A/N: My first fic here, yaaa. Please feel free to leave a review (in fact I'd love you to), and I hope that you enjoy the story. I always considered Starki as a weird ship and I never really agreed with it; I usually avoid all ships except the at least semi canon Clintasha and platonic Stark and Stripes. But then I thought not why, but why not? So I give you this weird fic, and enjoy.

20 Days with the Not-So-Asgardian

Prologue

March, march, march.

The heavy duty boots that each S.H.I.E.L.D guard wore smacked off the metal ground of the compound in time with each other, so much so that even with his intensive hearing Loki was entirely sure that they had it right down to the millisecond. Pitiful, mindless soldiers in their matching silver outfits, their guns poised upwards in the same fashion in their square formation around him - guarding him from the outside world, or guarding the outside world from him? They were not the type of people he feared, but even at this moment in time he couldn't truthfully say that he wasn't a little nervous. He had, of course, been in this position before - but this time was very different. There was no henchmen to come break him out, no escape plan. No tesseract to help him wield power. He could easily get away from these guards, but...what then? There were agents all over the building, one of whom would be able to detain him. And while the demigod wasn't mortal, he wasn't immortal either. This had been proven.

This part of the compound was silent, all the doors they passed closed tightly and not an agent in sight as far as he could see. Everything was a silvery colour, all made of metal, and the lamps overhead pooling light into the floor made it appear a lot more intimidating than Loki had cared to realise. In his old cell back home in Asgard, he was comfortable. He knew that the people there would treat him well, even after all that he had done, because he was one of their people. Or, well, he was supposed to be one of their people. Thor would come visit him from time to time also, and he made sure that his "brother" was well fed and looked after, despite being in punishment. Here, there was no such guarantee. Perhaps they'd keep him here for weeks or months with nothing but himself. And he feared that more than anything - being left to his own devices, left to scour his own head and ask himself all the questions he had been avoiding for so long: why did all this happen? When did I decided it was alright? How did I let cravings for power overshadow everything I've ever learned?

The long corridor went left and they all turned in sync, their boots still clunking in time. It was like a toneless song, one Loki did not care to hear, but he obediently turned the corner with them and then they stopped together. A large metal door greeted him, and lo and behold, it had his name on it in large black handwriting. LOKI LAUFEYSON. He shuddered at the surname. Of course they wouldn't refer to him as an Asgardian anymore, not if Thor had any input on it. They'd did it on purpose so that he would reflect on himself, and he knew that now, because it was exactly what he was doing. If his hands weren't tied tightly behind his back he would have reached forward and tried to touch the writing, to feel if it was real. Of course it was. Everything in Midgard was boring and real as it looked.

Someone from behind pushed him forward and he stumbled towards the door. A few hands went to his wrists and a code was entered, and then he felt the restraint loosening and was instantly relieved when pain shot through his hands as the blood returned to circulate around them. He stepped forward obediently into the room, and before he could even turn around to ask what he was supposed to do the door closed with an echoing bang.

Loki looked around the room, not impressed but also pleasantly surprised. There was one way glass taking up most of one wall, of course, so they could observe him, the walls a lemon colour - but there was also some comforts. The ground he walked on was soft, and in the corner the soft material was piled up higher and he assumed this was a bed. There was a table, a bookshelf for reading. But that was mostly it.

Walking towards the bed slowly he was aware that there were eyes on him from across the glass, monitoring his every move like they would for a long time. But at least, he mused to himself, they actually cared. They weren't just going to throw him in and forget about him. He wondered if they would send anyone in, debating that they probably would. They'd send a petty agent to come talk to him and ask him about his problems or his feelings or some other mindless and irrelevant topic he cared none about. They would find him something to do, they would try to make friends with him. But he wouldn't do so if his life depended on it. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared through the glass, hoping that on the other side someone would be making direct eye contact with him.

"Hello," he said with a grin. There came no reply.

Tony Stark rubbed his face tiredly, his hand carelessly making its way across the table until it came in contact with his coffee cup and gripped it tightly, drawing it closer so that he could gulp down the warm liquid. Caffeine was fuel, and he needed fuel right now. Looking over this assignment was no easy task, especially having got no sleep last night, but he didn't complain and simply flicked through the pages, aware of Nick Fury's intense gaze looking over him from above the table.

He was stationed in a conference room at S.H.I.E.L.D, the director having demanded that he come and see him immediately, to which Tony had refused and had ended up personally escorted by those big guys from the floor above. Bastards. And then Fury had handed him this dossier (and he didn't like being handed things, so already he was leaning towards "no"), and asked him if he could handle the assignment. He was surprised when he scanned it to find that it was about Loki, that damned frost giant they'd dealt with not 7 months before. It detailed a specific plan for him to be rehabilitated on the earth. Tony wasn't entirely sure if he despised the idea or thought it was genius.

"Why," he began for the first time since he entered the room with the two burly guys and sat down in a huff, "would you want to rehabilitate him in the first place?" Fury took a moment to examine Tony's expression, the dubious face that he wore almost all the time, and he offered the younger man a shrug.

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. We wanted to have an asset like Loki...but why have one like him when you can have the real deal? Thor agreed that it would be for the best. Don't give me that look, Stark. He's not entirely hopeless. He's just a little...broken. We just need you to go and talk to him." Tony considered it for a moment, then snapped the file closed and sat back in his seat.

"Oh, so you're sending me to this broken man because I'm one myself?"

"I didn't say that." You didn't have to. After he'd found out that Pepper had been going to DC for other reasons apart from work and he'd broke it off with her, Tony had found himself a little lost. Sure, he still had a few friends - he saw Steve a lot more after the Avengers initiative and Happy stuck by him. But that didn't mean his life wasn't a mess. He worked for S.H.I.E.L.D as a part time asset, clocking in his hours in the hopes he could distract himself. But his drinking got a little out of hand at one point, and for the billionaire it wasn't all plain sailing. You've been sober for two weeks, he reminded himself. Fury seemed to sense his, well, fury at the fact he was being used, and edged around the table. "Stark, I assure you it's not that. I just think out of all the people that can talk to Loki, you'd be suited best. We have a 20 day scheme here - that's how long we want you to spend with him. Not continuously, obviously - but to go talk to him and see if you can get to him somehow." Fury could tell Tony was cracking, the self-professed philanthropist finally seeing how it could be an advantage to them and knowing that he was best for the job. He ran a hand through his hair.

"What would I even say?" Fury grinned. So he had finally given in. "I haven't seen the guy since he almost tried to kill me. So what the hell do I do? Hey, I'm Tony, remember you chucked me off a building?" The director laughed as he leaned against the conference table.

"You befriend him and show him he's not alone."

Tony shook his head and offered Fury a wan look. He couldn't believe he was agreeing to this.