The night air is cool against Loki's skin, a gentle breeze stirring the tendrils of hair at his ears. Small night creatures chirp in the undergrowth around him. The distant sound of passing traffic tells of a main thoroughfare some way off into the trees. No travellers have found cause to pass down the road that skirts this derelict collection of buildings, and other than the occasional sweep of light from the beams of a far off turning vehicle filtering dimly through the thick needles there is not a sign of sentient life anywhere.
This is as Loki would prefer it, for the moment at least. In time he may welcome the distraction from this interminable waiting; for an opportunity to channel the pent up anxiety that has been building in him for the last several hours; for the axe to finally fall, so that he can be done with it. But for now his instincts seem determined to evade conflict, and his subconscious mind is maintaining a state of hyper-vigilance to that effect.
Loki suspects there is a fine line between what some would call survival and others cowardice, but for now he is content to let himself believe that this hesitation, this held breath of inaction, is for another's benefit.
He has an almost 360 degree view of his immediate surroundings from his vantage point up here on the flat roof; only the crowding pines obscure the view beyond the expanse of hardtop that skirts the building and the road that snakes from it up the ridge. A faded, dilapidated sign that once served to advertise the function of the property offers at least some support for Loki to prop himself against, but he does not allow himself to relax.
He is alert to the merest suggestion of the presence of those hunting him, but he must concede that Stark is not wrong. He needs rest, and even a short reprieve from the relentless flight is to be welcomed.
If only he could take full advantage of the time he has been afforded.
The chill metal at his back is uncomfortable, but that is not what keeps him from rest. He has not been able to quiet his mind since the scene in the room beneath him, and try as he might his thoughts turn over what he has learned without pause.
He thinks he remembers his mother.
There are snatches of memory there now when he looks for them, memory that was entirely absent only a day ago. Or perhaps it has been longer than that. Strangely, they did not make themselves known when they returned. They did not slot themselves back into Loki's sense of himself with a snap of blinding clarity. They did not announce their arrival. Instead there is simply more solid ground there to tread, a strengthened foundation that Loki only knew to recognise when he went to lean against it without conscious thought.
There is not much, but its discovery had almost overwhelmed him.
He has the vague memory of her presence in his life. An impression of a woman he held both dear and in contempt to varying degrees. He doesn't quite understand that contradiction, not in any meaningful way, but it both reassures and troubles him in equal measure. He is not able to picture her face, nor hear her voice, nor imagine her touch. He has no stories he can recollect nor anecdotes he could describe. But it is there where there was nothing before. A sense of history. An influence that shaped his life. A connection to something outside of himself.
His inability to tease out more is maddening.
Nor can he recall the visions he knows he saw as he suffered. There is much more there, just under the surface, he's sure of it. The witch had confirmed as much, that his sense of himself is not lost, only hidden, hidden by something that can be ripped aside given enough force. By something he has begun to suspect he has more control over than he had previously thought possible.
He allows his attention to draw away from scanning the tree line to once again study the object in his hands. He turns the thing over, again and again, exposing the ugly teeth on its underbelly, then flipping it back to examine its ridged surface. His shoulder still aches from its bite, though the flesh wound has long since healed. There is a hum of power in the metal creature still, and perhaps more answers besides.
A call of some startled animal breaks his train of thought and he whips his head up, but it is only the sound of wildlife going about its secret business. It does not herald a threat. It is only the natural activities of the night. His pulse thrums loudly beneath his skin nonetheless.
He cannot hide up here forever. He must face Stark at some point, and in truth he has already made up his mind to stop running. Now that he knows for certain that there is more to be uncovered from his clouded mind, he has no choice but to concede to Stark's vociferously argued point: that the tenuous alliance they have forged is Loki's only real hope for more than the half life of a damaged, terrorized fugitive. And he really is very tired of fulfilling the part of the victim.
Time to take control of the situation. And to take pity on the man stewing in his own anxiety in that filthy, lonely little room in the building below.
"This is a bad idea."
Stark huffs a pained little laugh at Loki's side in response to that but doggedly forges ahead, determined to make it to the summit of the rise at least somewhat under his own power. It had been so much easier to carry the man when he had not been conscious enough to complain of it. Allowing him to walk, albeit with Loki's support on the side of his good arm, is slowing them down. Why Stark insists on prolonging his pain Loki cannot fathom.
"Believe me, if there was another way I'd suggest it." Stark grimaces past another wave of pain but doesn't stop walking. "Even if the payphone wasn't disconnected, rusted and rat-eaten to hell, no one carries change anymore. Come to think of it, I don't think I can even remember a phone number we can trust that hasn't been out of service for at least ten years."
Loki doesn't like it. He doesn't like that they're so exposed as they make slow progress up the road towards the highway Stark insists will be their salvation. He doesn't like that they will be willingly revealing themselves to passers-by, any one of whom could be a part of the search party tracking them. He doesn't like that he must trust his escape to strangers.
But what choice does he have? As Stark so smugly enjoys reminding him, he's hardly in a position to offer an alternative solution.
They finally scale the ridge at a junction with a much wider thoroughfare that hugs the side of the mountain. Its well-kept surface and neatly painted lines suggests it is much more heavily used than the track below, and guard rails separate it from the drop to one side. An area set aside for vehicles to pull into, perhaps to admire the view beyond, widens the road just before a bend that obscures the rest of the route from sight. With a breathless nod Stark motions them towards it. They make laughably slow progress, but when they get to it there is at least a seat.
It is some time before there is any sign of movement up ahead. Still dubious, Loki casts a questioning look at Stark, who obliges with an encouraging smile and a shooing motion. "Go ahead, give it a shot."
The dawn light is still low enough that the vehicle approaching has its headlights on, so Loki is confident the driver will see him. The part of him still screaming at him to hide himself jars uncomfortably with this thought even as he strives to make himself visible.
Stepping to the side of the road, he extends his arm and waits.
The vehicle passes him without so much as slowing down. He tries very hard not to feel relieved.
It is another twenty minutes before his opportunity comes again. Stark had explained that it might take some time, that it was unlikely they'd find someone happy to stop right away. And it is still early enough in the day that traffic is light. The second car passes them by also.
By the time the fourth, fifth and sixth vehicle has refused to stop, Loki's apprehension has morphed into impatience. He looks back at Stark, sweating and hunched where he sits, and manages to communicate once again his contempt for this method through his expression alone.
Stark reads his face with an uneasy look of his own. "Stick to the plan," Stark warns him pre-emptively, and Loki doesn't bother to respond.
When the next car makes its way towards them, Loki steps out in front of it.
The driver slams on the brakes and the vehicle screeches to a stop a short distance from where Loki now stands. When the acrid smoke of burning rubber finally drifts away, the woman behind the wheel gapes at him in shock. Behind him, Stark demands to know what the hell he thinks he's doing.
When she's recovered from the scare, the woman's expression quickly becomes one of incredulous anger. Loki assumes she is gearing herself up to yell at him for putting them both in danger. Before she can begin, he approaches the driver's side door, and apparently the calm manner in which he does so is enough to inspire her to silence. He sees her hand move surreptitiously to check the locking mechanism.
Loki tries what he hopes is an apologetic expression and carefully raps a single knuckle on the window. The woman hesitantly rolls her window down just a crack. "Can I help you?"
"Ma'am," Stark interjects before Loki has even taken a breath to begin, hobbling unsteadily to Loki's side. "We're so sorry to bother you, but-"
"Oh my God," the woman breathes when she catches sight of him. "You're Tony Stark."
Stark produces a practiced and ingratiating smile which instantly charms his audience. "You got me."
The woman takes in Stark's bedraggled appearance, his ripped clothes, the wounds they've barely been able to disguise beyond cleaning as much dried blood away as they could, and her eyes widen in horror. "Are you okay?"
Her eyes flick back to Loki with blatant suspicion, but if she recognises him it's doubtful she can entirely place him. Probably just as well, if Loki's surmised anything correctly from his time here.
"To be honest with you," Starks replies smoothly, "we could really use a ride. And please tell me you have 4G."
Loki's not sure he would call it relief exactly, but when they are delivered to the meeting point Stark has arranged for them by their reluctant saviour (who had insisted on a trip to what she called an 'emergency room' and had seemed rather put out to be contradicted by the object of her concern), the feeling that washes over him at the sight of Colonel Rhodes goes some way to unknotting the tight ball of tension he's been carrying in his core.
The man stands waiting for them as the car pulls into the rest stop, his arms crossed but his bearing vigilant. He's chosen the quietest spot farthest from the concentration of other travellers and their families, some of whom congregate around picnic tables to distribute wrapped packages of food.
Stark directs their driver - Cheryl, they have learned - to pull up alongside the colonel's car and thanks her profusely for her help. She tries once again to persuade Stark to accept further help and he firmly but politely refuses. Loki has remained silent throughout the journey here and he feels no need to break that streak. He exits the car without acknowledging the woman in any way and ignores the mistrustful glance he receives.
Stark begrudgingly accepts Loki's offered aid in order to switch vehicles, and it's only once he's safely inside and behind the tinted windows that he lets his mask slip. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath as he tries and fails to get comfortable, a grimace of pain etched deeply around his eyes. Loki leaves him to it and claims the front passenger seat.
Colonel Rhodes slides into the driver's side with a final, cheerful farewell to Cheryl, then with the door closed promptly swivels to examine his friend now prostrate in the back.
"Jesus, Tony," he says with feeling, part compassion and part reproach. "What the hell happened?" He spares a glance for Loki too, and again Loki experiences that unusual feeling of not-quite-relief to read concern in it rather than accusation.
"Wanda and V?" Stark demands instead of answering.
"Safe," Rhodes assures them immediately. "Wanda's a little worse for wear, but Vision got her out of there fast. It's been eating him up that he couldn't find you. I should call him." Loki assumes Rhodes has turned to do just that, but instead of withdrawing a phone from the bag he rummages in, he emerges with food and water that he presses into Loki's hands. "Here," he says as he does, matter-of-factly. Loki doesn't quite find the fortitude to say thank you.
Rhodes doesn't seem to notice, instead passing water back to Stark. "Anything a little stronger in there?" Stark asks as he accepts it.
Rhodes sombrely passes him medication of some kind. Tylenol, apparently. Whatever that is. Stark swallows them with a wince. "I'll say again for the record that I really think a trip to a hospital wouldn't be the worst idea."
"Yeah yeah," Stark says dismissively. "We've been hearing that for the last hour. It's just a concussion and a couple of busted ribs. Nothing we can't handle ourselves. The faster we're out of here the better."
"Uh huh," Rhodes reluctantly agrees in a tone that suggests the opposite. "You're the boss." He starts the car, pulling them out onto the road at last, much to Loki's relief. "Let's hear it, then."
Tony groans as though at the very end of his reserves. "So you know how I said it was a long story better told in person than by text?" he says, a hand pressed over his eyes. "Yeah. That."
Rhodes looks to Loki then, awaiting explanation.
"We were captured," Loki supplies simply. He allows the following silence to communicate his feelings on that, and Rhodes wisely doesn't push for elaboration.
"Shit," Rhodes curses quietly, his mind already running through the implications. "Ross."
"My best guess, yeah," Tony agrees. "And you wanna know the fun part?"
"I'm not sure I do."
"He's got a hold of whatever they learned from our talented alien friend here." He lifts his hand from his eyes only long enough to gesture vaguely in Loki's direction. "And they've already weaponised it. Prototype tech, but effective. We're talking grade-A doppelgangers that slip straight through your fingers. Even Vision couldn't tell the difference."
Rhodes taps his fingers on the steering wheel in quick succession and bites on his bottom lip. He does not like what he's hearing. Whoever this Ross person is, it is obvious he is a force to be reckoned with. Loki would dearly like to get his hands on him.
"Sounds like we've got a problem, then," Rhodes says eventually.
"That's not even the half of it," Stark adds. "We've slipped one net, but he's gonna know exactly where to look for Loki now, and he's so far removed from this thing he's got plausible deniability. We've got some protection, because he can't just barge in without it looking really fucking bad, but he knows we can't call him on it either without tipping our hand. All he needs to do is drop in for a surprise visit and it's all 'well well well, fancy meeting you here'. Then before you know it he's brought in the big guns and there's nothing we can do about it."
"So we hide him."
"Took the words right out of my mouth."
"Excuse me," Loki interjects, not liking where this is going, "but he is sitting right here."
The two of them continue as though they haven't even heard him.
"So where are we headed?" Rhodes asks. He slides just slightly out of their lane to avoid a pothole, mindful of his friend's injuries even as he trades rapid-fire threat assessments with him.
"Remember that little bolthole I told you about? The one I wish I'd had after the Mandarin? Kept it strictly off the books and off the radar. And it is sweet."
Rhodes smiles at Stark in the rear view mirror as though the pair of them are complicit in some secret language known only to the two of them. Perhaps they are; Loki wouldn't put it past them. They're certainly incomprehensible to Loki most of the time.
"So south on the interstate?"
"You got it," Stark confirms.
Loki isn't sure what to make of any of this. It seems his input is not needed and that the decision is being made for him. And as much as he'd like to feel affronted by that he finds he's actually… reassured.
"Aren't you gonna eat that?" Rhodes says to him with a pointed glance to the food in his lap.
Feeling somewhat peculiar about it and not quite able to meet the colonel's eye, Loki nods jerkily and finally manages to express the gratitude he couldn't quite articulate earlier. "Yes. Thank you."
"No problem," Rhodes says.
Stark sleeps for much of the journey, looking wan and exhausted even as he does. The directions he gives are apparently enough instruction to allow Colonel Rhodes to navigate their route, and with only one stop for a 'comfort break' they make good progress for much of the day.
Loki is eventually persuaded to divulge to Rhodes more detail concerning their ambush, capture and escape. If the man is at all perturbed that Loki is no longer restrained in any fashion he does not comment on it, but he does show genuine concern when Loki describes to him the method by which their assailants incapacitated him.
Rhodes has a strong set of principles, Loki has learned. He does not approve of unwarranted force, possibly even to a greater degree than Stark. Perhaps there is a similarly humane means of restraint available to them that they mean to employ when they reach their new destination. Loki has already decided he will comply with whatever measures they feel they need in order to feel comfortable. He is relatively confident the bargain will be a fair one.
At several points during their journey Colonel Rhodes encourages Loki to sleep. Loki is still too tense to fully relax and assures the man that riding as a passenger is rest enough. Rhodes fails to hide an unhappy look after the third such conversation but finally leaves the matter alone.
They arrive at a small, unassuming domicile sometime after nightfall, and Rhodes is required to wake Stark to confirm they are in the right place. The man rises groggily from where he has been resting to peer out into the darkness, a hiss of discomfort the only tell of his condition. When his eyes adjust he gives them a thumbs up and Rhodes parks the car beneath a port with a gate that rises and then lowers again to conceal their means of transport.
Loki once again offers to lift Stark from the back of the car to take him into the house, but again his efforts are rebuffed. Instead Stark allows Rhodes to escort him inside, leaving Loki feeling somewhat at a loss as he trails them.
It is clear immediately that what appears as a small and humble home from the outside is simply a façade; once inside the space is vast, numbering several rooms, hallways and storage areas that disappear beneath the ground and out to cover a footprint untold. The style of furnishings and technology in evidence mirrors that of the compound in which Loki was first kept, and when FRIDAY's voice welcomes them it completes the sense of deja vu.
Rhodes installs Stark in a room already prepared with a sleeping area and medical equipment on hand. Just what circumstances have led Stark to devise such a set up Loki cannot imagine, but he supposes it is fortunate the man has taken the time to do so. With the help of FRIDAY Rhodes ministers to his friend in much the same way as he did when Loki was in his care, and rather than feel like the spare part he is, Loki takes the opportunity to explore the rooms around him while he still has the freedom to do so. He wonders idly as he does if Vision will shortly be called back in as his caretaker, and if his other keepers would allow his wandering were they not otherwise distracted.
He locates a kitchen, already stocked with food. There are living spaces much as there were at the compound, complete with view screens on which to access information and comfortable seating for those at leisure. There is also a room for exercise, bathing facilities and even an indoor swimming area. As far as he can tell, however, there is no cell.
Loki is investigating the false windows displaying the above-ground garden when Rhodes finds him some time later.
"Tony's all settled in," he says, as though that was to be Loki's first question, but the pinched look to his face persuades Loki not to comment on it. "Guess we better go find the guest quarters."
Loki inclines his head to this and follows the man back out into the hallway, peering over his shoulder as he tries door after door. After some searching Rhodes eventually stops at an ordinary-looking bedroom and steps aside at the doorway. "Ah ha. Here we go."
Loki moves carefully past him to stand at the entrance to the room and casts a dubious eye over the interior. It is much bigger than the space he occupied at the compound, and there are far more decorative touches and loose articles than he would otherwise expect. He elects not to mention this and holds out his wrist, turning to look at the colonel when this action elicits no immediate response.
Rhodes frowns at the proffered limb, then raises a questioning eyebrow.
Loki swallows an ill-advised growl. He is certainly not going to ask to be cuffed. He lowers his arm and glares, waiting for the man to spell out his requirements.
Incredibly, Rhodes simply smiles at him. "Think we're a ways past that, don't you?" he says casually, as though Loki is naturally in the man's confidence. With a clap to Loki's shoulder and a jaunty wink, Rhodes turns and pulls the door closed behind him as he leaves. A heartfelt 'goodnight' is issued from without.
Loki stares at the door in disbelief for some time after.
Sometimes when he sleeps he is cowed by a brutal longing. The man who inspires it is wisdom and benevolence and supreme, wrathful justice. He is ineffable. He is flawed. His approval is everything Loki craves.
He is protector and tyrant both, a brilliant light that Loki yearns for and leans into even as it burns him.
Loki slams down his walls even as the child within him wails its loneliness. He will not be lured by the promise this time. He will sleep untroubled, and he will sleep deep.
This man does not feel like protection.