Ilk

by sparklyhowitzer

Summary:

After the battle on Earth, Loki returns home a prisoner. However, when another threatens Odin's realm, it is he who must save Asgard. Badly injured, Loki seeks the aid of the Avengers, while someone else will have the heart of the would-be King. "Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day" and other poignant idioms.

IRONFROST. Loki whump.

Notes:

Sorry to start with this, but just wanted to mention that this is an Avengers Movie-centric fic - I'm afraid I've had no time to involve myself with the wonderful world of the comics universe. I fear my characterizations may be a bit off, and I apologize sincerely for being a twat, but this was kind of a thing that I wrote in a sheer fit of orgasmic passion after seeing the movie a second time, and I felt that I needed to bludgeon you all with it. I hope that it is entertaining, nonetheless. Yes, there is an OC. No, they do not become anyone's girlfriend. The only action we're going to see around here is tasty man-on-man. Or God. Yannowhatimsayin. Do enjoy.

Chapter 1: Coup de Grace

Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.

But what's puzzling you, is the nature of my game.

The Rolling Stones.

 

***

All Loki heard that morning was the distant sound of thunder. It rolled across the sky in a thick cloud of hollow sound, rumbling ominously like a forgotten worry in the back of the mind. The trickster sniffed and ignored it, returning to the play he was reading without even bothering to surrender a curious glance out of the window at the otherwise oblivious sunlight. He figured it was merely the hungry vanguard of a storm, and nothing more - despite the fact that it seemed to have snuck up on the fine day rather briskly and without any prior warning. Besides, it was Loki's opinion that if a storm was agile enough to have fooled the Asgardians into thinking that they were in for another glorious day to go about their dull business, then he had nothing but praise for it. Loki liked crafty things; he liked them even better when they could engineer foul luck for his prison city. As it was, he looked forward to a change in temperature - anything to make his confinement less tedious. The climate of Asgard rarely deviated from its sunny, cheerful disposition and that monotonous temperature, teamed with the endless days spent in a room so barren of anything him, Loki feared he would go mad well before the Allfather came up with a better way to punish him.

But once he'd returned in chains from Midgard - muzzled, cowed and at the full mercy of his brother; once he'd been imprisoned and deprived of his magic and then left alone for a curiously lengthy stretch of time, Loki had begun to question whether his surrogate father actually was conjuring any further disciplinary action. To date, the worst that Odin had done was to strip him of his powers and simply cage him in the penthouses of the prison wing - in the apartments above ground that were designed for war criminals of rank or in cases where dungeons simply would not do (the security remained just as tight, but the food was better and the rats fewer). Then, possibly to save him clawing the walls in a frantic attempt to set his busy mind to something, Frigga had supplied him with boxes of scrolls and manuscripts to read; an extensive collection of theatre transcripts and poems that were about as purile and asinine as any she could find. Loki was somewhat reminded of how the Midgardian with the eyepatch had offered him a magazine in the jar of a cell SHIELD had provided, and he wondered if the periodicals full of human mediocrity's would be any less painful to read than the overblown, pompous epics Asgard's finest stuffed shirts had penned about their fictional (and sometimes non-fictional) heroes. He devoured them anyway - hoping to find at least one elementary magic text hidden within the numerous scroll bindings, but as it was, he'd been completely out of luck.

Sighing, Loki blew a stray strand of dark hair out of his eyes, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. Death by boredom? Yes, surely the worst punishment Odin had ever conceived. Loki almost wished the Allfather had lopped his head off, that fate he would have appreciated far more than being left to bask in the uncomfortable silence that was his house arrest. If he hadn't been struggling to swallow the vast chunk of humiliation and regret that was lodged in his throat, he might have been wary. Or angry; angrier, anyway. But his rage had fizzled out quickly to bitterness and resentment when he realized he had no real outlet for it. He could spit in Odin's face, call Frigga a whore and renounce his brother as the dull fool he was all he liked, it didn't seem to make any difference. The Allfather seemed to have decided that he would simply sit on his ornery son's abuse until he gotten bored of dishing it out - rather like waiting for a child to finish a tantrum. It was up to his boy as to whether he would seethe into a sour pile of insolence without his magic to sugar his contempt, or just simply let it go. It was not incarceration per say, as much as it was babying and that fact only made Loki even more spiteful.

He was, however, smart enough to accept that his frustration did little to help him. When his magic had run cleanly through his veins - tainted by his anger like some sick elixir - he'd been able to think quickly, deliberate quickly and efficiently and kill without fear. Losing his powers, losing that funnel which magnified his acrimony into something useful, he just felt heavy. Clumsy. Clouded - his silver tongue tarnished, for he had no one to sharpen it on. He recieved no visitors and his guards knew better than to be tricked into his games. He'd thrown a chair out the window, as well as several sets of cutlery and crockery, but when we started receiving his dinner straight on the tray without even a stick to attempt to at it with, he decided to reign it in. Better to comply than become a mockery of himself. He still had his pride, let them remember that! If Odin was letting him cool down, so be it! He'd cool down... He'd become colder than they'd ever known him to be. After all, coldness was his true nature.

A knock at the door broke the closed silence of the room, and Loki frowned as he eased up off his bed. It was far too early for lunch - he'd only just eaten the pittance he'd been supplied for breakfast (Turnips. That was most likely Frigga's idea - he hated turnips) and he certainly didn't care for any more. As he crossed the plain, woven carpet to inform his guards that they could shove the taproots up their arses for all he cared, the pair of them pushed their way into the room and stood before him, glowering with a menace he didn't often see on the face of an Asgardian prison lackey. As a third lumbered slowly in through the open doorway he took note that they weren't dressed in the garb of their service either; they wore dark armour, battered and dulled with use, and their thick, matted hair was strung into dreadlocks - nothing like any Asgardian style he was familiar with. If Odin was outsourcing recruits to the city guard, he'd certainly scraped the bottom of the barrel when it came to looks. And smell. Yet by the way in which they stared him down, Loki quickly gathered that this particular set of muscle wasn't providing room service. And by the vicious-looking weapons they gripped in their hands - or paws, he wasn't too sure on that detail- they probably weren't on lunch duty either.

One of them, slightly shorter, though just as hairy and ugly as the others, padded forward and sniffed at him. Small, porcine eyes travelled over Loki's confused expression, down his silk-clad chest to rest on his hands that swung listlessly by his sides. The creature seemed to notice the bands of runes encircling his wrists, trapping his magic in their weaving patterns, and gave a snort.

"Mornin', sah," it rumbled, curling its lip at the formality. "We're to exscort you to the frone room. Your dad wants to see you."

"I don't think so." Loki hissed, automatically, shrugging away the man's hands that were descending on his arms. "Tell him to come here, if he must speak with me. I'm not moving. Certainly not with you."

"You can come wif us now," the guard continued, motioning to his partners to surround the bewildered God. "Or we hack your legs off. An' then we drag you. An' then you don't got no legs."

The other two chuckled thuggishly at that. Loki narrowed his eyes, dangerously.

"You dare!" he began, instinct sending his hand behind his back to grip one of his non-existent daggers. Then he snarled to himself - realizing he'd completely forgotten he had neither his magic nor his knives in his current arsenal. The best he could do would be to assault them with his porridge bowl, or try to lasso them with the curtains - both options, he figured, were probably a little too far-fetched to pull off. The piggy one leaned in, conspiratorially, and gave a brief, bubbling chortle before he thrust the barb of a particularly vicious-looking pole axe under Loki's jaw.

"Wanna try it on, lad? I wouldn't if I was you. Save yus bleedin' all the way down an' makin' a mess an' all."

"Who are you?"

"Aw, we're not s'posed to say. You'll find out soon enough if you get a move on. Chop chop." The guard grinned. "S'cuse the expression."

Sagging in compliance - though his brow was set in stony displeasure, Loki let the other two grip his shoulders and roughly escort him out of the room, out of the prison wing and toward the main hall. Although the young prince had immediately considered an insurgence of some sort of hairy, ugly enemy (weren't they always?), he found the idea a little unbelievable on the palate. It wasn't as though he was completely new to the idea of hostile takeovers - not only had he tried (and succeeded, briefly) to usurp the throne of Asgard from his brother, he'd also staged a war of his own against Midgard, almost two months prior. Both times he'd learned that, as that flowery tongued Midgardian with the scientific armour had put it, he shouldn't go around taking other people's stuff.

Besides, Asgard - home of the warrior Aesir- had ever been magnificent, magnanimous and veritably impregnable by its enemies (unless, of course, they'd had a helping hand to unlock the door). It was a sheer fortified relic of sound righteousness - nothing could blemish it. No one could best it. But as he crossed the palace grounds, he noticed a strange and uneasy silence had slithered over the normally bustling court of Odin. The yards were desolate. The amphitheatre, barren. Now that the stillness had really started to bother him, he dragged his feet, hoping to stall his escort in order to get a better look around; to get his bearings on the situation.

"Keep walkin'," The piggy-eyed soldier with the pole axe told him, surprisingly cognizant of his intent. "Don't wanna keep yer old man waiting, do ya?"

Loki narrowed his eyes and said nothing. Perhaps his father had finally found a fitting penance for his son; maybe he meant for Loki to leave with these creatures and serve them as some sort of ward. It seemed unlikely, however, as upon his return to his homeland, few things had gone as he imagined. He'd expected nothing less than a public stoning by his countrymen, yet he'd had his judgement awarded by his surrogate father and mother in a quiet cell, alone. He'd figured Thor would be all over him, trying to cheer him up, or coax him into some sort of tedious brotherly reconciliation; he'd neither seen, nor heard from his brother the entire time he'd been back. Even Thor's idiot friends hadn't come by to jeer at him. He'd almost hoped they would in order to provide him with someone else to insult.

Climbing the stairs to the great hall, still confounded by the odd way in which the morning was progressing, Loki simply steeled himself for the worst - deciding that it was better to be over-prepared, than horribly surprised.

"Ah, here he is. Good morning, little agent of chaos - how do you fare?"

A woman spoke. At least, Loki thought it was a woman, judging by her voice - the rest he couldn't really work out at a glance. If it was a woman, then she was probably one of the least womanly-looking creatures Loki had ever seen - bar some of the female Frost Giants on Jotunheim. Standing at least a head and shoulders taller than his brother, her muscular frame was dripping in heavy, crude armor - all spikes, unfiled rivets and bits of bone- though she moved effortlessly down a few steps toward him, as though she was wearing little more than light robes. A thicket of coarse, dark hair hung down her back and her skin was the colour of volcanic ash. Black eyes regarded him almost jovially, and he caught his reflection in them, relaying his growing unease. Behind her, Odin sat on his throne - his face a mask of displeasure. Several families of the court stood in audience, though they were pressed against the walls of the hall while swarms of guards, similarly attired, forced them into a stunned hush.

So it was an invasion? Loki raised a brow. Well they were certainly quiet about it.

"I asked you a question, boy." The woman spoke again, gesturing lazily toward him. "It would be polite of a prince to answer."

"That would depend on who is asking." Loki answered, evenly. Though she seemed to have caused his father a discomfort of some kind, he didn't actually find her too threatening - not up against some of the other creatures he'd dealt with in the past. She spoke with a fluid tongue - obviously versed in the language of Asgard- but the rest of her was just a base, brutish show. Uninteresting.

She laughed - the sound of it tumbled down her throat like fat bubbles, and scratched idly at a pointed ear, weighted with plain, heavy rings.

"I am asking." She replied. "As one God to another."

"You're a God?" Loki stifled a laugh, looking her over. Giant, perhaps - possibly a demon of some sort, not that he'd tangled with demons very often (they were mostly Midgardian superstition but not a God. Not the way she was acting - she was far too casual. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Why not?"

"Are you truly as plain as you look? We are Aesir - we are warriors. Generally when we receive visitors from other realms, they tend to be a little less... pointy." Loki nodded toward her men. "Friendly or otherwise, it is customary to send a forward guard - your generals, perhaps- to negotiate..." He looked her over, curling his lip a little. "... whatever reason might have obliged you to quarrel with us. "

"My generals?" The woman's eyes glinted with amusement, and Loki was reminded similarly of the way the light cut its toes on the edges of his daggers. "My dear child, would you truly think an army like this..." She made a sweeping gesture to the motley rabble below, all of whom glared silently up at the pair. "...even has generals? This haphazard collaboration?"

"So you threaten Asgard with nothing more than a band of brigands?" Loki tried hard not to laugh. He glanced over at his father, his expression lightening - though he did not understand why Odin seemed to have nothing to say. "You would that hoodlums take the throne from my fa- from... from the Allfather?" He choked out the latter part of the sentence awkwardly and cloaked the verbal judderbar that was Odin's paternal kinship with a shaky laugh. He couldn't say it, he hadn't been able to for awhile. "Some God indeed! Have you had your head in the sand for the past thousand or so years, madam, that you are so blithely unaware of the many victories Odin Allfather has won over armies ten times the size of yours?"

"Oh most certainly." She descended a few more steps, standing below him so that they were now face to face - not that Loki was particularly fond of the reposition, even if it did allow him a better look at her. She wasn't hideous in a repulsive sense, but she certainly wasn't very fair on the eyes. Her face was long and squared off at the jaw, accentuating the size of her stern chin. She had a large, straight nose that jutted out from a heavy, creased brow and her deep-set eyes, black - like orbs of polished obsidian- held his gaze easily. When she smiled, which she seemed to do a lot - as if she were constantly riding the climax of a joke- she revealed a mouthful of far too many teeth. Sharp teeth, to boot. "Don't assume I don't know what I'm dealing with, little prince - after all, were I so horrifically unprepared, wouldn't your father have bested me within minutes of my even setting foot on the palace grounds?"

Loki frowned and licked his lips, thoughtfully. She had a point there.

"This menagerie here is little more than just window dressing," She explained. "I just like to have a few fellows about to, well... fill up the space. Absorb the sounds, I suppose. You know... of the screams and whatnot. They're large brutes, they're good for that." She silenced him before he could interject. "Of course whether there is screaming or not is entirely up to whether your dad decides to play ball. Which he isn't, currently - hence the need for your visit."

"He's not my "dad", as you put it." Loki said, automatically, to which Odin gave a slight twitch - the crease in his brow deepening.

"Oh yes, I heard about your little... unveiling - shall we say?" The woman gave a brief snort of amusement, which her army mimicked, and a brief wave of grunting and cawing sailed through the cavernous hall. Loki visibly steamed - were no secrets sacred? Had Odin told her of his heritage out of spite? Insults lined the back of his teeth as his rage began to boil, but the foreigner merely slid close enough that they were nose to nose and narrowed her eyes. "I'd keep a lid on it if I were you, child." She said in a voice so low it was barely above a whisper. "Your secret is safe with me for the time being. But know this: The Winter King Laufey was a friend of mine and I don't take kindly to my friends being obliterated into tiny, charred pieces. Especially not when they owe me a favour."

"A friend of Now Loki was genuinely surprised. Apart from the occasional romp on Midgard from time to time in the past, he hadn't known the Frost Giants to have allies anywhere else in the Nine - except possibly Niflheim, but those Frost giants were of a different family altogether. His true father didn't seem the type to have... friends. Especially not someone like her, if she was indeed what she claimed to be. "Who are you?"

"My name," she said, stepping back a little to engage a small, mocking bow. "... is Navaar. I suspect you have not heard of me. Few have, of course - I like to keep it that way. I'm not a household familiarity like your old man, and that's precisely as I like it. But I am a God, nonetheless, and being a God as I am - as old and established as I am- I get to make sure the young 'uns like your Asgardian lot here doesn't go and stand on other people's toes when they decide to throw their weight around. Understand?"

"Not entirely," Loki replied. "Though it appears you are trying to imply that you have the power to marshall other Gods"

"If the shoe fits..." Navaar cocked a brow. "Yes, I suppose that is what I do. Not all the time, mind, usually I don't get too much bother from the other realms - if they have disagreements, they solve them with wars or treaties, or marriages or what have you. If they stay within the confines of their own universes, then that's dandy. However, if one dog decides to shit on the other dog's lawn... well... that's where things get messy..."

"Oh... that." Loki rolled his eyes. "You're talking about Midgard, aren't you? A little human city gets a bit battered, and suddenly Asgard is inundated by some sort of beastial coup? Is this farce truly necessary?"

"I thought they called you silver-tongued." Navaar hissed at him, her contempt suddenly spiking. "A pity you don't seem to know when to clasp it. The trouble with your 'Midgard' as you call it, is that it stands present at the hub of many other secondary worlds that do not spin within the confines of your given 'Nine'. Which means, in essence, when you fuck with it, you fuck with a whole alphabet of Gods and assorted deities, who would really rather you didn't."

"You lie."

"Certainly not. I have no reason to. If you'd continued destroying Jotunheim, sure, you wouldn't have had too much trouble - despite my tolerance of the Frost Giants. Muspelheim, no one would have blinked; Niflheim - go nuts! But Earth, no. It was bad enough your father ignored the rules and cast his idiot boy out to go and romp with the mortals; when you turned up and declared war, multiworlds went up in arms about it.

"So this is my fault." Loki replied, shortly. He glanced at his foster parents, his jaw tightening. "I should have guessed. Then why not just punish me, if that's what you must do? Why involve Asgard? My actions were obviously not their affair."

"Goodness, where did this sudden virtuosity bloom from?" Navaar snickered. "I'm surprised, Loki! And here I thought you only cared about yourself!"

"Perhaps I don't like to broadcast my failures and reprobation any louder than they already have been." The trickster replied through cemented teeth. "Especially if it they lend to the outbreak of war." Again, he added to himself, acidly.

"Oh come now, I never said I was here for war!" Navaar corrected him. "That's a little much effort, and you're hardly worth it. Nor have I come here to punish you directly, little peacebreaker - that's simply thumbing a bruise already long bloomed. No, it is the Tesseract that I want. That little mystical rubix cube that is the stem of so many problems."

"And let me guess," Loki sighed. "My dear supplementary father won't give it to you."

"Precisely."

"Because he fears you're insane and will use it for you own ill ends to open gateways over universes and generally make a mess of things."

"I wouldn't doubt it."

"Yet you seem to think anything I'd say would change his mind?" Loki brayed a sudden, vindictive laugh. "You really don't understand us at all, Navaar of... of..." He made an exasperated gesture and gave up. "You say you are aware of my fate, and yet you don't seem to take into account that I am also a criminal? That you have roused me from a tenuous stint in prison? I killed over a hundred mortals in the space of less than a week - mortals that my keeper seems to adorn with more love than he ever showed me-"

"Loki!" Odin roared all of a sudden, almost snapping into life from the ricochet of his errant son's words. "Do not make this worse!"

"Worse? How can I possibly?" The trickster shook his head, bemused. "What could I honestly say to convince you to-"

Loki stopped short as he was interrupted a second time, and not by another gruff reprimand by his father, nor a jeering comment from the foreigner. This time the God of Mischief was silenced by the cold press of a small, wicked dagger sidling up snugly against his adam's apple. Navaar stood behind him, pressing the blade against his neck and whispered casually:

"Who said you were doing any of the convincing, Laufeyson? All I need for you to do is stand and bleed until your father reveals the location as to where the tesseract is hidden."

"Once again, your ability to underestimate astounds me." Loki rasped back, tightly. "Odin will watch me bleed dry before he'll divulge where that little bauble is. Why, he has even hidden it from his own sorcerers - lest they be tempted to harness its abilities for themselves. Or even worse he cracked a thin, wry smile. "I managed to convince them to do so for me."

"You talk big, liesmith," Navaar purred. "But really, you're just like your brother used to be. Thick as snot with arrogance - you lack humility to humble your pride. Shut up" She pressed the blade in harder when he made to retort. "We no longer require your subtitling the situation. Stand and watch, prince... Learn just how badly you have misjudged everything about everything." Looking up at the Allfather, not once breaking the trajectory of her grin, the foreigner nodded in acknowledgement - almost as though she was tagging him in. "What say you, Odin? Would you like to see what colour your son is on the inside?"

As if on cue, Odin rose from his throne, watched by a particularly nervous-looking Frigga. Well-reigned umbrage sat like a mask over his archaic features and when he spoke, his booming voice was tense and controlled - more so than Loki had ever heard it to be.

"You would that I surrender the tesseract to you?" He said, not yet looking at his son. "To what end? Humor me, Elder God - you have already brought yourself here by your own means, you have managed to magick away half my court-"

"I turned them into gusts of wind," Navaar supplied, almost proudly. "They'll pop back though - it's not an easy spell to keep up for a long period. Let us hope none decide to sail over a cliff or something."

"Therefore, what would you do with a dimensional gateway? It is obvious you are matched in power."

"So are you. And yet here we are." Navaar laughed. "You're naiive, Allfather - I think you've been sitting here at peace in your golden realm too long. Even those scuffles with the Frost Giants haven't done much to stop your blades dulling. I could trade the tesseract. Sell it. Hell, I could gift it to someone, if they proved mischievous enough. The point is not what I would use it for, only that you wouldn't have it. "

"That is simply petty."

"Petty?" She spat. "I'll show you petty!" Without warning, she swiped the dagger away from Loki's throat and brought it down hard on the flesh of his thigh - twisting her fist in the back of his shirt as he screamed in both surprise and pain. In one movement, she'd kicked his feet out from under him and had him thrust backwards against her knees - balancing awkwardly and painfully on the steps. Now, rather than the dagger - which remained lodged in Loki's leg- she held a dark sword against his throat; a long, handsome sabre of a strange, oily black steel. She was fast - he'd barely heard her draw it- and Loki huffed hard against the discomfort, feeling the edge of the blade perpendicular to his trachea. He could smell blood along with the perfume of metal and ozone that the sword seemed to radiate. Lots of blood. Old blood - not just his own, spilled by Navaar's dagger. It was as if the blade had been stained with it and the residue had never truly been wiped away.

"Would it be petty to kill your boy, Allfather? Do you think that might hammer in my point a little more clearly?"

"You wish to ransom Loki for the tesseract?" Odin answered, finally casting his gaze to his adopted child. "You think that I would make that trade? My wicked son?"

Somewhere, deep in the recesses of Loki's heart, something sank. He knew what Odin's answer would be before he'd said the words, but he'd hoped... Part of him that still tried to win his father's favour - the part that still recalled fond memories of games and battles with his brother, that smiled when his mother tried gently to calm his anger, that remembered the warmth of his father's embrace- had hoped that perhaps Odin would do something, anything to stop this woman's madness without getting him involved. Yet he knew better. He had no right to even consider he was worth more than the tesseract, or the trouble it would cause, being out of Odin's stern keep. This was just the perfect opportunity for the Allfather to stage an execution, without really having to bloody his hands. He couldn't have even considered something more convenient. It was perfect... Loki almost had to laugh.

"Yep. Pretty much."

"Then Navaar... Elder God. Traveller. Usurper..." Odin strode forward a few steps, descending until he was but a few feet from the pair. Now, as he looked down at his captive son, there was nothing but sadness in his expression. Loki swallowed hard, preparing for the strike. "It is yours. You may take it."

Wait. What? Loki felt confusion scatter goose pimples over his skin and his heart pounded hard in his chest. Had... Had Odin just said what he thought he'd said; had he really spoken in his son's favour?

"Is that so? You'd really trade something so powerful, for a disappointing, unworthy little brat who is probably going to end up being more than a mere thorn in your paw, Allfather?" The sword was already pulling back from Loki's throat, but Navaar's words cut just as sharply. "He sought to rule Midgard. He made to kill his brother. He staged two invasions, Odin, are we not seeing a pattern yet?"

"They were foolish choices," Odin agreed, sagely. "But not of a fool. Loki is smart, but his emotions rule him and it is my own fault that I haven't seen to guide him as well as I should. I am Aesir, through and through - I have more in common with his brother and that is why it seems that I favour Thor." There was a lightening in his tone, suddenly, though his expression remained granite. "Loki is something I cannot understand as easily - even his magic differs to mine. He has done wrong, I admit, and he will pay for his crimes. But not with his life."

"How fair of you." Navaar replied, snidely.

"Yes," Odin nodded. "I only regret that it will take me so long to find a fitting punishment. Something that will help to smother some of his anger. But for now, I beg you. Let him go. I will lead you to the tesseract and you may do as you wish with it."

The woman said nothing else, but removed her sword, letting Loki stagger to his feet - his eyes locked on his surrogate father. It was all so... so fair. So unimagined. Odin's wrath had been terrible when Thor had merely disobeyed him; Loki was a traitor, a criminal - a killer, to all intents and purposes- and yet Odin still spared him? Forgetting the wound in his leg and the pain that radiated from it, Loki gazed up - finding a weight so heavy in his heart, it caused his eyes to water and his nose prickle terribly. He wet his lips and made to speak, yet he could barely utter a sound, apart from a thin wisp of a word:

"Why?"

"Because you are my son." Odin answered. "Because I have misunderstood you and it has caused you ill."

"I thought you had," Loki admitted. "I said... I mean... He shook his head, fisting the front of his shirt in his hand, like a child. Thor had told him that all the misgivings he'd listed against his family were imagined... had he been right all along?

"I love you, Loki." Odin reached out a hand to help his son climb to his side. With trembling fingers, his breath coming hard against dry lips, Loki took it, moving slowly to the next step as though he was wading through snow. "That is all that matters."

"Father..." Loki began, then halted abruptly - the rest of his sentence curtailed by a sudden shocked gasp as Navaar's sword punched through his body abruptly, piercing him right through from back to front. His body tensed against the pain that had not quite arrived and he froze - his hand still in his fathers slowly rolling his eyes down to see the blood smeared point of the sabre poking out of his belly, a few inches shy of his navel.

"My, that was so terribly endearing," Navaar cooed, twisting the blade just enough to force another scream from the ailing God. "Honestly, Will himself couldn't have played the heartstrings better. But I'm going to have to stop you there. You see, I already know where the tesseract is, Allfather - I just wanted to see how precious it was to you. Now that I've had a bit of light entertainment, I'm starting to get bored." She smirked as Odin made to secure his son - his wide hands grasping at Loki's long shirtsleeves- and laughed again, ruthlessly yanking the sword from the trickster's body. Loki tumbled backward, crashing down the stairs to crumple in a broken heap on the floor below - a splattered trail of blood marking his descent. Roaring in utter, blind rage, Odin descended upon the woman, only to find himself thrust backwards as she swung the blade at him, shearing a good chunk off his beard and breastplate and consequently shocking him into silence.

"Try that again and I won't think twice about seeking out your other boy to have him run through as well." She warned. "I regret misleading you, yet I'm afraid I've been paid very well by an anonymous benefactor who wished to have Loki suffer for ruining a very old and very established mystic area of New York. There were relics underneath that city that had lasted for thousands of years - temples of worship and glades where certain types of spells could only ever be successfully performed, and they were all ruined by a bloody great Chitauri sky beast crushing them! Millennia of tribute and knowledge were lost- Mages were spitting sparks left, right and center! Be glad Loki's life is all they asked for!" She made a cursory wave at a few of her men, and drew her sword back, sheathing it smoothly without even bothering to shake the blood from the blade. "Dump the body outside - let the birds take care of it. A pyre is not for him."

"You cannot!" Frigga cried, angrily. "He must-"

"As for you Navaar interrupted the Queen, jabbing a clawed finger at Odin. "Come, guide me to the tesseract anyway - I want you to hand it to me. Nice to be official and whatnot, don't you think?"

Odin might have said something to that, but Loki did not hear it. As the stinking, hairy monsters took his arms and dragged him from the throne room, Loki knew very little else but the sensation of the smooth, cold marble against his back and the red warmth of the blood leaving his body. By the time they'd left him, unceremoniously dumped out the back of the palace along with the filth and the rubbish, Loki was finding that his fingertips could no longer hold any sensation and his thoughts were filled with an unwanted buzzing that hindered his mind as he forced the cogs to turn, to pull out some kind of escape plan - even it were his last. Gasping, he managed to pull himself up and, cursing his shaking limbs, slowly rose to his feet. From the waist down, he was nothing but a barrage of pain - yet he could still move, and that was definitely something. He was wounded, badly - and without help soon, without healing stones or suchlike, he would find himself in a very undesirable position indeed. But he was also a God, and it wasn't as if he didn't have a few deep battle scars of his own. He'd managed to drag himself to safety from the field before; this was no different.

Wobbling, weak and gasping with each tormented step, Loki managed to force himself into a unique gait that was part tottering, part falling into the surrounding walls of the refuse yard until he'd managed to make his way out of the palace grounds through a tiny service gate that led to the rocky outcrops beneath the city. Thor wasn't on Asgard - that much he knew. If he had been, Navaar probably would have threatened him instead - much to the amusement of all. It was a shame, Mjolnir would have definitely enjoyed cracking the skulls of that ugly lot, but it was possibly better this way. Loki counted on his brother to be somewhere in which he could contact him - far enough that Navaar would not realize he still lived. Then, if he appealed to Thor's better nature perhaps, they could devise some sort of plan to eradicate Asgard's unwanted visitor, and reclaim the tesseract for Odin. Loki knew it wasn't really like him to act so valiantly - the idea that he might rely on Thor to aid him certainly chafed- but he had few choices. He'd die without help, and he didn't want to so justyet. Besides, Odin had granted him favour in light of all his mistakes, and that was something the Allfather never did. He had to honour that.

Staggering along a narrow goat track, Loki stopped suddenly in front of a narrow cave and glanced about, warily. It was true that Asgard had been hindered by the loss of the bifrost, but Loki had always known the other secret ways in and out of his world to the others. Some had to be opened by his own magic, some - the older, less reliable ones- merely needed the right words to be spoken before the portal, for they remained open, always, and retained a magic of their own. Loki was not quite sure why and he'd never been quite brave enough to ask, fearing that case someone might decide to close them, and shut off his secret pathways and hiding places forever. However, he was still fairly sure Heimdall might have seen them from time to time, and as he stood before the shallow opening - his face ashen and his tunic stained with blood- it was all he could to look over toward the guard house at the hub of the splintered bifrost and offer his watcher a faint smile.

"Hide your eyes, Guardian," He whispered, not really knowing if Heimdall even stood at his post, or if he too had become a zephyr like the rest of Asgard. "Do not see me go. For if you do, she will too, I am sure of it. I will find my brother - I promise. I will fix this."

Then he murmured a few words and disappeared into the darkness with nothing but the click like the fine gears of a clock as one world connected and collected from the other.

 

Chapter 2: Exit Wounds

Notes:

Sorry if there are any spelling mistakes. My cat was trying to help me beta, but he's really the worst one-paw typist.

Most of the fic I have just made up on the fly, apart from actually googling where Stark Tower is, so if you see anything out of place, it's because I'm a lazy jerk. Loki's stilI not a badass. He was, now he isn't. I just can't seem to write him as hardcore as, say, Hella* and he ends up more of an injured puppy. Did I mention the Hiddleston eyes? I'm mentioning them again.

*If you haven't read Off the Record a fairy somewhere falls down dead. Ok that's mean; drunk. Dead drunk - very bad for fairies.

Instant Karma's gonna get you.

John Lennon.

 

***

 

The problem with inter-dimensional gateways - especially the more outmoded variety that enabled those untrained in the mystic arts to pass from realm to realm using only a signal phrase or chant- was that unless the coordinates of the desired journey were unimaginably specific to begin with, the traveler could be dumped pretty much anywhere within a hundred-mile radius of the original destination. The effect was rather like playing the piano with a mallet in one hand and a boxing glove on the other, and given that the only portal at Loki's disposal had remained open and uncalibrated for over a century, it was very likely the idea of precision was no longer much of an issue.

Thanks to the ever warping, looping, marbling nature of the multi-verses, the original imprinted destination that had been woven into the dusty hieroglyphs bordering the circumference of the door could have shifted any number of degrees and the sorcerer knew that he might very well end up in the middle of the ocean, were he so unlucky. Yet he recalled a recurring instance noted in several texts on the nature of wayfaring magic that such mystic pathways worked best when they could attach themselves to the strongest power source available on the other side - rather like the opposite polarities of magnets connecting. In the past it had been areas where lodestones could be found within the earth, or sanctions of worship where early tribes of humans paid tribute to the Gods. Once the mortals finally seeded and morphed into the technological masterminds of the twenty-first century, the portals began opening over Central Business Districts in large cities or sometimes heavily populated industrial areas. Power was power, so it seemed, and interstellar ranch sliders weren't particularly picky.

Now since Loki had done his homework and had, many years ago, taken an inventory of all the spell-safe gates around the outskirts of Asgard, he was fairly sure this particular portal led to the human city of New York. If fortune really smiled on him, Manhattan. For if one was to name any single, irrefutable fountain of insurmountable energy on the east coast of the United States, it had to be Anthony Stark's ego. And since something as intangible as a sense of self importance wasn't exactly harnessable, then an object that acted as an extension of this self-glorification would have to do. Stark tower, being the tall, rigid, erect structure that it was - powered singularly by Tony's own brilliance- was perfect. Of course, Loki knew nothing of the arc reactor, but he'd known from the moment that Selvig had placed his device on the summit of of Stark's Olympus, that there was something very different about that particular building. Different, and, ultimately, useful.

Well, Selvig's tech would be long gone, no doubt - plus there were no tesseracts or giant, lumbering space creatures and their hostile cavalry of Chitauri to contend with this time either. Thus the only pomp and circumstance that heralded Loki's entry into the mortal realm of Midgard was little more than a hazy blip of interstellar matter as the portal deposited him - just a sleek pale shadow of an injured God-sprawled awkwardly atop a small heap of collapsed cardboard boxes in a drab, wet alley. Loki lay still a moment on his back, his breath coming in deep and heavy huffs as his body recovered from the journey - the hair on his skin still prickling with static, like frost. Blinking his eyes several times to clear them, he deduced he must have arrived sometime after dawn - the light was still grey and the air was thin and cold; it caught in raw channels in his throat, making his eyes water and his nose sting. The temperature was not overly chilly, but it was damp and invading and it crept through his single layer of casual attire with practiced ease. He realized then that the warmest item of clothing he wore was his boots. Other than that, his thin silk shirt and suede trousers barely protected him from the bite of the cold, and to make matters worse, he seemed to be covered in a sheen of moisture - either dew or sweat- which did little to rally the blood in his veins. Puffs of vapour rolled over his lips as his warm breath hit the stiffer temperature and he shivered violently - biting back a cry as the movement aggravated his wound.

Ah yes, Loki mused, considering his current position. That was a point - he was injured, mostly likely still bleeding. If he lay much longer, God or not, he'd have a very hard time getting up - if he managed to do so at all. Both the Aesir and the Frost Giants were unbelievably hardy; they could withstand wounds that would otherwise easily kill a mortal and nine times out of ten they would live to fight another day. However Loki wasn't as confident in his physical invulnerability as his brother was - or even Thor's idiotic meathead trio the "Warriors Three". Loki knew very well that a God might bleed to death, if he really did not take care of himself and the chances increased dramatically if the wound had been delivered by some mystical item of note. As it was, the Asgardian knew better than to dismiss the mysterious sword Navaar had used to impale him. There was something odd about that dark blade that spiked his hackles, something that seemed fiercely deliberate - yet he could not put his finger on it. He hurt, that was certain - the burn of the wound felt similar to any other he'd received - yet the pain seemed to delve deeper, lacing his nerves and punching into the marrow of his bones. Loki felt wrong... strangely heavy. And he liked that even less than the terrible ache caused by the hole in his gut.

Wheezing a little, he rolled back and forth experimentally a couple of times, before pitching sideways and pushing to his knees. A sudden, angry bite in his thigh revealed Navaar's dagger - still happily embedded in his flesh- and with a grit of his teeth, Loki yanked it out, considering the small blade for a moment. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary like the sword had been - just a plain, sharp dagger; not unlike one of his own. The gash was deep, but not that bad - it would not bother him too much. He made a face as he wedged the sliver of steel into waistband of his trousers. Certainly, the knife puncture was nothing to bleat about; the other wound, however...

Loki found the tender spot where a clean fracture in the silk of his tunic marked the exit of the blade's path and he placed his hands near the hole, laddering the fabric in his fingers until he caught sight of his own bloodied, ruined flesh. His stomach was painted with bright crimson over the pale skin below and the wound itself was a dark, curved line like a smiling scimitar that dribbled more of the same hue down the length of his hip. Fortunately (though Loki was not entirely sure how this came to be) the bleeding appeared to have stopped as perhaps something in the minute amount of time he'd spent hurtling through space had stemmed the flow. He certainly did not seem to be leaking as much as he had been, and, for an undressed wound, that was a tremendous boon. The puncture itself was a good three-finger span in length - yet the blade had been blessedly thin and the angle of the blow had somehow managed to keep his insides where they should be. All in all, it looked as though it should have been a lot worse. Either that, or he shouldn't feel quite as ill as he did.

Loki shook his head in frustration and pushed his worries away - pulling himself to his feet in one bold, swift movement. He had to move, yes. He had to think. Had to throw his haphazard plan into action. What he didn't have to do was immediately keel to one side as his right knee buckled and gave out - sending him stumbling and crashing against the opposite wall of the alley, but he managed to do so anyway. Hissing curses as his head connected with the uneven brickwork, Loki fought to compose himself over the instinctive panic that was leapfrogging his nerves in over to draw the attention of his brain. All right. That was not a promising start. It appeared that, despite the look of the wound, he'd obviously lost a lot of blood and was weak enough that even walking could become a chore if he didn't set about it quickly. That was greatly unhelpful.

He almost had to laugh when, as he began to limp out to the pavement, the slight dampness in the air turned to a thick showering of precipitation and the heavens opened wide to vomit a torrent of nonseasonal rain on streets the unassuming city and its early-morning inhabitants. Unhelpful indeed.

Shivering, his hair plastered to his head, Loki wrapped his arms about his middle and slowly edged his way down the road, following his nose as best he could. He'd no idea if he'd ended up where he'd anticipated, but he spied several road signs and store names in English and decided that was a fair start. Besides, he knew that if he kept walking, he'd most likely catch sight of that garish tower Stark called a home - it didn't exactly blend in with the rest of the area. And if he was really, really lost, he could attempt to ask one of the mortals for Stark's whereabouts. That was a last resort though - he'd really rather avoid the attention. At least the rain would distract any passers by on the street who might otherwise take it upon themselves to stare at his unusual garb - though really, his long boots were the only things that were dreadfully unique about his outfit. He doubted if a typical New Yorker would be offended too much by a black silk shirt and plain trousers. Even the large amount of blood that had macerated in the fabric of his clothes both front and back was invisible against the colour - and that was also washing clear as he trudged through the torrential sheets of rain.

As he staggered on, fighting the downpour, something in the back of his mind told him that he should try to call Selvig on one of the Midgardian telecommunications devices and ask to speak to Thor (doubtless his brother had requested Odin to transport him back to that woman's doorstep in order to moon at her, stupidly, until he got bored and came home again). But Loki swiftly demolished the idea. He already suspected that the foreign God had been watching them closely on Midgard - after all, that was where she seemed to hail from, or at least seemed deeply invested in. If she realized he was still alive, he'd be risking his own rescue plans and putting his brother in danger. Despite his animosity towards his brother, he could not do that. Not now... No, he had a better idea; he just had to last long enough to see it through.

After a little less than a mile or two of firm, resolute battling, however, Loki considered giving up. The stinging rain was almost too thick to see through, and the belated boom of thunder in the distance only signalled a lengthy wait for the storm to pass overhead. Unsure of what direction to move in, Loki stepped backwards against a roller door, wiping the rain out of his eyes and feeling more of a victim than he ever had. It almost seemed as though the universe itself was trying to foil him.

Yet as he nearly submitted to the mounting desire that urged him to curl up into a small ball of despair and let fate have its way with him, the abrupt sound of a car horn honking for his attention successfully diverted his plans to surrender. He stared quizzically at the sunny yellow automobile, cocking his head to one side as the driver wound down the passenger window and shouted out to him over the rain.

"Hey buddy, you want a lift?"

"Lift?" Loki seemed bemused. Didn't these car things only move horizontally?

"Yeah, hop in - I'll drop you downtown if you like."

"Why?" Loki asked, suddenly wary of his convenient samaritan. Didn't humans usually offer transport at some sort of expense? He had no money on him - not even a scrap of jewellery to barter. He could get the man to take him where he wanted to go, then simply slit his throat with the dagger, but he doubted that a repeat performance of his last visit to Midgard would do much to win him any favor with the mortals - whether they found out about the misdemeanor or not. It just did not seem like a good idea.

"You wanna catch pneumonia?" The cabbie waved him forward. "C'mon son, lemme take you a few blocks - it's only going to get worse out."

Well, if he put it that way. Loki staggered forward, wrenching open the passenger door, tumbling head first into the cab and pulling his long legs up against his chest. Be nice. He thought to himself. Be civil. They like things to be agreeable, the Midgardians, it tends to proffer much fairer results. Bizarrely, after he'd made himself comfortable, the man leaned over and took his hands - pressing them against the dashboard.

"It ain't got that much guts, but it's heat nonetheless," he explained, pointing at the heater vents. Twisting strenuously, he fumbled on the seat behind him and pulled out a thick, ragged-edged towel that he draped over Loki's head and shoulders - much to the God's surprise. "Geez, you're wetter than a duck's ass. You'd better dry off before you catch your death! Hope the night was worth it, kid."

"The night?" Loki almost slapped himself. He was parroting, and he knew it, but human vernacular took some getting used to and he wasn't quite there yet. He could speak English fluently, but he gathered that it was definitely more of a textbook style, and contained none of the odd verbal mannerisms this man would use. The language that had grown up to be the spoken word of nearly half the planet had suffered an extremely patchworked puberty as it tried to please far too many of its speakers and as a result became more of a pastiche of itself and every other language known to man. Loki had no trouble learning French, German and Latin, but inundate him with contemporary American colloquialisms and he would, eventually become lost in translation. Even the fine words of Chaucer rarely tripped his agile tongue; but the common speech of the New World everyman? Impossible. Not to mention the fact that he'd never actually spoken to many humans on a one-to-one basis - not without actually wanting to listen to them.

"Yeah, just got out the club, did you?" The driver winked, his smile wide and friendly. "Or are you on the walk of shame, lad? The lady turf you out early, did she?"

After a brief moment of digestion, Loki's frown lifted in comprehension. Ah. He was suggesting that there had been some sort of celebration - a night of frivolity; copulating with women and such... Well that was as good an alibi as any. The trickster merely nodded and drew the towel further over his shoulders, closing his eyes as the heater choked tepid air against his cheeks and neck. "I'm afraid I haven't any money to offer you for the.. uh... ride," he admitted, quietly. The cabbie only snorted.

"If you did, it'd be mulch in your wallet by now. Call it my good deed for the day, kid. I was gonna check in at the depot anyway."

Loki paused for a moment, then said:

"Thank you."

"No problem." The man responded, cheerfully. "Just pop your belt on there," He pointed to the seat belt behind Loki's shoulder and nodded in encouragement as the God pulled it into place. "Where you heading, just outta interest?"

"Stark Tower?" Loki asked, uncertainly. "Is that... That's here, isn't it?"

"Sure is... we're about five blocks away. I can even let you off right outside if you like. It ain't much of a detour."

"Again, thank you," Loki peered at his name card, stuck on the dash by the two-way receiver. "Joseph of... Dreyfuss?"

"It's just Joe, kid. That'll do." They stopped at a set of lights, listening to the hectic rhythm of the windscreen wipers against the rain and the tinny sound of the dispatch over the radio. Joe glanced at his drenched passenger again, frowning a little. "You sure you ok? You look pretty damn pale."

"It was a long night, Joe. That is all," Loki answered smoothly, though the heat assailing his face was beginning to make him dizzy. Under the towel, he pressed his hands against his wound, trying to suppress the nausea that was twisting his guts. He probably looked a hell of a lot worse drying out than he did soaked.

"Ok," Joe seemed unconvinced. "Hope you got a change of clothes somewhere and a berocca handy - you're gonna need it for the rest of the day. Here we go."

Loki blinked in surprise - no wonder he hadn't seen the tower- he'd actually ended up at such a close distance that it was camouflaged by the lower, stockier buildings, roofs and parapets surrounding it. Swallowing a groan, he leaned forward as Joe pulled onto the car pad in front the tower and let himself out, deftly dropping the towel in the seat to cover any of the blood that might have drained out of his clothing and cause the man to ask questions again. Glancing back at the wet front seat, he shot his savior a veritably apologetic look and motioned to the sodden leather.

"I am sorry about the interior of your vehicle." He said gently. Joe shrugged and told him not to worry about it. He wished him a good day and made to drive away - uttering one of the most confusing farewells Loki had ever encountered in the human realm "See you later(this one always stumped him - it wasn't as if they knew each other, and Loki hardly thought that he'd bother to track Joe down in order to see him again), waving out the window as he went.

The sky was lightening, though the rain still pelted the pavement, and regardless of the fact that it was early enough for sparrows to still be yawning, the main reception to Stark Industries was lit and busy with couriers and messengers - all swarming like worker bees over the triumvirate of receptionists. seated at the main desk. Loki let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and strode into the bright lobby, doing his best to appear far more composed than he felt. True, he was where he sought to be - but he was well aware of the odds weighed against him. He was tired, injured - he had no magic to back him up. Therefore Loki had to gamble on Tony's charity, and pray that Stark would aid him, given that he had no real reason to and that their past, brief encounter had not been particularly cheerful. Loki needed Stark, he had to earn his trust for he was really the only one out of that team of... what had he called them? The Avengers? He was the only one Loki knew how to find.

Approaching the main desk, Loki smiled ingratiatingly at the beautifully dressed asian woman with a severe haircut that made her stunning features seem even more chiselled and fine than humanly possible, and cleared his throat.

"I wish to speak to Tony Stark."

"Name?" Came the automatic reply. Loki raised a brow. He decided to forgo a pseudonym - it was more likely Stark's ears would perk up if he used his title, though it wasn't just his name that he was counting on to get the Iron Man's attention.

"Loki."

"Loki what?"

"Lau- no..." Loki wet his lips and gave a slight cough. "Odinson... I guess."

"Well, Mr Odinson-I-guess," the receptionist glared at him through layers of Chanel mascara. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"Of course you don't," she told him, acidly. "If you did, you'd know that Mr Stark would never take appointments before ten o'clock."

Oh this was tiresome. Loki fought the urge to wedge her computer screen over her head.

"What time is it?" He asked instead, peering about the room, pretending to look for a timepiece. When he came across a security camera, however, he stopped, and smiled thinly, making sure the device took a good long look at him "Never mind, it matters not. He will want to see me."

"Will he now? It's seven in the morning, Mr Odinson, Mr Stark doesn't do seven ay-em." Haircut huffed, irritably, and tapped on her keyboard with her dangerously pink fingernails. "Now if you want an appointment, I can get you one near... January. But we ask for credentials, company details... Do you have anything with you?"

Loki ignored her and continued to stare at the camera - hoping like hell his strategy would work. He knew that Rogers the super soldier and Romanoff the spy had found him in Stuttgart by using technology that tracked his likeness - he'd overheard them mentioning it when they had taken him into custody aboard their flying transport. He could only assume Stark was smart enough to install the same kind of science in his private quarters, with some sort of alarm if an unwanted guest ever turned up unannounced.

As it was, he only had to wait a few minutes before the receptionist was interrupted by the strange little device in her ear and with an odd look, she directed Loki to the elevator, informing him to take it to floor eighty-six. Well... That didn't take long. He sighed as he entered the elevator carriage, flopping bonelessly against the far wall - one arm wrapped about his middle, the other gripping the stainless steel rail. Glancing down the length of his arm, Loki took as deep a breath as his sore gut would allow and briefly examined the curling marks of Odin's sorcery on his wrists. No magic this time, none of his own, nor of the staff that had been gifted to him the last time he was in this building. All he had was his so-called silver tongue and even that felt relatively lead-like, given his current poor state.

Strange, placating music played softly in the lift, and it distracted Loki enough that he actually jumped when Tony's voice blared suddenly over the speaker.
"Anyone ever tell you it's rude not to call ahead?"

Loki gasped, swallowing hard - though he did his best to recover as smoothly as he could, offering Stark a dismissive shrug. He'd give him the opportunity to say what he wanted first - a verbal white flag of sorts.

"So should I pack couple of semi-automatics?" Tony continued. "I don't really like guns so much anymore, not the common garden variety anyway, but I might have a few banging about somewhere - s'cuse the pun. Or should I just suit up? Or is this actually some sort of poor-taste strip-o-gram? It's not my birthday yet, just so you're aware. Do you even know the words to "Happy Birthday, Mr President?"

"It is neither of those suggestions, Tony Stark." Loki told him, weakly. "I am unarmed. I'm here only to talk."

"Unarmed... and yet you've got a solid little three-inch blade tucked in by your ass?" Tony sounded just as unconvinced as he did unamused and that wasn't a good start. "That does count, Loki."

So he had weapon-scanning material installed in the elevator as well? Loki wondered if that was a result of an overabundance of cleverness, or paranoia. He shook his head.

"I'm afraid I arrived in this realm with the dagger wearing me. He explained. "I have bought it for your study, if you'll hear me. I can leave it in this compartment, if you prefer."

"I do prefer." Tony agreed, calmly. "You do just that. Then you can push the little down arrow on the lift and get the hell out of my city."

"Stark..."

"Don't think I haven't tagged SHEILD in already, Loki. You don't have your brother here to take you back to the pound this time and our boys would be ever so damn glad to get their hands on you."

"My brother..." Loki breathed, pushing up from the rail he was using to support his weight and stared up to the opposite corner of the ceiling, where he figured the camera was hidden. Stark had stopped the lift on floor sixty-seven - it was obvious he had no intention of letting his powerful guest into his quarters again. Sucking on his lower lip, worriment darting his features, Loki nodded, pulling the dagger from his pants and tossing it down in the corner behind him. "There, I have removed it - it is out of my immediate possession. Now, Stark, I must speak with you about Thor..."

"Must you now? Well, your Lordship - Godship... whatever... You'll find that what you must do and what I want to do are two very different things. See, if I were you, I'd start running. As soon as you hit the ground floor, preferably. In fact, if you could try and leap out of one of the windows around level twenty, that'll save a whole lot of bother for everyone..."

There was silence after that. Thor's younger, volatile little brother seemed at a loss for words, and for someone as verbose as Anthony Stark, that was quite the victory. He stared hard at the screen before him, ignoring the alarm GUI bleeping silently in the corner, and watching for any movements that might betray Loki's supposed truce - thus giving Tony reason to throw on the gold and red and beat the living shit out of him. He had very little time for the man who had, not more than two months ago, threatened his city - his world, actually - killed one of the few men in SHEILD that had proven government-run espionage agencies didn't have to be full of complete tools and actually, bodily, thrown Stark himself out of a window. In Tony's opinion, there was always room for second chances, but when it came to Thor's adopted brother, the only second chance he'd give Loki was that of putting as much distance between them as possible.

He waited expectantly, fingering the command bracelets that could activate his suit, while Loki seemed to chew over his recommendation. Tony anticipated fireworks; the God's reply, however, threw him entirely.

"Pray, hear me. I beg you."

Beg? Stark frowned, sitting up to peer even closer at the image of the thin, rather bedraggled-looking Asgardian on the virtual interface before him and rubbed a hand over his chin, wondering what the hell Loki's game was this time. Surely he hadn't come back expecting a rematch - he certainly didn't look up to it. He might have been looking for Thor, but Tony doubted someone as smart as Loki wouldn't know where his thunderous brother was at any given time. No - this was weird. Very weird.

Hitting the mute button on the intercom, he opened a new heads up display that showed the physical status of the elevators passenger. Along with the usual height, weight and other volume-based measurements, was a pulse monitor and a heat sensor. Both were highly work in progress and neither were particularly accurate - the pulse monitor worked through microvibrations, and Tony hadn't quite gotten the calculations to fine tune the sound of a pumping aorta, over the tapping of a foot - but as long as Loki stood as still as possible, he could get an average reading.

"His pulse is irregular." Jarvis said suddenly, as though reading his mind. "And, based on our studies of Thor Odinson's statistics, much weaker than it should be."

"Well, naturally." Tony snorted. "He's come here, thinking he can get away with making some sort of deal and obviously he's shitting his princely breeches, because I've pulled the SHIELD card."

"And because you're such a force to be reckoned with yourself, sir."

"Don't get cute, Jarvis. I can turn you off, you know."

"His body temperature is very low." Jarvis continued, unabashed. "The sensors are also picking up minute involuntary tremors that have not ceased since he entered the carriage."

"He's shivering?" Tony eased himself off the couch where he'd finally surrendered to sleep after hours of toying with his third hot rod engine, and toed his discarded t-shirt closer to him in order to tug it on. Not noticing that it was inside out, Tony smoothed his hands over the "ELPRUP PEED" emblazoned across his chest and padded across the workroom to the stairs that led up to the open plan kitchen and lounge. "Doesn't seem like something a God would do. And begging isn't something Loki would do, either."

"He is poorly dressed for the weather Sir," Jarvis reasoned. "And it looks as though he has been in the worst of it. If I'm not mistaken, I would understand that he has caught a chill. His breathing appears laboured, it is almost as if-"

"Alright, alright, so he was dumb enough to stand outside in the rain - let's hope Godly sneezes don't take out the windows." Tony muttered, fumbling the suits activation bands onto his wrists. "I've changed my mind. Let him up. I'll give him five minutes and if he tries anything, he'll have a big, red gold/titanium guy to beat the crap out of him up here, and a bigger, angrier green guy to beat the piss out of him if he tries to go downstairs."

"Certainly. Should I also wake Mr Banner?"

"Yeah. Gently. Keep a line open so he can hear, but get him to stay out of sight. I'm not sure how our Asgardian Princess will react if he sees the guy who turned him into a floor tile the last time he messed with him." Tony finished fastening the second band on his wrist, then crossed his arms, wrangling his expression into something more serious than his usual air of spirited caprice. "Ok, open sesame."

"Certainly, sir."

He wasn't sure what to expect. After all, as far as he was aware, Loki was stealthy and resourceful enough to just fly to the balcony of Tony's penthouse and help himself to Stark's blue label scotch anytime he wanted, had he so desired. Though the Avengers had bled back into the woodwork of their lives after stopping the Chitauri invasion,Thor had actually been back to Manhattan several times since Loki was apprehended, in an attempt to support Fury's newly compiled team and assert the fact that he was most definitely a member. For good measure, he'd also offered various amounts of intel regarding his brother and himself - whatever SHIELD asked for, as long as it wasn't too personal, he'd answer. Occasionally he'd visit Tony and Bruce to help them test various types of scanners that could register power on his type of level, but mostly he found himself answering with queries regarding Loki: what kind of powers he had, how old he was, whom he trusted, that kind of thing. What Tony gathered from most of it, was that Loki was a wily, jealous, powerful ess-oh-bee, and that he'd stop at nothing to get one up over anyone in his way.

Tony told Thor as much. Thor, for once, did not correct him.

So then, what was with all the niceties? Had Loki escaped Asgard? Had he been let go? What on earth could have possessed him to return to one of the Avengers, for God's sake? Tony's glaze frosted over with unpracticed malice as Loki padded carefully out of the elevator chamber and proceeded to cross the threshold of the kitchen. The glare shattered into genuine surprise however, when the God suddenly drew to an unsteady halt a few feet from him, turned white as a sheet before uttering an array of unrelated syllables and dropping to the floor in a dead faint.

"'Kay..." Tony raised a brow. "Good chat."

 

Chapter 3: Gimme Shelter

I took a sip of something poison but I'll hold on tight.

Foster the People.

***

"Do you think we should give him some water?"

"If he can drink unconscious, sure. Or if you meant throw it in his face-"

"No. Look, if we fashioned some kind of funnel and... and... Ok you're right. Hey, what about smelling salts? Got any smelling salts?"

"Yes, Mr Darcy. I keep them on the sideboard next to my snuff box and silk handkerchiefs."

"I don't hear you making any suggestions!

"We could punch him in the head?"

"Tony!"

"A lot... What?" Tony looked up at Bruce over Loki's prone form, and gestured about erratically. "What do I know, Bruce? I risk my ass letting Prince Emotionally Unstable here up into my house for the second time, only to have him pass out on my kitchen floor before he's even managed to find something pointy to throw at me and the next thing I know, you're galloping into the room like some dishevelled Sunday theatre masterpiece, warbling on about smelling salts. Who even has smelling salts? And why aren't you green?"

"Green?" Bruce tugged at his shirt collar, wrangling the errant material into place. Dishevelled indeed - it looked as though he'd been sleeping in his clothes. For days. "Why would I be green?"

"Well, you don't like this guy for a start..." Tony reasoned, prodding at the unconscious trickster's shoulder experimentally. "I mean, the last time you met him, you kind of made him a Loki-mosiac in my floor."

"Oh right." Bruce almost seemed to blush. "I guess I was too preoccupied to give the other guy much of a chance for a shoe in."

"Preoccupied with what? I thought you were asleep. Do I even want to know?"

"The scanner woke me, I asked Jarvis to set an alarm down in my room as well. Yes, sorry," Banner smiled guiltily as Tony shot him a castigating look. "I know you're secretly doing your damnedest to make this place an... an oasis for me, but I thought it would be a good idea."

"So you were preoccupied in listening to Loki's little pity party of one?"

"That and I set about running a few experimental stats using that GUI we developed a few weeks ago."

"We developed? What, that scanning tech which measures the level of gamma in humans compared to Godly things." Tony cocked his head to one side. "Thought that was mybaby."

"It was your baby, until I gave you the algorithms to sort the different gamma into readable equations."

"Fine, fine. Mi investigacion es tu investigacion... or whatever..." Tony grumbled. "So what did you find?"

"Something interesting. Really interesting."

"And you don't turn green when you find interesting things?"

"Pretty much." Bruce shrugged and glanced down at Loki conspiratorially. "But what I found was, well... Loki's a God too, right? So-"

"Wow, that thing really states the obvious, doesn't it."

"So," Bruce continued, raising his voice a little. "So he should have caused the thing to react. But it didn't... So I'm wondering why. What happened? Why didn't he emit anything?"

"Emit anyth-" Tony scrunched up his nose in distaste. "It sounds really rude when you put it that way. I don't know if I want to lock in an answer there."

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean." He said, pressing his fingers against Loki's throat, gingerly. His pulse was weak - just as Jarvis had said- and it fluttered breathlessly beneath his skin. "Thor makes that thing light up like the Fourth of July; Mjolnir looks like a Christmas Tree. Granted we haven't had any other deities pop over to test it on, but you'd think that Loki would at least ping a few blips or something."

"Thor said he could hide his power," Tony suggested. "Said he could zip about Asgard and Earth without their watchdog guy even noticing."

"Well, it's not to say we really know what we're doing when we attempt to explain magic with science," Bruce said, slowly, considering the pallor of Loki's skin. "But something tells me he'd have to be conscious for that."

"Touche."

Loki moaned then, making the pair jump and glance about for the nearest weapon. Well, Banner did - Tony figured Bruce would do in favor of most of his arsenal and simply sat back a little and glared. But the God merely murmured incoherently as his eyelids fluttered open and he hissed as he drew in a breath, suddenly confused.

"What?" He asked in a faint voice. "Why am I-"

"You fainted, mi'lady." Tony told him, snarkily. "Very dramatic and all I almost applauded."

Loki only stared at him, seemingly oblivious to the jibe - or at least too engrossed in some other train of thought to bother with it. His clear eyes were sharp, but with something other than malice. Tony was very familiar with Loki's malign look and this wasn't it; this was definitely something else. The trickster's brow darted in bewilderment as he seemed to try and catch whatever thoughts he'd been harboring on the way up to the apartment and Tony couldn't help noting how incredibly vulnerable he suddenly looked; how lost.

So... he wasn't emitting any kind of God-like energy signature...

"I f-" Loki panted, trying to sit up. He was paler than dishwater, his lips almost blue and he couldn't for the life of him stop his teeth chattering. Vague memories and conversations flew through his mind like moths, but when he tried to catch them, they simply vanished into mental smoke. He was here for something, he knew that - but it had suddenly slipped his mind. "I fainted?"

"I wouldn't try to get up just yet," Bruce added, resting his hand on Loki's clavicle. "You were out for a couple of minutes, but you still look like you're about to keel over again."

"... and die." Tony supplied. Bruce shot him a dirty look. "Ok, ok fine." He continued, testily. "You came here wanting to talk to me. Demanding, actually. Why? What's the problem?"

"I don't..." Loki shook his head.

"Did you come for a repeat performance of how to look like a complete asshole in public?" Tony offered. "Take the wrong turn on some magic escalator? Did you lose your puppy? What?"

"Th-there was..." Loki pressed his lips into a thin line, frustrated. "There was something..."

"Thor?" Tony shrugged. "You were pretty insistent when I talked about Thor."

"Thor!" Loki shot up at that - nearly clocking heads with Bruce. To the great surprise of his keepers (and himself, to a degree) he cried out suddenly in pain, pressing his hands hard against his gut. Ah yes, that irritating contusion that certainly hadn't gone away. Along with his reason for seeking out Tony, he'd forgotten about that too, momentarily. But now the angry gash sunk piercing, needle-like teeth into his side until it throbbed and he felt a warm, sticky wetness bleed out against the skin of his palms. "Yes, my brother. You know where he is - I have to speak with him."

"Ok, now I'm just feeling like the other woman." Tony scoffed, peevishly, though his heart wasn't in it. He frowned as he scrutinized Loki's surprising reaction and raised a brow at Bruce, who seemed equally baffled. "You burst in here, saying that you desperately wanted to come in and talk to me, now you only want to talk to Thor-"

"I ask, because I do not know where he is," Loki gasped. "And you do. And you can contact him. Please, you must find him for me."

"Heard of a phone? You know telecommunications has come a long way since your Godly lah-di-dah days of old."

"Of course I have!" Loki hissed at him, some of his old self burning through his words. Then he groaned and hunched over further, his annoyance dissolving. "But I fear they are watching Thor. She is watching. She knows... Migard. If... if I contact him, she will know I am here. Then my efforts are wasted."

"They? She?" Bruce narrowed his eyes a little as Loki doubled over his middle. Sweat had begun to bead on the God's brow, and it caught the light, making him appear even more wrung out; more drawn. "Who? Those... those aliens that came through the rift with you? The Chitauri, or something? Are they after you?"

"No." Loki shook his head, not without some difficulty. He was panting with the effort it took to speak and that was enough to convince Bruce to lay a hand on his shoulder, supporting his thin frame. Damn, if the boy wasn't shaking hard enough to collapse again. "The woman. She... c-came... Asgard has been... breached... My brother... I-I know he is here - he has to be."

If it wasn't for the fact that the trickster God looked about as genuinely unnerved and frightened as Tony could have imagined he'd ever been, he would have simply kicked Loki out of Stark Tower and told him to get his ass on a bus and find Thor himself. As it was, he knew he should be asking for more intel. He knew he should be grilling Loki about facts and reasons - especially as to why he'd turned up on an Avengers' doorstep, seemingly without his Godly mojo and making eyes like an Dickens orphan. He also knew what Fury would do to Loki, if he ever got his hands on their one-time enemy. He'd 'accidentally' pilfered the commander's personal logs once and he could guarantee that it wouldn't be pleasant.

"I can't." He said finally, glancing from Loki to Bruce, carefully. Sure, Thor had dropped by a few days ago on his way to New Mexico, but that didn't mean they were going to give him up to his brother. After all, if this was a trick and Loki was playing them, then delivering Thor into his brother's claws could almost be the same as tossing the Trickster God to Fury. But at the same time, everything about Loki seemed wrong - there was something so very real about his thinly-veiled panic. "There's protocol. If we ever caught you again, you're to be delivered directly to SHEILD, not... not aided. Them's the rules."

"Please." Loki repeated, his words catching on his sharp, staccato breaths. He released one hand from his middle to grasp Tony's elbow. His grip was freezing, shaking, and when Tony looked down, he saw that it was smeared with blood. He almost wasn't surprised. "Please..."

"Aw crap."

"Lemme see that," Bruce interjected, easing Loki closer and back a little in order to pull his hands away from his belly. Loki just looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable, but it seemed he could find no further protest, and finally let his arms drop by his side. Uttering a faint curse in what was most likely his own language, he hissed against his teeth as Bruce raised the ruined silk, revealing the bloodied mess of Loki's midsection and the cruel-looking wound, that curved about the right side of his navel."Jesus... They did this to you? And you've been walking around like this? For how long?"

"How the hell did he even manage to get here?" Tony mused, his hand drifting round the side of Loki's hip to his back. "It's gone right through him."

"They thought I was dead," Loki choked out, his hands spasming by his side. "But... too clever for them. S'not healing though... Should be healing. Had worse..."

"Yeah I don't doubt." Tony looked up at Bruce with What the hell should we do? plastered over his expression. They couldn't pawn him off Fury like this - he probably wouldn't even last the ride to SHIELD 's headquarters. They couldn't call Thor - he was off faffing about the desert somewhere, setting up weather stations with Foster (He'd also had the foresight to warn his team mates that Jane's satellite phone was on the blitz or at least, that's what he said she'd told him. Tony didn't doubt that Jane also had planned for them to be alone and uninterrupted for a while, the minx). They couldn't allow one person to run off to find the Asgardian either - not with a certified war criminal in their custody. Even if Bruce could handle patching the God up by himself, there was always the possibility of some unwanted guests turning up on the doorstep and Tony would much rather that the Hulk didn't appear again to re-fit the kitchen.

Pepper wasn't around either, which was, on many levels, vastly unhelpful. Especially since she had made very clear that she didn't want to be around for at least a week or two. Bruce shook his head, lightly.

"Look, I need to stop his bleeding." He said, in a low voice. "I don't know if he's going to die, or explode, or melt or whatever a God does when they've bled out, but I'm guessing it's not anything good and I'll be damned if I'm going to be responsible."

"Loki is Thor's... uh... Tony eyed their patient, warily. "Voldemort... Ergo his responsibility. We should just get his nordic ass over here and let him deal with this."

"And Thor's shown us that he's invested in the responsibility of protecting our world!" Bruce parried. "Why shouldn't we return the favor? You know how he... uh adores... Riddles" It didn't seem as though Loki had cottoned on to the fact that the two were talking about him, but Bruce decided that it was probably a good idea to continue with the wordplay. "For all he's done for us, we can't let him down like that."

"Fine, fine just beat the empathy nail on the head there." Tony snorted. "But as much as I don't want to involve anyone else, we should get the big guy here pronto. If Loki carks it and he finds out that his brother was in my house when it happened and he didn't know, it'll probably be just as bad. Now you know you can't go. And if you're alone, Ican't... so-"

"Send Steve," Bruce cut in, abruptly, crossing Loki's limp arms over his chest. "Steve will listen - he'll make the trip without questioning us - especially not if we underline the urgency. And even when he does find out, I think he'll be okay. He tends to be a little more supportive of our... um-"

"Stupid ideas?"

"I was going to say 'exploits', but yeah ok." Banner shrugged. "Call him. I know he's near the airfield, training, so if you pull a few strings and wrangle a jet, he should be up in the air in just over an hour. Then we'll get Loki downstairs... I'm pretty certain I'lll need your help on this one. I don't even want to think about how we're going to get him a transfusion."

"He's a God, Bruce," Tony muttered as he got to his feet. "Doesn't he bleed rainbows or something?"

"This look like rainbows to you?" Bruce asked, lowering the Asgardian back to the floor. The God - or whatever he was right now- was gasping against the pain in his side, his eyes rolling back into his head as exhaustion dragged him under. "Question is: how well can you sew?"

"About as well as I can ignore protocol."

"That's what I thought."

"Thread up, Donatella."

***

The phone call had been tremendously brief for a conversation with Tony Stark and Steve had to admit, he was slightly dubious of the way Dr Ego had managed to navigate from hello to goodbye without a single insult or witty remark to twist the course anywhere in between. Then again, all Tony had delivered was basically a shopping list of imperatives:

We need you to get Thor.
It's urgent.
He's with Foster.
Take my plane from docking bay 9 - Rhodey will hook you up, they know who you are.
Call Selvig on route, he can give you coordinates.
It's urgent. Really.
I'm not kidding.

A little unnerved, but mostly curious of the mystery surrounding Stark's insistence, Steve simply agreed and followed instruction - hoping to hell that when Tony Stark was serious, it was when he was being really serious, not when he'd done something idiotic and required some superhuman bailing out.

The trailer was exactly where Selvig said it would be - nearly fifty miles out of town in the blistering heat of the desert. When Steve arrived at Jane Foster's temporary worksite, he found the Asgardian God, Thor, clad in shorts and thongs - helping Jane to erect a small, semi-permanent weather monitoring system.

Steve told Thor that Tony had personally requested for his help. Thor did not even hesitate to question, and asked only for ten minutes to ready himself.

They flew out of New Mexico in Tony's private jet. Steve could only explain that Tony had said it was urgent.

And that he wasn't kidding.

***

After the engineer-cum-physicist team had loaded a semi-conscious Norse God onto Tony's streamlined, collapsible gurney that was stationed in a cupboard by the door with the rest of the first aid gear, they proceeded to transport him down to the infirmary, where Tony learned three new things about Thor's brother:

1) He was most certainly not rainbows on the inside.

2) His blood type was A positive the - same as Tony's. Well, that made things blissfully easy. Tony had plenty of A positive packages in his infirmary inventory - more than enough to wash some colour back into the Asgardian's pasty cheeks. The odd thing was, with Loki being a God, he'd expected something grander; if not rainbows, then perhaps green blood, or blue blood. Blood made of gold or something equally as mystical. Plain old A positive was... well... it was a bit disappointing and it made him ponder Bruce's comment further on whether the God thing really wason the blink.

3) He wasn't wearing underwear. For some reason, this fact seemed to gel on Tony a little more than it should. This kid; this thin, pale shadow of his brother had powered up and gone against a whole world and it turned out he was the type who didn't even have the decency to throw on some jockeys before attempting mass subjugation-cum-genocide? Sheesh.

Other than those three rather asinine facts, Tony kept his manner mostly professional - asking questions of Bruce when they needed to be asked, tying off sutures when they needed tying and retrieving various amounts of equipment from around the lab, whenever Bruce required them. He even allowed things to be handed to him, though he didn't like it very much. And while Bruce entrusted his friend with the responsibility of administering the intravenous fluids, Tony could only hope that Loki wouldn't later comment on the amount of bruising in the creases of his elbows. He had never been that good at finding a vein.

Banner himself didn't comment too much throughout the entire operation. He'd turned on his "House" face, as Tony often put it, and worked as swiftly as he could without losing precision. The object had struck Loki through his abdomen - most likely from back to front, judging by the angle of the wound tunnel and astoundingly, aside from shredding a fair amount of lower intestine, had not managed to damage any internal organs. Loki had lost a tremendous amount of blood, that was certain, yet it seemed the only reason he hadn't fallen into hypovolemic shock was because of the strange charring that fringed the ragged edge of his mutilated flesh, like a thin laminate of burnt tissue.

It was as if the blade that had penetrated Loki's body had been hot enough to cauterize - veritably stopping the bleeding as soon as the wound was made. Yet for the amount of damaged skin and flesh Bruce tweezered away as he sorted the pieces of ruined intestine from those to be sutured, there was no blistering or evidence of heat damage at all. The bleeding that had occurred was from areas that had become irritated by his movement, while the rest held fast against the clot. If that had not been the case, he would have been long dead before he collapsed on Tony's floor.

Perhaps. If a God could die. Bruce still wasn't entirely sure what was going on. But he figured that if Loki could bleed like a human, have the same blood type as a human andbeg for help like a human, well... he could only be treated as such - there really wasn't any other alternative. As it was, four hours and countless stitches, staples and swear words later, Bruce finally applied the last strip of tape to the gauze pad on Loki's belly and took a step back, critically scanning his work.

"How's he holding up?" He asked Tony, not taking his eyes off his patient.

"He's stable," Stark answered, flicking a few of the basic stats GUIs from his tablet to the flat screen monitor that sat to one side at the head of the theatre table. "Stable as a balsa wood barn in a tornado, mind you, but it's better than nothing."

Banner shook his head and began rolling the blood-covered surgery sheet in his arms, promptly binning it in a disposal unit, before tugging a fresh blanket from out of a storage cupboard, tucking it over their unconscious charge.

"Hell of a way to start a Thursday," Stark continued, scrutinizing Banner's expression. Bruce had become so easy-going over the past couple of months that he and Tony had effectively been lab buddies, and he'd developed a kind of quiet humour that Tony found very pleasant. Stark forgotten what Bruce's grave, serious face looked like and to have it back so suddenly was rather unsettling.

"Yeah, I love the smell of chlorhexidine in the morning." Bruce quipped, finally surrendering something of a smile. "That's about all we can do - we'd better let him rest. I doubt he'll be coming round anytime soon. We should wash up - the others will be here shortly. Then we can have the pleasure of trying to decide what the hell we're supposed to do next with our kebabbed guest."

"Since I doubt any of us are going to risk narking to One-eyed Willie," Tony said, placing the tablet in its cradle before dusting off his hands. "We should be okay to hole up until he's awake. Guess I'll have to find the inflatable mattresses."

"Something like that." Bruce replied. "Keep the heat up, Jarvis," he added, flicking the plastic drip chamber lightly and straightening the tube, once he was satisfied with his bedmaking. "And keep an eye on his respiratory response. We don't need him developing hypothermia as well."

"A steady eighty-two ought to keep him comfortable, Sir."

"That'll do it."

***

Two hot showers, an egg-white omelette and ten rounds of Angry Birds later, the divalent duo found themselves welcoming the Thunder God of Asgard and the Spangly Ambassador of Nineteen Forty-Three into Tony's apartment for the second time that year. Tony grinned when Steve politely noted how well his kitchen floor had recovered. Thor's expression seemed to stumble every so slightly at that comment, yet he appeared to swallow his discomfort and greeted both Tony and Bruce jovially.

"Stephen insisted the matter was urgent." He explained, motioning to Tony as if to infer to the phone call. "And that we come at once."

"Uhh, yeah." Tony wedged his hands in his jeans pocket and nodded, suddenly feeling a little apprehensive, despite himself. He didn't think that Thor would react badly to his well, his and Bruce's decisions, but Steve mightn't be too pleased and the last thing Tony Stark wanted to do was to get on the bad side of the military golden boy. A month ago, he wouldn't have cared as much; now he was slightly more invested in getting more Avengers on Team Tony, rather than Team Fury. Not that he felt he'd be any sort of leader, but something told him that the closer they were as a group, the more freedom that might end up earning. "About that..."

Gesturing for the others to follow him, he led the brawny band down through the house, stopping every now and then as Steve slowed in awe - admiring some of the art on the walls. Thor just kept an expression of slightly amused befuddlement, the soles of his thongs flip-flopping hollowly against the polished concrete. Finally, after a few minutes of silent travel, Steve halted the group in the middle of the narrow, dark passage before the infirmary.

"Ok enough... Tony, what is this? What exactly did you call us here for?"

"Hold onto your spandex, we're almost there." Tony chided him. "Geez, gimme a minute."

"Well, is it urgent or isn't it?"

"That's kinda... Well, you've sorta got to read the matter for what it is."

"Bruce seemed to imply that something was wrong, but you both look fine to me." Steve began. "Unless..." He stopped and frowned his baby blues doing nothing at all to hide his disapproval.. "Unless there's something that you think you ought to tell SHIELD, but you also don't want to, because it might make things less interesting for you."

"Oh baby, you know me so well," Tony held up his hands in defeat. "All right, something like that, but I just want to point out; it's not only interesting for me."

"Can we please get to the point?"

"Okay, okay." Tony said as the others gathered in close within the confines of the hallway comically squishing into the narrow space. "I've got something to show you guys. And it is urgent. But you gotta keep it quiet, I don't need the publicity. We don't need it... Steve, why did you look at my crotch when I said that?"

Steve glanced up. Though the light in the hall was relatively dim, the super jock's blush seemed to glow like phosphorus. "I didn't... I mean."

"Yeah you did, your eyes were right down there... What, did you think something was going to jump out at you?"

"No, I-"

"Did you think it was like a pop up book? Like I turn a page and BAM! Something springs out at ya? Did you want 3D glasses?"

"No!"

"Think I'd done some work on myself and I wanted to show you all?"

"No, geez, Tony!" Steve cried, exasperated. "I was just... I don't know! Looking. No, not even looking!"

"Well, how about you 'not even look' above belt level, Cap." Tony smirked. "I mean, there's only one girl on our team, we should do all we can to prevent any sexual misinterpretations."

"I'm going home."

"Please," Thor rubbed a hand over his brow, trying to hide his amusement by feigning mild exasperation. He reached out and clapped one giant hand on Steve's shoulder, hauling him back into the conversation. "Tony. Be serious, my friend. What is it you have to show us?"

"Just trying to lighten the... ah hell. Okay, okay but you, big guy," Tony waved a finger at the Thunder God. "Are not allowed to freak out. Comprende?"

"Freak out?" The thunder God offered his friend one of his trademark smiles and patted him on the shoulder as they walked into the infirmary. "Why should I-"

For all the countless times that Loki had chided and mocked Thor for being dull witted and slow on the uptake of any given situation, it took mere seconds for the Asgardian to realize that the tense banter around him had suddenly upended into silent shock, and that the man lying on the table in the center of the room - covered only by a white sheet and pale coat of fragility- was his only brother. For a moment, Thor could not comprehend why Loki did not move, nor speak to greet him - or insult him, as he usually would. Instead he was met by a tense silence, punctured only by the faint ellipses of the pulse monitor and the sound of his own breath catching in his throat. The others must have practically heard Thor's good humor sliding out of him for Bruce said, carefully:

"Thor..."

"He is here?" Thor answered, somewhat breathlessly. "Loki is... why?" He crossed the room in barely more than two strides, leaning over the operating table to get a better look at his stricken sibling and wondering how on earth this tableau could be real. Thick, tanned hands - strong enough to crush bones- glided over Loki's ashen face, down his neck to rest on his shoulders where his fingers pressed in, trying to coax a response. The silence that fell over his brother disturbed Thor, and he clenched his jaw, his brow crumpling in concern. "How? By what sorcery did he get here?"

"We don't know." Bruce answered, approaching the pair slowly, as one would navigate the path of a wild animal. He even held his hands out in peace. Steve and Tony only watched from just inside the doorway, feeling a little bit like third and fourth wheels - though they were united in the unspoken decision to stand back and give their friend a little space. He had not reacted well when Fury had tried to bring Loki into the custody of SHIELD (once he had been apprehended a second and final time after their Manhattan battle) and they doubted his disposition would change much when confronted with Loki's current condition. "He came to us like this."

"He came... to you?" Thor seemed baffled and for a second, his blue eyes betrayed his hurt. He moved his one hand to rest on Loki's chest, the other sliding down the side of his face - fingers pushing into the dark hair splayed out on the pillow. "Why did he come to you why did he not... He could have, should have appealed to me. He... he should have. I do not understand."

"Hey, we don't really know either." Bruce said, honestly. "He asked us to contact you; he was pretty insistent that we didn't make any mention of him until he could talk to you personally. He wouldn't divulge anything else... We didn't even know he was injured until he collapsed."

Thor seemed to consider this.

"How grave are his injuries?" He asked after a moment.

"He's weak," Bruce admitted. "And unless you guys heal up super fast - which I don't doubt you do - he'll be off his feet for at least a week. But he'll live. It's a clean puncture, at least - looks like he was stabbed with a bayonet, or machete-"

"Or a sword," Tony added, shrugging when Steve shot him an incredulous look. "What? It does! All these Godly fighting types swashbuckle with swords and hammers and things, right? And Thor's brother seemed to imply that he was attacked by some woman on Asgard - he even said that he came to this 'realm-" Stark actually made the quotation marks gesture. Bruce glared at him. "-with a dagger in him."

"He was run through?" Thor's golden eyebrows rose in surprise. "On Asgard? I do not know who this woman is that he spoke of - surely it could not be Sif! I do not like this mystery. I will talk to my father and see what-"

"Ahh, actually," Tony shook his head. "I don't think that's the greatest idea. He said that Asgard had been breached and that making any contact with your world might end up getting you involved before you even know what's going on. Call me insane, but I think actually think Loki came here to try to warn you.."

"Warn me..?" Thor shook his head, lightly. "It is unclear to me why Loki would act in such a way. But I am... happy he has seen to do so." Licking his lips, the Thunder God ran his hand down Loki's jawline, stroking his cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I will respect his wishes and wait until he awakes to hear him out."

Bruce nodded - he hadn't expected anything less. Both he and Thor looked over at Steve, who sighed and ran a hand through his immaculate bangs.

"I guess I'll be d'Artagnon then."

The boys looked blankly at one another. Thor seemed infinitely puzzled.

"Really? Oh come on!" Steve said, exasperated. "I might be out of date, but Tony's not the only one to make references! Dumas: The Three Musketeers? All for one and one for all? I'm saying I'm with you guys on this! Obviously we're keeping it from Fury, right?"

"I would prefer that, if it is at all possible," Thor nodded.

"Clint and Natasha too," Bruce added, eyeing the others for approval. "I mean... They pretty much got the worst of Loki, really - I wouldn't doubt that they'd go nuts over the idea of presenting him tarred, feathered and gift wrapped for SHIELD. Natasha still goes on about the time he called her a mewling quail."

"Quim," Thor corrected him. "And I am not surprised. Even I am ashamed he would use such language in front of a lady."

"Hope he didn't learn it from you, brother bear," Tony said, raising a brow at Thor. The Thunder God chuckled tensely.

"I once described Sif as such when I was annoyed at her for beating me in a tournament. She kicked me so hard that to this day I am almost surprised I grew to be a man."

Three pairs of eyes winced sympathetically. There was something of a moment of silence for southern injuries of the past.

"Anyway," Tony said quickly, clapping his hands together. "Looks like I have two new houseguests. Well, three if you count sleeping beauty. So let me lay down the rules: No parties, unless they're mine. No loud music after 3am, unless it's a) Mine or b) late seventies rock which by all means, turn up as loud as you like. No girls, no parents and all skirts are to be twelve inches above the knee when kneeling. "And you-" He pointed at Steve this time. "Are going to have to get some training wheels for those iconic references. It's not snappy if you have to explain it."

"And what if Fury calls?" Steve said. "He said he'd leave us alone, but you know what he's like... he can practically smell trouble from a thousand miles away. And he always seems to know where we all are. Even when he 'doesn't'."

"We could say we are training?" Thor suggested, carefully. Tony just shrugged.

"If he calls, I'm not in. You're not in... No one's in. Stark Tower doesn't even exist."

"And if Pepper calls?" Bruce asked, carefully.

"We're not even going to start on Pepper." Tony told him.

"Good to know."

"Come on," Tony said, moving towards the door. "I'll show you guys where you can crash. Then we'll look at sending someone out for clothes or something, because if we start swapping gear and that leads to braiding hair and midnight gossip sessions then the next thing we know, Natasha's going to be the manliest out of all of us."

"She is the manliest out of all of us." Steve said, wryly.

"You're pretty green there, tiger," Tony replied. "But I actually think you're getting the hang of this humor thing."

***

It wasn't hard to make oneself comfortable at Stark Tower.

For all of Tony's social quirks, he was an excellent host and made sure his guests had absolutely everything they needed. Pulling strings wasn't even half the case - Tony could play them all like Page on Stairway. Within an hour or two of their conversation, groceries were delivered, gym equipment was rearranged and recalibrated for the brawnier of the team and Fed-Ex brought clothes for Steve which they had ordered online only a little while beforehand.

Thor only looked mildly curious when, as the blushing Captain shyly browsed for a few basics to last a week or so, Tony suggested they also purchase some for "don Commando on the operating table." Turned out the Thunder God was familiar with Calvin Klein. Tony just laid that down to having a hot astrophysicist as a girlfriend.

However, as easily as the boys managed to settle in, there was still the issue of Loki who, after several hours, still lay unconscious and unmoving as though he were victim to his father's healing sleep. Thor simply sat by his side, watching him carefully, while Tony swallowed a barrage of Pavlov jokes (Brother rings bell, Thor eats food) and just let the God be. The terrible concern that was writ all over Thor's face was enough to dehydrate even the driest of Tony's humor.

It was even less amusing however, when, as evening approached, Loki's wound began to show premature signs of infection and his temperature spiked so dangerously, the team were scattered in all directions of the tower - rooting through freezers to find ice packs, chill pads or any kind of cold compress to bring down their charge's violent fever.

The onslaught of illness was so sudden and unexpected, Bruce could only ascertain it was formed by unnatural causes and began rifling through his supplies to find any kind of medication that might be useful, while the others did the best they could to calm both Loki and Thor - who was almost beside himself with worry. But the smaller God only gasped and bucked against the will of his own body - shouting out as the others tried desperately to cool him down. His fever raged so hot, his jackhammering pulse almost burst his veins. Yet just as Bruce feared the worst, it mysteriously broke and cooled, allowing Loki precious moments of broken, maladied rest. An hour later, much to the combined consternation of the group and despite Bruce and Tony's best efforts, the cycle began anew.

Falling into a restless delirium, Loki writhed and suffered - his seizures often punctuated here and there by moments of confused consciousness, where a smattering jigsaw of words left his trembling lips, loosely outlining clues as to the strange events on Asgard. He spoke of the woman, of a sword and his father. Sometimes he mentioned France. Occasionally he recognized Thor, and gripped his arm with clawed, bloodless fingers trying frantically to relay a message so garbled by sickness, he ended up spouting nothing but gibberish. Other times he spoke to the ceiling, his eyes rolling back in his head as he begged for his brother's presence; beseeching whatever Gods a God prayed to.

Although Tony and Bruce had more than the periodical table of drugs at their disposal, no painkillers seemed to work. No sedatives held him under. Loki languished well until the early hours of the morning and long into the next day. No one slept.

Thor never left his side.

***

In the shining halls of Gladsheim - on the steps before Odin's throne Navaar sat alone in a patch of sunlight, enjoying the peaceful view out the high arched windows. With one swift, graceful gesture, she willed away the bulk of her armor, leaving only her leather undershirt, breeches and heavy boots. Rolling her sizeable shoulders, she yawned and stretched her spine, enjoying the delicious pops as bones and muscles realigned themselves and with a grunt, she leaned over and unbuckled her footwear, sighing contentedly as she freed her toes and wiggled them in the thick bands of afternoon warmth. Though it saved time, infinitely, there were still some things that were so much better when done without magic.

A bowl of plump, juicy tamarillos sat at her side, and she plucked one between her taloned fingers, considering the tender flesh briefly before she dug her claws into the unyielding skin, smiling as the blood-like juice - pulpy with dark seeds- ran down her fingers and wrist and pooled in her palm.

She pressed the injured bulb against her mouth, taking in the sharp, acidic scent before she squeezed hard about its middle - causing the ruptured skin to burst and break. Tamarillo innards gushed in wet, thick lumps over the throne room floor. Navaar then smeared the flesh over her lips, gutting the fruit with her sharp teeth as she sucked the last of the flesh off the skin.

Somewhere, miles below her and through streams of the universe, a God screamed in unimaginable agony.

"Oh Rose," Navaar purred, smiling as she swallowed her mouthful and set about licking the remains from her fingers. "Thou art sick..."

Chapter 4: Snicker-snack

Notes:

Long chapter is long - sorry if there are mistakes and all, I'm a shitty editor. Anyway, thanks for all the support, you guys are wizards! Hiddleston sparkly eyes and cheeky grins for you all - bless you!

I'm Winston Wolf. I solve problems.

Pulp Fiction.

 

***

Sunday morning.

Tony liked Sunday mornings. Although traditionally he wasted most of them sleeping off a hangover strong enough to frighten alcohol back into the bottle, Sunday mornings - as little of them as he saw (without sunglasses on) - meant that there was still the rest of Sunday to spend enjoying himself before he had to start thinking about Monday. Indubitably, Mondays weren't too bad either - Tony did not retain too much of a Garfield complex, considering the CEO of Stark Industries pretty much kept his own hours. Yet while he could call a Tuesday a Friday, or a Wednesday part of the weekend, he still had to acknowledge the fact that everyone else still had to adhere to stabler routines than he, and as free as he was, even Iron Man couldn't escape a little elbowing from the grind.

Call it nostalgia, or even whimsy (something that Stark was not completely invulnerable to), but Tony was happy to keep Sunday as the little oasis in the week that he enjoyed to call strictly his own. Well, his and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, but that was besides the point. Sunday was his day of rest – his day of relaxing, or spending several hours mashing Playstation controller buttons in a sort of frenzied display of uncoordinated mindlessness. Sunday bore no obligation to do anything at all. Sunday was, and had remained for many years, the mini-break in amongst a forest of workdays that Tony looked forward to. It was his little nirvana - the turnstile in the week that flipped all the days over like a pancake and started them off again, bright, shiny and new. Tony Stark liked Sundays.

Except, of course, this Sunday. This Sunday was something else; for on this particular Sunday morning, it wasn't the hangover he was sleeping off, nor the twenty-four hour party (nor the twenty-four year old who followed him home from the party and wouldn't get off his doormat) - it was the fact that he hadn't slept at all the night before, and only a smidgen the night before that. Normally this sort of elective insomnia didn't really drop a spanner in Tony's regime, but this time things were a little different. This time other people were involved and the elective part was listing heavily toward mandatory.

He wouldn't say he felt responsible, but he also couldn't help wanting to at least try to understand why the felled Asgardian God in his infirmary stoutly refused to mend. Weakening terribly by the hour, Loki had remained continually ill. When he wasn't incoherent and suffering with fever, he was screaming in pain or vomiting frothy bile all over himself and anyone else near him. There wasn't much of a mid-ground - it hadn't ceased, not in hours, barely even in minutes, and the peculiarity of the situation vexed Tony horribly. Granted, no one in the entire building – including Jarvis – knew how a God's body dealt with disease, but by the look on Thor's face and the way that he could not leave his brother's side – even when threatened with a crowbar - it wasn't like this.

The rest of the team had, after much deliberation and downright arguing, finally convinced the Thunder God to back down however - if the idea of convincing might become briefly synonymous with the definition of tranquilizing. When Thor himself began to look just as drained as his brother, Bruce managed to slip half a bottle of sedatives in his coffee – allowing Steve to drag the drowsy Thunder God out of the labs to his room. Tony yawned as he watched them go, commenting to Banner that he wouldn't be surprised if they later found Thor curled up on the floor outside the infirmary like a golden retriever. Inwardly proud of his ability to act like a sentient zombie on virtually no sleep at all, Tony tagged himself in Thor's place. And there he sat - a cup of coffee cooling in one hand, two days of unclipped beard brushing the other - balancing on a low bar stool that he'd dragged down from the kitchen (for no other reason than because he could – there were plenty of chairs dotted about the labs), studying his charges' face intently. There were clues – he knew it. He just needed to find them.

Loki lay prone on the padded table, his breath coming shallow and light - barely moving the sheet that covered him. His skin was grey and deeply scored with lines of pain - the hollows in his cheeks whittled his face down to a mere gaunt shadow of the man who had almost bested all six of the Avengers in one sitting. A small spray of dark crimson droplets stained his pale, chapped lips, which Tony put down to his screaming his throat bloody the night before. The God's eyes were rimmed with a bruised yellow colour and lay partially open – caught in a half-light state of composure that occurred briefly between the fevers. Those eyes, gilded with tiny red veins, laminated by tears and shaded by long, dark lashes slowly turned to his sentry, and Stark noted with the mildest alarm that their colour seemed to have de-saturated from green to the palest, palest blue.

"Hey champ," he said gently, not moving. "Feeling better?"

"Cold." Loki replied after a moment, his voice nothing but a hoarse whisper. "I am cold."

"You're not, you're still running a hundred and two." Stark told him, reaching over to press a hand to his forehead. Loki winced at the touch and seemed to crumple beneath the other's fingers. "Yup, I could fry an egg on that. Pretty standard to have some crossed wires when you're this sick, I guess. What with your system going berserk and all."

"How... long... H-how long h-"

"How long what? How long have you been out for?" Tony finished for him. Loki's brow twitched, indicating the affirmative. "You haven't. Not really. You've been delirious for nearly three days without stopping to take a break and that's about it. Sometimes we got to talk to you, most other times when you opened your mouth, we ended up covered in something. But trust me, we actually had this conversation yesterday. Guessing you don't remember a damn thing though, do you."

Loki could not move his head, but dropped his gaze in an attempt to signal no. Tony shrugged.

"Hell, you've been falling in and out of consciousness almost as much as I do in company board meetings, but you haven't actually been able to rest. Which is probably why you look like roadkill."

Loki seemed to frown at that, but his annoyance was quickly interrupted by a sharp intake of breath as the pain twisted in his features like a blade. Squeezing his eyes shut, fingers curling in his sheets, he slowly exhaled in short huffs and swallowed hard. Perspiration had muddied his brackish hair into a matted mess across his forehead and Tony brushed it back lightly, shifting his coffee cup to his other hand in order to pinch the bridge of his nose. Loki looked awful, sounded awful, and even though Tony wasn't sure he could say that the destructive trickster deserved such punishment for the terrible things he'd done on his rampage through New York, he also didn't feel justified denying it either.

Thor had mentioned that Asgardian warriors carried a type of healing magic – secret stones that could be crushed to powder and applied to wounds like some sort of atomic aspirin, mending anything they were applied to almost entirely. Unfortunately, and because he'd only come for a casual visit, he hadn't thought to throw a few in his backpack before taking the intergalactic bus to New Mexico - an innocent oversight that the Thunder God had virtually castrated himself for in light his brother's suffering. It seemed now that both Odinsons had to rely on the abilities of their mortal friends – but even the best of them still hadn't managed to figure out a plan of action. Something in Tony's sympathy chip sparked a little as he looked over Loki's pain-wrought form and his sickly pale skin and he sighed hopelessly.

"I know it hurts," He began, biting his lip a little as Loki strained to answer but could not. It was as if he was burning from the inside out, the agony like the suction of a raging fire behind his skin. "We are trying everything. Everything. Trust me - Banner's a genius and hell, I'm not too shabby either. But there's nothing that'll hold you under. I don't know if it's a God thing, or something that chick did, but if there's any information you can give us-"

"Sword... Strange sword... That-that's... all."

"Yeah, I thought of that already. We've done tests but we couldn't find squat. Even if you've been poisoned, there's nothing in your system that points to anything we can pin down. There's nothing we can do until we find out what's causing it." Aside from inducing a coma, Tony thought. But he wasn't too sure if Loki would have the strength to pull himself out of something so... final. That was the broken leg on the racehorse and as badly as Loki suffered, they couldn't risk it. Not with the way Thor was investing himself in his brother's care. As wrong as Loki had been, Thor could not abide his torment. He'd abide his death even less. "Sorry," he added, stiffly, looking away. "Nothing's really working yet, so... yeah. Our bad."

A moment of tense silence fell over the pair - almost as if Loki was considering some sort of feedback to Stark's report - then he coughed and shifted. There was a light, shushing sound as the sheet moved and drew back, but Tony almost didn't register Loki's hand on his until the clammy fingers pressed down on his wrist, shaking as though haunted by currents of electricity. Reaching up must have taken a hell of a lot of effort, and that was clear in Loki's eyes as he fixed his bright, pain-bleached gaze on Stark, his lips trembling a few times before he said in a voice softer than a breath:

"... make it stop..."

In spite of Tony's generally humongous sense of self-importance and near-debilitating amour propre, he was still the boy who could not bear to see a bird with a broken wing trying to find its way back to its nest. Though past attempts at trying to find a cybernetic replacement failed horribly in the early stages, a box, a blanket and a little sugar water often worked a lot better than he even thought to admit - it just took a few tries and a few tiny white crosses in the backyard to figure that out. Tony cursed, pulling away from the plea of the ailing God to slam his coffee mug down onto one of the side trays, sloshing dregs all over the discarded packets of pills and notes he'd piled there. Standing up, he strode across the room and out of the infirmary - keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He couldn't handle that wounded-animal gaze any longer; for a man who strove to find an answer for everything, having a problem as complex as Loki's illness tortured him almost as badly as the pain of the Asgardian's wound as it ate into his flesh.

An answer. There was an answer. There was always an answer.

Tony paced about the floor of the main lab, hands brushing fretfully over the weave of his jeans. He only tapped his arc reactor when he had an idea he knew he could run with and at the moment he was all strings, no ends. With a hiss of annoyance, he began rifling through his supplies again, trying to find something, anything that might throw some chlorine into the quickly stagnating pool of possibilities in his head. After ten minutes and ten boxes thrown onto the floor as a miniature tsunami that was Tony Stark's frustration raged over the workroom, he finally stumbled upon a solution.

Well, a guesstimate at best, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Pulling the small plastic sandwich baggie out of an old tea tin in a plastic bin marked "Bruce's – miscellaneous"(as his and Banner's collected supplies had recently started synthesizing into a super-mess, both scientists quickly put the kibosh on the hindrance of boundaries), Tony raised a brow as three small wads of tinfoil winked at him invitingly in the cool morning light.

Tony shugged again, absently.

"Can't say we didn't try everything."

***

"YOU!"

A lazy sunset glided over Asgard, washing the brilliant walls of Heimdall's sentry in thick swatches of gold. Odin, however, was not wooed by its magnificence, only incensed by the knowing grin that cracked Navaar's face - sly as a hairline fracture in a supporting structure and thrice as deadly.

"Allfather?" She asked, maddeningly calm. "Something vexes thee?"

"What have you done to my son?" Odin stormed, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He stood a short distance from her, his cloak swirling about him like a thunderhead.

"Why, precisely what we agreed, Allfather." Navaar offered, running a dark tongue over her teeth. "A lesson. Nothing more."

"You ran him through, Elder God!" Odin bellowed. "You have injured him and left him without a chance to heal himself. He is in pain; he suffers! This was not in our wager!"

"Our wager, mi'lord, was that you should trust me." Navaar said to her nails as she inspected them. "I know better than to fool you, Odin, you should know better than to insult me."

"Trust you? I gave you my trust! I offered my realm for you to enchant; my people to hex - if only for the means of our ruse. I gave you what you asked for, and now-" Odin shook his head, motioning brokenly to nothing in particular as anxiety matted his thoughts. "You were to fool him, not injure him! You have taken my son's blood, his dignity... If it is the tesseract you want, it is yours to take-"

"I don't want it!" Navaar cut in, hissing like a snake - her black eyes flashing. "Jesus, Zeus... fuck! I do not want that silly little black hole in a box! I told you that, Allfather, I said it a thousand times - the only payment I asked for to help you stage this little reconciliation was your word to honour my decisions."

"And I-"

"And you have given it to me, yes. Thank you. Gold stars all round." She interjected again, curtly - ignoring the dangerous curl of his lip. "But I also said that I would have my own ways of making this work and that I have my own affairs to attend to as well. I was not lying when I said that multiworlds went up in arms over your boy's romp through Manhattan. I said that I did not covet anything of yours, Allfather and I do not. My actions will benefit you tenfold, I promise. But they are designed to collect interest along the way."

Odin furrowed his brow, deeply, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Interest? The anonymous benefactor you spoke of? The one who paid for Loki's-"

"-injury. Yes, it is true - he only asked that Loki suffer." Navaar smiled. "The death bit I made up. I may have conveniently embellished the truth for effect. After all, I practically needed to steal the show from you - you are as wooden as they come! I felt I should have pasted lines on the back of your hand, for all your showmanship was worth!"

"You know very well why I could not say more." Odin told her, sharply. "Loki is desperate, but he is also smart and had I spoken too much, he may have sensed the trick. He is remarkably adept at reading others; he knows very well when I am not myself - I could not risk shattering the charade. If I did, I would lose him for good."

"Tricksters never like it when you play their game badly." Navaar agreed.

"Yes, but you, he does not know, and the element of surprise worked well in your favor."

"Well enough for a BAFTA, I'd imagine," Navaar snorted, easing up to her feet. While Asgard still remained enchanted and most of its inhabitants still floated about the palace as oblivious breaths of air, Navaar had removed her armies and stood alone in the observation room with the despondent King. She'd also changed out of her armor, and instead wore a handsome black suit with a long, graceful frock coat and polished shoes. Her shaggy mane was scraped back from her face and clubbed tidily at the nape of her neck with a piece of jet black satin. She still did not look particularly feminine, but she certainly seemed less ferocious.

"You wished for a reconciliation with your son – I have delivered that. He now believes what he could not truly see before; he knows what you would sacrifice for him." Navaar approached the Allfather slowly, watching as he deflated a little in resignation. With a friendly smile that seemed horribly misplaced on her face (due to the amount of teeth fringing it), she rested a hand on his shoulder, curling her talons in the fur trim of his cloak. "If you had banished Loki to Midgard as you had with Thor, he would have despised you. Had you kept him a prisoner, he would have rotted in his disdain. Had you forgiven him, he would never have trusted you. There was no action you could have taken that could have spared his love for you. But bring in a threat from the outside..."

"Yes," the King nodded. "Bring him someone he cannot predict and he resets, somewhat. Falls back on his instincts, and of his ties to his kin. You are right; there was no alternative."

"I owed you a boon for sparing the Frost Giants from both your sons." Navaar mused. "War is not always the answer for every problem and I think it is worthy to honor an Aesir for supporting that. Though I am aware I probably don't have the cleanest reputation, I do get things done."

"I have known of you for a long time, Elder God," Odin said. "I have been told of your work. You must understand that you are not renowned as the most trustworthy of allies, hence I did not come to this decision lightly."

"But only I can do what I can do." The God nodded. "And thus, I shall only reveal as much of my plan as is needed and when required. However, you look as though you are still not satisfied. Is there anything more you'd like to ask before I continue?"

"Loki..." Odin spoke hesitantly. "He is... mortal, is he not?"

"Correct. His heart beats the same brief rhythm of the Midgardians."

"Then why does the scientists' medicine not work?" Odin frowned at her. "If he is ill, surely their efforts should cure him. Why do you let him suffer?"

"On Midgard, there is such a thing called Cancer - a sickness that eats the body inside out through varying patterns of tumors and disease in the blood. You might be aware of it."

"Aye, I have heard of this ailment."

"Well, there is also a medicine that can, for many cases, burn out the sickness. Attacking it, while the body attempts to heal itself. " Naavar licked her lips. "But the side effects are grim - it weakens the patient terribly. Sometimes it even does more harm than good. Now, the Vorpal blade - my handsome midnight backsword you saw me draw - has the ability to cut through anything, even your son's immortality. When the blow is delivered the right way, it could either slay a God, or simply humble one - de-sanctifying him into something more akin to his mortal brethren, which is precisely the effect I was after. Yet its bite lingers long after the damage is done, and I fear these effects do no good to his human body."

"He will die from this?" Odin asked, quickly.

"No, good Allfather - he'll not die," Navaar assured him. "But it hurts. Very much. The wound will not be healed by contemporary means - the Vorpal magic is far too proud for that. Until he, or his Samaritans figure out that only medicine closest to its truest nature will cure the irritation, he will remain under the duress of the infliction caused by the spell."

"And this was part of your plan?"

"Pain is something Gods have forgotten," Navaar told him. "You feel it and it hurts. Sometimes it annoys you; occasionally it bothers enough for you to feel hindered by it. But you are not afraid of it, which I think is something that should be remedied. There is no harm in reserving a little respect for pain. Perhaps your son, who felt that he could dish out as much agony as he could in order to drive the Midgardians into his control might benefit from knowing just how much a human can suffer. It may discourage him to be reminded of such ailments when he has experienced them himself. Alternatively, he may use it as a gauge to inflict pain on more humans exactly as he wants, it really depends on the care and attention you offer him afterward. He is a complex one, Allfather - I do not think that our efforts here will last completely. He's not like Thor - lessons are never set in stone with Loki, they're more of an intermediary bridge to something else. Remember that."

"I wish..." Odin shook his head sadly. "I only wish it had not come to this. I was too angry at Thor to realize... Too tired and in need of rest to be able to help him when I could have. When it wasn't too late. I should have tried... "

Navaar cocked her head at him, conversationally, and sighed.

"You sweet King," she said after a moment. "You worry for him, terribly. For all he's done, you cannot bear to see him hurt like this."

"When I banished Thor, it was because of his stupidity and arrogance." Odin told her. "He was blinded by his own successes, and ultimately that might have led to his downfall. Loki has made terrible errors, but he is not fueled by his pride - though he pretends to be. He wishes to be seen in a certain way, and though we love and cherish him, it does not seem to please him. He is desperate for things he already has, but appears to be blind toward them."

"God-level inferiority complex." Navaar grimaced. "He wants everyone to like him, even if he doesn't find them worthy. He should get into social media - he'd probably make a fortune."

"I do not like the way you jest about my son's predicament." Odin scowled. "It is as if you find this whole thing entertaining."

"Allfather, we are Gods." Navaar chuckled. "We find everything entertaining."

***

"Look, what if we tried some sort of antibiotic base and went from there?" Bruce suggested as he entered the infirmary, still tottering on the coat-tails of a conversation he'd started the night before. He was wearing the same shirt he had been the morning that Loki had dragged himself to Stark Tower and seemed unlikely that he'd washed it. It was unlikely he'd washed full stop, as Bruce – just like his attention-deficit collaborator- could not let a sleeping quandary lie once he'd been bitten by it. While they remained at opposite poles when it came to temperament, Stark and Banner, both in habit and method, weren't so much chalk and cheese as they were a poignant gouda and a feisty merlot.

"Maybe we should start with bringing down the amount of reaction his body is taking to the wound, rather than attacking the source. I mean-" he continued, oblivious as to whether Tony was actually in the room or not. Bruce was incredibly used to talking to himself. "-I've been cleaning out the stitches four times a day and each time there's just as much..." There was a pause as the physicist glanced about, looking for his audience of whom he found perched on a stool at the far end of the room, almost as if he was trying not to be noticed. Tony, it seemed, was ignoring him and was instead totally absorbed in perusing a manual for a microwave oven. Upside-down. "...pus. Why are you over there?"

"No reason," came the nonchalant reply. "Just, you know... Playing nursemaid."

"What have you done." Bruce was immediately suspicious. As tired as he was - as wrung out with stress and over-work – Bruce felt that over the past couple of months he'd spent at Stark Tower, he'd gotten quite familiar with Tony and the many, many little quirks harbored in his general deportment. And when Tony Stark suddenly became apathetic to a problem that had been irking him for some days, it meant he'd either come up with a solution and was downplaying the fact that he knew he was incredible, or something was going to explode. Bruce leaned over Loki, gingerly, looking for smoke. "What have you done, Tony?"

"Nothing!" came the reply, muffled by the manual that covered Stark's face, almost like a paper welder's mask. "Why is it always me doing the...thing?"

"Because you're acting like you have." Banner's frown deepened as he checked over their patient. Unbeknown to the doctor, Loki wasn't actually feeling too bad. Sure, his feet seemed to be miles away from his body and his eyes rolled in their sockets, seeming oddly warm and surprisingly itchy, the fact of the matter was, he didn't really hurtanymore. And he liked that feeling – it was definitely an improvement on the last... forty-eight hours? Forty-eight years? Who knew...

He still sensed the pain, certainly, but it was less of a vice splintering his nerves and more of a enormous pink elephant that floated over him and spoke in Dwarven riddles. Loki decided in a sort of slow, melty way that this was probably a good thing - regardless of the fact that he couldn't have counted his hands if someone asked him to. He chewed his tongue a little, feeling a dryness in his mouth and blinked his eyes slowly a few times, trying to concentrate on the man in front of him. To Banner's complete and utter surprise, he giggled.

Well, gurgled a bit - but itwas close enough.

"Is he...?" Bruce said, slowly running a hand in Loki's face and frowning as he unsuccessfully tried to follow its movements – his gaze distinctly drunken. He sniffed the air, and frowned. "Is that smell what I think it is?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"He's stoned?"

"Is there any answer I can give that won't get me in trouble?"

Bruce couldn't even look at him.

"You're kidding. You have got to be kidding. Why on earth would you think that was a good idea?"

"Hey, hey!" Tony threw down the reading material and waved a hand at their charge. "Look! It's not like it's done him any harm! You'll note his pulse has stabilized and he's not in any pain any more. It's better than anything we've crushed up to give him."

Bruce pressed his lips into a pale line of disapproval. Loki was toasted, sure as shit – he kept staring at a crack in the ceiling and vaguely smiling at it – but he certainly seemed to have calmed down. The only similar reaction they'd had to that kind of peace was a very large dose of morphine, and even then he'd still been slightly uncomfortable. Given the level of Loki's pain, Bruce hadn't even thought that good ol' dope might have even made a dent. As it turned out, it appeared to be the best thing they could have prescribed.

"Any side effects of note?" he asked instead, taking Loki's wrist in his hand. The God's pulse beat evenly against his fingers – not strong, but not as worryingly intermittent as it had been. Tony got up and padded slowly over to his side.

"Well, he's not very good at answering any questions," he began. "He tried saying a whole bunch of stuff, but all that came out was a babble of consonants. If you hang-manned the vowels, you probably could have bought a sentence. Surprisingly, though, it turns out he does know the words to 'Happy Birthday, Mr President'."

"Stop making this into a joke!"

"I'm not!" Tony protested. "I just started to sing it, and then he sort of joined it – he's got a very nice tenor, by the way – and it was all good, wholesome fun for two minutes. You're just jealous that I had the good idea and you didn't."

"Tony, you gave a God marijuana. It wasn't a good idea, it was a stupid one with good consequences."

"Good idea."

"Serendipity." Bruce crossed his arms over his chest. "Luck, even-"

"I don't believe in luck."

"-and you're fortunate he wasn't allergic to it or something!"

"Hey, he could take it like a champ!" Tony protested. "Most noobies to the doobie just end up coughing their lungs out. Our little green-eyed monster here was surprisingly choke-free! Given that the last time we met him, he was trying to turn us into people-mash, you gotta admit, having him completely fried is pretty funny."

"It's not funny."

"It's almost funny."

Bruce scrutinized Tony for a minute, noting the lopsided smile and the pinkish tint to his eyes and sighed again.

"I see you decided to partake as well?"

"He thought it was poisoned. I had to show him it wasn't."

"No you didn't!"

"All right, all right." Tony threw his hands up in exasperation. "I tried a bit – a bit mind you. I just wanted to see how strong it was. I mean, I found it in your box so-"

"You went through my stuff?"

"Hey! What did I say the other day? My research is yours, mi investigacio- ... muh... uh...There were Spanish words, it was very classy!" Tony said. "I'm not used to having other people's stuff in my house when I'm hunting. You haven't seen me in my hunting mode – I just basically turf everything over until I find something, then Jarvis tells Pepper and I get in trouble and she has to clean everything up and-"

"Are you going somewhere with this?"

"Yeah, you're the one who brought the dope in and you had it in a box that anyone could get into, Bruce. Geez, think of the children!"

"When it comes to you, I will," Bruce rolled his eyes. "All right, so I had some weed – it was for an experiment, I'll have you know. I kind of forgot about it."

"So you really did have a huge bag of weed! I knew it wasn't yoga! You trying to get the big guy into reggae or something?"

"No," Banner shot his friend a withering look. "I thought I might be able to derive some sort of sedative from it. I was running on the tangent that synthetic drugs didn't work so well because they reacted with the radioactive ions in my system, so I thought that natural alternatives might have a better effect. Datura, low-level opiates..."

"Bob Marley..."

Bruce sighed.

"I'm going to let Thor know," he said, examining Loki's pupils again before drawing back from the table. "Then I'm going to get started on a painkiller based on natural alternatives. If you want to help, I'll be in lab two."

"Well, I'm going to find something to eat first, 'cos I got the maddest munchies. Munchie mania – wanna send out for cheeseburgers?"

"No," Bruce waved a dismissive hand at his friend as he pushed through the infirmary doors. Trudging back down the hall towards the bedrooms, he stopped briefly as he heard the familiar strains of a certain celebratory ditty drifting languidly out of silence of the labs. Shaking his head, Banner could only hope that Jarvis had had the foresight to record the whole operation – just in case they needed blackmail material further down the line.

He didn't doubt that Tony's cleverer-than-thou A.I. was especially resourceful when it came to folding Tony back under its little finger.

 

***

Two hours later, Steve was alone in the main lounge, happily watching the Disney channel, when Tony wandered in and crashed onto the couch next to him. Without saying a word – bar the odd mutter to himself every now and again - he sat through a few of the advertisements and shorts, laughing abruptly sometimes as though he had a strange case of violent hiccups. Then, when the opening credits to a feature began and the Disney logo with its customary embellishments flashed across the screen, he leapt to his feet, pointed manically at the TV and shouted-

"Tinkerbell, you green little sonnuvabitch!"

before tearing off out of the room and down the hall. The sound of his bare feet pounding on the polished concrete echoed hollowly behind him. Steve turned his drink around in his hand a few times, inspecting the glass of filtered water, before he placed it at the far end of the coffee table and eyed it warily. That was the last straw; it was soda out of a bottle from now on.

***

"I am still not sure I understand. What did you say was your idea?"

Thor strode briskly behind Tony who was, despite the length of his legs in comparison, actually setting the pace as they traveled down the back streets of lower Manhattan – completely oblivious to the frighteningly sizable amount of cagey, surprised and envious looks the Thunder God was attracting. Though he was dressed casually in a plain t-shirt and jeans, his sheer bulk – as well as his blond hair and rugged Nordic charm – was a blessing he could not easily camouflage. Tony had donned a flat topped cap and sunglasses and managed incognito quite well in chucks and tidy sweats. He turned around, his hand to his ear as Jarvis relayed directions via bluetooth, and motioned to Thor with his Starbucks.

"Magic."

"Magic what?" Thor was confused. Only a short time ago he'd been caring for his stricken brother, worrying terribly over Loki's poor condition and agonizing how the Hel he was supposed to go about fixing the situation, when Tony burst into the room and demanded that he be accompanied on a quest to find some crystal-abusers. Thor wondered for a moment if Tony had started drinking something he probably shouldn't, but Stark's insistence – not to mention his audaciousness – gave the Thunder God a little hope. After all, if Loki were to benefit from this mission, then surely a few hours spent away from his vigil could be forgiven.

"Magic-magic. Spells and all that voodoo stuff." Tony said, excitedly. "You said your brother was into that kind of thing, right?"

"It is his talent to be versed in the arts," Thor affirmed with a raise of his blond brows. "Loki was as quick to wield the words of the ancient crafts as I was a sword or an ax. So? How can this help him?"

"I'll admit, Godzilla said it first." Tony said, tapping his ear piece again. "Even if his attempts were unsuccessful to begin with on himself, the theory did work on Loki. I can'tbelieve I didn't see it before..."

"What theory?" Thor frowned. "Your medicines did not work for my brother."

"Well sure yeah - we'd tried a menu of different painkillers and sedatives, just to allow him to rest at least. But nothing we threw at him seemed to be working. Then, when I came across a, uh, natural alternative," Tony took another gulp of coffee. "I found that he actually calmed down for about an hour before the effects wore off. "

"That does not sound so successful."

"No, but it's a start." Tony agreed. "Hell, even this is only a hunch, but who knows – you guys aren't human. So maybe you don't patch up like humans either. You told me that Asgard has healing stones, right?"

"Yes, we use this magic after battle." Thor told him. "I only wish I had thought to bring some with me. I never imagined-"

"You couldn't have, who would?" Tony binned his paper cup and motioned down the street. "So if you haven't any here, then we'll have to go with the local flavor. We'll start with... uh... Cassandra's Curios."

It was a fruitless search. Though they traipsed all over lower Manhattan, guided by Jarvis, and later, Thor's nose as he insisted he could smell the virulent stench of burning incense miles away, there was little they could find apart from facsimile after facsimile of stereotypical bric-a-brac havens, all packed full of low quality quartz, dream catchers and bongs posing as "water vases". Each had a different flavor of aged flower children behind the counter, the majority of whom were as knowledgeable about magic as a plate of scrambled eggs and equally as cooked. Though Tony had started with high spirits, he'd almost given up as the last store tried to sell him an authentic tiger's eye to put under the pillow of the afflicted in order to call the Gods of healing to mend the child's auras.

Thor informed them stiffly that there were no Gods of Healing. Tony bought the stone anyway to shut them up.

Ever the Jimminy Cricket in Stark's ear, Jarvis informed the pair that there were more stores to the east, should they choose to look for more objets d'farce, but Tony simply told him they'd be returning – that was enough for one day. If there was one thing he'd learned from the experience, it was that most European magic charms were manufactured in China, and he wouldn't regret it if he never saw another tie-dyed t-shirt again in his life. Turning a corner, listlessly dragging the toes of his sneakers, he almost slammed into Thor, who had stopped abruptly in his path, staring out across the street.

"We have come this way before, have we not?" he asked, his gaze still fixated on what appeared to be a small, coin-operated laundromat.

"Yeah," Tony scratched at his chin, wondering if the success of his disguise was due to the fact that he appeared to have half a squirrel attached to his face. He needed a shave. "We've just been in a big circle. Why?"

"How is it that we missed this trader?"

The God aimed a finger between the laundromat and a shady-looking finance company and looked at Tony questioningly. After staring for a few moments, Tony finally saw it, a small hole-in-the-wall storefront, barely visible between its neighbors, which bore the sign:

House of Tulgey: Mystical supplies for the discerning.

"Arts, Alchemy and Witchcraft specialists," Tony read, narrowing his eyes a little. "I guess we overlooked this one."

"It is very well hidden." Thor supplied. "Perhaps for good reason? It does not draw attention to itself."

"One more," Tony said with a sigh as they began to cross the road. "But if I ever see Mary Poppins, I'm going to shoot her."

The inside of the store was about as cramped as the others, though there were no crystals in sight, and not a single whiff of sandalwood to speak of. The walls were lined with shelves and heavily decorated with strange artifacts that could have been authentic, if Tony actually knew what he was looking at. There was a small glass display case in the middle of the floor, where several crumbling texts texts lay open; none, Stark noted, were in English. At the far end of the room (about one Thor-pace from the cabinet) there was a thick, oak counter and behind it, hundreds of small drawers – rather like old library bureau files – which reached up past the ceiling to the second floor, where a mezzanine had been cut, effectively turning a two stories into one. Tony gazed up towards a stained-glass skylight - the only light source in the room apart from a few quiet candles – feeling as though he'd fallen down a rabbit hole.

There was a shift in the air, and Thor nearly jumped as a woman suddenly appeared behind the counter, quiet as a cat - her arms crossed neatly over her plain linen pinafore. Though she wasn't young by any means, it was clear she had been beautiful in her youth, for the lines that etched her face were the skilled gestures of the master sculptor, and not the sagging stretch marks of age. For a moment, he was reminded of Frigga, but then the woman smiled and the illusion was broken. There was something about that smile he didn't like; something that seemed to be laughing at him. Thor gave himself a mental shake and looked away, glancing about the room for alternative things to focus on, feeling that it might be wiser to let the Midgardians acknowledge each other. As it was, Tony had already begun sizing the woman up, waiting for the usual torrent of verbal diarrhea that most of the New Age Hocus Pokers tended to greet him with in their opening spiels. Unlike the hippies, however, she wore only a simple black shirt and trousers and had tamed her hair into a neat knot on top of her head. Tidy. No-fuss. If looks were anything to go by, perhaps she might actually provide some information of merit? Raising her chin as the boys approached, she nodded at them- her dark eyes glittering.

"May I help you?"

"Yeah, my friend got stabbed with a magic sword and we can't find any drugs that work so we thought we'd spend an afternoon wandering around some mystic drugstores, trying to find a cure." There had been a story that they'd stuck to for the past fifteen shops, but Tony had obviously tired of it, finding the truth encouraged a more genuine reaction. Thor, still unhappy with his flippant choice of words, glared at him. "Got any voodoo for that?"

"Hoodoo," the woman corrected him.

"Who do what?"

"Voodoo is a religious practice – mostly prayers and song - it won't do your friend much good." The shopkeeper turned, stooping to pulled a roll of butcher paper out from under the counter, and laid it across the top. "You're looking for hoodoo, or more correctly, some white magic talismans and such. Can you tell me more about the patient, Mr Stark."

Tony pulled off his sunglasses at that. He didn't mind being recognized, of course, but he hadn't expected much gratis on this particular trip. The woman was smooth – she didn't miss a beat at all. In fact she was looking at him as though he were an old friend, not a celebrity-cum-superhero whose images graced the pages of the newspaper with an almost sacerdotal frequency. Well, it seemed they'd finally stumbled upon someone who knew what they were talking about. Took long enough.

"You're good." He couldn't help saying, offering her one of his patented, drop-panty smiles.

"I pay attention, Mr Stark – one cannot say you aren't... recognizable." The woman replied with a cool look of indifference. "I might worship the Gods of old, but it doesn't mean I do not own a television. Now, about your friend-"

"-you're actually taking me seriously?"

"Why shouldn't I? A man is as good as his word and as far as I know, you're a good man. An iron one, at that." She smoothed a length of paper over the work surface and raised a brow. "Intelligent design there – that'll keep any ill-omens away from you."

"It's not really iron," Tony found himself admitting. "It's actually a gold mix- uh-"

"Our friend," Thor cut in, elbowing Tony roughly. "Of whom we came to this place of business to inquire about, suffers from delirium. Fevers. The wound was by a knife or a sword. Madam," he added for good measure.

"Nell, if you don't mind." The clerk said. "I'm only a madam when I'm misbehaving. Where was he stabbed?"

"Through the belly," Thor said as Tony struggled to stifle a snort. "It did not injure his insides too badly – his organs remain intact. But the blade left a mark as though it burned – that is the strange thing."

"A spell cast blade, perhaps." Nell considered, rifling though a few drawers before she pulled out several items and laid them on the counter. "Has he spoken any words, fallen into trances? Spouted any languages you do not recognize?"

"No," Thor said.

"He sung a bit." Tony piped up. "But that was... under... uh... encouragement."

"Good, that rules out enchantment," Nell told them. "A usual sign of the bewitched is that of moaning the essence of the spell, or glossolalia. Has he bled anything other than his own blood? Expressed anything out of the ordinary. From anywhere." She added, smiling as boys looked distinctly uncomfortable. They shook their heads in unison.

"Another good sign. That rules out higher hexes." Nell added another bunch of something twiggy to the set on the table and motioned to the stash on the butcher paper. "Enchanted weapons can be powerful, and much of the time, their curses attack the inflicted on a number of levels. For example, he may be suffering seizures for now, but he may also have forgotten a number of childhood memories – or how to do something simple, like count backwards from ten – that kind of thing. Magic is never a one way street."

"Would there be ways of mending the secondary affliction?" Thor asked, looking pale.

"Oh yes." Nell assured him. "But it is best not to confuse the spell. Start with one thing and then go for another. It is much safer that way. So firstly we should address your friend's fever." She licked her lips and pointed to the ingredients as she listed them. "Remove the dressings and wash the patient's wound with salt water – organic sea salt is best, don't use the iodized stuff. Boil the water three times before you mix it with the salt, that'll clean out enough of the chemicals for it to be useful. You'll need to remove the top layer of stitches and rebind the wound with red thread, front and back. Can you do that?"

"We have a doctor in house." Tony affirmed, staring fixatedly at something that appeared to be half a cat hanging on a hook behind Nell's head. He was surprised he hadn't noticed that before. "Kinda wondering why you haven't asked us if he's been to a hospital."

"I would assume you've indulged in all the necessary modern procedures," Nell replied breezily as she tipped a handful of leaves, sticks and what appeared to be bone into a heavy mortar and began pounding them with a pestle. "It is not my business anyway. Here - burnt Rose Gall, Toadstone, Bay, Ash and Bone. Mix the powder with some of the patient's blood to make a paste. Oh, and you'll need a maiden to spit in it-"

"When you say maiden, you mean-"

"A virgin," Nan said, offering Tony a wry smile. "Doesn't have to be a woman."

Tony nodded casually.

"Oh yeah, we have one of those. Pretty rare nowadays, we only let him outside on special occasions."

"Indeed," Nell raised a brow. "Now the last item is a little rain water from a church roof. After you've treated the wound with the poultice and thread, just dab a little of this over his eyes, forehead and heart for good measure."

"Holy water?" Tony picked up the vial and turned it over in his hand. "He's not a vampire..."

"Nor does that stop vampires, funnily enough," Nell told him. "Like silver bullets and Werefolk – utter nonsense. And this is not blessed water, it is that from a churches eaves – there's quite a difference. The word of one God will not work for the word of another."

"What do you mean?" Thor asked, suddenly suspicious. He eyed her carefully as she began to wrap the items up individually in the paper, tying each with a length of hairy twine. "Why do you mention Gods?"

"Holy water will help the expulsion of demons, or houses infested with such, but otherwise it's just a placebo." Nell explained, bagging the spells in a large, unmarked paper bag. "It depends on the belief, or the strength of the belief that will really make the magic work. I get the feeling you two are both of an... alternate opinion toward theism. If you have any opinion at all."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, you wouldn't have come here talking about magic swords for a start." Nell reasoned. "I may be wrong, but I can't really see Tony Stark involving himself in mysticism either. And your nordic friend here wears a talisman of the Old Gods." She pointed to the small chain on Thor's neck, from which a small talisman dangled. It was a present from Jane and though Thor had wondered about the use of it, since he actually owned the real thing, he was rather taken by the irony. "Mjolnir - the hammer of the Thunder God, Thor. Not something your everyday New Yorker would be seen wearing."

Tony raised his brows in amusement, wondering if Mjolnir itself actually popped out of the little talisman when Thor called it – rather like a Norse pokeball. He let Thor take bag from Nell and handed her a fistful of twenties as he glanced about the store again – feeling distinctly less comfortable in the place the more he was in it. He swore there was now a greater number of knick knacks decorating the walls then there had been when he walked in, and he never remembered seeing any of the little alcoves indented in the sides of the store, like tiny showrooms of their own. Mesmerized, he wandered toward one, frowning as he came across a shrine of some sort – a haphazard collection leaves, bones, talismans and flowers.

"What's this?" He asked, jabbing a thumb at the arrangement. "A sort of pagan version of the standard, gold, gilt and tapers?"

"It is a shrine of sorts," Nell said as she walked over to him, handing Thor their change. "It is tribute to the Trickster Gods. The deities of cunning and foolery. Mischief, that kind of thing."

"Favorites of yours?" Tony's eyes wandered over the baubles again, noting some animal figures: birds, foxes, rabbits – as well as some abstract items like horns, or pieces of fabric and fur. "Are they all different? Just a whole party of them here together?"

"They don't mind so much," the woman laughed, running a long finger down a dried stem of hawthorne. "Yes, there are many examples here. Coyote, Reynard, Iktomi, Puck, Loki-"

"Loki?" Thor suddenly jerked to attention. "This is a shrine to Loki?"

"Well, in part," Nell said, gently. "It is true that the Trickster Gods do not benefit from the same level of worship as their heroic cousins, but they are Gods, nonetheless. They deserve a little attention, don't you think?"

"I never really realized..." Thor answered, truthfully. "I didn't know there was such... Well, I didn't think people put such stock in the Gods. I mean, I knew that we- uhh... they were worshipped, but-"

"Someone isn't really up on their theology or classical studies are they?" Nell smiled.

"Football scholarship." Tony added, mildly amused, but still anxious to leave. He tugged on Thor's arm, practically levering him out the door. Things were getting just a little bit too claustrophobic in the little shop of hexes for Tony Stark's liking and he never liked the feeling of his hackles tickling the back of his head. "Anyway, we'd better get moving, just in case our virgin has decided to move out of spitting distance. Thanks for the help and... stuff."

"It's not common practice to visit a place like this," Nell told them as she held open the door, letting the sun fall over the threshold of the dimly lit entrance. "For those who do not believe so readily, it is more of a last resort, an act of desperation. I sincerely hope you friend recovers."

Tony and Thor just replied with a cursory wave as they moved briskly down the street, clearly intent on putting as much distance between the House of Tulgey and the House of Stark as they possibly could. Nell simply leaned in the doorway, letting her smile grow as long as the afternoon shadows and her black eyes gleam like pinpricks in the fabric of the universe.

"I really do mean it, Mr Stark," she said, running her talon-like nails through her dark hair. "We all do."

Chapter 5: A spoonful of sugar

See that man all dressed in green,
Iko, Iko un-day.
He's not a man, he's a lovin' machine,
Jo-a mo fee na-n

Iko Iko - The Dixie Cups

***

Bruce didn't like it.
He didn't like the way in which Thor and Tony disappeared for a whole afternoon, leaving himself and Steve to care for their desperately ill guest - who was also about as stoned as a gravel driveway and half as cognizant. He didn't like that the two also returned from their impromptu shopping trip with a bag of rubbish and a vague idealistic hope that throwing said garbage over the ailing God would somehow cure him of his ills. He didn't like that Thor seemed incredibly invested in this trite and ridiculous notion.

He certainly didn't like that Tony seemed to feel the same.

But Bruce, being Bruce, only held his tongue against his criticisms as, under Tony's vague instruction, he sliced through the sticky, infection-gummed stitches on the opening of Loki's wound, wrinkling his nose against the smell while he carefully dabbed thrice-boiled salt water over the torn flesh. Loki himself was muttering blankly at a point on the wall past Thor's blond head, his mind lost to a fever barely kept in check by the mild concoction of marijuana and poppy extract that Bruce had managed to hash into a kind of thin serum. Though he was quieter than he'd been in days, he looked far worse - even Thor had stopped commenting on his paleness and instead sat by his side, one of his brother's thin hands clutched in his own, effectively dwarfing it, while he looked on in mute concern.

It was the look on the Thunder God's face that finally convinced Bruce to take Tony at his word and make use of the strange collection of objects he'd bought home with him. That, and the simple truth which he had only really been able to admit to himself: Loki wasn't going to make it. If he suffered any longer, he would die. A heart, be it human or otherwise, could only take so much abuse and wave after wave of acute distress would only cause it to fail. Nothing had worked - nothing Bruce knew. And before they lost Thor's brother for good, perhaps it was time to put his faith in something he didn't.

Banner made a face as Steve spat squarely into a small plastic container in which Tony had emptied what appeared to be a packet of charcoal, and twisted it further as Stark patted a quarter of it onto the broken stitches, employing Steve once again to turn Loki on his side so that he could get to the back.

"I know I've said I don't like this," he muttered as he began to close the gashes a second time - now with the crimson thread that Tony had provided him. "But I don't see the harm in repeating myself."

"Oh come on, this is peanuts!" Tony challenged. "I had to invent a whole new element to get rid of that pesky palladium poisoning that almost took me out - what's a bit of dust and branches going to do to an inflammation this bad? t's just a hunch, you know - magic cures magic. Bippity-boppity-boo and all that shit..."

"It's not actually the patient I'm so worried about!" Banner hissed back, looking over at Thor, whose blue eyes were fixed intently on his brother's face as though willing him to wake. "Hope's just as infectious, Tony. And just as dangerous. Especially when it doesn't deliver."

"Give me the benefit of the doubt, Jekyll." Tony grinned, though Bruce noticed his smile appeared a lot more brittle than usual. He sighed.

"I don't think that's much of a raise."

"So all of this... stuff," Steve hadn't quite managed to uncurl his lip as consternation swapped places with bewilderment on the helm of his expression. "Is actually supposed to help him? Just spit and blood and hocus-pocus."

"Spit and blood built armies and won wars," Tony replied as he pressed a thumb to the neck of the church-water bottle and began dabbing it on Loki's forehead. "Hocus Pocus? Well... a little bit of abra-kedabra never hurt anyone. Let's see if it'll mend a God."

"You guys weren't drinking on the way back, were you?"

"No Mom, we came right home."

"Actually, I kind of hoped you had," Steve grumbled. "For all the good that nonsense will do, you may as well try kissing him."

"Hey, you're the maiden." Tony snickered. "Give it a go."

***

So then they sat. And waited. After half an hour, Bruce announced he was going to wash and catch the forty winks he should have chased days ago. Steve followed, fairly certain he'd be of no help any longer, and bid the others good night. He offered Loki only a cursory glance as he padded out of the door - knowing far better than to trust him, but still not entirely sure what to think of him.

Tony watched as Thor shifted his chair closer, tugging Loki's blanket over his shoulders and smoothing his warm hands over the other's trembling chest. Feeling rather like the Mom who flushed the budgie, Tony made to speak - to offer some sort of garbled, over-drawn message of encouragement (or to simply offer a beer, he wasn't sure which would go down better) - but as he opened his mouth, the Thunder God shook his head, raising his eyes to meet Stark's in one look that Tony was sure he'd inherited from his father.

"No jokes, my friend," he said quietly. "Please. Not now."

Stark glanced at the floor, knowing now that he was trespassing on a moment that only those of the same family could understand. There was a link between the brothers, through blood or through kinship alone and no matter how hard Loki had tried to break it, Thor had held on as dutifully now as he had when he defended Loki's name against Bruce's derision. Tony didn't even have the heart to shrug. Instead he patted his friend's broad shoulder and slowly made his way out of the room. Thor pulled his brother's hand close to him and kissed the tips of his icy fingers.

Then, he waited.

***

Several hours later, the grey light of morning began to peek over the high rises and soon the sun bled silent tendrils of red into the sky in a brilliant display of the magnificence of dawn. Birds began to voice their morning choir, the hum of the early morning traffic was soothing and cheerful. Somewhere, a dog barked gleefully as it was let out to play. A jogger bounced down the road, engrossed in his favorite song, energized and intent on beating his own record. A child curled into bed with her parents, happy and content to share the last few dregs of sleep in the warm arms of her family.

Loki woke feeling as though he'd been run over by a bilgesnipe. If he'd been a Midgardian, he would have said a bus. Perhaps a bilgesnipe driving a bus. Perhaps the whole damn universe and a bilgesnipe driving a bus, if it could find one big enough. He felt positively awful; his eyes itched, his stomach swam and his head ached. As terrible as he felt, he was almost surprised to find that the world had stopped spinning long enough to allow him to focus on his surroundings, and for a moment he looked about warily - disorientation stabbing thick pegs into his nerves. He wasn't on Asgard, that was for certain - there was no room in the palace that looked anything like this one. Nor did his father's kingdom feature any sort of fluorescent lighting, therefore it was more likely he was on Midgard. But why was he on Midgard all of a sudden?

An abrupt rumble, rather like the rasp of a chainsaw, ground into his floundering train of thought and for a second Loki fancied that there actually might be a bilgesnipe in the room. Then his eyes rested on the familiar figure of his brother, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his expansive chest and his cheek resting on his hand - comically stretching his face and effectively amplifing the sound of his already-raucous snores.

Loki winced against the clamor, half-tempted to reach over and punch his brother in jaw in effort to get him to cease and desist on the seismic growls, when he realized that moving was a lot harder than he'd expected. In fact, he could barely even turn his head without a sharp stab of pain spiking up from his side. He had been injured? Loki blinked uncertainly and craned his neck as carefully as he could, trying to look down the length of his body toward the source of the ailment. But a blanket covered the view, leaving him left only guessing as to what happened.

Midgard... He was on Midgard, with Thor. No, not with Thor - he'd come to find his brother because... because...

Pale eyes darted worriedly back to the Thunder God's sleeping face and Loki drew in a sharp breath as the events of the past few days came rolling back to him. There'd been an invasion on Asgard. His father's throne usurped. That woman, the warlord God Navaar and her army had taken the kingdom hostage for the tesseract. And Odin had... he'd … Father...

"T-th..." Loki tried, amazed at how hard it was to coax his lips into forming words, let alone a sentence. He felt the dryness of them; felt the skin crack as they moved and the gumming of the dried saliva in the corners. "Thurrr..."

Thor only sniffed loudly and swallowed one of his snores - which was possibly even worse a noise than before. Loki's head lolled back on the pillow, helplessly - his eyes falling back as a sudden onset of light-headedness whitewashed his brains and his stomach lurched queasily, irritating several sets of upper abdominal muscles that had already been through quite a work out over the past few days. Loki groaned low in the back of his throat, then tried again - willing his arm to move enough that he could tap his brother on the forearm.

"Thorr..." He rasped, barely touching the other's wrist before his hand slid down again, hanging slackly over the edge of the bed. Thor snorted and batted at the imaginary fingers in front of his face.

"Mm? No, I did not eat it."

"Thor!"

"HMUH?" The Thunder God awoke with a jerk and glanced about in sleep-drunk bewilderment, blinking rapidly. When he caught Loki's eye he grinned, almost leaping out of his seat as he moved to kneel beside his brother's sickbed, his delight written all over his face. Though he'd only slept a handful of hours since his arrival at Stark Tower, his excitement at Loki's improved condition was just as vociferous as it would have been had he spent the time on holiday - or returning a victor from some glorious battle. When it came to Loki, Thor could not be hindered by fatigue and, beaming with relief, he slid his hands over the other's shoulders - gazing at him as though he could not quite trust him to be real.

"My brother, you are awake! I cannot believe it! Are you are cured?" Thor cupped a hand to Loki's forehead, and nodded once, knowingly. "Yes, I think your fever has finally broken. You had me so worried - I have never seen you so ill."

Loki just stared, unable muster the strength to respond as Thor touched his brother's thin, sweat-blotched cheek, pressing his palm against the dirtied skin. The mischief God seemed so frail, so exhausted and beaten by his illness that his flesh had bled all colour and his hands shook as Thor gripped them again, trying to warm them in his own. But as tired as Loki appeared, the brightness was back in his eyes - the life that had nearly flown from them remained and glowed like shards of green glass in the light at the bottom of the sea.

Many times, after many battles when they'd both taken more than they could manage, Thor had seen that light wavering - especially after his slighter sibling had tried to keep up with his strapping brother and his equally hulking weapon - having only throwing knives and his wits to protect him. Loki's magic was formidable, but it had not always been strong enough to hold in a war - not when Loki's strength began waning. Adrenalin did not fuel his abilities quite as directly; there were some things that only a warrior could do, and these were not for a magician. But as logical as Loki was, he stoutly refused to be bested by this simple matter of brains over brawn. He would still try, no matter the challenge. So, although it was weak and though Loki was not hissing vicious curses against their enemy to accompany it, it was that look - that stubborn pigheaded gall which Loki could have only inherited from a true Aesir, that Thor caught ghosting about through his brother's eyes. And that was all Thor needed to be convinced his sibling would recover. His spirit was back - he would fight.

"Thor-" Loki said again, trying hard to will a little more saliva to grease his jaw. Talking with a tongue as parched as a piece of drying leather wasn't really doing his enunciation any good. Yet when he tried licking his lips, he nearly gagged as his belly rolled again, warning against any sudden movements. A frown darted over Thor's brow and he glanced around the room, looking for a drink of some kind until he spotted the cooler in the corner by the door and bid his brother wait while he retrieved a cup for him.

"Here," He said, holding the paper cone to Loki's lips. "Can you drink this?"

Despite his exhaustion, Loki still managed to cast one Thor one of his many signature expressions - this one in particular being: Don't be ridiculous, you thick-head, of course I can and at which the Thunder God nearly laughed. Well, that level of disdain already? He was healing indeed, that was encouraging. Loki drank a little, shuddering against the cold and the growing knot in his stomach, then managed to choke out:

"Asgard... Thor... Asgard has been compromised. D-do not to contact father... If she finds you-"

"Yes, Tony Stark had said you had mentioned a woman. Do not fret, I will not try to contact Heimdall until you are ready. But who is this woman, brother? Who would wish for the destruction of Asgard."

"Tesseract," Loki shook his head a little, wincing at the bite in his hip. "I am not sure if she wanted Asgard destroyed. The Tesseract, though... She spoke of this before... b-"

"Do not strain yourself," Thor reminded him gently, pressing the cup against his brother's lips in effort to get him to take in a little more water, for Loki's growing trepidation and greening countenance began to bother him. "We will remedy this. You and I, together. If she has the tesseract, she will not do so for long."

"-cannot help you... I have no magic-"

"Then we will work something out when you are better," Thor told him - a note of finality edging his voice. He rested a hand on Loki's chest, watching as his brother tried with great difficulty to say something further, but winced against some inner discomfort. At a loss for a cure, Thor simply held him down, shaking his head as Loki seemed to be doing all he could to protest. "You have been here for days, a few hours more rest will not ruin your message, I am sure." He paused, then straightened, sliding his fingers over Loki's crest of damp, dark hair. "I thought I had lost you, brother." He continued after a moment - his voice low and strained. "I do not want to feel that way again. No matter how you may denounce me, my kinship with you does not change in my eyes."

Ah. Yes. The denouncing. Loki tried not to look guilty. If there was one thing he'd rather not be reminded about when he lay helpless and feeble in his brother's custody (and that of his friends, whom the Trickster had equally upset), it was the fact that two months ago, everyone on Midgard, including Thor, would have rather seen him 'lost', so to speak. He wasn't going to live that one down any time soon (not that he had been entirely convinced he would walk away unscathed, even when he was firing pulses of pure magic energy at Romanov's annoying little scarlet head). Still, he seemed safe enough for now - the Midgardians were brutal in their punishments, but often unwittingly fair before their judgements. Besides, if he could not speak he'd be of no use to anyone - it was far better to sleep off the throes of his ailments and recuperate. Nodding slightly, Loki allowed himself to relax - ignoring the nausea still brewing in the pit of his stomach, for it seemed subside once he'd calmed himself. He doubted it would bother him too much.

"Sleep," Thor told him, easing back in his own chair as his own drowsiness began to weigh on his eyelids. " I will be here. And when you wake, perhaps one of my brilliant friends will have something that can help you."

That was good enough for Loki. He barely muttered a response as he closed his eyes. Yet before he succumbed, he added:

"Thor?"

"Yes, brother?"

"If you start... snoring again, I will... take pains to aim it at you."

"Aim what, brother?"

"Whatever is... still trying to clamber out of my gut."

Thor threw his sibling a worried look, noting how green around the gills Loki was looking. He nodded, mutely, and sat in silence for a while as his brother fell back to sleep - the shards of his breath evening into a steady rhythm. Then, once Loki had dropped off entirely, Thor got up to retrieve a small wastepaper basket from the lab outside and sat gingerly on his chair, staring at the floor with the bin clutched to his chest. He'd already been painted by the contents of Loki's stomach several times in the past few days, and though he'd had much worse covering him - the innards of a raging Ice Mammoth, for example - it was always better to lessen the possibility. Shampoo could only remove so much.

***

"I have initiated a search for magic swords, sir," Jarvis intoned as Tony yawned widely, tossing another shot of double espresso down his throat in effort to keep his chin from connecting with his keyboard. A few articles of interest - mainly string theory and quantum physics lay open on the screens surrounding him, but he was barely paying any attention to them. He should have been resting. He should have been utilizing the downtime from Loki's latest set of cures to get in a cure of his own.

But he knew Banner and the rest of the team would be taking five, and he couldn't leave Thor and Loki together on their own. Loki might not have the strength to get up to much, but if he flashed those beautiful baby blues on his brother again, and did that thing with his cheekbones, Tony doubted the Thunder God would have stood a chance.

"So, what did you find?" He asked, tiredly.

"Google search was particularly colourful," Jarvis noted. "Other than that, there are countless entries for weapons with magical properties; the obvious being those of classical myth, like Excaliber, Kladenets, Nothung, Caladbolg, Kusanagi-o-surugi... Take your pick, sir."

"Narsil, I choose you," Tony replied, blithely. "We'll need more information than that - that's like Loki saying he saw a certain type of tree in a forest and asked us to go cut it down."

"He regained consciousness briefly at four-fifty am," the AI told him. "His vitals are much stronger now - I believe your medicine has actually worked."

"Bully for me," Stark pushed up from his chair and fished his hooded sweatshirt up from the floor to drape it over his shoulders. "How is he now?"

"Waking again, it seems."

"Guess I'd better tend to the needs of our guest." Tony scrubbed a hand over his beard and padding out of lab 2 and down towards the infirmary. He yawned widely before the doors, then pushed them open by leaning lazily against the break between.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty, and how are y- what the hell is that noise?"

He spoke, of course, in response to Thor's renewed snorting, gaping a little as the sound filled up the room like the grunts of a bulldozer well in need of an engine tune. Loki merely raised a brow from his position on the bed.

"Perhaps if you shoot it, the clamor will cease."

"Nice," Tony told him, still staring incredulously at the Thunder God - half wondering if a xenomorph had burst out of his chest and was hiding somewhere in the ventilation panels, growling at them. "This is your brother you're talking about taking pot shots at, you realize."

"I am aware of this, yes."

"Your brother who kindly came to your aid and sat by you for days on end while you either yelled at or threw up on him. Your brother who is probably the sole reason why most of us haven't sent you on a one-way trip to SHIELD, so you can recuperate in a nice little padded cell..."

"You'll note, of course, that I am joking." Loki replied, drily. "I thought you were the funny one."

"And I thought you were the crafty one. Yet here you are-" Tony shot back. "-barely able to flick me the bird, and sporting a nice new speed-hole, while the rest of us patch you up with preternatural poly-filler. I thought you were full of hot air, kid, but I didn't count on you busting my party to lie here and make bad jokes. No one is in the mood."

That was the tiredness talking. Tony hadn't thought for a second that Loki would be grateful for anything he'd done for him and he sincerely doubted he'd be recieving any Asgardian kudos from the tall, dark and homicidal side of the family - aside from a short reprieve of-not-being-killed while the Trickster God regained his strength. He moved to stand by Loki's feet, hands wedged in his pockets - his usual stance for when he didn't want to appear too annoyed, nor too interested as he tended to gesticulate when he was thinking. Loki continued to stare at him, his expression sobering a little - enough to at least appear a little sorry. That would do for Tony - after all, he trusted Loki about as much as the God trusted him, so at least they were on even footing there.

"Are you in any pain?" He asked stiffly, hoping it sounded just as much of a forced courtesy as it actually was. Loki closed his eyes briefly - Tony could literally see him gulping back his pride - before he inclined his head, his gaze darting toward the corner of the sheet.

"Less than before," he admitted. "It hurts, but it does not burn as it once did. I can ignore it well enough, however it is this wretched queasiness that I cannot abide."

"Oh... uh... Right," Now it was Tony's turn to feel a slight pang of guilt. He and Bruce had been so desperate to calm Loki's destructive delirium that they hadn't thought too hard about the consequences of shooting cocktail after cocktail of drugs into Loki's system. Since each and every shot, pill or potion had been impotent on every level, neither had thought of the lasting effect the painkillers would have had when tango-dancing through Loki's bloodstream. But if nausea was all he had to show for it, then he was probably lucky. Tony sidled the bed and strode over to the medicine fridge, pulling out a small bottle and a hypodermic from the sterilizer. "Yeah, well, we tried a few things to try and stop you... y'know, dying..." He shrugged as he approached, filling the syringe with a colourless serum as Loki looked on warily. "So I guess they're kinda playing dodgeball with your system. Hold out your arm."

"Why, what is that"

"Just an antiemetic. Helps you stop feeling like you're going to barf without adding more fuel to the fire," Tony infomed him, reaching for Loki's wrist as the other watching him tap the tube - letting out a little liquid before pushing the barb into the God's pale arm. Loki hissed against the sting. "What's wrong? Can't handle a little shot?" Tony added, amused.

"And just how many of those have you administered so adeptly," Loki challenged sorely, looking down at the mess of yellow and purple bruises on the insides of his elbows.

"That was Bruce," Tony said without missing a beat. "He's all thumbs."

"And you are all digits, of course." Loki finished in a voice so smooth Tony could have used it as a cut-and-polish for his Porsche. Well, that certainly came out of nowhere, and, strangely,, he found himself momentarily stumped for something to say. He was, in fact, rather unsure if Loki was being flippant or if he was genuinely commending his abilities. A weird tingle shot down his spine and he licked his lips before motioning to Loki's middle, desperate for something to busy his hands and his attention.

"Guess we should take a look at this," He said numbly, motioning to Loki's middle before folding back the sheet to expose the God's bare torso. The trickster did not seem to mind, and only watched with hooded interest as Tony peeled off the sections of surgical tape - lifting off the gauze pad covering the puncture wound in his belly. He did, however, draw a short breath as he looked upon the curving grin of the gash - even the stitching looked a little like teeth- and made a face at the discoloration of his flesh from the antiseptics.

"I am jaundiced?" He asked, running his fingers lightly across the yellow skin above the sutures.

"No, that's iodine - it'll fade after a wash or two," Tony told him, not taking his eyes off Bruce's work, lest he found himself staring at Loki's naked stomach for longer than he probably should. He'd been too busy preoccupied with saving the God's life to think much about the curving lines of flat, athletic muscle that graced Loki's body, but now that he had the opportunity he found it very hard to look away. Tony had always been in favor of a fine form, regardless of the gender - for it was almost a living analogy for the workings of a well-tuned, well-oiled mechanism. Machines Tony knew, and he appreciated a finely-crafted specimen, whether it was flesh and blood, or steel and plastic. And Loki was no exception, certainly - even pallid and exhausted, he was still a particularly eloquent example of lean, wiry resilience. Tony had to admit, the visage was particularly tempting, even though every fibre of his being - every molecule - screamed at his libido to punch the brakes and throw the whole idea in reverse. There was no way, no wayhe could go there - he'd should chastise himself severely for even entertaining the thought. Of course Loki didn't have to make it worse by touching himself so much. Likewise, Tony didn't have to concentrate so hard on the chastizing part. "So about that woman," he continued, trying to relax his voice. "What was she all about?"

"I do not know," Loki answered, truthfully - frowing at the oximeter clipped to his forefinger. He wiggled it experimentally a few times. "She was of a race unknown to me, yet she seemed to be quite familiar with Midgard. I am not sure if she hailed from this realm, but I've never seen the like of her before - or her army."

"And they were after you?"

"No, the Tesseract," Loki explained, now fascinated by the IV in his arm. "I am not sure why she needed it, since she seemed capable of travelling to Asgard quite efficiently without the use of the Tesseract or the Bifrost, but that is what she asked for, before she-" The God stopped abruptly in mid sentence and fell silent. Tony cleared his throat, quietly, and fished about one of the side tables for some clean gauze. Loki's wound looked a hell of a lot better - now all clean scabbing, pink and white. It seemed that Nell's foul concoction has simply sunk into the skin. But it was always worth applying a fresh dressing.

"If she didn't have the cube, or use of your party bridge," Tony said slowly. "Then there'd have to be other ways for her to get here. But doesn't that work the same for you? Unless you're stowing the cube away somewhere that Jarvis is too polite to mention..."

"There are gates between the realms; there always have been." The God said, smoothing down the new strips of tape as Tony applied them. "Some can only be used by sorcerers, others were, I believe, escape routes as a precaution against invasion, long before my Father constructed the Bifrost. But they are generally anchored to one place only and they are frighteningly unpredictable."

"So you could have ended up anywhere."

"Yes." Loki nodded, hissing a little as Tony helped him roll to one side in order to check the entry wound on his back. He lay still a moment, feeling Stark's fingers sliding over his hip to pick at the tape holding the gauze in place and breathed carefully, not trusting his body at all to react favorably to any movement. "If I am to be brutally honest, it was... you who gave me the idea, Tony Stark."

"What, to get a new hole in yourself? I would have probably suggested something with a little less maintenance - or something you could at least put a ring through."

"No, of course not!" Loki snarled, groaning as his size burned against his outburst. "The gates work primarily through the attraction of energy. As far as I have read, that is how they stabilize. Though it used to be through magic, there are a few that still remain open in places with vast power sources, like..."

"Like Stark Tower." Tony cut in, inspecting the health of the injury before sponging a little more of the salt water onto it, just for good measure. "So basically my house is a major stop on an inter-dimensional train ride between here and Norse God Central? Are there other stops along the way? Can I discontinue the service?" Tony wheeled around to face the far cabinet and stalked over to it, feeling dazed. "I mean, what if I suddenly fall through one, one day - like I'm just leaning over the balcony, enjoying y'know, a regular saturday morning coffee and then suddenly BOOM, I'm transported to Valkyrie-ville in my boxers and bed hair."

"I do not think it quite works like that. If there was an entrance here, it was probably destroyed long ago when this city was erected. Either that, or it remains dormant beneath. Asgard has the same problem, yet was constructed upon a network of ancient caves and in which many of the portals were created. So the door in this realm is more of-"

"-the ass end."

"-an exit only." Loki finished, shooting the best withering look he could manage over his shoulder. Tony pulled down a new box of gauze and ripped off the packaging, tossing the wrapping on the floor.

"All right, so I'm possibly not in danger of getting vacuumed into oblivion. What about things coming through here? What about that Evil Lynn with the Tesseract and all the pointy stuff?"

"If the Warlord had meant to, I believe she would have tried already. I do not think she knows of the gate. But if I were able to regain my magic, I might be able to seal it temporarily. Or at least conceal it."

"Your magic," Tony said, cautiously, helping the Trickster roll back over. "Which you... don't have right now?"

"Of course not!" Loki looked at him incredulously. "I would have healed myself, if I had, and I would have certainly made a start on blocking the gate! No, once I had returned from... well... Once I had returned with Thor-" Loki's expression turned chalky as he held up his wrists, displaying the reddish bands of runes encircling them - like rings of tiny, decorative scars. "Odin saw fit to bind my spells away, lest I cause any more trouble."

"You have to realize, that's a relief for most of us." Tony told him. If Loki was offended, he didn't show it, which made Tony wonder if he did actually acknowledge the fact that he'd pretty much fucked Manhattan over and shat on most of their lives in an afternoon. Thanks to him and his sound and light spectacular, people knew about their group. They knew about the Avengers - an experimental team whose existence was supposed to have been canned, or at least kept incognito until someone was ready to tackle the mountain of red tape that would herald their debut. Still, that didn't explain why Loki was here without his magic - apart from saving his own ass. Sure, it was feasible that he was looking for Thor - possibly more for protection than anything, but he'd taken an awfully big chance on his brother's mercy. "So... What now? You have no magic, Thor can't get you guys home without the Tesseract and your Dad isn't about to beam you up... What was the point of coming here?" Apart from gaining four super-powered body guards and a swish pad to recuperate, he thought to himself.

"I think Mjolnir might be able to break the magic on my bonds." Loki replied, evenly.

"You're kidding, right? What and break your wrists as well?" Tony raised a brow. "Midge isn't exactly a precision instrument, you know. The only key she sings in is 'bash'."

"Midge?"

"Thor's hammer." Tony sucked on his thumbnail, idly wondering if he'd stowed any freeze-dried blueberries away in this infirmary. He tended to stash them everywhere, dubbing his habit 'squirrelling'. Pepper called it 'pick that up or I'll hurt you'. "What you said. Mywfful."

"Mjolnir?"

"Yeah."

"Mijolnir doesn't sound anything like Midge."

"It does if you pronounce the 'J'."

Loki gave him the oddest look, but did not seem to mind. It was such an strange contrast to that of the invading God Tony had met in his den, a mere eight weeks before - the one with the pointy stick in his hand and a whole lot of bad vibes on his tongue, who didn't seem to have any time for anything. Pincushion Loki was an angel in comparison - remarkably chilled. Either that or still high as a kite.

"Well, I believe Midge might be able to, anyway," Loki said, running his the fingertips of one hand over the patterns indented in his wrist. "That's the thing about magical weapons - they always have extra uses no one gives them credit for."

"Or they smash your wrist off."

"Or it breaks my father's spell. Instruments of magic can be as destructive as a hurricane, or precise and gentle as a silk-spinner - it all depends on how one uses them. It's a chance I'm willing to take."

"Hey, you call a spade a spade, I call a hammer a hammer." Tony shrugged. "But hey, just a thought... That woman's sword you mentioned - what if that was a magical weapon, too? Do you remember anything special about it?"

"Not really. It wasn't exceptionally large, nor a foreign shape. It was a single edge - a backsword." Loki said. "A fairly plain hilt, from what I could see, but the blade was black. And almost... oily - like it had been coated with something. It stank of blood."

"Lovely," Tony made a face. "Jarvis, add that to our search, will you?" As Jarvis acknowledged him in his usual stoic timbre, Tony was a little amused to see Loki jump in surprise and glance warily about the ceiling. " What about the charring? It looked like your wound was cauterized or something. Did the sword do that?"

"I don't think so," Loki admitted, his attention caught by the ventilation unit in the corner. Maybe Jarvis was hanging out with the alien back there. "I bled plenty before I reached the gate - the evidence of that is all over the steps of Gladsheim. But I believe the flow was stemmed when I passed through one realm to another, although I cannot say why. It does feel odd though," He said, finally looking back at his host, his green eyes troubled and still a little bright and bloodshot. "I have been injured similarily before and it did not feel like this. This wound bites deeper, it feels... I don't know if I have words for it. It feels raw."

"Thor's hammer... Breaking a spell? " Tony snorted, dismissing the idea into his ludicrous-pile. Yet, strangely enough, it did stick around in the back of his mind, refusing to budge. And in that way, it seemed to draw more attention to itself. There was something that could be read between the lines, and, if he'd got the translation right, he was pretty sure Loki wasn't going to like it. Jarvis had said that Loki showed no signs of Godly energy, and Loki had been stabbed by what could have likely been a mystic weapon. So if magical weapons could do as much as Loki hypothesized, then surely it was also likely that Loki's change in energy signature was due to the fact that the sword he was stabbed with had, somehow, made him... not a God? Mortal?

Human?

It was an idea about as far-fetched as Tony could possibly imagine, but he'd often been right on his hunches. He'd have to trust the feeling in Loki's lacerated gut as much as his own. But if he was right, then what? Would Asgard fall completely? Would the Warlord come after them? Would Thor ever be able to get home again? Would he have to find a job in the mailroom for the now-grounded God? He had to admit, Loki would look pretty fetching in the company colou-

"I'm going to check in with Steve," he said suddenly, striding away from the bed with the sort of abrupt rigidity that only interrupted wayward thoughts could engineer. He waved a hand at Loki, attempting a sort of dismissive gesture. "You should get some more sleep. If the pain starts again, just call out for Jarvis, he'll hear you and alert one of us. I'll come back in a couple hours and see if you can take some food."

"Very well," Loki nodded and motioned to the recumbent form of his brother - now strangely silent in his slumber. "Thor will probably join you in a little while - he usually goes quiet when he's about to wake up."

"And you know this-" Tony smiled at him, cheekily. "-because..?"

"He is my brother, Tony Stark," Loki said, wiggling his shoulders to get comfortable. "Sharing a room with him as a child was effectively sharing a bed with him."

"That the only person you can say that about?" Tony was teasing now - he couldn't help himself. But rather than blow him off, like Bruce or Clint, or get flustered and embarrassed like Steve or Thor, Loki just returned the smile - several shades lighter, but just as devious - and cocked his head ever so slightly to one side.

"Let me know what you find out about that sword," he said. "And perhaps I will tell you."

"Well hell," Tony muttered to himself as he made his exit, practially jogging out of the infirmary and back toward the lab. "That's one damned sure way to promote studying."

***

AN:  The Ice Mammoth I made up. I tried to find what that thingie in Thor was called, but I couldn't. Tell me if you know. Then we'll give it a collar and call it Harold. No wait, Thor killed it... Aw..

Chapter 6: How the mighty...

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel.

Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov'd him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all.

William Shakespeare.

***

Magic Sword.

Tony wrote. He considered the text for a moment, critically, then sighed and tapped his pen against his lips. "Magic Sword" wasn't a pair of words he would traditionally put together; he was much more of an "algorithm" and "strings of complicated code that looked a bit like the character vomit a new printer will spit out when asked to perform a test page" kind of guy. He wasn't even too sure why he was actually jotting anything down - that was what Jarvis was for. But sometimes digging out a pen and paper from the depths of his desk drawer and physically making notes tended to help him focus. It still wasn't quite right, however - without the punctuation shrapnel that was meant to accompany his usual style of scripting, the plain memo just seemed a little too bland. He underlined it and added a hyphen as a sort of analog listing variable. That was better.

- Excalibur.

He added. Then followed with:

- Klaednets

- Nothung

- Caladbolg

- Kusanagi-o-surugi

- Tizona

- Durendal... Jesus...

Tony Stark sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes. Blocking out a collection of words wasn't really going to do him any favours since the only information Loki could provide about the "strange sword" was the fact that it had a black blade, it was single-edged, smelt of blood and having it stuck through him hurt like buggery. So considering most of the weapons he'd drawn up to research were of mythological fame and therefore, in Tony's opinion, fictional (despite the fact that he had two Norse Gods in residence), it was virtually impossible to imagine what the damn thing would even look like, much less pin down where it might have originated from. To begin with, Wikipedia had already provided a wealth of options and the stack of articles in Tony's "Weapon of Choice" file only swelled as Jarvis continued to add mention after mention of swords throughout legend - categorizing and cross-referencing to make the output easier for Tony to get his teeth into. Nevertheless, the end result was still a veritable banquet of intel and the sheer weight of the digital information on hand was already beginning to give Tony a headache.

He glanced wistfully at the decanter on his accounts desk, hoping to somehow absorb the twelve-year-old malt inside by means of osmosis. Then he sighed again - louder this time - and pinched the bridge of his nose. Naturally, he was terrier-keen on the challenge, but he had to admit, he wasn't book surfing within his area of expertise. Although he was as well-read as any Oxford graduate, things like Classical studies, theology and history didn't tend to gel quite as well. There just wasn't anything scientific about them. Numbers gelled. Theorems gelled. Myth and prose kind of landed in his brain like jelly on a brick wall - sticking for a second before slowly oozing to the floor into a mushy pile of paragraphs.

Chewing on the end of the pen, Tony groaned as Jarvis announced he'd found another source of information - this time mesopotamian - and pushed up abruptly from his desk with a deafening scrape of his chair. That was enough, it was midday now and he was still only running on about three hours sleep since the beginning of the weekend. Time for some gentle, relaxing mindless activity, like hooking up the playstation, or talking to Rogers. He snorted to himself and twiddled the pen barrel about in his fingers, scuffing lackadaisically out of the labs and into his den. There he found Steve and Bruce sprawled just as lethargically over the lounge suite - both gazing into space as the morning news chirped behind them. Tony exhaled in mild irritation. Well, weren't they a box of birds? It was almost as if he was looking after a couple of teenagers for the school holidays. Perhaps he should make a better show of being a host? Though he'd kind of gotten bored of that after day two.

"Thor still with Loki?" He asked, balancing himself on the corner of an armchair. Banner just grunted affably from the lazy-boy, tiredness weighing heavily on his eyelids. Though he'd changed, he still looked just as dishevelled as he had the day before, which convinced Tony that he'd better introduce him to an iron. Or a dry cleaner. Or both, although that would really depend on how much the Hulk might protest to the idea of laundered shirts. Would he get mad if he ripped them when he transformed? What if he ruined his favourite shirt? Steve craned over the side of his seat, raising a neat blond brow as he caught Tony in a moment of cogitation - ruminating whether it was worth testing certain types of rubber fibers in order to patent a kind of super elastic, unbreakable material - and shrugged.

"I guess so. I mean, that's who he's here for, isn't it?" He made a moue of distaste. Tony could have sworn he heard him click his tongue. "He came up at about nine to find something to eat, but couldn't really put much together so he just disappeared again. You do realize we've almost run out of food."

"Already? I stocked up the cupboards when you guys came here!" Tony protested, wedging his pen behind his ear as he began to make calculations on a touchscreen notepad that he'd stowed in his pocket. "And that was like trying to harvest for three circus elephants. You guys eat about as much as Jarvis downloads."

"Yeah, you stocked up." Steve parried. "When were you going to do that again? We're down to powdered milk, peppercorns and a weird green thing at the back of the fridge that no one wants to touch."

"Demands, demands. Circus elephants have a circus elephant budgets."

"Like that really bothers you."

"I don't have time to make a shopping list. You want something, tell Jarvis - he'll order it."

"So what? So you'll have more time to potter about in your lab, scheming?" Steve pressed. "What are we supposed to do?"

"Whatever you like." Tony replied, adding a few flourishes of code to the clutch of lines on the screen. "There's a gym and... wait - do you do anything else but gym?"

"You're the one who asked us here." Steve reminded him, curtly. " We're doing you a favor by keeping this from Fury."

"Me? I thought we agreed that we were doing this for Thor!" Tony shot back. "How come this is suddenly about me? If you want to do something, why not help Lord of the Rings try and figure out who it was that turned his bro into a poor excuse for a hedgehog. That's something that would be helpful. Sheesh, you were a lot more proactive before, you know that?"

"Maybe I'm not that interested in being proactive when it comes to Loki."

"Turn up the frost a notch, why don't you?" Tony narrowed his eyes. "Clearly you're not feeling the chill, Ice-Cap, 'cos damn, you can be really cold when you want to be. Thor's our friend, Steve, and I don't mind helping him out if that makes him happy. So how about shelving some of that ire and just dealing with it? Perhaps you could just refer to Loki as "Thor-version-two", or "Thor-point-five" for now, instead of the little turd who tipped his bricks all over lower Manhattan and left them for us to clean up? That should dislodge some of the splinters in your ass."

Steve didn't answer that time; only aimed Tony a particularly acidic look, and straightened testily in his seat. Obviously, Tony knew he was the better scapegoat for the blame and he didn't mind taking it as long as he could knock out a few of Roger's pegs on the way down. His expression hardened, and he held Steve's icy glare for as long as he could while Bruce glanced fretfully between the two. It was precisely the scene out of the Good, the Bad and the Ugly, except it was more the Right, the Righteous and the Other Guy In The Middle Who Doesn't Really Want To Get Involved. Eventually, the super soldier huffed to himself, then raked his fingers through his bangs, glowering out the window. Bruce rested his chin on his knuckles, pursing his lips thoughtfully before he broke the tense silence with a small cough.

"So, um... anyway..." He began. "Uh... contrary to popular belief, sense and most of modern medicine, it seems all that magic paraphernalia actually worked. Loki's wounds are finally healing instead of spewing forth a septic mess and his temperature's completely dropped. I don't want to speak too soon, but I'm starting to believe he's on the mend."

"I don't want to get all juvenile with the I told you so, thing," Tony stated, his knowing smile teetering dangerously on the edge of a smirk. "But I told you so."

"Where did you get all that stuff from anyway?" Steve asked. "I thought magic stores just had card tricks and fake gum - whoopee cushions that sort of thing."

"Oh it's a lot more serious now," Tony told him. "The pagans have really gone upmarket. They have twitter and everything."

"Hope you kept the receipts." Bruce shifted in his seat, propping up against a number of Pepper's ghastly cushions that she seemed to punish every piece of sitting furniture with. "I mean, if it worked that well, we might need more."

"Yeah, I got Jarvis to put it on file," Tony said. "What was the store, Jarvis?"

"I could not log the address as accustomed, Sir," Jarvis explained. "For the store did not appear to be registered-"

"-ah well, you know what they're like. Pygmies-uh, Hippies."

"But I believe the name of it was 'House of Tulgey'."

"There you go."

"Tulgey." Steve scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "Tulgey... Hey, I know that name... "

"You trying to tell me that store's been there since before you got your frost on?" Tony raised a brow, skeptically. "Ï mean, it was hard to tell with that kind of place, but-"

"No," Steve shook his head, his brow creased in concentration. "No I know it from somewhere else. It's a famous name, I'm sure... Out of a book, I think. Now where did I-oh yeah, that's right!" He snapped his fingers. "It's from Alice."

Both Banner and Stark shot him an odd look.

"What?"

"Alice. C'mon, you must know about Alice-"

"Alice,"" Tony grinned. "Who the fu-"

"No," Bruce growled, firing him a warning look.

"Alice in Wonderland." Steve said, with a roll of his eyes as though it were obvious. "I read it ages ago. And actually, if I remember correctly, that bit was in the mirror one. Looking glass, I mean."

"That's amazing..."

"Not really," Steve admitted with a vaguely bashful shrug. "I mean, it's not like my memory has aged over seventy years. I still remember most things like they happened yesterday."

"No, I think it's amazing that you read Alice in Wonderland." Tony continued, snickering under his breath. "Say, if you ever find your man card, let me know. I'm sure it's not hard to spot, being all spangly and shiny. It's probably still in the kid's section of the bookstore. The pink side. With sparkles and unicorns."

"It was an elementary school project!" Steve cried, exasperated. "Way back when I was a kid! My class had to form pairs and read excerpts aloud from a couple of chosen texts, that's all. The boys had Mark Twain and the girls had Lewis Carroll. It just happened that there weren't enough ladies to all have a partner, so the teacher asked me to help out."

"Give the girliest guy first dibs on the birds. I really don't see how you didn't take advantage of this."

"I was ten." Steve continued through his teeth. "And gentlemen don't take advantage, Tony. Anyway, I had already read Huck Finn that summer, and Carroll's book is a classic. So I let the lady choose what part she wanted to study and she went with the Jabberwocky poem out of Alice through the Looking Glass. That's the bit with the tulgey wood - whatever tulgey means."

"And you just remembered this because..."

"Some things just stick in your head. You can't tell me that you didn't once hear a jingle or a song, or read something that just kind of stuck with you for years after, can you?"

"I can recite the first eighteen lines of pi - learnt that when I was eight," Tony said, somewhat proudly. "But I don't remember any poems that I read to any girls. Most of the time, I don't remember the girls."

"Charming."

"How does it go?" Bruce asked. "The bit that you remember?"

"It starts out with a whole lot of gibberish." Steve began. "Something brillig and gimbals - we never really worked those out. Then it's something like ''The Jabberwock, with flaming eyes'... something something 'tulgey wood' and... uh... bellowing... Hang on, I'll get it." Steve paused for a minute, considering the rest, then began to recite - picking up the pace as he grew more familiar with the verse. "The Jabberwock, with eyes aflame, came whiffling through the tulgey wood and burbled as it came.' Then the hero comes along, you see: 'One, two, one, two and through and through, the Vorpal sword went snicker-snack. He left it dead and with its head, he came galumphing back'."

Steve looked undeniably pleased with himself, and even Bruce raised his shaggy brows in appreciation, feeling rather like he should offer some applause. Tony, however, leapt up from the couch, aiming a finger at the overgrown boy scout - his eyes wide.

"Jarvis," he said, fumbling on his notepad with one hand. "Are there any other instances of that sword in the poem?"

"Only that the hero 'took his Vorpal sword in hand', Sir. That is all. It doesn't appear to have much meaning."

"It doesn't matter what it means," Tony said, excitedly. "It's something... What are Vorpal swords? Are there any stats listed? Does it harbor any characteristics that fit 'kicking the shit out of a God'?"

"There isn't really much of a classification," Jarvis answered. "Victorian writers were keen on playing with phonetics, and Vorpal is just another of Carroll's popular nonsense words. It could describe the name of the sword, its material qualities, its use - there are many possibilities. There is no definition of the shape or colour either - so it could possibly be a black, single-edged sword for all we know. Countless game companies have since used it in their works: Dungeons and Dragons, Baldur's gate - the list does go on, Sir."

"If only I was a nerd," Tony stated, mildly.

"If?" Bruce sidelined. "I... Well I guess it's a bit of a coincidence. Do you really think it's something, though? Out of all the swords that Na-... Navi? stabbed Loki with, it's one from a nineteenth-century children's book?"

"Hey, a store magically appears in lower Manhattan - an unregistered store, I might add - which magically provides a cure for a magical wound made by a magical weapon. I hate to sound like a Saturday morning cartoon, but that's a clue enough for me, Scoob." Tony tossed his pen in the air and caught it with a flourish, grinning. "And who says the sword originated from the Alice book - that's far too in-the-box. It could be something that actually does exist on its own; maybe Carroll knew something we didn't. Maybe that crazy shopkeeper with the penchant for Trickster Gods- oh look, another clue!" Tony threw up his arms as his epiphany carried him away. "So the store owner has a shop named after a word in a poem which also happens to contain a sword. And she worships the Gods of Mischief - which is precisely what Thor said Loki liked to call himself. If those aren't leads, then I'm Marilyn Monroe. I think I'll pay our friend Nell another visit right now and see if she hasn't got any Jibberwackys hiding in under the counter."

"It's Jabberwocky and the Vorpal sword is just a name in a poem!" Steve said. "Really, Tony... You're considering a hunch that small?"

"So far all my gut feelings have been right," Tony retaliated. "I don't see you coming up with any ideas."

"Apart from remembering the poem," Bruce pointed out.

"That's not an idea, that's an element within an idea," Tony snorted. "That's twelve percent of an idea."

"Fine," Steve grinned at him. "You had eighty-eight percent of an idea. Well done."

Well that wasn't how Pepper had taken it. Tony scowled, realizing he'd been worded into a corner and flicked his pen onto the coffee table, shoving his notebook roughly back into his pocket. The other two did their best to stifle their amusement as he trudged out of the room, muttering something under his breath. Steve, who was fairly sure he heard something about 'entry-level low-lifes' added:

"Eighty-eight percent, Stark. You should be happy - that's just over three quarters..."

***

But Stark wasn't happy. Stark wasn't happy at all.

It was one thing for Rogers to shoot him that stupid, goopy I've-got-one-up-on-you-and-you-hate-it look, it was another for him to actually have a point, and that was what grated. Steve was the classic American pin-up of wartime resilience: strong, patriotic and with his heart firmly cemented in the Right Place. Tony, on the other hand - while his heart was in the general vicinity of the Right Place, it was anchored at an oblique angle pointing somewhere between superciliousness and self-promotion. He was a charitable man, certainly; he had no qualms over using his wealth and talents for human prosperity. He just figured that there was nothing wrong with ensuring that people knew about it? Why couldn't a hero get a little credit? It wasn't like Rogers hadn't had his face plastered over every classification of merchandise imaginable back in his hey-day.

Tony had to admit, he wouldn't have found it out of place to see Steve's photogenic face gracing a package of toilet rolls, a cheery speech bubble stabbing his head with something of a phrase like: "America loves Squidey-loo brand toilet paper! Thicker, softer - just like my brain!" accompanying his boyish grin. Chuckling to himself, he shook his head, blinking rapidly in the sunlight. He'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed that he'd trudged all the way out of Stark Tower and several blocks down the street before he actually realized he'd forgotten his sunglasses. And that his hair still looked exciting. He sighed, swiping at his shaggy crown, trying to herd his scattered thoughts into one workable direction. At least he'd managed to get to the area where Thor had caught sight of Nell's store - in fact, he had just spotted the dingy laundrette and the shady money scammers they had found it nestled between. Tony squinted, stopping to scan the storefronts lining the street. Hang on...

Been was the operative word it seemed, for as hard as Tony looked, there was no evidence that the tiny little hole- in- the-wall shop had ever been there. A blank space, onion-layered with ancient posters and peeling advertisements glared back at him. There wasn't even an alley - just a seam of brick where one building met another. Tony glanced about the street, wondering if in fact he had come the wrong way. But after a quick check with Jarvis on his coordinates, it appeared he was standing exactly where he'd crashed into Thor - he could almost see the skid marks from the tread of his sneakers on the pavement. He was in entirely the right place.

Only the store wasn't.

"Curiouser and curiouser." Tony murmured, rubbing his chin. Well that only made Nell even more suspicious, though it did also raise the point that he might never actually be able to call her out on it. It was one thing to be duped, it was another to never be able to catch the duper. Feeling mildly offended, though mostly baffled and a trite concerned, Tony spun on his toe, wondering if there was anything else he could do while he was out in order to pad out his search field. He couldn't return empty handed, not with his eighty-fucking-eight per cent of an idea hanging over his head. Steve would give him that look again, and his pride simply couldn't afford it. He had to come back with something.

The answer came in the form of himself. That was, a giant cardboard cutout of himself as Iron Man, standing in the window of Hank's Comics and Collectables, pulling quite the caricature of a "hero" pose. Tony tipped his head to one side, momentarily confounded as to whether his back and hips should be able to bend like that (much less, keep him upright). Then he shrugged and approached the store's entrance - snickering at the open sign which bore a colourful illustration of a gruff-looking, clean-shaven soldier inside a suit of armour that looked like some sort of crude, early prototype of his own and the words: Enter in the name of the Primach in bold papyrus.

Well, he wasn't too sure on who the Primach was, but Tony entered anyway, wrinkling his nose against the sudden aromatic bomb of rank ink, damp paper, cheap deodorant and, of course, no deodorant. Thick, particle board bookshelves stood in garrisons around him, effectively narrowing down the store interior to a single-person gangway. The air was stifling and seemed gritty. Something crushed underfoot; Tony wanted to believe it was a Cheeto. Wanted. Trying desperately hard not to itch off the claustrophobia, Tony smoothed his t-shirt a little, easing further into the depths of the room as though navigating a section of particularly dense brush. From the many bookcases and stands that flanked him, he caught the odd glimpse of wildlife - usually a little greasy and bespectacled and generally staring at him as though he was the second coming.

He'd almost wished he'd bought something with him as an offering of some kind - more cheetos perhaps. Or pop tarts? He should have had the forethought to wrestle some off Thor - for he was certain that by now he was surrounded. Whispers tickled through the lines of comic books, and, after a moment, a few more footsteps sounded somewhere near the back of the store. Pausing by a bookstand chock full of the latest issue of Iron Man #15, Tony swallowed hard as a sudden audience of flabbergasted pimply teenagers seemed to bleed out from the bookcases, holding various writing utensils and notepads clutched against the fronts of their ironic t-shirts. Tony studied them, mildly - another smile hitching the corner of his mouth. Something told him that if one went searching for magic, one couldn't turn one's nose up at the closest available expert (usually self-proclaimed, but nonetheless) when the real thing chose to play hard-to-get. Gamers, geeks, nerds - all of the above, or whatever they may wish to call themselves were really the perfect houses for information. Sure, they might not have the most accurate of knowledge, but they would have a lot of it, and in a more relevant way than he could even find in a bunch of crusty old books.

"A-are you... Mr Stark?" One boy said in a voice choking on puberty. The others stared expactantly - faces painted by acne cream, fantastically gothic makeup and insurmountable awe.

"The truth is... Yes, I am Tony Stark," he said, upgrading his smirk to a full-blown grin. "Hello, minions."

***

Thor rolled his coffee cup between his palms as though he were shaping clay. He was seated at the kitchen counter near the coffee percolator, dressed in loose pants and a T-shirt; his hair, newly washed, was pulled back into a tail of damp curls. Though he appeared a lot more relaxed than he had been in days, his expression was deeply troubled.

"I spoke with my brother again," he said - not looking at Steve, who had fetched him from the labs after the sandwiches he'd ordered for lunch had been delivered. "He appears to be much stronger."

"Well, that's a plus, isn't it?" Steve answered, carefully - finishing the last of his tuna on rye. "It was touch and go for awhile."

"Yes, I feared I might lose him." Thor admitted, ruefully. "But while I am glad his body is healing, I fear his mind may have suffered."

You mean he might be crazier than he already is? Steve thought to himself, trying hard to keep his face neutral. He shoved the last bite in his mouth. "Uh, why?"

"He wanted me to hit him with Mjolnir."

"Ok. And that's a bad idea, because?" Steve replied, without thinking. He felt guilty immediately, though, as the Thunder God cast him a look so sorrowful, it could have made a puppy kick itself. Steve didn't have a mean streak so much as a mild case of verbal diarrhea when it came to his opinion on the people he really didn't like. "I mean," he amended. "I mean, why would he want you to do that? Doesn't Myolna destroy things?"

"Mjolnir," Thor corrected him, absently. "And yes, its material is that of great strength - it was forged in the heart of a dying star, which proves its solidarity. There are few things that it cannot fell in battle. The weapons of the Avengers: Your shield, Stark's armor, and the brute strength of the Hulk are among those that test its strength. But to use it to break a spell? I am not sure that can be done."

"Why would he even suggest it?" Steve frowned. "I mean, what if you actually did think it would work and ended up bashing his hands off. He can't be that desperate, can he?"

Thor winced.

"I believe he is," he said, his eyes now downcast to the polished countertop. He took a gulp of his coffee and sniffed, scratching at the thicket of his beard. "For without his magic and without our Father's power to bring us home, we are very much grounded here on Midgard. Loki assures me that Father is beyond our reach; he has beseeched me not to try and contact Asgard at all. He is worried that the woman who injured him might try to come after us. This troubles me greatly, for if this Warlord has managed to best Odin-"

"Then that spells big trouble for the both of you," Steve finished with a nod. "But are you really sure he's actually trying to protect you? I thought you said that he was irreconcilable?"

"He was," Thor said. "At least, the last time he came to Midgard he was. Perhaps his imprisonment allowed him to clear his mind of the cats?"

Steve would have laughed at Thor's phrasing - he obviously never forgot a thing anyone said to him - but he couldn't quite drudge up the mood for it. Loki was dangerous, and he knew just how to tune Thor in order to make him play exactly as he wanted. It made Steve sick to his stomach, and the saddest thing was that the only person who seemed oblivious to such a fact was the Thunder God himself. Steve knew that if it came to stopping Loki from manipulating his brother, Tony and Bruce would back him up. But at the moment the whole situation was up in the air. Loki was behaving, as far as Steve had heard; he seemed to be thinking clearly, talking straight and was genuinely concerned about keeping Thor out of this woman's hair. The problem was, should they even believe him about the Lady Warlord in the first place?

"Tony reported that he came here through some sort of gate and that he didn't actually need magic to use it," he said instead. "Can you confirm that these sort of things exist?"

"They are old magic, but yes. Asgard has many." Thor nodded. "Loki and I used to play in them when we were children. I think most are sealed though - they can become very dangerous if they are left for a long time left without someone to maintain them. I am not surprised Loki knew about the remaining ones however - Heimdall had said that Loki knew of many ways to escape Asgard, which is one of the main reasons Odin had placed such strong binding magic upon him. The only thing his magic did not stop was-" Thor broke off suddenly, his eyes wide, and glanced at his hands.

"Was?" Steve frowned. "Was what?"

Thor shook his head dismissively.

"Nothing. Just a minor spell to keep a... physical ailment in check." he said, carefully. "It is not of importance, I assure you."

"I'm not assured." Steve said, unhappily. "Not at all. But I guess I'll have to trust you."

"Well, actually-" Bruce chimed in as he padded into the room, barefoot - wringing his hands somewhat guiltily as he approached the pair. "You probably can trust him, Steve. More than you think."

"What do you mean?" Thor twisted in his seat, his brow knitting as Banner moved to stand against the back of the couch, leaning his weight against it. There was a wet patch on the back of his shirt where drips from his wet hair had collected, but he paid it no mind. "What have you done to my brother?"

"It's not what we've done, it's just something we haven't mentioned," Bruce said gently, though his smile was a touch hesitant. "It's just a little bit of information that came through one of our scanners when Loki first got here. Remember that device we were testing with you, Thor? The one that could detect your level of... well, of "Godly energy" I suppose is the easiest way to put it."

"Yes." Thor replied. "The strange black box that made interesting noises. I remember the one. What of it?"

"Well, for starters let's say Loki is still under your father's spell," Bruce explained. "You said he could often move about undetected, but to be invisible would require a certain about of ability, wouldn't it?"

"I believe it is a basic spell that allows him to do this; a glamour I once heard him say."

"Would that be something your father's spell would stop?"

"Aye, of course!" Thor exclaimed. "That would be the first thing to go! Loki is as slippery as an eel enough without being able to glide unnoticed through the halls of the Palace!"

"But he should still come through the scanner as a God? It would still pick him up as such?"

"Aye, I suppose so. Unless Odin or the woman's sword has rendered him mortal," Thor mused, rubbing his neck. "Mortal, as I was on my first visit here."

"If he was mortal, then..." Steve narrowed his eyes. "What about this 'physical ailment'? Would that still show?"

Thor opened his mouth to answer, but found he could not. Indeed, that was certainly something... If Loki was mortal, surely his giant's heritage would take over? It would not make sense for him to appear human, as Thor had - logically, if Loki's powers were erased, his true form should be revealed. And as of his imprisonment on Asgard, the only thing stopping that was the grace of his Father's implementations. Spells. Power. Which would most likely turn up on the scanner - just as Bruce had implied. There was no other explanation for Loki to look like a human unless...

"It would," Thor admitted, generally confused. "Very much so. Therefore-"

"He's lying," Steve said immediately. "Or he's-"

"Human," The Thunder God finished, his voice rumbling with a subtle warning for Rogers to lay off. "Human. It is the only way that... yes. It is the only way." There. He'd said it. He'd no idea how it could be true, for that kind of transformation would take a tremendous amount of power. But it wasn't completely out of the question.

"Is that even possible?"

"Perhaps. Loki warned me that the Warlord Navaar seemed much stronger than she let on." Thor chewed on a fingernail, anxiously. "He also said that Father had called her an 'Elder God'. I do not know of such a being, but I believe that she may indeed be just as formidable as he claims. What I do not understand is why she only wounded him? A strike to the gut in such a way would not kill a God."

"Unless..." Bruce stroked his chin. "Unless the sword is what changed him. That's what Tony's been working on; the weird way the sword reacted with his body. What if this Navaar knew that was going to happen all along? What if she meant to send him here?"

"Or, once again, it's just another story he's fabricated." Steve added, twisting a napkin about in his hands. "Sorry, Thor. I just don't trust the guy."

"I know this, Stephen," Thor replied, gravely. "It is hard to say what might be the truth. Though I am not sure why you seek my council, as neither of you seem to think I am a fair judge-"

"Hey, no one ever said that!" Bruce threw in, quickly.

"It is written all over your faces every time someone mentions my brother's name," Thor told him, tiredly. "I can see it very well. You think that Loki has me twisted around his little finger. It is not so. I care deeply for my brother and I feel he is my responsibility. But I shall not, as you say, 'give him an inch' - for I know he will take a league in retaliation."

It was Steve's turn to look guilty this time.

"It's not that we don't trust you," he said. "It's just that we're pretty certain Loki's going to take any advantage he can to get what he wants from you. And whatever that may be, my inkling is that it won't be good."

"Your inkling," Thor said in a cold voice as he pushed up from his seat. "Against my kinship with him for hundreds of years."

"Thor, please," Bruce reasoned. "Sometimes it's hard to see a problem when it's been staring you right in the face - when you've known it for so long, you've gotten used to it. We want to believe that Loki's intentions are purely for your benefit - even if it just means he gets a bodyguard, or four while he recuperates. But first and foremost, Loki is a war criminal here. And what'll sell his story for most of us, is his acknowledgement of that."

"Maybe not sell," Steve supplied. "More like a small discount on disbelief."

"He has had his trials!" Thor protested. "He has... Father has..." His expression crumpled and he shook his head, defeated. "It is true, I do not know what kind of recompense Odin had sought for him. I was not allowed into any of the hearings; it was deemed that I might aggravate things. Father had assured that he was under strict monitoring, but that is all I know. Then I was granted leave to visit Jane Foster."

"Almost as if he was trying to get you out of the way?" Steve raised a brow.

"Or to guarantee you wouldn't interfere with whatever Odin was doing," Bruce added. "Either way, you can't be sure as to what happened. Just as you can't be sure if what your brother says is true."

"Just as you cannot trust your technology with magic," Thor countered. All three looked at each other, cagily. Then Thor drained his coffee in one gulp and rose up from his stool, striding purposefully toward the stairs. "I feel this conversation is going nowhere - we should just ask him. Then we can judge for ourselves by his response."

"Ooh boy," Bruce groaned as he watched Thor disappearing out of sight. "I'm not sure this is going to go as well as he anticipates. We should stop him."

"Yes, let's." Steve agreed, still torturing the shredded napkin. Neither hero moved. Finally, Bruce gave a resigned sigh and slid off his seat.

"Come on," he said, making a vague gesture in the general direction of the infirmary. "We should at least stand in the doorway. Even if Thor has this covered, his little brother might still tweak out at him."

"Yep, I don't doubt those cats in his head have got some claws," Steve agreed, slipping to the ground.

"It's not the cat's claws I'm worried about," said Bruce. "It's Loki's."

***

It was late when Tony returned from traversing amongst the varying divisions of nerd-dom that Manhattan's colourful midsection (well, it wasn't exactly the underbelly - not when the only weapons being touted were made out of plastic and went ffssshong, and the only shady dealings were in trading cards) had to offer. Though he hadn't made a remarkable dent in the mystery surrounding Nell, the sword and Loki's attacker, he certainly came back feeling a little more stabilized in his opinion. Yawning, he dragged himself into his den, dropping his bag of geek paraphenalia on the floor as he made his way over to the bar and poured himself a generous measure of scotch as a reward for simply making it home. He'd managed to make quite an impression on his fanbase, that was certain, and had handled the growing masses of admirers who had been more than willing to tell him all about swords, Vorpal swords or Vorpal anything for that matter with an air of considerate grace that even Pepper would have been proud of (though he last the last store with the parting words "I must go, my people need me!". He was just chuffed he'd fit the meme in. Pepper would have made him walk home). The information he'd gathered was plentiful and ranged from particularly insightful to downright vague, but it would certainly do.

Prying his bluetooth device out of his pocket, he tapped his toe on the floor, swallowing the warm scotch in one practised gulp. The burn of the alcohol seared the back of his throat and effectively blasted the mist from his mind, allowing him to focus on sorting through the vast new collection of intel. Blinking groggily as his body struggled to catch up to his revving thoughts, he suddenly realized that he was alone in the den - even Bruce wasn't about as usual, dozing on the couch with the tv blaring. Tony glanced quizzically at his watch - It wasn't that late. Although for Steve it was probably a school night.

"Where is everyone, Jarvis" he asked, rubbing his neck.

"Mr Banner is snoozing on the sofa in lab 2," Jarvis began. "He is still working on a holistic medicine-based painkiller for Master Odinson. Mr Odinson and Mr Rogers are sparring in the gym."

""Why am I not surprised?" Tony commented, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He found it incredibly amusing that Jarvis had thought to title Thor's little brother as "master" to differentiate between the two, while keeping with his usual stuffy decorum. "Loki's asleep again, I take it?"

"Actually, I should like to alert you to his movements," Jarvis said. "For as of this moment, it appears he is trying to get out of bed."

"What?" Tony gaped into space. Most people, when talking to the A.I., would look at the ceiling - even Pepper hadn't quite shaken the habit. But Tony was used to the idea that Jarvis was pretty much anywhere and everywhere he had censors, so really one could look at any point in the room when addressing him and still be correct.

"I believe he is upset," Jarvis explained. "It seems Messrs Odinson, Rogers and Banner decided to let him know of the Celestial Callibrator's findings in order to judge whether he was not providing truthful information about his current, powerless state. I had warned them against it, considering his fragility, yet they seemed adamant that revealing the facts would satisfy them all."

Tony's mouth still hung open in an O of surprise, though his expression cooled remarkably quickly. The team had agreed, at some point on the Saturday morning when Thor was sponging sick out of his hair and Steve was looking green enough to pass for Hulk's cousin, that they wouldn't inform Loki of his lack of bells and whistles. Bruce had reasoned that it might be more beneficial to hold onto that information while they worked out if Loki's actions were wholly genuine. It probably would have taken a little while to reveal his tell, but they'd all concurred that it would show eventually - one way or another. But after all that planning, they'd just folded straight away? Tony was more than surprised - they'd barely allowed him to recupe before tossing in the grenade.

"Oh?" he said after a moment's gawping. "And how'd he take it?"

"Remarkably well at the time," the A.I. replied. "It seems all three gentlemen left quite disappointed and quite without answers. But I believe this was all something of a bluff. Loki has since become quite agitated and, despite my warnings, has been avidly trying to throw himself out of bed."

"Guess he dropped his game face?" Tony slid the tumbler onto the benchtop and moved back across the lounge - quickening his pace as he hit the stairs.

"I believe so," Jarvis replied, somewhat dropping his voice - or at least reducing his volume. "His pulse has quickened and his temperature is elevated. It is the classic signs of someone in distress. I do not think he anticipated receiving such information."

"Which in turn helps out his story - he really doesn't know what happened to him." Tony muttered as he passed lab 2, glancing in the doorway at the sleeping form of Banner on the couch. "Don't tell the others yet. Not yet. Don't even tell the guys I'm home - I can be out drinking or something - they'll believe that. It might be better to just-"

"-allow him someone to trust? Someone who hadn't been drilling him for information after delivering such a blow?"

"Yeah, all that."

"Good," Jarvis seemed pleased. " I agree wholeheartedly sir."

***

He found Loki dangling half in, half out of the infirmary cot - practically knitting himself up in not only his IV tube, but the wires of his pulse monitor as well. His sheets had been kicked back and clumped in a sorry mess at the foot of the bed while his pillow abseiled treacherously off the side of the mattress. Upon waking earlier that day, Loki had since been dressed in a theatre gown, probably by Banner, in order to give him a little extra warmth and decency. That decency, however, had currently been shelved, for Loki's garments now clutched about his thighs, showing off a fair amount of pale ass as he helplessly struggled.

Something nasty, dark and bearded in the back of Tony's mind was laughing and pointing at the God's misfortune, but if Stark found Loki's predicament entertaining, he didn't show it. Instead, he rounded the side of the bed, quietly - making sure not to look directly at Loki's face - and caught his arm, hauling him back onto the mattress in one swift movement. Loki grunted, hissing as his side complained, but Tony simply ignored him as he began to untangle the monitor wires. Keep it impersonal, he thought to himself. Keep it casual - it's unlikely Loki wants a fuss made out of him, he's far too proud for that. Hunching over Loki's hips, Tony peeled the electrodes away from his pale chest - freeing him from the first machine, which flatlined apologetically. Then, under the scrutiny of Loki's reproachful stare, he reached over and carefully plucked the IV needle from his wrist, hooking it back on its stand. Loki probably didn't need it anymore anyway - not if he was already able to get up and around. Tony watched as Loki batted down the hem of his gown, pulling a sour face as he did so.

"I suppose you are going to chastise me for moving," he said, tightly.

"Can't say it's the best idea, no," Tony agreed. "But I wasn't going to comment."

"I find that... highly doubtful."

He was out of breath, Tony noted. But whether that was from his brief tussle with his blankets, or the sudden surge of disappointment, shock and disbelief that was clearly marbling his expression was something Stark didn't want to place his bets on, not just yet. Loki's composure was nothing like that of the ornery God who infiltrated Stark Tower and stood in snooty magnificence while he listed off the Avenger's many failures. No, this Loki could not seem to stop what Tony read as a mild stab of panic from fracturing his composure. He was confused - maybe even a little wary. Tony wouldn't have gone as far to say that he was frightened, but the way in which Loki trembled - his eyes darting about nervously, as though he could sense something was very wrong - only seemed to prove it. Unsure of how to proceed without things becoming more awkward than they already were, Tony leaned down and curved Loki's arm over his shoulder - ignoring the sudden yowl of pain as he pulled the trickster into a sitting position, then slid them both forward onto the floor.

"Where did you want to go?" he asked, feeling a little sorry as Loki clutched his side - hissing under his breath. "You need the bathroom?"

Despite his discomfort, the trickster was looking at him as though he'd grown a second head. He shifted his weight, gingerly, bending one knee a little in order to allow Stark to support him properly. He was much taller than the other, but he was stooping enough that they were almost face to face. Tony could have sworn he heard the sound of his beguilement slamming on the breaks. Green eyes considered him for a moment before Loki said:

"I wish to bathe."

Well that was almost fair enough. Though Tony, Bruce and Thor had done their best to clean him up, as time after time he reinvented the pea soup scene from the exorcist (and then again in between, when he seemed to be more sweat than person), he was still probably feeling icky as all hell. A shower probably wouldn't hurt. Tony very much doubted that Loki was the type of God who would agree to a sponge down. That was more for the Athenian lot...

"Okay, but if you do I'm standing outside." he said flatly. "And I'm gonna have to stick a great big clear bandage on, which will be a pig to remove after, but at least it'll keep the water out. Deal?"

"That is of no concern to me."

"And you can't tell the others." Tony added. "Or I'll cop it."

If Loki were in a better mood, Tony was certain that comment would win him something of a smile; a smirk, maybe. But as it was, he only nodded in mute agreement, leaning his meager weight fully on Tony's shoulders as they began to move toward the infirmary toilet, stopping on the way to procure the aforementioned dressing. It was only a little way out of the theatre and into lab one, but with Loki's hindered pace, it took more than ten minutes to get him leaning against the sink, panting with the exertion and Tony began pointing out the controls on the shower head. This only earned him another pinched look from his charge and he found himself quickly dismissed as Loki snatched the adhesive dressing from his free hand and batted him away, hissing in a broken voice for privacy. So Tony left him, shutting the door he moved back into the lab, readjusting his dishevelled shirt. Right... now he had to find something to do.

Once Stark was safely out of sight and busying himself with something or other, Loki reached into the shower stall and turned on the water - easing back against the sink as he slowly, painfully began to undress. The task was tiresomely problematic, as lifting his left arm over his head, in turn stretching his punctured abdominal muscles, was almost more painful than he could bear. Perhaps he might have managed if his medication wasn't beginning to lose its effectiveness, but for now the injury hindered him and he had to resort to slinking awkwardly out of the gown through the neck. Shaking badly from the effort, he fumbled with the backing strips of the plastic bandage, applying first the front, then the back with more than a little difficulty. He stifled a cry as he twisted to reach the second wound, his stitches pulling taught against sensitive flesh and, once he had finished, he turned around again - leaning heavily on the porcelain vanity as he fought to catch his breath. He felt faint and giddy. His legs felt weak, and he realized very quickly that moving out of bed was probably not the smartest idea for someone in his condition.

But what was his condition? What was it that Navaar had done to him, apart from drive her sword through his belly and basically make digesting a whole lot more painful for the next few weeks. What else was there to this wound? The others had said that he didn't read on their technology as a God, but then... then... what was he? Simply removing all his powers would reveal him as a Jotun, so...

Loki shook his head weakly as he staggered over to the cubicle and painstakingly inched under the spray. The water hit his dark crown with a strong pressure and cascaded through his hair and over his skin. Dirt, sweat and grime trickled away in glistening eddies and he shivered appreciatively, toeing the plughole. He didn't want to think about it, not yet. Not until he'd at least attempted to wash them away - those thoughts. They'd crept in, slowly, lasciviously, as he'd wandered the city in the rain - bleeding into his numb fingers like poison from a bee-sting. They'd settled in the pit of his stomach as he stood in Tony's lift, twisting his guts into gordian knots and hissing the truth in his ears. When he was ill, they'd screamed at him - telling him he didn't deserve it, his Godhood; snarling that the best thing anyone could have done was take it away. Take it all away, and leave him like this. Human. Horribly, torturously human - which, indeed, he was.

Loki knew it, bone deep. He'd wanted to stave off believing for so long, but the moment he crawled through the gate to Midgard, he knew that something was different. Something was off - and there it was. He could feel it. His skin prickled with the unnerving sensation of it dying and shedding at the same time as he wore it. The rank scent of sweat and blood on his flesh was thick in his nose and his hair stank of oil and bile - it hung stickily against his neck and itched behind his ears. There was a tenseness in his temples, his eyes were still sore and heavy from his retching and his mouth was filled with a rank, thick laquer. The sensation came at him harder than the force of Navaar's blade, and he choked - grasping at the pipe above to hold him steady. Gods could be wounded, Gods could hurt - killed if their foe is strong enough. Their wounds ached and bit like cleanly as they liked, but the illness and weakness that followed was nothing compared to that of a mortal's. A human's sense of being was at a much higher level than a God's - given that a mortal body regenerates itself constantly throughout its short life - changing and growing at a rate that used to astound the young scholars of Asgard. Loki, however, did not appear to appreciate this fact any longer. He'd had swords through him before - pikes nearly taking his arm off - yet after a rest in the palace healing room, after a mere day's recuperation he was back on his feet and ready to fight again. Here, on Midgard - after a long illness suffered in the hospice of his one-time enemies he could barely stand. There were no healing stones, there was no quick fix. There mightn't even be a fix at all.

A low bark of complete anguish wrenched Loki from his trance and he stumbled, equally dazed by the heat of the water and startled by the power of his own emotions. His knees gave beneath him as his strength finally caved and he fell hard against the back wall of the shower, his head connecting sharply with the tiles - forcing his teeth into his lip. Another cry, just as weak and broken sailed out of his mouth before he could stop it and he shuddered as though riddled with death throes, sinking into a lanky heap at the bottom of the stall. There he lay, curling slowly in on himself as the shower rained down from above. He'd thought he could wash it away, the mortality - the human-ness. The feeling of loss was overwhelming - so overwhelming that it punched the breath from his lungs. But he couldn't wash it away, he couldn't. It was a stupid idea and he felt like a child. He felt like a fool. If Navaar had meant to punish him, then she had done well - killing him would have been far kinder. Gods could masquerade as mortals; Gods could be rendered powerless. But Gods were not meant to be human.

Tony had been tugging the old sheets off the infirmary bed with the intent to somehow make it again (he'd no idea how - that was usually Pepper's league of expertise. If someone asked Tony Stark how to make a bed, he'd tell them he'd have the blueprints ready in an hour and that he could probably start on the framework in the afternoon) when he heard several thumps followed by a sharp howl of pain coming from the bathroom. For a moment he stood stock-still, the age old response when one has heard something they'd rathernot, and are genuinely hoping that by not moving a muscle, the occurrence will somehow negate itself. However Tony was far more practical than that, and within a few seconds, he'd charged across the infirmary floor and pushed into the bathroom, already amped to take whatever abuse Loki would have to throw at him for intruding.

Well, what Loki would have, thrown, had he not completely disappeared from view. Tony frowned and padded closer to the stall, peering in as nonchalantly as he could in case he caught Loki cleaning bits he probably didn't want Tony to see - despite the fact that Stark, Banner and even Thor had seen pretty much everything when they had him on the operating table. Loki hadn't vanished, of course - nor was he involved in any degree of personal scrubbing. He simply lay at the bottom of the shower, his arms wrapped about himself; his green eyes clouded, shaded by the thick, wet straps of his hair, and staring at nothing. He didn't even lift his head as Tony opened the door.

Ah, Damn. This didn't look promising. Initially Tony had tried to play off the idea that Loki hadn't quite been himself when he'd rescued him for the clutches of his medical equipment - indeed, he hadn't really wanted to entertain Jarvis' notion that the God had been upset in any way. It wasn't just because Loki was Loki, and feeling sorry for him tended to propagate the same sensation as pulling fingernails, it was just that if there was one thing Tony wasn't so adept at, it was playing the sympathetic ear. For all his personal woes, for all his own bad patches, he'd never quite managed to translate his ability to dig himself out of his own self-constructed holes of desolation into an active sense of empathy. He was almost there - Yinsen had struck that match and the flame had been burning long since Tony left his Mach 1 armor in the desert - but he hadn't really refined it yet. Tony took a long breath and chewed his lower lip, massaging his chin with his hand.

Sorry Thor, I appear to have broken your brother.

"Is this how they shower on Asgard?" He tried, lamely. Loki didn't even register a response. For a moment, Tony stared at him, watching as the water painted his body in streaks of refracted light and caused his dark hair to curl in slick tendrils over his face. The thrum of droplets against the glass walls filled the room and drilled on and on until it became little more than white noise. Tony rubbed his hand over his eyes and sighed.

"Come on," He said, raising his voice a little. "Get up. You can't stay in here all night."

When Loki failed to answer him a second time, Tony reached into the shower space and prodded his pale knee rather forcibly. The God gave up a weak moan in response - his fingers dusting over the area where Tony had nudged him, sweeping the sensation away.

"Leave me."

"Why, so you can continue trying to dissolve down the plughole? You practicing the art of becoming a prune? No, Loki. You're coming with me. Now."

"Your humor is ill-timed and detestable."

"You're detestable."

"How dare you!" Loki spat, his thin fingers spasming angrily about his ribs. His toes curled as he drew his knees up, like he was shielding himself from his unwanted social worker. Tony only glared.

"I'll dare all I like if you're going to sit at the bottom of a shower acting like a five-year old!" He hissed back, now pushing fully into the stall - oblivious to the pummelling spray. "Like I'm going to let you lie there and waste four days, four days of my time, just because you woke up to a bit of bad news. You have no idea how much work its been to actually get you back on your feet! I could have been working on something else - I could have been developing something that might'a helped my fellow citizens deal with the mess and loss you caused in my city, but no. I chose to put those hours into patching up your sorry ass. And for what? A half-baked story about some giant God chick on steroids, your hometown becoming a ghetto and some damned magic-fucking sword."

"You insult me?" Loki rasped. He still hadn't moved, but Tony had certainly got his attention. He could see his eyes, livid green with anger, glowing like pools of phosphorus beneath the sodden curtain of his hair. "I told you the truth, you irritating, half-witted-"

"Half-wit? Who's the half-wit?" Tony fired back, equally as riled now that Loki had really set his temper boiling. "Oh wait, I know - how about the guy that collapsed on my floor, practically bleeding his guts out of his navel. How about the asshole who only coded two times on my surgical table when he got too fucking weak for his body to maintain him anymore! How about the halfwit who is trying to catch himself a nice bout of hypothermia now? Or maybe it's pnuemonia, you're after - that's a bit more dramatic and you're all about the show, aren't you? Or are you actually trying to drown yourself? I'd advise the sink - or the toilet. C'mon, let's go flush your words away with all the rest of the piss and shit!"

"You will cease this remarkably dull attempt to incense my wrath right now," Loki hissed, his voice dangerously low and barely perceptible over the hum of the shower."I warn you, Stark, I will-"

"You'll what? Bleed on me?" Tony countered, leaning over to grasp Loki's shoulder. The other pulled away, but Tony gasped the wet skin, firmly - digging his blunt nails in. "Attack me with a sponge? Cry to your big brother? No. You have no right to run your mouth at me, Loki. You're in no position to start making threats cos that's probably one of the worst things you could do, what, me having three other super-powered mates sleeping over for the time being while you're busy being a pain in my ass. You have no powers, you have no Godly juice to throw at us - not for the time being anyway. So just suck it up. We saved your life, you goddamn ungrateful shitpiece - you almost died!"

"I am dead!"

It wasn't a hiss that time, but a wail - a thin, strained wail that cracked Loki's smooth vitriol like a hammer to a coat of wax. Tony grabbed his arm and pulled him upright roughly, ignoring the scream that peeled from the other's lips as he did so. He shoved the fallen God against the wall, cupping his jaw with one hand, while the other raked Loki's hair out of his eyes. He wanted to get a good look at him; wanted to see just how Loki was taking this sudden and unexpected twist of fate. If he had plans and they'd been broken by his uncalculated mortality, then the proof of that would be showing right now.

No anger greeted him; no rage or dissent. Loki's eyes were bleached with alarm and limned by the crimson evidence of tears. His cheeks and nose were marked by high points of hectic colour and his lips trembled under the terrible weight of the truth. Tony swallowed forcibly. This, he hadn't expected.

"I am dead," Loki repeated. "You wouldn't understand - you're used to this feeling. You've always been mortal; I haven't. You have no idea how it is to wear this skin. To know your blood pumping in your veins and sense the rhythm of your heart like the rattle of a subway train through your body. To sense everything, everything so strongly - strong enough that it is almost overwhelming. And to know that, given time, these things are going to run out of life. One day, they will cease to work; as will you."

"Loki-"

"Gods don't feel this way, Stark. We don't feel things as mortals do - we can't. Something that will run forever can never be the same as something with a life so limited, it begins expiring the moment it is born! We eat and sleep the same for a while, but the older and more powerful we get, the less we have to. I can feel this form dying, Stark. It is rotting around me." Loki bit his lip and pressed his eyes closed. Drops of water caught in the veils of his lashes like beads. "And there's nothing I can do about it. I promise you, on my soul, there is nothing in my power that will fix this. I don't... I don't know what to do."

Tony let his hands slip from Loki's face to his upper arms, as though he were the only thing holding him in place while he studied the other's painfully woeful expression. Loki was being honest, brutally honest and there was something about that and the way that he could not bring himself to look in Tony's eyes that hammered it in. Thor had said his brother was skilled at crafting the truth to his own design; that his friends had often dubbed the young prince a "liesmith" when they thought his sibling wasn't listening. Well, if Loki was as good as they'd said, and if he was really trying to garner Tony's empathy, then there was no way he'd let himself slip with an obvious tell like avoiding eye contact. No, this wasn't hiding the truth, this was admitting shame.

"What you'll do," Tony said firmly, digging his fingers into Loki's arms a little in effort to get him to concentrate. "Is get up. Then you'll dry off. Then we'll change your bandages, I'll give you a shot and you can go to sleep. That's all you need to think about right now."

Loki glanced at him then, tipping his head up a little. Streams of water trailed down his face and he blinked, moving his lips a few times as though he was about to speak. Tony just shook his head.

"If you're mortal, you may as well take life as mortals do - one day at a time." He explained. "At least until we figure out how to reverse it, or fix you - or whatever. There's no sense in letting this get to you if it's going to undo any of the good work that we've done, and the work you're going to put in yourself. You've come this far already - you can't stop just because you're not full of godly mojo anymore."

"I have no magic, there is little else-"

"Magic schmagic." Tony interrupted him, flippantly. "So you can't pull a rabbit out of a hat, so what? If you're smart, you'll utilize what you do have right now and make it work for you. That's what we mere mortals do. Like right now, for example, you've got me out of my comfort zone - I couldn't pep talk a boy scout, let alone console a.. a..."

"Fallen God?" Loki supplied.

"I was going to say "inconvenienced", but whatever." Tony shrugged. "Anyway, you get what I'm saying, right? Don't make me drag this out any longer, or I swear you're going to want to throw me out a window again and this time I wouldn't blame you. Are you going to get up?"

Loki thought for a moment, then nodded briefly.

"Atta boy."

It took a few tries for Loki and Tony to find a way of getting the ex-God to his knees without aggravating his wound too much, but once they had swiveled and repositioned themselves a few times, they finally managed. Stark crouched, pulling Loki's good arm over his left and took his other hand, pressing it to the bandage on his side.

"Press in as you push up," he warned. "It'll remind you to keep straight and that'll help support all the broken bits. Make sure you lean all your weight on me and use your right foot, not your left. Ready?"

Loki nodded and eased in close, practically resting his chin on Tony's collarbone. Tony could feel the pressure of his hand on his scapula and the brush of his chest against his own. Loki smelled like warm, clean skin and soap (though he didn't appear to have touched the bar on the shelf) and Tony found himself drawing in a sharp breath as the other's cheek bone grazed his ear and the backs of his slender fingers clutching the wound at his side brushed against his stomach. He realized then, as he rested his hands about Loki's ribs, that they were practically embracing.

Oh God, please don't let Bruce walk in right now...

With a grunt and a searing hiss from Loki, they were on their feet - still standing under the stream of hot water as it ran. Steam puffed about them in thick clouds. For a moment they remained, still sandwiched together, Loki's breath sailing through Tony's dripping hair and Tony's fingers fervently grasping the skin of Loki's back, desperately fighting the urge not to clutch, as his shorter stature had forced them to slip lower. Loki cleared his throat softly, then straightened, scrutinizing his saviour as a bewildered look passed over his features. Which Tony missed, of course, as in their confined space, all that he got was a face full of pale chest. Trying not to stare, Tony aimed his eyes at the floor then, realizing that wasn't such a good idea either; the ceiling.

"You did not think to turn off the water?" Loki was asking him, while he blinked rapidly against the spray, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. "You are drenched."

"I didn't know how long we might be in here," Tony shrugged, reaching behind him to flick off the tap. The stream of water ceased with a rattle of the pipes. "Though it was better it leave it as it was."

"I suppose." Loki agreed. He grunted a little as he stepped out of the shower box and onto the bathmat, tugging a towel down from the rail, which he tossed at Tony. "You are very gifted, you know."

"I do, but it's nice to know what gift you're referring to in particular."

"Your ability to make a fool of yourself," Loki told him. "So that others may feel more.. comfortable."

"Oh, it's a talent, let me tell you." Tony threw the towel over his head. "Anyway, I couldn't have you wasting all the hot water like that, you know it'll take at least three hours for Thor to wash his hair." He began scrubbing at his scalp, blotting the water out of his dark hair while sneakily taking peeks at Loki from beneath the hem of his towel. The ex-God was gingerly blotting droplets off his skin, carefully minding his sorer areas. Though he still bore a greyish pale tinge from his sickness and the putrid yellow stain of the iodine on the skin of his torso, he was still something to look at. Unlike Thor and Steve, whose God like physiques were defined by muscle and brawn, Loki's bore a much rarer trait - the blessing of height, long limbs and formidably beautiful bone structure. His was the type of body that could not by attained by such mundane efforts as physical training - Loki's was a gift, a birthright, from his angular shoulders, to his slender waist; his high, scuplted cheekbones to his musicians fingers. Even drying himself off seemed like less of a chore and more of a dance - a task in which he set about with all the grace of a poet's quill.

This was a perfect body. This was a God's body. And upon noticing that (amoung other parts of said God's body) Tony suddenly decided that it was probably better if he dried and got changed in his own room. Or, preferrably, the fridge. Better yet, Antarctica. He unbuttoned his jeans and wrapped his towel about his waist, letting the heavy denim slide to the floor as he backed away slowly, pulling another towel from the rail adjacent to hold in front of him. Loki looked up, frowning, but Tony spoke before he could open his mouth.

"Uh... if you're ok to just... finish. I'll... I'm gonna just... I'll grab some dry things and come back in like... seven minutes or something."

"Stark-"

"If you can't make it to the bed, just wait there. I won't be long. Make sure you wrap yourself in a towel. Many towels. As many towels as you can fit. Just throw 'em all over and cover... cover it all up. You don't wanna get cold or something like that. I'm gonna, I'll... I'll be right back."

"Stark?" Loki said again as Tony attempted to propel himself out of the room, faster than shot from a barrel. The engineer stopped midway out of the door and raised his brows as he addressed the lightbulb.

"What?"

"I should like to th-"

"It's nothing. Nothing. Really," Tony brushed him off with a nervous laugh. "It's probably my fault in the first instance. Uh, that is, making you feel... like that, anyway - not the... the other thing. All those meds have probably just screwed with your system. Towels now, ok?"

"Tony."

"What?"

"You know I don't pull rabbits out of hats."

"Oh no, sure." Stark said, stubbing his toe on the doorframe in his haste. "'Course not. 'Cos that's... totally what I was thinking about... Yeah. Seven minutes, all right?" He added before slipping out of the room.

Loki sighed and carefully looped the towel about his waist, turning to run his hand through the haze on the mirror. A thin, bedraggled version of himself looked back through the steam-muddied glass - all gaunt and pallid-looking. His eyes were puffy and ringed with dark shadows and his lips were pale and bloodless. He clicked his tongue, mildly annoyed at his shameful outburst, but glad that his only witness was the lesser of the four evils present.

"Human," he said to himself, in a resigned voice. "Powerless. Useless. What will become of me?"

***

A/N: I didn't want to prattle at the beginning, so I thought I'd do it at the end instead. Hoorah!

This chapter killed me a bit - killed me with length, killed me with feels and while it didn't quite go for the throat with typos, it is probably poisoning me slowly and I'll end up correcting a whole load at two in the morning, several days down the track.

Oh Loki, you poor little ball of dramas, what will indeed become of you? What's Navvy up to, back in Asgard? What's the deal with this tardis of a magic shop? WHAT IS GOING ONNN? No one knows... except me. Sort of.

Anyway, thank you all for the kind words - reviews do make my day, I must say. It's nice to know that people are just as excited as you are about the next chapter. And I DO get excited; I find this story practically writes itself (if only they'd make an app for that) and I really, really enjoy coming up with new ways to embarrass the shit out of Tony and co. Somebody said they actually read Ilk at work. I'll let you in on something: I sometimes get so engrossed in an idea I start writing at work when I'm waiting for things to load (though there is only so small you can make a window before the text is almost intelligible). Anyway, I hope you had a nice sandwich to go with it...

I've had a couple of people ask that I leave the FrostIron element out of the story and while I'm incredibly, overwhelmingly flattered that those who are not into slash had started reading - despite the warning way back in the opening blurb of chapter one - I must insist that I do intend for Tony and Loki to get it on. Many times. Messily. Whether I separate those parts into a kind of side piece that gets posted elsewhere in order to comply with the rules of FFnet, or if I just allude to the bump n' grind, I have yet to determine. But there will be sex. Romance? Debatable. Hanky-panky - indubitable. I'm very sorry if this offends; please refer to the fruit artillery as per chapter one.

If there is anything else, I'm pretty much always on my tumblr. There's a tag for the ilk-related posts on the left side and I'm going to try and upload a bit of art (when I've drawn it) as well as various bits and bobs like teasers and things. You're more than welcome to pm me with questions, but if you want a quick answer, I'm best to reach there: sparklyhowitzer

Also, as of the next chapter, I'm going to change my FFnet handle to the same name, just to keep things in order. So if you don't see Jellymeat by Ilk any longer, it is because I no longer want to be associated with my cat's dinner.

Wow, long A.N is long - sorry folks! Long time!

Chapter 7: Pacifier

I'm the fury in your head.
I'm the fury in your bed.
I'm the ghost in the back of your head.

Spanish Sahara - Foals.

 

***

It wasn't often that one would find a God, well, an ex-God anyway, asleep in one's laundry room - his dark head resting on his forearms while he snored softly against the lid of the top loader as though it was a school desk. It wasn't often that Tony found his laundry room in the first place - only Jarvis had reported that it was where their guest had settled himself after a bout of early morning wandering. And since he hadn't moved for nearly an hour and a half, it was more more than likely that he was unconscious. Again.

Tony sighed and padded into the wash house, proceeding to take Loki's shoulder and shake it, gently. It had become a bit of a novelty over the past week for Loki to sleepwalk - or at least, sleep limp - about the tower, unable to settle until he anchored somewhere odd and collapsed, overcome by his stubborn efforts to be anywhere but the infirmary. If it wasn't for the hefty serving of painkillers, anti-inflammatories, anti-biotics and the occasional mild sedative that Bruce had been throwing down the Trickster's gullet on a thrice-daily basis, Tony would have put it down to narcolepsy. Steve preferred the notion that Loki was bowing toward more absurd and dramatic means to gain attention. He even went as far as to suggest that perhaps Loki had lost his will to live now he'd been degraded to a mortal body, and was so aghast by the shame, he'd deined to take himself off to die like a cat. Thor just gripped Mjolnir menacingly as the two joked, his growl rolling beneath Bruce's tentative explanation that it was most likely the extra that were causing Loki's listlessness. Fortune had it that once the ex-God's wound had really started to heal, Loki's body seemed much more accommodating to the synthetic pain killers. Therefore, in light of his earlier episode, where the ex-God had practically tried drowning himself in the shower, Bruce had hijacked Loki's daily menu and had added a whole new section for pharmaceuticals.

Bruce had, eventually, grilled Tony in the privacy of his room as to how Loki had actually managed to get as far as the bathroom in the first place (given that he'd been particularly brittle that day before he was told of his surprising twist of fate) and had only just managed not to rip his friend's head off in a fit of chartreuse rage when he explained himself. It was one thing to help the ex-God rebound from the emotional backhand that was his current, mortal situation; it was another to ruin your mate's excruciatingly impressive suture work and completely ignore how long it had taken for the damn things to stay healthy in the patient's skin rather than disintegrate into a lather of blighted pus.

But it did not matter either way, because once the ex-God had discovered that being upright and mobile was far more pleasant than being prone and horizontal, he made every effort to remain in that state - despite the amount that it hurt and fact that he had barely enough strength to remain in a standing position for more than twenty minutes. The finer drawbacks did not appear to bother him in the least as long as he wasn't being tied to a gurney. Besides, by the way he was dishing them out, Loki surmised that Banner had an endless supply of the little white pills that effectively filed the teeth on his pain, so really, there was no problem.

It all started with another shower. Tony was dubious at first when the ex-God obstinately demanded an escort to the bathroom in order to wash, but since he alone had been the only one to witness Loki's outburst, (and since he really, really didn't want the others to know that he and his temperamental guest had been in such a position of nakedness and witness-of-nakedness) he grudgingly obliged. Initially, he suspected Loki might trash the place, just for the hell of it. Or even break down into another sobbing mess (less, likely, but one never knew with Lord Psychological Trainwreck ). Yet after the trickster emerged smelling faintly of some flowery soap from a bathroom that seemed inherently unmarred, he decided that it had clearly been Loki's honest intention to get himself clean and not use the shower as a catalyst to encourage an escapade into semi-catatonia. Only that one visit wasn't quite the end of Loki's travels - far from it, in fact.

A few hours later, Bruce found him in Lab 2 - sprawled on the couch in a tangle of limbs and Tony's (Pepper's) angora throw. Then again, that afternoon, Thor almost tripped over him as he slumbered in the hall, propped up by the fish tank. An hour after that, he was found in the kitchen - inexplicably half in-half out of the pantry. Loki never bothered to say where he was going, or why - it appeared he had decided that was his business and no one else's. He simply let the others gather him back onto his feet and escort him back to his bed, sowing seeds of bewilderment and inherent frustration as he did so. To make matters worse, now that Loki insisted on being mobile, Thor begged the others to acquiesce - reasoning that his brother would only fight harder if he was resisted and that binding him probably wouldn't do much to sweeten his mood. Thor had sworn that he knew this from experience; the others knew better than to doubt him.

It had been several days since the ex-God had learned the truth behind his weakness, yet he still hadn't quite forgiven his older brother's abrupt declaration and the fact that he'd brought an audience with him to announce it. In retrospect, Thor believed that perhaps he might have handled things with a little more care; Tony just rolled his eyes and muttered something about bulls in china shops. Bruce asked nervously if Loki was the type to hold a grudge and swallowed hard as Thor turned the colour of old milk - mottling with a resplendency of lumpy goose pimples that somewhat completed the analogy.

However, after the third day and the eighteenth time that the small group had embarked on a wild God chase to hunt for their charge, the game of Seek was starting to grow decidedly tiresome. And so, when it was Steve's turn to find the errant trickster (teetering uncomfortably on the grand piano in a remarkable display of balance), the blond simply heaved him up and dumped him on the couch in the den, tossing him the remote control to the television. Loki had sparked half-awake insults all the while, he certainly appreciated being allowed to remain out of his sickbed. That had earned Steve something of a commendation and nearly a smile. Which didn't make Tony happy on many levels - particularly that he was unhappy in the first place.

Bruce, meanwhile - though he had not been so keen on endorsing the tricksters desire to exercise - clearly caved after a day or so, amicably swearing allegiance to "Team Loki" when he turned up one morning with a single crutch for the ex-God's support when moving about. Bruce had explained to the others that it was a peace offering, since it was his meatloaf of assorted drugs that had probably been the primary cause of Loki's viciously upset stomach, though Tony doubted his strategy was quite that innocent and wondered if Banner had struck up some kind of deal to be completed later on. If Tony held any knowledge at all of Myth and Legend, it was that Gods liked to make deals. Or was that demons?

Naturally, Loki gave his gift the most acerbic look possible - practically melting the aid into a piece of modern art with the intensity of his glare, but he accepted it with as much grace as a rusty nod could give. After half a day or so, it was almost illogical to think he'd ever glared in his life, given the distinct pleasure swathing his features as he gleefully limped about the labs. Such mobility was a firm improvement on his earlier attempts, where he would find himself having to spelunk off the furniture in order to cross a room.

But as much as the crutch reduced the amount of weight Loki put on his injured left side, it did not mask the pain entirely. He'd still been impaled. And he still hurt, very much so. Traversing the lab usually left him sheened in a light sweat and his first outing nearly left him entirely bedridden again as his irritated side throbbed with such a tenacity, he'd sunk to the floor, muted by pain and unable to move without gasping. After that, he'd taken things much slower, and opted for short, intermittent bursts of expedition with plentiful rests - his free hand either steadying him on a piece of furniture or a doorframe, or wrapping about his middle. Bruce took pains to remind him as often as he could of just how much damage the blade had done to his innards - and again just how long it took for them to patch him up for good - but despite the ailments and Banner's stern reprimands, Loki continued to persevere. And all the better for him, Tony had decided. Anything to keep his mind off the insufferable question: What now?

He squeezed Loki's shoulder again, rolling his eyes as the ex-God murmured indistinctly, then gave him a shove.

"Get up. You're in the laundry," Tony told him, sending a box of whitening detergent a forbearing look. "Not the best place to catch forty."

"I am fine," came the grinding response of someone who'd spent ninety minutes or so with their ribs crushed against the steel edge of a washing machine. "Let me be."

"Look, I know I don't use this room very often - granted Jarvis had to give me directions - but there's no need to take the piss." Tony told him, wryly. He glanced about again and raised his brows in surprise as he noted the full laundry bin and a pile of clean washing in the plastic basket. It appeared that while he'd never used the room before,someone had. Judging by the regiment of unimaginative colours, he guessed Steve. Typical, neat-freak Steve "Are you after some new duds or something? Blue jeans, white shirt... or do you only wear green and black? I'm never sure with you Asgardian types, though your brother isn't that fuss-"

Loki had raised his head to aim Tony a particularly sour look, which had the general effect of throwing a truck at the conversation. Though his glare (which Tony often thought he should suggest patenting) often tending to stop Thor dead in his tracks, Tony held his ground, motioning to the basket of cleans.

"Well, you might be discovering the wonders of being vertical and the luxury of showers three times a day," he reasoned. "But that gown, fetching as it is, really does nothing for you. Sure you wouldn't like to try something else?" Lifting up a white t-shirt, he continued, dangling the article in space like a flag of submission. "I mean, Steve's enormous, but it'd be the right length. If you just want something to slop about in for now, while we order you something new."

"I don't 'slop about'," Loki replied, tightly, though he reached for the shirt with one hand and inspected it, slowly pushing up from the washer to straighten. As he grimaced, Tony made to help him, but the ex-God batted his hand away tiredly. "Are there any breeches?" He rolled his eyes as Tony's mouth split into a grin. "I mean trousers, Stark. I don't know why you find that funny."

"Sounds like 'britches'," Tony chuckled, rooting about in the clean clothes for a pair of sweatpants or anything with a drawer string. Loki was far too thin to wear Steve's fitted slacks.

"Well, that is not what I said," Loki corrected him, stiffly. "There is a difference."

"So, it would be more correct to call you 'snitchy-breeches' rather than 'snitchy-britches'," Tony replied, handing him a plain pair of cotton pants. "You should fit those."

"It wouldn't be correct to call me anything other than my name," the ex-God said, stonily, snatching the legwear out of Tony's hand. He rested his bad side against the body of the machine for support and stepped into one leg, hissing through clenched teeth as he twisted. Tony watched him carefully - knowing better than to offer help, but at the same time, rather unable to look away. Especially when Loki slithered (slithered, there really wasn't any better word to describe the way in which Loki shed his surgery gown. For an item that had little sexual prowess, it suddenly became as sullied as a stripper's thong when the ex-God peeled out of it). Then there was the lengthy show of Loki's smooth, bare chest as he fumbled the t-shirt about in his hands. This time Tony found himself downright staring.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, an old Warner Bros cartoon was playing, where an anthropomorphic wolf whistled and salivated over a sexy young siren dancing on a stage. Only the wolf was now Tony himself, and the siren was a dark-haired man with ludicrously handsome infrastructure and the type of skin that would make Hellenistic statues weep. Something else, deep in the folds of his brain was silently prodding his common sense, mouthing fraternising with the enemy is a criminal offense, Anthony. Tony ignored it.

"Do you enjoy watching me dress?" Loki asked him, before painfully stretching the shirt over his head. The display of ribs and sculpted belly was almost too much. Tony blinked.

"Ye-uh what? No? I was just..."

"Staring."

"Into space. Yeah. That's all."

"Are you calling me vacuous?" Loki raised a brow. He almost had to, to indicate the joke, otherwise his human company tended to lose themselves in a bout of nervous glances. Tony was faster than the others to pick up, naturally - though Loki's humor was very dry and he often wondered if he was just being downright sarcastic. Rather than get it wrong, he just shrugged.

"Who you? Nah." You fill up a room, "Just thinking that I should probably rub off a load as well. I mean do-" Tony caught himself, hastily. "-do a load. A load of laundry. Clean clothes and all."

"I thought you never used this room," Loki parried, smoothing his hand over his shirt front. He shifted his weight and straightened again, scrutinizing his outfit. Both the shirt and pants hung on him - he didn't fill them out at all, nor would he ever have; he just wasn't that shape. But they did look a damn sight better than the gown. Tony pursed his lips, considering.

"I don't," he said. "But it's mine and I should."

"One should always make good use of the assets they have available," Loki agreed, completely missing the opportunity for a double entendre. The tightening in Tony's chest proved he wasn't, of course. He stepped back a little, desperate to put something between himself and the Trickster - who was carefully starting to limp a few steps toward the door. Much to his chagrin, Tony found himself waiting hopefully for Loki to pass him in order to catch a glimpse of his ass in those pants. The Something else that had been continuously poking his common sense, picked up an imaginary cudgel and started clubbing his libido over the head.

"Where are you going?" He found himself asking, fumbling as casually as he could in the cupboard beside him for something to busy his hands, lest he busy them doing something else. "You wanna give me a clue so that, in an hour, I'll know where to start looking in case you fall asleep in the pool or something?"

"There is a pool as well?" Loki seemed perplexed, but not at the fact that Tony had a swimming pool - moreso that he hadn't even thought about it. He might have grown up in a palace, but Tony Stark's Manhattan Tower was nothing less than a rabbit warren of luxuries that would raise even the most royal of eyebrows. Smirking somewhat, Tony fought the urge to mention the jacuzzi and how, perhaps, they might like to check it out. Together. Nakedly.

"Yeah. Half-olympic - nothing too sizeable. Why?"

"It just surprises me," Loki replied, easing past Tony to hang off the doorframe. He stood leaning against it, his right hand supporting his left side - pushing up the hem of the shirt just the tiniest bit in order to reveal a sliver of pale hip. Tony felt as though something very structurally important had just fallen out of his knees. "A whole swimming pooI for one man, simply so that he might enjoy the water at his own leisure. I forget how arresting Midgardians are of their personal space. It seems the more of you that there is, the more you cannot stand each other."

"You got that from the fact that I have a pool?"

"On Asgard, the baths are communal." Loki told him. "Even the most battle-scarred are content to bathe with the... the..."

"Pretty ones?" Tony looked at him and winked, swallowing a chuckle as Loki suddenly looked a little flustered. Had he just blushed? "So? You guys are Gods! You all look like... that..." Tony made an encompassing gesture of Loki's figure and the trickster smirked, rolling his eyes.

"You would not say that if you saw Volstagg," he explained, amused. "It is not a matter of physicality - we are just not as... discerning over our looks. Perhaps because we are less changeable than mortals?" Loki paused for a moment, then seemed to sigh bodily - the smile sliding from his face. He looked at the floor as if watching the remnants of his good mood pooling by his toes. "Though I suppose I should say 'The Asgardians'," he added, somewhat sadly. "Not 'we'."

Tony chewed on his lip, watching the tide of Loki's emotion pull out. Tapping the lid of a box of detergent, he shrugged - determined to stay as casual as possible about the ordeal. Loki seemed to be the type of person whose temperament could snowball, depending on the climate of his social surroundings and sympathy was a tricky one with him.

"We'll find something," he said. "If that woman was able to change you one way, she should be able to reverse it. Or even if she can't, something can."

"You have found nothing from you information thus far." Loki muttered, unhappily. "You have said as much."

"Well yeah, I mean," Tony glanced at his fingernails, guiltily. "The information that I combed out of those geeks was, well, not as helpful as I'd hoped. Not unless you actuallyfelt yourself lose twenty hit points." He waved off Loki's confusion. "Never mind. It's not important. It's just that the sword in question seems to be extremely mysterious in classic myth, but rampant in popular culture. So basically, all that the information I have for it is from role playing games or the like. It's nothing like, you know, Excalibur or anything." Tony frowned. "You know of Excalibur, right?"

"I am familiar with Arthurian Myth, yes." Loki told him, tucking a dark strand of hair behind his ear. "I understand the difficulty, Stark. But as thwarting as such a lack of evidence might be, I believe that our object's mystery is the very key to its likelihood of being Navaar's chosen weapon. Rarity does tend to hide truth most efficiently."

Tony looked surprised.

"Are you actually saying you're with me on the whole Vorpal sword thing?"

"Banner and Rogers do not seem particularly convinced," Loki said. "And Thor... well... Thor probably wouldn't know either way. But yes, I think you have the most probably strategy. You say your evidence was found from a children's book? A rather archaic one?

"Lewis Carroll," Tony told him. "Eighteen seventy-one, so yeah - reasonably archaic. The guy was a mathmetician, who just happened to write children's books as well. Weird mix, if you ask me. He wrote a lot of poems and riddles and things and everything seemed to have a bit of a scientific bent to it. Kids wouldn't notice, or course, but adults-"

"See through the trickery and make pains to stab at the truth." Loki finished. "Yes, this is correct, and why I find it more likely that the sword you have found is the one Navaar used to rob me of my Godhood. I feel there is something more to her actions than just the design to steal my immortality."

"That's the spirit."

"Stark," Loki lifted his eyes heavenward. "Please."

"Sorry."

"Children have a way of seeing things adults don't - perhaps the same could be said of mortals and immortals. There is a duality present; it is a nagging thought that tugs at my mind."

"Single-edged sword, double-sided trick?" Tony suggested. He was rewarded by a wide smile from his guest. Loki seemed pleased at that.

"You have a way with words, Tony." Loki said, penduluming his weight until he was comfortable moving again. "One could almost say your tongue is as slick as mine."

"Oh I don't know th-mmm," Tony stammered, as Loki limped out of the room - indeed catching a good, long look at the ex-God's pert ass while the other made his way down the hall. Sinking to the floor - the box of detergent still clutched in his hands like a lifeline, Tony shook his head, resting his chin on the lid; the words 'tongue' and 'slick' ping-ponging masterfully from his brain to his groin. Fascination was one thing, and certainly a thing Tony Stark understood well in inanimate objects, but not humans. He tended to reserve the feelings of attraction or captivation for those that walked and talked. However there certainly seemed to be something uniquely fascinating about Loki that Stark didn't seem to be able to squeeze out of his mind. Something both fascinating and attractive.

Something that spelled "inevitable trouble."

***

Later that afternoon, the back streets of Lower Manhattan were steeped in the blond, cologne-scented meanderings of a fangirl's wet dream. Steve and Thor paced the pavements - their gait velocious enough to outrun the most eager of marathon enthusiasts. Bruce tagged along behind, keeping his own speed. He wasn't in too much of a hurry, not when Steve was in this kind of mood. It was really best to let him walk it out.

"So, why are we out here again?" He called tenuously, from several paces behind - just so that the other two realized he was still around. Steve slowed a little, craning over his shoulder.

"Tony said that the store that both he and Thor visited to find a cure for Loki had disappeared," he reported, flicking his pale cowlick off his brow. He rested his hands on his hips, his body language far more casual than his expression, which seemed relatively inclement.

"And?"

"And I want to prove him wrong."

"Again... I'm not sure if that actually answers my question." Bruce said, passing Thor, who had stopped to peruse the cluttered window of a tobacconists, grinning at the novelty pipes. "Why are we looking for a store that doesn't exist?"

"Because I don't believe Tony." Steve clarified. "I don't think he really bothered to look at all. I wouldn't even believe the story about the shop itself, if Thor hadn't been there and backed him up. Even so, I still think Stark is elaborating, just for the hell of it. He wants us to think he's ahead on his lead. He wants to be the guy in charge, as usual."

"Steve," Bruce sighed as he caught up, checking the coordinates Jarvis had uploaded to his StarkPhone. "Don't you think you might be reading into this a bit much? I'm sure that's not the case at all. Besides, look," he tipped the screen up so that the captain might see it. "We are exactly where Jarvis had noted the shop was, and there's nothing here. See?"

He pointed across to the dust and street-filth powdered windows of the laundromat and the loan shark's and shrugged. Steve narrowed his eyes, clearly mistrusting of Jarvis' advice - even if the machine spoke nicely and seemed to have a zeppelin-worth of respect for others, he was still a creation of Tony's and therefore worthy of apprehension. But, as Tony had said, there was no store there to speak of - just the empty space, patchworked with tattered posters blowing lazily in the wind. Steve rubbed his chin.

"I guess," he admitted, doggedly. "Definitely looks like the same place. Thor, what do you think?"

Thor, who was still a way back down the street with his face pressed up against another window, looked up as Steve addressed him and trotted briskly over to his friends, grinning. Golden Retriever, thought Steve automatically, and shook his head. Damn you, Stark.

"What do I think of what, Steven?" The Thunder God asked cheerfully, sweeping a few errant blond hairs out of his face. Though Steve and Bruce seemed to be in low spirits, Thor couldn't have been happier. He'd actually managed to coax a few words out of his brother that morning and for once they weren't something along the lines of:

- Get out.
- Remove yourself.
- Out.
- If you have nothing to say, then leave. If you have something to say, do the same.
- See this heavy object in my hand, brother? It seems uniquely attracted to your skull. I should like to let them meet.

Therefore all was right in the world. Even his brother's troubling mortality, the impending concern of a God with the power to humble another God and the loss of transmission between Midgard and Asgard did very little to tarnish his mood. No - for that morning Loki had asked him for a fork. To eat his breakfast with. And it hadn't ended up jutting out of some part of Thor's anatomy! That, to the Thunder God, was progress.

"Is this the place where you found the magic shop?" Steve said, frowning a little at Thor's rather unsettling beaming - not privy, of course, to the mechanisms behind it. "The one Tony said had disappeared."

"Yes it is, as I recall." Thor nodded gazing across the road. He frowned. "Hm, strange. This is very odd indeed. I do believe you are right about Tony Stark being mistaken."

"Well, that's not really hard-"

"For how could he have missed the store, when it is right here - as clear as my head upon my shoulders." Thor finished, aiming a finger along his line of sight. "I do not understand how he thought it had gone."

"What?" Bruce said, performing such a brutal double take, he very nearly snapped his own neck. Both he and Steve stared back at the space that had, up until Thor spoke, been nothing but a notice board for decay. Now, Nell's subtle shop front was back - complete with a small sign depicting three thick lines receding to points and three dots crowing them, swaying gently in the wind. Steve opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.

"That- that wasn't... I swear..."

"Perhaps you were too involved in your displeasure of Tony Stark that you did not think to look harder?" Thor suggested, good naturedly. He cocked his head to one side as he crossed the road. "It is a little different though. It did not have this sign before."

Bruce and Steve only fumbled after him, faces pasted with consternation as they entered the narrow front - Steve twisting sideways to fit through the threshold. Once inside, Thor was pleased to note that the room seemed as bright and airy as it originally had - though this time the space appeared even larger and now had lines of bookcases thronging the walls. He made a small circuit, taking in the changes, and smiled as he stopped by the trickster God's shrine, admiring a small talisman of a horned skull while Bruce and Steve glanced about warily. A physicist and a soldier in a magic store? That sounded far too much like the opening for a joke, and the boys knew better than to touch anything.

There was a chatter of beads as Nell pushed through a decorative curtain that must have separated the shop front from the store room and she smiled when she saw her guests - moving to stand in front of the counter, hands crossed neatly over her apron. The layers of her black cheesecloth skirt danced about her, animatedly - pawing at her ankles like the tails of a familiar.

"Gentlemen," she said, offering them a genial nod, then looked at Thor. "Sir, how nice to see you, again. I take it your friend has recovered?"

"He is much better, thank you." Thor said politely. "Though I fear we have come with some areas of concern regarding your cures, for we would like to know-"

"How did you make the shop disappear?" Steve blurted out, suddenly. Both Thor and Nell gave him a curious look, while Bruce blushed and tried nonchalantly to fade into the bookcases. "I mean... It wasn't here. Really." Steve shook his head, gesturing erratically. "It wasn't here the other day, either - when Tony came to look for it and it certainly wasn't here a second ago. Not until he-" Steve jerked a thumb at the Thunder God. "-spotted it. How did you do that?"

"I did not do anything, sir." Nell told him, evenly. "My business has been here as ever."

"Um. Steve-"

"Then why didn't Tony see it?" Steve pressed, his brow deeply furrowed as he tried to get his head around the conflicting information. "Why couldn't I see it. I was looking right at it and it wasn't there."

"Steve, I think we just missed it," Bruce was hissing from behind a battlement of books. "I don't think it physically vanished."

"It did!" Rogers insisted. "I know my own eyes, Bruce! It wasn't there."

"Why the hell would someone cloak a store?"

"Why indeed." Nell nodded to Bruce, then looked back at Steve - her eyes running over his enhanced physique. She harrumphed, lightly, as though considering something. "Are you a God?"

"No."

"Are you of any magical persuasion whatsoever? A druid? An enchanter-"

"No Ma'am, I'm a soldier of the American Military, Ma'am."

"And you?" Nell said to Banner, who, as a result of putting his face too close to the rows of dusty tomes, sneezed.

"Physicist." Bruce answered, almost apologetically, wiping his nose.

"Oh dear. A soldier and a physicist walk into a magic store?" Nell mused. "Sounds like the first line of a joke."

"That's just what I was thinking." Bruce said, dryly. "But if the punchline doesn't explain why the shop disappeared for Steve and I, then there's nothing funny about it."

"It explains the phenomena perfectly," Nell told him. "Neither of you are particularly involved in the study or practice of the occult. People with little to no interest in magic lore often aren't as aware of their mystic surroundings."

"Riiiight." Steve made a face. "Well then, what about Th- uh... Our friend here? How come he could suddenly see it, when we couldn't. And then, after he'd pointed it out,we could?"

"Well he's a God, isn't he?"

"Beg pardon?" Steve glanced at Thor, who shrugged, mouthing I didn't say anything. Bruce's eyes widened to such a degree that they nearly fell out of his head. "How did you-"

"Who's a God?" Bruce cut in, quickly. "Who - no one's a God. What?"

"My dear addled gentlemen - I shouldn't be involved in such a vocation if I could not recognise the son of Odin." Nell explained, gently, nodding again to her bewildered patrons. "It is an honor, Thor."

"Not so much an honor as a surprise, Madam Nell. Why did you not speak of this the first time we met?" Thor asked, incredulously - ignoring the way that the woman had so effortlessly picked him out. He was, in fact, rather pleased - even in his armor, most mortals needed to be told a dozen times: Yes, this is Thor. Yes, he's a God. Really. "You did not address me then."

"I did not think it was important." Nell replied. "Your friend was ill and you needed help. To add more to that might have caused you to dally - lingered to ask questions and suchlike. I feared your patient might have ended up worse for it."

"Do you know who our patient is?" Thor asked slowly, not particularly liking the way Nell had begun to smile again. It was one thing to distinguish a God for who he was; it was another to know his business. Nell simply shrugged.

"I'm sure I do not," she said, though everything about her screamed otherwise. Thor crossed his arms, squaring his shoulders. If Loki had been present, he certainly could have goaded this woman out of her information with his sly words, but alone, Thor knew he wasn't quite as dextrous with his tongue; it was better not to try.

"So... Wait-" Bruce pressed his fingers into his brow, squeezing his eyes shut as he carefully made his way up the rungs of the conversation. "So you know who Thor is... right off the bat. And... you have a magic store that is otherwise invisible to human eyes, is that right?"

"Somewhat. Magic tends to perform in its own way." Nell said, kindly. "But generally, yes."

"It really, really is invisible. No cloaking or devices or anything?"

"No."

"And... Only see it if you're a God? Or with a God?"

"There are ways that humans might be able to see the evidence of the worlds-between-worlds," Nell explained, rounding the counter, to pull a few books off a nearby shelf, stacking them in her arms. "Elf-sight, a simple draught or anointment is the most common. Then there is the having the presence of something magical, or powerful, around you - or a charm of some sort. There are many ways, though a certain amount of belief is also required. To a degree."

"But... If... Thor's a God - which... is... I mean, we knew that." Steve said, uncertainly. "And, he can see the store. We can't - not without him, anyway. But you work here. So what does that make you?"

"I'm a shopkeeper, Mr Rogers," Nell said smoothly. "That's all."

"But-"

"That's all, Mr Rogers."

"Just a shopkeeper," Bruce repeated, catching the subtle way that Nell had also known Steve's name. Not that Steve wasn't a partial celebrity either, although a person would have to be either a military nut, or a pensioner to have recognized him. "You don't like to say much, do you?"

"What is there to say?" Nell replied. "What would you like me to say? Bear in mind, gentlemen, that the world of magic operates in quite a different fashion to the world you are familiar with. There is a duality to everything - a double meaning hidden in even the simplest of answers. Therefore, it really is not wise to be all knowing- for you tend to forget to ask questions and leave wiggle room for the facts you had not thought of."

"You sound like Heimdall," Thor observed. "You speak in a similar tone - one that favors riddles."

"I'd like to meet Heimdall," Nell winked, hefting her pile of books on the counter. "I'm sure we'd have plenty to talk about. However, you had come to inquire about my cures, had you not? There is nothing too specific about them, other than they were designed to heal wounds of magic - notably those from weapons. I had narrowed the blade down to cursed or enchanted and went from there - throwing in a little extra for the possibility of poisoning. Though poisons do not tend to marr the skin, as you had described. The other herbs were for his fever. If you like, I can provide you with a balm to aid the healing sutures?"

"We would be most grateful," Thor replied, nodding on behalf of his stunned friends. "But tell me, Nell - do you know anything of Vorpal swords?"

Nell stiffened for a moment, and when she turned back, her eyes seemed to gleam with a strange, otherworldly light that put most of the hairs on the back of Steve's neck on edge. She cocked her head to one side, touching a finger to her lips.

"Vorpal swords? Now that is some great magic, Mr Odinson."

"It is?"

"Oh yes," Nell nodded. "Such a weapon could best even your Mjolnir. If you don't mind my saying."

"But-" Bruce frowned. "It just seems so unlikely. I mean, this whole Vorpal thing doesn't seem all that common. Compared to swords like... like Excalibur, or the Singing Sword or something. All we know of it is a line in a poem and then a whole bunch of nerd stuff that Tony picked up. People these days tend to be more knowledgeable about lightsabres than mythical weapons."

"Which is what makes it so special," Nell winked. "After all, what is a human's opinion to a magical weapon? The less mortals know about it, the better, in my opinion."

"But do you know much about it?" Thor said, eagerly. "Could you tell us if, perhaps... it has the ability to drain magic? Or to turn something of great power - something immortal - into a human?"

"I do not know for sure, myself." Nell told him. "Vorpal magic is not only one of the most rare and mysterious, it is also a style - not just a single artifact. It can enchant anything - spears, arrowheads - though, thanks to that famous poem, the sword is reasonably well known now. It does not have one true shape, nor does it have one single ability. It is rather like describing various shades of a colour - they are all the same red, but they vary differently from person to person. Your best bet is to ask a scholar or a weaponsmith - for they would have studied such things closely."

"A scholar? What, of magic?" Steve drew his lips into a stern line. "Or a smith of weapons that can suck that power out of Gods? I'm guessing we're not going to be finding too many of them in New York."

"You'd be surprised, Mr Rogers. Things are not always as they seem." Nell said, closing the cover on a small, thin book - about the size of a paperback novel - and handed it to him. "Here, a little light reading for your sick friend. A good story always made me feel better."

Steve glanced at the cover, and noted the words "Common Fae of the Seelie and Unseelie - an historical account by Fragmus Clench", before he nodded - wondering if the book was going to end up thrown at his head. Thor had underlined many, many times that Loki was quite the veteran when it came to magic - surely a book like this was for kids? It certainly sounded like it was... He tapped his fingers over the cover in a light hollow rhythm as the others fell into silence.

"So... That's all you have for us?" He asked, uncertainly. "I mean... this is all a bit much - all this magic and whatnot-"

"You've seen that it works." Nell advised him, smoothly. "And you know that Thor's abilities are otherwise of the same family. It is not so strange. You'll do fine."

"But with... just a book and... and... I mean... Where are we going to find a magic scholar? In Manhattan?"

"Should we try Chicago?" Bruce suggested. Nell laughed - the sound of it was like a cat's cry.

"I'm sure you'll come across one - they really are dotted all over, you know," she admitted, linking her fingers over her apron. "As I said, I'm just a shopkeep; I can sell you cures, talismans and spells, but when it comes to Vorpal mysticism, the best I can do is help point you in the right direction. Magic is a stubborn mare, Mr Rogers - she won't be forced, but you can nudge her slowly. And it helps if you have a carrot." She added, with a wink. Steve, despite himself, grunted under his breath. There were several places he'd like to tell Loki to nudge a carrot.

"Is there anyplace you could suggest that we start?" Bruce was asking, as Nell walked them to the door. "Like... perhaps somewhere that people of... well... that inclination might gather? A meeting place? A hall or something?"

"Not officially - not here anyway." Nell said. "You could try libraries or other stores like mine if you were looking for human technicians. Otherwise, your best course of action is to try asking the fairer folk. Of course, courts of magic tend to settle more in the old countries where they were established and hold a greater authority on the land. Then again, I'm not sure I would advise you to approach any larger groups of fae - they are a bit daunting in numbers. But if you were to try to look for a smaller clan, I would suggest wooded areas. Anywhere there are trees - particularly European trees. Naturally occurring circular structures - toadstool rings or flower beds, that sort of thing. Just always make sure you have someone placed at the spot in which you found the fairy circle and that you always accept gifts, but never eat anything." Nell poked Thor squarely in the bicep. "Never eat anything."

"All right, so we look for flowers and trees and don't eat things. Got it." Steve said, wedging himself into the foyer as quickly as he could, eager to step outside. Fairies? Magic and spells? No thanks. The idea that Thor and Loki were Norse Gods was enough for a start, there'd been enough strangeness in his life already that the straight-laced soldier from New Jersey knew better than to rush into things. Nell had said to take it slow - fine. No problems there.

"And give your friend the book!" The woman called after him, smiling as Steve mumbled Yes 'm before tottering, almost drunkenly, into the afternoon sunlight. Thor tipped his brow courteously as he passed her, eyes bright with gratitude, though Nell caught his elbow as he passed through the door and pulled him back an inch, pressing something else - something small and pointed - into his hand.

"Before you leave, Odinson," she breathed, quietly. "A word?"

 

***

The coffee didn't help.

Nor did the hour long run.

Nor the hour long shower, turned down as cold as he could possibly stand, in order to shrink the rapidly expanding collection of suggestive thoughts he'd unconsciously developed that were bouncing about his skull. It had been a long time since Tony had even bothered with such methods (aside from chasing off the odd armageddon of a hangover), and he'd forgotten just how icy he'd managed to set the thermostats in the tower before they got to the point that he had to declare something to the city council. Massaging the blood back into his fingers, his tortured skin pinker than a spring strawberry, Tony winced into his scotch as a re-run of The Real Cancun played loudly on the 52" in the den. Preceding it had been an episode of The Girls of Playboy Mansion. Before that Sports Illustrated, 2012. But as much as Tony tried to burn the images from his mind with vast helpings of boobs and bikinis, he could not stop thinking about Loki. And Loki's ass. Namely Loki's ass.

Honestly, he didn't know where the attraction really came from - he was legitimately baffled. He had been fairly sure he knew the flavor of his cup of tea and the girls frolicking on the screen in front of him were beautiful, open and happy; normal, lovely girls (apart from the odd touch of plastic here and there). Loki, while certainly not lacking at all in looks, did not really hit either of the other tick-boxes. As much as Tony knew, he tended to be sullen, quick-tempered and, if given a magic box of limitless energy that had the ability to wipe out planets, veritably genocidal. If he smiled, he was probably just airing out his teeth. And yet...

And yet...

Tony sighed and sifted his fingers through his hair - an action he'd performed at least four dozen times since leaving the laundry in search of something - anything - to take his mind off the SHEILD-certified psycho-turned-domesticated-diva and his frighteningly infectious appeal. Loki wasn't a cup of tea; Loki was a poison. A really, really tasty poison.

You know he's a man, right? said Tony's Reasoning, twiddling its thumbs. It didn't speak up very often, and when it did, it always seemed rather apologetic about it.

So what. So am I. Tony's Conscious Thought replied.

Well, it's just... We've never thought about guys before. Like that. Reasoning pressed, anxiously. Father would have...Well, he wouldn't have approved.

Who cares what Dad would have thought. Conscious Thought shot back. He's not here anyway - why should we care what a ghost thinks?

Ask Prevailing Adolescent Insecurity. Mild Savant Tendencies interjected. Just take some chocolate when you do. And a hanky.

You guys are taking this far too seriously. Conscious Thought rolled his eyes. He's a guy, so what? Nothing wrong with admiring another guy!

Not just a guy. Libido added, lasciviously. He's a God.

Technically, he isn't right now. Someone piped up.

Still a God's body. Libido was unabashed. Still a God's ass. Remember how he felt against you, Tony? So warm, so firm. A slender waist like a woman's and with a butt like.. well, like a God. And those eyes...

Those eyes... Conscious Thought echoed.

Those eyes... said everyone else.

He is the enemy, you know. Was. Still might be. Common Sense added, standing beside Reasoning - its cudgel still clutched in its metaphorical hands. Fury wants his head.

So do I. Libido purred. But not the one on his shoulders. Just kinda makes it hotter. Prison sex, anyone?

He killed over a hundred people! Reasoning exclaimed. Killed! In cold blood!

Did you know that there is a French idiom: La petit Mort, which describes the orgasm? And that it translates as "little death"? I wonder if Loki's made a hundred people orgasm...

Hear, hear!

You know you are the mind-boggling paradigm of bad taste! Common Sense spat.

Is that an oxymoron? Wit intoned, drolly. We are the mind.

What about Pepper, then? Reasoning said, determined to make his point. What would Pepper say?

We're not mentioning Pepper!

Oh right. Reasoning whispered, giving up. Well, as you were, I guess.

Those eyes, Libido repeated in Tony's ear - his teeth glittering behind a smile so wide it would have shamed a banana. Those lips, Tony. Do you think they'd be sweet? Do you think the rest of him would be just as delicious?

"I things have to that … Jarvis.." Tony mumbled, brokenly. "Jarvis? Loki - where'd he go after the laundry? Has he crashed out somewhere vaguely dangerous?"

"Master Odinson is, as you suggested, in the pool." Jarvis said. "It seems he was rather taken by the idea of swimming and had asked me where it was."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all, sir. He even thought to apply another wet dressing, to keep the water out of his stitches. Rather considerate, for someone such as he."

"Loki likes swimming." Tony shook his head. "I don't know why I didn't pick it."

"I suggested he borrow a pair of trunks you had stored there." Jarvis continued. "Since it is less customary for one to swim in the nude. Naturally, your midnight romps do not count, so much, Sir, considering the amount of alcohol that is often accompan-"

"Yeah, thanks Jarvis." Tony grumbled. He paused for a moment, then downed the remainder of the scotch in his tumbler, running his tongue over his lips. "Where are the others?"

"Still out, Sir."

"Damn."

The walk to the gym level of Stark Tower was probably the longest that Tony had ever managed to drag it out and even then he was consciously tarrying his dawdle. And he twiddled his fingers fretfully, tapping out nonsense rhythms on the disc of his arc reactor as he tried in vain to separate the thoughts he knew he should be thinking, from the ones he should really sell to some paperback smut author for a small fee just to get them out of his head. He should just head back to the lab; throw on a pair of headphones and blast some Iron Maiden directly into his frontal lobes - that'd help mute his fantasies. Maybe he could have a five digit party in the front seat of his hot rod? He'd have to clean it again, of course, but the effort would be worth it. The smooth chrome, the smell of the leather...

Of course, once he reached the pool, all thoughts - even the ones that were still desperately trying to keep him upright - were obliterated. Chrome, engine grease and leather were cast aside like cheap wednesday hookers; there was something far rarer and fairer to focus on now.

Loki swam lazily about in crystalline water, a slim shaft of pearl above the blue italian tiles that lined the base of the pool in long gradients of colour. He floated on his back, his long limbs caressed by ripples while his hair fanned about his shoulders in dark filaments. His eyes were closed. Idly, Tony remembered how Pepper had made a big deal when she designed the pool and berated him for days to sign off the plans which dictated the way in which it should be shaped, painted, tiled, decorated ad nauseum. Pepper always made a big deal out of anything that was Tony's. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Tony felt Guilt start to bubble over in it's tiny little dog- box where he'd locked it up the last time it had caused him trouble.

He padded slowly up to the shallow end, and sat gingerly on the top step of the sweeping tiers that led down into the deeper levels. Warm water lapped at his ankles, tickling his skin, though the cold line of ice that trailed down his spine, pooling in each vertebrae, did very little to settle his mood and he fidgeted terribly. When Loki noticed him, he glided over slowly, the low steam from the pool clasping him like robes. His ascent up the wide pool steps was more erotic than any foreplay Tony could have ever imagined and the dusky glow of the internal pool lights illuminated every long, flat muscle - sheened with the slick tongues of water as it ran down his figure with close fingers. Tony licked his lips again, tasting the scotch. His mouth was a desert.

"Stark," Loki said in a low voice, wiping the water from his eyes. He stood a step down from Tony, which, if Tony stood up and took a few paces closer, aligned the top of his head with Stark's brow. Without the crutch, he tended to remember his posture and stood very straight - a trait which Tony married with his royal upbringing - though his height always seemed surprising. Tony stared, adamantly. "What do you want?"

"You," Tony mumbled, watching the water sluice from Loki's shoulders. The ex-God's brow darted a frown and he combed his dark hair behind his ears with his fingers, wondering if he'd misheard.

"Pardon?"

"You... water... Uh, how do you find the water?" Tony amended, quickly, flicking his eyes up to meet his guests. Loki had dropped his hands to his sides and let them drift on the surface, absently. "Warm enough?"

"It is adequate."

"Not too much chlorine?" Tony found himself saying. "I mean, not that we have any kids peeing in the pool - we don't have kids in here. Ever."

"How... fortunate." Loki didn't seem to care much for chit chat, though there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. That only made Tony more agitated. "I'd have thought you would have had plenty in common."

"Well, urinating in pools wouldn't be one of them," Tony laughed, a little too loudly. "Haven't done that since... Well, come to think of it, you could actually... and it wouldn't matter. The filtration system is the same as the suit and... And-" Tony balked. This time, Loki was gawking at him and he couldn't shut up. Wouldn't. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. "Er... and... well, there's actually no need for tablets since I refit the filter, but I think Jarvis drops a few in sometimes to burn my eyes out if I go swimming drunk. Or naked. Drunk and naked. Usually both."

"So you do swim nude?" Loki seemed perturbed. At least he hadn't been too offended by the urine conversation. "The machine said-"

"-Just me, usually," Tony interjected. "When I'm alone (that was a lie - female company did count, but Loki didn't need to know that). Why? Do you want to be nude? Swim nude? Is that an Asgardian thing?"

"Well, yes." Loki wondered if he ought to take a step back as Stark eased up, paddling a few steps into the water as he closed the distance between them; water seeping up the legs of his jeans. It appeared that Stark liked to get his clothes wet, though he didn't seem bothered at all about it. "As I had said, Gods are not as shy about-"

"Covering it all up?" Tony finished, following the glow of soft light that limned Loki's body. He looked like a rock star - all long, slick dark hair and glistening skin; a rock star who'd just had sex with a mermaid. "Why would you be?"

"Stark, you are staring."

"There's a lot to stare at."

Suddenly, it seemed as though a light had switched on, and Loki dropped his gaze self-consciously - not quite wanting to draw his arms up to cover himself. Compliments on his magic was one thing; compliments on his body? Not something he'd often received. In Asgardian eyes, though Loki had been told he was handsome, Thor's strapping frame was celebrated as being more the desired physique. But it appeared that Tony Stark didn't seem to agree with the Gods. In fact, Stark couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from him, a fact which both flattered Loki and mildly terrified him. He startled as Tony reached out to run his fingers over his collarbone - folding them carefully over the curve of his shoulder. He wet his lips, trying to encourage the words of hesitation that sat in his throat to pass them, but he could not. Wet hair hung in his face and he realized, by the press of Stark's hip against his side, just how close Stark was.

Stark realized this too, of course, and sucked in a breath as Loki allowed him to let his other hand drift to his ribs and trace a delicate line up his sternum to the column of his throat. Dark eyes met those the colour of the ocean in the rain, considering for a moment, before Stark ran his hand to cup the slender line of Loki's jaw and whispered:

"Fuck it."

Then he pushed up and pressed their lips together in one long, deep kiss.

Chapter 8: Stain

You can't always get what you want.

- The Rolling Stones.

***

At first, he was simply lost to it.

The sensation of Tony's hands sliding over the curve of his shoulder; the dusting of his palm up the long line of his throat. The set of blunt, rough-padded fingers threading in his hair, tickling the nape of his neck as they twined themselves in the dripping, dark strands; their brothers travelling along the accents of Loki's smooth, slick collarbone; leaving a quintet of thin wet trails. Stark was pressed close to him - so close that Loki could feel the heat of his body - even through the water. A faint blue glow from the residual energy of the arc reactor painted the edges of their faces in touches of cool light and the wisps of Stark's goatee prickled against Loki's chin.

He closed his eyes, breathing in a heady nicotine of cologne, engine oil and malt. Then Stark's tongue was flicking against his lower lip, seeking admittance before it pushed inside - encouraging Loki to deepen his kiss. Loki moaned into Tony's mouth as he tasted the receding strains of the alcohol still tingling on his lips and he shuddered slightly, his hips rolling forward - eager to be caressed as much as the rest of him. Tony obliged, threading his thumbs in the waistband of Loki's board shorts and the ex-God twisted his right hand feverishly in the side of Starks sodden t-shirt. Demanding. Commanding. And yet so anxious that he might pull away.

Then Loki's left hand spasmed, closing its fingers around the only weapon he had available; his fist. Which he launched at the side of Tony's jaw, biting back a cry as it connected and the other man crashed backwards into the water - more from surprise than from the weight of the blow. Loki himself fell to his knees, his breath whistling through his teeth as agony clawed up his side and he clutched at his stomach as his wound angrily reminded him of its tethers. In his disorientation, he'd forgotten he was injured, and haste, rather than sense, guided his hand. He blinked rapidly, blinded by both the spray of water caused by Tony's fall and the strings of his hair that netted over his face in cloying knots. Loki tried to rise but stumbled, hissing, while he pressed the heel of his hand firmly over his bandage - his left side losing almost all function entirely to pain.

"Do not touch me, do not-" he began, only to have Tony barrelling into him again, thrusting him against the poolside; his hands bracketing him in place while his mouth sought Loki's lips a second time. Panting with both the emotional and physical clash that completely detonated any sense hiding under some sandbags in the back of his mind, Loki submitted - his chest hitching as Tony's tongue tangled with his own. Their hands fought for space on each other's bodies, slipping and skidding over any and all flesh available as need fuzzed and hummed in their veins. Then Loki remembered himself, and snarled, bracing his wrists against the other's clavicle as he tried in vain to lever him away.

"Loki-" Tony was saying, his voice throaty and grit with desire. "I-"

"Do not touch me! Get off me!" Loki growled, fighting back. He had no strength whatsoever - his blows couldn't have downed a butterfly, let alone the Iron Man, but he struggled nonetheless, gasping as his wound and recently darned innards screamed raw fury at him. Tony's hands moved from blocking to supporting, then defending as Loki's nails raked his skin.

"Ow! Hang on... just let me-" he wheezed as they tussled - limbs seemingly flying everywhere. Loki had turned from a sensuous vision of glistening sex to a wild snake of coils, teeth and snarls in a matter of seconds. All Tony wanted to do was disentangle himself without copping too many punches. His ego had taken enough already, thank you very much. "Loki, I'm trying-"

"GET OFF!" Loki hollered, his cry tapering to a groan and he sank again to his knees, the little spark of energy that had fuelled his frustration and embarrassment, spent. Tony grunted as he jerked away, watching as Loki crumpled beneath him.

"Ok! Ok! Shit, sorry... I just thought-"

"You thought wrong," the ex-God choked, reeling as the back of his head connected with the tiles. He didn't have the strength to get up - not yet - so he glared at Tony through the threads of his hair, his eyes pale with pain. "Very, very wrong, Stark."

"Ok fine!" Stark mumbled, backing off a little more. "Just... it was a mistake, all right? I didn't mean to offend you - in fact, it's sorta flattering, when you think about it. Sort of. But Jesus, you didn't need to get the claws out!"

"You threw yourself upon me. What was I supposed to do?" Loki ground out, angrily. "Say something? You weren't listening."

"I would have," Stark retorted, rubbing the side of his face. He drew his hand back and grimaced at the bright smear of blood painting his palm. "Did you bite me?"

"You were clearly set on ravaging me!"

"Hey, that would have been a nice ravaging, I'll have you know." Tony attempted, but Loki was not in the mood. He snarled again as he pushed himself up, glowering, and began to limp his way up the steps. Tony noticed a patch of crimson starting to bloom beneath his bandage and he blanched, sinking his teeth into his lip. "I...um. Look, Loki... My bad, ok? I thought we-"

"Do not speak to me." Loki growled in response, not turning around. He eased himself out of the pool and snatched his towel from a nearby chair, dragging it along the tiles after him. "Do not speak; do not try to appease me, do not even look at me. I might have wronged you, Tony Stark. I may have done horrors to you and your own. And I may be here at your mercy; residing in your home, taking up your time and better nature. You probably scorn me for that. But as much rancor as I am sure my presence stimulates, my body is still my own. You have no right to take it as yours and do as you please with it."

Tony said nothing at that, he only watched as the ex-God stalked awkwardly out of the room, desperately trying to keep a lid on his warring responses that were busy juggling a triumvirate of anger, guilt and want all at once. And Loki's comment of taking his body to do what he wanted with it really didn't help; Tony, shamefaced as he already was, groaned as he felt himself respond. He sat up on the step and crossed his legs, gingerly - feeling the blush glowing on his cheeks and the ice cracking in his stomach. He almost wished that Loki had punched him again - that would have given him something else to think about.

"You," he addressed his groin. "Get me into so much trouble."

"I should think the trouble is your own doing." Jarvis said, his bland voice bleeding out of the walls like mildew. Tony sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair. "After all, if your funbits - and I quote you sir - had a mind of their own, you wouldn't get anything done. The arc reactor would still be a glowing donut in your father's old facility and you and one of your many conquests would be frittering your father's fortune away in a hotel in Japan, I'm sure."

"That could be said for anyone." Tony grumbled. "Except the fortune part. And it wouldn't be just any conquest - it'd have to be Pepper. Who isn't a conquest. So there."

"I thought we weren't mentioning Pepper, sir?"

"I can. Did. And now we're not again."

"Indubitably. But sir, even a hypothetical Miss Potts would have more sense."

"Would you twist it further, Brutus?" Tony said, plaintively. "I don't think you've hit an artery yet. Jesus, why did I program you to be such a smartass?"

"Some genius arrives unexplained, sir."

"Keep saying that genius thing, and I'll forgive you."

"Perhaps, but will Master Odinson?" Jarvis pointed out. "I don't think that was the wisest course of action. I feel his sense of trust is particularly fragile - especially in his position."

"His position?" Tony leaned back against the side of the pool step, stretching his legs out. "He hasn't got his God mojo - so what? He's still alive, isn't he? We're working on helping him - it's not like we've locked him up, put that muzzle thing back on and thrown him to Fury, is it?"

"No sir, but I feel you may be underestimating the upset that his human body causes him."

"Well that's not true, because I'm the one footing the bill for all the painkillers."

"You are, certainly. But his physical discomfort is not what I am referring to."

"Are you saying he's going a bit-" Tony made a swirling action with his forefinger against the side of his head. "So he's... not quite over the looney? Is he sucking on the comforter or something? Licking the furniture when no one's watching?"

"Not at all, Master Odinson seems quite sane, which is commendable, given his recent situation." Jarvis said. "Stressed, tired... yes, but I do not think he is suffering from a feeble mind - far from it."

"Then what the hell are you talking about?"

"Let me put it this way, sir. Do you remember your first time in another country? One where the spoken language was not English?" Jarvis began, as Tony pressed his wrist up to his bleeding ear, trying to stem the drips of crimson that were running down the back of his neck. "Do you remember the disorientation - the feeling that while you knew that people were trying to communicate with you, but you had to concentrate the whole time in order to understand. You were on edge every time you set out to do the simplest tasks and whilst you could speak efficiently to one person, the rest of the world blurred off as your focus tunnelled - hindered by the ability to fixate on only one thing at a time and work against the strain of bilinguality. Untrained, the human brain struggles to think, translate and respond at the same time. Though it gets easier with time and practice, your brain is always set to speak one language, while your tongue and ears struggle with another."

"'kay..." Tony blinked. "Yeah, all right. I remember my first trip to China. Sucked. Couldn't speak to anyone, even though I was top in my grade in Mandarin and could play poker like a pro in Cantonese. I was a stupid high school kid then, so what?"

"Well, I am sure that is exactly how Master Odinson feels." Jarvis explained. "Stupid. Heavy. Confused. His immortal skin, I believe, differed greatly from this human shell he is now confined to. It does not operate the same as it had; perhaps it is more sensitive? Perhaps it is less. As a being without a true body, I can almost sympathize. Were I in his place, I think I might be driven mad. It would either be like releasing a limb after resting on it and having the blood itch as it ekes back into place, or the cold drive of a numbing sedative through the flesh."

"You have a way with imagery," Tony winced.

"And you have a way with people." Jarvis replied. "You are as good at engineering friendships as you are at pushing buttons - it all stems from your brutally honest personality. If I were to make an observation as Master Odinson, I would find your ability to shrug off the lumbering human lies that govern the everyman most appealing. Loki is a master of deception, as Thor described him. Yet I think he appreciates and admires someone who can be just as canny without bothering to disguise the truth."

"Is that a long-winded way of saying he likes me?" Tony asked, rubbing his eyes. "Cos I'm flattered, really. But I think I've just blown it."

"I fear as amiable as you are," Jarvis agreed. "You have never really been the one for romance, sir."

"Yes, thankyou Jarvis."

"Besides, if you tried that course of action again, I'm not sure the filtration system could handle the outcome. Fair or poor."

"Shut up."

***

 

"You seem to be enjoying yourself."

Navaar swivelled in her seat, tearing her eyes away from the expansive blue sky beyond Asgard, to greet her approaching guest. He was looking about the gold-clad walls of Heimdall's observatory, one perfectly manicured eyebrow quirked as if he were dubious of the decor. His hands were clasped in front of him in a servantile manner - occasionally picking at the button of his handsome frock coat, while his tall, narrow-toed boots echoed hollowly against the marble floor. He was all manner of elegance, this one; a vision of snowy skin, hair like polished mahogany and a grace of movement that befitted a King. A vision of handsome regality... until he opened his mouth and displayed his blood-stained set of teeth that were filed to sharp, curving points in such a manner that made him appear a little like a shark. His eyes were a sickly shade of yellow - the insipid colour of water from deep within the earth - and he smiled as he turned them up to meet his master; completely aware that his carefully crafted beauty was, after that point, somewhat marred.

It did not seem to bother Navaar, however, who was only too used to her subordinate's vanity despite his true nature and she beckoned him closer, wondering if Odin had noticed him or not. His witching cloak would have hidden him, certainly - but the Allfather's eyes were particularly good at seeing through the spells woven into magical objects. No matter, for she hadn't exactly lied when she outlined that her army bore no generals - it was just that no one had asked her which army in particular. The band of buffoons with barely a brain cell between them that had wandered about Asgard - bellowing and brawling and generally making an unnecessary fuss in order to fool Loki, certainly not.They were simply window dressing. To encourage even the slightest strain of trickery in them would have endangered a mass group haemorrhage, they were no good to anyone at all unless one felt like building a bridge out of idiots. Navaar preferred to have minions who might be able to operate on their own, if she needed them to. More often than not she would turn her nose up at commanders who, out of exasperation when their special forces failed to do them justice, fell upon such sardonic idioms as: If you want something done, you've got to do it yourself.

Not at all. Navaar would reason. If you want something done, hire better henchmen.

"Of course, Kotaja - don't I always?" She replied finally, leaning back against a gilded column. "Now, my darling - how did you fare? Did you manage to get his attention?"

"I did," Kotaja nodded. "Though he wasn't happy to see me. He believed I was only there to exacerbate the situation."

"You have that kind of face, dear."

"Clearly," Kotaja shrugged. "But he knows that I stand with you, my Lady. And as ridiculous as it seems, he does not like you much."

"Pull it out, boy," Navaar rolled her black eyes. "You know very well that I am not everyone's favourite. He has heard my name before - he's well aware that I am trouble. He fears that I have been meaning to challenge his throne for some time and he is correct - however we shan't let him know that yet. Has he heard anything of his father. Andthem?"

"He was well aware that they are making noises again. Idle threats, he called them. He does not believe that they will try anything, but I doubt he cares either way."

"Of course not. And what of Nazeer, have you heard from him? What has he to report?"

"That long string of black bone?" Kotaja rolled his jaundiced eyes heavenward. "You know him, my Lady - he'll take his time. He always does when you send him out for such a mission. He is much better at galloping around with his manhood in one hand, clubbing things to death with the other."

"He'd shred your eyes had he heard you then," Navaar grinned. "You watch your tongue, Kotaja - sometimes even I cannot control him. He was a God once, you know - you weren't."

"My apologies." Kotaja made a courtly bow. Navaar only laughed at him.

"Don't apologize to me, fair one - I thought it dreadfully clever. Only Nazeer suffers a terrible lack of humor, which is why I chose him to approach those barbarians in the first place. You may be talented in court, but I fear your tongue is dressed too neatly for the one-eyed bastard who rules them. I fear he would have gotten bored before long and torn your head off and you know how long that took me to sew back on the last time."

Kotaja grew impossibly paler and ran slim hand down the line of his trachea.

"Aye, I still feel the stitches when I swallow."

"Well that'll learn you." Navaar said, rising to her feet. "It is better not to rush them - not until Loki is ready, anyway."

"How is your little project?"

"Healing." Navaar made a face. "The Vorpal magic was a lot more damaging than I had thought - much of the fight has bled out of him. But it has birthed quite an interesting side effect - the spark of what appears to be... hmm... shall I call it romance? Between him and the Iron Man."

"Is that so?" Kotaja looked slightly disappointed. Navaar cackled.

"Oh my dear, I am so sorry - did you want to play with him? You would have had to wait awhile and by then I fear you may have turned your attentions elsewhere. There is acharming blond available, you know. But if you are set on our little shadow, you may watch with me awhile - though I am not sure if you can see through time."

"Perhaps if I asked Huginn and Muninn nicely?"

"No, they are the eyes of the Allfather," Navaar said, slyly. "It is better that I have them chasing worms for the time being - it leaves him dependant on me. Were my magic not currently stretched by the transformation of the Asgardians into the zephrs that float about the city, I would have Odin watching changelings. But alas, I must dance with riddles and promises for now. He has seen that Loki has recovered; that has sated him enough that he has stopped asking questions."

"Speaking of attentions, what of those belonging to the man that you really wanted involved in this? What do you know of him?"

"I have heard rumors of his movement, though he is very adept at hiding himself." Navaar mused. "He would have noticed Loki, though. He knows who he is - he might even harbor a little concern for our fallen God, considering his rather flamboyant failures. I believe there is no doubt our intended would sniff him out - simply out of curiosity more than anything."

"But if Loki is human, how will he find him?" Kotaja frowned. "We sense each other - certainly, but we do not sense humans; well, not one human in particular. And has he not been skulking about the Old Lands? Surely his magic is not strong enough to reach across the planes. I have heard he's good, but not that good."

"Oh child, where are you from; the Dark Ages? Don't answer that." Navaar amended, smirking. "Our target is very savvy when it comes to humans and their amazing technological and social progress. Don't forget, he has spent many, many years exile in the middle realms. No matter where he wanders, he is sure to keep one foot in Times Square and the other in Côr y Cewri, trust me."

"So... he has heard the news of the Avengers? But of Loki? He did not feature prominently at all in the human's telegraphs and channels. Would our man even know what he looked like?"

"Someone took a little footage of him in Stuttgart, much to SHIELD's displeasure." Navaar snickered. "There's always someone filming."

"And they put it on Youtube?" Kotaja finished, examining his manicure.

"Yup." Navaar raised her arms above her head and stretched. "Google "hashtag Loki", you'll find a wealth of images, gifs, fanfiction-"

"Fanfiction?" Kotaja asked, digging in his breast pocket. Navaar sniggered, guiltily.

"Don't ask."

"Shan't," Kotaja said, eyeing over the screen of his Starkphone while he moved to stand by his Master. His claw clicked on the glass as he scrolled over his dash. "You are right, there are so many - and from just a little moment too. Gosh, they are swooning over his expressions, aren't they? And for good reason- Oh look! Someone's put a little moustache on him there, that's rather fetching."

"Adorable. Reblog that so I can track it."

"Already there, my Lady. Already there. But," Kotaja licked his lips as he set his tags. "Even if you managed to get them to meet, would Loki even care about... about this man? They are of two completely different worlds, why should they help each other?"

"Show a would-be King a fallen King and he will sympathize." Navaar explained. "Show a would-be God a fallen God and he will do the same. Loki's heart aches from his failures; he cries to be understood, though he will never ask as much - he is too proud. But he has not had the worst of luck - far from it. It will humble him to know that greater beings have taken worse tumbles. And he is brave; passionate. Our intended will appreciate this. He will hear him, I promise you that."

"Guess it doesn't hurt that Laufeyson is also quite the looker."

"Well, I've got to offer some perks."

***

Two days passed and nothing was heard of Loki save the hole left by his silence. It seemed to everyone (bar Tony) that he'd finally gotten tired of his wandering and fancied to stay put for a while - requesting only a book every now and then. Bruce had shown him the basic navigation of a StarkTablet to stream TV and movies, but he didn't seem too interested in it. He did watch half of Casablanca and seemed enthralled for an hour or so, but by the time the film should have ended, the tablet was resting back in its cradle on the side table and Loki was wedged back up against the pillows; nose in his book again.

Tony had sent for clothes, having Jarvis secretly scan and run his measurements, but Loki ignored them and left the Fed Ex packages sitting on the floor by the door. His silent protest against charity was not exactly unusual, Thor had told the others - reminiscing of how Frigga used to try and get him to wear his brother's hand-me-downs, simply because the leathersmith who had made his jerkins was held in such high regard it seemed a shame to waste his work. But at the same time, Loki was also well known for his groomed appearance; wearing Steve's ill-fitting sweats did not really become him and made him look a bit like a deflated ken doll.

The rest, however, was good for him and because of it, Bruce had finally managed to wean him off most of the drugs that had been the fortifications against his pain. He was pleased to note that Loki's wounds were also closing nicely, although the crimson stitches still needed to stay in his belly for a little longer - the healing flesh might have been starting to scab, but it was only on the outside. There was still the concern that his innards might not hold up to the strain of gravity without a little extra help and thanks to that, he was still on soups and semi-solid food - all of which he generally had to be persuaded to eat. Loki had gained a little colour back, and the gash in his leg had almost completely closed and barely seemed to bother him at all, but he was still awfully thin. It was hard to tell if the hollowness in his cheeks was from loss of weight or the lingering shadow of his sickness, but Bruce decided not to split hairs and simply held whatever book was holding his attention at ransom, threatening to read the end aloud until he'd scraped the last spoonful from the bowl. Despite the childishness of the game, Loki seemed to comply. Whether he enjoyed the sport or not was a mystery that everyone - including Jarvis - felt they should leave alone.

It was only Steve who seemed mildly annoyed at the entire situation. Although it had been ironed in stone from the beginning that Loki was in their care for the sake of Thor (and Thor's continuing relationship with SHIELD), he still did not understand why no one had yet brought up the point that they were harboring a war criminal; a murderer. A man who, for no other reason Steve knew than for the fact that he thought he was above everyone else, had tried to subjugate their world; had blown apart their city - killing over a hundred people and frightening the life out of thousands. A man whose idea of ruling seemed on par with a border collie working a flock of sheep. A man who had no business with mercy. A monster; a bully. And if there was one type of person Steve's immaculate graces could not abide, it was a bully.

He hadn't given Loki Nell's book straight away. He'd known better than that - the woman was about as trustworthy as a bridge made out of matchsticks and he wasn't about to let anything gifted by her reach Loki's hands until he'd inspected it thoroughly. Which he did. And found nothing. It was, just as he'd assumed when she'd first pressed it into his hands, little more than a children's book - just a directory of what seemed to be Irish, Scottish and Welsh deities, with a few characters of English legend thrown in for good measure. Each were listed in alphabetical order, cross-referenced by culture, and bore a cursive title, a crude picture and a short description to accompany them, that was all. After his fifth perusal, Steve finally decided that it was probably time to let the ex-God have a look at it - perhaps his reaction would be more telling of its true purpose. If it had one at all.

"Here," he said, without much more of an introduction as he strode into the infirmary."This is for you."

He held the book out to Loki rather like the way a child shares a toy when coaxed by their mother. Loki looked up from his own text (New Science - an issue from several months back. Tony wasn't really a reading material kind of guy, the only books he had lying around were a couple of Harry Potters, a bible - that he'd hidden, not wanting to give Loki ideas - and a wealth of appliance manuals) and frowned, taking the small, leather-bound tome from Steve's fingers. He made a face as he scanned the title.

"The Seelie and Unseelie courts?" He murmured, pressing his brows together. "You found this?"

"What if I did?" Steve asked, suddenly swaying into a type of cunning he wasn't acclimatized to. He licked his lips, resting his thumbs in his belt loops. "You're familiar with this stuff, right?"

"Only from the poems I'd read as a child." Loki gave him a strange look. "I should think the manual to the television would be more interesting."

"Well I'm sorry. I thought you might like something else to read." Steve snorted. "My mistake - I'll have it back if you don't like it."

"I have read the television manual three times." Loki told him, his fingers tightening around the tattered spine. He drew the volume closer to his chest. "I am sure I could be convinced to manage an intermission."

"Good. You're welcome, by the way."

"Am I?" Loki did not break his gaze as he laid the book in his lap. "I should think you were coerced, you speak with such a tone. And the way you presented your offering? Well... You do not like me, Steven, do you?"

"Oh geez, I'm so sorry, did you want me to wrap it or something?" Steve retorted, annoyance fizzing on his tongue. "Did you want one of us to read it to you, while another massaged your feet and fed you - I don't know - figs or something?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I dislike figs greatly."

"And I dislike you greatly." Steve said, evenly. "To answer your question. Not that it isn't obvious."

"You make your animosity very clear." Loki said, smoothing out the curling ends of his hair, casually. "Are you annoyed because I have taken your garments? Perhaps I have hindered too much of Banner's time for your liking? Or are you upset because Thor does not wish to spar with you while he is busy clumsily attending my whims?"

Loki was messing with him, his smile said it all. Steve narrowed his eyes, viciously.

"You know why it is that I don't like you." He said in a voice low enough to induce seismic tremors. Loki merely quirked a brow.

"And yet here I am, at your mercy. Behaving myself."

"Yeah, behaving yourself. For now." Steve continued to glower. "You're a bad egg. Loki. You'll always be a bad egg. No matter how much we sit on you, you're not going to hatch into something prettier. Even with your shell broken; you're rotten to the core."

"You do have a way of beating analogies to death." Loki told him, mildly. "You cannot even fathom what changes had come over me; it bores me to tell you. You bore me."

"Do I?" Steve hissed back. "Do I really? And what exactly happens to people when they bore you, Loki? Do they end up dead - do you kill them? Do you lop off their heads and add it to the pile under the throne you have on rent-to-buy? You've killed people, Loki. Lots of people. My people. The others might be hiding their revulsion of you by not bringing it up, but it doesn't bother me. You're a murderer."

"And you're a liar." Loki shot back. "A blind and ignorant liar - you chide me for killing when the very stars and stripes you hide behind are more than responsible for the deaths and suffering of millions. You're a coward, clutching at the gaudy skirts of patriotism. You may not hold the knife, soldier, but your flag does. It soaks up the blood of those you destroy. You, who stands for his country, you are no worse than I."

"You can't say that." Steve snarled, dropping his hands to his sides; balling his fists in order to control some of the pent-up fury that blasted his nerves like a typhoon. "You can't put the destruction caused by your own selfish greed ahead of a nations combined effort in a war! You killed in cold blood!"

"I did not!" Loki roared in defense, throwing the covers off his legs as he sat to attention, his eyes blaring green torches. "I did not kill in cold blood. There was nothing cold about it! It was war, soldier! It was not personal, it was war!"

"I thought you were a good liar!" Steve retaliated, smoothly. "You've had your eye on besting Thor ever since New Mexico - ever since he joined us against you. And you're trying to say it isn't personal. Right. You're the would-be King, Loki, and you're hankering for a throne; you couldn't care less what you have to do to get one, just so that you can look better than your brother."

"And that differs from how many conquerors? How many other Kings who have successfully overthrown their precessors, whether they began as enemies or not?" Loki simmered, angrily. "War is in the blood of the Aesir, Rogers - that is what we know. From as early as I can remember, Odin claims that he strove for peace, but how long would it be before his blood sang for battle and he rode off to find himself one? What is a thousand years to someone with eternal life? He could say one thing for a millennia, then completely change his mind and no one would notice, save for those who pen the silly stories which bear no resemblance to us at all? I challenged Thor for the throne not only because I wanted to prove myself worthy of it, but also because at that time all Thor cared to do was slay, sing and drink himself into a stupor. Yes, Captain-" Loki's lip curled as he watched the surprise blooming on Steve's face. "Yes. Your gentle Asgardian was nothing less than a barbarian before he was banished to Midgard. Ironically, that is the very reason he was exiled in the first place."

"You can't think that is a viable excuse-"

"I make no excuses. I had my reasons for what I did. And if you continue to despise me for it, then I will not argue with you." Loki said, shortly. "But you will get your facts right, soldier. You will acknowledge that I am not the only party guilty of shedding blood. Your SHIELD agents Fury, Barton and Romanov have slain nearly as many as I, and that was simply another work day for them. Banner's green monster has ended lives without even knowing it - without even comprehending what he had done, or allowing his enemies any level of respect before he crushed them. And Stark?" Loki paused, letting his glower deepen. "Has basically fuelled the death and destruction of others from the moment he was able to sign his name. And he did it without dirtying a single finger, save a smudge of ink."

"You were trying to rule us," Steve said, uncomfortably - feeling a little as though the carpet was slowly edging out from under his feet. "You were just trying to prove that you were better than us. You wanted us as slaves."

"I had a vision," Loki said, coldly. "But it was always my intention to rule - not destroy. Not engineer genocide. The Asgardians simply flatten what is in their path; humans oppress and harbor brutality toward those whom they have conquered. That is not what I wanted. I chose to subjugate in order to relieve humans of such a choice. To free you from the idea of freedom - because without war, freedom becomes a meaningless word. Far less dangerous and evocative than it stands now."

"What about free will?"

"Free will to what, soldier? To think your own thoughts - to discover that you find yourself better than your neighbor and to fight with him over it? Do you not see? You use your gift of choice to segregate yourselves from each other - what joy is there in that? And yet you sit here and argue with me that it should be your decision to do so." Loki shook his head. "You clamor for war. You want it. That is your choice, not mine, and that, Captain, is why I know I am better than you. For you have not seen it yet. And even as I explain it, I fear you never will. So you may call me a bad egg all you like, at least I do not pretend to be something else. Only cowards would stoop to harbor such a double standard."

Steve said nothing to that. He couldn't. The words had dried in his mouth and sat there, like sour grapes that had wizened to sour raisins. He loathed to admit it, but Loki had a point. And although the ex-God still had no real ground to stand on, given the fact that he hadn't actually challenged Steve on the matter of his killings, he certainly had a way of justifying select aspects of his madness. It was difficult, when the enemy started pointing out your own flaws - poking holes in a canvas that was so moth-eaten from the start that even the most beautiful images painted upon it would be incomplete.

And then there was Loki himself who was staring at Steve with such intensity, it was almost as if he was holding himself up by the strength of his gaze alone. He was out of breath and panted, open-mouthed as he regarded the soldier. His hair hung in his face and sweat beaded in droplets on his brow. His skin had paled considerably and most of the colour in his flesh gathered in mottled splotches of a hectic hue, high on his cheekbones - or hung in his eyes, in twin glints of pure fury. He was angry, Steve realised. But not the type of angry he'd been when Natasha had approached him in the holding cell on the helicarrier, no. He was really angry - human angry. His ire bit at him, washed him out, drained him. Steve could see the way that it clawed its way out of him, evident in his shaking limbs and in the twist of his mouth. But unlike the Loki who had snarled and spurned Widow - whose terrible ferocity was older than most of the stones at his feet and resonated in the very air around him - this Loki's anger seemed only skin deep. It was as if his root of resentment at the core of his being had been severed and the branches of it sat like a fleeting shadow on his flesh - sliding briefly over his emotions when they had need of it.

The God-level of anger had gone, as though he couldn't sustain it anymore. And as soon as it was clear that Steve had recognized such a fact, Loki recoiled - drawing back as though burned by his own surprise. His eyes dropped to the sheets which he twisted fretfully in his hands and he bit his tongue, saying nothing. That was when Steve knew, bone deep, that he held court to a completely different creature. The ex-God might answer to the same name, he might speak with a similar tenor and he definitely still acted with the identical superciliousness of his Godly counterpart. But this Loki was not the same Loki whom Steve had battled in Stuttgart. He probably wouldn't have even recognized him.

"I hear what you're saying," Steve said, finally, not moving his eyes from Loki's face. He wanted to catch everything about that tiny, sliding grace he'd just witnessed. "Doesn't mean I have to like you."

"No," Loki replied in a voice that would have asked a whisper to keep it down. "But perhaps you have a better understanding. Whether you wanted to or not."

"Well... You have... a book now," Steve said, awkwardly, motioning to the text. He rather thought the conversation had hit a cul-de-sac and he didn't have much of an inclination to stick around. Not when Loki had that kind of look on his face - the kind of look that definitely should be left on its own to clear. "Let... let us know if you're hungry or something..."

"If it is broth again, I don't think I will ever be," Loki muttered, watching as Steve exited the room. He drew his arms over his shoulders and sat still for a moment - listening to his breath as it rattled through his lungs and echoed off the plain, white walls. Steve had seen it. That idiot, that boy soldier had seen it. Loki's weakness, revealed by his fury in a moment of pure, unbridled confession that had poured from him almost as easily as his lies used to sail from his tongue. It was terrible - for once he'd started, he couldn't stop; he had to make sure the soldier heard him out. He had to rectify his erroneous understanding. And well... had he ever.

He would need to be more vigilant in future, he would need to learn to tether his ire or he might find his human temper would get him into more trouble than his even-keeled mistruths ever managed. A God felt emotions rather like the ache one feels in one's bones, almost as though they can sense them coming. Though they can be temperamental, it comes from so far within the very, very deep scope of their immortal soul that they will often use the warning to their advantage, making their anger more ferocious; their joy, unparalleled. Their sorrow, unbearable.

Humans, on the other hand, had emotions that passed over them so quickly and with such force it was almost as if they'd been slapped in the face by the fleeting responses and that often explained why they could appear so shocked. They came from nowhere, and disappeared into ether - just like the brevity of human life itself. But Loki hadn't been prepared for it, and he wondered whether his outburst would prove to be a bane or a blessing. He was almost surprised it was the soldier and not the doctor who had noticed the very evident effect of his mortality in comparison to the God they had met before.

Perhaps Banner had been more intent on healing his wounds that he did not see it, but Rogers had. The way in which his emotions could not set in his skin, and the surprise he displayed when they were wrenched from inside him - almost as if a claw-hammer had been shoved into his chest, ripping the reaction free from its confinement behind his ribs. Loki had felt the anger roiling in him, felt the warmth over his flesh and the trembling sink into his fingers with such a force he almost could not stand it. But then, after Steve had left, he felt it recede just as swiftly - tickling through his veins like the tongue of a wave. Then tunnelled down to the pit of his stomach where it sat in an uncomfortable silence, along with hunger, embarrassment and fretfulness - who was taking up a considerably large portion of the couch. Loki's human shell, was not so much a hollow coat housing his soul as it was a chorus of battling senses - all wishing to take the forefront at once. And he felt horribly conflicted at how to best deal with them.

The God Loki could ignore his hunger for days; Loki the mortal felt it aching in his gut and watched himself as he stared at the clock on the wall, wondering whether he should admit defeat and request lunch. The God Loki could go for nearly a week without sleep; human Loki napped several times a day and still woke feeling like he'd been hit in the head with a sledgehammer. The God Loki would have burned Tony Stark where he stood, furious at his gall for even considering that he might touch his person in such a manner.

Loki the mortal, human Loki, hadn't stopped thinking about the bruised tryst between himself and Stark since the moment he'd left the pool, and had battled with himself far too many times as to whether he should have let it continue. For how bad would a little lovemaking have really been in the grand scheme of things? It wasn't as if he would have gotten in trouble over it - not more trouble than he was already in, anyway. Would it have been weakness to submit? Would he then have owed Stark something? A favour? A secret? Thanks - well... he actually did owe Tony gratis for a start, that was already a given; he still hadn't commended him on bringing him back from what might have been the brink of his sanity. But after making love, would they have to become something of a partnership? What if Tony didn't think he was any good? What if he performed poorly? Where the hell was lunch? Did they want him to starve? And was broth really all they intended to offer him? Did Tony really think he was that attractive, or did he feel sorry for him? Was Loki actually someone a playboy like Tony Stark would even consider desirable? He, who could woo one hundred percent of a population without even trying?

Well, a good eighty-five percent of them, anyway.

The God Loki - or whatever of tiny, shattered pieces of him still remained in Loki's psyche, deemed that his human mind had far too many things to think about and that all of this bother was giving him a headache. The human Loki sighed as he was scorned by the shades of his former self and buried his head in his pillow. He felt too much, knew too much of how his body complained, of how it reacted; of the many nuances that made it alive. He felt his pulse pumping in his ears and his blood rushing through his veins. And he remembered how Tony had made him feel, if only for a few seconds. The mere thought of it was enough to send him rolling off the bed. He crashed to the floor in an ungraceful pile of long limbs and sighed as he pulled himself into a sitting position - crossing his feet at the ankles

Too much. Loki thought, dearly missing the cold, impartial instincts that used to drive him - the type of instincts that used to balm these dreadfully distracting, fleeting afflictions. He'd always been the type of God that had been driven by his impulses, but he hadn't felt this conflicted or fragmented since his adolescence. It is all too much. Too much to think about, too much to remember. And I wondered why humans seemed so at war with themselves - it is not their doing at all, but that of their own treacherous skin!

Shaken to the core, and finding it very hard to settle, Loki sighed again and slung his arm over the mattress, patting about the sheets until he found the book that Steve had thrown at him. Then he drew it into his lap, twisted his hair out of his eyes, and began to read.

***

Several hours later, four bowls of soup and three times through Clench's work, Loki rose to his feet, slung water over his face and stalked over to the fedEx boxes by the door - intent on dressing in an outfit that didn't appear to be eating him.

He felt better than he had in days. He'd also decided that perhaps some aspects of being human weren't such a pain after all.

Chapter 9: Sluagh-ghairm

Notes:

I'm sorry if this chapter is a little rough around the edges, I had actually written both 8 and 9 as one, but decided it was better to both edit and post two chapters, rather than try and tackle one 16,000 word monster. I would have saved this until Friday, but I was really excited to share it and I'm pretty keen to do some art to go with the story over the rest of this week. As always, thank you so much for reading and for all your kind words - feedback makes for a happy Howitzer!

So yeah - what is Nazeer and Kotaja doing for Navaar? Who's the mystery man? Will Widow get an eyeful of Loki and will Loki get away before she snaps his nuts off? All will be revealed (well, Stark and Loki already are, but you know what I mean) next time... maybe...

Also, I like Steve. I like him a lot, so this is the last time he's going to be a nervous Nellie. It's just that Clint wasn't around to share the conspiracy theories. Steve's good, he's good now - all thumbs up.

Do you recognise a nervous twitch,
That exposes the weakness of the myth.
When your turn comes round,
And the light goes on,
And you feel your attraction again,
Your instinct can't be wrong.

- Crowded House.

***

"Have you found anything more about that sword, yet?"

Steve burst into Tony's garage-cum-workroom like a tow-headed missile - crossing the length of the room in a mere handful of obstinate steps, his blond hair bouncing on his forehead as a result of his pace. Tony jerked in surprise, wrenching his attention away from the moat of variegated car parts surrounding him, gawking at his interrogator. The weighty spanner he'd been using balanced readily in his hand, half-cocked and poised to be lobbed at the intruder. If there was one thing Steve hadn't done in the fortnight he'd been a guest at Casa de Stark, it was to attack Tony on his own turf. Though Stark had almost counted on it every single morning when he staggered down to the den and found Captain America slung lazily over his couch (watching the morning cartoons and giggling into a bowl of cereal), he hadn't thought for a moment that Rogers could actually catch him by surprise. For Steve, in all aspects, was about as obvious as a reveille played with six hundred bugles on a cloudless day.

Yet whilst "sneaky" did not appear to be on the ever-growing list of Rogerisms (which sounded incredibly rude and Tony sniggered to himself for some time after he coined it) that Tony kept hidden in the back of his head, it seemed that Steve could simply forgo evasiveness and instead launch a total, honest, in-your-face frontal attack - which was far more disconcerting, really. Tony yelped as something behind him caught his elbow sharply and sensation rattled up his ulna nerve. Then cursed again, ignoring his visitor as he duck-dived behind his barricade - desperately trying to locate his other foot. He might have a wealth of ammunition at his disposal, but Steve had the element of surprise and Tony was all gloved clumsiness and expletives as he made to disengage himself from the fifth-scale reciprocating engine he was replicating - just to prove to Fury that he could. Steve just stared at him as he flailed; blond brows raised incredulously.

"Tony?"

"I heard you, geez hang on!" Tony muttered, performing a couple of positions that would have either instantly won him a new girlfriend, or a game of twister against a class of yoga enthusiasts. "I've got a lot of hot, sharp pointy things near my soft, sensitive, vulnerable things at the moment," he continued, pivoting dangerously. "And I really don't want them to meet."

"We just," Steve sighed - sounding nationalistic even through his annoyance. "Look, we need to find that weapon. We need to push this... whatever it is along and get him out of here."

"Get who out?" Tony said absently, kicking a coil of wire off his shoe

"You know who I mean."

"Loki?" Tony raised a brow and the Captain snorted, glancing up at the ceiling. "Why, what did he do? Piss on your pop tarts?"

"If he's not going to serve justice here, then he should be serving on Asgard." Steve said, shortly. "He should be serving, full stop."

"Serving? I...guess. If that's your thing, Rogers," Tony shrugged. "You know, I have this charming maid's outfit someone left over after a halloween party - I'm guessing either Victoria's Secret; maybe even Gautier... And since he's into leather and all-"

"Can you take anything, anything, seriously!" Steve groaned. "You open your mouth and you look like you're talking, but all that comes out is just a whole pile of poppycock!"

"You just said poppycock," Tony grinned. "Promise me you're going to use the term 'tomfoolery' one of these days. Or 'balderdash', I like that one. It's got a ring to it."

"He's a war criminal," Steve continued - for once, unabashed at Stark's interjections. "He should be treated like one! He came here to subjugate the earth. He's caused the deaths of how many people, and yet we've got him bundled up in your own house - pampered and comfy and ordering soup from us like we were his own personal slaves!"

"If you think about it in that sense," Tony speculated. "It's almost like he has gotten what he originally wanted, but on a really, really small scale." He laughed as Steve glared daggers. "Look, calm down Wonder Boy. Yes, it's not the ideal situation. Yes, Fury will probably have our heads if he finds out. Actually make that my head; I doubt he's going to blame any of you and we all know he'd jump at the opportunity to gift-wrap my ass and send me packing somewhere that isn't anywhere near him. But you're forgetting that there is a reason why we all came to stay at camp Loki. There is a threat."

"You mean that idiotic story of his? The one about that woman and her sword?" Steve snorted again. It really wasn't that becoming on him. "You're actually buying that."

"Yes, but not cheaply." Tony said, picking up a cloth to clean a couple of piston rods. If Steve was going to start this conversation again, it was probably better that Tony's hands were busy; he might end up burying them in some piece of Captain American Apple Pie - even with the awareness that he would probably break something in doing so. "Considering that the less idiotic part about his claims were about his world being overrun by this particular Warlord. And his world equals Thor's world. Remember Thor, Cap? Our buddy? Our heavy? The guy who has already helped us out twice in protecting our shit. We kind of owe him."

"Twice, yeah," Steve shot back. "Against Loki."

"Why am I not surprised that you're missing the point?" Tony groaned, exasperated. "It's more about what's happening, not who's happening. We are doing this for Thor. Thor. Not Loki. He just happened to be the one who got poked full of holes and tagged as the harbinger. Once we're done with Lady Stab-a-lot, we'll let Goldilocks take him back to whatever cell he'd been moulding in and just leave it at that."

"What if he's working with her?" Steve countered, unconvinced. "What if they're actually after Thor?"

"Highly unlikely. Because if they were," Tony said slowly, buffing the piston skirt to a high shine. "Doncha think they'd have done something by now? Why all the hanging around? If Navaar is as awesome as Loki says she is, surely we'd all be hamburger the minute Thor came skipping into the tower lobby. Or, we get turned into, you know-" Tony waggled his middle and forefinger in space, miming walking feet. "-little blue-eyed Loki-zombies or something. Besides, the tesseract is on Asgard - what else is here for them to bother with? And don't say world domination again, because we know for a fact that Lokles doesn't much care for the campaigning part of politics. He really prefers to get down to brass tacks - well, gold horns - as fast as possible. He's the embodiment of impatience - worse than me in a line at Burger King. And he likes you to know that he's got sprung snakes in that can and not peanuts; there's no way he's going to sit and wait when he can be reminding all of us of how freaking clever he is."

Steve exhaled, heavily, but he was starting to look a little less agitated. Of course, now Tony had blown apart that particular battleship, he found himself lost for a response. It made sense, Starks explanation regarding Loki's inaction. Steve didn't like it, but he couldn't argue that it was unusual for the tempestuous God to rest on his laurels. Noticing that Tony was now staring at him expectantly, Steve coughed - feeling the silence pounding between his temples and bit at the flesh of his lower lip. An awkward moment stretched between the two men; as long as a southern highway and as uncomfortable as a rectal exam. Then Tony sniffed and cleared his throat.

"You know I don't trust him, right?" He said, slowly, shifting his focus back to the movements of his cleaning rag. "I'm with you there. I see where you're coming from. Don't get me wrong, I am on your side. But I've also been dealing with a similar breed of villain for years. One even worse than Loki could even wet-dream of being." Tony made a face. "Shareholders..."

"Shareholders? Really?" Steve was the picture of skepticism. "Worse than a guy who can level a small town, or a third of a city in less than a day?"

"Yup. Because those guys are totally soulless - trust me. Even more nipple-twisting is the fact that you've gotta realize they're real people too. Which is the really, really sucky part. 'Cos when we put Loki away, for us, that was it. Done. We packed him up in a box, hermetically glued in with his own history and bullshit that we didn't have to deal with and shipped him back to Asgard. All we had to do after that was lay low, pretend that the city - and half the world - had all suffered a simultaneous acid trip, and watch as a whole load of government agents fought for the right to Tolkien over what happened, before the press Stephanie Meyer'd it. Once Loki was gone, we didn't need to worry about him anymore. Because he wasn't real - he wasn't human."

Tony motioned to the can of grease at Steve's side and nodded when Rogers handed it to him.

"The Shareholders, however... Well to start with, they are human - or at least, some classification of. So you have to try to get your head around the fact that these smarmy, be-suited bastards who are willing to go to any lengths to screw you out of the shirt on your back and make you perform horrific acts of conscience just so that they hammer in the fact that they own a good, strong percentage of your balls, are actually part of the same species as you are. Controlling interests, you see-" Tony clicked his tongue. "Apparently I can't own one hundred percent of my company because, according to that piss-bucket Stern, I'm "harboring a weapon". I've got a medal for bravery and yet I can't put all my toys in my toybox."

"They own part of the suit?" Steve looked flabbergasted. "You're kidding!"

"Not the suit, no." Stark shook his head. "And luckily, none of my projects in development, either. But all the established stuff? The type that brings in the funding? Yeah... Shareholders have their claws dug right in and won't be bought out for love or money, because they know I'll continue to fuck up in a legal sense every so often and a subpoena is like the metatron to them. Anyway," he continued. "As much as I voice that I hate these asshats to the very paladium-free core of my being, Pepper insists on making nice and likes to torture me on an annual basis by organizing those horrible christmas parties. The ones where they all come along, grinning like skulls and you have to smile and be nice to them; meet their cute kids and their hot wives who are all so kodak-moment and matching-jumper vomit. And you learn that they like the same cars as you do and they enjoy fishing and golf and they cook and they all listen to you as if they're loving everything you have to say, and you think 'Why do I hate them so much? They're actually pretty down-to-earth guys. Lame, but ordinary'. Then you remember, as you put the glasses away and Pepper wrestles that last bottle of Clinquot out of your hand, how, once they put that suit back on, they're capable of tearing you a new butt hole with one flick of a pen. At least with Loki, you knew what you were getting. Pissy, superpowered alien dictator? Sure, I get that. But the bunch of suits who control a bigger slice of my world than I care to admit are so damn two-faced, they need to double up on sunglasses. I swear, it's like talking to someone with a lazy eye - you don't know which one to look at."

"Like Fury," Steve supplied. He shrugged and held one hand over his eye to demonstrate. "You know, the patch and all."

"Oh. See here I thought it was just me who didn't really know where to look." Tony said, blowing on the edge of the piston tube. "Anyway, my point is that now we have a human Loki. We have 'christmas-party' Loki. He doesn't fuss - well, much. He doesn't fight. He doesn't make analogies about bugs and footwear. He's down-to-earth, literally. So now it's our job to figure out what to do with him. Do we make small talk? Or do we actually help him? Do we act the same as we did when we had him decked out in the cuffs and the Asgardian bondage gear, or do we pour ourselves a glass of chill-the-fuck-out and just roll with it? You see what I'm saying?"

"I guess." Steve shook his head slowly. "I still don't know..."

"Look, I know it goes against all your programming, Buzz Lightyear, but just consider it, ok? Remember, he's also injured pretty horrifically and that's gotta be a cock-block for the ol' enjoyment bone. No one likes to be ill. Especially someone who probably didn't get sick a hell of a lot when bullets would fly off him like sandflies on a windscreen. Hell, I bet pneumonia would just be a sniffle to a God."

"So I'm supposed to feel sorry for him?"

"No, but understand this, Mon Capitan," Tony said. "For all Loki's pride - for all that boasting on how awesome he was back on the helicarrier; he's ended up human. He's now in a body that he has absolutely no idea what to do with. It's not like swapping from an automatic to a stick shift - it's driving a fucking tank, in New Zealand, blindfolded, and with no hands! And that's probably only just coming close to an accurate comparison. But you know what confuses me even more? Out of all of us, you should be the one to understand this."

"Me?" Steve frowned. "Why me?"

"Who else went through the radical transformation of being one type of person, to another in the space of a few moments? And, unlike Bruce, you were totally aware of it." Tony explained. "Only where you were a man who became like a God, Loki was the other way around. How would you feel if you suddenly had all this-" Tony waved a hand vaguely at Steve's person. "Taken away? You know, after you'd been used to it for hundreds of years, or something. Loki got the short end of the stick, Steve, and while you can still argue that such a phenomenon still shouldn't gather any sympathy, at least it might encourage a bit more understanding."

Steve was quiet for a few moments - he even stared at his feet, which Tony thought was quite charming, if not entirely fitting for a guy who grew up on episodes of The Little Rascals. He almost expected him to scuff his toe in the dirt. Then he said:

"You know, Loki said the same thing. About understanding as opposed to, well... Forgiving, I guess."

"He did? And you still came in here, wanting to vote him off the island?"

"It was a difficult conversation. Mostly about... what he's done. And his reaction to it. It wasn't what I thought... And at the same time it was," Steve said, awkwardly. "I went in there with all my cards on the table but it turned out he had a different deck."

"Oh yeah, he plays canasta."

"I just thought... I thought it might have been simpler, that's all." Steve traced the seam on the arm of his t-shirt, scratching idly beneath the fabric. "He just seemed so straight-forward when he was wiping us up and down Bleeker Street on those flying jet-ski things. It's weird."

"It is weird," Tony admitted. "But then, we're supposed to be good with weird things. Or at least SHIELD is. And Fury's kinda got us listed as the special-ops of weird, SHIELD-related shit. So... yeah. Look at it this way: Loki knows he's guilty - he's never said that he isn't. He's never asked for forgiveness. In fact, when you think about it, he's never actually brought up the whole invasion thing. He's solely been concentrating on finding out more about the Evil Queen who made him Joe Bloggs and what's more, he came here with genuine concern for Thor. If you ask me, that's about as good a telling point as any. Shit, if he can act that well with half his guts falling out, then I wouldn't even feel guilty about being duped. It'd be like getting stabbed in the back by Christopher Lee."

Steve nodded slowly. Obviously he didn't get the reference, but he understood the idea behind it.

"Yeah, I guess," he agreed. "It really was pretty genuine, wasn't it. You could see it in his eyes - he was-"

"Scared out of his mind, hell yes." Tony interrupted, picking up a phillips head screwdriver as he began chipping away at the rusted housing of another piston. "According to him, Morticia basically bitch-slapped Odin. That's freaky."

"Yeah it is. Anyway... um," Steve jerked a thumb behind him. "It's... it's given me something to think about. Guess I should stop worrying that he might turn around and rip someone's head off and go... um... I'll go-"

"-thump something? Please do," Tony rolled his eyes. "And quickly, before you scare all the testosterone away; God, we're not the Avengerhood of Travelling Spandex. Stop worrying that you're the only one who is stubborn and pigheadedly righteous enough to persist in worrying about Loki being a threat. Sure, while most of us have fallen to the allure of Doc Oxen and his baby blue-greens; one of us needs to have his heart in the right place-"

Steve looked shocked.

"Did you just compliment me?"

"-even if his head is up his ass." Tony smirked. "And that's gotta be a tight fit."

"Yeah," Steve's good humor dropped. "Thanks."

"Any time." Tony waited for Rogers to get to the door, before adding. "And thank you for worrying about my head."

"Your head we need." Steve replied. "It's your mouth we could do without."

Tony rolled his eyes as Steve exited the room, spinning the screwdriver about in his fingers before he turned and stabbed it into the rusted side of the engine cover behind him, swearing softly under his breath as his good humor literally tumbled out of his mood. Fuck Steve. Fuck him for rubbing it in, and fuck him for fucking thinking out loud, the big, blond bastard. Why did he have to bring Loki up, goddamnit? Just as Tony had almost gotten his mind off the merry-go-round of guilt, there it went again - gaudy horses bounding, feeble music scratching at the base of his nerves until he couldn't stand it any longer. Of course, he wasn't at all surprised that Steve had decided to confront at Loki - he'd had that look on his face ever since Tony first mentioned the ex-God's name. But why did he have to do it now? Now, when it was all Tony could do to keep from burying the point of the screwdriver into his own head.

If Anthony Stark were to compile a list of all the reckless, idiotic choices he'd made in his life up to this point, forcing himself on Loki definitely made the top three. Sure, he'd designed, constructed and marketed weapons that had ultimately supported and promoted war. Sure, he'd done so wrong by so many people - Pepper included - that sometimes he wondered if his idea of valuing human life was actually just some warped effort to cover for his many, many social faux pas. He drank too much, swore too much and generally ran his mouth as he pleased without any consideration for where it was going and who was in the passenger seat. But still, no matter how he downplayed it. No matter how he glossed his intentions into something more glamorous and appealing, he couldn't forge a single excuse in defence for what he'd done to Loki.

He'd forced himself upon him. He'd taken without asking. That was the biggest no-no in any playboy's handbook - that was the line that you just didn't cross. Generally, there was a sexy time and a sexy place for that kind of move, and Tony usually sensed it without even having to try (or he paid extra for it, one of the two). With Loki, however, Tony had just lost it. Gone. No thoughts, just impulses; no restraint, just want. It wasn't right, it wasn't humane. Even if Loki's record was dirtier than Tony's sheets after New Year's Eve, 2002, it still wasn't kosher to practically wrestle him into submission. It might have only been a kiss; a kiss with a bit of a fondle, perhaps. But no. He shouldn't have done it. Not when Loki was starting to trust him, that was the lemon in the paper cut, right there.

The worst thing - the very terrible realisation that had slapped Tony hard in the face after he'd finished bickering with Jarvis in the pool house - was... What would have happened if it had gone further? If Loki hadn't managed to detonate Tony's thundering train of lust and push him off. Would he have gone that far? Would he have forced him to... to...

You weren't listening.

Tony swallowed hard, swiping his hair out of his eyes as he crossed to the far corner of the workroom and plonked himself down in a mangled office chair, eyeing up the dismantled repulsor parts that lay strewn about his desk with an expression so sour it could have melted acid. He let out a long breath as he picked up a random sprocket, toyed with it idly for a moment, before he hefted it at the window. He wished it had been a brick. Some part of him, the part deep down that he didn't talk to anymore and that lady with the clipboard and the couch in her office had told him never to visit, wished it had been himself. Loki was right, he hadn't been listening. He'd been so driven by... by what? Desire? Need? The percentage of alcohol in his afternoon smoothie? Tony wasn't even so sure himself, but whatever it was - whatever it had been - it had nearly ruined him completely. Perhaps it was a God thing. Perhaps he'd just been really, really horny.

Whatever it was, the drag of it had been practically as strong as the gravitational pull of Jupiter, and to be lost in it was hypnotic. Frightening. Tony wouldn't be surprised if Loki didn't come within a three-mile radius of him for several years. Reaching for the hip flask he'd taped under the workbench and tossing a few loose screws out of a glass he'd found by his right elbow, Tony poured himself a neat measure and downed it in one. Then he dropped his head to his hand, and sat still for a moment, rocking slowly to and fro as he contemplated neutering himself with his orbital sander. If there was one thing he hated, it was the loss of control - drunkenness and the odd stimulant aside, being not himself was something he found hard to tolerate (even if being himself was just as despicable sometimes). And if there was anything he hated even more, it was getting someone hurt who really didn't deserve it. Not like that, anyway. Loki had killed, yes, but there had been no raping or pillaging on his agenda. He'd been a sentient psychopath, at least - not a lust-driven nymphomaniac. Tony shivered - half at the burn of the stiff, cheap whiskey, half at the thorn of recollection in his brain that had started playing the moment over and over - dancing in his thoughts like an organ grinder's monkey to the tune of his own mortification. The moment just when he'd realized that Loki was crying out. In fright. In pain. Crying for him to stop. And he'd-

"Idiot," he muttered to himself, rolling the emptied glass around on the uneven work surface before he poured himself another nip. Really, he should have just brought the bottle with him - it was going to be that kind of night. "You fucking, fucking idiot. Guess you can't be a genius in every aspect - there's got to be an area where it balances and you find out what it feels like to be a complete moron."

"I wouldn't be so hard on yourself."

Suddenly the tumbler was shifted into his hand by another - a slender, pale hand with long, tapered fingers and a plastic band aid taped to the back of it, covering the wound caused by the IV needle. His head snapping up incredulously, Tony found himself staring back at the ex-God, who met his gaze with an even, unreadable expression. Loki's hair was hanging in his face - tousled, as though he'd been running his hands through it many times - and one cheek appeared redder than the other; probably a pressure mark from the heel of his hand while he propped up his head as he read. He was wearing the clothes Tony had ordered for him - plain stonewashed jeans and a white cotton shirt of which he'd rolled the sleeves. Some of the buttons were mis-matched, like he'd thrown it on in a hurry. Tony felt his chest tighten and he gripped the glass tightly, shivering when Loki's fingers brushed his as they pulled away.

"You're here?" He half-stated, half-asked, frowning a little while his expression tried to sort itself out. Loki shrugged casually.

"I am," he replied softly, running his fingers over the notches in the table from where Tony would often stab his tools into the wood in triumphant flourishes of spent genius. "Why, would you rather I left?"

"I'm just a little... Um," Tony licked his incredibly dry lips, narrowing his eyes. "I mean... After the pool... I didn't think you'd want to be around me for... oh I don't know - several millennia? It's only been a couple of days. Shit, I still don't want to be around me."

"Well, I am not you, am I? Are you going to apologise?"

"Apologise? Wha- how can I?" Tony twisted in his seat, craning to look up at the other. "I mean, of course I can but, what the hell am I gonna say? 'Sorry for hoovering your mouth without asking'? 'Sorry for the adventurous handshake'? 'Sorry you have to basically scream in my ear and bulldoze me off of you'? You had every right to be pissed. I'd have slugged me too, if I could. And you say I should apologise? I don't even know where to start."

"Try anyway," Loki said smoothly, rounding Tony's chair to lean against the desk - his hip only just touching the skin of Tony's bare forearm. Tony sucked in a breath.

"I'm... I am sorry," he said, holding Loki's pale gaze. "Really. It was more than just my bad, it was my total horrific... Well, that colloquialism doesn't work with any other word, but you know what I mean. It was a loss of control. I acted like a complete asshat and I'm not proud of it. I mean, I usually-"

"Get what you want?" Loki interrupted, Tony shook his head.

"-have a more... accepting audience. I should have listened to you. I was... I don't know. It had been a long week, I was tired, I-"

"You were tired?" Loki asked him, somewhat surprised.

"Yeah well, I'm used to working off very little sleep," Tony told him. "But with you being The Plague for almost four days, and with Thor wandering around like a lost kitten, I've kind of been sleeping less than my usual insomniac amount, you know?"

"So it was my fault," the ex-God's voice was cool, but not icy. He continued to look at Tony through hooded eyes, effectively veiling his expression. Tony felt distinctly uncomfortable.

"I didn't say that," Tony corrected him, quickly. "It wasn't. Isn't. I just said-"

"You were tired." Loki finished. "So the reason you forced me, the reason you sought to have your way with me - despite my protests - was that you were tired."

"I haven't finished you know."

"Oh I think you're quite finished," Loki said, shifting his weight. He leaned over a little, his dark hair curling about his jawline. His tone was clipped and short - snobbish, as Tony had remembered it before, but his eyes were dark and his gaze, soft. It was as though he wanted to be angry, but couldn't quite manage it and the effect was terribly disorientating. "And let me tell you something, Tony Stark. I am tired as well. Very 'tired'." He eased to one side, stepping over Tony's legs to straddle him, still leaning his weight back against the lip of the desk.

"I think I'm missing something," Tony croaked, staring up the line of Loki's chest to his face, which now sported a slim, mischievous grin.

"Do you now?"

"Yup. Definitely missed a line there. Something like 'that's ok Tony - just don't do it again or I'll tear your fingernails out', something like that."

"Is that what you think I would say in response to your heartfelt confession?" Loki didn't exactly laugh, but he did sort of chuckle. A low, rolling sound that Tony felt reverberating through him. "You think I would resort to threats?"

"Nope.. I just... I'm just ad-libbing here. Don't actually know you that well, I guess," Tony continued to blather, trying hard not to look at the rather tantalising glimpse of button-fly before him. "Um. Your crotch is actually in my face right now. Um."

"Yes," Loki said, playfully. "It is, rather - isn't it..."

"Did you put that there on purpose?"

"How about you guess, Stark. Take a wild stab."

"Don't... please... Don't use that turn of phrase," Tony squeezed his eyes shut and bit into his lip, hard enough that he tasted the warm salt of his own blood. "Besides, I don't think I really ought to be doing any estimating. 'Cos I don't really wanna be wrong this time."

"I chided you far too harshly before; it is not only you who should be apologising." Loki explained. "After all, I did kiss you back, did I not?"

"Kinda thought that was a nervous reaction."

"It was not." Loki smiled this time, and ran his hands over Tony's. "Therefore I offer you a white flag, Tony Stark. I believe we can put that moment behind us."

"And what about this moment?" Tony asked, not moving. "Because it's a bit like the old moment, you know. In fact, I'd go as far to say that it was almost exactly the same, except there isn't a pool and you aren't half naked-"

"I'm sure we can amend that," Loki breathed. As his chest rose and fell, Tony could see the paleness of his flesh between the buttons of his shirt. Idly, he wondered if Loki had affixed them that way on purpose. He slowly moved his hands to grip Loki's sides, running over the cotton-clad flesh a few times before he cocked an eyebrow, boyishly.

"Permission to amend?"

"Please," Loki said through a gasp as Tony stood up, closing the distance between them. Calloused fingers slid up his back and Loki arched his body, moving his hands to rest on Tony's shoulders. "Please."

That was about when the world forgot itself. Gravity folded up into a half lotus and let everyone hang in the air for a moment while it contemplated its inner peace. Time slipped out of the room for a quick cup of tea. Sense, hesitation and guilt each split a cab and made their way out of town. For in this moment there was nothing but the two of them, and that was all; one man, and one ex-God, who was quickly learning that perks of his mortal body far outweighed the disadvantages. Especially with Tony Starks hands sliding all over it.

At some point, Tony had unbuttoned his shirt. At another, his mouth was traversing the expanse of smooth flesh before him - exploring every inch of ex-God, as Loki moaned beneath him, undulating into each touch as though he feared they would drift away like sea foam - dissolving back into a mere fantasy. A soft cry brought their lips together, and Loki clutched at Tony's back - breathing hard as Stark's tongue danced with his own and their hips rocked together, picking up the dance that their hands had started.

Of course, there were some drawbacks with getting intimate in Stark's workroom and Loki was quick to find the first as he leaned back, jerking suddenly with discomfort and something other than Tony lanced him in the spine. He made a face as he dragged a dismantled piece of machinery out from under his ribs; half a gauntlet that Tony had pulled apart from repulsor replacements. Tony snorted with embarrassment, eyeing over the mountain ranges of mess that encrusted his work table: equipment parts, tools, spills of oil and adhesive. He was pretty sure he could smell the metallic heat of his spot welder somewhere too - having, as always, left it on.

"Uh," he began, awkwardly. "We could move this to the bedroom, yanno. It's, um... It's bit of a mess in here. This table-"

Loki only huffed with impatience - annoyed at the interruption - and craned his neck to look behind him, regarding the mess, albeit upside-down. Then he removed his hands from Tony's shoulders and curled them behind his head - pushing back hard to effectively propel the clutter behind him onto the floor. There was a deafening crash as a landside of metal and plastic surrendered to the polished concrete - screws, washers and other pieces of shrapnel tinkling after, like confetti - then Loki's hands were in his fly and his mouth on Tony's neck as he muttered,

"There. Clean."

Well, that would certainly do it. Too turned on to worry about the attention the clatter might have attracted, Tony reached up and tugged his t-shirt over his head, easing forward to press his lips to Loki's collarbone - nibbling the skin lightly while his fingers ran over his taut belly. The ex-God let his head fall back to the desk, raising his chest to meet Tony's lips and as Stark's tongue swirled in his navel, any further conversation that arrested Loki's mind simply swooned into a long, low moan. Tony tasted every part of him, pressed kisses down his ribs, his hips and the softer area between. After sensing the warm eagerness below, Tony made to remove the last of Loki's clothes and after a brief, frustrating fumble with the fastenings of his jeans, he collapsed over the ex-God's sweat sheened body, pressing in close. Then Loki slung his long legs over Tony's back and all was lost.

***

At approximately two am, Tony awoke to the sensation of a set of slim, cool fingers brushing over the seam of scar tissue that ringed the titanium base of his arc reactor. He cocked one eye open, glancing over the Asgardian mutely while the ex-God met his gaze and licked his lips, his eyes shaded with his heavy lashes. For a moment, Tony thought he might comment on the device, but Loki only leaned forward and flicked his tongue down the length of Tony's jaw. Tony grinned, smelling the sweat in his hair and murmured,

"Where'd we end up?"

"This is the..." Loki pulled away for a moment, seemingly gathering his bearings. Jarvis must have hit the lights at some point, as the room had been swallowed in pitch blackness - all save for the luminescence created by Tony's reactor, which struck the darkness like a solar flare. In the bleached glow, Loki looked even more ethereal - all deep shadows and bright contrasts, and when he turned back, Tony could see the blue light like willow-the-wisps burning in his eyes. "Mustang, I believe you said."

"Oh, the GT-350?" Tony shifted to look beneath him and nodded at twin white stripes cresting the hood. "Yeah, one of my favourites. Took me awhile to find a replacement for the first one."

"A replacement?"

"Yup. The first one suffered the brunt of my prototype suit and our... um... technical difficulties when ironing out the kinks," Stark explained. "I sorta, kinda smashed the shit out of it. Luckily I know a guy who knows a guy who could find me a replacement. Which is good, 'cos I love this car."

"And you also love to make love on this car? Or any of your vehicles?" Loki asked smoothly, as his hand danced about Tony's hip. Tony shivered. "When you tend them so vigorously - look at the mess we have made of it."

Tony shrugged at the smeared finish, not giving it a second glance. Instead he was watching tiny, hidden expression at the corner of Loki's mouth with the kind of attention a cat gives a burrowing mouse.

"Well, you know," he replied, ambiguously. "A good end to an evening is always worth the clean up later."

"End?" Loki was smiling widely now; lips strung like a bow. "But Stark, there are at least six more cars in this place."

"Six?"

"Yes, Stark. Six. And they do look far too pristine"

"I can do six," Tony concurred, stretching pleasurably. He nodded toward the handsome, dark horse in the corner and pressed his lips against the slope of Loki's bare shoulder. "The Rolls?"

"Rolls... well I guess we have been doing a bit of that." Loki agreed, running his tongue over his lips. "The 'Rolls' it shall be."

"Goodie."

***

The blemished youth was not really the fairest sight one would wish to encounter at such an early hour of the morning, and if his face was anything to judge the quality of his coffee - so called, for it was more akin to a cup of brown lumps with water thrown on it than an actual, consumable beverage - then the man should have known better. He eyed the contents of the styrofoam cup warily, curling his lip slightly at the decidedly rancid smell emanating from its depths. An island of foam, thin as spit, spun languidly in the centre.

"Always good to have a kickstart to the day - huh, pal?" The child was saying, scratching idly at one nostril. The man just looked at him, still unsure as to whether he should actually drink the beverage, or pour it into a gas tank. He could swear he felt the plastic melting onto his fingers. And to think he'd been told that there was good coffee in Manhattan - he should have known not to trust a stray sod.

"Indeed," was all he offered.

"New in town?"

"Yes," The man reached into his pocket, fishing out a handful of quarters and scattered them on the counter letting the boy scrape out the price of the coffee. The rest he dumped into the tip jar. "You could tell?"

"Yeah, you got an accent. Where you from? Canada? Canada, eh?"

The man looked at him quizzically and made to speak, but was quickly interrupted as a heavy flock of large, dark birds speckled the horizon, slowly flying over head in a long, deliberate formation, like a procession of mourners. Their cries were enough to still the blood. The man blanched, paling slightly which - given his colouring - almost made him glow in the grey dawn light. The canteen boy, however, did not seem bothered by the occurrence and raised his brows as he leaned over the counter, watching the birds disappear into the clouds of dawn fog hanging over the city.

"Wow! What were those?" He asked, the contents of his nose forgotten as he gaped after receding flock, his eyes stretched wide by wonder. "Magpies? They looked more like blackbirds."

"Ravens," The man answered him, in a voice deeper than a pacific trench. "They are ravens."

"Whoa, broken compass birdies! South is that way!" The boy snorted, jutting his thumb somewhat North-east. He took out a filthy cloth and began smearing about the dirt on the tortured chrome of his espresso machine.

"Ravens do not migrate."

"For real? Where'd they come from then?" He asked snorting hard to dislodge half his brain from his sinus canal. The man grimaced as he lobbed something substantial onto the ground. "You think it might be one of those phenomenons? Like... y'know... frogs falling out of the sky? Or raining cats and dogs, or whatever?"

"It is not so much a phenomenon as it is an omen," the man said, resting his coffee back on the canteen counter, untouched. "One should be heedful."

"You mean like... It's a sign? Like... Punxsutawney Phil seeing his shadow? Are we gonna have a long winter this year or something?"

"A long winter," he said, finally - recalling the icy claws of the beasts that humans had long recited into the realms of myth. "Yes. That is a way to put it." He nodded at the youth and turned up the collar of his trench coat against the early morning chill. He didn't feel the cold, particularly, and the action was more out of habit than anything. It didn't pay to be recognised - not when he had little intention of dawdling. Raising his eyes to the bleeding horizon, he frowned deeply, running his hand over his chin as he set his pace down the street.

Neither Huginn, Muginn, nor the Morrigan fly among you, he mused, grimly. You do not bear the banners of Odin; there are whispers of war in your cries. It seems the Cyclops will sit on his anger no longer and has breathed his intent at last. Mercy for them all, they will be led to their deaths.

***

Since the amount of alcohol he'd consumed the night before had been relatively low, the shaft of sunlight that hooked into his eyelids, come the morning, was not entirely unpleasant. For once in his debaucherous life, it did not herald the immense glacier that was his usual hangover he suffered when he woke up somewhere strange and without his pants. Tony licked his lips, his mood lightening further as the only spirit he tasted on his mouth was that of the sleeping ex-God beside him - a mead of Loki, as it were. Deadly as absinthe, yet six times as tasty (and not the colour of mouthwash). As though sensing Stark's eyes on him, the trickster shifted, groaning as he peeled his face away from the leather seat.

"'Morning sunshine," Stark greeted him. Loki did not turn over, only moved his hand around to weakly pat at his spine.

"Stark, what is that poking in my back?" He mumbled, Tony laughed.

"I'd love to say it was me, but it's the gear stick."

"Where are we now?"

"Back of the Hot Rod."

"Oh," Loki shifted again, twisting rather ungracefully as he fought with his long limbs in the confined space. It was like watching a grasshopper navigate the neck of a milk bottle. When he finally managed to face Stark, Tony noted the pale cast of his partner's skin and the pain pinching his expression. Guilt, ever the subtle one, punched him squarely in the nuts.

"You ok?" He asked gently, wincing a little. Loki sniffed, hissing a little through his teeth, but managed to nod.

"Aye, it will pass. Aided by one of Banner's tablets, I'm sure I'll be on my feet again after a spell."

"Mmm, Bruce also warned against strenuous physical activity." Tony purred, stroking his fingers lightly over the pink-tinged bandage on Loki's belly. "I think we broke our promise to the good doctor."

"I believe the expression is 'What he doesn't know won't hurt him'?" Loki breathed, closing his eyes as Stark caressed him. Tony couldn't help but notice how, despite Jarvis's explanations, the ex-God's human pelt suited him as he stretched out lazily in the cradle of the Hot Rod's backseat; his hair tossed about in all directions, both legs hanging off the side of the car as he was too tall to curl inside it. The morning light touched his skin and warmed it, limning his silhouette in such light that Tony thought, for all Loki's claims to a crown and throne, the dressings of velvet and gold would only do him a disservice. Instead he should be gilded in sunlight, just like this - dressed in nothing but pleasant exhaustion as the vestiges of their sport teased with the corners of his mouth into a smile.

Mesmerized, Tony almost didn't hear Jarvis, until the AI spoke for a third time - wedging reality back into the forefront with all the delicacy of a trainwreck.

"-man is here."

"What?"

"I said, Miss Rushman is here, sir," Jarvis repeated.

"Who?"

"From Legal, sir? Natalie Rushman," Jarvis paused a moment, then appeared to sigh through his circuits and added. "Little Miss Muffet..?"

"Fuck."

In that instant Tony's blood ran cold and he glanced wildly at Loki, who seemed to be wearing the exact same expression; one of a fox that has caught the sound of a hunting trumpet on the meadow breeze.

"Where is she?" Tony said, wondering if he stayed very still and pulled the covers over his head the monster might not see him.

"She is approaching the workroom, sir," Jarvis told him. "Shall I try to stall her?"

"You know she won't have that - she'll see right through you. So to speak," Tony hissed, wrenching himself out of the seat to tug at the dust cloth that was usually stationed over the back of the Hot Rod. "Stay here," he told Loki. "Don't move. Try really, really hard not to breathe. And if you can, think of kittens or something because I swear she can smell fear."

"You are that worried about Romanov?" Loki seemed amused. "She is not so heartless, Stark."

"Isn't she? Call her a mewling quim again and see how much she laughs," Tony scowled, watching as the humor dived out of Loki's face. "I wouldn't count my chickens on her tender graces, Hamlet - I'm not the one naked in the back of a car, displaying all the bits she'd probably want to hammer off my person while I'm too damned sore and exhausted to run away!"

"But you are naked, Stark."

"Well, that she's dealt with before." Tony said, dismissively. "Now I've heard she can torture a guy a thousand ways without actually showing any visible evidence. Do you know what a chinese burn is?"

Loki watched as Tony made a twisting motion with his hands.

"Aye. We called them "Gnarl-biters". Sif was very good at them, as Thor can attest."

"Uh-huh, but Romanov? I've heard she does them down there." There was no need for indication. Stark's expression said it all.

"Quiet. No moving, no breathing." Loki murmured as he wedged himself into the back seat - tugging the dust cloth over him. "Understood."

"Good Lord." Tony breathed, glancing about for the most realistic place one should be found when butt-naked in one's workroom. "I really hope she attached her sense of humor to her clipboard this morning."

Chapter 10: Something Wicked

For all things gained there's a sacrifice,

To walk on water, you gotta sink in the ice.

- Shihad.

***

"Is this your idea of a joke?"

Tony swivelled in his chair, turning just enough that Natasha had the full attention of his counterfeit beguilement, but not an eyeful of naked billionaire playboy... well, whatever he'd said at the time. He was fully mindful of the fact that he was showing a good amount of side-butt and this was fine by him. It was the softer parts he really didn't want her to see - lest she be struck with the notion to sink her mandibles in them. As sexy as that sounded, in a fetish kind of way, it really wasn't.

"A joke? A genius caught unawares and naked in his workroom by a beautiful yet-" Tony surveyed her expression airily, trying not to shiver. "-slightly constipated-looking assistant? No, that's my idea of an adult feature. You have a weird sense of humor."

"What are you doing in here?" Natasha said bluntly, her heels articulating her frustration as she all but stomped into the room. Generally, she had a longer leash when it came to playtime - the usual mexican standoff that was Stark Industries against SHIELD-ANNOYING-NOSEY-PARKERS, but she was making it very clear that there was no room for games this morning. She was pursing her lips in an expression not unlike the back end of a cat; her business face. Great. "I've needed you to sign the reports from Blackwood since Monday."

"Sign the who?"

"The Blackwood reports. Haven't you checked your email? I've sent you at least five."

"I might have skimmed my inbox a bit," Tony replied, blithely. "I get so much spam these days. You know I can only respond to so many Nigerian aristocrats who need me to piggy bank their millions while they mourn their... whatever..."

Natasha raised her brows.

"...and um," Tony barrelled on, watching as his point tumbled haplessly into a ditch. "So many lovely ladies offering their specialist services that I have to turn down, while explaining that my penis is big enough already, thank you very much and-"

"You're not doing me any favors here, Tony."

"Aren't I? Why do I owe you favors? Can't you see I'm busy?" He proclaimed, tapping a spanner and a screwdriver on the edge of the desk as though they were drumsticks. "I'mworking. What reports? Who cares about Blackwood?"

"Stark Industries cares about Blackwood." Natasha replied, without missing a beat. "Because Blackwood is trying to sue them over fourteen million in repairs for the damage caused to their facilities in the Lower West suburbs during the Avengers battle. Now, you're the only one out of all of them who is readily recognizable, and since you've made it clear you're aprivate enterprise, they've decided to pin the expenses on you."

"The Lower Wes? We weren't near Lower Wes, that's a fraudulent claim. What, do they make china or something? Is this reciprocal tactics because of that little merger we made last year? Is it? Because I'm pretty sure we've got a tin of lawyers somewhere for that."

"Well, if you'd sign the papers, I can investigate that for you," Natasha took a few more steps into the middle of the lab and cast her eyes about the mess Tony and Loki had made of it. She frowned. "Since you don't have Pepper to do that right now."

"We're not mentioning Pepper," Tony said quickly, following her gaze. He sucked worriedly at the top of his goatee when her eyes fell on the covered Hot Rod. "It's a thing."

"Thing or not, you should call her. She's doing all of that work in Japan by herself, for you, and you don't even have the guts to pick up the phone?"

"Tit for tat, 'tash - she hasn't called me either."

"It's Natalie. And she's too busy handling ninety-per-cent of your business responsibilities."

"If you hadn't noticed by now." Tony motioned to her with the spanner. "Everyone handles my business responsibilities. I'm like Dougie Howser, I rush in and save the day at the end and all the grown ups handle the boring stuff. I'm the talent. It's just how we do things around here. I don't know how they do things in legal," he added, hazarding a smirk. Natasha didn't bite.

"Everyone handles you. You have that right at least," Romanov shot back, nodding to Loki's pants lying on the floor. "I thought it would be presumptuous to expect a littering of stilettos, but this?" She stepped over to the jeans and picked them up between her thumb and forefinger. "This actually surprises me. Well done."

"Those are mine," Tony rallied, swiftly.

"You dream of being a twenty-eight inch waist." Natasha narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed.

"They are. They're my diet-pants." Tony persisted. "You know, like how girls always hold on to a pair of jeans or a skirt two sizes too small and hide them at the back of their closet so two months later they can pull them out and cry over them when they still don't fit them?"

"You cry over a pair of pants?"

"Sometimes I'm just so full of emotion."

"Right." Natasha tapped her pen on her clipboard. "And they're in the lab because?"

"I'm making a diet suit," Tony made a sweeping gesture toward the sets of armour suspended near the far wall. "Figured it was better thinspiration."

"Tony, these aren't your pants-"

"They're Rhodeys."

"-and I don't care whose they are." Natasha continued. "I don't care much about Blackwood, either. But I do want to know why Steve, Bruce and our Northern Friend are currently holed up here at Stark Tower."

"Sleepover."

"What are you planning?" Her tone of voice implied that she wasn't making a demand as much as harboring a question that held a really big knife and had a tendency to stab minor organs. "Bruce, I understand - you've got your science buddy system going on. But the other two? You can't just-"

"Hang out? Why not? What's wrong with us hanging out?" Tony rolled his shoulders, cracking his spine. "Oh that's right, Mr Moody is allergic to fun, isn't he..."

"The Director has some questions," Natasha answered, shortly, taking a few steps backwards. She was getting horribly close to the Hot Rod and the sweat was starting to bead on the back of his neck. He wouldn't doubt she probably knew exactly how many droplets were there as well - like she could smell the salt of them on his skin. He motioned to his own jeans, a pair of black Levi's, by her left foot.

"Can you pass my pants?" He said, licking his lips. "And what questions, exactly? Blondie told him everything he wanted to know. We all did. It's called debriefing."

"He has other questions." Natasha said, glancing down at the jeans on the floor, then motioned at another point a few feet away. "And I thought those were your pants."

"Diet pants," Tony corrected her. "And if you want me to get into them, there'll be screaming. And tears. From the both of us. What other questions?"

"Ones he hasn't asked yet. And no, I won't pass you your fat pants." Natasha popped her lips, distributing her vicious shade of red lipstick. "I like you to stay in one place when I talk to you. This ensures it."

"You're a mean lady," Tony said, standing up anyway. Natasha didn't blink, but her eyes also didn't leave his face. She well well-practiced in maintaining decorum when there clearly wasn't any in the room. Tony grabbed the cracked shell of one of his gauntlets and held it in front of his goods as he attempted to saunter casually over to the car. It came out as more of a desperate clamber. "Ones he hasn't asked... About... about El-oh-kay-eye?"

"Oh? Now what do you care about him?" Natasha said, finally offering an expression that wasn't her usual granite-chiseled poker face. Her eyes flashed with interest. "Unless you were going to send him the quote from the glazier?"

Tony blanched ever so slightly. He hadn't meant to ask, but it just came out. He had to admit, all of a sudden he was interested in what Fury might be planning - though he figured he could probably write it off as mere morbid fascination because hey, the guy did throw him out a window. Realistically, however, Loki's welfare was currently of some importance to him and his unquenchable prying. If he were a cat, he'd be on curiosity's hit list.

"He's a saucerful of secrets, what?" Tony tried to remain as nonchalant as possible while he crept around the other side of the Hot Rod, his eyes glued to the Widow's. He could have sworn the drop cloth was now drooping in the middle, which meant that Loki must be flattening himself against the car floor. Considering the space available, that must have been pretty damn uncomfortable. He stopped by the edge of the windscreen - resting his fingers on the cover. "You know me - I like to have my fingers in all the... pies."

"Stick too many in and you're not going to pull out a plum," Natasha replied, evenly. "And I'm not at liberty to discuss legal intel without disclosure permissions."

"Well then, I can't share our boy-secrets with you either. You know, permissions, girl-cooties and all. Sorry," Tony said, smoothly, before he made the biggest mistake he could make in such a situation. He dropped his gaze to the cover. He didn't mean to; he wasn't even sure why he did it. Maybe he heard a noise, maybe he thought he saw Loki move. Whatever it was, it caused him to look at the cloth for a mere split second and that was already far too much when in the company of the Widow. Natasha didn't bat an eye, only stowed her clipboard under her arm, and reached out to grip a handful of heavy fabric with the other. When she looked back at Tony, it was clear she was fully aware that she was about to uncover something of the particular boy-secret variety.

"Girl-cooties, huh?" She said, twisting the canvas sheet a little and noting everything with those sharp blue eyes; every hitch of Tony's chest, every movement his body betrayed. There was something in his eyes that she hadn't seen before - not often anyway. A shade of anxiety that was almost foreign to Tony Stark and she immediately recognised it as a point of weakness. Tony was very good at covering his thin spots with overwhelming bravado, but scratch enough at the surface and one would soon find the places to stick a wedge of blackmail and twist. "So... are my girl cooties going to contaminate whatever is beneath this sheet?"

"Uh yup. That's a brand new polish under there," Tony said, edging around to stand by the passenger door, directly opposite his team mate. His hands rested by his side; any movements to stop her would only incite her to continue - he knew that well enough. "And I've been sanding. Particles will catch on the finish and ruin it."

"You've been sanding. At six-forty in the morning." Natasha said. "Naked."

"Best not to put off the boring jobs." Tony tried very hard not to wince. He didn't succeed. "'Tash-"

"Natalie. Are you going to tell me why you four are suddenly hanging out together?"

"Why, is Clint feeling left out?" Tony said, desperate to inflate something around that sinking feeling in his stomach. "Does he want in on the boy's club too?"

"Either you tell me now, or I find out what's under this cover and you can explain it again in the company of whatever you're trying to hide."

"Under that cover is a car. You can tell; it's car-shaped," Tony told her. But Widow wasn't one to be blown off. They were at an impasse. Though she would never actively show it, something inside her seemed to sigh with despondency. Then she leaned over a little, tensed and pulled.

The cover came off with a long scraping sound of the rough weave against hard chrome. For a second their eyes met over the top of the hot Rod, then they looked inside.

There was nothing there.

It was a keen cocktail of fatigue and nerves that momentarily turned Tony Stark into a soft serve swirl of confusion as he wondered if the whole ordeal had actually happened - had Loki even been there? Had he been dreaming? Had Loki really been lying about his magic? - and for a minute he froze while a thinly-veiled shadow of panic grabbed at his throat. Then, as the seconds trudged past, he became aware of a sense of warmth at the side of his leg and four thin fingers closing around the bottom of his ankle like the tail of a cat. Tony Stark smiled. He didn't know how Loki had managed to climb out of the car without being noticed, but he certainly earned a whole new set of awesome points for being able to do so.

"Toldja," was all he said to herald Natasha's confusion. "There's nothing else in here. Just me, you, and two pairs of pants."

For a moment, Natasha looked as though she knew she had missed something - that somehow Tony had managed to steal a base, leaving him one step ahead and grinning like an idiot. But her perplexity didn't last long, and soon enough her usual impassiveness slid back into place. She straightened, shifting her clipboard back into her other hand.

"You make sure you sign those Blackwood documents," she said in a voice that would have stilled the blood worse than any poison. Widow was always one to live up to her cryptonym. She rocked backwards a few steps and turned to leave. "Don't think Fury won't have me ask again Tony - it's not my curiosity, it's his. You want to start asking himquestions then I suggest you take a mop so you can clean your own brains off the wall. And Thor needs to report in, you know."

"Report in? What, does he have a ten-trip card to earth or something? Does Fury give him a stamp?" Tony snorted. "Yeah 'thanks for saving the world, man. Come back anytime, on the condition that you tell us exactly what you're doing, where you're going and you don't stay for longer than two weeks. And no crossing the border with a van full of Asgardians."

He was being an arrogant prick and he knew it, but he couldn't help challenging Fury when it was clear the director was in one of his moods - the kind where he could almost sniff out that someone was doing something without his knowledge and yet he couldn't risk meddling with the less amiable Avengers in order to find out what was going on. That explained why she was here - Tony was the best for gossip.

"Fury would like to see him. For more questions. Don't even bother asking." Natasha bristled, casting a look over Tony's collection of man toys (or penis extensions, as she labelled them in her head). "What the hell happened to your cars? They look horrible."

"Um." Tony reached a hand out, gesturing for her to stop before she got too close. Sure, the markings of... well... they could have been mistaken for anything. Romanov knew that he'd concocted his own brand of cut and polish, naming it after a certain famous surfboard treatment (mostly because of the adult nature of the title), but that didn't mean that Romanov's expert nose wouldn't identify a "sex wax" as a real, god-honest sex wax and that what came out of it probably wasn't actually that good for the paint job. He felt the movement of something shaking beside his leg, though he didn't dare look down. After a moment he realized Loki was laughing. "Experimental polish job," he explained, trying hard to shoo the nervous giggle out of his voice and pointed to his first, less-successful, single limbed robotic helper (which nodded somewhat as it was addressed). "By Digits, over there. He's all thumbs, seriously - he's about to lose his opposable one, actually. I was just going to clean it up."

Natasha just shot him a look that clearly said better you than me and pivoted on her toe, marching out of the room almost as silently as she'd entered. "Just make sure Thor gets to HQ." She replied as she pushed through the doors. Well, that was nerve-wracking. At least he'd been quick to learn that if you couldn't beat the Widow, you just kept throwing things at it until it scurried away. Usually pointless banter and non-sequitur observations did the trick.

Tony pressed his lips into a thin line, waiting for a solid minute - just to make sure - before he glanced down at the naked ex-God by his feet who was almost painfully beside himself with mirth. Loki's eyes were squeezed shut, fingers shoved in his mouth as he chortled around them, biting down hard on the joints. His slim shoulders trembled with the pressure of the suppressed chuckles.

"Laugh it up, why doncha?" Tony said, but he was smiling. Loki removed his hands and held them to his belly as he let out a barrage of laughter, as loud and honest as Tony had ever heard it. Tony snickered a little to himself as Loki looked up at him, green eyes swimming with tears, his teeth white against his lips.

"You sounded like such an idiot!" He managed, rubbing his chest to ease the ache of the tremors. "I swear, I could almost tell when you were about to piss yourself - you're so much more transparent than you think you are!"

"Well, gee. Thanks." Tony scowled. Loki waved off his ire casually.

"But you did create quite the dance of mistruths, I must say. She seems a difficult one to dissuade. I do wish I could have seen her face when she looked into the vehicle!"

Tony shook his head.

"Trust me, you wouldn't want to - I think my balls are still thawing out from icing up the minute she walked into the room."

"Lovely." Loki groaned a little, pressing his hand onto the hot edge of his wound before his mouth wrangled a smile and he stroked the side of Tony's calf with the tips of his fingers. "Perhaps we should have just let her walk in on us?"

"You know, for someone as crafty as you, you have a weird idea of self-preservation," Tony said, shivering in response. Loki leaned over and kissed the back of his knee. There was tongue. Tony almost fell on him.

"I jest, that is all," Loki replied, easing himself up, his grin morphing into a grimace. Tony moved to help but was batted away, albeit affably. Loki only motioned to his clothes and stood leaning against the Hot Rod as Tony fetched them. "I know very well that Romanov is not someone who should be aware of my existence here."

"She'll find out eventually though," Tony said, hiking his jeans up. Loki's touches had made him half-hard, but he ignored it and thought of Natasha's scowl instead. If they were going to go for it again, they should really wait until Natasha was well out of Manhattan, or at least busy attending to Fury's whims. He gave Loki a side glance, wondering if his partner was disappointed, but Loki was attending his own buttons and paid Tony no mind. His casualness, despite the danger, was almost calming - almost appealing, actually and Tony couldn't help feeling a little turned on. "She's like that. They all are down there. And you know what'll happen when she does - though you probably won't know about it until she sends you your severed dick in a FedEx box."

"She is really so full of wrath?"

"Hey the SHIELD crew ain't the sweethearts we are - trust me. Natasha would've left you impaled on that sword - hell, she would have thrown on a few bits of pineapple and bacon and called you a shish-kebab. Clint would probably shoot you in the face, then explode. Fury? I don't even want to think about it."

"If they find out, it is something I will deal with at the time," Loki told him, running his fingers through his sweat-styled hair. He didn't seem bothered, but with him it was hard to tell. "I, Stark. Not you, not Thor. I understand that my problem has become yours, but answering for it? That is something I can deal with myself and I will deal with it myself. Is that understood? I will not stand to be muttered about behind closed doors."

"You're referring to Steve?" Tony's nails buffed his hairline. "Look, Steve is a worry-wort, seriously, I wouldn't-"

"And you haven't caught yourself pondering either?" Loki interrupted, smoothly. "I am a criminal, this is true. Yes, I have rectified Rogers' mistake in thinking that my past efforts were anything personal against Midgard. War is war. You cannot fathom how many parties wish to own this world, I was but one of thousands. If it hadn't been me, it might have been any number of armies attracted to the Tesseract."

"You were the only one to make a move, though?"

"The Jotuns, the-" Loki stopped and thought for a moment, frowning slightly. "Well, they were the enemies of Asgard. Now they lie dormant, their blades stilled by truce, but their minds ever poisoned for it. They were one army I knew of that had successfully traveled to Midgard in order to rule it. After that, I am not sure."

"How do you know, then?" Tony asked. "How can you be sure that there are so many... uh... things who want to come here to party? Who told you?"

"The woman said it. Navaar. And I had also heard rumors on my travels," Loki said, simply. "Generally they are nothing to be so wary of - yet I wouldn't be so naive to dismiss such mumblings. Especially not when it seems that Midgard is so famous for some unknown reason."

"Famous?"

"That is what the Warlord insinuated," Loki licked his lips thoughtfully, picking at his fingernails. "It seems you get more traffic here than you realize. Your world is much more complicated than it seems. In what way, I am sure I'm yet to find out."

"What do you mean?" Tony said, leaning forward a little in order to catch Loki's expression. The ex-God didn't look at him.

"I am yet to understand the true nature of the weapon that stole my powers," Loki explained. "As well as the reason why this shopkeeper - this woman who seemed to know exactly how to heal me - provided me with a book on magical beings to read whilst I recuperated." He cocked an eyebrow at Tony. "You cannot think that this doesn't mean something."

"Well, y'know, it's a magic store," Tony reasoned. "That's kinda all she had in stock. But yes, realistically, it smells as fishy as seagull breath; how she knew to break your fever, the fact that her shop and the sword appear in the same piece of text. She knew Thor too, did he tell you that?"

"He did not." Loki looked up abruptly, suddenly alarmed. "Which begs the question: did she guess who I am?"

"Don't know. Possibly. Your brother didn't say," Tony said, taking in a deep breath as his mind tumbled over the facts. "Do you think that this shop chick - Nell - might be working for Navaar?"

"It could be likely," Loki nodded. "After all, she seemed to imply that she'd been here. She appeared to have ran me through on the order of someone in New York, but whether that was a lie or not, I am not certain." He looked to the ceiling, tapping his fingers against his lips before he pushed off the Hot Rod, tucking his arms about his ribs as he paced. "The way she spoke - she was so casual, even before Odin. No God would speak that way to a King unless they were either above or shared the same station - even then, maybe not. She utilized colloquialisms from this realm with such ease, like she'd lived here for a good amount of time, mingling with mortals enough that she might pass as one."

"How so?"

"She spoke... well-" Loki stopped in front of Stark, considering him for a moment, before he gestured to his person in general. "To be honest, she spoke a lot like you, Stark. It was strange. Out of place. Gods just do not address each other like that, even the most common of us. You might have noticed that, despite his inclination to visit often, Thor has never really picked up on the way in which humans speak to each other. He still finds it baffling and, to some degree, endearing."

"But Madam Ugly just babbled on in Odin's court like a protester in a Subway station." Tony scratched his chin as Loki nodded. "Interesting. So are you planning on cornering Nell about this?"

"I have no other choice." Loki admitted. "She's the only clue I have, and you cannot disagree that she is making her involvement obvious. She wants me to talk to her."

"What if she is Navaar?"

"All the more reason. After all, I have been here for more than two weeks, sicker and weaker than I have ever been in my life and she has not come after me. Nor has she come for Thor, which is something I was almost certain she was going to do."

"And that explains why you were in such a hurry that you'd even go as far as to ask for help from me." Tony added. Loki just shrugged.

"Well, that is what I did say. You didn't have to accommodate me as you have."

"Yeah, 'cause having you bleed out on the street was really an option."

"All I needed to do was make sure that Navaar had not gone as far as to attack my brother. And thanks to you, here he is, safe from any magic, as far as I can tell."

"So why go after her at all?" Tony suggested, accepting Loki's sideline compliment with all its begrudged grace as he pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. If she hasn't gone after Thor, and you're still... well, you're here, then what's the point? Why not gather information your own way? Clearly she's setting out a trap... "

"I have to," Loki shook his head. "We cannot return to Asgard without the aid of magic and I have nothing. If this 'Nell' is Navaar, then possibly she is offering a way back in order for Thor and I to fight. And if we must fight, then we will - we are not the type of Gods who would suffer this mischief kindly."

Tony just looked at Loki a moment, considering him. The man - well, he'd been a God at the time - who had cursed their world and his own, vowing to rule them all just to prove he was better than anyone, just to wear the big boy pants. That man stood before him now, itching to fight, determined to correct any misgivings that Navaar held against his world. It was like this Loki was some alternate version that had been cloned and let out to play while his evil twin schemed in a dungeon in Asgard or something. The man in the iron mask, played out backwards. It was completely against the M.O. of the Loki he knew, but perhaps it was orthodox of the Loki he once had been. The Loki that still loved his father and brother - because he did. Even at the height of his malice, that had been the one truth he hadn't really managed to conceal.

"Well, whatever you're going to do, you shouldn't do it on an empty stomach," Tony said, flipping the cover back over the Hot Rod. "I'll get you some breakfast and some painkillers and then we can discuss taking a little road trip to Nell's."

"I think I shall bathe, then I approach Banner for medication, then I shall think about breakfast," Loki said, snobbishly, raising his chin. "I do not need you to pander over me."

"I thought you liked it," Tony smirked, dissolving Loki's contempt at being coddled somewhat. "Ok, ok I get it. You do what you want, right?"

"My, you do learn fast." Loki grinned. "I do think I'm beginning to like you, Stark."

"Can you continue liking me in my room later? Y'know... just to practice and all? Liking people is very good for stress, and if you do it right, it's a really good workout."

Loki laughed at that. His true laugh, not the wicked, mocking thing he usually belted out at stupid people who said stupid things. It was a low, gentle sound and really very pleasant; it suited him. It dwindled to a chuckle as he touched Stark's arm, lightly, before turning to pad out the room. Before he passed through the doors, Stark was sure he heard him murmur:

"Perhaps."

***

Loki groaned with pleasure as the shower hit his skin and drilled warmth into his aches and pains until his flesh was filled with nothing more than a pleasant fuzz. For a while he simply leaned against the wall, his head bowed while the water tumbled over his crown and through his dark hair. His eyes were closed, breathing even. Blindly, he patted about the wall of the cell, palming the soap and began to massage the bar over his shoulders in slow, deliberate circles. He was sore, that was certain. Rolling about on the hoods of supercars for most of the evening would do that to a guy - a guy with a hole in his gut, no less. But for all his carnal woes, Loki found that he could not wipe the smile off his face. He only grinned harder as he lathered himself down, running his fingers over his body that had been so ardently caressed by his partner that even through the water and cleanser the ex-God could swear he still smelled of Stark's cologne. And he liked it.

For a man who craved attention as much as Loki, having himself practically worshipped by a lady-killer like Stark was the bandage that could heal all wounds. Loki chuckled to himself as he threw some oddly-scented, bottled liquid into his hair - guessing that was its purpose as the word shampoo meant little to him - and shook his head. Well, if he'd wanted attention, why didn't he think of something like this sooner? All the effort it had taken to patch himself back together after falling through the heart of space, all the trouble he'd gone to in order to win over the Chitauri and plan his invasion - all of this paled terribly in comparison to one very enjoyable, very satisfying roll in the... on the... over the...

A low chuckle of a plastic frequency bounced off the close walls of the cubicle and Loki leaned back letting his mouth fill, and overflow with water. If he started counting exactly how many times they'd enjoyed each other, who'd done what to whom and where, then he might as well run out of the bathroom as he was and drag Tony back to join him.

Something in the back of Loki's mind - something very mortal and about as patient as a prairie fire - wondered if that was such a bad idea. He had to admit, the rumpus of the previous night was a vast improvement to any attempts he'd made in forcing people to honor him. The idiots at Stuttgart had given him a little enjoyment as they bowed like frightened cattle, but having one man truly belong to him for one whole night? Perfection. Loki curled his lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it a little as he slid his fingers over the trail of lasting kisses that Tony had left on his body - the dull pain of the love bites quickening his pulse as the way Tony's tongue would balm the sting bled into his mind.

He'd had women before, of course. Pretty girls at court who had giggled and batted their beautiful eyes when he spoke to them. Played about in conversation with them, while they tittered and giggled and twisted their fingers in their long hair. Silly, sweet girls with sweet lips that tasted of wine and petals; girls who were soft and gentle. They were nice, and the lovemaking was enjoyable and he really thought he was sated at the time. But he could never shake the feeling that they were taking him as the second option. With Thor for a brother, it was rather difficult not to feel second best - especially when the brute emerged from his chambers in the morning and stumbled down to the breakfast table - a woman under each arm and only a blanket to preserve his decency. Then the girls looked really interested. Then they didn't titter and giggle; instead they turned a particularly fabulous scarlet and Thor would wink at them, wink, and Loki knew that he'd lost them, had they ever been his in the first place. But Stark?

Stark wanted him, only him. He'd seen Thor, he knew what he was like - the big, handsome buffoon and his heartbreaking grin - but Tony Stark wanted Loki. Tony Stark didn't giggle at all, instead he said things like "Harder" and "Try putting it here" and "Is it impolite on Asgard to swallow? 'Cause I'll swallow if you want". Tony Stark used his tongue a lot and didn't mind when Loki's fingers caught in his hair, or his nails dug in a little deeper than he'd meant to. Tony Stark told him he was "fucking stunning" before he took Loki in to the hilt and made him feel just as good as he supposedly looked. Right now, Odin could tip Thor off the steps of Gladsheim with his foot, proclaim Loki the true ruler of Asgard and forgive him for all his sins and it still wouldn't beat the sheer ecstasy he'd felt in Tony's arms. Well... maybe. Loki wiped his eyes as he turned off the water. That might be pushing it.

Still, his human skin veritably glowed as he dried himself off and dressed, and as he looked upon himself in the mirror, combing his dark hair into some semblance of sense, he noticed that he still could not stop smiling.

"Stark, you idiot, you have tattooed me with exuberance," he whispered to his reflection, and his doppelganger grinned back, eyes clear and bright with levity. "What is to be done?"

Breakfast, his stomach answered with a compressed growl, and Loki only shrugged to himself. He might not be able to quell this unbecoming good mood, but he could certainly sate his hunger.

The kitchen was virtually a Saturday morning cartoon of sheer lunacy, though Loki swifty ascertained that such antics weren't really abnormal when in the company of the Avengers. Stark and Thor were battling over a small cardboard box containing, what was proclaimed, the last strawberry and almond pop-tart while Steve held a spatula in his hand and was waving it irritably at the warring pair, trying to persuade one of them into settling for eggs instead of that sugary rubbish. Bruce only munched quietly on a piece of toast, his attention glued to the morning paper. All eyes were windows of surprise, however, as Loki emerged in the doorway, his towel-dried hair slick against his neck and while his hands smoothed down the front of his tee. Silence reigned, and the slap of Loki's bare feet echoed on the polished concrete as he padded to the breakfast counter, folding his hands neatly in front of himself when he sat down. He offered no introduction.

"Um, morning?" Someone said. Tony grinned wider than a cheshire cat. Thor looked delighted.

"Brother! You have decided to join us to break the fast!" He exclaimed, a little too loudly. "What would you like to eat? There is coffee - the coffee is good. And you may have this pop-tart, if you like." He wrenched the box out of Tony's hand - who, in turn, scowled darkly at him - and held it in front of his brother's face. Loki took one look at the gaudy packaging and grimaced.

"I think I would rather eat stoat," he replied, at which Tony snorted and dived under Thor's arm, wrestling the box back. Bruce nodded, motioning to the juice box and the milk carton in front of him; liquid food.

"No Pop-tarts for you I'm afraid," he said, eyeing Loki over, almost as if he could sense the strain Loki had put on his stitches the night before. "I'm not about to play tailor in your gut again if you end up with intestinal perforations-"

"Wow, I'm feeling really hungry now." Tony groused for somewhere about the vicinity of Thor's elbow.

"-There's juice and stuff. Maybe Steve can whip up some thin oatmeal-"

"Gruel?" Loki complained through a moue of distaste. "I am truly a prisoner then!"

"C'mon Bruce, I'm sure he can handle some eggs," Steve said, kindly, and at which Thor let go of the Pop-tart box, stunned by his own surprise - sending Tony crashing into a heap on the floor. Bruce raised his brows; even Loki himself looked genuinely stumped. Hadn't he chewed the All American Poster Child out for being a narrow minded imbecile only a few hours ago? Loki certainly hadn't expected such civility this soon - even at all. But Steve merely flushed a little and shrugged, bashfully. "What? Eggs beat oatmeal any day."

"Well, you eat enough of 'em," Tony said from the floor. Loki cocked his head to one side, not returning Steve's smile, but not outright dismissing it. He let the set of his features show his appreciation instead, then he nodded.

"Very well. I will have what Rogers is offering," he agreed. Steve shot the others a knowing look and returned to the pan, expertly cracking two more eggs into the center.

"How do you like them?" He asked, chipping at the edges of the whites as they cooked. Loki looked up at him, his face suddenly awash with confusion.

"How? Are you not cooking them?"

"Sunny side up or over easy?"

"Easily over what?" Loki looked mystified and glanced at Thor, who shrugged helplessly. Steve turned back from the stove, a smile playing about the corner of his lips as he tipped the pan to display the contents. Eight round yolks regarded their audience, blushing shyly against their bubbling white skirts of albumen.

"Would you like them like this, or do you like them flipped over?" He asked. Loki just stared at him as if he'd asked the most stupid question in the world.

"Whatever does it matter?"

"Well, some folks are just picky about how they get their eggs," Steve explained, patiently, while Tony picked himself up from the tiles and wedged the sacred pop tart into the toaster. "That's two ways, but there are plenty more - depending on how much you like it cooked or how you like to eat it, that sort of thing."

Thor only chuckled and moved out of the cooking area to sit next to his brother, who was still trying to get his head around the oddball idea of offering more than one way to present a fried egg. Loki thumbed his chin, frowning.

"There is nothing... special about this egg?" He asked, cautiously, feeling as though he was missing something crucial in this ritual of what seemed to be an everyday American breakfast.

"Nope."

"And yet such a thing is really so bothersome? The method in which one cooks a hen's egg?"

"Yep."

Loki gave up, shaking his head in disbelief. The sigh he emitted was clearly a place holder for some defeated response, but he held his tongue and shrugged instead. "I shall have them any way you choose, Rogers. Surprise me."

Steve rewarded his decision with a genial nod and turned back to the stove, poking at the bacon that was hissing underneath the grill. Loki plucked his book from under his arm and placed it on the counter, flicking through a few pages until he arrived at one he'd bookmarked with a small, torn piece of paper - one of the backings from his plastic bandages. Tony settled himself at the end of the counter, and picked up his coffee mug. It was a christmas gift - one of the earlier ones from Pepper, when she'd been a young, bright-eyed P.A, all "yes sirs" and snappy heels; eager to please. It had once proclaimed "World's Greatest Boss", but after a few years (and consequently after Pepper had got to know Tony a lot better), she'd attacked it with a ceramics pen, crossing out the B and the O and replacing them with an "A". She'd been in a bad mood at the time, of course, and had later offered to throw it out, but Tony kept it - finding the irony rather amusing. It works, you see, he'd explained. Because I actually do have a great ass...

Shut up, she'd hissed. Or I'll add H-O-L-E, just to make it clear.

"Find anything interesting in the book?" He asked, as Loki mulled over another page. The ex-God looked up, returning a nondescript expression, his fingers hovering over the paper.

"Not particularly," he said, scanning the text again, before flicking to the next page. "It seems to be just a dictionary of supernatural beings common with most of your world's major ethnicities. You might call it a reference guide of sorts - as though the author thought that humans may one day find themselves meeting one of these creatures. I suppose it's charming in a dull sort of fashion."

"You're in there." Steve mentioned, offhandedly - shoveling portions of egg and bacon on a couple of plates. "You and Thor. There's a section on Norse Mythology."

"Oh. That." Loki rolled his eyes. "Yes, I skipped that."

"What's wrong, brother? Don't you like to hear the tales about yourself?" Thor teased, stabbing his fork into a hash brown as Steve pushed his plate in front of him. "The one about you and the goat is particularly charming."

"Oh but it cannot beat your wooing of Giants in a gown!" Loki shot back, green eyes narrowed to neon slits.

"You were in a gown too, if I remember correctly," Thor said around a piece of toast. He was teasing, of course - grinning like an idiot even with half a dozen eggs poking out between his teeth, but Loki only glared harder, not noticing as Steve placed his breakfast in front of him. He did, to Tony's dismay however, pick up his knife.

"Aye, dragged into your idiocy again! That seems dreadfully accurate to how things really were, even given the level of embellishment by the scribe," the ex-God hissed. Stark glanced between the pair, feeling the last swallow of coffee start to ball in his throat, but Thor only brushed the comment off with a shrug.

"You know they are only stories, brother."

"You say that every time and yet you continue to tease." Loki spat, gripping the knife in his fingers - his knuckles turning white. It was clear this was an old bone, chewed many times, and yet it seemed that Loki always managed to snag a splinter. As caring as he was of his brother, Thor's tongue seemed particularly blunted by lack of tact when it came to certain subjects. It might have been a family thing, a childish battle that had never really concluded - and wouldn't, thanks to the pride of each brother. But one had to admit, when it came to the question of reputation, Loki really did manage to grab the worse end of the staff.

"So you guys have always been aware that there were myths printed about you?" Steve asked, setting his own plate down with the others and picking up his utensils. "You've known about them?"

"We were children when the first strings of stories were finally recorded." Loki explained, stiffly. "Odin felt that he should investigate and turned himself into a mouse, watching as the idiot scribe happily went about spinning his lies. When he returned, he forbade Thor and I from ever reading them - claiming that they were human nonsense. Which they were,only that didn't stop Thor from finding himself a new challenge."

"Taking the poems?"

"No, learning to read." Loki snorted. "Then he managed to convince Heimdall to let him cross the Bifrost to Midgard under the pretence of... what was it?"

"Oh, collecting new species of flowers for mother," Thor filled in, his eyes beginning to water as his chuckles boiled in his chest.

"And you returned with a handful of weeds and a wealth of new blackmail material." Loki finished, his lips a hairpin of disdain. "Which he then proceeds to spoon-feed myself and his ridiculous friends whilst leaping about the feasting table like a bard who has lost his mind on mead. Naturally he saves the juiciest tales for when he's really bored or wants me to do something for him."

"Such as when, brother?" Thor cut in, wiping egg yolk off his lip with the back of his hand. "I do not recall."

"No, and that is your problem. You're never aware of the way your tongue flaps and the ripples it causes," Loki replied, crisply. "Allow me to remind you of the way in which you had bribed me into inheriting your chores at Sleipnir's stables, only to reward me with a story about how I bedded a horse."

Thor roared with laughter at that, and as Loki had pointed out seconds ago, it was not the wisest choice of action. Loki slammed his fist down onto the counter so hard, the knife catapulted out of his fist and skidded across the surface, spinning a few times. His expression was livid; eyes like torches.

"It is not funny, you oaf!"

"They are just stories, Loki!" Thor choked, frighteningly unaware of the physical stress his teasing caused. He simply shook his head. "Every time I mention them, you get so aggravated, but I do not see why. They are not true."

"No, but they might as well be! They are so old and ingrained now - and it is all the Midgardians know of us. Tales. Myths. You do not worry because there is nothing in them that speaks ill of you - apart from the fact you're a war-hungry glutton, which, as irony would have it, is actually true. But you are not the one set up to fall, who suffers horrific atrocities at the hands of his kin, and causes a wealth of trouble in return. This Loki-" he picked up the book and jabbed a finger at the spine. "-is an idiot. A fool. They describe him as crafty, but he is no more proficient than you trying to tell a joke after too many glasses of wine. And yet this is what people think of me!"

"Asgardians do not think that of you," Thor replied, calmly. "What does it matter that Midgard has heard a few tall tales? Rumors can be told of anyone."

"Rumors? Rumors?" Loki rose from his seat, his glare boring into his brother's face as he leaned in towards him, his cheeks white. He was shaking. "Enlighten me, brother, what did these rumors tell us of the end of our world - of this supposed 'Ragnarok'? Who was it that stood against Asgard then? Who was it that began to weave the threads of dissent between the Gods, then plucked the tapestry apart when the time was right? Who broke the back on Odin's patience, Thor, who? These evil stories you told me as a boy, brother, just a boy, and yet there I sat, listening of how I helped destroy a world, while I had never done anything so much as play the odd prank on my tutors! You cannot know how that felt! Who could?"

Oh. Well. He had a point there. Someone coughed as the conversation slammed against a wall of awkwardness - stalling abruptly and plummeting into a tight silence. Suddenly, the tiled countertop seemed unimaginably riveting. Sure, they'd all had their lessons from the school of hard knocks when it came to hearing the worst about themselves, but knowing that a whole world (well, whole cultural group, but a kid probably wouldn't have paid attention to the fine print at the time) thought you were a complete asshole? That trumped across the board.

Thor had often been labelled as 'block-headed', but that mattered little to him when it was mostly his strength and ferociousness that he prided himself upon; brains were an additional luxury. Tony had read all sorts of odd and terrible claims that were pasted across any number of international papers and magazines, finding that for almost every good word writ of him, there was a negative one. But that was all right, because what little of it wasn't true, he could simply spotlight and make fun of at his next press conference. For what was true, he'd merely orchestrated the perfect, media friendly response: "Well, oops."

Steve had experienced the pleasure of having the living shit kicked out of him on a regular basis at school, but that was always a physical thing - idiocy played out by bullies. He had never felt their opinion reflected any of his shortcomings; their abuse only made him more determined to fight the good fight. And Bruce?

"I can," Banner said suddenly. Quietly. He did not look up from his coffee. "I know exactly how that feels."

It was only Loki who raised his eyes to the man while the others drilled patterns into the breakfast bar, Bruce's abrupt confession colliding with his rage like a slap to the face. His fury bunny-hopped, still roiling behind his eyes, but when he spoke, it was tinged more by disbelief than anger.

"You cannot possibly-"

"Know what it's like to be gossiped about without any clear understanding as to why? Of course I do. The big guy's a monster, remember - you even called him that yourself." Bruce reasoned, flexing his fingers around his cup. His eyes were dark and resolute as he regarded Loki, and suddenly the ex-God saw a flicker of what lay behind them, hidden under the layers of his gentle demeanor. Despite his kindness, Banner was a cursed man, a branded man. A man who knew exactly what it was like to be feared and hated - although none of this antipathy was ever caused by his own volition and sadly, there was very little he could do about it. Bruce licked his lips, his brow twitching.

"God knows he's gotten more press coverage than I ever have. I've read more terrible accounts about what my passenger has done than I'd care to admit. The way he's hurt people, killed people, deserving or not. And they're not." He added. "When they're trying to stop him. When they're just doing their job - what they signed up to do. Sure, I've been able to put a dent in the plans of a few who needed to be dealt with, but that doesn't make up for it. Not really."

He cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to stifle his discomfort. No matter how many times Bruce had tried to choke them down, he'd heard so many horrors recorded in the name of the Hulk, that he almost wished he could just remain the Big Guy permanently in order to forget them. To be unaware. He took a long swig of his coffee and flipped his paper in half, pinching the seam - taking care to retain the original fold. A habit of a conservative, particular man - a man who acknowledged the details. Not a man like Tony, who, while still very detail-retentive, flung the newspaper about the den, then had the audacity to later complain that he couldn't find the sports section. Loki made to comment, but stopped himself, curling his trembling fingers into his lap as Bruce spoke again.

"And what really bugs me the most - just like you - is what people think. Not everyone, of course - not the hundreds of strangers who only read about the "dangerous creature" and have the sense to get out of the way when they're told. No, them I don't mind - see, those people aren't gonna get hurt. I don't like they're scared, but there's little I can do about it. I guess I kind of have you to thank for raising his name a little, but there are also people who do know who I am, what I've done and more importantly why, yet they stilltreat me like I'm some sort of bomb about to go off. It's the first thing that pops into their brain when they meet me - I can see it in their eyes "What if he loses it? What if he's actually just tricking us all and he could turn into the Hulk at any time?"

He cocked a brow at Steve, then, who merely met the insinuation with silent contradiction. Steve had learned many lessons upon his return back to the world. Most of the best ones he'd picked up from those who were not really part of it.

"Before the uh... Well, before your visit a couple of months ago, you had anonymity on your side. If you ever thought to come down here and challenge those stories about you, your actions would have more weight because you're described only by myths. Weird myths, to boot. I'm not; I've got news coverage up the wazoo. I've got more youTube sites dedicated to my own personal building makeovers than Tony does for public displays of nudity-"

"It's not me, by the way." Tony added quickly. "I have a birthmark. If you don't see Italy, or a penguin - you know, if you're upside-down - it's not me."

"-but you? You can rewrite yourself. You can remake yourself. To us humans, you're a collection of stories that build a figure, I'm a figure that made a collection of stories. Horrorstories. There's a huge difference. So yeah, I know exactly what it's like - not that I wanted to invite anyone else to my little pity-party."

"Is the punch made out of your tears?"

"Shut up, Tony."

"Ok sorry, sorry," Tony held up his hands in defense, then motioned to Loki's untouched breakfast on the table. "Look, this is especially ball-grabbing conversation - really, I'm misting up radically here - but I think we're should kinda accept that we might have run beyond apologies and just-"

"Yes, we have," Loki cut in, his voice brittle. "We have always been beyond apologies because my idiot brother will never understand; he will never really be sorry. Never. Although I supposed he might say the same of me upon different matters, thus I shall let his ridicule pass."

"Loki," Thor tried hard not to sigh. "I truly did not mean to offend you."

"And yet, I am right," Loki replied, resting the book back on the counter in order to pick up his knife and fork. He began eating in silence, staring down at the rim of his plate. Tony sucked down another gulp of coffee, while the others attempted to focus their attention on anything but anyone else. When the toaster popped, it sounded like a gunshot.

"Well, you know, being an only child and all, I've always wondered what it was like to have a dysfunctional family breakfast," Tony quipped, retrieving his pop tart from the grill and tossing a couple of pieces of hot toast on Steve's plate. "So that was fun. Thanks guys. Always good to know that half the stuff I missed out on as a kid really sucked anyway. Now, what the hell are we going to do about this Nell woman, 'cause frankly, I'm getting a little tired of holing up here doing nothing - especially when I start getting visits from the Black Widow-maker and her incensed disdain."

"Natasha was here?" Steve's blond head jerked up and his utensils scraped across his plate with a nerve-peeling squeak. Everyone shuddered. "Here in the tower? Really?"

"Yup, she and Jarvis have this thing going - they both have a bet on who can scare the shit out of me most in a month. Jarv has quite the handicap, considering he knows everything I'm doing, but he manages from time to time."

"Why didn't you mention this earlier? If she finds out we're all... well... bunking together-"

"Please don't say that," Tony interjected, tossing the tart about between his hands to cool it down. "I'll get a reputation."

"Another one?" Bruce snorted. "Maybe you'll get enough that they might cancel each other out."

"- fine, hanging out," Steve amended, rolling his eyes. "Won't she be curious?" Tony winced as he bit into the heated strawberry jam in the middle of the tart and bounced his shoulders.

"She knows. I don't think she'll nark though - not right now anyway, not when she can use that information to make me do things." Tony made a face. "Anyway, it's not her I'm worried about. Fury's already cottoned on to the fact that you're all here - Thor included. He actually wants to talk to you about that too, Blondie. Said something about 'clocking in' when you're on Mid-uhh... Earth. Did he really tell you to do that?"

"I do not recall," Thor said, his brow furrowing in confusion, then he shook his head and tossed his cutlery onto his plate with a clatter. "It does not matter though. I will not leave my brother."

"You'll have to if you do not want that one-eyed vulture sticking its ugly bald head into our private affairs." Loki told him. Bruce laughed suddenly, disturbing the group for a third time this morning. Tony scrunched his nose in distaste as he shook droplets of his spilled espresso from his hand, wondering if he ought to start the day with a slasher movie so that his nerves were readily prepared.

"Well that's one way to describe him," Bruce continued, tweaking his shirt collar as he glanced over the wealth of confoundedness awarding his vicissitude. "What? I don't like the guy much. Who here actually does?"

Loki looked undeniably pleased with himself. Tony rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, we're all Scoobies when it comes to us against Morpheus."

"Do you think he'll... uh..." Steve chewed anxiously on his crusts. "Do you think he'll come and try to find out... you know-"

"- find out what's going on? Hell no," Tony snorted, running his knuckles over the protruding ridges of the arc reactor, absently. "He'll say that he's left us alone, but really he'd just employ every other method of surveillance without actually having to set foot in the tower himself. Take a good look at the next pizza delivery guy - if he looks like he's more at home on a base camp in Iraq, then Fury's definitely on to us. But he won't step in until he figures out Loki's here with his... I don't know, scrying or something. Then we're in the shit. For now, I think it's safest if Thor does as Loki suggests - just to keep the guy off our scent."

"I am not comfortable with this," Thor persisted. "I would much rather remain here. Can I not contact him by a telephone?"

"I don't think he'll be happy with that," Tony said. "As much as I hate to sell you out, I kinda told Natasha I'd pass on the message. Maybe it'd be best if you just got it over with."

Thor looked conflicted, and razed his lower lip with his teeth, popping his knuckles. He sent his brother a helpless glance and Loki rolled his eyes.

"I am not so impotent without you, Thor," he said. "I am healing well. If needs be, I am still able to fight without my magic."

"Better not tell Fury that," Tony groaned. Loki shot him a debilitating look.

"Besides, as time has passed I am starting to feel that Navaar truly does not believe I survived her blow, and this has bought me ample time to do some research of my own. The shop keeper, for instance - the one versed in the occult - she has offered many clues that you all have clumsily begun addressing. Though I believe she intends for me - being as well-versed in the arts as I am- to pick up the trail where you have left it."

"To find out about the sword," Steve nodded, taking a swig of orange juice. Without thinking he grabbed a glass and poured one for Loki, who took it in his long fingers with little more than a raise of his chin in thanks. "That makes sense. She was telling us to go and find some scholars or weaponsmiths or something. She mentioned looking in... clearings and circular spaces - places of magic or something, I guess. Does any of that seem familiar to you?"

"Midgardian magic is vastly different from the magic of Asgard," Loki explained. "Where you mortals cannot bear power like your sacred cousins, Gods can call upon the arts as easily as the Elves we had inherited it from. Most Gods can handle a simple spell or two, but like any talent there are those who are less... permeable" he said, casting a side-glance at Thor. "Yet with enough practice, study, and a bit of talent, one might find he can accomplish a great deal. It is very similar to learning an instrument, or a foreign language. I have had a few opportunities to study the nature of Midgardian magic, and I feel I have a minimum of understanding. That is something at least."

"But you can't..." Bruce made a sort of flourishing motion with his crusts, waving them in the air as if they were a wand. "...do anything... right?" Loki cast him a withering look, but surrendered and held up his scarred wrists.

"My powers are bound," he said, albeit starchily. "So no, I cannot cast anything. But I can read and ask questions. And if I must, I can bluff. I believe that should be adequate for what I intend to do."

"And what is it, exactly, that you intend to do?" Steve asked, smearing butter onto a half-demolished piece of toast. Loki smiled a knowing smile.

"I intend to learn, Captain. Stand, watch and learn."

***

For all Thor's grumbling and protests, it was only Tony and Loki who ended up hitting the pavement later that morning, stumbling almost drunkenly in the sunshine as they fought to rejuvenate themselves against the exhaustion that was the legacy of anevening spent indulging in certain cardiovascular activities. Steve and Bruce had offered to come, but Loki had pointed out that strategy over strength might be a better idea, given that Nell was ever the crafty one and concluded that there was always someone needed to "pull the coat tails". Steve wasn't quite sure what he meant, but promised to keep his phone beside him at all times. Bruce promised to placate Natasha if she returned;Tony said that was like getting an early birthday present.

He'd been gifted with both a pair of crutches and a tedious lecture from Bruce, for the privilege to go outside came with the promise of using them, but Loki quickly ditched the aids in favor of walking himself - stating that there'd be no way in the seven hells that he'd be seen hobbling about like a cripple in public. Tony merely grabbed them and said that if Loki wasn't going to use them, then he'd have a go because they were kind of fun and Loki was actually sort of hobbling regardless. Like an old lady. Bracing himself against a shop wall, hand pressed against his hip as he caught his breath, Loki still managed to find something to throw at him.

"Oh gross, that still had beer in it!" Tony howled, wrinkling his nose against the smell tailing after the can which had glanced off his shoulder. "Let's leave discarded brewskies off the projectiles list, shall we? Damn, but you do love to throw things at people!"

"Knives are my specialty," Loki told him, breezily.

"Well, I'm counting those out too," Tony replied, launching himself over an empty cardboard box. He rather liked the way he could propel himself over objects with the minimal of effort and some part of him made a note of this for later exploration. "No knives, no beer cans and definitely no explosives of any kind. I know they're not readily available on the street, but you seem to have a way of procuring things."

"I see that when the odds are against your favor, you are really quite the spoilsport," Loki teased. Tony offered him a wry smile, tipping his head slightly.

"Speaking of sports, there's been something I've been wanting to ask you," he said, watching carefully as Loki padded slowly beside him, feigning a casual trail of his fingers against the shop windows as a way of gently stabilizing himself. He was looking only at his feet.

"Oh?" Was all that he offered. Tony decided that was good enough.

"Yeah... well... After the uh... incident, in the pool... You sort of changed your mind pretty quickly. About me, I mean." He added the last part after a short silence and glanced over at Loki, whose eyes still hadn't risen from the footpath. The ex-God gave nothing away.

"I do not tend to mull over things for too long."

"That's a lie and you know it."

"It is not," Loki retorted, shouldering against the wall as he folded his arms across his chest. "I realized that I had been too quick to judge and took steps to amend my... error. That is how I have always been."

"You punched me in the face, then two days later you damn near screw my balls off," Tony said, plainly. Loki's lips twitched at that.

"It is almost as if you do not appreciate my change of opinion," he said, playfully. "And that wasn't long at all."

"Fine, fine," Tony dismissed the comment easily, not wanting to talk himself into a fight. He'd seen Loki's temper flare earlier this morning. Being outside on the street - with Loki already tiring from his exercise, and the heat of the midday sun sapping the energy from the both of their exhausted bodies - would probably just shorten his fuse. But Loki only wedged his hands in his pockets, casually, and shook his head.

"There is no mystery, Stark," he explained. "I merely had time to clear my head. If you must know, there are things about this mortal body that a God's form does not notice as freely. Pleasant nuances, if you will."

"You can just say you were horny, you know."

Loki laughed at that. Tony found that he wasn't actually too surprised.

"Oh," he said. "You do not think that Gods can become aroused?"

"I sat Classical Studies in junior high. Trying to impress a college chick," Tony replied. "Half a semester on Greek Gods told me all I need to know about the bedroom nature of the supernatural, thank you very much."

"Ah, but what have we learned about myths this morning?" Loki smirked. "There is as much truth in them as there are brains in my brother's skull - do not always trust them for information."

"Well, you know. When it's all you've got," Tony said, mildly. Then he stopped, realizing that was the point Loki had been trying to make all along. Stupid humans. "Shit. Sorry."

It was clear Loki appreciated that. He nodded a little, brushing a few errant strands of hair out of his eyes, then smiled a strange and secret smile - an honest smile, as it was - as he paused by a set of stairs leading down into someone's basement, his hand smoothing over the railing.

"I read through that book many times," he said, quietly. "I lost myself in the stories of the other strange and exotic creatures Midgard apparently boasts, and as I mulled over the rise and fall of great Kings and the epic battles, I realized I was acting exactly how someone like you might have, when reading the stories of my people. I had studied similar myths before, of course, but I had never observed them as fully as I did that afternoon. I had always been intrigued by the tales of the supernatural, but being a God, as I was, there was always a slight suspension of belief that rather ruined the allurement. For I have seen Giants, I have seen Dwarves and Elves and creatures that you would dub strange or mystical - these things are almost banal to an Asgardian. But that day it was as if I were reading the tales as though I had never set foot in the halls of Gladsheim; as though I could see through the veil that has always separated the understanding of the Gods and the fantasy of humans. It is hard to explain, but looking through mortal eyes is something very different, I can assure you."

"And that... made you hot?" Tony said slowly, trying to find the piece of the story he knew he was missing. Loki sighed impatiently.

"Really, are you so base?" He asked, running a hand through his hair and stared up at the cheery afternoon sky. Words tumbled about over his tongue - many of them - but none seemed to be able to fit the description of what he'd felt that evening. Or why it had inspired him to act as he had. Shaking his head lightly, Loki nodded down the street. "It matters not - let us press on. I do not wish to dally when answers await us."

They reached Nell's shop without so much as a lick of trouble, and Tony found himself distinctly unsurprised by that fact. Steve had actively reported that neither he nor Bruce could see the address at all - not until Thor joined them. But even though he was human, Tony got the feeling that Loki may continue to retain a shade of a sixth sense - or at least a certain receptiveness for magic and trickery. He was a scholar, as he'd said. It was like putting a mathematician in front of a set of wholly alien algorithms - he might not recognize the numerical language, but he'd certainly be able to have a guess as to how they worked, at least. It wasn't as if you forgot how to ride a bike if you broke your legs.

Still, it seemed almost prudent a point to mention, and neither of them said anything as they walked inside, the shop bell tinkling cheerfully to herald their store was the same as Thor had described it the second time he'd visited. Larger, lighter and lined by bookcases and odd paraphernalia. Tony scrutinized a wall hanging depicting an intricate battle scene - rather like the Bayeux Tapestry - where hundreds of men stood frozen in embroidered profile, clutching the song of a myth that went unrecognized to his modern-day eyes.

"That's Herraud," someone said behind him. Tony immediately recognized the voice as Nell's - all smooth syllables and snobbish parlance; it was that specific tone she had that had bothered him so much the last time. He didn't turn round. "Attacking his father, Hring," Nell went on, sidestepping in order to stand perpendicular to him, one hand tracing the edge of the art work, conscientiously. "Of course, it was all for nothing, as the battle ended at a stalemate and Hring sent him on a collection of quests instead."

"Well, now - doesn't that seem familiar," Tony fired back, acidly. "Someone sending someone else on a collection of errands - oh sorry, 'quests'. Having an answer for everything." He pivoted on his heel and narrowed his eyes as he faced her, leaning back against the tapestry. "You're not Jeopardy, Nell - if that really is your name. What do you want, exactly?"

"Not mincing words this time, I see," Nell smiled, folding her hands demurely in front of her. "Why would you think I'd want to do anything apart from help?"

"Something tells me I'd be naive to imagine that's all you were after from us. And naive is an understatement," he added, nodding across the floor at Loki, who was currently engrossed in the dusty contents of a tall glass display case. Nell's expression brightened when she saw him and she pushed away from the wall to turn toward him - seemingly forgetting that Tony was even there.

"Ah," she said in a voice that was no more than a breath. "Your friend is well."

"How'd you know he was that friend?" Tony asked, though he didn't really expect an answer. Nell was ignoring him anyway, drifting over to Loki like a strange black cloud, her dark skirts billowing behind her. When she reached him, he turned and looked at her down his nose, regarding her with the type of expression Tony figured he probably saved for insects, or vermin. Or the Avengers. Tony still wasn't too convinced of the elasticity of Loki's tolerance. Frankly, aside from the odd stretch when he needed it, he wasn't sure it had much give at all. Loki took a step back, flagrantly sizing the woman up, before he said:

"You know who I am, don't you."

Although it had been nagging at the back of his mind since Steve had told him of how Nell had recognised Thor without any hint toward his identity, Tony still found himself a little surprised when Loki challenged her outright. For the Norse God of Trickery, he'd expected a little more wordplay - some showmanship at least. Considering he'd said himself that Nell was a bit of a chessmaster, it seemed weird that he'd resorted to such blunt tactics. Then again, perhaps he wasn't in the mood to play, maybe the mention of Fury had given him the heebie-jeebies and he wanted to hurry things along, caring only for answers. Tony had tasted that particular brand of Loki the night before and he had to say, analogies aside, the flavor was biting.

"Yes," Nell replied, without hesitation.

"And you know what has happened."

"I do."

Loki couldn't help sneering, Tony noticed. He seemed to be trying very, very hard to remain even-keeled, but his famous temper was bleeding through ever so slowly. His tolerancewasn't elastic, as it appeared; it was actually more like tissue.

"Are you Navaar?"

Nell let out a peal of abrupt laughter and the silence it broke squirmed uncomfortably around them. She seemed to be treating Loki with an odd air of respect - one that stood straight and rested its hands in a formal manner by its sides, but also responded with humor at seemingly obvious questions and licked the back of its teeth as it decided upon whether it should reveal the answer or not. It was, as she often was, considerably aggravating.

"No, I am not," she replied. "Nor am I privy to any of her plans, either, to save you asking the question. Navaar is a strange and elusive creature - very little is known of her and almost nothing has ever been written. Some call her a God, some an Elder God. Some even say she is a demon and she has more names awarded her than even she could remember."

"Then what would you call her?" Loki asked, carefully, narrowing his eyes. "Friend? Foe... Comrade?"

"Mediator." Nell answered. "As far as I can tell from the stories I have heard of her, and they are often biased to a certain point of view as I'm sure you'd understand. Legends outline a distinctly capricious God, one of whom often plays favorites and rarely supports any one given side. From what I have picked up over time, it seems that Navaar always has her own agenda in the case of any matter brought to her attention, and she lives to fulfill it any way she can. Even if that means waging war against some of the greater known Gods. I have studied her for many years, and while I can attest that she does enjoy a certain amount of maliciousness, there is usually a purpose behind her actions."

"Aye, she was set on killing me." Loki said, resting his hand on his belly. "Yet she was not successful-"

"-because you are such a cunning, resourceful creature?" Nell finished, cocking her head to one side. "Of course. And yet these are traits for which you are very well known. How curious, for one would not attack a trickster God without expecting tricks."

"Indeed," Loki murmured. Well that seemed to answer another matter that had been plaguing him; had Navaar actually meant to kill him at all, or was the price of his Godhood just another tally on the cost of his misdemeanors? Had Navaar intended to make him human all along in order to punish him, or was there something else to this sick charade; something that she was angling for him to do from the beginning?

Stand and watch, prince... Learn just how badly you have misjudged everything about everything.

He'd been too furious and confounded to digest the information at the time, but now that he could mull it over, he was surprised to find that there really was a duality to most of the things she'd said. And after all, when one boiled the whole situation down to fundamentals, Navaar could have just cut his head off and called it a day. When it came to killing Gods, decapitation was generally considered a safe start.

"It is perplexing, isn't it?" Nell was saying. "But there is always such a faint trail behind her intentions. Even holding a light to it would barely reveal where she means for you to travel. I feel you came here brimming with questions, Prince, and yet they seem to have flown from your tongue?"

"How do you know so much?" Loki asked then. "That I am Loki; my brother, Thor. You knew the nature of my wounds and of the medicine by which to heal me. You certainly seem to know more about this Navaar than anyone else does. I am a scholar of history and of magic; I have lived more than tenfold of your lives and I have never heard of her at all."

"A tenfold of my lives." Nell seemed amused by this observation. "What makes you so sure of that?" When he stared at her in honest disbelief she shook her head lightly and laddered her fingers in her skirts, just enough that the tops of her boots showed. Loki looked hard for a moment, wondering if this was some sort of solicitation, when Tony blurted out:

"Oh God, there's a tail."

He was right. Loki almost recoiled in disbelief as the frayed tip of a long, thin tail dusted the top of Nell's Doc Martens; plain brown in colour and plush with a covering of short, stiff fur. Once he'd seen it, Nell dropped her skirts again and patted her hair absently, as if she'd done something terribly unladylike.

"We know our own, my Lord," she explained, gently. "And the Huldra have come a long way since their role as the blemished sirens of old. Though I am not quite your age, I have had more than a few hundred years to study the arts and refine my skills. In my youth, I sought the wisdom of the greater goddesses - hopeful that my poor state would win their pity and that I might be able to live past my namesake. Unlike my sisters, I did not think it was fair to trick a man into marriage, but I was young in desperate times and the need for the stronger human bloodlines to enter that of the weaker fae was imperative. My progressive thinking was considered deeply bourgeois. So then, one day, my travels brought me to the court of Navaar."

"You met her?" Loki asked, intrigued. "Alone?"

"I did," Nell answered. "And let me tell you, she was just as frightening then as she probably is now. I had not heard that she was a particularly generous God, and I had been warned by many spirits along the way that she was only interested in looking after her own needs. It was unlikely she'd listen to me unless I could provide her with something; a gift, or a tribute. But I had nothing, save my word, and that is what I offered. A promise of service. It was all I had."

"And?"

"And she accepted," Nell smoothed her skirt with her palms. "When she asked me why I would turn so wholeheartedly against my nature, I explained that my feelings toward the necessity of our kind to fetter and rot in our tradition was going to be the end of us. Humans were allowed to grow and evolve, but we were not? Did our immortal blood deny us the right to change? I said that I wished to be human so that I did not have to deceive any longer and I went on for some time, the privilege of youth. Then, once I had begun to forget myself, running my mouth as though she were nothing more than one of my bored sisters, she stopped me."

"I get that all the time," Tony sympathized, leaning casually against the bookcase opposite. Loki didn't respond, not even to hush him. It seemed Nell had enthralled him entirely with her story. Well, if it were answers he was after, he was getting them. In droves. Tony yawned.

"I thought she was going to threaten me - perhaps even end me, for another of her known traits was that of a short temper," Nell continued, ignoring Stark's mutter of sounds like someone we know. "But she made no move to hurt me, nor did she turn me away. She simply said that she liked my tail and that it would be a waste to shun my heritage over a matter of discordance with my beliefs. She said that my frustrations were embraced by many of the quiet folk who had begged for her ear, and rather than dissolve their problems with a straightforward solution, she had found other ways to sate them. That they might keep their powers, but satisfy their desires. She told me to remember who I was, not what I was, and if I could do that, then she could give me what I wanted."

"To... work in a shop? In downtown Manhattan?" Tony looked skeptical. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you kinda got shafted..."

"Oh Mr Stark, is that truly all you believe this is? Just a shop?" Nell looked over at him this time, her eyes bright. "Things are never that simple."

"What is it then?" Tony looked about in faux confusion, his arms spread - palms open. "'Cause it's kinda doing the junk shop thing really well."

"It is a store in Manhattan. It is a curio shop in Melbourne. There is a tienda magica in Barcelona, a kuriositatenladen in Berlin, a boutique de charmes et sortileges in Nice and a magiskeshop in Copenhagen, all of the same name. My store is a crossroads, a nucleus-"

"A tardis."

"-and its changing state allows me to aid both humans and magic folk alike." Nell finished, shooting Tony a sly look. "Unlike my peers, I am no longer cursed to wander the world with the deception of man and the goal procreation as my only purpose. Now I have the privilege of helping others, and at the same time, I can live in the human world without feeling obliged to fulfill my traditions."

"Speaking of deception though," Tony countered. "Isn't your store invisible to humans? On a scale of one to ten in wiliness, how's that not... you know... deceiving?"

"Deception, or protection?" Nell challenged, sweetly. "It is unseen to most but those who honestly need it."

"And those who happen to have a God handy," Tony added. Nell smirked.

"Or the supernaturally-challenged who have a very good understanding of the arts. Something like that."

"But if you made a deal with this Navaar, what did she want in return?" Loki asked. "What was her part of the deal? Did she ask you to help me?"

"My fair Prince, I wish that she had," Nell said sadly. "For then I might have been able to give you the answers that you seek, or at least eased your suffering with greater alacrity. But no, it was not you she asked me to help, it was another gentleman in a similar situation. Ah, speak of the... well... we should not point fingers in this sort of place, should we?"

No one had heard the door, nor the footsteps that brought the tall figure cloaked in a very worn, dusty trench coat to the threshold of the room, yet there he stood; a pale splinter against the black bound books behind him. Nell seemed delighted.

"Not that I would ever give you such a title, sir. I am glad that you have come - I have been expecting you!" She babbled, excitedly, moving backward to allow him further entrance into the room. He took a couple of short paces, then stopped, regarding Loki with a sideways glare that was so cold, Tony could have sworn the very air particles around it actually condensed and fell to the floor. Loki considered him back, albeit a trite confused, but did his best to throw a little ostentation in there for good measure. Green eyes locked against the steel grey.

"They have sent the Sluagh-ghairm," the man explained in a voice that sounded like it would be more at home bouncing off the stone walls of a castle. He had an accent, a posh one, but there was a common curl to it as well, as though he hadn't been raised to speak with such an inflection and was wearing it like an ill-fitting hat. His expression was grim and it looked as though he'd been wearing that for some time as well. "The Ravens fly West at his command. I was told you had information for me."

"Uh, hello?" Tony said, eyeing up the visitor who had barged in on their conversation with the kind of subtlety only a Stark could foster. The man shot him a look that rather reminded Tony of the way Pepper looked at cockroaches when they scuttled in front of her Jimmy Choos. And while Tony's ego felt decidedly squished, his sense of competition only doubled. "I believe we had the lady's attention first."

"Did you, now?" The man did not smile, nor did he even attempt a churlish stab at humoring Stark. He simply addressed him as if Tony would have never deserved Nell's consideration in the first place.

"It's all right, Mr Stark, we shan't be long," Nell said, hurriedly. "And yes, my Lord, I have a few things that might aid you - there have already been a number of your retired brethren living in the middle kingdoms who have come to me to pass on their promise of allegiance."

"I do not care for them." The man told her. "I will not be baited by this paper tiger. They are of no use to me."

"Well then, I shall just fetch the scrolls that you requested and that will be that," Nell amended, before she disappeared into the back room. The man gave a chuff of irritation as he watched her retreating form, then, without warning, strode over to Loki in a few long-paced steps - stopping only when he was a breaths distance away. He looked over the ex-God again, his snowy brows knitting as he considered him and tucked a trail of long, bone-coloured hair behind his ear. Loki shifted uncomfortably under the weight of such scrutiny, but did not break eye contact.

"It is rude to gawp," Loki said after a moment, flinching as the man suddenly drew his gloved hand up, resting his middle and forefinger beneath his chin. Nothing crossed the man's expression or gave his intentions away, but he did let his frown drop a little.

"They said you were pleasing to look upon. I did not imagine you to be this fair," he murmured as Loki started turning a very delicate shade of pink. Tony couldn't decide if that was kind of endearing or just plain weird, but the mild stab of jealousy came as a bit of a surprise. He coughed, trying to cover whatever shock might have momentarily pinched his features, and rocked on his toes a little. There was no way he was about to get his hackles up over Lord Touchy-Feely, even if he did look like an extra for Lord of the Rings. "I had thought your lot to be all muscles and hair," the man continued, letting his mousy gaze dust slowly over Loki's features. "Loud and obnoxious and about as wide as you were tall."

"Our lot?" Loki repeated, weakly, jerking his chin out of the man's grip. He scrubbed at his chin with the heel of his hand, as if to rub away the sensation. Tony allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smirk.

"You are Aesir, are you not?" The man brushed the backs of his fingers over the ends of Loki's hair that curled about his neck. Loki looked as though he was about to break something. "All the Aesir I have met have looked exactly the same as the barbarians who worshipped them - all masses of braids, beards and breastplates. You, on the other other hand-" The man curled his hand into an open fist, resting it lightly against his chest. "You are nothing like that."

"And who are you to be meeting with Aesir?" Loki challenged. "When they have not walked upon this plain for more than a thousand years?"

"Such questions," the man sneered, disdain suddenly wrapping around his voice. "You are not one who should be running their tongue, not around here. Not after the idiocy youpulled."

Loki looked both incredibly taken aback and virtually furious at the same time, though he was robbed from a retort as Nell drifted back into the room, a bundle of rolled up papers in her hand.

"Oh, Lord Nuada," she said with a smile. "I see you and Prince Loki have been getting acquainted."

"Nuada?" Loki breathed, his eyes suddenly wide. He glanced over the man again, and although it was clear that his face had been marked by the years and toughened by his many physical hardships, the trickster could still recognize the distinct fae-like quality of his features. His dark-tipped eyes, narrow chin and arched brows; he was all ashen skin, angles and cheekbones, and he stood with a kinetic lithesomeness that no human had ever managed to master. Most importantly of all - and what really gave him away - was his left hand, which hung prone and motionless by his side; a hand that was no longer flesh and blood. Although it was also gloved, it remained unnaturally still and it was clear that Nuada had gotten used to hiding it. "You are Airgetlam Nuada? The King with the silver hand?"

Nuada's frown only deepened as Loki named him - his mouth twisting slightly, as though he'd eaten something terribly bitter.

"Aye," he affirmed, tightly. "But the 'King' part is no longer applicative."

"You're in my book." It was funny to see someone of Loki's regality completely thunderstruck by the appearance of what Tony could only guess was another deity, but there it was. Loki licked his lips, clearly astonished. "I read about you."

"And I you, Odinson," Nuada parried, coldly. If it were possible, Loki seemed to look even further taken aback - if not slightly embarrassed.

"You did?"

"Aye. In most of the gazettes and papers I could find that spanned both the middle realms and those beyond. I read of your incessant boasting - how you would take the world as your own to rule, how you sought to 'free' our mortal kin by offering them a ridicule of freedom as means by which they might survive as nothing less than cattle under your name. I read of the destruction you caused and the horror of the aftermath once your idiot brother managed to shut you up."

"Oh..."

Tony couldn't help catching a small thread of disappointment in his voice. He supposed it was kind of like meeting your favourite movie star on the street while you were wearing the sweater your Grandma knitted you for christmas - the one with your name on it.

"'Oh' indeed." Nuada continued, raising a brow. "You made quite the impression on your last visit, Odinson. And do you know what I think of creatures who set foot on my world full of piss and wind and some ridiculous dream of instigating a dictatorship?"

There was no time for Loki to even respond, for the King clearly meant to offer him no words in edgeways. He let his hand drop, then swung it up again in a brisk uppercut - catching Loki dead center in the solar plexus. Loki gasped and heaved, trying to suck air into his lungs while his diaphragm lay stunned and motionless at the bottom of his chest, only to have Nuada's knuckles pound into his cheekbone, snapping his head to one side and downing him in an instant. Nuada snarled as he stood over the ex-God, narrowing his eyes as the trickster writhed on the floor in a mess of breathless pain and utter confusion.

"I think they were lucky to escape with their lives."

Notes:

Tech notes:

- Nuada Airgetlam should not be confused with Nuada Silverlance of the Hellboy mythos, though he is a nod toward del Toro's creation. I dearly love Hellboy 2 - especially the character design, so if you have an image in your head of a tall, pale dude with deep set eyes and a serious expression then that's about right. He's also ripped. Yeah. Just sayin'.

- All the magic shop names were taken from google translate and from my little helper elves on Tumblr. I speak two languages only: English and bad English.

Chapter 11: Matryoshka

Notes:

I apologize sincerely, honestly and completely for the considerable wait between chapters. Many things out of my control have prevented me from writing - or at least, left me with far too little concentration to really sit down and say what I wanted to say, thus I hope this chapter isn't too fragmented. It is shorter, yes - once again I have had to split what would have been a terribly long piece that would have taken at least another month for me to check through, so I hope that getting the start of it is better than getting nothing D:
It's also a decent amount of expository, and that's plenty for one to get one's head around. Well, it was for me... So after about 16 rewrites, here you go.

 

Let the season begin; take the big game down.

- Beirut.

---

"Asshole!"

Tony Stark wasn't a fighter. Disregarding the metaphorical sense, of course, where he wore an abundance of scars created from his own internal battles against everything from his highly irrational self-esteem issues, superiority complexes, trust deficiencies to his alcohol dependencies and numerous sorties with shadows of the past. No, Stark was virtually a General when it came to battles that were, indeed, virtual. But physical? It was no secret that there were more than a few reasons why Tony Stark relied on the abilities of his armor over his own physical prowess. He could box, he could box very well in fact - especially when his opponent was Happy, who tended to fall back on his usual tried and true routines that Tony could almost recite in his sleep. It was almost as if he was going easy on his boss, which perplexed Tony to no end - certainly anyone else who was offered a chance to punch Stark in the face would take it.

Occasionally, when Rhodey had a few minutes to spare, or when he was tired or drunk (or both, which was generally when Tony wheedled him into dancing a few rounds in the ring; being that he was in a similar state himself), he'd agree to give Stark a few pointers. Only the lessons were almost always ended prematurely, as more often than not, Tony refused to take any part of Rhodey's training seriously and would spend most of the lesson shoving his friend's fist into his own face, while snickering stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself. Once Colonel Rhodes had left, however (usually in a cloud of exasperation), Tony made sure to practice the given tips on his own - shadow boxing over and over until he collapsed. It wasn't that he didn't pay attention, or that he did not enjoy the sport, he just liked the way Rhodey's nostrils would flare out when he was really pissed off.

Tony couldn't rely on his strength like Steve or Thor, and he didn't have the gritty survival skills of Clint or Natasha - or even Fury - tattooed into his reflexes. The only person he could really contest with was Bruce, but only if Bruce was Bruce and not his chartreuse counterpart. Comparatively, even if Bruce remained lucid, his abilities followed him, cloaked under his immense self control. That was both his curse and his advantage; if Tony did not have his armor, Tony did not have Iron Man, there were no two ways about it.

However, even without Iron Man, Tony Stark did have one prevalence. He was Fucking Tony Stark. And while Fucking Tony Stark retained adequate skills in boxing, self defense and probably a white belt with training wheels in taekwondo, he had what any person of exceedingly high intelligence possessed, which was an extremely developed sense of self preservation. For when it was proven in his high school years that brains equalled "target", and his inability to run about a field in padded long johns, a helmet and a death-wish only cemented the fact that his head was free game for any jock to bury his knuckles in as he saw fit, Tony realized that while he did not need acquiesce, nor stoop to their level, he did need to meet their level on his own terms. So Tony learned to read a punch. And Tony learned to dodge. And most importantly, Tony learned to fight back, and fight dirty.

Now while his battle cry was not exactly of the bone-chilling variety - drilling fear into the hearts of the opposition - he did manage to catch Nuada with a heavy belt to the kidneys as he rounded the taller man, moving to step in front of Loki. Several more punches were delivered in quick succession, finishing with a neat uppercut, his fist slipping back at the last minute to let his elbow connect with Nuada's sternum and chin in a tight arc. Though Tony lacked even a trace percentage of the power of his suit, he wouldn't have classed his blows as particularly comfortable, yet Nuada took the assault with barely a twitch in the muscle of his jaw - he did not even bother to protect himself as Tony's knuckles drove into his rib cage.

"You got some nerve," Tony finished, acidly, shifting his weight in case his opponent thought to take an unexpected swing. His sneer was brimming with unfettered begrudging; his eyes narrowed, fists raised, hackles Nuada merely scrutinized the fall of his trenchcoat and brushed it flat again, aiming his cool, stannic stare down the length of his nose. He seemed completely unfazed by Tony's attacks; if they'd hurt, he didn't acknowledge it.

"As do you," he replied, evenly. "You're not one to pick a fist fight, Mr Stark. Especially without your famous armor."

"I've been known to throw a punch or two when it mattered."

"Does it matter, Mr Stark?" Nuada raised his chin, haughtily - displaying his angular jaw and the slope of his pale neck almost if it were a challenge. "As I understand it, there are few things that truly matter to you. Few things with a pulse, anyhow. Is it not preferable to keep up appearances, so to speak?"

"That better not be a threat." Tony's clenched teeth ground his words to a fine, curt powder. "I don't like threats. You may have noticed; I tend to make them explode."

"It is not a threat. It is advice," Nuada told him. "Good advice. The kind your company here should have followed instead of acting on some foolish proposition where he might stake a claim to this realm, and that invading with the intent to dominate was an effective strategy."

"Do not speak of such things as though you are so cleanhanded!" Loki coughed from the floor, glaring up at Nuada with renewed antipathy. He eased slowly to his feet; grimacing - favoring his injured side. Tony almost offered him a hand, but quickly changed his mind when he realized that he'd only be giving Nuada more ammunition to scorn. The fallen King inhaled impatiently as he sized up the ex-God in front of him, his lip twitching a little, as if it were dying to curl.

"I beg your pardon."

"Was it not your own invasion upon a country in this very realm that landed you in exile?" Loki challenged, straightening his shirt. Apart from looking a little paler, he seemed to be all right. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted: I have read about you."

"Read?" Nuada's face was a mask of deadpan antipathy. "And why would one bother to teach a barbarian to read. You'd have better luck teaching a chicken to whistle."

"How poorly you must think of the Asgardians." Loki said, tightly. "To mark them as mindless, battle-driven knaves-"

"They are not?" Nuada raised his brows, comically surprised. "And to think that if I turned to any page in a book of Norse Mythology, I would find the notable Gods doing little that would warrant any other description of them."

"They did not steal Asgard," Loki hissed. "Unlike you and your men, who sought to throw the indigenous tribes from their home in the country of Ireland!"

Nuada snorted this time. Tony got the feeling he'd been wanting to do that for awhile.

"If you are referring to Eochaidh and his dilapidated band of bag men," he replied, pompously. "Then you clearly did not study your text close enough. They weren't indigenous, it wasn't "Ireland" at the time and I had only asked for half their lands for my people. I did not seek to rule them, as you did these poor creatures."

"Who's a poor creature?" Tony spat. "Last I checked there were a hell of a lot more of us than there were of... of... whatever you are."

"Please," Nuada almost rolled his eyes. Tony considered that a minor victory. "I have no quarrel with you, Mr Stark."

"You do when you start throwing right hooks about at people."

"At 'people'?" Nuada's grey eyes flashed with a ghost of mirth. "Gods aren't people, Mr Stark. Gods are Gods. And if you think that this wretched piece of work is not painfully aware of the difference, then you are quite mistaken."

"What the hell is that supposed to-"

"So. I am a wretched piece of work, am I?" Loki hissed, cutting swiftly across Tony's remark with a tone sharper than the blades he used to stow in his leathers. "What wretched piece of work would only seek to better himself-"

"Through feeble means-"

"-through the only means he had." Loki continued. "In order to serve his father."

"Or steal a throne." Nuada wasn't about to give in at any level, and simply glared on as Loki hurled his ill-fated past right into his eyes to little effect; like tossing gravel at a stoning. "How did that feel, exactly? Placing your skinny rump on the seat of Odin. You didn't get lost down the side, did you?"

"You dare mock me?" Loki sneered, his eyes slit to thin neon beams. "You, who let his kingdom fall to a tyrant. Who lead one of the greatest armies in the world, only to be dethroned by some odd matter of vanity-"

"Lord Loki," Nell breathed, clutching nervously at the scrolls in her hands. "Please..."

"Now who is doing the mocking?" Nuada interrupted her. "Now who dares? You speak of things you could not possibly understand, boy."

"I know what it is like to be cast out."

"No, you know what it is like to fall victim to your own jealousy," Nuada shot back in a quiet, dangerous voice, pushing past Tony to close the gap between himself and the Loki. "To become a slave to your laughably juvenile emotions - that iswhat you know. You're an ungainly whelp, Asgardian - a toddler who threw a tantrum just to get more of its mother's tit, and you will not compare yourself with me."

"I," Loki parried, through cemented teeth. "Am a God!"

"A God perhaps, but a pup, a child - one who should be seen and not heard."

By now, Nuada had closed the distance between them, though he made no further move to strike. Tony let him pass, backing up slowly to stand beside Nell, his fists still closed and ready. Although Nuada had lashed out unexpectedly to begin with, his tone did not seem to imply that he actually meant any real harm to Loki. He was more chiding the younger God, not challenging him - this was wholly apparent in the way that he lorded over Loki, using his height and stature as a sign of dominance. Yet when he noticed a speckling of blood on the side of Loki's t-shirt, he frowned and reached out - seizing the fabric in his fingers.

"A God, who bleeds, it seems?" He added, lifting the edge of the shirt enough to reveal the stained bandage beneath, where Loki's wound had wept slightly as a result of Nuada's punches. "And who applies human dressings? Surely this is something you could have healed yourself, Asgardian."

"It is nothing." Loki said at the same moment Nell piped up:

"He was stabbed."

"Stabbed?" Nuada raised a brow. Nell nodded slightly, flushing, and motioned to Loki's side.

"By a Vorpal blade, my Lord. That's why he is here. I was trying to help him locate someone with a better understanding of such a weapon. So that he might... uh..." Nell dropped her gaze, sheepishly, as if burnt by the heat of the chagrin that was spreading over Loki's pinched cheeks.

"A Vorpal blade? My, that does explain a lot." Nuada dropped the hem and tucked his hand into his pocket, scrutinizing the demoted God before him with a strange counterbalance of both interest and disdain. "I thought there was something different about you. You certainly didn't seem like the same idiot who rampaged these streets a few months ago."

"Don't I?" Loki asked, flatly, taking sudden interest in the cleaning closet to his right. Clearly Nuada knew exactly what a Vorpal blade was and what it could do. That was embarrassing.

"No," Nuada replied. "There is no air of magic about you - none of the prescience that a God exudes. Had I not recognized you, I would not have known you were you."

"More's the pity," Tony grumbled.

"And what gentleman would I honour in thanks for such a favor?" Nuada continued, mockingly. "I cannot imagine a better punishment for a God who thinks himself so far above these humans that he should rule them without question. You should sample the milk before you buy the farm, Asgardian. I believe your sentence is particularly fitting."

"Fitting or not, if you wish to offer thanks, you would be thanking Navaar, my Lord." Nell answered, carefully and watched as Nuada's acidic humour literally dissolved into mild shock. Even Loki seemed surprised enough that Nuada's barbs merely sailed over his head and he frowned slightly, trying to get a better read on the unexpected reaction.

"You know her, don't you?" He asked finally, canvassing the other man's expression. "I should have guessed."

"I do not know her, particularly, but I know of her." Nuada admitted. "And that is more than enough."

"Infamous and mysterious," Tony said, folding his arms over his chest. "Seems strange that she hasn't amassed a bunch of followers and lore; y'know, hippies in paisley with rams carcasses strapped to various parts of their person..."

"Subtlety is not a word you're akin to is it, Mr Stark."

"If you knew anything about me, you'd know how stupid that last remark sounded," Tony's brows bounced animatedly over his dark glare. "Even choking with as much sarcasm as you threw on it."

"Navaar is not a..." Nuada continued, looking thoughtful as he seemed to consider his words. "... a God... Not exactly. Not one who strives for recognition, or requires servile adulation of any kind. She prefers to remain anonymous, working within the shadows of her peers - using her influence to shift the balance of power between factions. There are tales of her here and there, evidence of her work, but from what I have heard, she rarely draws attention to herself unless it is necessary."

"She stormed Asgard!" Loki exclaimed, throwing his hands apart in furious gesticulation. "Sent in her army and seized Gladsheim! How is that not drawing attention to herself?"

"Stormed the home of the Aesir, you say?" Nuada rubbed his thumb against his pale chin. "Surely your armies must have put up quite a protest, being the warrior Gods that they are."

"They were-" Loki began, but found his distemper dwindling as the specifics surrounding the event slowly emerged from the corners of his mind, reintroducing themselves. "They... N-no... Asgard was empty. Barren. She'd used magic... Transformed all of the Aesir into naught but gusts of wind..."

"Leaving only you... and..?"

"My m- uh... Frigga and... and Odin. Allfather." Loki said, trawling his memories for a clearer recollection. "I think... a few families of the court, I... I cannot remember."

"But you do recall your mother and father," Nuada prompted, tucking a stray hair behind his ear. "How strange. Had she sought to make an example of you for your misdemeanors, one would have thought she would have enjoyed a much larger audience..."

"Make an exampl- then why would she debilitate me so?" Loki pressed, angrily. "Why, when she could have simply killed me? She invaded Asgard on the pretense of reclaiming my father's treasure, only to announce that she did not want it and was acting under orders from Midgard to kill me for my actions on this realm. Yet she failed to do this as well!"

"'Failed' is not exactly the word I would use," Nuada corrected him. "Consider her actions, if you can spare your fragile mind for it, Asgardian. Is it not viable to concede that she might have wounded you with a Vorpal sword in order to teach you a lesson?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it is most apparent that she did not want to kill you, or she would have done it. Why the charade? She had all her cards; she need only draw the right one and dispatching you does not appear to be the hand she wished to play."

"You've heard of the Vorpal sword before then?" Nell asked. "And the nature of its magic?"

"A little, perhaps." Nuada replied, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "What then if I have?"

"Then you must tell us how to reverse the spell!" Loki demanded, crossly. And when Nuada raised his brows, he added: "It is certain that I am no threat to you and... and I do not wish to linger in this realm any longer than I have to. I do not even care for it anymore..."

It was difficult to try and play the rehabilitated criminal, even if Loki's promises were, by and large, entirely candid. In the eyes of the fallen King, Loki was still the malefactor who deserved to be punished; there was no way that he should be aided. And yet here he was, all but begging for help. Nuada's smile was a crack in ice.

"And why would I assist you when I think you are perfectly fit as you appear?" He countered. "You cause less mischief this way, which allows me to go about my own business in peace!"

"You jest, surely." Loki shook his head in disbelief. "We cannot leave this despot to roam freely across worlds, assaulting whom she pleases! What if Asgard is under siege?"

"It is no concern of mine if someone has finally put a lid on that bloated, arrogant realm." Nuada sniffed. "For as you've said, do I not have my own oppressed people to worry about?"

"But my Lord, it appears you seem reluctant to pick up arms for them as well," Nell interjected smoothly, and in response to Nuada's distinctly curdled look, added: "Your men who have escaped the rule of Bres will still fight for you. And yet you turn their pledges away without a glance? What if Navaar's intentions subsume this world as well?"

"You run your tongue loosely, Huldra." Nuada warned her. "My business is my own, do not make the mistake of thinking that you understand it."

"Forgive me, Nuada." Nell replied. "But mightn't you at least tell us a little about the sword? Just to get us started?"

"No," Loki interrupted, churlishly. "He won't. He does not want to help me - he has made that perfectly clear. But it matters not - I doubt he is the only person who knows anything of Vorpal magic. We will simply find someone else that does."

"Best of luck," Nuada replied, icily, wrenching the paperwork out of Nell's arms with a stern glare. "There is a reason magic folk do not readily give information on such ancient lore, and you are it, Asgardian. Admitting such a heel could spell the death of many."

"Including you, I imagine," Loki narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps," Nuada said, breezily - striding past Tony, who aimed another loaded glare in his wake. "And perhaps that is also why there are so few alive on this realm who are familiar with such an item. In any case-" he turned as he approached the door and offered Loki a mocking nod. "Enjoy your mortality, Odinson. For if it is Navaar who punishes you, it is best to stay out of her way."

The door closed with a jingle of the bell, and the remaining three stood in yawning silence, looking at anything but each other. When Tony finally hazarded a glance at Loki, he saw that the ex-God was staring toward the empty space that Nuada had filled, absently rubbing the heel of his hand against his sternum. His face was pulled into a collection of sharp angles by the tight clench of his jaw and his breath scraped over his teeth in short, angry huffs. Tony cleared his throat.

"Well... He was nice."

"I am so sorry," Nell gasped, wringing her hands against her chest. "It was very unusual of him to react in such a manner."

"Why, does he normally pull a song and dance routine and serenade you at the counter?" Tony snorted. "He seemed like he'd be more comfortable kicking puppies and drowning kittens than actually helping anyone."

"More often than not he is merely pleasant. Somber, but pleasant. I have been compiling and sharing information with Nuada for many years," Nell breathed, still somewhat shell-shocked by the earlier conversation. "I have never seen him angry before - not even when I have delivered the gravest news. He is well-known for his leniency."

"I suppose my actions have put a damper on his finer temperaments." Loki managed to rasp. He straightened and turned, closing his eyes against the pain that had been temporarily dulled by adrenalin. "This is something I should have expected."

Hold on a second. Tony blinked, turning slowly toward Loki, trying desperately to stave the disbelief from his expression. Hold on just one goddamn second, was that Loki admitting fault? The Loki Odinson actuallyconsigning to the possibility that he'd screwed up? Well, perhaps not in so many words, but even voicing the notion that his plan had not consolidated universal approval - even local approval, for that matter, seemed almost... novel for someone like him. Or at least what he used to be. However, Tony knew he shouldn't have been so surprised. Only a few weeks ago, Loki had been more than willing to justify his dominance over the human race without even batting an eye at the resistance demonstrated by the Avengers. Now he was bunking with them. Most of them, anyway... Backseating was a more apt description, really.

"Certainly he was not ... ah... encouraged by your attempt to overthrow Manhattan," Nell agreed. "He has devoted his time toward helping many of our societies over the centuries - mostly to acclimatize to the changes inyour civilizations. He appears to have quite a predisposition toward preserving our history. But his wrath is not entirely prompted by your actions here in Manhattan, my Lord - Nuada's concerns drive much deeper into the past than the events of two months prior."

"You mentioned Bres," Loki said, padding closer. "He was described in the stories as well. He became King after Nuada was dethroned, didn't he?"

"Yes, and he is part of the problem." Nell beckoned them to follow her back to the counter where she began pulling various ointments and balms out of a drawer beneath the register. "Nuada's people, the people of Danaan, are warriors - very much like the Asgardians. While they are not Gods in the classic sense, they are still very powerful. They were a force to be reckoned with, under Nuada's rule, but he was a fair King. Honorable. He did not abuse his position as Bres does."

"Ok... So if he's not a God, then what is he?" Tony narrowed his eyes. "A fairy? What are we dealing with, exactly?"

"Some think the Tuatha de have elfin blood," Nell shrugged as she fished out a tube of something purple and lavender-smelling and proceeded to smear it on Loki's bruised jaw. He flinched, but allowed her to continue. "Some think they are Demi-gods. Possibly they are both. But as I understand it, they are very, very old."

"Well that explains all the 'kid' remarks, but so what?" Tony folded his arms across his chest. "I'm guessing he's still chewing sour grapes over the douche who tossed him off the throne and wants to bitchslap someone to make himself feel better? What did he expect? You don't pit an underdog against an underdog and expect a clean fight. No offense." He added, throwing an apologetic glance at Loki, who pressed his lips into a stern line.

"None taken," he replied stiffly. "I would not be surprised if he was still surly over his forfeit. It would be most disappointing, nay, embarrassing to give up one's throne simply for the fact that a battle scar left him physically blemished. To the Asgardians, such an injury makes a warrior - it is worn as a badge of honour."

"The King of the Tuatha de Danaan must be whole, that is their way. Nuada led his people to the shores of Ireland - or at least, the isle that later became Ireland, it has had many names over the years - and confronted Eochaidh, King of the Fir Bolg, demanded half his domain for the Tuatha de. Eochaidh, declined, they fought and the Fir Bolg were defeated."

"So the problem is what... Bres? The guy who took over?" Tony said, slowly. "I don't get it. He has the Kingdom, he's got the army... What's all this Slug hair or whatever?"

"The Sluargh-ghairm... A call to arms. A warning." Nell corrected him. "True, Nuada lost everything to Bres, but once he'd left in exile, it was clear a terrible mistake had been made. For the Bres was said to have been a descendant of the Fomorians, the true enemies of both man and the Tuatha de."

"The Fomo-what?" Tony looked inherently confused. "Seriously? Just how many guys has Nuada pissed off?"

"More importantly," Loki added, frowning. "Wasn't Nuada supposed to have gained his hand back through some sort of magic? Wasn't he supposed to have been killed by one of these Fomorian people?"

"Well, that is where history begins to blur into myth," Nell explained, fishing out another pot of something else to dab on the underside of Loki's chin. It was a bit like watching someone's mother fuss over their child. Neither seemed to mind, however, and Loki was far too absorbed in the conversation to care. Tony chalked this up to habit. "As you know very well, not all that is written will be the absolute truth. Humans tend to make up their own stories, claiming even the slightest of evidence as fact. Bres and the Tuatha de Danaan lived on their island for a long time, uninterrupted by humans but constantly harassed by the Fomorians who coveted their land. Bres bowed to their king, Balor, and offered him monthly tribute as a way of keeping them from war, but most of the tribesmen knew that his actions were merely a farce. Many of them escaped, moving to the fae isles or the Scottish shores, yet bitterness tainted their honorable souls and they became wights or wraiths."

"And Nuada didn't?"

"No," Nell shook her head, capping the pottle. "He has always feared that the Fomorians will grow restless on their small enclave and will try to push their Kingdom into another. When the humans came, they, like everyone else, took to the shadows, but they are restless and quick to anger. They do not have a world to call their own; they envy those who were gifted realms, like the Asgardians, and they despise the humans who have encroached upon theirs. There has been murmurings for years that the Fomorians will move out once again, but it was not until the actions of an Asgardian that the omens became forewarnings."

"You are referring to me, aren't you?" Loki said, bitterly. "And my advance on Midgard. So Navaar was right... "

"Not just your advance, my Lord," Nell tucked her hair behind her ears and bit her lip. "But at the death of the Jotun King Laufey and your attempted... cleansing of the Frost Giants from their realm."

"You knew about that?" Loki asked, surprised. Then he found himself catching Tony's eye, searching for the latent disapproval at the nature of his first and only command as King of Asgard. He found nothing, Tony only regarded him mutely - his dark eyes free from contempt. If anything, Stark's willingness to overlook his rather outspoken actions of the past made him even more uncomfortable. Could Tony really be so... accepting? Or, given that he had distributed arms enough to destroy several worlds for nothing more than merit and money, perhaps something inside him, something dormant and dangerous, appreciated his efforts? Loki blinked, feeling strangely uneasy and turned his attentions to Nell as she fumbled about in another drawer behind her, pulling out a small medical kit.

"News travels fast - even on another realm," she said, placing the box on the counter. "Even the smallest of us could feel the burning of the bifrost and the sensation as it shattered. Your Nordic cousins were first to report, then slowly the others became aware of what had happened and began asking questions. I'm not sure who originally let the cat out of the bag, but after awhile, it became common knowledge that it was the son of Odin who had slain Laufey. And that fact seemed to make Balor furious."

"The son of Odin?" Loki repeated, carefully. "Not... not... something else?"

"What else would you be, my Lord?" Nell asked, genuinely confused. Loki shook his head, dismissively.

"Nothing. I thought there might have been rumors that I was disowned or something of the like," he covered, smoothly. "But I do not understand; what has any of this got to do with the Fomorians? Why would their King be so upset over the death of a Frost Giant?"

"The Fomorians are said to be of the same ilk - giants, or at least, giant-like. Perhaps there is some kind of kinship they share?" Nell motioned for him to pull up his shirt and clicked her tongue irritably as she inspected Nuada's handiwork. More balm was slathered over Loki's ribs and a sharp tang of iodine hit the air as she changed the dressing on his hip, wiping the spots of blood away in thick slashes of sickly yellow. "I do not know. But that seemed to be the final straw to try Balor's patience and your actions in Manhattan only served to strengthen his resolve. Nuada came to collect the reports of his movements. It is certain he intends to ride again."

"Against whom?" Loki frowned, smoothing his shirt back over his stomach.

"That," Nell replied, fretfully. "Is what we are worried about. Balor would not bother to rise up against Bres - he need only say the word and the Tuatha de would march along with the Fomorians, that is how tightly Bres is said to be aligned to his so-called enemy."

"You imagine they mean to ride against me?" Loki asked. Nell shook her head.

"Against humanity in general, I would say. In your mortal form, you cannot be easily found. Not by magical means, anyway. It is like a cat trying to single out one mouse from many."

"And does this Balor guy watch any TV? CNN, ABC?" Tony scoffed. "You know he'll have the Avengers to contend with if he tries anything. We've already kicked the ass off the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang."

"The Chitauri," Loki corrected him with a scowl.

"Them too."

"Perhaps. But as formidable as your vanguard is, and it is-" Nell added, quickly as Tony's insouciance turned spikey. "The Fomorians are larger and tougher than the creatures that came from the sky. They are one with this earth; they will not be downed so easily by human weapons. Teamed with the Tuatha de Danaan, they would be nigh impossible to defeat."

"I thought the Tuatha guys were the goodies?" Tony frowned. "Why don't they just kick this Bres-person off the throne and grab someone else. Go coup d'etat on their asses. Even if they can't have King Sunshine, surely they could just appoint a military governor from their own ranks?"

"It is not...er... how they operate." Nell explained, awkwardly. "They would, had they the ability, but they are bound by tradition. The Tuatha de are far too loyal to ever consider such mutiny."

"Which is why they allowed a favored ruler to step down, despite the fact that his only blemish was a missing hand," Loki rubbed his chin, thoughtfully. "And the few who escaped Bres have become nothing more than monsters - they cannot bear to turn against their ways."

"Well that's just ridiculous," Tony added, blithely. Loki scowled.

"It is called honour," he said, sourly. "You might have heard of it. If only from a dictionary."

"I think I had a scout badge for that. No wait-" Tony shot Loki a sardonic look. "That was for making a pencil box out of popsicle sticks."

"How thrilling," Loki parried. "Though I suppose that is one way of proving that you are good with your hands."

"And sticks."

An awkward silence followed. Nell glanced between them quizzically, while the boys did everything they could not to look at each other. After a moment, Loki cleared his throat.

"You said that Navaar asked you to help him," Loki noted, curiously. "Were you supposed to reunite him with his comrades?"

"Apparently," Nell said, sadly. "Though it seems it shall not be so. There are still some men who managed to free themselves from Bres' influence and have formed a band of knights errant who remain true to their favoured King. But it appears Nuada does not wish to become involved... for reasons I cannot speculate. Thus here I am, a failure: unable to inspire him to return to his people, and unable to help you just the same."

"No, you can still help me," Loki told her, glancing about the room. "Will he be leaving this city anytime soon, do you know?"

"As far as I am aware, he intends to stay. It is probable that he would want to study the information I provided him." Nell answered, gesticulating erratically. "It is mostly surveys and census results to keep stock of our people: who remains and who doesn't, tribal shifts, that sort of thing. It's mostly... on the sly, though - which suits him best. Why do you ask?"

"Because," Loki began to smile. "I think I might pay him a visit."

Nell gaped. Tony looked as though he'd asked to go to Disneyland, drunk and with seventeen children in tow.

"Are you kidding?" He groaned, as though the idea was only slightly less painful. "Really? The guy clearly doesn't like you. I'm sure we'll be able to find you a cure or whatever you need through someone else. Right?" He added the last part to Nell, who shrugged, helplessly.

"Nuada was not lying when he said that many would not know the logistics behind such an item. Vorpal magic is tremendously old and rare. As I had said to your other friends, you might try and search the weaponsmiths, or ever find a scholar who could help you. But few creatures living in the New World are as old and knowledgeable as the Silver King."

"Ok, sullen Sam's our smarty-pants. Great." Tony rolled his eyes before glancing back at Loki. "So we go find him, then what? What's your game plan? Let him beat the snot out of you before he decides that you're malleable enough to know the... I don't know... the Great Mystery? Wax on, wax off or whatever?"

"Of course not!" Loki snapped. "What good would that possibly do? I will act as I have in the past - a gambit I have employed many times upon my brother when I had need of information from him."

"Oh? And what was that?"

"I will simply follow him around until I annoy him enough for him to tell me."

Although Tony had never been a little brother himself and had never made use of such a tactic around his father, he somehow believed that such a play might actually work. That and he really didn't have a riposte for such a simple, yet immensely juvenile solution. There had to be something he wasn't getting.

Nell looked just as skeptical, but when Loki waved off her protests with casual bravado, she conceded and set about drawing them a map to the best place where they were likely to find Nuada - as Balor's warning meant that he would probably be staying out of plain sight. She also gifted them each with a small item from the store, "on the house". Loki received another book; Tony was given a small, leather backpack - worn and stained with use. He took one look at it as it lay collapsed and rather pathetic-looking on the counter, and screwed up his nose as politely as he could.

"Uh," he said, trying hard not hold his hand over his nose. It didn't smell, not yet. But something about the condition of it promised that it would. "Not really my style."

"Trust me, it will come in handy," Nell assured him. "That's a haversack - you can fit anything in that - anything up to the size of about a car and as heavy as you like. Just concentrate on the item you want when you go to fish it out again and never, ever put people in it. They tend to suffocate."

"Sure, why not." Tony gave her the oddest look he could find in his repertoire, but decided against questioning any further. Hell, he wasn't about to look a gift bag in the mouth, so to speak. If the thing was magic, then Loki could have it, he was probably used to carting about similar things. If it wasn't... well... There were plenty of trash cans on the way back to Stark Tower. What the lady didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Both Loki and Tony thanked Nell for the help left the shop, disappearing into the haze of afternoon sunshine framing the door and beyond. When they were safely out of earshot, Nell reached into the pocket of her pinafore and pulled out a compact black phone, dialing a session of numbers before holding the device up to her ear. When it connected, she smiled.

"Hook, line and sinker, my Lady," she said. "Go fish."

 

Notes:

Another note:

As always, thankyou so much for the reviews and feedback!

I apologize if the chapter reads a little sloppy - it is not my dear beta's fault. I gave her the file, she checked and ok-ed it... then I changed everything. It's all me... (it's always me). My darling Lokimotives, you are the cream in my coffee.

Also, please bear in mind that all references I have made to Celtic mythology are to be taken loosely. I'm no expert, though I read as much as I could on both Nuada and the Tuatha de Danaan. I prefer to hint at things that might have been, rather than try to pin facts on fiction. There is canon, this is certain, but hey, if Marvel can fuck with it, then so can I XD

The Tuatha de Danaan seems to be referred to as that or the Tuatha de. It seems to be just an abbreviated way to say the name, so I have found. Tomaytoe, tomato...

Chapter 12: Desperate Men

Happy Christmas :)

Ilk 12: Desperate men.

Navaar watched the screen of her Starkphone as it slowly died to a black mirror, Nell's voice disappearing with a click when it disconnected. She ran a claw over the ridges of her sharp teeth then chewed on it, thoughtfully; her black eyes scanning the wall before her - a wall that was now plastered with a tetris of maps and images, glowing strings of magic thread bisecting each, like a spider's silken trap.

"A father who would do anything to save his son," she murmured to herself, tracing the strings with her fingers. "But to aid him directly would be to lose him. A God who cares for no one but himself, yet must now depend on the charity of others. A brother who only wants what he once had, now that it evades him. A man who has everything and nothing at the same time..."

There was a small, low table of polished mahogany by her foot, bearing a magpie's miscellany of objects: miniature knives, dull, glassy jewels, teeth, hair bound in beads and linen and various other curios. Navaar reached down and pulled a small shard of rock from the assortment, holding it firmly between her thumb and forefinger as she turned it against the brassy afternoon light that slanted through the windows of Gladsheim. She smiled a little; licking her teeth.

"... and a King, cast out as a commoner; his pride being the only thing that prevents him from saving his people. Desperate men, all of them. Desperate men with desperate motives. Always the easiest to manipulate, when you need to."

Pulling a slight square of velvet from the pocket of her shirt, Navaar palmed the stone and wrapped it carefully, uttering a few harsh-edged words that were more consonants than anything; magic that would summon her errand boy.

"It will be interesting to see if they're playing more for themselves than they are each other - Loki especially," she continued to herself, pensively - as the fabric binding space and time in the room around her began to splutter and unravel, thinning like a balloon made of bubblegum. "This mortal skin of his has brought out an innocence long forgotten - buried under centuries of dissent. I wonder if he's pleased to remember it? Humans operate so differently on the inside; the mechanisms wear down so fast. Would you agree, Kotaja?"

"M'Lady?" Kotaja drawled, appearing like a sudden veil of cloud on a bright day as he stepped through the portal. "Loki is not faring well?"

"Well enough, considering. But he's in Nuada's ball park now, and that's out of my jurisdiction. Here," she handed him the velvet-wrapped rock. "Take this to the stronghold in Braeriach. If there's anything we can count on, it's Nuada's delight in misleading people to throw them off his scent, and I can use that to my advantage."

"Nuada? But will they even find him?" Kotaja said, cocking one thin brow in bemusement. "After all, a fae who does not want to be discovered, won't be."

"Nuada is an old goat, child. Careless after many years of never having to deal with mortals hands on. He can see what they've done to the world; he walks among them as though he belongs, but he does not understand them as well as he thinks he does." Navaar pursed her lips. "Mm, and he also doesn't know that Nell has done an excellent job to steer them in the right direction. Loki is smart, he would have read between the lines by now and realized exactly how to use the information she's given him - it is not as if she has been particularly subtle. Doubtless once they find Nuada he will try to get rid of them immediately; posing some superfluous task as a quest to prove their worth to him or some other idiotic notion."

"And you think he'll send them to Braeriach. In the Cairngorms?"

"If he wants to get rid of them, or at least scare the shit out of them, then yes." Navaar tapped her heel against the ground. "The powries who inhabit that area are reasonably vicious, if Nuada wishes to give the boys a taste of the Unseelie, then he's most likely to start with a hungry tribe of Redcaps."

Kotaja's thin brows knit in concern as he weighed the stone in his palm.

"But... Leading the Norseman and the mortal into their domain. Is that truly wise? Though he wears a human guise, they will know who Loki is and, more importantly, what he has done..."

"Really, I don't think a swarm of murderous brownies are really going to pose much trouble for Stark. Their strength is in their numbers and their speed, nothing more. If the boys are properly prepared, which they should be, armoured mountain midgets with considerably sour reputations shouldn't pose much of a threat."

"Not the Redcaps," Kotaja shook his head. "The others. The-"

"Oh... Them." Navaar touched a claw to her chin, theatrically."Yes, of course, you have a point. I'd forgotten about them. And no doubt Nuada has as well. Oh that would be unfortunate, wouldn't it? If those particular gentlemen were to receive word that the traitorous Laufey-son was sauntering into their home turf."

"My Lady, are you sure you wish to proceed? It is highly unlikely they would leave the Laufey-son alive; he or Anthony Stark, for they have little time or care for humans."

Navaar smiled.

"Highly unlikely? Oh, my dear boy, it would be extremely unlikely for them to emerge unscathed, let alone emerge at all. In fact you could say I might be sending the lovers to their brutal deaths, which would be a dreadful shame. All that work for nothing. But then again, I've always enjoyed studying the tumultuous relationship between narrow odds and gumption - I think it's high time we began actively testing it."

"It does seem like such a waste though."

"Kotaja, my dear doughboy - have a little faith!" Navaar chided him. "If Loki did not have a second plan up his sleeve, then he would not be Loki. He knows what he's doing - even when he doesn't. Mortality might have stopped in him his tracks in some aspects, but he's still as clever as they come and quite responsive to magic."

"If Loki does makes it through, if he does win Nuada to his cause," Kotaja said, thoughtfully. "It is most likely he will aim to kill you, whether his powers are returned or not. He has nothing left to lose in that sense."

"Well," Navaar cocked a shaggy brow. "With all of this rotten misdemeanor on my part, I really think I would be foolish not to expect it by now."

***

"Going to follow him around until he tells you," Tony said as they crossed the street in the shadow of Stark Tower, punching in a session of numbers on the intercom keypad that allowed them direct access to the tower's private elevator.

"Going to follow him around until he tells you," Tony repeated, hooking the door closed with his foot as they emptied themselves into the foyer of his penthouse. He tossed the crutches on the floor by the couch, while Loki padded to the bench, leaning gingerly against the marble countertop. The ex-God stood still a moment, catching his breath. He only moved to glare blackly at his host, when the man parroted for a third time:

"Going to follow-"

"Yes, I heard you, Stark," Loki snapped, irritably. "I did not miss the first time, let alone the sixth! I may be mortal, but that has done little to impair my hearing. Especially whilst I am walking right beside you."

"Good. Then tell me why your higher level of logic hasn't kicked in yet." Tony shot back, stalking over to the fridge to pull out a couple of bottles of water, one of which he set in front of his glowering charge. "'Cause seriously, your plan sucks."

"It is not wise to make fun of me, Stark." Loki warned, baring his teeth a little. His eyes glittered with anger, but Tony ignored him and merely threw his head back, downing half the bottle before he replied:

"I'm not making fun of you; I'm pointing out the obviousness that you seem blatantly happy to ignore! You're talking about stalking the guy who, upon talking to you for less than five minutes, punched you in the face. I'm not sure if you're accustomed to that kind of reaction as a regular "howdy", but my guess is your nose would look a hell of alot worse if you were."

"Nuada is the only man within reach who possesses knowledge of the Vorpal sword." Loki said tersely, enunciating each word as though he were addressing a child. "We could hunt for decades and never find another. The magical realm is vast, I know this from experience, even if I am not so familiar with your Midgardian version of it. Items of such power and their whereabouts tend not to linger within common knowledge, and for good reason."

"He could be lying."

"I'll take that chance." Loki toyed with the bottle cap before breaking the seal. "You may think me foolish, but I know how to read people, Stark. Better than you do."

"And you did such a swell job with Elrond back there."

Loki sighed, breaking the seal on his own water bottle before sipping at it, prudishly. He looked tired, amped, but tired and Tony wondered whether he really did believe his plan was genuinely actionable, or if he'd just convinced himself that a game of seek was his only option. He was grasping at straws; he made no effort to hide it, but Tony wasn't entirely sure they'd run through all the bad ideas possibly before running with the least inane of the bunch. Sighing inwardly, he rounded the counter and set a hand on Loki's back, watching with concern as the ex-God seemed to deflate a little.

"Stark..."

"You should rest," Tony cut over him, nodding toward the hall. "It's not like you've had much sleep."

"And whose fault is that?" The response was a soft snort; barely a murmur. Tony bounced his shoulders, affably.

"Hey, you came to me."

"I could not stand that woebegone face of yours a second longer," Loki replied, in measured tones. "Do not be mistaken in thinking that I would ask for your help - being as unlikely as you are to understand anything of the nature of magic, I'm sure I would do better without you. This is a fact, more so than an opinion and I do not say it lightly," he added after a moment, noting Tony's crumbling expression. "It would make more sense for me to Thor to accompany me. He may be limited in his understanding of most things, but he is moderately acclimatized to magic at the very least."

"The tesseract is magic, isn't it?" Tony grumbled. Loki didn't look at him, he kept his gaze fixed on the plastic bottle in his hand.

"The tesseract is energy, pure energy. There is a difference."

"But it still has abilities, right?" Tony continued. "It can still act as a gateway in superspace, like, an interdimensional door. That could be described as magic, in a way. Right?"

"Vaguely," Loki frowned, contemplating. "But that is not quite-"

"And there've been various theories over the years in both science fiction and science fact which suggest that science and magic could be BFFs yet to discover one another. Y'know, bosom buddies in the making. Of course, before I met team Asgard, I thought it was complete bullshit, but since my opinion has been proven outmoded, and since Selvig made you aware of what I-" Tony waved his arm in a sweeping arc, referring to Stark Tower as a whole. "-can do, what makes you so sure I won't be able to help?"

"The technicalities of it all, certainly," Loki nodded, straightening. "For magic can be just as precise in its execution as any analytical practice. Yet one must observe that itsnature is wholly different. There is a language magic speaks that is not as easily grasped - hence the reason why it is not as readily amenable to all and sundry. Science can be explained, dissected - engineered. It can be practiced by anyone with or without skill. It is fact. Magic, true magic - past the skills that allow amatuer tricks: basic conjuring, enchanting and so on - will come only to those who it chooses. Magic is its own beast and cannot be so easily-" Loki pursed his lips, considering his words. "Organized."

"Okay, so we're lacking in direct relationships; that's still workable for me." Tony persisted. "You can't just rule someone out because they're more comfy holding a stylus than a wandy thing, or whatever. After all, if a relic like Selvig can whip you up a harnessing device for the tesseract's power in a few days, imagine what a genius could do in a few hours."

"Stark..."

"Look, I've been labeled the impulsive one more times than I can count and I'm ok with that." Tony explained, furtively. "Hell, I'm the one who called a press conference to announce my extremely callow and unstructured idea to completely rebuild my entire company the very moment I touched American soil after being held in Afghanistan for three months."

"What are you getting at, exactly?" Loki said, ignoring the reference. It wouldn't come as a surprise that he knew just what had happened to Tony, when and how - not after he'd used Clint as his personal information parrot to dig up the dirt on all of them. "You have no need to join me. That is going much farther than necessary over the boundaries of your hospitality."

"So is fucking you."

"That is not what I meant."

"Oh, ok... so sex doesn't count?" Stark's dark eyes flicked up, reflecting mischief, before his mouth hitched a smile. He slid his hands around Loki's waist, feeling his breath catch and his body move every so slightly against the skin of his palms. After a quick glance about the room to ensure they were alone, Tony leaned in, pressing his lips to the slope of Loki's neck. "So I can have you all the ways I had you the other night, and that still wouldn't buy me a place on Team Bighorn...s?"

"What is it with you mortals and your partiality for compartmentalizing? Do not be a fool, Stark - you are aware of what I imply," Loki protested, curtly - batting at Tony's wandering hands. "Yes, you agreed to hear me out when you had no reason to. You took pains to find my brother, medicine for my injuries and housed me as I recuperated. For these alms, I am in your debt. But further than that, you have no reason to extend your charity. As for our joinings, would your superiors not- "

"Oh please, keep the self-sacrificing shtick out of it," Tony cut in. "If I want nobility so pure it chafes, I'll get a lecture on public address and decency from Steve. I never asked for thanks - I can generate enough pomp and circumstance of my own accord, if you haven't noticed. Anyway, all of this is as much about you as it is about Thor. And Thor's one of our guys, so we sort of have an obligation to help him, ergo, you. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if it involves all of us at some level – considering Ms Bitch-With-A-Sword might actually decide to throw her attention over here, just because Asgard's boys seem to favor earth. For differing reasons, sure - but that's not the point. "

"So I am an 'obligation' now?"

"Ah geez... Yes. And no," Tony sighed into Loki's hair. "It's better to let your situation fall into that particular box for the time being - make it digestible for the good guys until we figure out... um..."

"What you're going to do with me." Loki finished, his mouth twisting into a seam of distaste. Tony couldn't see his expression, but from his tone, he could certainly picture it. Briny, curdled and kind of sucking in on itself, like someone pulled a plug in the middle of his face. "And what of our involvement, Anthony? You certainly seem to have yourpriorities in order, regardless of what your team would think of them."

"The 'fraternizing'?" Tony shrugged. "Well yeah, Fury might want to beat me to death with his eyepatch, Rogers will probably want to put me in the naughty corner forever, and Barton would almost certainly want to perforate my ass. But they're all my problem, Loki. Not yours."

"You value your friend's trust so lightly. You are not particularly reassuring, Stark."

"Reassuring? And why would you need to be reassured of my welfare?" Tony's smile grew wider, cheshire-like, as he imagined the sudden chagrin that flashed across Loki's expression. "I'm surprised that even bothers you..."

"You have been generous," Loki replied, carefully. He sniffed and hunched his thin shoulders into something of a shrug. "I may be many things, but ungrateful isn't one of them. Were you any other foe, you would have taken advantage of my weakness."

"That a fact?" Tony was smirking by now, exploiting the kind of shit-eating grin that couldn't even be discouraged by a thousand lectures from Steve. His hand slid down Loki's side to squeeze a firm handful of god-ass. Beneath him, Loki inhaled sharply, the slight dark hairs at his nape standing to attention as miniature shivers laced over his flesh. Tony smiled as he closed his eyes, taking in the scent of sweat and the lingering traces of soap and Nell's balms on Loki's skin. "And what would you call this, then?"

Loki let out an exasperated breath and tried to brush his hands away, albeit half-heartedly.

"Wasting valuable time with games."

"Cock-tease." Tony snickered and backed up a little as Loki turned in his arms, unable to help himself. His tongue flicked tongue past Tony's ear.

"Wanton miscreant."

"Supernatural slut."

"Weak-willed mortal."

"You forgot 'scum'. 'Weak-willed, mortal scum', I think it is."

"I would not say such things at all," Loki frowned, drawing back a little. His fingers twisted in Tony's t-shirt. "I would not bed scum. That is crossing the line, as you Midgardians put it."

"Good to know you've got your standards in order." Tony snickered. "Or that humans aren't directly synonymous with 'scum' in your head. I'd have hoped you'd have the sense to stop a little higher than scum, though. Scum's pretty much the bottom of the barrel and I'd definitely class you as a bit of a snob when it comes to getting laid."

"Is that so?" Loki said, mildly. "Tell me then, Stark. To what level do you think I would stoop?"

"Oh, nothing below a few GQ covers and about sixty-million in the bank to start with. That oughta help sugar over the whole mortal thing. Maybe even the woebegone-ness." Tony harrumphed, drumming his fingers on the counter.

"Now who is surprised of whom,Stark? My comment bothered you, obviously..."

"Woebegone. Me." Tony attested, unhappily. Loki didn't so much as blush.

"Like a scolded puppy."

"Well thanks so much for the pity-fuck-"

"Did I not say," Loki breathed, fixated on the diffused glow of the arc reactor that filtered through Tony's Iron Butterfly t-shirt. His fingertips traced the edge of the casing, carefully. "That I found it pleasing?"

The lump in Tony's throat felt like he was swallowing a truck. He didn't even want to think about the one in his pants.

"Jarvis, where are the others about now?"

"Messrs Odinson, Rogers and Banner have all departed for SHEILD's downtown offices at Miss Romanov's behest, sir," the omnipotent voice replied - and once again Loki glanced suspiciously at the ceiling. "I believe they may be gone for some time. It seems that Miss Romanov was correct in her estimation that the Director would become suspicious of your... house party."

Realization iced over his warmer temperament, and Tony found himself raising his brows as prickles of warning bloomed in clusters down his spine. He'd expected his morning game of chicken with Natasha had put her nose out of joint somewhat (but hell, like she hadn't done the same in the past with the whole secret agent fiasco), but he doubted she would have gone running to the boss man this fast. Nick Fury was the jumping spider. The Black Widow preferred to let things brew, like strong coffee, or poison-laced scotch.

"Wow, he really has dialled up the paranoia to a new scale," he mused, wondering how long it would take before the Fury's dulcet tones would be pummelling him through the earpiece of his bluetooth.

"All of you have been secluded in the tower for more than a fortnight-"

"Please don't say 'secluded' when there are five men involved. Pretty sure there's a less...amorous adjective."

"-and while this behaviour may be typical of yourself and Mr Banner," Jarvis continued with practiced patience. "It is not a trait commonly associated with Captain Rogers, nor Mr Odinson. I believe it highly unlikely that the Director would not be entertaining a little concern by now."

"Then it would be prudent to dally," Loki said abruptly, pushing Tony out of the way. "It is clear the Director keeps a closer vigilance on you than you had suspected. I will not be found here, powerless, by his minions."

"If there's anything worse you could call Natasha other than "quim", it's "minion"."

Loki shot him a withering look but said nothing more - only stalked angrily out the kitchen toward his room, leaving Tony alone at the counter with a bottle of water, a pair of crutches and an old, dusty leather sack that had, if not aggravated some allergies he never knew he had, but spawned some new ones as well. He gave the bag a hard glare and sighed, swirling the remainder of the water in his hand. So his life had moved from developing immeasurably advanced technology for both the good of himself and of humanity in general, to battling aliens and Asgardian Gods, to... what? Magic, curses and freaking fairies? What next? Angels and Demons? He really ought to look at buying shares in HBO.

Tony ran a hand through his bangs and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Loki was right - this sort of thing really wasn't his ball of long-chain hydrocarbons. When it came to magic tricks, he couldn't even successfully pull a coin from someone's ear, or make a pencil disappear into thin air. As a child, his primary school magic show nearly ended in a lawsuit and a particularly steep hospital bill when he decided to upgrade the old "sawing legs" trick, by appropriating his father's laser cutter and holding his 'victim' in a titanium cage. Even card tricks evaded him, for Tony Stark only saw them as a way of exploiting a knack for algorithmic strategies, rather than becoming lost in the mystery of it all.

That was just the problem: Tony Stark didn't do whimsy - there was little he could observe in any shape or form without trying to understand the truth behind it. Even when faced with true examples of myth - when Thor had tried to explain the reason for Mjolnir's abilities, Tony found himself wondering how the energy generated by a fallen star could have possibly given a lump of steel and leather such enhanced powers. He'd even started making notes on it. To be fair, so had Bruce, but only because he had been at the forefront in the examination of Loki's sceptre. Tony wondered if his interest had been piqued by the fact that he might have been holding on to something that could stop, if not destroy the Hulk. It was a morbid thought, but if Bruce was ever secretive about anything, it was his desire to collect safeguards against his own creation. Tony couldn't fault him for that. Nor could he blame him for investigating absolutely every alternative.

But as for Stark himself? One could argue the fact of why an engineer, a facts-man, a genius, would even bother entertaining the seemingly illogical notion that magic existed, when the very idea of verifying it made him distinctly uncomfortable. But in saying that, comfort had never been a state of being that Tony ever really appreciated; for his perpetual desire to dance upon the edge of the unknown made him who he was. And if he wasn't going to be risking his neck for Loki specifically (or maybe he was, he hadn't yet fished out his true motives from drowning in a vast sea of want), or for Thor, then he would be doing so to sate his curiosity - which was a formidable beast at best. Stark was not one to remain sitting on the pines, when there was exploration, rationalization and justification to be done.

"Sir, might I suggest you approach the matter with a trite more than your usual smattering of caution," Jarvis suggested quietly, as though reading his mind. "While your fondness for Loki may drive you to indulge in certain activities that might otherwise be frowned upon-"

"We've covered that already," Tony said, shortly. "I'll cross that particular bridge when I come to it. I'm well aware there'll be a toll booth of some kind at either end."

"But what of the price, sir?" Jarvis pressed, his synthesized voice somewhat tense. "SHEILD will most likely demand a currency you may not appreciate, but at least understand. The Asgardians, however..."

"He didn't say he'd escaped, exactly," Tony reasoned. "In fact, he's more concerned about saving the damn place than having it come down on his head. Even Thor didn't seem too worried that he was out of his cage. If he was ever even in one."

"You realize that your antics risk Thor's judgment as much as anyone else's."

"I know, I know," Tony sighed, glancing at the dilapidated pack sitting in a crumpled heap by the couch. "Well, look on the bright side – at least I made his brother happy."

"As always, sir," Jarvis muttered as Tony yawned and padded over to inspect his gift, poking at it warily. "There is something to be said about your idea of a 'bright side'."

Tony ignored him and picked up the duffel between his thumb and forefinger, raising a brow at the way it relaxed into his grip, rather like an old dog leaning in for a scratch behind the ear. It was made of leather and sacking, with two straps and a drawstring opening. The top flap was secured by tarnished brass buckles, tattooed by age and use and a pattern was stamped along the join at the base - fading in and out by shadows of wear. The style of it was vaguely european, possibly celtic – the interlocking lines and spirals were certainly familiar, but that was about all Tony knew of archaic embellishments. He flipped it upside-down and shook it a few times, curious as to whether anything had been left inside, but the bag surrendered nothing save a faint, leathery sigh and a gasp of an odor that smelled a little like the wrong end of a horse.

"Jarv, are you getting any weird readings coming off this thing. Strange energy levels or quirky diagnostics – anything like that?"

"Not particularly, sir," Jarvis replied, after a second. "Not without subjecting it to a full scan. At first glance, it appears that the bag is a bag and nothing more."

"She said it could fit anything. Any object at all up to the size of a car. She didn't even give a weight restriction."

"Sir, I should like to remind you that you are holding a bag not a freight container," Jarvis intoned. "I believe it will take as much weight as any standard duffel, though it may be slightly more hardy, given that it is made from leather. While I would recommend it for a way to transport food, clothing and tools, I think the idea of trying to fit a car inside it is nonetheless imbecilic."

"Well... Let's test stupidity then," Tony said, gazing into the bag's eager maw. "Then we can't say we didn't try."

"Of course, sir." Jarvis seemed to sigh. "Perhaps the Hot Rod then?"

"Don't blaspheme, Jarv – the Merc, obviously. No one's going to mind too much if that piece of crap goes missing."

"Except Mr Hogan, of course."

"Precisely," Stark said, throwing the bag over his shoulder. "Then he won't keep insisting on driving me everywhere in it."

****

The light was sweeping away from the city in long planes of shadow by the time Tony and Loki hit the streets, clad in jeans, chucks and light parkas. Tony had even managed to persuade Loki into donning a pair of wayfarers, though the ex-God was none too pleased with the way that the lenses shifted the light, and tucked them in the front of his t-shirt instead. He walked quickly and with only a slight limp, which was surprising considering the stress he'd put on his healing body over the past twenty-four hours. He was also able to navigate the pavements particularly well with his nose pressed in a book - a feat which Tony figured must have been well practiced in some magic academy on Asgard. He rarely broke his stride, slowed, or missed a curb.

"Are you sure we can't do this tomorrow?" Tony said, weaving through a crowd of twittering teenagers spewing forth from the heady insides of a Dominoes Pizza Restaurant - eyes glued to their phone, mouths working wads of crust and cheap, plasticky cheese. "Seriously. It's getting dark."

"Are you afraid, Anthony?" Loki said from somewhere about page ninety. His voice was muffled by both the paper and the noise of the evening traffic. "For, as we both know, there are monsters lurking around this city. Do you fear them?"

"Only as much as I ever did," Tony snorted in rebuttal. "So no, not at all. I just meant that perhaps we should do our investigating when there's a bit of sun to help us, rather than try and squint for clues under neon and street lights. Nell did say that these fairy-types were pretty good at hiding, right?"

"Yes, and particularly adept at doing so by daylight," Loki pulled away from his book only to roll his eyes. "These are the people of the half-light, Stark. They are most active during the shadow hours of the gloaming."

"Watch out with the disdain there, you might walk into something."

"Hardly," Loki muttered, then motioned toward Tony's duffel with the spine of his book. "I see you took the Huldra's advice. And does it perform as she had explicated?"

"You mean "can I put an unnatural amount of things in it - things of such sizes and weights that would normally be a challenge to the capacity constraints of a reasonably small pack?" Tony glanced back at it, tugging at the shoulder straps as if testing the weight he still couldn't believe was on his back. "I have the MK7 in here, plus tools, plus extra gauntlets and ammunition. I have two more jackets, another pair of shoes and whatever food I could grab in time to see you shooting out the door like your ass was on fire," he paused, frowning a little. "I did say I'd go with you, you know. You could have waited."

"There wasn't time and you are worse than Thor for dawdling," Loki replied curtly, eyeing the bag over. "So it does have magical properties after all."

"She lied about the car though, that didn't fit. I'd've tried one of the bikes if I wasn't chasing your ass!" Tony replied, peevishly. "You seem surprised."

"Not particularly," Loki said. Truthfully, however, he was. If he'd had his magic, he would have been able to unravel the secrets of the artifact with little more than a simple spell; without, he was blind and deaf to the presence of magic and, though he would never admit it, he felt somewhat apprehensive. The realization that he was wandering into alien territory was certainly beginning to kick in, and Loki was beginning to feel the less-than-familiar ripple of worry lap his neck. For all his studies and research, he was mostly familiar with only the giants, the elves and the dwarves of the Nine - myths of the otherworlds he'd looked into, but never with any substantial interest. They were hobby reading, at best. And though he'd met many different creatures on his descent through time and space - most of which he'd quickly and wisely shied from - he had to admit, he was actually almost as knowledgeable as Tony when it came to Midgardian magic folk.

Almost. For in Loki's case, pride was a particularly good muffler for truth and he simply trawled on down the pavement, swallowing his anxiety like a bitter pill. For what he didn't know, he could bluff and for what he couldn't bluff... well... Tony had insisted that he come along - perhaps there'd be a use for him after all. Loki smiled thinly to himself as he wordlessly traversed a few more blocks in the poor level of silence that the Manhattan streets could manage, before reaching into his the pocket of his parka to pull out a nose of day-old sourdough.

"Uh," Tony eyed him over, frowning at the bread in his hand. "If you're hungry, we could grab a sub."

"Fool, it is not for me," Loki told him, glancing about distractedly. They were a few paces from the South Entrance of Grand Central Station, having walked outside to the far end to avoid the crowds. Being peak hour, the Station was a hive of activity, and Stark wasn't really down for subjecting them both to the swarms of commuters. One of the main problems attached to his lack of discretion (especially when it came to Iron Man), was the publicity it generated. In front of the camera, on the pulpit of the stage and still largely separate from the sea of faces, hands and questions,Tony was fine. In the thick of it, he struggled - uncomfortable with the overbearing attention and noise. It wasn't that he didn't like people - inspiring from a distance was ok; he just wasn't the touchy-feely type.

He was also beginning to wonder if anyone might actually recognize Loki. The villain who staked his army against New York and the Avengers had not been featured prominently by any news channel - in fact, the general populous seemed convinced that the Chitauri had fought of their own accord and knew little of the incident in Stuttgart. But there was always youTube, there was always someone filming, there was always some conspiracy junkie to pipe up - no matter how much SHIELD offered or threatened them. And while Loki certainly looked very different without his armor and psychotic expression, to someone who had really, really studied their material, he wouldn't be hard to pick out. Being in the company of Tony Stark only heightened the possibility.

"You don't really seem the pigeon-feeding kind of guy," Tony continued, perplexity curling the edges of his words as Loki veered off to a small, grassy area by the side of the station, pulling off small pieces of bread to toss amongst a small collection of city birds - pigeons and sparrows, mostly."Though I guess you're always up for surprising people." Loki ignored him, but he knew to expect that by now. He watched, somewhat bemused, as Loki cornered a sparse few, coaxing them toward an alcove in the exterior station wall. Tony wasn't entirely sure if feeding the rats with wings at twilight was part of Loki's plan to find Nuada, but he did seem to have a strong, confident look about him and that was comforting. "You trying to fatten them up for some alley cat?"

"Not a cat, no," Loki said, watching the birds closely, before he seized one by the neck, snapping its life away in one clean, brisk shake. Tony gaped at him.

"What.. What the hell are you doing?"

"Collecting tribute," Loki explained, killing another bird swiftly and casually. He held them out to Tony, seemingly unaware of any human audience. "Here. Put them in your bag."

"I'm not-" Tony made to argue, but quickly thought the better of it. One thing worse than getting caught in public with an alien war criminal was getting caught in public with an alien war criminal committing ornithocide, while on a quest to find a magic sword with the help of a silver-handed fairy. There weren't enough trees in the world to hold that cover story. With a hiss, Tony yanked the poor birds out of Loki's hand, making no attempt to hide his disgust. "You didn't have to do that."

"Forgive me, I was unaware you were an expert on the paranormal. Or much of a friend to pigeons, considering the amount you unwittingly incinerate with the residual bleed from the energy trails generated by your suit." Loki replied airily, striding back across the grass verge to the narrow stairs that led into the station. Tony followed him, trying not to catch the eye of any shocked onlookers.

"I have sensors for that, thank you very much. And how do you suppose a couple of murdered pigeons is going to help us find Nuada?" He shot back, winding his way through a scattering of kiosks. "What are you going to do? String them up somewhere and read their guts?"

"Don't be impertinent, what could I possibly scry in a bird's innards - especially specimens this infested with lice and filth?" Loki side-stepped a group of schoolgirls and pulled his book out of his pocket, scanning a dog-eared page with a scowl of concentration. "A falcon would be better - or a raven, for they are worth the ch- ah! Here-" He jabbed his finger in the spine, looking up. "We take this route, down toward the old tunnels. I believe we are looking to follow a set of old tracks that will deliver us to a location somewhere south-east of here."

"Is that a map of something?"

"It's something," Loki said, tightly - holding the text against his chest.

"Ok. And so... this something... is showing us where to find Nuada? Or are we finding him with the pigeons?" Tony asked, pulling out his Starkphone to ensure he had ticket credits. He swiped them both through the gates, and fell in step behind Loki as he navigated his way through the crowds of commuters. For a tourist, Loki seemed to manage himself particularly well around throngs of human traffic, unfazed by the choking warm subway air, the lights, the noise. Tony had often thought that, given his manner of speech and his cloaked surprise at a number of mundane, contemporary objects, the last time he visited earth - bar his attempt at a hostile takeover - he would have been sipping wine and spouting prose with the likes of Chaucer. And yet here he was, navigating the subway like a pro. Tony had to admit, there was something terribly attractive about a fast learner.

Loki left the question unanswered for some time, but once they'd managed to burrow underground as far as the last platform would stretch - a lesser-used station that was, by this time, deserted - he finally stopped and turned, as though he'd only just remembered that Tony had spoken.

"No. We do not find Nuada with dead pigeons," he snapped, his eyes hard and narrow. "Of all the idiotic compulsions. We must enquire as to where he is and this-" he held up his book, showing an old, hand-drawn map that spanned across two pages, nipping infuriatingly into the spine. It looked similar to a subway line diagram, but was covered with sigils and runes - most of which Tony couldn't possibly dream of understanding. "-has been leading us. There is a colossus under this city. And old stone giant, who once laid himself to rest beneath the fortifications of a previous civilisation and never rose again. I believe he is friendly, or at least neutral - for as few Midgardian Giants as there are recorded, they appear to be of an even temperament. The birds are for whatever else may be down there."

"And that would be?"

"I do not know."

"But you know that whatever it is, it likes birds?"

"I know that it will appreciate tribute of some kind." Loki said, shortly.

"And you couldn't have just grabbed a few twinkies?" Tony folded his arms over his chest. "Were the gory dramatics really necessary?"

"Creatures of the half-light prefer simpler gifts," Loki explained with threadbare patience, eyeing up an accessway on the far side of the tracks. "I know as much. Those above ground would be far happier with milk and honey over any toy you could design to entertain them. They treasure songs and poetry far more than contemporary cleverness. They are true to what they are, and that is how they enjoy things. Those below ground accept blood gifts - minor sacrifices. Creatures they do not often find in the darkness of the tunnels. The fresher, the better."

"Well, I suppose you can't get any fresher than strangled New York pigeon," Tony muttered, grabbing Loki's elbow while he waited for Jarvis to give them the all-clear on the rail traffic. The ex-God opened his mouth to protest, but let it slide as an express commuter whizzed past his nose. Tony grunted at him, tightening his grip as he pressed a hand to his bluetooth earpiece, only jerking into movement seconds later, tugging Loki across the tracks. Jarvis had managed to recalibrate the security cameras and point them in another direction for a few seconds while Tony picked the lock on the accessway door with one short, low blast from his MK7's gauntlet. After a few wrong turns, and a few dead ends, the pair found themselves wandering the desolate access corridors behind and below the bustles of the regular platforms - tunnels that led deeper and deeper beneath the city, the thrum of the trains and the occasional scrape of traffic being the only evidence of life around them after a while.

Loki continued to set the pace, his nose glued firmly back in the pages of his book, while Tony followed, glancing about the slowly degrading state of the corridors as they travelled further and further into the belly of Manhattan. Goose pimples scattered thickly over his arms as the temperature suddenly dropped and as they approached yet another rusted, metal-framed door, Loki removed his face from the pages long enough for the brief exclamation:

"Oh."

Another subway line stretched out before them - abandoned, as Jarvis began to mention in Tony's ear, due to continual flooding and delays. The empty tunnel that remained was dark, wet and cavernous and it stretched out before the pair like a stoney, slimey gullet. The smell was that of a back alley's ass in the rain; newspaper, decomposing waste and wet dog. Loki raised a brow.

"This is certainly more of what I would expect," he said, crossing the cracked platform to peer down at the tracks. They were covered by a good two to three feet of water, their rails long since silenced by the fetid river that ran clean only when the rains above ground were heavy enough to breach the storm water drains. The smell permeating from it was even worse than the scent of the air, though Loki did not appear to be terribly bothered. "We must be in the right place."

"Sure. Well, it looks like it hasn't been accessed for a good -" Tony looked around, shining his gauntlet's glowing repulsors around like a torch. He cocked his head toward an old Coca Cola advertisement, noting the style. "- thirty years or so. I guess if the supernatural were going to hide out anywhere, it'd be here."

"It is not only that, not just the desolation," Loki said, walking slowly down the platform. "It is the silence. It is lucid - it pushes us away, can you not feel it? It is a tugging-" he turned to face Stark, resting his hand on his lower belly. "-in here."

"Nope," Tony shrugged, apologetically. "I think you're the only one who gets the touchy feelies from the ghosts. Me? This place just wigs me out, is all. So ok then: here we are, sufficiently wigged and with premonitive intestinal tension." He swung his arm up and down the tracks. "Which way now?"

"A very good question," Loki said, swiveling back toward the flooded tracks. "For once. Congratulations." He lowered himself to a crouch, staring hard into the water and for a moment Tony wondered if he'd actually dropped something in the his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he saw it. Movement along the surface of the still river, a slow, lazy ripple that crested on the surface scum like the ridge of a sand dune and travelled slowly toward the platform where Loki was waiting. Tony licked his lips, worriedly; urban legends of sewer alligators, discarded pet pythons and giant rats poked darts of panic into the back of his neck.

"Uh... Loki?"

"It is all right," Loki assured him, under his breath. Then he raised his voice. "Ladies? Might I trouble you for an opinion?"

At first, he thought it was a pipe in the water - an ancient rubber hose, freckled with white blotches of erosion and patches of rust. Then he realized there was a woman attached to it. Sort of. The figure that rose slowly out of the silt and mud, like a long tentacle of something from a sixties horror movie, was the colour of buried coal and was covered with a thick, somewhat translucent slime that was dotted here and there with various grains of silt. Judging by the pendulous, almost bovine breasts (those he couldn't help noticing because they were breasts and he was Tony Stark), he decided it was probably female, yet there was little else about her to support that fact. Two glossy, pupil-less eyes shone back at him, like pin-pricks of headlights on a long, open highway and a dark mouth, ringed by stubby, broken teeth opened to reply:

"Don't often see the likes o' mortal folk messin' around down 'ere, boy. They don't last long neither..."

Her voice was deep and bubbled like prehistoric tar, punctuated with the occasional soft hiss like gas being released in a closed room. Another woman rose out of the sludge to join her. This one was thinner; her body exhibiting an awkward alliance of bones and sinew which shifted grossly beneath a layer of thick, rubbery skin that reflected the sheen of Tony's repulsor. This one had small, piggy eyes that seemed to be swallowing themselves and she tended to blink rather rapidly. Loki merely cocked his head to one side and flashed them a high calibre smile.

"Lovely ladies... I had read legends of the fine merfolk of Midgard and have been eager to meet one for many years. I cannot believe my own eyes that I may feast them upon such beaut-"

"What's he want, then?" The thin one said, squinting up at Loki and Stark. "What's he sayin'?"

"Shh, he's calling us lovely, he is. I heard him," replied the first one.

"He's a liar," Bones scoffed. "He's got eyes. He knows he ain't lookin' at some elfy flim-flam."

"On the contrary," Loki jumped in, quickly, glancing at Stark. "I have not been presented with such fairness in my life."

"E! would go nuts," Tony added, helpfully.

"Oh don't lay it on so thick, boy," The fatter one said - though she combed through what was left of her hair - knotted, woolley strands that wove a loose net over the top of her algae-blossoming head. "We ain't any of them stuck up gilflurts flitting about in the briney! You knows a hag when you sees one."

"Or smells one," added Bones, snickering.

"Aye, or smells one," the other nodded. "And you ain't fooling us, neither. You ain't no normal mortal, are you, boy?"

"Not exactly," Loki explained, shortly.

"Looks like a Northerner. I bet he's a Northerner, Peg," said Bones, picking her nose, idly. "He's got a human pet too. Oi... You look familiar, actually. Ain't I seen you before?"

"Oh I always get mistaken for this movie star guy," Tony covered, smoothly. "He's in all the papers and magazines and what have you. Remarkably good looking. Kind. Generous in all areas."

The hags looked over him quizzically for a moment, ruminating over the deadpan marvel that was Tony Stark. The one named "Peg" broke into a wide grin of shattered teeth.

"Full of hubris, ain't he? That's what I like about the mortals these days. They're clever. Entertaining. Less superstitious."

"Less pointy," Bones agreed. "Less pitch-forky."

"What you after, anyway, Northerner?" Peg asked. "You better watch it 'round here - they're saying one of them Norse Gods got a bee in his bonnet and tried to put himself on the throne of Manhattan. Caused a hell of a hullabaloo."

"There's lots of folks got their tits in a twist over it." Bones chimed in. "Said there was plenty of damage. Even got the ol' Daanan boy come snooping around about it. Bugger's got a face that could sour milk."

"Daanan... You mean..." Loki's brow puckered with a frown. "The Tuatha de Dannan? And Nuada?"

"Ain't no other. We don't count the replacement."

"He's a bad egg, that one. Bit too friendly with the Fomorians, and they're nasty sorts to begin with."

"Yes, yes of course... Neither do we." Loki agreed, quickly - noting the interest spark in the women's eyes as he did so. "Er... count him... But please, I must have audience with the King - the real King. It is imperative that I meet with him. Do you know where he might reside?"

"Audience?" Peg stretched, languorously; like a wet balloon. "He don't often take audiences, boy."

"I know. I know this. Indeed. But he has a debt with me, I intend to chase it."

"He has a debt?" Tony hissed.

Loki only smiled, not looking at his lover - though he did drive his heel onto Tony's toes in effort to shut him up. The hags noticed none of this, however - they seemed a little preoccupied with the idea that their Northern guest intended to give chase to the errant King. It appeared they were keen for any entertainment they could get. Peg was tapping her uneven claws against a chipped steel pipe; Bones was picking what looked like fragments of rotting meat out of her teeth.

"A debt, eh?" She drawled, as Loki tugged Stark's bag off his shoulder and began rifling through it. "And what kind of debt would a Kell like him owe a Northerner like you?"

"Come now, all the fair folk - even those with all the good humour of a brick - enjoy the odd wager every now and then," Loki explained with a flourish of his free hand, then jerked suddenly as though electrocuted. Tony winced as the ex-God fired a glare toward him - one that guaranteed later bloodshed. All right, so he forgot that the Mk7 tended to emit low-level voltaic pulses in its resting state in order for Jarvis to track it. He was used to the suit, and thought nothing of the buzz - it was just like hitting the metal plate in a game of Operation. How was it his fault that Loki had never tried to remove a charlie horse from a woefully ill-endowed illustration with a miniature pair of tweezers?

"Oh aye, and what was this wager then, my fair cat-eyes?" Peg grinned, rolling her corpulent form about in the sludge. "That porridgy Nob ain't one to lend an ear to the masses, if you know what I mean. Tends to spend most of his time hidin' from 'em."

"And that is exactly the wager," Loki told her, breathing relief as he closed his hand around a soft, warm mess of blood and feathers. "He bet that we could not find him."

Peg burst into a long peal of rasping guffaws, the sound of it was like a vacuum cleaner choking on a pair of socks. Even her thin partner seemed to lurch into a few bubbling giggles, her lamp-like eyes narrowing to thin slits of amusement while her fingers combed through her stringy, gunge-ridden hair.

"Oh aye, that sounds a little like him," Peg chuckled as she recovered, glancing at her partner. "Don't you think, Gin?"

"Them Danaans can be tricky sods," Gin replied, nodding vigorously. "All snobbery, swords and riddles, they is."

"Then, would you help me?" Loki beseeched the pair, piling on the kowtow like mortar on a pebble wall. "Ladies? I'd be ever so grateful-"

"Gratitude don't count for too much down here," Peg said. "Can't eat it. Can't drink it... and there sure as shit ain't nothing you can make with it. Nice thought, Northerner... but we gots not use for it."

"Got anything else?" Gin asked, hopefully. "We'd take the human... He looks like he'd be good for chewing."

"Oh... No... no you won't want him," Loki said briskly, casting a glance toward Tony, who had, as far as he could tell in the meager, blue light, paled a little. "He'd be no good to eat."

"Yeah, too grainy. Too mealy." Tony added. "Way too much muscle-"

"In his head," Loki jumped in. "The rest is just fat."

"Kind of like his head," Tony shot back, acidly. Loki scowled at him, but pulled the birds out of his bag instead and dangled them over the water, watching closely as the hags suddenly jumped to attention.

"Pigeons? What's so special about a couple of mangy land-rats?" Peg purred, fighting Gin for space as they hoisted themselves onto the edge of the platform - their tails, like wet inner tubes, wrestling with each other.

"Oh not much, particularly - forgive me. I assumed you would not find such fat, plump, fresh examples such as these all the way down here." Loki looked over his offering, licking his lips as if to salt the idea that they were just as tasty as they looked. The hags, in turn, were fixated on him completely, drool greasing their chops with desire - completely negated their faux disinterest. "I would have thought your meals were subject to whatever flotsam blew itself down the storm drains when they overflowed and, being summer as it is, the only birds you've seen in the last few months were bloated with rot, gnawed by vermin - their blood coagulated and thick in their ruined veins. Your refuge offers you mere refuse. Garbage... Not succulent young birds such as these."

"Aye... This is true," said Gin, curling her tail. "We ain't seen much with good fresh blood for a while."

"Don't mean we'll sell out Nuada for a bite," Peg snorted, still eyeing the clutch of feathers, hopefully.

"Oh, you needn't even be so specific," Loki said, breezily. "Even the location of the Gatekeeper is fine: the Giant who watches over the Sandstone Gate. That would be perfectly adequate for this simple offering of flesh. Such is the pity, however - for I had hoped my gifts might have reminded you of your time in the world above, before you chose to leave it. The thrill of the hunt, the warmth and aroma of clean blood. The fresh meat you could gather every day: the birds, the frogs, the children..." He sighed. "But it seems I was sorely mistaken! And thus, if these things are so common..."

"Head East," Peg said, immediately - reaching a pudgy hand toward him, fingers grasping at the air. "There is a Nokker to the West, who hangs about the exit to the sea. He's nowt afeared of the running water - so long as he can see the ocean. He'll tear you to shreds. Go East."

"A Nokk-wha-" Tony began, but Loki elbowed him out of the way, moving backwards from the flooded tracks as the women hung on to the concrete overhang, saliva glistening on their teeth. He nodded, handing Peg one of the birds. She snatched it out of his hand, easing slowly beneath the platform. Jhen caught hers as he tossed it to her, emitting a high-pitched noise of appreciation before sliding back into the sludge. Loki shoved the bag back into Tony's hands, pushing past him to stride down the opposite end of the gangway, lowering himself into the water. Tony slid his arms into the straps and sighed, donning the bag again.

"So what's a Nokker -oh gross," he groaned as he eased himself into the water, feeling the coldness bleeding up through his pants. Loki ignored him and simply kept moving. Tony gave a huff of annoyance and pressed on after him, trying to keep up. By the time they'd reached the another alcove that widened into a large open area of brick and old stones, packed in tightly with age-cemented clay, the temperature had dropped even lower and Loki shivered in the waist-deep water. He looked about, frowning as he scrutinized the area as much as he could in the dull, blue-white light radiating from Tony's gauntlet.

"I believe we are close," he said - his voice hollow and flat as it resounded off the walls and fled back up the tunnel. Tony waded closer, one arm tucked around his ribs while the other remained in the air, holding their torch.

"Close? Loki, there's nowhere else to go. This is a dead end." Tony clarified, drily. "And I hate that I just called it that."

"We are far from finished," Loki corrected him, consulting his book again. Tony rolled his eyes.

"All right. So I'm assuming that little notebook is telling you what to expect and where to find it, what do we do next then? Find a trick stone that opens a door? Say a few magic words? Wait for some more of those mermaid things to turn up?"

"Hags," Loki flicked over a page. "They were hags, not mermaids."

"Ok, hags then," Tony rolled his eyes. "But you should know, girls don't often like to be called that."

"They are not girls. Not as you understand them," Loki said, brusquely, turning on the spot to glare at Stark. "That is precisely why I had reservations in taking you - in taking any human, for that matter. A hag is a hag as a human is a human; to think that they might take offense to such a title is completely negating what they are. You cannot modernize such things, it does not work. And before you ask, the difference between a hag and a mermaid is startling. The former inhabits rivers and ponds and lives as a scavenger; the latter is a powerful being of the sea - the ocean being a much stronger force than any body of water that crosses land."

"So mermaids... Not so helpful?" Tony ventured.

"A mermaid would be more than likely to drown and devour you, rather than help you. They know the secrets of the earth from the inside out - they have little time for mortals. Hags, on the other hand, can be bartered with - especially when you have something they want."

"Boy did Walt ever get that wrong," Tony murmured, shuddering a little against the chill. "And you know all of this from... From what, that book?"

"I had researched a little into the myths of Midgard when I was young. On top of that, I have further enhanced my knowledge with the tomes that Nell had provided, and the information your Artificial Intelligence had procured via the inter-net." Loki pronounced the word as if it were hyphenated - inadvertently proving that Tony wasn't the only fish out of water. Tony let it lie. "Did you think I had been resting heedlessly this whole time?"

"You were kind of suffering from a sort of travelling narcolepsy actually," Tony began, but the humour was petering out of his voice as fast as the heat from his body, and he sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Ok, so you did more than study the cliffs notes - guess I should have expected that. So do you know where we're going now, or do we have to develop hypothermia first? Where's this collossus guy you were talking about?"

"Here," Loki said, looking around, trying to cover the fact that he really had no idea. The magic was all around him, through him, covering him. He could feel it permeating his skin, tickling his bones. He couldn't remember how this used to affect his immortal skin - it had been so normal then, like the breath of a fresh breeze; he barely noticed it. Now it was alien, cold... it sunk into his flesh with blunt, fat teeth and clung to him in a damp cloud. It made him nervous. He'd never been unnerved by anything magical before. "Somewhere."

"Well that narrows it down."

"Do not be so glib. Were we to rely on your skills, we would still be wandering about your wretched tower, looking for some device that would help you put a trace on magical energy signatures, or something ridiculous of the like."

"Actually," Tony stopped still in water, looking thoughtful. "That's not such a bad idea."

"You are incorrigible, I-" Loki began, then trailed off abruptly, his words dying on his tongue. Silence pounded them for a moment, heavy as the humidity in a Thai September, and Loki took a moment to glance about, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes. "Did you hear that?"

"I don't know, is this Mr Hutton's campfire night for eighth grade outdoor education?" Tony remarked, then made an exasperated gesture as Loki glared at him. "What? No. no I didn't hear anything, Loki. You should know by now that magical things don't really like to talk to m-"

It was Tony's turn to stop and gape this time, turning to stare at the wall directly in front of Loki and watch as the clusters of stones and brick that it was comprised of seemed to shift and undulate, turning in on itself and rattling sheets of slimy shale loose. Something was moving. Something very, very large. There was another tense second of unbelievably fertile silence, then a low rumble - a seismic shiver - passed through the alcove, and a voice that sounded like rocks churning at the bottom of a river said:

"Has it been so long that the world has turned time back on itself? It has been many, many centuries since I have been in the presence of a Norseman."

Loki scanned the rocks before him, trying to make out a source for the noise, but it was all around him - echoing closely off the cavern walls. If they had found the colossus, then he must far be too large to see in their cramped environment. Loki cleared his throat.

"'Tis a fine day for company, my Lord, even if it is from such a lowly visitor as I."

"I?" The giant said, after a moment. "And who is "I"? I have not met an "I" before. How unfortunate you are named as such."

"My name is Loki," Loki replied. "Loki of Asgard."

"Asgard?" The giant seemed to think on this a moment."Lóðurr?"

"No, Loki - you think of the Midga- uh... You think of the tales from your realm. Stories." Loki explained, waving off Tony's look of complete confusion. "I am Loki. Son of Odin. I seek King Nuada, for we have a wager and I must collect."

"I did not know Lóðurr," the giant continued, almost to himself. "For I was too young. I do not know a Loki, for I am now too old and there is much that passes me by down here where I sleep the years away."

"Do you know of Nuada?" Loki pressed, trying hard not to sound too impatient. "The Kell. The Silver-handed King? Do you guard the entrance to the Middle Lands?"

The giant paused again, though the sound of pebbles grinding against each other still reverberated through the chamber, giving Tony the distinct impression of an old engine turning over as it idled. A really old engine; something with a crank and a patina of rust. He rocked on his toes, restlessly, almost comforted by the fact that he knew Loki was doing exactly the same.

"I do hold the key to the Middle Lands," the giant rumbled again, speaking slowly and methodically. "And I know of Nuada. If you seek him, he is bound to be there."

"Like... what... Like right behind the door?" Tony frowned. "You mean, if you let us through, he's just going to there; sitting, waiting for us or something?"

"The door opens South of the Barrow," the giant yawned. "Last I spoke to the Silver King, he was headed for Sallowmage, which is North from there. Though I spoke to him a while ago, and a while can mean anything to a giant."

"It is a fine place to begin, regardless," Loki replied with terse politeness. "Will you let us through?"

"Over a wager?" The giant stopped to think again. This time Stark caught Loki rolling his eyes. He had to concentrate extremely hard on tamping the desire to mimic the action. They may not be looking at the giant's face, but who in the hell knew how the thing could see? Tony couldn't even make out what part of his anatomy they were currently addressing - they could have been having a conversation with his crotch for all he knew. "No, not over a wager. I do not care for your wagers."

"What do you want then?" Tony asked, swallowing as much exacerbation as he could. He scanned his person, quickly - trying to think of something to offer. "I've got zilch on me, right now. The watch is Omega, though. Or I've got... I don't know... eight hundred in my wallet - though it's probably turned to mush down here. Um... I-uh... got... I got this neat glowy thing..." He waved his gauntlet about in a paltry show of bartering. Gambling, he was fine with - but that was purely because he understood the odds and the currency. When it came to deals with Giants, he really had no idea. "But I kinda need that for the moment, uh-"

"Do you have power over this city, human?"

"Eh?"

"Power. In this city. Beneath which I rest my bones," the giant elaborated. "Do you have the ability to command or hinder building and destruction in this area?"

"Well," Tony shrugged, but his mind was quickly scanning through his many contacts, trying to think of ways in which red tape might be discreetly severed and construction companies might be silently purchased to renavigate certain developments. He was beginning to see where the giant was headed with this, and if he was correct, then granting its wish might not be too costly. "Yeah. Yeah I can probably call in a few favors. What do you need?"

"My kind no longer roam the lands of the waking world," the giant said. "Most of us have returned to the Middle Lands, away from humans. Those who stayed have lived on in the mountains - becoming one with the earth and knowing nothing more. But I have a position here, beneath the world of the mortals. I have a duty to uphold - I cannot return to my brethren, lest another door to the realm of Magic closes and we are withdrawn even further from the world that used to be ours."

"Don't you have another, though? A world, I mean - realm, or whatever," Tony floundered, momentarily traversing the metaphorical tightrope between ideas. "What's so important about this world, that you need to keep it open - rather than just... I don't know... Hand it over?" Something about those words made him feel a little unclean, like a politician - and Tony Stark hated politics. Loki didn't look at him. The giant didn't seem bothered by the question.

"Perhaps that is a question for Nuada. But for the time being, I have noticed that the mortals have begun drilling things into my toes. I should like for them to stop; it is not terribly comfortable. And I am sure that it is not likely to stop at my toes. I fear that soon enough my feet will suffer, then my knees - perhaps even my head and that just will not do."

"I got it, keep the noise down," Tony nodded. It wouldn't take much to convince the city council to rethink the course of the new subway - just a few million in the pot and probably a promise to put his name to most of the technological development. He'd never built a subway before; it could be fun. "I can do that."

"I like the sound of the human city," the giant carried on. "It is a pulse, thrumming. It is the sound of life. I like this better than the mountains, or the oceans. It is far more preferable to know that creation is still happening around me. That the world I know still lives on."

"But you'll let us through to... South Barrow, if Anthony concedes to halt construction on the subway line that runs past your place of rest?" Loki cut in, quickly. "Those are your terms."

"To know haste, is to know disappointment," the giant warned him. "Time, I have left behind, Loki of Asgard - as an immortal, perhaps you should do the same?"

"Unfortunately, I have not the luxury right now," Loki replied. "But that is something I will keep in mind for the future. But for now, if we are in agreement..."

"We are."

There was another long, hollow grind as the wall to Tony's right shifted and warped, stones, bricks and gravel rolling out of the way to form a round opening. Dust and rock particles trickled endlessly through its middle in a thick curtain of powder, though here and there Tony caught pinpoints of a warm, gold light from the other side.

"I guess that's it then," he said, staring into the curtain. Loki was already moving towards it, wading through the deep, cold water. "Thanks, um..."

"I do not have a name," the giant told him. "If I ever did, I have forgotten it."

"Then you can be Frank. You look like a Frank." Tony decided, stumbling after Loki. "Well, you seem like one, anyway. So thanks, Frank."

"Do not forget your promise, mortal."

"Oh, Frankie, I don't think there's anything about these past few weeks that I'm going to forget. Not even if I live to be ninety." Tony hoisted himself up on the bank that had formed before the portal and sluiced some of the water off his thighs. Loki stood there, before the door - somewhat psyching himself up. He looked unsure - openly unsure for once - and for the second time that day, Tony decided it was in his best interests not to mention it. "Well, here we are," he said instead, examining the ever-falling veils of granite dust and earth. "D'ya reckon there's a yellow brick road on the other side?"

The look Loki gave him was acid enough to melt acid.

"What are you prattling on about, Stark?"

"Sheesh, even Steve would get that one," Tony smirked. "Better get up to play, Loki of Asgard - can't have a seventy-year old popsicle beating you to the punch."

"You know, I am still not entirely celebrating the fact that I have let you join me," Loki told him.

"What's that? A 'Don't make me turn this magic portal around?'" Tony grinned. "You couldn't have left me if you tried. I can track you, you know."

"And I am particularly good at disappearing," Loki shot back. "But I am not here to argue, are you coming or not?"

"Ladies first."

"Then," Loki narrowed his eyes, gesturing to the portal with all the mock chivalry he could muster. "By all means."

"Don't mind if I do," said Tony. Then, as he made to take a step, he moved backward instead - pressing his palm flat on Loki's back and shoved him forwards. "Geronimo, Dorothy!"

The last thing he heard was Loki's snarl of betrayal. Then the sound of the stones gushing past his ears as he closed his eyes and stepped through the door.

***

(tbc)

Notes:

Once again, I'm sorry - Loki's awfully... um... endearing? It's those daddy-issues. And those sparkly eyes of Hiddlestons'. I can't fight the sparkly eyes. If you're going to throw fruit, please chose pieces without stones... I hear the feijoas are ripe this time of year.