Title: Dance a Little Dance
Chapter Seven: Who's The Cat, Who's The Mouse?
Word Count: 3,945
[Total Word Count: 31,664]
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Eventual FrostIron/IronFrost, if we can get there in one piece.
Warning: Language, Nine Realms politics, conference delegates, drinking
Spoilers: Incorporates everything in the main storyline up to the ending of "Thor: The Dark World". Definitely nothing from "Winter Soldier" or "Age of Ultron". Also, Tony still has the shrapnel, electromagnet and arc reactor in his chest.
Author: Kisnau a.k.a. Kita Kitsune
Date: Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Miscellaneous Notes: Sorry for the two-month wait since the last chapter – moving and job-hunting and getting used to a new city, oh my! Not to mention acting auditions and still needing to sign up for healthcare now that I'm back in the US… Eep!

This chapter was basically done on June 21st (Happy Belated Father's Day!) except for two paragraphs; the latter of which is why I didn't post it until now. Won't have time to post it on the 11th, either, so – here you go! Thank you so much for reading, commenting (if you're into that sort of thing) and being patient with me! :3

From somewhere, there's music. Tony can't be sure where it's coming from, but it's vaguely Scandinavian with something else added to it. A servant keeps refilling his goblet as they work through the various courses of the meal, and then there's no more food as everyone talks and digests. Tony notices some people get up and start to mingle, at this point, but the world beyond the high tables is starting to blur.

He had talked with Ryok for a while (when they still had food), until Brokkr joined in their conversation when it started to turn towards how Muspelheim had made Ryok's clothing. She stated, rather glibly, that it was a garment that trapped the heat in which it had been forged, insulating her and her sister from the colder temperatures of the other realms, to keep them comfortable. Then Brokkr brought up some interesting stuff about how they make things in Nidavallir; melding magic and metal. He was a swarthy guy, with a bristly black beard and a barrel chest. Nevermind the fact he was a head shorter than Tony; Tony's pretty sure Brokkr could bend him over backwards and snap his spine if he was ever so inclined.

Tony's pretty sure there was an invitation in there, somewhere, since Tony's mind never shuts off from engineering and he'd shared some information about the ways that Earth builds things. Brokkr had been fascinated by the idea of Tony's Iron Man suit, and while Tony had flat-out admitted some things just wouldn't 'work' without Earth technology, he was definitely up for some collaboration. So Brokkr had invited him to Nidavallir, sometime after the conference. Tony was all for it, but he had a sneaking suspicion there were more politics involved than met the eye, so he didn't commit himself, entirely.

When everyone stood and began to mingle, Tony's balance wasn't doing the best. Clint immediately approached him from where he was sitting in front of him, frowning. He indicated a spot off to the side with a tilt of his head before starting to walk, and Tony followed after. Hidden by the curtains off to the side of the throne, Clint eyed him appraisingly.

"Dude, are you drunk already?" Tony just grinned at him, leaning heavily on a column holding up the ceiling.

"You'rrrre jussst jealous I'm having such a good time with these aliens, ol' buddy." Tony slurred. He wasn't really that drunk (and had a hell of a tolerance), but it was fun to see Clint's face darken as he leaned in. Also, maybe the something-alcoholic he'd had to drink was a bit strong for Tony to have been gulping it down like he had.

"Tony, these guys are alien royalty. You think it's a good idea to give the impression Earth's just a bunch of drunkards?"

"But lookit Thor! He's doing it, too!" They both glanced back to the high tables and, sure enough, Thor's face was flushed and he was booming his words with more gusto that usual; most of it directed at Daggry sitting to his side, who was bearing it all with what looked like an indulgent smile.

"He's the Crown Prince and it's a feast in his home! Of course he can get away with it!" Clint hissed at him, grabbing Tony's shirt in the middle with his fist and shaking him. "What would Steve say? Or Natasha? You're representing Earth, you idiot, you can't just – "

"Is there a problem?" A smooth voice cut into their argument, and Tony blinked vaguely towards the three Lokis that ducked into the curtains of their little alcove; smiling, cool and poised. Clint frowned at him, but before he could respond Tony gushed.

"Lokes! Darling, I'd been wondering when you'd start speaking to me again – " Clint slapped a hand over Tony's mouth as one of Loki's eyebrows quirked.

"He's drunk." Clint supplied, but not without a touch of frost, and Loki's smile turned a tad amused.

"I see. Sadly, the feast is not over yet. After the period to socialize is over, there is dessert laid out in a buffet, and then the tables are moved to allow dancing." Tony's grin stretched out from behind Clint's hand.

"Really? You guys are into that?" Loki's expression was sweet and harmless, as he nodded.

"Of course. I would not recommend retiring early." Loki added, offhandedly, as he turned to leave.

"Why not?" Clint sounded tense. Loki glanced back at him with one eye, still poised to stride back out into the Great Hall.

"It may indicate weakness." Loki offered, coolly, with just a spark of malice in his eye. "To hide one who is drunk is to indicate one is ashamed and that such a loss of control is seen as unfavorable in your culture. The AllFather allows Thor to celebrate as he will, and does not chastise him, and so it is seen as he is proud of Thor's merrymaking. It is not hurting anyone, after all, although it is rather loud." Loki tilted his head, watching Tony and Clint shrewdly. "It is Asgard's custom to offer food and drink in copious amounts, so their guests feel welcome. Further, the First Delegates are permitted more leeway in their behavior than the Second Delegates – that would be you, Sir Bartonson – as they do not rank as high. If such an occasion occurs when a First Delegate needs to be tended, it is far better someone from their own realm takes up the mantle of caregiver than risk a diplomatic faux pas, yes?"

Tony didn't understand most of that, but Loki had said it all very sweetly and Tony really couldn't help but just watch his lips as they moved. He remembered those lips; or, he thought he did. He remembered Loki – tall, female Loki – wrapping herself around him and dancing with him and…

Tony's eyes glazed over as Clint growled something.

"So you mean I'm supposed to be his fucking nursemaid if he collapses?" Loki simply smirked at him, turning to lift the curtain away from his face as he left.

"It is up to you, Sir Bartonson. Do have an enjoyable evening." Clint grumbled something, but grabbed Tony's arm and glared at him, anyway.

"Nothing more to drink, OK? If we're gonna be here for a few more hours, I'm not just watching as you get smashed." Tony grinned loopily at him, saluting.

"Ayeaye, cap'ain!" Clint just looked unhappy at that comparison with Steve, but didn't try to stop Tony as he wandered back towards his seat. Years of drinking had given him a good-enough tolerance that he's not as drunk as he could be, but yeah, it was probably time to stop with the hard stuff. He finished what was in his goblet, and when the servant scurried over to refill, Tony put his hand over the top and put in a request.

"Just water, from now on, bub." The servant looked confused, but Ryok had apparently heard Tony and understood, and relayed the message. Understanding cleared the servant's face and he nodded hastily, scampering off to presumably get a different pitcher. Tony looked at Ryok, surprised at the help.

"Hey, thanks." She regarded him with an unimpressed look; Tony was starting to think that was her default expression.

"Asgard's drinks are not to my taste. I cannot blame you for thinking the same." Tony thought about correcting her assumption, but instead just shrugged.

"You have that All-Speak spell, right? What's it like?" He asked, curiously. Ryok simply gazed at him, unreadable.

"Perhaps you should talk to Prince Loki or one of the princesses from Vanaheim. I must do the same. Favoritism is a dangerous game to play, with these realms." At that, Ryok stood up and made her way back behind Tony, and Hela, and Thor, and… Daggry? … to approach Hagl on the other end of the table. Tony blinked, and noticed they didn't touch, although Hagl did rise to greet her, and they launched into a quiet conversation. Thor seemed to notice, and pretty soon he was squeezing his way past Tony to approach Brokkr, although Tony noticed Thor didn't take Ryok's free seat.

Politics. Right.

Shrugging to himself, Tony got up and made his way over to Daggry, grinning charmingly down at her when she peered up at him. After a moment, she rose unhurriedly to greet him.

"So, I was wondering about that All-Speak spell…"

Sure enough, sometime after everybody had talked to everybody else at their respective tables and rotated around a bit, Odin announced the final course of the meal, and they all sat down in their seats again. As Loki had said, there was a buffet laid out – only for the lower tables, though. For the high tables, they were each given plates and servants came around to offer them dessert-type stuff on trays. Tony took anything that looked like it hadn't been walking around at some point. They were all small things to nibble at, most of them sweet, and apparently there was a special drink served with them. It reminded Tony of unsweetened hot tea (just because he didn't like tea didn't mean he hadn't tried it, at some point), but it wasn't alcoholic and he guessed it was supposed to 'cleanse the palate' or whatever, so he just went with it.

When the people at the lesser tables down below began to move their tables to the side, Tony glanced excitedly towards Thor.

"This is the part where we get to dance, right?" Thor spared him a wide beam, cheeks rosy from alcohol (and maybe Tony was just a little bit jealous of that).

"Verily!" Tony's face lit up – not even a security detail, sweet! – but his thoughts of seriously getting it on with some alien babes were dashed when Odin announced he would leave the young to their merrymaking. Since the king was leaving, it was pretty much implied anyone else could, too. Tony already knew Clint would want to ruin his fun, so a few seconds after Odin left he stood and headed in the same direction. He'd loop back and sneak onto the dancefloor later.

Or that's what he meant to do, anyway; Odin was standing there when Tony walked through the curtains at the side of the throne, and he immediately froze when Odin turned to him.

"Oh… Hey! Didn't know you were still back here?" Odin gazed at him, assessingly, before inclining his head towards him.

"I trust you enjoyed the feast." Odin offered simply, his one eye boring into Tony. Tony quirked a hasty grin, and gave a thumbs up.

"Uh. Yeah. Great party, paps. Good food, fabulous company; it all works." Odin watches him for another moment, before looking back towards the high tables. Most of the delegates are gone – Clint included, presumably to the dancefloor, which so isn't fair – except for Thor and Loki. Thor seemed to be trying to convince Loki to stay and 'partake in the merriment' (Tony heard that much), but Loki was only shaking his head at him and turning to leave. He disappeared into the curtains on the other side of the throne, and Tony watched him go.

"You have been watching Loki." It wasn't a question, and Tony started, wide eyes locking back on Odin, whose face was unreadable.

"Uh, wha – Well, yeah, I mean, he sort of tried to invade Earth and set up a portal on my roof." Tony managed to snark back, still feeling a bit caught off-guard with Odin's abrupt observation. Odin's eye narrowed at him.

"It is more than that." Tony watches Odin watch him, and has the distinct impression he'll soon be asked to follow him somewhere. But it doesn't happen; Odin just turns after a long, tense silence and strides away. Tony lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd held, and a servant appears at his side. He gives her a half-smile as she offers to take him to his room.

"Man of Iron, are you well?" It's Thor's voice and Thor's hand clapping on his shoulder, and Tony manages a weak grin towards his friend's concerned face.

"Think I'm done for the night, buddy. You and Clint stay; tell him he can enjoy himself without having to mother-hen me all night." He waves off Thor's furrowed brow of confusion, ducks out from under his arm and walks towards the maid. She bows and turns towards the hall to escort him to his room.

Tony falls onto his bed and immediately into sleep.

The only reason Tony is aware of the shift from buzzed, dreamless sleep to abrupt activity is because one second, he's drifting between REM cycles and the next there's something shining in his face and he can't move. The source of the light tilts and fractures, then, blowing up into something he never could have predicted.

He can feel every inch of his surroundings, like he's actually there. The couch in his rebuilt home in Malibu – no, wait, this isn't his style, too old-world for him, but it's where his couch usually is – beneath him as he pushes himself up. Everything feels over-saturated; the brights too white, the darks too black, all of them contrasting painfully. The light is streaming in the windows and spreading rays over the person standing before him, and as the colors begin to settle towards something like normalcy Tony can read their expression.

Loki is staring at him with that closed-off face, and it's all Tony can do just to keep breathing.

There's a multitude of anger and sadness and madness and yes, even affection, behind that look, but Loki won't let it out. Tony is abruptly aware that he's trying not to let himself go into a straight-on panic attack and all Loki says to him is:

"Well, what will you do?" And Tony snaps back at him, petty as you please, but not knowing why –

"Why aren't you doing anything? This is your fault!"

"And how is it my fault, exactly?"

"You kept pushing! You know I don't like to talk about – about – "

"The fact you now know just how utterly pointless your mortal existence truly is?" That's Loki's bastard tone, Tony knows it, has heard it before, but it hasn't been leveled (seriously) at him in so long he'd nearly forgotten that about Loki. Forgotten that the person he loves – wait, what the fuck? – is just as capable of great cruelty as he is great generosity – to a few selected people, that is. Tony was pretty sure he was in that minority.

Except for now, when there's nothing but ice in Loki's eyes and expression towards him. It's not even cliché, not chilly in an aggressive way, just coolly removed from all caring. And Tony knows that's bullshit, he knows there's so much more behind that mask, but Loki isn't giving up any of it.

But Tony spits out the first thing he can think of; he's feeling hot and panicky enough to let it slip.

"You're an asshole." It's not said as it is usually; with grudging affection, or some sort of twisted admiration, or half-laughed out of delighted surprise at being caught off-guard with the callousness of something Loki just says out of the blue with complete nonchalance.

Now it's just anger. Tony's over here, freaking out because Loki just had to keep pushing to talk about the Chitauri and New York and Tony doesn't know if it's Loki giving in to boredom and just deciding to play with him like Tony's a toy on a string or if it goes deeper, more sinister than that. It's bad enough just thinking Loki's already bored of him, but he doesn't think about that. Instead he's focusing on repressing the urge to punch Loki in his face, if only to startle him out of his forced apathy.

Tony knows Loki cares. He probably just doesn't know what to do. Something shifts in Loki's expression and Tony's hackles go up again.

"What do you want me to do." It's stated matter-of-factly; Tony knows it cost Loki to ask that.

Still. Tony's already upset, and the anxiety clutching his throat shut doesn't let him focus on Loki's feelings right about now. Tony can notice it, but his body is reacting more than his brain and so it doesn't get acted upon.

"Something! Anything! Instead of just sitting there doing nothing!" Tony practically snarls that response back, curling psychologically in on himself so as not to allow any more room for Loki to hurt him. Loki's expression goes back to non-reacting ice and his tone is chilly once more, when he speaks.

"What will you do?" It's bordering on curious, or Tony thinks it is and he snaps back at Loki for the patronization he feels is going on, now.

"Well, I guess I'll just die!" Fed up, he turns his back on Loki and curls into his chair, arms caging in his head. The darkness helps, and Tony closes his eyes and tries to just focus on his breathing. It's fast and erratic, and he's upset so it keeps getting faster. Tony tries to let it be for a bit, let it do what it wants in hopes that it'll calm him down to let the stress out. When he notices he's on the urge of hyperventilating Tony forces himself to hold his breath; keep it in so he doesn't end up sending himself into an even worse panic attack. Throughout all of this he's half-hoping Loki will come up behind him and hold him. It's a stupid want – a stupid need, maybe, if he admits it to himself but –

So much of Tony's life has been alone, he's never actually broken down in front of someone if he could help it. There was that kid in Tennessee who helped him, sure, but that was different; kids are different. And here he is, full-on panicking right in front of Loki's nose, vision blurry and throat a vice and all the guy can do is stare at him and ask Tony what Tony wants Loki to do. And maybe if Tony were a little more in control of himself he could take pity on Loki's shit social skills when it comes to being genuine and ask for a hug, or maybe if he weren't so proud it'd come out easier, but the point is it doesn't and all the question does is set him off at being more annoyed at Loki for not just knowing to come the hell over and hold me goddammit.

They've talked about this before; Loki should know by now. Tony knows it's probably not that Loki doesn't want to comfort him, but rather that Loki doesn't want to take the risk of being rebuffed if he tries to reach out. Loki avoids confrontation when he can; given two choices, turn left or turn right, he'll stay in place and think about his options; almost paralyzed by them.

But that doesn't change the fact that Tony freaking out not five meters away from Loki who is doing nothing about it makes Tony feel so utterly alone. It's like it doesn't even matter anymore. What's the point of a relationship if you feel alone? These self-destructive thoughts swirl in his head as they always do and Tony still can't bring himself to say anything beyond trying to control his breath.

He puts himself back together, takes ten deep breaths that were supposed to only be three, and pulls his arms down and stands up to face Loki. He doesn't look at him and it's obvious Tony's avoiding looking at him, but it's not ashamed or awkward. Tony knows his face has that steely edge to it that it gets when he's beyond fed up and just shuts down all expression because he doesn't want to deal with people.

Loki seems to sense the mood and leaves not long after that. He doesn't say a word. Tony brushes it off and goes down to his lab to tinker.

Later, when he's intently focused on some project, there's a presence at his elbow and what feels like a plate digging into his side. There's a wafted smell of food following, and when a few prods with the plate don't yield any responses, Loki speaks from just beyond Tony's peripheral vision.

"Here. Eat." Annoyed with the interruption – if Loki wanted his attention, he should have fucking done something before, not now that Tony's successfully immersed in one of his classic bouts of escapism. So when Loki floats the plate in front of his face, trying to tempt him, Tony only manages a curt dismissal, still irritated at the distraction when he's focusing on something important.

"Not now." The plate and Loki disappear, but when Tony turns to get a tool he notices the plate has been left on a stool a few feet away from his hip.

He just stares at it; not uncomprehending, but unwilling to comprehend.

He just doesn't care right now.

Tony turns back to his work and keeps tinkering.

The food goes cold.

Maybe he should feel bad about it, but he doesn't.

Maybe Loki likes being alone. Maybe that's what his non-response was supposed to mean. Tony knows he gets on Loki's nerves, sometimes; he's always talking, always cracking jokes, always commenting, always thinking. Compared to the silence Loki's used to, it's probably pretty annoying.

Tony thought it meant something.

(They meant something.)

… Well. It wouldn't be the first time he saw something that wasn't actually there.

Good thing he always has his lab; science and engineering have yet to betray him.

Tony wakes up staring at the ceiling of his room in Asgard and thinks:

What the fuck.

It had to have been a dream, but it didn't feel like a dream. Tony fell into bed, there was that ringing in his head with a bright light, he was facing Loki, and then he was staring at the ceiling. His brain wants to logic it out, but it's been operating weirdly ever since that alien portal over Stark Tower in New York.

It has to be operating weirdly, because the only explanation Tony has is magic.

But why would Loki show him something like that? What purpose could that illusion possibly serve? Sure, Tony had had some lingering… thoughts… that he had ignored, but it was all conjecture. Or had Loki just pulled that out of his head for shits and giggles?

There's a knock at his door, and Tony's up and answering it before he can think about moving.

It's an old man in a hooded cloak and walking staff. He's hunched over and Tony can't see his face. Tony's agitated enough from the not-dream that he almost yells at him, and opens his mouth to do just that.

"Your Ordeal for today is concluded." The familiarity of the voice catches him, and Tony just stares down at the gnarled form. The hand grasping the walking staff is old, decrepit and liver-spotted. "A servant shall fetch you for the Third Task." With that, Odin peers meaningfully up at him with his one good eye, before hobbling away. Tony is frozen in place, staring after him and mind racing as to what the hell he had been tested on, this time.

Whatever it was, he must have passed, if Odin didn't see fit to run him through for his failure.

… Fan-tastic. One more to go.