An armored hand clapped down on Loki's shoulder. He sucked in a quick breath and screwed his eyes shut, waiting out the pulse of agony running from the fracture, along his arm and down to his fingertips.
"Ugh, sorry," Stark said guiltily. "Are you hurt?"
[It's fine. Where's Banner?]
Tony frowned and anxiety blossomed at the back of Loki's mind.
"Sorry, the comms are down and Jay is offline for now, so I can't…"
"He asked where Bruce is," Clint provided.
Stark gestured the stranger to step to the side, and she did, finally peeling her suspicious gaze from Loki's face, then stepped aside himself. He waved his hands at the pile of blankets that Loki only now noticed was vaguely person-shaped.
"Is he…" Clint started, carefully, his eyebrows furrowed.
"He got hit with some sort of a tranquilizer," Tony explained. "Sam says he's fine but needs to sleep it off."
"Damn, they had something strong enough to bring the Hulk down?" Clint mused and his tone was balancing between impressed and appalled, thus well reflecting Loki's own feelings on the matter.
"Apparently. I kept the dart, we will analyze it later. Maybe synthesize an antidote, it might be useful if that happens again in the future."
The Quinjet shuddered, forcing Loki to hold onto a railing.
"What was that?" asked Natasha.
The woman in the pilot's seat turned, slipping the headset down to her neck. She was older than the other newcomer, but her face was just as unfamiliar. "Turbulence. We stole the ship from the repair yard, the maintenance log says the rear stabilizer is acting up. You might want to…" Her eyes stopped on Loki and the scepter in his hand. Her features drew in, her hand flying directly to her hip. "Strap in. Why is he here?"
Loki sighed and slowly put the scepter down. He considered raising his hands in surrender to let the woman know he had no nefarious intentions, but the dull ache in his upper arm quickly convinced him against it. He was tired and not in the mood for such gestures. And it didn't matter. This was the reaction he would be getting from every human he encountered, wasn't it? He should get used to it if he truly wanted to stay. In all fairness, the mortals at least had a reason to react to his presence this way.
He turned on his heel and marched away to the faraway corner of the hold, picked a seat next to the hatch, and buckled up.
Stark said something to the woman in a tone that sounded rather unpleasant, but the words got lost in the whine of the engines. Loki didn't much care. As long as she wasn't shooting at him, it was fine, and Loki was sure his allies wouldn't allow that to happen.
That wasn't necessarily a new discovery, he had known for a while that neither Stark nor Banner meant him harm, he was almost certain that Sam or Clint didn't either, James' position was just as uncertain as his own – other than fewer people recognizing him – and the Captain had enough self-control to not do anything unprompted. Wrapping the thought into words inside his head still made for quite a revelation.
He couldn't remember exactly when was the last time he felt… welcome in a group, even if that welcome was tentative and bore conditions and rules. At least he knew what those were, and – as long as he followed them – he could be relatively sure he could stay in his companions' good graces.
Even in the good old days, when he was still begrudgingly allowed into Thor's ensemble, he could feel he was tolerated just because of Thor's presence and their verbal barbs would grow vicious and forthright the moment Thor turned his back. And that was usually the preferable outcome, as things could go physical once intoxication got involved. Loki himself scarcely overindulged in liquors, his tolerance to alcohol was considerably lower compared to the others – now he knew why, although that was another secret he didn't crack in time – and after a few mishaps from his youth he rarely drank at all. The same couldn't be said about Thor's friends – Volstagg in particular, but Fandral and Lady Sif almost never stayed far behind – and their acceptance of Loki was inversely proportional to the amount of liquor at play.
Yet you still came to their heels on every call, like an obedient mongrel. You had the entire universe to go to, yet you stayed.
Natasha asked him, that one time, why he did so, and he couldn't come up with an answer then and even less so now. Why did he stay?
"May is an A-class asshole with a lump of stone in place of her heart," Natasha said, clapping down on the seat next to him and strapping herself in, pulling him out of contemplation, "but she is a good agent. Don't worry about her."
[I'm not.]
"Yeah, I can tell," she chuckled. "How are you feeling?"
[Tired,] he answered truthfully, [and glad it's over.]
She watched his hands move through narrowed eyes. "You're hurt," she said. She wasn't asking. He must've been worse at hiding the injury than he thought. Or perhaps she just knew him too well. That, also, was a weirdly delightful thought.
[It's nothing that cannot wait.]
"Magic touch, remember?" she said, putting up her hands and wiggling her fingers.
[I do,] he said, turning his head, knowing all too well how ungratefully he was acting. It was but a minor injury that would heal in a couple of days on its own and – between the broken bone and regaining feeling in his throat again that only just started to scar back over – he preferred to suffer the fracture.
Her eyebrows knitted. "Loki…" she whispered. "I'm so sorry about the previous time. I didn't even think it could happen."
He sighed. It seemed that nothing escaped her attention after all. [It's fine.]
She smiled sadly. "I can direct it better if I focus properly."
[We can try later. Stark is injured too and it looks more serious.] Indeed, the man wasn't even trying to hide a pained wince as he sat on the bench pressing his hand to his side.
"He got trapped under the rubble when they blew the wall to get to the server room," she explained. "I think he has a few cracked ribs and his liver is bruised, but he wouldn't let me touch him."
[I think he knows how your magic worked on me. Banner figured it out and they do talk a lot. He might be worried about his reactor. It's a foreign object in his body.]
She blinked at him, then ran her hand through her hair. She hasn't dyed it in a while and her natural pigment started to show at the roots. Loki hoped she would let it grow out again. He really liked the color. There were no redheads among the Æsir. "I'm such an idiot."
He chuckled. [You're too hard on yourself.]
"Which makes the two of us," she scoffed. "I'll talk to him."
Stark did allow Natasha to heal his wounds in the end, although it took a considerate amount of convincing and Natasha showing off her ability to direct the flow of power properly on the cut on her forehead and then on a bruise on Sam's arm, without touching his split lip.
Loki didn't move from his spot, but observed the proceedings from a safe distance and listened to the idle talks between the humans, trying to piece together what exactly happened when he and Clint were stranded away from the group.
The most important part was the fact that Stark and Natasha did manage to upload the entirety of the Council's database to Stark's server. What happened to it later was still uncertain, because Pierce's men locked Stark away from his satellite array by means that were yet to be determined – thus cutting out the team communications – but Tony was almost sure that his own server was secure, and even if Jarvis didn't dump it all online yet, Tony could do it manually once they returned to the tower, according to the man's own words.
At least some of the info must've gotten out already, that's why the army was there, and so was the War Machine – the man was apparently very unhappy with Tony not informing him beforehand – and it was enough, for now, to allow them to slip away in the confusion. Where exactly they stood – in relation to Midgardian law – no one was able to tell, as of now. There could be a squadron of government officials waiting for them at the tower, ready to arrest them the moment they show up. Loki's heart skipped a beat at the notion. It brought the uninvited visions of the dark, cold cell back to the forefront of his mind, but Tony handwaved it away, saying he would find a way to talk them out of the worst of the fallout either way.
"Don't worry. We've got too far on the whole redemption thing to just let them take you back to prison," he said to Loki with a childish grin, and there was no hint of hesitation in his tone. Loki wished he could share Stark's optimism.
After the server room fight – that they won by detonating the self-destruction switch in Stark's armor – Tony went to search for a way of transportation to get them out of the place and Natasha headed out and searched for the rest. She met Sam with unconscious Banner in tow, and he informed her the Captain and James planned to go after Pierce. The rest Loki saw with his own eyes, more or less.
The two strangers were the surviving members of the Coulson's team – the man was indeed apparently still alive somehow, which filled Loki with relief; it was at least one position to strike off the long list of his crimes – who Tony met in the hanger bay. There was one more person on the mission with them, but they turned out to be a sleeper Hydra's operative. They took out agent Hill before agent May put a bullet through their brain. Weirdly, despite Natasha's assessment of her compassion – or rather lack thereof – the older woman was more disquieted by the outcome than her younger companion. Loki couldn't decide whether to call her a woman, or a girl in his head. She looked very young, not even thirty if she were an Æsir, and that was too young to be considered an adult or allowed into military ranks in Asgard, were her gender not the insurmountable obstacle. She was named Sky, apparently, although it escaped Loki's reason why one would call their child that. Perhaps it was one of those weird Earth customs he didn't yet get to understand. She didn't stop eyeing Loki warily when she thought he wasn't paying attention, but her eyes dashed away each time he met her gaze.
No one appeared to react to agent Hill's demise, which rattled Loki more than he was willing to let on. She wasn't their friend and she did backstab them on the first opportunity she got, but wasn't that exactly what Loki has done, time after time? She died for their common cause, it should earn her some of their respect back.
Perhaps there was some context there he was missing. Or perhaps the Midgardian ceremonies for honoring their dead were different, and the glorious death in battle was not celebrated like it was in Asgard? There was some logic behind that, Loki had to admit. Death was death, and, in the end, there was rarely any real meaning to it. None of the humans he got to know so far seemed to heed the ways of tradition in any meaningful manner and profess any particular faith. His research revealed there were hundreds – if not thousands – of conflicting religious creeds on the planet and then there was a significant fraction of the population that seemed to shed the spiritual beliefs altogether, which was a fascinating concept on its own. Loki, like every child in Asgard, was taught to treat doubts as something iniquitous – making it just another thing that made him stand out – and the open dialogue about various possibilities between the humans felt refreshing, in comparison. On the other hand, such disputes tended to get heated in the past, as his research on Earth's history revealed, so perhaps the Asgardian way was better at preventing that, at least.
Banner woke up when they were nearing their destination and groggily dug himself up from the pile of blankets, before picking one to wrap around his now naked form. None of his garments survived the transformation and Stark made a biting remark about trying spandex next time, whatever that meant. Some sort of fabric, Earth's specialty, Loki supposed.
Natasha came back to sit at his side and her steps were wobbly from exhaustion. She wasn't using her own life energy to heal any more, but tapping into the strands of universal power took effort too, especially of someone unaccustomed, and she did so, time after time, on top of fighting a wearisome battle not so long ago.
"See? I can do better," she said, her hands hovering over his upper arm. She did not yet use her magic to locate the injury, so she must've guessed the location just from the way he moved.
[There's no hurry. You can do it later, after you rest.]
"Are you stalling because you're afraid I may fuck it up or because you think I'm too weak?" she grounded through her teeth. There was exasperation in her tone, but no anger.
At that point, Loki wasn't sure what he would have to do to make her truly angry at him. Perhaps an encore of the attack would do it, but even there he wasn't so sure. Perhaps she would find some excuses for him even then.
[You're tired and this is not an emergency,] he said, without really answering her question. He did trust her and would be a fool to believe her weak. But there was no point in her pushing herself onto overexertion for his sake again. The injury didn't even hurt when he kept his arm still, and she needed to be at her best if they were to proceed with Stark's plan. He didn't want to remind her of that now though, not after she was so reluctant to agree in the first place.
Besides, the broken bone was a good reminder to not overestimate his own abilities again.
She nodded, accepting his non-answer. "I think we should try the bath today."
That was actually a very tempting perspective. [If Stark allows us the use of the same room.]
"Oh, he will. And if he doesn't, we will sneak into his private suite. I'm willing to bet my ass his bath is even nicer," she said with a smirk.
"Welcome home, sir," sounded in Jarvis' unmistakable drawl from the speakers, as they neared the tower and got within the roof's transmitter range. Tony let out a relieved breath. Despite what he told the rest to smooth their battle-frayed nerves, he wasn't entirely sure how far the damage Hydra did to his systems spread. They shouldn't be able to access the satellites, yet they did, and Tony couldn't tell what other improbability could've taken place. But if the tower's instance of Jarvis was online, it meant they didn't annihilate his entire network infrastructure. "I'm unlocking the docking pad on the roof."
"Thanks, Jay," he said, then turned to the rest. "Home sweet home?"
The low groan from Clint and meaningful silences from all the others reflected Tony's mood pretty accurately. He was dead tired and wanted nothing but a quick drink, a call to Pepper, a shower, and then stretching out in his own bed for the next twelve hours, preferably in that exact order.
It seemed like he wasn't going to get his wishes granted.
"My security protocols have been breached while in the lockdown mode, sir," Jarvis warned.
"Breached how?"
"There's an intruder in the penthouse and my cameras' feed is cut off in that area."
"Intruder, as in, singular?"
"That's correct, as far as my other sensors can tell."
That could be a ruse, of course. If someone was able to mess with the camera feed, they might be able to mess with the sensors just as well, but Tony had dealt with enough shit today to be beckoned to run from his own home again.
He could send a bot in to spy on the intruder, but the camera failure was most likely a result of a disrupted signal, so all it would do was give the interloper a warning they were coming. "Jay, how's your access to the workshop?" he asked instead.
"Still intact."
"Prepare mark thirty-nine for launch." He turned back to the group. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm going in."
He expected some protests – probably from Natasha, who preferred a more stealthy approach on a principle Tony did not always understand – or at least calls to discuss the strategy first, but everyone just nodded. There was solemn determination on Loki's face and Tony didn't have to wonder too long about that one.
"We should split though," Clint suggested.
Tony raised an eyebrow.
"Think about it. If we just go into one elevator and there's a huge welcome party waiting for us – we are surrounded with nowhere to run. So, you and I go, because we live here and that would be the least anyone waiting for us expects. The rest take the stairs and act as backup. Can you reestablish the comms?"
"Yeah. Jay? Switch the comms to the internal server," he said, "Use a separate subroutine." It should isolate the internal comms from the rest of the network and not allow anyone to listen on them, even if they hacked through the first level of Tony's security protocols, which seemed to be the case.
"Of course, sir."
The comm-link hummed in his ear and beeped a new connection.
[Do the translations work?] Loki asked and Tony was surprised only for a split second. It was a strategical hindrance, to not be understood by one's teammates. Cap's call to group Loki with Clint – who was the only choice who could understand sign language without relying on tech – was an inspired one, Tony had to admit, he probably wouldn't think about that himself. It offered at least some proof to the "brilliant strategist" part of praise Howard always had for Rogers.
"It does," Sam answered.
Loki nodded in acknowledgement.
"Let's time it properly," Rogers suggested. "How long does the elevator take to get from the roof to the penthouse?"
"Forty seconds, give or take."
"We will need more time to get into position then. Wait until we get one floor above and then go down."
"Aye, Captain," Tony snarked to an impressive eyeroll from Romanoff.
[What about the scepter?] asked Loki. [Whoever is there might be after it, and if we take it with us we will be bringing it right to their hands. But it's not safe to leave it on the roof, unprotected.]
Yeah, that was a good point. "I can take it to the vault on level minus two first," he suggested. It was by far the safest place to store an alien artefact in the tower. In the entirety of New York, maybe, monitored through a wholly separate system, shielded with enough rebar and concrete to survive a nuke going off on top of it, or the building above from one going off inside.
He'd meant to use it to lock Loki up, before… Everything.
[It would be the best if I was the one to handle it,] Loki said, and his eyes dashed between the gathered people, expecting to be called out on a bluff perhaps.
Tony knew better, and so did the others, minus that Coulson's girl, whatever her name was. Tony couldn't care less about her. He still asked, for the sake of clarity. "Why?"
[I'm the only one immune to its call. Because of…] he waved his hand at his face.
Natasha nodded, confirming.
"Okay, change of plans then. Loki takes the scepter to the vault through the service access elevator, Clint and I take the private one, the rest uses the main staircase and we converge in the penthouse. Any questions?"
"You're going to allow him alone time with the very weapon he used to subjugate people?" the Coulson's girl snarled. "Are you out of your mind?"
"No, I'm not and yes, I will. Now, either shut up and do your job, or sit down on your ass and get out of my sight, Miss Piggy." Given, that wasn't his best nickname yet, destroying his lucky streak. He could've gone for Fifth Element. Or Haywire. Yeah, he should definitely have gone for Haywire.
She scoffed but did shut up. Tony had a hard enough time assuring Loki felt secure with his position in the group without people pulling this shit on him all the time.
"Any sensible questions?"
Natasha shook her head, so did Clint.
"It'd be better if I sit this one out," said Bruce. "I don't think your tower can take the Hulk right now. He is still super pissed about the tranquilizer."
"Okay. But stay on call. I promise I'll only use it if there's no other way. I like my home unwrecked."
[Then perhaps I should stay behind too. I have an unfortunate record in that area,] Loki said. There was humor in it, that much was obvious, but Loki never joked just for the sake of it, so there was some leftover doubt there too.
"I'll take my chances," Tony laughed, "How long till touchdown?"
"Two minutes," O-Ren – apparently really called Melinda May, the name so legendary among the agents of SHIELD that even Tony had heard it before – said, then added, coldly, "And I would appreciate if you didn't outload your frustrations on my people."
Tony bit down the response. There was no way in which turning it into a shouting match would improve their chances, as much as keeping silent and allowing her the last word rubbed his ego in all the wrong ways.
He ran his hand across his stomach, the area that was bruised and sore just half an hour ago – from the piece of reinforced concrete that got launched at him by an explosion – and felt nothing. He expected the skin there to at least be sensitive, like a freshly healed wound, but no. It was like no damage has ever been done. Magic did have its upsides, even if the tradeoff of its existence in Tony's world didn't come anywhere near "worth it".
The plane landed and Cap kicked the hatch door open – apparently the stabilizer wasn't the only part to act up – and the group headed out, led by Natasha, who knew the layout the best. Loki grabbed the scepter.
"Be careful," Tony warned and got himself an eyeroll in response. "Press the 'close door' button five times quickly, it will initialize emergency mode and the elevator won't stop on any floor until it reaches the basement," he advised.
Loki nodded and stepped out. Or ran out, more like, and Tony admired the fact that he still had it in him for such feats. Tony himself could barely feel his legs at that point. He really needed to exercise more. Then again, he wasn't a super-strong alien. It was too easy to forget that Loki was, these days.
"What are we doing with the plane?" Clint asked. "You have a way to hide it somehow?"
"Nah. We are not hiding anymore. I'll just add stealing it to our plea when the time comes. At least this one you didn't crash."
"Stark, we were hit by a missile," Clint rebuked with reproach.
Tony knew that, but it didn't make him feel any better about it. He had a peculiar, semi-intimate relationship with machines, for as long as he could remember. And Mommy… well, she did her job valiantly. She saved his life and the lives of his friends, too. Her destruction unpleasantly stirred inside him. He wasn't going to say that out loud, of course. It would sound weird.
They stayed on the roof, Bruce still in his seat and Tony leaning against the frame of the hatch door. Clint walked over to the edge of the roof and looked over the city with a detached, faraway look on his face. Tony didn't know what happened between him and Loki when they were alone, Clint provided only the briefest of retellings of how the taking down the Helicarrier went, but it must've been something to give him food for thought. Or perhaps he was only tired, just like Tony was.
"Sir?" came Jarvis' voice and Tony flinched. "The scepter is secured in the vault and Loki has just entered the elevator to head to the penthouse."
"Thanks, Jay," Tony said, then turned on the comm-link. "Romanoff, how's progress?"
"We're two floors away from the penthouse," she reported back.
"Okay, let's get this shit over with."
The service access elevator had little in common with the luster of the rest of the building. It was but a small, metal box with a solitary light bulb above Loki's head giving off faint illumination.
Still, the tiny box moved upwards at a steady pace, so that had to amount to something. Loki's fingers curled around the railing as he focused on not thinking about what would happen if the power suddenly cut off, or how long would it take him to find his way out. Instead, he thought of… home. Not the one in Asgard, it wasn't his anymore. It never was. He was always just a prisoner there, even when he didn't realize it, always watched and sized and judged, with the threat of punishment for some infraction constantly dangled above his neck. How much of his childish mischiefs were just an effect of that constant tension, when the invisible hand of Odin's justice stayed at bay for too long? How many petty squabbles he got himself into or cruel pranks he conducted just to prompt the All-Father to intervene, because he could take the uncertainty no more? Odin's fury was better taken in smaller doses before the resentment had time to accumulate and bear fruit of truly terrifying sentences. A couple of days of the dungeon every month were better than years of solitude, when the All-Father's displeasures were allowed to well up and the dam finally broke. And Loki had been walking that thin line for ages, without even realizing he was doing so. Perhaps if he did, he wouldn't have slipped so often.
No, he wasn't thinking about that. He thought about the future home, the one he might yet get to share with Natasha. Here on Earth. If all went well. The notion was mind-boggling at first, but the longer he thought about it, the more real and achievable it felt. Natasha wanted him to stay and he wanted to stay all the more for that.
Ideally, it would have no cellar or elevators, nor other small, cramped, dark spaces. No high vaulted ceilings or stone mosaics on the floor like his old chambers in the royal palace either, just warm wood and fluffy carpets and a big fireplace, like the one in Stark's forest house. A kitchen with a wood stove… No, the humans didn't do that anymore. A gas one then? Yes, that sounded about right. A bedroom with a big window and a soft bed they would share – another one of those things that were inconceivable for the Aesir that the humans seemed fond of and Loki grew to understand the reason. A small library perhaps, one that they could fill in time, with books of their liking…
The lift stopped and the door slid open. Loki took a deep breath and stepped out into the hallway. It was just as dimly lit as the elevator or the vaults below the ground level. Loki never was in this part of the tower, but – if his calculations were right – the corridor led into the supply room behind the kitchen area of the penthouse. This sort of access would've been used by varlets or slaves in Asgard, to remain out of sight of the residents and still fulfill their purpose, but there were never any servants in Stark's private quarters. There were employees working for Stark's company on the lower floors of the tower during the day, but – despite his enormous fortune – the man relied on his machines – and frequent deliveries of goods – to tend to his needs in his personal suite. Loki supposed there ought to be people coming over to perform the tasks unsuitable for Tony's automatons on occasion – like changing sheets, doing the washing, or cleaning the bathrooms – but there was no one living there full time to be at his every whim.
There would be no servants in their home either, he allowed himself to imagine. Just the two of them.
[Tell Stark I'm in position,] he gestured at the camera in the corner, as he reached the door marked with "Level 56 kitchen storage". He wasn't sure whether the camera still worked, or if it was affected by the disruption as well. He didn't think this through, did he?
He waited a few heartbeats and – after getting no answer – he pulled on the handle. The door wasn't locked. Perhaps it never needed to, the stairway and the elevator were both secured by their own means. Or perhaps whoever was inside had already disengaged the lock, which would mean they had full access to the tower's security measures. Loki wasn't sure what those were, but he would be a fool if he believed Tony did not have anything in place. Perhaps there was a laser ray ready to cut Loki's head cleanly off his neck the moment he stepped through the threshold.
Loki sighed and stepped through the threshold. So far, his head remained firmly attached to his shoulders.
The pantry was a long, narrow room, with a row of shelves on each side, mostly empty, and Loki moved through, light on his feet, wondering why Tony needed such a big storage room if he wasn't going to use it, before realizing how pointless the deliberations were – most of the things the man did was for a show. His fortune was but a byproduct of his ingenuity and – while it was obvious he enjoyed it – Loki was convinced that if Stark was forced to leave it all behind, he would do so without second thoughts. He risked it all for his friends. He risked it for Loki, even.
The door leading to the kitchen area was open. Loki pressed his back to the wall and peeked inside. Just for a moment, then stood there, panting. In the middle of the floor – where Loki himself once stood, long time ago, his mouth full of empty threats and vicious promises he knew he couldn't fulfill – stood a dead man.
"I saw you, you know," said Director Fury, and the nonchalant tone of his voice was enough to send another shiver down Loki's spine. "You can come out."
Fury's stance wasn't aggressive, and his weapon wasn't out, but Loki knew the man had to be armed, while he only had his blade. He also knew the others had to be close, but no close was close enough if there was a bullet hole through his head.
Loki gritted his teeth and peeled himself away from the wall, then stepped into the living room.
Fury's eye seized Loki head to toe, then his lips curled into a smile Loki couldn't fully decode the implications of. He widened his stance, squared his shoulders and tipped his chin up, then met Fury's gaze. He would have crossed his arms on his chest, but at this point, he was rather sure he wouldn't be able to bend his arm that far without hissing in pain.
"Good to see you still kicking," Fury judged and Loki couldn't quite help the derisive huff that escaped his throat.
Not by your contribution, Loki thought darkly. He would have said it, if there were still cameras active for Jarvis to pick it up. For now, he hoped the glower was enough, as his fingers brushed over the hilt of the dagger, still hidden in his sleeve.
The elevator dinged and slid open at the same moment the stairway door flung open and the group poured inside. They timed it well enough, only Loki needed to break the pattern and destroy the element of surprise. He couldn't have known, he told himself, but that was a vapid consolation, nothing more. He should've waited and not allow his curiosity to win over.
Still, it was Fury alone, against them all. Even if the two women from Coulson's team were on Fury's side, their odds looked good. But then again, Fury wasn't stupid enough to come here without a backup. Loki had no idea who he could be working for these days, but there must be no shortage of parties still interested in bringing Loki to justice. Or maybe it wasn't only about Loki anymore. They were all outlaws now.
"Look at that," Stark remarked with a smug grin. Tony's ability to keep a straight face rivaled Loki's own, from before, and much outmatched him right now. "Who else is going to turn out not dead this month? Is there any raffle I can enter with my bets into?" Then he added, much more quietly, "Please don't make it be my father. I've had enough of fucked up family dynamics for a decade."
Natasha stood with her hands folded on her chest. "What's going on, Nick?"
"I'm not even going to get a 'director Fury' anymore?"
"You're dead and I'm a fugitive, we're way past official prefixes, don't you think?" she said with a shrug. "Why are you here?"
"To ensure you're not going to make some stupid-ass decision you'll later regret."
"With all due respect…" Captain Rogers started and got interrupted by Clint's scoff. He sent Barton a sideways glare. "We're way past caring about your opinions. Or opinions of whoever it is that you work for now."
"I'm officially retired," Fury said dryly and his gaze landed on James. Fury crooked his head and studied the man with interest.
James' metal fingers furled and unfurled at his side, his other hand resting firmly on the grip of his rifle. Sam took a step forward to position himself between James and Fury. Loki fought the urge to just dive behind the bar and wait out the potential fight and moved closer, his fingers curled around the hilt of the blade. Fury's stance remained open and non-threatening, but his lips thinned and his eye was firmly on James.
"Okay, let's back up a step," Stark placated, his eyes dashing between the gathered people. "before someone does something we would truly regret. So, how about you say your piece and then get the fuck out of my tower, without any further bloodshed? Huh? How does it sound to you all?"
It sounded pretty good to Loki.
Fury sighed and shook his head, then turned away from the group, his eye now on the city beyond the windows. "You can't release the rest of the files."
Stark made a small sound, but Fury carried on unperturbed, before Stark's noise of objection blossomed into a full-blown protest, "Don't try to bullshit me, Stark. I know you have it all. The part you've already dumped – the Project Insight documentation – is a top-level access stuff, if you reached that, you could've grabbed anything from their plate. And you were in there long enough to copy every single file, twice over. Are you going to look me in the eye and swear on your mother's grave that you didn't?"
Stark rolled his eyes. "We did. So what? What is in it for you? Are you afraid that your dirty little secrets will come to light?"
"I'm dead, remember? I don't care what the world thinks about me. But all the people who worked with me are still out there. All the things I devoted my entire life to achieve, the projects that cost many sacrifices, lives even, are still in place, working to protect you. You don't have any right to destroy that."
"Tough luck," Stark said with a roll of his shoulders. "So, anyone's up for a drink? I'm sure I am." He crossed the room and went to the bar, where Loki was currently standing. He raised his hand to pat Loki's shoulder in passing, then reconsidered, remembering – most likely – how the last attempt has ended. It wasn't the same arm, but Loki appreciated the thought all the same.
Fury turned to face Natasha. "Romanoff, you know it's not that easy. You've been in the business for years, you know how many people you're going to endanger." He did not necessarily raise his voice, but a darker edge did creep into it.
Natasha shrugged. "If you care so much you have about till Stark gets his servers back online to do something about it."
"All your past will become public knowledge."
"You mean the parts that weren't dragged through the mud by all the tv stations already?" she chuckled, "I'll deal with that when the time comes. Your lies and your secrets have cost enough lives already. I'm not going to agree for that to continue."
"Romanoff, you should really reconsider…" started agent May.
"No, I won't! You've been on the field longer than I was! You know what SHIELD's been doing, all those years! If you tell me you're completely fine with that… If you tell me you're all right with people being tortured for the greater good, you're either lying or a sociopath."
"No reason to make it personal, Romanoff," agent May said, warning clear in her voice.
"Oh, there're all the reasons to make it personal. There are people, in this room, who suffered through years of abuse just because Fury wanted to keep his little playground all to himself." She turned to James. "In your opinion, was it worth it? Was it worth having your mind pulled out from your brain and smashed to bits, then replaced with conditioning? Was it worth being used as an attack dog for years, was it worth being locked up?"
James shook his head, slowly.
Natasha's eyes jumped to Loki and he knew what was coming. He wished she wouldn't do it, but also knew that she had to, to make her point. So he set his jaw and met her eyes.
"Jarvis, play the video," she said. She didn't even specify which recording she had in mind, so it must've been discussed prior to this moment. The main display in the living room came to life and – for one, sweet heartbeat – Loki wasn't sure what he was looking at before it became painfully obvious. Himself, strapped down onto that cursed table, with guards and agents around. It was still back in the SHIELD's facility, at the very beginning, when they tried to remove the gag for the first time. On the screen, the scientist pressed his tool onto the metal on Loki's jaw and – in the penthouse, a couple hundred paces above New York skyline – a shudder ran through Loki's body, at the very memory of it.
The humans must've prepared the video beforehand, Loki realized. Perhaps just as a precaution, for situations like this. Or for later, when they needed a quick argument to inform the public about the mitigating circumstances following Loki's attack on Earth. Or perhaps…
Sam's fingers were pressed to his eyes and Rogers downright turned away from the screen. They saw it already, most likely before Loki was called to explain himself in front of the humans. They've seen it all, and still allowed him to gloss over it, without making a single comment.
Loki had no idea what to think about that.
The scene changed, now it was Fury and his mocking sniggers and his footsteps clicking on the floor in front of the hunched up, tied-down wreck of a person. Loki closed his eyes, his cheeks burning in shame, but he could still hear the words. They didn't sound any less horrid, even now. The sound cut off and Loki looked up again. This new scene was from later on, somewhere halfway through their interrogation cycle, when they strung him up, his arms bent behind his back and pulled upwards until they popped out of their sockets. They kept him like that for days…
"Okay, turn it off," said Sky, thinly. The screen went back to black and Loki let out a breath. The damage has been done though. Everyone in the room knew about his humiliation and soon the whole world would know, too. "We didn't know he was… not fully responsible for his actions."
"As if that makes it fine?" Natasha pushed on, "And, by the way, Fury knew. He knew the moment I woke up in the hospital. I went to him and told him everything."
Agent May and Sky both turned to Fury with accusing glares. "Is that true?" agent May asked.
"Yes," Fury grunted, unhappily.
Only then Natasha turned to Loki. "Was it worth it?"
Loki dropped his gaze to the floor, leaving the question without an answer. Whatever he would say, it would make no difference.
"I think I'm done here," said agent May. "I think you are done too, Nick. Unless you have any other striking arguments to use?"
He did, it turned out. "Barton, you're ready to throw away your life? To destroy everything Coulson helped you build?"
Clint looked at Fury with scorn. "It's funny you bring up that name. How come you care so much about our relationship, yet you failed to mention he is alive? For a fucking year?!"
"Barton, be sensible. You know how the world works."
"Oh, yes, I do. That's why I took precautions. You're not going to convince me with veiled threats aimed at my family."
Fury ran his hand over his face. "You're all making a mistake."
"Maybe we are," said Tony, swirling the amber liquid in his cut-glass tumbler, "Now, will that be all? Cause if it is, I'd like you to get the hell out of my home."
Fury left quickly after that, saying nothing more, but bestowing Natasha with a long-suffering glare on his way out. May followed him but Skye hesitated.
"Go on, you don't want to be here when the real shit comes down," Natasha beckoned her on.
The girl took the last look at the gathered people. "It's been a pleasure to meet you," she said hesitantly, gave a small nod to Natasha, and rushed off, before the elevator doors slid close fully.
"That was… weird," Sam decided, "Was Fury always this tense?"
"Yep, pretty much," Clint laughed.
"Okay," Stark muttered and drained the rest of his drink, then proceeded to pour himself another glass. "We still have at least four hours till the system is back online and Jarvis will warn us if someone's closing on us. How about a shower, a dinner, and a nap?"
"I thought you'll never going to ask," Clint chuckled and all the others murmured in agreement. "I'm going to call Bruce down."
People slowly drifted away from the living room. Stark directed Sam, Cap and James into guest suites they could use and then disappeared himself, while Clint took the elevator to go up to his quarters.
Loki was still standing where he stood, frozen in place, his eyes half-closed, and his fingers twisted into knots. She came over and wrapped her arms around his torso.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her face buried in the crook of his neck. "I'm so fucking sorry. I know I should've warned you…"
His hand traced the line of her spine until his fingers ran into her hair at the nape of her neck, then he rested his head on her shoulder. He smelled of gunpowder, smoke, sweat and that cherry-blossom-scented shampoo he used that she liked enough to keep stealing. "So, how about that bath?" she mumbled and felt his head shift as he nodded.