Author's Note: Again, I am very sorry for the late chapter. The last third proved very difficult to write, writting myself into circles until I found my flow again. But thank you all for the excellent reviews and alerts, and please continue to leave feedback. It lets me know what you think and helps me improve.
Two people were walking back and a moment later, Lawrence's voice was much closer. "How are you feeling?"
"Awful. Pepper won't even make me soup."
Pepper scoffed, standing next to Lawrence in front of the couch, briefcase in her left hand. "Don't let him fool you,' she addressed Lawrence, 'he's been harassing me all morning."
Tony stuck out his tongue at Pepper, who in turn rolled her eyes at his childish behavior.
"Here I am miserable and you're being mean." Tony sniffed and glanced to Lawrence, batting his eyelashes, "Though a kiss might lift my spirits."
Lawrence shook his head in sympathy. "I would Tony, if I weren't afraid of contracting Scarlet Fever in the process."
A very unlady-like snort was being covered up by Pepper and Tony placed a hand over his heart, feigning pain. "You wound me. Need I remind you two that I am sick, bedridden, possibly dy-"
"Oh please, spare me," exasperated Pepper, cutting him off.
Tony just crossed his arms and Lawrence sighed, but the effect was lost with the laughter shining in his eyes. "Alright, no need for such a face." He leaned down, breath ghosting over Tony's lips, only to then change direction and placed a kiss to his forehead.
"That's cheating," Tony murmured.
A smirk appeared on that pale face. "That is incentive for you to get well," and he pulled away.
Tony had a small smirk of his own, accepting the challenge, and sat up, completely sure that his hair was sticking out at all kinds of odd angles. He stretched some, body still aching, and saw Pepper with a funny little grin he'd notice her having lately.
"O' wonderful and essential peace-maker of Stark Industries, didn't you have to hit the road five minutes ago?"
Pepper's eyes widened before checking her watching and cursed. Tony wasn't sure if she heard his, "I am appalled that my personal assistant uses such language!" before she once-overed her briefcase and ran towards the door, answering her phone that must have been her ride telling her that he was waiting.
A shout of "Thank you Lawrence!" and "Try not to be too big of a pain, Tony!", then a door opening and closing, and they were alone.
"So,' Tony started, pushing his blanket mound to the floor so Lawrence could sit, 'what did Pepper bribe you with to get you to spend time with me when I'm sick?"
Lawrence sat by Tony, the Iron Avenger watching him in all his refinement and kingliness, because Lawrence never just plopped down, oh no, every movement was polish and poise.
"Need I a reason?' he asked, 'Although Pepper was kind to warn me, I find it did not dissuade my decision to keep you company."
"You may regret that, just saying," Tony offered, eyes taking in the man he hadn't seen in three days, yet it strangely felt longer.
"Hmm, you're slipping, not a speck of green on you."
In response to Tony's observation, Lawrence raised a leg and pulled up his pant leg, revealing a bright green sock. Like, neon green.
"Do they glow in the dark?" He'd only been half-serious.
"Yes."
Unable to help it, Tony started laughing. "There is no way you bought yourself glow-in-the-dark neon green socks!"
"You are correct,' Lawrence answered, laughing lightly along with him, catching the infectious mirth, 'Kelly purchased the pair for me for Christmas last year. I had not the heart to turn away her gift. Though I must say, after many nights walking around my dark flat with these socks on and the amusement it has brought me, I've become quite attached."
Tony quieted down to low chuckles before it turned into another coughing fit. He leaned back, comfortable and happy that Lawrence was here. It was a nice detour from his 'crappy' state of the past few days. Rest sounded easier to achieve now, until Tony peeked at Lawrence, who was merely sitting there, but with that look of . . . patience, like he was waiting. The same look from the day after that day. That made Tony feel nervous and his living room airless, uneasy thoughts forming in his head.
What if he was ready to ask about the reason behind Tony's late-night drunken visit? He'd been excepting Lawrence to ask him about it at some point, but now that he was a couple of inches away from conceivably having said conversation, Tony really didn't want to deal with it.
It was still to recent, to raw. But he could feel it, the unspoken and unanswered question, the "what happened?" that hung between them. Tony didn't want to lie, but he also wanted to stay away from that day as far as he possibly could.
He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and even though it may not be realistic, Tony could go his whole life without bringing it up.
Suddenly feeling confined, Tony needed to get out of his house. Lying on his couch, cooped-up for three days couldn't be good for his creative brilliance. He had to leave, get a change of scenery, go for a drive- anything so long as he was out of this place and breathing some fresh air.
"You want to go out?" His question was sudden but voice unruffled.
Lawrence gave him a skeptical look.
"I'm here to watch over you and insist that you rest. Going out wouldn't be conducive to that now would it?"
"We wouldn't have to stay out, just drive around some." persuaded Tony, "Pretty please? I've been stuck in my living room for three days. I need to reestablish contact with the outside world."
Lawrence still didn't look convinced.
"We could go to your place, it's not far and I promise to keep irking to a minimum,' Tony held up three fingers, 'scouts honor."
"You were never a boy scout,' Lawrence deadpanned, 'but, I suppose your request isn't unreasonable. There will, however, be one stipulation."
Tony smiled. "Name it."
"I'm driving."
It had seemed like a fair exchange at the time, but after going the speed limit the entire trip in his Audi R8 -something that should be punishable by law- Tony was fairly certain that Lawrence had done it to mess with him, 'cause the man looked like he would have no problem putting the pedal to the metal and using each and every one of the horses his baby has to its name, speeding ticket well worth the fun.
But no, it was a normal, safe, boring ride that reminded Tony driving in a car wasn't as enjoyable when you're in the passenger seat.
Lawrence totally did it just to annoy him. Whenever Tony would casually mention that it is perfectly legal to go at least fifty-five in a fifty zone, no one would pull him over, he'd get a toothy-smile with theatrically played virtue, "I'm only being a good citizen. Keeping to the speed limit should be abided by, no matter the car."
Tony wore a speechless face until they pulled into Lawrence's driveway. If he had a religion, then this would definitely be against it.
Sporting a smirk, Lawrence unlocked his door and let them in, staying back in the kitchen while Tony went to the living room, happier that he wasn't in a car with someone who would purposefully make Steve, mister "I'll go into your workshop and ball-up one of your fancy cars if you don't signal your turn -despite being on an open, deserted road-", look like the perfect friend to take for a drive cross-country.
A sneeze that sent him stumbling back and his brain to the forefront of his skull had Tony letting go of the cruel and completely unjustified way Lawrence drove his Audi. Also somewhat dazed and ready to embrace the couch like an old friend.
Collapsing, Tony spied a remote and started flipping through channels. Between channels two and eighty-eight he came to the conclusion that the couch wasn't as comfy as he remembered. Then again, he had been drunk, so that probably had something to do with it.
Great, now he was thinking about . . . that again. Why did he say to come back here?
"Do you want anything, Tony?" Lawrence's voice called from the room over, interrupting his worsening mood.
"Chicken noodle soup would be nice."
"Uh-huh,' he heard, 'I'll see what I can do."
He wished he had alcohol. Beating down unwelcome feelings was a hell of a lot easier with a bottle of Jack Daniels in hand.
Tony ended up getting a ham and cheese sandwich, Lawrence saying that while he'd never set any kitchen appliance on fire, his culinary skills didn't go beyond throwing something onto the oven and waiting for it to go 'ding'. Not that the Avenger had any problems with that. Most of the days being sick meant Tony couldn't taste anything anyways, but now that he was finally getting over this awful cold, if still suffering from a few of the symptoms, the simple flavors of ham and sharp cheddar between wheat was divine.
Seriously, he wasn't sure he'd ever felt this close to a sandwich before.
"Would you like me to leave the two of you alone for a while?" Lawrence asked, diverting his attention from the laughably horrible B-movie Tony picked.
Tony draped an arm around his shoulders and smiled. "I don't think so. You see, ham-and-cheese and I have a very open relationship." He got a non-committal noise in return and Lawrence relaxed against his side.
An hour and a half later, Lawrence stole the remote, condemning Tony's choices in movies and looking for a program that wouldn't kill off brain cells, all the while Tony snickered at his grousing.
The screen flashed. Click, cartoons. Click, Gilligan's Island. Click, MTV. Click, what looked like the sequel to the movie they just watched, Tony grinned at Lawrence's "No." before he'd even said anything.
Click, Law and Order. Click, infomercials. Click, news.
". . . and we sure will be happy when summer is back in full swing. Now, let's recap the horrible attack in downtown last week by Dr. Doom and the heroic attempts at stopping him courtesy of the Avenger-"
In less than a second, the inventor took the remote from Lawrence's hand with speed he didn't know he had and shut the T.V. off.
Lawrence briefly blinked at where the control had been. "Care to explain that?"
"Not really," Tony said, staring at the blank television, ignoring the slight tremors in his hands.
There was silence.
"Tony,' he felt Lawrence shift to face him, 'will you please tell me what happened?"
Tony tries to smile, to crack a joke and whip up some charm that he knows Lawrence isn't going to fall for. It should be easy, like pulling on his iron mask and being someone else, someone better. But it's not, and the lie falls apart before he can even start it. "It's nothing. News is just boring- well, except when I'm headlining."
It was bottom of the barrel; too desperate, someone who already knew he'd been caught but was trying to get out of it anyway. Tony's reassurance was pathetically transparent and Lawrence saw right through it, and he wasn't going to let it go.
"No,' Lawrence said quietly, forcefully, 'no games, none of this. Please, Tony, I only ask because I am worried."
Tony knew that, at any other time, it would be touching that Lawrence was concerned, but not right now. It was like being shot by an arrow, something he had experience in being teammates with an easily provoke-able archer. Whenever someone brought this up, they were trying to twist the arrow out, and by reaction, Tony wanted nothing more than for it to be left in.
"It's nothing. Drop it."
"Cleary it is something and it should be spoken of before-"
"Before what?"
Lawrence's mouth tightened but gave nothing else away. "I just want to help you with whatever happened because it obviously isn't as inconsequential as you claim."
What started as being defensive was quickly turning offensive and Tony knew he was lashing out, being difficult and terse when Lawrence was putting an effort to stay understanding. But all he could think was, too bad, if Lawrence was going to try and drag this out into the open, it wasn't going to be pleasant.
"A little unfair, isn't it? You wanting me to be all show-and-tell when you aren't all that up to sharing yourself."
"That's different, Tony."
"Or hypocritical." Why? Why couldn't Lawrence just back off? Tony didn't need people worrying about him, he was fine. Would be even better if he could be left to deal with this by himself.
Lawrence stood, hands in fists at his sides, trying to keep his temper under a collected façade. "No, it's different. My problems haven't had me showing up drunk and soaking with rain at three in the morning at your home, have they?"
"I dunno,' Tony crossed his arms, resistance well intact, distancing himself with cynicism, 'it could happen. Why don't we talk about it, dig into a past that's more than just the last couple of years and vague references to a disappointing home life."
"Dammit, Tony!" He's angry now. Tony can hear it in the edge of his voice and see it in his ridged posture. "This is not about me! Something happened, something that has wounded you, and I'd like to think that I've earned your honesty!"
"You do, huh?" A small, nagging sensation tugged at the corner of his mind, warning him to stop and think about what he was going to say. Maybe if his own anger hadn't escalated, panic at how close to breaching this abnormal, darkening pain fueling his confliction Lawrence was, Tony would have listened.
"Yes, I do."
His reply was boiling underneath the quiet of his words, but that didn't stop Tony, his little speck of conscious that had remained with him so far being efficiently snuffed out as he stood up to face Lawrence directly.
"Well,' he said coolly, never looking away from those heated green eyes, 'you keep thinking that."
All the air in the room seemed to have followed Tony's words. There, again, was silence.
Guilt crashed over him the second Lawrence's face gave way to a minor expression of shock just before he schooled his features into something impassive; a defense Tony hadn't seen since that night he'd kissed him out of the blue.
Tony wanted to take back what he said, to apologize, but his mouth wouldn't move. Funny how now it decided to stop working.
The short window for asking forgiveness closed. Lawrence plastered on a painfully fake smile, though he next words were through gritted teeth, "You should get some rest Tony," and walked out of the room.
'Damn it,' Tony sat back down with a hard sigh, 'damn it, damn it, damn it.'
Loki was lying on his bed, glaring at his dreadfully boring ceiling with an arm draped over his middle, trying to recall the last time he'd been so overwhelmingly angry.
If there was one thing in this unbalanced universe Loki prided himself on, it was controlling his emotions. It came with centuries of practice, a necessary tool in the art of trickery and lies, to weave expression as deftly as a spinster does thread at his wheel. Loki's ability was well-honed, crafting the right look, the right voice, the right body language in any given situation like the performer he trained himself to be, any and all reactions were at his disposal.
And by being the master of his own emotions and reactions thereof, Loki had learned how to manipulate other's too. How little things as simple as words spun a certain way could be comforting or infuriating; whatever Loki wished to yield.
Perhaps no better example of this would be Thor. Oh, it had been a great amusement, influencing his once-brother. It was a game, tugging on his strings, just for a bit of fun. But bringing out his temper was not the challenge, for any half-brained idiot could anger Thor. No, the real test had been coaxing the blonde imbecile out of his rage, for Loki's play to show him reason and bring about the desired action.
The intent had not been one of maliciousness, simply Loki testing his skill. Seeing how far he could reach and to whom. Thor had been the easiest, being the "younger brother" occasionally came with advantages, but then it progressed to strangers, guards, and even that merry-band of sword-swingers Thor surrounded himself with.
With time and effort, Loki came to read people as easily as an open book, and even turn the pages as he wished. Harmless schemes, really, even though later on, he would be accused of his schemes being not-so-harmless. However, it all lead back to a singular truth; control over others must begin with control over one's self.
So why was it that years upon years of perfecting and practicing his art, that in his actions he was boasting flawless control, did Loki need to leave a room and collect himself so that he did not incinerate the maddening mortal man he chose to keep close?
The last time Loki's inner-self spilt over had been during his fight with Thor in the Bifrost. Those brief seconds when tears could be felt behind his eyes as Thor claimed his words and deeds to be madness. Only in such a vulnerable state could Thor, a man with as much tact as a brick wall, reduce the finely-crafted layers Loki wrapped tightly around himself to tatters and gain a peek at the frenetic whirl-wind that had been a stable marble pillar moved by none.
Simply put, Loki was not quick to emotion. Which was why he hated that Tony Stark, someone who in comparison could best be described as above-average for a Midgardian, was able to throw a few insensitive words and tempt Loki to blast him through a wall.
There was no exaggeration. The fallen God felt the magic spark along his fingertips with each word Tony spoke, waiting to ignite. But he avoided delivering such harm, walking away to "cool off". It was infuriating, knowing that he could no longer brush off Tony's words like any others. That they held power, power over him, and Loki had allowed it.
Loki rolled onto his side, cautious that in his current state, he would set his ceiling on fire, staring at it so.
His thoughts were getting away from him, driven by his frustration. He cared about Tony, and he knew that meant that what he said would obviously mean more.
Maybe Loki was in the wrong. Confronting Tony on this thing that plagued him still, while unwell, may not have been overly smart.
Loki let go of a sigh, anger fading into doubt. He had little idea of what he was doing. Relationships did not seem to be plan-able in advance, and even if they were, held far too many pitfalls and uncertainties along the way. What if he continued to do things erroneously?
This was not the first time Loki questioned his ability to be in a relationship. His preference for solitude, his complicated and shadowed past, his lack of experience in connecting with others. The physical aspect was simple, having his share of partners, keeping the affair mutual and uncomplicated, never lasting longer than the initial desire. But emotionally, Loki only had Lady Frigga, the woman he had known as his mother and source of support, and Thor, ever the confidant when they were younger. Odin's love was a plight, and everyone else was kept at a distance.
These matters of the heart, so enticing and yet utterly devastating, Loki wondered if following this path was worth it in the end. Realistically, how long would they have? Asier, both Asgardians and Jotun alike, were not immortal. They are susceptible to old age and death, as all life. But when compared to the life of a human, it does look quite the reverse. He has lived for centuries, for years the Earth has long forgotten, and he would live for many more centuries to come.
Tony? Tony had maybe fifty more years until Death would stand at his bedside, lulling him to an endless sleep. Possibly sixty, if one was to be optimistic. Arch Reactor or no, the heart was not the only thing that kept you alive. Could Loki endure this bond between them, riddled with inevitable fights, anger, and hurt? Could he hold onto a brief moment of happiness when it would be gone along the faintest breath, the blink of an eye?
Yes. The answer was yes. Loki loathed admitting, to concede that there was no way back, but Tony Stark had charmed his way into his heart and was quite content to stay there.
Imagining his new life without the enjoyment of Tony was bland and uninspired, an area of grey that was absolutely mundane. Going day by day in his Midgardian guise like he used to, dealing with people mainly through business and occasional agreeable talk. It all seemed so lonely. Loki was accustomed to being alone, depending on only himself, though he didn't find the thought of returning to such a state an enjoyable one. Now that Loki knew what being with someone felt like, going back would only leave him in remembrance of what he could have.
This did not, however, mean that the trickster was any less irritated with the childish CEO.
Loki did his best not to pry. Early on he understood that Tony had his portion of secrets, things that even over time, Loki would not be privy to, and it was fair. Loki could not see himself ever revealing who he truly was, or had been, so why would he demand everything from Tony when he himself could offer nothing?
It did not seem difficult, and Loki could keep from wondering, because those hidden things, days without contact and a swiftly excuse afterwards, were harmless, no damage done.
Until recently.
When Loki had opened his front door to find Tony on the other side, the embodiment of futility, drenched in cold yet not feeling it, he had never been so scared of what was unsaid. Holding Tony, Loki knew that some confidences, no matter how painful, had to be shared in order to flourish, even if it were a few of his own.
He grumbled a bit into his pillow. Loki did not want these difficulties, a ridiculous wish when knowing it was a fact of interpersonal life.
Thoughts drifted around his head, general exasperation and enervation keeping them half-formed and cycling. Loki considered sleep, believing that a clear head would be better to handle this later, when the sound of his bedroom door opening could be heard and the soft steps of feet padding along carpet came near.
There was a dip in the bed close behind him and a warm hand gently touching the one over his side, cautious and entreating. Loki was battling between refreshed anger and stiff patience, patience winning out in the end.
Loki remained unmoving, staring at his wall, waiting with long, tense moments before Tony's low voice spoke aloud.
"The other day . . . I was out- driving around downtown to escape boring Stark Industries meetings stuff. Seemed like a good idea, but I landed myself right in the middle of Victor Doom's attack."
It was slow moving, words calm and careful but wavering just beneath their exterior. Loki remained silent, listening with all the proficiency he possessed.
The hand atop his drew along his fingers, rough skin moving over smooth flesh. "I got out of my car. Figured it'd be a good idea to find some cover. Everything was a mess. People were running around, Doombots were blowing chunks off buildings, I tried to find some place sturdy and wait it out."
Tony's voice quieted some and held Loki's hand tighter. "While I was running, I- I saw a kid kneeling down in front of a partially collapsed building. He didn't notice, but there had been a blast and slabs from the top of building were destroyed and falling. He would've been crushed . . . so, I grabbed him and made a break for the other side of the street."
There was a stillness as Tony paused. Loki wanted to encourage him to continue, but words didn't seem appropriate at the moment, so he carefully made soothing circles with the thumb of his hand clasped so strongly within Tony's, reassuring as best he could.
"We made it, and the kid was fine . . . but- I didn't notice-", a sudden restriction in his chest at Tony's weakening words moved Loki to face him. The man looked haggard with the weight of what he hadn't yet said, and awaited it to suffocate him. "I didn't notice that he was trying to get to his . . . to his little brother." Tony's expression was grim, haunted. "A little kid died, alone and afraid, because I didn't notice him."
And there it was, the wound Tony had hidden and suffered from, reopened and aching. Loki wasn't sure what to say. He knew Tony felt a higher sense of responsibility when it came to his actions. The immediate termination of the Stark Industries weapons program had been quite the indicator for the world, that Tony Stark would not let an action so under-handed go on when he had the power to prevent it.
Loki wondered how he could place such duty upon himself, and what actions he took in form of his obligation.
Though now, it would seem that Tony's self-accountability had taken its toll.
The green-eyed deity knew that Tony could not continue on like this without a hand to offer care.
"It was not your fault." No lies. No false words. Loki would speak the truth as it was, because Tony needed it.
Tony responded with a crooked smile. "That was a really obvious thing to say.' he said softly, 'I kept going over it in my head, replaying the scene again and again until I could close my eyes and see it just as clearly as when it was happening. A kid died, and I could have saved him."
"From what you have told me, Tony, I fail to see how." Loki steadied himself, preparing his words. Not in a long time had he wanted someone to believe what he said as much as right now. "You were in the middle of an attack. A lesser man would have run and kept running, but you stopped, stopped and saved a child when you saw him in danger."
Tony didn't look swayed, like he had prepared himself to be told all of this.
"Had you done nothing,' he continued, 'there would be two children dead. You cannot blame yourself for matters outside of you control."
Tony's expression shifted to one of anger, but not at Loki. "It should have been in my control."
"And why is that?"
The man beside him faltered. "I took the responsibility. To save people. But when there's a little kid in trouble ten feet from me, I screw up. The single non-selfish thing I commit myself too, and I have to look at a mother when she realizes her youngest son is dead."
"Why?" Loki needed to understand, to help, "Why does this boy's death weigh so heavily on you? It is not your reason in life to save others'. You saved one child who was moments from death, but in doing so, were left unable to save another. Why can you not accept that this is not your fault?"
"I was there. Right. There. I should have been able to do something."
"But you couldn't." The words sounded harsh, perhaps even cruel, but Loki had to make Tony realize, before this guilt he held onto blackened him further. "You did what you were able to. You disregarded your safety for a child you did not know, in the midst of a supervillain attack, and saved him." Loki guided Tony's face with his free hand, forcing him to look into his eyes as he spoke. "Because of you, a mother need only mourn the loss of one son, not two."
He was quiet again, eyes searching Loki's for something. "If I have the power to help people,' His voice was whispered, heavy, 'doesn't that mean I have the responsibility too?"
Loki wasn't sure why Tony was so intent to place the death of an innocent child on his conscience, to believe that he should have been able to prevent the travesty. It was odd, and despite knowing what he did of Tony's past- more importantly the double-dealing of Stark weapons- Loki knew there was a piece to this puzzle being withheld, preventing him from seeing the entire picture.
Once again, he would have to re-examine it at a later date.
"Why is it,' Loki asked, 'that people assume power should be placed with a definable responsibility?"
He adjusted himself, moving off the arm that wasn't still in-hand with Tony's, prickly sensations running down his arm as the numbness subsided. "Just because one has power, does not mean he should do something with it. If I had the ability to sing children to sleep, should I have to go out, door-to-door, and offer my services to parents in need of a quiet night?"
Tony cracked a small smile and Loki kept going. "I have always believed that using power responsibly should be more about not using it irresponsibly."
"I'm not following you."
"Evil begets good. If there were no bad people doing bad things, then we wouldn't need people with the power to stop them using that power. So, where does that leave all these people? The rich men and women whose money made a difference. The officers of the law, brave and enduring, whose skills are no longer required. The 'superheroes' with their abnormal abilities left with nothing to use them for. All that is left for them is the uncertainty of the day and the proactive task of not abusing what they have, despite its purposelessness."
"The world seems to have forgotten, that the people who step out of their lives to help others', they don't do it because they have to, but because they choose to. Saying that a person 'has' to, implies that there is no choice, that it is expected. Amusing, when you think about it, in a world where people expect both too much and so little."
"Power should come with a responsibility, but such a responsibility is not as black and white as you think. The absence of action can be just as necessary as taking action. It is to each their own. You, Tony Stark, choose to take responsibility as an obligation, and when you do not meet your standards of such, blame yourself far heavier than is deserved."
Tony made to speak, likely to deny what he just said, but Loki held to his words, unwilling to lose a battle that Tony couldn't afford to win. "Listen to me, please. I do not know why you are doing this to yourself, but I ask you to let go of the guilt. You saved a life, a risk that was noble and dangerous, done without a second thought. Please, don't hurt yourself for who you were unable to protect."
Tony opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find what to say. "I just . . . it feels like it was my fault,' he sighed, 'because maybe I could have done something different."
Loki understood. "I know you may not believe it today, or tomorrow, but as redundant as it is to say, what happened was not your fault."
They stayed quiet for a bit. The air being still and both turning to face Loki's still dreadfully boring ceiling, taking in their exchange, hands still intertwined.
"Do you want to know how my family and I came about our separation?" Tony said nothing and Loki did not wait for a reply. "My father is a man of importance, and the time had come for him to pass on his legacy to one of his sons, for whoever was chosen to head the mantle in our father's place. I knew it was never going to be me, and I was content with that, truly. I wanted to explore my own ambitions, and stepping out of my brother's shadow only to fall into my father's never held much appeal."
Loki closed his eyes against the old scars, stinging with a pain and anger never forgotten. "But no one could see that my brother was far from ready to take on such responsibility. If he had, the outcome would have been devastating, and not from a conscience malevolence, but an unchecked arrogance. I loved my brother, my family, and I refused to see any of them ruined over a ruling that hadn't been clearly thought out."
"So I did what I had to do." Oh, how sure he had been, how carefully he had planned, believing that he could avert an oncoming disaster, only to substitute it for another one. "I planned a diversion, a spectacle that not only would interrupt our father naming his successor, but also show that my brother was not yet fit for what our father was passing onto him."
"It worked at first, but fell apart almost as quickly. As a result of my plan, two men, bodyguards of my father, died. I learned of my adoption, who my real father was. The revelation broke me. I had always felt so different from my family, so separate, and then my fears turned true. My emotions were unstable, my mind clouded, and I acted out, firmly walking down the pathway that lead to my own downfall. It was only pure chance that I had an opportunity to start over, to live my own life."
"But those men, only doing their jobs, the way I found out I was not truly my father's son and only a brother in name, it all started with my dishonesty, a good intention that made everything worse . . . or perhaps better, with myself no longer in the picture. Regardless, it was entirely my fault."
It was done. Somehow, Loki was able rip away all lies and aversions, the pretty fabrications and intricacies that were woven into his speech, a trait he was sure was engraved upon his tongue, and only say what was, only what was left. He felt breathless, taking in thin air and releasing it. The hand that wasn't still connected to Tony had a firm grip on his sheets, out of sight as his face remained expressionless, waiting for what Tony would say to his reveal.
Instead of backlash, of Tony moving away, Loki's hand was held stronger, reaffirming a shared comfort, a confidence.
"I am the man that owned a billion-dollar company which profited from the manufacture and distribution of weapons, and I was cool with that." Tony said, looking aimlessly at the ceiling, "My Company made weapons that defended boarders, ended wars faster and saved numerous people. Never once did I have any doubts. And why? Because of a man named Obadiah Stane, the man that I had always seen as something of a substitute father for the better part of my life, was right there with me."
Loki knew of Stane, the man who was at the head of Stark Industries' deceitful relations. "I trusted him. So much. He always took care of the official stuff; the paperwork, the board meetings, the events. He had Stark Industries under his thumb while I was off partying in private jets with stripper flight attendants. I never thought about how unusual it was, how I'd play off Obadiah when he brought up business and how he'd let it go without a fight."
"He was taking my company out from under me, and because I was too full of myself, because I had Pepper to organize what I was required to do and gave free reign to Obadiah, never checking in, never noticing the little indicators that something was very, very wrong. Like how what was being produced and what was being shipped never lined-up. 'Oh, don't you worry; it's probably a computer error. I'll take care of it, Tony.' How my board members were reporting to me less and less. 'There isn't anything going on, Tony-boy, but when something good pops-up, you know I'll be the first to call you.'"
The sardonic smile Tony had as he spoke fell from his face, traces of guilt Loki knew that went back further than he could help lining his features. "If I had bothered to put in the tiniest amount of effort, then I would have seen what was going on. But because I didn't, weapons that were meant for allies went to enemies, and whole villages of people, caught up in a war over greed, lost their homes and lives because of my negligence. My fault. And I try to make up for it, every day."
Loki wanted to say that Tony couldn't take the lives of all those people on his shoulders, that he hadn't known. But Loki understood the eccentric genius with outstanding qualities, both good and bad, and knew that he would not hear ignorance for an excuse
"You shouldn't blame yourself for trusting a man who was nearly your father." Loki said quietly.
Tony's gaze held his. "But you do."
It was a rarity that Loki ever be rendered speechless, to be so surprised or shocked and left unable to retort. His eyes widened in the faint light of the room, the sun withdrawing its presence and diminishing along with the day.
He wasn't sure what Tony expected him to say or do in response, but Loki didn't think it was laugh.
His soft voice broke out, piercing the calm of the room with a rich laughter that boarded hysterical. Because it was true! So very true. The two of them with their cascade of problems that no mental health physician would ever step near, each harboring troubles that would be difficult shared between two people, much less by themselves. Yet here they were, gutting their protective walls and harsh defenses with sharp, deep slices to allow all the truths and ugliness and feelings to spill out.
It was true. And maybe, maybe they could work with all their buried secretes and aching pasts that were yet to be uncovered, all their pain and problems that pushed others away yet brought them closer. Because they were trying, and Loki had never been so sure of something that balanced so precariously on an edge.
After his laughter died down to muffled chuckles and Tony watching him with an eyebrow raised in what Loki hoped wasn't Tony thinking he had lost his mind, did he speak.
"I'm sorry for what I said earlier. It wasn't fair, and I should be more open with you." Tony bit off a short laugh, "I've got this thing where I'll dig myself into a bad mood and bite the head off of anyone within a twenty-foot radius."
"Mmmm,' Loki hummed, eyes sliding over to look at the man beside him, 'I think it's called being an ass." Tony's lip twitched upward. "Yeah. I've been known to have an occasional bad case of that."
"It's alright though,' Loki said, squeezing Tony's hand, 'it's relatable."
"You know what?' Tony asked, maneuvering himself closer, bringing his arms around Loki's waist as Loki did the same, resting his forehead against Loki's, 'I think we've got some issues."
Loki smirked, peaceful in the feeling of Tony's breath tracing his lips. "Oh yes. A couple of marionettes who have cut themselves of their strings, only to fall and lie broken and splintered."
"Well, if we're so broken, why don't we fix each other?"
A warm sensation spread through the inner-workings of Loki's heart, a feeling that was often there whenever Tony was involved. Anywhere from a low warmth to a white heat, its presence was a constant in his life now. What had once been mere glowing embers was now a fire; bright and encompassing. And this fire, powerful and beautiful, surging inside his chest, had burned the monster within him away. Loki knew its name, and he knew its gifts as well as its price, and maybe one day, he would say it aloud. But for now, the warmth made him feel safe, trusted, . . . complete.
It was more than he would have ever hoped for.
" . . . I like that idea."