There he is, Loki thought as his blank expression was given life by a smirk that could raise hairs. It is a beautiful sight when a well-laid plan falls into place. He stood on a busy sidewalk watching the front doors of Stark Tower, invisible to the mortals surrounding him who felt a strange compulsion to walk around the space he occupied. Just outside the doors stood Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, and Tony Stark but Loki was only there for one.
Threads of magic, not unlike a spider web, weaved themselves into being in Loki's right hand. The glowing green strings were secured to each fingertip and the base of his palm before lacing into the pattern of a complex spell. He flexed his fingers, the threads moving with him like elastics, before taking his first step forward.
The three Avengers stood in civilian dress, presumably waiting for the other three members of their team, speaking to one another in soft tones. Their words were lost in the crowds of talking and texting people but that didn't matter to Loki. He swiftly crossed the street and weaved down the sidewalk with the grace of flowing water.
He approached the three figures quickly, his target standing on the edge of the sidewalk with his back to the road. Loki stepped off onto the pavement and pressed the hand with the completed spell between Steve's shoulder blades for a moment before continuing down the street and away from the Tower.
Steve felt the pressure on his back, a gentle touch like a gust of wind, and turned his head to see what caused it. His brow creased when he saw nothing and no one he knew, just the people walking by. He figured someone must've accidentally hit him while moving past.
"What is it, Steve?" Bruce asked, noticing him looking around.
He turned and faced Bruce and Tony. "Uh, nothing. Just thought… nothing."
He smiled at them and they returned to their conversation as if nothing had happened. As far as they were concerned, nothing had. Yet, at that moment, a series of intricately woven lines of magic were seeping through Steve's shirt and into his skin, leaving their mark and working the spell they were created for.
Loki genuinely smiled as he walked away from Stark Tower. He could feel a song in his heart, an old one from his childhood that his mother used to sing to him. Him and his brother. The corners of his mouth dipped down a little at the thought of Thor but he refused to let him spoil his mood. He whistled the song to himself, the notes being picked up by the wind. An ancient tune wasted on mortal ears that passed it off as nothing more than their imaginations.
As he walked, he began casting the spell again, the magic intertwining itself in his hand. The particular spell he was trying to cast required two people to be marked with the same spell, allowing a connection between the two. His plan relied upon it and he couldn't allow it to fail. Failure wasn't an option he could bear.
Once the spell finished tying itself together, Loki stopped walking for a moment and placed his hand on his chest over his heart. He dropped his hand when he could feel the magic had transferred and looked down at the intricate glowing design. Soon, it started to fade through the leather armor until it reached his flesh, allowing the effects to sink in.
Magic in his system felt like a jolt of energy, a drug that spread new life through his veins. It also happened to leave a taste on his tongue similar to dark, bitter chocolate. The only feeling he loved more was that of a successful plan. Either way, he felt elated in a way he hadn't since before Thor was announced to be king of Asgard.
He continued walking, heading toward his new Midgardian base. He couldn't act until the magic settled into both of their systems so all he could do for about twelve hours was wait. He stopped in his tracks as a mischievous smile graced his face. No point wasting such a good mood doing nothing, he figured. He diverted from his path, thinking of far more interesting ways to while away the hours.
Steve exhaled in relief when Thor, Natasha, and Clint showed up. He already felt like a complete outsider in most conversations but when Tony and Bruce started to talk about their lab projects, it was as if Steve didn't exist to them. Then again, he still felt like he didn't exist to most of the team. They looked to him as a leader, but not as a friend. All with the exception of one.
"CAPTAIN!" a voice boomed to his left.
Thor approached him and clapped him on the back. Had he been his frail, sickly self, he would've been launched into the side of the Tower but, as he was with the serum, he barely budged at the show of affection. Steve smiled up at the thunder god before returning the gesture.
"Hey, Thor," he replied in a much quieter tone.
"Where do we plan to venture this night, my brothers-and-sister-in-arms?" he asked with a smile on his face, looking around at the faces of his fellow Avengers.
"We're not going to battle, buddy," Tony said, adjusting his yellow-tinted sunglasses. "We're just going a few blocks for something to eat."
"That's just how he talks," Steve said, feeling inclined to defend him. "He was asking where we're going for dinner."
"Oh, you speak Asgardian now?" Tony asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Tony, stop," Bruce warned.
Tony looked to Bruce and shrugged. "Just the local pizza joint. I don't even want to go but Bruce and Pepper insist I have to eat or something."
"You do," Bruce replied, looking at him pointedly.
"Can we just go already!?" Clint interjected.
Their short-lived argument dissolved into a series of grumbles and grunts as they all agreed with Clint. As a group they began walking down the sidewalks, no one bothering to say anything as if they were all concentrating on their walking. Steve noticed how closely Bruce and Tony walked together, how one turned to look at the other when he wasn't paying attention. He saw Clint and Natasha speaking to each other in nearly silent whispers, the two sharing a bond they had with no other. He looked to Thor, a man not completely oblivious but just contented to be. And then he turned to himself. Even in a group of people he was alone, everyone he ever loved having grown old or died.
Steve shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to think about it. The pain it caused was crippling, a weakness he couldn't afford to show in front of his team. He could barely express the hurt he felt when he was alone. Instead, he pushed it down and built up the strength to put on a mask for his team to see.
Once they arrived at the pizza place, the six of them melted into the setting. They became a part of the white tiled floors, the bright florescent lights hanging over each table, the scuff marks, the near emptiness, and settled in like it was home. They all started to enjoy themselves a little and Steve was glad to see it.
They pulled a few tables together and ordered a tower of pizza due to Thor's appetite and Bruce's fast metabolism. Steve didn't feel especially hungry but he took a couple of slices from a box to give the illusion that he was. They sat in front of him on a plate, growing cold as seconds turned to minutes, minutes to an hour.
He watched as the five of them talked and laughed, only speaking when he was prompted to. He used a pen he had tucked into his pocket and drew the scene before him on a napkin, capturing the likeness of each of his teammates even on such a small scale. When they were ready to leave, Steve left the drawing on the table beside his two untouched slices of pizza.
He was a little happier to leave than he was to be there. The thought of being alone on his floor of the Tower, his soft bed, sounded like a dream to him in that moment. The walk back seemed quicker than the walk there, which he was grateful for. Upon arrival at Stark Tower, he, Thor, Clint, and Natasha all piled into the elevator—Tony and Bruce opting to take a different one on the other side of the lobby—and waited until he reached his floor.
Despite the comradery between them in the small restaurant, the elevator was dead silent. The only sound was the elevator itself, dinging as it reached each floor, the doors sliding open smoothly to let each person off. Luckily, Steve was the second one out, happy to detach himself from the enclosed room of discomfort.
As the doors closed behind him, he felt a mix of relief and sadness. On one hand, he didn't have to keep up his façade; on the other, he had no one to distract him from his own thoughts. However, he couldn't bring himself to complain. He knew the hands that life dealt. There was no joy without pain.
It was dark on his floor. All of the lights were off and the night sky offered little assistance. With the help of his improved sight and the lights of the city around him, he was able to navigate the space just fine. He walked through his living area, avoiding a few chairs, and opened the door to his bedroom. He slipped through and closed the door behind him before undressing.
Steve's bedroom was larger than he would ever need. A king sized bed was pushed headboard first beneath the wall almost completely made of windows with a nightstand on one side. A tall, wooden dresser stood in a corner and his old uniform was in another, neatly dressed over a frame that shared his build. He had no reason to ever wear it again but it was one of many memories he kept.
Once he stood in his undershirt and boxers, he walked up to the nightstand and picked up a remote, glancing over the buttons he marked so he knew what each one did. When he pressed the one he was looking for, a curtain moved across the wall behind his bed, blacking out any visible light. He then crawled under his soft, warm, and inviting covers and drifted off within minutes.
Loki lurched forward, almost brought to his knees by a pain searing his flesh just over his heart. He clutched his chest with one hand and attempted to balance himself with the other. He remained in that position for a few moments with the stillness of a statue until the all-encompassing burning subsided into a dull throb.
He stumbled a few steps back and leaned against one of the many buildings for support. An Asgardian curse slipped from his lips as he wished that particular spell had a different way of telling him it was ready. He looked up at the sky, bearing the bright red of early morning, and smiled. The mark on his skin was humming, vibrating lightly against his heart.
He walked down the sidewalk until he found a deep, dark alleyway. He needed a place to keep himself while he finished the spell so he wouldn't be noticed, despite his invisibility. A few strides in and he was as far as he could go but he decided it would have to be good enough. He sat down, cross-legged, fitting snugly in between two walls with one at his back. Placing his hand over where he knew the mark was, he began to whisper the words he'd memorized.
The more he spoke, the deeper he could feel the mark burning into his chest until it felt like it was cutting into bone. It didn't affect his speech as he continued to whisper the words of the spell levelly and at a steady pace. When the last word was spoken, the pain was so great that he could feel it through every nerve. He opened his mouth to scream but a flash of green light left him instead and, in the next moment, he was being thrown forward at a sickening speed. He passed his surroundings so quickly that they melted together into a shade of dark, muddy brown.
Then, just as suddenly, everything stopped. Loki shot up into a sitting position with a gasp because moving at such a speed sucked the breath from his lungs. He looked around him, noticing his dark setting and quickly realized it wasn't where he was a moment ago. He felt the soft bed beneath his hands and air on his exposed flesh. He glanced down to his arms, bare, with muscles he never had.
He scrambled out from under the covers and landed unsteadily on his feet. He rushed to the first door he could find and pulled it open. The room before him with the couch and chairs wasn't what he was looking for so he abandoned it and moved on to the other door in the room. It opened to a clean, tiled room. One with a shower, a sink, and a mirror.
He felt sure of his plan's success as he stepped in and in front of the mirror. A smirk spread across his face at the sight. But it wasn't his face, not exactly. What stared back at him was a pair of blue eyes under short, messy blonde hair. The face of Steve Rogers.