Loki understood loneliness in a way few beings ever would. He had been abandoned by the world that birthed him, and betrayed by the world that raised him. That beautiful moment, hanging from the Bifrost Bridge – father holding son, brother holding brother – had brought a clarity to Loki that he had never experienced before. He had to let himself fall. He could not cling to the past that had made him a monster and then scorned him for it. But death had not been his goal when he released his grip on Gungnir and embraced the ecstasy of freefall.

Freedom – that had been his aim.

The actions he'd taken after his fall were merely those of a man on a journey to true self-discovery. He was not the hero that his station in life had dictated he be. Nor was he the villain that his heritage demanded he become. But he refused to pretend to be anything less than what he was – powerful, cunning and resolute. Letting go of all the reasons that had held him back before, he tested himself mentally, physically, and spiritually. And he found that he was so much more than anyone had given him credit for. He was done bowing to those who were not worthy of his respect.

Odin spoke true when he had said that both his sons had been born to rule. Loki knew now that no one could prevent him from becoming a king. No, not just a king, but the king. Odin could not stop him. The best of the mortal realm could not stop him. Even that foolish being from beyond the Nine Realms who had hurt Thor – who had possessed power Loki had never before encountered – not even he could stop him. Loki found a strange contentment in the realization that he was nigh on invincible. But he had no desire to rule the Nine Realms – the simple knowledge that he could was enough. For now.

Odin had never understood Loki. Loki now realized that was less of a personal fault within the man, and more of a cultural one within the people. Asgardians were transparent in their thoughts and their deeds – unable to fathom the benefits of artifice. That was why they would fear, but never truly respect, his magic. Odin truly did not understand that deceiving Loki had been akin to sinning against him – betrayal beyond comprehension. He did not realize the foolishness of wasting all of his energy trying to mold Loki into Thor – an impossible task on many levels – and then being disappointed with the results.

And Odin would never realize that in those final moments – with Thor acting as the link between them, as he always had – that Loki had been testing him. Loki's crime had been no worse than Thor's, but Odin could not see that. His voice had been tinged with pity as he denied him. Pity! Had Odin just tried to understand him, for once in his life…but he didn't. He couldn't. The poor old fool. Simply telling Loki 'no' like a bad pet, and letting him fall – never realizing that he himself had just failed the test he had been taking since he found a baby on the battlefield. And he had failed spectacularly.

Odin may have been a great king, but he was a fucking terrible excuse for a father - Thor had been an egomaniacal buffoon and Loki had nearly lost himself to the darkness.

Loki had discovered a simplicity in allowing himself to be consumed by rage. And causing fear was so very seductive. There was something about watching people run from him screaming in terror that filled him with a maniacal glee. Now that was a sign of respect. And if Loki could just cut out the parts of his psyche that felt any connection to the world around him, he would still be laughing at the weakness of others.

But he couldn't. To his chagrin, Loki still had the ability to care. About his brother. About his mother.

About his father.

It shamed him to know that, even now, he longed for Odin's approval. Just once.

When he saw Thor fall – flesh and armor torn, blood cascading to the ground in a truly staggering volume – the parts of Loki that he had deliberately silenced suddenly started screaming. This was the result if Loki continued his plan. There was no way Thor would simply let him rule, and so Loki was going to have to kill him if he wanted to win. He'd always known it would come to that eventually, but it had been a vague notion. The reality of watching his brother die was more difficult to bear. He found that he could not allow it to happen, by his own hand or by another's. Blood aside, Thor was his brother. He would save him if it were within his abilities to do so.

Loki refused to call that weakness.

But now he was back where he started. Well, almost. He couldn't go back to Asgard. And the people of this realm were now more wary of him – more afraid of him. Except now the fear was less fun. It is one thing to be alone at the top, but another to be segregated in the middle.

Even gods longed for a bit of decent conversation every once in a while.

Hence his overtures to Darcy Lewis – strange creature that she was. She feared him, obviously, but he had an odd feeling that she also liked him. And she had only seen him at his darkest. Though even she must have noticed how hard he had been trying lately. There was always going to be a part of him that wanted to destroy all the good he encountered, whether it be in the form of intentions, dreams, or deeds. But he was intelligent enough to know he could not have it all, and so he had made a choice as he had done when he let himself fall. This time, he chose not to let go of his brother.

He still missed the screaming, though. And the running. Concentrated chaos was underrated.

He needed a hobby again. Once, he had found solace in studying magic. Now there was no more for him to learn. He had tested his boundaries – what few he had – and knew his capabilities. He needed something new to occupy his time. Since he refused to completely surrender himself and spend his time protecting Midgard with his brother, he needed to find amusement elsewhere. Darcy would probably entertain him, but he was leery of spending too much time with her. It would do no good for him to become too dependent on one little mortal. And it was fun to leave her in suspense, waiting for him to pop up at any moment. Whenever he startled her, she would lose her breath and her chest would heave in a way that even a eunuch would find inspiring. Not that he would ever act upon any carnal desires the girl brought out in him. Unlike his weak brother, Loki knew the danger of the seducer becoming the seduced. He would never give anyone the ability to have that kind of power over him.

So…other options. Hmm. Jane Foster would scream when she saw him, which was a plus – but then she would call his brother, which was a definite minus. Or…damn. His pool of acquaintances on this rock were few and dull. For the first time in his life, Loki actually missed Fandral. The man had certainly known how to have a good time. He couldn't believe he was nostalgic for the good old days with the Warriors Three. They could be trying at times, but he'd enjoyed their company. For the most part. He would always think Sif was a Hydra-level bitch.

He suddenly remembered that Darcy had mentioned Stark as being a man worth a second look. He doubted it, but it had been a long time since he had played chess. Or attempted any sort of manly bonding. And Stark did seem to wield a great deal of power within this realm – which was reason enough to make nice. Or to appear to, at least. Politics and all that.

Decision made, Loki sent himself to Stark's residence. He appeared in his study and purposefully allowed the motion detector to notice him and send a siren out into the halls. He then poured himself a glass of truly excellent liquor and waited to be discovered. Security guards rushed into the room a few moments later and demanded he put his hands up. Loki tried not to laugh as he turned their guns into snakes and watched as the grown men screamed and scrambled and whimpered. Hilarious.

"Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?" Stark's voice drawled at him from the doorway.

Loki waved a hand and the serpents became weapons once more. "Because I am quite fond of them."

To his surprise, Stark just laughed and called off his guards. "Pop-culture references are gonna fly right over your head, aren't they?"

He was already annoyed. This was probably going to be a disaster. He should have known better than to take the advice of such an odd mortal. "Most likely. Though I am willing to take suggestions if there are some aspects of modern Midgardian culture that you feel I should familiarize myself with."

"Three words, my friend. Star. Wars. Trilogy. The original ones. Han shot first and I won't believe otherwise."

Loki hadn't thought it possible, but perhaps there was someone even more incomprehensible than Darcy Lewis.

"I shall look into it."

"You do that. And, by all means, help yourself to my 60 year-old scotch."

Loki looked down at the nearly empty glass in his hand, shrugged and summoned the bottle over to him for a refill. The mortal should learn never to play the sarcasm game with the God of Mischief.

Stark shook his head in disbelief. "I know you're a prince and everything, but would it kill you to pour me a glass while you're at it?"

Loki just raised an eyebrow, "Doubtful, I have never heard of anyone actually dying from bad manners."

"Right. So, are you here to assassinate me or just change all my locks? Steal my left socks? Put plastic wrap on my toilet? Or whatever Gods of Mischief do in their leisure time."

"They play chess." Loki waived a hand and a checkered board appeared on the table in front of him. "Darcy tells me you play as well."

Stark stared at him for a moment and then walked over to pour himself a glass of scotch. A big glass. Then he sat down opposite Loki and tried his best to look nonchalant. He spent his time flying around in a tin can fighting crime with the God of Thunder – this was not the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him. This wasn't even the weirdest thing that had happened to him today.

"Darcy, huh." He filed that away in his mind. "Alright, you're black I assume."

"Naturally."

Stark reached down to move the little, white pawn but jumped a bit when it suddenly moved the two spaces for him. Ok, maybe this was the weirdest thing that had happened to him today.

Loki smiled at his little jolt, "The pieces are attuned to your desires."

Stark raised a brow, "Just the pieces, or you too? I don't think it's fair to play chess with a mind-reader."

"I have no need to cheat to defeat you, Mr. Stark."

Stark took a large swig of his drink and shook his head with a bemused smile on his face. "Call me Tony."

Loki was correct – he didn't need to cheat to win. But it was a true challenge. He had never met someone who could keep up with both his stratagem and his banter. They even made tentative plans for a rematch, which Loki was genuinely looking forward to. Apparently, good scotch and a little mutual respect made for a decent beginning. Neither would dare to use the term 'friend,' but 'enemy' no longer seemed all that applicable.

Loki decided that he would stop by Darcy's residence to thank her (for the fourth time, his mind cautioned) for the suggestion that he challenge Tony. Perhaps, to show his appreciation, he would even knock first. Then again, where was the fun in that?

Later that night, Tony Stark would regret his earlier, glib words to the God of Mischief as he found himself locked out of his bedroom and wearing only one sock. And while he'd personally escaped the plastic-wrapped toilet, Tony knew that Pepper would never, never, never forgive Loki for that one.