Quorum

by Sparkle E. Slugg

Quo•rum: the number as a majority of officers or members of a body that when duly assembled is legally competent to transact business. In which Thor's running for President, Loki's his campaign manager, and Tony Stark is the last person Loki wants to ask for help but the only person whose help he really needs presidential campaign au

"Here, I got you coffee."

Loki looks at the cup that's landed on his desk. Even with the lid on, the sweet spice of cinnamon syrup washes over the newspapers littered over his desk, and he breathes it in hungrily. He's subjected his body to an endless number of coffees lately, and more of them from the deeply questionable machine in the break room than he likes to think about. This, though. This is quality. He can smell it.

And he is instantly suspicious. He doesn't even bother glancing up at Sif. "Absolutely not."

"What?" She says, feigning innocence. "I didn't put any cream in it or anything."

"I mean," Loki clarifies, looking up so he can pin her to the wall with a glare. "I am absolutely not going to do whatever favor it is you came here to ask me to do. Not after last time."

Sif seems deeply unimpressed by his glare, and turns one of her own back at him. "I can't just stop by and say hello?"

"Fundraising HQ is twenty blocks away."

"I could be meeting a client."

"And the Falcon is another ten," he says, turning the cup so the coffee shop's name is easier to read. "Besides, even if I thought you'd leave that palace you call an office for some client, it certainly wouldn't be to meet them at the Falcon. And," he adds, when she opens her mouth to protest. "Thor's not even here."

"Hmm," she says, still trying to glare though she can't quite fight off a growing smile. "Darn, there's just no fooling you, is there? You're much too smart."

"I keep telling people that," Loki sighs, reaching for the coffee and savoring the warmth of it between his palms. "But for some reason no one gets it."

Sif laughs. "Oh, trust me. They get it. Anyone who's bothered to look past Thor's booming let's-get-a-beer appeal gets it. Not to mention any of his political enemies. I think Karl Ymir still flinches whenever anyone mentions your name."

Loki takes a slow sip. God, he really needs to make the trip to the Falcon more often. He doesn't get out of campaign headquarters enough anyway, and he needs to break that horrible hold that the ancient coffeemaker in the hallway has over him. "Flattery now, Sif? This favor has got to be pretty big."

She walks over to the side of his desk and perches a hip on it, smoothing out the lines in her perfectly tailored pants as she speaks. "Alright. I want you to help me recruit a donor."

Loki's eyebrows shoot up. He can't help it. "Me? Isn't that your job? "

"Don't sound so superior," Sif flashes a sharp smile. "You could be doing your part for fundraising too, you know. Not that we need you, since I am the greatest thing that's ever happened to this campaign."

"So why would you need me to recruit one donor?" Loki shoots back. "I am just a little bit busy. With a presidential campaign. You know, recovering from the primaries. Trying to get Thor in the Oval Office. Just a few things to manage."

"Well, with your magical ability to pull it all off, as you undoubtedly will, you should have plenty of time to sink your teeth into the challenge that is Tony Stark."

Loki puts down his coffee.

Sif crosses her arms.

"You're joking," he says. "You have to be joking."

"He's worked with Thor before. On the legislation for defense contracting regulations two years ago, and again last year on the new proposed regulations."

"I remember," Loki says, icily.

She dismisses his tone with a wave of her hand. "He's involved in politics, and not just in a padding-his-own-pockets way, because honestly he could sign over half of his income in taxes and still be able to buy a small island for his personal assistant every Christmas. And he would do it, too; he's one of the most vocal supporters of the Buffett Rule. He probably does give away half of his income on his philanthropic efforts as it is, and he kissed his position as king of the biggest weapons manufacturer in the world goodbye for purely moral reasons. And then revolutionized the energy business like it was easy.

"As far as social issues go it's a little harder to tell, but from what we've been able to tell through interviews and some investigating, we think he'd be in line with most of Thor's platform issues as well."

"Sif-" Loki begins to say, but Sif waves him off again.

"We could seriously use a big business heavyweight on our side, image-wise," she goes on. "And, have I mentioned, he's absurdly wealthy? We could really, really use both his spoken support and his donation. He helped out on Maria Hill's campaign last year, and though I can't name names, a source has told me that seven zeroes may or may not have been involved. Of course, he can't give that much to us directly, but if we can get his donation he might throw something to our SuperPAC friends. And really the boost for Thor's image would be even better than the money. The Baltimore thing just refuses to die, I think I know Rush Limbaugh's rant on it by heart at this point."

"Sif," Loki stands up, looking down at her. "I know all this already."

"So you know we need him," she says, still sitting and not looking at all intimidated by his height.

"I do," Loki says slowly. "But why are you coming to me? Tackling the big donors is what you do, Sif. And you're better at it than anyone else. Best thing that ever happened to this campaign, right?"

She reaches across his desk for his coffee, and takes a sip. Loki says nothing. He realizes that she's stalling. And Sif never stalls. She strides in, taking no prisoners and expressing no doubts.

This can't be good.

"Come on, Sif," he says finally. "What's the real problem?"

She takes another sip. "Much as it pains me to admit it," she says finally, passing the cup over to him. "He won't deal with me."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," she says carefully. "That he's a fan of your work."

"Oh," Loki covers his eyes with a hand. "I don't believe this."

"He's not interested in talking to me, or Volstagg, or even Fandral."

"You threw Fandral at him?" Loki almost has to smile.

Sif shrugs. "Hey, if Stark puts his preferences out there for the world to see, I'm not above sending a blonde to do a brunette's work. But even his well-documented penchant for a pretty face got us nowhere."

"Poor Fandral."

"Yes, it was quite the blow. But the point is," Sif stands up, and even in her lethal-looking pointy-toed flats she still doesn't have too far to look up into Loki's face. "He wants to meet with you."

Loki's smile dies a quick death. "No."

"Loki, we really need this."

Loki doesn't yell, ever. But his silkily soft and knife-edged voice has been known to reduce Congressmen to tears. "Don't lecture me on what we need, Sif. There's nothing I wouldn't do for my brother, or this campaign. You know how much it means to me. To both of us."

"I know," she says, naturally mightier than a mere Congressman and therefore immune to his tone. Still, she pauses before saying, "I already talked to Thor about it."

Loki turns away from her, facing the window. He realizes he's still holding the coffee, so he takes a sip. Might as well.

"He told me that I should forget about Stark, and we don't need him."

Loki covers the smile with another sip. Typical Thor, still thinking he needs to look after his little brother. "So of course, you headed right over to tell me how much we do need him."

"Thor knows what's at stake," Sif says. "When I talked to him about approaching Stark at the beginning of the month he was emphatic that he wanted to get him on board. But now this complication happens, and he's fine with just letting him go? I don't know what's the story with you and Stark, but I get that it's complicated. And I wouldn't touch it, unless it was really important."

Loki doesn't say anything. The coffee doesn't taste that good anymore.

"Think about it," Sif says. "Thor won't ask you to do it. He's a good guy, and an even better brother. But I know what has to be done, and so do you."

"We don't need Tony Stark to win," Loki says.

"Maybe not," Sif allows generously. "But still, give me a call if you change your mind."

She reaches out and gives his shoulder a squeeze, and closes the door of his office behind her when she leaves.

Loki takes another sip of coffee, looking out across the skyline through the cheap plastic Venetian blinds.

Well, shit.

---

He had always hated it when people compared his family to the Kennedys. Okay, it's America, everyone has a huge hard-on for whatever kind of royalty they can find, but Loki had never wanted his family to be seen like that.

It wasn't even accurate, anyway. Alright, so Odin Gard had been Chief Justice of the Supreme Court since roughly the dawn of time. And some of Loki's uncles and aunts were House Representatives and Senators. And Frigga had been Governor of New York when she'd met Odin. So they had some pedigree there, Loki could admit it.

But Odin had never pushed his sons in the direction of politics. Fine, Baldr had gone the law school then politics route. But he had gotten there first by majoring in English and getting his poetry published in literary magazines while he was only seventeen. Thor had wanted to enlist in the Army for as long as any of them could remember; not as some sort of jumping-off point into something more prestigious but out of sheer patriotism. Odin had pushed him through West Point, admittedly, but only because Thor would have enlisted straight out of high school otherwise.

Of course, the world wasn't privy to the inner workings of the Gard family. So by the time Loki started college all anyone else knew was that Odin Gard's oldest son had just graduated from law school and the middle one was going to serve his country. Real Kennedy material, there. Except for that youngest son, who was going to Berkeley instead of Princeton or West Point, and was set on a History and Art double major.

Still, the public seemed willing to forgive him that. They tracked Baldr's first bid for the Senate eagerly, swooned over pictures of Thor in his navy blue uniform jacket at his graduation, and speculated about which path Loki would take. And over all their faces, reliably, a headline screaming some variation of "AMERICA'S PRINCES."

Loki found it ridiculous, and also offensive as a student of history. American royalty shouldn't be some family like Loki's, that had more or less breathed money for generations. It should be a family that had lived the American dream, worked their way into prosperity and the public eye through sheer brains and determination.

A family very much like the Starks.

And there had been some buzz, unsurprisingly, when it transpired that there would be not one but two kids with famous last names attending UC Berkeley at the same time. Kids with legacies, and very big ones, to live up to.

Tony Stark was roughly of an age with Loki, though by that time he had already finished his undergraduate degree at MIT. He was getting his MBA at the Haas School of Business when Loki started. And if Tony hadn't decided to start learning a few languages on the side, just for fun, they probably never would have met.

But Tony Stark, instantly recognizable from tabloid headlines and TV interviews, had walked into the Dwinelle Hall classroom for Russian 101, and Loki wasn't the only one who had been stunned silent. The professor, who would prove to be an otherwise terrifying and unflappable woman, dropped all of her notes and gaped.

"Da," Tony affirmed, nodding at her seriously and dropping into the seat next to Loki.

The classroom of twenty-five students was absolutely silent.

"I seem to have walked out of my apartment without my bag, again," Tony said, turning to Loki and grinning at him like they had been friends for years. "Got an extra pencil tucked away somewhere, comrade?"

Loki had always been the most reserved of the family, more likely to go off and read by himself while Thor and Baldr went out with hordes of noisy friends. He'd had friends, he just was never able to make them as quickly or in such great numbers. He'd grown up in the national spotlight, for all that his parents had tried to give each of them a normal childhood. And Loki had always been keenly aware of it. It didn't seem to bother his brothers much, but it made Loki more... careful with whom he let close to him.

But as he passed a spare pen over to Tony Stark, Loki found himself answering the other kid's grin with a broad one of his own. And when class ended and Tony fell into step next to Loki, bemoaning their already grueling homework schedule, they got all the way to the cafeteria before it even occurred to Loki that maybe he should tread carefully around Tony, not let himself give away too much.

But by then, of course, it was already too late.

---

The coffee that Sif brought him was good, but could only keep him going for so long.

"One day, your reign of terror will end," Loki says mournfully to the coffeemaker before him as it rattles and hisses steam. "I solemnly swear it. Someday."

"Talking to the coffee machine again?" He hadn't heard Darcy come up behind him, as all other sounds are masked by the racket of the ancient bean-grinding monster. She stands next to him, and crosses her arms. "Got to be a sign of insanity. Time to put the wheels of my coup in motion, I think."

"You are an intern," Loki points out severely, not sure as always whether Darcy is his favorite or most hated staff member "You have to take out the whole campaign before you can take over my job."

"It's not a monarchy, dude," she says, flipping through the selection of tea bags available until she finds an Earl Grey. "I can just take you out and put myself in at the top. Way easier."

"'Dude'?" Loki echoes.

"Vernacular of the young folks; I'll send you the Rosetta Stone program," she says calmly. Favorite or hated? It's so hard, especially when he's hitting a caffeine low. "I was just going to your office, actually. Heimdall wants to talk to you."

The communications director rarely comes to Loki, unless it's for something fairly major. "Huh," Loki says. "I just got through this morning's papers, and there was nothing too noteworthy in any of them. Nothing that Heimdal would be worried about, anyway. What's it all about?"

"Osborn's new ads are out," Darcy says. "Going for the big guy pretty hard."

Loki shrugs. "That's how it goes. The ads we've been running in Ohio and Iowa are pretty aggressive, his camp was bound to send something back our way before too long."

"Right," Darcy says. "But the pundits are squawking about this one. They're putting the spin on some of his committee work from last year. And playing up Baltimore hardcore."

Fucking Baltimore. Even if he's yet to be caffeinated, Loki can still sense trouble coming. "What about his committe work?"

"That he's just been paying lip service to business interests, and that his overall involvement in regulations and stuff is crap and he knows nothing, basically. Plus, you know, Baltimore."

Loki rubs a hand over his mouth. This isn't good.

"Osborn's got his business background to fall back on, so they're pulling that for his expertise, I guess," Darcy muses. Then, as Loki turns suddenly and stalks off. "Where are you going? You forgot your coffee! I'm not kidding about that coup!"

---

About ten minutes into her show, Rachel Maddow turns her attention to the Osborn ads: "It wouldn't be an election year without some really good mudslinging, and President Norman Osborn is bringing plenty of it to TVs across the battleground states. The ads started running just yesterday, but what's unsual about this strategy is that the Osborn campaign is running three different ads, but all with the same message. Safe to say, this will probably be President Osborn's main focus on the Senator's failings as a future President, and how he hopes to convince Americans to vote Republican in November."

On Loki's tiny office TV, Rachel Maddow nods and the screen switches to a clip of the ad. As Heimdall had said, it goes after Thor's inexperience with business (with delicate hints that Senator Gard is perhaps too young to have much experience of any kind with anything). It disparages the uselessness of his business-related efforts in the Senate, sniffs at the proposed legislation that had been shot down as idealistic and dangerous in such times of economic instability, and outright mocks his more recent efforts to introduce more stringent regulations.

And then, the coup de grace: Baltimore. Loki knows that the broader context of what Thor says was about the importance of government in helping people succeed. But the only part of the speech the attack ad shows (the only part of the speech anyone ever shows now) is the part where Thor smiles and says: "If you're a success, you didn't do it on your own."

Loki has already seen it plenty of times by now. But it still makes him want to kick something.

The ad wraps up with a sentence or two about Osborn's experience and business background, but it's clear that Thor's the real focus.

Rachel Maddow returns, and continues speaking. "Republicans have been struggling to find an angle on Senator Gard's candidacy for months, as the usually unified voice of the party seemed to be splintering after Gard's victory in the Democratic primaries." She smiles. "Not that you can blame them. A wounded war hero from one of American politics' most famed and accomplished families? And a guy who's also the youngest candidate to seek the Presidency since William Jennings Bryan made his first run at it in 1896?"

The reference to his family doesn't bother Loki as much as it used to. He maybe had a right to be indignant about it when he was younger. But it's hard to object to the whole American royalty thing when they've ended up in politics after all.

Rachel Maddow goes on. "Opponents and pundits have been trying to get a bad angle on the Senator, but it's not easy. And as a bonus, we all know the romance: Gard married former war correspondent Jane Foster just two years ago. The two met while on his first tour.

"His first term in the Senate has been surprisingly ambitious, and his work has managed to be more bipartisan than much of the legislation recently seen. Possibly because, as all our insiders have said, he's just so darn likeable."

Cut to a picture of Thor, eating at Ben's Chili Bowl with a huge smile and chili all over his face. Loki grins.

"So, what's the chink in the armor for Gard? It's a tough time for Democrats to make the connection to business, and that's clearly Osborn's focus here. Gard's less successful attempts in the Senate have all been connected to economic reform in one way or another, and although the speech you just saw in the ad was made in Baltimore, Maryland more than four months ago, it's hardly been forgotten. The argument can be made that as he's already been a soldier and a politician, he can't possibly be a businessman too. Apart from his youth, which will also be a challenge the Gard campaign will have to overcome, this could be the first sign of a united Republican offensive plan against Gard."

The show switches to talking about the Higgs Boson particle, and Loki turns off the tiny TV.

Out of all of his staff, Loki only ever allows Fenrir Argent in his office to watch the nightly parade of news shows and pundits. Fenrir's the data director so this kind of thing isn't a huge part of his job, but it's become a nightly tradition for him and Loki. Most of his staff are required to have some knowledge of what's going on in the media, but Loki never lets them watch with him. It's something about people who work in politics; they all talk too much while watching TV. But Fenrir knows when to be quiet, so that and the fact that he's one of Loki's oldest friends gives him special access to TV time with the campaign manager.

"So," Loki says, sitting on his desk and turning to Fenrir. "That about sums it up, doesn't it?"

Fenrir nods. "That's the nicest way most of them have put it."

"Why do you think I save her for last?" Loki says, but his mind's already elsewhere. "Shit."

"What's up?" Fenrir asks. "You've been really twitchy about this whole thing with the ads. It's not that surprising, right? We knew they'd come at us with something like this."

"I know. But... " Loki says. "Here, have a hypothetical: suppose that there was a savvy, smart, very famous businessman who could throw his support behind Thor. Really shore up his reputation with the business interests, and persuade the business community that Thor knows what he's doing and cares about them. What lengths should we... how serious would that be for the campaign?"

Fenrir frowns at Loki as his thinks it over, but it only takes a second or two for his eyes to go wide. "No way."

"I said hypothetical," Loki says quickly.

"Tony Stark? You're bringing Tony Stark on to the campaign? I thought you weren't speaking to him!"

"No one said anything about bringing him on the campaign," Loki snaps. "Just an endorsement, a public statement or two. Sif's been trying to court him as a donor."

Fenrir runs a hand through his perpetually unkempt mop of black hair. "So what's the issue? If Sif wants him, she'll get him. No reason you should be involved at all."

Loki shifts, getting up off the desk to walk behind it. He doesn't sit, just leans forward and rests his fingertips on top of the morning's pile of papers. "He's playing hard to get. Which, considering it's Sif, is practically a Herculean feat."

"No way," Fenrir says again, clearly putting the pieces together himself already.

"Yeah. He wants to meet. He won't deal, unless I'm the one to... to court him."

There's silence in the office. Some noise of conversation filters in from outside, but it's a low murmur, nothing Loki can make out clearly.

Loki's still trying to be mad at this whole thing, but he's been trying to be mad all day and it's starting to wear off. And that's so much worse. Because what does he have, if he can't be angry at this shit that Tony is pulling?

"Don't do it," Fenrir says firmly. "We don't need him. No way you should have to play his game just to get some votes from a group of people that don't like us much anyway. Forget it."

"We do need him," Loki says, straightening up. "I've been trying to think clearly about it all day, but we do. Tony's worked with Thor before; his politics are probably the best match we're going to get from anyone in the business world. He's high-profile, he's smart. If he wasn't a CEO I'd want him for one of Thor's advisors. We need to fix his business image, and this is the best way to do it. It's the only way to do it."

Fenrir doesn't say anything, he just shakes his head mournfully. But he doesn't say anything.

Loki sighs. "I haven't talked to him in... god, more than ten years. Even when they were working together and Thor was going to his office every day. I never..."

He looks at Fenrir.

Fenrir gets out of the chair, and reaches across the desk to put his hand on Loki's shoulder. He's been getting a lot of arm squeezes today. Nice to know everyone's so concerned in such a touchy way.

"This," Fenrir says. "Is going to be completely terrible."

Loki snorts a laugh. "Thanks. Now go home, I have to call Sif."

And as Fenrir leaves, Loki picks up the phone and, after only the slightest hesitation, dials.

---

Russian is a really, really hard language to learn.

Loki had looked it up before starting the class. As far as difficulty goes it's below Chinese, since it's not tonal, but it's about level with Japanese and Korean. Loki was undaunted by this. He'd been going through a Pushkin and Lermontov phase, and wanted to give it a try.

"God, this was a terrible idea," Tony groaned, two weeks before their midterm. "You know I've put more work into this class than any of my other classes? My MBA classes?"

He was stretched out on Loki's bed, having turned the whole thing into a nest of flash cards and grammar notes. Loki sat on the floor, surrounded by a similar papery explosion.

"You've only got two other classes this semester," he said, not looking up from the textbook spread open in his lap.

"I'm a graduate student, okay, pleb?" Tony stretched out a socked foot and poked Loki in the shoulder with his toe. "Show an upperclassman some respect."

"My Calc class' midterm is the day after this one," Loki said, batting Tony's foot away from him, still not looking up. "And I have the preliminary bibliography due for my Black Death paper next week. You don't even have any other midterms."

"Not ones that I'm studying for," Tony agreed. "MIT was at least interesting. I'm only doing this MBA thing because Obadiah thinks it'll be good for me later on. It's not even that hard."

Even if they hadn't gotten to be friends, Loki would've known who Tony was referring to. Obadiah Stane was the CEO of Stark Industries, a company he'd built up with Tony's father before Howard Stark's death. Tony'd lost his mother in that crash too, but most versions of the story focused more on the loss of the genius inventor. Loki had never asked, but he was fairly sure that Tony didn't like those versions of the story much.

"You'll be a great CEO," Loki said, nodding with mock-solemnity at Tony to mask his sincerity.

"Whatever, I'll probably never leave the R and D department."

"The what?"

"Research and Development. I'll just be blowing stuff up mostly, which is just what I do now but with more toys," Tony's eyes lit up, and he pushed the papers on the bed aside so he could sit up. Some of the flash cards fell off the bed, but Tony didn't seem to notice. "I've been drawing up some cool specs for a hot rod engine. Just for fun, but man when I make it, we've gotta take that baby out because it'll be amazing."

Loki snorted. "Uh huh. Like you'll have time for building a car with daily worksheets and reading assignments."

"God, you are so terrible. You're the killer of fun," Tony said, standing up. "This has to be fixed."

"Are you leaving?" Loki asked as Tony shuffled into his sneakers. He sounded casual, he knew he did. Like he didn't mind if Tony stayed or went, whatever.

"We're leaving," Tony corrected, leaning down and pulling the textbook away from Loki. "The exam isn't for two weeks, it's a Friday, and we're going out. Come on."

Loki laughed, and got to his feet obediently. If it was anything like last weekend, they'd go out for a bit, choke down some really terrible cheap beer, and dance like idiots. They might end up on the couch in Tony's apartment again, watching the Disney Channel and getting all worked up about subliminal messaging and the subtextual forbidden loves that were playing out between all the characters.

He'd never liked going out before he met Tony. But he was putting up less and less of a fight every weekend, savoring the feeling of building something like a tradition.

---

It's a Friday, and that means dinner with Thor and Jane. It often means dinner with Odin and Frigga too, but they're on a cruise through the fjords of Norway, possibly just so that Frigga can make delighted Monty Python references for months. So, just the three of them tonight.

Loki brings wine over to the apartment that Thor and Jane share, and tries to figure out how to explain how messed up everything has become in just a day.

"I told Sif," Thor doesn't actually pound a fist on the table, but it's a close thing. "I told her we didn't need Stark. Why didn't she listen to me?"

"Sif never listens to anyone," Loki points out, drinking deeply from his glass.

"Seems pretty harsh though," Jane says, only barely looking up from her notes on her recent trip to Greece. She does refill Loki's glass as soon as he sets it down though. He knew there was a reason he approved of her right from the start.

"That's Sif," Thor says.

"That's campaigning," Loki corrects.

"It was never like this for the Senate race. With the attack ads and you prostituting yourself to get me elected."

"Prostitut-" Loki sputters, but Jane's already sailing in with: "Come on Thor, you've seen presidential elections before, you know how they can get."

"Okay, the attack ads I was prepared for," Thor admits. "But for Loki to-"

"If you say prostituting again," Loki threatens. "I will throw you out a window. I'm going to a business lunch. Not even a dinner. It's not a date."

"Where are you going?" Jane asked. "Nowhere with too much... atmosphere?"

"I'm not sure about the decor, but it's some place in the first floor of Stark Tower," Loki says vaguely.

"His territory," Thor mutters.

"Did he say what he wants?" Jane asks. "Or, did Sif say what he wants?" Jane knows pretty much everything about the whole Loki and Tony thing, because Thor knows everything about the whole Loki and Tony thing. Loki values his secrets, but he's accepted by now that anything he tells Thor will in turn be told to Jane.

"The satisfaction of seeing me grovel, I'm guessing," Loki says, smiling and taking another deep gulp of wine. "We'll see."

"Don't go," Thor says again. "I don't need it."

"You do," Loki says tiredly. "And it's not the end of the world. Everything happened over ten years ago, we might as well be grown ups about it now."

"Do you think that's what he wants to do? Extend the olive branch?" Jane asks.

"I really doubt it," Loki says. "But don't worry. I'll be fine."

"I don't like it," Thor says, pushing his chair back and rising slowly. "I don't like it at all, Loki."

Both Loki and Jane watch carefully as Thor puts his weight on the sturdy wooden cane resting against the table. But they don't offer to help, and Thor pretends not to notice them watching him. It's an old routine.

Thor moves slowly over to the kitchen, still unable to put more than a little weight on his right leg after all this time. He opens the fridge and pulls out another beer, twisting the cap off easily without a bottle opener, just a wrench of his big hand.

"You don't have to like it. It's just a professional lunch," Loki says, turning his attention to his own fingers, looking very thin and pale against the stem of his wine glass. "And I'm not kidding about the window thing." He looks at Thor's worried face, and relents. "If he tries to take it anywhere beyond the business we have to discuss, I'll just walk out. He's a billionaire, I have no problem leaving him with the check."

Thor clearly still isn't happy, but he takes a drag from his beer and doesn't object as Jane smoothly changes the subject to her much less emotionally charged business lunch with Anderson Cooper. Loki takes a break from the wine for a bit and tries to focus his full attention on the conversation.

He switches back to wine again though before too long, since at least getting buzzed can be his excuse for being so distracted.

---

His last final finished, Loki had walked out into the balmy California May weather with a huge smile. Done with his first year of college. He was a sophomore. Holy shit. He tipped his face up into the sun, and heaved out a huge sigh of relief.

He was in such a daze, he didn't notice the flashy red convertible pulling up next to him until the driver beeped.

Loki jumped, and let out a noise that was embarrassingly close to a squeal. But no one heard it over the sound of Tony Stark laying on the horn and letting out what sounded like a barbarian battle cry.

"Told you I'd do it," Tony yelled when he was done whooping.

"You're insane!" Loki laughed. "When the hell did you have time to make it?"

He stepped up to the convertible, running a hand over its gleaming hood and tracing the swooping lines of gold detailing that slashed along the side of the car.

When he looked up, still grinning, Tony was smiling back. Not his big and irresistible smile, the one Tony had been flashing at photographers for years before he'd even met Loki. This one was quieter, smaller, and infinitely warmer. Loki had been seeing it more and more often lately.

"Told you, I didn't have to study that much," Tony said. "Well, except for fucking Russian. Plus, you know how it is, nothing cures insomnia like building an engine block. Glass of warm milk and a blowtorch, Grandma Stark always swore by it."

"Is it safe?" Loki asked doubtfully, colorful images of Tony laughing maniacally from behind a welding mask popping up in his head. Not exactly confidence-inspiring.

"Let's find out," Tony said, grinning wickedly and laying on the horn again. A few people turned around to see what was going on.

"Okay, okay," Loki said, pulling open the passenger door and sliding in. "Just so you know, if you kill me I will haunt the shit out of this car."

"I'll paint it green in your memory," Tony said seriously. He revved the engine loudly, and Loki felt the noise vibrating in his chest before Tony stomped on the gas and they roared off.

Tony avoided major highways where he could, finding the nearly deserted backroads and roaring down them, faster than Loki had ever been in a car before. Loki's whole body couldn't decide whether to be petrified or exhilarated, and seemed to settle on both, with a huge side of adrenaline.

"Told you it'd be awesome," Tony yelled over the noise of the car. "Been dreaming this baby up all year, and it's finally ours."

Loki didn't answer, just stuck his head out over the side and let out a wolf-like howl, closing his eyes against the wind.

After what felt like hours and hundreds of miles, Tony pulled into the parking lot of a park Loki had never been to before.

"Where are we?" Loki asked, looking around at the deserted playground and well-kept green lawn.

"Not sure," Tony said. He got out of the car and opened the trunk, still talking. "There's a statue to some Civil War General or something over there. Could be named after him, I forget. It's got a killer swingset though, and that's what counts."

"Obviously," Loki agreed solemnly. Then, when Tony slammed the trunk closed, Loki saw what he'd taken out of it: "Oh my god, is that a picnic basket?"

"We're done for the year," Tony said. "Time to celebrate."

Let it never be said that Tony Stark was a gourmet chef. Not at nineteen, at least. But the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, bottles of Coke, and bags of potato chips were perfect anyway. They sprawled out on the grass, Loki finally getting Tony to agree to a spot in the shade since Loki had always practically burst into flames at the slightest hint of sun.

Loki could never really remember what they talked about afterwards. Even at the time the conversation was easy, lazy, and Loki had been more focused on the feeling of the grass under his skin, the wind riffling through the leaves of the trees, dappled patches of sunlight shifting over the pair of them.

"You're leaving on Thursday, right?" Tony asked after a while.

Loki, who had been closing his eyes, opened one to look over at him. "Yeah. My flight is some crazy time in the morning, so I was thinking about heading over to the airport Wednesday night and just sleeping over."

"I can drive you," Tony said.

"Thanks, but I think getting arrested could throw a wrench in my departure plans."

"Sounds even better," Tony said. "You can stay with me this summer."

Loki sat up on his elbows, looking warily at Tony. He'd never said anything like that before. "I've got to go home," Loki said. "I'm interning for Baldr this summer."

"I know, I was just joking," Tony said, though he sounded annoyed. "Why are you interning anyway? You hate politics."

Loki shrugged. "He's my brother, he wants my help. And I think he misses Thor, they both get mopey when they're apart." He'd stopped marvelling at it by then, how easy it was to tell Tony things that he had never told anyone else, never thought he would tell anyone else. And it wasn't even that hard. It just happened, Loki handing over his confidence in Tony and Tony accepting it like it was no big deal.

"He doesn't get any leave this summer?"

"Nah, not until Christmas, I think. Hey," Loki said. "Why don't you come stay with us?"

Tony stilled, but then let out a big laugh. "Tony Stark, staying over in Odin Gard's house? What will the neighbors say?"

"I'm serious," Loki said. "The townhouse is way too big, there's plenty of room. You can stay as long as you like. It wouldn't be a problem." He didn't say the rest of what he was thinking, that the idea of Tony puttering around the empty campus with no classes to take and no home to go to had been worrying him for weeks. He also didn't say that he wasn't sure what he'd do without Tony for almost four months, and the idea of that made him even more nervous.

"I'll think about it," Tony said, smiling the quiet smile at Loki again. "Thanks."

Tony leaned forward to steal a chip from the bag sitting on Loki's stomach, and as simple as that they were caught in a Moment. Loki had never had a Moment before, but he recognized it instantly, instinctively.

Resting his weight on one arm bare inches from Loki's ribs, in leaning over Tony had sent most of his upper body hovering just over Loki's. If Loki sat up any more, or arched his back at all, they would come into contact. If the realization that he was even thinking that thought caused him to twitch or make any physical sign of what was happening, Tony didn't notice. He rummaged in the bag of chips and Loki could feel the motion of it through his shirt.

But Tony looked up to put a chip in his mouth, and Loki knew that he felt it then too. He hadn't moved away at all, and tilting his head up to look at Loki brought their faces so close that Loki thought he could smell the peanut butter on Tony's breath.

It was a Moment, and they both knew it.

Tony stuffed the chip in his mouth and sat back abruptly. "I don't know about you, but I am in serious need of a turn on that swingset. Come on, let's go recapture our childhoods." And he got to his feet quickly, walking off towards the playground.

Loki got up, trying to process what had happened. And how to feel about it. But looking at Tony walking away from him, and listening to him babble about his garage full of old fixer uppers he wanted to fully fix up, Loki gave himself a mental shake. It was all in his head. Had to be.

---

When Loki wakes up the Saturday morning after dinner with Thor and Jane, he's only vaguely hungover. It's more that he can feel the gummy taste of state alcohol on his breath, and has the slight fuzziness and headache that is unmistakable evidence that he had, in fact, been drinking the night before.

He rolls over onto his back, the alarm clock function on his radio (Lakshmi Singh calmly delivering an update on the situation in Syria) playing on. Rain patters against the windows; it's going to be one of New York's wet July days.

He'd been dreaming about Tony, he remembers that much. He doesn't remember the dream, exactly. But the pit in his stomach can only be the leftover effects of a Tony dream.

Or it could just be all the wine from last night.

"Jesus..." he breathes, rolling out of bed. Today is already going to be shitty, why start dwelling on Tony before he has to?

Loki hadn't been involved in the plans to set up campaign headquarters in New York, but he's certainly happy it had worked out that way. He doesn't have to rent some crappy place that would serve as a sterile kind of home for the duration of the election; he can stay in his own apartment, where he's lived since moving back from the West Coast.

Granted, he doesn't spend much time here. Mostly just to fall into bed, if he doesn't pass out at a strategy meeting with Thor, at his own desk, or on the couch in the break room.

But it is nice to at least be surrounded with the trappings of his life from that long ago time when he'd been able to live it: the bookshelves, mostly, though he hasn't moved past the fourth chapter of the Count of Monte Cristo in about two months. Free time was something that happened to other people. People who were not getting their brothers elected President.

Loki showers, listening to the morning news on his laptop. He sits it on the closed toilet seat and turns it up to top volume so he can hear it over the water. He listens intently, scrubs himself down vigorously with a loofah, trying not to hear the seeing Tony seeing Tony that punctuates every pause in NPR's narrative.

Easier said. Over ten years. He wasn't up to working out the dates exactly, because that would involve even more tortuous repeat performances of the whole explosion in his head, and he's doing enough of that as it is. But it had been at least ten years. Because he remembers the ten-year anniversary. Or rather, he remembers drinking enough to not remember anything at all.

And in all that time, he hasn't seen Tony. Hasn't spoken to him. And Tony hasn't made an effort to change that.

Until now.

Why is he doing this? Loki thinks bitterly as he gets dressed.

Why now? He thinks as he changes into another shirt and adds a vest.

What's the point? He thinks as he ducks into the bathroom to check his hair.

What does he want? He thinks as he changes into a third shirt.

"Oh for fuck's sake," he bursts out when he realizes what he's doing. He turns around and stalks out of the apartment.

And comes back in, just five minutes later, having made it to the lobby before realizing he'd forgotten his briefcase and his raincoat.

"Well, this is bound to be a glorious success," he mutters as he begins the walk to HQ.

---

"Why did you even bother coming to work today?" Fenrir asks after his third pass through the break room.

He'd walked past Loki without comment the first two times, but after seeing the campaign manager still staring at the coffee maker the third time, apparently without having moved for the last fifteen minutes, he'd finally come up to him.

With him is Slip Sleipnir (her first name is really Pam, but the whole HQ started to call her 'Slip' after she'd brought a slip-and-slide to the first staff BBQ, which had led to a lot of drunken fun and bruises discovered the next morning), their communications director. Loki met her for the first time on this campaign, but likes her well enough not to glare her out of the room now.

"I'm fine," Loki says to Fenir.

"Right," Fenrir says slowly.

"The machine might work a little better if you press the 'start' button," Slip says helpfully.

"Really?" Loki says flatly. "How fascinating. What witchcraft will they come up with next?"

"What time is your lunch with Stark?" Fenrir asks.

Loki shoots a quick look at Slip, but she's frowning, clearly not sure why Loki should be so nervous about meeting with Tony Stark.

"Two," Loki sighs. He feels guilty then for being such a jerk, and offers to Slip "We were friends in college, but we haven't talked in a long time."

"Ah," Slip nods. "I get that. Facebook's made reconnecting with some of my sorority sisters really awkward. It can be tough."

"You were in a sorority?" Fenrir asks. "Really?"

"Kappa Kappa Gamma," Slip confirms. "I went to a pretty small school though, so it wasn't Animal House or anything."

"Huh, cool," Fenrir says. "Loki and I avoided the Berkeley greek life like it was our job, so I have no experience with it really."

Loki glowers at the coffeemaker. And jabs at the 'start' button. It grinds to life, the universally fantastic smell of grinding coffee beans reduced to what smells like dirty water.

"I really need to just start walking to the Falcon," Loki says.

Fenrir and Slip exchange a meaningful look. "Want to sit in on our meeting?" Slip offers. "Darcy just went to get coffee from the Falcon, actually. We can text her to get one more, she worships you, so she'd be happy to do it."

"Worships me?" Loki repeats. "Ha. She'll probably poison it."

"That's right, focus on the positive," Fenrir says. "We could really use your opinion on some resource allocation in the New England areas. Not going to be many surprises in those states, but might be good to pay it some attention now."

Loki sighs. "Yeah, thanks. That sounds good."

He buries himself in the work, arguing with Fenrir and Slip (who is a native of Vermont and so takes it somewhat personally that Loki dismisses the need to have too many volunteers there), formulating strategies and cutting turf to determine who is where at the moment, and who should be elsewhere as soon as possible.

It's all numbers and theoreticals, and Loki calls up the Massachusetts field director for their input on how things are going there (not standard procedure, but his name is Ryota and he's a friend from Thor's Senatorial campaign so Loki doesn't care), and Slip goes off on a rant on how New Hampshire sucks and Thor shouldn't want their votes anyway.

He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't thinking about the imminent lunchtime meeting. But this gives him something to put his mind to, and the time doesn't drip by as slowly.

And, he reflects as Fenrir draws him into a nerdy historian rant about Rhode Island in the early days of colonialism, he does work with some truly excellent people.

---

That Moment hadn't meant anything.

Loki told himself that almost on repeat during the whole plane trip back to DC.

Because weirdly, he hadn't been thinking about Tony in that way. The biggest immediate effect of the Moment was making him realize that maybe it was weird that he hadn't. Loki didn't have much in the way of a type. Just someone hot and smart, he'd always thought.

Which, okay. Tony was definitely, definitely smart. And not just in a college-graduate-at-nineteen way, like everyone knew he was. Tony was also sharp; he could think faster than anyone Loki had ever met. He was wickedly funny, and sometimes just stupidly funny (Loki would never, ever understand the appeal of Spongebob Squarepants, no matter what Tony said). And, alright, he was hot. He had a great body, all lean from the runs he took just to tire himself out enough to slow down his brain. And his face had been much admired by tabloid rags since he'd grown into that jawline. But it was his eyes that brought it to life, a deep, warm brown and fringed with eyelashes that really shouldn't be allowed on anyone, ever. And when he smiled, they lit up and...

God dammit.

By the time Loki got off the plane, he was starting to realize that he was in trouble.

"What the hell happened?" Baldr asked in the car ride back from Reagan International, after Loki had answered his older brother's questions in nothing but grunts. "You're in a really shitty mood."

Loki looked at him balefully. But the three of them had never kept secrets from each other, so it was just natural for him to say, if still a little grumpily: "I just realized I might be into my best friend, like, two hours ago."

"Tony?" Baldr said, eyebrows shooting up. "Aww, man. I'm sorry, that sucks."

"Yeah," Loki said, more interested in being angry than feeling sorry for himself.

Baldr looked at him consideringly, then leaned forward to tap on the glass separating them from Cliff, his driver. Cliff rolled it down, smiling at Baldr in the rearview mirror.

"Hey, Cliff— Change of plans, set a course for Kramer Books." He turned back to Loki and grinned. "You need shiny editions of the complete works of Dumas, and then a brownie sundae."

Loki smiled reluctantly. "Sure, make me feel even more like a teenaged girl about this."

Baldr tsked at him, which was not very dignified for a Senator. "Loki, I'm surprised at you, dude. Retail therapy and brownies are for everyone."

"He might come visit," Loki said finally, as the car spun out of Dupont Circle and slowed down in front of the bookstore/coffeeshop.

"That'd be cool," Baldr said. "Any friend of yours is always cool to stay over, you know that."

"Yeah, but you think it'd be a good idea?"

Baldr shrugged, holding the door open for Loki. "Will not seeing him make you feel any better about the whole thing?"

"No," Loki admitted. "I mean, he's still my best friend. I want to see him. Just to... you know, hang out."

"Then why not? Plus, we can have revealing family dinner discussions about all your hot exes and what a heartbreaker you are, and it'll send him into a jealous freak-out. It works in movies all the time. Want me to help you make up a fake boyfriend? We can make him a real stud."

"Shut up," Loki said, but as usual his bad mood couldn't withstand Baldr's attack of ridiculousness. "Just pay for my sundae and stop talking, please."

So, alright. Tony would still come to visit. He was still invited, and Loki made himself text Tony the first night he was home repeating the offer, before he lost his nerve. Tony was his best friend, and that was good. That was awesome. Loki wasn't going to fuck that up.

Because the Moment hadn't meant anything.

---

At noon, Loki thinks that he might be getting sick.

He wants to call Sif so she can call Tony (Loki has no way to contact him or his people directly, which is also annoying) and cancel. But he can't do that, that would be ridiculous.

Besides, he has the national conference call at 12:30 to focus on.

"Right, so," Loki says after the national field director and the national training director have finished up their reports. "You know Osborn's putting out his first round of attack ads, since they've finally decided just screaming 'but he's so young' might not be the most comprehensive of strategies. And so our focus on business has to be intensified." Keep it positive, he reminds himself, forcing a smile. "Don't worry about it too much; we're working on it, and it's not a threat to Thor's image overall by any means. As far as possible rebuttals to our first round of attack ads goes, this is almost ideal. Because we've got the facts: we've got Thor's record with business legislation, and we've got Osborn's not-too-shiny record with business too."

He tries not to shift too much in front of the computer screen, also trying not to think of all the campaign HQs across the country, everyone gathered around screens and watching him avidly. He does pull a little at the bottom of his vest, but resists the impulse to push up his sleeves or something.

"So," he continues. "For all of you, that means a little more focus on this. Get in touch with local businesses, reach out to them, emphasize the truth of Thor's record and his message. We'll send out a few ideas for organizing this kind of thing, local opportunities you can take advantage of, and talking points you should emphasize. Keep us posted with the feedback you're getting, so we can see what's worrying people about these ads."

He looks over at his notes for the call.

"Okay, let's hear from some of you on what's been happening this week. Let's start with Washington State, with California and Texas on deck. Go ahead."

He leans back in his seat as the Seattle field director takes over with notes about the response at last weekend's Pride parade. Loki has no problem with public speaking, but something about the videoconference format makes him nervous. And always has, so it can't just be chalked up to what's going on today.

We're working on it, he thinks. This is just work, think of it that way.

Work, sure, he thinks, though the voice has notes of Thor in it somewhere. The oldest profession in the world, right?

It takes a lot not to start hysterically giggling. See, this is why he hates videoconferences.

He focuses on what the field directors are saying and takes notes, because this is actually important. Once California and Texas have finished their thing, then he can go back to freaking out.

Because, after all, this is what he does. This is who he is. Tony, both this afternoon and as a whole, is just a blip. A footnote— no, not even that, an endnote— to the whole story, to everything Loki's become and worked for. He is more than what happens with Tony. Past, present, and future.

It's a comforting thought.

And Tony can't take that away from him. This, this is all his own.

---

Tony came to visit in June. The weeks had flashed by; Loki keeping busy with work at Baldr's office and feeling out of place in Washington DC again after a year away from it. Still, he'd talked with Tony almost every night and had been irrationally irritated on the nights that Tony couldn't talk or Loki was too busy with his family.

So he'd been counting the days, refusing to write out an actual list of places to take Tony when he was in DC, because that would be ridiculous, but still creating an extensive one in his head. With mental bullet points and everything. And he met Tony at the airport, waving like a lunatic when he saw Tony coming around the security barrier.

"Aww, did someone miss me?" Tony said, but pulled Loki into a hug so fierce that it hurt his ribs a little.

"Umm, this is awkward, but I'm actually here meeting someone else," Loki said. "My friend, Tony Stark? Average size, dark hair, would never wear rose-tinted sunglasses ever? Was he on your flight?"

"Hey," Tony said, removing the offending pink eyewear to better frown at Loki. "What's wrong with my sunglasses?"

"Nothing," Loki said. "Nothing, you look great. Come on," he added quickly, worried that he had sounded a little too fervent there. "Let's go, traffic etc."

"Lead on, Washington's greatest son," Tony said grandly. "Just as long as you lead to the baggage check first."

Having Tony in the house was... weird.

Just in that worlds were colliding, in ways that they never had before. Loki's friends in high school had gotten to know his parents as a matter of course, just by being in the house and at school events and everything. But Tony had become one of the most important people in Loki's life while he was at Berkeley, and his parents and brothers didn't know Tony as anything more than a name (though, okay, in Tony's case the name still told them plenty).

And he kept being surprised by seeing Tony in places that were so familiar to him. Eating breakfast at the kitchen table. Kicking his feet up on the ottoman in Odin's library, already seventy pages into some book about economic theory. Leaning against Loki's windowsill, drinking tea from one of Frigga's favorite mugs. Sitting on Loki's bed, laughing at something Baldr had said.

Even stranger was how quickly it wore off. By the third day it felt completely natural to have Tony around.

Just adapting to it after being apart for a few weeks, Loki told himself. Don't read into it too much.

And he tried not to. He really did. But having Tony there felt really, really natural. It felt... it felt just like how home should be.

Fortunately, there was plenty to distract him from appalling thoughts like that. On the afternoon of the third day they went to wait out the soul-killing summer heat of DC in the National Portrait Gallery. Tony and Loki picked their favorites from each room, Tony listening avidly as Loki explained ideas of light and shadow, of composition and perspective.

Loki showed Tony his favorite sculpture in the whole thing: the Adams Memorial, a statue of a shrouded, androgynous figure, musing on death but expressing neither joy nor grief. It had always been Loki's favorite, something about the figure catching him, capable of holding him in front of it for long stretches of time.

Tony stood in front of the statue in silence, looking into its shadowed face, his own unreadable.

"Wow," he finally said, eyes still on the statue. Which was good, since Loki suspected his own face was broadcasting everything to the entire museum.

"I used to come visit it almost every day," Loki said. "Just walking right to it and sitting in front of it for a while after school, during lunch sometimes even. Something about it... It's hard not to think about it like it's... alive, almost. "

Tony turned to look at him then, not smiling, but with something very bright about his eyes.

After they'd exhausted the gallery they'd had to recover from a serious case of museum feet with some seriously delicious dim sum, and had taken the Metro two stops past the one they needed for Loki's house because they were engrossed in a heated debate over Andy Warhol's merits as an artist and as a human being and if the latter was as important as the former.

"Got you guys some beer," Baldr said by way of greeting when they finally came in, putting his palm over the mouthpiece of his phone. "It's in the fridge, you can take it up on the balcony if you want. Mom and Dad're staying the night in New York."

The balcony was technically off of Odin and Frigga's room, but the Gard boys had basically colonized it. It was only big enough for a pair of lawn chairs and a spindly little table, but it overlooked their fenced-in backyard and some of the street beyond, the streetlights there bathing it in golden light at night. It had been the defacto site of countless late-night talks, and plenty of daytime sitting around and just being dumb together. Growing up, Loki had always had to sit on the floor or lean against the railing, since as the youngest he was not entitled to a chair. So this time he settled himself into one of the chairs with not a little bit of gloating satisfaction, reflecting on the bright side of them all growing up and leaving a space for him.

"Your brother is way too cool to be a Senator," Tony said, "He was wearing Chuck Taylors with a suit. What the hell is that?"

"He does that all the time," Loki scoffed. "But only when he doesn't have to meet up with anyone too important. He likes to feel like a rebel, even though I tell him he's too old, and part of the establishment."

"You really are a shit of a little brother," Tony said, in a tone of awed admiration.

"I've turned it into an art form," Loki agreed.

There was a moment of silence, comfortable and punctuated nicely by the rustling of the trees in the backyard and the sound of traffic filtering up from the busier streets a few blocks away.

"So," Loki said. "What do you think? Chez Gard everything you could have asked for and more?"

"It's cool," Tony said. "I keep picturing mini-you running around screaming your head off and stuff, so that's fun. And it'll help for the rest of the summer, so I'll be able to picture you here instead of like, some big grey blob."

"I'm offended that you'd think I live in a big grey blob," Loki said, instead of thinking about Tony picturing him from afar.

"Well, I alternated between that and the White House, so don't be that offended," Tony said. He took a deep drag from the beer bottle, and looked out at the yard. "Man," he said, in a tone of surprising and abrupt intensity. "Going back is going to really blow."

"It didn't sound so bad," Loki said.

"I'm really sick of being surrounded by empty buildings," was all Tony said, but with a soft heat Loki had never heard before. "I hate all the quiet. I hate not speaking to anyone for a whole day."

"I can see where that would be torture for you," Loki said. He'd been trying for levity, but Tony just took another drag from his beer and didn't look at Loki.

"Hey," Loki said, trying again. "I meant what I said before."

Tony looked at him, frowning a little. The streetlight's glow lit up his eyes in a way that Loki was finding fairly distracting, but he still managed to say, "When I invited you over. Don't go back if you don't want to. No one'll be in the guest room, you could take Thor's room even, or just stay in mine. Doesn't matter. You shouldn't have to stay out there if there's no reason for it."

Tony seemed to think it over. "I should stay on campus," he said finally, sounding like the admission cost him something. "Obadiah said that I should use the time to..."

"So what?" Loki said. "It's making you miserable, and being here would be awesome. Just stay. All summer, if you want."

Tony swallowed, hard. Loki caught the motion of his Adam's apple, thrown into relief by the shadow cutting across his face.

Then Tony got to his feet abruptly. "I'm going to get another beer," he said, voice strangely wooden.

"Oh. Okay," Loki said, but before he'd even finished the word Tony was gone.

"Huh," Loki said, looking at the dark doorway he'd vanished through. That had been kind of weird. Not a Moment, just... well, something had happened.

Whatever, why the hell was he thinking about this again? He couldn't help noticing things about Tony now, how his hair stuck out in wet spikes after getting out of the shower, how his shirts fit across his shoulders, how he walked across a room even, but he could help torturing himself over what it all meant. Like some stupid philosophy question, that always boiled down to: nothing.

Besides, even though Tony had only been there for three days, they had been the best three days of the summer so far. Best by far. If he was going to get more of that, if Tony stayed longer, then that was awesome. And not something he needed to complicate by dwelling excessively on unimportant stuff.

He decided he could use another beer too. He got up and turned to go inside, almost bumping right into Tony as he was coming back out.

"Hey, sorry," Loki said, laughing in surprise. He looked down at Tony's empty hands, and frowned. "Weren't you going to get a beer? Did Baldr move them somewhere?"

But Tony didn't answer. His face was set, the light outside catching his eyes almost directly and making them seem to glow. And then his hands were coming up to frame Loki's face, fingers tucking under his jaw and settling lightly just over his cheekbones. And then Tony was pressing his mouth to Loki's.

Loki made a small involuntary sound of surprise, his arms jerking and hands automatically clenching into fists as the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

"Shit," Tony gasped, pulling back and almost falling away from Loki. "Oh shit, Loki, I think— you shouldn't— oh shit, just forget it, can we please just forget it?"

Loki thought about answering for a split second, but instead stepped forward into the dark room and reached for Tony, pulling him back. This time Loki was ready, arms winding around Tony's shoulders and his mouth opening eagerly for Tony's.

He tasted like beer, like an edge of the spicy sauces that had come with their dinner, and like something that was just purely Tony.

Tony groaned this time, and Loki could feel it. Tony gripped Loki's hips, hands moving over the small of his back and then sliding up, like he couldn't decide where to put them. It was Loki that ran his tongue over Tony's lips, and it was Tony who opened them to let him in.

After a while, Loki pulled back just far enough to whisper. "You're shaking."

"I know," Tony said bitterly. "I'm trying not to, just... I blame that stupid balcony, all that lighting just made you look like some sort of-"

"Hey," Loki cut in. "It's okay. It's just me."

"Yeah," Tony laughed breathlessly. His fingers tightened in the fabric of Loki's shirt. "Yeah."

And he leaned back up to him, Loki feeling the laugh against his own lips.

---

Stark Tower is an eyesore.

You can say what you want about innovative architecture, about the interplay between light and glass and the surrounding buildings. But the fact is that it's a nasty-looking thing that fucks up the city skyline, ruining postcards around the world and making the Jersey side of the Hudson look classy.

Not everyone feels the same way about it. But Loki never pretends he isn't biased.

He stands on the side of the street opposite the building's front entrance, craning his neck to look up at the giant thing. Some people glance at him, but probably it's just because he's standing in the rain and looking up like a turkey about to drown. He isn't worried about being bothered. If he's recognized, New Yorkers are the last people to say anything about it.

He feels sick now. Really, really sick, with his stomach rolling around and a cold sweat breaking out over the back of his neck. But he's given himself three minutes to stand here like an idiot, and then he'll go in.

"Right," he says under his breath, smoothing his hands over the sides of his raincoat and running them through his damp hair. "Right."

Loki closes his eyes, grits his teeth. Then he smooths his face out, muscle by muscle, into what he hopes is a blank mask. It's a familiar act, one he's used plenty to put something between his true thoughts and idiot politicians, bureaucrats, and citizens that make him want to scream. And it works well. Usually. He's not sure how well it's going to work now.

Well, his three minutes are up.

Think about Thor, Loki thinks as he starts walking. Think about the arguments in favor of Tony endorsing him, think about the importance of his candidacy for the future of the country. Think about what this is for, not about all the unimportant bullshit.

It's his mantra as he crosses the street and moves to the door of the restaurant, pushing the door open without hesitation.

He gives the hostess his name, and she smiles widely at him and offers to show him to his table, and best of luck in November, Mr. Gard.

Loki smiles and nods, and he thinks he can hear the muscles in his cheeks creaking.

The restaurant isn't small, and it feels like they walk through it for miles. Loki's eyes dart around the tables, wanting to see Tony as soon as he can, so he'll have more time to prepare. So Tony won't see him first, so he won't get the upper hand.

It doesn't work. No matter how early he could have seen him, it wouldn't have been enough time to prepare.

He sees Tony. He sees him, sitting at the table back against the corner, resting his chin in his hand and looking out the window, the other hand drumming a constant and rapid beat on the tabletop that almost matches up with the sound of the rain outside. He's grown a goatee, and is wearing a suit that's vaguely purple and should be repulsive. It is. It is repulsive, and Loki hates it.

And, Loki notes, he's wearing rose-tinted sunglasses.

"Your table, Mr. Gard," the hostess' voice seems far away, and Loki makes himself look at her, turning his head away from Tony just before Tony looks over at him. "Someone will be by for your drink order shortly."

"Thank you," Loki says, and sits down.

He looks at Tony. Tony gazes back at him, still with the fucking sunglasses on.

"Hey," Tony says.

It's always strange to see someone in person that you often see on TV or in pictures. It's something Loki's reminded of afresh every time he meets one of these people (and in his life he's met plenty of them), and it always takes a moment of adjustment. Because he hasn't been insane about Tony, the last ten years, avoiding sight or sound of him entirely. He's seen his picture on newspaper covers and magazines, clips on TV and some interviews.

And he didn't just turn away from them, either, like automatically changing the channel or something stupid like that. When Tony went missing in Afghanistan three years ago, when everyone thought he was dead, Loki had read every headline and watched every news show about it. When he'd miraculously come back, when he'd changed the direction of Stark Enterprises and everything, Loki had watched all of that too. He hadn't spoken to Tony, but... well, he hadn't lost track of him, really.

Besides, it's his job to stay abreast of international news, and Tony is an internationally significant figure. It's just part of Loki's job.

This is different from the odd TV/real life disparity too, in that Tony as he had been the last time Loki saw him keeps coming to mind as well. He'd been younger, obviously. No goatee. And the expression on his face then, that last time, was nothing like the composed, almost bland smile Tony wears now.

"Hi, Tony," Loki says. And tries not to cringe, wishing he'd gone with 'Mr. Stark', or something else. He pushes on, because he might as well. "I hear you've resisted all of Sif's best efforts to talk."

"Well, word gets around with us billionaire types," Tony says. "I knew better than to let her get her claws into me."

"And Fandral too?"

Tony smiles, just a quick little twitch of one. "Him too."

"Well," Loki says. Might as well get right down to it. "You've worked with Thor before, so I know you're familiar with his opinions on business and-"

"Yeah, the legislating thing. Tons of fun. Where were you for all of that?"

Loki's expression doesn't change. "He wasn't even thinking of running then. He didn't need a campaign manager."

"No, I don't mean like where were you, you should have been there. I mean where were you, what were you doing instead of campaign managing?"

"I was taking some time off," Loki says evenly. He'd stayed in Germany for a few months, actually, painting and reading and gathering his strength. Just because Thor wasn't thinking about running for President then didn't mean Loki wasn't already preparing for the possibility.

All of which he could tell Tony. None of which he actually does.

"Right," Tony says.

"But, I know you worked well with Thor," Loki says. "You're familiar with his methods, his opinions."

"I had a good idea of those before then," Tony says.

Loki gives him a look of polite puzzlement that he's very proud of. Because he really feels more like punching him.

"I read the newspapers, watch The Daily Show obsessively, you know," Tony clarifies. "Well, my assistant does. And then tells me about it. And she doesn't have commercials, so who needs TV?"

"Okay," Loki says. He can feel his temper, already short, starting to fray. "My point is, President Osborn's campaign is aiming for Thor's limited experience with business. Some of his attempts in that area didn't have the best reception, and it's being read as a weakness."

Tony snorts. "Right, that would be the best they could come up with."

Loki allows himself to hope that maybe this could work. Or, it could not be a massive disaster at least. "It could be worse," he says, keeping a tight rein on his smile but letting it appear at least. "But it is a weakness, even though Thor's overall position is strong."

"He's polling well in general," Tony agrees. "According to my assistant," he adds.

Loki shrugs. "It's too early to tell, I think. Polls only have limited accuracy at this stage."

"You know in France they're illegal? So as to not influence opinion, that kind of thing. I tend to think that's a better way to do it, though I also tend to resist agreeing with the French way of doing anything. Except baguettes."

"Very patriotic," Loki says, control of the smile slipping just a little. "But your point about the polls isn't a bad one. I try not to take them too seriously."

"Very wise," Tony agrees. "A sure sign of your experience. What about baguettes?"

"Thor doesn't have a stance on baguettes, as far as I know. But I can ask him if-"

He's interrupted by the waiter, bringing a pitcher of water and asking if they're ready to order. Loki blinks and looks down at the menu, which he realizes he hasn't even glanced at.

Tony's smiling at him. It's a knowing, shit-eating grin that Loki's familiar with. What the hell was Loki thinking, bantering about baguettes? Focus, he tells himself sternly, and asks the waiter what he recommends. He doesn't really listen, just nods and says that sounds good. Tony says he'll take the same.

"Anyway," Loki says. "The Republican approach to this still can pose a problem for Thor. Times are tough, people are worried."

"Not enough to turn them against him," Tony says airily. "Flawless military record, flawless political record, flawless personal life, flawless family. Hasn't been a politician with all that going for him in... ever, probably."

Loki grits his teeth. "We can't predict how people will react. Campaigns have been tanked by worse than this."

"If you say so," Tony says. He raises his left hand and presses it against the center of his chest for a moment, like he has heartburn or something. But there's no pain on his face, no discomfort at all, and the gesture has the fluid, thoughtless move of a habit. Which is interesting, since it's not one that Loki remembers. "So what else are you doing these days?"

Loki blinks. "These days?"

"Yeah, what're you up to? Hitting the clubs? Writing a novel? Are you still painting?"

Oh, that stings, but Loki tries not to let it show. "I don't have much free time. The election's not far off and I have a lot to take care of before then."

"That's too bad," Tony says, and then he laughs. "You know, I tried to track down some of your old stuff, that you had for that show at the gallery by El Cirrito. I could only find one or two, but no one was willing to sell. And here I was, raised to think money could buy anything. Oh, the lies we're told in childhood."

He's expecting an answer, Loki realizes belatedly. He tries to think of one, one that doesn't involve him starting to scream.

"Can you take those off?" he says instead. It bursts out of him; he hadn't meant to say it. Shit.

Tony's eyebrows shoot up. "I'll take anything off," he says, leering. "But can you be more specific?"

"The sunglasses," Loki growls out. "Take them off."

Tony's expression wavers, flickering to surprise and uncertainty for the briefest moment. Then the smirk is back. "It's been bothering you, huh?"

"We're inside," Loki says, because what else can he say? "You don't need them inside."

"Thanks, Mom. You're still wearing your jacket, I'd just like to point out."

"Well, who knows, I might not be staying very long."

Quiet falls over the table. The sound of silverware against plates and the murmur of conversation seems very loud. Loki's been completely deaf to anything else since he got in, apparently.

He takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes for a moment. As a method of getting his temper under control, it doesn't work at all.

"That'd be a shame," Tony says finally. "You'd miss some great steak tartar."

"Your donation would mean a lot to the campaign," Loki says. "But your public endorsement of Thor would mean even more." He should stop there, but he doesn't. "That's what Sif and Fandral wanted to tell you. That's what they want from you. That's what I want from you. That's why I'm here."

"Yeah?" Tony says. "And here I was, thinking you wanted me for my personali—"

"What's the point of this, Tony?" He doesn't shout, he never needs to shout, but right now he's struggling to keep his voice down. "What exactly are you trying to accomplish here? Hmm? Sending Sif to get me, getting me down here? What do you want? I've been more than clear, I've told you what I want, I've done all I'm going to do. You want me to beg? You want me to... to sit and make small talk?"

Tony's expression is perfectly blank. The only sign of tension is in the hand that's clenched around the sunglasses. His knuckles are white, and part of Loki wonders absently if Tony hasn't already cracked the frames.

"You can forget it," Loki hisses, as the rest of him is still furious. "I've got other things to do, all of them more important than this lunch, more important than you."

The waiter appears, setting their steaks before them with a smile. Loki's head snaps up to look at him, startled, and the expression on his face makes the man jump back a little. The waiter retreats quickly.

Neither Tony nor Loki touch their food.

"Well," Tony says finally. "I can see why Sif is in charge of this. Your sales pitch could use some work."

"You wouldn't talk to her," Loki says. "You asked for me, you got me. Here I am. So endorse Thor, or don't. I don't give a fuck."

He pushes his chair back with a rattle, almost tripping over it as he turns and stalks away. He doesn't look back. He doesn't pause. He keeps walking, and has no idea if anyone even says anything to him on his way out. Given the look on his face, it's not likely.

He makes it out of the building, crossing the street as quickly as he can to get out from under the shadow of Stark Tower. Three blocks later, he realizes that he's stalked in the opposite direction from HQ.

"Fuck," he growls, and goes down the first set of stairs to the subway that he sees. He stands on the dimly-lit platform, hands deep in the pocket of his jacket, and stares across the tracks at the opposite platform blindly. Some of the people standing over there shuffle out of his line of sight nervously, but he doesn't really notice them.

Two trains rattle past before he collects himself and gets on the third. He doesn't sit, just holds tight to an overhead handrail and lets the erratic shockwaves of the car's motion pass through him, shoulders knocking against those of the people next to him.

He doesn't think of anything specific. He just watches the shadowy motion of the tunnels passing beyond the car, and closes his eyes against it after a while. For once, the insane rocking and squealing stops of the train don't bother him much.

---

Nothing changed, being with Tony. They still sat on the couch, ate too much cafeteria food and complained about it constantly, went to see movies, got into arguments about books and painters and why Tony was unable to do his own laundry.

But in amongst all those moments, the ones that had knit them so tightly together and had made them so essential to each other, there was more. As if that wasn't enough, as if it wasn't enough to have all of that already, there was more.

There was the first time Tony carefully took off Loki's shirt, pressed against the couch and trying to be cool about it, trying to seem like this was nothing new to him when it was all new, it was all so new he thought his nerve endings would catch fire. There was the press of Tony's hand against his stomach, firm and warm and safe. There was the two of them together, which was electric and maddening and better than anything, anything in the whole world. There was Tony under him, laughing and never shutting up and moaning Loki's name like it was killing him, looking at him like Tony couldn't believe he was real.

There was holding Tony against him, curled up behind him in bed with blankets thrown crookedly over the two of them, just feeling him breathe and twitch in his sleep.

There were all the first times, so many.

And it made Loki ache, and it made him happier than he had ever been in his life. Because nothing between them had changed.

But Loki's life could never, never be the same again.

---

It's late when Loki gets back from HQ, but he's not that tired.

Well, he is tired. He's exhausted. But instead of going into the bedroom he sits at his kitchen table and rests his palms against its cool, brushed metal surface.

Right, he thinks. Not so bad, right?

With a hysterical half-giggle, his rests his head on the table too. It feels very cold against his forehead, and he lets the sensation set in for a while.

Then he gets up, and gets a beer from the fridge. He hasn't bought groceries in a while, since he hasn't eaten at home enough for it to be worth it. But there's still the heels of a loaf of bread and some peanut butter in a cabinet, so he makes a peanut butter sandwich and brings it with him into the living room.

That's where he keeps his art supplies, mostly tucked into shelves or in boxes under his coffee table. His large sketchpad is resting against the wall under the TV, where he probably left it months ago.

It has been too long, he thinks, picking it up. Bringing it with him to the couch he flips through his old stuff, trying to keep from dropping crumbs and blobs of peanut butter on anything.

It's not a very old sketchpad, maybe only eight months or so. But he'd put a good dent in it, the summer before Thor had told him what Loki had already suspected: that he wanted to push for the White House roughly twelve years before anyone else would have thought it wise. But the summer before that conversation Loki had been in between jobs, and had sketched a little every day.

There were scenes sketched from Central Park; from inside the Met (as much of the visitors as the artwork); from the Bronx Zoo (he frowns, still not satisfied with how he'd expressed the fluid motion of the big cats); from the Botanical Gardens; from all over the City. There were some nudes from the life drawing sessions he'd sat in on for a few weeks, mostly black and white charcoal. There was a caricature self-portrait he's forgotten ever doing, tucked into the corner of a page over a still life of bananas and a china teacup he'd found in an antique store. Some rough portraits of Thor, the best one a rendering of his smile.

And there's plenty of other small things, hands and feet and knees (he can never figure out knees and elbows, it's obnoxious). Some faces of people he doesn't know, trying to get the dimensions right without using a photo reference, just sneaking quick looks at them on the subway before they vanish. He must've been re-reading the Wizard of Oz at some point that summer, because there are some half-formed sketches of what's probably the Scarecrow and the Tin Man, and Glinda looking like Sarah Bernhardt in a Mucha print. Or that had probably been the intention, anyway.

He remembers every person who bought a piece from him, at the El Cirrito gallery show. Of course he does. He had been practically dizzy with joy that whole night of the opening, and had almost cried the first time someone who wasn't a blood relative had bought something he'd done. It had been Early Morning Windowsill, a portrait of a girl caught in the motion of hopping either up on to or down from a windowseat, all her features blurred by the yellow light pouring in through the window behind her.

Somewhere out there there is someone who wouldn't part with his work, no matter the price. And that information is something good to have come from today, at least.

He closes the sketchbook, and finishes his peanut butter sandwich. Peanut butter and beer make for a terrible combination, but he soldiers through it. He had barely had anything to eat for dinner, since he'd been in and out of meetings for the whole afternoon. And when he hadn't had anything scheduled he'd made up tasks, keeping himself busy until it was too late for him to reasonably stay there, and he couldn't stomach sleeping in the break room tonight.

He'd only really realized he was starving when he got to the lobby of his building. He really should get some groceries, if only just ramen or something.

His iPhone goes off in his pocket. Pulling it out, he groans when he sees Sif's name. It wouldn't be terrible if he ignored it, would it? He could say he was sleeping. That's completely believable, since Loki hasn't done anything apart from work and sleep for months.

But he'd also take the call even if it was waking him up. And better to bite the bullet now, just let Sif chew him out and deal with the repercussions in the morning.

"Hi, Sif," He says.

"Hey, Loki," She says, sounding very alert for one in the morning. "Just wanted to say, thanks so much for today. I know it can't have been easy. But thanks."

"You're welcome," Loki says. Then, "Wait, what?"

"Stark called me a little while ago, basically agreeing that whatever we need or want him to say, he'll say. He was pretty nice about it too, saying he'd talk to some of his fatcat business buddies —his words, not mine, I'm not even kidding— and see about drumming up some support there. So thank you for today. I really appreciate it."

Loki's mouth has gone dry. He takes a sip of beer. "Right. Sure. No problem." He says robotically.

"Well, it's late, I just wanted to update you in case Stark didn't say all that at lunch; he said he'd been thinking it over since you talked but hadn't given you a definite answer. Get some sleep, alright?"

"Sure," Loki says. "Night, Sif."

"Goodnight."

Loki lets the phone fall onto the couch next to him.

Well.

Not sure what to think about this, he goes to bed. Any other options might end in crying or lighting things on fire, so he'd rather just go to sleep.