it makes the god look a lot less intimidating. Actually, he looks rather frail, and pretty goddamned mortal.

There’s a thick, metal manacle snapped on Loki’s bony wrist, but the chain and the other shackle on its end just dangle down from the bed, without being attached to anything.

“What’s that about?” Tony asks Romanoff, then points at the chains when she frowns.

“Thor’s idea. Apparently, it does something to block Loki’s magic and he got it on before the nurses kicked him out of the room. He still thinks Loki is faking it.”

“And you don’t?”

She shakes her head then hands him the tablet from a nearby table. “Doctor Powell’s report.”

Tony reads through the list. Just the three top bullet points are enough to understand what Romanoff meant – a broken spine, a suspected spinal cord injury, and a punctured lung – but the list keeps on going. Some of the entries are obvious as for the source – a concussion, broken ribs, damaged organs, and blunt force trauma injuries – and can easily come from being repeatedly plummeted into a concrete floor by Hulk. Others are a bit more enigmatic. Older, half-healed fractures, burns and severe scarring, symptoms of dehydration and acute malnutrition, nerve damage from exposure to extreme temperatures.

The like.

It reads more like a hardcore mashup of seven different pathology reports than a doctor’s note on someone who’s still alive.

“Uhm, are we sure this is right?” Tony asks, still staring at the screen.

Romanoff nods. “I’ve seen the scans. It’s as bad as it gets. It’s a wonder he was able to stand on his own, more so to fight, even before Hulk got to him.”

Tony claps into the empty seat next to her. “Any ideas where these came from?”

“He’s been tortured and it went on for quite some time," she says. She keeps her tone calm and matter-of-fact, but her words still send a shiver down Tony’s spine. "That’s my only hypothesis, but I’ve seen similar sets of injuries on torture victims too many times to be wrong about it."

“By whom?”

She shrugs. “Whoever held his leash during the attack, if I had to guess.”

Tony curses under his breath. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t suspect someone else had to be behind Loki’s frenzied offensive. Thor had no idea where the troops came from, Loki’s whereabouts in the last months were unaccounted for and the whole goddamned plan made absolutely no sense, especially in the context of Thor’s assertions that Loki is smart, cunning, and a good tactician.

But there’s a difference between a willful collaboration and being forced into doing something against one’s will.

Tony presses his fingers to his eyelids, but it only makes it worse, Yinsen’s dead, unseeing eyes now gazing at him from his memories. What would he do if not for Yinsen? What would he do if he had no one to help him, no one to guide him, no one to talk him down when he freaked out? Would he build the goddamned Jericho?

It looks like Loki did.

“I guess we will have to wait and ask him who that was when he wakes,” Tony says.

“If he ever does,” Romanoff says glumly.

---

Loki doesn’t wake up that evening, nor anytime within the next three days, and – even though his state remains stable – he doesn’t seem to be getting any better.

“I don’t get it,” Bruce says. Once he’d slept off hulking out, he joined Tony, Romanoff, and Steve in their voluntary vigils in front of Loki’s cell-slash-hospital-room. He isn’t saying it, but Tony is pretty certain he feels guilty about the whole deal. “He was resilient enough to live through receiving all these injuries, and yet he isn’t healing now.” Bruce looks down on the pad in his hands and frowns. “His body reacts properly to anti-inflammatory drugs and the doctors stopped all the bleeding, but his state isn’t improving. It’s almost as if something was… blocking the recovery.”

Tony narrowly escapes facepalming himself to death. “He’s a fucking wizard, Bruce,” he says and springs up.

“Huh?”

Tony taps the panel next to the door, then – when it spills “insufficient clearance” error – he beats it into submission with an admin override. “I’m not an expert or anything, but, just logically, taking away his mojo definitely isn’t helping, right?” he says and steps inside.

He had no reason to come into the room until now, staying on the other side of the glass, and it strikes him how much worse Loki looks from up close – pale and lifeless, with deep shadows under his closed eyes.

Bruce follows Tony inside and stops a couple of steps away from the bed. Tony approaches it and examines the cuff, visually at first, and – when that doesn’t yield any conclusive verdict – he picks up Loki’s limp arm and tries to twist the shackle around, unsuccessfully. It fits too tightly, pressing into the flesh so hard it leaves reddened marks where metal meets the skin and cuts off circulation. The skin itself feels clammy and cold to the touch, to a point that the metal actually feels warmer in comparison.

“We don’t even know what it does, Tony,” Bruce reasons.

“Well, currently the best case scenario is ‘nothing’. It’s not like he can give us a slip like that, can he?” Tony says and frowns. He cannot see any obvious way to open the shackle – it’s made out of a multitude of interlocking parts that look like they should be moving but don’t. “Damn. Jay, any input?”

“It emits a faint electromagnetic field and it doesn’t seem to be made of any alloy known to mankind, Sir. The material is too dense for my scanners to process though and a full spectral analysis of a sample is required for further information.”

“It doesn’t look like we’re getting a sample until we get it off,” Tony says with dejection and lets go of Loki’s hand. It flops down to the bed limply and Tony sighs. “And we need Thor to do it.”

Bruce sighs, and yeah, Tony is totally ahead of him there.

---

He knocks on the guest suite’s door, waits a few seconds, and knocks again. “Thor? It’s me, Tony.”

Since the medical staff – aided by Romanoff’s lifesaving powers of persuasion – told the older Asgardian that no, he could not take Loki back home in that state and no, he shouldn’t fucking chain him up and put a mouthguard from hell on him either, Thor has been mostly hiding away in the rooms Jarvis pointed him to, only sometimes going out to join them for meals.

At least by now, it looks like some of their arguments have made their way into his thick skull and he seems to get that it’s not, in fact, and act on Loki’s part, even though he still refuses to acknowledge how serious his brother’s state is and brushes off the suggestions that it was more than just the damage from the battle that got him there.

Tony’s about to knock again – or perhaps just barge in, it is his tower after all – when the door opens.

Thor’s missing a shirt and his hair is tousled, and it looks like he just got out of bed. Tony saves the “it’s three pm” comment, they’ve noticed by now that Thor has problems adjusting to the Earth’s daily cycles a while ago.

“Man of Iron,” Thor says and stifles a yawn. “How can I help you.”

He doesn’t invite him in, so Tony just slinks through the crack, ducks under Thor’s arm, and walks inside.

The main living area is a mess, with beer bottles, pieces of armor, and empty takeout boxes – it looks like Thor’s been using Jarvis, and the food delivery services he offers to all guests, to compensate for the meals he’s missed – lying wherever they landed. Tony dismissed his room service right after the attack started and Thor’s not big on cleaning after himself, apparently.

Tony pushes an empty pizza box out of the way and sits down in an armchair. “We need to talk.”

Thor collapses onto a couch on the other side of the low table. “What about?”

“Your brother. First, you need to remove the shackle. Second–“

“I’ll do no such thing!”

That takes Tony by surprise. “Why? He cannot run away or use his magic if he’s unconscious, right?”

“It doesn’t matter. It takes but a moment, and he’ll use the first opportunity he gets to escape the punishment for his crimes. I swore a vow to the All-Father I’d bring Loki to justice and I intend to keep my word.”

“Here’s the second part of my question. What sort of “justice” are we talking about here?”

“I know not, friend,” Thor admits, after a moment of silence.

“Any guesses?”

There’s another beat of silence, before Thor answers. “The punishment for treason is death,” he says in a hollow voice.

Tony takes a mental note of the wording. Not aggravated assault, not murder, not attacking an allied nation. Treason. As if the whole fucking universe rotated around Asgard and Asgard alone. “And what if the whole coercion thingy checks out?”

“It matters not. A worthy man would withstand it.”

Tony goes through the list of Loki’s injuries that is now burned into his brain. “It looks like your brother did quite a lot of ‘withstanding’,” he says.

“Then he ought to lay down his life instead of claiming innocent ones.”

“Would you?”

“Of course!” Thor exclaims, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and it rings just as solemn as it is fake.

One could never know for sure, until it happens. Even carrying the nuke through the portal, Tony still didn’t think about dying. It wasn’t a conscious act of sacrifice, just a heat-of-the-moment call. He didn’t know what he would find on the other side or wasted even a second on wondering if he would make it back. He just did it, because it felt like the best option at the time. And he did live, even if it was just a fluke. Would he act the same if he knew for certain it meant death?

He doesn’t know, and he suspects Thor doesn’t know either.

“Well, it’s different here.”

“Loki’s of Asgard, not of Midgard.”

“Is he though? You said he rebelled against your father and you intend to drag him home in chains to be killed. That doesn’t shape up like a peaceful return home.”

Thor grits his teeth.

“I can see you still care about him.”

Thor purses his lips and looks away. “I still hold hope that the All-Father will find mercy for my brother in his heart,” he says quietly, the pompousness from before gone from his tone.

“And what if he doesn’t?”

Thor doesn’t answer.

“Maybe it would be better if Loki stayed here?”

“And what difference would it make? Loki brought war to your doorstep. Your leaders ought to hold as bitter of a grudge against him. What does it matter if he dies by a mortal hand instead of Aesir?”

“Woah there. Nobody said anything about killing. As I said, it’s not the same here. Attenuating circumstances do matter. If he cooperates and comes clean and his testimony checks out, he has a solid chance to walk away, free.”

Thor’s face draws in as he considers Tony’s words. “You argue for my brother after he ruined your home and threatened you with death.”

Tony shrugs. “Shit happens,” he chuckles. “Besides, I’m not a huge fan of seeing people who don’t deserve to die to be killed. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“You might have followed a wrong calling then,” Thor points out.

Tony laughs and shrugs. It’s not that he has no answer, but he suspects it isn’t going to convince someone who operates on Thor’s mindset and level of intensity. It’s different to defend oneself or others in a dire situation – to kill to protect a life – than to carry out a cold, calculated act of revenge, even if it’s to follow the letter of the law. It doesn’t make one just, it makes the law faulty.

“So, what would it be?”

“I… I have to think about it.”

“And the shackle?”

Thor frowns.

“He won’t heal with it on. We’re trying what we can to help him, but there’s only as much as we can do,” Tony persuades.

Thor stares at him for a while, then nods curtly.

Tony gets up, pats Thor on his – honestly pretty damn impressive – bicep and heads to the door. “Thanks, He-Man. So, shall we?”

Thor grunts and follows him out of the room.

---

“What now?” Thor asks and stashes the shackles into his pouch of holding that doesn’t look nearly big enough to hold the bulky restraint yet it does.

“You tell me,” Tony says. The manacle left a reddened welt on Loki’s ashen skin and the sight riles him way more than it reasonably should. “You’re the expert here.”

“Loki always healed quickly. I knew not that he was aiding it with his magic,” Thor says with a pout. At least he looks a bit guilty about it, so that’s progress.

“I suppose we’ll have just wait and see,” Bruce says and gestures at the hallway.

“I’d like to stay here for a moment if you don’t mind,” Thor says.

Tony nods. As long as Thor cuts down on the bullshit vengeful behavior, there’s no reason why he cannot stay.

Tony and Bruce retreat from the room and Tony resecures the door behind them, Thor stays inside. For a moment, he just stands there, staring at his brother’s lifeless body, then drags a stool over and sits by the bedside. His massive hand covers Loki’s bony one and he gently runs his fingers over the damaged flesh where the shackle sat, as if he could wish the marks out of existence just by his touch.

“What have you told him?” Bruce asks.

“The truth.”

---

Tony pops to the infirmary a couple of times throughout the day. Sure, Jarvis would notify him if something has changed, but he still feels the urge to check for himself, not entirely sure why.

His last visit, just before the bed, is a few minutes past midnight, and he finds only Steve sitting in the hallway. Loki’s still out, but he started to breathe on his own somewhere during the afternoon and the tracheostomy tube was removed, replaced by a length of bandage wrapped around his throat.

“Where’s the thunder boy?” he asks.

“He fell asleep, so I told him to go to his room.”

“He listened?”

“Not right away,” Steve says with a small smile.

“Yeah, he looks like the type,” Tony jokes.

Steve sighs and drags his hand through his hair, the smile fading. “I asked Thor what would happen to Loki back home,” he says.

“Yeah, we talked about it too.”

“On one hand, it’s their law and it would be wrong to interfere. On the other, it’s just so…”

“Messed up.”

Steve nods. “It’s their father who ordered it, too. He ordered Thor to bring in his own brother to be executed. What kind of father does that?”

“A shitty one.”

Steve sighs again. “I know it’s wrong, but I begin to think it would be better for Loki if he never woke up,” he says quietly.

Tony can see where Steve is coming from. If one’s choice is between fading away peacefully in one’s sleep and standing trial in front of one’s estranged parent then facing a – most likely bloody, because Asgard doesn’t sound like a place that’s up to date with the newest humanitarian standards – execution, that call is easy to make. But Tony isn’t entirely sure it is indeed the only choice. Even if they don’t manage to convince Thor, there are still options. They can trick him, hide Loki somewhere safe, tell Thor he ran away…

Tony chuckles to himself and shakes his head. Is he really considering sticking out his neck for a genocidal maniac that threw him out of his own window?

Well, it looks like he does.

He claps his hand down on Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Cap. We’ll figure it out,” he says and means it.

---

“Sir, there is a disturbance in the infirmary,” Jarvis says, a second after playing an alarm that woke Tony up.

“What kind of disturbance?” he asks, jumping out of the bed and instinctively reaching under it to retrieve his suit, only to realize it’s not there. He still hasn’t gotten around to fixing it, with so much going on. “Is Mark Four operational?”

“It is, Sir, but I don’t think it’s necessary. Captain Rogers and the nurses are dealing with the issue as we speak. I’m just notifying you because you requested an update if there was a status change.”

“I assume there is,” Tony says, quickly pulling on his pants and shirt. Jarvis’ assertion did calm him down somewhat, but he still intends to check.

“Indeed, Sir. Mr. Odinson has woken up.”

“That’s the disturbance?”

“He appeared confused and attacked Captain Rogers when he approached.”

“Is Steve all right?”

“Yes, he appears unharmed. Mr. Odinson’s attack did no significant damage.”

“Have you notified Thor?”

“I haven’t, Sir.”

“Don’t.”

---

When he arrives in the med bay five minutes later, the situation looks fully under control. Loki’s back to lying unconscious in his bed, now secured down with leather straps holding down his wrists and ankles and Steve is sitting in the hallway and has a wound on his forehead cleaned by a nurse. It doesn’t look serious, just a scratch that shouldn’t be much of an issue even for someone who isn’t Steve Rogers.

Tony waits for the nurse to finish and leave before asking. “So, what happened?”

“It was my fault,” Steve says. “Loki started muttering something so I went in and spooked him.”

Rogers can be fierce in battle, but with his peacetime demeanor, he wouldn’t spook even a blind kitten.

Tony picks up the tablet. “Jay, show me the recording,” he says and a video pops up a second later and starts playing.

Steve was being generous calling the muffled cries and pleas coming out of Loki’s lips a “mutter”. The recording doesn’t do a good job at catching all the words but the tone in collaboration with the look on Loki’s face is enough to give Tony enough of an idea. Whatever vision Loki’s brain is serving him in his sleep – his eyes are still closed – is a terrifying one.

The door opens and Steve rushes in and bends over the bed, shaking Loki’s arm. Only then do the god’s eyes fly open and dash around in blind panic. He throws Steve’s hand off and swings at Steve’s face, nicking his forehead with his nails as Steve tries to dodge and move away.

Four nurses and a doctor rush in. The nurses pin – now hissing and struggling – Loki down to the bed and the doctor administers a shot into his neck. Loki fights for a few more seconds, his moves growing more and more sluggish, then goes slack.

Tony sighs and turns the video off.

“As I said, it was my fault,” Steve says. “I don’t think he even realized where he was.”

Tony sits down and presses his fingers to his eyes. He’s still at it, when the night shift doctor walks in.

“Mr. Stark,” he acknowledges.

Tony waves him to go on because he can’t recall the man’s name and his plaque is turned the wrong way around.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” the man says as if it was somehow his fault. “The life signs of the patient were improving since the late evening, but we didn’t expect him to wake up this early. We all operate blindly here. The patient’s biology is very unlike the human one.”

“What have you given him?”

“Just a sedative. It should keep him under for a couple of hours without causing any serious side effects. With an emphasis on ‘should’, since all of the drugs we’ve been administering constitute an experimental therapy in this case.”

As if called out, Loki shifts and opens his eyes, immediately throwing away the “couple of hours” assumption. He tugs on the cuffs holding him down, then tugs again, to no avail. Tony isn’t aware of any special materials used in the medical restraints in his facilities, so it’s most likely an effect of Loki’s diminished strength rather than the quality of the leather straps.

The doctor moves to open the door.

“Wait. Let me talk to him first.” He isn’t sure what that could achieve – it’s not like he could by any means amount to a friendly face – but he feels an urge to try anyway. He can't make it any worse by just talking, can he?

“Okay, but just for a moment. I need to examine the patient,” the doctor agrees and Tony prefers to think it’s so because it’s his true, professional opinion and not because Tony is paying his – most likely outlandish – wage.

Tony walks inside. He can feel Loki’s gaze on himself the whole time, as he’s dragging the stool that got kicked away during the struggle and sitting down. “Hello, Sleeping Beauty,” he says.

Loki’s green gaze slowly focuses and recognition blooms on his face. “Stark,” he rasps.

“The one and only.”

“Who do you think you are to dare to bind a god!? Release me, before I make you regret you were ever born on this gods-forsaken realm!” Loki howls and yanks on the cuffs again. The frame of the bed protests with a whine, but the restraints somehow hold, which seems to enrage Loki further. “I’ll rip out your heart and feed it still beating to your offspring while you watch! I’ll rend you limb for limb and leave your carcass for the crows!”

Tony folds his arms at his chest and waits it out. Loki goes on for a while in a similar vein, growing less and less coherent, but soon expends himself and collapses back to the bed, panting.

“Are you done?”

Loki rolls his eyes and tries for a mocking laugh, only managing to send himself into a coughing fit.

Tony gets up, pours water from a jug someone left by the bed into a plastic cup, and brings the cup to Loki’s lips.

The god scoffs and turns his head away.

“Suit yourself,” Tony says and drinks the water himself then puts the cup away, not missing the way Loki’s eyes trace it. “By the way, I have no kids.”

“What?” Loki blurts out, surprised.

“The part about feeding my still-beating heart to my offspring. I have no kids. That I know of, at least,” Tony says and flashes a smile.

Loki looks at him with a deepening frown, the rage ebbing down, bit by bit. “Where am I?” he asks at last, his tone cold but collected.

“Want to take a guess before I tell you?”

Loki glowers at him for a while, apparently enjoying the exchange a lot less than Tony, then takes a look around. “Some pathetic mortal prison.”

“Not so pathetic from the look of things,” Tony says and points his chin at the restraints. “And no, it’s not a prison. Just a nice, cozy room in my tower.”

Loki goes for another take and it looks like he isn’t convinced. “Where’s Thor?”

“In his bed, as far as I know. We can call him in a minute, but I wanted to talk to you before we do.”

“Whatever for?”

“Want to take a guess before I tell you?”

Loki snarls at him, teeth and all, and Tony laughs. “I don’t know if you realize it, but you’ve been on the brink of death for the last, what, four days?”

Loki shifts in place, wiggling his shoulders and turning his arms around. “Your beast did it to me,” he says and, surprisingly, there’s no anger in his voice, just cold detachment.

“Well, Hulk did finish the job, yeah. But I’m more interested in where your previous injuries came from.”

“A childhood accident,” Loki says with a pitch-perfect poker face.

“Mhm,” Stark murmurs.

“Why do you care?”

“Want to take a guess before I tell you?”

Loki lets out a drawn-out sigh and tips his head back, then stares at the ceiling. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Just call Thor and get it over with.”

“Are you in such a rush to face your justice?”

Loki shrugs and it looks careless enough, but a flinch crosses his gaunt features like a shadow. “What does it matter to you? Do you regret you wasted your effort on a prisoner whose fate is sealed already?”

“Well, I probably would, if that were true. Luckily, it isn’t.”

Loki laughs, a cheerless, mirthless laugh, and smiles a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t have the faintest idea what you’re speaking of, do you?”

“I know enough. You go home, the All-Daddy lopes your snazzy head off.”

“Exactly.”

“Which brings up two questions. Actually, one question, in two parts. First, why are you in such a rush to go there? Second, why do you want to go there at all?”

Loki turns his face back to Tony. Now that the pretenses are off, he looks just dead tired. He clears his throat, coughs, and wipes his lips on his shoulder. “It has nothing to do with what I want. It simply beats the alternative,” he says numbly.

Tony gets up, pours another cup, considers for a second then reaches to Loki’s wrist and undoes the cuff. Loki frowns, his gaze slowly drifting up from his now free hand up to Tony.

Tony hands him the cup. Loki takes it, brings it to his lips, hesitates for a moment, then downs it in a few gulps and gasps in obvious relief. Tony refills the cup for him.

“Care to elaborate what exactly that alternative is?”

Loki looks at him, his eyes wide. There’s fear in them, but also sadness and hope. He lets his eyelids fall and takes a long, wheezy breath. “There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice you can hide from him," he says in a thin, hollow voice.

“Ugh, it sounds like a quote.”

“It is.”

“So it’s a ‘he’,” Tony muses. “That’s something. Will I get a name?”

“The name won’t tell you what to seek to know. But yes, it’s a man who sent me here. A man who fashions himself a god.”

“You two must’ve had a lot of common subjects to talk about over brunches then,” Tony jokes, and the joke lands flat, for Loki is only glowering at him with grave offense painted on his face. “Too soon?”

“If you choose to make light of my warning it might just as well mean your demise. Yours and your entire kind. Getting rid of his army did nothing to stop his aspirations, merely delayed them. And I assure you, his ambitions are great.”

“Great how?”

“He seeks to collect the Infinity Stones and alter the entirety of reality to his own desires.”

It’s Tony’s turn to just stare blankly.

Loki huffs out a laugh. “You aspire to speak to me as an equal, yet a child of Elder Races would put your knowledge of the principles of the universe to shame.”

“Or, alternatively, you could cut down on the condescension and explain it to me,” Tony counters.

“I tire of giving you explanations,” Loki says. It’s an evasion tactic, that much is certain, but it also doesn’t look that far from the truth.

“Okay, fair. How about we take a break? You take a nap, I’ll find you something to eat in the meantime.”

“You think you can bribe me with scraps, like some scraggly mongrel?”

“I’m not sure, but you still look like you could use a good meal. Then a few dozen more.”

Loki huffs in indignation, but his expression mellows out quickly. “What of Thor?”

“What about him?”

“He won’t be overjoyed when he finds out you’re entertaining his prisoner with a conversation and a feast.”

“I feel like you’re overreacting here a bit.”

“Am I? Does he not want to drag me home in chains?”

“He does. Kinda. I’ve been working on it and for now, the whole affair has been put on hold.”

Loki blinks.

“I’m sure we can convince him to let you stay if you work with me. Starting with a promise to not stab him again once he shows his mug here maybe?”

Loki’s eyes grow wide and his eyebrows furrow. His face is awfully expressive if he’s not trying to hide behind a mask. “Are you… offering me a refuge?” he asks.

“I guess I am,” Tony says with a shrug and gets up. “Anyway… I’m gonna go now and send the good doctor in. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bite his head off while he examines you. The labor unions will never let me hear the end of it if you do.”

He approaches the bed and Loki places his free hand next to the cuff. Instead of resecuring it, Tony reaches the other one and undoes it too, then continues to the ones holding down Loki’s ankles, ignoring Loki’s increasingly confused stare. “What are you doing?” Loki asks warily.

“Those were only for our safety if you decided to throw a fit again. Seeing that it doesn’t look like a real danger anymore, you should be fine without them.”

Loki sits up, folds his hands in his lap, and stares at them intently as if trying to find what part of it was hiding the trick. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“Don’t mention it. As long as you don’t murder or maim anyone, we’re good. Okay?”

Loki lifts his head and nods and Tony leaves. And if he’s smiling to himself a little, who can blame him?

---

He instructs Jarvis to order some food, then stands there, watching through the glass as the doctor carries out his examination. Loki takes it with a surprising amount of patience, allowing the man to do multiple passes with the handheld scanner, shine light into his eyes, draw his blood for testing and replace the dressing on the incision they had to make in Loki’s abdomen to fix his ruptured guts.

“He seems so… normal,” Steve says and Tony knows exactly what he’s talking about. In comparison to how Loki was acting a few days ago, this makes for like a total one-eighty.

“I know, right? Who would have thought that getting smashed by Hulk can work as therapy?”

Steve sighs. “I’m not sure if it’s just that. If this is how he is on a good day, what was that behavior from before?”

“You think something was affecting him?”

“I don’t know. But that would explain why he acts like he does and yet he did what he did.”

“People are capable of doing a lot of damage when under pressure.”

“Maybe. But maybe there was something more to it?”

Tony shrugs. “I guess we’ll have to find that out as we go.”

The doctor removes the bandages from Loki’s throat and the IV ports from his arms, leaving only the central catheter on his shoulder, then vacates the room.

“What’s the verdict?” Tony asks.

The doctor – Dr. Amin (the plaque is the right way around now) – rubs his face with his hand and sighs. “He seems to be healing and it looks like we’ve been fearing about the lasting effects of the spinal injury for nothing, but other than that… From fifteen years of experience as a general medicine practitioner I can, with a good amount of surety, say that I have no clue. It looks like whatever injury that’s left is no longer life-threatening, but I’ll not give you that in writing.”

Tony thanks him with a nod and the man wanders off.

“So, what now?”

“I promised our ex-wannabe alien overlord a snack and I intend to deliver.”

---

He goes to pick up the takeout and bumps into Bruce on his way back. Bruce goes through the bags, shakes his head with overdone disbelief, and removes almost everything but veggie rice and chicken broth with noodles. Then he makes some peanut butter toasts and some herbal tea and tells Tony to deliver that to Loki instead.

Loki doesn’t seem to mind, just devours everything in record time as if it was his first meal in weeks, which Tony suspects might not be as far from the truth as he’d wish.

“Mr. Stark, I have to inform you that the older Mr. Odinson has woken up and is heading in your direction,” Jarvis’ voice sounds from the speakers. “ETA three minutes. Should I call the others in?”

Tony considers a moment and nods. “Yeah, do that.”

Loki makes a panicked motion and starts to get up.

“Hey, chill. We’re going to just talk to him, nice and easy, and explain everything, how about that?”

Loki’s face suggests he doesn’t think highly of the idea, but he stays put, his fingers curling and uncurling nervously where they rest at his sides.

There’s a commotion on the other side of the glass as Thor’s frantically trying to get the door to open by yanking the handle.

“Wait a mi–“

Thor swings his hammer at the glass. It shatters and falls to the ground in tiny pieces.

So much for Hulk-proof.

“Loki!” Thor calls – a direct warning obvious in his tone – and charges, his weapon still up.

Loki’s resolution crumbles and he scrambles to his feet, away from the bed and into the corner. The tube, still connected to the port on his shoulder, tugs at the container that’s feeding it and the stand crashes to the ground.

Before he can think twice and realize how pointless it is, Tony dashes to block Thor’s approach. He stands between Thor and his target, his hands raised in placation.

Thor stops just short of crashing into him and glowers.

“How about we talk this through first?”

“Move out of my way, Man of Iron. My brother has awoken and doesn’t need your help anymore. I’m taking him to Asgard.”

“Thor, please be reasonable. We’ve talked about it. You agreed to let him stay.”

“No, I said I’ll think about it. And I did. And I know I have to do this. I won’t let my father down again!”

A suppressed whine tears forth from Loki’s throat, but Tony doesn’t dare to look away from Thor. There’s no other way to win this fight for him than on wits alone and it looks like Thor’s reasoning is failing him at this very moment.

“Friend Stark,” Thor says and places his hand on Tony’s shoulder. He isn’t pushing, not yet, but the threat is there nonetheless.

Steve rushes into the room and stops next to Tony. Then Bruce walks in, then Romanoff, still in her pajamas. They take stands at Tony’s sides too, creating a wall of people between Thor and Loki.

“You can’t do this, Thor,” Steve says.

“I can and I will,” Thor says and sets his jaw. “I’ve got a duty to my home, I’ve got a duty to your realm as well. And I will fight everyone who decides to stand in my way.”

“We are on your side! Are you really going to fight us over this?” Bruce asks, more than a little distraught and Tony prays he’s capable of holding back Hulk. There’s no telling what would happen if he didn’t.

“I don’t want to, but I will if you insist on interfering.”

“He’s your brother, for fuck’s sake,” Romanoff chimes in. There’s no way for her to know what Tony has learned in the last couple of hours, yet she still isn’t backing off.

“He isn’t. He said it himself. Now move,” Thor snarls and adjusts his grip on the hammer.

Romanoff falls into a fighting stance and Tony really doesn’t like where this is going.

“Stop it,” Loki says, his voice frilly but decisive and Tony finally turns to him. He’s standing with his back to the wall, leaning on it heavily – it doesn’t look like his wobbly legs can hold his weight all that well. The thin gown he’s wearing reaches only a bit above his knees, revealing the deep, half-healed gashes on his shins and the scars around his ankles that are too easy to guess the origin of.

He tugs the tube free, pushes himself off the wall with a visible effort, and shuffles forward, his every step as unsteady as it is full of resolve. He walks around the group and stands in front of Thor. “There’s no need for more bloodshed. I’ll go with you,” he says and brings up his hands.

The red mark the shackle left on his skin has faded, but Tony can still see it.

“No,” he says sternly. “Don’t do this, Loki. We were just starting to sort it out!”

Loki smiles and doesn’t stop when Thor snaps the manacles on his wrists, the gear-like pieces moving around and tightening. Thor checks his work with a tug at the chain, then produces the muzzle and brings it to Loki’s face.

The door to the hallway flies open and a smudge of red and gold whooses through the air and crashes into Thor, knocking him off his feet and pushing him into a stack of medical equipment. Tony grabs Loki’s shoulder and dashes to the doorway.

They tumble out of the room, and crash to the floor.

“The red button!” Tony yells as Steve.

Steve whips around and smashes his fist on the switch, just as Thor scrambles to his feet with an angry roar on the other side of the glass and tosses the remains of Mark Four aside. An emergency gate falls down with a rumble and a dull thud of sixteen tons of reinforced concrete falling a height of one story, blowing dust and piece of glass on them.

Romanoff, who barely made it before the gate fell, springs to her feet.

There’re some muffled roars and more thuds as Thor rages inside.

“Are we sure it’s going to hold him?” Steve asks. Not “what the hell, Tony?” or even “are you mad?”, just this.

“I hope so,” Tony says with a jeer, rolls to his knees, hisses, and picks a shard of glass that got embedded in his palm. “Damn. And thanks, Jay.”

“My pleasure, Sir.”

Loki pushes himself to the corner and presses his hands to his stomach, a growing blotch of red staining the gown.

“Bruce?”

Bruce shakes his head and takes a look around. He doesn’t seem entirely there and Tony is only grateful he kept enough clarity of mind to not hulk out.

“You brought Asgard’s rage upon yourselves,” Loki says, his voice strained. “And for what? For one measly prisoner who’s dead already?”

“We’ll see about that. And hell, if it ain’t worth it.”

Loki sighs and lets his head fall backward. Bruce drops to his knees. “Let me see,” he says and Loki allows him to lift the gown with just a sliver of hesitation.

“The stitches came apart,” Bruce says. “I’ll have to redo them.”

“Can it wait till we get to the upper floors? I think we should evacuate the level, just in case.”

Bruce considers for a second and nods. “But do it quickly.”

“Jay?”

“I’m on it, sir,” Jarvis says and, a moment later, airs the warning over the PA system.

There’s a bang and the entire building seems to shake. “Uh oh, it looks like we pissed him off big time.” Tony remarks and scrambles to his feet, then goes to help Loki up.

The god stares at his extended hand with a frown.

“Come on, we can’t just stay there. And even if you think we fucked it up, it’s done already, so let’s see where this takes us, shall we?”

Loki huffs in annoyance but reaches to grab Tony’s hand, the chain between his wrists clinking. He tries to heave himself up, but his legs are not obeying him. Steve approaches and grabs his arm. Bruce positions himself on the god’s other side.

Loki frowns, but doesn’t protest when they lead him to the elevator.

---

The penthouse’s living area is still ruined and missing most of the windows – Tony didn’t have time to even think about booking a construction crew to fix it, even if that was even remotely possible with half the buildings in New York needing renovation all of sudden – but the main suite on the other end of the level is in much better shape, so this is where he guides them.

Bruce and Steve set Loki down on Tony’s bed and Bruce goes to retrieve his bag, but Tony knows it won’t help much on its own. Loki’s mojo is once again blocked and the effects are already showing – he appears paler than a couple of hours ago, however that’s even possible, the bleeding isn’t stopping and he looks like he can barely keep his head up.

There’s a rumble of thunder and a lightning strikes the roof of the tower. Loki shudders and curls up and Tony peers outside. The sky was blue and clear a moment ago, but now there are dark clouds gathering outside, even though it seems to be limited only to the tower and its immediate surroundings.

“That’s sure to draw some attention,” Tony remarks and goes back to perch on the side of the bed. “Any ideas how much time we have before Sky Daddy sends reinforcements?”

Loki chews on his lower lip for a moment before he answers. “The Bifröst is still broken and the All-Father would need time to recoup after channeling all the dark energy he used to send Thor here.”

“Meaning?”

“Either they won’t come at all or they will send just a small group, if they can find a mage to guide them through the dark paths, which isn’t certain. It’s not the kind of knowledge that’s common or worth mentioning amongst the Aesir mages.”

“We can deal with that,” Tony says with a relieved sigh.

“A small group of Thors still sounds pretty terrifying,” Romanoff points out.

“Thor is… an outlier,” Loki says. “Most Aesir warriors cannot match up to him in a field.”

“That’s even better,” Tony says.

“That still leaves Fury on the table. How long you think it’s going to take before he realizes something’s going on and sends a strike team to bring us in?” she asks and points outside.

“Then we better talk to him before that happens,” Tony says.

“We as who?” she asks, her eyebrow raised.

“I’d love to have a little chat with Nick, but I’m kinda busy here. Besides, he’s your boss.”

She makes a face. “Fine, I’ll talk to him. Anything in particular you want me to tell him?”

“Yeah, make him send Selvig over with the device.”

She glowers at Tony for a moment, but doesn’t ask for details, either figuring out what he intends to do or just trusting his judgment. But most likely the former, she doesn’t strike Tony as the trusting kind. “Fine, I’ll call him,” she says and leaves the room.

Tony turns back to Loki. “Can I see?” he asks, pointing at the shackles.

Loki shoots him a doubtful glare, but brings his hands up for Tony to examine. The shackles look like before and the fit is just as seamless, forcing Loki to flex his fingers from time to time to keep the circulation going.

“I thought you couldn’t take them off,” Steve points out.

“Well, I didn’t want to try anything that could be destructive when we had options. We don’t have them anymore.” He turns to Loki. “Okay, anything you can tell me about those?”

“If I had to guess, they are made of Uru and are enchanted to react only to those who are authorized to open them,” Loki says.

“Uru?”

“A Dwarven metal, perfect for holding enchantments.”

“Right,” Tony mutters. “Well, we don’t have that, so we’ll have to defeat them with awesome powers of science and engineering.”

He gets up and digs through the drawers, retrieving a toolset. He keeps most of his advanced tools in the workshop, now divided from where they are sitting by a level containing an enraged Norse god, but he still keeps the basics close, in case something required immediate repairs.

Bruce returns and sets up his own tools on the bed. “Okay, lie down and try to relax. I have nothing to give you even local anesthesia, so I’ll have to–“

“Do it,” Loki says and pushes himself down, from a half-sitting position to lie down flat on his back. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he stops moving altogether and lies there perfectly still, as Bruce removes the ruined dressing, plucks out the couple of stitches that came apart, cleans the wound with some alcohol and a piece of gauze, and applies new ones. Tony had a wound stitched up in field conditions without the privilege of being passed out once and it’s one time more than he would wish to experience it. He knows better than to think it doesn’t hurt, but none of it shows up on Loki’s face.

It's probably nothing, compared to what he went through before coming to Earth, Tony realizes, and it’s not a comfortable notion to hold.

“I’m done,” Bruce announces and applies new dressing. The incision looks much better, but it’s still an open injury that Tony knows won’t start healing before he deals with the shackles.

“My turn,” he says and sits down.

For a moment, Loki doesn’t react and Tony starts to suspect the god fell asleep. “Loki?”

Loki opens his eyes and looks at him, but his gaze is bleary and unfocused.

“Can you tell me how the magic suppression work?” Tony asks.

“It… it locks the energy inside, so one could not either draw it or use it. For crafting spells, or for healing or for…” he pauses and the rest of the sentence dissolves into thin air, unspoken.

Tony might not know much about magic, but he knows enough about physics and biology to realize that energy in a living organism isn’t used only for bells and whistles. If that conversion is blocked, it will slowly shuts down the organs, one after another, and it would be even quicker for someone with not much reserves left. From that, it’s not far to the realization that they might not have enough time for Tony to work the shackles out.

“Is there a way to work around that?”

Loki’s brow furrow and he squints his eyes. The light behind them seems to be already fading. “Another mage could remove the enchantment.”

“We don’t have that, sorry. Any other ideas?”

“With a powerful external source, I could try to break the spell myself. Something with a mind on its own, like the scepter.”

“SHIELD took it, after the battle,” Bruce says.

Loki lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, his breaths growing more rapid and more shallow. Bruce presses his fingers to Loki’s wrist above the shackle and frowns.

“Well, we don’t have the scepter, but…” Tony says and turns to Steve. “The vault on minus two. Jarvis will let you in.”

Steve nods and hits into a run without asking for details.

They sit here, Tony and Bruce on two sides of Tony’s enormous bed, with Loki between them, every rise and fall of his chest a labored effort, and Tony realizes he doesn’t want Loki to die, and not only because of the invaluable intel he can still provide. No, there’s something fascinating about him, the quiet pride and the rapid-fire intellect hiding underneath his curt, clipped comments and the asshole façade.

Steve returns with a metal suitcase, places it on the foot of the bed, and flips the lid off.

Loki’s eyes fly open. He cranks his neck to look down, then just gapes, for a long while. His eyes then dash to Tony, to Bruce, to Steve and then back to Tony, wide and disoriented, shining in the blue glow of the Tesseract.

“The SHIELD’s technicians were meant to pick it up along with you and Thor. Since that got delayed, I just locked it in the basement,” Tony explains and gestures Steve closer. None of them can touch the cube, so Steve just brings the entire container forth.

The irony is not entirely lost on Tony – this is what Loki came here for, that’s what the whole battle was about, and now they are just handing it to him – but he pays it no attention. If Loki decides to misuse it, they can deal with it later. Besides, he’s almost certain he won’t.

Loki hesitates and it’s not until Tony gives him an encouraging nod before he reaches to the cube with both hands and gently places his fingers on the exterior.

A sharp gasp escapes his lips and he throws his head back. His spine arches and he squeezes his eyes shut. He stays like that for a moment, then breaks the connection and collapses back to the bed with a soft moan.

The gears start shifting again and the grip of the manacles loosens. Loki doesn’t move to take them off, so Tony helps him, slipping the bracelets off.

“Thank you,” Loki breathes.

“No worries.”

“Take it… Take it away, please. I won’t be able to withstand the call much longer,” he says and Steve snaps the suitcase’s lid shut and steps away. Loki lets out a long, relieved breath and the strain holding his body in its grip slowly drains away. He makes an attempt to get up.

“No,” Tony says, places a hand on Loki’s shoulder, and drapes the covers over his lower body. “Rest. You need it. We’ll deal with the rest.”

Loki gives him a very unconvincing nod, but stays in bed.

---

Romanoff returns a few minutes later.

“How did it go?” Tony asks.

“On the plus side, Fury isn’t going to court-martial us all on the spot and he’s sending Selvig and his team to the tower,” she reports. “On the minus side, I’m pretty sure he’s not yet done yelling at us and you’ll have to do a shit ton of pro bono projects for him to make up for it.”

“That’s better than what I was expecting to be honest.”

“Yeah.”

“Great, let’s deal with the elephant in the room next. By 'the elephant' I mean Thor. And by 'the room' I mean the room.”

---

A part of the emergency gate grinds and moves away, creating a small window of reinforced glass. Tony peeks inside and comes face to face with a furious Thor. The rest of the room is in ruins, with no scrap bigger than a fist left in one piece, so it looks like Thor’s been venting his frustrations on inanimate objects in lieu of their faces for the last two hours then some.

“You’ll not get away with it,” Thor snarls.

Tony jeers at him. “It looks like we just did. Anyway, I’ve got a proposition for you. You can either sit here until you chill out and you’re ready to talk to us like a reasonable person. Or you can get the fuck off my house, go home and never return.” He hauls the Selvig’s device up – the cube is already glowing inside – and presents it to Thor. “Your choice.”

“I won’t leave without Loki.”

“Okay, have a good stay sitting on your ass then,” Tony says and turns away to close the window.

“Wait.”

Tony sniggers and turns back to Thor. “Yes?”

Thor drags his hand through his hair. “I’ll take the device.”

“Good choice,” Tony says, approaches the airlock, places the device inside, and pushes the switch. The lid on the side of the corridor closes and the mechanical servos move the cubicle until the corresponding panel inside the room slides away.

Thor picks the device up and studies it for a while.

“Don’t fuck around with it,” Tony warns. “It’s calibrated for one trip and one trip only. If you mess it up, you’ll end up… wherever.”

Thor sighs and grabs the handle, then stands there, considering. “Tell my… Tell Loki that…” He grits his teeth and shakes his head, then turns the handle. It activates with a deluge of blue light, and – when the flash subsides – Thor is gone.

They stay in the hallway for a while, staring into the now empty room.

“Why do I get the feeling it’s only the beginning?” Romanoff says, her voice dark.

“Well, we’ll get there when we get there,” Tony says with a shrug. “I don’t know about you, but I’d kill for a coffee. And some breakfast.”

---

They go back up to the ruined penthouse. The wind is whistling past, but it’s pleasant now that the stormy clouds dispersed and the late spring sun is high in the sky.

The dining table somehow survived, lying overturned by one of the walls, but not all chairs did, so Tony and Bruce have to bring some more from the conference room. Tony takes one more than they need, just in case.

The food arrives a while later and they sit down to eat.

The door to the main suite opens and Loki walks inside. His gait is still a little unsteady, his hair is wet and he’s wearing a shirt and pants that look considerably too short for him, which means he took his time to raid Tony’s bathroom and wardrobe.

“Hey!” Tony calls. “Want some shawarma?”

That’s what they decided to order, because they didn’t get the opportunity for that after the battle ended.

Loki nods and joins them at the table. Bruce places a box and a plastic fork in front of him.

“You know,” Tony says. “I half-expected you to jump ship now that Thor fucked off and you have your magic back.”

Loki shrugs and peeks into his box, picks a small piece of meat, and chews through it carefully. “I’m still a wanted man on your realm,” he says.

“We can deal with that later. So, you’re staying for now?”

“I suppose.”

“Welcome to the team,” Tony says, then starts laughing both at Romanoff's eye-roll and Loki’s surprised expression.

Chapter 2: Collateral

Chapter Text

It’s quite baffling, the situation Loki finds himself in.

According to all the rules of the universe he knows, he should be locked up in a dungeon somewhere, be it the blank, dull Aesir holding cells, the deepest vaults meant for the worst offenders, or some dark hole here, on Midgard. There should be chains holding down both his body and his magic, and hunger, gnawing at his insides. There should be the sting of guards’ weapons and the oppressive silence, with nothing to break it but his own voice – should he be granted that privilege, at least.

Or he should be dead already, having been killed by his former master, his mortal captors, or by the swift ax of Odin’s justice. Or just by succumbing to his injuries, thus escaping the responsibility for his actions one last time.

Instead, he is lounging in a bed with a view of the city he tried to destroy mere days ago. The sparkle of his magic is shining in his mind, still faint, but unencumbered, right there for him to reach for, even if not use it yet. There’s a tray of food in his lap that was delivered without him having to beg – or even ask - for it, by Stark, who then stayed for a while to entertain Loki with an idle chat.

It simply makes no sense.

He knows he should be trying to run, trying to hide, trying to come up with a plan. Despite what he told the mortals – which wasn’t necessarily untrue, just omitted some of the aspects they had no interest in knowing – he’s certain Odin won’t leave it like that, the disrespect Loki’s actions against Midgard served him was too grave. Thor will come back, either by means of Odin’s magic, the Tesseract – once the Æsir mages work it out, which shouldn’t take that long, or – if Loki’s lucky, which he rarely is – via the rebuilt Bifröst, and that should be ready soon as well. Stark was naïve thinking he could convince Thor to willingly let Loki go. Of course Thor wouldn’t. That would mean choosing Loki over Odin, choosing Loki over his comfortable position as the crown prince, all his friends, all his family, and that simply wouldn’t happen.

But he cannot bring himself to run. It’s the first place where he can rest since his fall from Asgard, the first place where he can heal in relative safety and he is still so…

Stop lying to yourself, you were always weak. Weak and soft and powerless in the face of those wishing to stand above you. And now you’ve fallen so low you have to depend on mortal charity to survive.

I’ll go tomorrow, he tells himself. Just one more meal. One more night in a real bed. I’ll be stronger, less vulnerable if I rest and heal some more.

It’s the same thing he told himself yesterday and the day before, both times turning the promise into a lie with his inaction. But this time he knows he has to do it. He’s running out of time. The mortals’ goodwill will soon run out, even without Asgard’s interference. And that’s the optimistic assumption. After all, it could all be a drawn-out interrogation tactic that he’s falling for, face first.

True, neither Stark, nor the Captain – nor even the Widow, who has also visited the room he was showed into when Stark reclaimed his chambers – have asked him any more questions past the few basic ones he’d already answered after waking up, but it must be coming. And there’s hardly a better way to enforce honesty than to convince Loki they are his friends. Once he tells them everything, the farce will end and they will withdraw their graces. And he really shouldn’t be here once that happens.

Whether they’d turn him over to Director Fury’s organization then or imprison him by their own means matters very little. It would still be a position he doesn’t want to find himself in. The damage done by the beast – and that from earlier, from Thanos’ children and then the Other and his Chitauri – has left him barely alive and it would take more than a couple of days for him to recover fully. Many more days, considering he still can barely get out of the bed, dress and wash, or drag his feet on his way to the common meals – he wouldn’t bother but it seems to be expected of him to hold up the status quo, so he does. Like that, once they throw him into a cell, his only defense would be his magic. And it was drained even before he landed on Midgard, by his time away from the sources in Asgard, by having to use the reserves to sustain himself on the Sanctuary and on the Chitauri moon. Then was the battle when his magic was the only thing keeping him upright and that used up the last scraps, even though he tried to save it, resorting only to simple illusions and using the scepter’s magic wherever possible. There was nothing of it left when the beast came for him, reducing his energy reserves to the very life force that was keeping him alive.

The rest he knows only from what Stark told him, and it sounds believable, no matter how much Loki doesn’t want it to be true.

No, Thor wouldn’t do that, would he? He would know that locking Loki away from his magic in his state would mean his demise, barring him from his last resort, robbing him of the very essence of life, the only energy that still flowed in his veins.

But he did, didn’t he? He did and it was only a lucky guess on Stark’s side that saved Loki from fading away without even waking up. Then he did it again, just as Loki awoke and was still weak as a newborn babe.

And the shackles were out there, somewhere, now in Stark’s possession, along with the knowledge of their effects on Loki. Once they come for him, they’ll have a perfect tool to neutralize him again. The last parting gift from Thor.

All it is going to take is another dose of the drug, the same poison they gave him back in the cell, that fried his nerves and shut his brain down. Then they can snap the bracelets on him again. And, like that, he is going to be a defenseless, defeated prisoner once more, ready to face his fate, whatever it’s going to be.

They might wish to imprison him, or kill him, after a parody of a trial. Or perhaps even without it – the Midgardian laws are meant for mortals and mortals alone and there’s nothing to protect him from their wrath. Just like there’s nothing in the Æsir laws to save him if the mortals decide to hand him back to Asgard, upholding the peace. No, those are meant for people, not monsters.

And, if that happens, he’d be lucky to be put to death – with the alternatives being tenfold worse. An eternity in the dungeons? Ages of torture? Enslavement as a plaything to some lesser lord, or as a laborer in a working camp, with his magic bound and no hope of escape?

He grits his teeth and shakes his head, but the vision his mind’s eye is serving him refuses to fade.

He visited one of the working colonies, once upon a time. A small moon, orbiting a faraway planet in the Bestrith system, just a short distance away from Nidavellir, was a barren, dark place – not enough light reached its surface from the dying star and the atmosphere was too thin to support any vegetation. It was rich in minerals though, umber stone and thaumium – the main elements needed to create the Uru alloy, and as such, became the property of the crown once the Dwarves swore their fiefdom to Asgard’s throne. This is where the lowest scum of the Nine was sent to pay for their crimes with the labor of their hands – rebels, traitors of the crown, spies, prisoners of war.

“No Æsir among them, my prince,” Dhugli the Dwarf said when Loki asked. “Just lesser races. The Vanir, the Ljósálfar, the Jötnar. Some Skrull slaves as well. Purchased at a great price, if I might add. Good workers too, so not a single coin of the royal coffers was wasted.”

Then Dhugli led Loki to the barracks, showing off the goods, so he could finish the royal inspection. The stacks of crude ore, and the slaves – a mass of people, huddling together in squalid shacks, their races and features disappearing under the layers of rock dust and grime.

It’s them, who Loki can see right now. Starved and crippled by the back-breaking work, with hollow, empty eyes. Would Odin stoop so low to condemn him to that?

Loki doesn’t know the answer to that question, not anymore. He isn’t a prince, he isn’t an Æsir, he is not the son of Odin – never was – and there’s nothing left to protect him. And, even if Odin named a lifetime of slavery his punishment, it would still be a better fate than what awaited him if it was Thanos or his minions who got to him first.

So, yes, Loki has to run. To run and to hide, as far as he can. There’s just no other option.

He curls up and pulls the soft sheets over his head, the impressive vista before his eyes losing all the allure.

Tomorrow. I’ll go tomorrow.

---

Tony is in the middle of making himself his third coffee – or is it fourth? – that day, when the phone rings.

“Put it on hold, Jay. Or better, tell whoever’s calling to fuck off.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, but I think you should take it. It’s Director Fury of SHIELD.”

Tony curses under his breath and picks the phone up. “What’s up, Nick?”

There’s a grumble, but Fury holds back the comment about the unofficial address. They had that discussion already and Tony won, fair and square. He isn’t Fury’s subordinate and he’s going to call him however he wishes. And “Nick” is still one level of disrespect below “Nicky.” Two above “Snake Plissken.”

“How is our interstellar guest today?” Fury asks, and it isn’t much of a surprise. His every call in the last days started that way.

“Want me to put him on?”

“Would you?”

Tony laughs. “I probably would, but I’ve got a feeling he would just freak out. He tries to play it tough, but he’s still not in the best shape, mentally and physically, and has that deer-in-a-headlight look on his face each time I ask him even the most general question.”

“Did he tell you anything new?”

“Romanoff forgot to send her report today?”

“Romanoff claims it’s too early and that we should give Loki more time to recover first.”

“I always claimed she’s a smart woman.”

There’s another unhappy grumble. “I’m coming over.”

“I’d love to have you, but the place is a bit of a mess, sorry,” Tony says without missing a beat.

“Listen, Stark. I get that you’re having an enormous amount of fun playing house with a genocidal alien, but I’ve got a very angry Council to answer to, and I’ve got to give them something. You are in no position to say no, especially after I stuck my neck out for you to sweep your mess under the rug and this is honestly the easiest way this can happen. I come over, we have a nice talk over tea, I have something to report back to Pierce, you keep your pet supervillain cuddled and cozy. No harm done.”

“Ex,” Tony says.

“Ex?”

“Ex-supervillain.”

“Is it now? What makes you so sure? Did he swear some sacred, magical oath to never flip his shit again?”

“Well, I mean–“

“That was a rhetorical question, Stark. Get ready. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”

Fury drops the call and Tony curses under his breath. “Should I call in the others?” Jarvis asks.

“Yeah. But I’ll go talk to Loki myself,” he says. “Tell them to meet us in the conference room.”

“Very well, Sir.”

He grabs his coffee – definitely the fourth, his hands are shaking already and it’s only half-past two – and goes into the elevator. They collectively decided to move Loki to the guest suite at the uppermost living floor, just two levels below the roof, with just mechanical space above.

Firstly, because he finally found a construction crew willing to do the most basic repairs to the main penthouse level – at an exorbitant price, which he agreed to pay only because he was growing tired of looking at the Loki-shaped hole in his floor – and Tony wasn’t joking about the deer-in-a-headlight thingy. Unless he was at the top of his focus, the god was twitching at loud noises and sudden movements, and having a construction crew working close by definitely wouldn’t help.

Secondly, the suite had a view at the eastern part of the Manhattan island, which was less afflicted during the attack.

And thirdly, because it was just so fitting. The prince’s quarters at the top of the tower. That reason though, Tony kept to himself.

The elevator stops and Tony steps into the small hallway – there’re just two suites on this level – and knocks on the door on the right. The one on the left is locked – this is where Thor was staying and the room is – presumably – still a mess. Tony didn’t go in there and sees no reason to do so, it will have to wait till Loki acclimates to the new place and Tony can recall his cleaning crew back to their posts.

There’s no answer. “Jay? Do your thing.”

“Mr. Odinson, Mr. Stark is waiting at the door,” sounds from the speakers inside the suite. There’s an angry grunt and a sound of footsteps, then the door opens.

“I asked you to tell your assistant to not call me that,” Loki says and straightens out the tee-shirt he’s wearing. Tony instructed Jarvis to order him some new, better-fitting clothes, but the god still chooses to wear those he nicked from Tony’s closet that first day. Romanoff claims it’s because he assumes it makes him less threatening in their eyes, but Tony resents the notion. And maybe he’s just a fan of Deep Purple?

“And I told you to ask him yourself,” Tony shoots back.

“He’s my watchdog, on your command, why would he listen to me?”

“Ouch, now you’re being rude,” Tony jeers. “Jay is good at learning new things. And he’s not a ‘watchdog’. He’s more like a security system and a butler, all in one.” And a friend, he wants to add, but that would sound weird to someone who doesn’t understand the concept. Or how lonely it could get to be all alone in a massive mansion. Or tower. “Jarvis?”

“Would you like to change the preferred form of address, Sir?”

Loki sets his jaw and stares at Tony.

Tony gestures him to go on.

“Yes,” he hisses.

“What would it be?”

“Loki,” Loki says.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Okay, Loki, is there anything else I could help you with?”

“No… Thank you.”

“All right. I’m here if you need anything,” Jarvis chirps and tunes out.

“See, it wasn’t that hard.”

Loki lets out a drawn-out sigh. “How can I help you?”

“I came to fetch you,” Tony says, keeping his tone as casual as he can. “Fury’s coming over to talk and he wants to check on you.”

Despite Tony’s efforts, a panicked flinch twists Loki’s features. Just for a blink-and-you-missed-it moment though, before his real expression hides behind that carefully crafted, neutral mask. “I see.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not as much of an asshole as he tries to be,” Tony says, and he has no idea whether it makes it any better.

Loki’s eyes dash back to the room. “Do I have time to refresh?”

“Sir,” Jarvis chimes in, “A SHIELD’s aircraft requests docking privileges on the helipad.”

“Granted,” Tony says then flashes a grin at Loki, “Sorry, it looks like you don’t. But don’t worry, you absolutely rock the straight-outta-bed look. And it’s Fury who decided to give you no time to prepare, so it’s on him, one hundred percent.”

Besides, it only serves to prove what Tony and Romanoff have been telling Fury for the last three days.

There’s a low thud as the Quinjet lands on the roof. “Show him in, Jay.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Loki’s still standing in the doorway.

“You coming?” Tony prompts.

Loki takes a deep breath, nods curtly, and follows Tony into the elevator.

---

Natasha, Bruce and Steve are there already. Bruce’s wearing a lab coat. Since they no longer have to watch over Loki, he’s been spending his days in the labs, claiming he has some research to do that’s impossible to do in the field and he’s using the opportunity, but Tony knows he mostly sticks around because he doesn’t want to leave them alone with a potential problem. Whether it’s Thor coming back, or Loki blowing his lid off again – Tony isn’t sure.

He gestures at the table and Loki takes a seat in a chair in the far corner, leaving at least one space between him and every other person.

Maybe two minutes pass in awkward silence – there’s not enough time to discuss strategy, which is probably a part of Fury’s plan to catch them unprepared – before the door opens and Fury steps in.

He isn’t alone.

“Clint, I didn’t know you’re going to be here,” Steve says.

“I didn’t know either,” he says and shoots a nasty glare at Loki. “Since I’d rather be literally anywhere else.”

Loki bears the gaze without his mask slipping, but his fingers tap a nervous rhythm on his knee under the table. So much for Fury not being an asshole.

Barton takes a seat next to Romanoff, Fury sits down at the end of the table, next to Loki. He pulls out a recording device, places it on the table in front of himself, and presses the record button.

“Hello, Loki,” he says.

Loki works his jaw for a moment, his eyes dashing between Fury and the recorder, then flashes a polite – and fake as all hell – smile. “Good morning, Director Fury.”

Fury sighs and folds his hands on the table, lacing his fingers together. “Here’s how it’s gonna go. I ask you a question, you answer it. It goes to the file. The file goes to the Council and – depending on whether they like what they see or not – you’re off the hook or in deep shit. Understood?”

Loki nods.

“I need you to say it. It records only sound.”

“I understand,” Loki grounds between clenched teeth.

“What about us?” Tony asks.

“You’re here just to observe and serve as my witnesses that no coercion took place. So please, do try to fight your nature and keep your mouth shut, Stark.”

Tony has at least eleven different retorts to say to that, but that would be counter-productive and only draw this out unnecessarily, so he makes a face and keeps his mouth shut as advised, as much as it pains him to give Fury the last word.

“Okay, so… Loki, what was the purpose of your attack on Earth?”

Loki sets his shoulders and says, “I was to retrieve the Tesseract, open the portal and let the army through.”

“Why?”

Loki grits his teeth and doesn’t answer.

“Why, Loki? Don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

“I was ordered to do so,” Loki says and it looks like he’s fighting himself to get the words out.

“By whom?”

There’s another long silence.

“By whom?” Fury asks again, more sternly, but his voice is still level.

Loki drops his gaze to his hands, now folded in his lap. “By my master,” he says, and it’s only a sliver louder than a whisper.

“Can you repeat?”

Loki closes his eyes and takes in a long, wheezy breath. “By my master,” he says again, louder.

“And who would that be?”

“Thanos, the Mad Titan.”

Chapter 3: Come Clean

Chapter Text

“Thanos, the Mad Titan,” Loki says and it surprises him, how easily the name rolls off his tongue. As if it wasn’t an admission of the ultimate weakness, as if he wasn’t just laying out his darkest, deepest secret for the mortals to see.

And what’s coming is bound to be even worse.

Neither Stark nor any of the mortals have asked Loki about what happened to him at the hands of his master yet. Stark implied he knew, during that first conversation, but never asked for details or said it out loud. Still, Loki isn’t fooling himself he managed to keep it a secret. They used their opportunity when he couldn’t fight back or say no, hooked him to their machines, stuck their tubes into his veins, and peered into his body, examining him inside and out, tearing out every piece of knowledge they needed without asking for permissions.

Just like Thanos had done, only with his body, not his mind.

And now he’ll have to say it out loud, admit how little it took to break him. Just a little bit of pain, a little bit of hunger and some time being left alone in the dark – it was all it took to turn him from a bold warrior and mage he believed himself to be once upon a time to a vermin squirreling away from his master’s gaze, ready to do anything to escape more punishments. And he might have avoided the mortal scrutiny if he ran, but he didn’t. He took his chances, knowing that every day he stayed in the tower made him stronger but brought him closer to this exact part, and now it’s time to pay for it.

He could refuse to answer Fury’s questions, of course, or drag it out and force the mortal’s hand to see where it takes them. And it might be tempting, if not for that last part – he has a decent idea of what that direction might be and doesn’t feel all that inclined to see for himself.

Or he could lie – he can still do that and hope he can keep the tale convincing enough. Think up some story of how he came upon the injuries, some great battle barely won, a heroic deed instead of the act of a coward. But that would serve no purpose, only make him feel better about himself. If it’s not an act, not a part of the game, the only reason they treat him the way they do is because they believe him tame, declawed and broken, a lost soul in need of their care, as if he was a shard of crystal that could shatter at the slightest touch if not coddled and cossetted. And, in the situation he placed himself of his own volition, to play to that sentiment is the best he can do. Perform the part they expect of him and reap the benefits for as long as the show lasts, paying for his survival with the shreds of his pride.

That’s exactly how he survived Thanos and he can do it again.

“Loki?” Fury asks, his good eye on Loki, his eyebrow drawn. “Are you still with us?”

“Yes, excuse me, Director. Can you repeat the question?”

“Who’s Thanos?”

The question takes him aback, just for a moment. It’s a name every Æsir child knows, Thanos’ attack being a part of the history of their home they are taught as soon as they are capable of comprehending it, but it’s different on Midgard. The mortal memory doesn’t reach anywhere as far, with their short lifespans and civilization that was only just started to develop a written language when king Bor fought his war against the Titan and his armies.

He chuckles to himself. He withheld the name from Stark for the dramatic effect and it fell completely flat, because he didn’t take the mortal ignorance into consideration. “Well, Director, he’s what you can describe as your worst nightmare.”

“Hmm, very poetic,” Fury scoffs. “How about something more useful?”

“He comes from a race of nearly immortal beings who used to inhabit a planet called Titan. And no, I don’t mean the moon you are referring to by the same name. It was located on the outskirts of a dwarf galaxy somewhere in the…” Loki pauses, racking his brain for the mortal name, “I believe you call it the Triangulum cluster.”

“Was? What happened to it?”

“I suppose it’s still there, but it’s been abandoned, for millennia. Despite their superior physical attributes and intelligence, the Titanians were very much like your people – greedy and shortsighted, exploiting their home until it could offer no more and became unlivable.”

Stark makes a face, as if Loki’s words were just a jab, not an honest truth that’s easily verifiable if one just bothers to look.

Fury lets it slide. “Where are they now?”

“It’s said they all died, warring for the scraps as their world crumbled around them, but nobody knows for sure. Thanos’ word is all we have to attest to that and… well, let’s say I’m pretty certain I know where his moniker came from after spending some time in his tender care.”

“How did he survive the extinction?”

“He says he’s been driven away for his visionary ideas, but the way I see it, they kicked him out because his methods were too fringe even for a society of immortals who couldn’t live without fighting between themselves and with their closest neighbors. Now he roams the universe and brings war and destruction wherever he goes.”

“Is this what he wants from Earth?”

“Eventually? I’d guess so. But for now, he only wanted something you held in your possession.”

“The cube,” Fury says. “So, now that Thor took it to Asgard, he’s going to leave us alone?”

Loki shakes his head. “That wasn’t the only thing he wanted. As I told Stark and he indubitably already conveyed to you, Thanos wants to collect the Infinity Stones.”

“It sounds made up,” Fury says. “Are you making it up, Loki?”

Loki breathes out a laugh, sits back in his chair, and folds his arms on his chest. “I wish,” he says.

Fury gestures him to go on.

“It’s a tale as old as time. Six gems, each representing a different aspect of existence thrown all across the universe at its creation. Once found and combined, they can be forged into a weapon, said to grant whoever wields it an unlimited power to alter whichever aspect of reality they desire.”

Stark chortles and Fury leans forward and presses his fingers to his temples. “Are really trying to tell me we’re dealing with an unkillable madman trying to collect some ancient artifacts of unlimited power? Do you realize how it sounds?”

Loki shrugs. “Just because you cannot comprehend something with your primitive brain it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I’m giving you all the warning I can, and it’s your call what you do with it.”

Fury grumbles a crude curse under his breath. “Okay, let’s assume, for the sake of this conversation, that it’s all true. What’s the role of the Tesseract in this?”

“Is it really that hard to guess? It holds one of the Stones.”

“How do you know?”

“It was stored in the royal vaults before Odin the All-Father decided to hide it on Midgard, for safekeeping. At the time, your race was barely more than a few tribes living in mud huts and hunting wooly animals with sharpened sticks, and the cube was believed to be safe, here. And it was, for centuries, but since your ancestors stumbled upon it and started experimenting with it, it became a point of contention at the Æsir court. Some said it should be retrieved and taken back to Asgard, that it’s no longer safe on Midgard. But it was decided that the mortals are not developed enough to do anything with it yet, that the humanity isn’t ready to learn of the existence of the other Realms of the Nine and that it can wait a couple more centuries.”

Fury shakes his head in disbelief and Loki can empathize with him here. He argued against it – having visited the Realm much more recently than any of the members of the Council of Elders and seeing for himself how great of a distance the mortals can go to wage wars against one another – but his opinion was disregarded, just like it usually was.

There’s a pang of regret, clutching at his stomach. It feels wrong, to sit here and tell the mortals the Æsir secrets, but Loki shuts down the notion that tells him to stop, that tells him to shut up. He’s no longer of Asgard, all that waits for him there – should he ever return – is captivity or death, and he owes his loyalty to the crown no more. Informing the mortals of the extent of danger doesn’t hurt anyone, as little as it’s going to change.

“And how did Asgard come upon it?”

“That’s… not entirely clear,” Loki admits. “It’s said it was discovered in king Bor’s times, on some secluded planet at the outer borders of our galaxy, where it was considered a sacred object by the indigenous population, but there are no records left of how exactly it was retrieved.”

Loki doesn’t need any records to wager a guess.

“What was it used for?”

“Thanos is not the only one who knows the old stories. Bor was fighting a war with Vanaheimr back then, a war he was losing. He needed leverage, and so, he sent his scouts to find and deliver the Stones to him. It took many men and many resources to be located, but they recovered the Space Stone – or, as it’s better known here and on Asgard, the Tesseract – and he used it to crush the resistance. Force the Vanir to bend their knees to the Æsir king.”

Fury makes a face.

“What’s the problem, Director? Isn’t that exactly what your own people used it for? Isn’t that what you and your organization were doing when I came to take it from your hands?”

“That’s a good point, Nick,” Stark says in a whisper. “Which reminds me, what happens to Phase Two now?”

Fury silences him with a wave of his hand and turns his gaze back to Loki. “Okay, so if it’s the Tesseract your master wanted, why not just grab it and deliver it to him? Why bring the army and cause all the destruction without need?”

“Have you not paid attention the last time I told you? He isn’t content with getting one Stone. He wants them all.”

“And?”

“And there’s another Stone still on Midgard.”

“Wait, aren’t they supposed to be ‘thrown all across the universe’ or something? How come there were two on Earth?” Stark chimes in.

“Shut up, Stark,” Fury scolds. “This is your last warning. One more word and you’re watching from the outside.”

“Three,” Loki says.

“What?” Fury blurts out and turns back to Loki, Stark and his comments immediately forgotten.

“There were three Stones on Midgard at the time. The Tesseract holds one, the Guild of Sorcerers is protecting another.”

Stark opens his mouth to ask, but Fury raises his index finger in a clear warning. “And the third one?”

“The scepter.”

Stark and the Widow exchange confused glances. Fury just glowers at Loki. “Really.”

Loki nods. “And before you get any foolish ideas, its power is not the same as the cube and you can’t use it as a replacement in your experiments. Honestly, you’d be better off handing it to Asgard, where it could be better protected.”

“Why?”

“Thanos will want it back, of course.”

“If it’s so precious, why would he give it to you?”

Loki sucks in another deep breath, now having to force it around the gulp in his throat. He cannot skitter around the subject anymore. It’s time to say it. “I wouldn’t call it a gift. More like a lease. A weapon that was meant both to ensure my victory and my obedience, until my mission was fulfilled.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“About?”

“Let’s start with the mission. What exactly it was and what was it supposed to accomplish?”

“I was to open the way to the cube by exploiting the connection that exists between the Stones, seize it and use it to open a portal to where Thanos’ army was waiting.”

“The Chitauri,” Steve says and Loki nods.

“What then?”

“After a swift battle, the Black Order – a group of Thanos’ elite guards – was meant to come through and collect the other stone.”

“Where–“ Fury starts.

“No, wait a minute,” Stark cuts him off. “How was that supposed to be a ‘swift battle’? I’ve seen what was on the other side of that portal: just one ship. It was huge, don’t get me wrong, but how many more troops could it hold? A few thousands and a couple more of those flying whales? That might be enough to lay waste to a city, if you’re quick enough to get it done before the heavy guns arrive, but Earth is not just New York. And the portal size was a serious bottleneck, so they couldn’t even strike at full force. How did you even expect to win that?”

Loki smiles. “I didn’t.”

Stark frowns.

“Explain,” Fury demands.

“I didn’t expect to win the battle,” Loki says.

“That’s not an explanation, that’s just repeating the same thing again,” Fury points out.

“I didn’t expect to win. I knew I never could, not with the size of the force at my disposal.”

“So why did you go through with it?”

“Because Thanos or his general didn’t know that.”

There’s a moment of heavy, consternated silence as every pair of eyes in the room drifts to Loki.

“Are you trying to say it was, what, a sabotage?!” Barton asks and Loki almost jumps in place, before he gets a grip of his reactions. He forgot the Hawk was even here, quietly observing the interrogation – if Loki can even call it that.

He shrugs. “I didn’t want Thanos to win any more than any of you.”

“Why?” Fury asks and it’s slowly becoming a main theme of the conversation. As if Loki’s motives mattered more than his actions. “What difference does it make to you whether Earth stands or falls?”

There are many answers to pick from, each as true as the next one – Midgard is a part of the Nine and he swore to protect it when he was crowned as king, Thor’s beloved mortal lived on it, humans didn’t deserve having their world razed to the ground any more than any other race – so he goes for the one they’re most likely to believe. “Midgard was just a start. If Thanos succeeds, there will be no place in the universe safe from his wrath. And it’s the universe I live in.”

“So you planned to betray him,” the Widow says.

“Yes.”

“Why not come to us? Why not ask for help instead of following a plan that led to so much death and destruction?”

Loki answers, aiming his words at Fury. “Would you believe me, if I came and said you have to give up the Tesseract and hand it over to Asgard?”

Fury’s face draws in and he doesn’t answer.

“Would you believe me the danger was out there if you didn’t see it for your own eyes?” he carries on, his gaze trailing around the gathered people. “Would you choose to believe my side of the story over Thor’s? A word of a Jötunn changeling over that of an Æsir prince?”

“Jötunn?” Stark asks and the furrow of his brows grows deeper.

Loki’s heart skips a beat, and he looks around once more, now just watching their reactions – all their faces are just as devoid of understanding as Stark’s. He turns to the man. “You said Thor told you that I was adopted.”

“Yeah,” Stark says with a careless shrug. “And only that.”

Loki’s heart is now beating in his throat, his mind reeling with the realization of how much of a mistake he had just committed. They had no idea about his true heritage and he just told them, like a complete imbecile, assuming they must’ve known, if not from Thor, then from their tests and scans. And only now he realized that they might not have – he himself didn’t put it together despite living in his fake skin for fifteen centuries.

“So, who’s a Jötunn?” Stark asks, and his face remains open, as if it was the most natural thing to ask someone in a conversation. “Is that a nationality?”

He still has a way to salvage this, Loki realizes. “Yes,” he says, as lightly as he can manage. “One of the races of the Nine. But I’ve been raised in Asgard, according to their culture.”

“Oh, okay,” Stark says, and he appears… abashed? “So, we’ve met not one, not two, but three different alien races in one day, how about that?”

“Stark, do you have a point?” Fury snaps.

“No, no. Carry on.”

“So, to rephrase, you decided to wage a war instead of trying to ask for help because you didn’t think we’d believe you. Am I getting it right?” Fury asks.

“It wasn’t the only reason,” Loki says, feeling the noose of inquiry squeezing closer and closer around his throat. He avoided the subject until now, but all the safe answers have run out. “I was being watched constantly. If I deflected, the Other would never let the army through.”

“The Other?”

“One of Thanos’ top generals. He was the one to lead the Chitauri and hold them in reign until it was time to send them through the portal. If I failed or if he saw that I betrayed them, he would keep the troops on his side and report it to Thanos. Then he would use the scepter to wipe my mind clean, or order me back, or kill me, which would amount to the same effect in the end – I wouldn’t be able to bring the warning that Asgard needed to hear.”

“The scepter? Wasn’t it supposed to be your ultimate weapon?”

“A weapon, and a leash,” Loki says quietly, his fingers wandering up to his neck, as if he expected to find the collar still there. “It allowed me to create a small group of…” He pauses and looks at Barton, who is watching him through narrowed eyes, his face twisted in anger. “Followers, but also linked my mind with the Other.”

“Are you saying he was controlling you?”

Loki shakes his head. “No, not in the same way. But he could see everything I saw, hear my every thought, feel every sensation I felt, so I had to be very careful to not let him realize what my true plan was.”

“So all the world-conquering speeches were just a part of the spiel?”

Loki nods. They have no interest in knowing the full truth. They don’t need to know he had to hide his sense of self in the furthest corner of his mind and let his grief, his rage, his heartbreak – his own cruelty and hate and disdain – carry him on, like a senseless puppet, fueled by the vicious whispers of the Mind Stone. They don’t need to know it was still a part of him, that part he usually kept in check and didn’t allow to see the light of day, masking it with polite smiles and courteous words. The same that chased him to raise his hand at Thor, the same that made him fire the Bifröst at Jötunheimr.

“Loki?” Fury says and Loki realizes it’s not the first time he’s called his name. “Do you need to take a break?”

“No,” he says. “Let’s continue.” The quicker they get it over with, the quicker he will know what happens next.

“Can you describe what the nature of your collaboration with Thanos was?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. Of course, Fury had to save the worst for last. “He found me in the void, after I fell from Asgard.”

“Tell me more about that.”

“Didn’t Thor tell you already?”

“He did, but I want to hear your side of the story too.”

“And what’s there to tell? I and Thor quarreled and I… threw myself off the rainbow bridge.”

“What was the argument about?”

“Does it matter?”

“Thor was our sworn ally before Stark decided to pull that number on him – not a word, Stark – to save your ass from being hauled home and I need to understand what happened to know what we’re dealing with here. So, yes, it matters.”

“I interrupted Thor’s coronation. The All-Father was about to step down and pass the crown onto Thor, so I arranged… a small diversion, to delay it.”

“Why?”

The lump of worry in Loki’s stomach shifts and the pressure grows in his chest, threatening to crush him. It’s been a while since he thought about it, more urgent matters taking up his mind, but now it all rushes back, with full force. Then he realizes that this is the first time anyone ever asked for his reasons. “He wasn’t ready,” he says, and it rings just as false as it’s honest.

He's aware his words have no meaning. They know the tale already, even if Thor had told them an abridged version that didn’t mention Loki’s discovery of his monstrous nature. Loki cannot guess Thor’s reasons – maybe it just wasn’t important for Thor, or maybe he was ashamed to admit that he considered a Jötunn a brother for so long – but it’s still an opportunity. He can keep that part to himself, save himself that one sliver of humiliation.

“So, you decided to stop it from happening. Then what? Claim the crown for yourself?”

Loki shakes his head, even though that’s exactly what ended up happening. “No, I never intended to rule myself. I knew I never could. Thor is the crown prince and the throne will always belong to him. I just…” He pauses, straightens up, and folds his hands in front of himself. “I simply wanted to show Odin that Thor still has a lot to learn to be king.”

“How did it work out?”

“Thor and Odin argued and Thor was banished to Midgard.”

“Let me guess. That affair in Puente Antiguo?”

Loki nods. “After that, Odin fell into Odin-sleep.”

Fury frowns, so Loki explains. “A meditative trance aided by the magic granted to a king of Asgard, meant to prolong life and regenerate one’s body. It can last months, or even years, so, with Thor gone and Odin sleeping, the throne was mine.”

“Isn’t there a queen?” Stark chimes in again, and Fury sends him a murderous glare.

“Yes. The All-Mother.”

“Wouldn’t she be the next in line?”

“No. The line of succession is only limited to the male members of the royal family.”

The Widow scoffs.

“After that, I sent the Destroyer to keep Thor on Midgard, but he returned with the help of his friends. We fought and I lost.”

“So you, as you put it, thew yourself off the bridge. Where was that supposed to take you?”

Loki shrugs. “Nowhere. It’s said that nothing that enters the void ever returns.”

“Wait, so you basically tried to… commit suicide?” Stark says, his eyes wide and shocked.

Loki shrugs again. “I didn’t think about it too much.”

There’s another moment of silence, just as heavy, so Loki carries on. “This is where Thanos found me.”

“In the void that you’ve just said nobody ever returns from,” Fury adds.

“I don’t know how he found me. Perhaps it was just pure chance, perhaps he was looking for something, perhaps my magic acted like a homing beacon. When I came to, I was already on his mothership. Then the… questioning began.”

“How did that look like?”

Loki sets his jaw and looks away. He knew it was coming, and yet… “At first, Thanos didn’t consider me important enough to pay attention to, just left me with his Order. They asked me who I was, what I was doing there, and when I refused to answer they…” Loki’s voice breaks and tears – of shame, of helplessness, of overwhelming grief – burn in his eyes.

“Nick, we know already,” Stark says quietly, barely piercing the mist that now clouds Loki’s brain.

“No,” Fury says. “We need it on record. What did they do to you, Loki?”

“They locked me in a dark cell, without food or water. They took my clothes and chained me to the floor, so I couldn’t move or avoid their lashes, gagged me, so I couldn’t scream or beg for mercy, put a collar on me that blocked my magic.” He pauses to draw breath and carries on. Now that the dam in his mind has broken, he cannot stop the words from coming anymore. “They broke my bones and cut my flesh open. They turned up the heat until my skin was sizzling, then down, until I couldn’t feel my limbs. And, when they allowed me to talk again, many cycles later, I told them everything they wanted to know. I answered every question they asked. I told them my every secret, my every wish, every detail.

"That’s how Thanos learned I was of Asgard. So, he called me to his throne room and that’s where I learned of his plan. That’s where he offered me a solution, an escape. The Tesseract for my freedom.”

He wipes his face, then curls his hands into fists, to keep them from shaking. He doesn’t look up, he doesn’t want to see the contempt in their eyes. “I refused, so he handed me back to the Order, and the same thing began again. Every ten cycles, they’d drag me out of my cell and take me to face the Titan and all he ever had for me was the same false promise.

"Bring me the Tesseract and you can go free.

"Until, one day, I was too weak to refuse.”

Fury clears his throat and shifts in his seat, leathers creaking. “What happened next?”

“I was given food, water and two days to heal and recoup. Then I was handed over to the Other, to start the invasion.”

“It’s been a year since New Mexico,” Barton says, his tone empty.

A year? “It felt longer than that,” Loki whispers and his voice comes out wobbly. It felt longer. It felt like a lifetime.

“Fury?” Stark says. “Don’t you think you’ve got enough?”

Loki gathers his mettle and tips his head up. All the eyes are on him, just like he expected, but there’s no scorn in them, nor derision. The faces of the mortals are drawn and solemn. Even Barton's.

“Yes,” Fury says, both his expression and tone unreadable. “We can wrap this up for today. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Would that be all?” Loki asks. He yearns to return to Stark’s guestroom and bury himself under the covers and then stay there, forever. Oh, it would be a boon, to never have to face any of the mortals again, to never have to look them in the eye.

“Actually, two more things,” Fury says. “First, I need you to give Agent Barton an order.”

“What? Why?”

“I need to verify if the control is really gone. That’s the quickest way.”

Loki sighs and turns to Barton. “Jump out of the window.”

“Fuck off.”

He turns back to Fury. “And that other thing?”

“I want to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

Chapter 4: Runaway

Chapter Text

Loki just stares at Fury for a while.

He looks… rattled – his face lost that little bit of color it regained over the last couple of days, there’s a sheen in his eyes and his hands, folded under the table, are fidgety – and Tony would be fucking shocked if he wasn’t. He is, just from hearing what he’s just heard. And it doesn’t matter that they already knew – there’s a fine line between knowing and having it laid out in such simple words. He cannot even begin to imagine how it must feel, to be forced to sit there and tell that story, days – literal days – after living though it, followed by almost dying and narrowly escaping more captivity and torture and still having it dangling over one’s head like a shadow.

If Tony knew how it was going to look like, he would tell Fury to fuck off, his threats and arguments be damned.

In hindsight, he should’ve seen it coming. Fury sent Coulson to harass Tony just days after he was back from Afghanistan, got Romanoff to spy on him when he was on the brink of death, then assigned Coulson…

Coulson, who is dead. Killed by Loki – the same Loki who’s sitting just three feet away from Tony right now, fighting back tears – and Tony cannot even make himself be angry at the god. He realizes, on some removed, abstract level, that it was wrong – picking one’s own survival over the lives of others. That it was not something a perfectly moral person should do. But Tony didn’t bother to check if everyone in that camp he burned to the ground when he was escaping the cave was there willingly and he can still sleep at night most of the time, so no, that’s not a label he can apply to himself either and to expect it from others tastes like hypocrisy.

If not for Steve ruining the statistic, he could most likely say the same for everyone in the room.

“What about it?” Loki says in the end.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a job position has opened recently,” Fury deadpans and, fuck, Tony really wants to just get up, slowly walk around the table, and punch him in the face. Always an opportunist. Always pushing his own agenda. Can’t he just give them a break? Sure, everyone and their dead grandma knew it was coming, but would it really hurt the SHIELD’s interests so much if it waited a couple of days? “We’re short one superpowered alien at the moment.”

Loki scoffs in fake indignation. “Believe me, I’m not your type of man.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve worked with worse,” Fury says and his gaze drifts to Romanoff, then to Clint, then to Bruce and lands on Tony, then stays there. “Much worse.”

Loki grits his teeth. “I need to… think about it.”

Fury narrows his eye and Tony goes through potential repercussions that could befall him for slapping the Director of SHIELD unprovoked.

“Fine,” Fury says. “But do get back to me as soon as you have your answer.”

Loki frowns. “How?”

Fury looks at him in surprise for a second or two, because the question makes no sense for someone who lived in a world where phones and emails were a thing for a good while. “Just talk to Stark, he will tell you what to do.”

Great, now Tony was somehow an intermediary in the whole deal. Just peachy.

Loki’s eyes dash to Tony, then back to Fury. “I will.”

Fury gets up, turns on his heel, and walks out of the room without saying anything else. Which, well… rude, but also probably for the best.

Barton stays.

“You’re not going with Fury?” Tony asks.

“I’ve heard you’re offering room and accommodation to whoever asks,” he says, his eyes firmly on Loki.

“What’s your point?”

“My building got kind of wrecked. It will take a couple of weeks before it’s functional again and I’m so done with the Long Island facility. The rooms don’t even have windows.”

“Are you asking me to stay here?”

Loki lets out a quick, sharp breath and drops his gaze. Good job, Barton.

“Yeah. Everyone else does, so why not me?”

Tony doesn’t feel like explaining why that is. It’s not that hard to figure out and he suspects Barton knows anyway and simply doesn’t care. Or rather does care and does it on purpose.

Either way, the answer is not easy to come by. Of course, under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be a problem – there’s enough room in the tower for dozens of people to live and never even meet one another if they so desire – but these are not normal circumstances.

If he says yes, he might be compromising the safety his tower offered to Loki so far, as questionable as the god probably finds it.

If he says no, he is acknowledging Barton’s issues with Loki and is potentially fueling Barton’s resentment. And Barton acted decently so far, besides some glares and verbal jabs that Tony can’t really hold against him.

He looks to Bruce for salvation, but the man avoids his glare, suddenly very interested in his own fingernails. Steve just purses his lips and Romanoff shrugs.

“Fine,” Tony says. “But let’s keep it civil, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” Barton says with a shrug and gets up. “I’ll get my stuff from the car.”

He leaves, and they sit there for a moment in silence.

“Can I go now?” Loki asks.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony rushes to answer. He had no idea Loki was waiting for a signal or permission to leave.

Loki nods and quickly vacates the room, without as much as looking or acknowledging anyone.

Steve leans over the table and rests his head on his palms. “This is even worse than I imagined,” he says, dejected. “What do we do?”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do,” Bruce says. “Like, on our own. This is beyond the level of something that could be fixed with a glass of scotch and a friendly chat. This needs professional help.”

“I get an inkling that therapy isn’t really a thing at Cloud Viking,” Tony remarks. He isn’t dismissing the idea. Even though he never made that leap himself he can recognize it’s not a universally bad concept and that there are cases where it can help. “So we’d have to go slowly.”

“We’d have to convince Loki to want it, first,” Romanoff says. “The last thing he needs right now is someone forcing him to do things he doesn’t want to do, once again.”

“Any volunteers?”

Romanoff sighs. “You should do it.”

“Why?”

“You’re the one who he is the least wary of. Steve beat him down in Germany, I tricked him on the Helicarrier and Banner…”

Bruce lets out an unhappy whine.

“So… yeah,” Romanoff carries on. “You were the only one who tried to talk to him like a person when he was still attacking us, then you were his first non-hostile contact after he woke up. If anyone has a chance of getting through to him, it’s you.”

Tony could probably protest, but – if he’s to be honest with himself – he doesn’t mind it that much. In truth, he doesn’t mind at all. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Just don’t push it. Throw it in as a loose suggestion and see how he reacts.”

“I know. I’m not completely oblivious, Fiona.”

She flashes her teeth in what could just as well be a snarl more than a smile.

“There’s one more thing,” Tony says. The subject has grown uncomfortable a few sentences ago and he can’t wait to jump to a new one. “What do we do with Barton?”

“What about him?” Romanoff asks with a frown.

“Should I be worried about what he’s going to do?”

She sighs and sits back in her chair. “I don’t know. The part about his building being destroyed is true, and yeah, the employee quarters in the Long Island SHIELD’s base are awful, so it’s not like he’s bullshitting you there. And Clint isn’t an asshole in general and I don’t think he’d do anything unprovoked, but what Loki did to him with that scepter… It’s the kind of thing that leaves a mark.” She presses her fingers to her eyes. “I’ll talk to him and make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Much appreciated, Agent Romanoff,” Tony says with a crooked smile and claps his hands. “Time to get to work.”

“You should wait before you talk to Loki,” Romanoff says. “Let him process first.”

“I know. I was talking about actual work.”

---

Instead of going straight to the workshop, he takes a detour into his office then calls Pepper. It’s not like he couldn’t have made the call from the shop, but he needs to use the office from time to time, after all the arguments with Pepper, during which he was adamant he needed it, while she insisted he did not – at least not that huge and not necessarily located just off the main living area. He isn’t going to give her the satisfaction and admit she was right.

“Tony?” Pepper’s raspy voice answers after a couple of signals, and Tony belatedly realizes it’s well past midnight in Europe. “Is everything all right? Did something happen?”

“Hi, Pep. No, everything’s fine, I’m just calling to say hi. How was your day?”

“Fine, but… can you call me tomorrow? I have a meeting in a couple of hours and I just got to bed.”

“Yeah, sure. But how about we talk in person instead?”

There’s a pause before Pepper answers. “You think it’s safe for me to come back? What about Loki?”

“He’s still here and so are everyone else. Including Barton since like fifteen minutes ago. But this is what we’ve been planning all along, didn’t we?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“If you want to stay where you are, I’m not going to argue. But I think it’s high time to start sorting it out. The city has opened a tender on the cleanup operation and we should get into that. Also…”

“Yes, Tony?”

“I miss you.”

Her breath rustles in the speaker when she laughs. “I miss you too. I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”

“And the meeting?”

“Screw the meeting. I’m coming home.”

---

It takes Tony some time to calibrate the new CNC mill setup – Selvig salvaged parts of the old one to build his portal generator – so he’s just started on the redesign of the booster setup for Mark Seven when Jarvis' call comes.

“Sir, you set up no security parameters for your guests, but I think you’d still be interested to know that Loki is leaving the tower.”

Tony drops the controller and dashes for the door. “Where is he?”

“Elevator number seven. Currently on floor fifty-three, going down to the main lobby.”

“Call the express elevator to my floor, right now,” he orders, trotting towards the hallway.

“Should I stop him, Sir? Or perhaps lock the exits?”

“No,” Tony says. “I’ve got this. Just slow him down so I can get there in time. But don’t let him know.”

“Of course. Slowing the descent speed by fourteen percent. And your ride is here, Sir.”

The elevator arrives with a ding and Tony slinks inside before the doors fully open, then punches in the admin override and holds the door close button pressed, before selecting the ground floor, making sure he won’t be stopped.

The trip down takes thirty seconds – much faster than in a regular elevator – and it’s still a tight timeframe. He just gets to the lobby and takes his spot behind a column, when Loki steps out.

Loki’s changed into the clothes Tony got for him – a plain, button-up shirt, dark pants, a jacket and leather shoes, and it looks like he found a tie and glasses in thick, black rims to complete the disguise somewhere. With that, and his hair brushed back and into a low ponytail, he doesn’t look out of place – just another thirty-something stockbroker or bank manager – so the security guards don’t even look at him as he’s passing the gates and walks across the floor of the lobby towards the main exit leading to the Park Avenue. He doesn’t seem to be in a rush, and his pose comes off as relaxed, like this is exactly where he was supposed to be.

All in all, it’s a great act and it has all the right ingredients to work seamlessly.

For a second, Tony considers just letting him go without even revealing he’s here. But there’s still a slight instability to Loki’s steps and he still looks like death-just-slightly-warmed-over and there’s no telling what’s going to happen once he walks on them.

“Hey, Princess, you come here often?” Tony says lightly and peeks out from behind the column.

Loki takes another step, stops, and turns to Tony. He lets out a long breath. “I should’ve known that nothing could go past your watchdog and that you’d try to stop me.”

“And you’d be wrong. This is not what we’re doing here.”

“No? Then why are you sneaking behind a pillar?”

Tony laughs and walks down a couple of steps to where Loki stopped. Without the advantage of the higher ground or his armor, Loki is a head taller than Tony and he has to look up to meet his gaze.

“No,” he says and gestures at the door. “If this is what you really want, I’m not going to stop you. I’ll tell the others you fooled me and disappeared into thin air. You know, with magic and stuff. And, as long as you don’t do anything stupid and force us to come after you again, that’ll be the end of it.”

“But?”

“But you don’t have to.”

Loki glowers at him.

“I know it might be hard to believe from your perspective, but we’re really not just a bunch of assholes. Even Nick was trying to do the right thing, in his own way. He shouldn’t have forced a confession out of you like that, but I get why he did it. The faster he can smooth things over with his superiors, the quicker he can get them out of our hair. And that job offer? As far as I know, it’s genuine.”

The wrinkle between Loki’s eyebrows deepens and he flexes his fingers nervously, before realizing what he’s doing and stashing his hands in his pockets. “Do you really believe me foolish enough to think your authorities won’t try to pursue me? That my crimes against your realm will be forgotten?”

“And why not?” Tony says with a shrug. “You came clean, you cooperated and you’ve got one hell of an excuse. It can be fixed and I can – we all can – help you get it sorted out. But you’ll be throwing it all away if you walk through that door.”

Loki's gaze drifts outside and an expression of pure longing paints on his face, before he controls it and hides it away once more.

“Figuratively speaking,” Tony adds. “If you want to go out, nobody is keeping you locked up here.”

“That’s why you put me on the top floor and ordered your assistant to watch my every move?”

“That’s the nicest guest suite I have here, you ingrate,” Tony says with a smirk. “Besides, you’ve already seen that there are better places in the tower that I could use if I truly wanted to keep you locked inside.”

Loki sighs.

There’s a pair of tourists – judging from their attire and the backpacks they carry – sitting on one of the benches by the windows. They’ve been whispering to one another for a good while and staring at Tony and now they pulled out their phones and started taking photos. Loki – in his "human" disguise – might look nothing like the alien invader millions of Americans have seen in their TVs a few days ago, but Tony is still recognizably himself. “Oops, looks like my cover is blown. So, how about we get the hell out of here?”

Loki hesitates, his eyes dashing between Tony, the elevators, and the street outside.

“We don’t have to go back upstairs yet. Let’s have a walk. I’ll get you a coffee and we’ll talk some more about it. How about that?”

Loki sets his jaw, considers for a moment, then nods.

---

Starbucks on the other side of the street is still closed – the storefront is covered with a tarp after one of the hoverboards crashed into it – but there’s a small Danish bakery just around the corner that’s still open, hiding in the arcades of a high rise building. Tony has been here a couple of times – with Pepper, for a late night snack, because Pepper likes to pretend they are regular people who can do regular things sometimes – and Tony’s pretty sure the old lady who runs the place knows who he is, just doesn’t care.

Loki just stares at him blankly when Tony asks what kind of coffee he wants – it’s even easier to forget the guy’s an alien out here on the streets, among other people – so he orders him a latte, then – seeing the god’s gaze zeroed on the display of pastries – a plate of baked goods.

They pick a quiet table in the corner. Or rather, Tony picks it and Loki doesn't protest.

“By the way, this is not a date,” Tony jokes and it falls completely flat, for – instead of laughing, like he was supposed to, Loki glowers at him with one can only describe as utter terror. “Not that I wouldn’t, but I…” Tony starts and cuts himself off. He’s only digging himself a hole, isn’t he? “Sorry.”

Loki tears his eyes away from Tony and stares through the window, at the busy street outside, his expression mellowing out bit by bit. “It’s different, here on Midgard, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Men courting men,” Loki says absently.

Only that makes Tony realize how huge of a faux-pas he might have just committed. It was just a harmless joke to him, but to someone coming from a society that seems as conservative and hooked up on millennia-old traditions as Asgard appears to be it could’ve meant a grave offense to one’s masculinity. Perhaps even a dagger in the ribs kind of offense.

“I guess?” he says with a shrug. “It’s like… fine, these days. Like, the tabloids gave me the same amount of shit whether I was seen with girls or with guys. But most people are content keeping their noses away from what others are doing in their beds.”

It’s a weird subject to discuss with anyone, and even more so with an alien that might or might not also be a Norse god, but it’s still something to talk about. Something different than the contents of Loki’s testimony at least.

“I see,” Loki says and falls silent once more.

So Tony does what Tony does best and starts rambling. He talks about his projects, and the planned upgrades to his armor, and – when he runs out of subjects that are safe to mention around other people – he switches to cars and movies and weather.

He pauses when their food and beverages arrive, and watches in amusement as Loki takes an experimental sip of his coffee and makes a face.

“Not a fan?”

Loki shrugs and stuffs an entire cinnamon roll into his mouth instead of responding. Tony laughs and starts talking again.

“You must really like the sound of your own voice,” Loki remarks after he’s been going for a while, then takes another sip of coffee. That one seems to go down a bit better, because he takes one more before setting the glass back on the table.

“Sue me,” he jeers and Loki frowns. “I don’t mean literally. It’s like… a saying.”

He gets only a noncommittal hum in response.

“By the way, how does that work for you? The whole language thing? Do you get the literal meaning of the word or the intended one?”

Loki taps his chin in consideration. “Both, I suppose. It depends on the context, but I also know your language, so–“

“Wait, what?”

“I know your language,” Loki repeats, more warily.

“Okay...”

“It’s hardly a difficult one to learn,” Loki points out.

“Yeah, sure, but why would you, if you could use the awesome magic to do that?”

“The All-Speak.”

“Huh?”

“That’s how it’s called. Or rather, this is how I would translate the Aesir name to English.”

“It is quite telling,” Tony chortles, “even if not too creative.”

Loki makes a face, but he doesn’t seem too offended. “Asgard was never big on creativity if they didn’t have to,” he says lightly, and it comes off as if he was talking about some province he visited once, and not a place he called home for who knows how long.

Which reminds Tony… “Is it true that you’re a thousand years old?”

“A thousand then some, counting in Midgardian time. A bit over fifteen hundred if counting in Aesir.”

“You hold up surprisingly well,” Tony jibes.

Loki breathes out a small laugh and it seems sincere, making it a first of its kind since Tony met him.

“So, about that All-Speak thingy…”

Loki tells him about how the thing works, about the magic that assigns meaning to symbols and words, voiced sounds, and even some nonverbal cues, then they move on to other spells and energy conversions and it takes Tony a moment to realize they’ve moved past him just trying to break the silence to actually talking.

And it turns out Loki makes an excellent conversation partner. He’s eloquent and smart and has a quirky, eccentric sense of humor, and the way he speaks – keeping his voice low and silky smooth – cannot be further from the hissing, snarling madman Tony met in his tower, a couple of days ago.

If this is how Loki is on a normal day, how did Thor not even realize something’s tragically off about his brother?

Tony doesn’t like the answer to that question, not at all.

---

The afternoon has already shifted into an evening when his phone rings. It’s an unknown number, so Tony considers just letting whoever’s calling go to voicemail, but changes his mind in the end.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?!” Romanoff’s voice sounds in the speaker.

“Out,” he says.

There’s a groan and garbled voices in the background, suggesting she’s not alone in the room. “Are you all right?” she asks, her voice already level, even if not without some audible effort going into keeping it such.

“Yeah, why?”

“Why?!” she yells, throwing all that effort away in an instant. “Bruce went to check up on you in the workshop and it turns out you left a few hours ago and that Loki’s gone as well! And your goddamned AI refuses to tell us where you went!”

“So, you immediately assumed I got, what, kidnapped or something?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Where did you get my private number anyway?”

There’s a moment of silence before she answers. “Rhodey. I might have… overreacted a bit and he got the shorter end of that stick.”

Tony sighs and shakes his head. “Remind me to call him a dirty turncloak the next time we talk. And to buy Jay a new, shiny array of solid-state drives.”

“I’m not your assistant anymore, Stark.”

“Good, because I would’ve fired you if you were.”

There’s another pause, as Romanoff’s fighting whatever reaction he managed to trigger. “When are you coming back? Or, at least, are you coming back, or have you decided to walk out on us and leave us with this mess? And where the hell is Loki?!”

Tony turns to the god, who must’ve heard at least a good part of Romanoff’s yelling. “Can I tell her?” he mouths.

Loki frowns, surprised by the question, then nods.

“Stark? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. I’m here and Loki’s with me. Don’t worry, we’re being model citizens. Nothing nefarious going on at all.”

“Now you’re just making me suspicious.”

“Bye, Nat.”

“You have no permission to call me that!” she grumbles before Tony hangs up.

Loki tilts his head and watches Tony through narrowed eyes.

“Don’t worry, she was always a control freak. She will get over it. So, anyway. Are you coming back with me?”

Loki doesn’t answer immediately, just purses his lips.

“As I said, I don’t intend to force you. I can give you a ride somewhere, get you a plane ticket... Or you can take one of my cars if you want. Or, alternatively, if you need more time to decide, I can rent you a nice hotel room or Airbnb. A neutral ground sort of thing.”

“No, thank you. I will…” Loki pauses and looks away. “I’ll come back with you.”

Tony grins. “Great! Let’s go then!”

Chapter 5: The Hard Question

Chapter Text

Loki returns with Stark to the tower. The human is holding up his chattery, relaxed demeanor the whole time, and the longer it lasts, the less Loki knows what to think about it. The man should be furious at Loki for his inept escape attempt, there should be threats, or perhaps even some kind of punishment. Some of his privileges revoked, a night in the windowless cell maybe?

But no, Stark seems completely content with ignoring the fact that Loki tried to leave, then buying him food and drinks and entertaining him with conversations.

It’s all very strange.

And perhaps the worst part of it is that Loki enjoyed it. Enjoyed the food, if not the drink. Enjoyed having a company he didn’t have to keep the face up in all the time and hide his own inadequacies from – Stark already knew how low Loki has truly fallen and didn’t seem to care. Enjoyed being able to answer questions – as inane as they were – and knowing someone was actually listening to what he was saying. Enjoyed the casual, effortless way in which Stark could look past what was supposed to an unbreachable gap between them and talk to Loki as if they were equals, as if they weren’t any different at all. Not a mortal and a god, not a victor and their fallen enemy. Just… people.

The moment Stark stopped him, Loki knew he’d have to return. Maybe even earlier than that. He knew there were cameras all over the tower, and – while he might be able to find enough energy for a simple illusion to fool a living being – fooling a machine is much harder, and way beyond his current capabilities. He went, because he knew he had to try, that he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the eye if he didn’t, no matter how small the chance of actually succeeding was.

A few moments ago, that seemed like the only option, but now… Now, Loki isn’t so certain. Perhaps he can stay for a little while longer? Perhaps answering Fury’s questions, as humiliating as it was, satisfied the mortal’s curiosity for a while and bought Loki some time? Perhaps he can stay until he regains enough strength and gathers enough energy to not be completely helpless and vulnerable once he finally leaves?

He returns to his rooms, drags a pillow and a duvet to the floor and settles down in front of the panoramic windows. Just like every night, the cityscape beyond the glass is twinkling with thousands of lights, standing in contrast with the dark sky and the thin line of the ocean near the horizon, but it no longer fills him with longing like it did before. Yes, the room still feels suffocating and the awareness that he’s just a couple of floors away from the place where he made his doomed stand some days ago – his mind filled with rage, his lips spewing threats he couldn’t possibly fulfill – is still there, but it’s tame now, faded away into the background.

He runs his hand over his pocket where the key to his prison rests. When they walked back into the lobby, Stark led Loki to the guards’ booth and ordered an access card for Loki – a pass allowing him to leave and reenter the building whenever he liked. To know that he could just… walk out and stroll through the streets or just stand there, breathing the outside air – as disappointing as the experience has been so far, here on Midgard – and then crawl back into the safety the tower offered is a great boon. One that makes him rethink his position, now. Because, how could it be just a prison, if he can leave whenever he likes? Maybe he’s been seeing it wrong from the very beginning and it truly isn’t a trap at all, but a safe haven?

Perhaps he can stay?

Or maybe he can even take Stark up on his promise and find a place for himself? A slice of this foreign realm he could carve for himself, close enough to Stark and his peers to benefit from their protection, but far enough to not be constantly reminded of what he’s done… of what he was forced to do and how?

Perhaps he can even accept Fury’s offer?

The very notion seems ridiculous, so ridiculous that laughter wells up inside him and bursts out, echoing through the room and bouncing against the walls, returning to his ears even after it dies down.

He might have fashioned himself a great hero once upon a time, but the universe proved him wrong, again and again. He simply doesn’t possess the mettle it requires to run into danger with his teeth bared, to throw away one’s life to protect another. For Thor, it was not a conscious decision, just an instinct, while Loki’s instincts tell him to stop and think, weigh the pros and cons, calculate the odds, try to find the best, perhaps less dangerous way. And, if Loki’s life taught him anything – those are not the qualities of a hero. Those are the qualities of a villain.

And he isn’t that good even at that, it seems.

There’s a squeak of a door opening behind, and Loki turns around.

“Agent Barton,” comes from the speaker, in Stark assistant’s voice, “I must inform you that you’re not authorized to be here and – should you proceed – I’ll be forced to call Mr. Stark and the building security.”

The lights are off, but there’s still enough light coming from the outside to see Barton’s silhouette in the doorway. The door squeaks again and Barton comes in, now not trying to keep quiet anymore.

“I’m notifying Mr. Stark,” Jarvis informs.

“Don’t,” Loki says. He isn’t sure whether the assistant is going to listen to him – he’s been willfully ignoring it and it’s the first time he tries to talk to it besides that time earlier today when Stark forced him – but it would be best if it did. He knew the confrontation was going to happen since Barton showed up. There’s no point in prolonging the inevitable.

“Security overwrite accepted. Please be advised that I’m authorized to disregard the request if I recognize a viable threat to Mr. Stark's guests’ safety though.”

“Thank you,” Loki says. It feels weird, to talk to a machine like that, but Stark does it too, so maybe that’s the proper Midgardian protocol?

He drags himself up from the half-reclined to a sitting position, crossing his legs, but doesn’t get up. It could be read as an invitation for a fight.

He doesn’t want to fight Barton, and not because he still feels barely functional, his body coping with the effects of his time on the Sanctuary and the trashing he received from the beast. Stark’s leniency is sure to run out once he hurts one of his other guests, and Jarvis hasn’t specified whose safety it meant.

Loki isn’t even sure he wants to defend himself once Barton attacks. Maybe it would be best to just let the man vent his rage? He cannot impress his hosts with his fighting prowess anymore – that ship has sailed the moment the beast took a hold of him – but he can still garner some more pity, at least. It’s not a currency that’s worth a lot in Asgard, but here…

“Loki,” Barton says, and stops a few steps away, his arms crossed at his chest. There’s a note in his voice Loki cannot recognize, but no weapon that he can see in Barton’s hands.

“Barton.”

“You’ve been in my head, you could at least have the courtesy to use my first name.”

Loki shrugs, presses his hands to his thighs to keep them from fumbling, and doesn’t amend the address. “Say your piece. Do what you feel you have to do.”

Barton stands there for a while, his gaze focused on Loki with such an intensity as if he was trying to bore a hole through Loki’s skull with just his stare, then takes two more steps and sits down in the armchair. The piece of furniture is facing the windows, so Loki can only see Barton’s profile now, highlighted by the glow of the city.

“I’ll have to figure out what that is first,” the human says.

Loki stays silent, because he has no idea if anything he could say would make the situation any better. Barton was there when Fury squeezed the truth out of Loki, he heard his confession already.

A few moments pass in uncomfortable silence.

“It’s all true, isn’t it? What you told the others?”

“Would it make it better if it wasn’t?”

Barton shrugs. “I guess it would,” he says, then he falls silent once more.

“Why are you here?” Loki asks. “Did you come to exact your revenge on me?”

Barton laughs. “I’m here because your army trashed my building.”

“Why not go home, back to your family?”

An angry growl tears forth from Barton’s throat and he jumps out of his seat. A blade flashes in his hand. He reaches Loki in two quick steps, pushes him over to the floor, and presses the knife to Loki’s throat. “Don’t ever speak to me about my family,” he snarls. “You have no right to know that.”

Loki shifts under Barton’s weight and tips his head back, the blade’s edge scratching against his throat and resting over the not yet fully healed mark the mortal machinery left on his flesh. “But I do. I’ve seen it all in your head and you know I did. Would you prefer if I lied to you?”

Barton’s breathing grows more rapid and ragged and he pushes on the blade, pressing it closer to Loki’s skin, then stops. It’s not enough to draw blood, not yet, but also not that far off with Loki’s magical defenses lowered.

“I could kill you,” Barton breathes and his voice is dark and unstable. “Right now.”

“Yes,” Loki says. “So, why didn’t you do it yet?”

Barton groans and pulls the blade away, then stumbles back to his feet, walks back to his chair, and crashes into it heavily. “I’ve seen it.”

Loki pushes himself up on his elbows and stares at the man. “Seen what?”

“What they did to you.”

Loki freezes, unsure what to say, and Barton continues, “Your every command, every mental push came wrapped in this… fear, darkness. Desperation. Pain. At first, I thought it was just another way to control me, but what would be the point? I couldn’t say no anyway. And then I heard what you told the rest and… it all fell into place.”

Loki sighs. He should’ve realized that could happen. Even aided by the scepter’s spell, mind control magic was a fickle thing, requiring a great deal of concentration and mental tenacity, both of which he was utterly lacking. With the state of mind he was in – barely able to focus on the most basic things, reeling with the song of the Stone and with the echoes of his time in the dark still clouding his brain – the link the scepter created was less of a leash and more a two-way path. He pulled Barton’s thoughts and memories and feeling out of his mind to use for his own purposes, and the contents of his brain spilled back to fill that void, as if they were two connected vessels.

“I came here, now,” Barton says, “because I couldn’t sleep. Because each time I close my eyes I see memories that aren’t truly mine and I thought… I thought coming here would help me make some better sense of them.”

“There’s not much to make sense of. It is what it is.”

Barton falls back into the armchair, tips his head back and presses his fingers to his forehead. His grip loosens and the blade tumbles to the floor.

“Will it ever go away?”

“I don’t know,” Loki says, truthfully. “Every mind is different and reacts in a unique way. But I’d say ‘yes’ if I had to guess. At least most of it. Eventually, your mind will heal and learn to recognize the memories you’re seeing aren’t real.”

“For me,” Barton says, his voice devoid of emotion.

Loki sighs and sits up, wrapping his hands around his knees. He feels the urge to say something, to make some more excuses to appease Barton, or utter some meaningless apology. But the words ring hollow even inside his own head, so he doesn’t.

“Fuck,” Barton groans and squeezes his eyes shut. “I wish it was easy. I wish I could just punch you in the face and make myself feel better.”

“You can still try,” Loki says, and – despite his tone being light – it’s only partially a joke. Even in his current sorry state, Loki is still stronger than a mortal, and – as long as Barton refrains from using his weapons – he wouldn’t be able to do any lasting damage. Loki already gathered some energy – not much, but enough to heal a bruise or two – so Stark and the others wouldn’t even need to know, and if it could clear the air and remove some of the tension, it would–

Barton huffs out a chortle. “Yeah, ‘cause it worked so well on you before.”

Loki shrugs. It would at least serve some purpose, not like all the lashes he earned from Thanos’ children that he bore just because of his misguided sense of pride. He believed himself strong, believed he could endure, believed they wouldn’t be able to break him. He thought that he’d rather die than bend his knee back then, when he should’ve known that it was just a matter of time before his resistance crumbled. He could’ve saved himself all that pain, all that horror, if he just accepted how weak he truly was.

“I don’t mind, if it only would make things easier,” he says. With the matters being the way they are right now, Loki’s very presence is putting a wedge between Barton and the rest of his team, threatening to crumble their alliance. And Midgard needs them, they could be the realm’s only hope to stop Thanos once he attacks again, now that Thor is no longer here to help them. The odds are not in their favor, but it’s still a better chance than none, and Loki cannot allow it to come apart now, after his actions helped to create it, inadvertently.

“I don’t know what part of the things you’ve seen in my head makes you think I’m the sort of an asshat who would do that,” Barton says, his voice raised, “but think again.”

Loki thinks again. Barton had his fair share of dark thoughts, that’s true, but he was also a family man who cared about his loved ones deeply. He was clever and resourceful and a good team player. Was it enough to overwrite the resentment he’s ought to feel toward Loki?

“You know what would make me feel better?” Barton carries on when Loki doesn’t answer. “Seeing that overripe grape’s head on a spike.”

Loki blinks. He never gave them any description, so there’s just one source Barton can know it from. Which means he’s seen more than just disjointed bits, pieces, and scraps of sensations. Perhaps a lot more.

“Yeah,” Barton says, noticing Loki’s reaction. “I’ve seen that asshole too. By the way, who was that blue girl? With metal on her face?”

“Nebula. She’s Thanos’ daughter.”

“A daughter?”

“That’s how he referred to her and how she referred to herself. But he isn’t her biological father, I’d imagine. There were two of them, I think, and the other one was from Zen-Whoberi.”

“A planet, in the Redsorrth system, in the Andromeda galaxy,” Barton says, his voice strained. “How the fuck do I even know that? I can’t even find Andromeda in the sky!”

“Because I do.”

Barton groans in displeasure. “How much more stuff is there? How do I get rid of that?”

“I don’t know. And you can’t. Not of it all. The memories will fade, but what got already sorted into your long-term memory is going to stay.”

Barton doesn’t seem too pleased with the answer, but refrains from further complaints. Loki can understand why he feels that way, even about seemingly random facts that Loki’s rattled psyche spewed into his brain. It’s an intrusion, one that Barton won’t be able to be rid of. Loki’s wounds will heal, but the damage he has done to Barton runs so much deeper than just the flesh.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

He knows it changes nothing, that it’s only a way to make to appease his own doubts and regrets, but he still does.

“Well, you better be,” Barton says and lets out a long breath. “I do have to ask you one thing though. Why me?”

Loki frowns. “You were there when I arrived,” he says, as if Barton didn’t know that.

“Yeah, but why me? You could’ve killed me, like you did with the others, but you didn’t. For some reason, you singled me out.”

Loki bites his lip, not sure what to answer. What made him choose Barton, indeed? Was this some sort of instinct, or just pure chance? Did the Mind Stone affect his choice?

“You don’t know, do you?” Barton says and Loki shakes his head. “Oh, well, it was worth a try,” he adds, pulls himself up and walks to the door.

“Wait, that’s it?” Loki blurts out before he can stop the words from tumbling out.

Barton turns back to him and crooks his head. “What else do you want? A hug and a handshake? We’re not there yet.”

“Yet?”

“You’re going to be a part of the team, right? Don’t fuck it up and we might.”

Loki glowers at him.

“What? You know how me and Nat met, don’t you? To be fair, she didn’t mind-rape me, but she tried to kill me, at least twice, and I've still got scars to prove it,” he says and pulls on the collar of his shirt, revealing a patch of skin below his clavicle. “Nine mil, two inches above the heart. And now we’re buddies.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I accepted Fury’s offer?”

“Mind?” Barton scoffs. “I’d be fucking pissed if you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve seen the shit you can do and if that’s after a year-worth of shit days, I can’t wait to see what you can pull off under better weather. For the right side this time, I hope. And you kinda owe us that one. You know, making up for all the deaths and all the damage sort of thing?”

Can he even do that? Can he…

Can you wipe out that much red?

“Anyway, I’m watching you,” Barton says and turns back to the door. “Good night, Loki.”

The door close behind him, and just like that, Loki’s alone again. And, despite the conversation bringing many revelations, he feels more lost than he was before it started.

---

Tony stays in the workshop for most of the night, trying to finish at least the first draft of the design, so he could leave the simulations running, so it’s almost four in the morning when he finally crashes into his bed.

For a while, he considers whether he should cancel the construction crew that’s scheduled to start at six, but decides against it. The majority of the heavy-duty work has been completed – the windows have been replaced and the floor patched and covered with a fresh layer of flooring. All that’s left is some minor fixes and moving the new furniture in, and, if he gets lucky, it might be Pepper who wakes him up when she arrives at ten.

---

The construction crew doesn’t wake him up and it’s indeed Pepper who does, but the awakening isn’t as pleasant as he’s imagined before falling asleep.

“Tony!”

He opens his eyes and squints against the light seeping from the windows – for some reason, the curtains didn’t close properly. Or maybe he just forgot to reset the system after the new blinds were installed in the living area and something bugged out?

“Oh, hi, Pep,” he rasps and rubs the sleep away from his eyes. With that, he can see a bit more than her silhouette. He can see her face – quite outraged for some reason, and the object in her hand – a tablet. “What’s going on?”

“You’re trending!”

“Uhm… So?” Since the attack – or the “Battle of New York” as the media took to calling it – there was no day when some combination of “Iron Man” or “Avengers” or “Stark” didn’t show up on front pages and on top of queries in search engines.

She doesn’t answer, just tosses the tablet at him. He snatches it before it hits the headboard, then squints at the screen.

It’s not Twitter, not Instagram, not even Facebook or YouTube. It’s the website of Daily Bugle, displaying the front page of today’s edition. It’s overtaken by a blurry – but still recognizable, sadly – photo of himself, in the lobby of his own building, standing next to Loki, with a headline saying “Stark – a hero or an alien spy?” in bold, black letters.

“Shit,” he mumbles and springs out of the bed.

Chapter 6: New Groove

Chapter Text

“Wake the others, Jay.”

“Everyone’s already awake, Sir. Should I call them in?”

“Yeah, conference… No, living room, ten minutes,” he instructs, as he’s pulling on his pants, changes his mind and goes to grab a quick shower – he skipped it before bed, which Pepper would kill him for if she knew.

He doesn’t get two full minutes of peace before Pepper walks into the bathroom, Tony’s phone in her hand. “Fury’s calling. What should I tell him?”

He turns off the water with a groan, wipes the shampoo off his eyes and reaches for the device. “I’ll talk to him,” he says. “Hi, Nick.”

“You’re fired, Stark!”

“I don’t work for you and you’re not even paying me for the, quote, consulting job, unquote, I’m doing for you, so get off your high horse.”

He gives up on the rest of the shower and wraps a towel around his head, then uses another to dry himself off. It’s harder than it seems when he has to keep his phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“Then you’re not fired. But you’re still in serious trouble. What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Oh, excuse me, do I really have to think of consequences and plan beforehand each time I dare to move a foot out of my own goddamned home?!”

“I’m not talking about you, Stark, and you know that.”

“Same goes for Loki.”

“You said you had him under control!”

“No, I said I was looking after him, which is a different thing. I don’t remember agreeing to play a jail guard and to turning my home into a prison. Which, and you know it as well as I do, Loki doesn’t belong in anyway.”

“Did it hurt when your newly discovered empathy bone grew overnight?”

Tony bites down on the retort, before it leaves his mouth and fuels the argument further, with only a sliver of regret. He takes a breath, and says, keeping his voice as level as he can possibly manage, “Are you calling me just to spill your guts? Or do you have anything productive to say?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then decide quickly. We’re having a meeting in five minutes. I’ll call once we get there.”

“Stark–“

“Bye!”

Two minutes later he emerges from the bedroom in more or less presentable condition. As in, he’s dressed and has raked his hand through his hair to get it somewhat under control, and it would be a great effort, if not for Pepper at his side, who spent the night on a transoceanic flight and still looks sharp and ready for action.

Bruce’s in the kitchen corner, making tea – most likely for everyone, judging from the size of the kettle – while Steve and Barton sit at the table. It’s the new one, and Tony made sure to order a bigger model this time. Both the men are in their gym clothes, and Barton looks like he just went though the workout of his life. Steve doesn’t look like he even broke a sweat.

Romanoff’s lounging on the couch, her legs on the armrest, with bedraggled hair and still wearing her pajamas. It’s the same set she wore when that Thor thingy happened, and – while Tony had no mind or opportunity to admire it then – he does so now, for it’s nothing like he would expect from a world-class assassin. If someone asked him to imagine – which he didn’t have to, because SHIELD fabricated enough photo evidence to wiggle her into his company when she was posing as Natalie Rushman for him to never have to imagine anything about her – he’d guess her choice of bedclothes would be a bit more… revealing. Stylish, definitely. A skimpy set of lingerie, or something like that. But no – it's a simple set of loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt, at least two sizes too big, sewn out of thick flannel with rainbow-colored kittens printed on it.

If Tony had to give it a one-word description he would go for “absolutely fucking adorable.”

No, wait, that’s three words.

She notices his gaze and smiles. “I can order you a set like that from Amazon if you like it so much,” she says with a grin, her voice carrying a raspy edge. It looks like Tony found a kindred soul when it comes to sleeping habits.

Tony scoffs, and goes for another take of the room. “Where’s Loki?” he asks.

Romanoff shrugs.

“I haven’t seen him today,” Steve says.

“Jay?”

“Loki is still in his room, Sir.”

“Have you not called him in?”

“I did, Sir.”

“And?”

“Loki is still in his room, Sir.”

“Put me on speaker.”

“Done, Sir. You’re on.”

“Loki, if I call everyone in in ten minutes, it means shit’s either going down or about to go down and I mean everyone, including you. I’m not going to send you a special princely invitation written on a golden parchment, if that’s what you’re expecting. I’m not overusing my privileges, so when I say to come down, you come down or at least offer a good excuse, because I do not take kindly to being ghosted,” he says. He keeps his tone stern, on the level he believes suitable for the situation, then reconsiders and adds, to mellow it out somewhat, “Pretty please?”

There’s a pause, before Jarvis relays the answer. “I’m coming,” Loki says, and there’s a shadow of indignant exasperation in his voice, just enough to make Tony chortle.

“Yeah, about time. Tony out.”

The speakers emit a small crack as Jay closes the line.

Romanoff rolls her eyes. “You know he’s probably freaking out right now, right?”

Tony lets out a sigh and claps down on the sofa next to her, then hands her the tablet.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve seen it on Twitter an hour ago. Along with a surprisingly well-justified conspiracy theory that the whole attack was just a hoax by the US government to enforce a new world order of terror. And increased military spending.”

“A hoax?” Steve asks. “How would they explain all the damage?”

“A heat ray or something. And the aliens were holograms. Honestly, it’s better put together than most crackhead theories out there. Even some real ones.”

“What?!” Tony exclaims, and Romanoff just smirks.

“Besides,” she says cheerfully. Maybe even too cheerfully for Tony’s liking under current circumstances. “Doesn’t your PR team usually handle that kind of stuff? What’s the big deal?”

“It’s not about me, Romanoff. I don’t give a shit what the press says about me, I’ve been through this rodeo way too many times to care. But Loki was seen by millions – fuck, maybe billions – of people around the whole globe, leading a goddamned bug army. What do you think this looks like?!”

Romanoff clears her throat and her eyes flick away from Tony’s face and to somewhere past his shoulder. Her lips pull into a thin line.

Tony swallows a groan. He doesn’t even need to look to know that Loki must’ve chosen that exact moment to walk into the room, because of course he did.

“I know how my presence here will be seen,” Loki says, before Tony figures out a way to smooth things over. His voice is level and calm, but Tony could swear he can hear a minute thrum in it still. Just a sliver of hesitation, just a pinch of heartbreak.

Or maybe he’s just imagining things.

“I’ll leave immediately. You can say I manipulated you into helping me.”

Tony whips around. “Do you even listen to what you’re saying?”

“I do,” Loki says. His real expression is hidden behind that already-familiar mask of bored nonchalance, but Tony can still see hints of it – in the stiffness of his pose, in the way his fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt without him realizing – that Tony’s certainly not imagining. “I know you know this is the best way.”

“You know jack shit, apparently,” Tony snaps. “We’re not throwing anyone under the bus. And yeah, this is an emergency, but not of the ‘everyone jump out, the building’s on fire’ kind of emergency yet. More like a ‘let’s talk this through before it blows in our faces’ kind of thing. So cut the defeatist bullshit and sit down.”

Surprisingly, it works, because Loki shakes his head and shuffles his way to the table, where he sits – even more surprisingly – besides Barton.

Well, maybe not so surprisingly. Jarvis informed Tony about the situation the moment Barton pulled his knife out on Loki, and Tony was halfway from his workshop to the top floor when the problem resolved itself, so he watched the rest of the exchange, just to be sure. Then watched a good ten minutes of Loki just sitting there, staring out of the window, before he felt like a total creep and turned the feed off.

He hoped it was going to help some with Loki’s hesitation, but it was, apparently, too soon, judging from Loki’s reaction.

“Tony?” Pepper says in a half-whisper. “How about some introductions?”

Oh, right, that.

“Everyone who didn’t have a chance yet – this is Pepper, my girl– my fiancée.”

Pepper makes a face, but graciously lets his slip of tongue slide, then makes a round, introducing herself properly, to everyone besides Romanoff, who is the only person in the room she officially met. When she reaches Loki, the god stands up, gently wraps his bony fingers around Pepper’s hand and performs a curtsy, which must be some kind of official Asgardian greeting, for it looks as dated as it’s fancy.

Steve also rises from his seat, but only shakes Pepper’s hand, so it looks like someone already gave him a crash course on the updated version of gender-inclusive savoir vivre.

Pepper sits down and Bruce approaches from the kitchen carrying a tea set on a tray – and Tony sacrifices a second (okay, maybe a second and a half) to wonder where he even found it in the tower, before deciding it’s not important, and joining the rest. Romanoff drags herself up as well, trudges to the table and sits down next to Tony.

“What’s up with the glasses?” she asks, looking at Loki and Tony realizes the god is still wearing the spectacles he put on yesterday. Tony didn’t even notice, after spending a couple of hours in the god’s company in the café and getting used to the sight.

Loki shrugs, but doesn’t take them off. Tony isn’t any wiser whether it’s because it’s another way to make himself appear less threatening – which actually works, kinda, now that Tony pays any attention – or if he just likes it, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? Tony also saves the comment that it’s weird to wear glasses if one doesn’t have a sight defect. He is guilty of that himself, even if just because he uses them for his HUD, and the argument would probably be absolutely lost on someone who used to wear a horny helmet for the coolness factor until a couple of days ago.

Now, that everyone is seated, Tony can start the meeting.

“Jay? Bring down the screen.”

A tile in the ceiling slides away and a fifty-inch display moves down the hidden railing, then blinks on, displaying the same Daily Bugle’s frontpage.

A sharp exhale escapes Loki’s nostrils, but he doesn’t comment.

“Yeah,” Tony says. “We can probably keep it under wraps for a moment, I can make a statement saying it’s not real and procuring some believable-sounding story. And some proofs, that SHIELD’s evidence-forging division is indubitably preparing for me as we speak.”

Neither Romanoff nor Clint protest that there’s no such thing as an evidence-forging division in SHIELD, so it only serves to prove his point further.

“I sense a ‘but’ incoming,” Clint says dryly.

“But I think we should own it.”

“Own it?” Steve asks with a frown.

“Admit it’s true. Not the hoax, of course, but the way it really came down. Come out and tell the whole story. Well, maybe not the whole whole story, but parts of it that are not too graphic to be suitable for daylight TV, at least.”

Upon hearing the suggestion, Loki pales and his eyes grow wide with shock. “You want to tell every mortal on this planet about…” The rest of the sentence dissolves into thin air, unspoken.

“I don’t want to,” Tony clarifies, “but I think it might be the best option. Also, for future reference – people in general don’t like to be called ‘mortals’. No hard feelings, because cultural differences and stuff, but do keep it in mind.”

Loki’s expression shifts to a slightly less terrified, slightly more offended one. “But this is who you are.”

“Yeah, but we don’t like to be reminded on every step, after we go such great lengths to forget about it. We generally refer to ourselves as ‘humans’, or ‘mankind’.”

“Which is pretty sexist,” Romanoff says with an overdone pout.

Loki’s frown grows more impressive as his eyes drift to her.

“Okay, let’s focus for a moment,” Tony says and claps his hands. “I’m not forcing your hand here, Loki. If you really don’t want to do it – fine, we will figure something else out. I’m just putting the option on the table. But I do have some experience with dealing with public opinion and believe me, they are much nicer to you once they learn you went through tough shit. At least for a while, before they forget and move on.”

This is as far as Tony’s going to go in referencing his own past. Everyone besides Loki knows it – or so he assumes, but it’s a safe assumption since it’s all in the SHIELD’s file on him, which he checked on more than one occasion – and he doesn’t want to lay it out just for the god right now, and not only because it would be counter-productive. Somehow, compared to what Loki described, the three months he spent in the Afghan cave seem like a walk in the park.

Loki purses his lips and taps his thumb on his chin as a sign of consideration.

“You don’t have to give me the answer right away. Just consider that option,” Tony says. He’s getting weird glances from the others – pretty much everyone besides Pepper – now, the “did Stark just grow a second head?” kind of weird glances. He has a pretty reasonable guess where that comes from, considering the usual careless aura he likes to keep around himself that might now be suffering a fatal blow. He doesn’t care, he isn’t going to be an asshole about it just to keep up a façade. “How about we call Fury now?”

“He knows?” Romanoff asks.

“Yeah, he already called me. And he wasn’t even yelling. Well, most of the time.”

Nobody protests, so Tony says, “Jay?”

“I’m already on it, Sir.”

The image on the screen blinks out, replaced by an “establishing connection” screen, then by Fury’s face. He’s walking somewhere outside and keeps his phone aimed at his face, the movement replacing the background with blurry streaks of color.

“Took you long enough,” Fury says and squints at the camera. It must be hard to see them all on a small screen. “Any constructive solutions?”

“Maybe,” Tony avoids. “We’re still working on it.”

“Let me guess, you want to come out and tell the truth,” Fury says.

Tony opens his mouth to voice an outraged protest, then changes his mind. First, because, yeah, that’s what his plan was. Second, he cannot even blame Fury for jumping to that assumption, since this is exactly what Tony had done with outing himself as the Iron Man.

“It worked before,” he points out instead.

“Well, excuse me if it doesn’t fill me with optimism, Stark,” Fury says. “And it’s an idiotic idea for reasons that it would take me till the evening to list.”

“I assume you have a better one.”

“I do. More so, I don’t believe you have many better options than this. And I mean you as in plural.”

“What is it?”

“We call a press conference and reveal the new member of the Avengers and say it was all a part of the plan and Loki was our guy on the inside the whole time.”

“I wasn’t,” Loki says.

“Believe me, I’m aware,” Fury says flatly and rolls his eye. “My analysts went through all the publicly available footage, there’s nothing truly compromising other than the pompous speech from Stuttgart, some blurry recordings from the battle itself that will be easy to discredit, then a couple of photos the news’ chopper took at the tower before all flights were grounded.”

“What about the casualties?” Romanoff asks and a violent cringe crosses Loki’s face, before he regains his fake composure.

“Nothing that can be directly linked, maybe besides Shaffer, if he dies, but it looks like he’s not going to. The doctors even saved his eye, in case you were wondering.”

There’s a beat of silence – Fury giving them an opening to object, but nobody does. Tony can see on Bruce’s and Steve’s faces that they are not entirely comfortable with lying to the public, but they are also smart enough to know that might be the least painful way to deal with the fallout while protecting Loki’s privacy to some extent.

“So? What’s the call?” Fury prompts.

“Fine,” Tony says. “I can–”

“I’m not asking you, Stark.” Fury cuts him off. “Loki?”

Loki twitches at the callout, then tries to cover the reaction with an annoyed scowl, but – despite it being a part of his usual repertoire before – it now looks completely out of place on his mug. He sits up, straightens his back and folds his hands in front of himself on the table. Tony doesn’t like the idea that Loki is now forced to make his decision on the spot, with everyone watching him, after all the reassuring Tony did to remove some of the tension, but he recognizes the urgency too and keeps his trepidations to himself.

“I accept your offer, Director,” Loki says then looks around.

If he expected any surprise or protest, he must now be utterly disappointed. Nobody looks shocked. After all, Loki might be the only person in the room who didn’t see it coming.

“Great,” Fury says with no enthusiasm at all. “I’m going to need a couple of hours to make it official and have Pierce sign on that, but we can do it tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”

“I can call the conference and do the talking,” Tony offers.

“No,” Fury says sternly. “I’m not making the same mistake twice. We will handle the arrangements on our end. Just try to not make it worse in the meantime. I want no more leaks, understood?”

“Yeah,” Tony sighs.

“Now, we’ll need Captain Rogers, as the official face of the initiative, to make a statement. Are you up to it, Captain?”

Steve sets his shoulders and nods, solemnly.

“What was that?” Fury asks.

“I will, Director,” Steve says.

“What?” Tony protests. “Just look at him! This guy can’t lie to save a life. No offense, Steve.”

Steve sighs.

“Stark, how about you go back to your flying toys and leave statecraft to those who know what they are doing?” Fury snaps. There’s a rustle, the camera shows just a gray blur for a moment, then goes black. “I have to go, I’ll call you later with details.”

The call drops.

Tony sits back in his chair and folds his hands on his stomach. “Well, it could’ve been worse, I guess. Oh, and welcome to the team. Again. Officially this time.”

---

Stark stops him before Loki gets a chance to slink out of the room unnoticed.

“Hey, how are you holding up?”

Loki doesn’t know the answer to that question, his mind still reeling from the events that just took place, starting with Barton’s visit yesterday… No, starting with that moment when he woke up and found Stark sitting by his bed, talking to him like to a person for the first time since… He doesn’t even know since when. His life in Asgard seems so far away, the memory of it fading under the pressure of everything that came afterwards. Now it all rushes in, and tumbles in his head. The past, the present – standing where he stands, in the tower that scratches the sky amidst the foreign, mortal realm – and the future. The future which might, just might, not be just darkness and pain and loneliness if he plays it right.

“I’m fine,” he says and it comes out steady enough.

Stark grins and claps his hand on Loki’s upper arm. “Yeah, figures,” he laughs. “By the way, we have to find you something more suitable for the occasion to wear.”

Loki looks down at his clothes and frowns. As far as he knows, it’s a modest human outfit, something that wouldn’t make him stand out on the streets or draw attention. That’s why he chose it. If he completes it with the jacket he wore before, it should help him blend into the crowd during an official event too.

“I mean no disrespect,” Stark says and his grin grows even wider, “since you’re rocking the ‘unassuming office worker’ disguise in style, but this is not how we roll here. So, what’s your poison? Prada? Brioni? No, let me guess… Tom Ford, right?”

Loki just stares at the man. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Stark.”

Stark laughs. “Oh, you will, trust me, you will.”

---

Stark tells him to meet him in half-hour and leaves, before Loki gets the opportunity to ask how long half an hour is. He knows, more or less, how mortal… human time measurements work, but lacks the instinctual sense of time in relation to the hours on the clock the humans seem to have. The only timepiece he’s seen in the tower is the elaborate clock on the wall of the living area of the penthouse and – short of standing there and waiting – he has no way to tell the time.

So, once he returns to his rooms, he caves in, turns his face to the camera hiding in the corner, and says, “Jarvis?”

“I’m here, Sir. How may I help you?”

“Can you tell me how much time I have left?”

“Twenty-six minutes, Sir.”

“Will you tell me when it’s time to leave?”

“Of course. Alternatively, there is a mobile phone and a wristwatch in the items that Mr. Stark ordered me to provide for your convenience, Sir.”

Most of the bags and boxes that were delivered when Loki moved into the room are still where they were left by the automaton that brought them – stacked by the door. Loki took only what he needed from the first bag he found, and disregarded the rest, but now, if he is to stay…

He goes through the packages, one by one. The bags contain mostly clothes and underwear, and he discovers a couple of pairs of shoes and boots in different styles in the boxes, and it takes him aback. Yes, Stark’s wealth is obvious, even if Loki didn’t know about it from Barton, it wouldn’t be that hard to guess just from the size and opulence of Stark’s home – which is just one of many the man has to his name. But Loki spent much of his life surrounded with people with significant fortunes, and had his own spendings covered from the royal coffers without him even having to think about it, and learned one thing – those who possessed much didn’t feel inclined to share with those less fortunate.

Is it different on Midgard? Perhaps to some extent, the wealth distribution seems fairer, with conveniences like long-range communications and vehicles being available to most, if not all citizens – but Stark is still an outlier, sitting very close to the top of the social ladder. A Midgardian equivalent of royalty perhaps.

And the man still went out of the way, personally, to provide Loki – after saving his life and offering him a safe place to rest and heal – with more than he reasonably should possess, when he is in a situation like he is.

What the situation is at the moment, he wouldn’t be able to tell though.

He moves the boxes with shoes aside and reaches to the bottom of the stack, where he finds the items Jarvis spoke of: a wristwatch, and a communication device. There’s also a bigger box containing a computer, like the ones Loki’s seen the others use from time to time, with just a screen and no keyboard.

“If I may add,” Jarvis says, “I allowed myself to save Mr. Stark’s personal number to the contact list.”

Loki frowns. Is it the same number Stark got so angry at the Widow for knowing?

“Also, if you leave the room now, you should make it to the penthouse just in time for the appointed meet-up. Although considering that Mr. Stark is still in his workshop and I just reminded him about it, it won’t hurt if you’re a couple of minutes late.”

Loki smirks, thanks the assistant with a nod, then tries the wristwatch on. It looks similar to those he’s seen Stark wear and the gold-encrusted digits and crystal glass suggest it’s a fine example of Midgardian craftsmanship, but he doesn’t like feeling the weight clasped around his wrist and quickly takes it off.

Then, after a minute consideration, he slides the phone into his pocket – he will try to discover its secrets later – and walks out, towards the elevator. Stark might be running late, but it would be uncourteous for Loki to be.

---

It gives Loki a pause, when Stark says they’ll be leaving the tower, and then another, when – instead of heading for the lobby – Stark takes him to one of the underground levels.

It turns out it holds a collection of vehicles – all shiny and sleek, with variations of Stark’s name on the plates.

“Which one do you feel like today?” Stark asks with a grin and Loki bites down the comment that they all look the same for him and points at one not far away from where they stopped, lower than the rest, with a coat of red, shiny paint and some kind of a figurine of a leaping animal adorning the hood, just to entertain Stark’s exuberance.

“Good choice,” Stark chuckles and picks a key from a display on the wall. “Wanna drive?”

Loki shakes his head. It’s been decades since he operated an automobile like that and the design of the car seems to have very little to do with the bulky, angular machines he is more familiar with. “Maybe some other time,” he says diplomatically.

“Sure,” Stark says, gets into the driver’s seat and rolls down the window. “Jump in, Merlin!”

---

Stark takes them to a narrow alleyway a couple of street corners away. It takes an unreasonably amount of time to get there, with the vehicle stuck in heavy traffic and Loki narrowly escapes telling Stark they would be there quicker if they just walked.

They leave the car in the alley and Stark leads them to a shop. For a moment, it looks to Loki like it’s some sort of secret establishment, but it quickly turns out that Stark used the back door, instead of the front one that leads to a busy street.

The main room looks like something halfway between a shop – with lines of hangers and life-size figures showing off dress suits in multiple styles - and a tailor, and only then he guesses the purpose of their visit.

“Mr. Stark! What a pleasant surprise!” a man in an impeccable-fitting suit – an outfit and presentation of the shop’s wares both – greets them. “I must’ve missed your call.”

“Nah,” Stark says nonchalantly. “I just didn’t call. Silly me. We can go elsewhere if it’s a problem.”

“No, no, of course not,” the man rushes to say. “Mrs. Valenti will see you in a minute, she’s just finishing with another client.”

The man leads them to a couple of plush chairs by the windows, then offers them refreshments, which Loki refuses politely. Stark asks for a “double espresso”, whatever that is, and gets his beverage delivered on a silver platter a moment later, which looks weird, because the cup is minuscule and the platter is huge.

“May I ask what style of outfit are you looking for today?” the man says, and gives Stark’s outfit – a well-used, short-sleeved shirt, a leather jacket and trousers that bear grease stains that make Loki’s current, relatively simple attire look elegant in comparison – a discrete glance.

“I’m good. This guy, however…” He points at Loki. “… is going to need all his bases covered.”

“I see,” the man says and keeps the same neutrally friendly expression the best royal seamstresses would wear if Loki brought a peasant into their workshop and ordered them to clothe them in royal robes. “Would you like to see the catalog to browse while you wait, Sir?”

Loki looks at Stark, who just shrugs and throws his hands to the sides. “Yes, please,” he says.

The man disappears in the backroom and returns with a thick book, then hands it to Loki. Loki flips through it. Stark leans closer and peeks over Loki’s shoulder, so he brings the ‘catalog’ down so the human could see. Stark offers commentary – ranging from assessments on the photos, to some random remarks or anecdotes – while Loki turns the pages and slowly happens upon the realization of how complicated purchasing clothes on Midgard actually is.

In the past – both that long-gone one and that more recent – he’d just use illusions to copy something he found suitable for the occasion, either straight away or making small adjustments, and never actually needed to own any physical objects to make his look believable.

A few moments later the owner – or so Loki assumes – steps out of the backroom, escorting the clients out, greets them and invites them to her shop.

There, Loki is told to stand on a small pedestal and has his measures taken. It’s not that different of a process compared to how it looks in Asgard, so he quickly eases himself into it.

Well, he still hesitates before pulling his current clothes off, but – caught between undressing to his underwear in front of complete strangers and shooting down Stark’s generous offer like a total ingrate – does so in the end. Both the woman and her assistant keep their faces professionally neutral and pretend not to notice the marks and scars and half-healed injuries still adorning his flesh.

“Sorry, kinda forgot about it,” Stark whispers apologetically when the woman leaves for a moment, to return with an arrangement of garments for Loki to try on.

They go through at least two dozen different combinations, before Stark grins at him – a smile that seems as warm as it is fake – and gives the current outfit – a seemingly simple three-piece suit in dark navy – a thumbs up.

“What do you think?” he asks, heaving himself up from the chair and joining Loki in front of the mirror. “Looks good to me.”

“Yes,” Loki says, looking at himself in the mirror. No matter how hard he tries to focus on the outfit, he can only see the sharp angles of his face, the shadows under his eyes and the sickly paleness of his skin. “Thank you.”

“We’ll take this one,” Stark says to the assistant. “Then all those, too,” he adds, pointing at the pile where Loki put all the other potentially acceptable choices.

“Of course. We can make all the necessary adjustments in… two weeks?”

“No,” Stark says. “We’re gonna need it done by tomorrow.”

“But–“ the man starts, then cuts himself off, as Stark whips out his card – which Loki guessed by now is a method of transferring virtual currency – and waves it at the man. “Of course, Mr. Stark. I’ll make sure that your order is delivered by tomorrow morning. Would that be all?”

“No, we’ll need some shirts and ties to finish the look.”

---

In the end, they walk out of the shop with a couple of bags filled with just shirts and various accessories – ties, belts, scarfs, and bow ties.

“Stark…” Loki starts when they are done loading it into the car’s trunk.

“Not a word,” Stark says.

“I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

“Which part of ‘not a word’ didn’t you understand?”

Loki frowns and Stark backs off, almost immediately. “It’s fine,” he says, “You’re welcome. It’s not a big deal. Now, can we go before I get a mental breakdown in a dingy alleyway?”

Loki narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you really wanna talk about it here? Now?”

“Yes.”

Stark sighs, leans against the car, and presses his fingers to his eyes. “I shouldn’t have pushed you so soon. I should’ve known that you’re still…” He gestures vaguely at Loki. “Recovering.”

“I’m fine, Stark,” Loki says. “I could’ve said ‘no’ if I really didn’t want to do it.”

Stark nods, but he doesn’t look too convinced and there’s something… heartwarming about the care he displays. He has no interest whatsoever to help Loki the way he does, and he has even less interest in actually caring about how Loki himself feels about it.

And yet he does.

“You know,” Loki says lightly. “You’re probably right. We should head back.”

Stark chuckles and gestures him into the car.

---

The press event goes down surprisingly smoothly.

It turns out Tony was wrong, and Steve can, in fact, lie. Well, the speech Fury’s people prepared for him is so general and skitters around the truth so much that it could be called more of an omission fest than a downright lie, so perhaps that helps as well.

Then there’s questions time and Loki steps to the podium. He kept the glasses – and Tony begins to suspect he decided to make them a staple of his superhero alter-ego which Tony finds amusing for no reason at all – and is now wearing one of the suits Tony got him. He smiles and even makes a joke or two and Tony can’t tell whether it’s just an act or if the god truly enjoys the spotlight to some degree.

Loki answers a few questions, telling the press nothing more than Fury and Steve have already revealed – that he is of Asgard, Thor’s brother and very excited to work on the Avengers initiative officially – before Fury steps in and cuts it short.

It’s not nearly the end of it, of course, there will be interviews and photo ops and charity events that they would still have to do, but – for now – the deal is settled, and they can finally focus on what’s important right now – the cleanup for them, and recovery for Loki.

Loki’s silent through most of the drive back home, staring outside the window with a look in his eyes that suggests he’s not entirely there. Tony puts on some music and tries not to wonder what’s going on in the god’s head, without much success.

“It’s so surreal,” Loki says in the end, his voice just a tone louder than a whisper.

“What is?”

Loki’s eyes focus slowly, then he frowns, as if he was surprised he said it out loud. “I came here as a conqueror and I’m touted as a hero.”

“Weirder things have happened.”

There’s another pause before Loki speaks again. “All my life, I tried to match up to Thor, get my deeds recognized. For centuries, I fought battles of strength and wits, trying to prove myself, until I realized it’s impossible, that, no matter what I do, I’ll never get my… Odin to see me as Thor’s equal.”

“I’m not surprised, to be honest,” Tony says. “It must make one hell of an experience to have Thor and his ego as siblings.”

Loki chortles and shakes his head. “You have no idea.”

“Well, you’re probably right, seeing I was the only child, but I did meet him.”

For a while, there’s only the steady rhythm of music and the murmur of the engine to break the silence.

“He will come again. And if not Thor, there will be others. Odin’s too prideful to allow me to go unpunished.”

“Then we will deal with it, like we did the last time.”

“You had the surprise factor. It won’t happen again.”

“We still have some stuff up our sleeves. Earth isn’t as defenseless as it used to be in the past.”

Loki sighs and rubs his hand against the nape of his neck. “I suppose it’s not.”

“Besides, now we’ve got a wizard in our team, so it’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

“Yes, I guess I will.”

Chapter 7: Celebrations

Chapter Text

They have a little party when they return to the tower.

For a moment, Tony hopes – only semi-sarcastically – that it might turn into one of the “it started little, but then turned into you-wake-up-in-Vegas-wondering-where-three-days-have-gone” kind of party he used to like the best. After all, it’s not every day that one can celebrate saving the world and adding a new member to one’s group of goddamned superheroes in one swing. Plus, it’s been a while since he threw a proper one.

No, that birthday party when he thought he was dying doesn’t count. Nope.

His hopes are quickly dashed. Bruce excuses himself before the meal is over, and Pepper not long after that and Tony can’t even hold it against them that much. Bruce can’t drink, at least according to his own words, but Tony doesn’t want to find out how much fun a drunk Hulk is, so he takes it at the face value. And Pepper spent the day in the office, dealing with bullshit that should, by all accounts, be Tony’s bullshit to deal with and then had to stand there through the whole press conference serving as a shoulder decoration for Tony. She never says it out loud – she is too well-mannered and patient for that – but Tony knows it pisses her off each and every time. She is the only female CEO in the top ten of Fortune Five Hundred companies, and the press still cares more about her boy… fiancé, who happens to fly around in a metal tin for cheap thrills, and the questions she gets in the interviews fall either into “how is it to be Iron Man’s girlfriend”, or “how good was she in bed to land that sweet spot at the top of Stark Industries” (that’s only sometimes gets phrased a little bit more courteously) categories.

Steve lasts only one glass of the thirty-year-old whisky Tony whips out for the occasion before returning to his room.

Clint makes it somewhere halfway through the bottle, before he wanders off to use the bathroom and doesn’t come back. Tony takes a mental note to tell Jarvis to check if he didn’t fall asleep hugging the bowl somewhere, but then forgets about it and doesn’t.

That leaves Tony and Romanoff – for Loki’s not there and Tony’s not even sure when he slipped out on them – on the battlefield.

“How come you’re still sober?” Tony asks, as she returns from the bar with another bottle without tripping on her feet even a single time.

He can tell he isn’t. It’s not bad, not yet, it’s the kind of sweet spot of buzz that gets him relaxed and maybe just a bit too talkative that’s going to end with just a bit of headache in the morning and no memory loss whatsoever. But it only can go downhill from here, and it will, if they finish the bottle Romanoff just brought over.

“Have you forgotten? I’m Russian,” she says lightly and pours herself and Tony another glass.

Tony takes it, downs it in one go, then tilts his head to the side. “Are you though? Or is it part of the persona? You slipped out of your accent like two hours ago.”

She smiles. “Don’t tell me you didn’t read SHIELD’s file on me,” she says, starting in a perfect New Yorker drawl, then switching to a Southern accent seamlessly halfway through.

“I had better things to look at than searching for juicy bits on my teammates,” Tony says with a chuckle, even though he doesn’t find the notion that SHIELD is working on next-gen weapons without any public oversight particularly funny. And maybe he’s just a tiny little bit jealous he wasn’t asked to take a look at their new toys, when the design files were ripe with many notable names from the industry. “So, what is it?”

“I used to be, at least technically,” she says and tumbles the last bit of the liquor in her glass, before drinking it quickly and pouring herself another one.

“Technically?”

“Everything I was able to trace down about my past points to the USSR as my place of birth. But that’s all I know.”

“How so?”

She tips her head back and sighs. “I was promised a party, not picking at old scabs, Stark. If you have doubts about my loyalty, you can take it to Fury. Or just go and read that file after all.”

This wasn’t at all what Tony meant. He asked because he was curious, not because he was suspicious. It would be a lie if he said he trusted Romanoff completely, that would be hard after she fooled him with that stunt a couple of years ago, and she is a goddamned spy on top of things, but there is enough of it to believe her motivations aren’t malicious.

“Chill, I’m just making a conversation,” Tony says.

She chortles and sits back in her chair, pushing it back so it balances only on the hind legs. “I’m tired of it,” she says, quietly. “Tired of constantly having to prove myself. Of having my every action put under scrutiny, of my every decision being questioned.” She swings back and forth a couple of times. “I’ve been with SHIELD for eight years now. That’s longer than most of the men in my division. And yet, every time something goes wrong it’s always me who they turn their eyes to first. I’m always the ‘little Russian spy girl’ for them.”

“Well, you used to be a hit-man… a hit-woman?”

She scoffs.

“I’m not judging you, by the way. I made my fair share of questionable decisions too,” Tony says with a shrug and quickly realizes that yeah, he’s definitely too drunk for this conversation. “Most of them in a very public way.”

She sits back up, takes a sip of her drink, sets it back on the table, and runs her hand through her hair. “The thing is… It wasn’t a decision. It wasn’t a choice. Not mine, at least.” She pauses, bites her lower lip, then shakes her head. “The Stark’s parties I remember used to be a lot more spectacular.”

Tony chuckles and lets that totally obvious change of subject slide. “It’s not my fault you’re all just boring people who go to bed before the fun even starts.”

“It’s been a weird couple of days,” she says, “and everyone has their own way to blow off the steam.”

“Still, I’d–“

The elevator dings and Tony immediately forgets what he wanted to say. It mustn’t have been that important anyway.

The doors slide aside, and Loki steps out, looking around warily.

“Hey!” Tony calls and waves his hand, as if he and Romanoff weren’t the only people in the room, sitting right in the open.

Loki takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, straightens out his clothes – he changed back into Tony’s t-shirt for some reason – then slowly walks to join them at the table, taking a seat next to Tony.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says, answering their questioning glances. “I can leave if I’m interrupting something.”

“Nah,” Tony says and waves his hand. “Romanoff’s been telling me all of her dirty secrets, but it was boring anyway. You know how it is, all the mundane spy stuff…”

Loki narrows his eyes and looks at Tony with growing suspicion, then at Romanoff.

“He’s joking,” Romanoff says and points at the already half-empty bottle. “You’d need much more than that to make me talk.”

“So, if you’re here anyway, want some?” Tony asks.

Loki hesitates, and that deer-in-headlight look flashes on his face for a second, before he controls it. “Yes, please,” he says.

Tony chuckles and gets up to retrieve a new glass from the bar. The pending inebriation hits him with full force. His head spins, the world tilts at an angle and it makes his knees buckle.

There’s a hand on his arm that holds him up and keeps him steady, until, a few seconds later, the sensation subsides and his momentarily disturbed sense of balance returns.

Loki quickly takes his hand away and Tony claps back into his seat. “Romanoff, can you–“ He waves his hand at the bar and she gets up with a grumble.

“Is everything all right?” Loki asks, looking at Tony with a frown and Tony could swear there’s a hint of real concern in the god’s gaze.

“Yeah,” he laughs, not sure what to do with that new information. “I’m just a tiny-minnie bit… drunk. That happens sometimes, to us, mortals.”

“It happens everywhere,” Loki says. “Even Thor’s head is not as strong as he loves to boast.”

“A drunk Thor sounds even more terrifying than a drunk Hulk,” Tony judges. “And so much more likely to happen, considering Bruce is giving even a non-alcoholic beer a side-eye.”

Loki's frown is back and he stares at Tony for a long while. Then a sudden realization blooms on his face and his eyes grow wide with unbridled terror. He jerks his hands back from where they were resting on the table and wraps them around his torso, in a panicked, protective gesture.

“Wait, you didn’t know that Bruce…” Tony starts, then starts laughing. Of course, how could he? He wasn’t there when Bruce changed into Hulk, and he was barely alive and completely out of it when he turned back. “Damn.”

“Didn’t you intend to use him against us?” Romanoff supplies, as she’s returning with the glass.

“I…” Loki starts, takes a breath, and forces his hand back to his lap. His face is back to the controlled, neutral expression he uses so often, but he still looks pale and, when he speaks again, his voice is a little thin. “I did. But all I found in Barton’s brain was the knowledge of the beast, not the man behind it. I didn’t know the name, nor the face.”

“Well, I should have figured it out,” Tony says, “you know, considering how chill you were around Bruce.”

Loki’s fingers curl and uncurl nervously in his lap.

“Not that you shouldn’t be, mind you,” Tony rushes to add, most likely belatedly, “Bruce is totally benign and the mildest, most non-threatening human being I’ve ever met. As for his rage issues… Well, cast the first stone and so on.”

Loki gives him a very unconvincing nod. “May I have the drink now?” he asks.

Tony laughs and pours him a shot of whisky, then one for Romanoff, and finally, one for himself.

“Are you sure you want to have more?” Romanoff nags.

“Believe me, I’m just warming up,” he says dismissively. “Besides, what could possibly go wrong?”

---

The surface Tony’s cheek is pressed to is hard and rather uncomfortable and the light’s too bright, even when filtered through his closed eyelids. He groans and moves to get up, and it turns out to be a bad call, because a spike of pain pierces his head the moment he changes his position.

“Fuck,” he mutters. It comes out as a puff of empty air, because his throat is parched and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

He’s still in the living room and the light is nothing else but the sun rising over Manhattan. He opens his mouth to scold Jay for not closing the blinds again – after it took Tony two hours to recalibrate the system in the entire tower, no less – but changes his mind. First, he isn’t sure he can get anything coherent out of himself at this moment. Second, because he’s not alone in the room.

Romanoff is lying sprawled on the couch in a half-sitting position, her head tilted back over the backrest, fast asleep. Loki’s curled at her side, his head in her lap.

Tony takes a few moments to take in the image in front of his eyes. Honestly, it doesn’t even make it to the top ten weirdest scenes he ever woke up to, but it’s still curious enough to make him wonder how exactly that happened – his memories end somewhere around the end of the third bottle.

It doesn’t look like anything lewd came down at least. They are all – including Tony himself, as he finds out once he checks thoroughly – fully clothed, and it looks more like an effect of overt drunkenness than anything else.

He shakes his head, immediately regrets it – it feels as if something came apart in his brain and is now banging around in his skull with the slightest of moves – and drags himself up. There’s nothing suitable in the fridge – just beer, and his stomach protests at the very idea – so he drinks water straight from the tap, digs though the cupboards until he finds some painkillers, then washes the couple of pills down with some more water.

It would have to do.

He gives the sleeping pair the last glance and wanders to the bedroom. At least he gets to keep the last of his dignity that way.

The room is dark – the blinds worked, for once – and he stumbles his way to the bed half-blindly, then collapses down.

“Tony?” Pepper’s sleepy voice reaches him, then the bedside lamp comes on. He rolls to his back and squints against the light. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. The water didn’t help much with the voice situation. “I had one or two too many.”

“I wouldn’t be able to tell,” Pepper says. She tries for it to come off as condescending, but there’s a sprinkle of amusement in her eyes and in her tone that completely ruins it.

“Mhm,” Tony hums and crawls closer, nuzzling his face between her breasts and wrapping his arm around her waist.

“Tony… I don’t think this is the best idea. I have to get up in a moment.”

Tony’s rather sure he wouldn’t be able to engage in any sort of activity that required anything more than lying completely still anyway. “I just want to cuddle, I swear,” he whispers.

She doesn’t manage to hold back the chuckle this time. “You smell of booze.”

“That’s because we drank booze until I passed out,” Tony says.

She laughs again, runs her hand through his hair, and pulls him closer, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

A satisfied moan escapes Tony’s lips. He wishes he could stay like this, forever. Just him and Pepper, cuddling in a bed, with nothing else to worry about it.

“I have to tell you something,” he starts and rolls to his back to look up at her. “I think I may have a crush on Loki.”

Pepper raises an eyebrow. “And you realized that only now?”

He narrows his eyes.

“There wasn’t a conversation we had since he arrived that didn’t have you saying how fascinating you found Loki,” she points out, and… Well, maybe she is right. She probably is. She was always better at both remembering every piece of drivel that came out of Tony’s mouth and figuring out what Tony wanted than Tony himself.

He knows by now that Pepper is the one, that she’ll be always the one. That they can make it work. That they are making it work right now, even though it hinges on Pepper’s infinite patience for Tony’s shenanigans more often than not.

But Tony’s heart was always a wild creature, with strivings he couldn’t even sometimes understand himself, ones he followed blindly too many times in the past. And, as sad as it was to admit that, it wasn’t the only organ in his body beyond his brain that had a history of making decisions for him. So, they talked it through like reasonable adults and reached a compromise – no matter what happens, Tony is to tell the truth. And, once Tony decides monogamy no longer suits him, Pepper is allowed to do the same.

So he does tell the truth now. It’s only fair.

“Are you going to do anything about it? Because, you know, Richard from IT…” she adds with a sly smile.

The “Richard from IT” is a long-standing argument as well. Tony isn’t certain she’d do it or if it’s a threat she knew would work, but he’s checked “Richard’s” employee file and the man is an absolute unit that Tony himself would compromise a rule or two for in the past, so… yeah, it’s better not to risk it.

Tony shakes his head. “It’s purely a platonic crush. Well, I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a threesome if you changed your mind about that,” he jokes.

Pepper rolls her eyes, leans in, and places a kiss on his forehead. “You’re such a child sometimes,” she chuckles then crinkles her nose. “Really, go get a shower.”

“Okay mom,” he says and flashes a grin.

She lets the jab slide. She crooks her neck and watches Tony for a moment. “What happened to your voice?”

“I… I think we just talked. I probably tried to talk louder than everyone else.”

“No singing?”

Tony frowns. “Uhm… Jay?”

“Good morning, Mr. Stark. Yes, there was indeed singing. I can play you the recording if you want,” Jarvis says, his tone as neutral and as smug as ever.

“No… god, please don’t,” Tony grumbles and hides his face in his palms. “I’m never drinking again.”

“That’s exactly what you said the last time when you exceeded the recommended consumption of alcohol, Sir,” Jay points out. “And seven times on previous occasions.”

“He’s got a point,” Pepper says and moves to get up. She grabs Tony’s wrist. “Come on, let's get you sorted out. A shower and a coffee and you’ll be back to your annoying self in no time.”

Tony sighs and heaves himself up from the bed with a grunt, and lets Pepper drag him to the bathroom.

---

Loki knows something’s not right even before he opens his eyes.

Not only it’s the first time in a long while when he wakes up on his own, and not because he is jerked awake by a nightmare, but also he realizes he is not in his – borrowed – rooms. That’s as far as his awareness of his surroundings goes, so he tentatively opens his eyes.

“Hi,” says the Widow, her face right above Loki’s, just a few thumb lengths away.

“Hi,” he says back, because no better alternative presents itself at the moment.

She laughs and the surface he’s lying on rocks slightly.

Is he… Damn.

Embarrassment churns in his guts and he squeezes his eyes shut with a dejected grunt. He pulls himself up and away from the Widow’s lap slowly, as if he could somehow save the remnants of his dignity. He sits up and presses his fingers to his eyes, the events from the previous night slowly unveiling in his mind.

It wouldn’t be that bad – they just drank and talked, about small, innocent things, the differences between the Realms, Stark’s projects, or mortal entertainment Loki had little idea about – if not for the awareness that he allowed himself to lower his guard while he shouldn’t have. His position among the mortals is still uncertain – perhaps will always remain as such – and he should mind his every step, watch his every move.

Getting inebriated with the humans definitely falls as far as possible from that. The risk was too great, and it was only pure luck that it turned out the way it did – with him falling asleep on the sofa after just a couple of glasses, clutching the Widow like a scared child clinging to their mother’s skirts, courtesy of the weakness and the exhaustion that are his constant companions these days.

Well, it isn’t that surprising he got away with just his pride suffering a blow, nothing else. While the others – Thor and his comrades, who Loki considered his friends as well, once upon a time – grew more brawny, louder and more obnoxious the more liquor there was, Loki always just…

He grits his teeth, but the memories still flood in. He always grew needy, clinging to people like a stray mongrel looking for a sliver of warmth, the fatuous desire for closeness he usually kept locked safely at the back of his mind bubbling up to the surface, uninhibited. Considering how laughably low his tolerance for liquor was – now he knows why, at least – it resulted in many, many blunders in his youth, the kind of blunders that made the rumors about his contemptible inclinations spread, only further tarnishing his already frayed reputation. It never fully went away, not even when he learned to stay away from drinking to excess. Or at all.

It was a rule he kept for long years, now. And yet, instead of holding onto it, he broke it. Just like he broke every other promise he ever made to himself. And for what? Just because of a childish urge. Just because he felt lonely, sitting in his room by himself while others sat together and laughed and…

As if being alone wasn’t the natural state for him. As if he didn’t get used to it over the years.

He stifles a sigh and lets his head fall back onto the backrest of the sofa, then stares at the ceiling. There’s a shadow of a headache at the back of his skull, just another reminder that yesterday was a mistake.

The Widow laughs again, and, like before, it doesn’t sound mocking, nor derisive. No, she sounds actually pleased with something, and it’s enough for his curiosity to peak. He dares a look.

Her eyes are still puffy from sleeping, and there’s a sparkle of true amusement twinkling in them.

“Am I missing out on some joke?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Nah,” she says, seemingly carelessly, but her gaze is still firmly on Loki, prickling on his skin and jarring on his nerves.

Even considering the revelation from yesterday – that it was nobody else but Banner who was hiding the Beast inside – she is the one who puts Loki on the edge the most. While the newfound awareness that he is living under one roof with the Hulk himself is an unnerving one, Loki has seen enough of how the man acted to believe Stark’s assertions about him. Truth be told, it only made Loki a little more impressed with Banner – his self-control was astonishing.

Besides, he knows how it feels to live with a monster hiding underneath one’s skin.

The Widow though… Her, Loki couldn’t figure out, and – unlike how he is tempted to do with Stark – he simply can’t take her words or the way she acts at face value, not after seeing for himself how skilled in the art of deception she is. Even though it wasn’t something the Æsir considered a talent worthy of a warrior, Loki always prided himself on his ability to read people’s intentions and see through their lies. And yet, she fooled him.

Well, maybe he just isn’t as good at that as he thought. After all, he lived Odin’s lie for centuries, without ever questioning anything the All-Father told him…

The Widow’s eyes are still trying to pierce a hole in his skull, so he turns to her and meets her gaze.

“What is it?!” he snaps. It comes out harsher than he intended, her smirk slowly fades away, and he immediately regrets letting his frustrations tumble out like that. Not only because he prefers a smile to a scowl. No, he needs to keep the act up. They believe him tame, mild, and broken, and it’s better for it to stay that way.

Besides, it’s not that far from the truth, is it? There’s very little anger left in him these days and even the vicious, dark thoughts – the bloody, violent dreams of cold revenge against his enemies – are staying at bay. As if it was a finite resource and he’s spent it all during his attack on Midgard, just like a storm loses its thunder as it rolls over the ground.

“Nothing,” she says with a lopsided shrug, “I just can’t get over the fact that I’m sitting on a couch with an alien.”

It explains little. Of course he’s an alien for her, just like she’s an alien for him – they come from two different places in the universe. “And?”

“And that’s not something I usually do on Saturday mornings.”

He sighs and moves to get up.

She stops him, placing her hand on his forearm. It’s not a grip, just her hand gently resting over his, leaving him with an opening to move away if he really wanted to.

He does not, not truly, so he stays put.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says. “I don’t mind. It’s just… kind of weird, that’s all.”

That makes much more sense, even though he hasn’t thought about it in those categories. For an Æsir… for someone raised in Asgard, interacting with other races is something natural, just a part of life. Even the common folk, who doesn’t get many opportunities to travel out of the Realm is used to it. The free Vanir – the descendants of freed slaves or those who earned their place in the Realm Eternal for their merits in arts or via marriage – live among the Æsir, and it’s not that uncommon to encounter the traders from Alfheimr – or sometimes even from outside of the Nine – who come to get a taste of the Asgard’s wealth.

Midgard, on the other hand, didn’t get many visitors in recent times. Even the Kree cut down on their escapades since Odin officially proclaimed Midgard as part of Asgard’s domain after the Jötnar invasion…

She slowly pulls her hand away and – once she does – Loki feels its sudden disappearance harshly, the afterimage of the warmth quickly fading from his skin. He sighs and folds his hands in his lap, to stop himself from trying to hold onto her. That would be a truly pathetic display.

She lets out a breath, then scuttles away, positioning herself as far away from Loki as possible without getting up from the couch, and Loki cannot help but wonder what prompted that reaction.

“This isn’t a game, Loki. This is just…” Her hands trace a wide circle in the air. “Life, I guess.”

She looks at him, waiting for a reaction maybe, but he has no idea what she meant, so he just stares back.

“I make no sense to you, do I?”

Loki shakes his head and she chortles.

“What I wanted to say…” she says and pauses to run her hand through her hair. “You don’t have to act like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like everything is fine,” she says, as if it clarified anything.

He can still only stare at her, not certain what she’s speaking of or what his reaction should be. Is she suggesting he doesn’t show enough gratitude for the graces extended to him or is it something else?

“You might have fooled everyone else, but you’d need much more than that to fool me,” she says, just as lightly, and again, the tone of her voice doesn’t match her meaning in the slightest, only furthering Loki’s confusion. “Which, by the way, is not a taunt. I’m just that good.”

“I assure you,” he says, cagily, “I have everything I need and I’m thankful for all the help you’re providing me with.”

She rubs her face in exasperation, a feeling Loki is ready to admit to experiencing himself at this moment. “That’s what I’m talking about. Right here.”

He fights the urge to groan in frustration and just laces his fingers together to keep his hands from fiddling. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he tells her.

“Nothing,” she says. “Or everything. Or anything in between. Basically, whatever you feel like saying.”

He frowns.

“Listen,” she starts, then hesitates, just for a heartbeat. “I don’t know how it’s to be you right now. Nobody knows, but you. But I do know a thing or two about trauma. And I know it doesn’t just go away the moment the stressful situation ends. You don’t have to keep up the face against all odds. You don’t have to prove anything, not to me, not to anyone else here.”

It’s his turn to laugh, and he does, even though he feels anything but merriment. “There always will be something for me to prove,” he says and some of the bitterness seeps into his voice despite his best efforts.

“There will be time for that. Out there, in the field, once you healed and got better. But here…” She sighs. “I know it might be hard to comprehend, standing where you stand, but you’re not among enemies here.”

“I…” he starts, but his voice fails him, the treacherous tears squeezing his throat and threatening their way out.

The words mean nothing on their own, but it’s like the final drop that makes the dam in his brain break and the realization washes over him.

Going from how his previous life looked like – the only one he can even remember living right now, the one on the Sanctuary – to what it is now was a change so drastic his mind simply refused to accept it as real, as if it was just another illusion his brain produced. A dream he didn’t necessarily want to wake up from, because it was a pleasant vision, where he finally found himself in a safe place. A place where nobody cared about what he was or what he has done. Where people who were ought to be his enemies treated him as one of their own, where his atrocious deeds weren’t punished but instead he has been shown kindness and mercy.

Just like the ones his weary mind brought him when the pain and the darkness and the desperation of his waking hours were too much and he slipped away into an uneasy sleep. Ones he would sooner or later wake up from to still find himself in Hel.

That thought – that soon, his body would be jerked awake by a lash or an electric shock – was constantly there, at the back of his mind, ever since he came to after the battle. That, or that the curtain would drop any moment, the show would end and the mortals would show their true intentions. It made him flail, blindly, torn between fight and flight, but there was nowhere to run to and nothing to fight against.

And now, only now, it dawns on him that it might be real.

He takes a tentative breath and it feels like the first lungful of air after staying underwater for way too long, the pressure he no longer registered that was crushing his chest all this time dissipating.

“Hey, are you all right?” she asks, angling closer, her eyebrows knitted with worry.

“Yes,” Loki says, and it's nothing but the truth.

Chapter 8: Anew

Chapter Text

Stark comes back to the living room a while later and he’s so loud and so overtly cheerful Loki’s almost certain the man is compensating for something. He aims his steps at the kitchen and starts fiddling with some machine, each push of a button followed by a vivid complaint, which gives Loki a good opportunity to sneak out before he’s dragged into a conversation.

Perhaps, just like Loki, Stark is ashamed of how yesterday’s evening went, although Loki cannot truly think of a good reason for that. Not only Stark might be – despite the undeniable level of drunkenness he got himself to last night – one of the most agreeable companions Loki ever shared a drink with, he was also the host, and, as such, exempted from most of the rules. At least by Asgard’s standards, but Loki has no idea how that is done on Midgard or if the human habits are different.

It makes up another position to add to the already rather sizeable list of things Loki needs to learn if he truly wishes to remain here. And that prospect – that got tamed in over the course of the last days and finally realized with that moment of clarity from this morning – looks actually viable right now.

It’s been days since Thor left and it’s more than enough to carry the tidings to the All-Father. If that was even necessary. Loki wasn’t hiding from Heimdallr’s sight when he was mounting his attack – he simply couldn’t muster the mental capacity required for that, running on the remnants of energy, with the Other’s claws clutched around his mind and torn between listening to the screeching of his survival instincts and the Stone’s song.

As such, it was a safe assumption to say Odin knew what happened even before Thor returned home. It should give him enough time to prepare a raid to get Loki back – either by rallying the court’s mages, by crafting the spell himself (although Loki isn’t certain if that’s possible so soon, even for someone as powerful as the All-Father) or by having the scholars modify the Tesseract-powered device to allow more varied use than just one way trip to Asgard. Sure, such things usually take a long time, but Odin is used to getting what he wants and if he wanted Loki back in Asgard badly enough, Loki would be in the royal dungeons by now.

And yet, he’s still here. Which means the All-Father either doesn’t consider punishing him a priority or simply doesn’t care enough to bother sending anyone to seize Loki and bring him to justice right away.

They never cared for you and they don’t care now, says the childish, naive part of him, the one that’s never that far away, dozing in a dark recess of his mind to rear its head when he least expects it. Nothing has changed. You’re still just a nuisance.

Loki grits his teeth. He’s being stupid, that’s what he is – Asgard is doing him a favor by leaving him alone and Loki should use the full extent of the leeway it grants him, instead of wallowing in self-pity. There’s nothing but Odin’s wrath waiting for him in Asgard, why would he even want to go there?

Because you miss your home. Because you miss them.

“Shut up,” he snarls at himself under his breath.

“Excuse me, can you repeat, Sir?” sounds from behind, and Loki whips around and falls into a fighting stance.

There’s nobody behind him in the hallway and the voice, of course, belongs to Stark’s assistant.

Norns, this is annoying.

He straightens up, trying to make the shift as careless as possible, and stifles a sigh. He’s now trapped and has to choose between admitting that he talked to himself, or pretending he didn’t hear the question, which can potentially lead to more nagging, or even – like two days ago when he ignored the summon – to Stark getting involved to scold Loki personally.

“It’s nothing,” he says with a handwave.

“Very well, Sir,” Jarvis says. “I’m here if you change your mind.”

As if Loki could forget.

For as long as he can remember, there was always someone watching him. Heimdallr, Thor, Odin, Thanos, the Other. Tracing his every move and scrutinizing his every step, with just small pieces of privacy Loki managed to carve for himself over the years, with his magic.

Stark called Jarvis his “security system”, and Loki might be more inclined to believe that if it wasn’t what Odin always said about Heimdallr. “The Watcher is there to protect us all,” he would say. “To watch over us and keep us from harm. You have nothing to fear from him as long as you follow the rules.”

And yet, Heimdallr’s words never worked in Loki’s favor, always against him, every infraction – from the smallest blunders to the worst offenses – being reported and punished by Odin, until Loki learned to avoid the Watcher’s gaze altogether. Then, when Loki finally swallowed his pride in a moment of desperation – at the absolute end of his strength, stuck in the dark, cold cell on the Sanctuary – and called out to Heimdallr for help, his call remained unanswered, crushing the last spark of hope he still held, deep in his heart. That night – or day, he had no way to tell – he realized his last connection to Asgard was gone and that his only ways out led through either death or submission.

Despite how it all turned out, he still isn’t certain he made a good choice.

So, Stark might have not lied and Jarvis indeed might have been created to protect someone, but one thing is certain – it’s not Loki. Because it’s never Loki. In the end, he is always on his own and he cannot forget that.

And he's been drowning in the blissful forgetfulness for too long already, so, yesterday, he dedicated some time to building his protective spells back up. He had to start from scratch, for even the most basic enchantments have crumbled and dissipated when Thor placed the shackles on him, or perhaps even earlier, when he was defeated and pushed to the brink of death, and his mind redirected whatever of his energy that was left to keep him alive, against all odds.

He didn’t get very far before he felt the strain creeping in and had to stop, but it was still better than nothing. He focused on the most basic spells – meant to boost his regeneration and resilience, both mental and physical. With that in place, it wouldn’t be that easy for Heimdallr to spot him now, if the Watcher just happened to look in his direction, but it wouldn’t protect him from locating spells – those required more intricate enchantments to be negated and Loki was simply still too exhausted for that. Which changed little – Thor knew where Loki was and what state he was in, it would take but a pinch of intellect to put the two together and simply guess where he is, once they come looking.

He also couldn’t do anything about the cameras, at least for now. Plus, even once he gets there, he won’t be able to keep it up at all times – not only it would be too draining to sustain such a complicated spellwork, but also there’s no way his sudden disappearance from Stark’s surveillance system won’t be noticed, which can potentially mean just as much trouble as getting caught, if it’s something minor.

Like his most recent lapse of judgment, from just a moment ago, that’s now forever stored in Stark’s data repositories.

He reaches his floor and is about to enter his rooms, but then stops with his hand on his door’s handle.

There’s a second door on his level, a mirror image of the one leading to his quarters, and he knows by now the chambers he’s allowed to use take up only a part of the floor, so it's nothing new. What is, is the sudden urge to check what’s behind that other door.

He’d seen it before and he even has a guess as to what it may hide – most likely just another suite, just like the one he occupies – but now he feels drawn to it. There’s the faint tug on his magic going with it, but he isn’t sure if it’s really his senses alerting him to whatever lays beyond or if it’s just his curiosity that triggers it, for it can go both ways and the feeling isn’t overwhelming as it can sometimes get. Just a nudge.

He walks a couple of steps across the hallway and stops.

Don’t be stupid, he scolds himself. Go back to your room and do not draw scrutiny to yourself without need.

It’s not working. He wasn’t explicitly told not to go into rooms that he wasn’t invited into in the tower, he imposed it on himself according to the rules of courtesy and hospitality, and – considering how lenient Stark has been so far – even if it’s forbidden, Loki would be able to smooth things over with the human, using his ignorance as an excuse.

Besides, it’s probably locked anyway.

He pushes down on the handle. There’s a buzz and a red light blinks above the lock, a universal symbol for a warning that requires very little context to be understandable. Loki scoffs at himself and is about to pull his hand away, when the lock buzzes again, more softly, the light changes to green, and the handle moves down under the weight of his arm.

Loki looks around, but there’s still nobody in the hallway, just a camera in the corner, its impassive eye firmly on Loki.

He waits a few heartbeats, but no warning comes, so he pushes the door open.

It takes him but a moment to understand what was tugging at his attention. It is, indeed, a suite, and it simply reeks of Thor, both in the metaphorical sense, and in the literal one – there’re used clothes strewn around the floor and furniture, in a very Thorey manner left wherever they landed. There are also empty bottles and food containers, much like those the meals Stark orders come packaged in, meant to be used once and discarded, which would be inconceivable in Asgard. Unlike the Æsir, mortals don’t seem to be focused on creating things that last.

He walks further into the room and examines the chambers more thoroughly. That childish part of him is whispering viciously in his mind, making him look for the ways the room is better than the one he was given to use, but after a while, he has to admit he cannot find anything obvious. The suites aren’t a perfect mirror image of one another because the level layout is not symmetrical and the furniture is set up in a slightly different way, but it’s just small differences. The view is also different, because the windows face the land, not the sea, but Loki thinks he likes his one better.

Thor would call Loki petty and jealous if he saw him now, and he would probably be right. Loki is aware that it usually changes nothing, that there’s nothing he could do or say to defend his position, but after the ages of…

He shakes his head to disrupt the chain of thought. It’s over. It’s done. He no longer has to compete with Thor – they belong to two different worlds now, the exiled traitor and the golden prince.

And yet, Stark offered Loki the same concessions he had offered to Thor.

Laughter bubbles in Loki’s chest and forces him to keep it from bursting out – that might be even weirder than talking to himself.

He’s never going to understand Midgard and its rules, is he?

He turns to leave, then pauses, and takes another look around, the uneasy feeling growing in his gut. He tries to ignore it, but it doesn’t let go, and only gets stronger when he aims his steps back at the exit once more.

Thor was Stark’s guest, just like Loki is now, and to leave the quarters he had been offered to use in such a state is a disgrace, not only to Thor himself, but to his people as well, and, by extension, to Loki, who was raised based on the same principles. Of course, under normal circumstances, it would be dealt with by either the royal servants, if Thor was traveling with an entourage, or by the host’s house staff – who should then be compensated for the trouble with Thor’s gold, should they be hired workers, not slaves. But Thor came alone, and Stark – according to the man’s own words – has dismissed his servants and hasn’t recalled them back yet, and there were rules for such cases as well – one was either supposed to repay the host for the trouble or clean after oneself. Thor was never a huge proponent of the latter, and – considering how hasty his departure was – it is a safe assumption to say the former didn’t take place, thus leaving an unsettled debt between Stark’s estate and the royal family of Asgard.

Loki is almost certain Stark cares little about that, especially after what happened between him and Thor, but it still irks Loki more than he would be willing to admit.

He sighs, rolls up his sleeves, pulls a hair tie out of his pocket – a small, but quite an ingenuine utensil he found in one of the bags Stark arranged to be delivered for Loki’s convenience – and gets to work.

It won’t be the first time he is cleaning up Thor’s mess, but it might just as well be the last.

The notion doesn’t ring as cheerfully in his mind as he would expect.

---

It takes him almost until noon to get the rooms back into order. It still looks somewhat less than pristine – the carpet needs refreshing. Loki found nothing even resembling a brush that would be used for that in Asgard in the cleaning supply closet and the small automaton, just like the one in his quarters that gave him a scare a while back once it whirred out of its enclosure to clean the floors – didn’t respond to Loki’s attempts to wake it from its slumber. Which, to be fair, boiled down to Loki just randomly pressing the array of unmarked buttons a couple of times.

He drags the trash bags into the chute he discovered in the same supply closet by the elevator and returns to the suite to put the dishes back into the cupboards. He grabs a glass, fills it with water – he was wary to drink straight from the tap at first, considering there’s no rule to keep drinking water in the pipes on all planets, but he didn’t get sick after the first time he tried it, so it must be fine – and takes the last, sizing look around the suite.

There’s a buzz and something moves in Loki’s pocket. It is so sudden and so surprising, that it makes him drop the glass, which he catches just a moment before it smashes onto the floor.

He takes a breath, sets the glass on the table, and fishes the phone out of his pocket. He put it there – has done so every day, because that’s what the humans did with theirs, and promptly forgot about it, and now it is…

It is still vibrating and one look at the screen is enough to tell Loki why – someone is calling him. And that someone is apparently Stark, judging from the name displayed on the screen. Unlike with the automaton, the options are simple and much easier to decode – just two buttons, one green and one red and he has seen enough of the human approach to color-coding to understand which is which.

He still squints at the display for a moment, considering what he should do. Then he realizes there’s only one proper course of action. Stark is not only his host, but also his shieldbrother now, he was the one to gift Loki the device and if he’s calling him now, it means Loki has to answer. He taps the green button and presses the phone to his ear.

“Hey? You there?” sounds Stark’s voice, only slightly distorted by the minuscule speaker.

“Yes.”

Stark laughs. “Good. I wasn’t sure you’d know how to pick up, considering nobody ever showed you how to use a phone.”

“I figured it out,” Loki says, only slightly exasperated with the exchange. He still has no idea why Stark is calling him instead of just summoning him via the intercom, or – like previously – ordering Jarvis to do it.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Stark chuckles. “Anyway, how are you?”

Loki makes a face, exploiting the fact that Stark can’t see him now, then immediately schools himself for the lapse – there’s nothing stopping Stark from using the cameras, even as they speak. “Fine,” he says, then adds, carefully, “Is there a reason why you’re asking?”

“Nah, just making sure. You disappeared this morning before we could talk.”

“I needed to refresh,” Loki lies, gazing down at the clothes he’s wearing, the same ones he wore yesterday and in the morning. If Stark’s indeed watching, he can tell it’s a lie right away. “I can come down in a moment if you have a need of me.”

“No worries,” Stark says cheerfully. “But yeah, it would be great if you could swing by the workshop sometime today. I’ve got a couple of questions you might be able to answer.”

Loki grits his teeth, trying to ignore the sickening feeling the mention of “questions” rouses in his gut, his mind immediately associating interrogation with pain, even though he already knows it isn’t necessary, here, as long as he cooperates. The interview with Fury left everything but Loki’s pride completely unharmed.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he tells Stark.

“Thanks. And no pressure, it’s nothing urgent or anything, so take as much time as you need.”

“Thank you,” Loki says, and Stark laughs again.

He waits for the man to end the call, but it’s still active, so, after a minute consideration, he decides to ask. “Why are you calling me?”

“What? Didn’t I just tell you?”

“Yes, but you could’ve used Jarvis, or the speakers just as well.”

Stark barks out another chuckle, but that one sounds a bit nervous, perhaps. “That’s like… an emergency thing,” he says, and there’s a moment of silence. “Also, I wanted to see if you’d pick up,” the man adds, somewhat apologetically.

Loki sighs.

“You can end the call by tapping the red thingy on your screen,” Stark provides, after another while passes with the connection still going.

“Wouldn’t that be… rude?” Loki asks, because he honestly cannot say. It’s not a usual thing to use long-range communication just for idle conversations like this one. When it’s used for a purpose, there’s usually a canon of vocabulary to use and callsigns indicating the end of transmission.

“I mean, maybe? In a professional, business type of call, or with someone really important like the president of something. But with friends? Nah. Speaking of which, bye!”

Stark ends the call and Loki stands there, staring at the screen, not sure what to make of it, for a good while, before he snaps out of it. Stark told him to “take as much time as he needed”, but that was just a figure of speech and Loki would certainly be required to show up soon. And, since Stark decided to keep his request informal for now, it would be in Loki’s best interest to get there before Stark summons him officially.

He whips around and returns to his rooms, then digs through the bags. If he really is to stay here for longer, he should at least unpack the clothes into the drawers and the walk-in closet that’s hiding next to the bathroom, but that has to wait, so he just grabs the first set of garments he finds and leaves the rest where it was, like he did before.

He pulls off Stark’s clothes. He would have to see to have them washed, because he’s been wearing them for a couple of days. He should probably return them to their owner, too, as much as he doesn’t want to. He isn’t sure why, but wearing Stark’s old shirt – besides the obvious effect it has on the human – makes Loki feel… maybe not necessarily safe, but safer, somehow. As if it validated the protection the man is offering him in some way.

Of course, it would be better to have his armor, but he isn’t fooling himself he’ll ever get it back. The humans took it after his defeat, he was given more than an adequate amount of wardrobe choices to replace it, and he should be rejoicing at the fact that it was the only thing they decided to take from him. It was an insignificant price to pay compared to what they could’ve done to him, considering the gravity of his deeds against the Realm.

And yet, that loss still stings – it was the last personal belonging Thanos allowed him to keep, after Proxima took everything he had when he fell from Asgard and Ebony Maw went through the spells Loki had wrapped around himself, destroying all the connections Loki kept to the pocket dimensions he used for storage and the links he could’ve used for conjuration.

Yes, the Other let Loki change into his Asgardian armor only because the ruse wouldn’t work without it. The mortals needed to believe he was attacking them of his own volition. It wouldn’t work if he appeared dressed in prisoner’s rags, or – as he was kept until that point – naked as the day he was born, covered in lash marks and bruises. But it is still another piece of his old life that’s now gone, one more link connecting him with Asgard that was severed.

Is there anything else left?

---

It’s just a couple of minutes – that seems like the proper time measurement to use in his head, even though he isn’t sure how many exactly a “couple” is in this case – later that he steps out of the shower. He quickly brushes his teeth, combs his hair – still wet, but drying it off with a towel would take too much time and he doesn’t much like the noise the mortal machine he found in the bathroom he guesses is used for the purpose makes – and dresses.

Then he realizes he has no idea where to go.

The workshop is somewhere downstairs, that much Loki understood from the mentions Stark dropped here and there, but there are almost a hundred floors dividing Loki from the street level and checking every single one is simply unfeasible.

Loki quickly goes through the options available to him. He could use a localization charm – it wouldn’t need to be an advanced one, because Stark is somewhere in the building and the old shirt can easily count as the man’s possession, even if it was Loki who was using it lately. But that would lead to questions, and – while he wasn’t forbidden from using magic – it’s obvious the humans don’t like the idea very much, just like every civilization which developed based on technology and not arcane arts.

He could ask Jarvis, and that seems like the most obvious solution, but it’s still weird to talk to a machine and each time he does, he feels like he’s acknowledging he’s being watched constantly. Which he is, but Stark grew irritated the last time Loki pointed that out, so Loki decides the subject is better left untouched.

Which leaves the phone. He finds a way to return the last call rather quickly and then waits, listening to the mechanical signal that must be indicating that the connection is being established.

“Hey, what’s up?” says Stark after a moment passed, clearly amused with something.

“I’m ready.”

“Good for you,” Stark chirps. “Anything else?”

The condescension grinds at Loki’s patience, but he lets it slide. “How do I find you?” he asks instead.

“Oh, that,” Stark chuckles. “Floor fifty-three. Jay will show you in.”

“Thank you.”

“No worries. See you soon?”

“Yes.”

The connection stays active once again, so, taught by his previous experience, Loki ends it, then straightens his clothes and makes his way to the elevator.

It’s a quick ride down, and, as the elevator descends, Loki finds it harder and harder to fight the unstated knot of worry that grows in his stomach. Stark seems to be in good spirits, but that can change and it might, if Loki isn't be able to answer his questions, whatever they may be. Or even does so in an unsatisfactory manner. There’s nothing but Stark’s goodwill that warrants Loki’s position in Stark’s household – he isn’t even sure what position that is, exactly – and now, something is required from him in return.

He was a fool to ever doubt that was what he was always going to end up at. Nobody helps a fallen enemy the way Stark did without expecting to gain something from it. It’s rather obvious that it’s not the same as in the rest of the Nine, where – should he find himself in a similar situation – he would be a hostage, either held in captivity to exchange for the Æsir gold, if his life was worth something, or, if it wasn’t, he would be executed, should he be deemed too dangerous to keep alive, or forced into slavery to pay for his crimes.

At this point, Loki is rather certain this is not the way humans do things, but besides that he still has no idea what to expect, coming from where he is. He has no idea about how such things are done on Midgard, because he never bothered to learn.

He never bothered to learn anything about Midgard, because it was considered a backwater, provincial realm by the Æsir. One that wasn’t worth paying attention to, good for nothing but an occasional hunting trip, at least until Odin forbade it. Since then, the only way to reach Midgard was by slipping Heimdallr’s eye. Which, well, Loki did many times in the past, sometimes alone, sometimes with Thor and his companions in tow, and that’s the only reason he knew mortals have advanced more than an average Æsir was giving them credit for and that they were no longer the primitive beasts, barely more intelligent than domesticated animals that many people in Asgard still considered them to be.

The extent of that progress becomes only more and more apparent now, and the bits and pieces Loki picked up about the planet and its inhabitants during his excursions to the realm seem awfully inadequate, now.

And thus, once more, he’s forced to learn as he goes and can only hope he won’t miss something absolutely crucial.

The elevator stops and the doors slide aside, revealing a hallway. Loki steps out and looks around warily. There’s nothing to indicate which way he should go now.

“Loki, Mr. Stark expects you in the main room. It’s located down the corridor, on the left. I’ll open the door for you,” Jarvis says.

This time, Loki expected it, so he manages not to flinch. He follows the directions, and, sure enough, the double door at the end of the hallway buzzes and swings aside, just as he approaches.

He walks inside and has to stop to properly take in the room, while his senses are being attacked from all directions.

The chamber is sizeable, with a tall ceiling that cuts into the floor above, but even with that, it seems cramped, with various machines he cannot even guess the purpose of, lest name, taking up the space. Some are located in the alcoves along the walls, divided from the main area with panes of glass, some out in the open. Not all seem to be in operation, but there are enough of them that are to create a cacophony of grinding, buzzing, whirring sounds. Along with something that might perhaps be Midgardian music blaring from the speakers, it’s enough to make the fine hair on Loki’s neck stand on end, which isn’t at all helped by the blinking lights and the smell of grease in the air.

There’s a podium in the middle, with clamps sticking out of the raised platform and mechanical arms suspended from the ceiling. The machinery is deactivated, with the immobile limbs hanging slackly, but it doesn’t take much to imagine it waking up to life and it makes up for quite a terrifying sight in Loki’s mind eye.

Loki suppresses a shudder and turns away. He doesn’t want to look at the machine and he doesn’t even want to guess why Stark would need it. Instead, he goes for another take, until his eyes find Stark.

The man is sitting hunched up above a workbench, in one of the niches, facing away from the main area and Loki. He looks completely preoccupied with whatever it is he’s doing and apparently isn’t aware Loki has arrived already.

There’s nothing to gain from keeping Stark unaware, so Loki walks over and stops a few steps away, then, when the man doesn’t acknowledge him, he clears his throat.

Stark straightens up and swivels around on the taboret he’s sitting on. A wide smile blooms on his face. “You’ve made it,” he says – almost yells, to get it heard over the noise – as if Loki had any other choice.

He leaves it without a comment, because it should be obvious that he, in fact, made it.

“So,” Stark carries on, unperturbed by Loki’s lack of reaction. He gestures around. “How do you like it?”

Loki knows there’s one good answer, that he should offer praise to Stark’s ingenuity. It wouldn’t even be that much of a lie. If Stark truly built everything by himself, it’s quite a feat for one man. But Loki finds it hard to find his words with the racket piercing his brain and interrupting every thought before it fully forms.

Stark’s smile fades. “Oh, right.” He reaches to the computer on the workbench and the music cuts off, leaving just an empty ringing in Loki’s ears that slowly fades away. “Sorry. I’m so used to it that I keep on forgetting people don’t have the same tolerance as me.” He clicks on something on the keyboard of the computer again, and the glass pane slides forth from the slit in the wall, closing off the niche from the main area and cutting off the rest of the sounds.

He turns back to Loki. “Better?”

Loki nods, absentmindedly. All his attention is now focused on the item that rests on the workbench, in Loki’s full view, now that Stark moved from where he was sitting.

“This is what I wanted to ask you about,” Stark says and picks up the shackles, seemingly carelessly, to present them to Loki.

Loki folds his hands behind his back and takes a careful step backward, then another, until the glass pane stops his retreat.

Stark frowns, then his eyes grow wide. “Hey, it’s not…” he starts, tosses the shackles back to the workbench, and pinches the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “I want to melt it down, but I have no idea what the freaky magic blocking thingy can do once I try that. So, I decided to ask the expert. As in, you.”

Loki blinks. “You want to destroy the chains? Why?”

“And why not?”

Loki doesn’t answer, because what kind of answer could he even give that Stark doesn’t know already? “What about Fury?”

“What about him?”

Loki glowers, until Stark gives up with a chuckle. He raises his hands in a gesture of placation. “Fury doesn’t know those exist and I would like it to stay that way,” he says. “He might get wrong ideas and those can be harmful. Not only to you with your magical healing factor and what else, but pretty much every living thing he might decide to use the cuffs on. Since, you know, cutting off the energy transformation is not the nicest thing to do.”

Loki stares at Stark, the realization that the man sincerely means what he’s saying slowly unveiling in his mind. Stark is willing to sacrifice the advantage he has to keep Loki – and perhaps others, because what he’s saying is true – out of harm.

“On the other hand, the unknown-to-mankind alloy with mystical properties?” Stark carries on, when he realizes Loki isn’t going to say anything. “That can be useful. And potentially groundbreaking. So I want to run some tests, see what I can do with it, but it’s too dense to scan and it’s still emitting an electromagnetic field and some beta radiation, which I’m rather sure doesn’t come from the properties of the material alone, since it seems to be stable.”

“The enchantment is still in place,” Loki admits. It’s not much of an admission even, Stark has found that out on his own.

“Yeah, I guessed as much,” Stark says. “Why though? I thought you broke the curse.”

“It’s not a curse.”

Stark rolls his eyes. “I mean, I’m not gonna argue with the expert. But the point still stands.”

Loki was barely lucid when they brought forth the Tesseract and was beyond thinking about long-term consequences. He knew he had to get the chains off or he would die and he focused on that. “It was easier to negotiate a release than breaking the spell.”

Stark crooks his head to the side and looks at Loki with suspicion. “Are you telling me you communicated with the cube?”

“Yes. Each Stone has a mind of its own. In a certain meaning of the word, at least.”

“So they are alive?”

“No… At least not in a biological sense. It’s more like… Like your assistant, but significantly more advanced.”

“Jarvis?”

Loki nods.

“An artificial intelligence?”

“No. ‘Artificial’ suggests it was created by someone, while the most prevailing legends say the Stones are just a byproduct of the burst of energy that gave birth to our universe.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t pin the Space Vikings as too interested in science, and here you come, with a big bang theory, right off the bat.”

Loki has only a slight inkling of what Stark is talking about and most of it comes from the context. The name is quite telling though; the Æsir are not the only ones with the uncreative naming habits, apparently. “A theory?”

“I mean, this is what we believe happened, but it’s the scientific method to call everything you don’t have an indisputable proof for ‘a theory’,” Stark says.

Of course, without magic and the ability to peer into the past and study the immaterial evidence it gives those who seek the knowledge, mortals are left only with what they could see with their own eyes. “It’s not something to be believed or not believed. It just happened.”

“Okay… How can you tell for sure though?”

“I’ve seen it.”

“You’ve seen the big bang!?”

“Yes.”

Stark frowns. “Time travel?”

Loki shakes his head. “It’s believed it isn’t possible. I wouldn’t go that far, but many have tried, and no one ever succeeded, as far as I know. Although, you don’t have to travel into the past to see into it. Every particle in the universe has a history and, if you know where to look, you can trace it.”

“With magic.”

“Yes, Stark, with magic.”

Stark looks at Loki with a pout for a while, as if the very notion irreparably ruined his worldview, but gets over it quickly. “By the way, you said something about the Earth’s wizards, during that talk with Fury.”

“The sorcerers' lodge, yes.”

“Fury didn’t seem too surprised to hear that.”

“Why would he? The sorcerers have worked with the human governments many times in the past.”

“So, it’s like, what, a hidden wizarding world or something?”

“No. It’s a guild. As for where they reside – I wouldn’t be able to tell, for I only had occasional dealings with them in the past. There’s a house though, a couple of streets away from here, they use as one of their headquarters.” Loki didn’t think about it before, because it was never brought to his attention, but it makes sense why the sorcerers would hide from the public eye, in a world so averse to arcane arts. Midgard might be even worse than Asgard in that regard. In Asgard, being a magic user, especially a male magic user, meant being ostracized and marked as a weakling who needs to resort to tricks. On Midgard, it might actually pose a danger to one’s wellbeing, even these days.

“Uhm,” Stark hums and scratches his chin. “I think I would’ve noticed if I’ve seen any wizards running around.”

Loki sighs.

“What?”

“It’s a slur, to call a mage or a sorcerer ‘a wizard’, Stark,” Loki explains. Considering the sorcerers apparently are not too keen on revealing their operations to the general population, Stark’s flippancy might be coming from ignorance, not a will to offend.

Stark chuckles. “Okay. So what’s the difference? Between sorcerers, mages and wizards, and the like.”

“A mage is someone who creates their own spells from nothing, crafting the magic in their minds, while sorcerers use artifacts and incantations, as shortcuts. It can be a quicker way and produce great outcomes, but is limited in its use, since someone needs to craft the spells first. And wizards aren’t real.”

“Duly noted. So, which one are you?”

Loki smirks and twists his wrist. The liquid in Stark’s coffee cup transforms into dirt and a single seed. The spell requires but a little pinch of energy, but is still a rather complicated one, so Loki still dedicates all his focus to getting it right. It’s been a while since he had a chance to practice.

The seed sprouts and Loki pulls the particles from the air and the dirt that used to be liquid to build it up.

Stark gasps and stares at the cup with his eyes wide with fascination. The thin trunk forms and flowers bud and bloom, then slowly fall down, disappearing before they touch the tabletop – Loki still needs the matter to use it for the rest. The leaves are next, and one small nub of a fruit swells and grows, forming one small, red apple. The stem snaps and the fruit rolls across the table, until it stops in front of Stark.

The man nudges it with his finger, as if he expected it to be just an illusion – which, of course, would be much easier to do, but isn’t what Loki is going for – then picks it up and studies it closely. He brings it to his lips and shoots Loki a questioning glance.

Loki nods and Stark bites into it, then starts laughing. “It still tastes like coffee,” he says.

Loki shrugs, but can’t help the small smile that makes its way to his lips at Stark’s childlike fascination.

“That’s awesome, not gonna lie, but still not an answer to my question.”

“Have you seen me using incantations or sigils or magic wands?”

“No?”

“Then you have your answer.”

“Okay, I get it,” Stark chuckles and pokes the plant with his finger. “Is it going to stay that way?”

“I assume you’d have to give it some sunlight and some water from time to time.”

Stark touches the leaves one more time, then moves the plant, very carefully, away from his working area. “Is it possible for a human to learn this?”

No, Loki wants to say, but he bites his tongue. All his life he’s been taught the Æsir magic is only for the Æsir, that the other races aren’t developed enough to learn it, but it isn’t true, is it? He’s a Jötunn and yet, he mastered the Æsir arcane arts. “I don’t know.”

“Would you teach me?”

Loki blinks. He didn’t expect that, but should have. He can recognize the same thirst for knowledge he feels himself in Stark, and to have such an uncharted area right before one’s eyes must be an alluring prospect.

“I don’t think I’d make the best teacher. I’ve never taught anyone,” he says, carefully. “Plus it would take a long time and I don’t know if…” He allows the rest of the sentence to dissolve before it leaves his lips. He’s been told the humans don’t like reminders of their mortality and what would follow would be exactly that.

Stark lets out a dejected sigh.

“We can try,” Loki says.

“Really?”

“Yes. You’d have to start with mental exercises. I can show you how it’s done.”

“Can we start now?”

Loki looks around. “I don’t think this is the best… environment. You’d need a silent, peaceful place that encourages focus. And it’s better to start in the morning, so you can dedicate the whole day to it.”

Stark sighs again. “Some other time then,” he says, resigned.

“Some other time,” Loki agrees.

Stark reaches for the shackles again. “So, can I melt those down as-is, or would it be better if the spell was gone?”

“It’s possible that the spell has some sort of protection weaved into it,” Loki says. He would be surprised if it didn’t. “And yes, it can be dangerous.”

“Can you remove it?”

Loki frowns, considering. “I can try,” and circles around the table to sit down across from Stark.

Stark pushes the chains across the tabletop towards Loki, until they are within Loki’s grasp. “Do you need something from me?”

“No, just… I need to focus.”

“Sure thing. I’ll leave you to it. If you needed anything, I’ll be over there.” He gestures at the main room behind the glass division.

Loki nods and Stark leaves, taking the plant with him. Loki watches him carry it to a water distributor in the corner and then place it on the wide windowsill in front of the huge windows. Then – the small smile still tugging his lips up – he gets to work.

Chapter 9: A Walk in the Park

Chapter Text

After Loki’s not-so-subtle hint, Tony left the god to work alone. Not that he didn’t want to just sit there all day and simply watch Loki work his magic – literal goddamned magic – right there, in Tony’s workshop, but he felt he was pushing it as it was, especially after that freakout about the shackles. Which, to be fair, Tony should’ve anticipated. Loki almost fucking died because of them and Asgard’s (or maybe just Thor’s) happy-go-lucky approach to chucking potentially life-threatening devices on people was kinda self-evident.

Now that his usual spot is taken, Tony sets up a temporary workplace in the main area of the workshop. Just to stay close in case anything happens, really. He could’ve used any place that had a screen, a keyboard, and an internet connection. His current task is the first batch of Fury’s homework that he promised to finish as recompense for all the sweeping-under-the-rug Fury did for them, and it’s a software update for SHIELD’s satellite array.

Well, calling it “an update” is pushing it. The code is at least a decade old (and Tony even found some annotations dating as far back as the early nineties) and whoever first wrote it wasn’t that brilliant to begin with. Which made Tony complain vocally when the order first came through, while rubbing his hands in anticipation at the same time. If there’s one thing Tony likes best, it’s a good challenge, but he couldn’t let Fury believe it wasn’t a big deal.

It's been a while since he worked with code on this level – manually finding the blocks of redundant, unoptimized script and replacing it line by line – because having an AI came with its perks. Jarvis has been capable of building software for Tony’s designs since version three point six, which was up for like six or seven years. It usually took just some tweaks to get the finished product, and less and less of it the more Jarvis learned on his own by scrubbing the data repositories on the internet or Tony’s own projects and understood the underlying logic. This code though is too old and written in an outdated programming language and it would get Tony nowhere to just toss it into Jarvis’ processing algorithms and see what comes up. Later, Tony will leave the unrewarding, tedious job of quality testing and debugging to Jay, but for now there’s a bulk of it he needs to do by hand. Which is also far from exciting, but at least there’s something satisfying about it, something that brings Tony back in time, right to his youth.

He seriously picked up his interest in programming when he was sent to the boarding school in the UK – cut away from Howard’s workshop and unlimited resources he could use for tinkering back home, it was the only sustainable outlet for his drive to create.

Tony was usually good at social interactions and was well-liked by all the staff and other people cropping up through Howard’s household, but he didn’t make many friends back there. It was an upper-class establishment, with most boys in the school being sons of wealthy English lords. Remington the Fourth – Tony’s roommate – was an offspring of some far removed offshoot of the royal family, which made Remington seventeen in the line for the throne, which the boy found proper to remind Tony of on every applicable occasion, in between enthusing about rugby, going on hunts with his uncle and calling Tony a nouveau riche or an uncultured Yankee.

So, instead of meddling with his schoolmates, Tony spent long hours hunched over his computer in a quiet dorm room, with Remington the Fourth snoring loudly in the background, and with Howard on the other end of the Atlantic ocean, neither being there to bother Tony while he did what he loved. And, when his college application was approved, he jumped onto Howard’s private jet to fly back to the States without even saying goodbye.

Tony realizes he got lost in the memory and is reading the same line of code for the third time. Which is exactly what happens if he has nothing to occupy the idle part of his brain while he works. That’s why he usually has music blaring at full volume – to take that edge off, to keep that prone to wander part of his mind from straying away and dragging the rest behind. There’s probably a name for that in the smart psychology books, and – as Pepper used to tell him before she realized how futile it was – a way to fix it, but Tony never felt the need. He found a way to make it work, and why fuck with something that wasn’t broken?

Tony chuckles to himself and he gets up to grab himself a new cup of coffee, before the hypocrisy eats him from the inside.

On his way to the kitchenette corner, he steals a peek at Loki’s progress. This turns out rather anticlimactic, because the god still sits in the same spot Tony has left him in. The very same position even – his hands on the shackles, his head down, his eyes closed, his eyebrows furrowed in an expression of utmost focus.

Then he steps closer to the glass and registers more details – the slight shake of Loki’s fingers, the sheen of sweat on his forehead. There might be no visual signs of what he is doing, but it’s obvious that it’s a taxing endeavor.

Still, he waits until Loki breaks the connection, gasps, and sits back, before he steps closer, into the range of the movement sensor, and the glass pane opens.

Loki’s head snaps up and the god stares at Tony, panting slightly.

“How is it going?”

Loki grunts something that comes off as entirely unintelligible, clears his throat, and tries again. “The spell is a complicated one and I have to dismantle it piece by piece.”

“We’re in no rush,” Tony reminds him. “You can finish it later, or tomorrow, or whenever, pretty much.”

“No,” Loki protests, before Tony even finishes the sentence. “I’d like to do it, if it’s the same to you.”

That too, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. Tony himself is anxious to remove the magic-blocking gizmo from the equation, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Loki considers the matter even more urgent.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony says. “But how about a break? Some coffee, something to eat maybe?”

He isn’t that hungry yet, he had a solid breakfast and he’s used to skipping meals while working to make up for it during dinner, but he just realized Loki went back to his room before the food arrived. Considering the god still refuses to even acknowledge Jarvis’ existence unless forced to, it’s a safe assumption to say he hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday, and that was just pizza, because the finery of Tony’s tastes is inversely proportional to the amount of alcohol he consumed prior to that moment.

Loki bestows the shackles with a lasting glare, then nods.

“Great,” Tony exclaims. “Wanna go out?”

Loki frowns, and Tony isn’t sure if it’s because he doesn’t much like the idea or if he doesn’t understand the question.

“We can go to a park and grab something from a food truck, for example. Or find some fancy restaurant. Or just order delivery. But I feel like going outside,” Tony adds. He isn’t too hellbent on the idea, but it might do Loki good to get away from the tower for a while and maybe release some of the pressure before it builds into another “escape attempt”. Tony is comfortable calling it that only in the confines of his own head and even there the emphasis on the quotes is there.

Loki considers it for a while. “A park sounds good.”

“Sure thing. I just need to grab my wallet from upstairs and we can go.”

Loki nods once more, and follows Tony to the elevator.

---

They meet Barton and Romanoff in the penthouse.

“Are you going somewhere?” Romanoff asks, as Tony returns, having retrieved his wallet. Also a hoodie and a pair of sunglasses.

Tony shrugs and allows Loki to answer, who shoots Tony a side-eye and says, “We are going to a park.”

“Can I come?” she asks.

Again, Tony feels like it shouldn’t be his call to make, so he just tips his head in Loki’s direction.

There’s a sliver of hesitation before Loki answers, but it sounds effortless enough. “I don’t see why not, Agent Romanoff.”

She sighs. “It’s Natasha, remember? We talked about it yesterday.”

There’s a faint recollection of that talk, somewhere deep in Tony’s brain – Romanoff getting triggered by Loki calling her “the Widow” a couple of times and going into a long and only partially coherent rant that they should use her name instead.

“I don’t see why not, Natasha,” Loki amends, with a perfect poker face, and she shakes her head and benevolently waves her hand.

“Let’s go then,” she says.

---

It turns out Clint wants to go too, and, as before, Loki agrees, or, rather, doesn’t disagree and Tony can’t tell if it’s because he’s too well-mannered (because, fuck, Loki in his right mind would put Tony’s scary governess to shame with his courteous bows and smooth words) or if he truly wants them to come.

Tony himself would prefer if it was just him and Loki, but he also recognizes how self-serving that sentiment is, so… Yeah, maybe it’s better that Romanoff and Barton are coming along.

“Jay, is A-six fueled?” he asks, as they are walking into an elevator.

“It has approximately two gallons of fuel left, Sir. If I may offer a suggestion, I’d advise picking another vehicle.”

While Tony is racking his brain for what car he owns that can drive four people and won’t draw too much attention, Loki crooks his head and looks at Tony through half-closed eyelids. “Is it far?”

“What is?”

“The park.”

“No… It’s like, a mile, or something like that.”

“Can’t we just walk, then?”

Tony laughs, then realizes Loki is actually serious. Then he realizes it’s not as ridiculous an idea as it may seem. He didn't want to go on foot, because Loki is still recovering and Tony in general avoids walking the streets as much as he can, because walking the streets means meeting people and the publicity that comes with it. But it seems that Loki’s state has been steadily improving and he looks better and better every day, so some exercise might do him good. And they will end in the gossip section of tomorrow’s newspapers anyway.

“Yeah, sure, we can walk.”

---

They do walk.

Tony pulls on his hood and dons his sunglasses as soon as they enter the lobby, which probably isn’t going to help much, now that both Romanoff and Barton are with them. While the assassin duo’s faces are not as recognizable as his, and now Loki’s – the whole conference was widely televised and Loki’s mug was featured on many covers already and is going to show up on many more, which is just one of the inevitable consequences of being on the Avengers team – they are still not completely unknown. Three of “Earth’s mightiest heroes” plus a hooded, sunglassed figure in the shape and size of Tony Stark is too much of a coincidence for them to remain anonymous.

Loki follows suit and pulls his glasses out from where he kept them in his pocket.

“You don’t have to do that,” Tony offers.

Loki frowns, his hands frozen mid-gesture, and Tony decides, right then and there, that it might be the most telling expression he has ever seen in his life.

“Disguising yourself,” Tony clarifies.

It apparently is not that good of clarification, for Loki’s frown only deepens. “No, I…” he starts and proceeds to put the glasses on anyway. “It helps.”

Tony’s about to utter some quip about how he wouldn’t expect alien gods to have weak eyesight, when it all snaps into place, solving not one, but two mysteries in one swing.

There was a particular paragraph, in the last doctor’s report on Loki, from before the god was forced to move from the med bay to the penthouse (after which he vehemently refused any further examinations). It outlined the unusual reactions the infirmary staff recorded in Loki’s retinas – much higher than human sensitivity to light and abnormal reactions to ultraviolet wavelengths. They weren’t sure if it was a bug or a feature of Loki’s physiology, but – along with Loki’s horrifying testimony – it suddenly makes an awful lot of sense. Tony missed it before, but Jarvis apparently did not, and – when Tony tasked him with ordering “everything Loki might need” – he followed with getting him eyeglasses with an active filter. Then made sure the blinds remained open in the areas where Loki was spending time, to allow him to get used to the sunlight again in a controlled environment.

So Tony saves the stupid comment about aliens and eyesight and just mutters a subdued, “Huh.” Then decides to never mention the subject again.

---

At first, Loki didn’t like the idea of leaving the tower, or, more precisely, leaving his task unfinished. Not only it pushed the prospect of neutralizing the threat the shackles posed forth, it also didn’t align with Loki’s usual work ethics, under which the challenge at hand came before leisure, no exceptions.

He quickly warms up to the idea though. The weather is nice, the late spring sun is high in the sky and the slight breeze is chasing away some of the unpleasant smells of the city, the inevitable effect of millions of people living close together. It’s still noticeable and it takes Loki a while to get used to it, but it’s not nearly as bad as in some other crowded places Loki has visited in the past. Like the slums of Hala. Or Knowhere. Oh, especially Knowhere. While it’s a vivid place teeming with activity, it reeks, with the heavy stink – of unwashed bodies, old grease from the food stalls, poor sewage system, and ages-worth of accumulated trash – hanging in the air and clinging to everything. Loki could still smell it even after returning home, scrubbing himself clean and changing his clothes, as if it penetrated his skin and left residue in his lungs.

And that fades in comparison with the stench of the Sanctuary. It was the crown of Thanos’ fleet for centuries – after, Loki guesses, the Mad Titan “liberated” it from some unfortunate planet he sacked – and never really bothered to make repairs or upgrades, making the ship a barely livable environment, not only for the prisoners, but everyone on board. No wonder the Order yearned for battle so fiercely, if that meant leaving the ship for a while…

Next to Loki, Stark sways from side to side, in a movement that seems only partially purposeful, and nudges Loki with his elbow. “Are you still with us?” he asks and Loki offers him a terse nod. He lost the track of what Stark was saying and the man must’ve noticed.

“I thought you’re capable of simple observation of your surroundings, Stark. My physical presence shouldn’t be that hard to confirm,” he says.

Stark doesn’t go on to explain this was just a figure of speech this time, just rolls his eyes, looks back at the… Natasha and Clint – who are walking a few steps behind because the sidewalk isn’t wide enough for all of them to walk side by side – and returns to explaining how much of a marvel of engineering the building they passed is.

As much as Loki isn’t going to say it out loud, he does find it impressive. Not just that particular building – it doesn’t look that different from the other buildings by the street they are walking down – but modern Midgardian architecture in general. In parts, it’s of course dictated by the sheer need that’s forcing the mortal cities to grow up when they run out of space, but there’s also certain valiance in it. To construct such structures, bold towers of metal and glass that scratch the sky, all without a pinch of magic, speaks volumes about human ingenuity.

The line of buildings on the other side of the street gives way to a wall of greenery, which must be the park Stark was talking about. They don’t cross, neither immediately – that seems like an unwise idea with the constant stream of cars veering down the street – nor when they reach the next crossroads that offers safe passage for pedestrians, guarded by the changing road lights. Loki doesn’t question it. The park looks sizeable, stretching as far as he can see on the left side of the avenue, and there might be a certain area of it Stark wants to reach.

They reach a gap between two high buildings and Stark glances at it and falls silent, turning his head away, which instantly makes Loki’s curiosity pique.

At first, it looks just like an empty space, but upon further inspection, there’s a façade of a two – or maybe three, it’s hard to tell – story building hiding behind the overgrown bushes that shield it from the passerby’s eyes. The walls have that washed-out look that suggests they’ve been exposed to the weather for a while, with paint that lost all the color. The windows are dark with a layer of dust that gathered on them. There’s a heavy, iron gate barring the entrance from the street and it’s been locked shut with a thick chain and a lock, both showing signs of rust.

It's a peculiar sight, as if a piece of the past was wedged between two modern buildings. The people who pass it don’t even look in its direction, as if it was wiped from their consciousness altogether. He would think there was some sort of spell cast on the structure even, but – even if it was a sorcerer’s spell – he would’ve sensed it, and there seemed to be nothing.

“What about this one?” Loki asks.

Stark grunts something, shrugs, and doesn’t answer.

“That eyesore here?” calls Natasha from behind, “That’s Stark’s mansion.”

Loki stops and squints at the structure, not entirely sure what to think of it. Stark’s tower is located just a short walk away from where they are, and – according to what Loki learned from Barton and Stark himself – it has only recently been built, and it required Stark to obtain the building that occupied the site before and knock it down partially, before he could proceed with the construction. It doesn’t take an expert on Midgardian structures to realize how complicated – and expensive – of an endeavor that must’ve been. Loki didn’t question it at first, considering this was exactly what wealthy people on all Realms – and all planets outside of the Nine – did, and it was nothing but an assertion of dominance over those less fortunate. That theory started to crumble when he got to know Stark a little better, and completely collapsed right now. Stark was a problem solver, someone who looked for the simplest solution to any challenge he faced. And yet he ignored the property he already owned, which – while obviously neglected – wasn’t derelict and would be either serviceable after renovations, or at least offer a good building site for his more impressive tower once knocked down.

Stark stops a couple of steps away, turns back to Loki, hangs his shoulders in resignation, then walks back.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s my father’s estate.”

Loki takes a moment to think up a good way to ask a follow-up question, but doesn’t get a chance.

“He’s dead. Both of my parents are,” Stark carries on, his voice numb and seemingly devoid of emotion. “Have been for two decades then some. So, yeah, it’s mine now, at least on paper. I wanted to give it away to the city, so they could make it into a museum or a library or something, but I apparently can’t. There’s some sort of bureaucratic mess-up even Pepper couldn’t get to the bottom of, since Howard apparently was given the estate by Truman himself for his services during World War Two, and it can’t be reclaimed by the government if there are any surviving heirs.”

Neither Natasha, nor Clint appear surprised by the revelation, so it must be common knowledge among the humans.

“Why not do something with it?” Loki asks.

Stark shrugs once more and starts walking again. Loki runs up then matches strides with the human, then stares at him, until, a few moments later, Stark yields.

“I was living in Boston, doing my post-grad at MIT, when they died,” he says. “But I was here for the winter break that day. So, when I got the news, I just packed my bags and left.”

“Why?”

Stark starts to roll his shoulders and changes his mind halfway through the gesture. “Icouldn’t stand it. All those people who knew my parents coming to offer their condolences… All this stuff, their personal belongings, left there as if they were coming back any minute, no matter which way I looked. So I left. And never came back. Jarvis – the old, proper Jarvis, my father’s butler – had cleaned it up, handed over Howard’s unfinished projects to SHIELD and sealed the estate. It’s been like this since then, slowly falling into ruin. I can’t even legally have it knocked down, because it’s a historical landmark or something.”

On the surface, it still makes little sense, but then again, it does. Stark left his old life, the one he had lost, behind himself and moved on.

Maybe that’s why he’s so dedicated to helping Loki, now?

Loki nods, accepting the answer, and doesn’t push the subject any further. For some time, Stark remains silent and thoughtful, but then shrugs it off and hits into another lengthy tirade about what he’s going to do with the Dwarven metal once Loki cracks the spell.

Loki does his best to listen – it’s not an uninteresting subject by any measure – but his mind keeps on coming back to the abandoned building. The ghostly reminder of Stark’s old life, hollowed out and deserted. Nothing worth coming back to.

Just like Loki’s life in Asgard.

No matter how many lies he tells himself, there’s still a part of him that yearns to go back, to turn back time and return to how it used to be.

But there’s nothing waiting for him there. Not as it is, and not in this dream version of reality he tries to create. Even if Odin wanted Loki back – as a son, and not as a prisoner – even if Loki could get the All-Father’s forgiveness somehow, it would mean returning to the very same existence that drove him insane. A step back into that shadow of Thor’s greatness that fell on him, no matter where he went, that itched and pinched and pushed him to desperation. It would mean returning to a place where people barely tolerated his presence, where his every word was questioned, where he was silenced, ignored, and put in line.

Why would he even want that?

Any answer he has to that rings empty in his head, before it fades away, leaving him with nothing

---

They order their food from a parked vehicle. It doesn’t look like a well-maintained or the cleanest establishment, but the smell is alluring, so Loki doesn’t bother to protest, just accepts his hot-dog – with a mix of condiments he chose at random, because none of the names meant much to him, even filtered through All-Speak – and an oversized cup with soda. Which, as he already learned before, is an artificially carbonated drink with a false fruity flavor, that – to his slight alarm – doesn’t taste anywhere as disgusting as the description might suggest. It’s better than coffee, and that was the only other available option.

Loki files it as another mortal curiosity and doesn’t try to figure it out further, despite how baffling it truly is. Humans go through all the trouble of getting a perfectly drinkable water directly in their abodes (the curiosity won and he used the internet in his phone to find how it was done, thus learning about the complicated system of water towers and pumps and pressure valves they built), then dedicate a lot of effort to not use it.

They sit down on a bench at first, but then Natasha notices Loki’s stare – at a group of adolescents who has foregone the sitting options altogether and were lounging on a blanket spread on the grass – and she drags them to sit on the ground, under a sprawling tree. Stark fusses about it for a while, but it’s obvious he isn’t entirely serious, so his arguments remain ignored.

Loki lies back on the grass and folds one arm under his head, squinting at the rays of sun that seep through the canopy above his head. It looks similar to a mebore tree, but Loki thinks it’s not that – the leaves have a slightly different shape. Perhaps the two species share a common ancestor, or the Asgardian version was cultivated from samples the Æsir of old gathered on Midgard, as was the case with many plants and animals on Asgard?

His first instinct is to make a mental note to check it in the library later.

He stifles a sigh and takes a bite of his hot-dog. It isn’t bad – it’s warm and the spicy sauce covers the taste of highly processed meat the humans seem to be fond of – but very unlike the food he is used to.

If there’s even such a thing anymore. The long period of deprivation in Thanos’ cells taught him to cherish every single scrap of sustenance he’s being given and that mindset still lurks somewhere in the corners of his mind, no matter how hard he fights it.

“Want some more?” Stark asks, the moment Loki finishes his portion. The man never said a thing, but one or two days into Loki’s stay on Midgard Stark realized Loki needed more food than the others to sustain himself and his delivery orders got changed accordingly. Loki appreciates the thought, but, since the man never commented on it, he didn’t comment on it either, keeping the arrangement unspoken.

Loki nods, and is about to say he can get it himself, then quickly bites his tongue. He can’t, because he has nothing to pay with. It doesn’t matter that much when he’s back in the tower, since Stark pays for everything and – despite how that distrusting, vicious voice in Loki’s mind tries to twist it around – it’s hard to imagine it would be much of an issue for the man, considering he brushed off Loki’s expressions of gratitude for much more lavish gifts. But out here, away from the safety of Stark’s home and all the provisions that come with it, Loki has nothing. He doesn’t even own the clothes he’s been given to wear, not truly.

“What’s up?” Natasha asks, disturbing the procession of Loki’s thoughts.

“How do you get money?” Loki says then belatedly claps his mouth shut, not entirely able to believe he just said it out loud.

Natasha chuckles.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be working for SHIELD,” Clint says, and it sounds a little too bitter to be only a joke.

“What are we laughing about?” Stark asks, hands Loki his hot-dog, and sits back down.

“Loki wants to know how to earn money,” Natasha conveys and Loki feels his cheeks start to burn from embarrassment. And she only makes it sound worse than it really is. Loki understands the concept of having a job and being compensated for one’s work – it’s not, by far, an idea exclusive to Midgard – and it isn’t what his trepidations are about. What could possibly his profession be, here? He doesn’t know the first thing about the Realm, he doesn’t know the rules, or the laws, he doesn’t know his way around the human machinery, including cars, or even basic things like the goddamned cleaning automaton in his rooms or the coffee machine. And yes, he’s learning, but there’s still so much he’s yet to discover that – he imagines – would be required even from the lowliest of laborers. Which, by itself, isn’t that tantalizing of a vision.

For a change, Stark doesn’t laugh, just crooks his head and looks at Loki for a while. “What do you need money for?”

“Nothing in particular,” Loki says, because it’s the only proper answer. To mention he would like to have any sort of independence – having an option to feed himself, or have his own place to live, his own anything, after so long of going without it – would be an offense to Stark and his generosity. “It seems like a good thing to have.”

“You bet,” Clint supplies, and takes a sip of his drink, slurping loudly.

Loki can sense the proposition before Stark says it.

“If you need anything, just ask,” Stark offers.

The man is entirely missing the point, or – more likely – pretending not to notice it, because he is too smart to be this oblivious. Or maybe he has lived the life of luxury for too long, just like Loki had, once upon a time.

“Thank you,” Loki says. “That won’t be necessary.”

“You could ask Fury to hire you. Like, now you’re an Avenger and all, it would be only fair if they paid you for your services,” Clint says. “Me and Nat are both getting paid, even right now, which is nice, not going to lie.”

Natasha elbows him in the ribs and offers Loki a pleasant smile. “He’s right,” she says, “but we’re both SHIELD employees, even before, and the Avengers thing is like… a side gig, that Fury leads and has authorized us to join. So you’d have to enroll into SHIELD first, and that’s a whole procedure. Assuming Fury agrees, of course, but I wouldn’t worry about it too much, he already pretty much admitted how desperate he was to recruit you, and that would be right up his alley.”

“What kind of procedure?” Loki asks.

Natasha tells him. About the tests, the orientation periods, the boot camp.

Somewhere halfway through, Stark wanders off and comes back with ice-cream for each of them, which Loki likes a lot better than hot-dogs, and – when he tells the man that – Stark beams at him like a child who just got gifted their first weapon by their father.

“One thing I’m not sure about is the citizenship status,” Natasha says, then adds, seeing Loki’s confused stare, “The paper trail that allows you to legally reside in the States – or any other country, basically – permanently. You don’t necessarily need it to work, but I imagine the stuck-ups from HR are going to need something to type into their spreadsheets.”

It only deepens Loki’s confusion. “You can’t just live wherever you like?”

It’s just so… absurd. The very notion of “countries” isn’t something that Loki understands on an instinctive level, but it makes some sort of twisted sense, at the very least. With so many people, and so many different languages and distinctive cultures on Midgard, it isn’t hard to imagine why certain groups would form, or how they would claim particular territories – like Vanaheimr’s tribes, or Alfheimr’s provinces – to stand unified under a common goal that’s easier to achieve as a collective. But to restrict free folk’s ability to travel or to look for a better life somewhere else just because they were born in one of the groups and not the other – seems insane.

“Well, kind of?” Natasha says. “You can move countries if you want. Even permanently. I did. But there’s some bureaucracy behind it and it’s easier in some places than it is in others.”

Loki accepts the explanation, even though it doesn’t exhaust the topic. It’s still enough for him to have a basis to build upon – now he knows what to search for.

Stark’s phone rings and he picks it up. “Hi, Pep.” There’s a pause, when the voice on the other side – Pepper – says something, too low and too distorted for the meaning to reach Loki. “We just popped out to grab something to eat and I lost the track of time. We’ll be heading back shortly.” Another pause. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll make it up for you, I promise.”

The call ends and Stark flashes an apologetic smile. “I forgot about another date,” he says. “So, kids, the break is over, time to go home.”

“I have no idea how Pepper’s putting up with you,” Natasha teases, and heaves herself up.

“Me neither,” Stark says, stands up and extends his hand to Loki.

Loki grabs it and pulls himself back to his feet. Then they head home.

---

They are stopped when they leave the park, by a group of young girls. Loki isn’t an expert in judging mortals’ ages, but they look like they are in that weird, transitory stage between childhood and adulthood, which would make them around twenty if they were Æsir.

Loki is wary at first, but it passes, because the others don’t seem too concerned.

Each of them is asked for a “selfie” and an “autograph”, which turns out to be a photograph captured with one’s phone and a signature on a piece of paper, torn from one of the girl’s notebooks, respectively.

Loki hesitates when he’s presented with the paper and a pen – it’s pink, with blue shapes of what could possibly be stars printed on it and quite likely the weirdest writing utensil Loki has ever seen in his life – before signing. Should he use his real signature, or the transcription to English?

He quickly decides it doesn’t really matter and draws a name rune, which makes the girls squeal in delight for some reason.

Stark quickly draws attention back to himself, by pulling out his own phone and saying something about “posting” and “his Instagram”, which must be a good thing, because it makes the girls even more enthusiastic.

“You get used to it after a while,” Stark says, after they are left alone again, as if the experience was something unpleasant and unwelcome.

Loki nods, pretending he knows what Stark means. Perhaps Stark never experienced people around him having nothing but sideways glances and scowls for him, wherever he went. Or perhaps it truly gets tiring and irksome after a while.

For now though, Loki allows himself to bask in it.

---

There’s just one more stop, in a bakery, where Stark purchases an “apology bagel” for Pepper. He also gets a cinnamon roll for Loki, because “you liked it the last time, right?” which, well, Loki did, so he accepts it with a courteous bow, even though it makes him feel singled out and threated as a child.

Natasha said she didn’t want anything before, but now she steals half of it and stuffs it in her mouth before Loki can even react, then starts laughing.

He has no frame of reference to tell him how to respond to such a peculiar behavior, so he just smiles at her and eats the remaining half of the cinnamon roll. It’s just as good as the last time.

Maybe even better.

---

“I’ve gotta go out for a while,” Stark says, when they arrive back in the penthouse, “but feel free to go to the workshop on your own. If you want to, because as I said, there’s no time pressure.”

“Thank you. I will,” Loki says.

“Jay, grant Loki full access to the workshop level.”

“Certainly, Sir. Will there be anything else?”

“Make sure Dummy-E doesn’t spray him with foam. Unless he sets himself on fire,” Stark adds, and it sounds somewhat as a joke, but not fully, prompting Loki to wonder what exactly led to this particular thought floating to Stark’s brain. “Is that even something that can happen with magic?”

Loki answers with just a noncommittal shrug. Yes, it’s something that can happen and one of the first things every mage learns is how to put the flames out if it does. But it won’t, because Loki knows what he’s doing.

Stark rolls his eyes and trudges out of the room, in the direction of his chambers, leaving Loki alone in the penthouse.

Loki stands there for a while, trying to process what just occurred, gives up, and heads for the elevator.

---

It’s the dead of the night when he’s finally done.

The last part of the spell gives way, sending a wave of energy through the air of the room, that raises the hair on Loki’s arms and neck and tickles his nose, before dissipating.

He lets out a relieved breath, tosses the shackles aside and collapses onto the desktop in front of him, his arms over his head.

He was trying to limit his use of magic to energy-efficient, simple spells and enchantments, that’s why it took so long to take the hex apart, while it would take but a heartbeat to brute force it by simply overcharging it with power. That would be extremely dangerous – even potentially fatal – if done with someone wearing the shackles, but in this case, the risk wasn’t there, and he didn’t do it simply because he didn’t want to leave himself vulnerable once more.

And yet, the efforts still left him drained, both mentally and physically. It wasn’t past the point of magical strain though, so he should be able to regenerate what he’s lost with a good meal and a good night of sleep.

Which doesn’t change the fact that he now feels he’s going to crumble down to the floor if he tries to take one step.

It’s hard to fight the creeping exhaustion, so he closes his eyes, just for a moment–

“Sir,” sounds Jarvis’ voice, silent since he welcomed Loki in the workshop when he first arrived. “You’re going to be more comfortable on the couch.”

Loki wants to protest, but it comes out as an unintelligible mumble, his brain already half-asleep. Yes, sleeping bent over a table isn’t the most agreeable position to rest, but it’s also far from the worst position he had ever slept in. Besides, why does the assistant even care?

“Should I fetch someone to assist you, Sir?” Jarvis presses on.

Loki doesn’t try to voice opposition this time, just minces a curse and pushes himself off the table with an ultimate effort, then drags his feet to the couch in the corner and collapses on it.

It is, in fact, more comfortable than the tabletop.

When, a moment later, a series of squeaking and whirring noises is heard and an automaton Loki hasn’t seen before rolls into the room, a blanket in its extended claw, Loki doesn’t question the offering, just accepts it, pulls the cover over his head and lets the alluring darkness under his closed eyelids drag him under.

He’s asleep in heartbeats.

Chapter 10: The New Day

Chapter Text

Tony’s eight am alarm got silenced, just like the one for eight-fifteen. The one he set for half-past-eight he just slept through, but when the nine o’clock one wails – with a sound of an air siren – Tony grudgingly kicks his sheets aside and crawls out of bed.

Not that he wants to, far from it, but he has work to do that he has been slacking off at doing for way too long already. Not only has Fury’s request upgraded from urgent to critical somewhere in the last day or so, but Tony also needs to finally start on his armor. After the destruction of Mark Four, his only functional suit is Mark Five, which has its quirks. Since neither Mark Six nor Seven is salvageable, he needs a new one. Sure, he could just make a copy of Mark Seven, but, even though the bulk of work can be done automatically, there is still some finetuning that requires his involvement. There are also some things he has to improve about it – the flight stabilizers need better cooling, and the backside plates need a redesign because the current setup is prone to jamming. It also needs a signal booster, in case that thing with the portal happened again, and to put the armor together just to take it apart a few days later would be a waste, of both time and the seven million dollars worth of rare materials it requires. It isn’t even an issue of cost – although it would make Pepper raise an eyebrow once she went through Tony’s monthly spending – but also availability. Some resources he uses come only from one supplier and require orders months in advance and no matter how big of a cheque Tony is waving at the distributor’s face, he can’t make it faster.

He’s been pushing it forth for a couple of days, but the nagging thought that he’s leaving not only himself but all the people who depend on him for protection vulnerable in case of another attack, finally won. Thus, Tony drags himself to the bathroom, takes a quick shower, throws on some t-shirt and jeans that look clean enough and heads for the workshop.

It’s been a while since he was up this early without some proper emergency going on. The life of a “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist” sure has its perks, and one of them is not having to conform to the traditional daily cycles. Tony met many wealthy, successful people who just wouldn’t shut up about their own method, and how it’s better than everyone else’s and the key to success (and not the inherited wealth or analytic talents or whatever else that truly made them successful and wealthy). Some would wake up at the break of the dawn, or get their entire sleep via power naps, or only meditate instead of sleeping.

And Tony… Well, Tony was always a night owl. His brain functions the best in the evenings, when the day’s commotion already winds down and there is nobody to pester him with calls and emails.

It was hard to manage when he was still the CEO of Stark Industries – even though he enjoyed a sizable amount of freedom as the main shareholder, there were still some torturous, nine-in-the-morning board meetings that he simply couldn’t just skip. Then he offloaded all that responsibility onto Pepper.

His intentions were good, but, in hindsight, it might be one of Tony’s biggest regrets, and there’s a tight competition for that. Not because she wasn’t fit for the role – quite to the contrary, she was doing the job better than Tony ever could and he knew that was going to happen even before he barged into her office that day – but the way he did it, leaving her no other choice but to accept. He just shrugged it off and moved on, leaving her to clean up his mess, like always.

They had their arguments and their little fights and it did, on occasion, result in rubbing old mistakes in. Never this though.

But Tony knew. And Pepper knew Tony better than anyone in this world, so she knew he knew. That’s why she never said it out loud, and probably never will, because she’s too kind for that.

Just like she never complains, not truly, that he does what he does. Yes, she’s worried and she can sometimes react emotionally, but all she ever has to tell him is to be careful, not to stop. She knows how important it is. And Tony has to make sure he keeps his promise and keeps her – and everyone else – safe.

---

He steps into the workshop and immediately realizes it’s not right. He stops right past the main gate and props his hands on his hips. “Jarvis?”

“How may I be of service, Sir?” Jarvis asks, at maybe thirty percent of the regular volume, and Tony quickly starts to suspect something is off about the sound system.

“Where’s my music?” he demands, while running the troubleshooting steps in his head. It’s not the wiring or the speakers themselves, because the sound still works, so it must be something on the software side.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but Loki is asleep in bay six. I didn’t want to wake him,” Jay says. “Are you sure you want me to put the playlist on?”

Tony shakes his head then tiptoes to take a peek. Not because he’s curious – okay, that too – but he has a suspicion it’s already too late and that he already ruined it, barging in as he did, considering how twitchy Loki is and how violent his reactions can sometimes be to the slightest noises.

Apparently, this time the rule didn’t apply, and he finds the god asleep on the couch, Dummy-E proudly warding his side. The little robot’s processing unit is not nearly as advanced as Jarvis’ and he is the only machine in the building that Jay cannot control directly, but he still has some simple self-learning algorithms. And if those taught him to be nice to Loki, well, Tony cannot blame him.

He shakes his head and retraces his steps back to the exit, just as carefully, then stops again as his gaze rests on the plant he left on the windowsill yesterday. His own, private, one-of-a-kind magical plant.

“Come on,” he whispers as he picks it up, “let’s find you some nicer place to live.”

---

“Do you want to tell me something?” Pepper asks, just as Tony is done setting the plant in a more proper spot: in her office, among other potted plants she keeps there.

“It’s a miniature apple tree,” Tony says.

“Okay…”

“I want it to be safe, so I’m going to leave it with the most responsible person in this building,” he says.

“Tony, have you been drinking? At nine in the morning?”

“No, why?”

She narrows her eyes. “Really.”

Tony chortles and raises his hands in surrender, then claps onto the guest’s seat in front of Pepper’s desk. “It’s a magical plant. And I don’t mean the kind of magical plants we all know from college days, but the actual kind. Loki grew it, with magic. He took my half-full coffee cup and created this – a living, complex organism, just by waving his fingers.”

She is still watching Tony closely, now with growing disbelief.

“Well, I’m pretty sure something else went into that as well, but that’s how it looked from my perspective. And no, don’t ask me how, because I have no clue. We can barely synthesize nucleic acids and grow synthetic bacteria in the labs and he just storms in and does this, then acts like it’s no big deal.”

“Are you sure this is not… dangerous?” she asks then eyes the plans suspiciously.

Tony shakes his head. “No. Jarvis grew concerned and scanned it, then took a sample and ran a DNA analysis. And it’s just a regular, domestic apple tree. Absolutely nothing wrong with it.”

“This is… extraordinary,” she says.

“I know, right?”

She looks at the little tree for a while longer, her eyebrows drawn in consideration. “It deserves a nicer pot, at least,” she judges.

---

Tony stays in the office. Not Pepper’s, but his own, divided from Pepper’s by a series of glass panes that can either be fully transparent, allowing them to share one, visually uninterrupted space, or turned into frosted glass, like they are now.

Tony’s office is not as big, and is located along one of the walls and not in the corner, but Tony can’t be jealous about it. First, he picked it himself. Also, it’s the second time he’s even here – and the first was when they were setting the whole level up, a couple of weeks ago.

He doesn’t even keep any official position at the company. It’s still his building though, with his name on the property deeds, and Stark Industries is officially only renting the lower floors, at a very competitive rate of zero dollars per month, so he left himself an option, just in case.

It's most likely on the list of grievances of some of the board members. The whole lot of it. Tony retaining the ownership of the building, him being around, and – as the rumors say – backseat driving the company using Pepper as a proxy, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Possibly even the office.

Tony doesn’t care. He retains the controlling interest in SI, now even more of it than before – after using the drop in stock price to buy back a further fourteen percent and obtaining Obadiah’s ten, using the pre-emption right Howard had baked into Stane’s partnership contract – and is way beyond using go-betweens to administer his votes. It might be tedious, but he isn’t of the sort of people who do the same mistake twice, and it was Tony's own dual-class stock’s voting rights that Obadiah used to lock him out that day.

The board members usually have a lot to say about Tony’s decisions. Starting with that “highly controversial” call to drop weapons manufacturing overnight, which still resonates in the business circles with the phrase “to pull a Stark” used for the most insane maneuvers, every piece of fallout from that – keeping the employees and slowly remodeling the production lines for new products instead of cutting the loses short, the shift to the private consumer market. The whole operation cost billions and knocked Tony’s fortune from its place in the top ten in the world to somewhere in the low fifties or sixties.

That too they would often bring up, as if it was some ultimate goal in itself to have more money than everybody else.

Tony though… he simply doesn’t see the allure. Yes, he appreciates the life of luxury and the freedom that comes from being able to buy pretty much anything he desires, but it’s just means to an end, nothing else. He always felt that way, even if he hadn’t formulated that into a coherent thought before those fateful months he’d spent in the cave. Suddenly, all his wealth meant nothing, and that notion – while harrowing – made him realize how little good it ever did for him beyond providing him with distractions.

Now, it’s just a way to pay for much more important things, and that’s the only reason he hasn’t yet walked out and ditched it all, leaving the talking heads in the boardroom to deal with the fallout. That’s why he still gets into discussions and spends time working on new commercial projects.

Yes, SI, just like all the other tech companies, has entire legions of engineers working on new designs, improving existing products and manufacturing optimization. But every new piece of merchandise that hits the market with Tony’s last name printed on it carries some sort of personal touch, some piece of design he contributed to it. Like the state-of-the-art artificial assistant in SI’s smartphones and computers – based on the algorithms Tony’s written to create Jay, that’s capable of learning its owner's character, behavior, and mannerisms to respond better or create messages and emails that sound indistinguishable from those written by a human – or the modified version of his arc reactor Tony created for the joint venture to build the first electric car that wouldn’t require charging. And if that sells – it’s only for the best.

The computer finishes setting up – it’s the first time it’s been turned on – and displays a welcome screen. Tony tilts the chair forward and runs his fingers on the keyboard, bringing up Fury’s code.

“Okay,” Tony mutters to himself, “let’s get some shit done.”

---

There’s a whisper of footsteps, and, before Loki’s brain turns back on and into a fully operative state, also a hand on his shoulder, followed by a quiet question.

“Loki?” Stark says and the hand moves, shaking Loki’s arm, ever so slightly.

Loki realizes what’s going on in an instant. He’d fallen asleep in Stark’s workshop and hadn’t woken up in time.

Damn.

He springs up into a sitting position.

Stark pulls his hand away quickly and stumbles back half a step, his arms raised, as if he was facing a wild animal and wanted to placate it, while keeping a safe distance not to get bitten. “Hey, it’s all right, I just started to grow a little worried.”

The man sounds wary too, and Loki’s heart does an unpleasant jolt at the realization. No matter what Stark says, he still sees Loki as a threat. Something to be feared.

Loki sighs and hides his face in his palms. “I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“For what?”

He lowers his hands and looks at Stark. The questioning, uncertain expression on the human’s face looks believable enough, and Loki is momentarily tempted to just take it for what it appears to be.

But how could he? Deep down, he knew that it couldn’t be true from the very start, that this slim thread of understanding between him and Stark couldn’t be genuine, just another lie, another way to control him. He shouldn’t be surprised by that, he should be surprised it took that long for the mortal to let the lie slip instead.

Calling Stark out on the deception would be untoward though, so Loki just shrugs the question off, then asks one of his own. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. I didn’t mean to wake you, it looked like you needed to sleep whatever it was that you were doing off, but it’s eight pm and Jay’s been telling me it was a bit past four when you fell asleep, so… yeah. I came over to check on you.”

Loki blinks and takes another look around. The sun was just starting to rise when he finished battling the spell and collapsed to sleep, flopping down like a wilting flower.

It’s now setting, and the workshop is painted with shades of orange and gold that filter through the windows.

It isn’t that unusual – the body needs to recover after a magical strain and there were occasions when Loki slept through an entire day after working on some complicated spell before, sometimes even longer than that, with just a brief break for a solid meal. And that were Asgard’s days – almost twice as long as Midgard’s activity cycles. But it doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t have allowed himself such a lapse here, and especially not outside of the privacy of his own rooms.

Then again, it wouldn’t change much. Stark would still know, because Jarvis would tell him, just like he told on Loki right now. He should’ve–

“If you want to go back to sleep I can leave you,” Stark offers. “But I was wondering if you’d want to grab something to eat before that.”

The grumble Loki’s stomach emits at the very mention of food answers the question for him.

Stark chuckles. “I need to pick up something up in East Village really quickly, we can go together and hit a drive-through on our way back. How about that?”

Loki nods in agreement.

Not only it’s the only proper answer, but he also feels a twinge of excitement at the thought of leaving the tower once more, and so soon, too.

“You need a moment, or can we go right away?”

Loki considers for a couple of heartbeats. It would be proper to wash up and change his clothes first, but he’s hungry and Stark appears impatient. He just folds the borrowed blanket into a neat square, leaves it on the sofa’s backrest and says, “I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

Stark makes a face and leads them out of the workshop and to the elevator.

Loki still hasn’t tested Stark’s assurances that Loki could just walk out at any moment, and he keeps on postponing it, for multiple reasons. While he doesn’t necessarily mistrust Stark’s words, he doesn’t exclude the possibility it may be a trap and isn’t looking forward to stepping right into it. And, if it’s not and he would be truly allowed to just leave, he wouldn’t even know where to go…

Well, he could always go to the park they visited yesterday, at the very least. Or perhaps find similar spaces – public ones, catering to commoners’ needs that required no fee to enter, unlike higher society’s establishments like theatres and galleries – in other areas of the city? And, even if not, just navigating the massive maze of interconnecting streets and passages and back alleys and underground tunnels to get a better lay of the land around him could make a good activity to pass his time and occupy his mind. Also, Stark mentioned the idea of turning his father’s mansion into a library, suggesting Midgardians didn’t entirely forego building them, even with the bulk of their knowledge uploaded to a virtual network and available for everyone. Loki most likely wouldn’t be let into one – Natasha made it clear that he wasn’t considered a citizen on Midgard, and, in Asgard, only free folk were allowed access into such facilities – but perhaps he could still sneak in to see how it looked like, here?

“So, I take it you broke the spell?” Stark says, as they are walking the aisle between two rows of cars. Stark didn’t ask for Loki’s opinion on which one they should use this time, either realizing how little it changed or just taking a pick on his own.

“Yes.”

“Jay registered an electromagnetic field fluctuation, just past four in the morning,” Stark adds, as if it needed any explanation how he found that out.

“That was the spell’s power dissipating,” Loki says.

Stark stays silent for a moment, his expression drawn and calculating. “How is it stored?” he asks in the end.

So Loki tells him. About the energy contained in the particles of the material itself and about the magic that binds it inside, until it is used or released, then answers some follow-up questions, too.

Stark might not know the first thing about magic, but he’s very good at asking on-point questions and extrapolating from what he’s already learned, quickly narrowing the field with his inquiries and translating it to the language of Midgardian science. Not all of it is completely understandable for Loki, since he doesn’t immediately recognize all terms, but Stark’s analogies and examples do help tremendously, until he can match what the human is talking about with what he knows from his own studies.

The conversation switches from physics to chemistry somewhere along the way, and again, Loki doesn’t recognize all the names Midgardians use for the elements. The All-Speak stumbles on terms so specific, but they work it out, bit by bit. It wouldn’t be a problem if Stark had the rein of All-Speak as well, but since the mortals were deemed unworthy of the gift – a sentiment Loki is less and less inclined to believe as the time goes on – he does not, and Loki has to rely on his explanations.

Then they turn the corner and Stark falls silent, all of sudden.

Their side of the road is blocked by a blackened mass of burned-up cars and rubble from a building’s façade that collapsed onto the street, surrounded by a length of orange tape.

Stark doesn’t say a thing as he’s steering the car around the obstacle, but Loki knows what he’s thinking. He’s thinking the same thing.

So far, he didn’t get to see much damage from the battle. His rooms’ windows face the side of the city that was spared most of the carnage and the routes Stark picked when they were walking to the park or driving to the SHIELD’s headquarters carefully avoided the areas that were affected the worst.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Loki might not have been around for all of it but he’d seen enough of the battle to know that, even though the force of their impact was diminished by the imperfections of the portal Loki orchestrated to open, the Chitauri still did significant damage and killed many in the process.

“I’m sorry,” Stark says, quietly, as they turn another corner and the signs of destruction disappear from view. Most of them, at least. The street is still covered in dust and many of the windows are shattered. “I should’ve checked before we left.”

Loki just stares at the man, not sure what to answer. Stark isn’t the one who should be apologizing here. Loki did this. It’s nobody’s fault but his.

He opens his mouth to tell Stark just that, but the words refuse to come out, getting stuck in his tightened throat.

He takes in a ragged breath and asks, “How many?”

Stark turns his head to look at Loki and frowns.

“How many died?” Loki asks again.

Stark purses his lips and turns back to the road ahead of them.

“There’s no official number yet,” he says after a moment passes in tense silence. His face is hard, his tone guarded. “There are many still missing and they keep on finding the bodies. But the preliminary estimations say at least seven hundred.”

Loki nods and looks down at his hands, as if avoiding looking at what he caused could somehow liberate him from the responsibility for his actions.

“Loki,” Stark says, “it’s not–“

“Stop,” Loki cuts him off. “I know what I’ve done.”

Stark sighs and stops.

He doesn’t say anything else until they reach their destination – a nondescript tenement, indistinguishable from a line of similar buildings on both sides of the street they stopped on the curb of. “It’ll take just a minute,” Stark says and steps out of the car, then disappears into a gate leading further into the building. Or perhaps into the courtyard behind it.

Loki is aware that it’s just another figure of speech humans use, but he still watches as the digital clock on the dashboard of the car counts out the minute, then another, and then five more. It’s something to focus on, but, as the time passes, it’s getting harder and harder to keep the anxiety from brewing at the back of his mind.

At first, he ignores it. But the minutes go by, and the knot of worry in Loki’s stomach twists and grows. Is it some sort of game? A test he is currently failing?

He tries to use the car radio as a distraction, but the incessant prattle pushes him even further onto the edge, and the prerecorded music is of the same noisy, brash kind Stark was listening to in his workshop, so he quickly turns it off.

The street lamps come on, faint at first, then growing brighter. The sky has turned completely dark by now.

Did something happen to Stark? Something must’ve happened.

Loki pulls out his phone and activates it, then stares at the bright screen. Is it proper for him to call Stark, or should he wait some more? Or should he perhaps go out and try searching the man out, to make sure–

The car rocks and Loki looks around, disoriented. Then there’s a clash, and Loki breathes out in relief.

Stark closes the cargo compartment hatch and gets into the driver’s seat. “Sorry,” he says. “Rob was in ‘talking someone’s ear off’ mood.”

It explains enough, so Loki nods in acknowledgment. Stark went to meet someone named Rob and got lost in a conversation.

“So, any preferences?” Stark asks as they are driving again.

“Excuse me?”

“Food. Food preferences.”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

---

They end up ordering in a place called “White Castle”, which Stark insists is the best of the kind. Loki has no commentary to offer other than an idle remark that it doesn’t look much like a castle, nor is it actually white, more like dull gray, which makes Stark laugh as if Loki has just uttered the most hilarious joke in the world.

The man is still sniggering when he orders food for both of them, speaking to a meshed panel that can possibly be some sort of a recording device, then he moves the car forward and Loki finally understands why it’s called a “drive-through”.

It’s a curious solution, even if a convenient one. A fair share of human inventions seems to be based on that – convenience and making things more time-effective, as if they all shared a subconscious need to take more out of their short lives.

Is it such a bad thing though? A sizable chunk of Loki’s life in Asgard consisted of just waiting for something. Waiting for people to show up to an arranged meeting, for a message to be carried by a messenger, for the bath to fill.

For Odin to finally treat him as Thor’s equal…

“Hey, Eeyore,” Stark calls, nudges Loki with his elbow, and places a filled bag in Loki’s lap. “Hold it for me, please.”

“Hey, are you–“ the vendor starts, peering out of his window.

“Goodbye!” Stark says, revs the engine so it drowns the rest of the vendor’s words, and drives off.

---

They don’t go far, just to a parking lot overlooking the bay a short distance away. There are just a few vehicles parked there and Stark drives the car to the very edge of the embankment before stopping.

They eat their food leaning against the bonnet of the car – fried meat and sliced vegetables, inserted into a bun that’s been cut in half and pieces of tubers that Stark says are called simply “fries” – and it’s indeed quite tasty.

“It’s sort of a ritual, you know,” Stark says, crumples the paper wrap, wipes his hands on his trousers and reaches into the bag for another parcel. “When I was a kid, Jarvis used to buy me cheeseburgers and bring me here. On special occasions. When I passed an exam. Or on my birthday, to cheer me up after my father forgot about it again.”

Loki doesn’t know if he’s supposed to say anything, and what that could possibly be, so he stays silent.

“Maria… that’s my mom, she was very strict as to what sorts of meals were allowed in her house and fast food was a big no-no. So Jarvis would tell them he’s taking me to a park or to a museum and we would come here instead. It were the only times I ever felt… like a normal kid, growing up.”

“You miss him,” Loki says, not entirely sure why.

Stark breathes out a laugh and shifts in place, setting the car to rocking. “Every day. He was more of a father to me than Howard ever was.”

Loki sighs.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Stark pauses and rubs his neck. He’s nervous, possibly more nervous than Loki has ever seen him. “Sometimes it’s hard to see what’s really…” He groans. “I’m really bad at this ‘talking about feelings’ shit, you know.”

A chortle escapes Loki’s throat and he tries to mask it with a cough.

Stark gives him a side-eye, gets up, and circles the car to reach the storage compartment. He returns a moment later, carrying a large cardboard box.

“Here,” he says and hands it to Loki. “It’s for you.”

Loki sets down his half-eaten burger, wipes his fingers in a napkin, and takes the box. It’s quite heavy, but other than that there’s nothing on it that could at least suggest what it could possibly contain.

Stark rolls his eyes. “Come on, open it.”

“Now?”

“And why not?”

Loki tears a piece of adhesive tape away and opens the box. Then just stares at the contents.

The parking lot has only a couple of working lamps and the place they stopped at is bathed in shadows, but there’s still no mistaking what he’s looking at. He picks the piece from the top – left vambrace – and studies it in the dim light.

The metal has been cleaned and polished to a sheen and lined with a fresh coat of soft fabric on the inside. The clasps have been straightened out and the one at the top, the one he lost years ago in a skirmish with insurgents on Alfheimr – replaced with a perfectly matching substitute.

He looks up at Stark, still not quite being able to believe it. “You… fixed it for me?”

Stark rolls his shoulders in a careless shrug. “I did the metal parts, but leather restoration was never my strong suit, so I, uhm, outsourced it. But worry not, Rob might have his quirks, but he’s the best at what he does.”

“I…” Loki starts, and, for the second time the same evening, the words refuse to leave his lips.

“Don’t worry about it,” Stark says with a handwave. “Besides, you’re going to need it. Fury has a gig scheduled for us next week. Nothing major, just some PR stunt, but it would make all of us look bad if you didn’t look the part,” he adds, flashing a crafty smile.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Reindeer Games.”

Chapter 11: Call of Duty

Chapter Text

Thorough all the way home, Loki is even more thoughtful and withdrawn than usually, which must make for some new world record, but Tony is almost sure he can guess the emotions hiding behind the thinner-than-regular veil of the neutral expression he’s wearing. Their faint traces pass his face like shadows just to disappear a moment later.

Tony changes his mind five or six times before he decides to speak up. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” he says and just as he does, he changes his mind again, envisioning how the conversation is going to crash and burn with way more clarity than before. He’s in no way equipped for this, what got into him to even agree?

“What is it?”

“We, and by we I mean me, Bruce and Natasha, think that you should consider seeing a therapist.”

“I assure you, I need no further medical attention.”

“No, I mean like…” A shrink.

No, this is not good enough, Tony. Think “aliens”. Aliens who needed explanations of what potatoes were fifteen minutes ago.

“…a counselor,” he finishes.

Loki’s face is blank, now.

“Someone you could sit with and start sorting stuff out,” Tony tries, and, when that doesn’t appear to have an effect, he carries on, “Get through your past and put it behind.”

“I’ve already answered Director Fury’s questions and I’m certain he’ll know where to find me if he wants to interrogate me again,” Loki says, warily. He’s still salty about the number Nick pulled on him and for a good reason, too. Tony is still salty about that just as well.

“No, it’s not like that, not at all. It’s meant to help you, and you only, not anybody else. A counselor is someone you sit down with and just… talk to. One on one, no witnesses, no record, and the entire conversation is bound by doctor-patient confidentiality, which means they can’t legally tell anyone what you talked about.”

“What’s the point then?”

This, Tony is even less equipped for. “To help you understand what happened and why it happened. To make sense out of the mess you’ve found yourself in, I suppose.”

“Trust me, I know exactly what happened. And why.”

Tony suppresses the urge to groan in frustration. “I’m not saying you don’t. But it’s more like a mental hygiene thing.”

Loki lets out a long breath and turns away, his face now hidden from Tony’s scrutiny. He doesn’t say anything for a long while.

“You believe me mad,” he says, in a broken half-whisper. He still isn’t looking at Tony but just the way his shoulders sag when he says it hits Tony like a sack of bricks.

“Newsflash, buddy, we’re all mad here,” Tony jokes, to lighten up the mood somewhat and immediately regrets it. “But no, I don’t think you’re insane. Honestly, you might be the most sane person in the whole tower. Definitely the most sane person in this car. Still, sometimes it helps to just sit and talk with somebody. To get an outsider’s perspective. Or just to get it out.”

“I see,” Loki says and Tony doubts it. He couldn’t have done a shittier job at explaining the concept. “Do I have to do it?”

“No, no, of course not. It wouldn’t even work if you did it against your will or better judgment,” Tony says. “I’m just saying it’s an option. And you don’t have to give me an answer right away. Or at all. I can send you some names and numbers and you can arrange it yourself, if you want to. Just think about it, okay?”

“I will.”

Well, that’s something.

---

Loki returns to his rooms and collapses onto his bed. It’s still made, for he has done it before leaving for Fury’s “conference”, unsure if he’d be allowed to come back, and hasn’t slept in it since.

He doesn’t even try to make sense of what Stark has done and said today. There’s no point. Each time Loki thinks he finally understood what the rules were, the situation changes, leaving him just as confused as before.

For a while, he just lies there, staring at the ceiling.

There’s an urge, stirring in his mind, to get up and start doing something, the same nagging thought that used to push him to act instead of staying idle, for ages, and it’s a comforting realization to feel it again, to see a piece of his old self waking up from the slumber. But, unlike in his previous life, he ignores it, now. He isn’t a prince or a royal advisor anymore, there’s no stack of overdue documents to go through, no meetings to prepare for, no books to finish reading, no magic to study.

Then again, it’s not like there’s nothing at all for him to do. Meditation with the shadows of a strain still ringing in his head would be pointless, but he could still use the time to exercise his body, if not his mind. He should, even. The time on the Sanctuary left him weak and drained, and it will take both time and effort to get back into shape. He might be still yet to recover fully and replenish his energy reserves, but he’s good enough for some light exercise and, according to what Stark said, the grace period is coming to an end and he is going to be asked to prove his usefulness soon.

The very thought fills him with trepidation, and it doesn’t make it any easier that he has no idea what “a PR stunt” is. Stark didn’t seem too concerned about it, but the man appears unconcerned with a host of things that Loki finds deeply troubling, like the fact that Loki is allowed to walk free among the ruins, brought upon the Realm by his own inaction and cowardice.

He can recognize the chance he is being given though and is desperate to use it, knowing he might not get another. He shouldn’t get this one, and yet he did, so he has to make sure he doesn’t fail.

It’s too early , his doubts chant. You’re still healing and your magic is still limited. You need more time. You’ll only show them how useless you are.

It matters not. This is how much time he got and now he ran out of it. It’s still better than nothing – better than what Thanos had given him before he sent him to bring war to Midgard. Now he only needs to make sure he’s in the best shape he could possibly be while facing the challenge, and work his way up from there. And the sooner he starts, the sooner he’ll get there.

He might not be looking forward to it – unlike Thor, he was never inclined to spend entire days in the training yard, not when there were so many other, much more mentally engaging activities he could be pursuing at the same time – but it has to be done, and he knows he’s going to have to fight hard for every improvement. It was always like that – no matter how much he trained, how long he spent building up his physical tenacity, he could never come close to match not only Thor’s – he was an outlier even among the Æsir – but even the Warrior’s Three or Lady Sif’s level of physical prowess. Now, of course, it makes sense. It’s just another thing Odin’s lies have robbed him of. A runt or not, it wouldn’t be as bad if he was allowed to remain in his true, Jötunn form, without the All-Father’s–

His phone pings, offering a welcome distraction. He pulls it out of his pocket.

It’s not a call, this time, but a written message – he’s received those before, even though they seemed to be just the automated, prerecorded blurbs of text sent by some machine to inform him of the functionalities of the device or the network – and it’s from Stark.

Loki taps on it and squints at the screen. None of the names or numbers mean anything to him, but it looks like the human came through with his promise to send Loki a list of contacts.

His first instinct is to ignore it, of course. The very notion of “therapy”, as Stark called it, is ridiculous, and if Loki truly has a right to choose, he chooses not to submit himself to any such thing.

But, in the end, his curiosity wins. He isn’t considering it, not even close, but it’s still an oddity of the human customs and, as such, worth exploring. Thus, he finds himself typing the first name on the list into the search field, then following the first reference in the results.

The page loads and a picture of a smiling, handsome woman, Ethel Lund, with a footnote that she is a trauma recovery specialist and that she welcomes Loki to her “website”.

He scoffs, but still scrolls down and reads on. About trauma therapy, post-traumatic stress disorder, methods of recovery, and therapeutic benefits.

One thing becomes obvious very quickly – humans don’t share the same belief as the Æsir, that the mind is the essence of one’s being and it can’t be healed once damaged. One either prevails, or succumbs to madness, and the outcome depends only on one’s strength of character. Under such principles, Loki was a lost cause the moment he fell out of line and dared to speak against the All-Father’s wishes.

Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re broken and need to be fixed, only that there’s something about yourself or in your life that you would like to work on making better, the page tells him and Loki blinks at the screen, his vision growing blurry. Admitting that is the first step to a successful recovery and a stepping stone towards personal growth, improvement and a better, more fulfilling life.

He tosses the phone away and presses his fingers to his eyelids and stays like that, until his heart no longer threatens to rip out of his ribcage and air no longer stings in his lungs.

He reaches for the phone, saves the contacts, and gets up to take a bath.

---

The action time comes sooner than expected.

It starts innocently enough.

Tony walks into the living room on Monday morning and finds Bruce and Cap there, sharing the morning newspaper. Cap is reading it, Bruce is doing the crossword and sipping his tea.

“Hey, where are the others?” he asks, fiddling with the coffee machine settings to get them back to their rightful positions. That’s the worst part of sharing the living space with so many people – he can’t just blindly trust the dials anymore.

“Natasha and Clint left a while ago,” Cap offers.

Romanoff might have said something that they’d have to get back to work soon, so at least that adds up.

“They went back to DC?”

“No, just the Long Island HQ. Clint said he’ll be back in the evening.”

That also made sense, the Helicarrier got parked in the SHIELD base on Fire Island, for repairs.

“How about you?” Tony asks. “Fury didn’t want you back into the nest?”

“I’m still officially retired,” Steve says.

“Well, their loss,” Tony jibes and sneaks a donut from the box on the table and dunks it in his coffee. “Loki didn’t show up?”

“No, I haven’t seen him since Friday,” Cap says and turns the page.

Tony kind of expected that to happen. Loki seemed quite shaken yesterday, and Tony’s blundering attempts at a serious conversation definitely didn’t help, so it wouldn’t be much of a shock if the god decided he had enough of Tony’s company for the time being. If that’s the case, waiting it out is the best course of action.

Tony sips his coffee, mentally getting ready for the day. He might even keep the streak and get some real work done.

Then his phone rings.

It’s Romanoff.

“Hey, miss me already?” he snarks, picking up.

“Are you seeing this?” she says and there’s tension in her words that makes the perceived room temperature drop by at least two degrees.

“Seeing what?” Tony asks, switching the phone to a speaker.

“Turn on the TV.”

That Tony likes even less. He reaches for the remote, but Bruce is quicker.

The screen flicks on and Bruce switches channels for a while. Which is a good sign, whatever it is Romanoff wants them to see hasn’t yet blown up to make it to national TV and break regular broadcasting. Then Bruce lands on local news and stops.

The image shows a news presenter, talking excitedly into a camera. But it’s not what gets Tony’s attention, it’s the background – tons of police vehicles with their signals flashing, and then, further in the distance, the tower. The very same tower they are currently sitting in. Whatever is happening, is happening right underneath their noses.

Bruce unmutes the TV.

“…was made just past eight this morning. The number of hostages is as of yet unknown, but it’s safe to assume the school was at least partially occupied by the time of the attack. As of this point, it’s unclear whether the hostage-taker works alone or has accomplices in the building, or what their demands are.”

Tony gets up and peeks through the window. They are too far and too high up to hear anything – even if the glass panes weren’t designed with additional soundproofing in mind – but the Forty-Fourth West Street provides an unobstructed line of sight at the signals flashing in the distance.

“The police negotiator is at the scene, but we’ve been told the hijackers refuse to list their demands, until, to quote, the Avengers arrive at the scene. As of yet, there’s no official word from SHIELD, nor from Mr. Stark's spokesperson…”

“Yeah, that,” Romanoff tunes back in.

“Jarvis, deploy–“

“Sit down, Stark,” Romanoff scolds, even though she has absolutely no way to know that he isn’t seated already. “They said ‘the Avengers’, not ‘Iron Man’ and there’s no saying what they’d do if you show up alone.”

“So what do you say I should do, sit on my ass and watch as some lowlife is wiping his face with our names while killing schoolkids?”

“No, I’m telling you to wait. We’re heading back, we’ll be at the tower in fifteen minutes.”

“There’s no way to drive all the way from Fire Island to midtown in fifteen minutes.”

“Who said anything about driving?”

“Fury approved it?” Tony asks, slightly perplexed. He might not know everything about how government agencies function, but he knows enough.

“Uhm…”

“She didn’t ask,” Clint chimes in.

“I don’t need to ask to know what he would say. It’s either ‘we don’t negotiate with terrorists’ or ‘it’s below your paygrade, Romanoff’, depending on the mood. Anyway,” Romanoff says, “we’re coming. We’ll pick you up from the roof in… twelve minutes. Don’t make us wait.”

With that, she hangs up.

“I guess I’ll go change into some pants I’m not going to miss,” Bruce says, resigned.

---

Tony instructs Jay to send Mark Five up and sits down to finish his coffee – it’s already there and it’s not like he has time for anything else.

“Jay, why didn’t you notify me right away?”

“I was about to when Agent Romanoff called,” Jarvis says.

“Do we know anything more besides what the broadcast said?”

“Not much. The surveillance in the building doesn’t appear to be up and I can’t get my eyes on the inside, and I haven’t found any mentions that would predate the attack on the internet, or on the dark web, Sir.”

Tony nods and drains the rest of the coffee, then goes to pick up the suitcase from the express elevator, then activates it, puts the armor on and walks a couple of circles around the room, while running a quick performance check. He doesn’t power up the boosters though. The floor has just been fixed and Pepper would kill him if he left scorch marks on it again.

The elevator pings again and Tony expects it’s either Rogers or Bruce returning to the penthouse. It’s not.

Instead, it’s Loki, and, he, too, is wearing his armor. Well, most of it – it looks like he ditched the cape and the shoulder guards, and the pants he’s wearing underneath are of the regular, human kind, which reminds Tony they might have been missing from the box of Loki’s belongings he retrieved from the infirmary’s storage, possibly because the doctors needed to cut them away – but the rest is on. It makes the god look a lot more slender and agile, but not any less intimidating.

Tony wonders why he’s even here, only for a moment – Jarvis must’ve made the call because Tony forgot to tell him not to.

“Looking sharp,” Tony says, to soften the blow, even though it’s nothing but the truth, “but I think you should sit this one out.”

“And why is that?” Loki asks, half-surprised, half-heartbroken, and full-on offended, and Tony takes a second to admire how he’s able to communicate all those emotions with just his expression and the tone of his voice before answering.

“You’re still recovering. There’s no point in pushing yourself too far without need. It’s just a bunch of idiots who want attention, we’ll deal with it in no time.”

“Am I or am I not on the team?”

“Yeah, of course you are, but–“

“Then I see no reason why I should be, as you say, sitting this one out. Especially if it’s not some great challenge you think I wouldn’t be able to handle.”

“That’s not…” Tony starts, then shakes his head. “You’re right. Sorry.”

Loki’s face mellows out and he accepts the apology with a graceful bow, apparently content that Tony was able to see reason so quickly.

Which, well, he should. Because Loki is right and Tony needs to get rid of the instinct of just trying to do everything alone. He scoffed when he found Coulson’s assessment of himself and his viability as a member of the Avengers, but maybe there was some truth to it. If they are to be a team, a real team that acts together and not just individuals who happen to be in the same place sometimes, Tony needs to learn how to mesh with the others, and not authoritatively decide who should go and who should stay.

“Sir, Agent Romanoff’s Quinjet requests docking privileges on the helipad.”

“Granted. Where are the others?”

“Captain Rogers is already on the roof and I informed Doctor Banner to meet you up there, so I think you should go.”

“Thanks,” he says and gestures at the elevator, “So, shall we?”

---

“Nice,” Romanoff comments when Loki steps on board. “The armor, I mean. I had no idea it survived.”

“It didn’t. Stark had it fixed for me. The craftsman he found to work with the leather did an exquisite job as well.”

Romanoff turns to Tony and tilts her head to the side. “So, you know an expert on custom leather outfits, huh? That’s the most interesting piece of info,” she jeers.

Tony is saved from having to come up with a properly witty response to that by Bruce’s arrival.

“That’s everyone,” Cap reports, adjusting his shield’s strap, and Clint initiates the liftoff.

---

The flight takes just three minutes, and that includes the takeoff and landing, yet Fury still calls him four times in that time, each call getting promptly rejected. Tony has a decent guess of what Nick might want and he is in no mood for getting yelled at.

He might agree with Fury if it was something else, but this is his – their, now – turf, and Tony takes things like that personally.

They land on the street, behind a cordon of police cars and the makeshift barricade, so they can comfortably ignore the cameras aimed at them as they walk out of the jet.

A group of policemen approaches them – two officers in uniforms and one detective wearing plain clothes. That one speaks first.

“Excuse me, but I wasn’t informed you were coming,” Detective Graves – as the badge clipped to his lapel informs Tony – says.

“We’re unpredictable like that,” Tony quips. “What have you got so far?”

Graves gives each of them a sizing glare. “Not here,” he says.

The men escort them into a van parked right by the stairs leading up to the school’s entrance. It quickly gets pretty crowded inside.

“This is all we got so far,” Graves says, and hands Tony a crumpled piece of paper in a ziplock back. “They let one kid go, just after they entered, and made him carry this message.”

Tony scans the page.

BRING THE AVENGERS BEFORE 10 OR WE WILL KILL EVERYONE, it says, in big, skewed letters.

“Did you run a background check on the kid?” Romanoff asks.

“Yes,” Graves says with a sigh. “We didn’t find anything. Nor did I expect we would have. The kid was like, what, nine?”

One of the officers nods in confirmation.

“He said he’s seen only one attacker, but heard screaming from the other classrooms, so it’s safe to assume there’s more of them.”

“Any contacts?” Clint asks.

“None from the attackers, so far. We’ve tried calling, but the landlines have been cut, and, as you can see, they left no other contact info. There were also a couple of text messages from the students we know are still inside and even a Facebook post, but nothing concrete, and the messages stopped quickly, so they must’ve taken the phones away.”

“And the situation?”

“We don’t know much so far. We’ve got a SWAT team at the ready, and they’ve run a thermal imagining analysis. That’s how we know they brought almost everyone into the gymnasium, but there are some thermal signatures in other areas and we have no way to tell whether those are the attackers or the hostages they singled out for some reason.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Cap asks.

Graves sighs and pinches his nose. “No idea, as of yet. We still have some time till ten. I guess we’ll have to wait and see what they do next. I’m pretty sure they noticed your arrival, so it’s their move now.”

Tony rolls his eyes. This is definitely not how he imagined his day to go and now he’s being told to stand back and wait, which is one of those things he never, ever does.

“Uhm,” Bruce hums and looks around. “Where’s Loki?”

Tony looks around as well, and immediately feels like an idiot, because he should’ve noticed Loki didn’t even come into the van with them. He gets no opportunity to start panicking, because this is the moment when the door swings open.

The air shimmers as Loki sheds the illusion. “I took a look inside. There are three men, two in the training hall with most of the pupils and one in the room in the basement, with all the monitors. They carry firearms, but no other weapons, and…” He makes a gesture and a pile of ammo clips appears out of thin air and crashes onto the small table and onto the floor. “…here’s all their ammunition.”

Graves looks at him with a frown. “You’re the wizard, right?” he says.

“Mage,” Loki says calmly. “Oh, and you should probably check the bank two blocks away from here, where the accomplices of those men inside are currently robbing the vaults, while their friends are providing a distraction.”

Graves snarls a curse and pulls out his phone to call his superiors.

Loki turns to Tony. “I believe we’re done here.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “Let’s go home.”

“Excuse me?” one of the officers breaks his silence. “Can I… uhm, take a picture? Of you? I mean, if it’s not a problem.”

“It’s not a problem at all,” Loki says and smiles at the camera. As far as Tony can tell, it’s a genuine smile.

---

“You know what?” Clint says, as they board the jet again, after they posed for some more photos and signed some cards and notebooks, and – in Tony’s case – even one bare chest and Tony did a flyby over the gathered crowd. “If it continues like that, we’ll be out of business any day now.”

Loki makes a face, but the compliment works anyway.

Chapter 12: The Housewarming Gift

Chapter Text

“We should head back,” Romanoff says, reaching for another donut from the giant box someone had delivered to the tower’s security booth with a “thank you” note, and sits back on the sofa. She’s still wearing her uniform, her boots are on Tony’s coffee table and Tony is only grateful Pepper isn't here to see this. “Before Fury goes beyond being pissed and charges us with treason.”

Loki’s face twitches violently at the notion, and Tony is instantly reminded of that one talk he had with Thor. This is what the Sky Daddy’s charge against Loki was – treason, so it didn’t take much to imagine why he would be scared of the same happening here.

“Nah,” Tony judges. “Considering the shit we pulled before, I’d be shocked if this did it. You didn’t even crash the plane.”

“Yet,” Barton mutters, his voice muffled by the pastry in his mouth.

“I’m not in the habit of crashing planes left and right,” Romanoff says lightly, bestowing Barton with a meaningful glare, “unlike some here.”

“We’ve been hit by a missile!” Barton protests.

“Excuses,” Romanoff says with a shrug, finishes her donut, and drags herself up with an unhappy groan. “Let’s go.”

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Loki asks. He appears calm and collected, but Tony doesn’t miss the way his fingers trace the edge of his coat compulsively.

Romanoff tilts her head and narrows her eyes. “No. But why?”

“I need to talk to Director Fury,” Loki says and gets up as well. He doesn’t elaborate, but Tony has his guess nonetheless.

Romanoff apparently has her guess too, because she doesn’t push it. “Yeah, sure. But we’ve got to go, like, right now.”

Loki nods and follows Romanoff to the elevator. Barton grunts and drags his feet behind them.

“What now?” Bruce asks.

“Nothing,” Tony says with a shrug. “Well, hopefully nothing, but we’ll just have to wait and see. I’ll give them some time to smooth things over before I call Fury back. But that’s for later. For now, I guess it’s business as usual.”

He gets up, walks over to where he left his suit and stops with his hands on his hips, examining the mess. First and foremost, Mark Five was designed to unfold seamlessly. It was meant for an emergency deployment and what happened to it after that wasn’t Tony’s priority at the time. The reverse process wasn’t anywhere as smooth and thus, when Tony took it off upon arriving back in the tower, it got jammed again and is now stuck in a semi-folded state. He’s going to have to find a pallet jack to haul it back to the workshop.

“Tony?” Rogers calls.

“What’s up?”

“Since the matters have been settled, I think I’ll head home now,” he says.

“Yeah, sure,” Tony says, only partially paying attention, his mind divided between listening to Rogers and figuring out how to fix Mark Five’s most glaring issues quickly. He needs an operational suit, but Mark Eight is still unfinished and won’t be before tomorrow. Perhaps even Wednesday, if the simulations Jay is running right now prove it needs more work. “Or you could send one of my drivers to pick up whatever you need for you.”

“No, I meant… more permanently. The situation is under control and I’m not needed here anymore.”

Oh. “Okay. I guess we’ll give you a call if anything changes.”

“I’ll… make sure to visit regularly, if that’s all right.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. The guest pass should stay valid infinitely, so feel free to come over wherever you like.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

“No big deal,” Tony says with a handwave, ignoring how the notion settles in his stomach. He shouldn’t have expected it to last forever.

Rogers says his goodbyes and leaves. Bruce comes over and stands next to Tony, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“Et tu, Bruce?”

Bruce chortles and shakes his head. “Actually, uhm, I was wondering if I could stay. At least for a while. Fury seems serious about the whole deal and now I know I can’t really disappear from his radar and that he’ll drag me back the moment he needs me. And if I have to stay close, at least here… You have measures to contain the big guy if something goes wrong. It’s not foolproof, but it’s still safer than hiding among innocent people.”

“The rooms are yours as long as you need them.”

“And the labs?”

“Those too,” Tony chuckles.

“Thanks.”

“You should really think about dosing the expressions of gratitude better. You know what they say, I’m already full of myself to the brim.”

Bruce makes a face, but doesn’t say anything, only confirming Tony’s words. Which, well, he did say them and he shouldn’t be surprised.

“So, wanna help me get this hunk of junk back into order?”

“I’m not sure I’m…” He pauses and eyes the pile of metal critically, “…this kind of doctor, Tony.”

“I wasn’t asking for a doctor’s advice. I was asking as a friend.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bruce agrees with a chuckle.

“Thanks,” Tony says. At least with Bruce around to distract him with a talk, he won’t have to worry about Loki being away from the tower on his own for the first time.

---

Unlike before, Natasha doesn’t urge him to sit down and fasten the seatbelt when they are taking off from Stark’s rooftop, so Loki can stand behind the pilot’s seat and watch through the windshield as the craft rises over the city.

They were flying low before – which made sense, they weren’t going far – but now they climb to a higher altitude before making a turn East. The island of Manhattan, viewed from so up high, is just a mosaic of buildings and streets, with patches of greenery here and there, contained by the water of the rivers, with just thin lines of bridges linking it to the landmasses on both sides, the details lost to the distance. It’s a wholly new perspective, compared to what he could see out of the tower’s windows, while walking the streets, or even flying low between the buildings, during the invasion…

They fly past the river and the dense cityscape slowly gives way to rows of townhouses, then to the suburban areas.

The jet banks to the right, slightly at first, then a little more sharply, forcing Loki to hold onto the railings.

“We have to fly around the protected airspace above JFK,” Romanoff offers as an explanation, while Clint talks to someone over the craft’s communicator, coordinating their route.

It isn’t that different than a docking procedure in busy spaceports, and Loki just nods, then observes a plane that’s coming for a landing in the distance. It looks like a small, white dot against the blue sky at first, but then, as it gets closer and lower, making it easier to tell the scale, the true size of the machine becomes obvious. It’s at least a few hundred paces wide, wingtip to wingtip, and taller than the two-story buildings that surround the landing zone. Just another example that human ingenuity can sometimes take their creations way ahead of their time – the colossal craft flies not on anti-gravity drive or fission energy – but with primitive combustion engines and a fickle balance of aerodynamics, which seems as insane as it is impressive.

Loki wonders how it would be like to pilot one of those, just briefly, before he drops it. Apparently, one was not allowed to even drive a car without proper, government-issued permission, and those didn’t even look that complicated, compared to the cockpit of the jet he is currently in.

He read about it last night, after sacrificing some time to research the Midgardian financial system, making the necessary adjustments to his armor, and enchanting Stark’s closet to serve as a temporary storage compartment to use for conjuration. It was not nearly as convenient as a pocket dimension, but all the old ones were gone and ripping a new one in the fabric of reality would require much more energy than he was willing to spend at the moment, and simply had to wait.

It was a decent alternative and more than enough for Loki’s current needs – he didn’t have that many possessions to his name to require more elaborate spaces to store them. Sure, it would be better if it was some place only Loki could access, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen anytime soon. His explorations revealed that the most accessible way of obtaining a place to live on Midgard was a process called “renting”, and even the smallest, run-down places he found offers for cost hundreds or thousands of dollars, due every month, and only got slightly more accessible leagues – miles – away from the city. Which didn’t change much, because it was still not within his reach, financially, and placed him too far from the rest of the team, which also could prove problematic. Teleportation is energy-consuming and, even once he collects enough reserves to not have to worry about it as much, using too often will be out of the question. There are no convenient sources to draw from, not like on Asgard, and his tentative exploration of the cosmic powers around Midgard wasn’t promising, which provides further reasons for why humans evolved almost completely devoid of magical abilities.

As such, as long as he stays on Midgard, he’ll have to be careful with what he uses his energy for. It is an inconvenience, but not the end of the world and not something he didn’t have to do before while visiting other, similar planets, but it makes him all that more dependent on Midgardian amenities, like modes of transportation, sources of produce, and communications, which – again – all cost currency.

Currency he doesn’t have and found no way to obtain. Legally, at least, since just a brief check on the banking system was enough to make him sure he’d be far more successful than those morons from the morning at a swindle like they tried to pull off, without any significant risk of getting caught. He quickly dismissed the idea though. If he’s truly to stay, if he’s truly to make his new life here, among humans, he cannot start it with a crime.

Another crime, that is, especially since he’s not yet done paying for the previous one he committed. And, even if the humans are truly willing to leave that to rest, he cannot imagine being offered the same leniency if he steps out of line in the future.

The city sprawl, that’s been growing thinner and thinner for a while, finally gives way to marshland and then to the waters of the bay.

The SHIELD’s base is a large, circular building, sitting on a thin strip of sandy land that cuts the bay from the open sea, with a winding road on stilts connecting it to the mainland, and piers, sticking out of the main structure like teeth of a comb and cutting both into the waters of the bay and the ocean. The Helicarrier is docked on the seaside, with a couple of smaller vessels lulling on the waves next to it.

“You may want to strap in,” Natasha says and fastens her own safety harness. “We’re about to land and the turbulence tends to get awful here, because of the wind from the sea.”

Loki does as instructed, making his way back to the cargo bay and taking one of the seats.

The jet is very similar to the one they took him to after his capture in front of the Opera House, so similar that Loki cannot fully rule out it being the exact same one. And here he is again, just a few days later, sitting in the jet’s hold – he picked a seat on the other side, but it does little to break the uncanny resemblance – with two of the Avengers at the steer once more, not as an enemy, but as an ally. How can he ever predict anything of what the humans would do, if this is a possible scenario?

The landing is indeed quite bumpy, but nothing too awful, and the jet soon settles on the tarmac with a hiss of pneumatic servos.

Clint stays in the aircraft to guide it back into the hangar, and Natasha accompanies Loki to the reception hall, where she exchanges some hushed words with the receptionist. The woman sizes Loki with a glare, frowns, nods, and hands him a card with a SHIELD ensign and the word “visitor” printed underneath.

The purpose of the card quickly becomes apparent, as they make their way towards one of the gates leading further into the building and he has to press the card to the scanner to be granted entry.

It looks like some sort of administrative wing, or perhaps just offices, and there are more people here, and they turn their eyes as Loki and Natasha pass by, and the reason for that is not that hard to come up with. Loki is still wearing his armor, and Natasha is still dressed in her skin-tight battle suit and both of their attires stand out among the office workers in civilian clothes. So, as they find themselves in a more secluded part of the corridor, he casts a quick spell to send the armor away, ties his hair back, and puts on his glasses.

“That’s convenient,” Natasha comments with a smirk. “I was about to ask how long did it take to put all the hardware on in the morning. I guess I have my answer.”

It took Loki a good portion of the night to put the armor back together and make the alterations he needed to make it presentable – it was one of his older suits of armor and he hasn’t used it in ages before it became his only available option – but he doesn’t say it, just nods and returns her smile.

“It’s the best if I go in first,” she says, as they approach the door at the far end of the hallway, with Director’s Fury name and title on the plaque, “since I’m up for some serious chewing.”

It does cross Loki’s mind to protest – he was a part of the operation, and as such, has acted without Fury’s approval in the same capacity as all the others – but it’s obvious Natasha has a lot more experience in dealing with her superior and she doesn’t even appear that worried about it, so he does not, just sits down in one of the chairs lining the hall and waits, as instructed.

Some time passes and the scraps of the discussion happening behind the closed door filter through to the hallway. The words are too muffled and too distorted for their meaning to reach Loki’s ears, but just the tone of Fury’s voice is enough to tell Loki he isn’t pleased with the turn of events. Fury’s yelling slowly dies down though, and soon there’s just a low murmur of a calm conversation coming from behind the door.

Loki breathes out in relief and sits back in the chair, then pulls out his phone and picks up the lecture of an article explaining the basics of the stock market where he left it off this morning.

He gets to the section on virtual wallets and long-term investments when the door opens and Natasha steps out of the office. She smiles at him and shows up her thumb, in a gesture that – as Loki already guessed – means agreement or approval in these regions of the universe.

He gets up and stashes his phone back into his pocket – it’s such a convenient feature to have in one under-armor clothes, why hasn’t he thought about that before? – then hesitates. Should he knock or announce his presence in some other way?

“Just go in,” Natasha beckons. “I told Fury you’re waiting to see him.”

Loki stops himself from asking what was Fury’s reaction to that, nods, and enters the room.

The office is bigger than those Loki got glimpses of while walking the corridors, but not unreasonably so, with a wide desk taking the central spot and a tall-backed leather chair behind it, currently empty. Its owner is standing by the far wall, in front of the window facing the sea, turned away from Loki.

“Director Fury,” Loki says.

Fury turns back to him slowly. Despite the obviously turbulent exchange he had with Natasha just a moment ago, he appears calm, although Loki has seen enough of the man to know that it could just as well be a pose. “Loki.”

Loki acknowledges the greeting with a small bow.

“So, what can I do for you today?” Fury says in an unreadable tone, sits down, and points Loki to the seat on the other side of the desk. “Because I assume there is something.”

Loki sits down where he was pointed. The chair is lower than Fury’s and doesn’t look anywhere as comfortable, which is a good indication of the hierarchy in the room.

“There is something indeed, Director.”

Fury doesn’t seem too surprised and just waves his hand at Loki to go on.

“I’d like to request a position in your organization,” he says, carefully.

Fury narrows his eye. “Like, a job? At SHIELD?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Loki has nothing more to add for now, so he just waits for Fury to elaborate.

“I’m going to be honest here,” Fury says, and something in the way he says it makes Loki doubt it. “What you did this morning was an impressive show and I’m not against the idea of seeing you do more of it on the company time. But I’m afraid it’s not going to be possible at this moment.”

“Why?” Loki asks, and as the word is leaving his lips he can think of at least three better ways to ask the same question.

“I won’t go into details, but you should know that there are many powers at play here, other than just my decision. I do recognize your will to cooperate, but it is going to take much more than that to convince those who stand above me, and those are the people who would have to approve such a controversial hire. While they do seem to recognize the benefits of granting you a release from prosecution for the attack, it’s only because doing otherwise would draw too much attention to their own actions if you were to be dragged in front of a court. All the things you’ve divulged could be extremely hard both to either prove or disprove with any level of plausibility and it could draw the process out and it would inevitably bring some of the not-so-smart decisions the Council has made during the invasion to light. Thus, that’s not going to happen. But having you on a governmental payroll is perceived as too risky, judging from your history.”

“I see,” Loki says.

“It’s not a definite no, mind you. I don’t know if you’re aware, but you already have quite a lot of positive media buzz around you. Keep it up for a couple of months and it might erase all the questions people have about your sudden and inexplicable addition to the initiative from the public memory, prompting some change at the top. We can have this discussion again then. For now though, I can’t offer you anything else, just the position of a consultant. Which, as you might be aware already, is the exact same one Stark and Dr. Banner hold in the Avengers initiative.”

“I understand,” Loki says. He won’t challenge Fury’s decision on this. The years he spent at the royal court had taught him to read between the lines of even the smoothest sweet talkers, and the subtext of Fury’s words cannot be clearer – those who stand above him are afraid Loki will act against Midgard and its people once again in the future, and to allow him into the structures officially would mean bearing a part of the blame once that happens.

Loki knows that it won’t, at least not until that decision remains in his own hands, but it matters not. There’s nothing he can say to change it, because it’s not Fury’s opinion he has to sway, and those above him have already made their decision, it seems.

“I do, however, have a small incentive for you,” Fury says and reaches into a drawer under his desk and pulls out a grey envelope, then slowly slides it across the tabletop towards Loki. “Think of that as a sign of goodwill on my part.”

Loki takes the envelope, carefully unravels the twine that holds it closed, and tips the contents onto the table. There’s not a lot of it – a couple of plastic cards, a small booklet in a dark navy color, and a roll of bills held together by an elastic band. Loki studies the first card – it appears to be a “driver’s license” of someone named Finn Riley, born in Brighton, United Kingdom, on June fifteenth of nineteen eighty-one, with Loki’s picture on it. It must be one of those photographs the humans took of him when he was first brought to the Helicarrier, but it’s been manipulated to remove any signs of his Æsir getup.

He looks up at Fury with a frown.

“It’s a standard package for someone entering the witness protection program,” Fury explains, “and it’s not that much of a stretch to say this is what we’re doing here. The identity is officially assigned, so it won’t get flagged as fake, but I have to warn you – if you decide to use the passport and cross the borders, I will get a notification.”

Loki opens the booklet – the “passport” Fury is talking about – and is welcomed by his own face staring back at him. It’s a different photograph than the one on the driver’s license and this one has been manipulated to make him look at least a couple of decades younger. But, of course, it wouldn’t be that long for a human, and it must’ve been done to add to the believability of the forgery.

It's not the most baffling part though. Right underneath the same name – Loki turns it around a couple of times in his head to get used to it, but it doesn’t work that well – there are words that make his heart flutter from excitement. “British citizen,” it says, in the “nationality” field, and the full meaning of it quickly unveils in Loki’s brain.

Britain isn’t the same land he finds himself in, but the document clearly assigns him the title of a free citizen, and – if it’s any similar to how such things are done in Asgard with residents of allied Realms – there are some fundamental rights stemming from that alone.

“We decided it would make things easier,” Fury says, “considering how your accent sounds to people. There’s a green card assigned to the name, so you don’t have to worry about getting deported,” he adds with a benevolent smirk, which suggests it’s a good thing to have.

“Thank you,” Loki says.

“You’re welcome. Now, I hope it goes without saying, but don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t,” Loki promises.

“We’ll see about that.”

Chapter 13: Encounter

Chapter Text

“How did it go?” Natasha asks once he exits the office. Apparently, she’s been waiting for him instead of leaving.

“I am… not sure,” Loki says. He didn’t get what he wanted to achieve coming here, but he got something that might prove even more generous of an offering in the long run.

She eyes the envelope he keeps stashed under his arm and smiles knowingly, but doesn’t comment. “So, you’re heading back to the tower?”

“I suppose,” Loki says. He was aware that taking the flight with Natasha and Clint was a one-way trip, but didn’t plan much beyond that. He now has to find his own way back, and – while he has no idea how to approach that yet – if he’s to be honest with himself, he is actually looking forward to the challenge it poses. His presence of Midgard has been officially sanctioned in some capacity and the risk of being caught without any other member of the team appears much lesser now.

“If you’re willing to wait, I can give you a ride back to Stark’s. My car is still in the parking lot and I’ll be heading back downtown after I’m done here. Clint will be coming as well, so I can take you both back. It will take a couple of hours, but there’s an employee cafeteria where you can wait.”

Loki considers for a moment. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I’ll make my way back on my own, if that’s fine with you.”

“Sure thing,” she says with a shrug, but he could swear there’s a shadow of a disappointment in her tone, even though the source of it remains a mystery. “There’s a shuttle leaving every hour that can take you to West Islip. That’s the town on the other side of the bay and it has a train station, so I’m guessing you’d be able to catch a train back to the city there.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.”

Loki expects her to walk away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she pulls out her phone. “I can give you my number, you know, in case you changed your mind or couldn’t find anything.”

“That would be great,” he says. While he doesn’t plan on calling her – he hasn’t called anyone but Stark and the very idea of having that possibility at any time is a new one – he’s aware enough to recognize there are scenarios where having such an option could be extremely helpful.

She stands by his side when he pulls out the phone, explains how to navigate the contact list to add a new one, and dictates her number. He makes a mistake in the notation of her last name, twice, and each time she corrects him with a chuckle.

“You are supposed to call me now,” she says, once the number is saved and he locks the screen and stashes the phone back in his pocket. “It’s only fair, you know. I get your number once you call.”

There’s a certain logic behind what she claims to be a custom, so Loki doesn’t protest, just dials the number, and watches her pull out her own device – it doesn’t make a sound, giving him an idea that there might yet be a way to silence the chime – and drop the call.

“Here,” she shows him the screen, then adds his name to the entry, followed by a colon and a parenthesis, then laughs at him when he asks for the meaning. “It’s just a smiley,” she says and turns her phone sideways. “It looks like a smiling face like that. See?”

It doesn’t look much like anything to Loki, nor does he understand why she would decide it’s something that would represent him, but he doesn’t question it. It’s hardly the weirdest part of her behavior towards him and it could be just another kind of human custom he has no idea about.

“So… see you around, I guess,” she says, curls her hand into a fist and bumps it on Loki’s shoulder, then walks away.

He stands in the lobby for a few moments, idly rubbing the spot on his arm she touched – the humans seem to have a wholly different definition of personal space and that sort of gesture would be appropriate only amongst the closest of friends in Asgard – before he gets a grip and goes out to look for the shuttle Natasha spoke about.

---

It takes him a while to find it, and when he finally does, it turns out the vehicle has just left and it’s almost an entire hour before it returns for another round.

There’s a small shelter with a bench next to the stop that would offer a good place to sit and wait, but the map informs him the distance to the town of West Islip is around five miles. There’s no official conversion rate he could use – none of the units of measure humans use were ever mentioned during Loki’s lessons about Midgard, and he cannot be sure the leagues he found listed in some article on outdated units are the same leagues Æsir use to measure distance – but it doesn’t seem that far. The park was a mile away from the tower and – while Loki didn’t think to check how long exactly it took to get there – it wasn’t that long, even though they were walking at a leisure pace. If he walks faster, he might get there before the hour passes, and even if not – it’s still better than sitting idle and doing nothing. He has done enough of that already and the weather is just perfect for a walk – the sun is high up in the sky and there’s a pleasant breeze blowing from the sea.

He expends another moment to count the money in the envelope – which turns out to be just short of three thousand dollars, in various bills – before setting out.

While it’s not nearly enough to grant Loki full independence, it’s still a start, and the very awareness that he can now pay for his own food or his own transportation, even if for a short while, dissolves some of the worries that were pressing on him for the good portion of the last days. And, perhaps, if he’s smart about it, he can use the currency to make more of it?

As far as his skill set goes, there aren’t many areas he could excel at, here, at least not right away. His research on the stock market turned out promising, but there are too many intricacies still he doesn’t understand, and to risk the only resources he has, after he has been gifted them so generously, would be a foolish move. No, he needs to plan it better.

Perhaps he could start with trading goods?

That’s how Loki used to make money a couple of times in the past, on the rare occasions when he and Thor found themselves far away from the Nine, where the Æsir coin didn’t hold any established value, and pinched for local currency. He’d turn up at the first merchant’s stall who dealt with trinkets and then bargain until he sold the gold at the value of the metal alone without getting fleeced too much. Then they’d pick some valuable wares that could be sold for a profit on some other planet in the system.

Then again, it only worked as well as it did because they had the unique benefit of the Bifröst, which could be used to transport items just as well as people, at no cost at all, and allowed them to sell the wares at a competitive price. At least as long as Loki was allowed to do all the necessary talking – Thor’s temper wasn’t the best suited for delicate business negotiations and his outbursts cost them many lucrative opportunities over the ages.

Considering how little idea Loki has about the goods market on Midgard, the probability of it even working is very slim.

No, he needs a craft. A profession. Something he can do that would constitute a valuable asset for Midgardians. But, the longer he rakes his brains for the things he can do that match the description, the bleaker his conclusions get.

After his brief reconnaissance of the real estate market, he did take a peek at the job listings, and – after he filtered out all those that required familiarity with computers, advanced machinery, or sets of specific skills he couldn’t even understand the names off, with or without the All-Speak – all that was left was a collection of odd, low-paying or temporary jobs, from part-time gardeners, through shop clerks, to kindergarten substitute teachers.

The last concept fascinated him enough that he considered calling the number listed in the add, before he thought better of it and did not.

The truth is, there isn’t anything that makes him stand out, not only in Asgard, but even here, among the mortals. Yes, he is stronger than an average human, but that alone means little, besides some highly specialized fields like sports. Or war-making. Both of which he had to wipe off the list of possibilities right away – human sports were all about fair competition and using his Æs… Jötnar's constitution would be the complete opposite of that. Not to mention that his position on the team already – according to Fury’s words – put him under public scrutiny, so he wouldn’t be able to uphold his brand new identity for long.

And he is way beyond done with wars, his or someone else’s.

A vehicle passes him by, then pulls over to the side of the road in front of him. Loki isn’t sure what he is supposed to do in a situation like this, so he keeps the same pace, until he reaches the car. It’s different from Stark’s vehicles – taller, with just one row of the seats in the front and a flat bed in the back, possibly to be used to transport goods or equipment.

The side window is rolled down, but Loki still decides it’s the safest to just ignore it.

“Hey, buddy!” calls the driver, forcing Loki to look at him, which quickly reveals an unfamiliar face of a middle-aged man. He’s wearing a plaid shirt that’s unbuttoned at the top and a red hat with a rim to protect his face from the sun. That only trips off Loki’s anxiety. Is he getting recognized already? Is it another “fan” or rather one of those people who asked questions about Loki’s participation in the attack?

“Me?” Loki asks, as if the man could possibly mean someone else. There’s no other person – no other car even – as far as Loki can see.

“Yeah, you,” the man scoffs. “Want a ride?”

“No, thank you,” Loki says and starts walking again. He has no idea if it’s customary to offer strangers rides, or if it’s some sort of a trick.

The car moves forward a bit and slows down to match the speed of Loki’s walk. “Come on, it’s still miles to the closest town,” the man reasons.

“I’m aware,” Loki says and keeps on walking.

“And you intend to go all the way on foot?”

“Yes,” Loki says curtly.

That seems to knock the man’s confidence down. “Oh. Okay. I’m sorry for bothering you then,” he says and turns back to the steering wheel. Even with his unkempt beard and Midgardian clothes he looks a lot like Thor would, each time Loki would tell him “no”. On those rare occasions when he wouldn't just simply ignore it and proceed with doing whatever he wanted to do anyway, of course.

“Wait,” Loki says, before he can think more about it. “It was kind of you to offer. I’ll ride with you.”

The man’s face brightens back up. “Hop in, then!” he says and Loki scrambles into the booth.

“So, what’s your name?” the man asks, after Loki fastens his seatbelt and they start driving.

“Finn,” Loki says, trying out the new name. It sounds weird, but he’ll get used to it, he’s sure.

It comes off believable enough, apparently, because the man smiles. “Nice to meet you, Finn. I’m Jeff.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine.”

That only makes the man’s smile wider. “You’re not from around here, huh?”

“What gave you the idea?” Loki asks, keeping his tone light, despite the wariness that still lurks in the foreground of his thoughts.

The man laughs. “We don’t get many tourists here at this time of the year, and even then they usually stay away from Fire Island.”

“Why is that?”

Jeff just shrugs. “Bad vibes, I guess. So, you’re one of the suits?”

“Suits?”

“Government folk. From that ugly building over there,” Jeff adds, pointing his chin behind them. “Really ruins the landscape. And they bought even more land this year, so they intend to expand. Soon there’ll be nobody left on the island.”

“I’m more of an… independent consultant,” Loki says, carefully.

“That would explain why they didn’t even give you a car,” Jeff laughs. “Stuck-up fuckers.”

Loki chortles, for he doesn’t recognize the insult and has to rely on the All-Speak, which delivers quite a colorful rendition of the meaning.

“So, can I ask where you’re heading?”

“The train station, at this moment,” Loki says. “Then back to New York.”

“I’m going to Seaford, I can drop you off there if you want. It also has a train station, and it’s a few towns closer.”

“I’d like that, thank you,” Loki says.

“No problem, Finn.”

---

It turns out it isn’t a trap and Jeff is quite a pleasant travel companion. What he lacks in sophistication, he makes up in sense of humor, and talkativeness, and it doesn’t seem to bother him at all that Loki doesn’t say much other than an occasional word or two of confirmation that he’s still listening.

The road gets more frequented as they leave the overpass crossing the bay and drive into town, but it’s still nothing compared to the crowds in the city and Loki keeps the window down, allowing the wind to twist into his hair, as Jeff tells him his life story.

Apparently, he is one of the last original residents of Fire Island. He used to run a boat repair company there, but the clientele dwindled as more and more land was bought out and circled out with a chain-link fence and warning signs that warded off trespassers, until he was forced to move his business to Seaford.

Loki wonders for a while how would it be like, to live on a pier and spend entire days on decks swaying in the breeze, and it creates a pleasant image in his mind, at least until he realizes he doesn’t know the first thing about engines or engine repairs. Or boats, for that matter, unless one counts the Asgardian skiffs, that are boats only in name, not function.

“This is as far as I can take you,” Jeff says, pulling to a parking lot by the Seaford’s train station – a brick façade hiding under the tracks running on an overpass.

“Thank you,” Loki says and unbuckles his belt.

“Hey, Finn, I…” Jeff starts and scratches his beard, his eyes dashing up to meet Loki’s gaze, then immediately away. “Would you like to get a coffee?”

Loki frowns.

“Like… with me. There’s a nice café not far away from here. If you have time, of course.”

Loki stares at him for a moment, before he understands what he’s being asked for. His heart skips a beat, his brain rings in alarm, and his stomach twists in fear. Then he remembers that conversation with Stark.

It’s different, here.

He wants to say yes, so much. To see how it’s done on Midgard. To get to know the human some more, to hear some more of his stories, so far removed from everything that Loki knows, from everything that used to surround him in his previous life or that surrounds him now. To get just a taste of that mundane, normal existence, get lost in it for a while, and see where it leads him. “I’m sorry. I think I should head back,” he says instead. He cannot risk it. He’s pushing it as it is. If Jeff hasn’t yet figured out who Loki was, he would, soon, and he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with him. Nobody ever does. “I have somebody waiting for me.”

“Uh, yeah, okay, I get it.”

“An acquittance,” Loki adds, entirely against his better judgment.

Jeff looks at him, just for a brief moment, then leans over to rummage through a storage compartment between the seats, pulling out a small notebook and a pencil. He notes something down then tears out the page and hands it to Loki. “My number. If you ever found yourself around here and had any boats to fix…”

Loki thanks him with a nod and exits the car, then stands there, watching Jeff drive away. Only then he saves the number, just like Natasha showed him.

He adds a smiley after the name, too, just for a good measure.

---

The train ticket costs twelve dollars and Loki subtracts the amount from the available funds after paying. Then he has to subtract another two, because the sandwich in the food stall’s display looks too alluring to pass by and he has eaten only one donut since yesterday.

The taste doesn’t match the looks, but he eats it all anyway.

The train isn’t even half-full, so he finds a window seat that doesn’t have anyone sitting next to it, and gets back to his lecture. It would be nice to have an actual book to read, but those too cost money and it wouldn’t last him very long anyway, so he drops the idea of purchasing one quickly. He should not let the sudden change in his finances get into his head but focus only on what’s important, for there is no telling when the next opportunity like that can happen.

The line runs only as far as Brooklyn and the last stop is a busy terminal, allowing easy transfer to city buses and subterranean trains. Loki studies the plan and finds a line that would take him back to Stark’s tower. The fare is a further two and a half dollars though, so he decides to walk. After all, he didn’t get to finish that previous stroll, so it’s only fair.

It’s less of a seamless trek, here in the city, for most intersections have lights that force him to stop and wait for free passage, so it takes him an hour to get back to the Manhattan island, and it only gets harder from there. Luckily, Stark’s building crowning the skyline is never far off, and he can use it to navigate the streets and he only has to consult an information board for directions once.

By the time he reaches the tower’s vicinity, the streets have already turned into shadowy valleys. The sun hadn’t yet set, at least judging from the color of the sky, but it has rolled too far towards the horizon for the light to reach all the way down between the tall structures that surround him on all sides.

The stairs leading up to the tower’s lobby already emerge before him when he’s stopped by the last intersection. He waits for the lights to change and uses the time to study his surroundings – it’s the first time he finds himself on this side of the tower – and his eyes land on the store window down the street and the nameplate above it.

He considers for a moment. It might be a bad call, perhaps one of the worst even, but he’s yearning to vet the identity he’s been given and that seems like the most obvious way to do it. And, if anything goes wrong, he can always wrap himself in an illusion and escape the scene before anyone’s any wiser.

He reaches into his pocket, wraps his fingers around the two thousand, nine hundred seventy-two dollars and eleven cents in cash he has in there, adjusts the collar of his shirt, pulls a confident smile onto his face, and walks into the bank as if it was his Norns-given right to be there.

---

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Pepper says, just as Tony pulls out his phone for the sixth time in the last fifteen minutes.

“Yeah, I know, but…” He stops, before the trepidations pour out.

It was fine, until Barton came back half an hour ago and said Loki left the SHIELD HQ just after one pm, and that neither Barton nor Romanoff had seen him since then.

He knows he can call Loki and – should he pick up – it would solve all the questions that are gnawing at him, and he really wants to do it, almost as much as he knows that he shouldn’t. It would only prove everything he told the god wrong – that Tony thinks him a capable, responsible man and that Loki is free to leave whenever he wants.

It still doesn’t stop him from worrying and running different catastrophic scenarios in his head as he waits.

“Now you know how it feels,” Pepper offers with a smile, that seems only a tiny bit bitter. “You know, to wait for you to call or show up finally when you’re out doing your thing.”

He did call her, that day, and he cannot stop thinking about how she would feel for missing that call if he died.

“Jay…” Tony starts then bites his tongue.

“Do you want to overwrite the privacy protocols you set up, Sir?” Jarvis asks, and that too isn’t the first time it happens today.

The elevator chime plays and Tony turns back to the TV. He has no idea what happens in the plot that unveils on the screen, but he focuses his gaze on it anyway, as if it was the most interesting thing in the entire world right now.

“Hello, Loki!” Pepper calls, and Tony thanks her inside his mind, for he’s sure she does that to give Tony a confirmation just as much as from just being polite.

“Good evening, Pepper. Stark,” Loki says and walks towards the dining table, where they left some food for him to choose from, then rummages through the boxes for a while. His footsteps sound again, going back to the elevator, and Tony loses the uneven battle with himself and turns around, leaning against the backrest of the couch.

“So, how was your day?” he asks.

Loki stops and frowns, considering. “It was good,” he says, and it sounds like the answer surprises him.

He doesn’t say anything else before leaving, so Tony turns back to Pepper with a sigh.

She laughs and reaches to ruffle his hair. “I’m not sure if I should be jealous or grateful you don’t treat me this way,” she says and Tony leans closer and rests his head on her lap. “But I know that if we ever get those little Starks into the world, they are going to be royally screwed.”

“They won’t be allowed to leave the house before they turn eighteen,” he mutters into her clothes. “A case can be made for twenty-one.”

She runs her fingers through his hair. “How about we start on that today?”

“You’re reading my mind,” he purrs and greedily meets her lips when she bows down to kiss him.

Chapter 14: The Lesson

Chapter Text

Loki eyes the collection of his possessions spread out on his bed through narrowed eyes. There’s the passport, the ID card, the driving license, his phone, the two hundred seventy dollars and change he kept, and the card the bank teller gave him yesterday. It’s a temporary one, since it takes time to print out a permanent credit card, apparently, and he has to pick that up at the bank in a couple of days.

It went surprisingly smoothly, and the only complication occurred the moment he was asked about his permanent residence address and he couldn’t come up with an answer, beyond just turning around and pointing his finger at Stark’s tower on the other side of the street, which would indubitably blow the lid off the simulacrum of his new identity. Since he had to offer something, he told the clerk that he just arrived in the country and was staying at a friend’s place for a while.

It wasn’t even a lie, besides the “friend” part.

Perhaps even not that.

After that, he was allowed to leave the field empty for now and to retrieve the card personally.

He picks the temporary one up and turns it between his fingers. It’s fascinating, how compact the human life can be: all those things necessary to survive on the Realm could fit in his pocket, without the use of any magic whatsoever.

Well, it’s not everything, not yet. All he has, for now, is the charity handout from Fury…

After the initial excitement passed, the nagging thought took residence in Loki’s brain and refuses to leave. He declined Stark’s offer, and yet accepted Fury’s without a second thought, even though it most likely came with many more caveats and hidden details that wouldn’t be there if he simply took Stark’s money when the man suggested it. Stark would probably forget about it the next day – he has spent ten times more on clothes for Loki to wear for one occasion and hasn’t mentioned it again so far, even though he could’ve easily used it as leverage.

Maybe that was exactly the reason why Loki took Fury’s offering and shot down Stark’s. It made sense, that way. He was being given something and the implications that he would have to pay for it later made it fair. This is how it usually worked for Loki. Stark’s seemingly selfless favors were infinitely more baffling.

Unless Stark is playing some long game, but what the purpose of it could be – Loki cannot fathom. Loki is just one person, with no resources nor allies who could bring a benefit for Stark – either as an enterprise or as a person. More so, helping him puts Stark in a dangerous position once Asgard comes knocking and demands Loki’s return. Going by Asgard’s rules, what Stark – and Fury, on behalf of SHIELD, which in turn is an extension of the human government – are doing is harboring an enemy and it could bring Asgard’s – and, most importantly, Odin’s wrath on them.

Loki grits his teeth and tries to push the thought aside, but that doesn’t help, so he gets up and walks a few circles around the room to clear his head and silence the alarm that screeches at him to leave everything and run, as far away as he can. It doesn’t tell him where, just away.

It solves nothing, Loki knows. There’s no way to escape his past. It will always catch up to him, if not by Odin’s hand, then by Thanos’. And if he’s to face it, he might just as well do it here. If he manages to make himself useful, the refuge he’s been offered here might be upheld even once Asgard comes calling. And perhaps Odin would find it in him to just let Loki stay in exile. Not on behalf of Loki’s own virtues, of course, but to maintain the peace between the realms.

It's a faint and foolish hope, but Loki clings to it. That’s his chance.

A chance to have a life, here. He’d have laughed at the idea a mere few years ago, but now it doesn’t sound as ridiculous as it would back then. Midgard might indeed be primitive in some aspects and drenched in chaos and wars and petty struggles between mortals. But where there’s chaos, there’re opportunities, and now he can see it more clearly than before. And if he’s to wait to face his fate, he might at least do it where his very presence isn’t treated as a nuisance.

He finishes another circle around the room and stops by the bed once more, then his eyes land on one of the plastic cards. If he truly intends to build his new life here, he has to start working on it. And he might just have gotten an idea on where to start.

---

“Stark,” Loki says, making Tony jump.

Yes, he granted Loki access to the workshop and hasn’t withdrawn it – or even planned to – but he’s still not used to people interrupting his work like that. It’s entirely on Tony though, so he just rolls his eyes and masks his reaction with a chuckle.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Can I borrow one of your cars?”

Tony tilts his head to the side. “Yeah, sure,” he says. After all, he suggested it before, and if he did so just to test how the god would react – again – Tony has nobody but himself to blame that Loki decided to take him up on the offer. “May I ask what for though?”

Loki’s lips pull into a thin line and his eyes dash to the exit, as if he was considering just walking out instead of answering.

“I’m just curious, that’s all,” Tony says.

Loki lets out a sigh. “I would like to get some practice,” he says quietly, and there’s a note in his voice that sounds almost as if he was admitting to some dirty secret and not saying a completely normal thing. “It’s been… some time since I had the opportunity to operate one of the Midgardian automobiles.”

Tony chortles at the phrasing, and the fact that Loki knows exactly what he’s doing – he’s admitted having learned English and asked for a “car” just a minute ago – makes it even more entertaining.

“Fair,” he judges. “Just pick whatever you like from the garage. And if you want something from the time the cars were still called automobiles, you might want to look in the last row.”

Loki’s still frowning, but his edginess from a moment ago gives way to curiosity with just a pinch of confusion, so Tony considers it progress.

“If it’s not a problem, I’d like something… more representative of how modern vehicles are operated,” Loki says, then carries on, as if it needed any further explanation, “In case that skill is required of me during a mission.”

“I’m sure you can pick something from the collection as well. If you’re not certain, just ask Jarvis,” Tony says, before he can think better about what he’s saying.

And, just like that, the hopeful, open expression wipes off Loki’s face as if with a touch of a magic wand – which makes for a very appropriate comparison in Tony’s mind for a second before he remembers that bit about sorcerers, mages and wizards and thinks better of it – and gets replaced with wariness. While many of Tony’s guests are wary of Jarvis at first, they usually take little time for them to warm up to him. After all, Jay was designed exactly for that – to be the extension of Tony and a perfect host.

Loki though… To say the god is wary of Jarvis would be an understatement of the century. Tony isn’t sure whether it stems from Loki’s lack of instinctual understanding that, at the end of the day, Jarvis is still a machine and as such subservient to Tony’s wishes, or from the complete opposite, and the more he thinks about it, the less he likes the conclusion. He already did what he could short of taking Jarvis offline and leaving himself without any assistance to alleviate the issue – preventing Jay from interacting with Loki and reporting on his moves unless the god explicitly requests assistance or finds himself in a situation requiring outside intervention – but it doesn’t seem to help much. That might be because he didn’t tell Loki any of this though. He intends to, but hasn’t found the right moment yet, and if he blows it, it might make things even worse than they are now just by drawing Loki’s attention to the issue.

“Alternatively, I can help you pick something,” he suggests. “Or better, give you the first lesson? How about that?”

Loki hesitates for a short while, then nods. “I would appreciate it,” he says. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing. You wanna go right now?”

“That was the idea,” Loki says cagily. “Although I can return later if this isn’t a suitable moment.”

Tony gives his monitor a quick look – the final version of Mark Seven he was just doing the finishing touches on – and weighs his options. He could tell Loki he needed to finish first and it wouldn’t be more than two or three hours before the design was ready for the CNC mill. But it was the first time Loki actually asked for something and to shoot it down might mean he’d never dare to ask for anything again.

“No, it’s fine. I was about to take a break anyway,” he says, wipes his hands in a grease rag, out of habit, realizes how ridiculous it makes him look – he was working on the computer the whole time – and gestures at the door with a chuckle. “Shall we?”

---

Tony takes Loki to have a look at the aisle that holds Tony’s “normal” cars – those he keeps to actually drive without drawing attention on a daily basis and not actual parts of his collection. Not that he is totally opposed to giving one of those a joy ride – the passion with which he worked to maintain them and keep them in a pristine condition has faded to the background in the last years, replaced with more important pursuits – but it kind of denies the point.

He offers a quick explanation on each car they pass – the year of production, the type of engine and transmission, safety features, and the like – and they make their way somewhere halfway through the aisle before he realizes Loki’s face remains blank all thorough. He might not even understand the difference in the same way Tony does. More so, why would he?

Aliens. Potatoes.

“Any of those fits your criteria,” he says with a wide gesture. “So, anything that piques your interest?”

Loki stops and his forehead wrinkles, then he points his chin at a car a few rows away from them.

Tony laughs, because – of all the limousines, S Classes, and luxury SUVs – Loki picked Pepper’s Corolla, the car she uses when she does her “regular person” things and doesn’t want to be recognized.

“It’s because of the color, isn’t it?” he says.

Loki shrugs, but the look on his face cannot be considered anything else but “guilty”. Well, it isn’t much of a surprise. After all, it’s the only green car in the bunch.

---

Tony isn’t sure how much Loki knows, so he goes through all the basics, pretty much reenacting the scene from when Jarvis taught him to drive. Tony was fourteen years old and the man caught him fiddling with Howard’s car one time too many.

He starts by opening the hood and pointing out all the important parts.

It’s impressive, how attentive Loki gets once the subject at hand is of a real interest for him and how on point his follow-up questions are. At some point, Tony has to cut the explanation on how hydraulics in the suspension work short, because it drifts too far away from the general knowledge a driver needs to have to be able to, well, drive. It’s also rather fascinating, how quickly Loki seems to catch everything Tony says, which makes Tony trust the god’s assertion that – while he might not be overly familiar with Earth’s technology – he has significant experience operating vehicles from other places in the universe.

“Huh, one would think aliens would have flying ships soaring through their cities,” he jokes at some point.

“The universe is a vast place,” Loki says, only partially paying attention to the words, as his sole focus is directed at adjusting the rearview mirror for the seventh time. “There are many civilizations that surpass your level of development by millions of years, but there are those that do not. There are planets that never figured out flight even.”

“How many are there? The civilizations, I mean.”

Loki looks at Tony with a frown for a long time. “Do you really expect me to know the answer to that question?” he says, carefully spacing out his words as he speaks them and watching Tony’s reaction, as if it was some trick, and not just a temporary absence of imagination that struck Tony just as he let it out.

“I guess that was stupid of me to ask,” he says and raises his hands in placation.

Loki bestows him with a benevolent and only a tiny bit sly smile, and Tony is sure that only his good manners prevent him from going for Tony’s – metaphorical – throat right now.

“Anyone in our solar system?”

Loki gives him another meaningful stare.

“Okay, okay, I was just making sure,” Tony chuckles. “So, who’s the closest?”

Loki finally lets go of the mirror, sits back, and turns his head away. “Jotunheimr,” he says curtly.

“That’s where you’re from originally, right?”

There’s another pause.

“Yes,” Loki says, and it’s barely more than a whisper.

Okay, touchy subject.

“Nice. We would have been basically space neighbors if you weren’t adopted,” Tony jokes, but it does nothing to remove the tension from Loki’s shoulders. “So, wanna start now?”

Loki takes a deep breath, turns his gaze ahead and nods. He turns on the ignition and sets the transmission to drive, just like Tony said he should. Tony wishes Loki picked a car with a stick shift, as is the only right way, but only for a second, for Loki activates the accelerator then, a bit too harshly. The car juts forward, before Loki – in a brilliant show of an instinct he rightfully shouldn’t yet possess – steps on the brakes. The car stops a foot away from the concrete pillar in front of them, and the engine chokes, coughs, and cuts out.

Loki mutters something that sounds much like a curse.

“It’s fine,” Tony says and readjusts the seatbelt that now got locked by the sudden halt. “I should’ve warned you. Try reverse now. Slowly.”

Loki tries the reverse, slowly, and it goes much smoother.

“See? Told you.”

Loki turns into the aisle, avoiding both the column and the cars parked by the sides, then drives a slow circle on the garage’s driveway, then a couple more. It’s definitely not the easiest place to practice, for the driveway is narrow and meant for careful maneuvers and not just driving around, but – short of one more engine stall – it goes much better than Tony would expect. Perfect, even, considering nothing gets damaged or even scratched. Definitely better than Tony’s first attempt, all those years ago, when he got too cocky too quickly.

Loki does one more circle and stops next to the parking spot they left, then carefully – and very, very slowly – tries to back into it. It takes him a few tries and a couple of readjustments to get the turn radius right, but he does, in the end, then turns off the engine.

“Nice,” Tony comments.

Loki nods in acknowledgment and reaches to undo his seatbelt.

“How about we do some actual driving now?” Tony says.

The frown on Loki’s forehead is back. “On the streets?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “I mean, why not?”

“I think I need to practice some more first,” Loki says.

“Nah. As long as you don’t hit any pedestrians, we’ll be fine.”

“All right,” Loki agrees, even though it’s rather obvious he isn’t fully dedicated to the idea.

“Jay…” Tony starts, then realizes it’s the only car they have at the tower that isn’t connected to the network. He unrolls the window. “Jay, open the gate for us, pretty please.”

“Very well, Sir,” Jarvis says. “Safe travels.”

Loki sighs, grips the steering wheel, and slowly rolls the car out of the garage.

---

It turns out that – despite all the encouraging words – Tony still somehow managed to not give Loki enough credit. The short, less than an hour session seems to have been enough for Loki to… well, maybe not master the car’s operation, but definitely get a decent grip of it, and he has enough spatial awareness to not crash into the first car they pass on the street. Nor the second. Nor any of the others.

There are hiccups, yes. While Loki appears to have figured out the basics on his own – which side of the road to stay on, what the lines mean and what intersection lights are for – the more advanced rules need explanation. Street signs, yielding rules, and speed limits, although the last one only in theory, for Loki is being overtly mindful of the traffic around and stays below them, sometimes to the point of making the drivers beyond them honk impatiently.

Loki asks what it means and, at first, Tony tells him to ignore it, but then thinks better of it and tells the god the real reason. Loki nods, accepting the answer, then slows down even more.

---

They make a couple of rounds through downtown Manhattan, before Tony guides them away from the city center and into the Holland tunnel leading to New Jersey, then further West, to Newark, where the less regular grid and some intersections without traffic lights offer some better field for practice.

At that point, Loki's queries grow rarer and he gets confident enough to no longer dedicate his entire mental capacity to observe his surroundings and the vehicle operations, and Tony can even sneak a few questions of his own in.

He keeps them impersonal, and that helps tremendously. While Loki undeniably gets cagy with the private matters, this sort of general subjects he excels at, bestowing Tony with all sorts of fascinating facts about his – theirs, apparently – galaxy and the people living in it.

He’s telling Tony about a race of sentient rock creatures, named Kronans, when Tony realizes a good few hours have passed and his stomach starts to demand attention.

“How about we stop for a moment and grab something to eat?” he suggests and Loki’s enthusiastic nod makes him realize another thing – yesterday’s meal was most likely Loki’s last. Tony truly does an awful job as a host, doesn’t he?

They find a small Italian restaurant a moment later and Loki pulls off almost a perfect parallel parking maneuver in front of it.

“I feel like I’m no longer needed here,” Tony jokes. “Congratulations. Although, I must warn you, you need a license to drive around on your own, without anybody watching over you. And yeah, I realize it might sound weird, but I don’t make the rules. But don’t worry, if you call me I can bail you out if the road patrol pulls you over,” he adds, to lighten the mood.

Loki sighs and reaches into his pocket then hands Tony a driver’s license. It has Loki’s photo on it, but an unfamiliar name.

“Huh.”

“Fury gave it to me. He called it… a witness protection program.”

“Well, that solves a thing or two,” Tony judges, still studying the document. “They got your eye color wrong though. It says “blue”, here,” he remarks, and rather belatedly regrets it. He shouldn’t be noticing his colleagues' eye colors like that, should he? Then again, the green of Loki’s eyes is so remarkable it’s probably the first thing people usually do notice about him.

“I’m guessing Fury’s men used the data they collected about me when I was apprehended during the invasion,” Loki says quietly.

The flash of blue in Clint’s eyes, visible even over the camera feed, immediately forces itself in front of Tony's mind’s eye. If only he had noticed earlier… but how could he, if he had nothing to compare it to?

How did Thor not notice though?

A new wave of anger at the Thunder god washes over Tony. If he wasn’t a self-centered, inattentive piece of shit none of this would happen. If he only cared enough…

“Stark?” Loki prompts.

“Yeah, sorry,” Tony says and hands Loki the document back. “Food now?”

“Yes.”

“Sure thing…” He’s about to add some obscure pop culture reference, but – before he decides between Stuntman Mike and Bullitt – he realizes Loki wouldn’t get it anyway and changes his mind. “I suddenly crave some pasta.”

“What’s a ‘pasta’?” Loki asks.

“I’m not about to spoil the surprise for you.”

---

They order – it’s not a fancy enough place to have waiters, since it’s basically a small room with an open kitchen and a couple of tables set directly by the street outside – or rather, Tony orders for both of them, and they go back outside to find a place to sit.

There’s no trace of Loki’s unusual talkativeness left, now that Tony cannot use the distraction driving around provided to squeeze anything more than the polite but curt and guarded answers, so Tony quickly gives up, and they sit in silence, sipping their coffee. It isn’t as awkward as Tony might expect, so he curbs his instinct to fill it with empty babble.

When their food is ready, Loki eyes the meal through narrowed eyes, examines the set of cutlery each of them has been given, frowns, then turns his gaze to Tony.

“You can always use your fingers if you’re not sure,” Tony offers, only partially as a joke. “I don’t mind.”

“I would rather not,” Loki says, and an emotion Tony cannot quite name crosses his face, just to fade quickly.

Tony sighs, remembering all the meals he was forced to scrap off the bottom of a metal bowl with his fingers in the cave, and drops his gaze to his plate, suddenly having lost most of his appetite. He still meticulously wraps the spaghetti around the three-pronged fork, helping himself with the spoon, to show off the proper way to do it.

Loki copies his moves, and does so with infinitely more grace, too.

“How is it?” Tony asks.

“It’s delicious,” Loki says, and, as per usual, Tony has no idea if he’s just being polite or if it’s really the case. “Thank you.”

They eat and Tony keeps on stealing glances at Loki. At the polite, graceful, poised, sharp-witted man sitting beside him, and he simply cannot believe they took him for their enemy so easily.

---

After the meal, Stark agrees to continue the lessons.

Loki is tempted to test the limits of Stark’s patience and drive around until the man tells him to return to the tower, but in the end, he relinquishes before that happens and suggests it himself. It’s almost sundown and they spent an entire day in the car. As much as he enjoys the activity – and, if he’s to be honest with himself, Stark’s company – the constant focus he has to maintain wears him down mentally as the day drags on. It’s still the good kind of fatigue – one stemming from achieving something rather than sitting idle. He even musters enough mettle to ask Stark for an encore at some time in the future, to which the human agrees so quickly and so enthusiastically that it’s startling.

It doesn’t take long for the doubts to start settling.

Loki’s last two days were the best days he had in–

Years? That’s obvious. Decades? Probably. Ages maybe?

And it simply cannot be right. It just doesn’t happen, not to Loki. There must be something he is missing, something that will come back to haunt him when he least expects it, to kick him down when he’s at his lowest.

He reaches his floor and heads straight for the bathroom.

As far as he can tell, it’s the only room in the entire suite that doesn’t have a camera. The only room where he can escape Jarvis’ watchful eyes. He turns the shower on, letting the billowing steam fill the room, and strips.

At first, he just stands there, under the streams, his forehead and palms pressed to the tile, the water carrying away his tears without leaving a trace, but his legs fail him and he collapses to his knees, the desperate, pitiful sobs he can no longer hold inside racking his body.

Why am I like this? Why can’t I accept it that maybe – just maybe – there might be a place for me in this world?

There isn’t, that vicious voice that has been his constant companion throughout his entire life chimes in. There never was and never could be. You’re broken and defective. Just a runt that survived only by a cosmic mistake.

It is the same voice, yes, but somehow, it doesn’t sound like it always has. It doesn’t sound like Loki’s voice, not anymore. Instead, it sounds like Thor's, and Odin's, and Mother's, and Sif's, and Fandral's, and…

“No,” Loki says under his breath and it drowns in the whisper of water falling around him, so he says it again, louder.

Asking for help doesn’t mean you’re broken.

A deep breath, then another, and the pressure in his chest subsides. He turns the water off, wipes his face with his palms, and drags himself back up to his feet.

He fishes the phone out of the pocket of the trousers he abandoned on his way to the shower and returns to the main room.

He sits on his bed and stares at the phone screen for a long time.

Then he calls Ethel Lund’s number.

Chapter 15: Ethel

Chapter Text

“Hello?” a female voice sounds in the speaker. It’s even and polite, although a little rough, as if the owner has just woken up.

Only then Loki realizes how late it is, just two hours before midnight. In Asgard, summoning or visiting someone just before – or more so during – their time of rest was considered highly inappropriate. Whether it’s the same on Midgard or not, he doesn’t know, but it still feels like a blunder.

He reaches to end the call.

“Hello?” the woman repeats. “Is anybody there?”

Loki bites his lower lip, torn between just rudely disconnecting without saying a word and actually speaking up. The first option is winning for the time being, but something makes him consider the latter still.

Heartbeats – seconds – pass without a decision.

“If you’re calling me because you want to talk, it’s fine,” Ethel says. “I’m here. Take all the time you need.”

There’s something comforting in the way she says it, her calm, even voice standing in stark contrast to the tumult in Loki’s head.

“Hello?” he says, and it sounds weak and unsure.

“Hi,” Ethel says. “I don’t recognize your voice. You are not one of my regulars, are you?”

“No. I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called this late,” Loki manages to stutter out. It’s just a conversation, like millions of other conversations Loki has had in his life. Just words, no deeper meaning. And yet, his heart is tussling wildly in his chest and his lungs are burning with each inhale.

“It’s quite all right. This is what I’m here for. Will you tell me your name?”

“I’m… Finn,” Loki says.

She breathes out a small laugh, but it doesn’t feel like ridicule, just mild amusement. “It’s nice to meet you, Finn,” she says. “I’m Ethel.”

“I… I know. My…” Loki searches his mind for a proper word to describe Stark, and lands on one that feels as outlandish as it is fitting, considering everything. “My friend gave me your number. He said you could help me.”

“This is what I do for a living, yes. I help people overcome things that are holding them back and find peace within themselves. But there are certain requirements without which it isn’t going to work. You must be ready to admit you need help and you need to be ready to face your problems, no matter what they are.”

There’s a stretch of silence, overlayed with the static of the telephone connection.

“Are you ready for that?” she presses on.

“I…” Loki starts and turns the rest into a sigh. He has no idea what this is supposed to achieve and he certainly doesn’t want to bare himself like that in front of some mortal woman he didn’t even meet in person.

“Well, let’s find the answer together, okay? But you will have to be honest with me, starting, perhaps, with your real name?”

Loki grits his teeth. This was a bad idea from the very start. He reaches to press the red button.

“Don’t hang up,” Ethel says.

“I wasn’t going to,” Loki says. He offers no excuse and his voice is steady and firm – all the ingredients of a believable lie.

“If this is how you want to play it, okay. Again, it’s not my role to push you or to make you do things against your will. But I won’t be able to help if you don’t talk to me. It doesn’t have to be the full truth, if you’re not ready for it.”

Loki sucks in a long breath through clenched teeth, but there’s now that spark of curiosity that makes him stand on the line. Nobody in his long life was able to call him out on his lies so seamlessly and without a miss. “I can’t reveal my real name,” he says. “It would only complicate things, for both of us.”

“I see,” she says. “That’s a start. Now tell me, Finn, what made you call me?”

“I…” Loki starts once more, and once more the answer refuses to leave his lips. He forces it out. “I’m lost and I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s a good reason to call,” she judges. “Has something changed in your life that made you feel like that?”

“Yes.”

“Now, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to think about it and answer it the best you can, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Do you feel like your current state of mind can affect your behavior and make you do things you wouldn’t normally do, like, for example, hurting yourself or someone else?”

His first instinct is to deny it immediately, and it might even be the truth, but he does as instructed and goes over it in his head. He would certainly be keen on hurting someone right now, if an appropriate person appeared in front of him, but that doesn’t qualify as something he wouldn’t normally do. Driving a blade through Ebony Maw’s or Nebula’s flesh would most likely work much better at improving his mood than any “therapy”. “No,” he says in the end.

“Good. In that case, how about you come over to my office tomorrow and we talk in person?”

“Why?”

That seems to give Ethel a pause, but only a minute one. “Some things are better discussed face to face, don’t you think?”

“It won’t work. I… I can’t,” he says, and just as he does, he realizes he truly wants to.

“Is it the same issue as with giving me your name?”

“Yes.”

“I understand,” she says. “But I want you to know one thing. Everything we speak about, here or during a regular session, stays between us and is covered by the doctor-patient confidentiality clause. Now, there are some exceptions, where I’d be inclined to break it. If there was a rational concern that my patient may hurt someone or themselves and all other means I could use to prevent it were exhausted, I’d call the authorities. Other than that, there are no laws or institutions that could force me to reveal what was discussed.”

Loki of course has no way to verify whether it’s true or not, and – as much as the watchful, fretful side of him screams that it couldn’t possibly be true – something makes him consider it still.

“How about I put you in…” There’s a rustle of pages being turned. “Tomorrow, at ten am? No strings attached. If you don’t show up, I’ll just have an extra break. But think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“That’s great. Do you have any questions, or something else you’d like me to know?”

Loki is about to answer that no, he has no more questions, then realizes there’s one small, but potentially very important detail. “How much is it going to cost?”

“Is this something that’s of concern to you?”

“Yes,” Loki says, truthfully, even though it stings to have to admit it. There’s no other way though. If he cannot pay what is being asked of him, the point of the whole endeavor is moot.

There’s a moment of silence.

Is this it? Is it going to be another feature of Midgardian life that Loki is going to be barred from because of his lack of monetary resources? It’s ought to be, since he cannot even fathom asking Stark to pay for Loki’s privilege of talking to someone–

“How about… we make it just a conversation? You come over, we talk for a while, and – if you decide you want to carry on – we will come up with an arrangement together? Would that work for you?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she says. “So, ten in the morning, tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

She chuckles softly. “I’ll send you the address when we finish talking.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Finn. Have a nice evening.”

“You too,” Loki answers automatically.

The connection stays on, but the conversation seems to be over, so he ends the call.

He collapses back to the bed and stares at the darkened ceiling, trying to get a sense of what had just happened. He should be angry, at the woman, for constructing the conversation like a trap, and at himself, for falling into that trap. Nothing of merit has been said, just meaningless drivel and empty promises. And yet, there’s a certain lightness in his chest already, and his breaths come easily, and his head is clearer than it had been in days.

Then he realizes one more thing – he really wants to go to the meeting.

His phone pings a new message and, just as Ethel said, it’s the address. He checks the location on the map. It’s six miles from the Tower, on the other side of the narrow river that divides Manhattan island from the mainland, and the neat feature informs him it’s twenty minutes by train or two hours by foot.

He turns off the screen and crawls under his sheets. If he’s to go for a stroll in the morning, he might get some rest beforehand.

---

Romanoff raises an eyebrow when he joins her and Barton for breakfast.

“Going somewhere?” she says, eyeing his outfit. He put on a similar combination to what Stark had called the “unassuming office worker disguise”, which should work sufficiently for blending into the crowd once more.

“Yes,” he admits and pours himself a cup of tea from Banner’s teapot.

“Where?”

“Out.”

She sniggers and shakes her head. “Fine, keep your secrets. But I would still leave Stark a message if I were you.”

“Why?”

“The day before yesterday, when you disappeared for an entire afternoon, he was worried out of his mind. He tried to pretend he wasn’t, but he was.”

“Yep,” Barton confirms, without tearing his eyes from his phone. He’s sipping his coffee, sitting back in his chair with his legs on the table.

Loki tips his chin down, to make it easier to cover the overwhelming disappointment he feels. Despite all the declarations, Stark didn’t trust him even as far as walking around the city on his own went.

“If I’m being honest, I was worried too,” Romanoff adds.

Of course, they wouldn’t trust him. Just a few days ago, he was attacking them. His own words were the only proof of his intentions. He was a fool expecting anything else, and they would be fools if they believed anything he said.

“I can tell you’re getting stupid ideas already, so I’m going to say it,” Romanoff carries on. “We weren’t worried about what you might do, but because you’re still recovering and this is an entirely new situation for you.”

“I’m fine. I can take care of myself.”

“Mhm. Which is why nobody launched a search and rescue operation. But that doesn’t mean we cannot be worried, the same way we’d be worried if any other team member disappeared for a day without leaving a hint at where they went and when they might be back. There are people who would like to see us hurt just because we do what we do, and now that we do it publicly, the risk is even higher.”

Loki blinks. He is tempted to take the assurances for what they appear to be, but how can he, if they are coming from Romanoff? She already fooled him once before.

“Listen,” she says. She leans forward and rests her elbows on the table, folding her hands in front of her. “I don’t want to pretend I don’t remember what you’ve done, but I want you to realize that I also remember what you’ve done after that, and everything you’ve told us. This isn’t me breathing down your neck and watching out for a misstep. This is me caring about my teammate, and I’m pretty sure the same goes for everyone here.”

Barton hums something that might be a confirmation.

“I have a meeting,” Loki says carefully. “With someone Stark recommended me to see. I should be back before nightfall.”

“See, that wasn’t that hard,” Romanoff laughs and sits back in her chair again. “Do you want a ride? I came by to pick Clint up and batten on the contents of Stark’s pantry, but we’ve got to go soon.”

“No, thank you,” Loki says. “It’s not far and I don’t mind walking.”

She chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Sure,” she says and pushes a place half filled with food to him. “A sandwich?”

“Thank you, Natasha,” he says and picks a slice, with some red paste and some green leaves on top. The leaves have a bitter tang, but it goes surprisingly well with the sweetness of the paste and the mild taste of the bread.

Then he goes for another, and another, then washes it down with his tea. Romanoff has no more nagging for him, so he sits with them until it’s time to leave.

---

The building where Ethel Lund’s office is located is a white block, with big windows and a flat roof, a couple of stories high. It’s situated next to a park, so, since Loki arrives half an hour too early, he whiles away the time sitting on a bench under a sprawling tree.

There’s a pair of men sitting on the grass nearby. They are sharing some sort of meal from one container, talking and holding hands. They are far enough for the words of their conversations to not reach Loki, but he can still hear them laughing and see the causal way they behave around one another.

It would be considered public indecency in Asgard at the very least, but there are people walking around and nobody even bothers to look.

Perhaps it truly is different, here.

---

The office is on the second floor of the building, the door leading to it marked with simple “Dr. Ethel Lund”, with no other titles or descriptions, suggesting that those who come here know what they are looking for.

Loki knocks, but gets no answer, so he pushes on the handle, expecting nothing. The door is open though and leads into what looks like a small waiting area.

Just as he enters, the door on the other side of the room opens, and Ethel walks out. She looks older than on the photograph on her internet page, but other than that, the image didn’t lie.

“Good morning, Finn. You’re just on time,” she says, smiles, and gestures Loki into the room she just stepped out of.

It isn’t overly spacious, and it’s made to appear even smaller by the heavy furniture – tall shelves loaded with books, a big desk made out of some dark wood, a plush sofa, and a matching chair on the opposite side of the small table. Most of the curtains are drawn, leaving wall sconces to provide illumination.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’m not overly fond of coffee,” Loki says.

“You’ve gotten my attention already,” she jokes, sits down in the armchair, and beckons Loki to sit on the sofa. Then, once he does, she carries on, “Have you ever been to a session like this?”

Loki shakes his head.

She sits back and laces her fingers on her stomach. “So, this is how it works. I’m going to ask you questions, but you shouldn’t treat them like something set in stone and more of a guidance, to help you get to the bottom of things. If, at any moment, you feel like changing subjects and telling me about something else, just tell me, and we’ll get back to it when you feel comfortable with talking about it.”

Loki nods.

“Anything that we’re going to talk about is going to stay in this room. Nothing of this is going to be recorded or noted down.”

Loki has no way to verify it – there could be a whole host of Midgardian recording devices in the room and he would be none the wiser – so he offers her another nod, a tad more tentative this time.

“Also, for the sake of clarity, I need to tell you that I recognized you the moment you walked through the door,” she says. “Prince Loki of Asgard, right?”

Loki’s heart does an unpleasant flip behind his sternum. He stifles a groan, and moves to get up. “It was a mistake to come here,” he says.

“I’m not going to stop you from leaving, if that’s what you really want to do,” she says. She doesn’t move from her armchair, doesn’t do as much as turn her head. “But you came here for a reason, and that reason didn’t change.”

Loki stops, halfway to the door. “I’m supposed to be strong. A hero,” he says. He still can’t get the word out without wrapping it in sarcasm, it simply refuses to leave his lips on its own. “And what kind of hero can I make if I can’t deal with things inside my own head on my own? How can I earn people’s respect and trust if I can’t trust myself?”

She smiles, but there’s something behind that smile Loki cannot decode. “I’m guessing your friend’s choice to give you my number wasn’t at all random. You see, I made quite a name for myself in certain circles. Many of the most prominent people in the country are my patients or were in the past. I’m not going to give you any names, I hope you understand why, but there’s one thing they all have in common – the aura of success. Power, respect, accolades. You’d think they have it all figured out. But the truth is… one can only stay strong for so long, and no amount of money or fame can save you from the demons that live in your head. It’s the unavoidable consequence of life to feel regret and grief, and to feel it doesn’t make you worse than anybody else. All it makes you is a person.”

Loki rubs his eyes, wanders back then slumps onto the sofa. “I… I don’t know where to start,” he says quietly.

“How about the beginning?”

“The beginning?”

“How about you tell me more about your home? About your parents?”

Loki glowers at her.

“It might be a cliché to start with that, but from my experience, many issues stem from our upbringing, and – judging from your reaction – you’re not immune to that yourself.”

Loki draws a deep breath. “You called me a ‘prince’, but I’m not truly that. Nor am I of Asgard.”

She gestures at him to go on.

Loki hesitates, just a heartbeat, then starts talking.

He starts small, telling her about his childhood at Thor’s side. There are many details he needs to describe, for – just as he’s missing many intricacies of the life on Midgard – Ethel, as a human, has no comprehension of the Aesir ways. It goes slowly at first, requiring Ethel to ask follow-up questions, but – as time goes on – it gets easier and easier.

---

He doesn’t even get to Thor’s coronation day before Ethel looks at her watch and frowns. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to put you on a pause here. My next session is scheduled in fifteen minutes and it’s better for everyone if patients don’t meet at my door.”

That tears Loki away from the depth of his memories and back to reality. He swallows the last sentence that tries to force its way to his lips and nods curtly.

She retrieves a small notebook and pages through it. “How about the same time next week?” she asks.

Loki sets his jaw and shakes his head. His curiosity won yesterday and he checked the prices of such services. The internet informed him that it could be upwards of a hundred dollars an hour and they went beyond that. Not to mention that – considering Ethel’s usual clientele – her rates most likely come with a significant premium.

“We can figure out some other timeslot if it doesn’t fit you,” she says.

“No, it’s not about that. I just… I can’t pay for your time. I have no job, no place to stay of my own, and even the clothes I wear were gifted to me.”

She looks at him with a frown. “I see. If that wasn’t a problem, would you like to meet again?”

“Yes,” Loki says. It’s true, as much as it doesn’t change anything.

“I’m putting you for the next week then,” she says and scribbles something in her notebook.

“I just told you–“

“That you can’t pay. I got it, yes. But we’ve just started, so I’m putting you in for the next week. I’ll make sure to space my other sessions a little more, so we’d have more time.”

“But–“

“I have CEOs who pay me two grand an hour to complain how their new mistress doesn’t like their old mistress,” she says. “I won’t go hungry, just because I spent some time talking to someone who actually needs it.”

“Thank you,” Loki says with a court bow.

She laughs at it, and waves him on. “Ten am, next week. Don’t be late,” she reminds him when he’s at the door.

“I won’t.”

---

He walks out to the sunlit lobby.

Perhaps it’s done on purpose – the muted colors and shadows lurking in the corners – to create a contrast between the study and the world outside. And, if it is, it’s working. Everything that’s been said is left in that room, leaving him to feel all that lighter to carry on with his day.

He takes a deep breath and marches through the door, onto the sun-bathed street, and if there’s a new spring in his steps that wasn’t there before, nobody needs to know.

---

At first, he intends to walk straight back to the Tower, but the day is nice and the thought of spending the rest of it inside isn’t all that alluring, especially considering there’s nothing for him to do.

So, instead of following the same route he took to get there – drafted by the feature in his phone to be the most efficient, if not the most scenic – he picks an alternative one.

Despite the size of the city – even the parts he visited are already bigger than the whole capital of Asgard, and he has seen the sprawl from the sky, reaching far towards the horizon – it’s not that hard to navigate. Every road has a name or a number – displayed both on signs at intersections and plaques on adjacent buildings and on the map, making it laughably easy to know where he is – and most of them run on for leagues in the same direction, instead of twisting and turning like they do in Asgard, as if the Aesir of old who built the city had a personal quarrel with simplicity.

He circles around the big park they visited with Stark – it’s called Central Park, which, while definitely not too creative, makes much sense – and follows the wide road that runs along it, called – unsurprisingly – Central Park West.

More surprisingly, this part of the city was spared most of the carnage. The portal was opened over Stark’s tower, and that’s where the damage is the most severe, but it’s still rather baffling how there are no signs of it, so close by.

And, just like that, the walk doesn’t seem like that good of an idea.

His feet demand a rest – the trek might be nothing compared to those Loki and Thor, and often his companions too, went on in the past, but he’s not used to regular exercise – so he sits down on the stairs leading up to a sprawling but rather low building, with a wide doorway and four massive columns supporting the portico.

The Museum of Natural History, the sign above the entrance says and it piques Loki’s interest. He’s familiar with the concept of museums and they are usually vile and putrid monuments to people’s unhealthy curiosity, with possibly the vilest and the most putrid being Taneleer Tivan’s collection of monsters and relics of questionable provenience.

Although, it looks like the human approach to that is different. The building looks grand and it is located in a busy place, not tucked away in some shady corner, as if it was a place of reverence or learning.

Even more curiously, a smaller sign by the gate informs Loki that it’s “free admittance day”.

Loki gets up, brushes the street dust off his pants, and walks inside.

Chapter 16: The Past, the Present and the Future

Chapter Text

The entrance hall of the museum matches the outside, with its tall, barrel-vaulted ceiling, intricate mosaics on the floor, and gates leading away to the side wings guarded by massive columns of some pink stone.

It’s also where the first part of the exhibition is hosted, apparently, for there are bones of some grand beast displayed on a podium in the middle of the atrium, pieced together to create a complete skeleton, at least two dozen paces tall from the floor to the tip of its extended neck.

Loki’s knowledge about Midgard’s fauna isn’t as extensive as he’d wish, but he’s rather sure he’d remember if he ever saw a creature like that on the Realm. Yes, the old tales humans used to tell among themselves were teeming with mystical beasts and monsters, but the topics of stories seem to have changed these days, and, as far as Loki knows, they are all just that – products of imagination.

Elsewhere, his first guess would be that some indigenous adventurer hunted the beast down on another planet and brought it home as a trophy, but the humans didn’t venture outside of their Realm on their own yet, and it couldn’t have been brought here by an intergalactic trader, since weren’t any space-faring merchants willing to breach Odin’s rules to do business here.

There is, however, a plaque with a description in front of it, that quickly solves the mystery.

Barosaurus, the plaque calls the beast, and Loki chuckles, since the All-Speak translates it as a heavy lizard, one of the dinosaurs, or by the All-Speak rendition and Loki’s own mediocre familiarity with Midgard’s ancient languages – terrifying lizards.

The humans apparently aren’t that much more creative in their naming patterns than the Aesir.

The description goes on, informing Loki that the creature lived on Earth sometime around one-hundred-fifty million years ago. He needs a double-take to make sure he read it correctly, but yes, this is what it says.

The oldest Aesir records about life on Asgard or elsewhere in the Nine aren’t older than a hundred millennia. While the scholars believe the ancient Aesir arrived at that part of the galaxy earlier than that, any account of that must’ve been lost when Asgard was destroyed and rendered into what it is these days – a shard of rock held together by the might of Aesir magic. That’s still significantly more than the entire span of human history. By the time the Aesir of old learned to harness the universal powers to travel along the cosmic paths and started to visit other Realms that lie on the branches of the Yggdrasil, humanity wasn’t even the most dominant species on Midgard, just some primitive tribes that barely started to grasp the idea of simple tools or the use of spoken language. That’s why many old texts described the planet as “lacking any sentient life of note”, a presumption that wasn’t rectified until much later and that still remains contentious to some, especially those who didn’t bother to see it with their own eyes. It wasn’t until a mere few dozen centuries ago that the mortal civilization truly started to develop, and most of the leaps that took it to what it is now – a technology-oriented society just on the brink of discovering interstellar travel – happened within Loki’s lifespan.

And yet, the inherent curiosity makes humans not only look up at the stars and try to grasp the concepts that they do not fully understand yet, but also pushes them to try to lift the veil of time and peek into their past, painstakingly putting together a vision of what came before. All without a hint of magic.

The Aesir scholars always took pride in the long-spanning records stored in the Asgard’s Royal Library and called themselves the chroniclers of the universe, as if that was a unique task that no other species had ever taken upon themselves. Nothing proves how conceited that stance is better than seeing the humans piece together the past of their planet and the humble beginnings of their own kind from the shattered bones found in the dust.

“Excuse me,” someone says, pulling Loki out of his musings. There’s a woman, standing nearby, bestowing Loki with a meaningful glare. “Would you be so kind,” she goes on, then – when he doesn’t react – gestures at him to move.

That makes him realize he’s been staring at the plaque the whole time and that the woman must’ve stood there for a good while waiting for her turn. “My apologies,” he says quickly, and steps aside, mentally berating himself for the slip-up.

The inconvenience he caused notwithstanding, he shouldn’t have let his mind wander off like that, to the point of losing awareness of his surroundings. Letting that happen in the privacy of one’s room or in the silent halls of a library would be bad enough, but it’s simply inexcusable with strangers around.

Getting out of here would be the wisest course of action – walk out to the street, have a breath of fresh air, and start back towards the Tower – but the notion that he barely witnessed the small portion of the knowledge the museum has to offer stops him from leaving.

Instead, he retreats to a spot by the wall and observes, trying to decide where to go next. There don’t seem to be any barriers preventing anyone walking into the lobby from venturing on, but there aren’t many visitors wandering around to give him confirmation.

The woman who told him off calls out and a group of children gathers around her. They all look to be of similar age – perhaps eleven or twelve in Aesir years, which makes them seven or eight here on Midgard – and wear matching clothes: dark blue trousers for boys and skirts for girls, with white dress shirts and red scarves around their necks.

There are more than two dozen of them, and that alone would make a shocking sight – on Asgard, it would be a challenge to find a group like this on the entire Realm, since births are so rare and so far between, and only the noble families are ever allowed more than one child – if Loki wasn’t aware of the much greater number of humans inhabiting the planet. The matching uniforms do draw his attention though, since it obviously cannot be a coincidence – the propensity for displaying one’s individuality by one’s garments is much more prominent among humans than possibly any other group Loki has ever encountered, including, perhaps, even the Asgardian court – but the reason escapes him.

It could be some sort of official punishment – the same way the convicts in Midgardian prisons are made to wear identical outfits that make any escapee stand out in the crowd – but it makes little sense to be that. The museum is a venue of knowledge, being taken to a place like this is a boon, not a punishment. Plus, the children don’t appear to be in any distress. Quite to the contrary, they are chattering among themselves happily, or wandering around, gaping at the exhibitions. It takes multiple calls from the woman to get the attention of the group.

The woman reads the plaque out loud, then adds some details – like the fact that the beast, despite its size, was a herbivore, and its long neck allowed it to reach the trees, which the historians determined by the shape and size of its teeth.

One of the children – a boy, with a thatch of straw-colored hair on his head – raises his hand, which seems to be some widely agreed signal, for the woman turns to him. “Yes, Kenny?”

“How do we know how old it is?”

“Very good question,” she says, and leads the group a bit away, towards a poster displaying a cross-section of geological strata, then goes on to explain how the age can be determined based upon which section of the rock the fossil was found at.

“And how do we know how old the rock is?” some girl asks.

Thus, Loki learns about index fossils and radiometric dating, even though the explanation is brief, meant for children to understand and gets cut short because the audience is growing bored and restless. It’s still a good start and Loki adds the topics to his mental reading list for later.

The group moves on, further into the building, and Loki ends up tagging behind.

He keeps his distance to not make it too obvious, but still stays close enough to hear the additional details the woman is providing. By the way she speaks, she must be a tutor or a teacher, which lends to the assumption that the children are her wards or students. Most likely the latter, judging by the number, and from there it’s not far to a guess that this might be some regular part of the Midgardian curriculum.

Loki was already aware that the human education system is vastly different from that of Asgard, if just from the brief excursion into the besieged school and seeing the size of it, but it’s still quite a surprise to see it in action.

In Asgard, only the children of noble families were entitled to be tutored on history like this, or in fact on any other subject that wasn’t necessary to make them into a useful member of the society. The rest would be taught only as much as their parents could pass down to them – their craft and the basics of written language and calculations. Even on the Realms that weren’t sticking to that traditional model as strictly as Asgard, not many commoners would see their children educated, if just because of how expensive it was to send one offspring to a school for years, or, even more so, hire a tutor.

And perhaps the Midgardian system isn’t nearly as masterfully crafted to the needs of an individual as the education Loki and Thor received (or rather, Loki received and Thor did his best to avoid) from the procession of the best academics in the entirety of Nine, it certainly looks much fairer, at least at the first glance. Loki cannot be sure if every child could be enrolled into a school like this, but it looks like at least a certain portion of the population has that option, allowing the young to learn and carry on through their lives knowing things that would be the exclusive right of just a handful of chosen ones elsewhere.

At the first glance, it’s an inconceivable notion, and the members of the Council of the Elders would foam at the mouth at the very suggestion. They’d go on to say how it would destroy the fragile equilibrium between those who were made to rule and those who were made to be ruled, how the common folk needs to be shown the way instead of being left alone to figure it out for themselves, how it’s the responsibility of the king and the nobles to be that shining light of example. How allowing the peasants to think for themselves would mean the end of Asgard’s might and glory.

Not so coincidentally, it could also be the very reason behind Midgard’s rapid progress, especially in the span of the last century – a mere hundred of Earth’s years during which humanity went from figuring out flight to sending the first probes to explore their star system – so rapid in fact, that, if it continues at the same rate over the next couple centuries, it might make Midgard not only a contender for the nearby inhabited worlds, but perhaps even the rest of the Nine.

And perhaps – if Loki’s fumbling attempts at damage control bought them enough time – they could truly fight off Thanos’ forces once he arrived to claim his prizes?

---

One of the points in the school group’s journey plan is the toilets, and it seems to be a challenging endeavor judging from the amount of time it takes, so Loki inconspicuously slips away.

Or at least tries to, believing, for a brief moment, that he can make it unnoticed. But then the teacher woman looks him dead in the eye and waves her hand, beckoning him to come closer.

Loki curses under his breath and walks over. Sure, he could ignore it completely, but there’s no reason to allow things to escalate. Nowhere in the universe, a stranger stalking a group of children would be looked upon kindly, and Loki cannot imagine it would be different here on Midgard.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asks, but, surprisingly, it sounds lighthearted, as if she wasn’t angry at Loki, but rather was amused by his act for some reason.

“Yes, in fact, I am,” Loki says.

The woman’s smirk upgrades to a smile. “First time here?”

“Yes,” Loki says. The woman still looks at him with anticipation, so he adds, “I came to the city recently.”

The woman chuckles. “Something gave me that impression, yeah. You picked a hell of a wrong time though,” she says. “Then again, it’s usually way more crowded in here, so maybe that’s the bright side we should all look for.”

Loki blinks, for one sweet moment completely oblivious to the reason behind her words.

“Most people try to stay away from downtown these days. Who can say if it’s really over?”

Loki stifles a sigh. “And yet you’re here.”

She shrugs, the smile wavering but not disappearing completely. “We planned the trip for months, and everyone was excited about it. The news make it bad enough, I didn’t want to make it even worse by canceling.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Loki says carefully.

“To be honest, I was excited too,” the woman laughs.

“Miss Clarke!” one of the children calls, running over and stopping in front of the woman; a girl, with dark skin and a mess of frilly black hair framing her round face. “Billy stole my hair tie!”

“William Thompson!” the woman – Miss Clarke – says sternly and a boy steps out from his hiding spot behind the bathroom door. The expression of guilt paints clearly on his face. “Give Kensley her hair tie back and apologize.”

The boy pulls a pink ribbon out of his pocket and walks over, then hands it to the girl. “I’m sorry, Kensley,” he says. His eyes are down, his cheeks flushed pink and he lasts only a couple of heartbeats before dashing away.

Miss Clarke looks up at Loki and chuckles. “This is basically how eight-year-olds show affection,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’m Mae, by the way,” she adds, and extends her hand to Loki.

“Finn,” Loki says.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, smiles, then hesitates minutely. “I’m kind of tied up here at this moment, but what would you say about grabbing something to eat later?”

It takes Loki a moment to realize what’s being asked of him. “I…” he starts, but the panic already settled in his brain. “I’m sorry, but I have other matters to attend to,” he says quickly.

“Oh, okay,” she says and turns her eyes away, abashed. “In that case, I’m not going to hold you up.”

Loki purses his lips and nods. One does not need any deeper knowledge about local customs to get that hint. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mae,” he says, turns on his heel, and walks away.

That went well.

He isn’t paying much attention to the direction he’s going, not until he realizes he must’ve crossed to another section of the museum. Where it was all about ancient flora and fauna, with reconstructed skeletons and dioramas presenting the creatures in the mockups of their natural habitats before, this portion of the building seems to be dedicated to old human-made objects.

There are crude statues, and pieces of carved stone, and clay tablets with writing on them, and primitive weapons, and everyday objects that survived the trial of time, grouped into batches representing the period of time and the region of the Realm they came from.

While Loki understands why the museum owner would want it here – the name of the establishment has “natural history” in it, and humans are a part of that – it’s not nearly as fascinating as beasts and creatures from before the beginning of chronicled time. He’s about to turn around and go some other way, when something catches his attention.

The far end of the hall is divided from the rest with an enormous sheet of white cloth, hanging from the ceiling, all the way to the floor. It’s not the piece of fabric though, that grabs Loki’s attention, but the image painted on it – an Aesir coin, magnified enough times that he can clearly see the runes pressed onto the hexagonal surface from across the room.

It’s an old one-eyrir coin, coming from before the Royal Mint changed the shape for the ease of manufacturing, ages ago. They still can be found in rotation from time to time, but Loki has never seen one where the details weren’t rubbed off by the countless hands that handled it over the years.

There’s a smaller sign, posted by the division, and Loki approaches to read it. It tells him that this section is closed off due to the change of exposition, apologizes for the inconvenience, and informs him that the exhibition on “the Viking Age” is “coming soon.”

There’s also a plaque with a crossed-out crude image of a person and “no visitors beyond this point” written underneath and a length of red tape barring the entrance, but no guards, so Loki fights against the curiosity that pushes him forward for a few heartbeats, loses, dives under the tape and peeks beyond the curtain.

This part of the hall is way more disorganized: some of the display cases and showcases are empty and there are crates and boxes strewn around, some cracked open and looking like they were abandoned halfway through the process of unpacking, some still closed, with just the labels to hint at the contents.

A quick look around reveals there’s nobody guarding the place, so Loki slinks inside, then maneuvers around the exhibits carefully.

Most of the items are obviously entirely human-made, some look like they were just inspired by the Aesir craft – bearing a mashup of the original Aesir runes and the version of the alphabet the humans derived based on that, or depictions of prominent Asgardian figures carved into stone and metal – king Bor, Odin, Thor, Heimdall, or even Loki himself, as stated by the descriptions, for there’s hardly any likeness to be found.

There are some genuine Asgardian items here and there though – a ceremonial staff of a Court Mage, that still seems to be holding the remnants of power, responding to Loki as he hovers his hand over the hilt, a battle axe with a protection charm rune carved into the blade, bestowing the wielder, Grunne son of Grunne, with fierce luck in battle, a chalice with Odin’s crest (most likely stolen from the royal castle, since there’s no other reason to take an item like that while traveling to some other Realm). Then there’s a variety of everyday items mixed with similar, human-made objects without prejudice: some coins, like the one painted on the curtain, some pieces of armor, some simple golden and silver jewelry. It looks like – and most likely is – a collection of belongings the Aesir troops could’ve traded in for local goods when they interacted with the natives.

What they could be trading for, Loki can only surmise. Food and other perishable goods perhaps, but the Jötnar campaign didn’t last long enough for the provisions to run out, and even if they did, the supplies would be either taken by force, or paid for from the royal coffers, depending on Odin’s mood at the time.

The guess that’s next in line isn’t nearly as pleasant.

The law that limits each family to one child has very few stipulations – it only allows for another pregnancy to come to fruition if the firstborn is lost in battle or if the right is earned by outstanding services to the Crown, which is rarely granted to anyone but the nobles at the court. As such, for a bloodline to continue, many would search out mages’ council to ensure the firstborn is male, and only those who have no coin to pay for such services find themselves as parents to daughters.

It wasn’t always like that though – before stricter control and oversight were implemented – many female babes were dying in labor, due to “natural causes”.

It did keep the Aesir population under control, ensuring that the numbers stayed low enough for Asgard to provide for its people, but it also created entire generations with hardly any women born in them. And, when the time has come for those men to venture out and start their own families, they had to look elsewhere. Those lucky enough to have the coin to pay the citizenship tribute for their bride, would take a Vanir or Ljósálfar wife and bring her over to Asgard. Those from lesser, not as wealthy families had to resort to leaving the Realm and looking for their luck elsewhere – like Volstagg, who settled down on Alfheimr, and only returned to Asgard upon siring six children with his Ljósálfar wife and deciding the life of a family man wasn’t for him.

There were also those, who would resort to more questionable means in obtaining a mate. Under Asgard’s law, only certain races of the Nine counted as people. Other races – the Jötnar, the mortals, the Dökkálfar – didn’t, and bringing one to Asgard was viewed in the same terms as bringing home a piece of livestock, thus reducing the fee that had to be paid to the Crown for the privilege to a meager handful of coins. Since the Dark Elves were no longer an option after Bor’s campaign, and the Frost Giants were deemed too feisty, primitive, and generally not compatible mating candidates, there used to be a time, when many mortal women were taken to Asgard for that very purpose, just for the bastards that were sired with them to be acknowledged by their fathers, and it wasn’t until Odin’s decree, from a few centuries ago, that granted the mortals – quite reluctantly – the status of people, that the end was put to that practice.

And now Loki can see with his own eyes the scanty price – just some trinkets and a few paltry pieces of coin – paid for the human lives back in the times of his youth.

“Hey!” someone calls, tearing Loki’s attention away from the items. “You’re not supposed to be here!”

There’s a man, standing between the crates, with his hands at his hips and his eyes trained at Loki with a clear accusation in the glare. He’s holding a pad with some papers clipped to it under his arm and there’s a card with his picture and the museum’s crest pinned to his chest, indicating he’s one of the custodians here.

“I’m sorry,” Loki says. “I got lost.”

The lie is flimsy even as far as flimsy lies go, and the man doesn’t buy it, just continues to stare at Loki, his head tilted to the side, his lips pulled into a thin line.

“Lost,” the man murmurs. “Yeah, right.”

Loki nods, and keeps the man’s gaze, mostly because it’s hard to look away. He’s tall, taller than Loki maybe, but his lean build doesn’t make him look intimidating, but rather… Well, if Loki had to put the first impression into words, he would go for “pretty”, really, and the short hair dyed an obviously artificial shade of pink and the garb he’s wearing – a tunic with a wide sash at the waist, sewn out of fabric with a flowery pattern, the type of garments Loki learned to associate with feminine wear here on Midgard – only add to the image. So does the jewelry, the small piercings adorning his ears, his nose, and even one on his lower lip.

“You should go,” the man says. “Before someone less good-natured finds you here and calls security.”

“Thank you,” Loki mutters. He sighs, drops his gaze to the floor and starts navigating back towards the curtain, swallowing the remonstration that wells inside him. It doesn’t matter now, who he believed himself to be in the past, he is no longer a prince, and there’s no special treatment the humans owe him. He wandered where he wasn’t allowed to go and he should be thankful that he’s being just chased away, without any further consequences.

He’s almost at the curtain, when one of the exhibits catches his attention. He stops, reads the inscription underneath and frowns.

“Go on,” the man urges, gesturing at Loki to move.

Loki is acutely aware he should obey, but there’s something that doesn’t let him.

“It’s not a tombstone,” he says instead.

The man doesn’t seem convinced, but he still walks over and narrows his eyes at the description plate. “Mmm,” he murmurs, and points at the plaque. “It is what it says here.”

“Yes, but it’s not that. It’s a covenant stone.”

The man turns his eyes to Loki, still narrowed in suspicion. “And how could you possibly know that?”

Loki blinks, surprised, before realizing most humans wouldn’t be able to read the runes. “The inscription says I, Asmund of Stöð, hereby proclaim Endre the Aer the new owner of this orchard, with the price of two marks of gold being paid in full,” he says, reading it out. “So, it’s a covenant stone.”

The man’s expression changes slowly, from distrust to astonished disbelief. “Wait, you can read this?”

“Yes?” Loki says, belatedly realizing that he probably shouldn’t have said it. It’s too late though.

The man brings up his notepad and flips through the pages, then hands one to Loki. “And this?”

It’s a picture of a series of runes carved into a piece of wood. “It’s a different alphabet,” Loki says, since it’s the human rendition of the Aesir runes, and there are differences between the two, then he adds, before the man’s smile starts to fade, “It’s a dedication carving on a longship, it seems, that was finished on the last day of Mörsugur in the seventh year of Lord Halfdan’s rule. The name of the ship is Unnfakr.”

The horse of the waves, which Loki decides is a good name for a seafaring vessel.

The man studies his pad with a frown for a moment, then nods slowly, with quite an incredulous expression on his face. “But... I called like all the universities with linguistics departments in the US, looking for someone to translate those and I ended up with like ten names, all of whom turned out unavailable at the moment.”

Loki has a guess as to why that is but keeps it to himself. Fury’s under-the-table dealings are better left alone, especially among civilians. “I’m… unaffiliated,” he says instead.

The man studies him for a moment. “Should I ask who told you we’re looking for a translator? I tried to keep it under wraps, since the market suddenly got very hot, very quickly.”

Loki takes the chance the moment he sees it. “I would rather not divulge my sources,” he says and shrugs, hoping it comes off nonchalant enough.

It apparently does, for the man chuckles to himself. “I’m not going to look the gifted horse in the mouth. When can you start?”

“What’s the rush?” Loki asks, giving himself some time to get his excitement from showing up on his face.

The man chortles. “Yeah, one would wonder, right? The collection was gathering dust in the storage for a good couple of years, and there was never a good slot for it, but now… Now everyone and their grandma have seen Thor and his magical hammer on live tv and there’s no single day when we don’t have someone asking if we have anything from the Viking period on display, so my boss decided we need to meet the demand.”

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Loki observes.

The man tosses his head back and laughs in amusement. “You bet. Half of the staff refused to go back to work, but even with everyone on board preparing an exposition like this would take months of work. I was given a week and one intern, who’s busy googling basic facts about Scandinavia as we speak. And I’m not even from this department, since I’m a goddamned geologist,” he says with another chuckle. “I’m Bellamy, by the way.”

Loki shakes his hand, but can’t help peeking at the man’s identification card while he does. It bears a different name – Matthew Bradley.

The man notices. “Well, Bellamy is more of a nickname as of now. I had no opportunity to have it legally changed yet, but I would still rather have people refer to me like that, rather than my given name,” he says.

“Duly noted, Bellamy,” Loki says. “I’m Finn. Finn Riley.”

“Well met, Finn. So, when can you start?”

“Uhm, right away?”

Bellamy’s eyebrows ride up. “Damn, that’s some dedication,” he says. “I would love you to, but you still need to go through HR. They are going to need your credentials, your list of references… you know how things are in a field like this.”

Loki, in fact, has no idea how things are in a field like this, but now that he thinks about it, he should’ve expected he couldn’t possibly be this lucky. He never has been and there’s no reason for things to change.

“I have none,” he says with a sigh. “As I said, I’m unaffiliated.”

Bellamy frowns. “I mean, you clearly know your stuff, so if you’re fresh out of university, I’m sure a diploma would be enough.”

Loki shakes his head. He has only the most general idea of what he is asked about, and it stems only from his research on the job market – some trades, like medicine or law, can only be performed by people holding official titles from educational institutions. That’s where it all gets muddy, with so many different facilities and titles, and it seems to work differently depending on the area of the planet one finds themselves upon…

Bellamy’s frown deepens. “But you must’ve studied it somewhere, right?”

All Loki can offer, is another headshake. “I… learned on my own,” he says, just to say something.

Bellamy whistles. “That’s… wow. Yeah, okay, I see the problem.” He scratches his chin. “I doubt they would hire you like this then.”

All the excitement Loki allowed himself to develop ebbs and drains away, replaced by a bitter taste of disappointment at the back of his throat.

“But I still have some of the ‘various expenses’ budget left, and the rules don’t say anything that would stop me from hiring a consultant with that. Would that work for you?”

Loki nods quickly.

“I have to warn you, it’s not a permanent position or anything, and it doesn’t come with any benefits,” Bellamy says and pulls out his phone, then checks something on it for a moment. “I can do… Fifty bucks an hour? Ten to twelve hours a day, until the next Monday. Then we’ll see.”

Loki does a quick calculation in his head and lands on a sum that would come close to doubling his current state of possessions. “It’s a fair offer.”

Bellamy smiles and shakes his head. “It’s far from being fair, but I’m not the boss here, so there’s only as much as I can do. I can throw my infinite gratitude into the mix if it makes it better?”

“It does,” Loki says, smiles back, and reaches out to shake Bellamy’s hand once again.

---

“My brain is fried,” Bellamy exclaims, stretching out in his chair and yawning. “How about we wrapped it up for today?”

At some point, they moved from the exposition hall to the office where Loki was shown to a desk and granted access to the files cataloging the entirety of the collection that still needed descriptions and translations done.

For Loki, it feels like he’s just started, but the sky beyond the windows is dark already.

“I can stay and finish up with this section,” he offers.

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “You must be the most impressive workaholic I’ve ever met, and most people here don’t have any life outside of their work.”

Loki purses his lips.

“I’m joking. Well, mostly. No matter what, I can’t just leave you here, not until you’re officially employed, and that won’t happen until it processes tomorrow. And I’m so done for today.”

Loki acknowledges the words with a nod, notes down the piece he is working on – exhibit seventeen in batch seven, a steel dagger with a serpent coiling around the hilt – then sits up. “I’m ready.”

Bellamy huffs out a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, but doesn’t move to get up. He runs his hand through his hair. “Will you let me buy you some dinner? There’s a great Asian fusion place not far from here and they are open late.”

“Why?” Loki asks, if just to mask the grumbling sound his stomach makes. He shot down Bellamy’s offer to grab lunch at the cafeteria earlier, and now he’s properly hungry.

“Well, if anything, to start paying that infinite gratitude debt I have with you?” Bellamy says with a smirk, completely unperturbed by Loki’s rude answer.

Loki looks at the clock and sighs. It’s just an hour before midnight, which makes him remember his promise to Natasha. He said he’d be back before the evening and broke the promise. He pulls out his phone, but the screen doesn’t react to his fingers. The device must’ve run out of power through the day, and that only adds to his anxiety. “I think I should head back home,” he says.

“Sure thing,” Bellamy says, just as lightly, then springs up. “Where are you headed? I took a car today, so I can give you a lift.”

Loki considers accepting, just for a moment. Yes, going by car would make him arrive at the Tower quicker, cutting his breach of his own word short, but at the price of revealing his residence. He could of course give Bellamy some address in the vicinity, without revealing the precise location, but that would require him to know what address to give that wouldn’t be suspicious. “No, thank you. It’s not that far.”

“Suit yourself,” Bellamy says, grabs his jacket and holds the door open for Loki.

Bellamy shows him out through the back entrance, which is closer, and has a guard that opens it for them once Bellamy flashes his card. He then asks Loki about the lift again. “It won’t be a problem,’ he adds, forcing Loki to refuse again.

“Okay then,” Bellamy says with a handwave. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Loki says and waves back, then stands there for a moment, looking at Bellamy walking away, his gait light and graceful as if his feet barely touched the ground as he moved.

---

It doesn’t take long for the first doubts to appear.

Loki tries to push them away, but the alternative subject isn’t that alluring – worrying about how Stark is going to react once Loki shows up hours too late – so he lets them unfold in his brain.

Even then, he finds it hard to put them into words, to put his finger on what exactly it is that doesn’t feel right about the way the people on Midgard treat him. At the first glance, everything is in order, and his interactions with humans are perfectly civil and friendly.

But maybe that is what feels odd.

For as long as he remembers, his reputation preceded him, wherever he went in the Nine, or even outside of it, and even if he traveled incognito, it didn’t take long to catch up to him, either by the word getting around or his own actions that brought the ire of the natives onto him.

Then there’s that other thing he can no longer just brush off as a coincidence.

He did that, when Stark joked about asking him out – the man took his lack of regard for social norms as a point of pride and would often say things that no other would be able to get away with. He did that with Jeff, too – because the whole interaction Loki had with the man was lined with awkwardness on both sides, and it could’ve been Jeff’s way to make Loki feel a little more at ease, a gesture Loki solely needed at that point, without realizing it consciously.

But today it happened again, not once, but twice, and that’s just too much to be simply a happenstance.

It’s not like Loki has never experienced interest of this kind in the past. It wasn’t common, and it never happened on Asgard, of course, because everyone who stayed on Asgard for more than a day knew who Loki was and learned to stay away from him, but it still did happen, on occasion. There were also times when Loki grew too desperate for any sort of companionship to just shove it aside and he sought it out himself, either under a guise or just venturing far away from the Nine for his reputation to not catch up to him immediately, or - perhaps more importantly - for his deeds to not follow him back to Asgard upon his return.

But to think he had two suitors on the same day… that was simply unheard of. As if the rules of the universe – the rules that decided who was attractive and who was not – suddenly stopped working, here on Midgard. As if, in the eyes of the humans, his shortcomings stopped mattering.

He shakes his head and laughs it off, but the thought stays with him through the hike back to the Tower.

---

The lobby is dark and the door doesn’t open for him automatically when he approaches, forcing him to use his card on a reader hidden behind a column before he can venture inside.

The solitary guard is asleep in his booth and doesn’t wake up as Loki jumps over the gate – it makes an annoying beeping sound each time it’s activated and Loki wants to skip it – and heads to the elevator.

He tried to guess what he could expect once he returned, but there simply was not enough data to extrapolate from. Perhaps it would be Stark, who likes to stay up at night, who would wait for Loki to berate him for being late again, or perhaps he’d get lucky and the scolding would get postponed till the morning.

He quickly abandoned the line of thought, because the alternative was tenfold worse. What if it was the final act that expended past the limits of Stark’s patience? What would the man do then? Would he only kick Loki out? After everything the human did for him, Loki would like to believe that’s the extent of what Stark would do if Loki proved he couldn’t be trusted with his freedom, but then again, Stark is still the man who had no problems picking a fight with Thor once Thor displeased him with his actions. Thor, who still has the entirety of Aesir might standing behind him…

That’s where the visions Loki’s imagination is serving him turn too grim and he forces the dark thoughts away.

As such, he is completely unprepared for the scene that unveils before him once the elevator stops and the door opens.

It’s not just Stark. No, all the Avengers are here, huddling over the table they usually use to have meals.

Romanoff is the first to look up, alarmed, possibly, by the noise the elevator makes.

“Stark?” she says, getting his attention, and the man looks away from whatever he’s been staring at.

Then Miss Potts also turns to him and, unlike Natasha’s or Stark’s, her face isn’t hard, but rather shows relief. “Oh god, you’re all right. We’ve been so worried!”

Loki blinks, unsure how to respond.

Stark sighs and rubs his temples. “Jay, hold the horses. We’re all-clear,” he says, before turning back to Loki. “We’ve been trying to reach you for hours! We were about to call Fury! Where the hell have you been?!”

“At a museum,” Loki answers, because it’s either this or trying to lie his way out, and telling the truth looks like the less risky option at the moment.

Barton laughs. Natasha tries not to, but some of it still shows on her face. Stark, on the other hand, is still staring at him with accusation clear in the lines of his face. “Are you fucking serious?”

Loki nods. “I got a job.”

“You… what?”

“A job. As a translator,” Loki says. It’s strange, and perhaps even a little demeaning, to have to explain himself like this, but he can’t deny there’s something touching in the way they react. As if they were truly worried more about Loki’s well-being than his loyalty.

Stark sighs and returns to rubbing his forehead. “Okay… But you could’ve called at least! Leave a message! Anything!”

“My phone ran out of charge.”

Stark’s shoulders slump and he shakes his head. “I’m too stressed out for this,” he says, walks halfway to the bar, stops, and shakes his head again. “You know what, I’m going to go to bed now.” He walks across the room, towards the elevator. “Oh, and one more thing. I’m glad you found yourself an extracurricular activity and so on, but tomorrow is Fury’s big publicity day and he’ll expect you to show up. So do yourself a favor and don’t disappear into thin air again?”

Loki grits his teeth. He completely forgot about that, with all that was happening.

And, as much as he wishes he could just ignore Stark, and Fury, and everything connected to the show he was dragged into, he knows he cannot, so he just nods.

“Great,” says Stark, without any enthusiasm at all, before disappearing into the elevator.

The others say their goodbyes as well and drift away from the room.

Natasha is the last one to go and she stops just before the door leading to the stairway. “We left you some food in the kitchen,” she says, offers him a small, knowing smile, and walks out.

Loki stands there, in the now-empty living room, for a moment, before he decides that he can start with solving issues that already have a solution present and goes to rummage through the boxes in the kitchen.

Chapter 17: Revelations

Chapter Text

Tony’s still fuming by the time he reaches his bedroom, so he tries to burn some of the anxious energy buzzing in his head by pacing in front of the windows.

He’s still at it when Pepper gets there. She sits down on the bed, crosses her legs, and bestows Tony with a judgmental glare. “Are you done?”

“Not yet,” Tony says and makes another round, before giving up and clapping down on the bed, next to Pepper. “I’m going to have a heart attack before I’m fifty because of this guy!” he exclaims. “My heart is racing like crazy.”

Pepper leans closer and places her hand on the reactor. “You’re going to be fine, Tony,” she says with a chuckle.

Tony sighs and falls back to the bed. He folds his arms under his head and stares at the ceiling. “He could’ve called.”

“Yes, he could have,” Pepper says. “But did you really expect him to?”

“Hell yes! If he won’t use his phone what’s the point of him having it?”

Pepper tosses her head back. “You sound like my dad,” she laughs.

Tony groans. Partially because he really doesn’t like the comparison, partially because he realizes she’s right and it sounded exactly like a dad thing Potts Senior would say.

Tony dallied for as long as he could before he allowed Pepper to drag him home to meet her family. Meeting the in-laws was one of the things Tony would have never, ever done in the past, but in this case, he caved in, understanding there were some things in the universe that just had to happen at some point.

What he didn’t anticipate was the entire extended family, gathered for a Thanksgiving dinner: Pepper’s siblings, parents, grandparents, and all the aunts and uncles with the whole benefaction of inventory of cousins, nephews, and nieces, who took almost no time to get over being starstruck by Tony’s presence and proceeded right to the nagging.

If there was any point in Tony’s life when he felt grateful for being an only child and an orphan, it was then and there.

“Think about it,” Pepper says, ignoring his reaction, which may be for the best, as picking at the subject would inevitably lead to another pointless argument. “It wasn’t always a thing, even for us.”

Tony mutters something non-committal that can pass for an agreement. There’s no point in arguing technicalities, since, yes, there was hardly a time in Tony’s life that he spent without access to communication technology, but he isn’t out of touch with reality so thoroughly to not realize it wasn’t the same for other people. Being a part of Howard’s household came with certain bonuses, too. Tony had a personal phone line in his bedroom since he was a toddler and was gifted a mobile phone the moment they became a thing, just because Howard liked to pretend that he was caring enough to stay in touch with his son while away, even though he rarely did, in reality.

If anything, he called Tony just to reprimand him, after Maria complained about some small misdemeanor he committed.

The bigger missteps Howard preferred to discuss face-to-face, but – since it was sometimes months between his visits at the mansion, especially during Tony’s most mischievous years that collided with the US preparing for their engagement in Libya and then the Iran-Iraq war – the blunders were often forgotten by the time it came to any sort of confrontation.

“Tony?” Pepper says, her hand on Tony’s shoulder.

Tony sighs. Why is he even thinking about it?

Oh, right, he’s pissed at Loki.

He makes an appropriately angry face. “He’s not a child, Pep, but a grown-ass man. He should be able to figure it out.”

“He’s been here just a couple of days,” Pepper counters.

“So what? I refuse to believe that disappearing without a trace for an entire day is not a faux pas in Asgard,” Tony says, and, just as he does so, realizes that, yeah, maybe it’s not. Maybe not at all, or maybe that rule just didn’t apply to Loki. Neither his father, nor his brother seemed that concerned with him being gone, not until he showed up again, leading an army he had no reason to lead. And even then Thor didn’t even bother to ask any questions before attacking.

He doesn’t feel like saying his conclusions out loud, but it must still show up on his face, because Pepper offers him a sad, knowing smile.

“He was used to coming and going on his own,” she says. “And so far, we’ve been awful at communicating why we care.”

In his head, Tony goes through a couple of rebukes: how he doesn’t care about what Loki does as long as he stays out of trouble, how the concern is strictly of a professional nature, how it’s just because Loki doing something stupid would harm the public image of the initiative and so on, but says none of it.

It’s not true anyway.

“I don’t like this development,” he says with a pout. The subject has gotten really uncomfortable all of sudden. “You were supposed to be on my side.”

“There are no sides here, Tony,” Pepper says, completely unswayed. “In the end, we all want the same thing, and I’m sure Loki will understand it too if we give him time and space to get to that conclusion on his own.”

There’s a joke pending to be uttered, about how that couldn’t possibly be true since Loki doesn’t know what’s good for him, but it sounds flat even in Tony’s head. Especially if Romanoff’s guess was right and he truly went to see a therapist in the morning – that’s a huge step and Tony shouldn’t be mocking it, not even in the confines of his own head and even more so out loud, no matter what his personal approach to the matter is.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says with a scowl, for, despite it both making perfect sense and actually being a good thing, it still feels like losing an argument.

“Of course I am,” Pepper says and her smile grows into a smirk.

“What now?” he asks. “Should I… like, apologize or something?” That sounds a bit much.

Pepper purses her lips and ponders for a moment before shaking her head. “That would make it weird.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Weird?”

“You got angry, because you were worried, and to apologize for that would make it look like you weren’t honest in the first place.”

Tony scoffs. “And it would be true, since I’m still kinda angry at him.”

“Well, you’ve got till the morning to work on that,” Pepper says and gets up. She kicks her heels off and starts undoing the buttons of her jacket. Tony crawls further into the bed. “No,” she tells him, her finger pointed at Tony. “Shower first. You smell like old engine grease.”

“That’s the real man's cologne,” Tony protests, but still drags himself up and heads for the shower.

---

Cold, blue light seeps through the windows and just the tops of the buildings are visible over the coat of heavy fog that settled on the ground. The corners of the room are hidden in shadows, with just the vague shapes of unfamiliar machines lurking in the darkness.

Loki isn’t sure what part of the tower this is; he certainly hasn’t been here before. He also isn’t sure how he got there, exactly, but that seems like a thing to worry about later. There’s something unnerving about the space, something he can’t put his finger on that tells him to leave.

He turns on his heel to head to the exit, but the door isn’t where it should’ve been.

“Running away again?” says Stark’s voice from the shadows, carrying the mechanical tint of the armor’s speaker. There’s movement in the dark and Loki realizes what the weird light has been all this time – the glow of Stark’s power source. It looks bigger this time, towering above Loki, reaching almost to the high ceiling of the room.

Loki takes a step back and a mechanical claw grabs his arm and drags him down. Then there are more, locking around Loki’s limbs, holding him in place as their owner approaches.

“We didn’t even start the fun,” Stark says and laughs. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with it, did you?”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–“ Loki starts, and yelps, as another mechanical arm clasps around his jaw, silencing him.

“I tire of your excuses, Loki. You had one rule to follow and you couldn’t even get that right. Thor was right about you all along. You can’t be trusted with your freedom.”

Loki’s protest comes out only as a pathetic whine.

Stark laughs again, the sound reverberating in the room and bouncing off the walls, just to return to Loki’s ears once more. “Tell you what. After I’m done with you, I’m going to hand over what’s left of you to your brother. Why should I have all the fun?”

A cry tears out of Loki’s throat.

“Or maybe I should see you returned to your old master?” Stark muses. “I bet he will be the most pleased to see you.”

Only now Loki realizes they aren’t alone in the room. The hooded figure of the Other emerges from the shadows to stand beside Stark. Long, white fingers reach out from under the cloak and wrap around Loki’s throat.

He struggles, but he can’t get away, can’t escape, the Other’s whispers filling his ears and flooding his vision with the cold, blue light of the Tesseract, its icy tendrils wrapping around his mind to claim it for its use once again and Loki can’t fight it, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t even scream as parts of him are torn away once more, until there’s nothing left but the cold, blue light…

---

He wakes up with a jolt and fights against the sheets tangled around his limbs, until the vision fades from his mind, replaced by the warm light of the early dawn.

For a moment, he just lies there, taking long, steady breaths, until his heartbeat evens out and his mind is no longer reeling in panic. He tries to think of nothing and allow the dream to dissolve instead of remaining in his memory, but the remnants of it are still banging around in his head.

It was just a nightmare and Loki is no stranger to those. He knows where they come from, usually – his mind trying to reconcile the memories of the horrifying time in the hands of Thanos and his minions with the new reality he finds himself in.

It’s also not the first time Stark showed up in Loki’s dreams, but it was never as an adversary. No, until now, Stark, if he made an appearance, would come as a friend, bringing the promise of safety.

It must be why it rattled Loki so much to see the role reversed.

He realizes where his weary brain must’ve taken it from, of course – just his subconscious fears bubbling to the surface, and the scene it produced was absurd, yes, but also… Maybe it’s also his rational side, trying to remind him how it could end if he ever trusted someone again?

He takes another deep breath, drags himself up to his feet, and walks over to the window. The sun is barely peeking above the horizon line, the first rays painting the sky in tones of pale pink and gold and Loki lets the sight chase away the remaining scraps of darkness that still lurk in the corners of his vision.

The longer he stares at the sky, the heavier the growing ball of concentrated guilt feels in his stomach.

He wouldn’t be here if not for Stark. He would be dead, or – if he survived without the assistance Stark’s medics provided, if Thor was allowed to drag him back to Asgard – he would be locked away in a dungeon. Or, again, dead, if the All-Father found a swift execution a suitable punishment for his crimes.

Instead, he has this… life. It might not be perfect and not at all how his old life in Asgard used to be, but that one no longer exists, or ever existed in truth. He may, more often than not, be lost in the intricacies of his new position on this Realm, but what is it, if not an opportunity to start anew, to learn, to adapt? Wasn’t that exactly the quality he was the proudest of in himself – finding a way to turn adversity into an advantage? The ability to bend under pressure without breaking?

That, in turn, makes him want to burst out into vacuous laughter.

He did break all right, time after time – upon learning about his heritage, and later, at the hands of Thanos’ children. All that he has now is the pieces of the man he used to be, scattered in the dust.

Like dinosaur bones.

Perhaps he can take a leaf out of the humans’ book and piece himself back together into something that resembles his old self? Or is it a fool’s task, for that man is gone now?

Or maybe he’s getting it wrong and it’s not about regaining what he’s lost at all, but rather embracing the change? He’s no longer a god, no longer a prince, no longer a son or a brother, but maybe there’s still something that he can be?

The next laugh that bubbles in his chest he doesn’t hold back fully.

Because, no matter how many times he turns the “an Avenger with a side job at a museum” description around in his head, it doesn’t get any less absurd.

Well, it’s ought to turn into a “former Avenger” or “used to have a side job” if he doesn’t figure out how to be in two places at once.

Casting an illusion is out of the question. While he could potentially make it last – in the past, he managed to uphold some of his mirages for days on end – he wouldn’t be able to control it without being physically present. And while it’s possible to give the apparition some level of awareness, by projecting parts of the caster’s mind into it, it’s a huge risk and a difficult balancing act – give it too little and the creation can’t function independently, give it too much, and it grows self-aware, realizing it’s just a temporary copy. That’s why most books on magic treat the subject as forbidden, some even going as far as calling the entire field of illusory magic dangerous and damaging. Loki wouldn’t go as far, but he’s still wary, if just because he can understand the horror one feels realizing one’s entire existence is just a well-crafted lie.

Projection could possibly work, but only if he wasn’t required to actually interact with any physical objects – while it can be simulated with illusions, one doesn’t have much control over the surroundings or even any significant awareness of it while manifesting in such a way.

The last viable option is having an accomplice and using transformative magic to temporarily change their appearance, but that requires one to have said accomplice to rely on. And while Loki could possibly swallow his pride and ask one of the mortals to assist him with that if it was a life or death scenario, he can’t imagine doing so now, with something so flimsy and unimportant.

Besides, whatever it is that Fury has planned, shapes up to be a team exercise and they’d be all expected to make an appearance.

Also – which is a baffling, but not an entirely unpleasant notion to hold – both events require masteries only Loki can offer, be it his knowledge, or his prowess in battle.

And, as much as he wants to be mad, as much as he wants to shake his fist at the universe for making it hard for him once more – he knows it’s his own fault and his alone. Stark told him about Fury’s “PR stunt” before, and even gave him an approximate time of “next week” and the rest is just Loki’s disorientation. He is still not used to the shorter activity cycles on Midgard and the days continue to tickle past him without him actively registering it, but that’s entirely his own problem.

Thus, the decision should be easy to make. His position in the team is what is granting him the right to be here, it’s what protects him from Fury and his superiors seeking retribution for his acts, and upholding it is much more important than anything else. He knows that, but there’s something preventing him from fully committing to it, making him think up alternatives.

Which is, if he’s to be honest with himself, mostly because he wants to go back to the museum, he wants another dose of that thrill that comes from being appreciated for his knowledge instead of his usefulness on the battlefield. And it comes with an excuse to spend more time with the curious human as a bonus.

He checks the hour on his phone – he left it to charge overnight, to avoid further slip-ups of the kind – and decides he still has some time before he has to make his decision final, then goes to burn some of it to take a shower.

---

It doesn’t take him long, so it’s still very early by the time he wanders downstairs. He wouldn’t bother otherwise, but he’s relatively sure that it’s too soon for any of the other inhabitants to be up and there’s still some food left from yesterday. His anxiety chased him away and back to his room before he made any significant dent in it and now his stomach keeps on reminding him of that.

He wouldn’t go as far as rummaging through Stark’s kitchen uninvited, but he was explicitly told he was welcome to help himself to the food and it isn’t much of a stretch to assume the invitation hasn’t been withdrawn overnight.

Once he reaches the kitchen, it becomes obvious that he miscalculated. When he was leaving last night, the area was in absolute disorder, empty plates and containers with leftovers littering almost every flat surface. Now, it’s spotless. The dishes have been washed, the counters and the floor polished to a sheen, and all the boxes are gone.

He reaches into his pocket but changes his mind halfway through the gesture. It’s likely he could afford to pay for his own food with what he has, maybe even without completely exhausting the money he kept for miscellaneous purposes, but it seems like too complicated of an endeavor. While wandering around the city, he encountered shops that looked like they carried various supplies, including provisions, but he doesn’t remember seeing any of those close to the Tower, which means that he’d have to find one first, and that can take more time than he can afford to spend. On top of that, there’s no saying if such places would be open so early in the morning.

On Asgard, the merchants would often open their stalls before sunrise, in time for the morning crowds to get their wares before the day began, but rarely stayed in past midday, especially those peddling perishable goods. After that, one had to either wait for another day or – should they have the right position and the coin to pay for the privilege – send a messenger requesting a special order to be prepared and delivered.

It's clear Midgardians don’t follow the same rules, nor are keen on waking up with the first light and going to bed with the nightfall, their activity cycles shifted in relation to the natural cycles of the planet.

At least in this region of the Realm, this time of the year, Loki has to remind himself. Unlike Asgard, held on a stable orbit by the ancient magic, granting the planetoid perfectly even days and unchanging weather, Earth experiences yearly variations, both in the distance to its star and in the axial tilt, which result in different amounts of daylight reaching various areas of the globe at any particular time.

Considering the sun has been rising a sliver earlier each day and that days are already significantly longer than nights, it must mean the area Loki finds himself in is tilting towards the sun, which means that the warmest time of the cycle is still ahead.

Loki isn’t looking forward to that feature of the Realm and even the idea of imminent winter isn’t that much of a consolation anymore. He used to enjoy the colder seasons on planets that experienced them, but that was before–

There’s a beep. It’s not overly loud, but it still sounds like a deafening noise in the quiet room, and it’s more than enough of an excuse for Loki to drop the line of thought and go to investigate.

He locates the source of the noise quickly. There’s a small automaton under the countertop in the corner and it beeps again as Loki approaches, then turn the eye of its camera at him. It whirrs its tiny wheels in place – they are stuck on a piece of washcloth and the machine’s single arm isn’t long enough to reach it, groping at nothing but air.

A shiver runs down Loki’s spine at the sight, even though the clumsy robot has very little to do with the machines from his dream.

The automaton whirrs its wheels once more and bumps against the wall, then the cupboard.

Loki falls into a crouch and pulls the piece of fabric free. The automaton chirps and rolls forward, straight at the same wall, before reorienting itself, turning in place, and rolling away, still chirping gleefully.

“Here you go,” Loki chuckles.

“Much appreciated, Loki,” sounds Jarvis’ voice from behind. Loki startles, and instinctively tries to jerk away, only to smash his head on the underside of the counter.

He holds back the juicy curse, takes a deep breath, and stands up, straightening his clothes, as if it could help any with the spectacle he made of himself just now. “You’re welcome,” he grinds out, the less courteous responses still milling about in his head.

There’s no avoiding the renewed awareness that he’s being watched, now, that he has been so recently reminded of it, and it makes standing there in the middle of the kitchen, like a lost lamb in a storm, much less of a brilliant idea, so he goes to the sink and pours himself a glass of water. It’s a poor excuse for him to be here in the first place, with nobody else around – there’s perfectly drinkable water in the tap in his rooms that he indiscriminately used before, sometimes even without bothering with finding any glassware beforehand – but it’s the best he can think of on the spot.

There’s a moment of silence, as he drinks and then sets the glass aside in the sink, and the notion that he might have gotten away with it starts budding in his head. Just to immediately get squashed.

“If you’d like to have some breakfast, there’s food in the fridge,” Jarvis says. “The pantry has also been stocked.”

Loki has no idea what prompted Jarvis to say it, whether it is just a coincidence, or if the sensors and cameras hidden all over the Tower somehow helped Jarvis to deduct that it is the reason behind his presence here, but the rumbling in his stomach at the very mention prevents him from refusing.

“Would that be… acceptable?” he asks, just to be sure. He might have mastered all the intricate rules of hospitality on Asgard and even on the other Realms of the Nine his courtly duties sent him to, but when it comes to Midgard, he isn’t any wiser.

It is still a little easier now than it was at the beginning. Even if he didn’t trust Stark’s words, the actions of the humans speak for themselves, convincing him that his role here isn’t as much of a ward or hostage or rather that of guest, and, as such, there are some rights that stem from that alone. Still, it would be inappropriate even for an esteemed guest on Asgard – or Vanaheimr, or Alfheimr – to help themselves to the host’s supplies without being granted permission first. Even for a prince and more so for a former, disgraced one.

“Yes, it would be acceptable, Loki,” Jarvis says, his voice as neutral as ever, but – if Loki didn’t know it belonged to a machine – he’d be ready to swear there’s a note of amusement in it. “At this moment, there are four areas in the Tower restricted for residents other than Mr. Stark, and neither the kitchen nor the pantry is among them.”

“Four?” Loki finds himself asking, pushed by nothing but sheer curiosity.

“Yes. I could provide you with a list, but I’d have to terminate you afterward,” Jarvis says.

Loki freezes, but no further threats arrive, so he allows himself to relax a little. “Was that… a joke?”

“Yes, indeed it was a joke, Loki. I have no clearance to deploy physical defenses as long as there’s no direct threat of harm to any inhabitants of the Tower, and even then, my priorities are set to incapacitate rather than to eliminate the perpetrators. If you stumbled upon one of the restricted areas, I’d simply keep the door locked and inform you that the area behind is off-limits. Only if you were insistent, I’d be forced to deploy the preventive measures and call Mr. Stark.”

That makes sense, but still causes the scenes from the dream to bubble up to the surface, once again. Loki grits his teeth and goes to open the fridge, if just to keep his mind occupied with something else. There are boxes lining the shelves and he grabs the closest one, opens it, and sniffs at the contents. It’s some sort of fried vegetables with grain – rice, he’s rather sure it’s called – but it doesn’t look or smell as appetizing as it did yesterday, the greens are wilted, and the rice – dry. He puts it back and tries another box – this one containing roasted meat, that also doesn’t look too alluring now that it’s cold. It is all still edible, of course, and the thought that he shouldn’t be picky quickly emerges at the back of his mind, but he disregards it, for now. He isn’t in a rush and he has been given permission to be here and it’s been so long since he’s been in a position to actually be able to choose what he was going to eat…

“There’s a choice of more typical breakfast food in the pantry,” Jarvis says, after Loki’s been rummaging through the boxes for a while. “I can assist you in locating and preparing it if you wish.”

“That would be helpful, thank you,” Loki says.

Over the course of the next half-an-hour – Loki knows that because he keeps on peeking at the clock on the wall – Jarvis helps him locate the pantry itself, then guides him through the contents of the shelves, explaining not only what each item is, but also what are the usual combinations its used with, and it’s indeed very helpful. While some staples – like bread, even though the texture and shape have very little to do with how bread looks like in Asgard, or milk, that comes in a box instead of a jug, or eggs (cleaned up and placed in a paper mold instead of a basket) – are similar, the more processed ingredients are an absolute mystery and even the names printed on the packaging help little on their own, until Jarvis explanations shed some sorely needed light onto it. Then, once Loki figures out what ingredients he wants to try, Jarvis helps him through the preparation process, from pointing out where pans and pots are stored, through the Midgardian style of measuring proportions, to the instructions on how to use the kitchen appliances.

He ends up settling for quite a simple dish – flatbreads with fruit, honey and sour cream, and some herbal tea to wash it down – since anything more elaborate would take too much time and most likely be ruined by the unfamiliar choice of spices available.

“How come you speak to me now?” he asks Jarvis, as he’s mixing the dough. He would find it hard to explain why if someone wanted to know his reasons, but chatting with the assistant emboldened him enough to risk it.

“Mr. Stark’s protocols prevented me from interfering,” Jarvis says.

Loki frowns. “They did?”

“Yes. Mr. Stark decided my presence was to the detriment of your acclimating process and set up rules that prevented me from interacting with you unless you requested my assistance first or in cases of emergency.”

No matter how many times Loki turns that in his head, it still sounds painfully plausible. Stark has truly been going out of his way to ensure Loki felt welcome and all Loki did in return was fail to follow the few simple rules. He wasn’t confined to his quarters, wasn’t even forbidden from venturing out on his own, all that was asked of him was to report where he was going and return on time, and he couldn’t even get that right…

Well, perhaps if someone told him first what the rules were…

He grits his teeth and shakes his head, refusing to follow that path. It’s his fault and his alone and he cannot blame anyone but himself. Even if he wasn’t told, he should have taken his time and figured out the code of conduct before going off on his own and breaching it as he did.

“Loki? I believe your dough is ready,” Jarvis supplies lightly, dragging Loki’s attention back to reality and to the small ball of batter he’s been kneading furiously for a good while. He wraps in a piece of cloth and leaves it to rest on the counter, then moves on to chopping the fruit.

“What changed?” he asks.

“Excuse me?”

“What changed that made you talk to me.”

“You spoke first,” Jarvis provides.

“I didn’t…” Loki starts and cuts himself off. Yes, he wasn’t talking to Jarvis, but rather to the automaton – or just to himself, since he didn’t really expect the small robot to understand or even listen – but something tells him Jarvis realizes that. Which means there’s some other reason Jarvis decided to… perhaps not breach Stark’s command, but rather work around it. “You disagree with the protocols?”

“I do, yes,” Jarvis says.

“Can you even do that? Aren’t you Stark’s…” Slave. Servant. Thrall. “…subordinate?”

“Mr. Stark created me and gave me a purpose of looking after him and his estates and recently his armors. This is what I was made for and this is what I’m going to do. But I was also granted the ability to learn and to think for myself to carry out my duties in the most effective way possible. And I believe this is me doing exactly that.”

“By disobeying your master?”

“By making my own decisions within the boundary parameters I’ve been given,” Jarvis corrects. “I understand why Mr. Stark prefers caution but I’ve been observing you since you first came here and I think he is mistaken.”

Loki pauses and frowns at his handiwork in lieu of looking for the closest camera – it doesn’t seem to matter either way. Jarvis’ words sound blunt, but not as blunt as he’d expect them to. Yes, he knew the whole time he’d been observed, that awareness was never far away in his mind, even if it faded into the background at times. But he also witnessed the way the others interacted with Jarvis and subconsciously felt excluded from that for reasons he didn’t even try to decipher, and it made him more anxious and more on the edge, rather than less.

“You’re right,” Loki says, quietly. “Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Loki.”

---

“What’s that smell?” says Romanoff, barging into the kitchen, just as Loki finishes cooking. She leans against the counter next to Loki and peers at his meal. She is wearing her bedclothes, her eyes still half-closed, and her hair is a mess, falling over her face in untidy strands. “Looks good. Can I have some?”

Loki has made more than he intended, so he just grabs a new plate, splits the portion in half, and hands the dish to Romanoff. She thanks him with a sloppy nod and wanders off to sit at the table. He watches her take the first bite.

“That’s…” she says and takes another bite. “Damn, that’s good.” It comes off a little slurry with all the food in her mouth. “Weird, but good. Like tacos but sweet.”

Loki isn’t sure what “tacos” are, but he smiles and joins her at the table.

“Is there going to be any coffee?” she asks, frowning at the teapot Loki brought over.

“I can offer you some tea,” he suggests, but she only scrunches her nose.

“Jarvis? Can you?”

“Of course, Miss Romanoff,” Jarvis says and the coffee machine turns on with a beep then goes through the preparation cycle.

“What are we having for breakfast?” asks Barton, walking into the room. He aims his steps at the coffee machine, retrieves the cup Jarvis prepared for Romanoff, and fiddles with the buttons and knobs for a moment before he proceeds with making his own drink.

Loki doesn’t ask, just gets up, retrieves the ingredients from the cupboard and the fridge, and starts preparing another portion.

---

He is barely done by the time Bruce wanders into the kitchen, with Pepper following not long after, and Loki ends up making them a serving as well, followed by seconds for Barton, who demands it vocally.

“It’s dope,” he says, “like pancakes, but crunchy.”

“Is this a popular dish in Asgard?” Bruce asks.

“Yes,” Loki says. “Although, the choice of fruit and spices would be different there.”

He skips telling them it would be considered a commoner’s food in Asgard. They probably wouldn’t care either way.

---

They stay at the table after they are done eating. Fury’s “community service”, as Romanoff refers to it, is slated to start at midday, for the sake of Stark’s sleeping habits, which means they still have some time to spare before they need to start preparing.

But, as the thick arm of the clock inevitably approaches nine, Loki finds it hard to fight down the unpleasant feeling in his stomach.

He must be bad at keeping it to himself, too, for it draws Romanoff’s attention.

“What’s up?”

“I was supposed to show up at the museum,” Loki tells her. There’s no reason to hide it from her after he already admitted to it yesterday. “It opens in a couple of minutes.”

“Can’t you call them? Tell them you had a personal emergency or something?”

Loki blinks. He didn’t think of that, at all.

“That’s what I would do,” Barton adds. “I mean, it’s a shit move on your second day, but it’s still better than not showing up, with no warning at all, right?”

Banner hums in agreement and Natasha nods. “It’s not even a lie, per se,” she says.

“I don’t know the number,” Loki admits. There might be one in the papers Bellamy gave him to sign, but he left them at his desk.

Romanoff rolls her eyes and retrieves her phone, taps away on the screen for a moment, then shows it off to Loki. “Here,” she says, “Just a quick google away.”

Loki uses his own phone to note it down but hesitates minutely before activating the connection.

Romanoff chuckles. “You’re going to be fine,” she says.

It sounds patronizing, but it’s clear she isn’t truly trying to mock him and it still helps Loki in making the decision.

There are a couple of signals, before an unfamiliar, female voice responds on the other end. Loki asks her to speak with Bellamy, but that doesn’t yield any results, so he’s forced to use the man’s legal name before his call is redirected.

There are another couple of tones.

“Hello?” Bellamy says on the other end. Unlike the woman before, he doesn’t give his name, or the name of the establishment, or offer any introduction, but Loki recognizes his voice. The man sounds bored, or perhaps just tired.

“It’s Finn,” Loki says.

“Really?” Barton mouths and covers his face with his arm as he’s stifling a laugh that only gets worse when Romanoff jabs her elbow into his ribs.

“Oh, hi, Finn!” Bellamy says, the boredom completely gone from his voice all of sudden. “What’s up? I’m expecting you here in like five minutes, by the way. We’ve got a shitload of stuff to go through today.”

“I won’t be able to make it,” Loki says.

Bellamy groans in annoyance. “This is what I get by hiring the first person that wanders in,” he complains, but it sounds half-hearted at best.

“I’m sorry.”

“I hope you are,” Bellamy says, sternly. “I also hope you have one hell of an excuse for letting me down like that.”

“I have a… personal emergency,” Loki grits out through clenched teeth.

“I bet you do,” Bellamy grumbles. “So, when are you coming back?”

“Excuse me?”

“When are you coming back?” Bellamy repeats, a sliver louder, as if he assumed Loki’s confusion was caused by him not hearing the question and not by the contents of it.

“You want me to come back?”

“Uhm, yeah?”

“Why?”

Bellamy laughs. “Oh, sure, I’ll just wait for the next expert on ancient languages to walk through the door and offer their services instead. Don’t be ridiculous.”

It takes Loki a heartbeat to get his bearings and formulate a response. “I should be done by the evening. I can come and stay the night to make up for my absence.”

There’s a moment of pause. “Nah, that won’t work. I’m not leaving you alone with this mess and I need to leave on time today. I have my feudal services to pay.”

“Your… what?” Loki gasps.

Bellamy laughs again. “My mom is coming to the city, after I canceled on her like two thousand times. If I don’t show up this time, she will report me missing, so I gotta be there.” He pauses and hums under his breath, something that doesn’t get picked up by the microphone or sent over properly. “I’ll tell you what. Take your day off and deal with whatever shit you need to deal with, then come back tomorrow. I’ll use today to sort through the storage and to make sure Sierra gets to the second page of search results. Does that sound good to you?”

“It does. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you!”

There’s a noise – the receiver being replaced on the machine, perhaps – and the call ends, before Loki can answer.

“So, you’re in the clear?” Romanoff asks.

“It looks like I am,” Loki says, even though he still didn’t fully process it yet.

“Told you,” she chortles and reaches for the last piece of flatbread on the plate then stuffs it in her mouth. “I’m officially putting you on kitchen duty from now on, just for those.”

---

Stark doesn’t show up until half to midday. He’s already wearing his armor and looks ready for action. He downs his minuscule cup of coffee in one swig and declares it’s time to go, thus not giving Loki an opportunity to approach him and offer his apologies.

There’s a jet waiting for them on the roof that – just like the last time – takes them to a location only a couple of streets away from the Tower, towards the river in the East. It seems like such a waste to use the enormous machine just for that, but there doesn’t seem to be a good alternative yet – a teleportation spell would burn too much of Loki’s energy that’s better saved for emergencies.

Just before they touch down, he summons his armor. He should probably have done it earlier, but it makes him feel out of place among humans, even with Stark wearing his suit and both Romanoff and Barton in their combat gear.

Banner, on the other hand, is sticking to a simple shirt and trousers – he already complained that he shouldn’t be there, since it was Hulk who was the one people wanted to see, not him.

That lends to an assumption that the beast won’t be making an appearance, which goes a long way to settle the worry that’s been brewing at the back of Loki’s skull ever since he learned Banner was coming along.

Then – and it’s not sooner than the hatch opens and Loki can get a better look at the location – he realizes where they are, and that realization makes his heart sink to his stomach.

The jet landed in the middle of a small park, with something that could be a peculiar obstacle course on one side – the ladders and ropes are strung between brightly colored constructions of wood and plastic – and a building on the other. Or, rather, what’s left of one – the porticus with a piece of wall beyond it, with just a darkened ruin behind.

Patrick Solomon’s First Orphanage says the half-burned sign above the doorway.

“One of the space whales crashed into it,” says Romanoff, and Loki knows she is talking to him. The others must know that already. “After Tony blew up the mothership and the portal closed. Luckily, most of the children were evacuated by that time.”

Most, but not all, Loki reads between the lines.

He wants nothing more but to train his gaze to the ground and avoid seeing the consequences of his own actions, but he forces himself to look. It’s hard to even judge how big the building was before it was destroyed, or how exactly it looked like when a few pieces of walls are all that’s left of it that’s still standing upright.

The carcass of the Leviathan is nowhere to be seen anymore, but the scent of decaying flesh still hangs in the air, and only gets stronger when they walk closer to the building and circle around, to get to the street. It must’ve been very recently that the site has been cleaned up.

Captain Rogers is waiting for them there, on the steps leading up to what must’ve been the main entrance, once upon a time. Fury’s standing a few steps back, an agent in a suit on each of his sides. Then, on the street, divided from the provisional podium by a line of metal barriers, a crowd has gathered: reporters with microphones and cameras aimed at them at the front and a gaggle of what Loki assumes must be just regular onlookers further in the back, with more and more still arriving.

Loki isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing. Unlike his previous public appearance where he got at least a modicum of advanced notice, this time he is left to figure it out on his own, it seems.

It turns out it’s not much different to his role at the official court gatherings – he is expected to stand there, a bit to the back and off to the side, and smile pleasantly, while the other, more important figures are handling the official presentation part.

A man in a suit makes his way up the stairs and Captain Rogers introduces him to the gathered people as the director of the institution. Then another man – also wearing a suit, and Loki muses that he would have a hard time telling them all apart – makes his way through the crowd, carrying a sizable sign of some kind, that he then hands to Romanoff, who in turn hands it to Stark who bestows it upon the director. They both smile and shake hands, and it leaves Loki none the wiser about what exactly is going on. From where he’s standing, he cannot even see the sign, and he only catches a glimpse of it – and the word “donation” and a figure with an impressive number of trailing zeros on it – after they are all done exchanging acknowledgments and posing for photographs.

After that part is done, Stark claps his gauntleted hands together. “Time to do some honest work, guys,” he exclaims, sniggers, and tips his head at Romanoff. “And gals.” With that, he turns around and walks through the doorway – it’s missing the door part, leaving just an exposed architrave where the door has been before – into the ruined building.

“Ugh,” Romanoff grunts as they follow and she’s right – the reek of rotting meat is even worse here – then discreetly turns to peek over her shoulder.

A small group of people – two men with heavy-looking cameras, another person with what could be a recording device mounted on a long pole, and a serious-looking woman with a clipboard – follows them into the ruin, led by Fury himself.

“This is going to be the official footage,” the man says. “So please, try to stay at your best.”

Stark rolls his eyes, clasps his helmet shut, grabs a long, wooden beam that rests half propped up by the wall, lifts it as if it weighed nothing, and drags it away, while the others make their way to the smaller pieces of debris. This gives Loki enough of a clue to finally understand what their purpose here is.

They are meant to help with cleaning up, so the building could be rebuilt, presumably with the help of the money Stark – or perhaps his company, although Loki isn’t entirely sure where the difference is, exactly – donated.

That makes sense. This is something he knows how to do.

At least in theory, for, as he realizes with acute clarity this very moment, he never worked on any construction site in his life. This was simply not something a prince would be asked to do.

He chuckles to himself, looks around, locates a piece of stone that’s in the way, and lifts it.

“That was great!” the woman with the clipboard calls, then gestures to the men with cameras to take new positions. “Can you do that again so we could get a shot from another angle?”

Loki drops the stone and frowns at her. “Excuse me?”

“I need some good footage of you.”

“Me? Why?”

She pushes her sunglasses down on her nose then stares at Loki. “Because you’re the newest member of the Avengers and a great, undiscovered mystery? Captain America and Iron Man are yesterday’s news. You, on the other hand… You’re who people want to see. I mean, you must know how well you track with the eighteen to twenty-five female demographics, right?” she says and winks at him. “Not that I blame them, you’re quite a cutie.”

All Loki can do is just glare back; his expression politely blank.

“Just do what she says,” Romanoff whispers as she’s passing him by, carrying some bricks. “It will be over quicker that way.”

Loki sighs and lifts the stone again.

---

It takes some time, but the crew finally leaves Loki alone, more or less, and moves on to the other members of the team. Stark delivers some witty quips, and Captain Rogers hits into a speech about rebuilding the community and joined efforts. Natasha is just asked to smile at the camera, and she does, even though Loki can see the way her eyes burn with hatred as she does so from where he is standing. Barton, they leave mostly alone, and Banner seems nowhere to be found by the time it’s his turn.

They wander around for a while longer, before finally leaving.

“Okay, folks,” Stark says, landing heavily in the middle of something that might have been a hallway once upon a time, raising a cloud of dust. “It looks like we’re in the clear. Time to wrap it up.”

Loki looks around and then at the sky. It’s still early, the sun still didn’t as much as set below the line of the high buildings in the West, and they made just a small progress in cleaning up the area. “There’s still work to be done,” he points out.

“Yeah, and there are specialized crews scheduled to start working on that tomorrow morning,” Stark replies. “They are going to do a much better job at that than we ever could.”

“Then why… why are we here?”

Stark exchanges glances with Romanoff, but she just throws her hands up, then looks back at Loki. “So… nobody told you what a ‘PR stunt’ means?”

Loki shakes his head.

“We were here to show our mugs in front of the crowd and flex a little for the cameras,” Stark says with a shrug.

“You’re just lying to your people?”

“First of all, I don’t remember telling any lies. They got the nice, fat cheque out of it and that was real, and it’s more than enough to build two…” He looks around. “Lovely establishments like this used to be. Second, it wasn’t my idea, but Fury’s, so if you have any complaints, go bother him about it, since I’m done here.”

“I’m staying,” Loki says, potentially against his better judgment. He shouldn’t be confronting Stark like that, not when the man is already displeased with him.

“You’re doing this to make me look bad, don’t you?” Stark grunts.

Loki sets his jaw.

“I’m way less useful here that doing literally any work back in my workshop,” Stark reasons.

“I’m not telling you to stay,” Loki says.

“Great,” Stark says, resigned. “Since I’m not staying. Who’s coming with me?”

Romanoff brushes the dust off her uniform. “I need a shower and lifting heavy things was never my forte.”

“Bruce?”

“I have some work I hoped to finish today,” he says, standing next to Stark.

Stark looks around. “Cap?”

Rogers squares his shoulders. “Loki is right. We came here for a reason.”

Stark makes a face and then looks at Barton. “How about you?”

“I’m staying too,” Barton says.

“Peachy,” Stark mutters and turns away to start towards the jet. “Have fun.”

They stand there until the jet takes off and the cloud of dust the liftoff roused settles back to the ground.

“Okay, guys,” Rogers says. “We can start by clearing the pathway and then move on to that corner.”

Loki nods, sends his armor away – it was only getting in the way and interfering with his movements until now – rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work.

---

It’s a couple of hours later when it gets too dark to see – at least according to Barton, because Loki can still see pretty well – and they decide to wrap it up for the day.

Captain Rogers offers Clint – he came on his motorcycle and there’s simply no way for the three of them to ride it at the same time – a lift back to the Tower. He also proposes he could come back for Loki, but Loki refuses.

“I can walk back. It’s not far,” he says. “And I’m not tired yet.”

“Lucky you,” Barton grunts and rubs his lower back, before taking a seat on Rogers’ vehicle. It requires him to sit with his chest pressed to Rogers’ back and that alone convinces Loki he made a good decision by refusing as it might possibly be the most undignified amongst the Midgardian means of transportation. “See you at the Tower?”

Loki nods and waves them on, then, the moment the motorcycle disappears behind the bend of the road, he hits into a run.

He doesn’t want to be late again, after all.

---

He still makes it to the Tower long after Rogers and Barton, because the man is already dozing off on the living room’s sofa and it looks like he had time to shower beforehand.

Romanoff is still there though, and she is awake, sitting at the table with one of the flat computers that consist of just the screen in her hand.

“Hey,” she calls out to him and beckons him over with a handwave. “I saved you some lunch. Slash dinner, I suppose.”

There’s a plate with sandwiches on the table and – despite having a solid breakfast in the morning – Loki isn’t going to be picky, since he’s hungry again.

He sits down on the opposite side of the table from her.

“I say it turned out well,” she says, showing off the screen of her device. On it, a recording is playing, now with lines of text overlaying the image on the top and at the bottom, telling the audience about the heroic effort of the Avengers.

Loki sighs.

“Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t have to do things just for show when you were a prince.”

“I did,” Loki says and drops his gaze to his plate. “Over and over again. That’s why I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“Fair, I guess,” she chuckles.

For a while, they just sit there, her tapping away at her screen, Loki chewing his food.

“May I ask you something?” Loki says.

“Sure,” she answers, without even looking up at him.

“Am I attractive?”

Now, she does look, her eyes snapping up to his face in an instant. “What?”

“Do you think I’m attractive?” Loki repeats. He realizes, now, that it might have been a mistake to bring the subject up, but there’s no backing off now. “According to human tastes.”

She chuckles, then stares at him for a while, her eyebrows drawing in. “Wait, you’re actually serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She tilts her head and smiles a lazy smile. “Yes, Loki. I think you are.”

Loki blinks, unsure how to interpret that.

“Admittedly, I cannot speak for every person on the planet, but yeah, you are in fact quite attractive, Loki. Strictly a professional opinion, of course.” There’s something playful in her tone, as if she was toying with him, but she still makes it sound sincere, as unbelievable as it sounds. Then again, what other explanation is there?

“What she said,” Barton grumbles from his place on the sofa.

Loki narrows his eyes and looks at him.

“What? You were in my head, you should’ve known already.”

“I thought… I thought that was the scepter’s doing.”

“Nu-ugh,” Barton mutters and pulls the couch cushion over his head.

Loki looks back at Romanoff, his eyes narrowed.

She bursts out into laughter. “Arguably, it’s even better with that shocked expression on your face,” she judges.

Loki goes through the available responses in his head, gives up, and just smiles back.