Firstly, please accept my sincere apologies for the long absence! Work and life recently became excessively busy (read: crazy), and then when I finally found some time for writing this chapter took ages until I felt somewhat happy with it. Secondly, I am anticipating Loki to return the chapter after next :) But, enough rambling - I hope that you enjoy!

Thanks so much for everyone's ongoing support :)

Chapter 12

It was a particularly incessant, low, mechanical roar that pulled Tony Stark from the murky depths of his alcohol-induced slumber. It irritated him, actually; a particularly demanding noise that perched just on the edge of hearing. As he departed the realm of sleep he wondered why, at first, a motorbike should be turning over next to his head. It was as consciousness began to possess him he realised with a clarity fuelled by the after-effects of liquid sedation, that in fact a chainsaw was being used nearby. Disjointed images ran across the edges of Tony's mind; an irate Norse god, a shattered door, bottles upon empty bottles of alcohol, a discussion that caused his stomach to sink progressively lower as the night wore on. Tony mentally squeezed his eyes shut against them and, determined to return to his repose, rolled over to seek out a new position of comfort.

It was the sharp, surprised yell from Stark accompanied by a resounding thud that had Thor on his feet, instantly roused from his stupor. Brandishing a hastily grabbed weapon whilst attempting to shake the fog from his brain, the God of Thunder looked around for the threat. After a moment he frowned, gaze shifting to his arm as he suddenly noticed Mjölnir's unusual weight in his hand. Swearing colourfully in the Adgardian tongue the Thunderer stormily cast aside the sleek and trim-lined lamp he'd erroneously seized in haste, and snatched up his hammer from where it had fallen the previous night. The lamp hit the floor with a ringing crash as it instantly exploded into a hundred shattered pieces, each one skittering away across the hard floor.

"Please... would you stop breaking my stuff!?"

Starting, Thor blinked the last of the sleep from his eyes and turned back to the scene before him. Stark was presently lying on the floor at the foot of the largest black leather couch having rolled and fallen from it moments before, curled up in the foetal position, clutching his head in his hands. "And also," the billionaire continued piteously, "stop making so much god-damned noise."

"You know not how to hold your drink, Man of Iron," the Thunderer rumbled, evidently amused as he lowered his weapon. "Indeed, by your wailing I did believe you to be under attack."

His tone was far too taunting for Tony Stark's liking, and for a moment the billionaire could believe that Thor was indeed brother to the Trickster God. Frowning, Stark uncurled somewhat and glared at his friend from beneath his elbow. "Tony Stark does not wail," he protested heatedly. Then, burying his head once more he continued in a muffled voice, "Tony Stark only ever yells angrily in a very manly fashion."

Thor smirked. Then, after a moment of silence asked in a slightly more serious tone, "may I partake in some of your food prior to our departure this morn?"

From his position on the floor Stark frowned as he grappled to string together the hazy memories of last night into something more coherent. Unwilling to ask the obvious question, however, he simply replied, "sure. Go nuts." An inevitably awkward pause followed as the Thunderer shifted his weight slightly causing Tony to sigh inaudibly. "It means, yes, Thor. Yes, you may eat my food. Just not the coffee. That is strictly off limits. Capisce?"

"I thank you, my friend, for your generous hospitality," Thor responded in genuine gratitude, obviously ignoring the parts of the sentence he did not fully understand.

Tony lay still and unmoving as his Asgardian companion strode non too quietly from the room, every footfall a heavy strike that caused Tony's head to explode, flashes of whiteflaring unforgivingly behind shut eyelids. Once the heaving nausea had passed he breathed deeply for a moment, collecting his thoughts, and then began sifting through his recollection of events from the preceding day. After a few false starts and more than a couple of inwardly directed groans, Stark was relatively confident he'd pieced together the sequence: Thor had turned up, smashed his door, admitted to losing his psycho brother then offered up some uncomfortably perceptive questions about his behaviour, and had finally capped the entire undesirable conversation off by delivering the news that a group of Chitauri had stolen away during the New York invasion and taken something important from Earth. Stark had responded to these rather disagreeable revelations by sending an urgent hail out to the Avengers, recalling them immediately to base ('yes, of course I mean Stark Tower', he'd had to answer in exasperation more than once, 'where else would I be referring to?'). Additionally, he'd sent for Eric Selvig, the astrophysics scientist, as well as begrudgingly informing Fury, which he could only presume he'd done because he had been, at the time, completely inebriated. He'd then proceeded to ply the Thunder God with an exceedingly awful amount of alcohol, pointing out, quite reasonably he'd thought, that even if they left the following evening the two of them would still arrive at Stark Tower prior to the majority of the group. Thor had insisted on departing in the morning however, and once Stark had begrudgingly agreed the two of them had worked hard at becoming excessively drunk, the evening eventually ending in well earned unconsciousness.

Tony sighed and rolled gingerly onto his back to stare up at the sleek white ceiling. "Jarvis?"

"Yes sir?"

"What's the current ETA of the group?"

"Mr Rogers is presently awaiting your arrival at Stark tower, Mr Banner is en route from India approximately 17 hours, Ms Romanov and Mr Barton are in the process of extracting themselves from a S.H.I.E.L.D operation at a top secret location-"

"Which is where exactly?"

"Bolivia, sir. Mr Selvig will arrive tomorrow morning, and Mr Fury has... requested that you contact him via his secure teleconference line when the group meeting is in session."

There was a heavy pause and then, "what did he actually say?"

"I believe that his precise phrasing was 'you tell that drunken little fuck that he does not have the clearance, let alone the authority, to summon me to his eye-sore of a tower willy-nilly, and that he can make a god damned phone call like everybody else'."

Stark sucked in a breath. "Eye-sore? Wow, low blow."

"Indeed, sir."

The billionaire lay still on the floor for a moment before groaning and rolling over, bracing himself to force his body into a semblance of standing. As he was on his hands and knees however, a smoky memory returned to him suddenly and he frowned. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you order a chainsaw into my house for some reason?"

There was a pause in which Tony could swear the A.I blinked. "Ah, no sir. I believe what you thought to be a chainsaw was, in fact, Mr. Odinson."

"Right. The God of Thunder snores. Of course he does. Excellent." Stark rolled his eyes and then shook his head, regretting it instantly. "No more slumber parties," he muttered darkly to no one in particular.

Many hours later, after a hot shower and a large number of coffees that still seemed to fall just short of the mark, the private jet of billionaire Tony Stark landed on Stark Tower in the middle of New York. The tower was still a devastated wreck, with a large shattered hole gaping in its side, the main window conspicuously absent, and the interior of one of the floors a disorganised mess. Parts of the exterior had fared no better, and Pepper, efficient as ever, had cordoned off the entire area prior to its remodelling. The jet shut down its engines allowing the cacophony of noise that was the concrete city below to re-establish its dominance. Two figures disembarked from the door. One walked straight and tall, moving with what could only be described as determined purpose. The other, however, held himself gingerly and walked in a manner that spoke of deep personal affront. When the former offered to assist the latter down the stairs the descriptive profanities that followed left very little to the imagination.

Steve Rogers watched this little scene unfold with some concern, but no real surprise. When the two men entered the room, he turned to the one who seemed to be walking as if every footfall brought discomfort, or nausea, or both. It did not take a particularly active imagination to delineate the cause of his suffering with his disheveled hair, slumped shoulders, and firmly placed sunglasses. "Is everything alright St-"

"It is currently quiet time!" Stark snapped, the words coming out as if he'd been forced to utter them more than once during the transit from Malibu. He did not look at the blonde, but simply exited the room as briskly and carefully as possible, deliberately ignoring his traveling companion.

Once the billionaire was gone, Steve turned to Thor with a raised eyebrow and a slightly amused look on his face. "Well, he's not in a good mood," he commented. "Did he lose a drinking contest or something?"

Thor grinned impishly. "Not at all!" the god responded merrily. "We drank, we sang, friend Stark proved himself to be stronger than a wild Mulfipr in our wrestling. We needs must have further practice in these honourable activities!" Thor punctuated his assertion by slapping Rogers on the back in friendly greeting, nearly causing the blonde to fall to the floor as his knees buckled under the force.

Steve grabbed the table even as Thor grabbed his arm to steady him, and in a strained voice asked, "are you sure getting Tony to drink more is the best idea?"

"I see not why it should be anything other than agreeable. And you of course shall join us in our cavorting, son of Rogers!"

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but then changed his mind, reminding himself that no matter how many times he'd informed Thor the god just couldn't seem to grasp the concept 'can't get drunk'. Despite that, Steve secretly believed that if it came to it Thor could probably still drink him under the table. So instead he simply shook his head in a show of amusement, and replied, "perhaps after we've sorted out this current problem? Which I wouldn't mind an advance briefing on, if you have the time?" The soldier watched as what he thought to be a simple request cut the atmosphere flat, and Thor's previously cheerful face fell into an expression of deep concern. "Wow, uh, sorry... I didn't mean to... I mean, we can wait if you'd rather," Steve offered haltingly, arueful expression spreading across his face.

"It is of no concern" the god of Thunder replied, sounding both weary and tense as he waved away the soldier's apology. Sitting heavily at the table he continued, "indeed, I would be grateful to know your thoughts if you have time enough to attend my words."

Steve nodded. "Of course," he said kindly, taking in the despondent expression of his comrade. "Here, how about you stay there, I'll get us some coffee, and then you can tell me what's going on?"