The next morning finds him hanging by his knees from a tree limb in meditation.

"Sir! You are not permitted to climb trees within the park!" A horse snorts. He opens his eyes (not that it changes anything, but it's the thought that counts) and winces as the feeling he'd been trying to hold back creeps into his peripheral.

"Sir, please come down!"

Aw, how sweet. He said please. He keeps hanging upside down.

"Sir, if you do not exit the tree I will be forced to alert the Parks Enforcement Patrol."

How does one 'exit' a tree? He is not in the tree, he is hanging from the tree. Idiot mortal.

"Sir, this is your last warning!"

"Excuse me," a familiar voice cuts in, "what seems to be the problem, officer?"

"This man refuses to come down from the tree, even though it is against park rules."

A scuff of feet against dirt (a hoof paws at the ground behind them, irrelevant data) and a knock on the tree. "Serrure get down, you impertinent fly-bitten lout!"

He grips the branch he's hanging from with his hands, kicks off and arches through the air to land, rolling his weight through his palms and swinging his legs over to land gracefully on his feet. Turning toward the voice he picks up his cane from where it leans against the tree. "Very good, but much have you still to learn my young Padawan." He walks brazenly away.

After a few seconds he hears footsteps behind him, running. "Hey, you can't just walk away from a guy after doing crazy blind acrobatics and then quoting Yoda!"

He glances to the man with a raised eyebrow. "And yet it seems I just did."

"Lokiiiii..." he whines.

He stops and spins on his heel to face him. It's really not a good time. "What do you want, Stark?"

"Hmm..." His foot taps a few times and he can hear the rustle of hair as he runs his hand through it. "Well, for starters, how the hell you did that, and secondly where on Earth did you see Star Wars?"

"Thousands of years of training and practice, and on my couch," he snaps, walking again.

The arrogant mortal follows him, naturally. "Woah, somebody's tetchy today. What's wrong, Donder, someone take your horns?"

He clenches his fists and steps abruptly into the other man's space, snarling. "Do not speak of that which you do not know, you insolent fool." He takes off in the other direction. Killing an Avenger is unwise, he tells himself, as he has no wish to go into hiding yet.

"Loki." More steps behind him and honestly, does the man have so little instinct toward self-preservation? "Loki!"

Stark falls in step with him. "Look, I didn't mean it. I'm an asshole and don't know when to stop, ask anyone. I'm pretty sure I've pissed off at least half the nation and a good number of world leaders just by existing. I didn't mean it." A light rustle of fabric, probably fiddling with his clothes or something. "Come on, I'm just awful at being a decent person sometimes. I've got no filter, things just come out."

"Whether or not you filter them has no impact on the fact that you still think and mean them."

"But I don't, though. I just lash out at people on instinct. My inter-personal skills are shit."

"Why don't you just go run and tell the Director I'm here so you can get your brownie points and I can get a few moments peace before they make me wish for death again, hm? I'm sick of whatever game you're playing." He quickens his pace.

"Why would I be playing a–? Look, if I were going to turn you in I would have done it by now. Unless you go on some murder spree I've got no reason to turn you in, and I'm actually sort of opposed to the idea seeing as it involves torture."

He trips over a rock he somehow missed and manages to catch himself, swearing under his breath.

"Dude, if you want to, feel free to grab my arm or whatever. I don't mind."

He scowls back. "I'm not some toddling infant, Stark. I don't need your aid."

"I never said you did. But nothing's wrong with letting someone help you anyway. It's your choice, I'm just saying I don't mind."

He doesn't take his arm (even though a part of him wants to, being guided in infinitely easier than the constant anxiety of walking in complete darkness but another part is darker still and says no) and they walk in silence for some time.

"Why do you insist on following me? I am of no use to you."

Stark's shoes scuff at the ground a bit. "Maybe not. But you're interesting. I threatened you in jeans and a t-shirt and you didn't just vaporize me with your light saber of death, and even managed to keep step with my jackassery. There aren't many people who can do that."

It's not the answer he expected. "Then what would you have me do, if not ignore you?"

"Dunno. Talk or something? There's a serious lack of intelligent people in the world and I get bored."

Heh. He should have seen that coming. "So I am some plaything, then? To alleviate your selfish needs?"

"No, not like– dammit, you can't read too far into my choice of words, that's not fair. You're the language guy, I'm the mathy-sciency guy. You've got an unfair advantage. Look. You're clever, I like talking to clever people. Okay, yeah, I guess that sounds selfish if you want to take it that way, but it's not meant to be. Isn't that how people usually get to know each other? Talking? Not that I'm a great role model for interpersonal relationships, I'm more the guy who people learn not to be like, I mean half the time I'm in public I'm drunk off my ass so I don't have to think about the fact that three-quarters of the people around me are idiots who only care about either my money or getting into my bed–"

"Stark," he interrupts.

"Yeah?"

"You ramble when you're uncomfortable."

"Oh."

He nearly twists his ankle when there's a sudden dip in the path, and he catches himself on Stark's arm. When they start walking again, he doesn't let go. Breathes in, out, tries to hold back the cold. "I have no particular talent for social matters either, other than those required by royalty. I fail to understand why you care to speak with one who would see your home and people burned. It is a poor tactic for a warrior, unless they are attempting to gain information."

"Well, first off I'm not a warrior. Secondly, yeah, I want info. But not the kind to use against you or anything, it's just kind of hard to talk to someone and not talk about anything. I mean, I guess we can discuss the weather but that's like three words and then it goes downhill from there. Watch out, crazy kids running around."

"Then what would you have us discuss?"

Tony shrugs. "I don't know. I'd ask questions or something but from what I'm getting you're sort of a private person and you've already told me a bit about yourself. I mean, I guess you can ask me stuff? A lot of it's already in the papers, but hey. Surprise me. Ask me anything."

Okay... if the man wants to offer information so badly, perhaps he can gain something from it. "The device in your chest."

He can feel the man tense. "Okay, maybe not that anything. We're not quite friendly enough for that one yet."

"I was not aware we were friends, Stark."

He chuckles. "You threw me out a window, buddy, Maybe not friends, but we've certainly got the history. But seriously, arc reactor comes later. Preferably when I'm really, really drunk."

Arc reactor. The words could be of use, he'll have to look them up when he returns home.

"Then how, might I ask, did you become the Iron Man?"

Stark doesn't relax. "Also off-limits. Tell you what, since we've both got screwy pasts, how 'bout we limit the conversation to after I ran into you at the park?"

"You have a very odd definition of 'anything', Stark."

"Shut up."

His grip on the cane tightens. "I did, for months, I do not care to again. Fine then. What is it that your company does?"

"Oh, that one I can definitely answer." The tension drains from his arm a bit as he starts talking, a mile a minute, in a haughty tone. It's a speech he's given often judging from the way he speaks it. "So, right now our main focus in in the clean energy industry. We're kind of the only name right now, what with the arc reactor technology and all. That tower you decided to throw me out of? The entire thing's powered by one, and it'll keep running full power for at least a year. Almost no waste, and when the cell is used up it only takes a little of this one kind of element and a bit of electricity to recharge. It's super-sustainable, and is gonna change the energy business forever. No more burning coal or atomic waste, and with a little time we can run all our transportation off them as well, just charge up electric cars and be on our way. Of course, that's just the main focus.

"We've got the StarkPhones too, which are newer but easily catching up to Android and iOS based tech, and tons of other computer hardware though a lot of that stays internal for the time being or is pretty exclusive to the very upper classes, because it's not cheap to produce. We're doing some work in third-world countries at the moment, helping to get the basic amenities, food, shelter, water, and the like, to places where they don't have them. Some of the bio-med interns are on the verge of discovering a viable preventative vaccination against AIDS, although I'm not sure they realize how close they are, and I've got another team of scientists working on cancer research. Also tons of material engineering, genetics research, a team of aerospace engineers designing a high-speed rocket that'll be able to take astronauts to Mars safely... you name it, we're probably working on it."

"So what exactly do you do, then?" Tell him something useful already.

"Me? Well, I used to be CEO but that was all just boring paperwork so that's Pepper's job now. I mainly oversee the research and production from a scientific viewpoint, develop my own tech, that sort of thing. And get stuck doing press conferences and going to board meetings. Which are gross. Plus, you know, harass Fury, fly around saving the world. Or just fly around. It's fun. What about you? What have you ended up doing for a living?"

Useless. "I thought you'd decided that I was busy building a lair. Villainous lairs take an awful lot of time and effort, you know."

Stark laughs and pats the hand on his arm. "Of course they do, Blitzen. So are you any good at math and science, or are you just sort of an Edgar Allen Poe guy?"

That's a fair enough question, one that doesn't reveal an overly large amount. Not that Stark's answer was particularly helpful, but he has more to go by and words that could prove useful. "I have studied a small amount of your Midgardian mathematics, read a few books, but it is different from what we were taught as children and I was only able to find a few books in braille. On Asgard the most we were required to learn was basic arithmetic, the sort of things one would need to plan war strategies." They turn onto a gravel path and their footsteps crunch loudly.

"How far'd you get?"

"Only two or three books in. Multivariate calculus, I believe."

"Woah, woah, woah," the man stops and turns to him, "you went from like, addition, subraction, multiplication, and division to multivariate calculus in two or three textbooks?"

It was hardly a difficult task, he's not so sure why the man sounds surprised. "Yes?"

"Okay then, smarty pants, if W is the volume defined by x2 + y2 + z2 ≤ 1 and y ≤ x, then what is the flux of (x3 – 3x, y3 + xy, z3 – xz) out of W?"

He tilts his head, brows furrowed in thought. After a moment, he responds. "Negative four pi over five."

"Oh, god," Stark replies, and he can hear him run a hand through his hair, "you have no idea how much I want to pick your brain apart right now. How the hell did you even do that?"

He looks at him, confused and a bit irritated, and reinforces his mental walls, don't let it get in. "It's just an abstraction of thought, a cousin to magic. A different way of understanding the universe. A way for numbers to explain idea as language uses letters or sounds."

The man seems at a loss for words and the gravel crackles a bit as he shifts his weight. "Where the hell have you been all my life," he ends up muttering.

"I'm not sure wh–" he's inturrupted.

"Oh!"

"What, you imbici–"

"You're coming back to the tower with me." He says it like it's already been decided, and he can feel him stand a bit straighter.

He raises a mocking eyebrow. "Now why on Muspellheim would I do that, mortal?"

"Because you're brilliant," he states assuredly, "and if you're that smart, then you're bored. And if you're bored then you're either going to start blowing shit up or you're going to find something interesting to do."

"Your innuendos are pathetic." He rolls his eyes.

Stark hits him in the arm. "Not like that you dirty-minded idiot. I'm way more than interesting, trust me. No, there's science to do!"

"And just what makes you think that I will willingly walk into the building where my greatest enemies reside? Your brain is addled."

He sighs at him in exasperation. "Honestly, do you think I don't have back ways in and out of my buildings? There are more secret doors than even the builders know about."

"And what's to stop me from using the opportunity to bring down the Avengers from inside their own home?" He keeps building his mental walls, it can't get to him again.

"Well for starters, the fact that you just pointed it out. I've got security protocols in place anyway, and I know you're stalling. Come on, Sour Patch."

He pulls his arm away sharply and snarls as he feels the coldness seeping in. "I have no wish to follow you."

"Woah, woah buddy. No harm meant."

Of course not. Why would anyone invite their crippled enemy into their house of heroes to harm them? That would be completely absurd and cold and ice and remember what they did to you. He's no ignorant apprentice, he's long since learned the ways of the stone-hearted. His lips turn up into a dangerous smile. "Perhaps you would do well to remember who it is you are dealing with, mortal. Powers or not I could still snap your neck without so much as a thought. Do not dare to think me above it, I have long since ceased trying to wash my hands of others' blood and have no qualms with dipping them back in again."

A double crunch of gravel as the wretch steps back. "Wow, okay, not really expecting the mood swings here, my bad. I'm just gonna... y'know... back off now. Would you rather me show you back or leave?"

"Tell me where we are, then leave." Icy claws sink slowly through his defenses.

"Yep, gotcha, okay. East side of Bethesda Fountain, Terrace Drive facing the Mall. Um, see you around, I guess?" Footsteps receded from gravel to dirt, beats fading into the distance.

Icy tendrils seep through the cracks, the weak spots in his walls bending under the pressure. He makes it to the edge of the park and hails a cab, having it take him back to his apartment, tips double for the speed. The elevator is cold, so cold, and when he finally manages to unlock his door (his hands shake and drop the key once) and slam it shut behind him, he collapses on the floor with a whine.

The frost spreads through his mind and no no no no not again let him go...

Please, no, not again let him go let him go...

He doubles over, tearing at his hair and trying to drag himself across the floor as it coalesces into glacier, slowly cleaving his mind open.

Throws up wall after wall, trying to keep it out, but his mind has already been weakening and he's not strong enough and it only serves to make it more painful as each barricade is shattered.

Claws at the wall, hauls himself up enough to tear the cold knife out and falls back, trembling and forcing back a giggle.

Drags himself to the gas fireplace and starts it, tearing back a panel of glass to hold the dagger over the flame. Carves another ragged gash in his right leg with the hot blade and screams.

It's not enough, not enough to burn the ice out of him.

The glamor is held on with a fraying thread and he lets it sever itself, moans as the heat from the blaze sears at the heinous monster he is, has become, was always fated to be.

no, no, please, no

Icicles in his head turn to cardice lances so cold they ignite, the fog-smoke from its sublimation turning his vision white.

The blade rings as it falls to the tile floor, his body gives out, collapses. The pain doesn't even register over the white noise.

The agony mounts until he can no longer scream.


Author's Note:

Sorry.