Okay, this is a Christmas present to myself because I've been so strict about not starting any new stories while Dominoes and Dynamite is still in progress. I got this idea and just decided to go for it. I hope you guys like it!

Disclaimer: This marvelous world is not mine, and neither are its characters.

Warning: Swearing, alcohol. (It's Tony Stark, what else did you expect?)

Tony first saw him when he was alone in his room, dragging his under-suit off of raw, stinging skin and out of thick, shallow scrapes. As he yanked one wrist from its sleeve, he caught a glimpse of dull green and grey and nearly tripped over his bed.

The specter watched him dispassionately. One eyebrow lifted as it would have had he been tangible and not dead.

Tony had gaped for three long moments before bolting for the door, expecting a blast of magic to scorch his skin or a strong hand to dig into his shoulder. Neither came, and he was halfway to the elevator before he realized that bursting into the living room screaming about ghosts would not reflect well on his mental state. It had been a long day; he'd imagined it.

Loki was nowhere to be seen when he returned.

The second time, he was in his workshop, bent in half as he dissected a piece of HYDRA technology. A set of mist-like fingers settled on the tabletop, making Tony jerk away as though they were snakes.

Loki regarded him with eyes paler than Tony remembered. His ribs parted for the wrench that Tony swung through them, nearly pulling a muscle when he didn't make contact. The gaze took on a hint of distaste before vanishing.

When the third time came, Tony was ready.

"You died," he informed Loki. He'd watched the footage on repeat for days, looking for sparks of magic or blurred figures on the screen as the silhouette deteriorated under the force of the fiery gale. He didn't need to review the footage for uncovering the bones; he'd been present.

He cleared his throat, unnerved by the disinterested haughtiness evident in Loki's expresson. "So, yeah. You're dead. Sorry, but… shoo. Otherwise, I know who to call."

The ghost let out a soundless sigh, eyes rolling skyward as though he were saying, Midgardian impudence. Why did I expect more?

"Look, it's not my fault. I didn't do it, so I really don't know why you're here."

Loki tipped his chin up and stared him down for a heart-pounding moment before pivoting and stalking his way over to one of the armchairs that hunched in the corner. He settled into it with a grace that suggested he was sinking into a throne rather than hovering above a "tasteful" red leather La-Z-Boy.

"Fine," Tony muttered. "Stay. But I'm warning you, I sleep in the nude, and I'm not going to break a twenty year tradition just because I've got your soul camped out in my bedroom."

Loki had vanished just before Tony had reached for his pants, but not before his eyes had narrowed in something that was almost amusement.

"Pass me that circuit board," Tony requested the fourth time, pretending that he hadn't just jumped a mile when he'd noticed dull black hair out of the corner of his eye.

Loki paid him no attention, instead gazing at the rows of little cameras. Each one was equipped differently: some had spindly legs while others had paper-thin wings. The models differed based on their date of completion. Tony resumed his ministrations on the one before him, settling the final piece of the shell into place.

He was aware of Loki's eyes as he slid a finger across the touchscreen to activate it. Shakily, the little device rose into the air, propelled by the miniaturized repulsors on its base. It reached a height of a whopping four inches before dropping back to the table with a clatter.

"It's not finished yet," Tony grumbled, pulling it closer, away from Loki's smirk. "Don't be a bully."

Loki's eyes followed him as he teased open the shell once more to tinker. It was more than a little unsettling. After a few minutes, Tony stopped checking to see if he'd left. Loki seemed content to simply watch; he observed the manipulation of the metal with a deft, carefully considering gaze.

During a particularly delicate moment in the surgery, he rounded the table and peered over Tony's shoulder, deaf to his complaints. Tony finally gave up, steeling himself against the expected brush of phantom leather or icy wind across his cheek. Neither came.

"Don't know what you're getting out of this," Tony grumbled as he removed a piston the size of a fly's toenail. "It's not like you can build your own."

He glanced over his shoulder before he could stop himself, checking for a response, but Loki had gone.

"What am I saying? You're just doing it to mess with me."

Tony was in the living room the fourth time, kept company by a glass tumbler and a mostly-full bottle of scotch. When he noticed the legs on the couch beside him, he sloshed only a drop of scotch on the carpet before catching himself. Loki looked smug all the same.

After a moment of thought, Tony stood and grabbed another glass from the cabinet. When he pushed it, full, towards Loki, the godly ghost only raised an eyebrow.

"There. You finally get your drink. If that's what you were waiting for, then bottoms up. Be sure to pack everything when you leave, 'cause I'm pretty sure we can't FedEx anything that you leave behind."

Loki's expression turned thoughtful. Tony watched, sipping his own as Loki leaned forward and dipped a finger into the liquid. Tony couldn't quite decide if he imagined the single ripple, or if the scotch had imagined it for him.

"Nothing?"

Loki sent him a disparaging look, leaning back against the cushions.

"It'd be easier if you talked, you know."

The god didn't respond (verbally or non-verbally), and Tony sat back down on the couch. After a moment, he snorted. "I'd kill for Clint to walk in right now. He'd molt."

Loki's mouth twitched up at the corners.

"Don't know about Miss Widow, though. She'd pretend that you weren't real, probably. Maybe shoot at you. And Bruce would- well, you know. No idea what Cap would do. Maybe there's some exorcism ritual from the forties he'd try."

"Tony?"

He turned sharply, craning his neck to look at Steve. "Oh, hey. Speak of the devil."

The captain glanced around, frowning. "You were talking to someone?"

"It's a technology thing. Very complicated," Tony assured him. "Want me to teach you?"

As he'd expected, Steve blanched and tripped over himself in his excuses. He wasn't even finished talking before he had retreated through the doorway. He'd never noticed the second glass.

Loki had returned by the time Tony reached for a refill.

"Not big on exorcisms? I get it. Those movies give me the willies." He took a sip while Loki watched. "Robots and terrorists I can take, but if either one starts crab-walking backwards, I'm out of there."

Loki's brow creased, but he displayed no impatience. Tony found himself explaining the exorcism movies as he burned through the bottle. As he neared the last quarter, he called JARVIS to tell him to put the original on the TV.

"It's normally not my cup of tea," Tony confided, "But you're the guest, so I figure it's your choice. Yes? No?" He nodded and shook his head to demonstrate.

Loki remained still, observing him with amusement.

"I'm taking that as a yes."

Throughout the movie, Tony talked almost non-stop, glancing over every few seconds to make sure Loki hadn't left. Each time, the god remained in place, eyes on him.

The fifth time, Tony was tearing off his tie after a less-than-fun board meeting Pepper had dragged him to.

"It's frustrating, you know?" Tony tossed the offensive garment over his shoulder, sending his blazer after it. "If they're so damn eager to get their hands on my gadgets, you'd think they would try to sweet talk me out of them instead of going on rants about potential fallout and crap like that. Fallout. The way they talk, it's like we're not the number-one company in America."

He stalked over to the bar, dragging out the first bottle he touched. "They just like me when I have toys for them. Those days, when I hand over what they want, they're a bunch of fucking angels. At least the big question of whether or not they like me for my stuff doesn't keep me up at night." After a moment, he glanced at Loki, wide-eyed and innocent. "You like me for more than my stuff, right?"

Loki shook his head, but there was a smile lurking somewhere in his eyes. Tony turned back to the bottle feeling marginally better. "That's what I thought. You can't touch my stuff, so what's stuff to you?" He paused midway through unbuttoning his shirt. "Unless you're here for the show, which isn't much better."

Loki seemed to sigh as he shook his head. Still, there was something in his gaze that trickled through Tony's skin to settle in his stomach. But he wasn't just going to leave his shirt-half buttoned, and he certainly wasn't going to button it back up, so he pulled it off and tossed it onto the floor, masking any hesitancy in his immediate reach for the scotch. Loki showed no signs of having seen the pause, and Tony acted and drank as though nothing had happened.

Weeks passed. The weight in his stomach refused to dissipate, growing heavier with each of Loki's visits.

He appeared once after a battle, when Tony has half-drunk and miserable. There had been casualties. Enough to make him hide in his workshop, ripping apart enemy tech.

Loki's presence was unwelcome for the first time in weeks.

"Why don't you visit Thor?" Tony snapped at the god's appearance. "He's the one who misses you."

Loki had vanished without so much as a glare, but that spoke volumes in and of itself.

It was nine days before Loki returned, and even then, he didn't stay long. Tony ignored his own overly loud heart and asked him to pass a wrench.

Another two weeks went by. Tony realized one day that silence didn't unnerve him like it used to, and time seemed to go by most quickly when Loki was hovering over his shoulder, or sitting and listening. Not many people could listen to Tony talk for an hour straight, but Loki occasionally made it through two. Inane (and often drunken) babbling didn't seem to faze him.

But it didn't mean anything important. Just like it didn't matter how Tony always felt successful when he got a Loki to smile, even a little. Just like it didn't matter that he still hadn't mentioned the haunting to the team yet, even though Steve occasionally knocked on his door to ask him to speak more quietly when he was on the phone.

Just like it didn't matter that he was beginning to have dreams where Loki was tangible.

Then, once, Tony brushed past Loki to reach a screwdriver (since Loki never passed them to him when he asked), and felt something. Like density, or resistance. It was slight, barely enough to raise the hair on his arms, but Tony recoiled so violently that he knocked over his bench. Loki was gone before he could draw breath to lodge a query.

Days passed. The dreams gained detail with each passing night.

Tony folded in on himself, crushed beneath the weight of the victims' memory. He could see their eyes, wild and pleading; he could hear their voices, their screams. He could feel their blood on his fingers, once he'd ripped off his glove to feel for a pulse.

He didn't even feel the tears before Loki brushed them away with fingertips like whispers.

Tony's eyes opened into a gaze so green and intense that his heart faltered in his chest. He stretched out a hand that trembled, mouselike, and Loki vanished.

He was always on the lookout for translucence now. After a week of looking in vain, he retreated behind the glass walls and the fiery burn of whatever alcohol was within his reach.

Tony swore, gripping the counter to steady himself as he tried to glare into Loki's steely eyes. "You were gone. Don't look at me like that, you left."

He reached for the bottle, and Loki slapped it off the edge of the table. It shattered.

Shaking his head, Tony took an unsteady step back. "No. I hate dreams like these. You're never there when I wake up, so just stop it."

Loki swept forward, grabbing Tony's wrists as he raised his fists. "So you drink yourself to death in your waking hours?" he hissed.

Swaying in Loki's grip, Tony faltered. He hardly ever talked in the dreams. "Either stay gone or stay... stay here."

He could feel Loki pushing him back. He could feel Loki.

The bed was beneath him for some reason; Loki's hold on his wrists vanished, and Tony grappled with the air in front of him, relieved when his hands met skin. He forced his eyes to stay open and focus as best he could on Loki's. The green seemed to glow. "Don't leave," he mumbled.

Loki didn't respond, but Tony drifted off with the specific sensation of having a shoulder for a pillow.

In the morning, Tony had a pillow for a pillow. There was nothing but a shattered bottle of scotch on the floor to suggest that he hadn't made the whole thing up.

Now that I think about it, this will be a three-shot. I think.

Happy holidays, everyone!

Cheers,

BlackSheep