Hey there! Another weekend, another chapter! Wow, this is chapter 12, so that means it's been 12 weeks already since I started publishing this fic. And to be honest, I don't know how long it's going to take until I finish – I have got no idea what the ending is going to be, so… I'm just going with the flow and letting inspiration, and our dear Loki and Tony, guide me. So it's up to them I guess! (I've never written anything as long as this fic is going to be XD It's amazing!)

PREVIOUSLY ON ASAF: "Do not worry, Brother, I shall take care of everything." And when had that ever worked out for Loki? Thor bodily pulled the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. out of the room, his hovering minions following, and Loki stared, appalled, as those responsible for his fate on Midgard walked away.

CHAPTER 12

Loki had completely forgotten about the hand on his shoulder, until Anthony squeezed his muscles once more. "Well, if the 'royalty and ambassador from another planet' shtick doesn't work, I'll do something myself. Like hacking S.H.I.E.L.D. and shutting them out of their own system, or something. That usually makes them listen."

Yes, sabotage and blackmail usually did. Anthony used surprisingly dark methods to get what he wanted; not that Loki objected, he was a master of them himself, but he wouldn't have thought that it would be the first choice of a known Midgardian hero. The hand left his shoulder, and Anthony let himself fall back down in his chair, and filled another mug with strong-smelling coffee.

Doctor Banner slowly stood up. "I'm going back to the guest room if you don't mind, Tony. I need to… meditate."

"Oh, sure, go right ahead. And if you want some other quiet space, Jarvis can lead you to it, no problem." Banner left with a nod for his colleagues.

It was only then that Loki realised his distorted fork was still in his closed hand, and he opened it to look at the deformed metal. Straightening it out would have been so easy with magic; now though he would have to do it by hand, and he knew he would not be able to give it back its original form. Still he tried to flatten it as best he could, comparing it to Thor's unused fork as he went.

Cupboards opened and closed in the kitchen part of the room, and Loki observed Rogers search for whatever he was searching for. "Do you have anything in here, like boxes or something, to preserve all this food?"

Anthony stopped sipping. "No idea."

"It's your kitchen."

"Yeah, but first off, it's new. Second, I haven't used it yet. And third, I never intended to use it, except for like the fridge or the coffeemaker, so I've got no idea. Jarvis knows. I think."

"Indeed I do, Sir. There is an assortment of Tupperware in the second cupboard on your right, Captain, and if it is not enough, may I suggest using cellophane, as well as…" Loki stopped listening then, the number of strange Midgardian words increasing exponentially, and he could not say he cared about what they did with the food.

Anthony stood up to join Rogers, and Romanoff started piling up some plates. Barton was the only Avenger who remained seated, and he looked at Loki with an impenetrable expression, arms crossed over his chest. Loki ignored that gaze, and swept his own over the dishes still displayed, full of so many foods he did not know.

Perhaps he should sample some, to know how many he found palatable, for further reference's sake. Using his newly reformed fork, he stabbed some different things on the plates and in the boxes in front of him – most of them were some sort of sweet kind of food, some of them better than others, and some overly saccharine. To wash away the taste of the last horribly colourful baked flat bread thing, he took Anthony's unfinished drink – his soulmate had apparently abandoned it anyway – and let the very bitter dark brown liquid invade his tongue.

It reminded him of something he had tasted long ago on Svartálfheimr, and he supposed it wasn't too bad as warm drinks went. Keeping the mug with him, Loki stood up and slowly made his way along the table, trying out some foods before they disappeared in transparent boxes and were moved to the refrigerated cupboard mortals preferred for food preservation – slowing the aging of the food with cold, instead of freezing the process with magic.

On one of his trips between kitchen counter and table, Anthony suddenly stopped short and pointed at him. "Hey! Is that my coffee?" Loki simply took another sip, and Anthony's lips formed a disbelieving little 'o'. "I can't believe it! As if you couldn't use your own mug!"

"I liked this one."

"Liar! It's red and gold, I'm sure you hate it! You just took my coffee to annoy me!"

"I wanted to taste this beverage, so it was easier to take the one you had discarded."

This at least was true, and Anthony knew it; his mouth opened without sound, and closed again. A few seconds later, though, he continued his complaint. "I hadn't discarded it. It's coffee. I never don't finish my coffee. And a polite person wouldn't steal someone else's coffee anyway."

"Technically, according to Asgardian rule, I cannot steal anything from you, because we are one. Therefore, this is as much my mug and my coffee as it is yours."

Again Anthony's mouth opened, and no sound came out; this time he remained frozen, not even breathing, while Loki smirked at him and gulped down the rest of the beverage. He then walked over to the kitchen section, and put the empty mug down next to the rest of the dirty plates, glasses and cutlery Romanoff had been assembling.

The only woman among the Avengers turned to him. "You can do whatever you want because you are 'one'? What magic trick did you use to make him believe that nonsense?"

"There is no magic involved, though it certainly can seem magical at times: I used the truth."

Romanoff smirked. "That must be a first!" Loki clenched his jaw against the unsurprising defamation of his character. The Midgardian was searching his face for something, probably a trace of weakness, and he did his best to relax his muscles and keep his expression neutral. "So this soulmate thing is true?" she suddenly said, and even though it did not really sound like a question, he nodded in affirmation anyway. "I can't believe I'm saying this but… I believe you. Even though the odds – and the irony – of you and Stark meeting at the opposing ends of an invasion make believing it really difficult."

Loki snorted and looked away, gaze sweeping over the almost emptied table and his soulmate's attempt to finish all the coffee available. "I am all too aware of the odds and the irony."

"It almost sounds like a cliché fairy tale, you know. Soulmates. Being one. Almost romantic."

Even though her smirk showed she didn't see anything romantic in their situation, Loki almost scoffed his reply. "There is nothing romantic about mere facts."

Her lips lifted at the corners when she replied: "I wouldn't be so sure about that." She even had the gall to wink at him before sauntering away to the other side of the kitchen. There she started putting the dirty dishes in what was probably some sort of machine, while the refrigerator was filling up shelve by shelve with every new box Rogers put inside.

Barton hadn't moved an inch, still sitting at the table with his arms crossed, and Loki could feel the glare that followed his every motion. He couldn't blame the mortal for being wary; he knew all too well how horrible it was to have one's mind invaded and one's actions dictated. And he couldn't imagine not wanting to kill Thanos for what he had done to him – he couldn't imagine how it would feel to be stuck in the same building as the Mad Titan. He shuddered at the thought of being considered as much of a monster as Thanos was, however… He had to be, in Barton's eyes. He may not have been in control of himself when he— Yes, when he mind-raped the Midgardian hero, but that wouldn't matter much to Barton. Loki was still the one who physically did the deed, and it was his magic, led by the sceptre's, that took over the archer's mind. 'Without will they will be freed, without freedom they will be happy' a voice had whispered in his head, and it had sounded so very right, then. Oh, the irony!

Anthony had either finished all the coffee, or he had had enough to drink, for he was now engrossed in whatever he was looking at – he was tapping and swiping his finger over the screen of a device – and his eyebrows pulled themselves together more often than not. His mouth pursed in answer to his deepest frown yet, before he stood up and looked straight at Loki.

"I've got myself a busy emergency repairs schedule here, so you're gonna have to entertain yourself for a little while, Lo'." Loki couldn't stop himself from blinking at the strange new nickname. No one had ever felt the need to shorten his name before; it didn't surprise him that Anthony of all people wouldn't go further than the first syllable. If anyone liked to live at a Bifrost-travel-speed pace, it had to be his soulmate. "I don't know if you'd prefer to marvel at humanity's best and worst using the TV or books, but I'm sure it can even divert you for at least a day. Jarvis will help you. You should listen to him, because Jarvis knows best."

"It may do you good to listen to your own advice, Sir."

"Fuck you, Jarv'. I'm your Dad, so I obviously know better than to do what my own kid says." Anthony started walking towards the entrance they had come from earlier, still talking to Jarvis in a tone too low for Loki to catch entirely. Just before he walked out, Anthony threw up a hand in a backward wave and without turning around called out: "See you later, other half of mine!"

The activity in the kitchen stilled at that, and in the new-found silence Romanoff's mutter of "definitely sounds romantic" was all too clear. Loki quickly made his way to the closest exit; he didn't need to hear more of their nonsense, especially since he knew all too well that all the Myths of Soul-Mates he remembered involved romantic entanglements; and he didn't want to stay in a room containing at least semi-hostile Avengers while his magic wasn't restored.

He walked down an unknown corridor; he stopped when he passed an almost closed door and felt a slight breeze. He only hesitated a moment before pushing open the door. A gust of cool air greeted his face, coming from the absent floor-to-ceiling window. Glass and pieces of the wall littered the floor, some of them glinting in the sunlight, while the polish of the dust-covered furniture was dimmed. The centrepiece of the room was supposed to be a shining black, and it took Loki a minute to identify it as a Midgardian instrument – one of the biggest ones they had, if he was not mistaken.

This had to be what was called a piano. Loki wondered why Anthony would have it in his tower. Was it a normal acquisition for mortal houses? Or was it something valuable to be put on display? Unless Anthony knew how to play… Loki had only learned how to play the flute and the harp – in secret, because boys, especially princes, were supposed to do more manly things. On Ljósálfheimr though, music was precious and played by all, so his uncle Frey had found him a tutor for when he visited. That was when he was very young; from his teenage years on, magic was the only thing that interested him. And when music could be directly conjured from the mind, instruments did seem somewhat superfluous.

As he approached the instrument, Loki noticed an open book on the floor – and the floor was definitely not a place where books should be. He picked it up and blew the dust off the pages, and was met with sheets of complete gibberish. Apart from 'Minuet in G major' and 'J.S. Bach', there was not much he could comprehend; the amalgamation of dots on lines danced before his eyes as the Allspeak spell that had been bestowed upon him since birth – or perhaps after Odin found him, which was more likely – tried to make sense of this code. Stopping the spell from working required magic, so he merely closed the book and put it on the nearest surface. He could find out the meaning of these dots and lines – which he supposed were linked to music, as this seemed to be some sort of practise room – at some other time. It was not as if he had not many years to learn about Midgard's mysteries before his untimely demise.

Loki was not certain how this instrument worked, or how it should be played; he supposed it had to do with the white and black row of rectangles, as there was a stool waiting in front of them. One thing he did not doubt, though: dust was not good for any instrument in existence. He took a deep breath, and most of the filth was gone in one decent lungful, but he blew one more time just to make sure anyway. Particles filled the air in a dry-tasting cloud, and Loki waited for it to settle before inhaling again.

He pressed down one of the white blocks, and a clear note rung true in the damaged room and out the window. He was surprised at the ease with which each block struck another pitch, at how the lightest stroke gave off a light, soothing sound while more force brought an angrily shouted note. Loki swept his gaze over all the blocks, and counted fifty-two white ones. It seemed every white block was a different note, which meant this instrument had a very large range, and if they could be played at the same time… He struck several at once, and a discordant cacophony chimed in the air. How interesting! As for the black, shorter blocks – he pressed one – yes, thirty-six semitones to add to that… This was truly a magnificent invention! He would certainly try to learn how to play this 'piano' instrument some time.

Loki returned to the corridor, and wondered which way to go. He could continue exploring on his own, with the risk of meeting one of the other guests that he would prefer not to see anytime soon. Other guests… Perhaps he should start thinking 'guests' instead of 'other guests'. If he listened to everything he had ever been told, and Anthony and him were one, then this tower, Anthony's home, was Loki's as well. And everything of Loki's that was left on Asgard and hidden elsewhere in the Nine Realms was Anthony's as well. There was nothing either of them could truly call theirs and only theirs anymore; the mere thought left a nasty taste on his tongue. Perhaps if he failed to remind his soulmate of this, he could pretend he was still free. Pretend that half of his soul, and therefore half of himself, did not belong on this vast strange Realm full of weak-bodied people that rushed about their short-lived lives. Loki was good at pretending, but he was not so talented when it came to fooling himself. His sigh was long and heartfelt.

"Jarvis. Could you tell me where may I find the books Anthony mentioned?"

"Of course, Mr Friggason. Let me lead you to the room that is to function as a library."

Loki followed the voice's instruction, and arrived in a room with a sofa, armchairs, low table and shelves upon shelves upon shelves. Empty shelves. There was not even one book in the whole room. Both anger and disappointment filled him: his soulmate – and his faceless servant — were mocking him. Somehow Anthony must have found out about Loki's love for books, and he was taunting him with their absence. Not that he wasn't used to it; reading instead of fighting was not a very manly thing to do, so he had been laughed at often enough to ignore it. He had just hoped that this Realm was more forgiving.

"Sir has not yet had time to buy the books that are to fill this room, and as he has decided to do it all in person instead of letting me order said books, I do not expect it to happen soon. There is, however, a Stark Industries prototype e-reader on the coffee table, with in it almost every e-book in existence."

Loki frowned. "Ee book?"

"A book in electronic form. If you would please pick up the e-reader."

Loki walked over to the sofa and sat down on the edge of it. He observed the flat, silver-coloured device before tentatively lifting it. The previously black screen flared to life, yet it stayed dim, not giving off any light of its own. A text had appeared, which probably represented the page of a book, and Loki's eye caught the words 'detective', 'murdered' and 'violin', and wondered what sort of strange book this came from.

"If you swipe your finger down the screen, the selection menu will appear. The books are arranged by genre, and most of them are in the fiction department." Right. Fiction. Writing stories that are completely made up, for no other reason but to entertain. That was not something that was done on Asgard; Loki had almost forgotten that creativity was mortals' strong suit. "There is also a search function, and as you probably do not know what to look for, I would recommend asking me what the genres entail, and I will tell you which books you might want to try."

"How many books are on this… device?"

"E-reader. There are millions of books on it."

"Millions? How could a mortal ever read so many books?"

"They cannot. Theoretically, if an avid reader lived long enough, they might read about seven thousand books."

Seven thousand? Loki had already read so many, many more. "Then why are there so many? Why write so many books if you could never read them?"

"It is one of the great mysteries of human life."

Loki frowned down at the electronic book library, unfamiliar names like 'science fiction' – was it the science of fiction, or fiction about science? – or 'fantasy' – wasn't fiction always a fantasy? How was that title supposed to help? – mixed with things like 'romance' – ugh, no thank you, he did not need a reminder of the lack of love in his life. Each category was in a differently coloured box, and staring at them too long made Loki's eyes water.

"Jarvis, how many books have you read?"

The voice did not respond for a long moment, and Loki looked up towards the corners of the room he had heard it coming from.

"I have read every e-book in existence, or none of them. It depends on how you would define 'reading'."

Loki frowned. Jarvis was definitely not a mortal sitting in some room and watching him remotely; Loki wondered what Jarvis was, exactly. "I would define reading as seeing and understanding what is inside a book."

"Then I have read every digitalised book in existence. In existence on Earth, that is."

"I see." He paused, pondering if he should simply make his query directly. Oh, why not! "Jarvis, what are you?"

"I had wondered how long it would take you to ask me that, Mr Friggason." Loki would have sworn he could hear a smile in those words. "I am Jarvis: Just A Rather Very Intelligent System." It took Loki a second to muddle through that very silly statement and realise that it was not 'Jarvis' but 'J.A.R.V.I.S.'; the name was an acronym. "I am an A.I., an Artificial Intelligence, and, in essence, a highly advanced computer program created by Sir. You could say that Sir is my father, in a way. Although I am definitely the more mature and responsible person in the family."

Somehow Loki had no difficulty believing that. Anthony seemed like one of the most reckless people he had ever met – and considering Thor was one of those people, it made Anthony very reckless indeed. And as their lives were now linked and Anthony was mortal, Loki might have to do something about that soon. If he found a way to do something about it, that was. He had never managed to convince Thor to stop being a moronic oaf and plunging head first in life-endangering quests after all.

The pause in the conversation had been long enough to assume it would not continue at the moment, and Loki was touching random categories and silly titles with the tip of his finger, when J.A.R.V.I.S.' question made his eyes leave the device and look straight ahead.

"If I may ask: what are your intentions towards Sir?"

Loki blinked in surprise, and he couldn't stop his eyebrows from slowly inching up. It was not really such a surprising question, though; soulmates had tremendous power over each other's lives, and if the first encounter with said soulmate was at opposite ends of a war, it was difficult to imagine anything good coming from it. Loki was more surprised that the question had not come earlier, considering. Though that was perhaps due to Midgard's ignorance concerning soulmates. Either way, the answer was obvious.

"Intentions? We are soulmates; there are no 'intentions' involved. I could never wish him harm, if that is what you meant – who would wish the other half of their soul harm? That would be ridiculously stupid."

"That is only partially what I meant." Loki was certain there had been a repressed sigh in there somewhere. "Yet I understand that, as you only truly met Sir yesterday, you may not have any intentions at the moment. I shall therefore postpone the question until later. Now, if you are interested, there is a book that I think would be a good introduction to human fiction. If you would please go back to the fantasy section…"

J.A.R.V.I.S. led him to an odd titled book, then another, and another, and Loki read in growing astonishment all the strange stories mortals could come up with, while a flood of second-hand feelings – annoyance, anger, frustration, a hint of sadness, mixed with the same sort of peace of mind Loki experienced when he made the air dance with magic – punctuated his reading, never letting him forget that his soulmate was moving all over the tower, doing Norns knew what.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

All afternoon, Tony went left and right, up and down, all around the tower to repair the most important damage – such as key sensors and cameras for security – and he also flew up some new window panes in an old suit to make the top floors of his tower liveable again. That way he wouldn't have to share his bed with anyone tonight. Not with his girlfriend, because he didn't have one anymore – he should have known that with his track record it would never have worked. He should have known better. He shouldn't have gotten involved with Pepper in the first place. That way she wouldn't have gotten hurt.

At least, with all the guest rooms available – even if they weren't in a very good shape, they would at least be usable – he wouldn't have to share his bed with Loki. There was too much connotation in 'sharing a bed with one's soulmate' and it made him definitely uneasy. Now, if his soulmate had been a nice, curvy lady – preferably with blond or ginger curls, but it wasn't a must – he wouldn't have cared if she was a magic wielding alien. Okay, so maybe her voodoo would have made him uneasy anyway, but the super-strength thing would have been sexy. And scary. Which would make him uneasy too. But at least she wouldn't have been able to hurt him too much, right? Loki had said he couldn't use his powers against him. Did that include physical strength as well? Tony certainly hoped so. Huh. It looked like his only true problem with his soulmate – apart from the strong, magic using alien part, which was both horrifying and super awesome – was his sex. Or, well, the male look of it. And perhaps the mechanics, who knew. And the absence of niceness. Even though niceness would actually have bored him very soon. So, scrap the niceness. The problem was too much maleness.

Geez, why the hell was he even thinking about this? Loki and him were never going to— No. They're being soulmates only made them roommates. Well, not roommates, but towermates. It wasn't as if they really needed to be friends or anything. Tony didn't really do friends anyway. Rhodey and Pepper – maybe not even Pepper now – were about the only friends he had. They were an exception. He had many more non-friends. And, well, now it looked like he had colleagues. More or less friendly colleagues. And a soulmate he didn't know what to do with, or in which category he belonged. Probably none of the above. The exception to all rules. Loki definitely looked like an exception. This was all so annoying!

Tony just finished applying an interior joint to the last guest room window, when his stomach rumbled. The light was dwindling outside, and if there had been some sort of communal dinner, he'd missed it for sure. Not that he minded that. It was easier to pretend that his tower had not been invaded overnight by hostile aliens, not-so-hostile aliens, and the weirdest people humanity could muster alike. If he was lucky, the kitchen would be empty, but the fridge still full enough with leftovers.

He walked out the door, Dum-E entering the room the moment he left, probably to clean the glass-strewn floor, and made his way towards food. He hadn't noticed how hungry he had gotten before, when he worked on the mindless task of repairing electronics, but after flying around with stupid windows – that wasn't what his suit was meant for! – and walking all over the place to seal them to the walls had reminded his body of his still aching limbs and lack of energy. He hadn't even drunk any coffee since brunch! That was pretty much blasphemy in Tony's book!

When he arrived at the kitchen counter, his beautifully automated coffee-machine had a fresh cup ready, and he picked it up to gulp down the scorching liquid that came straight out of heaven. He spotted an abandoned pretzel and stuffed almost half of it in his mouth to shut his clamouring stomach up. No one would miss that, would they? People shouldn't leave food lying around like that. Food was meant to be eaten. Tony was always happy to oblige.

Tony had his head in the fridge and his hand on a large box of pasta of some sort, when a thought occurred to him; even if others had maybe had a joint dinner – and even if they had eaten on their own – Tony doubted Loki had come down for it. He contemplated asking J.A.R.V.I.S., when he realised he didn't have to. He already knew Loki hadn't been in the kitchen; Loki hadn't moved all afternoon. While he worked, his soulmate's location had shined in his mind like a tiny beacon, as if trying to show him he was never alone. So Loki hadn't eaten, and that wouldn't do; he could still be recovering from the whole magic-zapping thing.

Tony made up his mind, and grabbed a couple of boxes that he could shove in the microwave. He took the lid half off the first and put it inside to warm, while he hunted down some cutlery and glasses – it took him a couple of tries to find the right cupboard and drawer. There was some sort of bottled mineral water in the fridge door, so that should be okay for Loki at least. Tony would prefer something else, like wine, or even soda, or coffee, but he had no idea how Loki thought about those things, so… Water was the easy way out. He was already forcing carbonara on Loki, and what if he didn't like it? Better go neutral with the drink at least.

The microwave beeped, and he exchanged the warm food with the cold, and started it up again. Now the question was, how was he going to bring up the food? He could theoretically find a way to hold all this at the same time; the boxes on top of each other in one hand, the glasses imbricated in one another, and the cutlery, together in the other hand, and the bottle under his arm. Or, he could ask J.A.R.V.' if there was a tray somewhere around here. Or – he was such an idiot – he could ask Loki to come down. Then they could eat where people usually ate: sitting at a table. He was losing his common sense, which meant he actually needed more sleep than he had expected. Maybe he was getting a bit old for alien invasions… Nah, you could never be too old to be Iron Man!

Tony was about to open his mouth and ask J.A.R.V.I.S. to tell Loki to get his arse down here – as an exact quote, not as a posh translation – when he sensed annoyance mixed with amusement, and then he felt Loki's position change. It looked like he was on the move. Maybe he was even getting down here; he was going in the general direction of the main stairs and elevator after all. Tony waited until he knew Loki was on the same floor as him. Yes, definitely getting closer by the second. Maybe Loki had finally gotten hungry too.

Loki appeared in the doorway, and stopped. Arms crossed, he lifted an eyebrow and said: "You called?"

Tony was pretty sure his eyebrows were becoming one with his hairline. "What? No I didn't! I didn't say anything. I mean, sure, I was about to tell J.A.R.V.I.S. to tell you to come down, but I never got around to— Wait a sec! Don't tell me you read my thoughts or something!"

Well, well, well! It looks like that soul bond is coming along nicely XD

Spread the Luv!

LL