Tony was cheating.

The garlic on his breath was overpowering and I breathed through my mouth. It didn't help that the man had no concept of personal space whatsoever. He leaned over my shoulder to point out something that I already knew was there and was getting to. It was like trying to work with a goateed, middle-aged Jiminy Cricket hovering over everything I did. He was lucky I hadn't elbowed him in the face.

Maybe I would just call his wife and tell her about him cheating on his diet instead. I was sure nothing I could do would compare to what Pepper could come up with.

"That line of code needs correcting," he said. Then he actually pointed to the code in question, his finger on my screen and his arm in my face. I stopped typing and crossed my arms. "What're you doing?"

"Since you obviously want to take over, I yield the keyboard to you. Currently I'm waiting for you to move so I can get up. You're on my turf but at least I'll have a break from the fumes on your breath courtesy of the pizza you had for lunch."

Tony immediately removed his arm and straightened up to look down at me. "I brushed my teeth," he pointed out sulkily.

"Yes, and all that accomplished was making minty-fresh pepperoni. That and the donuts you had for breakfast."

"Okay, you need to stop that because it's creepy." He jabbed his index finger towards me. "You are being very creepy."

"No Tony, that wasn't creepy. Creepy would be if I told you about the sounds I'm picking up from Nat and Bruce in the sub-basement." I heard someone choke in another room but I ignored it.

"You're making that up."

"Am I?"

"You're just trying to drive me off."

"If you say so."

We stared at each other for a couple of minutes. Neither of us blinked.

"God, now I can't get it out of my mind," Tony twitched and rolled a shoulder as though he was trying to shrug the mental image off. "You win this time, Princess Serenity." He went upstairs, leaving me to hope that he only knew about Sailor Moon characters from his daughter. Bucky walked in a few minutes later. Tony and Bucky avoided being in the same room whenever they could help it during Tony's visits. I never asked about the tension between the two men. It was none of my business.

"You made Sam snort orange juice up his nose," he reported as he sat down in Nat's chair.

"Serves him right for listening in," I pointed out while resuming typing. "And you were laughing right along with him."

"Jesus, that is creepy." Bucky and Sam had been in the kitchen, which was nowhere near the foyer. "Wait...does that mean you can hear everything I do at home too?"

"I do my best to ignore you. What do you think the books and iPod are for?" Bucky was skeeved out and I didn't blame him. There was no such thing as privacy when I was around. It didn't matter that I never asked for it. The fact that I could hear, smell, and feel everything made everyone who knew about my abilities understandably nervous. They tried to ignore that particular elephant in the room most of the time, and I tried my best not to remind them. Tony had pissed me off though, so the gloves came off.

"A TV would make me feel better."

"Why would I get one when I can just listen to yours? Besides I sit in front of a screen all day here, I don't need any screens at my home."

"You listen to my—hold on, are you trying to mess with me now?"

"With you, no. With that bird Sam's still playing around with, yes. Having it on stealth mode doesn't make a difference, by the way," I told the hovering Redwing that was lurking in the corner, hidden by the shadows. "Doesn't matter how quiet you think you have that motor at, I can hear it."

Redwing flew out of the corner and vanished down the hall. I could have sworn the thing was pouting.

"Sam will never stop tinkering with that now that you've said it. You gave him a challenge."

"He already sees me as a challenge. That's the third time I've caught him trying to sneak up on me with that drone."

"He's trying to make it stealthier, and you're a good measuring stick," Bucky shrugged. Then he raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"

I stopped and turned my head to see what he was looking at. On my desk was an envelope. Real high-quality cardstock in a creamy shade. Real gold made up the frame on the front of the envelope. Not gold foil, gold, if my nose was any judge. Written in the frame in an elegant hand with a graceful flourish in black calligraphy ink was "Pet". I hadn't noticed it there before. It hadn't been there a few minutes ago, and I hadn't noticed it appearing.

"Speaking of people who see you as a challenge, looks like your boyfriend wants your attention."

"He is not my boyfriend," I snapped as I opened the envelope. Ice and peppermint greeted my nose. The stationary was more high-grade cardstock with real gold making up the border around the text, which had been written by the same hand that addressed the envelope:

Pet, I have missed you terribly this past week. I would be honored if you would join me at my place in New York tonight.

The address was listed under the words. Bucky whistled as he looked at the back of the card. "I may not like him, but the man's got moves."

I stuffed the invitation back into the envelope. I was not having this conversation. No, I was not. "You going?" Bucky was asking.

"None of your business."

"That's a 'yes'. Look, I know it's none of my business. You're a grown woman and can take care of yourself..."

"Damn right."

"Just...be careful, okay? I've heard some really bad stuff about him."

"There's nothing to be careful about, because there's nothing going on. And I've heard some really bad stuff about you as well, yet here you are." I was starting to think I liked him better when he didn't talk to me. Come to think of it, this was the first real conversation we'd had. "You of all people should know better than to judge someone by their past."

Bucky nodded. "Fair point. And much as I hate to admit it, he's been good for you." He added quietly. "Couple of weeks ago, you would have ripped off Stark's head when he got into your space like that."

I froze in the middle of typing. Come to think of it, Tony had come damn close to touching me. Damn close. I should have lost it. Instead, I scared him off another way, one that didn't end with anyone hurt. "Maybe I was too busy trying not to gag at the smell of half-digested Italian sausage and onions."

"Right."

I blew out a sigh in frustration. "You...all...you just...argh," and I went back to typing. The smug satisfaction coming from Bucky was pissing me off. I needed to calm down. I needed to admit that he had a point.

Instead, I found myself asking in a low voice, "You really think he's only doing this because he sees me as a challenge?"

Bucky was quiet at first. He spoke after a minute. "I think that he's a Trickster, and from what Thor's said Loki's always liked puzzles. That's what you are. You're a puzzle, you insist on keeping yourself that way too. Hell, you still won't tell anyone your real name."

Good point. I still went by Abriel, the name I chose from a book Stephen showed me after I kept refusing to tell him my real name. "I'm not there yet." I didn't know if I ever would be.

"That's another thing. You're like a broken doll, one that needs fixing. From what I gather, Loki's been trying to make amends for his past. I can relate. He sees you, sees you're broken, and he figures he can fix you as one of those ways to make amends." I flinched, and he added. "But I've also seen the way he looks at you. I think he cares in his own way, but you shouldn't get attached."

Ouch. "I'm not getting attached. And it's great to know you think of me as a broken doll."

"That's not what I—okay, I said that wrong. You're broken, but no more than I was. And you're slowly mending yourself. Just need to let other people help you. You can trust us, y'know." After a long pause he added very quietly "I know what it's like to have your mind messed with. When you decide to talk, I'm right across the hall."

When the hell had Bucky decided we were best friends? We had a good relationship. We nodded to each other in acknowledgement when we encountered each other in the hall. I turned down the offer of blueberry muffins or other assorted goods he kept buying from the bakery downstairs. He often slept on my couch after I read to him for a bit when the nightmares were bad. We'd been fine, why was he changing things? "Thanks, Dad, I'll keep that in mind."

"I may be a hundred and six years old, but I'm no one's Dad. But if we're going there, then I expect you home by eleven tonight, young lady."

"And the horse you rode in on," I responded while updating one of the firewalls.

It was really weird watching a valet drive off in the Rabbit so he could park it. Valets parked fancy cars. Ferraris, Teslas, Lincoln Towncars, Audis. They did not park Volkswagon Rabbits that were almost 40 years old. I kept it meticulously clean, but it was still a Rabbit.

A doorman allowed me into the building after I told him I was there to see Loki Odinson. He had pressed a button on the intercom to make an inquiry, and then showed me to the elevator.

Loki was in a penthouse. Because of course he was. At least I was dressed nice, otherwise I would have felt more awkward. I was wearing a skirt today, but I had removed the matching jacket and replaced the shirt with a red scooped-necked top before leaving the manor. I had also taken my hair out of the braid so now it flowed down my back like a mahogany waterfall. It hadn't been very humid today so the frizz was minimal for once.

When the elevator doors opened, Loki was in the hall waiting for me. He was wearing black jeans with a dark green button up shirt. He looked delectable.

"You are a refreshing sight after the week I have had," he purred, then held out his hand. I stared at it, inhaling sharply. He didn't move it. "Try. Please," he gently coaxed.

Heart in my throat, I reached for his hand. I slid it in his, waiting for the panic to take me. I waited, but it didn't come. My pulse was hammering, but I wasn't consumed by fear. I began to relax and clasped his hand tighter. His flesh was cool, the hand's skin delicate but the muscles underneath strong. Warmth filled me as my palm touched his. This wasn't so bad. Not bad at all.

Then Loki began to wrap his hand around mine.

I didn't know what happened next. One minute I was holding Loki's hand. The next I was five feet away from him. A curio table was lying on its side, with the vase it'd been holding shattered on the floor. I was breathing hard, my hands in fists, my legs spread in a stance suggesting I was ready to run, although I wasn't sure where I would go in the confined space of the hallway. Loki was rubbing his jaw but appeared otherwise unruffled as he gazed at me. "Well now. That confirms a few things. Pet, are you there? Look at me. That's it, look at me." He was approaching with slow, cautious steps. "Everything is alright. You are safe, come back to me."

His soothing voice had me focusing on the present, yanked me out of the labyrinth. I looked down at my hands and uncurled them. "Fuck," I gasped out. "Did I get you?"

"You just grazed me, my sweet. I promise I am more than capable of holding my own against you." He waved his hand and the table was back on its legs. The vase sat on it, pristine and like new, no evidence it was ever damaged. "See? No harm done. Breathe. Slow, deep breaths. You're alright. You're safe with me, you will always be safe with me." He didn't touch me, though he was now close enough to do so.

It took effort but I managed to get my heartrate down to a level that wouldn't be labeled "hummingbird on speed". It helped that Loki made no move to touch me again, not even to brush my hair. He opened the door to his place. "Come. You should sit." He moved aside and after a moment I made my way through the door.

The penthouse was every bit as ostentatious as I imagined. The carpet was plush and thick, in a startling shade of white. The furniture was polished and modern, and was black to contrast with the floor. A shiny black marble fireplace took up one wall, and flames flickered behind the clear screen that kept the fire contained. The walls were a tasteful shade of cream and a large LED television took up another wall. I could see the label Planar on it. That TV was worth almost 250 grand. Of course, he would only have the very best. Because Loki.

Watercolor paintings provided small spots of color here and there. A few decorative tables with gleaming black marble tops on top of polished obsidian legs stood in the corners. All of them held artifacts that were Loki-themed. A small golden replica of what I assumed to be one of his horned headdresses. A small statue of himself, also in gold. A small bust of himself displayed in a glass case, that looked like it was made of...

I did a doubletake. Where did he find a diamond that big? At least it looked like a diamond. It could have just been crystal, but the way the light bounced off it make me think otherwise.

The man truly was in love with himself. I tried not to roll my eyes as I sank into the sofa. Holy crap, I could sleep very comfortably on this thing, and I didn't even need to sleep anymore. The upholstery was as plush and soft as the carpet, and was sheer decadence. I inhaled deeply. The place smelled like Loki of course, the ice and peppermint so intense that I felt the cold despite the fire. The only other scent I could pick up was the ozone and bagel-with-everything-including-the-kitchen-sink scent that was his brother's. He'd had no other visitors. I wasn't going to examine the relief that gave me.

Loki came over to the sofa from the bar, which was in black and gold and held only top-shelf liquor on the glass shelving behind it. He handed me a snifter filled with a generous portion of the same brandy he was drinking, then lowered himself onto the cushion next to mine. The smoky aroma rising from the glass screamed "expensive". I normally was not inclined to drink anything that cost more than what I made in a month, but I found myself taking a sip as Loki's eyes settled on me while he drank from his own snifter. The initial burn helped me settle more. The alcohol wouldn't do anything to me—at least, I thought it wouldn't-but the hit fuzzed my nerves. I could taste the oak the brandy had been aged in, the woodsy scent calming me further.

My relaxed state was further helped by the waves of blissful delight coming from the man next to me. Loki was as happy as a pig in mud. He was getting what he wanted: Me, in his home, in his territory. He had the feel of a strutting peacock, or a satiated lion with a pride of one. The only thing I suspected would have made it better is if he were able to touch me.

Relaxed as I was, that was not happening. "So why was your week so shitty?"

"Thor decided to drag me along when he went on a mission with the Guardians."

I braced myself. I hadn't met any of the Guardians of the Galaxy, but I'd heard plenty of stories to make me glad I hadn't. "That sounds interesting."

"If by interesting you mean, as you mortals would say, a total clusterfuck, then yes it was very interesting," Loki gulped brandy. "We had to retrieve a weapon from Hala that the Kree had stolen from the Nova corps."

"That doesn't sound too bad."

"It should not have been. But at one point, we split up. I ended up on the team with Tree and Rabbit..."

Tree I knew was...well, a sentient tree. I wasn't sure who Rabbit was, but Thor used that word to refer to them as well. I suspected Rabbit was actually the talking raccoon I sometimes saw emails from. Yes, a talking raccoon. This universe was weird.

"Drax came up with the brilliant plan to sneak into the palace via the stables. The animals were rather like large bison. Very large. With very large spoors making up their manure."

Oh, shit.

"The creatures objected to our presence rather vehemently, and... let's just say I had to bathe for a very, very long time. Which I didn't get to do until after a long space chase through five star systems."

Damn it, I would not laugh. I would not laugh. I would not—I giggled. I tried to keep it at that, I really did. The laughter would not be contained. "Exactly how long?"

"Four days."

I burst into laughter again. "Oh, I'm sorry," I said as I wiped tears from my eyes. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, you did a stellar job scrubbing off. I would never have known without you saying something."

"I'm glad to know it." He should have been embarrassed, but he wasn't. He was instead glad to see me smile. He was very, very pleased with himself.

I realized that was the first time I had smiled in a very, very long time. He must have known that as well. "How was your week, Pet?"

I told him it was a lot more boring than his, but I told him about Tony that morning. I also told him about Bucky's observation that I had made Tony cringe in horror rather than tear his arm off to beat him with, and how that was a large improvement for me.

"Barnes is correct. That is excellent progress, much as I would have loved to watch you beating on Stark. However, we already knew you were getting better. Before I left for that mission, you touched me. On that night in the park."

I had. It was a moment I hadn't been able to get out of my mind, and when I didn't hear from Loki this past week I had wondered if I'd done something wrong. Thinking about that didn't help my state of mind. Bringing up Bucky had me dwelling on the other thing he had said.

"And just now, in the hall, provided further confirmation. I cannot touch you still...not yet...but you, you can touch me." Loki set his snifter down on a coaster and held his arm out. "If you're feeling up to it, Pet, try it. I won't touch you; you have my word. I, however, welcome your touch."

I swallowed as I looked at his hand, then up into his eyes. The golden flames from the fireplace were reflected in their depths as he gazed at me. "It's alright. You are safe here. Always."

I studied him for a few moments then lowered my eyes to his hand. I reached out with my own tentative fingers, beginning my slow, careful exploration of his. The pad of my index finger brushed the pad of his. I slid my fingers along his, making contact with his palm again. The fear never came. My heart didn't even speed up. I still felt wary, and if Loki had moved even a tiny muscle then, I would have been out the door and out of the building before he stood up.

My fingers stroked his wrist, then I looked back up at his face. He was watching me and hadn't moved a muscle. He hadn't even blinked. With my other hand I reached up to his face, and my fingers hovered before one of his eyes. He closed them oh-so-slowly and I brought the fingers in to touch his closed lid. He took a deep breath, which made me pause, then inhaled and I felt something in him relax.

My fingers traced his cheek, and he very slowly opened his lids to watch me again as I continued my tactile exploration of his face. His skin was smooth and baby-soft, cool to the touch like living porcelain. He was perfect. No lines, no freckles, no blood vessels or zits, no pores. I stroked the side of his face, tracing his jaw, bringing my thumb to his lips. I brushed it across his soft lower lip, and I felt him vibrate.

My hand traveled down his throat then traced the bit of collarbone that peeked out through the neckline of his soft, decadent forest colored shirt. He shuddered as I slipped my hand inside it to feel the perfect, soft skin underneath which lay hard muscle.

Loki was struggling. I was torturing him. He was in actual pain, he was so aroused, and he was so filled with a primal longing that he was ready to snap at any second, like a coiled spring ready to pounce. But he stayed still, moved not one inch, biting back a groan as he savored my touch. He fought to remain passive, because he knew that was what I needed. To fix me.

"What's wrong?" He asked me as I slipped my hand out of his shirt. "What is it? Talk to me, Pet."

I got up to pace by the floor-to-ceiling window, the view of New York breathtaking with the setting sun. "Pet?" Loki asked again.

There was no easy way to put it, so I just blurted it out. "Am I a project, Loki? Another way to atone for your past sins? Fix the broken, crazy immortal—thing—from the dead universe who's presenting a challenge for you to overcome?"

The flash of hurt and anger made me flinch.

"Who," Loki snarled, "has been putting those thoughts into your head?"

"No one. They've always been there; it just took a while to fully realize it." That was the truth. Even if Bucky hadn't said a word, it had always been in the back of my mind that Loki was after me purely for the chase.

"You dare," Loki breathed. Then he uttered a word in what I assumed was Asgardian and took his turn pacing, his hands in fists, so angry that he was ready to bludgeon something. And underneath that rage was hurt. I had hurt him. Badly. I felt sick and ashamed of myself.

He whirled around, his stare burning holes into my being. "Do you really think," he started. "That if I didn't lo—like you, I would have sworn off all others after I had met you? That's right, Pet... I have been with no one else since the moment we met." That was the truth as well. "Would I have been just now so tortured by your touch, your scent, the sound of you breathing while you...do you truly think I would have fought so hard to stay still and let you do what you wanted, what you needed, when all I want to do is take you into my bed to see how many times I can bring you to your pleasure before you lost consciousness if I didn't value you, didn't want you in my life permanently, only saw you as a...how did you put it?...project? I have never, ever been more insulted. I want you, woman. All of you. Even if you could never endure my touch, even if you never tell me your true name, even if you could never sleep next to me, I want you more than anything. I can live without making love, I can live without kissing or holding you in my arms, even as badly as I want those things. My goal is not to fix you, my goal is to lo-" Loki stopped, his body shaking, his heavy breathing coming out in shuddering pants.

Even an empath can get it wrong. Not just wrong: Mind-bogglingly, painfully, stupidly wrong. Loki was having trouble regaining control, and I understood why. I might as well have stabbed him in the gut and twisted the knife. I'd been feeling the things he was feeling, and knew that he meant every word he'd said to me in the weeks we'd known each other. I knew he meant every word of what he just said. And still I inflicted a wound that went deep, expressed doubt in him when he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

God, I was fucked up. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry. I don't know—I wasn't thinking. I don't blame you for being pissed off. I was out of line." I took a deep breath and headed to the door. "I'll see you when I see you..."

"Don't," Loki commanded. I froze. "Don't leave."

I heard him sit down hard on the sofa. "Please don't leave me," he repeated. I turned around to see him sitting with his eyes closed, his arm on the armrest, other arm braced on the back of the sofa. "I need you. I am not angry."

"You can't lie to me," I quietly reminded him.

"I never would, and I never will. I promise I am not angry with you. Come back, sit down. Please."

He felt and sounded so vulnerable. I knew I couldn't leave. If I did, it would break him. I didn't know if I would come back from that either.

I made my slow way back to the sofa. Loki kept his eyes closed. On impulse I straddled his legs after hiking up my skirt to just above the stockings I wore, then lowered myself into his lap. My hands framed his face, fingers weaving through his thick, soft black hair.

He still hurt, which made a tear roll down my cheek. I pressed my lips to his smooth forehead as my hands brushed his hair, then I leaned down. Very gently, I brushed my lips over his. The hurt dissipated, and the longing returned. I smelled his arousal, a steady flame, sparked back to life. If I couldn't feel it mentally, the erection I felt pressing between my thighs through his jeans and my panties was definitive proof. He kept his arms right where they were, but I knew he wanted to wrap them around me. Or tear off my panties, unzip his jeans, and enter me. Most likely both.

I brought my head back up, and cradled his head to my breasts. He inhaled deep, savoring my scent, soothed by the feel of my hands, the heat of my body.

"It's Tracy," I whispered.

He pulled back to gaze up at me, eyes swimming, and his hand stroked my hair.

"My name," I repeated. "It's Tracy."

He lightly tugged on the lock of hair he held in his fingers. "Thank you, Pet," he whispered. He sifted my dark strands through his fingers, his thumb brushing the ends, his hand returning to comb through my hair as though it were a waterfall.

I leaned back down to kiss his lips again. He made no effort to return the kiss, but he wanted to. Maybe someday he'd be able to.