Author's note: Well, it was definitely interesting seeing all the guesses from you guys about what happened in the previous chapter... And now, for the answer! ;)
He's staring at the empty screen in abject misery, anger swirling inside of him. Damn the sneaky bastard to hell for doing this to him, for using him like a pawn.
His head has turned into a battle ground for a million disturbing thoughts, all vying for his attention and every single one of them pointing out to him in no uncertain terms just how much he's messed up. Crap, he's such an idiot, seriously believing a simple tracker could contain the god of lies and deceit. Of course he would find some way around the device, merely biding his time until the perfect moment arrived, well away from the tower and Jarvis' surveillance, dumping Tony off like excess luggage.
Like an ice cube in hell, the guy took to just disappearing into thin air, grabbing the opportunity with both hands as it presented itself. Exactly how Loki managed to get rid of the tracker he doesn't know, but the specifics aren't important; what matters right now is that he somehow did.
And of course, Tony had never taken into consideration that the two of them would get separated like this; when he'd designed his tracker he had been assuming Loki would remain close and in Tony's sight at all times, so any tampering with the device wouldn't have gone by unnoticed. Naturally, he had checked the bracelet before they headed out, just in case Loki should have done something with it in the meantime, but there had been nothing out of the ordinary, everything had appeared as it should.
He can't believe he's let himself be fooled this easily, being drawn in by the innocent façade Loki had put up, the picture made perfect by those puppy eyes. The god had known exactly how to play him, as if Tony were a well-tuned piano and Loki a professional pianist. And his plan obviously worked perfectly – make Tony feel sorry for him, pretending to be all harmless, goad him along while waiting for an unguarded moment outside, and then remove the bracelet and take off.
It had been terribly stupid of him not to take something like that into account. Loki could have found a number of items in the tower he could have easily snuck along when they went outside – perhaps a needle or something would have been equipment enough. It wouldn't have been an easy feat to pry the bracelet open with such a primitive tool, but given a good undisturbed fifteen minutes on a train to work on the clasp...
After everything that's happened, he should have learned by now not to put his trust in people, and just what did he do? Yeah, he went right ahead and put it in none other than the very guy who is the physical manifestation of lies and deceit and who has spent centuries perfecting his skills.
If this had happened to anyone else, he would have laughed at their gullibility. Even the naive morons falling for those Nigerian royalty email scams have better justification than him.
And now, he's lost Loki in the middle of New York of all places. Not in Eastern Bumblefuck or Hicksville, but fucking New York with its eight something millions of people. The chances of finding him here is about as big as finding a piece of marble in a quarry. In other words, about as non-existent as a pink unicorn.
Then there is the very much unwelcome thought materializing in his head about what kind of uncomfortable questions SHIELD might want to ask him in case they should happen to stumble on the alien fugitive and find out the whole story. And damn if he can't just picture Fury's single eye glaring daggers at him as his disdainful voice demands to know why the hell Tony thought he would be qualified to contain a hostile alien master of deceit instead of contacting SHIELD to let them deal with the problem as soon as it got dumped on his doorstep.
And he wouldn't even be able to offer a smart-ass reply to that since it would be laughably obvious from recent events that he wasn't in the slightest cut for the job.
The grip around his cell phone tightens. Of course, the responsible thing would be to own up to his own dumb-assery and immediately call Fury to alert him that there's a war criminal on the loose who might be up to who knows what. It would be embarrassing and uncomfortable and many other things as well that he doesn't want to think about right now, but his own pride shouldn't take precedence here, should it? As much as he would have preferred to find the god on his own, he would be much better off leaving it to the professionals, right?
Still, he doesn't bring up his list of contacts. He just doesn't have it in him to call Fury, because he knows – or at least suspects – what they'd do to Loki if they got their hands on him. And despite the god having betrayed his trust so gravely like this, despite the anger churning inside of him, he still doesn't want him to end up in SHIELD's not-so-tender care.
Besides, Loki doesn't even have his magic or his powers – unless he's found some way to get rid of those Asgardian bracelets as well while he was at it, but that's something he doesn't want to even consider right now – so whatever damage he could do should be negligible. Certainly not something you'd need to contact an organization like SHIELD for, who no doubt have their hands full trying to control much greater threats than powerless gods-made-mortals.
No, he will have to try finding Loki on his own. Though, how that's going to happen, he really has no idea. Then again, he is Tony Stark, and he's nothing if not a problem solver. He's gotten himself out of much tighter spots than this and lived to tell the tale. Finding a runaway god should be a simple task in comparison, he tries to comfort himself. He still has his brain and wits and technical skills. He'll figure something out.
But the first step is visiting the crime scene, to see if there are any clues there, something that might guide him along the way, even if it's just the discarded bracelet lying forlorn on the floor of the subway station.
Sighing, he throws another glance at the cell phone still nestled in his hand when the screen unexpectedly recalibrates, and the map and coordinates on display all flicker and disappear, only to be replaced with a new and different set a second later. And, miraculously, the black speck that represents Loki is back. Tony blinks a few times in surprise as he realizes that the map image on his screen represents nothing else than his own tower.
Huh? What on Earth just happened here?
Okay, his utterly confused brain supplies, so Loki must have made his way from the station to his tower, somehow; that's the only reasonable explanation for this weirdness. And that makes a huge wave of relief wash over him, the possibility that the god might not have tried to remove the bracelet and escape, after all, as much as everything was pointing in that direction.
Unfortunately, that is making little sense either, because even if Loki knew the way back home and ran as fast as he could, he wouldn't have been able to make it there in the brief moment that has passed since Tony lost the reading on him at the end station.
The dots won't connect in his head. So perhaps there was some temporary problem with the tracker, and he lost contact with it for a few moments, but how could Loki have gotten back to the tower so quickly? Did he freaking teleport himself? That would at least have explained why the reading on the god had disappeared if he was passing through interplanetary Neverland or whatever intergalactic wormhole teleporters travelled through to get from here to there. He winces at the thought; Loki's magic bracelets should be blocking his powers and make such a feat impossible. But maybe there was a glitch in the things, enabling the god to use select portions of his magic. If so, Tony should count himself very lucky that this is all the god has been doing with it.
He groans, leaning his head back against the scrunchy seat. Why is it that this whole slave-deal just keeps getting more complicated? If Odin was standing here in front of him, Tony would have clocked him one in the face, god or not.
Luckily, his stop is up next and as the train finally comes to a halt, he once more pushes himself through the carriage doors before they're barely open, sprinting off like an Olympic champion, glad that Stark Tower is situated only a few blocks away.
The first thing that greets him when he slams the front door open, out of breath and legs shaking from exertion, is the sound of Jarvis' voice calmly announcing, "You have guests waiting for you on floor three, Mr Stark."
Guests? What the hell? How did anyone make it past the security barriers? He makes a mental note to add a moot with underfed crocodiles along the perimeter. Perhaps some good old-fashioned intruder repellence will prove more effective if his high-tech solutions can be by-passed so easily.
"What guests?" he snaps, rushing up the staircase to level three, not bothering to wait for either Jarvis' answer or the elevator. He doesn't have a good feeling about this, none at all…
"They did not give their names, sir, merely said that they would like a word with you. They did, however, bring with them a certain-"
He reaches the third level and stops in his tracks at the sight that greets him, the rest of what Jarvis says not registering in his mind.
Because right there, in the middle of the spacious room, stands a group of people most definitely not from this planet. Unless they've come straight from some funny costume party, which, judging by the severe look on their faces, they clearly haven't.
Four Einherjers, straight out of Asgard, complete with showy beards, helmets, shiny swords and armour, and smouldering gazes that could fry lesser beings. The air in the room seems to have dropped several degrees below its usual temperature and Tony feels a chill trace an icy finger along his spine.
Whimsically, he wonder if these are the same guys as the ones that showed up last time with Loki in tow; if Erik the Blabbermouth has made a dashing return, but there's no way to tell as they all look the same with their faces half-hidden behind scruffy beards and well-polished helmets.
There's a new addition to the little group this time, though, an older man who stands before the group preening like he's their leader, looking like someone straight out of Harry Potter and who could give Dumbledore a good run for his money with the cliché white beard that is trailing all the way down to his waist. There is a sword at his belt as well, but it is shorter than those of his comrades and he wears lighter armour, so the geriatric geezer is probably a wizard of some sort. If that's what magical men are called back in Asgard; Tony isn't familiar with such nuances. Maybe warlock or conjuror or hocus-pocus guy would be a more apt title.
He supposes he should be the one to say something first, ask what freaking business they have here, because the tower is still his home, despite these uninvited visitors having helped themselves to it like Tony is only an accessory that comes with the package. But the geezer steps forward before Tony has a chance to open his mouth to let spill a frosty comment that probably isn't going to be very conducive to his health, given the amount of blank weapons in his immediate presence.
"Greetings, Man of Iron," the man says, voice just as pompous as the rest of him. "Please accept our apologies for rudely intruding in your home like this."
Tony offers him an insincere smile. "It's alright, I just hope you guys remembered to wipe your shoes on the way in; see, I had the floor cleaned mere days ago and I just hate the way mud stains look on marble tiles." Oh, and don't you guys know how to fucking knock?
If the old guy finds Tony's reply offensive, he gives no sign of it. "Worry not, as we shall not linger longer than necessary. We merely come to inform you that we will be taking your slave Loki back to Asgard to face execution."
Oh noes!
Please review. :)
