"We had a little heart-to-heart," Tony said, after getting a grip of himself. "That we are definitely going to continue on the next suitable occasion," he added, sending Loki a meaningful glare.

Loki sighed and nodded.

Natasha failed to see the reason for any of this.

Steve collapsed on the chair and rubbed his cheek. It was reddened, but it didn't look like it was going to bruise.

"What happened?" Bruce asked, looking at Steve.

"Natasha punched me in the face," Steve said. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have said the things I've said."

At least he was ready to admit it, that had to amount to something. She already felt kind of bad for punching him, even though she was rather sure her knuckles suffered more damage than his face. One didn't need any extraordinary skill in reading people to tell there used to be a deep and complicated relationship between him and James and that he couldn't muster the mental strength to look past it yet, even for a moment. Still, accusing her of purposefully trying to sabotage his friend's recovery and perpetuating his conditioning was a low blow. And a totally underserved one.

So, she punched him. He had it coming and he would live.

"This evening is getting better and better," Tony grunted. "I'd kill for a nice whiskey on the rocks."

He didn't get up to fix himself one though.

"So, the Winter Soldier, huh?" Clint said as she sat down next to him. "I didn't see that one coming."

"Me neither," she snarled, once again fighting the urge to rub the old scar on her stomach that suspiciously started to itch again after all this time. "Believe me."

"Yeah, that too," Tony interjected. "Anyone willing to clue all the uninformed civilians about what exactly that means for us? Because, let me tell you, I find it hard to understand how SHIELD could be in control of a Soviet assassin. What's the link here?"

It looked like Clint did some preliminary explanations at least.

She shrugged. "No idea, as of yet. That one time I had a brush with him, he was definitely working for the other side. No idea whether it was before or after his mind was put through a blender though." The horrified glares she received quickly let her know that Clint didn't share that particular detail, but it wasn't important. "Well, to be fair, at this point I'm not even sure what the other side is. He seems unaware who he was being controlled by anyway."

"Does that mean there's no way to break the conditioning?" Bruce asked, tapping his fingers on the table.

"I didn't say that. I had to stop because he was growing agitated and it would soon become counterintuitive." And, well, the revelation rattled her too, and she didn't want to risk saying or doing anything that might sabotage the efforts, which Rogers, in all his misguided sentiment, had to misinterpret, because of course he had. "He is in a… I'd say a standby mode, now, but without more info, we can't be sure what can trigger the battle mode or even the fight-of-flight instincts you got to witness in the facility and I'd rather avoid that, because the last thing we want is someone having to beat the shit out of him again to stop him from hurting one of us," she explained and tried to ignore Steve's petrified expression. At least he learned to keep his comments to himself by now. "I'll try again first thing in the morning. A night of sleep and a proper meal definitely won't hurt him either." Or her, for that matter.

"Okay, but we still don't know what we're standing on," Tony said then ran his hand through his hair. "Will Pierce want him back?"

"That's a safe assumption, yes."

Tony groaned. "I know this is most likely a moot point, but is there anything we can do to… speed things up? I don't know, find some expert who specializes in breaking this kind of conditioning and have them come over and try?"

"There's no rushing this, Stark. And while, yes, someone more experienced than me might be able to get to the bottom of the case quicker and with taking fewer risks on the way, there's nobody we can ask. It's not exactly a popular expertise field in psychology and everyone in the handful of experts I know about are working within the governmental structures. We have no idea how deep Pierce's little thing runs and who we can trust and who is definitely not to be trusted. Call someone in and you might just as well be bringing a viper into your own nest."

"I hate when you make sense like that, Romanoff," Stark said and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, in short, there's nothing we can do, right here, right now?"

She shook her head. "Well, I wouldn't say no to Steve catching us up on how his last encounter with James went," she said and looked at the man himself. Steve sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "That can wait till the morning though."

"Thank god," Stark said and got up, "because I'm so ready to go and hug my awesome bed for the next twelve hours."

It was close to what she herself felt, and – judging from the faces of all gathered – the two of them were not alone in that, either, with a special mention for Loki, who looked like he hadn't slept at all, which he probably hadn't, after that nightmare.

"Yeah, let's get some rest and figure it out in the morning."

People said their farewells and drifted away from the room. Pepper gave Loki's arm a reassuring squeeze as she was getting up. Loki gave her a small nod in return. Something happened there in the meantime, that was obvious. Natasha didn't mind, not at all, quite to the contrary in fact, and the interest was there mostly on a curiosity basis. Pepper was a reasonable, caring person and if she took it upon herself to look after him in some way, there were only good things that could come out of it. Hopefully. Hell if she knew.

"You should go to sleep too," she said, when they were alone in the room.

He clasped his hands together in his lap and nodded, but didn't make a move to get up. "I will, thank you for your concern, Romanoff." There was a slight tinge of exasperation in his tome, but he sounded mostly tired.

"Mhm," she hummed, then grabbed one of the leftover boxes of curry and picked at the contents. "What was that? That thing, between you and Stark?"

Loki shrugged.

"Something's wrong, I can tell."

"How perceptive of you, Romanoff," he sneered. "In fact, everything is absolutely perfect."

He got up, the chair screeching against the floor harshly, and marched out of the room, towards the staircase.

Yeah, absolutely perfect.

Loki walked up the stairs and thought about trees. It would be nice, to be somewhere around those, far away from the concrete and glass of the mortal cities, far away from the sounds and the smell of burned fuel in the air. To lie down on the grass, breathe the fresh, night air, and look up at the stars.

Far away from everything. And everyone.

It was yet another privilege he was not going to be granted anytime soon. More so, now he brought Stark's inquiry upon himself, because he couldn't keep his tongue locked behind his teeth. And, well, if the man truly had been as painfully unaware of the repercussions of Loki's situation before as he'd claimed, he sure wasn't now. Again, because Loki just couldn't keep his mouth shut. Perhaps there was some merit behind everyone trying to silence him?

He reached his room unperturbed and no one – including Stark, which Loki anticipated to some degree – was waiting for him. Sleep called him, but he resisted, sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard and listening for the footsteps in the hallway.

And soon, there were, light and graceful, almost imperceptible if not for his heightened Jötnar senses. Romanoff slowed down, then stopped by Loki's door.

He held his breath, but the knock didn't come, and then, after a few heartbeats, her footsteps sounded again, now walking away, towards her own chambers. Only when they faded completely, he allowed himself a breath of relief.

He scrambled to his feet, stumbled to the side table, and retrieved the collar he'd left there. Without much deliberation, he clasped it shut around his neck, returned to the bed, and buried himself under the covers. Then he lay there, staring at the darkness until exhaustion finally claimed him and dragged him under.

It was still night outside – if one could call it that, with all the city lights glowing – when a nightmare woke him up, dark and close and cloying. He kicked the crumpled sheets aside and trudged his way to the bathroom, then kept his head under the cold stream of the sink's faucet until it doused the fire burning in his throat. And in his mind.

He wanted to take a shower and change, but he'd left all his clothes in the dryer – the machine had still been working when the summon came. He should perhaps wait for Pepper or for someone to ask for permission first, but the passcard was still in his pocket, granting him unlimited access to the private section of the tower, so Stark's assistant would have no reason to stop him, not before their master revoked Loki's privileges.

The elevator arrived with the press of a button and he wasn't stopped from picking the basement as the destination either.

He meant to go to retrieve his laundry, nothing else, but his feet carried him on, past the offshoot of the hallway leading to the utility rooms and onwards, until he reached the vault door at the cell block. That, he expected, was supposed to be the limit of his freedom of the manor and would stop him, but when he approached, the gate rolled aside, opening the way.

Was his access rights enough for that? Or was this a mistake? Or a trap?

One way to find out.

He took a breath and stepped into the hallway on the other side, then stood there, just behind the threshold, for a couple of heartbeats, getting ready to dash out before the gate rolled into place and locked him inside, but it didn't happen and the doorway remained open.

The footfalls of Loki's feet on concrete were silent, but it didn't matter, for the gate made enough noise to garner attention. Romanoff and Rogers apparently didn't reactivate the reflective layer in the glass division when they left and soon Loki came face to face with the man inside the cell.

James – that's what the others claimed he was named although the man didn't seem to know that himself – raised an eyebrow and took a step closer to the glass.

"Hi," Loki said.

The man didn't answer. Loki sighed and sat down on the floor, a step away from the glass.

James was still looking at him, now with a frown. He'd washed and changed and was now wearing a gray, one-piece uniform with Stark's company logo printed on the chest. What was it with humans and their need to put their names on everything, including other people?

"Your master didn't forbid you from speaking to others, did he?" Loki probed.

James shook his head, still keeping his suspicious gaze on Loki.

"Then I'm not breaking any rules being here."

James shrugged, regarded Loki for a moment longer, then sat down himself, mirroring Loki's pose. "Who are you?" he asked. He was talking slowly, hesitantly, as if he needed to remind himself how it was done first. There was no telling how long it was since he had his last real conversation that was not an order shouted at his face or an interrogation.

"My name's Loki."

James cocked his head to the side. "Why are you blue?"

Loki didn't anticipate the question, seeing how humans tended to dance around the issue, but there was no malicious intent behind the words that Loki could identify, just plain, childish curiosity. It was rather refreshing.

"I'm a Frost Giant," he said, keeping his voice level and neutral.

"What's a Frost Giant?"

"A species, from Jötunheimr."

"Is that a country?"

"No. It's a planet. One of the Nine Realms. Like Mi… Like Earth. But far away."

"Is it nice?"

"Not really. It's mostly a frozen tundra."

James frowned again, trying to process what Loki had just told him. "I don't like cold," he said, carefully.

"You must not like it at the facility you were at before then."

James shook his head, then frowned. "You were there?"

"Yes."

"Are you my handler's ally?"

Loki shrugged. "It's… unclear. But that wasn't why I was there. I was a prisoner, like you."

"Are you an asset, too?"

"No. They tried to make me into one, but it didn't work."

"Did they put you in the chair?"

"Yes."

James sighed and rubbed his fleshy arm with his metal fingers. "I don't like being in the chair. It hurts."

"It does. I didn't like it either."

"Do they have one here?"

"No."

James sighed, relieved. "Are you a prisoner here, too?" he asked.

"That's also unclear. I can't leave the building, but I'm not locked in a cell. They allow me to stay in a room upstairs."

"Does it have a window?"

"Yes, in fact it does. And quite a nice view."

"They put me in a cell with a window once. I liked it there." James sighed again, but there was more despondency in it this time. "Why are you here then?"

Loki rolled his shoulder slightly. "I couldn't sleep. Then I thought… It can get lonely, being locked up with no one to talk to. I can go if you don't want me here." He made a move to get up.

"No," James blurted, quickly. "Stay. Please."

Loki sat back down. "Okay."

There was a moment of silence, before James spoke again. "My handler… He acted as if he knew me. He called me a name."

"James?"

He frowned. "No. Something else. I can't remember, but… It seemed familiar. And my handler… He seems familiar too, but I can't remember why, as if I dreamed of him and then forgot."

"His name is Steve Rogers," Loki said. "He says he knows you, from before."

"Before?"

"Before they made you an asset. That's what the machine does. It makes you forget and it makes you obey."

James' lips drew into a thin line. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. "You didn't."

"That's because I'm a Frost Giant."

"I wish I was a Frost Giant too," James said, quietly.

This might be the first time in history someone ever said those words, in that particular order.

James watched his metal fingers flex with utter fascination for a while, as if it was the first time he saw it. "How is it, where you are from?" he asked finally.

"I'm not sure. I was stolen from my home planet when I was a babe," Loki said. James' face turned down in disappointment. "I grew up in Asgard. That's a different place. But I can tell you about that instead, if you want."

"Yes, please," James said, his pose relaxing a bit.

Loki started talking.

"Romanoff!" Stark's agitated voice, followed quickly by a shake on her arm, woke Natasha up.

She blinked her eyes open and sprung up. "What's wrong?"

"We have a situation."

"I guessed that," she snarled, scrambling out of bed and quickly pulling on her pants. "What kind of a situation?"

"Loki's downstairs."

She paused and glowered at him. "So?"

"In the basement!"

"Fuck." She finished the pants and moved on to fumbling with her boots. "What is he doing?"

"Would I wake you up if he was going for a walk?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Where's your armor?"

"I left it in the penthouse. I'll get it on the way." He held the door open. "Come on!"

"If I may interject," Jarvis' voice sounded from the speaker, "I'd advise checking the feed before taking rash actions with irreversible consequences, Sir."

Stark muttered something about hard drive wipes under his breath but waved his hands at the screen on the wall. "Fine, bring it on."

The screen blinked to life and the lights faded. And, well, Jarvis might have been right, because it didn't look like Loki was in the middle of breaking the Winter Soldier out, nor he was trying to assassinate him, nor any of the other malicious scenarios that came to her head were playing out. No, it looked like they were just… sitting. And talking.

"Can we get the audio?"

The sound started playing. Jarvis turned on subtitles for Loki's words, and damn, that was indeed some serious processing power Jarvis had there, because there was almost no delay between when Loki spoke and when the translation appeared. She was about to congratulate Stark on that, when James asked Loki about his home.

For a while, they listened to Loki's story.

"I grew up not knowing what I am," Loki said on the screen, the sorrow of the statement evident even under the incomprehensible language. "The people of Asgard have tales about my kind. About mindless, cruel monsters, who come at night to snatch children away."

Tony sighed and turned the TV off.

"Hey!" she protested.

"It's not meant for us, Romanoff," Tony said, turned on his heel and left the room, then stopped right behind the threshold. "I'm going back to sleep. You should do too."

The door closed, leaving her there, standing in the dark.