A/N: Another fic that was a long time in-the-making (apologies). It's a continuation of the story between Tony and Loki that started in What Are Friends For? and continued in Called It, both written for generationloki. This was not given as a prompt; it's simply the next step they decided to take in my warped head.

I wrote this one a little differently than anything I've written before. There are (as of my first draft) 15 chapters; each chapter will have two parts: the first from Tony's POV, the second from Loki's. So there will be overlap, but differing thoughts/opinions/interpretations, etc.

I hope the format is easy enough to follow. Enjoy. :)

xoxo, La

Tony studied the screen of his brand new Starkphone, reading the address he'd had Jarvis dig up months ago one more time. He was standing on a busy corner in the middle of a bustling Hollywood. Cars flew by, heading for souvenir shops, fancy restaurants, theatres and clubs. The sun was lowering in the west, and neon lights were beginning to blink to life. The city street was bustling with summer tourists, and women ranging from fifteen to fifty trying to get anyone's attention—including the genius'.

He found it surprising, only because he still had the look of a man who had just crawled out of a cave hours ago. In reality, it had been longer. They were wasting their time; his eyes were only focused on the apartment complex across the street, slightly hidden by a small liquor store next door to a tattoo parlor.

Taking a deep breath, Tony stuffed the phone into his pocket and started across the street. The address and apartment number of the place he was looking for had been imprinted on his brain since the moment he'd read them, and he had no problem getting inside the complex and finding the unit he was looking for on the first floor, tucked into a corner of the gated off area.

He was a little surprised, if he was honest. The whole neighborhood seemed a little…seedy, for his old friend. His jaw clenched at the word. It was altogether too familiar and yet not intimate enough to describe their particular relationship.

"Jesus," he muttered to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face, at his own thoughts. Now was the not the time. He could hear some muffled music coming from inside the apartment as he approached, and steeling himself for the face-to-face he'd both dreaded and anticipated for nearly ten long years, he pressed his finger to the doorbell.

Everything inside and out seemed to clench as Tony waited. The music was lowered to a low hum, a few locks clicked…and then there he was.

Loki was relieved that the apartment was empty when he stepped in and found it was dark and quiet. It had been a shit day at the theatre. Everyone was on edge as one show was coming to an end, and a miscommunication had the new show's people showing up a day early. Home now, it made him weary to think of the work he still had ahead of him.

He relaxed himself first with a hot shower and dressed comfortably in loose black pants and a long-sleeved green shirt. After, he whipped up a quick meal of fettuccine pasta in Alfredo sauce with chicken and broccoli, leaving enough for his roommate, and some extra. With a cup of tea in hand, Loki settled in the living room to work on scheduling the staff at the theatre where he worked in the technical crew.

He had only been working on the schedule for an hour or so when the doorbell sounded. Taking a quick sip of his tea, he rose to lower the soundtrack of the musical he'd just spent five weeks working on, playing on the stereo, and crossed the room to pull open the door.

And suddenly everything came to a crashing halt. If there had been an actual record playing, it would have scratched to a stop in that instant.

For a moment he thought he was seeing things and just as Tony's lips parted to speak, Loki shut the door in his face. A hand flew up to press against his mouth, muffling his shocked gasp; the other curled into his shirt at his chest, where his heart was racing.

A flood of mixed emotions had both his jaw clenching and his eyes tearing. A soft knock sounded, followed by his name spoken through a gruff, scratchy voice. Collecting himself, Loki opened the door once more.

Seeing that face again, after all this time, was overwhelming, and before he could help himself, Loki was stepping forward and gathering Tony close in a tight embrace. Headlines flashed through his mind, behind his eyes as he hugged the man close; voices of faceless reporters echoed in his ear, and for the briefest of moments, he let himself be happy Tony was alive and standing on his doorstep. His hand sprawled out against the back of the genius' head, then his fingers were curling into the dark hair. He inhaled a shaky breath and before he completely released it, he had stepped back, just as quickly as he'd stepped forward.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he whispered angrily between his teeth.

Tony looked as befuddled as Loki felt and jerked a shoulder. "I wanted to see you…?"

"Are you not sure?" His voice had returned, sharp and indignant.

"No—yes! I, yeah, I wanted to…apologize."

Loki's head tipped to the side, and a part of him felt he won some small victory when Tony flinched. Then he remembered what the man had just been through. And softened. Slightly. "After all these years? Now you want to apologize?"

"Well. I didn't get a chance to—"

"You left." He crossed his arms now, the emotions of a broken-hearted nineteen year old seeping back into his twenty-eight year old self. "You had every chance."

In shame, Loki hoped, Tony lowered his eyes and cleared his throat. "Can I come in? Please? Just for a minute. Or two."

Loki stared, unmoving, unsure. Breathing a soft sigh, he gave an imperceptible nod, shoved the door open further, turned on his heel, and headed back into the living room.

2nd A/N: As usual, any comments, questions, observations, etc., are welcome.