Upwards of three thousand words :/ And if it weren't so late I swear I could carry on, but I'm stopping where I am before it gets too long xD Enjoy!

Loki didn't look like he enjoyed having his hand shaken much because he was going rather pale, and quite quickly withdrew his hand – though he managed to keep remarkably composed, and there wasn't much to suggest mental turmoil. Nothing Pepper would be able to see, anyway. She looked very faintly affronted at the sudden action, but most of her attention was focused on Tony. He leaned on the table, trying to act natural rather than rushing over to Loki, and surreptitiously hiding the chocolate stains with a hand. "Hmm?" ha asked, staring at her. Her eyes flicked meaningfully to Loki, and Stark frowned, about to shake his head. Loki noticed what was going on. "I'll be in my rooms, Stark," he said graciously, and made his way out. Tony had to resist the urge to call him back when he saw Pepper's rather angry and almost hurt face. She watched in silence until the door clicked closed behind Loki, and then she rounded on Stark.

"Tony…" she began, in that despairing tone she always used with him. He crossed his arms and waited. "What happened?" she probed. Tony could remember all too well what happened, and he didn't want to talk about it. He just shrugged. Pepper's lips tightened, before she finally seemed to brush aside that façade of concern. "You've been back for over two weeks," she stated flatly, "and nobody told me. Not even you." Tony had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. In the rush of recovery and worry about Loki, Pepper had completely slipped his mind. Sure, he'd thought about her for the first few days over there, but… Oriax and her tortures had changed him, changed his perception. "No…" he muttered, to break the slightly awkward silence. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried I've been the past few months? Only to find out that you were here for TWO WEEKS and didn't think of telling me? Do you even care what I think any more?" she carried on, looking more angry than upset. Tony was starting to feel angry, too. Pepper had no idea what had happened, no idea at all, and now instead of greeting him she was coming right into the tower and immediately yelling at him for something he'd had very, very little control over. He decided to say as much. "You have no idea what I've been through," he hissed at her, not realising he was gripping his wrist, the one Oriax had broken. Pepper noticed, and her eyes narrowed at him. "You really think so?" she asked slowly, dangerously, one hand rising up to point at his own. "You really think I'm stupid enough not to realise what mess you got yourself into this time? And you even managed to drag back the person who attacked New York a year ago. Typical. You have no sense of safety, Tony," and she would have gone on had Tony not abruptly stood up, chair clattering to the floor. "So, it was my fault. My fault for everything that happened. And it was a mistake to bring Loki back." None of it was a question. His eyes were bright and angry, because Pepper had just crossed a line. And it seemed she was ready to cross it further, because with venom he hadn't known she possessed, she hissed, "Yes, it was."

It was like a physical blow to him, severing something deep inside. Even if Pepper didn't know what had happened, even if she had no idea what had been done to him. To Loki. "You can't keep doing this to me, Tony…" she said a heartbeat later, tears filling her eyes, but nothing she could say now would undo the damage. No pretence of caring could heal the rift he now felt between them. He wasn't the same Tony Stark, he realised, and that meant Pepper was no longer his Pepper, but Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark industries and his assistant. The cold, hard look in his eyes said as much. Pepper saw, he could tell she saw it, because her brow creased and she looked up at him, features softening. "I'm sorry, Tony. It's… It's over now, isn't it?" It was. He nodded mutely then glanced at the door in dismissal. Pepper bowed her head and took a deep breath, before hastily wiping her face then turning and leaving. Tony picked up his chair and sat down on it, putting his face in his hands and exhaling heavily. He'd felt it coming as soon as he'd seen Peppers face, as soon as he'd remembered her existence, but it was still… Jarring. A shock. He looked at the clock. It was only one o'clock – he had a full day to waste however he wished, but he didn't particularly feel like doing anything. He should probably check on Loki – give him the coffee which was probably cold by now. Maybe they'd watch a film. He might like that. For all the thoughts of what he could do, Tony couldn't seem to make himself get up. He was… In shock, he supposed. Not only that he had broken up with Pepper, but that she could have been so… So unaccepting of what had happened, so uncaring and unwilling to listen. But perhaps what shocked him most was that he looked inside and didn't feel a genuine sorrow. Perhaps a regret for what he had lost, for who he had been, but there was also… Relief. The ability to stop pretending who he wasn't by hanging onto the shreds of his former life – the bridge he and Pepper had just burned.

So, he simply sat for a while, until JARVIS suddenly spoke in an urgent tone. "Sir, Mr. Odinson is not well. Miss Romanoff is asking for you. She appears to be in distress. I suggest you hurry, sir…" Tony was already moving, leaping into the elevator. Faster than the stairs. "Full speed, JARVs," he commanded, and the elevator immediately sped up. It was only two or three floors, but Tony's heart was racing as he wondered what the matter was. He spotted Nat first, outside Loki's rooms, eyes wide. "Tony! It's -" she waved a hand in the direction of Loki's rooms, and alarm spiked through him. "He won't let me near him," she admitted, looking genuinely concerned and frightened for Loki's sake. "I heard him…" She trailed off, looking slightly uncomfortable as she motioned for Tony to hurry into the room and then through to the bathroom. Loki was indeed there, and he didn't look good. At all. Tony cursed and half-ran over to him, kneeling down to his level.

Loki hadn't expected the touch of an almost-stranger to affect him so deeply. His mind was weak, his body growing stronger without the pain, but he was hungry and weary, tired from the quite vigorous exercise he'd managed to gather the strength for this morning. So, as he felt the female hand within his own, it took everything he had to shove down the feelings and hide them to the barest minimum. He'd been all too glad to leave – perhaps it was selfish of him to leave Tony when he knew it would be hard for him to meet the woman he had – and possibly still – loved, on such… Unpleasant terms. But he couldn't help himself, he needed reprieve from the rooms which suddenly seemed so small, pressing in on him, from the people and the feminine hand in his own… Even the sound of her voice, even though it was nothing like Oriax's rich, slippery-smooth tones. As she began to speak, the woman in front of him melded into her, black hair, wicked sneer, green eyes, obsidian lips and cruel, cold hands. His stomach cramped and the world briefly span. It had been a long time since he'd managed to keep any food down, and it looked like his body was finally beginning to give up. He forced himself still, mentally pushing the pain away. The vision of Oriax cleared as he concentrated, but he wouldn't be able to hold them back for long, not the memories, and he had to get out of here now. It took all of his will not to run when he did finally leave, or on the way to his rooms, but once inside he could do nothing more than to stagger to the bathroom and collapse, resting his head on the cool lid of the toilet.

Three breaths, in and out, then he lifted the lid and retched, vomiting out the half-waffle he'd stolen from Stark earlier. When he was done, he flushed the toilet, then braced himself on the now-closed lid and pulled himself up to wash his face. The tap was on too fast. He cleaned himself in it anyway, then pulled it until it slowed to a trickle, then a drip. He didn't have the energy to turn it fully off, just letting himself slide back down and resting his head on the toilet seat again. It was cool against the hot of his head. Oriax. She was there, standing in front of him, nails long and black but coated in some sort of green varnish, something he'd noticed immediately because she never wore varnish. Not varnish. Oriax smiled her cold smile and the venom from her nails was on his chest, the fire was in his blood… He couldn't help crying out, nails digging into his chest where Oriax had dug her in. Three drops of blood welled. Clean pain. No fire, no fire. No Oriax, he had to remind himself. No Oriax. Just cool, clear pain. He dragged himself up. The pain was already leaving him. Fire flickered in his blood, a memory of it, as he stood. His nails dug further into his chest, but the pain faded too soon and there was nothing to hold off the fire, the liquid agony.

He swung his knee into the ceramic-tiled wall, once, twice, three times and he couldn't hold off the cry that sprang to his lips as his already-mangled left knee shattered further, blood blooming. Pain bloomed alongside it, a sweet, short-lasting rose, more addictive and harmful than any drug. Hold her off, hold her off. The pain would be on his terms, not hers. No fire in his blood, please no, anything but that… His vision flickered as someone walked in. Oriax, it was… No, it wasn't. The Black Widow, he remembered her vaguely. They hadn't really spoken. Red hair, he noted, not black. She took in the knee, the blood down his chest and her eyes snapped to his. Dark green, near black eyes. No. Not her eyes. Black Widow's eyes. Natasha… Natasha Romanoff's eyes. But still, as she neared him, he glared at her and snarled, an animal's warning to stay away. The women flickered from Natasha to Oriax, to Natasha, back to Oriax and soon he was too mind-wearied to try telling the difference. He stepped towards her, teeth bared. She stepped back – good, let her go. Let her leave him in peace. A hand was on her gun, he noticed. He took a quick step towards her, forcing his face into killing-cold. The gun was immediately pointed at him. Her, Oriax, her, Natasha. The gun. An end Oriax had made him beg for, literally beg for. He laughed, a broken sound, the sound of a shattered mind. "Go on," he whispered, taking slower steps, pushing himself up to the gun until it's cold mouth was resting against his chest.

"You know what I've done," he whispered again, something flaring in his eyes. Anything to not have to see Oriax again, not feel the fire in his veins. Even if he had to lie for that sweet, cold death. "What if I… Told… You… I'd do it… Do it… Again…" All that existed was Oriax and the metal slab, the scent of coal and hot iron rods, the cold air rushing over the whip-marks in his back… "Would you… Kill me then?" He tried to find Natasha in the black eyes staring at his but his mind forced him to see only Oriax as the gun was quickly withdrawn – nonono, put it back – and she reached towards him… Except all he could see was Oriax, and a dull roaring filled his ears so he stumbled back, slipping and falling, backing into a corner, hissing as the pain and the hand in front of him, letting out a small cry and using a hand to push Oriax's away… He pressed a hand to his neck, pushing the back of it against his tender throat, and dug his nails into the wounds on his chest again, tearing them back open, still panting, letting the pain distract him from the sounds of someone yelling at him, then retreating and yelling and someone or something else. The coppery warmth on his fingers. Drag his fingers down, down, tear apart skin and muscles and drown in the clear pain that wasn't Oriax… Oriax…

He flinched violently and cried out as strong arms wound around him, until he realised it was Tony. Why was he here, Loki dimly wondered. Shouldn't Tony be in their cell? He heard his voice, as if from a distance, and did his best to listen. "In Stark Tower. She's not here. You're safe. You're in Stark Tower. She's not here. You're safe…" And repeated over and over, the same words, before they finally sank in and he remembered where he was, who he was. He let out a gasping sob and pulled his hand from his chest, wrapping his arms around Tony, holding him close as if needing to reassure himself he was real. He was. Stark Tower. No Oriax. Tony helped him up, even though the world was spinning, and his knee was buckling. Natasha was through in his bedroom, watching with wide, worried eyes as Stark helped him out. Loki hung his head as he passed, both weary and ashamed that he had shown his weakness in such a way. He listened to Stark's murmur. "Get you through to my rooms and I'll clean you up, you're covered in blood…" He made an effort to limp by himself as best as he could. It was only a short distance, and nobody was there to see him except Natasha, who was trailing behind them a good distance away. He noticed her leaving as they turned into the door of Stark's rooms and relaxed slightly as she disappeared. Tony sat him down on the sofa and vanished for a moment or an hour, Loki couldn't tell any more. He returned with a blessedly cool cloth that he wiped Loki's chest with, then swore slightly and tugged off Loki's shirt, stained with blood. Loki didn't have the strength any more to resist as Stark cleaned him of the blood and gently pressed down on the nail-marks for a while, until he lifted the cloth and found the blood had stopped flowing.

Stark sat next to Loki, leaning back into the corner of the sofa, and sighed. Loki would recover eventually, he was sure of it. It would just take time… And Loki didn't seem inclined to be patient in this aspect. He'd learn. They'd all have to learn. Stark didn't want to think about the panic that had jolted through him at the sight of Loki's blood, at the memories that had swam through his mind. He'd have nightmares tonight, of that he was sure. Perhaps he'd just go down into the workshop and distract himself for hours, maybe even days, until he couldn't hold off sleep any more. He came back to his thoughts as Loki slid against him, resting on his shoulder. His eyes were open. One of his hands slid out and grasped Tony's wrist. He let Loki turn it this way and that, until he withdrew it after noting the look on Loki's face. Guilt. Horrible, awful guilt. "I'm sorry…" whispered Loki, turning his face up to meet Tony's eyes, and Tony shook his head stubbornly. "No," he commanded. "No. Don't do that to yourself, Loki. Without you I'd have suffered… So much more." Loki didn't look convinced. "Without me, you would never have known of Oriax. I should have fought harder…" his voice trailed off, shaking slightly. Tony lifted Loki's chin up, forcing him to look him in the eye. "You did what you could and more. Don't do that to yourself," he repeated, gazing at Loki.

It jolted him to learn just how much he wanted to kiss the god of mischief right now, to let him know just how deeply Tony cared for him. It jolted Tony to realise just how deeply he cared for the broken man. But he didn't want to cause more damage, he didn't know half of what had been done to Loki. He suspected, from what he had overheard from one of Oriax's visitors. So he refrained from doing so and just looked at Loki until he nodded, and quite suddenly relaxed. After a while, Loki slipped from his shoulder and ended up lying across his chest, his head on the arm of the sofa. Just as Tony thought the god was asleep, Loki whispered, "JARVIS… Tell Tony about the pear…" and then his breathing slowed. "Sir?" asked JARVIS, then said, presumably to Stark, "He's sleeping." Tony frowned. "What did he mean?" JARVIS was quiet for a moment. "I'm… I'm not sure, Sir. Give me a few minutes to…"

"Check Wikipedia?" Stark grinned. "There's a little lag in my main servers," JARVIS replied, disdain evident in his tone. Stark snorted slightly, careful not to wake Loki. Then he carefully slipped away and lowered Loki gently onto the sofa, deciding he needed another cup of coffee. He wandered down to the common room and set the kettle boiling. Just as he finished pouring the cup, Steve walked in, and JARVIS announced, "Sir. I believe I know what Mr. Odinson was referring to," with no small amount of worry in his tone. Tony swallowed, the carried his coffee to the table and motioned for Steve to sit down, which he did, brow furrowed. "Go on, JARVIS," he finally said, looking up at one of the AI's cameras.