Author's note: And now, time for – *da-dum* – The Talk!


He's not looking forward to talking with Loki at all.

But he might as well get it over with, now that the god has had some time to cool off. Have a talk with him about the things he should have said a long time ago. If he had done that, this latest little incident that ended with a god of mischief crying in his workshop would most likely have been avoided. And, he figures, his living room would probably not be sporting its current lack of spiffy decorative things like china and potted plants.

True, he did say a lot of things to the god while he was busy sobbing on the floor, but he suspects that most of it didn't really register in his brain if it even entered his ears; in fact, he didn't seem to be in a state where most of anything would register.

Then there are the soft sounds of footsteps that he recognizes all too well by now, and a second later the familiar figure of a certain fallen Norse god is standing in the doorway.

Though, the level of familiarity has decreased somewhat. Loki looks remarkably tired and worn, like someone grabbed the god by his ankles and then spent the best part of the afternoon wringing him like a wet towel. Then again, Tony supposes lengthy crying spiels might have that effect, even on gods.

"Feeling better?" he asks. It's not meant to be derisive, just the best he can do for a conversion starter, because no matter how much of a chatter box Tony Stark might be, his brain always has major problems supplying non-sarcastic comments in serious situations. Still, Loki looks at him like he is trying to gauge whether the question is meant to mock him or not, and the taut look on his face suggests that he suspects that the former is intended.

"I am well enough," comes the neutral answer, spoken in an equally dispassionate voice, carefully devoid of all those emotions that were raging so freely a mere hour ago.

Well enough. Whatever that means. Well enough not to throw another crying fit? Well enough not to flip and unleash another round of home wrecking? Well enough to keep up appearances despite whatever shit-storm is brewing underneath?

"Glad to hear it," he says in reply, indicating the couch with a toss of his head. "Have a seat, will you."

Loki obeys, sitting himself down gingerly on the edge of the seat, stiff as a board and hands neatly folded in his lap. It's hard to imagine that this is the same god that not long ago was a sobbing mess on his floor for all the controlled and collected demeanour he's currently displaying.

Tony turns his chair around so he can straddle it, crossing his arms on top of the rickety backrest. If one of those psycho-babblers could see him, they would probably say he is using the backrest as a symbolic shield between them because he isn't comfortable with the speech ahead of him.

And they might well be right.

"Alright, then," he says, grimacing slightly. "Let's make a few things clear here. I know that neither of us likes this situation, but since we're stuck with it, we might as well try to coexist as peacefully as possible so we can avoid further incidents in the future."

Loki tenses slightly at the word 'incidents', obviously knowing very well what Tony is referring to and no doubt being embarrassed about it. It's a pretty far fall from trying to take over the planet to collapsing in a huge crying fit, he supposes.

"So, listen up." He fixes Loki with what he hopes is an authoritarian stare. "First of all, I don't know what kind of shit flies over in your Magic Kingdom in the Sky, and I'm not sure I even want to find out, though I believe I have a fairly good inkling judging by your expectations and what I've read of those Norse fairytales of yours. However, you seem to have missed that this is Planet Earth, and here we act like civilized people and not like medieval brutes. We have something called human rights here, and they apply to you as well, even if you might not technically be human." And he feels like there's a speech coming on here, so he decides to cut to the heart of the matter instead of droning on.

"So, contrary to what you might have been thinking, I don't have any intention of beating you, hurting you, drilling holes into your skull, pouring acidic snake venom over you, or otherwise doing stuff detrimental to your health." He can't help but wince inwardly as he says this, well aware he should have done so from the very start when Loki first came here. "Are you clear on this?"

"Yes." Loki's gaze is resting somewhere on Tony's chest as he replies, not meeting with his eyes, but at least he provides the correct answer.

"Good. Then, as for what I expect from you, it's nothing you shouldn't be able to handle with some effort – behave yourself, do as you're told, don't go out of your way to give me any problems or trouble. Don't mess with my stuff, and if you don't think I would approve of something, then don't do it. Simple as that." He waits a little while for the words to sink in, hoping he hasn't forgotten anything important in there, but the little run-down should probably cover most foreseeable situations. "Clear?"

"Yes," Loki says again, almost mechanically.

He studies Loki's face but as there seems to be no further crying fits looming on the horizon, he pushes on. "Like I said, I'm not going to hurt you, but if you do anything patently stupid you shouldn't be doing – like wantonly breaking my house, throwing stuff at my head, trying to escape, plotting to take over the world again, stuff like that – I still have every means and every right to make the consequences of that unpleasant for you."

And damn if he doesn't feel like a parent laying down the rules and boundaries for a misbehaving kid here. But maybe that's not all that far from the truth; if someone had done that to Loki in the first place, he probably wouldn't have sauntered off trying to take over an entire planet. Though, that's alien royalty for you, he supposes. "If nothing else, you should at least keep in mind that I still have plenty of floors left that could do with some scrubbing."

There's a small twitch in Loki's left eyebrow at that, but it's only just barely discernable. Perhaps he just imagined it.

He taps a finger against the backrest, intently studying the god's face. "So, will you have any problems with this arrangement?"

"No." There's a slight sulk in the voice, but no more than that. Loki sits as still and unmoving as a statue, not even shifting his gaze from its fixed spot somewhere on Tony's chest.

"Excellent. To give you the short version – you behave yourself, and in return I'll play nice and won't make your life any more difficult than it has to be." He leans back a bit in the chair, hands gripping the top of the backrest. "And another thing. Next time you have a problem with anything here or any other concerns of any kind, speak the fuck up. You're not going to be punished for speaking your mind, no matter how dirty and uncouth it might be. I'd rather have that than any more of my property smashed into pieces."

Loki looks almost ashamed at that. Almost.

"It doesn't necessarily mean you'll get things your way, but at least I'll hear you out. Fair enough?"

"Yes." Another monosyllabic answer, devoid of anything that could be interpreted as emotion. Unless carefully constructed impassiveness counts as an emotion.

Yeah, so the god is clearly not in a talkative mood.

And frankly, neither is he. So perhaps he'd be better off cutting this conversation short.

"Anything you wish to add to that? Any questions, comments, anything?"

Loki licks his lips and hesitates for a moment before speaking. "What about... the punishments for my previous actions?" he asks, posture wary and guarded.

Tony frowns. "For what actions?"

Loki gives him a perplexed look. "For wrecking your living room," he says slowly. "For New York. For-"

"Princess, New York is the reason you're here, remember?" Tony interrupts him. "This is your punishment. As for any other stuff that's happened since, we'll forget about that and start with a clean slate from here on. Got it?"

The god nods, once.

"Good. Now that we've sorted all that out, I think your stay here will go considerably smoother from now on."

He stands up, scooting the chair back in place. "Alright, lecture's over, Rudolph. You're free to go play."


He remains sitting on the couch long after Tony has left the room, the numerous thoughts swirling in his mind all congregating to arrive at the same harrowing conclusions.

He has no choice. He's stuck here. He detests it, yes, but there's really nothing he can do. It's frustrating, it's humiliating and many other things as well, but in the end, he has no choice.

Of course, Tony still resents him and would have preferred to see him gone, still considers him a nuisance, though clearly one too pitiful to even be worth harming.

He has truly fallen, being reduced to this.

But through all the shame, resentment and bitterness at his situation, there is still one other thing that stands out clearly – the stark realization that it could have been worse.

A lot worse.

He still sits there as the sun outside sets, dully watching the hands still neatly folded in his lap, not quite sure what to do with himself. Tired and exhausted, but his head still swirling too much for him to fall asleep any time soon.

The mortification at his recent lapse of self-control is still heavy on his mind, and he can't remember being so embarrassed about anything in a very long time. Last time that tightly held control had slipped out of his grasp to dissolve into nothing at all, he had at least responded in a way that didn't showcase laughable weakness, as futile and meaningless as the wanton destruction wreaked upon Tony's living room had been. Even if his reactions back then had been… highly inadvisable for someone in his position, at least they hadn't made him feel acute embarrassment like this.

And he wonders what had caused his reaction to channel itself into something so vastly different this time around when that same gigantic, unstoppable wave of swirling emotions came crashing down over him again. It makes little sense; he's been living under the terror of all those awful expectations for so long, and never once did it make him break down and cry. Not until after hearing Tony's reassurances did he actually do that.

It is then he realizes that it is precisely in this that the difference lies – in that mad, raging sea of despair threatening to pull him under, there had for the first time since his arrival here been something for him to cling to, a glimmer of hope that maybe things might not turn out so utterly terrible after all. A lifeline to hold onto to keep him from drowning.

And Tony had been the one to throw it out to him.


Okay, so it was pretty one-sided, but it was still a Talk. ^^

Please review. :)