Thanks to Marvel-Tolkien Fangirl, Dazja, Ynath Esrith, Maia2, SkysFireLady15, Like it Random. Like it Loki, addicted2sasunaru, thestralrider, Vamp-Fledging, Tsukiau, livelaughlove, Evilcupcake696, ninjaloki, Bombshell1701, ArainaHaldthin, Hiddleslover, Artificial Life Creator, Lumpy1, and Flora628 for their reviews!
A special high-five to Flora628 who became the 100th person to favourite this story! (although saying stuff like this could get really awkward if people unfavorite it...)
Also thank you to Maia2 and Evilcupcake696 for pointing out my grammatical errors in the previous chapter so that I could fix them!
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The cemetery was eerily silent, but Loki supposed that was the lot of graveyards. He had never liked being close to the totems of the dead, let alone their decaying bodies. He thought he could hear their souls whisper words of madness into his ears. But what of it? He was destined for madness no matter what the dead whispered to him.
He shuffled along, not knowing why he had sought out this place. The wind blew through the old overcoat and thin sweater that he had been wearing for the past few weeks, and his worn shoes were soaked through with moisture. He stopped when he found the marker that had drawn him back to New York City, ten months after he had left it. It was plain, unadorned, sunken in the ground but obviously well cared for. Romanoff and Barton probably visited often. Loki stared at the name on the gravestone. He had been thinking of this man ever since the theatre fire. He hadn't even known Phil Coulson's name until that night.
"Hello."
Loki turned to see a woman approaching. She was bundled up against the wind and had a small bouquet of red carnations in her hand.
"Hello," Loki replied, beginning to shuffle away from her. He was well aware that the bushy beard and long, scruffy hair made him look like a homeless man – Which I am, he thought bitterly, in more ways than one.
He was good at hiding, but S.H.E.I.L.D. was good at finding. In the past ten months he hadn't stayed in more than one place for a few days. Even then, he had had many narrow escapes.
"Did you know him?" the woman asked, laying the carnations on the grave of the same dead man he had sought out.
Loki knew that he shouldn't stay and talk, but he found himself drawn into conversation. It had been a long time since anyone spoke to him with any kind of civility. "I met him once. He seemed a very... dedicated man. How did you know him?"
"I- we dated for a while before I moved... after that we kind of drifted apart. But-" The woman's voice wavered. "It's just so stupid, you know? He wasn't even supposed to be in New York, and then all of a sudden there are aliens attacking and... Why him?"
Loki remained silent as the woman began crying. If he could go back in time, he wouldn't have killed Coulson. But not for repentance or shame. He had no regret for killing the man. He had a goal, and Coulson was in the way. A casualty of war. Thousands died every day and the lucky ones had someone to weep over them. No, Loki would have spared Coulson because it was his death that had united the Avengers.
"I am sure that he died heroically," Loki said to the weeping woman.
"What does it matter? He still died."
Loki nodded. Without another word, he turned his back on the grave. The woman didn't say anything, and he walked away. He breathed in deeply, the cold air chilling him thoroughly as he headed back into the dirty streets of the city.
Taking the alleys and back roads, Loki finally found a garbage bin that he could crouch behind to block the cutting wind. His eyes were heavy, but he was afraid to sleep deeply – not just because of the possibility of S.H.E.I.L.D. or other hostiles finding him unawares, but from the cold. If he let himself go too much, his Jötunn physiology would assert itself, like it had in Russia. That was a sure-fire way of landing on S.H.E.I.L.D.'s radar again. How many blue men were in the city?
With a sigh, Loki leaned his head back against the dirty wall, his green eyes dull with hopelessness. He had escaped from Stark tower, he had evaded his enemies for more than a year, but he was still captive. There was nothing on earth that could get him off of it.
Trapped, he thought, as Odin had planned.
Loki choked out a bitter laugh. How much more could he take? His stomach cramped with hunger, he shivered with the cold and he was still plagued by nightmares. S.H.I.E.L.D. would never stop hunting him. And when they found him...
By this time, if they didn't kill him outright, they would soon find a way to send him back to Asgard to face the calls for his blood there. They would find him, he knew that. He had spent too long running, just barely a step ahead of them, always looking over his shoulder and seeing their shadow. He couldn't run forever. He was tired of running. But would they find him crouched behind a garbage bin, shivering and hungry?
No. Loki stiffly stood, determined in his resignation. He was not going to be caught like a beast in a trap. He would not be a dirty creature cornered and scorned. Defeat was inevitable, but he would retain something of dignity.
Once he made up his mind, he acted quickly. He picked the pocket of a passerby and used the credit card he found to buy shaving gel, a razor, scissors and a pair of fresh clothing. Then he found a subway station where he could shave and trim his hair, changing from his ragged homeless wear. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was more pale and gaunt than he had realised, but nonetheless didn't change his course.
Loki found a hotel and as he walked in, he gave a smile and wave to the security camera. S.H.I.E.L.D. would pick him up quickly.
He got a room for one night – he wouldn't even need it that long, he was sure – and quickly showered to banish the remaining traces of his long months on the streets. He then settled onto the bed with a sigh, and wondered if it would be the Avengers that Fury sent after him, or somebody else so that Thor could be told that his death was from self-defense.
Loki had scarcely settled himself down when the phone began to ring; a harsh, mocking sound. A smile twisted his lips. So it was the Avengers who would come for him. Fury feared Thor more than Loki had realised. He reached for the phone.
"Hello."
"Loki. How are you doing?" Stark's sarcastic voice, full of false friendship, came over the line.
"Calling to try to talk me in, are you?"
There was a soft snort. "Yeah, something like that. What's your play?"
It made Loki fiercely gleeful that even in humiliating defeat he had some power of mischief still. "No play, Mr Stark. I am bored of seeing your world and I am certain that you have pursuits with which to waste your time and money that do not include your fruitless attempts to find me. Whom shall I expect to "bring me in" as you humans say?"
"You're a smart man," Stark replied, and the false friendliness slipped. "Guess."
Loki was silent for a moment. Whatever they decided to do with him – whether kill him or imprison him until he could be returned to Asgard to be killed – he would not give up his words. They were the only weapons, the only defenses, he had left.
"My guess?" he said, and he leaned back and closed his eyes. These were the last moments of relative freedom he would have. Why not try to enjoy the soft bed for what little time he had left? "The idiot who still sees me as his brother; the outdated relic of past war; the man who harbours a beast; two master murders and the child in a suit of armour. Am I right?"
"Nice throwback, but you forgot Jarvis," Stark responded. "He's coming, too."
"Ah, yes. Do apologise to the false consciousness for me." Loki looked up in surprise as he heard the tell-tale sounds of machine flight outside his window. "Here already, are you?"
"What-?"
The window suddenly blew in. Glass shards impacted Loki's face. The force of the blast sent him spiraling off the bed. He hit the floor with a groan. The phone clattered beside his head, the wire pulling out of the base.
Loki pushed himself to his feet. The sound of engines chopping air filled the hotel room. A Chitauri fighter materialized, hovering just outside the building. Dread filled Loki. He backed away, the promise made so long ago returning to his mind.
He will make you long for something sweet as pain.
The fighter shot out a bright bolt of blue energy. It slammed into Loki's chest, impacting him into the far wall. He heard something crack, but wasn't sure if it was the wall or his own bones. He slumped to the floor. Just before his vision went black, he saw the Chitauri warrior dismount and come towards him.
#
Thor landed in the blown-in hotel room seconds before Stark. He gripped Mjölnir tightly as he scanned the room. Shards of glass, wood and plaster were everywhere, the pictures had been knocked off the walls, the mirror on the far side of the room was shattered, and there was no sign of Loki. Thor cursed. Loudly.
Stark opened his faceplate and looked around at the scene of destruction. "Did he lure us here just to escape again?" he asked doubtfully. "'Cause it sure looked like he was turning himself in to me."
"Loki did not cause this destruction," Thor pointed at the glass sunk into the far wall. "Look; the wall was blown in, not out, and he was in this room when it happened."
"How can you tell?"
Thor gestured to the Loki-sized indentation on the wall. There was a streak of blood near the bottom, and Thor's stomach knotted. "He was attacked, Stark. If this was Fury-"
"It wasn't Fury," Stark replied instantly, but he sounded doubtful. He glanced nervously at the god of thunder. "Thor, this wasn't Fury. He's a smart man, and he would never risk antagonising you like this. You're one of the Avengers; earth's mightiest heroes, you know? He wouldn't do this."
Thor angrily stalked through the room. Loki had been here. And now he was gone. Thor really, really wanted to hit something. He had failed in all his duties to both his brother and this world. It was his responsibility to ensure that Loki remained unable to cause trouble for the people of earth, just as it was his responsibility to ensure that Loki remained safe. On both counts, he had failed, and continued to fail. Was that why he had heard no word from Asgard since his arrival on earth?
Unable to contain his self-disgust, Thor kicked the bed frame. The mattress overturned and splinters of wood flew to the roof.
"Whoa!" Stark said, backing up. "Careful!"
"I apologise," Thor replied, slightly chagrinned.
"He's your brother, I understand. Sort of. Just try not to take it out on the crime scene, we need to dust for fingerprints or whatever it is that Barton and Romanoff do."
"Loki is not 'sort of' my brother. He is my brother," Thor growled, taking offence at Stark's statement.
Stark raised his hands in what normally would be a placating gesture, but with his Iron Man suit looked more like a gesture meant to protect himself in case Thor decided to attack. "I meant that I sort of understand. Sheesh! You really need to go see Jane again."
Thor lowered his head, ashamed at his outburst. "I apologise. I- Wait, when you say I should visit Jane, you are saying that I am getting 'scary' again, aren't you?"
Stark nodded. "Yeah."
Thor grimaced. Sometimes he forgot that his human friends were human. On Asgard, the Warriors three would have collectively said something by now. But he also couldn't kill them with a single swing of his hammer, as Stark pointed out the last time he had been forced to leave the search for a weekend.
"I am sorry, my friend," Thor sighed. "This is incredibly difficult for me."
"Hey, no problem. Just don't smite anyone, and we're all good."
Thor managed a smile. "You have my word."
By this time, the other Avengers arrived, entering the room via the doorway rather than the gaping hole in the wall. They all looked about the scene with raised eyebrows. Romanoff and Barton both immediately looked to the broken wall. Romanoff frowned. Barton's brow remained smooth. Thor could see that he was calculating how much blood was on the wall, and if it was enough to have killed Loki. He fought against his anger.
"He escaped again?" Banner sighed.
"No, he was attacked," Romanoff replied softly. "Look at the pattern of debris. It was blown in, not out."
"He could have done this," Barton muttered.
"Why would he? He was turning himself in," Rogers countered swiftly. "Why would he give away his location and then do this?"
Barton remained silent.
"Start canvassing the area, let's see if there were any witnesses," Rogers continued. "Who would go through this much trouble to attack Loki?"
"Anybody who knew who he was," Barton replied. Catching Thor's look, he clarified. "I'm not talking about people going for revenge, Thor. There are hundreds of people who would want to use his knowledge to their advantage. Terrorist cells, criminal organizations, corrupt governments, not to mention all the companies looking to advance their sales... If they knew that Loki is from another world, then they would all be fighting to get just a taste of the knowledge in his head. And it would be very bad for the rest of us."
Thor was somewhat placated by Barton's explanation, but had a feeling that the warrior still was harbouring hopes that Loki was captured somewhere being tortured. But even though it made him furious, Thor could not condemn Barton's feelings. He had suffered the worst out of all the Avengers. If it had been anybody but his brother, Thor would have said that Barton was justified in whatever revenge he saw fit.
Your hypocrisy is astounding, a small voice, that sounded suspiciously like Loki's, sneered in the back of his head. If you were in Barton's place, would you show your tormenter mercy simply because he was the brother of your colleague? No, you would not.
I am well aware of my hypocrisy, he replied to it. But Loki is my brother and I will defend him, until death if necessary.
The voice, thankfully, remained silent.
"They wanted him alive, whoever they were," Romanoff said, looking around the room again. "The question is, who are they and where is he now?"
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Reviewers get shards of wood from Loki's hotel room.
