It started out with a drink. The God of Mischief came up behind Tony's extravagant armchair and brushed the fine velvet with his fingertips.

"Come to kill me, rule me, or have a drink?" Tony swirled his scotch lazily. He was only half joking about the comment. Absently, Loki chuckled,

"Actually, yes." It was almost, God forbid, good natured. Tony shot him an incredulous look.

"Well, alright. Grab a glass…" Still wary of the once dangerous enemy he shifted in his seat.

"Don't mind if I do," Loki shot him a winning smile. They sat there drinking silently before Tony offered,

"I don't know if it's the buzz I'm feeling but I just wanted to say, I understand your struggle with Odin. I understand it all too well." Loki scoffed,

"Mortal, how could you possibly understand the quarrels of those so far above you?"

"C'mon. Cut the shit. You know by now that we are not so far below you," Tony offers bluntly. Loki began to rebuke but resigned to sit back and take another drink. "Look. All I'm saying is that you and I are not so different. My entire life has been about impressing my father. My DEAD father. How sad is that?"

"Well you cannot boast attempted genocide just to prove to your father that you are a worthy son," he laughed heartily, relaxing into the conversation.

Over an extended period of time, the two met on many occasions to drink and discuss their fathers. Sometimes the conversations turned philosophical as they mulled over the definition of free will, destiny, and the dichotomy of science and magic. These late night discussions and often times, debates were pleasant enough but in the light of day they would go back to hating each other and fulfilling the roles set for them long before the late night chats. Eventually, Loki found himself caught up in yet another plot to control Midgard. Not entirely his fault, he owed a much more powerful being than himself aid in this endeavor. This stronger, more ruthless being caught Stark as he did his duty to defend the world. For some unknown reason, right as Stark's head was about to be severed, Loki charged toward him and pushed him out of harms way, suffering the final blow himself. Tony watched his greatest enemy and oddest friend slip away into the nothingness below.

After the battle, Tony painfully informed Thor of his brother's demise. "He saved me. He pushed me out of the way and saved my life-" Clint looked at Tony with a perplexed expression, "What, Clint?"

"Nothing, Stark. It's just, are you crying right now?" He scrutinized Tony's face. Tony turned away and touched his face. Sure enough, his face was moist with reluctant tears. That night, Tony sat by the fire half expecting Loki to show up so they could argue and drink. Loki never came. Alone once more, Stark drank by himself and mourned his companion. He mourned his late night guest. His drinking buddy. His intellectual equal. His enemy. His friend.