I still don't own any of these characters, surprise.

Out of burning, heat. Out of aching, numbness. Out of leeching, substance. Loki of Asgard materialized with a steaming hiss inside the kitchen of the Man of Iron. It was empty. He frowned, and stood stock-still to listen. Faintly, he heard the sound of a television down the hall, unmistakable with its mix of voices, physical sounds, and the low buzz and annoying high-pitched electronic whines apparently out of the oblivious humans' hearing range. He sighed and moved toward the noise. Before he got anywhere near the Man of Iron's "home theater," however, the television was suddenly drowned out by a new sound:

"USA! USA! USA! USA!" It was the Captain of America, in a voice more boisterous than Loki had ever heard from the overly-sincere human.

"Go home, America, you're drunk!" the Man of Iron shouted.

"WE'RE GONNA BE ON THE PODIUM, TONY! LET ME HAVE THIS MOMENT! USA! USA! USA!"

"Both of you, shut up." That was Agent Romanoff. The Assassin. "Evgenia's next."

"Sorry."

With some trepidation, Loki rounded the corner, stopping in the doorframe to see what the fuss was about. A bare minute passed, and his mouth fell open in shock. All the tension he had felt when he first made the decision to come here was diverted in fascination. The young woman on Stark's screen sailed across an arena of ice. She twisted, jumped, and spun in an acrobatic dance. It wasn't the athleticism that awed him; he grew up in Asgard, after all, where supreme feats of speed and strength and dexterity were commonplace. What amazed him was the union of artistry and ice. The very concept was alien to any of the Aesir. The the great city and the Fortress of Bor never froze. Indeed, only in the high mountains of the far south was there any significant snow or ice accumulation on the whole planetoid. Asgardians actually came to Midgard to practice winter fighting techniques, to be used in Jotunheim... Loki winced as a deeply buried, deeply unsettled, and deeply unsettling consciousness stirred at that thought. He balled a fist around the golden jewel in his pocket and resolved once again to destroy that Monster as intended. He just needed to trick the Man of Iron into helping him with the materials he needed, and suppress the self-righteous Prince long enough to get the job done.

But he paused, then. The lovely young human had finished her performance on the ice, to wild applause both from the audience onscreen and from the Assassin. It had been a very emotive dance, the movement and music swelling in synchronicity at the end, and Loki had felt the Monster respond in kind. Suddenly, Loki felt his grip on their shared consciousness slacken. The Odinson still had the strength to throw him, even possessed by the Monster, it seemed. Fuming, Loki retreated to watch the Monster disrupt and probably dismember this cozy little gathering.

Only he didn't. Loki, onetime hapless Odinson, onetime murderous Jotun, for the first time in years neglected his own past and own woes and simply continued to watch the screen. it had never occurred to him that ice, cold, and winter could be such an effective medium for artful perfection. Another athlete finished a sterling routine: a goddess floating over the ice, an impossible daughter of Vanir and Jotun. Then the program changed abruptly to show a young man's performance, one that had happened earlier Loki realized, listening to the commentary. The voiceover seemed very impressed with the man's jumping spins, which were indeed quite good, Loki supposed, though he had little to compare to. A few more men were briefly featured, then the image cut back to another female, striking a pose before her own dance. The music started, and she slid into an elegant glide...

"I need more popcorn," came a voice from the couch. There was some jostling as the humans rearranged themselves, then an unmanly shriek, distracting Loki from the performance. "Jesus, Rudolf, how long have you been standing there?"

Loki glanced with little interest at the three humans staring at him. He gestured to the screen. "What is this?"

"Um... the Olympics."

A spark of irritation flamed to anger to be smothered in tearful guilt. Prince Loki snapped back into place, smoothing over the others' emotions warring their way across his face. He smiled. His friends simply hadn't understood the question. "Yes, the commentator did say that a few minutes ago. I'm afraid I am not familiar with the Olympics, but Odinson was actually asking what type of performance this is, not the name of the event itself."

"This is the women's short skate," Lady Natasha said, turning back to the screen, her very posture communicating her avid attention.

Loki decided "skate" was the operative word. The ladies were skating. Well, he would stay and watch the "Olympics," and figure out what he was going to do about LOA's schemes for Odinson/LOJ later. He strode to the couch, still watching the current skatement. "May I join you?" The humans moved over, all thoughts of popcorn apparently forgotten. The skatement ended, and the program switched to a series of mildly irritating advertisements. Loki tuned them out and glanced over the coffee table in front of them. He raised a brow. "A strange repast for you three. Pie, raw root vegetables, liquor, and... whatever that is."

Captain Rogers grinned. Loki noticed he was a little red in the face. "It's Tony's idea of a joke, the apple pie and classic Coke. It's here every time I come over. He says it will make me even more American. I brought the carrot sticks, because Tony will die of a stroke in a few years otherwise."

"I brought vodka," Natasha said, pouring herself and Loki a shot. The assassin tossed it back with a degree of stoicism reminiscent of Thor's friend Hogunn. Loki sniffed the drink, shrugged, and swallowed it. Not bad.

"Yeah, you're corrupting our white knight, Nat. Look at him! He's not made for this stuff. I'm starting to think maybe you've gone back to the other side again."

"I am flushed from patriotic excitement, not because I'm drunk, Tony," Steve said, sounding rather miffed.

"And I'm the Lord of Temperance."

Natasha rolled her eyes at both of them, then turned to Loki. "So, what brings you here, on a random Thursday? Haven't heard from you in awhile."

Well, he could hardly tell her the truth, Loki thought wryly. Now was not the time to discuss his other selves' infighting and self-destructive intrigues. "Tell me about the Olympics," he said instead. "I've never heard of them."

"You've never-!" Tony began, then, "Oh, no I suppose you wouldn't. You're so reclusive most of the time here, and they are sorta new in the grand scheme of things."

"It's a world-wide sporting event," Steve announced enthusiastically. "Athletes from all over the world compete in all kinds of sports every four years. Well, every two years, kinda. Summer games for a few weeks every four years, and winter games for a few weeks every four, but spaced out so they're every two. It's amazing."

"So it's not just skatement," Loki said.

Natasha burst out laughing. "Skatement? Oh, dear. Sorry. It's skating. Wait." She turned to stare at him accusingly, even as the...skating...recommenced. "You really don't know what skating is, do you."

It wasn't really a question, and Loki didn't try to deny it. He looked back to the television and shrugged noncommittally. "They don't have it in Asgard." He watched the skater execute a flawless pirouette and smiled. "I never thought of ice as a thing of beauty."

"Sounds like we should take you skating," Steve said with a hiccup as he poured himself another shot.

"YES!" Natasha shouted, strangely ecstatic.

Tony groaned. "I hate skating. It's too hard."

"Yes, we know Skeleton would be your sport. But I bet Loki would be really good at skating. He's tall but he's got the build, and we know he's got the coordination. And hey, he's an Ice Giant. He should have automatic affinity for it, right? I've been trying to get someone I like to go skating with me for years, but you Americans are all..." She broke off, at a loss for the right word. She compromised with a string of very rude-sounding Russian.

"I think I should be insulted. Why didn't you ask me? I'd have gone with you," Steve said, looking at her.

Nat was silent for a moment as an evil grin spread across her face. Loki knew the insincere retort she was thinking: Obviously, I don't like you. Tony understood and started snickering. But the assassin went for gold, stretching the silence just long enough to become a little uncomfortable before saying primly, "You don't live in the same city."

Loki found himself laughing along with the rest of them, even Steve. The good Captain did recover first. "So, what do you think?" He gestured to the screen again, where the current skater was finishing a dizzying spin. "Want to learn?"

Before he knew it, the Odinson broke through like a tidal wave. "Yes, oh yes," he sighed, and collapsed into silent tears, staring unblinking at the performance.

Natasha awkwardly patted his back. Loki ignored her in favor of the magnificent skaters flitting over the ice before him. He had hated ice and snow and everything to do with Jotunheim as long as he could remember, and that hatred had only deepened when he realized he was a child of that world. But he also despised that very hatred: he loathed the feeling of hating himself, though it was certainly one of his prime activities. Until today, though, he hadn't really understood how much he hated that feeling. Until today, there hadn't seemed any alternative- his nature was despicable, but so indeed were his crimes. But now... he wanted to feel the beauty of the ice as he had rarely wanted anything for himself before. It was almost as if finding a single kernel of worth in that most hated core of his existence might somehow redeem the whole. It didn't make sense, he decided. But he could not deny the yearning.

Distantly, he heard the humans talking softly beside him.

"Do you think we should call Dr. Sarmit?"

"No, I think he's ok. I think this is good, actually."

"How so?"

"Prince said it was Odinson who spoke first. He hasn't said a word to me since the war."

"Nor me. Good point."


The next day Loki tried on skates for the first time, and discovered skating was rather more difficult than he had initially anticipated. Natasha was uncommonly good at it. "Every little girl in Russia wants to be a figure skater at some point in her life. Also a ballerina," she commented happily in response to his raised eyebrows.

"Weren't you recruited to assassination school at a very young age?"

"Well, yes, but before then..."

Tony slid past them in an ungainly squat, glaring as Steve executed a flawless pirouette. "That's not fair! You haven't skated in, like, eighty years probably!" Tony shouted. "How come you're still so good?"

Steve glided over. "It's like riding a bike, Tony. Or maybe it's the Super Soldier serum."

Nat snorted. "Yeah, you would definitely be disqualified for doping, Captain."

"I thought the good Captain's transformation back in the day boosted his natural intelligence," Loki interjected as he experimented with a pleasing spin. He traveled with it and nearly fell over Tony.

"That's not what 'doping' means, Rudolf. It's drugging up to gain an athletic advantage. Also, watch where you're going. There's plenty of room in here. You don't need to crowd me!"

"My apologies." Loki started circling Tony like a shark, amused by his friend's unease on the ice. For his part, Loki was quickly getting a feel for his skates.

"Loki! Gah!"

"Problem, Man of Iron?" Tony answered by attempting to tackle him; he missed and fell flat on his face. Loki tried to help him up and ended up on his back as well. Soon, Nat and the Captain had also fallen into the pile.

"I give up," Tony panted after the rest had carefully disentangled themselves and regained their feet. "Just leave me here until you're done, then throw me a rope from the side." He remained pouting on his back for the next twenty minutes until Steve finally took pity on him and carried him off the ice.

Within an hour, Loki had discovered he had a new passion. He loved to skate. He loved the Olympics.

Author's Note: No, sorry, I am not starting this story up again. I just thought up this particular floofy scene and decided to write it as another epilogue for my existing story rather than its own oneshot. In other news, I have been loving the Olympics so far this year! Go Team USA!