AN: One, Tony Stark is so much fun to write. Two, be prepared for some trope lampshading. (Does that count as breaking the fourth wall? I don't know…I mean, I think at some point superheroes would have to catch on to the fact that they all have some things in common and maybe acknowledge that fact…)

Three, I thought this was going to be the big, long chapter with most of the action, but then I realized it was too long of a chapter—I couldn't possibly write it in one sitting.

CHAPTER TEN

"We need to find out where she's placed this Apple and retrieve it, take it somewhere safe," Rogers said as the three of them hurried through the labyrinthine hallways to exit the facility. "Somewhere without people."

"Good plan. I suggest Wyoming."

"Is that far?" Thor asked.

"He's joking," Rogers said quickly, before Stark could confuse Thor further. "Wyoming is in the United States, and more importantly, it's on Earth. We need to go farther. You can travel between planets, can't you?"

"With some assistance," he said. "I'm not a sorcerer, but my brother can open up portals between worlds."

"Would this be the mentally unstable, genocidal brother that attempted to destroy an entire planet and part of New Mexico, or is there another one I'm not aware of?"

Thor scowled at the metal man. He was beginning to get distinctly annoyed by his blasé, jesting attitude towards the world. "Loki's attempted crimes were no worse than mine," he said sharply. "The only difference is that he almost succeeded. He sacrificed his life to save Asgard. My father trusts him, and I trust him."

"Good enough for me," Rogers said mildly.

"Really?" said Stark. "He must be quite a sorcerer, to remain invisible while helping us save the world. Or is he even here?"

"He's busy. He had…other matters to attend to."

Stark snorted.

Rogers stared at Thor in blatant confusion. "What could he possibly be doing that's more important than saving the world?" His eyes widened. "Oh. Of course. He's—"

"Saving his girlfriend," they all said at once. Thor and Rogers turned to give Stark a strange look.

He grimaced. "Well, I wouldn't go putting my life on the line for her or anything, but…"

Rogers grinned. "Yes, you would."

Thor fought the urge to laugh with some difficulty.

Stark looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. He tilted his head, and then shrugged. "Oh, alright, I suppose I would, given the right circumstances." He scowled at the poorly-veiled expressions on the others' faces. "Don't look at me like that. It's not like you wouldn't do the same."

"We already have," Rogers said slowly. He gestured to his clothing and to the others. "Superheroes," he pointed out.

Stark rolled his eyes. "Yes, alright, you've made your point," he snapped, and he stormed down the hall before Rogers or Thor could comment. The two of them exchanged a look of understanding, and followed their comrade with scarcely-suppressed smiles.

Loki slowed to a walk as he approached a lit corridor. He glanced at his feet every so often to ensure that the floor was clear; he couldn't afford to make any noise and alert whoever was inside to his presence.

He stepped into the lighted hallway cautiously, turning on the spot to see if anyone had noticed him. Mercifully, the entire building had been empty so far, and so it remained. He frowned. Now that he considered the matter, it was somewhat odd. He had expected Medea to detect his presence the moment he entered her home…or, at least, if she was elsewhere, to leave her lair guarded. But he had practically strolled in; he had been expecting a fight for his life from a woman powerful enough to almost transcend mortality itself with her spells and elixirs. Then there was the matter of the silence.

He hadn't heard Darcy scream since he had broken through the seal of silence. His heart thudded unevenly. Perhaps she had been tortured into unconsciousness. Or perhaps she had become permanently mute, gone mad from agony.

He mentally flinched from the thought. He couldn't imagine Darcy broken like that, hopeful and inventive as she was. She would hold on. She would find a way to cling to her sanity or avert the pain, somehow. But even the strongest grasp could not hold on forever.

He closed his eyes. I need to find her. Darcy, where are you?

And then, almost imperceptibly, he felt something—a small, sharp slice of pain up his back and a gentle tug on his hand that he would recognize anywhere. He looked down instinctively only to find that his hand was very much alone, a solitary mass of stark white against the shadows that hid from the small light overhead. He stretched his fingers experimentally, wondering if, perhaps, his mind was merely playing tricks on him, making him feel as though Darcy's fingers were weaving between his own.

He started. There it was again, this time accompanied by a much firmer yank that caught him by surprise. He staggered forward as he fought to regain his balance silently. His palm caught the wall, and leaned upon it for support.

The wall gave way.

Stunned, Loki swayed on the spot and backed away from the wall, staring wide-eyed as the smooth metal dissolved before his very eyes, rippling and flowing like water until it finally became still in the shape of a round archway.

He surged forward as though he had been pushed, propelled by intuition. He had asked where Darcy was, and somehow, some way, she had answered him. He knew she was here.

He began to run through the hallway. For some inexplicable reason, his heart pounded and his fingers felt cold. He felt afraid, as though something terrible were about to happen to Darcy. He started sprinting. Horrible thoughts began flashing in his mind—Darcy writhing in pain, Darcy crumpled in a heap on the floor like a rag doll, Darcy staring at him coldly without recognition, Darcy staring without seeing.

No, no, no, no, no…

He rounded a corner, and there she was…alive, but her lips pressed together furiously as though she wanted desperately to say something but unable to open her mouth, her bright blue eyes round as saucers, staring at him. She shook her head furiously and made a faint squeaking sound that might have been a muffled scream.

A second too late, he turned to see the rest of the room.

Before he could react, he was overcome by an intense feeling of weight. His knees gave out as every cell in his body seemed to turn to lead. He gasped weakly, struggling to breathe. He pressed his palms to the ground in a fruitless attempt to support himself, to find some solid foundation to hold on to.

The weight left him abruptly.

"Hello, Loki."

He froze. He knew that voice…and yet, he didn't. He knew the low register, the hoarseness, but he didn't know the snideness, the sharp edge that laced the voice, the bitterness. He didn't know the hate.

Loki looked up at the speaker slowly; he couldn't understand what was happening. This couldn't be right…

And yet it was. There she stood, before him: the same pale, pointed face, the same noble nose, the same curtain of brown hair that came to a widow's peak at the crown of her head. But again, there was something different about her.

She was more beautiful than he had remembered, in an eerie, ethereal sort of way. She was almost too perfect, her skin too smooth to be real, her hair too elegantly windswept to possibly be natural. He noticed distantly that her figure, too, was off—she had been skinny before, but it had been a waif-like, almost girlish fragility. Her narrow waist now tapered inward from a broader, hourglass-shaped frame.

But the whole effect was lost on him. She didn't seem beautiful. The only thing Loki could see was the look in her eyes. They were cold and icy. Not like he remembered—he had kept them in his memory as green, almost like his own, but with a perpetually adoring expression that saw him like the sun. These eyes were strangers. They were steel. They were green icicles. They weren't windows to the soul; they were windows to nowhere.

"Sigyn," he said softly. He shook his head, his eyes stinging as he struggled to understand. "Why?"