Every Judas Loved His Jesus
Chapter 2
When hurtling through the void of space, the fall and the sudden stop are the same thing.
Every moment was agony. Gravity pulled at Loki from all angles, until he felt as if his skin had been drawn from his bones and ice crammed into every open space and pore. The breath was ripped from his lungs and his eyes bulged and burned in their sockets. He crashed against the seams of the universe without ever halting his mad descent. It wasn't anything like gliding down the waves of the Bifrost. It wasn't slipping through the cracks between the worlds. It was chaotic and terrifying, and it stole from Loki every rational and erratic thought, until desperation blocked out all other sensations, even hope. Even guilt.
He didn't know how long it took. Hours, days, weeks, or longer. He twisted and tumbled and reached, until a spark flashed at the furthest edge of his perception. Panic made way for instinct and he latched on with all the meager strength he had left. It was magic and it was familiar, so he staked all his faith on it. He passed through the eye of the cosmos and fell through the other side, into solid air - and then into glass, and metal, and at last, nothing at all.
"Did you call her? Is she on her way?"
"Yes - yes, I told you already."
"We shouldn't be doing this until she gets here..."
Loki shuddered, and all around him creatures flinched back in alarm. They weren't threats so he ignored them in favor of the pain throbbing all through him. His skin felt too tight, breaking in any place he moved too much. There was air in his lungs but it tasted like blood. Distantly he was aware that he had used too much of his magic righting his course through the cosmos - it would take time, and strength he didn't have, to repair his injuries.
"Oh God, he's alive. We have to call-"
"No! No cops. Just...get him out of there."
Metal scraped against metal and glass crackled. Loki forced his eyes open but his vision was no more than a gray smear. He was still trying to locate the source of the worst of his pain when hands fell over him, and with a gasp he cast them off.
"Don't touch me!" His bones felt only loosely connected but he forced them to obey, clamoring to his feet. His stability didn't last. Something twisted in his knee and he managed only a few steps before colliding with a cold stone wall. The impact shoved something sharp that was already embedded in his abdomen to slide deeper, and he gagged, pawing at it.
"Wait - stop." It was a woman's voice emptying out of a blur of white and red. "You'll just-"
"Get it out," Loki heaved, cutting his fingers on what felt like glass lodged below his ribs. "Get this out of me!"
He yanked on the shard, and though several voices fearfully objected, one pair of hands closed over his and helped him pull it free. Blood poured from the wound and Loki doubled over, coming close to vomiting. Someone tried to staunch the flow, but when he squeezed his eyes shut and finally concentrated, the flesh began to stitch together. When men and women crowded closer, he impatiently waved them off.
"Don't touch me," Loki wheezed, groping over his body and dislodging shards and splinters where he found them. His magic had not yet replenished enough that he could heal them all, but with the worst at least sealed he managed to reclaim some composure. He scraped the back of his palm over his eyes and tried again to view the room.
"Where am I?" Loki could make out only hazy shapes amidst gleaming, artificial lights. There was a smell of burning and electricity, and the familiarity put him on edge. "What are you-where is this?" he cried.
"Callicoon," said someone, and was instantly hissed quiet by her peers.
"We're not going to hurt you," said a man. "Just calm down."
"Where am I?" Loki demanded again. It was too warm to be Jotunnheim. Too cold to be Muspelheim. "What realm is this?"
A confused murmur spread among them, which was answer enough for Loki. His balanced failed him and he dropped to his knees. His mind reeled, and just when he thought he might succumb again to unconsciousness, a new voice cut above the rest.
"This is Midgard."
Loki sighed. "At least one of you knows its proper name," he grumbled.
"You're a long way from home, Asgardian."
Loki stiffened, and watched guardedly as a woman crouched down in front of him. She was strongly built for a human female, dressed in the same white coat as her peers, her hair shaved close to her head. "That's what you are, aren't you?" she said, her voice soft with appropriate reverence. "You're from Asgard."
He licked blood off his lips. "Who are you?"
She bowed her head. "My name is Johanna Schmidt," she said.
"Schmidt," Loki repeated. The name shuddered down his spine with a cold not unlike the emptiness of infinity. He stared blearily around the space that was finally growing clear to him: the monitors and electronics and crude, human attempts at power. Scientists. "Of Johan Schmidt's line?" She nodded, and he nearly gagged again. "You're of HYDRA."
"I'm honored you know us by that name," the woman said.
Her subservience, though obvious and correct, only made Loki squirm in his skin. He sagged into the wall at his back with a bitter chuckle. Having been cast out of Asgard, having survived the ravages of Yggdrasil's embrace, he had landed here, in the realm of mortal wretches. And of all the scurrying ants to have cradled his fall he had found himself in the arms of the only ones he had reason to know, to hate, to blame for having lost a treasured pet. He had fled the wrath of his brother only to fling himself into the maggots glutted on his brother's blood.
Fate had never played so clever a trick on one so well-versed in the art, and as the mortals watched in confusion and fear, he laughed himself sick.
For the next three hours after awakening in New York, Steve Rogers operated more or less on autopilot. He allowed the men in black suits to take him back to their lab, where he was given a complete physical. It was a bit more involved than he remembered. They took samples of his blood, sweat, and bone marrow. They measured, weighed, and photographed almost every inch of him. They took his pulse and temperature, and for a few minutes, they claimed to be monitoring his brain waves. Director Fury came and went in between the procedures but he didn't have much to offer in the way of information. Steve wasn't interested in how they had found the wreckage of the bomber or how expensive it had been to salvage it.
"I know this must be overwhelming," said Fury with a semi-sardonic tone that reminded him too much of Col. Phillips. "But do you have any questions so far?"
Steve glanced from the nurse collecting his fingernail clippings to the mess of wires that stood atop his head not unlike an over-loaded electrical outlet on Christmas. His lips quirked. "Did we at least win the war?"
Fury raised an eyebrow. "I'm not speaking German, am I?"
Once the lab was convinced that Steve was in good shape for having risen from the dead, they released him to Director Fury, and they left the city together in a helicopter. "You've been legally dead for over half a century," Fury said over the thud of the blades. "You don't own any property, you don't have any money. I'm sure the army owes you some back pay, but I wouldn't hold my breath. Officially, you're still dead. You don't exist."
Steve stared out the window, watching the scenery trickle past. If he was supposed to be feeling something, it wasn't working. He kept thinking that at any moment he would open his eyes to miles of freezing ocean. "So where are we going?" he asked without looking back.
"Someplace I can keep my eye on you, until we figure out what comes next."
They landed at a military base, a dour, gray installation even in full sunlight. A group of buildings each several stories tall squatted together on the water's edge, all sharp metal edges and too many windows. People in dark suits bustled about, hurried but not urgent, casting only the briefest interest on the helicopter. Even when they disembarked there was only one man waiting to greet them. It wasn't exactly the hero's welcome Steve could have hoped for.
Steve's apprehension was calmed at least somewhat when the man snapped into a military salute, and instinctually he did the same. "Captain Rogers," he greeted crisply. "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D Central."
"Thank you, sir," Steve replied automatically.
Fury glanced between them with amusement. "Captain, this is Agent Phil Coulson." He waved a hand. "At ease, already."
"Captain," said Coulson, extending his hand. Steve took it and received a sturdy handshake. "It's an honor to meet you. I've been a fan of your work for a long time."
"Thank you, sir." His choice of address made Coulson nearly beam with approval.
"Agent Coulson's volunteered to show you around the base," said Fury. "This will be your home for the time being, so get cozy." He shook Steve's hand again, though there was nowhere near the same sincerity in his gesture as in Coulson's. "I'll be in touch."
Steve wasn't sure if thanks were in order, but Fury didn't give him a chance to offer any, so it was just as well. At least Coulson was much more agreeable. Though his smile was reserved there was a lightness in his manner that reminded Steve of the young boys that were his most stalwart fans in his time as mascot. He led Steve into one of the buildings, through an immaculate lobby and up to the fourth floor.
"We've arranged a room for you," Coulson explained, sliding a card into the "keyhole" of room 404. "Most of the civilian staff has residences off site, but our agents come and go, so it's more convenient for them to stay on the base when they're needed." He opened the door to a modest but well-made apartment, with a small sitting area, desk and chair, kitchenette. Adjoining bedroom and bathroom. "It's not much," he continued, apologetic, as Steve wandered the few paces between each room. "Once it's been decided if you'll be staying with us, we can arrange for you to have one of the penthouses on the upper floor, or somewhere off site, if you want."
"When it's been decided," Steve repeated. He paused at the window, which overlooked the lively courtyard. "Who decides that?"
Coulson started to answer but paused, thinking better of it. "I'm sorry, Captain. But to be honest, that's above my clearance, if you know what I mean."
Steve sighed. "I know what you mean."
Coulson switched the subject. "This is your key card," he said, handing Steve the card he had used getting into the room. "Keep it with you at all times - it's the only way you can get around the base. You're at level 2 clearance now, which will let you into most places in this building, including the laundry, the cafeteria, and the gym on the third floor."
Steve turned away from the window with renewed interest. "Gym?"
The gym wasn't empty when they arrived. A man and a woman were at the center of a matted area, dressed for training and involved in some kind of wrestling spar. Steve only caught the last few moments of the match: the woman, in movements almost too fast for even him to have guarded against, twisted her legs around her opponent's arm and shoulders and yanked him to the mats with an impressive thud.
"Okay okay okay!" the man yelped. "Uncle, for God's sake."
The woman flashed a smile. It was only an instant, mostly hidden by the dance of her scarlet hair, breathless and almost delicate and not meant for anyone to see. Steve saw it. As soon as she realized that she was being watched she released her partner and gracefully stood. Her close-fitting top and bare midriff were far from standard issue but Steve did his best not to take too much notice.
"Agent Barton," Coulson greeted with a hint of a smirk. "Enjoying your time off?"
The man on the floor didn't make any attempt to get up until Coulson offered his hand. "Doesn't it look like it?"
"This is Agents Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff," said Coulson. "Two of our top operatives." Handshakes were shared all around. "And this is Captain Steve Rogers. A...special guest of Director Fury's. I want you two to make him feel welcome while you're around."
"Yeah, sure," said Clint flippantly, but Natasha held Steve's gaze with clear interest.
"Captain Rogers. I read your file." She looked him up and down, which alerted Clint back into the conversation. "I look forward to seeing what you think you can do for S.H.I.E.L.D."
"I'm not sure yet that I'll be doing anything for S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve replied truthfully. His eyes were drawn to the well-trained curve of her biceps. "In fact, I'm still not entirely sure what all this is."
"We solve the problems that other people can't solve," said Natasha. She cocked her head to the side. "From what I understand, you used to be pretty good at that."
Steve smiled without humor. "For my time, I guess."
Clint glanced between them. "Um...okay. I guess I should have read up for this."
"Will you please brief agent Barton on the situation?" Coulson asked of Natasha. "If you'll excuse us."
"Pleasure meeting you," Steve said as Coulson herded him out of the gym. The two agents nodded and then turned to each other, talking in hushed tones.
It wasn't until they reached the cafeteria that Steve realized he hadn't actually eaten anything since waking up that afternoon. His stomach felt both tight and hollow as he watched the sparse collection of workers milling about, lazily chatting. Coulson was just suggesting they sit down for a late lunch when something in his pocket buzzed, and he answered what could have only been a phone.
"Coulson. What, already?" He frowned sharply and checked his watch. "I told him not until five." He sighed. "All right; I'm on my way." He hung up and looked guiltily to Steve. "I'm sorry, but there's something that needs my attention. But help yourself to whatever you like, and give your card to the cashier at the end. Everything's on us." He gave Steve's hand another enthusiastic shake. "I'll come back for you - it shouldn't take more than a few minutes."
"Thank you." Steve watched him go, and stood indecisively for a minute, still watching the flow of strangers. Part of him wanted to just go back to the room, fall into bed and sleep, maybe for another seventy years. It was his stomach deciding that hunger outweighed awkwardness which propelled him into line. He filled his tray with several cheeseburgers, fries, a fully loaded salad, two bananas, milk, and orange juice. The cashier raised her eyebrows and glanced behind him as if expecting to spot a guest, then ran his card through her machine.
"Bon appétit," she said.
Steve stood overlooking the room. There were almost a dozen men and women spread out amongst the tables, some in black uniforms, others in suits and blouses. Several of the groups had open seats but none looked particularly inviting. Steve fidgeted, daunted by the idea of simply approaching and introducing himself. As many times as his situation had been explained to him, he had no idea how to go about describing it to someone else.
Before he could make up his mind to find an empty table, he realized that he wasn't alone; a woman with a tray of her own was standing next to him, surveying the room with the same half-eager, mostly unsure look he was. Skinny, brunette, with her hair pushed back by a headband, dressed in a striped button-down shirt and slacks, she didn't look any different from the rest of the diners but still managed to appear out of place. When she noticed him next to her, she blushed and smiled.
"It's kind of like high school all over again, huh?" she said.
Steve smiled back. "Yeah." There was nothing to do but offer, "Want to sit together?"
"Sure," she piped and then, realizing her over-eagerness, blushed darker. "I mean, I'm new here." She led them to an empty table and sat down. "There's only one or two people here I know, but I'd rather not eat alone. Too many flashbacks from eighth grade."
"I know the feeling." Steve sat opposite her and felt a flash of embarrassment - it actually might have been eighth grade when he last ate with a girl. It seemed like more than a lifetime ago. "I'm new, too," he said, trying to at least fake normalcy. "Steve Rogers."
"Jane Foster." She shook his hand, and he noticed her stare at, then try not to look like she was staring at his mountain of a meal. "Do they have all you agents on three thousand calorie diets?" she teased.
Steve chuckled. "I couldn't help it. I haven't had an American cheeseburger in..." He managed not to wince. "A long time."
He bit into one. It wasn't quite like coming home - the meat was tough and the greens wilted - but the tangy beef, the melty cheese, even the crisp of dill pickles invigorated him. He was starving, and he suddenly wished he had chosen to eat alone, so that his companion wouldn't have to watch him devour his meal.
"Wow. I can see that." Jane giggled and dug into her own dinner at a more moderate pace. "Were you deployed? Oh, right." She rolled her eyes. "You probably can't talk about that, huh. We're all secret agents now or something."
Steve washed down his first cheeseburger with the milk. "Actually, I guess right now I'm back to being a civilian," he said. He gave a helpless shrug. "It's a long story."
"Yeah...mine too." She sighed. "And classified, unfortunately. I wish these people would understand that scientists need to actually communicatewith each other to make advancements. You can't revolutionize in a bubble."
Steve straightened. "You're a military scientist?"
"Well," said Jane. "Sort of." She pushed her salad around her plate, organizing the almonds and cranberries into what seemed like an intentional arrangement. "I am a scientist - an astrophysicist, actually. It's the military part that's not certain yet. They invited me to do my research here, but for now I'm just checking it out. I'm not sure if I'm going to stay on permanently."
"Why wouldn't you?" asked Steve, moving on to the fries.
Jane tried to answer several times before she got it right. "It's just all so sudden," she said. "Two weeks ago I was roaming the desert in a van, and now I'm back east, right where I said I didn't want to be, surrounded by all these men-in-black with their secrecy and code names and what have you. It's just..." She dropped her chin into her palm. "I don't know. It's an amazing opportunity, it really is. I guess I just never thought that the United States military would have a need for someone like me."
Steve stared past her, his smile faint. "Yeah. I know just how you feel."
Midgardian food was bitter, textureless filth, but Loki ate it. He gulped down the meager offerings of too-soft bread and dull meat and sour fruits. Even the water was heavy and unpleasant on his tongue, but he was still weak, too weak to defend himself from even the poorest of Asgard's sentries, if any happened to come looking. It was a foolish worry and an even more foolish hope. Not even the eyes of Heimdall were on him now.
Johanna, sat across from him, and it was through her that all gifts of food and drink were made. Her peers knew to keep their distance. "HYDRA has had knowledge of Asgard and its people for decades now," she said as she poured wine into his cup. "Ever since their DNA was discovered at the ruins outside Tonsberg. But we've had only Earth's legends to depend on for details. We know almost nothing about the true nature of Asgard and its people."
Loki tasted the wine - it was disgusting, but he drank it anyway. "You are better off that way," he said bitterly.
"I've waited my whole life to meet you," she persisted. "Won't you tell us anything?"
He considered a lie and realized it didn't matter. "You know me as Loki." An excited murmur spread among the scientists gathered near the room's exit. Their enthusiasm was very little comfort to him.
"Loki," Johanna repeated reverently. "Can I ask why you've come?"
A lie suddenly mattered very much. Loki took his time, until he was running out of pale nutrients to consume. The memory was still very close to his surface, seething like an open wound. "I sensed something," he recalled. "Magic I was familiar with." He finished his wine and when Johanna started to offer more, he waved her off. "But I must have been mistaken. You humans aren't capable of that kind of magic."
Johanna considered for a moment and then stood. "If you'll come with me, I think I can show you what it was you felt."
She led him back to the room he had first awoken in. It was a laboratory of some sort, lined with all manner of peculiar human machines, and at the center a wreckage of broken metal. A harsh landing for a weary god. HYDRA's men and women were moving about the debris, trying to sort through what was unsalvageable versus recognizable. Hard afternoon sunlight beat down from a ragged hole in the ceiling.
"We were testing our new reactor," said Johanna, stepping carefully over the strewn wires, plates, and shards of glass. Loki's blood smeared under her boot. "Built from the ground up using plans stolen from Stark Industries. They call it an arc reactor."
Loki moved past her. The workers gave him a wide berth but he paid them no notice, instead crouching down among the shattered glass. When he touched his fingertips to the pieces he could still feel the lingering heat. But more than that, he sensed it once again - a hint of ancient magic that made no sense in a mortal lab. Frowning, he stepped into the center of the room and looked up through the open roof.
"It's still here," he murmured. He turned in a circle and imagined the energies he had sensed flying loose, twirling around him. He looked to Johanna. "It's not possible for mortals to create energy like this."
Johanna knew better than to let pride show in her face. "Everything in this lab was made by my people, if not myself," she said.
"You must have had help." When an answer occurred to Loki he marched out of the debris. "This power - it came from the Tesseract, didn't it?" He snatched her by the arm. "You still have it?"
"No," said Johanna, leaning back. "I'm sorry, we don't. Not for seventy years." Her eyes widened. "But let me show you something else."
HYDRA's scientists tailed from a distance as Johanna took Loki out of the building, into a smaller one guarded by heavy doors and an iron padlock. Inside was a storeroom lined with shelves and racks bearing various weapons: guns and rifles, mostly. Loki glanced over them with disinterest until he realized that he recognized some. He ran his fingers over the muzzles; he could no longer feel their heat, but there were imprints within that he could sense.
"These are the weapons HYDRA used in the war," said Loki as he moved down the short hall. "Powered by the magic siphoned from Father's Tesseract."
"We've kept them all this time," Johanna confirmed. "But their power ran out ages ago. They're useless to us until we can find a suitable energy source. That's why we've spent the last several years trying to perfect the arc reactor."
"You are trying to mimic the power of the Tesseract."
"Yes."
Loki's fingers danced over the shelves. Some of the weapons had been fired more than others, he could tell. Some had deeper traces of the Tesseract's unique energy within them. It had been centuries since he had been in its presence but he remembered its impossible light, its pulsing radiance. He remembered the burns on his fingertips. And he laughed. The humans flinched back and he laughed at them.
"You poor, little fools," he scorned. "Do you not understand? The Tesseract cannot be imitated. Its power is ancient - limitless. You can make energy that smells like it, perhaps, but you will never mime even a fracture of its greatness." His hand closed over the grip of the rifle nearest him. "You understand nothing of power."
Loki yanked the weapon from its holds, and the humans retreated in fear - even the stone-faced Johanna backed out of the storeroom with cold panic in her eyes. He stalked past them, into the muddy clearing between the buildings of their pathetic compound. Tall deciduous trees loomed about the perimeter, and from them Loki picked the broadest trunk. His weapon was bulky, crude, and ugly, but he hefted it to his shoulder and curled his finger over the trigger.
He squeezed. His magic was run raw but it was that weary desperation that fueled the weapon with best effectiveness. To the shock of his onlookers a stream of blue-white energy issued from the muzzle and crashed into the targeted tree, rippling up and down its foundations, from the tips of its branches to the deepest roots. Ice crippled it, and within seconds the bark was crackling off in sheets, until the entire tree collapsed beneath its own weight and shattered across the earth with an earsplitting thunder.
Loki offered the gun to Johanna, who accepted with a tremble in her hands. She looked between Loki and the gleaming hill of debris with almost accusatory shock. "These weapons were used up a long time ago," she tried to say again.
"Your predecessor designed these weapons to be powered by raw energy," Loki told her impatiently. "You mortals might think that different from magic, but it is all the same. Only the form differs." His head swam from the over-expenditure of his own power, and he faked a pain in his injured side so that he would have an excuse to lean back against the storeroom wall. "You waste your time changing energy from one form to another - it's quantity that you lack. Only the Tesseract itself will give you enough power to fuel these weapons so that they'll be of any use to you.
Johanna stared down at the rifle with a sudden gleam of understanding that Loki easily interpreted. His heart beat a little faster. "Do you know where it is?" he demanded.
"Not exactly." Johanna handed the rifle to one of her men, who spirited it back into the storeroom. "We know that it was recovered by Howard Stark after Herr Schmidt lost it. He used it to conceptualize the first arc reactor. But the government has it now. One of their research facilities must have it but we don't know which one."
Loki tensed and pushed away from the wall. "Tell me everything."
Back inside the main structure, Loki shed his tattered and bloodied clothing. Without the strength to heal his remaining injuries himself, he allowed, for the time being, a human physician to clean and apply salve to his many cuts and bruises. The human wine was still repulsive but it dulled his senses well enough.
"After the war, HYDRA was scattered," Johanna continued to explain. "As many weapons were guarded and stockpiled as was possible. But with the loss of Dr. Zola, and the cube itself, what remained of the army was crippled. It took decades for the survivors to band together. They tried to continue their research but it was difficult to find funding and security. By the time I became an officer there was only one option left."
Loki eyed the human garments being offered him with skepticism, but ultimately accepted. "You migrated to this province," he surmised as he fastened the tiny white buttons over his chest.
"An arms dealer here in the States offered to fund our research, if we promised to share our findings and sell some of the weapons we'd accumulated. I agreed." Her tone took a bitter turn. "But like I said, without the Tesseract our weapons were useless, and our scientists were no match for Stark. About half a year ago - when the Iron Man appeared - we were ejected from our facility and forced to leave most of our equipment behind. That's why we're forced to hide out here in the middle of nowhere to conduct our tests."
"Stark," Loki mused. Once fully dressed he resembled the humans almost too much, but there was nothing to be done about it. "He achieved more than I expected of him. And so, what will you do, Johanna Schmidt?" He pulled the remaining wine back to him and sat down. "I expect your HYDRA ideals have not wavered even after all this time."
"Of course not," she said immediately. She leaned against her elbows. "Now, more than ever, Johan Schmidt's objectives must be carried out. You've seen the state of this world. The way governments fight petty battle after battle, never willing to take the final steps. If only someone-"
"Yes, yes," Loki interrupted. He poured himself a fresh glass and drank. "I'm sure mortals have not changed overly much since my last visit."
Johanna watched him. She looked frustrated and maybe hurt, maybe disappointed. It reminded him of Sif. "What will you do, God Loki?" she asked. "I've told you everything about us, even after you destroyed our reactor, but you've given me nothing in return. Not even proof of your identity."
Loki didn't look up from the wine swirling his glass. It truly was awful. "You have proof," he said. "Your workers cleaned my blood from the floor. Surely you're having it tested as we speak."
Johanna said nothing, so he continued. "If you are anything like your namesake, I know what it is you want most. You want his power." His lips curled in a bitter smile. "But the last man I gave my blood to did not have a fitting end. You must know that."
"You know what I want," Johanna said. "What do you want?"
Loki pressed his thumb hard into the lip of his glass. He didn't have an answer.
Jane was a champion small-talker, and Steve had never been more grateful for it. He needed only to prod her along and she led the conversation beautifully. He didn't quite understand everything but it didn't matter. He was still half convinced that he would wake up at any moment.
Steve had finished his lunch, and was accepting what remained of Jane's, when music started playing from her pocket. She excused herself and answered the phone. "Hi, Erik. Yeah, sorry, I got hung up talking to...hm?" Her eyes went wide. "What, right now? Jeez, I thought he wasn't coming until five." She popped out of her chair and piled her garbage onto her tray. "Okay, okay, I'm coming."
"Is something wrong?" asked Steve, finishing off the last banana.
"Tony Stark is here early," she said, and instinctually Steve stood from his chair. "Damn it, this whole project could hinge on this and he's over an hour early - I needed to be there." She scooped her tray up and started to leave until she remembered she wasn't actually talking to herself. "Steve - I'm sorry, but I have to run."
"Tony Stark?" Steve repeated. He gathered his own things and followed her to the trashcans. "As in Stark Industries?"
"Yeah." She grinned. "Unreal, isn't it? Not every day you meet a celebrity. Or are late in meeting one." She dumped her trash and headed for the door, Steve on her heels.
"He's not by any chance related to Howard Stark, is he?"
Jane shot him an incredulous look. "Well of course he is - Howard Stark was his father." She chuckled. "You really don't keep up on a lot of news, do you?"
Steve didn't try to counter. "Can I come with you?" he asked instead. "To meet him?"
"Oh...I don't know. I guess it'll depend on your clearance."
They took the stairs down to the lobby and from there crossed the courtyard to another, less architectural and more practical building. Jane let them into the lobby: small, circular, gray, with a security desk at the center and five glass doors leading in different directions. A tall, red-headed woman was seated near the wall, tapping away at something, but it was beyond the middle door that Steve's attention was drawn. Agent Coulson was in there, speaking to an older man and a shorter, dark-haired man in an expensive-looking suit. The way he was standing, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing as he spoke, reminded Steve instantly of Howard.
Jane hurried to the door and swiped her ID, but the man behind the security desk stood before Steve could follow. "Sir, I'm sorry but you don't have clearance to be in here."
"But I..." Steve gestured to conversation going on past the door. "I just wanted to meet-"
"Sir, please stand back."
"Um, wait here," said Jane. "I'll see if I can coax him out for you." With a harried grin she joined her peers inside.
The guard gave Steve a heavy look, so he stepped back, his hands placating. He watched, antsy, as Jane greeted the three men and shook Tony's hand. After all the strangeness of that day it brought a smile to his face, remembering the times they used to joke about Howard and the likelihood of him fathering children all across the European front.
"Excuse me." The red-head tapped him on the shoulder. "Is it Tony you're here to see?"
Steve blinked at her in confusion. "Yes?"
"Can I help you?" When he continued to stare, she offered, "I'm Pepper Potts, his assistant."
"Steve Rogers," he introduced himself automatically. "I'm sorry, I don't want to interrupt anything, it's just..." He smiled sheepishly, having no idea how to explain. He wasn't even sure what he intended to say to Tony himself. "Maybe another time would be better."
Pepper smiled at him sideways. "You don't look like an agent. You're not here for an autograph, are you?"
"Well, I..." He chuckled. "Actually, maybe I am."
Inside, Tony finally noticed them. He looked twice and, with what appeared to be protests from Coulson, headed for the door. "Potts," he said as he slipped into the lobby. "What did I tell you about cavorting with the natives while we're here?"
Pepper heaved a sigh that was as much amusement as irritation. "Really, Tony, cavorting?"
Jane and the rest of her peers followed, and suddenly it was a production, Steve glancing between them in embarrassment. He gulped. Somehow, a room full of strangers was more intimidating that the front lines. "Steve Rogers," he introduced himself to anyone left who cared to know. Tony was eyeing him with a strange look but at least he shook Steve's hand when it was offered, and he followed up by blurting out, "I knew your father."
Tony's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise, but soon settled into confusion and even wariness. "Huh," he said. "No kidding."
"I know it sounds strange, but it's the truth." He tried not to wince beneath the many perplexed faces staring him down. "Sorry to have interrupted your meeting for this, I'm just glad to be able to meet you."
"Look," said Tony, "if you're another of Fury's spies you can just say so at this point, because really, my dad?" He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Dead twenty years now, so unless he was a judge at your school science fair or something, I really don't know what you're trying to pull here."
"Mr. Stark," said Coulson, but Steve was already shaking his head.
"I'm not trying to pull anything," he said. "Honestly. But it's kind of a long story."
"Not interested." Tony faced Jane. "Are you ready or not?"
She straightened. "O-Of course I'm ready." She flashed Steve an awkward but sympathetic look and then turned, with her elder colleague, back toward the labs. "Whenever you are, Mr. Stark."
They started to go, but as they did Coulson took Tony by the elbow and said something close to his ear. Steve couldn't hope to interpret the expression that came over Tony - tense, and full of history. "Not interested," he said again, and then, without looking back, called, "We'll only be a few minutes, Dear."
"I'll be here," Pepper replied.
Coulson ushered the group on and then turned back. "Sorry about that, Captain," he said. "I had hoped to brief Mr. Stark on your unique circumstances before you were introduced."
"Wait, then it's true?" Pepper looked Steve over incredulously. "You really knew Tony's father?"
Steve could have told her the truth. He could have attempted to explain in hopes that Tony would at least understand, through her, that it hadn't been a con. He could have said "It's a long story" and let Coulson fill in the rest, but he suddenly felt five feet tall again. He was exhausted and frustrated and all he managed to utter was, "Excuse me," before walking out.
The courtyard bustle had diminished, leaving only a few black-suits to stare curiously at the retreating Steve. He didn't make it far. Halfway down the path his knees felt week and he stumbled, bracing himself against a concrete garden wall. The cold stone scraped across his palm, stinging and undeniably real. When he had his balance he leaned back and watched the raw skin flex with every movement of his fingers.
"Captain?" Coulson approached slowly and stopped a few paces away. "Are you all right?"
Steve leaned against the wall and looked around him. He tried to tell himself that if he stared long enough he would find something familiar, even if it was in something as simple as the trees lining the grounds, the hazy afternoon clouds, the sound of distant water. He breathed in the coastal air and willed it to calm him. But when he closed his eyes all he could hear was a rush of air and ice, gunfire and tank wheels, a man's fading scream and a hurried wait, all at the edges of his perception as if at the end of a long tunnel he couldn't traverse.
Coulson touched his shoulder. "Captain?" he asked again, gently.
Steve let his hand fall. "I'm not going back," he said.
"No." Coulson gave him a squeeze. "I'm afraid not." When Steve couldn't manage anything else, Coulson nudged him away from the wall. "Come on," he said. "I'll take you back to your room."
Steve followed, only because he couldn't think of anywhere else to go. "I just don't understand," he murmured, staring blindly at the passing strangers. "Any of it."
"I know. I'm sorry; I don't have any answers for you." Coulson took a deep breath. "But I do know that we need you, now more than ever, and we're going to do everything we can for you." When Steve looked at him, he repeated, "We need you, Captain."
It was hollow comfort, but he knew what Peggy would say, if she were beside him. "I'll do my best, sir."
Loki watched the sky burn from blue into orange. The wind grew soft and cool, prickling his skin through the thin fabric of his borrowed clothing. It wasn't until the sun dipped behind the trees that the true cold rolled in; he wrapped his arms close, but his shivers were too deep to suppress. Soon the daylight would shrivel up and leave the black of space and a billion points of light, gleaming down on him like a hungry beast denied its prey. Loki felt its pull with every star that trickled into view, as if the gravity of the cosmos still had its hold on him, eager to draw him back to its abyss.
As a child he had stared into Asgard's horizon with relish. The branches of Yggdrasil had been as much a home to him as Asgard itself, and he had taken pride in his mastery of them. It would never be that way again, and he mourned the loss as much as the many others he had suffered.
Loki hunched over his knees, watching the humans scuttling between their structures from his rooftop vantage. They were ugly and powerless and pathetic, unenlightened, warmongering, cowardly. The specimens below him were especially foolish and weak; having lost their bid for power they had no choice but to cower in the wilds as failures. But the worst of their sins, the one Loki could not forgive them for, was their lack of self-awareness.
Humans didn't know how small they were. They had no knowledge of the immensity of the cosmos, nor the frailty of their own existence. They thought themselves princes among the stars but they were merely paupers, oblivious to the scorn fixed on them by all beings of reason and power. How dare they be that naïve. Loki's jaw clenched until it ached and he hated them for not even knowing what they were.
"Lord Loki?"
Loki turned just enough to glare at the approaching figure: one of Johanna's scientists. She was still dressed in a white lab coat, her red hair a mess of irreparable curls. He recognized her as the smear that had helped pull the glass from his stomach, and when he glanced to her hands, the gauze wrapped around her fingers confirmed it. "What?" he grumbled.
"I...don't mean to disturb you," the woman said. She edged closer skittishly and made a great effort to choose her words. "I just - that is, we just wanted to know if you'll be staying with us. We don't have much to offer, but if you needed a room..."
Loki turned away. It didn't matter where he went or slept. It didn't even matter that he was alive because he had nothing. Infinity separated him from his home, a hopeless terrain he dared not attempt to cross again. Even if he had that courage, only punishment awaited him on the other side. He was alone with only the conviction that if he did reveal himself to Heimdall, prove he had survived, without the Bifrost there was no chance of pursuit or rescue. He would still be doomed to walk amongst mortals knowing his brother watched him from the heavens, hating him.
The woman sat down next to him. She was shivering, and he couldn't tell whether it was from cold or fearful reverence. "What happened to you?" she asked quietly.
Loki stared at the last rays of sunlight streaming through the branches. "The same thing that happened to you," he replied. "I lost."
"To whom?"
Loki shook his head and leaned back so he could face her. "Why do you continue to fight a war you've already lost?" he asked. "Johanna Schmidt has nothing, but you follow her. What makes you think you can change the world?"
"I don't know," she admitted. She took a deep breath. "But doing nothing is worse. And...it wasn't always like this." She shrank into her shoulders. "A year ago, we were making real progress. If only Hammer hadn't abandoned us, our arc reactor would be long finished by now."
Loki started. "Hammer?"
"Justin Hammer, of Hammer Industries." The woman crowded deeper into herself beneath his heavy stare. "He was funding our research until the Iron Man showed up."
Loki glared at her a moment longer, but when she showed no signs of being insincere, a short bark of incredulous laughter sprang from him. She flinched and it only made him laugh more. "Hammer," he repeated. "Your benefactor - the man who gave aid to the children of Schmidt - is named Hammer."
She gulped and fidgeted. "Yes...?"
Loki laughed, curling over his knees until his stomach hurt and something manic crept into the corners of his eyes. "He would be," he said, still breathless with humor. "Oh, he would be, wouldn't he. Even gods are a thing of mockery for the Fates."
"Sir...?"
"But you're wrong." Loki wiped his face and straightened up once more. "Hammer or no, it's as I told your leader: only the Tesseract has the power to create the world you wish for. No creation of humankind can rival it, not for another..."
Loki trailed off, his eyes drawn again to the sky. More stars had bloomed and he stared into the spaces between them, reminding himself of how far away his homeland really was. "There is nothing in Midgard as powerful as the Tesseract," he murmured. "Whoever wields it..."
Loki wrapped his arm around the woman beside him, and she managed only a shrill whimper as he pulled them off the edge of the roof. They landed in the soft earth without harm. Without waiting to see if she was stable, Loki let her go and marched into the building.
Johanna was in the main lab again, supervising the cleanup efforts of her fellow scientists. She tensed as Loki drew near. "What do you need?" he asked as everyone in the room stopped their work to stare. "You said someone in this country is likely to hold the Tesseract now. What will it take to find it?"
"Access," she replied precisely. "An agent inside the US government." She stood a little taller. "But even with that power what we need most is our equipment back. Soldiers, and funding, and someplace to work. If we have that, finding and retrieving the Tesseract will be much simpler."
Loki eyed her impatiently. "You have something in mind."
Johanna all but seethed. "I need Justin Hammer."
"You will have him," said Loki. "And whatever else necessary, so long as you lead me to the Tesseract." He grinned. "Then you will be in no doubt of my identity, Lady Schmidt."
The woman from earlier finally caught up to him. "But Justin Hammer is in a federal prison," she said weakly. "Awaiting his trial."
"Then he ought to be easy to find." Loki waved her closer. "You - prepare me a room," he instructed. "I've decided to stay, for the time being."
"Yes, sir." She bobbed her head. "My name is Synthia," she added. "I'll have your room prepared right away."
She left, and so did Loki, retreating to the rooftop to finish watching the sky darken to night. There was a quiver in his gut. As soon as he laid hands on the Tesseract, not even his magic would hide him from Gatekeeper Heimdall's eyes. All of Asgard would see the fate of traitor Loki, abandoned but alive, forging Midgard anew.
"I was born to be a king," Loki said under his breath, watching the eyes of the universe open, one by one, against a backdrop of black. "I will not disappoint again."
