Here we go, the second 'half' of what was originally chapter 2…..again, thank you all so much for staying with this story, and for all of your feedback! This section was a moody little arse to edit, hence why I didn't get it up last night after all, so if anyone spies any glaring issues, please let me know!
Also: It was pointed out that I was only using single apostrophes for speech, whereas I really should have been using quotation marks – rookie mistake! I've fixed this now, sorry for any confusion anyone else might have experienced!
Oh, and I should probably start adding disclaimers: These characters are not mine, nor are any props mentioned, or Stark Tower.
Chapter 3. Interrogation.
Outside, the battle was raging on. Chitauri monsters were swooping through the air at an alarming rate, admittedly followed closely by the elegant and deadly traction of one of the Hawk's infamous arrows, yet still hell bent on annihilating everything in sight. The explosions were less noticeable, but only due to the fact that there was now more rubble and more fire than building, or at least this was the case at the angle Tony could see. He was backed into a corner of the penthouse, perched on a bar stool, and only a metre away from the imposing figure in leather that cut an impressive view against the sleek slate tiles on the wall behind where he was standing.
Tony said as much.
''Asgardian Splash – I like it. Very regal. Might have to get Pepper to organise a paint job in here''. He knew he was on very thin ground, knew that Loki was probably one burst vein in his temple away from flattening the entirety of Stark Tower, with Tony in it. However, this is what Tony thrived on, this is what made him tick – always getting the last word, the cleverest word. Always outsmarting his opponent. Always having the funniest joke, the driest humour. Always winning the verbal war. He got a kick out of tantalizing his teammates with his intelligence for Christ's sake; he sure as hell was going to enjoy bartering with Loki.
Besides, his life probably depended on it. Tony was nothing if not perceptive, and he knew where the lines lay. He crossed them, yes, but he crossed them on his own terms. He knew how far to push. He knew how to size up his competition. With Loki, it was like sparring with a loaded missile. He could blow at any time. He was the perfect adversary; matching Tony (loathe as he was to admit it) in perspicacity, wit and pride. Tony had known exactly what he was dealing with ever since he correctly guessed that Loki would use Stark Tower as his base in about 5 seconds flat. He could have been describing himself back then, and he could pretty much be sitting opposite himself now. You know. A few centuries, anger management issues, tortured past events and couple of inches aside.
Tortured past events.
There it was, the other side to Loki that (as Tony was acutely aware) cemented their similarities even further, but this thought was something that he pushed out immediately, before he could properly acknowledge it or what it might mean.
''I am not playing games with you, crude and impertinent mortal'' Loki snarled, his whole face filling with loathing and impatience.
''So it's 'Stark' or 'Mortal' is it''? Tony couldn't help himself, the words just spilled out of him, ready made from years of relying on his quick thinking brain and easy grasp of humour. ''You know, if we're getting into etymology here, I could use a little help with you. Your family tree is more dysfunctional than your attempt to attack the planet''.
Loki was physically shaking with anger, and, if it were possible, even paler than before. His jet black hair looked positively alarming against his near translucent skin; his eyes were aflame with hatred and shining with – were those tears?
Crossing the short distance between the two men and bending so his face was once again mere millimetres away from Tony's, and with a voice so quiet and full of malice it was barely discernible, Loki whispered ''You will pay for that, Man of Iron. You think yourself superior to me, you dare make jibes about my parents, my family, my past – you – you who have no family, no father, no loyalties – you – betrayed by your friends, weakest of your comrades, YOU, WHO IS NOT WORTHY!''
Loki's voice rose to a screech at this last sentence, and Tony was deafened by the force of his words, and not just the words themselves – the emotions in them too, the raw pain and anger and hurt of Loki's admission, forced out and so full of misery and anguish, crawling down Tony's ear into his head, his heart, his very soul. He knew Loki was talking about him, and that hurt enough – but he also knew instantly that most of the things Loki had said, the things he'd just hurled at Tony – they were true of himself too; Tony's previous jibe had reached the centre of all Loki's bitterness and agony with as much accuracy as Hawkeye's arrows still slicing through the air outside.
Loki stepped backwards, eyes still shining, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. His lips were shaking, and the hand holding his sceptre was jerking precariously. If it were possible, he looked madder than ever, yet at the same time – and for the first time - Tony could detect a hint of vulnerability about him, vulnerability that was different from when he first discovered the unknown power of Tony's arc reactor. Not that he knew it was an arc reactor; Loki had correctly identified that the thing was not human, but his ignorance of it's true nature was the reason Tony was still here right now, alive, breathing and in ownership of his own mind. His own mind that could now detect a hint of Loki as Thor must have once known him, back when he was still a son of Odin in Asgard, and the youngest child, quieter, more studious, physically weaker and second always to Thor – second always to Asgardians, now, since discovering his true heritage.
This glimpse into how shattered Loki appeared underneath all that leather and that silver tongue unnerved Tony, he had no experience in dealing with broken people. Except himself. He had only ever mended himself, physically and mentally, and that had taken long enough and ripped his soul apart enough. He wasn't sure what a broken Loki would entail, what he would do, who he would become – but he was sure it wouldn't be someone who he could verbally spar against. And for now, that was all Tony had. It was his only weapon, familiar, safe. Well, not safe. This was Loki after all. But it was a hell of a lot safer than trying to second guess a crazy, vengeful, schizophrenic god with daddy issues. Especially when he had enough daddy issues himself to turn him just as crazy, vengeful and (probably) schizophrenic to boot.
''Yes, correct. All correct. 7 out of 7. Excellent cognitive recognition skills –maybe you should train as a psychotherapist'' Tony retorted in a friendly, easy voice that just about managed to hide his minor internal upheaval. ''Although – two points I'd like to discuss further. The superiority thing. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but your magic can't touch my little toy, and for that I am sincerely grateful. However, this thing takes up approximately 5% of my body mass, and I wouldn't like to take any chances with the spells you could whip up for the rest of it''.
Loki's face was slowly returning to a more 'normal' pallor, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Tony still perched on his stool.
''Second thing' Tony continued, glad that they seemed to be getting back to an atmosphere that wasn't charged with bone crushing awkwardness ''the arc reactor itself. You speak of it with derision, yet this is why you're up here, pinning me down and engaging me in polite conversation instead of running around out there in the playground with your friends. You don't know what it is, what it does, and why your magic seems to hate its guts. So I guess if you want to know, you'll have to lay back on the provocations. Terribly irksome. They tend to tire one out when one has already screamed them inside ones own head for years''.
Oops. What. What was that. Tony had had no intention at all of saying that last line. It had just popped out. Heck, was he sat here whining to Loki? Was he really attempting to extract pity from the god? Or was he just pitying himself? That was not his plan at all. Whatever 'it' was, and whatever it thought it was doing, Tony admonished himself, it could get right back inside his head and stay there. He was in control here. He wasn't going to spout off to Loki. He wasn't going to tell Loki ANYTHING. If Loki wanted to air his grievances that was up to him, but he could scream and stamp on his own. Tony's trump card was the secrets of his arc reactor, and keeping it from the god required measured, calculating thought, not angsty teenage word vomits. For fucks sake, Tony, get a fucking grip.
Loki was watching him with a peculiar expression on his face, and Tony was seized by the possibility that Loki had read his mind. Hurrying forwards, Tony went on ''You know, you've already lost the war. Look around you, look outside. Your army may be powerful, but they have destroyed that which you hoped to rule. You really think anyone who's left will want the guy in charge of decimating their whole livelihoods as king? And it's not just here you have to win over. The world is big. I don't know if anyone's ever explained to you the way rule and governments and power work on Earth, but there isn't just one big guy who calls the shots''. Hey, if there was, my nomination will have gone the top of the list years ago. ''So yeah. There's no hope for you. And you know it. And you know why. There never was from the start. Coulson was right. You lack conviction. And that's why you're in here, desperate to work out my bit of hocus-pocus, because it's another thing that exposes your weakness. But unlike out there, there's only me to beat, as opposed to a whole team of – well, versions of me – and your own flawed plan''.
Tony sat back, pretty satisfied with his logic. At this rate, he was most definitely holding his own, and if Loki continued to flip out every 5 seconds like he'd been demonstrating so far, Tony had this 'interrogation' in the bag. (OK, he might be overly reliant on his belief that Loki wouldn't kill him until he had what he wanted, but that was fine). As long as he managed to keep himself in check of course. He was almost 'done a Loki' a few moments ago. Whatever his feelings may or may not have been trying to say, they could damn well shut the fuck up from now on. Tony had learnt well enough how to gloss over emotions, plaster the cracks, make the outside look OK. And he had learnt that if the outside looked OK, in time, the inside started feeling OK too.
''You have no idea. NONE. You have NO idea by what means I intend to execute my plan, what powers I have, powers that are mine to control. You question my conviction? This is misguided, and irrelevant, your precious world will give itself up long before I have time to doubt myself, and by then it will be TOO LATE. Too late for you, like it is already too late for your friends. Yes, Stark, you do – ah – intrigue me, I cannot deny it, but never think for one second that I am not still above you, that I could not stop you in your tracks, even now. Your Midguard magic might have fooled the sceptre, but it would be a fatal mistake to believe that you have fooled me. My powers go beyond the perimeters of my 'magic stick' as you so fondly put it''.
Loki's words were vicious, echoing the malevolent expression on the gods face as he drew himself up to his full height, his sceptre crackling with fierce energy and his eyes blazing. He had suffered too many slights to accept having them flung at him by a mere mortal. A mortal that had angered him more than any other, because this one was different. This one had something none of the others did. And not just the suit of iron, although Loki could see that was strong, powerful, impressive even. (For a mortal – it barely scratched the surface of his own endowment, but he recognised that its maker was among the more advanced of his own kind). The suit was a construct, and a construct alone.
But the man. This man. Tony Stark. Loki was sure he had a heart, he had to, all living beings did. But something was very, very different about the heart of Tony Stark, and whatever this thing was that was protecting it. He had heard it, humming a rhythm not unlike the pulsating of magic around his own veins. He had felt it, a barrier, a wall, separating Stark from him in a way his mind could not penetrate. Loki had heard Stark mention 'arc reactor' several times, and yet the man had told him nothing about what this thing was. Loki never had been one for patience. Stark was – and Loki was loathe to admit this – a much stronger and more slippery opponent than he anticipated, and it was doing nothing for his already barely controlled vehemence.
Stark will talk, he thought to himself. He will talk, and then he will beg and scream and plead for mercy. And he will feel pain as he has never felt before. Because I have come too far for anything else. And he has pushed me further still, with his sorely attempted japes. And I will have taken his secrets, and my army will have taken his world. And I shall end by taking his life.