A/N:
Sorry to get a little (emotionally) heavy here! I've been trying to keep this fic pretty light, but...

[That night.]

Tired out physically (swimming) and otherwise (the inevitable arguments with Thor), Loki went to bed early.

But noisy music woke him up at midnight. He went to investigate, and found Stark sitting on the couch with his knees drawn up, wrapped in blankets even though it wasn't cold, staring. There was a bottle of liquor on the coffee table, but no glass.

Hmm. "Stark? What's going on?"

"Areeyem," Stark said indistinctly. "Losing my religion."

"What?" He'd had no idea Stark was religious at all.

Stark's eyes finally focused. "R.E.M.," he said more clearly. "The group. Losing My Religion is the song. I've always found it bizarrely soothing."

Clearly, something had happened. He handed Stark the bottle. "Why do you need to be soothed?"

"Flashback when I got in the shower." He was flat and matter-of-fact. "A bad one. Thanks." He took a big sip. "I thought I was okay horsing around in the ocean today, but apparently..." He sighed and tipped his head back.

Loki didn't understand, and it was unclear if Stark wanted him to stay. He hovered uncertainly.

"Do you even know what I'm talking about?" Stark said at last. "You don't know what I'm talking about. Okay, let me tell you the whole story then; talking is supposed to help. And I order you, officially, master to slave, not to run around gossiping about it to anyone. It's not like people don't already know - there's a fricking documentary for God's sake; it's how the Iron Man got started - but still. You keep this to yourself."

"Of course." He sat down on the couch and settled in. "Tell me."

Stark told him. It was a story of kidnapping and torture and trickery and escape, an incident he would have thought a marvelous adventure... were it not for Stark's tone, which suggested that the experience had deeply frightened and upset him. The man's voice was flat and emotionless at times, frantic at others, and grew weak and halting in more than a few places. Some parts of the story - including the water part - had clearly been told and re-told already, but other parts sounded fresh, raw and untouched. He wasn't sure what to make of that, that Stark would give him information he'd kept largely secret for years, but in any event it was obvious what he was supposed to say as soon as Stark was finished.

"I am so sorry. Obviously, had I known that you've been recently tortured with mock drownings, I would not have pushed you underwater today." (Or, he would have done so more cautiously, at least.)

"No! No," Stark repeated, almost angry. "I know people who are PTSD, who can't take flash pictures, who run around like-... no. I'm not gonna be that guy." He shook his head hard. "I went to a shrink so I could talk about water. I took swim lessons so I could be in the water. I even hired a dominatrix so I could be forced into the water, and that was really not awesome at first, but I got used to it. I'm okay."

Half the words were unfamiliar, but he understood well enough. He reached over and took the bottle. "Your hands beg to differ. You're trembling."

"Well I was okay at the time, anyway. I just-... man. I wasn't expecting that. In the damn shower."

Loki took a sip himself, and made a face. "Shall I make you a real cocktail? Or get you some pills? You can't drink this straight; it's disgusting."

"I'm not drinking it for the taste. And no: no pills. I don't do pills."

"Neither do I. Except when people slip them into my coffee without my knowledge." He clapped Stark on the shoulder as if in jest... but Stark didn't shrug him off, so he stayed for long minutes, rubbing, until he felt the muscles relaxing under his hand.

Tony woke up in his bed the next morning, which seemed fine until he remembered Loki ushering him down the hallway and tucking him in. God, that was embarrassing. He tried to forget it.

He considered showering. Showering should be fine. Though if last night repeated itself...

"Sir," Jarvis said. "Loki has requested that I inform him when you awoke. Would you like me to do that?"

He felt a little bad that his housemate - who had done a stellar job of calming him down last night, without asking a single stupid question - wasn't entitled to even basic information. "Yes, tell him. And for future: if he asks you questions, you can give him anything simple and factual that I'm not trying to hide."

"Yes, sir."

He sighed and waited for Loki's knock. The shower would wait.

It wasn't long before Loki was lurking in the doorway. "Stark." He looked incredibly stiff and uncomfortable. "I was working on your fanmail, and I found this one. I think perhaps you should answer it yourself. Or, or hire someone. But not me."

Hm. He beckoned. "Lemme see." He unfolded the letter, which was typed - did kids not even have to learn cursive anymore? - and started reading. "Dear Mr. Stark. My name is Brian and I'm 12 years old. I'm writing to you because I can't stop thinking about flying. That's because I can't walk anymore - I lost both my legs when the aliens attacked New York. I just-" He looked up. "Yeah, I see your point. You, uh, probably shouldn't be the one to write this kid. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks."

"Loki." He stopped in the doorway, but didn't turn around. "Listen, we should, uh, talk about all that. Sometime."

"Why?" Loki said tightly.

Why indeed? They had gone months without talking about it, there really was no constructive way to talk about it, and he had no idea what to say and no idea what he was doing. Well... that wasn't entirely true. "Because you're going to have to talk about it sometime," he said. "People will make you. I still get reminded about all the Stark Industries missiles that blew up malls and buses and residential blocks. There's at least one photo of a severed body part - usually a kid's - waved around at every single press conference I give."

Those aren't your fault, Loki should have said. People just want someone to rage at, and you're an easier and safer target than the ones who actually did the deeds. It was true - he knew it was true. But it was nice to hear people confirm that for him every now and again.

Instead Loki was silent a while... and when he did speak, what he said was: "I don't give press conferences. I'll never have to answer to humans for anything I've done. Which is fortunate, as unlike you I have nothing to say that could make me at all palatable to them."

Tony blinked. Not what he was expecting, but okay, he could rationalize. Loki's ability to be empathetic only kicked in when he didn't have problems of his own eating up his attention. That made sense.

"I've already gone before Odin," Loki went on, quietly. "He took my station, my name, my freedom. And he took my magic, which is a mutilation I can't even describe to you - I'd much rather have lost something so trivial as a couple of limbs. But in any event: I have been punished. There's nothing more to say."

Tony definitely disagreed with that... but since he didn't know what he should say, he let Loki go, and sat down to work on the letter.

He couldn't imagine what had made Stark wait this long before mentioning what he'd done. Out of a perverse curiosity about what would finally happen when the matter was addressed, he had dropped hints himself a few times over the past months, but Stark had ignored them. In fact, other than flat-out refusing to give Loki back his Asgardian clothes, Stark had seemed to ignore entirely everything that had taken place prior to the commencement of The Situation.

He should have known that that was too good to be true. He knew how Stark addressed transgressions: he named them and imposed punishment and then declared them done with. But this... this he had never touched. It had never been paid for. Odin had been infuriated about his insolence, his temerity in attacking a realm Thor had claimed for his own, and his presumptuousness in claiming a title Odin no longer wanted him to have. He'd been punished for all that... and for failing. That above all. For being defeated, and bringing shame to the Allfather's proud line. But Odin didn't give two shits about the humans he had killed.

Stark did. Stark cared about his pathetic realmmates with a ferocity Loki would never understand. He was willing to lay down his life for them if necessary - he had almost done it on more than one occasion. (A terrifying prospect, because what would become of him should Stark fall, but that was a worry for another time).

How could Stark reconcile becoming friendly with one who had butchered so many of them?

It must be that he was just simply not thinking of it, that he had buried deep the knowledge of what Loki had done. That was the only explanation. He had buried the knowledge... but today, it was going to burst forth. At this very moment, Stark was sitting in his bedroom writing a letter to a child whose life Loki had destroyed - telling him what? That his pain would be avenged?

Until now Stark had been consistently generous and gentle, but surely, with the full history before him, he would now change his ways. Surely, on the next infringement of some silly household rule the storm would break. Stark would remember who he was dealing with, and treat him accordingly. That suit could crush his bones to powder.

He found he couldn't face waiting for it. Nothing could be worse than living in fear. Without even giving himself a chance to change his mind, he knelt down by Stark's glass coffee table, raised a lamp over his head, and brought it down hard.

"Sir. Loki has just smashed your coffee table. Deliberately."

Tony took a deep breath. "Are you fucking kidding me." He got out of bed and stormed into the living room, and there was Loki, kneeling in a pile of glass. Blood all over the carpet. "What the fuck."

Loki smiled up at him - looking fucking crazy. Loopy and unfocused. "How's your letter?"

Right. He had a good guess of what the guy was up to. "This does not count as atonement," he said, as coldly as he could. "You fucking fail. Now tell me, right now: how bad is that?" He pointed to the blood.

Loki glanced down and shook his head. "A few cuts are minor, a few more serious, but none present any danger."

He couldn't believe that after everything it had still occurred to him to worry. About Loki. He fucking hated it. "Then you can get bandaids later. Right now stand up. Up. Up! Stand the fuck up!"

He did - still smiling. Eyes bright. Totally fucking nuts.

"Look at that - look what you did. Look at my table." He pointed. "Whatever's going on in that apeshit-crazy head of yours does not give you the right to smash other people's belongings! Get the fuck over to that couch. Go!"

He was so angry he almost couldn't breathe. Fucking Loki. The most selfish fucking alien in the universe - and he was worried about him. Fucking asshole.

He stood at the cabinet a moment, imagining. The cane could do more damage but it felt too delicate; he wanted heft, the ability to really use his strength. He took the paddle instead and came to stand in position. "You are about to be made very, very sorry." He drew his arm back - screw the wrist; screw the elbow; this time his whole shoulder was in on the action.

"Ready?" he said - habit; this time he didn't particularly care if the fucker was ready or not.

Loki sucked his breath in and nodded.

He froze. The scene was so familiar, but felt so wrong. He was speaking all cold and orderly, maybe, but in fact he was completely out of control. "Hold on." He stepped away from the couch and dropped his arm to his side. "I'm too pissed off. Hold on."

He walked around front, adrenaline pumping, rage pumping, and without warning swung the paddle down full-force onto the cushion just beside Loki's head.

Loki shouted in terror. Hid his face.

But Tony... felt a little better. "Wait," he said. "Don't move."

He beat the living shit out of the couch for a minute, and it really did help. Once he was done he could breathe again - and think. "Okay. I'm sorry if that scared you," he said, since Loki was shaking like a leaf and making high little whimpery noises, "But it did the job; I'm better now. I'm all set. Are you still okay to get hit?"

Loki shuddered hard. Finally nodded.

Clearly still terrified, but Tony wasn't yet feeling very forgiving. "Okay. Five for my table, because you don't get to break my furniture just because you're having issues, but calm the hell down; I'm not going to really hurt you. I promise. You ready?"

This time he spoke up. "Yes."

It wasn't meant to be a friendly paddling; Tony made it sting. But he had his shit together now and he was careful, especially over the lingering cane bruises, and Loki took it without any problem. Afterwards he said: "I'm sorry I smashed your table. I was troubled. It was... collateral damage."

He couldn't make himself be nice; he was still too pissed. "You are immature and destructive and completely self-centered is what you are. Collateral damage is your middle name. Fuck you, man." He sighed. "But okay: for the table, you are forgiven. Don't do it again." Fucking Loki. Trying to dodge the fucking conversation, and steal forgiveness anyway. (Like it was even Tony's to give! Or like he'd give it if it were.) Fat fucking chance.

Loki stood up slowly - still bleeding all over the couch.

Tony sighed again. As pissed as he was, he couldn't pretend not to notice that one or two of those cuts needed stitches. "Come on. Let's clean you up."

TBC.

Ouch, Tony! Tellin it like it is.

Byleistr: Thanks! Yeah it didn't seem like anything horrible to me, but I started thinking maybe my perspective is off since 1) I'm an athlete and a daredevil, which has resulted in a lot of weird injuries over the years, and 2) I do S&M, which has sometimes resulted in ouches that show a little blood but were not at all a bad experience.

Guest who says they're stopping reading because of the violence: Out of curiosity, are you the same Guest who said that last chapter too? If so, why are you still here?