Loki lay on the soft bed. His mind was clear, there was no pain, the room was warm and light seeped through the curtains. Natasha was here, not so long ago, alive and well.
He reveled in the feeling, trying to decide whether it was just a very pleasant dream or if he was dead and the afterlife not only existed, but turned out to be located in a bedroom on Midgard.
Then the events of the last days dripped slowly into his mind: Stark, the daring escape, Natasha, the flight, the Beast turned healer. He methodically wrapped his thoughts around the concepts. As a sum, it made even less sense than the afterlife theory.
He pushed himself up and at a moment's notice had to reassess the "no pain" statement. It wasn't that bad though. The drug the mortal doctor gave him dulled the aches enough to make it tolerable.
The plastic tube tugged at his chest and he followed it to the container it connected to. The doctor told him about the new formula, he remembered, then went on to explain how it was supposed to make him better, using Midgardian medical terminology Loki wasn't at all familiar with. It seemed to have worked, whatever it was. Loki did feel better. Better than he remembered feeling in a long time.
The container was empty now, so he pulled the tube free without regret.
He clambered out of bed, tripped on the chain almost immediately and nearly came down, but caught his balance in the end, then started exploring his new prison. Stark was indeed a benevolent jailmaster; on Asgard such luxuries were rarely granted even to the unlucky nobles who were to be imprisoned. Not that Loki himself ever earned that privilege, it wouldn't have the desired "educative effect", as Odin was known to say. No, the cell that always awaited him, perhaps even right now, was deep beneath the foundations of the royal castle, carved out in the very rock the Asgard stood upon, dark and damp and cloying…
Loki shook his head and continued his exploration. Besides the bed and two accompanying nightstands that took the central spot in the room, there was a credenza, finely crafted of some dark wood, with a display panel right above, currently turned off, two armchairs that looked comfortable enough to sit in, a small side table between the chairs, a desk and a shelf right next to it, with a couple of books and some loose items Loki couldn't name but guessed served mostly ornamental purposes. The perspective of being able to read a book was tempting, but Loki decided to leave that part of the survey for last.
There were two doors. The first, narrower one on the wall with the bed, was open and led into a small bathroom. There was no bath, but there was a shower stall, which was one of the human inventions Loki was quite fond of. Leave it to mortals to find a way to make even something basic like ablutions more time-efficient.
Satisfied with the inspection he turned to the other, more concerning door – the one leading outside – then stopped dead in his tracks. There was a key in the lock. On the inside.
Was it a test? Or an honest mistake?
One way to find out.
He reached for the handle.
"Mr. Odinson, it's generally recommended to wear clothes outside of one's bedroom."
He jumped away as if burned, the chain tangled around his ankles and he collapsed, landing with his bare buttocks on the carpet.
Damn. He entirely forgot about the assistant. About clothes, too.
Not completely sure he could muster the strength to get up right away, he lay back instead, which turned out to be another mistake, as his sore back didn't feel any better for it. He let out a sigh and faced the corner the voice came from, guessing that was also where the hidden eye of the camera was located. [That's not my name,] he said.
"Excuse me, sir. My database indicates it's customary for people of Asgard to use patronyms as such. Allow me to correct the mistake. Would you like to set a different preferred address, sir?"
Loki hesitated.
"My search shows you used your place of origin as an introduction in the past. Should I address you as 'Loki of Asgard'?
[No,] he said and there was a moment of silence. The assistant still awaited his reply. [It's just… Loki.]
Loki, of nowhere, son of no one.
"Very well. Do you have any other concerns, Loki?"
Loki furled and unfurled his fingers, deliberating, before he decided to go on. [Am I allowed to leave the room?]
"Yes. Should I fetch someone to assist you?"
[No, thank you.]
"All right. I'll notify Mr. Stark you're awake."
[No, don't,] he showed frantically. [Please.]
His current situation was most likely just a temporary measure, to put him at ease while he was still healing. There was no way he would be allowed freedom of the house if Stark didn't believe him too weak to pose a threat. If the mortal learns he is already up, he might desire to change the conditions. And Loki didn't even get the chance to use the shower.
Pleading to the assistant was pointless though and Loki was ashamed of that outburst. Jarvis was Stark's servant, Loki had no power over him and only made a fool of himself.
"Very well. I'm here if you require further assistance, sir."
Loki blinked, then he remembered Jarvis' inexplicable behavior back in the prison. It must be the effect of the same error in the programming. Unless he was just lied to and mortals were on their way to…
No. He was overreacting, his insecurity fueled by panic and weakness. Stark treated him more than fairly so far. He rescued him from what was destined to be his demise, refused to hand him back over to his captors even when threatened with death, reunited him with Natasha and brought him to a place where he could heal in relative safety. That was more than Loki could ever ask for, considering his actions against the realm and the mortal himself. More so, if Stark wanted him to suffer until he perished, he would have left him where he was. And, if the revenge were Stark's only motivation, Natasha wouldn't have allied with him. This was good. This was manageable. This Loki could deal with, and perhaps in time…
He gritted his teeth, pulled himself up from the floor, then shuffled to the bathroom.
He opened the tap, stuck his face under the stream and drank, for a long time, until the thirst that burned in his throat finally abated and faded away.
He straightened up and froze. There was a mirror above the sink. The face that stared back at him from it was that of a stranger. Their features were sharp and angular, their complexion pallid and sickly and the dark shadows under their eyes so deep they looked like bruises. Loki's fingers brushed the glass, tracing the lines the muzzle marked on the unfamiliar physiognomy.
He never got the opportunity to see how it looks.
The stranger's features twisted in disgust and Loki averted his gaze, his cheeks burning with shame.
The water in the shower was pleasantly warm and the soap he found in the cupboard had an appealing flowery scent. He washed his hair, then stood under the streams until his skin started to prickle and the water that flowed down the drain was no longer murky with grime.
He wrapped himself in a soft towel then went back to the room. There were clothes, waiting for him. He put the trousers away – he wouldn't be able to put them on with the fetters in place – then unfolded the shirt. There was Stark's company logo printed on the chest in bold, dark letters, just like there were SHIELD's insignias on the garb he wore in the dungeon. He sighed and pulled the shirt on. It was too big, but not long enough to cover all the decency required to be covered, so, after a quick deliberation, he grabbed the piece of fabric Natasha brought him, folded it in half and tied it around his waist. It would have to do.
He searched the bathroom cabinet and the credenza for something to comb his hair with, but found nothing, so he settled on smoothing it out with his fingers the best he could. He sat down on the bed, considering his next move. Should he try venturing out into the hallway and testing Jarvis' assertion? That seemed like a decent idea, but carried a risk of running into either Stark or Banner and Loki wasn't sure he was ready for what was to come next yet, whatever it was.
The light in the room changed, he realized with a start. The change was gradual, that's why he didn't notice it before, but the room looked different than it did when he woke up. He couldn't guess why. The only source of light was on the other side of the curtains, so he drew them back and…
It wasn't a solid wall with a light panel. It wasn't a glowing energy field, like in the holding cells in Asgard. It was a window. To outside.
The low clouds rolled on the sky above the line of the forest. It was raining.
He pressed his forehead and his palms to the cool glass pane and watched, mesmerized.
"Loki," came the voice from the corner again, "Mr. Stark has inquired about your wellbeing and I was bound to inform him you've awoken. He requests your presence in the workshop, at your own convenience."
Loki had to use all his mental strength to peel himself away from the window.
There was no other choice. He ran out of time.
[Thank you,] he said. [Can you tell me the way?]
Natasha was in the living room and she sprung from her seat the moment she saw him enter.
"What the hell are you doing? You shouldn't be up!"
[Stark called me,] he said.
"I'm going to kill him!" she snarled and started towards the door to the basement.
Loki grabbed her hand. [It's okay. I want to go.] As much as he dreaded the encounter, not knowing what it was that Stark was going to ask of him was tenfold worse.
She stared at him for a moment, judging. "Okay. Do you want me to go with you?"
Loki shook his head. He needed to do it on his own. He couldn't depend on Natasha in this.
She sighed. "I'll be here then, if you needed anything." With some hesitation, she went back to where she was sitting by the fireplace. Loki could still feel her gaze on himself, until he reached the door and pushed it open.
It was a long way down.
The workshop's door whooshed open. Tony looked up from the magnifying device he was working with and raised an eyebrow.
Romanoff was nowhere in sight, so it looked like Loki made it all the way to the workshop without her assistance. Which was kind of admirable in its own right, given how he couldn't stand up just three days ago and Bruce was concerned he might not make it.
It wasn't anything short of amazing how much Loki was able to recover in such little time, given just proper nutrition and lack of torture.
He was still barefoot and dressed in the lab shirt Tony brought him, a couple of sizes too big, draped loosely over his thin frame; the low v-cut of the collar showing too much of his pale, bruised chest. It was the sort of garment one was supposed to wear over other clothes, not instead of them, but it was also the only article of clothing Tony could proffer on a short notice that wouldn't constitute a hand-me-down, and that seemed improper. He made a mental note to instruct Jarvis to order some better fitting ones, later.
There was a sarong tied around Loki's loins, because, yeah, he couldn't even put any pants on. Maybe it was just a piece of the guestroom's bedsheets though. Tony made another note to send a fresh set of linens in.
With hair falling over his face and on to his shoulders completing the look, Loki reminded Tony of those Hare Krishna devotees one could see roaming the streets from time to time. Coming from a bleaker, warped version of the universe, where they wore industrial-strength manacles around their wrists and ankles instead of strings and beads and little bells.
It took Loki just a couple of seconds to take the room in, his eyes sliding over the equipment littering Tony's workbench then lingering on the recess in the wall, separated from the rest of the area by a pane of reinforced glass. His expression hardened and he decisively took the few final steps that brought him to stand in front of Tony, while Tony focused on not cringing each time the chain dragged on the tiles and jarred on his nerves. Tearing the eyes away from the shackles and turning them up to god's face didn't do a lot to alleviate the sense of wrongness. Loki still looked like death not-so-much-warmed-over and the muzzle appeared even more abhorrent and out-of-place under the warm light of the workshop. Tony laughed when Thor first put it on his brother, it seemed hilarious, then, in a "ha, you got what you deserved for running your mouth like that" kind of way. It wasn't funny now, years – fucking years – down the line and the memory of that initial reaction burned Tony with embarrassment and guilt.
Loki's hands moved. He tipped his chin up and squared his spare shoulders. His bright, inhumanly green eyes were set on Tony, defiant and determined, yet he still hesitated before the last sign.
"It is your right as my new jailer," Jarvis translated.
At that, Loki brought his hands up again and offered them to Tony, palms up, pushing the angry red lines on his slender wrists into full view.
Tony just stared at the god, surprise rendering him speechless for a second. That didn't happen often.
Loki indicated the workbench with a slight nod. There was a set of cuffs lying there. Tony found them in the inventory of the borrowed jet and took them, because they used the same design as the ones on Loki's left arm.
It took a moment for understanding to strike.
"Uhm, don't you have enough hardware locked on you already, princess? I mean, if you're starting a collection, we can work something out," he quipped, half-heartedly, in an attempt to hide his consternation, "but for now I would rather focus on taking some off, if you don't mind. Also, don't you need your hands to talk?"
Loki's eyes narrowed.
"I took those to find a way of taking them apart without keeping you cooped up in the workshop, waiting for me to work it out," Tony explained, picking the cuffs off his desk, and nonchalantly tossing them into one of the boxes on the ground, out of Loki's field of vision. Did the god really expect Tony to take back another scrap of his already severely limited freedom, just like that? His ability to communicate? And for what? Out of spite? To make his life that one bit more unbearable? If that's so, the time in the dungeon messed him up more than Tony initially thought. "I'm not going to chain you up some more. Or throw you into another cell, for that matter," he added, seeing the sideway glance Loki gave to the closed-off nook. If he anticipated this sort of treatment under Tony's roof, the Hulk-proof panic room's purpose couldn't be more obvious in his eyes. "And that's not going to change, unless you decide to do something extremely stupid."
Loki didn't seem convinced. Tony couldn't hold it against him, not after seeing the handling he received from people who, on paper, constituted Tony's allies. If he had no reasons to hate and distrust the human race before, those sick bastards definitely presented him with quite a pile on a silver platter.
"Which you wouldn't if the stuff Romanoff has been telling me is true. You know, about how much of a reasonable guy you are?" Tony continued, flippantly waving the laser cutter he realized he was still holding. He put it down and grabbed his cup instead, taking a slow sip of coffee. It was cold and positively disgusting. The decision formed in his mind. "I know we didn't start if off on the best foot and, if I'm being honest, the fault is not entirely mine. But I understand there were certain… uhm… external forces driving you to do things you might not have done otherwise. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for that." Tony could be vague if he wanted to. Take that, Mrs. Traynor from PR department. "And – as much as I would like to learn more about the bigger baddy behind your attack – you are not here so we could interrogate or imprison you. As far as I'm concerned, you were never put on trial or convicted of anything and you're my friend's brother whom I offered help out of an unpleasant situation and hospitality to."
Loki nodded in a slow, insecure motion then finally let his hands fall to his sides. His fingers clutched his clothes nervously. Tony didn't expect to wipe his uncertainty with one quick speech, but it was a good start.
The god stared at Tony for a while longer, the suspicion melting into something more hopeful on his face. [Does that mean I can leave?]
"If that's what you want? Sure. The doors are open and I'm not going to stop you," Tony said without losing a beat and pointed somewhere above and to his right, in the general direction of the front entrance. He shouldn't be surprised by the question. In Loki's mind the situation must've seemed like trading one prison for another, even if a kinder one, up until now. "Although – and no offense, buddy – you still look like you went through a full cycle in an industrial grinder. Not to mention all the jewelry you can't get off. Your fighting chance doesn't look all that bright if you stumble upon the Hydra fucks again in this state. Or SHIELD. Or a regular police officer. Or even a concerned citizen, who finds your current… attire suspicious. And, believe me, it's not like your disappearance went unnoticed. They are searching, desperate to get their hands on you again. And I bet my ass this time they'd make reaching you a lot harder. And it wasn't that easy the first time around."
Tony paused to gauge Loki's reaction. The god flinched at the very suggestion of falling back into his former captors' clutches but overall seemed to take the words as intended – a fair warning and not a veiled threat – which was another good sign and made Tony trust Romanoff's assessment all the more.
"You can stay here and have a safe place to lay low and recoup and the help of my extraordinary mind and resources to get you out of your bonds. But it's just an offer and it is your right to decline."
[What's the price?]
Of course, there had to be one, right? "Well, a promise to not threat or attack my world again would be a great start," he said lightly. "I wouldn't say no to some insight about the dude who sent you here either. Just so we could be better prepared when he tries again, you know. Because I assume that's what's going to happen, right?"
[You're quick to believe I was not the only author of the attack.]
"Come on, Hannibal. That part was obvious from the start. Let's see. For one, you had barely any control of the so-called army of yours. Two, no respectable general would serve as a vanguard. In such a risky, idiotic manner, too. Three, Thor had no idea where you found the troops and how you convinced them to work for you, given they are mercenaries who work for the highest bidder and you had no resources to pay for the service. Ergo, someone had to supply it for you. Like I said, obvious. The part where you were not a willing participant is new, but it explains all your flinging around and questionable decisions all too well to disregard," Tony said with a smile. "All in all, not a big leap of faith."
Loki stared at him again, the undecided, suspicious look back on his face and Tony repressed the urge to sigh. The god deserved some indulgence for once and Tony would have to be entirely heartless to not grant him that small favor. He remembered his own uncertainty and his own unwillingness to trust anyone after Obediah's betrayal, after the months in the cave has worn his faith in humanity thin. It took time to relearn it, before he allowed himself to rely on others again. It would be naïve and ignorant to believe it was going to be different for Loki. If it could ever happen at all; Tony's own traumatic experience suddenly seemed like a walk in the park compared to what the guy's been through.
[I accept your offer,] Loki said finally, waited for the translation to air and politely bowed his head. There was a studied grace in the motion that only years of court life could produce. It wasn't a sweeping curtsey one would give to someone of a higher stature, nor a small nod intended for one's subject. It was a respectful acknowledgment meant for an equal. Well, at least by Earth's standards, in Asgard it might mean a grave insult to Tony and his ancestors going five generations back just as well.
"Great," he said and grinned at the god. If seeing it as a transaction was going to make the situation more bearable for Loki and make him more manageable in turn, he wasn't going to argue.
He swiveled around to face the array of monitors. Face recognition triggered and the screens came to life. "Can we get on with some work then?"
Somewhere in his peripheral vision, Loki nodded.
Tony slid lower on his chair to reach for a revolving stool with his foot, pulling it closer to the table. He gestured at it, urging Loki to sit down. The god did, holding himself stiffly on the edge of the seat.
"I called for you because I think I figured out how to take those off without causing unnecessary damage," he said, pointing at Loki's wrist. "I would also like to take a closer look at the rest. Some scans as well, if that's okay, so we could start working out how to get you out of it too. But let's leave that for later and deal with one issue we have a solution for already." Tony would prefer to start with the muzzle, as it was by far the most offending piece of Loki's rig, but he needed way more info than he had before he started to tinker with it. It was clear from the events he witnessed and from Romanoff's words that it was designed as a torture device and had mechanisms in place to prevent tampering and it would be idiotic to fuck with it without knowing exactly what those were. Loki should be a bit savvier on the details. And removing the shackles from his wrist would be straightforward enough and make the necessary conversation less tedious.
Tony turned one of the monitors so Loki could see it from where he was sitting, then tapped it, calling forth the project file. It showed an exploded view of the shackle. "SHIELD's R&D has been cutting corners and I caught them red-handed. You see the small bit there? It's made of a different material with a protective coating to cover it, for manufacturing ease. It will pop right off if we put just a teeny-weeny bit of heat to it. Like with that laser over there. Then the rivet is ripe for picking and… Do you even know what a laser is?"
[I do. And I don't require a step-by-step walkthrough.]
"Too bad, Snow White. You're still going to get it, because you are here with me and that's how I roll," Tony smirked and patted the tabletop between them. "Come on, I'm not going to bite your arm off."
Loki rested his shackled hand on the bench in front of Tony with only a sliver of hesitation. Now, for the hard part. Tony swept the assorted junk away, swiveled around, retrieved a vise from the side table, aligned it in front of the god and activated the built-in electromagnet that locked it in place. He turned the handle and the vise opened, just wide enough for the shackles on Loki's arm to fit between the claws.
Loki eyed the tool with open anxiety. It didn't take a genius to realize why the idea dismayed him. Tony did not expect any other reaction.
"That's the best way," he reasoned. "We have to be precise if we don't want to get your skin off along with the metal. It's just for your safety. I'll be as quick as possible."
Loki shifted in his seat, rolled in closer, leaned in, and placed his hand between the claws. A sharp exhale escaped his nostrils when Tony moved the pressure plates together, but he made no attempt to struggle or pull away. Tony got on with the work, retrieving the rest of the required equipment and setting it up. "If you have any questions about the process, feel free to ask."
The god glared at him, then down on his trapped arm, then up at him again and Tony felt like a moron. That also didn't happen often. "Oh, right." He grabbed a pencil and a notebook from Bruce's desk and put the items in front of the god. "Can you write?" he asked, only to earn himself another indignant glare. "In English, I mean. Or Spanish? Or French? Or Simplified Chinese?"
Loki twirled the pencil around in his fingers, pulled the pad closer and wrote,
YES.
Then, after a minute consideration, with proficiency surprising for someone who couldn't even use their hands for a year, he added,
是
"In a showing-off mood, are we?" Tony grinned.
Not me.
It is not my place to judge your mood.
Tony laughed. They'd get along just fine.
Natasha lasted till about midday, before she gave up pretending to work. She's been over the same paragraph the fourth time in the fifteen minutes and still had no idea about what was written in the report. She put the laptop down. There was a thick layer of dust on the coffee table. Whatever Banner was doing here, he didn't spend his time on cleaning.
She wandered into the empty kitchen, made herself a toast and some coffee. Figuring out Stark's fancy coffee machine took some fiddling, but – with Jarvis' assistance – she managed to make an acceptable americana. Then, following AI's instructions again, she prepared another cup for Tony, just like he preferred, which turned out to be a double shot of espresso topped with regular coffee, and more than a healthy daily dose of caffeine, in just one drink.
With that excuse in hand, she went down to the workshop.
No alarm has sounded, and one called for her help, so she was quite sure no murder sprees had taken place on either side, but other than that she wasn't sure what to expect.
Well, definitely not this.
Loki's hand was trapped in some sort of mechanism on Stark's workbench, but he didn't seem to mind, too absorbed in the sketch he was in the middle of drawing. One of the shackles on his arm was already dangling freely off his wrist and Stark was working on the other.
"How do you deal with resonance dampening?" Stark asked and Loki pointed at something on the paper.
She came closer and Loki cranked his neck to face to her. "Do not stop on my behalf," she said. "I just brought some coffee."
Loki nodded and returned to his sketch, adding a small detail and a description in neat cursive.
She put the coffee down.
"Hey! I need those!" Stark protested and moved the cup away from the papers.
"Hey, Bruce!" she called, and Banner waved his hand at her without looking away from his monitor. She sat down and watched. She studied the page Loki was working on. It was a technical drawing of something that might be a weird bridge, but with enough added flair to give it an artistic vibe, like the old architectural sketches in history books. It didn't surprise her in the slightest that Loki could draw. Of course he could.
Stark adjusted some knob on the device in his hand, pressed it into the hinge of the shackle and twisted it with a grunt. "Here we go!" he exclaimed and pulled the rod free.
Loki put down the pencil and turned his scrutiny to what Stark was doing. Stark released the claws, grabbed Loki's wrist, and pushed a file between the teeth of the hinge, then pried it apart, just wide enough for Loki to slip his hand out. He twisted his wrist, testing the new range of movement, then dragged his fingers down his forearm. The shackles left bloody imprints on his skin. He blinked and looked up at the man before him.
[Thank you, Stark.]
"It wasn't that bad, was it?"
Loki shook his head.
"Bruce, can you give us a hand here?"
Banner did, grabbing a bottle of liquid from his bag and some gauze.
"Can I see?" he asked, sitting next to Loki.
Loki held his hand out. Bruce poured the liquid on the damaged skin and proceeded to wipe it off. Loki's nose wrinkled and his breath quickened. He closed his eyes and the fingers of his other hand twisted into his clothes.
"I know it stings, but it's just a disinfectant. It has some numbing properties, so it should make it better," Banner said. "I'm almost done." It didn't seem to have an effect.
Tony's brow furrowed. "Jarvis, can you get us some fresh air?"
"Of course, sir," the AI responded. There was a low rumble and a perceptible rush of air as the handling unit for the workshop turned to the highest gear.
Loki took in a deep breath and gave Stark a small nod. Bruce's gaze jumped between the men, confused, but Stark waved his hand at him. He got up and skulked back to his desk.
"You want to rest a moment before we proceed?" Stark asked.
[No, I'm fine.]
"Okay then." Stark grabbed a device from his desk, some sort of scanner. "I'd like to take a closer look at the muzzle, if that's okay."
Loki nodded, but there was some hesitance in the movement.
"Natasha told me it hurts you if someone touches it."
[Yes.]
Stark sighed. "Do you know it will be the same with a scan? It emits y-rays."
Loki's face was still undecided.
"It's… uhm, basically electromagnetic radiation."
Loki nodded, understanding. [We can try.]
"You sure?"
[Yes.]
"That wasn't too convincing."
Loki hesitated.
"Come on, it's magical stuff and I have no idea how it works. If there's something important I should know, you have to tell me, because there's no way for me to figure it out otherwise. I might hurt you while trying to help. I don't want to do that. I don't want to torment you, I don't want to use it against you. I want to take that damned thing off your mug as soon as possible and I'll appreciate any input you can give me."
Loki stared at the man for a moment and there was that familiar expression of struggle on his face. He was trying to decide whether he could trust Stark or not. Coming upon a decision, he took a breath and his hands moved. [The spell is a form of energy with a mind on its own. It's stored in the metal itself. In the…] He paused, and his brow furrowed, [spaces between the atoms. It can affect the state of the material itself and transmit signals to my brain, telling it to perceive pain. It uses my life force as fuel. It can read my intentions, which means it reads my mind state. It can sense touch and differentiate between me and others. It can sense the energy of other spells if they are used on me, or my own attempts to reach for my powers, whether conscious or involuntary. The reaction depends on the intensity of the source, the stronger the magic, the more severe it is.]
Stark scratched his beard. "So, it is a form of quantum energy…"
[Yes, in a sense.]
"Okay, I can work with that, I think. How does it scale? The reaction part, I mean."
[It starts with physical changes of the metal. It heats up or changes shape, depending on my particular offence against it, sometimes both. Then it starts affecting my pain receptors and it varies from mild discomfort to…] Loki paused.
"Yeah, I get the idea."
[Then there's the spell on…] he gestured at his feet. [It's a protection spell that will react each time my body is physically damaged and it will trigger the magic of the gag in turn. It's no longer as strong as it was when it was cast, so it's harder to get it to activate, but it's still there and the last time it happened it was severe enough to knock me out.]
There was a pause.
"Where does it stop?" asked Bruce from his corner, piercing the silence, and flustered, when every set of eyes in the room dashed to him. He compulsively tapped his pen against the desk. "I mean, how far would the spell go if you kept on triggering it? Would it kill you?"
[No.] Loki answered and there was an absolute surety in the gesture.
"How do you know?"
[I tried. But each time I lost consciousness first. It is drawing from my life energy, and once it has nothing to consume, it goes dormant again.]
Natasha gasped. Tony eyed her weirdly then all color drained from his face when Jarvis' translation aired.
[The same thing happens when the spell is triggered by magic. I'd just faint and it would stop. I assume it can be triggered again even then, and that would eventually kill me, but I can't do it myself. Even powerful magic, like the one Natasha used to bring me back to life only made me black out,] Loki carried on. He was looking at Tony, completely unaware of her meaningful stare. [Then the spell stopped firing.]
She groaned when Jarvis provided the translation.
"Uhm, what?" Tony mumbled and Bruce adjusted his glasses, like it was just some bug in reality that needed correction.
Loki's eyes dashed from Tony, to Bruce and then, finally, to Natasha, and only then he realized his misstep. [I had no idea it was supposed to be a secret.]
Everyone was looking at her now. "Okay, fine," she grunted, threw up her hand and pulled forth her core. A ball of light floated an inch above her palm.
"Okay," Tony muttered, "so, you're a wizard now. Good to know."
Loki's hands shot up, but she was quicker. "Loki would like you to know that it's a 'mage', not a 'wizard'. But yeah, I suppose I am. Kind of. Am I?" She turned to Loki and he nodded. "Yeah, it looks like I am."
"Do that again," Tony demanded, aiming the scanner at her.
"Tony, there will be time for that," Bruce interjected, before the engineer got completely carried away. "We have more important things to solve right now."
"I'm solving it! If we can read the energy signature magic is giving off, we can isolate it and find a way to block it. Without that, the thing is just a piece of metal."
Loki clapped his hands to get Stark's attention. [It won't work. Each spell has its own unique signature, because each energy transformation is different. You'll have to trigger it to get its reading.]
"Nah, no way, we are not doing it."
[I can take it.]
"We. Are. Not. Doing. It. I've seen it happen once and it's one time more than I wish I had to. I'll go through the data we borrowed from SHIELD and the stuff Jarvis managed to grab from Sokovia, they ought to have recorded some of it."
Loki let out a sigh and hung his head.
"I can still do a scan and check other angles. If mild electromagnetic field could trigger it, you'd have it fire all the time with the armor on, yet it was fine."
[Okay.]
Stark aimed the device at Loki. "Just tell us if anything happens, okay? No need to play it tough."
Loki didn't move.
"I won't start until you promise," Stark said and crossed his arms.
[I will tell you to stop if something happens,] Loki showed finally, without looking up and the expression on his face was that of an utter defeat.
She came closer and put her hand on his arm. His breath hitched, but he didn't jerk away. "We just don't want you to get hurt again," she whispered. "There's no shame in avoiding harm."
Loki nodded, unconvinced.
"Can we?" Stark asked and waved his scanner.
Loki tipped his chin up and closed his eyes, his hands clasped in his lap.
Stark circled around, keeping the device at a safe distance. It beeped a few times, showed some graphs and numbers on the small display, then – when Stark completed the full circle around Loki's head – it blinked green.
"Okay, the model should be ready, let's see what we have here…" he clapped down on his chair in front of his monitors and the smile wiped out of his face. "Motherfuckers!"
Natasha couldn't see the display from where she was standing so she moved to look. And immediately regretted it.
The monitor showed a full three-dimensional model of the device with a background of grayed-out representation of Loki's physique. The thick, multilayered panel at the front, the band running around the neck, and two metal plates extending inside and forcing his jaw to stay open, one covering the roof of the mouth completely, the other pressing down the tongue and running deep into Loki's throat, up until his larynx. She blinked, trying to wrap her head around it. "Was it… always like this?" she asked numbly.
[Yes.]
Bruce stumbled to his feet. "I… I need a moment," he said, then walked into the niche in the wall, closed the glass panel and lay down on the cot, his fingers pressing down his eyelids.
Loki looked up at her, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. He truly didn't understand why they found it so appalling. It was how Asgard did it all the time, wasn't it? As if forcing him into silence and hunger wasn't enough…
Stark ran his hands through his hair. "Okay," he said, more to himself than to anybody else. "Okay," he repeated. His fingers curled and uncurled a couple of times. Natasha knew the feeling. Stark wanted to do something. To fix this. To help. But there was nothing he could do.
"Okay," he said, one last time, and got out of his seat. "Let's scan the shackles now. That should be easier to stomach."
It wasn't.
Banner emerged half an hour later. He managed to calm himself down, so at least they didn't have to deal with the Hulk.
Loki sat on top of the workbench, his arms around his knees, while Stark ran another analysis, with some cables connected to the metal of the shackle. At that point, they knew the closing mechanism was basically a simple latchlock, hidden inside, and inaccessible because of the properties of the alloy. Stark refused to give up though.
"I can't believe they didn't leave themselves an option to take it off somehow," he said, at least for the third time since he started.
Natasha bit her tongue. There was no point in telling Stark that, of course, there was an option, as long as one didn't care about the wellbeing of the wearer.
"How long will it take?" Bruce asked. "It's well past due time for another dose of the formula. And the painkillers probably stopped working a while ago…"
Loki let out a huff of air but didn't protest. He was tired and it showed.
"Bruce's right, let's not push it," Natasha said. "You have tons of data to sift through already. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah, you're right," Stark muttered and started unhooking the electrodes.
Loki scrambled down from the table then stopped, his eyes on the notebook he used before. [May I… keep it?] he asked and brushed his fingers over the blank page.
"Sure," Stark said, without really looking at what exactly he meant.
[Thank you,] Loki said, picked the notebook and the pencil and clutched it in his arms.
"Come on," Bruce urged.
Loki looked at her with a question in his eyes.
"I'll join you later," she said. "I still have some things to finish here, okay?"
His shoulders slumped, but he nodded and followed Bruce up the stairs, his arms still hugging the notebook protectively, like it was the most precious thing in the whole world. It was years since he was allowed to… own anything, she realized.
"Fuck me," Stark cursed the moment the door closed. He hid his face in his hands and stayed like that for a while, then looked back at her. "How can you be so calm about it?"
"I'm not," she said. "It's just…" She shook her head. "Every time you think Asgard and the way they treat Loki couldn't be any worse, it somehow turns out it can."
"Why didn't they come looking for him?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe the bridge is still broken. Maybe they just don't care."
Stark shook his head in disbelief.
"You think it's possible? The thing you said, about blocking the magic?"
"I have no idea," he admitted, "but I'm going to find out."