A sweat-soaked haze settles over the pair of them. Left panting in the aftermath, lying amongst the ruins of a war waged between (formerly) white sheets, an odd calm settles their heartbeats. Loki's is markedly slower than Steve's.

Loki catches the look of concern stretched lazily across the Captain's face and smiles. "Asgardian," he says. The word is a little bitter in his mouth.

Steve curves his mouth in a perfect O of realization, although no sound passes his lips. He settles onto his back, pulling subconsciously away from Loki and staring up at the ceiling.

Sitting up with the sheets tangled around his legs, Loki reads the easy expressiveness of the human's face. Really, the emotions of all humans are practically legible, although most require a little more finesse and manipulation than this.

It's a nice change from the stiff, pressed expressions of Asgardians. A nice change from the people that include him but also don't include him, that he hates but also doesn't hate. It's a nice change for someone who lives in a world of lies and contradictions.

Loki watches silently, finding the guilt interesting because it wars with something else entirely. An interesting study in human morals, flimsy and variable as they are. Interesting, since here is the supposed incorruptible Captain America, in the sheets with one of the most notorious public enemies. Unrecognizable except for the look of guilt.

That seemed to be the Captain's default expression. Even before this, this obsession to break the Captain, Loki noticed it. Stalwart determination, marked with guilt. An honest attempt at stoutness that appears during battle, also drawn with guilt.

Well, now I've finished this little project off, Loki thinks. Broken. If the Captain didn't resign before the end of the week, or confess, or even just throw himself off a bridge, Loki will be genuinely surprised.

As Loki turns away, muttering a few spells under his breath, Steve rolls over onto his side, brow creased and lip pulled tight. If Loki saw the expression, he would call it tenacity.


The sound of a phone ringing crashes into Steve's thoughts. He stiffens and sits up so fast that he feels his neck crack. Slight whiplash. The pain will dissipate soon enough.

There's a brief moment of panic, of ice and water and the terrible looming certainty that this is the end and then the sudden, world-out-from-under-his-feet moment when it's not. A moment of confusion, the question of whether this is a dream or, perhaps, he is just finally awake.

The phone shrills in protest again. Loki's eyes flash in the dark beside him, feverishly, horribly, alert.

It's not his normal phone; no, it's the new one Tony forced him to install, directly plugged into the wall. It's a sort of radio. Tony can talk through it and Steve can answer, but it doesn't come unattached. Tony gave him a few other gadgets in facilitate communication during times of panic. Right now this is the only one he hears.

Now it's ringing and ringing and Steve is irrationally afraid that Loki will sense what he's thinking. He's debating on how exactly to answer the device when it begins to talk.

No, no, no, he thinks as Tony's voice comes through. He'll hear, don't…

Even unintentionally, Tony doesn't follow his orders.

"There's an attack on—" Tony says and that's all Steve hears before he dives headfirst out of the bed. He hears Loki curse in heavy Asgardian behind him, then the beginnings of rustling among the sheets.

Steve lands unsteadily, rolling over to take the sting out of the impact. He makes a grab at his shield, stuffed underneath his bed, and pulls it out.

Keeping his shield aloft, several blasts of magic thud into it. He stays there for a few seconds, panting despite the strange calm within him.

His heart is palpitating but he knows it's not from the danger he's in. Making a split-second decision, Steve leaps to his feet, and, holding his shield at his back, throws himself through the bedroom window.

A beam of green light flashes by his nose. Steve crashes into his own patio a split second later. He allows himself a wince. Glass pokes into his sides, and the stone is cold against his chest.

Mental note: next time, land on the shield.

Then Loki is leaping from his window to land with catlike grace before him, somehow fully decked out in Asgardian armor sans helmet. Steve rolls over as another beam cracks the stone next to him, then another. His head is spinning but he has no time to hesitate, no time to stop moving because Loki is already coming after him—

Steve ducks the next bolt but is thrown backwards by a sudden force slamming into his shield. The world rolls around and around. He skids across the patio, feels the open air beneath him an instant before he actually falls.

He allows himself a moment of pure, unadulterated panic as the wind fills his ears. It feels like an eternity.

Then his mind begins to work. Reaching out blindly, he feels his hand catch on the side of someone else's patio briefly and he scrabbles for a—

Then he is weightless, unmoving, floating back up and up through the darkness. Little flickers of green dance around his arms and legs and he wonders, inanely, what Loki can possibly say to explain this. This seemingly random, almost human act of leniency.

But he knows that even if he asked the inimical god will not answer him, will not tell him anything because he is Loki. That's explanation enough.

Thus when Loki's face comes back into view, Steve doesn't say a thing. He takes the moment to study the strange weariness in the god's eyes and the slackening around the lips, signs of weariness. And if Loki is showing any amount of fatigue, he must be on the brink of exhaustion.

Then the god's face changes abruptly. With an outwardly careless flick of his finger, he sends Steve slamming back into the ruins of the patio, his shield skittering out of his hand, pain sparking behind his eyes. He bites back a cry.

His shield is barely out of reach. He stretches out to grab it, flinching at the stabbing pain in his thigh. Loki moves it away an inch and watches him with a darkly playful look in his eyes. Steve doesn't appreciate it in the least.

"What a nice sight," smirks Loki. Steve starts with shock as he realizes he's still fully nude. Fully nude and bleeding from where several shards of glass and rock have embedded themselves in his skin. Knowing Loki's particular kinks, Steve would feel afraid if his chastity hadn't already been thoroughly and completely destroyed.

Steve shudders, moves as if he's going to cower, then abruptly changes directions and lunges for his shield. He snatches it, hanging onto the straps by his fingertips. Pain blossoms briefly in his thigh. He ignores it.

Loki just laughs. "Give up and make it easier for both of us."

Steve grits his teeth and stands. Loki steps forward. His helmet's great curved horns loom in Steve's vision, reflecting the light blindingly.

…light?

Steve hears a whirring sound and instinctively backs up. He's been around Tony enough to know what that means.

There's a tremendous bang and he sees Loki visibly stumble, genuine annoyance showing through his smirk.

"Step away from the Captain, Loki."
Tony, no, Iron Man is hovering in the air directly behind Loki, one metal hand raised. Tiny wisps of smoke curl up from the palm. Loki stiffens briefly before turning around slowly, arms raised in a movement he somehow makes insulting.

"Or what, Stark," sneers Loki, mask back in place. "Are you going to arrest me? How charming."

Steve watches the pair face off with a feeling akin to disappointment. He's not quite sure whether he's disappointed in Loki's mask coming back up or by the fact that it can come up so easily.

He ignores the nagging voice in his head saying you think you know Loki? in a mocking tone eerily reminiscent of the god himself.

Thigh bleeding, Steve takes a step forward. His brain is already assessing the situation, instincts and rationalizations synchronizing in a rare moment of clarity.

Loki can't win, Steve thinks, justifying the thought with Loki's last-ditch smirk, the one he's seen only once before. Sparks of magic fly around his palms but they are a sickly green. Tony's suit, on the other hand, whirs threateningly. Steve knows from the time it's taking to fire and how it's glowing from the chest, not the hands, that it's going to be a lethal shot.

The thought of this impromptu execution sickens him.

"Tony…" he says weakly. Stop.

Tony seemingly hears his thoughts and responds. "Why?" rasps the slightly metallic voice of Iron Man.

Is this really justice?

He can practically hear Tony laughing at his thoughts already. No, Steve might believe in justice of the law but Tony believes in vengeance. He needs another reason, another argument other than it's wrong.

The uni-beam prepares to fire. Loki holds up one hand, shielding himself against the light, and Steve can see that he's trembling slightly.

"Thor," blurts Steve. The whirring slows. "We have to bring him back, for Thor's sake if nothing else."

Tony nods his assent a heartbeat before blasting Loki full-force with both of his hand repulsors.

"Dammit, Tony!" Steve nearly screams as Loki crumples forward onto the patio.

"I'm doing us both a favor. Hey, he's still here. Guess we really got him, not some duplicate," says Tony, landing and walking up to the prone god. The sound of his suit's footsteps sounds almost rusty.

"What's up with your armor?" says Steve, shield appropriately positioned to cover as much of himself as possible.

"I was in a rush, same as you," Tony looks up before averting his eyes carefully. Steve blushes. "Except I actually had time to put some clothes on, No-Spangles."

Steve edges along towards his bedroom window. "Do I have time to…"

"Yes, yes, please," mutters Tony, poking at Loki. "I hate to say it, but I actually prefer the spandex."

Turning abruptly to make a sprint for his bedroom, Steve hears what sounds like a choked gasp. He glances back. But Tony's eyes are firmly fixed on Loki, who isn't stirring except for the faint rise and fall of his armored chest.

Steve shrugs internally and climbs through his bedroom window.


"No, that's not right," says Tony, quietly enough that Steve knows he's talking to someone via his suit. "I've got him right here with me. No—I don't care what Doom is saying! I'm carrying Loki right here, are you even lis—I knocked him out, I'm not a complete idiot like some people I could ment—Fine! Fine!"

"Fury?" Steve says dryly.

"Fury," confirms Tony. "Doom is supposedly holding our favorite psycho god." He shakes Loki in unnecessary demonstration. Loki's mouth flops open almost comically. "Think we're going to have to tell him he's got the wrong magical reindeer."

"So, what's the situation?"

"What's the situation—God, Captain, you crack me up sometimes. So military it hurts."

"Tony."

"Don't get your spangled panties in a twist. I'll explain. Here, hold on to my left arm—left, my left—and get Rock of Ages on my right. It's going to be slow with the pair of you but as long as he stays unconscious, we'll make it."

Steve does as instructed. The lopsided trio, listing to the left, rises about forty unsteady feet in the air. Then Tony's rockets stutter briefly and they plummet.

"Jarvis," says Tony, sounding wearily irritated as the air screams by their faces. "Fifty percent power to the thrusters, please."

It takes a few minutes, but eventually they settle into a clumsy formation: Steve clinging to Tony's suit for dear life and stretched halfway across the chest plate to balance the weight. Loki hangs off of Tony's right arm like a wet noodle.

The god shows no sign of waking up, although he twitches occasionally. At once point, a little spark of magic dances over his fingertip. Tony and Steve flinch for entirely different reasons.

For Steve, the scenery changes all too slowly. It may be the anxiety of what is to come. It may be the fact that Iron Man, burdened as he is by one Asgardian sorcerer and a none too light soldier on steroids, is barely staying up in the air.

Nevertheless, a few (relatively) tranquil moments manage to slip by as Steve loses himself in thoughts of art. Particularly abstract art.

That, of course, ends when Loki wakes up, the peaceful expression of unconsciousness on his face transmuting into momentary panic.

"Do try not to piss yourself, Reindeer Games," says, or rather, shouts, Tony, sounding gleeful even through his suit. Concentration shattered, Steve gives up trying to think of a new art project and stares down at the city passing beneath their feet.

The wind is obtrusive enough that he does not expect the pair to talk again. It certainly dissuaded him from trying to get information from Tony, although he has a slight suspicion that the man might have been purposely difficult. Well, how would I know, maybe he really can't hear.

He's wrong.

That figures. When will I be able to ever understand Tony? Or Loki, for that matter?

"Make one move and I blast you again," threatens Tony after about ten buildings of silence. He stops to shake the god around like a rag dol, consequently swinging Steve around as well. It feels as if his brain is slamming into the side of his skull.

"Stark, I swear," Steve mutters before realizing he can't even hear his own voice in the wind. "Tony!" he shouts. "Would you stop—"

Loki looks mildly annoyed at the familiarity between the two. "Tony?" he says disgustedly, although whether it's from the name or the swinging Steve's not sure.

"Yes, Rudolph. I do have a name outside of Stark, or Man of Iron." Tony does a few loop-de-loops as a sort of fanfare and Steve catches a little smile on Loki's face.

"Hey, Cap, how's the motion sickness going," calls Tony. He does a few aerial cartwheels in the suit, Loki and Steve flying along behind him like the tail of a kite. Steve closes his eyes resolutely.

"I do not have motion sickness, Tony, it's just you," mutters Steve irritably, eyes still conspicuously shut. "Aren't we supposed to be fighting somewhere?"

"Right you are, Van Gogh," Tony says. With one more flip, they're speeding through the air faster than before. Which isn't saying much, but to the slightly nauseated Steve, it feels like a considerable change.

"Van Gogh?" shouts Loki, sounding puzzled. "Isn't he the Midgardian artis—"

"You know who Van Gogh is?" Steve raises his eyebrows, the wind distorting his look of confusion.

"Do not mock me, human," snarls Loki defensively. "It is mere—"

"Hey, hey, no fighting," says Tony. His tone is somewhere between catfight! and quiet down, daddy's got a headache. "Steve's an artist as well, you know. Gives you guys something to talk about before we get there."

Steve glares at Tony, suit be damned. "That's why he calls me Van Gogh."

"Not because of Starry Night?"

"Finally someone gets it!" Tony crows. Then, it's his turn to be confused. "Wait, you know Starry Night too?"

Loki is about to bite out another scathing retort when Tony hurriedly continues, sensing danger in the god's demeanor.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that. Unless you're planning on blowing it up. Then there might be a small conflict of interests."

Loki opens his mouth, finds himself speechless, and closes it with a sulky huff. Tony makes a metallic sound that Steve suspects, correctly, is a chuckle.

A/N: Honorable mention to my friend RJ Niner for teaching the line break. Don't worry, I'll cut the A/Ns out of the next few chapters to make up for my recent, long, rambly ones.