Tony was vaguely aware of the sounds of people milling around him; laughing, talking, muttering and mumbling like white noise – static of an old analog television or the screech between radio channels. Though when he truly tried to ignore it, the pitch would elevate and suddenly it was more like a whistle stabbing into his eardrums and it left Tony wondering when his ears would begin to bleed.

He was eighteen now, or was very nearly, which meant only one thing in the eyes of his father. It was time to make an appearance as the future face of Stark Industries and what better time and place than the Stark Christmas party.

Men in tuxedos and women in silk dresses – red, green, gold; all in the spirit of the holidays – with jewels hanging from their ears and wrapped round their fingers, wrists, and necks, as if they were trying to outdo the Christmas tree that sat in the corner of the room, overlooking them all.

One of the maids walked past with a tray of champagne and Tony traded his empty flute for the sparkling liquid, downing it in one gulp. Life father, like son. Tony grimaced at his thoughts clenching tighter at the glass.

"Tony!" came the happy shout of Obadiah Stane, who easily maneuvered through the crowd of people despite his girth.

Tony raised his glass in greeting. "Obie."

Stane ripped the champagne flute from Tony's hands, looking into the empty glass. "You're not old enough to drink," he said, frowning.

The teen let out an amused breath as he led Obadiah to a less crowded section of the house which just so happened to be the foyer. Everyone who was supposed to be here was here. And any new guests could care less about Howard Stark's son.
"It's good to see you, Obie," Tony smiled, relieved to have a friend, even if he had to steal a minute or two with him.

"Good to be back," Obadiah replied. He dug into his coat pocket and tossed a small, neatly wrapped box at Tony. "Merry Christmas, kid."

Tony thanked him, pulling the wrapping off with the exuberance of an eight year old. Opening the top he blinked down at his gift. It was a key. Tony looked at Obie in confusion. "Thanks?" He turned it in his palm. It wasn't a car key and it certainly didn't belong to some master lock. Tony pulled away the tissue paper, hoping for some type of clue only to find a picture of an apartment complex.

"You got me a building?"

Obie laughed, pulling Tony to him with an arm around his shoulder and snatching the key from Tony's fingers. "This, sport, is a key to your condo in the heart of Boston." Tony could feel his heart thumping quickly. "For when you go to MIT. We can't have a Stark living in the dorms."

Tony snatched the key away, staring at it in wonder. He smiled brightly, enveloping Obie in a great big hug. "Wow! Really? I don't believe it. Wow. Why would – how did – awesome!" Then suddenly it hit him. "I haven't even been accepted, Obie."

Obadiah shrugged. "You're a legacy. And a genius. They'd be idiots to pass you up."

"Thanks," Tony said instead of arguing. Either way this was great. If he got into MIT (or as Howard and Obadiah were saying: when) he'd have his own place. And if Loki got in then they could crash together and wouldn't that be perfect?

Speaking of Loki… "You think my dad'll notice if I disappear?"

Obie raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Are you asking me to cover for you?"

"Yeah."

Obie didn't even think about it. "Alright."

Tony thanked Obie before dashing off to find his coat. He wanted to change his entire outfit, but if his dad (by miracle of miracles) happened to notice his absence, it was best to show up like nothing ever happened.

He waved one last time at Obie before shutting the front door quietly behind him. It wasn't like anyone really cared what he did. Only a few people actually spoke to him, most of whom just wanted to know where Howard was.

The teen took a deep breath of cold air, happy to be away from the stuffy adults with their false smiles and perfect faces. "Sneaking off?" drawled a cold, foreign voice.

That was when Tony noticed the tall, dark haired man who was on the front porch, smoking a cigarette. Tony had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't having some sort of champagne induced hallucination.

"Uh…"

The man chuckled deeply, reminding Tony of a predator toying with his meal. "Laufey Löfgren," the man – Laufey – smirked, offering his hand in greeting. Tony took it, not sure whether Laufey was a member of the party or some wannabe trying to talk his way in. Though he seemed well dressed enough. Armani, if his father's suits were anything to learn from. "You're Stark's kid. Anthony."

Tony nodded dumbly. What was he supposed to say to that? "Shouldn't you be inside?"

Who the hell was this guy? "Shouldn't you, Mr. Lung Cancer?" Tony scowled. He wasn't even wearing a coat. Tony hoped that Mr. Löfgren got hypothermia.

"Bad habit," Laufey answered, unaffected by Tony's attitude. "One I can't kick. But you haven't answered my question."

"I've got better things to do than to stand around and be my dad's poster child," Tony admitted. Laufey nodded his understanding, dropping his cigarette and grounding it under his two hundred dollar shoes.

"Off to see someone special?" Laufey questioned.

Tony immediately went on the defensive, not liking the guy at all. It bothered him that he couldn't get a good enough look at the man, the dark obscuring his more prominent features. "Why the hell you care?"

He heard the man chuckle faintly, pulling a cigarette out of his suit jacket and a book of matches from his front pocket. He put the fag in his mouth, striking the match and letting the fire light his face for a moment.

Tony nearly keeled over and died. It was like looking at a picture of Loki, though twenty, thirty years in the future. The hair, the cheekbones, the height, even the smirk was the same and Tony couldn't help but shiver.

What did this mean?

Laufey tossed the used match aside and took a long drag, blowing the smoke out at Tony. "I don't. Not really."

Tony didn't respond, not liking how eerily similar their voices sounded as well now that he knew to look for it. He walked away from Laufey in a state of confusion, searching his pockets frantically for his car keys.

He had to talk to Loki.

Author's Note: New chapter! Yay! Uh oh. Trouble! I feel like my chapters have slowly gotten shorter. I don't try to. I swear. This just happens. Also, thanks for all of your support and what not during this busy time. Appreciate it. You guys are great. Also... Happy Birthday Wolfie135! Here is your birthday present. I live to serve. But seriously, I always somehow update around or on my reader's b-days. I think I'm psychic or something. Besides the point.

Also, life update: I think I may have an idea for my thesis and a grad student has asked me to collaborate with her on her thesis film. Which means I'll be writing the script for her movie. I'm really excited. It's gonna be awesome. So that's my life. And because I'm feeling loosy goosey awesome I have given you guys this chapter. Also, I'm eating donuts. That might add to it. Ok. That's all.

Oh. To the Anon: Thanks! Ego boost: double points. That was me leveling up. And I had a fear that some may find it slightly... anticlimactic? That's not the word but I understand what you mean. Hopefully this was a little more exciting. If not... I can only do so much.

Alright, now that's it. Aardvark!