A/N: Lots of thank-yous to THORKISUPPORT, Guest, Suheyla, lederra, Sumi, Diadorim, Ireland Ranger, The Psychotic Queen, Guest, xHowlingWolfx and angrbodagiantess (twice xD) for reviewing, Favers and Followers for Faving and Following, and Rue for beta'ing 8D

The brothers avoid each other for the rest of the day. Loki's heart aches with the memory of Thor's fleeting, interrupted embrace, and he wishes more than anything that he could've stayed there. When hunger finally compels him to re-emerge from the basement, he half-expects Odinson to be waiting for him, ready to pounce, but evidently Thor has decided to leave him alone for the timebeing.

When he passes by the kitchen, he smells food burning and hears chatter from within – Thor and Captain Rogers having a good time figuring out Stark's kitchen – punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter whenever Thor finds something particularly confusing. Shying away from the prospect of social interaction, Loki seeks a quiet spot to sit alone. Adjacent to the vast lounge is a smaller sitting-room with west-facing windows, and here he finds Tony Stark watching the sunset. The mortal is talking quietly – to himself, Loki thinks at first, before noticing the small device cradled against Stark's ear. In the human's other hand is a glass of wine, which he is idly swilling round and round. On the coffee-table in front of him are several wine-bottles.

To whom is he talking? Director Fury? Knowing he is intruding on a conversation not meant for his ears, Loki turns to leave.

'I can see you over there, you know,' Stark calls over wearily. Shutting the unfolded device with a snap, he tosses it aside. 'What do you want?'

'…Nothing…'

'Speak up.'

'Nothing. I was just…looking for somewhere to sit.'

'There's three sofas. Take your pick.'

Loki's first impulse is to position himself as far away from Stark as possible, but he comes closer instead, not wanting to cause offence by appearing distrustful.

'Drink?' Tony indicates the wine.

'…Could I?'

'No harm in it.' Stark pours him a glass and hands it over. Loki furtively sniffs it. It has a pleasing scent, but nothing special. He takes an experimental sip, makes a face, then drains the glass in one go. Part of him knows he should be facing his troubles and trying to resolve things with Thor, but it's easier – so much easier – to just switch his mind off, stop his thoughts and feelings from chasing each other in confused circles. 'Woah. Steady,' Tony warns him. 'That shit's potent.'

Loki nestles the empty glass between his hands, too shy to ask for more.

'I heard you conversing with someone,' he ventures. 'Was it a personal matter?'

'Why do you ask?'

'I thought it might have something to do with me.'

'The whole world doesn't revolve around you. If you must know, I was talking to my secretary.' Tony takes another swig of wine, staring up at the ceiling. 'We're in the process of adopting a new subsidiary overseas. Apparently the big cheese of some Italian conglomerate has taken a shine to my secretary and wants to take her out. See all the sights and shit. It's a worthwhile business deal so refusing isn't really an option. Bullshit considering we effectively own this guy now, but I guess we've gotta keep sweet. Point is, she won't be home for a while yet. Which sucks for me.'

'Do you miss her?'

'What do you think?' Stark mutters.

'My brother has a woman. A mortal,' Loki offers by way of sympathy. Tony snorts but doesn't comment. 'He and I have never had a chance to speak about her, but I can tell he loves her. If not for me, he would probably be with her right now.'

'Point being?'

'He must miss her.'

'Gee, maybe I should be crying on Thor's shoulder instead, since we've got so much in common. Top up?' he offers. Loki accepts, and his glass is refilled to the brim. The liquid is a dark, bloody red. Again he drinks – too much, too fast – savouring the sensation of warmth washing through him. He can taste summer skies and the breathing earth. Little by little, he is relaxing. They carry on talking in an awkward, rambling vein as the alcohol takes effect. Soon Stark has to uncork another bottle to keep up with him. 'Your brother seemed kinda down this morning. What happened?'

'We…quarrelled.'

'About what?'

'My behaviour.'

'Oh. Well, you know what they say, ups and downs.' Stark stifles a hiccup.

'It was never my intention to hurt his feelings. I've just…had a bad day.' The more Loki drinks, the more his tongue loosens; his eyes have grown mistier and shinier. He sways, then puts his glass down on the table with a firm deliberacy, and holds his wrists out. 'Take them off,' he requests.

'What for?'

'Don't you trust me?'

'This isn't about trust,' says Stark bluntly, 'They're for your own safety as much as ours. I don't want you doing anything stupid and then paying the price for it.'

'I won't. You have my word.'

'No offence, but your word isn't worth a whole lot.'

'Thor has vouched for me.'

'Thor is a moron, quite frankly. Besides, I already spoke to him earlier today. I asked him if he minded the cuffs on you, and he said they weren't a problem.'

Loki feels stung. Lowering his bound hands, he cannot help saying:

'Why are you doing this? Rubbing my face in the dirt while I'm down? I've said "sorry" in a million ways, I've knelt at your feet. Is that not enough to satisfy you? What must I do to prove myself?'

'Well, you can start by realising you're in no position to make bullshit demands.' Tony raises his voice. 'I mean wow, six months in jail and a nice stint in a Chitauri torture-chamber later and you still haven't lost your sense of entitlement.'

Loki feels as if he's been spat on. The wine is no longer pleasant, but sickly on his tongue, robbed of its therapeutic properties. All of his apologies and sweetest displays of penitence have failed to penetrate Stark's armour. After demeaning himself far enough to reach out to the human for friendship, he has been not only rejected, but mocked. He is unable to restrain himself from arguing:

'You say Thor is your friend, yet you scorn him. You claim to know how I feel, yet you show me nothing but contempt. You may as well strike me down and complete the picture.'

'Contempt? I've given you a roof over your head. If you're going to be an ungrateful shit about it, feel free to go back to SHIELD. Or better yet, just wander around some dark freezing alleyway until you get seen and caught!'

Tony stops when he realises Loki is crying. Not dramatically – they're silent, resentful tears which form tiny damp splotches on his lap.

'I can't undo the things I've done. If I could, I would, but I can't. I know that. Everybody knows that. All I can do is apologise. So tell me – what would you have me do? Rewrite the past? Turn back time? Reverse death?'

Stark says nothing. He seems to have sobered up.

'You think you know pain. You don't. You don't know what it's like to live every moment in pain and dread and despair, to question your own sanity, your own reality, your own existence. To feel as if your entire being is filth, a piece of meat whose only purpose is to entertain – to amuse. You don't know true hopelessness.'

'Oh, I dunno. There's been a few times when I've thought I'm going crazy. Plus falling into that wormhole was pretty hopeless,' says Tony quietly. 'You know how many panic attacks my little trip into Outer Space left me with? I couldn't get a good night's sleep in months after the stunt you pulled in New York.'

'Those are the worst of your scars?' Loki tries to laugh, but it turns into a cough. 'While you were tossing and turning, I was being tortured. Over and over. With no hope of rescue or reprieve to sustain me – nothing but my own despair for company. Abandoned.'

'Judging by the way Thor treats you, I'd say you're pretty not abandoned. Why do you even care what we Earthlings think, anyway? We're mortals. We live a fraction of your lifespan, then we wither up and die. Our feelings die with us. So what does it matter whether we like you or not?'

'Because I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of hurting. That's all.'

'You're drunk,' Tony points out. 'And so am I,' he realises a moment later. With a grunt, he stands up. 'I've had enough of this, I'm going to bed. You should go get some sleep too. And just for the record, I'm never going to strike you. I'm not that cowardly and pathetic.'

He leaves without a backward glance. Alone, Loki sits motionless, the wheels turning in his mind and the pieces of a scheme falling one by one into place; then he makes himself comfortable, pours himself another glass and carries on drinking. By the time his brother comes looking for him, Loki is asleep, surrounded by a cluster of empty bottles and smelling of wine. Thor frowns; Loki has always been cautious of alcohol, or indeed anything that threatens to dull his sharp mind. It isn't like him to drink himself into this state.

'Loki, wake.' He shakes his brother's shoulder, but Loki makes an indistinct grumbling noise and ignores him, deep in his inebriated stupor. Odinson sighs, halfway between disapproval and amusement. He can't deny Loki relief, nor begrudge him a little foolishness. He starts to scoop up the trickster's limp form, but Loki moans and tries blindly to swat Thor's hands away, almost rolling off the sofa in the process. 'Easy, brother.'

The sun has gone and the night outside is starless, as if the windows are overlooking a void. Once Loki has settled, Thor covers him warmly with his cape, quietly clears away the bottles, then takes a seat, ready to intervene if Loki's dreams take a turn for the worse.