Oyster Sashimi, Olive Martini
Before it all started, if you had told Tony Stark that the god of mischief would turn out to be this easy to domesticate, he'd have cracked a rib laughing in your face.
And if you'd been foolish enough to tell Loki himself, he'd probably have cracked all your ribs and your face.
That didn't stop it from being true though. And this is how it happened.
1
There's no grace here: Tony Stark practically falls through the door in his haste to get into the apartment as soon as possible.
He locks the door behind him as if a thousand Chitauri infantrymen are behind him; then fishes out the vibrating mobile that that had been burning a hole in his jeans pocket and tosses it on the sofa like it's on fire.
For a good fifteen seconds he stares at the mobile as it bobs valiantly amidst the sea of cushions, ringing shrilly and scrapping its chalkboard nails against Tony's conscience.
But he is Tony Stark, he's no ordinary mortal, and he's had a lot of practice at ignoring guilt.
The phone finally stops ringing, and Tony begins to breathe again, to take stock of the spare apartment he keeps around precisely for moments like this. The last time a woman had necessitated his hiding out here Interpol had pegged as a spy; working for the Chinese government who'd wanted Tony to part with some of his science secrets.
But this time Tony knew he was in much more danger.
Tony was a man unafraid of a living with little risk, but even he wasn't stupid enough to go against the force of nature that was Pepper Potts, and Pepper was currently very, very angry with him. Something about the last stack of papers he's signed being void because of some pervy doddle or other and how some of them consequently ended up online, unravelling a deal she'd been working on for months. He's a little hazy on the details, but Bruce had sent him a discrete text telling him to vamoose from Stark Tower until the coast was clear.
Fine. No problem. He could make do without JARVIS or Alterna Ten edible shampoo for a few days; there's enough video games and alcohol in the apartment to make for it a very spiffy party for one, and Pepper would come down from the thundercloud she is riding. Eventually. It's all good.
He's about to stick his head in the fridge when the phone starts to ring again, and Tony startles, tries too quickly to straighten up, and ends up banging his head on the door and swearing for several colourful moments. Which is lovely, because by the time he's run out of invectives, the buzzing from the mobile starts again, so Tony hightails it to the balcony as if Pepper herself was glaring at him from the couch and slams the soundproof sliding doors behind him with satisfaction. Hah. Let's see who gets who's knickers in a twist.
He quickly comes down from the high, however. Here he is, king of the world, booted out of his own castle and hiding in some tower like a girl.
Thank god there's no one to witness his shame.
Taking a deep breath, the billionaire proceeds to admire the vista he probably hasn't checked out in years – or maybe never checked out – yeah, that would be more likely – and it's just like any other six million-dollar apartment view until Tony's gaze collides with the shape of a shadowy figure seated outside the ledge of Tony's balcony, whom for one heart stopping moment he's certain is Pepper with a very sharp knife about to dismember him.
(Tony Stark is more frightened of CEO ex girl-friends than ninja burglars. His liberal arts Feminist teacher would have been proud.)
Instead of going back inside to pick up a weapon or call the cops like any sane person, Tony leans over the balustrade and says sharply; 'FYI spiderman you're trespassing, even if it's a hell of an impressive stunt getting up here.'
He raises an eyebrow when the shadow doesn't even shift in discomfort or surprise; merely snort at his words. Obviously, compliments were just wasted on some.
He's just about to threaten the shadow with his suit when he looks down at the impossibly narrow ledge and sixty four floors and realizes that half-octopus or not, no robber would be able to climb so high. Or maintain that relaxed sprawl on a three inch ledge. Or wear a fucking cape in this kind of wind.
So of course, it totally figures that the face that looks up at him calmly from the darkness would be one crazy-ass, supposedly incarcerated alien god of mischief.
