Title: A Day in the Sun
Pairing: Tony/Loki
Author's Notes: This was written for the Norse Big Bang challenge of 2014. The art portion for the challenge can be found at the profile of kneel_to_maria on DeviantArt. Enjoy!


Thor awoke to the noise of a beak tapping on his windows.

Overall he liked the quarters Tony Stark had provided for him in the Stark family hall, better known as the Avengers Mansion. They were spacious and tastefully appointed, if not as rich as his father's hall on Asgard (but then again, what was?) with comfortable furnishings actually sized to accommodate his height and weight. A manually-adjusted thermostat allowed him to control the temperature of his quarters, he had his own built-in bar and stocked minifridge, and overall it felt much more civilized than the rough camping he was accustomed to doing in most other realms. Truly, he appreciated the hospitality Stark had shown for him, and the thoughtfulness that had gone into preparing these rooms for him.

But there were some things that just weren't the same as they were in Asgard, and the glass windows were one. Here on Midgard, the air outside was plagued with various unpleasantness - pollution and smog from their vehicles, tiny whining insects and curious critters, the constant muffled roaring of their teeming city. In Asgard, subtle force-barriers would do the job of keeping these unwanted elements away from private homes; here in Midgard, they had not such technology, and instead resorted to thick sheets of clear glass. Which were serviceable enough in keeping the weather and pests out while letting the light in, but they did tend to block the fresh flow of air, and Thor missed being able to step out on his bedroom balcony to survey the kingdom.

The windows also kept out ravens.

Thor roused himself groggily from his bed and went to undo the little metal latch that kept the window closed. In the dim yellowish light outside - a reflection of the harsh sodium lights that were everywhere in this city - he recognized the shape of the bird, an enormous black raven. The iridescent gleam of colors off the spread tail and wing feathers, as well as the deep intelligence in its beady eyes when it turned to look at him, only cemented the recognition - as well he ought to have known him, since this animal had been Odin's companion for all of Thor's life.

"Huginn, my friend," Thor whispered, as he swung the casement wide to let the bird in. It hopped onto the windowsill, then onto his forearm, ruffling its wings and digging sharp talons into his skin. Thor winced. "What news from Father?"

Alas, the All-Speak - capable of translating any known language across the galaxy - did not extend to beasts, not even magical ones. Huginn mantled his wings again and croaked once, pulling Thor's wrist upwards and towards the open window. It was obvious that he wanted Thor to follow. "What is it, boy?" Thor asked him. "Has Baldur fallen into Mimir's well again?"

Many of Thor's adventures had started in just such a way - with or without the Warriors Three or the Lady Sif, but rarely without Loki's presence at his side. Thor felt a pang of sadness at the loss, but Loki was truly fallen from them; nowadays he lurked about in the shadows on Midgard, or between the Realms, and allied himself with various unsavory supervillainous types.

For a moment Thor considered waking one of his shield-brothers, the Avengers, to accompany him on whatever quest or task the All-Father had sent Huginn to fetch him for. In the end, he decided against it; although Odin had grudgingly allowed him to stay on Earth and battle with the Avengers, it was plain he disapproved of Thor's fondness for and association with the mortals. He would not be pleased at Thor dragging a lot of mortals along into Asgardian business, and Thor did not particularly wish to expose any of them to his father's censure.

Huginn croaked at him again, more impatiently this time, and pecked at his ear. Thor chuckled and gave the bird a careful pet of the head, which caused Huginn to ruffle his feathers and mutter to himself resentfully. Then he raised his free hand, called Mjolnir to him, and climbed out the window, shutting it carefully behind him. He still remembered Captain Rogers' lecture about the cost of electricity, and how wasteful it could be to leave windows open to expose the indoors to the elements.

Once Thor was in the open air, Huginn launched from his wrist, talons digging deeply enough to draw a scratch of blood, and circled overhead. "Lead on, my feathered friend," Thor called up to him, and Huginn took flight towards the west, flying faster than any mortal bird could have managed. Thor swung Mjolnir a few times to build up momentum, and followed.

Huginn led him westwards, into the heart of the continent, for a long time. The night gradually brightened towards dawn, though slowly as they chased after the trailing night. Most of the mortals coming gradually to wakefulness below him did not notice their passage through the sky.

At last Huginn began to circle and dip once more to the earth, and Thor saw the shadow of a cave in the hillside. He dropped to the earth and strode forward, Mjolnir still held ready in his grip.

Inside the cave it was dark, and Huginn's caw echoed harshly off the stone walls. Thor called a little bit of lightning to Mjolnir - not much, just enough to cause the runes embossed on the hammer's head to glow - and peered forward.

The sparse light gleamed off metal ahead, a long shaft of silver with the dark form of the crow perched atop it. As he stepped forward, he was able to make it out to be a long silver sword, its hilt encrusted with gold and gems under the raven's clutching claws, its shaft sunk deep into a raised stone platform.

He knew that sword. Thor frowned as recognition dawned on him. It was Laevateinn, the wondrous sword of Frey, which he had bargained away to Gymir for the hand of Gerda in marriage. It was imbued with thaumic protocols that could turn even the clumsiest trainee into a master swordsman, which could cut through solid stone like butter. The loss of the enchanted sword had been a blow to Asgard, for a weapon of its power should never have left the vaults. How had it come to be here?

Huginn cawed again, then pecked at the hilt impatiently. Thor thought he understood. Odin or Heimdall must have spied the sword and, unable to get to Midgard or unwilling to leave Asgard, had sent Huginn as a messenger to get him to retrieve the relic for them. Thor strode forward, reaching out for the hilt, and Huginn fluttered aside and out of his sight.

As soon as Thor set his hand on the sword's hilt, he felt a sudden biting jolt of magic up his arm. Surprised, he reflexively jerked his arm back, only to find that his hand was stuck fast to the sword.

Behind him he heard the sound of Huginn's raucous cawing, and the echoes within the tiny stone chamber were deafening. There was the sound of rushing air, and suddenly the raven's calls were replaced by laughter - a laughter that was all too familiar.

"Oh, Thor," an equally familiar voice spoke, laden with scorn. "Still rushing so eagerly ahead into adventure, never bothering to take the slightest precautions. After all the centuries I spent trying patiently to carve prudence into your brain! I'm not sure whether I should be offended, that you ignored my efforts so effectively, or pleased, that you are as predictable as ever."

"Loki!" Thor jerked around in shock, his left hand still stuck fast to the sword - the bait in the trap, he realized - to see his once-brother standing behind him. He flung his hammer at his enemy, more startled reflex than forethought, but the hammer passed through empty air as Loki's image shimmered and vanished. "How did you - you were Huginn? But how?!"

Loki scoffed, and Thor's attention was brought to his seeming, appearing in another part of the cave. "Oh please, Thor," he said scornfully. "I grew up with that wretched bird, I've known it for as many years as you have. Of course I know it well enough to mimic its form, right down to the smallest tailfeather. The question is really why you thought it was a good idea to go haring off after a bird in the night."

"But Huginn is the All-Father's messenger!" Thor exclaimed. "Counterfeiting his arms or any of his messengers is treason, you know that!"

"Treason? You don't say!" Loki affected shocked surprise, putting his hand to his chest as though about to faint. "How much do I care about treason? Let me count the ways." He made a show of raising his hand to count off his fingers. "Oh wait. Zero. Zero ways."

"Loki -" Thor started, but Loki interrupted him.

"But enough talking," he said, rather unfairly in Thor's view since he'd been doing most of the talking. "Let's get right to the point, shall we?"

He raised his staff, and green lines of light suddenly sprang into view on the stone floor, hidden until now by the cave's shadows. They circled the plinth, and Thor standing stuck fast to it, and a complex pattern of runes inscribed themselves within the inner boundary of the circle. Thor could not read them all - he was never as skilled with the runes as Loki - but he knew enough to know he did not want to be standing within the boundary of the circle when the spell went off. He pulled frantically at his stuck hand - the sword, he realized now that he was close enough, was just another fake - and called for Mjolnir with his free one.

Not fast enough. The lines of light completed their circuit, and kept going - they ran across the floor like licking flames to make a channel that linked them to a second circle, this one forming around Loki. Eerily underlit by the green magefire, Loki raised his staff and chanted a few spellwords. Upon catching Thor's eye, seeing his expression of horror, Loki winked at him.

Then the green light roared to a conflagration, and Thor's world went dark. The last thing he heard, before the darkness took him, was his brother's hysterical laughter.


Thor woke up groggy and foul-mouthed, his eyelids heavy with sand and with a crick in his neck from sleeping on the stone floor. He felt -

Wait. Stone floor?!

Thor surged to his feet as the memories of the last few hours poured through him. Huginn's appearance outside his window. Following the raven into the cave, finding Laevateinn. Huginn turning into Loki, his brother-enemy's mocking taunts. The floor giving way beneath him, and then a flash of bright light...

And then he had awoken here, in this barren stone chamber with only the barest of furnishings, and decorations - no, those etchings on the walls were not decorative at all. They were runes. Spellwork.

"Welcome back to the world of waking, Brother," a familiar voice purred from behind him. Thor whirled around, barely taking in the small gurgling spring set in the wall beside him as he stared at the figure behind him.

"Loki!" It had to be Loki, standing in the corridor with a huge grin on his face. Wearing Thor's face. Thor was thrown for a moment, but he hadn't survived adolescence with Loki as a brother without becoming used to Loki's illusions. "What devilish plot have you -"

He stopped mid-sentence, one hand flying up to his throat. His voice was strange and strangled, coming out breathy and too high-pitched. And his hands were...

Thor stared at his hands in horror, turning them over and flexing the fingers. They were long and slender, and the nails had been painted a glossy black. They were not his hands.

He turned and lunged for the small battered dresser in the corner, with a tall oval mirror fixed into its back. The silver surface was tarnished and uneven, but his reflection showed it clearly enough: dark hair framing a pale, narrow face, out of which brilliant green eyes shone starkly.

Meanwhile Loki - in Thor's body, in the background - was laughing his head off.

"What have you done, Loki?" Thor demanded, incensed by this proof of Loki's latest mad scene.

"Why, no more than taken what ought to be mine," Loki replied, a smile twisting his face and his blue eyes lighting with unholy glee. "Now I am the golden child, now I am the favored one - all that is yours will be mine, Thor, and you will be left to languish in this dark pit - forgotten, in solitude and emptiness, just as you would have me languish!"

"Loki!" Enraged, Thor threw himself towards his brother - only to be stopped mid-air, as a shimmering barrier of sparks leapt into being in the doorway. Thor stopped, plastered against the barrier and glaring daggers through it. "What is this? How are you doing this?"

"It's sorcery, Thor, sorcery most foul," Loki said, still grinning insanely wide. "What did you expect? A simple enough barrier spell, easy to take down - if, of course, you had studied enough magic to know how to do it. What a pity you spent all your years bashing away your brain cells in the training ring, instead." He turned his head and flexed one of Thor's arms, admiring the way the tendons stood out along the muscle. "Or perhaps not such a pity - you did develop some admirably mighty thews in the meantime, for which I now thank you, Brother."

"Loki, take down this barrier in this instant! Return us both to our proper forms!" Thor demanded. Loki, perhaps not surprisingly, only smiled at him.

"Oh, I think not," he said. "Not until I've had a chance to sample all of the wonders your life can afford me. Mmm... Perhaps I should pay a visit to Asgard while I have the chance. Look in on our old friends, our dear father... pay a visit to the weapons vault, perhaps?" His smile widened into a grin, showing rows of white perfect teeth. "The Crown Prince has authority to take anything he wishes out of the vault, after all, and no one would question me to do so. It's an opportunity not to be lightly missed.

"But then, Asgard is such a long way away. Perhaps I should find entertainment right here on Midgard, instead. You seem to find such enjoyment here after all, Brother. Maybe I should really have some fun. Summon a few tornadoes and hurricanes, destroy a few national monuments, kill a politician or two... of course, it will be your face that turns up in the newspapers the next day, wouldn't it?"

"Loki, you wouldn't!" Thor exclaimed, horrified by the mental images Loki was conjuring up. He struck the invisible barrier with one fist, generating more sparks, but no yield.

"Wouldn't I? What, Thor, now that you wear my body you imagine you can tell me what I would or would not do?" Loki leaned closer towards the barrier, his eyes an icy blue. "I look forward to returning to Avengers tower in this form - passing right through all that irritating security that Stark insists on putting up. I can imagine all those full friends of yours lounging about and chatting with ease, never suspecting that the enemy is among them... not until the first dagger lands in their back, anyway!"

"Loki, no!" Thor's outrage was quickly giving way to horror, and his demanding tone gave way to pleading. "No, Loki, you can't!"

"I think you'll find, Odinson," Loki said, and his usual suave purr was dropped to a deep rumble in Thor's voice, "that with your might and my magic combined, there is very little that I can't do."

And with that he turned his back, red cape swirling about his shoulders, and strode away down the hallway. "Think on it, dear brother, in my absence," Loki called back down the hall, his voice fading as he moved away. "You'll have little else to entertain you in that chamber, I fear. Think long and hard on it."

The sound of Loki's laughter was the last thing Thor heard; then his brother was gone.

Loki stepped out of the maze of caverns into the clear air, still smiling to himself. He stopped and took a deep breath of the cold mountain air, enjoying the feel of wind rushing through his new, voluminous chest. So much potential lay ahead of him, so much to do.

Although now that the opportunity was in his hand, Loki wasn't sure what he wanted to do first. Oh, the threats and fantasies he'd weaved for Thor down in the prison were one thing; steal treasures from Asgard, make trouble in Thor's name, attack his pitiful mortal friends. But in reality, he'd gotten more pleasure from watching Thor's horrified face as he listed off his wicked plans than he would from actually carrying them out. Getting past the magical defenses in Asgard was probably more trouble than it would be worth, Thor's body or no. Nefarious plans were just as easy to carry out in his own form, aside from the fleeting pleasure of ruining Thor's reputation in the process. And there was just no fun to be had in destroying Thor's little friends when they weren't expecting it. Easy. No sport to it.

Besides; now that he'd made his threats to Thor, Thor would expect him to carry them out to the letter. And that was just... dull. Cliched. And if there was one thing Loki hated, it was to be thought predictable.

The fact was that sooner or later, the spell would break, and he'd be found out. Then everything he accomplished with Thor's body would be undone and ruined; Thor's name would be cleared, his reputation and relationships restored. While he had this opportunity, Loki wanted to do something real with it, something that would last.

Loki inhaled another searingly clear breath, and then began to chuckle. He knew what he would do - and it would be something that none of them would expect. He would not ruin Thor's reputation and friendships after all. He would not destroy Thor's life; no, he would do something far worse.

He would surpass it.

With Thor's might and his own magic, as he'd said, there was no limit to what he could do. With his strategic brain directing Thor's own formidable powers, he could be twice the man that Thor ever was. He had all of Thor's network of relationships, but none of his doltish insensitivity. He would be a better warrior, a better hero, and a better friend than Thor could ever hope to be.

And when the spell inevitably failed and Thor was returned to his normal life, he would be met with the disappointment of all around him that he was no longer the man that Loki had been. At last, Thor would take his proper place in Loki's shadow.

Loki squared Thor's shoulders, threw back Thor's face to the sky, and laughed.


Mjolnir was still where she had fallen from Thor's hands; Loki had warded the underground chamber carefully against the spell that recalled her to his grasp. Loki approached the hammer warily, trying to temper his anticipation with cynical caution. A spell such as the All-Father's was powerful enough not to be lifted or undone, but Loki knew enough of magic to guess at its workings. Mjolnir herself was a powerful relic, half-sentient in the way that artifacts of power sometimes were, and there was her will to contend with along with Odin's.

Still, he would need Mjolnir at his side to complete the ruse. Thor never went long without his beloved hammer at his side, and the longer he was seen without it, the more suspicious it would become. And besides, if he could lift Mjolnir, if he could call upon the storm magics bound within its uru heart... well. He could do more with that power than Thor himself ever dreamed.

He stretched out a hand - Thor's hand - and wrapped his fingers around the hammer's handle. Loki hesitated a moment, then bunched the muscles of his arm and tugged. Mjolnir did not budge.

His shoulders slumped slightly, but he gave the handle one more tug just to be certain that he was not being too ginger and contending only with the hammer's considerable weight. But no; against Thor's mighty thews there should not be this much resistance; the hammer was stuck fast.

Loki withdrew his arm with a resigned sigh. Apparently it was a combination of both body and soul that was needed to fulfill the terms of Odin's geas; each portion of the self had its own kind of magic, and his own was not at all like Thor's. Well, if he could not lift Mjolnir, at least he could be sure that Thor could not either, even if he were to somehow escape his captivity; Mjolnir would never permit herself to be wielded by a Frost Giant.

Nevertheless. Even though he had half-expected this outcome, Mjolnir's obstinacy put a crimp in Loki's plans. He needed Mjolnir, or a reasonable facsimile, to pass for Thor. Loki cast his eyes around the dusty cave, looking for something he could use as a base, and his eyes fell upon a withered old stick: twisted and knotted, about the size of a walking cane.

Loki pulled it loose from where it had been wedged into a crack in the wall, knocking it against the stone to dislodge any remaining roots or debris from it. Then he hefted the stick in his hand and began to cast a spell of transformation upon it, drawing on a thousand years' worth of memory of what Mjolnir should look like.

When he was finished, he held in his hands an identical replica to the hammer itself, although it still weighed as lightly in his hands as the dry wooden stick it truly was. He compared his replica against the original and made a last few modifications - not that anyone was likely to know the weapon well enough to spot the differences, but Loki always did have something of a perfectionist streak.

He swung his new 'hammer' overhead and marveled at what a sight he must make, striking a heroic pose with the legendary weapon held in his hands. Only one thing was left to make it complete...

Loki called upon his own magic and imbued his fake hammer with energy; it was greenish at first, until he adjusted the hue to match Thor's own lightning. He did not have the power of storms in his soul, as Thor did, but lightning was merely another kind of energy, and Loki had no lack of that. When he was finished, his false Mjolnir could spit bolts of bright blue energy that looked, and felt, enough like lightning to fool the casual observer.

Satisfied with his work, Loki hooked the false Mjolnir in belt his the same way Thor always wore it, and went on his way.


A few hours easy travel brought him back to civilization, and from there it did not take him long to reach the Avengers Tower. The mortals had been diligent in their labors, Loki thought; there was barely any sign at all of the damages that Loki had inflicted during his last attempt to destroy the place.

There was new security on each of the doors, technology that Loki recognized as being Stark's. It wasn't bad for Midgard, but it accepted Thor's thumbprint on the glass panel by the front door and Thor's retina scan on the elevator without a hitch. Midgard had yet to develop a biometric device that would identify the user's soul. On the door of the hallway leading to Thor's rooms, there was an actual password lock but Loki, with a thousand years of his brother's habits under his belt, guessed the password on the first try. He had to shake his head. Really, when would Thor stop using tanngrisnir as his password to everything?

His first order of business, Loki thought, was to blend in. He needed to act as normally as possible until he had settled in and gotten the feel for the rhythm of life here, so that he did not attract unwarranted suspicion. At least until his cover was better established, he needed to be as genial, benevolent, affable, and slow-witted as Thor ever was.

Fortunately, that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun in the process. A thousand years of living with Thor had left him with a deep enough well to draw on.

He wandered back into the Avengers common areas: a whole floor devoted to living and recreation rooms, a large dining room and an even larger kitchen. To his disappointment, none of the other Avengers were in residence at the Tower. He had been looking forward to meeting them again in his new guise, completely unwitting and unaware of the danger that lurked within their midst, but it seemed that would have to wake. In the meantime Loki took several long minutes to consult his memories of living with his brother, and set off to make preparations.

He opened all the windows and their attendant screens of the common rooms, allowing the noise and smell and insects of the New York summer inside. He changed from his battle-armor into casual clothes, and carefully arranged his sweat-stained underclothes to drape over communal sofas and coffee tables, capping it off by placing Thor's mud-stained boots prominently on the dining table.

Procuring a quick meal for himself, he dirtied as many dishes as possible, then left them about on strategic surfaces. He rummaged about in the shared refrigerator and found a carton of milk, which he drank straight from the contained, down to the very last drop, and then he set the carton back on the shelf. As a final grace note, he left the freezer door cracked just slightly open, so that everything inside it would melt.

Hours later, as he was reclining on Thor's bed reading through his diary, a knock came at his door. "Come," Loki called up and sat up slightly, eagerly awaiting the fruits of his labor.

It turned out to be the Captain, who had an expression of strained patience stretched thinly over a deep disgruntlement. "Hey, Thor," Rogers greeted him politely. "I just wanted to let you know, you left the freezer door open again. We've talked about this, remember? It wastes electricity."

"Did I truly?" Loki feigned astonishment, while inwardly convulsed with laughter over Thor's predictability. "How careless of me. I am truly sorry. Was there anything else?"

"Yes, actually. Look Thor, I know we've had conversations about how we want you to be comfortable in the common areas, but they're meant to be for everyone, and it's just not okay for you to be constantly leaving your dirty clothes and dishes out in the open. You need to pick up after yourself."

Loki pasted a look of bewilderment over Thor's features. "Does the man of Iron not have servants to maintain his quarters?" he asked. "Should they not earn their keep?"

Steve shut his eyes and groaned. "They're not servants Thor, they're employees," he said. "We've been over this before. And they'll do the deep cleaning, but it's not their job to pick up after us like nannies. I know it's not easy for you to adjust, coming from a different living situation like you do, but please try to have a bit more consideration."

"I shall endeavor to keep it in mind," Loki said solemnly, fighting to keep a straight face. "Good night, Captain Rogers."

With that, he shut the door in his face. Then he went to lie down on Thor's bed, pulled a pillow over his face, and gave in to howls of laughter.


The next morning Loki awoke still in Thor's bed, still in Thor's body. He grinned as he rolled out of the bed and flung the curtains wide to greet the new day. He also had not worn any of Thor's clothes to bed the previous night, but he took the wolf whistle that this elicited from the passersby as his just due.

Thus reminded, however, his next act was to retire to the bathroom for the next hour with a razor specially enchanted to stay sharp, and relieve his new body of its layer of smelly, itchy, irritating hair. In his own body, Loki did not grow hair on his face or body, a fact which irritated him in principle but was much more hygenic and convenient in passing. Somewhat reluctantly Loki left a layer of curly golden hair on his face, and on the tops of his forearms, so that his teammates would have no reason to suspect the sudden change of style. With that completed, and his bare legs much more comfortable in Thor's leggings, he ventured down to the kitchen to find food.

He had pulled out most of the contents of the kitchen and arrayed it around him on the countertops and granite island, happily eating his way through courses of breakfast and non-breakfast foods. Truly, while not comparing to anything on Asgard, the provisions stacked by Stark were of finer quality than any other Loki had been provided with on this dismal world. Fresh waffles with real syrup and crisp cider-cured bacon, mounds of fluffy eggs cooked with salsa and fine cheese, melting ice-cream, slices of roast beef and crisp vegetables on nut-flavored brown bread made a distinct step up from the tough unappetizing rations and stringy half-rotted provisions Loki had subsisted on in his various lairs.

Steve came to a halt when he reached the doorway to the kitchen and saw Loki surrounded by his ravages, but Loki was secure enough in his knowledge of Thor's breakfasting habits to know he was far from at the limits of what Thor would normally consume. He even had an opened package of pop-tarts on the counter beside him for verisimilitude (although he had not lowered himself to actually eating one of the horrid things.)

"Morning, Thor," Steve ventured, and there was a tentative peace offering in it after the scolding of last night. "Hope you slept well last night."

Loki beamed at the man, and did not bother to swallow his mouthful of eggs and roast beef before he answered, "Good morrow, Captain Rogers." Steve shuddered and looked away, but did not comment, so Loki cleared his mouth and added, "I did indeed sleep well."

Much better than he had slept in months, in fact. If the bed was a bit firmer and springier than Loki would have preferred for himself, well, it had it all over bare mattresses with the springs poking through - or simply sleeping in snatched moments on chairs most of the time, as Loki preferred to do when he was required to keep his guard up. As he typically did, when among his 'friends.'

His thoughts were banished by Captain Rogers' voice. "Wow, quite a spread you've got here, huh?" Steve said in an upbeat, jocular tone.

"Indeed, it takes a lot of fuel to maintain a warrior's strength," Loki agreed. A banal observation, but not an untrue one. Truly, Loki had underestimated just how much stoking with fuel Thor's overmuscled body would require. Even in his own form he at enough for three humans, more if he had been spellcasting something particularly strenuous - but Thor's appetite had always put his to shame.

"I guess you Asgardians have to eat a lot to keep your strength up," Steve said, his voice fading as he disappeared behind the refrigerator door to rummage for his own breakfast. Not that he would find much left to satisfy him - Loki had made sure of that.

Still, something in Steve's wording gave Loki an idea, and he seized on it. "You are not wrong, my friend, but the word you used is not the correct one," he said, and took another huge bite of the waffles.

Steve reappeared above the edge of the refrigerator door, his brow knit in bafflement. "Sorry?" he asked.

"You said 'Asgardians,' but you spoke of my biology, " Loki said. "Just so that you know, 'Asgardian' is not the proper term for one of my race."

"It isn't?" Steve blinked.

"Nay. Asgard is the name of our city, and as the greatest city on the realm, the name of our realm as well. As one hailing from the city-realm of Asgard, it is true that I am Asgardian," and that was actually true in a limited sense of the word; he had indeed been raised in Asgard, "but that is not my race, any more than 'American' describes your race."

"Oh." Steve blinked. "Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense. So, what's your race of people called? Uh, if you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all," Loki replied. "We are the Aesir, and it is from our race that the city takes the name, the 'gardr' or keep of the Aesir. There are a few other scattered settlements of Aesir among the other realms - mostly in Vanaheim - but those who live in Asgard, are Asgardians."

"So you're an Aesir." Steve nodded. "Got it."

"Almost, but not quite," Loki said, enjoying himself immensely. "Aesir is the name for the race, or for many men together. A man among my people, such as myself, would be an Ass."

A beat. "An ass?" Steve repeated uncertainly.

"Indeed," Loki beamed. "If I may humbly say, you will find no finer specimen of Ass than myself." He bit enthusiastically into another slice of roast beef.

"Oh... I guess... right," Steve said, at a loss for words. Clearly he was trying to determine if his companion was serious, or setting him up for some fall; yet knowing Thor, he could not imagine such deceit from him. It was more than worth keeping a straight face just to witness his mystification.

"And now that you know, I am sure that you will take care to use the proper address for me in the future, yes?" Loki said cheerfully. "Call me what I am, a great ass. I will be glad to hear of it."

Fortunately for the Captain, he was saved from having to reply by the entrance of Hawkeye, who wandered into the kitchen with a dazed expression worthy of a shell-shocked veteran of the Ice Wars. Or, to be more accurate, a sleepwalker.

"Good morning, my friend Clint!" Loki boomed, his voice calculated for maximum blare. Clint reeled on his feet, and even Steve flinched and glared at him, but before he either of them could respond, he forestalled them by adding "I have brewed coffee, it is on the machine over by the sink."

"Oh thank God," Clint moaned, making a beeline for the promised coffee.

"You are welcome," Loki said modestly, taking the compliment for himself. The coffee was freshly brewed and steaming gently, enticingly.

Clint poured himself a huge mug of it and took a deep swig. The next moment, he did a spittake that decorated his mouthful of coffee all over the sink, counter and floor. (Loki himself was safely out of range - he had measured it.) "What the fuck?" he swore blearily, peering down into his cup in the deepest betrayal.

"Is something amiss?" Loki asked innocently.

"This... is... decaf," Clint said, his voice making it into the most horrific of sins. "This isn't real coffee, what the fuck is this even doing in this house? I need my caffeine, dammit! You know I can't function in the morning without my caffeine!"

"Oh. My apologies," Loki said, summoning as much insincere remorse as he could project. "My people have no need of such artificial crutches to render themselves alert and ready for battle, no matter the circumstance. But even if they did, I fear your 'caffeine' is far too weak and trivial to have an effect upon my physique."

Clint squinted at him blearily, muttering 'blasphemy' under his breath over and over again.

"And thus," Loki concluded, "I could not tell the difference between this 'decaf' coffee and your normal coffee. Truly I am sorry, my friend." He really wasn't sorry. Clint's palpable anguish was even more fun than Steve's reaction had been.

Clint glared at him another moment, then let it drop with a groan. "It's not a big deal, Clint," Steve offered, playing peacemaker. "Just throw it out and start another pot."

Loki watched with morbid fascination as the archer groped his way around the kitchen, near-blind from the puffy-eyed squinting, and prepared another pot of coffee on the machine. Once it was burbling away he shuffled over to the refrigerator and opened it, rummaging around before he emerged triumphant with the carton of milk.

Which, of course, was empty. The tragic horror that crossed his face as he shook the open mouth of the carton over his coffee cup to no avail was truly not to be missed. "Thor," Clint croaked, staring up into the empty mouth of the vessel. "Did you drink the last of the milk and not get more?"

"Did I?" Loki blinked in utter guilelessness. "How careless of me that must have been."

Clint threw the empty carton into the sink. "Thor, you're an ass," he grumbled.

"Yes!" Loki beamed. "That is exactly right! I had faith that you would get the nomenclature correct in the end!"

Steve groaned. Clint gave him a one-fingered salute and shuffled back to his coffee-maker, watching with hypnotic fascination as it dripped slowly down into the pots. Loki finished polishing off his breakfast and excused himself, wondering as he went when the others would think to question where all their eggs had gone.

At the very least, not more than a few days before they'd start to notice the smell.


Captain Rogers had weighed Loki down with a list of chores that needed to be done before the day's end. Under normal circumstances, Loki would have been incensed to be ordered about like a common domestic - but these were hardly normal circumstances. It amused him more than was warranted, perhaps, to imagine Thor on his knees in a maid's costume, scrubbing the floor. For himself - well, he would not be Loki if he could not turn even an unpleasant chore into an opportunity.

Some of the chores on the list were for Tony Stark, who was currently locked away in his workstation tinkering. Loki knew the hallmarks of obsession, knew what it was to be so deeply in the grip of a project that things like food or sleep became incidental distractions; he could almost feel a twinge of admiration for the mortal. (Almost.) After a moment's thought, Loki took a few of the decorative bits of magnet and brightly colored plastic from the side of the refrigerator, and descended to Stark's laboratory.

Once there, he let himself carefully inside and looked around, quickly taking in the layout of the place. If the noises and faint muttering words were any indication, the mortal was just out of sight over a bulky bank of equipment. Holographic screens flickered and glowed around him.

Grinning to himself, Loki stepped up to the side of a bank of machinery and firmly tacked the chores-list to the metal side, affixing them in place with his borrowed magnets. Just as a precaution, he used a small bit of magic to exponentially increase the electromagnetic field of the small bits of metal, guaranteeing that they would extend far enough to affect the machinery inside. Then he let himself quietly out of the lab again. Judging by the rising volume of curses behind him, his plants were already having an effect, although no doubt it would be some time before Stark figured out the cause of his chagrin.


There was not really enough room in the underground chamber to pace; only a few strides between one wall and the next, the floor cluttered with the detritus of broken furniture. Yet pace Thor did, round and round about the cold stone floor until he was nearly ready to faint from dizziness. He had called to Mjolnir many times now, each time with increasingly failing hope; if she had not come yet, she was unlikely to come upon further summons. It was a faint hope to begin with; the spell that summons Mjolnir back to his hand is encoded to match his own biorhythms. Trapped in this wrong body, the enchantment that tied Mjolnir to him would no longer recognize him.

Aside from pacing, there was little else for Thor to do to entertain himself. The room was simple and bare, rock walls and floor and ceiling and only a rickety chair, a thin mattress and a corroded silver mirror as furniture. Thor wondered if Loki used it as a hideout, or a base for planning in the past; the furniture did remind him somewhat of Loki's old rooms in Asgard. His brother had ever been largely indifferent to the comforts of furnishings.

Indifferent to other comforts, as well. There was no food in this tiny underground bubble, and that worry niggled in the back of Thor's mind, though it would not become a serious problem for a long time yet. His people could live many months without food, up to a year before starvation begins to truly degrade the body; and though he is somewhat hungry already, it has not yet progressed beyond slight discomfort.

There was a small spring of cold, clear water running down one wall, pooling in a corner before disappearing out some tiny drain. Thor slakes his thirst with it, and is grateful that the water appears to be pure. Thor is not sure what to make of this mixed message, leaving him with water but no food. Thirst would kill him long before hunger did; does this mean that Loki wants to keep him alive, intends to come back for him later for some unknown purpose? But then why leave no food? Unless he means to tame Thor with hunger. Unless he means to subject him to the slow, drawn-out death of starvation, Loki's final and cruellest revenge. But the body he currently inhabits is Loki's own; surely he would not want to damage his own flesh so? For that, he would need to bear a great hate for Thor and for himself.

Or maybe he'd just forgotten. Thor honestly couldn't say at this point which was the most likely option.

For all the precariousness of his current situation, it was not himself that Thor feared for the most. In the face of this reminder of Loki's cruelty and ruthlessness, he was more anxious than anything for the safety of his teammates and friends. Loki had never cared for the mortal heroes known as the Avengers; they had foiled his plots too many times but even beyond that, he had always displayed a virulent hostility towards them that, to Thor's centuries-trained eye as a brother, smacked of jealousy. Whether he was jealous of them for the attention and loyalty bestowed on them by Thor, or jealous of Thor for having such stalwart companions to guard his back, Thor had never been clear.

Whatever the reasons for his hostility were not as important as what means he might take to act on it, now that Thor was safely out of the way. The Avengers were strong, capable warriors, but even the most vigilant of warriors could not be on guard at all times - would not be on guard in their own home base, from those they thought to be their friends.

It was worse than Thor merely not being around to protect them. Thor had fostered ties of goodwill and trust with the Avengers, bonds of trust that Loki would now use without ruth or mercy. Thor writhed in an agony of guilt and fear, his brain coming up with more and more horrific fates to be visited upon his friends in his absence. Not only in his absence, but bearing his face, the last face they might ever see if Loki turned on them. Who knew what inventive torments Loki might be inflicting upon the Avengers in his absence?


"I have returned from my mission!" Loki called out as he crossed into the Avengers mansion, slinging a brace of plastic sacks onto the table. He carefully amplified his voice so that his next words would be clearly audible to everyone in the house. "Lady Natasha, as per our friend Steve's request, I have purchased a great quantity of these so called 'tampons' for your use, though I know not to what purpose you may put them!"

Loki was glad that he had Aesir hearing right now, because no mortal ears could have caught the delicious responses that provoked; the comical thump on the floor from Clint's room, the actual literal sputtering noise of Steve Rogers from the kitchen next door. He couldn't see their faces but oh, he could imagine them.

And here came the Black Widow herself, appearing from out of a shadow in response to her summons. Her face was carefully blank, but Loki could read the irritation that she was trying to conceal - from anyone else she might have succeeded, but Loki was a master of deception. He kept his own expression brainlessly pleasant and benevolent, pointing to the plastic sack containing the items of offense.

"I thought perhaps they were bandages," he said helpfully, "so I got the ones that said 'EXTRA HEAVY.' Will those be sufficient in capacity?"

He was rewarded with seeing the crease between her eyebrows deepen, a muscle in her cheek twitch with the annoyance she couldn't quite suppress. "Thanks, Thor," she said in a carefully neutral voice, and collecting the tampons from the coffee table. She gave him one more intense look - he kept the pleasant expression up perfectly - before withdrawing to whatever cranny she had come from.

He barely refrained from snickering as he exited the room in the other direction. Tormenting the Avengers was such hungry work, and he thought there was still some sliced meats in the refrigerator that he had not yet spoiled.


~to be continued...