Hello, Lovelies!
I can't thank you all enough for your support over the past few weeks. It's been rough, and I really appreciate every review and message, especially now. Thank you so much!
I won't slow you down - I just want to add that this might be my favorite chapter to date. AND, last Friday was the one-year anniversary of the story. I'm not crying, I swear...
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: The usual.
"Are they with Loki or aren't they?" Clint's eyebrows were drawn together as he thought. "Maybe we could work with them-"
"Definitely not," Tony interrupted, blood pounding in his head.
"But you know the saying, the enemy of my enemy-"
"-criminals, Clint-" Natasha broke in.
"-it was just a question-"
"Guys-" Steve eyed the proceedings uncomfortably, but his words were cut off by Thor's banging on the wall as he waved another piece of paper. Tony's eyes slipped shut and he splayed a hand against his forehead, trying to stifle the pulses of pain. Pepper's voice entered the fray, asking if he was alright.
"That's enough."
His eyes opened to see Fury glaring around at the assembly. "Here's what we're going to do," Fury began. Tony gritted his teeth and braced himself. "Agents Romanoff and Barton, you two hunker down and find me a cover story. If nothing else looks good, just drag Stark's name through the mud until people stop looking our way. Captain Rogers and Miss Potts, you two will hold a press conference first thing tomorrow with whatever is decided-"
"A conference? Really? Last time I checked, Loki had a soft spot for those." Tony met Fury's icy look without flinching.
"Do we have a reason to be worried?"
That was quite a question. Loki had certainly been pissed, but Tony doubted that he would try anything so soon. "Nothing to worry about on his end, though I'd prefer that my name stayed as un-muddy as possible."
"No promises," Clint muttered.
Fury's gaze didn't waver from Tony's. "You sure about that?"
Sort of. "Yeah. Seriously, he's wiped, too. All that manipulating and scheming really saps a guy's energy."
"I see. Well, while everyone else is thinking of a decent lie – which is actually your specialty, now that I think about it – you and Thor will come back to base with me and go through a full debriefing on Loki and these new Asgardians."
Tony straightened, and Fury watched and waited for the outburst. "I've spilled all of my beans on Beauty and the Beast. The mime extraordinaire over there has your answers, not me."
"Just because you handed over the beans doesn't mean there isn't something else up your sleeves."
His skull was too tight. He took a deep breath, and the pressure spread to his chest. "Take me at my word for once."
"I might've before the start of all this. But your word isn't what it used to be, Stark." Fury's remarks were like fangs disguised as feathers, light and airy and drenched in venom.
Tony's grip on the table was a chokehold, and something taut inside him snapped in two. "Alright, let's get something straight here, because it doesn't seem like you're understanding what I'm saying. I lied because I thought it was the best course of action, and I know deception eats you up inside when you're on the wrong end of it, but get over yourself. You think you're entitled to a little angst because I abandoned you to a press frenzy? Trust me, you didn't get the short end of the stick. But after you know what it's like to get shoved into a situation like this one, where you've got no control and no idea what the fuck you're doing and no idea about how to fix anything, then we can talk. After you get dragged in and out of God-knows-where by Loki, after some Asgardian psycho hauls you into a cave and tries to burn your face off, after-"
"A cave?"
Pepper's voice came softly, but it was enough to yank Tony out of his tirade. A glance at her showed budding horror amid the concern. He looked away, but no one else was much better. Steve and Bruce were wide-eyed, and the identical poker faces worn by Clint, Natasha, and Fury were tinted with the beginnings of uncertainty.
Thor banged on the wall, startling them out of their stillness as he thrust another paper at them.
Cave?
"Yeah. Cave. And no, I couldn't find it again." Tony reached for his drink with a hand that shook, ignoring the pressure of the gazes as he drained it and slammed it back down to the counter. "So I'm done. Drag my name through the mud all you want, throw me to the dogs, but I'm done." He turned and headed for the elevator, not waiting for anyone to come after him. No one stopped him.
Natasha watched Stark vanish into the elevator, noting the stiffness of his movements and the harried set of his shoulders and jaw. He'd reached a breaking point, whether through Fury's direction or his own experiences at Loki's hands or a cocktail of the two.
Fury addressed her first. "You'll watch him?"
She nodded. The director's command wasn't unexpected, but it was milder than she had anticipated. Perhaps Stark's words had struck a nerve.
"See if you can get anything else from him when you see him again. Notice any discrepancies, tell me first."
"Of course."
"What about me?" Clint's voice was cool, level, appropriate, but his eyes were empty.
Fury sent him a quick, evaluating look before nodding. "The same. Just make sure you don't shoot him anywhere the camera might see."
"I'm afraid I'll have to insist on some discretion, Director." Bruce didn't move from the fringe of the room, yet he suddenly became the center of attention. "Tony has been through enough. More than enough, if that-" he gestured towards the elevator doors, "-was anything to go by. We should let him talk on his own terms."
Fury drew himself up like an alley cat, only to deflate into wariness as he remembered his opponent. "All due respect, doctor," he intoned through gritted teeth, "but Stark-"
"Is an Avenger. A traumatized Avenger. He's earned our trust, and he's got every right to cash in at this point." Bruce's voice was too calm to be natural, and a thrill of anxiety bit into Natasha's nerves.
If Fury heard it too, he gave no sign, but at last, he gave Natasha a terse glance that she clearly interpreted as Orders stay the same, Agent. He looked towards Thor. "Are you coming back for the debriefing, or not?"
Thor nodded his assent, eyes determined. Before he followed Fury to the door, he scribbled something furiously onto a piece of paper and handed it to Bruce, who read and pocketed it with a murmur of assent. Natasha watched the doctor as his eyes tracked Thor to the entryway. His face gave away nothing. As soon as the door slammed shut, he let out a soft sigh and pulled off his glasses, digging his fingers into his eyes and the bridge of his nose.
"I know I've been out of the loop for a while," he said tiredly, "but was that called for? Any of that?"
"Of course it was." Clint's voice, cold and firm, drew Natasha's attention away from Bruce. "Tony made his choices, and he chose wrong. Any consequences of that are his own fault. There's no room for slack."
"I don't-" Pepper's words caught in her throat, and she coughed once before continuing carefully. "I don't think Tony ever meant for any of this to happen. When we talked before the conference, he was upset. His lab looked like a war zone." She shook her head. "Whatever's happening, he needs you. All of you."
Clint shifted like a tiger, all bunching muscles and the threat of a pounce. "He dug his own grave. Even if he started out with good intentions, like he says, he should have told us about his involvement the second he had a chance. The way he lied…" His lips were white and thin as he paused. "He had no right. I can't imagine how he could justify this to himself."
"I can."
All eyes fastened onto Natasha, and she lifted her chin in response. "This, all of this, reminds me of when he was dying. He never complained, never shared it with anyone, never asked for help. Once it reached a certain point, he just accepted that it was going to happen whether he liked it or not, and he handled it as best he could. It's all in his head – some inherent combination of the need to be a hero and the need to suffer alone, to punish himself. He's coming apart at the seams, and he copes by keeping his cards close. He's not the type to own up to his mistakes until after he's had a chance to fix them."
She looked to Pepper for confirmation, but the other woman just looked vaguely nauseous. Steve's eyes were locked on the kitchen counter, and the dejected look on his face hinted at a feeling of failure (the heart again, getting in his way). Bruce's expression had only shifted slightly to reflect sadness as well as pensiveness.
Clint, on the other hand, was looking at her as though she had set fire to his quiver.
"We can indulge Stark's issues when they don't lead to press disasters and Loki getting away."
Her jaw clenched. "I wasn't saying that we should indulge him, I was trying to help us understand him."
"He lied. What more is there to understand?" There were fuses lit behind his eyes, and his voice began to rise. "He lied, and Loki ended up with his staff, and we ended up drugged and helpless in a warehouse, and he could have stopped it. He could have warned us, or asked for our help, or something. Anything."
"He said he had no choice. That if he broke a rule, Loki could demand anything." She didn't want to defend Stark, but the accusation in Clint's tone was slowly shredding her patience. The instinctive retaliation was inextinguishable.
"And what about your choice?" His eyes were fierce and bitter in the face of her masked shock. "You knew something was wrong, really wrong with Tony before any of the rest of us. You could have told me."
"That is highly unprofessional-" she snapped.
"What the hell does professional have to do with it?"
Steve cleared his throat, eyes darting uneasily between the pair of them. Natasha ignored him.
"I was doing my job, Clint. You can't hold a grudge over me following orders."
"I can." The words rang out like a slap. "We're partners. Does that even mean anything to you anymore?"
"We weren't partners in this."
"Bullshit," he spat. "Just because Fury made you pinky-promise not to tell doesn't mean anything between us. You've broken rules before, and this was as good a time as any to break them again. This was Tony."
"And that's the exact reason why Fury didn't think you could handle it. Clearly, he was mistaken." Her voice took on dangerous levels of ice even as her blood boiled.
"I don't give a damn what Fury thought. If you had thought I could handle it, you would have told me. It's that simple." Tension hummed through his body like it was a bowstring. "Just admit it. You didn't think I could take it."
The fire in his voice ate away at her composure. "I followed orders-"
"Admit it."
"Why?" Her cry neared a shout, but he didn't flinch. "Do you just want to hear me say it? Will that make you happy? Because I agreed with Fury. I didn't think you could handle it. I thought that you were in too deep with Stark because he was your pal, and your blind spot was so massive that you couldn't even see what was right in front of your nose. He was lying constantly, slinking around like a dog, and you were eating it up. Your guard was so far down, Stark could have slit your throat and you would've smiled your way through it. That's what I thought, and you know what? I'm not sorry. I used my judgment, and I did my job, and you need to accept that."
Her breathing was loud in the silence that ensued. Clint's face was utterly detached, betraying nothing and everything, and the others displayed varying layers of shock and discomfort.
Pardon me, JARVIS cut in from above, but Mister Stark wishes to express his displeasure with his broken-in door, and would like you all to know that he will be forwarding the bill to SHIELD at his earliest convenience. Please note that this is a paraphrasing due to the ungentlemanly word choice and generally unkind epithets. Thank you.
As he went silent, Clint straightened and moved away from the counter and towards the elevator. "Come on. We've got a cover story to fabricate."
Natasha tracked his progress across the room with unforgiving eyes, trying to slow her heart rate. The fact that a few words from Clint were able to shake her control suggested something that she wasn't ready to hear. She turned to Pepper, ignoring how the other woman wouldn't quite meet her eyes, and said, "Stark trusts you most. Check on him after he's had a chance to cool off."
Pepper cleared her throat. "I'm not going to report back to you."
"I know." She received a nod and a bleak smile before she turned to catch the elevator. Clint held the door for her, but his gaze was directed straight ahead.
Tony stood beneath the spray of his shower and tried to forget to feel guilty. After the anger had weakened and faded along with his headache, that's what he'd been left with. The guilt that had squeezed in alongside the fury and permeated his blood, bones, lungs. It had caught him off guard; he'd forgotten to feel it until he'd seen the look in Clint's eyes. At that point, it had hit him full force. The impact of every lie that had chipped away what had once been a friendship.
His skin stung heavily where he'd been scraped or sliced or diced, and the burn brought a subtle satisfaction. Anything to take his mind off of the dark looks and dark places in his mind. Anything to remind him that he was alive, and not falling through the Between.
When he stepped out, his limbs felt heavy, but the hot water had eased the aches in his muscles. It should have brought a small comfort, but anything like comfort was squashed beneath his disbelief as the steam cleared and he saw his full reflection in the mirror for the first time in days.
There were bruises everywhere, ranging from yellow-ringed lavender on his neck to the brightest blue-violet on his upper arms, where Skurge had held him in place for Amora. Others were little more than purple smudges on his temple, his knees, his hip. Some he could place, but the majority were mysteries. His wrists were a mess of purple handprints, reminders of Loki's fickle temper. A particularly fresh one consisted of clearly defined, reddish fingers streaking along his skin from the god's most recent bout of rage. Tony poked it gingerly and winced. They needed to have a talk about not gripping quite so hard.
Scratches and cuts adorned his left leg, and it took him a moment to recall the ragged edges of Amora's metal seal digging into his skin. The inside of one elbow had a puncture from the IV he'd gotten at SHIELD's headquarters, there was a lump on his head he couldn't remember getting, and every joint ached.
But one thing above all else caught his eye.
On the outside of his right leg, a stripe of white, puckered skin stretched from ankle to mid-thigh. His mouth went dry as he bent to touch it: though it was dry, it was chilled and leathery. It took a moment for him to realize that he couldn't feel his own touch, as though the skin had gone numb.
Or dead.
His hand fluttered away from the skin, trembling again, and he struggled to evict that thought from his mind. Another swept into the vacancy: the memory of falling through the black, helpless and terrified, as the Beast screamed and sliced past him, past his leg-"
His palm stung sharply, bringing him back to the present. Unclenching his hand, he saw raw, scraped skin overlaid with a faint bruise, freshly traumatized all over again.
"JARVIS," he called out. His voice was only a fraction as unsteady as he'd feared it would be. "Next time I come back with more than eighty percent of my body bruised, euthanize me."
I believe you are only at thirty-nine percent at present, Sir.
"Whatever you say."
Shall I request ice packs from Miss Potts?
"No. Not right now," he conceded, urged by the ungentle throbbing in his head.
As you wish, Sir.
He met his own gaze in the mirror. The thought of talking to Pepper, seeing concern he didn't deserve in her eyes, brought sigh that was heavy enough to hurt, but he set the sensation aside as he reached for his electric razor. Procrastination always helped.
As he was rinsing foam from his face, the back of his neck prickled, and a blur of black leather caught his eye.
He whirled with a half-strangled shout and thrust the whirring razor outwards with one hand, grappling for a towel with the other. He waited for a blow or an incantation.
Loki raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
"Jesus, what-" the towel threatened to slip from his fingers, and he tightened his grip. "What are you doing?"
Loki clasped his hands behind his back. His expression was cool, but his eyes glittered. "Visiting. Obviously."
"Well, you should have called first." Tony's heart was lodged in his throat and was doing its best to gallop away.
"Perhaps."
"No, not perhaps. You call first, and then your host has a chance to put on clothes. Unless it's that kind of call, which this clearly isn't-"
Loki's head tilted, and a bemused smile graced his face. "That kind of call?"
Tony gaped for a moment, trying to reconcile Loki's smile with the enraged stoicism he'd last seen on the god's face. "No, no, no, I am not explaining the concept of the booty call to you. Google it."
Sir, shall I alert the Avengers to the presence of-?
"Not unless things get bloody, JARVIS. And," he addressed Loki, "if you're here to kill me, you should know, the monks trained me in the art of… violent grooming," he finished lamely, waving the still-buzzing razor for emphasis.
Loki's eyes tracked the motion, unconcerned. "Kill you? I wouldn't dream of it."
"Kill me, maim me, there's only so much difference."
"It seems you've endured punishment enough." Loki's gaze flicked down his body, lingering on his arc reactor before continuing, and Tony stifled an indignant sound. "Either that, or you are infinitely more fragile than I've been led to believe."
Of course. He was looking at the bruises, nothing more. Tony struggled to summon some semblance of dignity, straightening his shoulders and lifting his chin. "I'm not fragile, I'm just not from Krypton like the rest of you."
"I am of Asgard, not-"
"That's not the point. Look, are you here for a reason or did you want to ogle me?"
Loki folded his arms in front of his chest, and a gleam in his eye made Tony's hand tighten on the towel. (He refused to be turned on right now). "So suspicious, Stark."
"I'm suspicious? You just showed up unannounced a couple hours after I poked my nose into your little shop of nightmares. To hell with suspicious, I'm shocked that I still have a head."
The buzzing of the razor seemed impossibly loud in the moment of silence that followed, and he turned it off after a slight hesitation. Loki's face had become a bit more somber, but it was nowhere near the all-consuming rage that it had worn last time Tony had seen him.
"It was not your intention to intrude. Punishment for an accidental fault would accomplish nothing."
Tony stared. "Seriously?"
"Of course."
"Seriously."
"Yes."
"Seriously."
"Stark-"
"Hey, you can't blame me for making sure. I'm all for the whole forgiveness-thing, but last time I checked, you… weren't."
Loki's smile returned, shocking Tony into silence. "Learn to accept a boon when you encounter one."
"Right. I'll do that." He swallowed. "Are you going to tell me why you are here, if not to exact your cruel vengeance?
"Perhaps," Loki stepped forward, and Tony jerked the razor up a couple of inches, "I came, as you said, to ogle you."
"You-" the counter dug into Tony's bare back, and he floundered for a response as Loki drew nearer. "Well, that's- I mean, that's just-"
The sly smile stopped him cold. "I jest."
The razor dipped a few inches before returning to its former height, and Tony let out his breath. "Right. I knew that."
"I am here for purely selfish reasons." Loki turned his palm towards the ceiling, and what looked like a black knitting needle manifested in his hand.
"Whoa- sorry, this is a probe-free zone. You're supposed to check those at the door."
Loki took a step forward, and Tony switched the razor on threateningly.
"Nothing overly sinister, I assure you – I merely require a favor. Now, give me your hand.
"Um. No." He tried to take a step back, but the counter stopped him short. He found himself wishing he'd installed a suit in his shower like he'd been meaning to. "Either you're about do drag me back into hell, or you're going to stab me or God-knows-what with that thing. I've been probe-free for seven years, and that's not a streak I'm looking to break."
Loki eyed him for a moment before his gaze went skyward, and he sighed. "You realize, of course, that permission is a technicality."
There was no time to process before Loki rushed forward, knocking the razor from Tony's hand and catching the arm that swung up to strike his face. Tony's curse came out strangled as he kicked with one leg, connecting solidly with Loki's shin in an utterly ineffective blow. Loki eyed him in amusement, grip tightening on Tony's forearms as he struggled.
"Be still."
"How about no." Tony kicked out again, and Loki stepped on his toes. "Ow- look, I know I messed up, but killing me won't solve anything, trust me-"
A sigh gusted across his face, and his words died as leather brushed against his thighs. His mouth went dry.
"You've grown more incompetent since our parting. That, or 'favor' is Midgardian slang for something horrific… hold still, Stark."
"It's slang for 'never trust the God of Lies when he has a reason to want your head on a plate'." The towel was pinned between them, barely clinging to Tony's skin. It threatened to slip as he struggled against the god's hold, and the distraction was enough to allow Loki to dig the knitting needle into the middle of his palm. "Ouch-"
"Hush."
Loki's face hovered above his, and if he hadn't just been stabbed by an unknown object, Tony would have had a hard time ignoring the slip of leather and metal against his skin. As it was, all he could do was shove ineffectively against Loki's shoulder with his not-impaled hand and snap more curses.
"There." Loki's tone was smug as he removed the needle, released Tony's wrists, and stepped out of swinging range. Tony grappled for the razor again and slapped a hand over the top edge of the towel before it could sink any lower. "Was that not a trifle?"
"That depends." He glanced at the welling red droplet on his hand. "If I'm about to keel over from whatever that was, then I'd say no, not exactly trifle-material."
Loki's sigh was riddled with disdain. "I assure you, your plight was not in vain, nor will it be the death of you. Cease your squalling."
Without taking his eyes off of Loki, he slowly set his razor on the counter and wrapped the towel properly around his waist. "First of all, I wasn't squalling. Second of all, even if I had been squalling, I think I would have some right to it after all that… that." He gestured vaguely at Loki, ignoring the god's amusement.
"I assumed that taking the blood would be faster than arguing over it with you. Now, if you would excuse me…"
Tony stared after him as he turned and left the bathroom without looking back. His hand stung, his veins buzzed with adrenaline, and he may or may not have been turned on. After a beat, he swore, adjusted the towel, and followed.
Loki's back faced him as he faced the wall beside Tony's desk; Tony couldn't discern what he was doing. He crossed his arms over the reactor and cleared his throat.
"You're giving me whiplash, here."
He waited, but no explanation was offered. Eyeing him, Tony sidled towards his dresser and eased open the bottom drawer, relieved that Pepper still put away his laundry. Once he'd slipped on the first two things he touched – a Metallica T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants - he eased toward Loki.
The god's hand moved in quick, minute gestures, and a trail of foreign symbols or letters followed his motions. Tony slipped closer without intending to, trying for a better look. The squiggles were black and tiny, arcing in the beginnings of a wide circle with the exception of a single, blood-red character in the very center. They emanated from the knitting needle nestled in Loki's long fingers like a pencil. Loki went at a steady but deliberate pace, and he showed no signs of acknowledging Tony's presence.
He cleared his throat. "Most people ask before redecorating." Loki offered no answer, and he went on aimlessly. "Then again, most people ask before taking blood samples. I should just stop with the whole surprised thing, shouldn't I?" Falling silent, he watched the stick move. It made no sound and seemed to glide above the wall rather than across it. He moved to lean against the wall, eyeing Loki as he did and receiving no attention in return.
"I've still got questions, you know."
Loki's expression darkened before evening out, but he gave no other indication that he was listening.
"I still don't know why Amora and Skurge nabbed me. I don't know why you bothered to save me. I don't know what the point of the Game is, or why you picked me in the first place, or why you're graffiti-ing my wall." Tony reached for the nearest bottle on his desk – a half-empty scotch that had been open for God-knows-how-long – and took a swig before making a face. "So you can just pick one. Any which one. I don't even care anymore, just… go bananas. Give me hints, give me boring backstory, give me your best red velvet cake recipe, anything. But I've earned something."
No response. Loki completed the circle, only to begin another one within the first.
"You don't believe me?" Tony took another gulp. "I've got the bruises to prove it. Washed off the blood, sweat, and tears just now, I'm afraid, but if I'm not careful, people are going to start mistaking me for Barney." He paused and shrugged. "I guess you saw."
"It is insurance."
Tony blinked at him. "Oh. You know, I heard All-State's policies were a bit out of the box, but I didn't think they'd resorted to…" he gestured idly at the wall. "…that."
Loki's eyes hadn't left the wall, but the words came steadily. "Should my primary den be compromised, I will require a separate location to use as a sanctuary."
A laugh snuck up on him, and he nearly choked. "And you picked my bedroom."
"Why not?" His hand moved more quickly – the second ring was nearly complete. "It is reinforced physically, structurally, as well as being home to – in your words – Earth's Mightiest Heroes. In the instance of my protections failing, this is the least likely place for me to seek refuge."
He puzzled over that for a minute, rambling senselessly even as his gears began to turn in earnest. "And by doodling on my wall, you're making the space your own, which will make the transition easier when you're forced to stay here…?"
"They are Runes, Stark, not to be taken lightly." Loki began a third circle, not sparing Tony a look. "Passive magic, intended to mask a presence."
"Your presence."
"Exactly."
"Which is why you needed my blood."
Loki's hand stilled for a fraction of a moment before continuing its work, but it was enough to speed up the gears. "Runic magic requires a spark to wake it."
"Right, of course. And you used my blood because…?"
"You were available."
"Gotcha. I mean, hey, no argument here. I've used that excuse more times than I can count. But you made it seem like you needed my blood specifically. At least, that's how it seemed in the bathroom, what with all the grabbing and wrestling. Oh, hang on – this isn't a Blood-Of-A-Virgin thing, is it? Because if it is, you've really got the wrong guy, Steve is downstairs-"
Loki finished the third circle and turned to face him with a gaze like flint. "If you have no reason to speak aside from appreciating the cadence of your own words, I ask that you desist. Immediately."
"'Sound of your own voice'. That's what we say here. And no, I had a point. My point," He rocked the bottle slowly before raising it to his lips in a swift jerk, "is that you're full of shit."
Loki recoiled stiffly. "I what?"
"You're full of shit." Tony set the bottle down on the desk and crossed his arms. "You could have picked anywhere to be your backup base. A warehouse, a sewer, a sweatshop halfway across the world. But you picked here, which is a stupid idea, because this is a house full of enemies. Which makes absolutely no sense, because you're Mr. Chess. Every move has a motive, everything pans out into something bigger, but this? Not the best idea by a long shot, and yet, somehow, that didn't stop you. Because this isn't a base for you, this is a base for me. Which is why you needed my blood. Which means that you're going out of your way to take care of me."
"Quite a theory." His words were sharp, clipped, disparaging, but Tony cut him off anyway.
"I'm not done. You wouldn't do that, any of that, unless, a) me dying would interfere with some plan of yours, in which case you wouldn't go out of your way to throw me off track, b) you're actually setting up an elaborate murder for me, in which case you wouldn't bother talking to me, which leaves c) you're just taking care of me out of the goodness of your heart. Which is weird, because popular opinion tells me you don't have one."
Long fingers flexed around the writing implement, and Tony thought it might snap. Loki's eyes were quiet and dark.
"And your opinion?"
He stared for a long minute. Loki's face was perfectly dead of emotion, and for a second, he wondered if the question had been a product of his overtired imagination. "What?"
"Popular opinion, you said." His head tilted slowly. "If you are to believe your own argument, then you must disagree."
Tony had the unshakable feeling that Loki's expression wouldn't change no matter what he said or did, as though Loki had peeked at his cards and was now waiting patiently for him to bluff or fold. His chin tilted up in a challenge. "You know what I think."
"Yes." Though he didn't move, Tony had the sense that he was smiling. "I do."
"But it doesn't matter." He managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"It might."
"But it doesn't. Don't give me that look," he snapped as Loki raised a condescending brow. "You've said it yourself enough times. More than enough."
"You never believed the words." His head tilted again. "Or so it seemed."
"You lie as often as you breathe. I never know what to believe."
Any trace of goodwill vanished from his features, and Loki bared his teeth in a savage smile. "And yet, you listen to the liar. Why, if not to search for truth? Is it to indulge me? To unravel me? Or are you simply listening for a word to confirm what you wish to be truth?" He waited with deadly anticipation, every aspect of his attention locked onto Tony. "Why?"
"You have a heart."
Tony watched as Loki's mouth dipped into a frown as he took that in. "You asked me what I thought. That's what I think. That's why I listen. I think you have a heart, and I think that somewhere, deep down, there's a molecule that has a soft spot for me. And I think that even though that scares the hell out of you," he took a step forward, "you're starting to accept that."
"Wishes," Loki sneered, but there was no real bite to the word. He didn't retreat from Tony's approach. "And wishes only. Have you no sense?"
"Just stop." He was an arm's length away, and Tony's heart threatened to fall out of his chest. "There's no point anymore."
Loki's face hadn't softened, but it hadn't donned the empty mask, either. He studied Tony openly, eyes narrow as they appraised his face. Goosebumps laced his arms and neck as the gaze traversed them.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
His brow folded, and Tony saw something in his expression shift to bewildered urgency. "Why do you…"
The word died on Loki's lips, but not before Tony could catch it.
Care?
He swallowed. There was a foot between them, and he was close enough to see the self-loathing trickling through the cracks in Loki's armor. There were words, he was sure of it, but none of them felt good enough or new enough or right enough. "Fascinating" wouldn't cut it this time. The moments skidded by too quickly, and Loki's face began to close off as the silence stretched on, but before he had the chance to back away, Tony darted forward and crushed their lips together.
Loki was unmoving, unresponsive even as Tony tried to pour every confused, deep-rooted emotion into the kiss. His blood was too hot and his breathing too loud, whereas Loki wasn't breathing at all. But when Tony pulled back, his eyes were closed, and after a moment, a cool breath gusted against his lips.
"Stark-"
Tony slid a hand around the back of Loki's neck and pulled him in again. This time, the response was immediate as Loki kissed him back with a surrender that was an attack, forcing his lips apart and sliding his tongue against the roof of Tony's mouth. One hand buried itself in Tony's hair as the other one circled his waist, pulling him sharply against leather and metal. His grip on Loki's neck tightened, and he shivered as Loki's teeth scraped his upper lip. His thoughts blurred into a mess of exhilaration and disbelief and swelling relief and Loki. It was as violent a kiss as their first, from the roof, but now there was a layer of promise, of acceptance, of giving in. The softness was implied even as Loki's fingers dug in too hard and his teeth drew blood.
His back met the wall in a jarring impact, and he nearly bit Loki's tongue in half as his bruises protested. A soft growl sent a jolt of blood straight to his groin. Loki's body aligned with his, and through the bulk of the armor, Tony could tell that they fit. One hand found the edge of he T-shirt and swept underneath, running up his side and leaving goosebumps in its wake. His own hands scrabbled against buckles and plates, but he quickly abandoned them in favor of digging one into feather-soft hair and cupping his jaw with the other. The skin there was like velvet sheathing steel.
Loki bit his lip hard enough to make Tony's toes curl, and he responded by pressing closer and sliding his tongue against Loki's. And Loki curled his tongue around Tony's, and holy shit, no wonder people called him Silvertongue, and Tony's wasn't one to go weak-kneed, but damn it if he wasn't hanging on for dear life. He kissed back as hard as he could, and there was almost certainly too much teeth, and his bruises were trying to kill him, but his chest felt like it was going to explode and Loki's hands were clutching him like a lifeline – his back, his neck, his cheek – and every breath tasted like magic and mint and Loki-
Loki pulled back, staring. Tony stared back at him, dazed, before realizing that the god's eyes were focused on his cheek, the one marked by Amora's magic. He tried to catch his breath, waiting for Loki's move.
His thumb traced one of the lines, and his reddened mouth worked for a moment before his eyes met Tony's with a look that was a thousand apologies and a hundred promises of death for the perpetrator. A thrill of something sweet and wild fluttered inside Tony's gut.
Loki leaned in slowly, carefully, and Tony's eyes closed as lips touched the corner of his mouth. He laid a trail of delicate, feathery kisses along the scar's length, the antithesis of the ferocity he had shown previously. When he reached the tip, he reversed his direction, and Tony turned his head to meet him midway.
This time, Loki's motions retained their gentility. He tilted Tony's head up with one hand, keeping the kiss chaste for a moment of quiet, simple bliss. Tony's grip on his neck had softened to a caress as he stroked the nape of Loki's neck with his fingertips. A hand slid along his side in a lazy, discreet motion, coming to rest on his hip as Loki's tongue rasped against his lower lip, then followed with a bite that started out soft and steadily intensified.
And just like that, all bets were off. Tony shuddered and surged into the kiss, and Loki's hand tightened on his hip as the god answered him in kind. His heart rate spiked further still, and he stood on his toes as Loki's other hand slid to his lower back and pulled him forward, eliminating what little space had remained between them. Tony's bruises protested, but he pressed the length of his body against Loki's and tilted his head, battling the god's tongue and stealing his oxygen and nudging a thigh between his knees-
"Tony!"
Loki ripped himself away and Tony floundered, gasping for air and trying to place the voice. When he did, his stomach dropped.
Pepper stood in the doorway with a briefcase in one hand and an empty coffee mug in the other. A black stain spread through the carpet at her feet as she gaped, choking. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, she bolted.
Tony's heart dropped through the floor, and he made a snap decision and dashed after her. If she told the team before he got to her, it would be the end of any remaining semblance of trust they had for him.
"Pepper! Pepper, wait, stop-" Ahead of him, she put on a burst of speed. "You don't understand- Pepper, please!"
She had a head start, but he had more to lose. When she skidded on the carpet and fell to one knee four feet from the elevators, he caught up and reached for her arm. She whirled with a shriek, striking out with her briefcase, and he let out a bark of pain as the bag connected with a bruise.
"Pepper, Pepper listen- stop-"
"Who are you?" She screeched, moving to lash out again. Her eyes were frenzied and panicked.
"I'm me, I'm Tony- birthmark!" he yelled, wrenching the bag out of her hands and tossing it to one side. "Potts, you gotta believe me, it's me, I'm me-" she made a wild lunge for the elevator, and Tony caught her arm. "You try to keep me organized, and I fuck up, and you fix it, and you're allergic to some berry, and that time, when I first replaced the reactor, you pulled out the copper wire even though I told you not to-"
She stared at him, slowly going limp, but her expression retained its wholehearted horror.
"Tony," she whispered. "What are you doing? With… with him?"
His mouth went dry, and he shook his head. "It's not… it's complicated, Potts."
Pepper put a hand against the wall, steadying herself. She looked deathly pale, and she swallowed. "Did he force you?"
"No! No, Pepper, he… we just…" he licked his still-burning lips and ran a hand over his face. "Just don't tell the team. I swear, I'll explain everything. Just promise me you won't-"
He jumped and swore as the elevator doors slid open and Steve and Bruce spilled out, looking equal parts disoriented and aggressive. Steve held his shield at the ready, eyes darting around the hall. "We heard a scream. What happened? Is everyone okay?"
All the air went out of Tony's lungs, and he looked to Pepper. "We're fine. I just startled Pepper." He swallowed and prayed internally. "Right, Potts?"
She stared at him for a moment, long enough for his mouth to dry out and for Bruce and Steve to exchange uneasy glances.
"Right."
Loki stared at the empty doorway, stunned into stillness. Stark's sudden absence tasted bitter, and his words rang in Loki's ears (you don't understand, Pepper, please!). An ugly certainty took root in his mind, and his mouth, still tender from Stark's kiss, contorted into a snarl.
How obvious.
Stark's heart belonged to her.
Cheers,
BlackSheep