"That… explains it, I guess. A bit." Loki smiled at Steve's comment, and also because whatever he was smearing over Loki's back was taking a great deal of the pain away. Soon he felt the softness of bandages as Steve gently covered the wounds. But the silence didn't last. "Okay, so do you need to see a doctor or anything? Not to keep picking at you, but my cousin lost a baby after falling down the stairs, and you've been pretty badly beaten, and shot."
Loki was actually touched rather than annoyed by Steve's persistence. Clear as it was that he was completely uncomfortable with Loki's "condition," he was still determined to do everything it took to make sure Loki was all right. "There is no danger of a miscarriage," he replied, taking all the mockery from his voice to show Steve how much he appreciated the concern. It wasn't easy for him, this honestly. He wondered if the good Captain would realize that. "I will answer the question you're trying to ask, Captain. All I need to carry this child to term is rest and safety. My magic will see to everything else. I'll be back to normal and able to take care of myself within a few days of the birth. Do you wish to know anything else?"
"No, that's good." Steve's relief at being able to stop his awkward questioning was clear. "That's good. Thanks."
"I believe it is I who should be offering thanks," Loki replied quietly. Now he was the one who was uncomfortable. "I… did not dare hope for your aid, Captain. You are a gentleman."
He turned and saw Steve smiling at him–awkward, blushing. Loki could understand why he had so many screaming fangirls. The man was the definition of adorable. "It's Steve, okay?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You can call me Steve. I'm not Captain America at home."
"And you may call me Lord Loki, God of Chaos, Master of Evil, Destroyer of Worlds," Loki said, inclining his head regally.
Steve snorted a laugh. "Now I know you feel better," he said, and started to put away his first-aid supplies.
…
Clint killed his motorcycle and put down the kickstand. The Avengers mansion rose before him, white and shining and pissing him off. He pulled off his helmet, hung it on his handlebars, and made sure he had a good grip on his temper before he walked inside.
Thor, Fury, Stark, and the Black Widow were all in the main living area, drinking coffee and snacking on muffins while they watched Mythbusters. Clint stopped dead in the doorway, just staring at Thor in complete and utter disbelief. Muffins? The man kicked his pregnant sibling out and then sat down for some TV and coffee and fucking muffins?
He was seriously going to have to revise his definition of asshole.
"I ran into Loki a little while ago," he said to the room at large. "Anyone want to tell me why we're suddenly not arresting him anymore?"
Thor didn't even look up. "My brother is no danger to us right now."
"Uh-huh." Clint tugged off his gloves, feeling his hold on his temper straining. "And why is that?"
"Brace yourself–the bitch is pregnant," Fury replied. At least he had the decency to turn and face Clint when he said it. "Thor says he can't do magic while he's expecting. Can you believe that shit?" He laughed and Thor joined in.
Do not attempt to throw Thor down and stomp on his balls. Do not punch Colonel Fury. It will not end well. Clint repeated the mantra in his head until he felt a little better. "Sounds like a trick to me."
"It is not," Thor said, finishing off his muffin, throwing the wrapper on the floor, and reaching for another. "It has happened many times in the past. My brother is… unique, among the gods."
"Uh-huh." This was an understatement. "Still not getting why he's not under arrest. Seems like he can't kick our asses right now. Might be a good time to grab him."
"He wants us to arrest him." Natasha finally spoke up, raising an eyebrow at Clint. "I think you can see the problem there."
"Just because my brother has no magic does not mean he is in any way helpless," Thor agreed. "He still has his voice, does he not? He has ever done more damage with words than with any spell."
"I know of a few city blocks that might disagree with you," Tony spoke up for the first time. From the look on Ironman's face, this was all news to him. Clint reluctantly deleted his name from his personal hit-list. "Seriously, why aren't we locking him up?"
Thor shrugged as though dismissing the human's petty concerns. Clint had another brief fantasy involving his bow, an incendiary charge, an arrow, and the god's nether regions. "I am certain he was planning some mischief and just waiting for the opportunity to get in here to accomplish it."
"But without his magic, it should be pretty easy to keep it from happening," Clint pointed out. "Are we not interested in making him pay for his crimes anymore? Did I miss a memo?"
Fury sat back with a long-suffering sigh. "I'm sure he'll pay plenty, Barton."
One, two, three, four, five, six, seveneightnineten… Nope, counting to ten still did nothing to stop Clint being pissed off. Who ever came up with that stupid advice anyway? "And that means what, exactly?"
Thor took an enormous bite of a muffin and, mouth full, answered, "His allies have turned on him. He has no safe haven. Have you ever heard the phrase, tough love, Clint Barton? Colonel Fury has told me of this concept, where you allow one to experience the consequences of their actions without aiding them. This is supposed to make them realize the error of their ways." He swallowed hugely, slurped his coffee–damn, gods had no manners–and went on, "I have been unable to get my brother to stop his madness with reason. Perhaps this will work."
Clint was struck dumb by the sheer heartlessness of Thor's reasoning. When his voice returned, it didn't sound like his own. Surely his own voice would be screaming profanity, not speaking so calmly as though he wasn't concerned at all. "What about the baby?"
Thor shrugged, and Clint mentally promised himself that he could accidentally misdirect an arrow in their next battle to repay that bit of coldness. "My brother is known as the Mother of Monsters, did you know that?" he said dismissively. "Trust me, Clint Barton, the world loses nothing if his child never draws breath."
"Uh-huh." One two three four fucking bastard five cocksucking asshole six seven Goddamned coldhearted… "So Loki's out of it for a while. How long?"
The Thunder God shrugged again. "Who knows? It depends on what manner of beast he is incubating. Sleipnir took a full year. Jormungand, three months or so. No matter, though. He will be, as you say, out of it for quite a while if I am any judge of Doom. He has a vindictive streak to match my brother's."
That's it. He had to get out of here. "Got things to do," Clint growled, and spun on his heel and walked out.
