Tony felt more than heard the intruder enter. His feet were death quiet against the hardwood flooring. He continued to look over his scotches, finally choosing a midnight favorite and pouring it over a few cool cubes of ice that were already causing the outside of the glass to condensate.
"Want a drink?" he offered, and turned to look over his shoulder. The boy only stared at him. His hands were clenched into tight fists, threateningly close to denting his gauntlets. Those eerily golden eyes watched him like a hungry animal. "Been a while, kid."
"Do not talk down to me," Fenrir barked. Tony could see the way his features tightened as he mentally reprimanded himself. Despite the boy's many years of living, he had not yet mastered a perfect poker face. His anger was apparent, almost detectable by smell. Tony nodded and held a peaceful hand up, palm facing him.
"It wasn't intentional." he said, taking a sip. He let the burning alcohol settle on his tongue before swallowing. He let out a cool breath, tasting the smokiness. "I take it you're here for a reason?"
Fenrir took a deep breath. "My father, for whatever reason, has found something worthwhile of his time in you."
"You mean he likes me?"
"That is a rather mundane way to say it, but yes." Tony could see him fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "He is not in any good condition at the moment. Some acknowledgement from you would be beneficial to his health."
"What, specifically, are you asking for?" Tony drank the rest of his scotch in one gulp, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Fenrir paused a moment, looking confused. He ran a hand through his hair, wincing when a strand or two got caught in the joints of his metal gloves.
"A message, a memento. Anything to lift his spirits." he finally answered, and looked back up to match his gaze. For a moment he looked exactly like what he was to Tony: a lost child, at a miss with what to do with his father's sudden imprisonment. Tony swallowed and set his glass down on the counter, a little harder than he'd intended. Just because this boy was Loki's son and he was hurt with being separated from his father like this, it didn't mean he was going to be nice and proper. It wasn't his style.
"Yeah. Come with me." He motioned for the child to follow him, and he easily flanked him. Tony led him to the elevator.
"JARVIS?" he asked.
"Sir?" JARVIS replied, shocking the boy. Tony smirked as he jumped and produced a small knife from what seemed to be nowhere, his eyes darting rapidly across the ceiling of the small metal box where the speakers were located.
"Take me to the workshop. Also—Fenrir, was it?—could I ask that you not damage anything? I promise nothing is designed to hurt you."
Fenrir frowned, tucking his blade back into his belt as the elevator began to move. The lights displaying the floor numbers flashed as they descended. Fenrir didn't attack anything, but he could hear the way the boy shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to recognize what he was feeling and unable to name it. Suddenly the elevator stopped, almost knocking the boy to his knees. Tony openly laughed as he stepped into his workshop. Butterfingers proceeded to drop whatever it was he was holding, and the humor was gone from him as it shattered to pieces.
"I swear, one day," he groaned under his breath, his mind too concentrated on the task at hand to properly threaten the animatronic limb. Instead he moved over to his toolbox and began to shuffle around inside of it. He dared a glance at Fenrir, who was beyond trying to mask his emotions. He looked stuck between terrified and curious. He tentatively touched Dummy, and the robot beeped in return, startling him. He yelped and backed away, clutching his hand like the thing had attacked him. Finally he pulled out what he needed from it and held it out to the boy. Fenrir's dark eyebrows narrowed in confusion.
"What is it?"
"Loki knows." he replied. Fenrir took it, examining its spirals closely. "Tell him that when we meet again, that is exactly what I will do to him."
Fenrir blinked, then nodded, his hand curling around the screw. "I will deliver the message immediately."
Thor watched his brother, willing him to speak. Even after the muzzle had been removed, even when facing their father after everything he'd done on Midgard, he still remained silent. He'd spent every day of the past year speaking with his brother, telling him stories of his times on Earth spent with the humans. Loki only ever seemed interested when the Man of Iron was mentioned, so he often spoke of Anthony Stark in hopes that he would talk to him. But Loki only hung his head in silence, his hands clenched together.
"Is he still refusing to speak?" asked a young male voice. Thor looked up. Flanked by two guards stood Fenrir, wearing casual green and black clothes similar to his father's. He looked the spitting image of him, except his golden, slit-pupiled eyes and wild hair. Thor greeted his nephew with a smile not even worth half of his heart. The boy's expression remained hard and hurt. He blamed Thor for his father's current condition. Thor blamed himself as well, to some degree. He hadn't spoken up strongly enough to defend him, and what little he had said lacked enough conviction to convince the Allfather. Thor shook his head yes.
"He says nothing to me." he answered, and looked once more pleadingly at his brother. Loki did not even raise his head in their direction.
"I wish to consul alone with him." Fenrir continued. The guards behind him stiffened, but he refused to pay them any mind.
"Very well." Thor nodded, and in passing by him, paused for a moment. The boy, though tall, barely reached his chin and had to crane his head back to look him in the eye. "If he says anything, please tell me."
"Of course." he said, but there was something in his eyes that Thor didn't quite trust. He waved to the guards to follow him, and left son and father alone.
"Any news?" Loki asked quietly after along moment of silence. Fenrir looked back to his father; his normally pale skin was even more so livid, dark bags hanging underneath his eyes. He was skinnier than he remembered, his clothes not quite fitting like they should. He moved closer to the cell, until he was standing directly in front of the bars, and he knelt on the polished golden floor. Loki looked at his son. His emerald eyes were bloodshot from sleep deprivation.
"Nothing significant." he said. "Hel wishes you would say something for her. She's worried about you. Jörmungandr still continues to eat at the roots of Yggdrasil. I wonder if he even understands the words I speak to him." He paused, disappointed to see no reaction from the father of his siblings. Loki only continued to look at him desperately. Fenrir knew what he wanted, and he sighed heavily. "The human, Anthony Stark, continues to live. He spends most of his time in that room of his full of the electrical…things." he surmised. That got a small laugh from his father. He probably knew the word for the weird objects Fenrir had seen in the room. He reached into a hidden pocket in and pulled out a thin metal object. "He also wished for me to give this to you."
Loki's eyebrows shot up, and he moved to kneel in front of his son. He looked at the object before slowly removing it from Fenrir's grasp.
"He also has a message: 'the next time we meet, this will be the first thing I do to you.'" Loki bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing out loud. He knew little about Earthian tools, but this one Tony had made sure he knew. "What does that mean?"
"It is not what you think." he said, obviously lying, as he slipped it up his sleeve. Fenrir knew asking more would be useless, and he moved to stand and leave. So he was surprised when Loki reached out and grabbed his hand. "It is good of you to come see me." he said. His voice and eyes had changed. Fenrir knelt back down, clasping his hand around his father's.
"Of course," he replied, unable to think of anything else.
"I…I haven't been the best of parents," he admitted. "I've spent many a year neglecting you and your brothers and sister. Please, when you see them, send my regards."
Fenrir bowed his head, touching his father's knuckles to his forehead. "Of course." he repeated, his voice more enthusiastic. He even managed a smile when he looked back up. "I must go now. That man asked that I return with news of your wellbeing. Is there, perhaps, anything you also wish to send to him?"
Loki paused, seeming to think for a moment. His brow knitted in concentration, chewing on the inside of his lip. Finally he nodded. "Tell him that I am impatiently waiting."
Fenrir nodded, and father and son parted with silent words. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest, calming nerves he wasn't even aware were present. He carried his father's words with him, ignoring the dirty looks and cruel gossip he was met with as he left.