Jesus Christ he's tired.
Tired in that headachey, wired sort of way that will not ease up no matter how much booze, work or soft lighting Tony throws at it. The longer he lies awake the more he winds himself up, the wasted minutes ticking by without actually resulting in the rest his gritty eyes tell him he desperately needs. And he's fixating on that. He knows he is. The injustice of it is that he only came up here because he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Now that he's vertical it's like the little bastards have got their second wind.
Fuck it.
He gives up on sleep halfway through the third attempt to untwist the sheets clinging to his restless legs and goes in search of coffee.
Yawning, he scrubs a hand through his hair that he's pretty sure leaves it sticking up worse than it already was. He's not worried. Rhodey is away on Mission Discreetly Point Someone Important At The Mess Still To Be Cleaned Up Out East and Vision is tucked up doing... whatever the hell it is Vision does at night. Not sleeping, presumably.
The brew he concocts is thick and bitter and exactly what he needs. He sucks down the first cup while he's still at the counter, the chilly tiles beneath the pads of his feet a sharp counterpoint to the hot liquid scalding his tongue.
The remains of tonight's predictably failed dinner attempt are congealing in scattered containers that no one could be bothered to put away. Tony nudges a particularly unappetising selection out of olfactory range and pours a second cup of coffee to go.
Vision seems to be conducting a vicarious tour through the foodstuffs of the world. Or at least he would be, if any of them were being eaten by their intended recipient. Today it was Thai. Yesterday it was something resembling Mexican. A variety of tempting offerings designed to coax their guest into some semblance of nutritional engagement. Tony doesn't have the heart to tell him he suspects he's wasting his time. Asgardians can apparently function for long periods of time on water and sheer pig-headedness alone.
The deserted air to the place becomes more complete as Tony heads drowsily downstairs. He passes workout rooms long gone unused, stores of equipment no longer checked out, training areas gone still and silent. There was a time when he found the quiet of the facility jarring. Tonight it's what he needs.
He hasn't checked the time, but it's pitch dark outside. Cold rain pelts the glass of the windows in gusty waves as he approaches the workshop. The lights blink on reluctantly when he enters and the cool air of the room soothes the tension he still holds around his eyes. The comforting smell of solder and oil enfolds him like the welcoming familiarity of routine.
Mindless distraction has always worked for him in the past. Contrary to popular belief, his tinkering isn't about escaping his problems. That's what alcohol is for. And, admittedly, the bigger projects that absorb his focus for days on end, the pure discovery of it all enough to crowd out everything else. Like eating. Sleeping. Human relationships.
He pushes an errant, rueful thought of Pepper firmly to one side.
No. The smaller fish, the playtime stuff - this is how he relaxes. It gives a small part of his brain just enough to keep it occupied while the rest goes still. If he can focus his thoughts away from whatever's bugging him, his subconscious can sometimes sneak up on the solution.
Inspiration often strikes while he's in the shower. Or performing some other mundane task. Or driving a familiar route. Then wham, he has to pull over and find a pen because if he doesn't write it down it'll get lost before he can finish what he's doing.
What's on his mind tonight is the same thing that's been kicking the shit out of it since Rhodey brought everyone's favourite home video back for show and tell.
And he really, really would like to get the star of so many of his nightmares out of head, at least during his waking hours. Especially as there are apparently a hell of a lot more of those turning up just now.
Rolling his shoulders, Tony hunkers down over the magnifier and scrutinises the delicate circuitry he gave up on only a few hours ago. He gets to work, letting his fingers manipulate the fine tools with the focused calm he finds it so easy to slip into.
This is his happy place. This is his zen.
He lets his mind run back over the last couple of days, picking at the many threads that still hang loose. Maybe if he can break everything down into its component parts he can rebuild them again into something that makes sense. Because as it stands, the questions he has loom too big to properly answer.
Major Problem Number One? Working out how to send a supposedly mind-wiped, potentially murderous and seriously unhinged alien demigod back to where he came from, who knows how many light years away, without any means of contacting said home and the only people who might be able to help. All while their best shot at doing it either can't, or more likely won't, give them the information they need to see it done.
Major Problem Number Two? Deciding whether the supposedly mind-wiped, potentially murderous and seriously unhinged alien demigod actually is mind-wiped, whether they should help address that, and how they would go about it even if they wanted to. All while knowing the answer to Major Problem Number One is probably pretty dependent on undoing whatever might be causing the hypothetical (and highly convenient) memory lapse.
Major Problem Number Three? Coming up with a contingency plan if they a) can't send their crazy powerful, crazy long-lived and just straight up crazy wanted war criminal home or, more critically, b) work out their crazy war criminal's play when the amnesia act proves to be one almighty hoax.
Tony sighs, pushes himself upright and wheels himself over to the workbench behind him to search for the components he needs.
He can't decide what to think. And it's driving him insane.
Of course Loki would mess with their heads. He's all about mind games. Misdirection. Mayhem. Lies and illusions and a subtle approach would be as natural to him as breathing. But something, some undefined, elusive unease is niggling at Tony's carefully constructed defences. Making him question his very reasonable, very sensible suspicions.
Far as he can see, there are three possibilities.
Possibility One: Loki is telling the truth. He really doesn't remember who he is, what he's done and what he's capable of. The knowledge to send him home is trapped in his head, along with who knows what else.
Possibility Two: Loki is lying. This is part of some convoluted plan to lull them into a false sense of security. Loki has some nefarious plot in the works that involves infiltrating their team, bringing them on side and blindsiding them.
Possibility Three: Loki is withholding the full truth. He's found himself in a sticky situation and is playing them to his advantage now that they've given him a way out of it.
Much as he'd really like to dismiss Possibility One out of hand, Tony has to admit that the evidence is stacking up in its favour.
Firstly, he simply cannot think what advantage Loki hopes to gain with a lie like this. He's looked at it every which way, worked every angle, and he just can't see it. Tony may not be an evil mastermind, but he is a genius, and he's had time to think this through. He's coming up blank every time.
Secondly, it seems a clumsy tactic. It should be obvious it wouldn't hold water. Not with Tony.
That serial killer smile is yet to put in an appearance, and levels of outright hostility are lower than Tony's been expecting. And while they're all tip-toeing around the ugly ass elephant in the room, there's been a distinct lack of freaky space wizardry. Tony tested that cuff to a level bordering on obsession before they started this thing, and the hair trigger he put on that baby should flip at so much as a flicker. And yet so far, no dice.
There's a chance, of course - a good chance - that the guy's playing a long game. Laying up some sympathy. Putting them at ease. Watching for an opening (or an unprotected back). Tony hasn't missed the covert glances at anything even approaching a weapon, an exit or a likely threat.
But then, that's just it, isn't it? Tony hasn't missed them.
Loki's either seriously off his game, or this? This is the real deal.
Kicked your ass pretty handily if I remember, Rhodey had said last night.
Tony had scoffed. I was trying to catch him. He was trying to kill me.
He's not having so much luck this time around. Catching someone out in a lie is pretty damn hard to do when you know so little about them. That had become painfully obvious embarrassingly quickly.
They've been over it all.
All the weird family crap Thor has inadvertently let slip with a sad smile or a cryptic reference. All the mythic backstory and fantastical abilities. All the crazy shit Tony's seen in person. The genocidal mania, murder and mind control. The alien hordes and gigantic space whales. The hole in space.
Hell. Hearing it all spoken out loud, it had sounded ludicrous.
Oh, and also? You were dead, by the way. We're a little light on the details, but…
Loki has responded to every piece of information with a disturbing flatness. Because sure, no one wants to hear they're a basket case. But something should have hit a nerve. Gotten a rise. Cracked that soulless, prince of darkness exterior the guy has going for him. Revealed the scam for exactly what it is.
Something should have tripped Tony's bullshit alarm.
Apparently not. Because Loki has taken everything they've handed him and given them nothing in return. Not a twitch. Not a huff. Not a single word of defence. Not a play for sympathy, or an abject denial or even a hint of surprise. Nothing. And now he's stopped talking. Again.
The last couple of days have left Tony with a bad taste in his mouth and whole load of unanswered questions. He'd expected to feel like an idiot, laying it all out like that. Playing to the act. Having Loki stand there laughing at him, a mask in place for the others.
But Tony's not getting that. Not at all. Instead he's finding himself reevaluating his take on the situation, and he's got to be honest - he doesn't like it.
Tony leans back in his chair and shoves his fingers into his eyes.
The guy is shutting down. Closing off. And Tony's finally worked out why that seems so familiar.
Remind you of anyone? Rhodey had asked.
What's worse is they're getting nowhere.
Tony likes to think of himself as a pretty easy-going guy. Got skeletons in your closet? So does he. Have a tendency towards some of the more extreme personality traits on the spectrum? It's cool - he's not exactly the poster child for meek and mild himself. Got a past you're not so proud of? Welcome to the club.
But give him nothing to work with and Tony's patience goes off the deep end in a big way. Loki's pulling tighter into his shell with each one-sided conversation and wielding the only weapon he still can with devastating force - Asgardian-Strength Silent Treatment™.
And if there's one thing Tony cannot resist doing, it's filling a silence.
o0o
The nail of Tony's left thumb is well and truly fucked. His teeth continue to worry at it despite that fact, the wall at his back propping him up as he decides.
This is a mistake. Irresponsible. Asking for trouble. There are so many things that could go wrong, so many ways this could blow up in his face.
He should wait for Vision. Or at least discuss this with Rhodey. Let them talk him out of it, maybe. But then he's not sure he wants to have that conversation or to find out where it would lead. Rhodey would be so painfully understanding, of course. So earnestly accommodating. Tony doesn't want to examine his own motivations for doing this thing too closely, and he'll be damned if he'll let someone else fill in those blanks for him. He doesn't particularly want an audience for this, either.
He almost turns and walks away twice. In the end it's frustration with his own hesitation that has his hand moving to punch the code into the panel.
Loki's perched at the head of the bed on his haunches, arms draped over his knees and head lowered. Creepy bastard that he is, he puts Tony in mind of an enormous, hibernating vampire bat.
He barely spares Tony a glance when the door slides open, and the lack of reaction only adds an edge of impatience to the confusing tangle of emotion that's making Tony irritable. He's had enough of this. He's had enough of this whole ridiculous situation.
"Okay," he says with what he hopes is just the right balance of authority and patience. "We're getting out of here. Come on. Let's go."
Loki turns his head to Tony listlessly but doesn't move to get up.
"Take a walk with me," Tony insists and leaves the room again without waiting for an answer.
He doesn't have to hang around for long. Loki emerges from his lair with all the enthusiasm of a teenager invited on a grocery trip and falls reluctantly in step just behind Tony's left shoulder. Tony tries really hard not let this proximity bother him and, in his considered opinion, does a pretty convincing job of projecting casual self-assurance. The prototype nano tech nestled discreetly in the palm of his hand sure helps in that respect.
They take a route deeper into the heart of the facility that Tony's pretty sure Loki's not been led down before, and as it becomes obvious they're not heading towards their usual destination, Loki begins to fall back a little.
Tony allows himself a small smile. Twitchier than a long-tailed cat.
Tony forges on ahead without letting on he's noticed the hesitation and pushes his way through a set of double swing doors. He slips the shades over the bridge of his nose, satisfies himself everything is ready, and waits.
A few moments later, Loki cautiously follows. Tony watches his expression carefully.
As soon as he enters the room, Loki's eyes sweep upward. His gaze follows the towering lines of giant redwood trunks as they reach high into the sky, their immense girth barely tapering as they rise. Their laden branches are soon lost to thick mist, their crowns some unknowable height above them.
A winding forest path meanders between the living monoliths and into an open glade carpeted with soft needles, the bank of a mountain river skirting its edge. The loud chitter of birds and other critters gives everything a sort of Disney quality, and the over-vibrant colours of the picnic blanket spread out at the base of one particular veteran stand out vividly against the otherwise muted scene. The only thing missing is the heady alpine scent that Tony's senses expect.
Loki takes this all in without saying a word and eventually casts Tony a questioning look.
"Go ahead," Tony tells him. "Knock yourself out."
After a beat or two Loki steps forward, absorbing the scene around him. He takes a few short paces before he turns back to examine the wall behind them, noting the way it blends seamlessly into the forest. When he approaches a tree and reaches out to touch its bark, his fingers passing through it with a flicker of pixels.
"This is not real," he concludes somewhat unnecessarily.
"Figured you'd appreciate a change of scenery. This is the closest I can offer to, you know. Actually going outside."
Loki looks at Tony then. Really looks at him. It's not a sensation Tony particularly enjoys, so he turns his attention to the chipmunks scolding one another on a nearby tree and concentrates hard on not noticing the appraisal.
This is pragmatism. That's all this is. God knows being cooped up would be a fast ticket to driving Tony nuts, and if a little fresh air is what it takes to break the stalemate, it's an olive branch Tony's willing to extend. Even if that fresh air is nothing more than air conditioning and fancy visual tech.
He doesn't state the obvious. That apart from the clear flight risk, a trip out even as far as the yard is not something they can chance just now. They don't know who might be watching, and they don't want to advertise Loki's presence here.
Whether Loki accepts the gesture for what it is, Tony's not sure. He watches as Loki heads further into the trees, stopping to turn a slow circle in place. He tilts his head to one side as a peal of child's laughter reaches them from some distance away, its clarity somewhat lost to the distance of time and imperfect memory.
Loki meets Tony's gaze and raises a curious eyebrow.
"Welcome to Yosemite, circa nineteen-seventy-something-or-other," Tony says with a small smile. He wanders further into the scene, folding creaking knees sit cross-legged on the waiting blanket. He has improved on the projection technology in recent months to rely less on physical props and anchors. He has to remind himself to brace for the discrepancy when he sinks a little lower than the uneven ground appears, settling not on the soft dirt his brain expects but on the cold hard floor of the room underneath.
He can still pretend, though.
"My folks brought me here on the way home from one of Dad's business trips," he says as Loki makes a slow circuit of one of the smaller sequoias. "The car broke down and we had some time to kill while the thing was in the shop, so we took a day trip to the nearest attraction. I remember it because it was one of the few times we were all together. It was just us, you know? No work. No meetings. Nothing to rush back for. I had a blast."
More high-pitched laughter makes its way through the trees, and Tony can just make out the form of a boy flitting breathlessly from one hiding place to another.
"The child is you," Loki guesses from his vantage point, watching as the indistinct shape of a woman creeps with over-dramatic menace towards her squealing son.
"Bears," Tony remembers fondly. "I had this weird thing about bears."
The two grey and faded figures chase each other playfully until they eventually disappear again into the mist. Tony's still not certain if the hazy scenery is a true reflection of that day so many years ago or simply a result of the passage of time. It's certainly harder to reconstruct vague memories than those burned into clarity by trauma or obsessive revisitation. And the further back he goes the less success the tech seems to have pulling out anything coherent.
"How is this all possible?" Loki asks absently as he gazes up into the trees. "Is this…" He twirls a hand in the air with obvious meaning but doesn't elaborate further.
Tony's mouth twitches. "Magic? Nope. Just your good old, garden variety science. And a splash of my brain's poetic license."
"It is impressive," Loki allows, and much as Tony would like to think it's his brain being complimented, he takes the guy's meaning. Loki checks back again towards the exit at their back and something begins to shutter behind his eyes. "I take it you're not just showing me this to relieve my boredom."
"See, that's what I like about you, Lokes. Always thinking a few steps ahead."
"I'd rather gotten the impression there was nothing you liked about me."
Tony can't help a smirk. He raises a finger to tap the side of his shades. "I can calibrate one of these babies for you," he says. "Could probably do it without your permission if I had to. But it'd be a hell of a lot easier with your cooperation, and I'm guessing you're about done with people screwing around in there."
Loki scowls and wraps his arms around himself. The dangerous look he gives promises swift and disproportionate retribution for any attempt at unsolicited contact.
Yep. Called that one right.
"Look," Tony continues, taking a small measure of pity on him (and very much valuing the current location and arrangement of his internal organs). "You want to get out of here, right? And believe me, we want you off our hands. Seems to me the quickest way to do that is to try and fix whatever it is our white-coated friends have managed to jimmy with in there and get your input on how we might do that."
"And here I was thinking you didn't believe me. Silly me."
"There's no need to get snippy," Tony continues, intrigued by the sarcasm despite himself. "If you've got nothing to hide, I can't think of a better way to prove me wrong, can you?" If it works, they'll get answers. If it doesn't, at least they'll know for certain where they stand. It's a win-win situation in Tony's books.
Loki doesn't look so sure. "You're assuming I want to be shipped off to wherever it is you would send me."
"I guess I'll take my chances. And besides, it's gotta beat hanging around here with me for the unforeseeable future, right?"
That earns him the barest flicker of a smile. It's not much, but Tony will take it. "Besides," he continues, "aren't you curious about all the things you can't remember? Hell, I know you better than you know you. That's weird. And unhealthy. You've got to be dying to get that stuff back."
Loki doesn't exactly rush to agree, and Tony supposes that in his position, he might be more than a little leery of what could be lurking in the dark recesses of his mind. Still, there's interest there, he can tell. It's there in the way Loki gives him the side-eye (as though he thinks Tony won't notice). It's there in the lack of outright refusal, in the hesitation and the silence. It's there in the nervous gestures Tony's starting to pick up on now that he knows to look for them.
As though he's become aware of the way he's fidgeting, Loki moves further into the trees around them and is silent for some time. Tony is working himself up to try a new argument when Loki breaks the silence.
"If I agree to this… what do you suppose we will find? What… what am I?" The questions are quiet. Cautious. Almost… resigned. Tony isn't quite sure what he's supposed to do with them.
A hundred different answers queue belligerently on his tongue.
Sociopath. Villain. Monster.
He's not shied from using those words in the past. But now that it comes to it, he finds he can't give voice to any of them.
Tony's seen acts of evil. And he's seen amorality in action. For the longest time he'd counted Loki among that number, but it's easy to write off everything as either black or white with enough distance that the greys get lost in between. If he's completely honest with himself he hates to think of anyone as completely irredeemable, but he's not about shirking responsibility either.
"You're…" Tony stalls. What's the word he's looking for? 'Misguided' would be to duck the truth. 'A lost cause' isn't quite right either. He doesn't want to sugar-coat this, and he's not going to make excuses for the crazy motherfucker, but even he can see that complete vilification is the wrong way to go here.
He changes trajectory and tells himself he's not dodging the question. "You've made some bad calls. Done some shitty things. For reasons I can't begin to guess at. I'm not going to call them mistakes, 'cause I think you knew exactly what you were doing, but I'm also pretty sure we're working with two completely different frames of reference here.
"We let Thor take you home before because of that. We didn't have to, and you'd better believe there were a whole lot of people very unhappy with that decision, but it was a call I would make again. Am making again. And I'd like to be able to get away without the political fallout this time if it's all the same to you. I'll never hear the end of it otherwise."
He doesn't add that apart from those calling for justice, punishment and, let's face it, blood, there were others more interested in the asset they let slip through their fingers. One for which torture and experimentation would seem oh so reasonable when balanced against the crime. One that wasn't even human to begin with, and certainly had no constitutional rights.
"Thor," Loki murmurs, almost to himself. "You keep mentioning him. I should know who he is."
Now there's the understatement of the century. "Yeah, you could say that. You guys are…" He thinks about this for a sec. Close? Important to one another? The absolute personification of family melodrama and dysfunction? He goes with: "...complicated. But trust me. I don't know you all that well, but I do know Thor. And I think you're gonna want that back."
He's not sure what it is that does it. Perhaps it's the note of sincerity that creeps into Tony's words despite his best efforts, or perhaps something he's said piques Loki's interest. Whatever it is, it works, and Tony realises that he's… well, surprised.
"Very well," Loki says, finally turning back to Tony like he's facing his own execution. "Let's see what there is to find."