A/N: Hmm... *looks at the last update date* That... was not exactly two weeks. *offers cookies as an apology*
Summary: Keeping secrets might not be the best strategy for avoiding trouble. Same goes for abruptly leaving heroic feasts and wishing for snacks after midnight.
Chapter VII—Raw And Tender in Some Places
Anxiety (noun): A feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease about something with an uncertain outcome.
He'd been well fed and shown the training grounds and the throne hall, which were at least a bit interesting, before he was ushered back to his room with the excuse that the evening's feast was coming up. Not that he minded. He'd been half hoping Loki would be waiting inside for him, but a part of him was glad not to see the god; the image from that wall had been burned into Tony's mind.
Rubbing his eyes, he fell onto the still-unmade bed. Before long, servants came and stuffed him into "suitable clothes". Pff. Tony looked perfectly fine in pants and a shirt. He always looked perfectly fine, except perhaps dressed in a soft, dark crossbreed between pants and leggings, a white tunic, and a fancy kind of leather west of such dark red it almost seemed black, adorned with clasps and metal on his chest and shoulders. Boots were a must, it seemed, and when they tied leather vambraces to his forearms, Tony was just glad he wasn't forced to wear an actual armour. Or a cape. The last thing he needed was tripping over his own cape.
He managed to slip on the suit's (very manly) bracelets just before the door opened again, this time without his permission, to admit Thor into the room.
"I see you are ready," he said.
"I guess," Tony said just as Jane joined them in the room, dressed in a deep purple gown. "Is Loki with you?"
Thor shook his head. "I thought we'd find him here."
"Tough luck. I haven't seen him since morning. He said he'd come find me, but he must have changed his mind." That was certainly preferable to something bad happening to him.
Thor shrugged. "He disappears sometimes."
"And where does he disappear to?"
"I do not know."
"We should find him."
"There is no reason to worry, Friend Stark." Thor shifted, cape rippling like water.
"Are you sure?" Jane looked up at him, and he nodded.
"I know my brother. He does that sometimes."
"To Tony? "
That seemed to give Thor pause. "Maybe. But if he doesn't wish to be found, we won't find him."
"And if he does?" Tony urged. Loki would have told him if he wanted to skip the feast, right? He wouldn't just let Tony worry, of course not.
Unless he would.
Cursing his own doubts, he tried to push the thought away. Worrying was bad enough; he didn't need anything else beside it.
And then the door opened. Loki strolled into the room, stopped in his tracks, and sent a glare Thor's way.
"What are you doing here?"
His hair was dishevelled, cheeks marred with stains of mud, his clothes rumpled. Something shifted behind his eyes.
"Collecting my guest."
"He's my guest," Loki snarled and Tony frowned. "Mine! I've had enough of you and yours taking things from me!"
"I'm trying not to get you in trouble."
"Really? And who's the reason I'm here?"
Thor's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, then closed it. "Clean yourself up. There isn't much time anymore."
"I don't care about being on time." Loki began unbuckling the top layer of his clothes. "Get out. I can get Tony to the feast."
Thor opened his mouth again, but his time it was Jane's tug on his sleeve that made him close it.
"We'll see you later," he astrophysicist said and half dragged Thor out. Loki glared after them for another second before he started violently tugging his clothes off.
"What happened to you?" Tony picked up Loki's tunic after the god had tossed it onto the ground. "You said you'd come see me."
"I asked you if I could. I went riding." Loki dumped his boots onto the floor and disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments. He emerged with a wet cloth in his hand.
"And that got you into a bad mood?"
"Yes." He ran the cloth over his forearm and up to the armpit.
"Just riding?"
Loki looked up from the cloth. "Do I speak a language you don't understand?"
"Jeez, I was just worried about you, but sure, go take your anger out on me, that's perfectly fine and completely fair."
Loki kept staring at him, a little less violently but still unkindly, before he went back to washing himself. "Who did you get as a tour guide?"
"Sit and Fandral."
"Hmf. And what did they show you?"
"Nothing much." Racism. "Training grounds. The throne." He shrugged. "You know, if you want to talk about what upset you..."
Loki paused his movement. "That is hardly fair. You want me to share everything, yet you have no intentions of sharing what upset you today."
"How do you know something—ah, never mind. Of course you'd know."
"It's all over your face. If they did something to you, I will feed them their tongues."
"There's no need for that then." He got up, approached Loki, and gently pried the cloth out of his grip so that he could run it over the alabaster skin himself. "I don't like them much, especially Sif, but they were civil."
"You still won't tell me what happened."
"It would upset you." He ran the cloth down Loki's back and up again.
"You think this does not?" Muscles tensed. "You aren't being fair."
"You were the one who didn't want to talk about the Jotnar in the first place."
Loki froze. "They showed you the fresco," he said, voice cold and seemingly emotionless. "Do you think me a monster now?"
Tony blinked. "No, of course not!" He wrapped his arms around Loki, torso pressed against the god's back. "I think Asgard is a little too racist for comfort. I think you're beautiful when you're blue."
"Don't say that."
"Fine, I'll stick to thinking it." He pressed his lips on the pulse in Loki's neck. "Seriously though, I have to say you turned out well, considering everything. Could have been much worse."
Loki made a sad, strangled sound. "I still won't tell you about today. I can't. Not yet."
"Okay." Tony inhaled. Loki smelled like home. He always smelled like home. "We should get ready now, right?"
~*oO*o*Oo*~
Every single muscle in his body trembled under the weight of tension, locking his body in a rigid pose. If only Tony were by his side… Loki's fingers moved before he could stop them from being foolish. He did not need Tony by his side tight now. He could not need Tony.
His precious mortal was standing at Thor's side, looking slightly confused but not overly uncomfortable; the spotlight (that was what humans said, wasn't it?) was no stranger to him. A part of Loki's mind found the time to appreciate Aesir clothes on Tony—leather suited him no less than metal and earthly suits. In fact, it hugged his torso very nicely...
However, most of Loki's attention was reserved for Odin's words. They were his shield, his protective barrier. Words he couldn't repeat afterwards, but words that made him free in the eyes if Asgard once more—and a target of their scorn and dark gazes.
At least it was mercifully quick. Allfather's voice diverted the attention to Tony and his glorious deeds. The inventor frowned ever so slightly, but his smile didn't waver. It didn't reach his eyes, either.
The bad part was Loki couldn't slip away until the food had been brought. As somebody who'd served his sentence, he was to be accepted back, and Odin insisted he join the feast even though it would all be merely a farce.
The gazes on him burnt, making him long for shadows. For Tony's embrace. Instead, he was forced to stand at Odin's side at the head of the table, which put him in clear view of everyone.
His mind wandered without permission. It never would have happened Before, but whether he liked to admit it or not, it was still raw and tender in some places, wearing marks of his abuse, and Loki's control wasn't as wholesome as it used to be. Not yet.
So when he was finally allowed to sit down and mead started to pour, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd missed. Under the table, his hands clenched into fists. The loss he'd suffered... Things that were once an essential part of him, but were gone now...
Swallowing, he pushed the thoughts away and downed a cup of mead; it came to rest back on the table with a thud.
At the end of the hall, the doors opened, allowing the servants to stagger in under the weight of food. Loki's eyes shot to Tony, who frowned, and then to Odin.
He didn't want to be here. He didn't want food, didn't enjoy the drink, and he couldn't see that much meet at once, he couldn't—
Their laughter was so cold—the soldier, the poor soldier—Loki never even got to learn his name—"You wanted to feed him? Now you can..."—fingers prying his jaw open—
Blood—blood, blood, raw, pain—
A hand gripped his shoulder and he jerked back on an impulse. Voices echoed in his ears, some more real than the others, but how could he tell which were which? How could he know which ones wouldn't hurt him when all of them were intrusive and painful and too much—
His body reacted on its own as he rose to his feet, trying to keep the bile down (it never ended well if he threw up) and fled the room, the noise, the smell.
Doors swung shut behind him. He staggered to the left, his hand pressed over his mouth, eyes watering; blinking did little good. If he could only keep the memories away, wash the taste of flesh off his tongue...
His legs gave out, but he hardly felt the impact of the fall. Somebody stopped beside him—the guards, the guards from the hall entrance—but he couldn't bring himself to look. Nor could he suck in enough air, and the sickness was making him curl into a ball. The taste of vomit burnt his tongue. Somebody touched his shoulder, making him jerk away, just go away, away where they couldn't touch him, couldn't hurt him, couldn't—
"Loki?" Fingers brushed his knee.
Shaking his head, he scrambled back until his back hit the wall. Couldn't they just leave him alone? Couldn't he be given a little more time? Just a little more time, please?
"Lo, it's me."
The voice was soft. Impossibly soft. An illusion, then, but he'd never once heard Tony's voice during his hallucinations… He hadn't known Tony yet.
Slowly, he opened his eyes to meet a concerned brown gaze. He still twitched when a hand touched his cheek, but didn't try to escape it. A finger wiped his lips, and Loki leaned into the touch.
"You are real," he murmured.
"Yeah. Can you get up? We should go somewhere more comfortable."
He finally moved his gaze to see Odin standing behind Tony. Thor was, strangely enough, absent, but three of the four entrance guards were gathered around. Mortification heated his insides when he realized what they had witnessed, but a part of him was too shaken to care.
Shrugging, he uncurled from his position and tried to push himself to his feet, but his body betrayed him. Tony was there before he could fall, draping his arm over his shoulders. And then—Loki wasn't completely sure he stopped being delusional—Odin stepped to his other side.
Loki narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing?" The last thing he wanted now was Odin's presence; it inevitably turned everything into a power contest. He simply wanted to curl up next to Tony and listen to his whispered reassurances. He wanted to wipe away the pain.
The sound of footsteps reached his ear, but even though he probably should, he didn't turn to see how many curious onlookers had come to enjoy his pathetic state. It would have required energy he didn't have, so he just leaned against Tony. If only he could disappear…
Nausea gripped his body at the thought. No. No. he wasn't there anymore. He could use magic. He…
"Leave us." Odin's voice boomed down the corridor, jerking Loki back into alertness for a moment before he sank back against Tony. He didn't fight anymore when Odin decided to support him, too, though suspicion and surprise fought for dominance inside him.
He was only half aware of the way. Breathing still came too hard, and he tasted bile at the back of his throat. No, in his mouth. Disgusting…
Gentle hands guided him down onto his bed—Tony's hands—his Tony—
"It's okay, I'm here," the man murmured. "Snowflake, I'm here. But you're hurting me."
"Hmm?"
Somebody pried his hands from Tony's shirt, and he tried to grasp it again, but then Tony's body was pressed against his, and Loki satisfied himself with taking hold of the arm wrapped around him. The line between his memories and reality was blurred; perhaps holding on to Tony strong enough would bring it into focus again.
"Talk to me," he pleaded. Tony's voice caressed his ears and he finally dared to breathe a little bit deeper.
~*oO*o*Oo*~
Tony felt he deserved Asgard's Award for Most Patience. Or he would have if he'd had to deal with anyone else any longer than he'd had to, though he supposed he was a bit thankful to Thor for coming to check on them, bringing water, and dragging Odin away.
Then, there was silence. Loki didn't ask him to talk again. In fact, Loki didn't do anything at all, only his fingers kept clutching Tony's sleeve. Still more time passed before the inventor pried them away and slipped off the bed to use the bathroom; Loki must have fallen asleep, for he hadn't moved.
Awesome. Not that Tony didn't like Loki's sleeping face or Aesir bathrooms, but neither would offer him food, and his stomach was really determined to get it. Loath as he was to leave the god, he was also opposed to waking him, so eventually he decided to go look for a kitchen. It should be that hard.
Loki's rooms were dark save for his bedroom, but the corridor outside was bathed in torchlight. Tony stepped closer to the wall, inspecting the flame. He frowned. It was a simple wooden torch he was seeing, but somehow, the wood didn't seem to be getting reduced to ashes. How the hell did Asgard manage to pull that off?
Loud rumbling in his stomach convinced him to delay science talks and focus on more...primary needs. He moved again, letting the corridor lead him who knew where. Would it kill them to invent an Aesir GPS? Or at least paint arrows on the walls? 'That way for food.'
He turned right and then left, hoping he'd run into someone he could ask for help, but there was no one around. Perhaps they were all still gorging in that hall?
He rounded another corner, a big double door framed by two pillars coming into view. Halting for a moment, he decided to approach. It looked kind of important. Certainly more grand that the ones he'd seen on his way, save perhaps the entrance to Loki's and Thor's rooms. Shouldn't there be guards then?
Before he could finish that thought, something cold was pressed against his neck. Cold and sharp.
"You are not authorised to be here," an unfamiliar voice told him.
Tony swallowed. "Yeah, okay. I didn't know that. In fact, I'm a little lost. I'll go happily if you'd tell me where I can find the kitchen."
"Kitchen?" A different voice this time. A guard strolled into view, sword pointed at Tony. "How dumb do you think we are?"
"So that means I was headed into the completely wrong direction?"
That earned him a slap. Or—what should have been a slap by Aesir standard. His head was thrown to a side, and he would have worried about the blade that cut into his throat at that if the side of his head didn't feel as if it had just been hit with Mjolnir. The corridor was swimming in front of his eyes. Something coppery stained his tongue.
More pain erupted in his jaw—wait, that was just the guy holding him, right? Doing his job or something. If only his head would stop throbbing like it was about to burst, then Tony could think and maybe get himself out of this misunderstanding…
"'m Thor's friend," he tried to say.
"We can do this the hard way, too," the guard said. He didn't sound overly happy, but what did Tony know.
"Ask him," he managed to say. Something warm was trickling under his collar.
"I warned you."
That was all he got before pain burst in his head and blackness greeted him with a grin.
~*oO*o*Oo*~
"Brother! Loki!
He blinked groggily and rolled his head to the other side to escape the noise.
"Brother, wake up!"
This time, there were hands on his shoulders, shaking him.
"Its friend Stark. He's been injured. Eir said he'd lost a lot of blood. They're trying to keep him alive."
Loki opened his mouth—
Nothing. No words, no air.
A frigid hand gripped his insides, and he couldn't breathe.
Tony couldn't die. Couldn't. Wasn't allowed to.
How was Loki supposed to survive if Tony were gone?
He finally managed to suck air into his lungs, but too much of it, and he was chocking and trying to breathe while his blood was rushing through him and his heartbeat echoed in his ears. Such fragile things…
Such fragile bodies.
He'd said that, too. He'd laughed as Loki cried while his chest was being torn apart—not torn—opened methodically, ribs broken away—
Breathing. Tony always talked about breathing, but Tony wasn't there, perhaps wouldn't be anymore, there were only hands on his shoulders and smouldering metal in his mind—
"Brother!"
No. No, Thor had never been there to help him, only Tony, only—
The hands moved and pulled him into an embrace. A warm body pressed against his, broad and hard, but with the wrong smell.
"Loki. Calm yourself."
Hands massaging his back.
"Stark will live, I'm sure of it."
"Thor." He should be pushing the oaf away, should be snapping at him and shouting, but somehow, he did none of that.
"I am sure," his non-brother repeated, but it wasn't that, it wasn't that at all. Nothing was forever. Tony would die, and Loki would stay alone—
And he couldn't.
Slowly, a realisation sank in, and what he found in his mind scared him even more—if that was at all possible—than Tony's mortality.
A/N: The fic is crossposted at Ao3 in case somebody would prefer to read it there. As always, you can find me on tumblr.
Please drop a review.
~shades
