Author's Note: I must have re-written this chapter four times, but here it. Sorry it's a short one. Again, work is eating me alive for the past few days and into the next whole week, but I'm going to do my best to keep cranking more of this story out.

Warning: Mentions of suicide.

Disclaimer: Of course, I own nothing but the various hospital staffs, the Bowery Mission staff, and Charlie at this point. The other characters belong to the lucky people at Marvel.

Chapter 19: Words & Honor

"The good news is the security footage for S.H.I.E.L.D. is being reviewed, so we'll know soon who it was that used Agent Shelley's, uh… well, her fingers," Tony said, as Steve listed to him over the phone. "The bad news is I'm already ready to tell Fury where he can shove his eye patch and I haven't had a goddamn drink in almost ten hours."

"You've been there two days."

'Yeah, we'll it's been two days' worth of pain in my ass."

"If you can get through this without coming to fisticuffs with the Director, I'll buy to a bottle of scotch myself."

"—Fistacuffs? Really Steve, who the hell uses words like that anymore? Remind me to show you the Urban Dictionary sometime so we can expand your vocabulary. Use 'throwdown' or 'bitchslap' or something-"

Steve rolled his eyes, glad that Tony couldn't see him. "You'll keep me updated if you find anything?"

"Yes, I'll keep you updated." Tony paused and Steve could hear Fury barking orders in the background. "—Yeah, yeah, no social calls on the clock. Fuck my life – I've got to go Steve. I'll call you after I get done here so the big bad wolf doesn't huff and puff and blow my ass right out of headquarters."

"If I don't answer, just leave a voicemail."

"Oh, got a hot date?"

"-No!" Steve flushed, glancing at the clock. "I just have plans."

"Kiss your girlfriend hello for me."

"I can't Tony, she doesn't exist."

Steve hung up the phone without saying goodbye and shoved it in his pocket, then grabbed his keys and headed for the door. He heard the phone blip once, then a second time, signaling text messages, and he ignored them, not willing to let Tony get to him when he had to get to the medical center and let Loki know how his meeting with Mr. Higdon at Bowery Mission had gone.

Guiding the motorcycle onto the street, Steve wondered how exactly he was going to break the news to the other man; the conversation with Mr. Higdon hadn't gone as well as he'd planned – it hadn't gone well at all. The mission was out of beds, and with the history that Loki and Charlie had there, the man had made it clear that it wasn't in the best interest of the shelter to let the pair back in.

"What do mean?" Steve had asked, and Mr. Higdon had given him the quick and flustered answer.

"Our policy is to bar any individuals involved in a violent act from the shelter's housing program. We just can't afford to have more problems happen, and there are other people in need of a place to stay."

"-Even though they were the victims of the violence and not the instigators?"

"I'm sorry, but that's our policy. "

Steve had been silently outraged at the news, and had spent the rest of the afternoon gathering information from the other shelters, but the only two with any room specified the exact rules Loki had already expressed a fear in, that Charlie would be sent to a different building and visitation would be limited.

He found Loki's room empty when he got there, and heading up to Charlie's room, he found the other man sitting at the bedside, slips of paper with words printed out lay on the little rolling table in front of the boy.

Loki pointed to the paper reading 'blue' . "Can you tell me what this says, Charlie?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "-Ooh."

"Yes, blue." Loki pointed to 'green'. "And this one?"

"Eee," followed by a huff.

"Yes, green." Loki paused and glanced up at him, and Steve waved at them both, and then stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Hey."

"Hello." Loki glanced at the boy again, who grinned at Steve and lifted one unsteady hand to wave back.

Steve motioned toward the hall. "I can go and come back later when you're finished-"

"Uh." Charlie motioned for Steve to come into the room, and he did, smiling as he took the seat next to Loki.

Loki patted the boy's arm. "Charlie is doing his practice for speech therapy tomorrow. He is doing very well."

"I see." Steve sat forward and pointed at 'red'. "What color is this one?"

Charlie gave Steve a look. "Rehh."

Loki nodded. "Very good. Can you say all three this time? Blue, green, red?"

Charlie huffed again. "Ooh, Eee, Rehh."

"That's great Charlie." Steve offered the boy another smile. Charlie pushed the papers away and gave Loki another look.

The other man laughed and collected the words, setting them aside. "Yes, enough for today. I know you dislike it, but it is necessary. You will do splendidly tomorrow, I am certain of it."

Charlie made a motion toward the bedside stand, and Loki took one of the books and held it up. "Do you wish for me to read to you for a while?"

"Ehh." Charlie nodded.

Loki glanced at Steve. "Would you be kind enough to assist me? We might take turns reading, if that is agreeable."

Steve nodded. "Sure."

Loki began and Charlie listened with what appeared to be attentive earnest as the story of The Boxcar Children unfolded, Steve taking a turn with the second chapter when Loki passed him the book.

They made it partway into the third chapter when Charlie dozed off, and quietly putting "the book aside, the two men took their leave, Steve holding the door open while Loki limped his way out into the hall behind him.

"He's looking a lot better," Steve noted as they went to the elevator. Loki nodded.

"He is doing better."

"And the speech therapy?"

"Slow, but any progress is good progress." Loki punched the button for the fourth floor, the glanced at Steve. "He knows the words he wishes to say, but there is difficulty in producing the correct sounds, in making his mouth and tongue take the required form."

"I see he's gotten a bit of an attitude."

"Mmm." Loki nodded.

Steve laughed. "Reminds me of someone else."

Loki glanced at him, an eyebrow raised. "Who?"

"A little of you."

"Of me? Are you implying I've attitude?"

"Sometimes." The other man looked as if he didn't know whether to be offended or not, so Steve quickly added, "- I didn't mean it in a bad way. A little attitude can be good."

"Or quite terrible, depending upon whom you ask."

"Well, you're asking me, and I think it's fine. In moderation."

Reaching the elevator they reached simultaneously to press the button, and Steve hastily drew his hand back when his fingers brushed over Loki's, glancing at the other man quickly, then away when the other man glanced at him as well.

"—How'd your physical therapy appointment go this morning?"

"… Well enough, for a cripple."

"—You're not a cripple."

Loki ignored his words and looked ahead at the elevator doors, his voice edged with bitterness. "It seems I shall have need for this damn thing," he tapped the cane against his foot, "Perhaps for the remainder of my human existence, however long that may be."

Steve nodded slowly, remembering what Dr. Ira had said about Loki's injuries both from the attack and prior. "For the rest of your life? They're sure about that?"

"Yes."

"But you're walking now, and you couldn't before. That's something, isn't it? Like you said about Charlie, any progress is good progress."

"… It is different for myself than for Charlie, Steve."

"Why is that?"

"What seems like progress to you, and for Charlie... well it is nothing to me. The ability to walk physically is nothing compared to walking between worlds, as I used to do. Now I cannot do the latter and the former is a trial. Where you see strength, I see nothing but weakness."

Steve frowned a little. "You're not weak, not nearly as weak as you were last month. You've come a long way."

"You are also not familiar with the customs of my world." Loki smiled, but the expression was tight and held no humor. "The Æsir are a proud people, warriors. The past legends of your world hold true in the code s of conduct; it is honorable to die in battle, and if you have not died, it is best to commit one's own death rather than face the shame. Most especially if you have been irreparably injured and are no longer strong enough to be of any use to your people, if you are no longer able to fight in battle. It is encouraged when you are weak."

Steve stared at him. "It's what?"

Loki glanced at him again, an eyebrow raised. "Did Thor never speak to you of what occurred between he and I in Asgard? Of before the Chitauri, before I came to this world for the tesseract…"

Steve shook his head. "No, he never mentioned it."

They stepped into the elevator and Loki continued. "When he returned from Midgard I had been given the throne by Figga, while Odin lay in deep sleep. He… harbored great anger with me, for withholding truths from him, for many things. We fought, and the bifrost, our means of traveling the worlds, was destroyed during the battle. I had attempted to use its power to destroy Jotunheim. Yet Thor did not kill me, thought I would have killed him. I lost, and Odin had awoken."

The elevator doors opened for them again, and they stepped out, Steve watching Loki carefully, but his face was smoothed into a blank, expressionless mask, impassive as he spoke again. "I had hoped, believed even, that Odin would accept my attempt to destroy Jotunheim, would accept the murder of my father by blood, as acts of fealty; that through them he would never question my loyalty to Asgard though I myself am Jotun. He did not."

"What happened?"

"Thor and I had both fallen when the bifrost collapsed, he holding to the severed bridge with one hand and to Gungnir, Odin's spear and the symbol of rulership; and I held to the other end of Gungnir. When Odin came, when I attempted to explain my actions, he rejected them. I was… forsaken by the All-Father. I was shamed by my inability to best Thor in our battle – I, the ruling king of Asgard had not defended the throne with success. Again, it was weakness on my part." Loki shook his head. "I have always been looked upon as weak in Asgard. I could not remain there when I had failed in so many ways. I tried to do the honorable act – I let go of Gungnir and fell into the abyss. I had hoped I might at least die with some semblance of dignity."

They had reached Loki's room by that time, and Steve sank down in the chair while Loki took a seat on the edge of his bed.

It took Steve a few attempts before he could find his voice. "… So you tried to kill yourself."

"Oh yes." Loki nodded, and then laughed but the sound was clipped, full of poorly disguised anger and pain. "And even in that I failed. Upon my return to Asgard in chains when I was defeated here, the Æsir did not let me forget that fact. 'He cannot even die with honor' and 'the trickster has tricked even death in his dishonesty' were the whispers among the court; whispers that the guards of the prison brought to me while they wrought out my punishments."

The fell silent, and Steve watched the other man for a moment, the former god's gaze flickering up to meet his, then turned and focused out the window.

"Do you… ever wish you were dead now?" Steve asked at last, very cautiously.

"At times." Steve sat forward in his chair to speak and Loki glanced at him again, quietly interrupting. "You've no need to fear I will do such a thing, Captain. I have sworn my protection to Charlie and I do not intend to carry out such any plans to end my life while he is in need of me. I may be a miserable and lost creature, but I am not so terrible as to harm that boy with such a selfish action."

"-Is that the only reason?"

Loki hesitated, and then shook his head. "No, it is not."

Steve continued to watch him with a questioning gaze, and the dark-haired man looked away once more after a moment, studying his own hands. "—I would not give the All-Father the satisfaction of besting me in such a way. He thinks he has banished me here as further punishment. I intend now to find what enjoyment of it that I may, though it is difficult. When I find joys, be they even small, I defy Odin with each moment of my happiness."

Steve frowned. "I wish it was a better reason than that."

"Perhaps, one day I shall have something." Loki shook his head. "But I will not be fool enough to hope for it."

Steve had waited to break the bad news about the shelter until after they had dinner later that evening, and after the mood had lightened once he'd read for the better part of two hours to Loki from the new book he'd brought him.

Loki listened to what Mr. Higdon had said, and then sat back with a weary sigh.

"This leaves me with very few options."

Steve dug the paperwork he'd picked up from the other locations from his satchel and passed it to Loki. "I know it's not what you wanted, but these are from the shelters that have open beds available."

"… And when Charlie is well enough to leave this place, I will have failed him yet again." Loki glanced over the paperwork briefly, and then let it rest in his lap as he ran fingers through his hair in a gesture of agitation. "Nor am I certain what to do for means of employment in hopes of making payment for lodgings. I cannot return to the docks when I am like this," he gestured toward his legs, "And shortly after my arrival to your world I was informed that one needs an identification of Social Security to obtain most positions."

"—Oh." Steve frowned, realizing he'd hadn't considered all the difficulties of not only being homeless, but also of not being from the country. After a few moments of silence passed, he cleared his throat, then added, "—I'll check with some of the other shelters again tomorrow and see if I can't find somewhere that'd be willing to let you and Charlie stay together."

Loki glanced at him, then down at the paperwork in his lap, his voice quiet. "Thank you."

After he returned home that night Steve made a few phone calls to the shelters that kept their information centers open later in the evening and poured over the classified ads from the newspaper, looking to see what jobs might be available for someone in Loki's position, but to Steve's dismay, there were none.

Words like "must be able to lift least 50 lbs.", "3-5 years' experience required," and "bachelor's degree a must" made his heart sink as he realized the enormity of what the other man had been faced with, trying not only to make his way in the world fresh while recovering from his injuries in Asgard, but without much in the way of being able to get a fresh start.

After two hours of reading and phone calls, he absently flipped the paper to the 'rentals' section and glanced over the listings there, his eye lingering on any of the listings for Brooklyn, and grimacing when he noted the outrageous prices of several spaces. There was simply no way that the other man and Charlie would be able to find or afford housing in the present situations and conditions.

The shelter seemed to be the only viable option.