Hello! This is just a little post-Avengers ficlet that I wrote. I might continue it for a chapter or two if I receive good feedback. Please feel free to offer critique, and let me know what you think. :)
Tony rolls his eyes. Even in custom tailored suits, camouflaged and mingled in a writhing mass of partygoers, the Avengers stick out like sore thumbs—a bunch of misfits in monkey-suits, trying not to stand out. Steve fingers the hem of his collar, tugging on the fabric, smiling stiffly as a group of important looking people pass him. Banner lingers to the side, leaning against a wall, ever the social butterfly. Thor, on the other hand, is considerably less awkward, shaking hands with people who approach him, though he does not seem to be his lively, vibrant self. But, Tony ponders; Thor hasn't really been 'yea verily' in a while.
"You need to rescue them." Pepper whispers as she slides past him, fingers brushing his back. She looks stunning in a black dress.
Tony gives an amused snort. "The worlds greatest heroes—besters of demigods and criminal masterminds—need saving from a party?"
The corners of Pepper's lips tug upward as Stark pulls her closer, taking her hand in his. She playfully escapes his grasp, dancing out of his reach. "You, Mr. Stark, need to address all those reporters and guests about your latest accomplishment."
"You know, finding those stolen pieces of art was a happy accident—but, sure, I'll take the credit." It had been an accident, really. Hulk had smashed through a false wall during a fight with a baddie. Thor had been absent, away in Asgard, ironically. He would have thought that Thor of all people—gods—whatever, would have been interested in finding Norse relics and mythology related artwork.+
"It'll look good. Iron Man, defending against evil and art thieves—a true hero."
"Exactly." He watches her as she meanders masterfully through the crowd. He glances around, looking for the refreshments. "Oh—and uh, be in my office later—you know, paperwork to sign, all that."
Pepper winks, vanishing in the crowd.
The building is extravagantly beautiful, to say the least. Towering stone columns, glossy marble floors, polished and clean enough to eat off its surface. Pepper has outdone herself; Tony decides, from the skilled, yet ridiculously expensive decorating team, to the fantastic catering. The event definitely has Tony's seal of approval as a Stark Industries benefit. The newest addition to the art museum, featuring the Norse mythology based artwork, is roped off by red velvet, sealed off and dimmed until the grand reveal at the end of the night.
Steve, Thor, and Bruce have also been invited in honor of their two years of protecting the city as the Avengers. Natasha is lurking somewhere, as well as Clint, but they have opted to be there as security should anything go wrong, not as their civilian identities. Tony occasionally catches a glimpse of Natasha, clothed in a sexy red dress and heels, but he has yet to see Clint, though he feels he isn't looking high enough.
The flashes of cameras and bulbs of hanging chandlers bounce oddly off of the floors reflection, casting light in all directions, painting the walls, and dancing across the faces. The sound echoes strangely in the expansive room, underwater, distorted. It makes Tony feel dizzy.
Tony skirts past a group, making a beeline for one of the tuxedoed waiters carrying glasses of champagne, past the roped off hallway. The idea of roaming around a darkened museum had always intrigued Tony as a child. He had once thought of running away and camping out in one. It would be a grand adventure, sleeping by the ancient Egyptian artifacts, the fake tomb, or in one of the Queen's lavish beds. Now that he was facing the darkened, roped off room of the new exhibit, he thought of how stupid that old idea was. It was kind of eerie, the dimmed exhibit.
"Care for a glass of champagne, sir?"
Tony turns, facing the suited waiter. In his musings, he has forgotten about the drinks. That was funny. "Four, actually."
The waiter gives him a look, but hands over four glasses.
"Don't worry—they're not all for me."
"Of course."
Tony skillfully balances all four glasses, the cool stems perched between his fingers, little drops of due rolling down his hands from the sweating glasses, bubbles hissing. Now to rescue the Avengers from a social event. He is making his way over to the Island of Misfit Toys when he feels someone bump into him. It is a light pressure against his shoulder, almost like fingertips, delicate, almost cold to the touch.
"I think I'll take you up on your drink offer, Stark."
Tony freezes for a moment before spinning around to face the source, the hot breath in his ear, the familiar silky voice. He turns, but no one is there behind him, only a few guests some feet away. He catches a reflection in the marble floor, in the pale shimmering sequins of a party dress, in the glass of champagne—a flash of green. One of his glasses is missing, plucked from his fingers. The corners of Tony's mouth tug downward, brow creasing. He decides to have a little chat with the God of Thunder before alerting the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Chills roll down his back.
"…I had the bilge snipe in a headlock, and then I—"
Tony sidles up to Steve and Thor, who were obviously in the middle of retelling old battle stories to each other. How cute. "Thor, honey, we need to talk."
Thor eyes him, the plastered grin on the god's face fading only slightly. There is a flicker of something, only a flash of some other emotion in those blue eyes, but Tony catches it. "Good greetings, Stark. Ah, you have brought us beverages."
Rogers grimaces. "You know I can't get drunk, Tony." He takes the glass anyway.
Bruce glances at the group, edging closer, bushy eyebrows knitting together. He adjusts his black silk tie, eyes darting between the Avengers. "What, I don't get a drink?" Banner teases lightly.
Tony, pale-faced, stares down at the last glass in his hand, one glass less than he should have. He smacks his lips together, swishes the sparkling liquid, and hesitantly hands the glass over to Bruce. "Here, have it." Silence.
"Does this mean you're quitting?" Steve, serious, as usual.
"No, actually, Cap. I was going to have a drink, but someone spirited it away from me."
"What—"
"I'm going to alert Clint and Natasha, but I want to let Thor know first. We have an issue."
Thor steps forward, expression strained. "What is this issue of which you speak, and how, pray tell, does it pertain me?"
Tony sighed. Might as well just say it outright. "Loki's here. I saw him."
"What? Where?"
"Wait—I thought Loki was in Asgardian prison after the attack on New York two years ago—how did-"
Thor, Tony has noticed in the few years of knowing him, is someone who cannot, no matter how hard they try, hide their emotions. Thor has always worn his heart on his sleeve. He recalls seeing his entire being light up when Jane is near. An entire range of emotions flicker, quick-silver flashes, across Thor's face. Sorrow, guilt, anger, worry—a flipbook of thoughts and feelings. It is exhausting to watch.
Silence.
"Son of a—" Tony is the first to speak after Thor's cryptic confession. "You knew, didn't you? You knew he was here on earth." His voice isn't exactly accusatory, more stating a fact.
Steve gapes, eyes wide, but he does not comment on Tony's observation. "Should we evacuate?" He lowers his voice because people have taken notice of the group of superheroes and he doesn't want to start a panic. He is reaching for a clip on his belt, the one holding a S.H.I.E.L.D communicator.
"So, he escaped, right?" Bruce's calm voice cuts through the tension, soothing.
Tony and the others watch as Thor's head lowers, blonde sunshine waves of hair falling over his face, shielding him from their gazes. "I freed him." He pauses, clasping large hands together. "I ask not for your approval, merely understanding. You must understand, punishments for crimes on Asgard are very different from those on Midgard… There are realms in which time moves at a pace most unnatural, a century there would be a year on your realm." He clears his throat, looking back up at his friends, straight at Tony. "I—I did not agree with my father's method of punishing Loki—so, after a year, I freed my brother from his bonds, against my father's will. I have been keeping him hidden and away from the mortals in a hotel room. He is without his sorcery—he has been in a vegetative state until a few weeks ago."
The rest of the group has remained quiet throughout Thor's vague summary of events, exchanging glances, fidgeting, unconsciously fingering their earpieces. Tony wants to protest—to say that Loki deserved whatever punishment his father had doled out—he had killed people— nearly killed Coulson for God's sake. But he says nothing, because of the horror in Thor's eyes, the pain—because Tony, of all people, should know.
As if sensing Tony's thoughts, Thor spoke again. "I feel there are some fates that I would not wish on the most wicked of men."
The others exchange glances, but no one asks for details, and frankly they don't think they want to know.
"What do you want us to do?" Bruce's voice, solemn. "He's dangerous—magic or no magic, Thor. There are civilians."
"Please, I beg you not to inform S.H.I.E.L.D—I fear what they will do to him if he is captured. But I must find him, and return him to his room. I know I should not ask you to preform such an act, but—"
"Split up." Steve says, Captain America's strong, yet reassuring voice.
Tony nods, "Let's find Hurt Locker before…well, before something happens."
Without another word, the group disbands, heading off in different directions. Tony follows them with his eyes as one-by-one they weaved through the crowd. Tony needs a drink. Honestly, he does not want to be the one to find the crazy trickster god, yet, somehow, he realizes exactly where to look. He ducks under velvet ropes of crimson, into the abyss.
Loki stands, hands folded behind his back, lean and haggard looking, draped in a silken shirt of deep green, black slacks hanging limply on his thin form. Ebony hair slicked back in the usual style, though it's been cut shorter, raggedly. He looks ill, almost emaciated. Even in the dim light of the Norse exhibit, Tony can see just how different the god looked from their last encounter two years ago. The difference is shocking. He is examining a painting. Tony thinks he's got some nerve sneaking into a building where all of the Avengers are, especially after how he ended up after their last encounter. "I thought I'd find you here."
"Magnificent, is it not?" The God of Mischief asks, a hint of laughter in his voice. He gestures to an oil painting. The little gold plate reads: The God Thor Fights the Giants. Interesting. Tony's stomach drops only slightly.
"Eh," Tony raises an eyebrow, shoulders rising and falling lightly, corners of lips tugging downward, "A little too dramatic—kind of has a death metal vibe." He walks forward, shoes clicking softly against the new marble. "The hair is a little too 80's."
Loki makes a small noise of amusement, takes a sip of his champagne. So that's where his glass went. The god of mischief then moves on to Valhalla. Tony slowly edges back a few steps, one hand on unconsciously tracing the rim of his Arc Reactor.
"Not even with all their imagination, nor skill, can mortals capture the glorious elegance of that hallowed place. This—this is a poor rendition—a ghastly mocking stratagem of it's true visage." His laugh is bitter, practically spitting venom. Tony watches as Loki half-turns to him, pale jade eyes glazed over, like he is somewhere else, far away from earth. He looks almost sorrowful, but it's gone in an instant.
"This ones not so bad. I like it." Tony folds his arms across his chest, walks forward, motions to the Snaptun Stone. Tony's not really lying—it is an interesting piece, a figure carved in orange into the stone surface, a face, obviously, with strange x's over it's mouth. He eyes the stone, remarking "Nice conversation piece. I could see it in Stark Tower."
For the first time Loki turns to face him fully, green eyes bright and hungry despite the dark bruising circles that surround them. "That it is."
"Brother." They both turn. "Brother, we must return you to your room. You cannot be spotted." Thor has arrived, relief flooding his voice.
Loki frowns, shirking back slightly, twirling the champagne glass between long slender fingers. He smirks at Stark, handing him his empty glass. "I thank you for the drink, Stark."
As Thor leaves, guiding his little brother along by his forearm, Loki turns around and winks. Tony watches Thor's large frame bend protectively around his brother's broken form, shielding him, protecting him from any watchful eyes as they duck out from the room, under the ropes, through the side exit. Tony fiddles with the glass, lost in thought.
"And now for the grand opening of the museum's newest and most intriguing exhibit-" A bodiless voice, Pepper, announces through a microphone out in the lobby. Tony can hear people shifting just outside of the ropes, murmuring excitedly. The lights flick on, the barriers fall, and suddenly Tony is a blinking, eyes blinded by white spots, deer in the headlights.
"The Norse mythology based—oh my god."
There are gasps of surprise, awe, and confusion. Tony turns, still standing in the now lit exhibit, to find himself staring at what everyone else is staring at—the paintings that are literally melting onto the floor in puddles of paint and molten gold. Colors mix, dripping down like they've been freshly painted. Valhalla droops to the floor with a disgusting sluggish 'plop.' Tony watches, alarmed but impressed, as the paintings melt before his eyes. No magic, right.
When Tony returns home to Stark Tower later that night, with an inconsolable Pepper, the stone is sitting on his coffee table.