Title: broke into a thousand pieces.
Author: kyrilu/Endless-chan
Type: Fanfiction
Fandom: The Avengers (2012).
Rating: T/PG-13.
Warnings/Triggers: Underage drinking, parental neglect - Tony's father issues, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, adoption (Loki has a lot of problems coping with this issue, so expect major angst and feelings of inadequacy.)
Pairings/Characters: Loki/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Steve Rogers, Sif/Thor, Clint Barton/Phil Coulson/Natasha Romanov, Ensemble.
Author's Notes: This chapter was really, really hard to write. The characterisation is just unbelievably difficult to pin down. Loki's got massive ISSUES.
"Hey, you drew these?"
Steve's eyes widen. "Pepper, I told you not to look!"
"They're good, Steve," Pepper says. Her fingers card through the crinkled notebook paper. This fragment is the mast and sale of Captain Hook's prop ship that Steve saw during the rehearsal; this blurred sketch of lines is a cat standing on the windowsill (labeled Bucky in neat, blocky letters); this-
"Oh," Pepper says. There's her, sitting in a darkened theater with an exasperated smile on her face. It's sketched in pencil, but there's a smudge of red on her drawn counterpart's hair. "It's brilliant, Steve." She flips the page over. "You did Tony!" she laughs.
Steve ducks his head. "I like drawing. You're a great model - just really pretty ...y-yeah. And, well, I can tell why Tony's in the acting business. He has a very expressive face, y'know?"
"Mind if I borrow this?" Pepper asks gently, turning back and forth from her face to Tony's face: in this sketch, he's pouting, sunglasses masking his eyes. "I'd like to maybe photocopy this for myself. And show Tony his picture, of course."
"You can keep it. It's fine - it's a picture of you, Pep."
"Are you taking an art class?"
"Next year," Steve says. "There wasn't room this year, since I just moved."
"You're brilliant," Pepper repeats again. She pauses, and considers Steve's previous words. "Oh, and by the way: you're really pretty, too."
Steve sneaks a look at Pepper's face - that silly boy, is he trying to see if she's teasing or not? "Thanks," he seems to decide to say.
"'Course," she says cheerfully, and they both grin at each other like maniacs.
"Tony, you're a child." Pepper tiptoes up to stick the red feather in the green cap. "I can't believe you didn't see this drop."
Tony crosses his arms. "It's a feather, Pepper. I'm not going to be paying attention at the littlest details."
"It's part of your costume."
"Just go, get ready," Pepper says, pushing him to the dressing room door. "Good luck, all right? Do justice to my script."
"You don't need to tell me, Pep," Tony says, smiling. "You're not going to be traditional and tell me to go break a body part of your choosing, are you?"
"Do you want me to, Anthony Stark? Go get dressed!"
"Yes, ma'am," Tony drawls, and then he's gone.
Pepper swivels around to find herself face-to-face with Loki Odinson - he, unlike a certain main character, is dressed up, his head bent over a book. "And you. Stop staring at him, will you? It's kinda obvious."
Loki looks up. "Sorry, Pepper?"
"You're attracted to Tony," Pepper says, wondering why the hell she has to spell it out to him. "Ask him out already. It's giving me a headache the way he keeps on flirting with you, and you're watching him back."
A tight smile. "You're mistaken," Loki says. "He's rather like this to everybody, I'm sure."
"Try," Pepper says. She reaches into her pocket and unfolds the sketch from earlier, holding it up to the dim stage backlights. There. There it is: Loki's face softens when he catches the shadow of Tony's face, smirk and swagger and brag. "You can have it, if you like. It's not the original; it's actually a photocopied one. The new guy - Steve Rogers - he's the one who drew it."
"Pepper-"
"Ask him," she says firmly, pressing the sketch into his hands. "And I got to go now. My date's waiting for me."
She walks away. Pepper wonders if she's doing the right thing, encouraging someone else to handle Tony: Tony, with all his baggage and arrogance and ridiculousness.
"You're here," Loki says to a blond head in the stands.
"It's your play, Loki," Thor says, and Sif eyes them cautiously at his side. "I wouldn't miss it - tonight's the premiere." He meets Loki's eyes with a piercing blue-eyed gaze.
Loki slips his hands almost casually into the pajama pockets. "Father's not here."
"He doesn't come to my game last time, Loki. You came to my match." Thor forces a jovial smile.
Father's usually there for you, Loki doesn't say. Father doesn't usually bother with me. He says, "You won. Congratulations."
"Thanks, bro. Good luck up there, okay?" He extends a knuckle. Nice of him. Brotherly.
Loki reciprocates the gesture, his own knuckles glancing awkwardly against Thor's. He pulls away quickly. "Of course."
"Good luck," Sif says, and Loki acknowledges her with a nod, wishing her good luck as well. She's probably going to pull him aside after the play, perhaps at the party. A talk, a lecture, maybe about how siblings always quarrel but they're siblings in the end. Can't choose your family.
Loki closes his eyes. Breathes.
The play starts off smoothly, for the most part. Tony doesn't depart from the script as much as he usually does - maybe there's a brief ad-lib or two, but nothing drastic. Loki plays his part - he swings from the stage wires; he balances on cardboard clock hands; he clings onto Tony when the mermaids taunt from below the plastic rocks.
It's near the middle, when the spotlights rain an array of lights at Tony and him, when it slips out. "Peter...I should like to give you a kiss." He inclines his head, hiding that wry deprecating wondering turn of his mouth from view, and the angular shadows slide his cloudy green eyes from view-
Tony responds, without even blinking, by holding his hand out.
"Don't you know what a kiss is?"
"I shall know when you give me one," Tony says, eyes reflecting Peter's childish innocence and trust and-
Loki reaches to his pocket, and detaches one of the pins that he'd been using to adjust the pajamas' length. "Here," he says, and drops it into Tony's outstretched palm.
Tony snaps a green string off his shirt and threads it through the pin; he hangs it around his neck, and the play goes on.
"What was that about, Loki?" Tony says during intermission. "You don't usually improv." He's sitting on a stool backstage, balancing his hat on his knees. The dimmed stage lights highlight the falling dust mites around them, framing their shadows - they're the only ones here right now. The rest of the theatre department's outside psyching themselves up or mingling with the audience.
"Not going to join your friends, Stark?" Loki says, not glancing up from his book. His fingers brush across the paragraphs as he reads, and they're shaking a little.
"Not now. It looks like you're not, either - how about Thor or that tenth grader you invited to my party? And I asked you a question."
"Not now," Loki echoes mockingly.
Tony frowns. "Just wondering what the hell you're doing, is all. Is everything okay? You seem a bit - I don't know - off today."
"Everything's fine, Stark."
"Tony."
Loki shakes his head, an almost imperceptible movement. "Thank you for not breaking character due to my unfortunate deviation. I apologize."
"You don't need to apologize - I'm used to straying off-script myself," Tony says, huffing a breath. "It's my job."
Loki says, "I know. I still did something that may have ruined the play. Mostly, I suppose, I'm surprised that you have watched the live action Peter Pan movie." Loki smiles, a crooked twist, as he tries to steer the conversation into a lighter subject.
"Research, Loki. Research. How do you think we should solve the pin situation, then? This belongs to you and always will- is that how it goes?" Tony furrows his eyebrows.
"Isn't that before-"
"A kiss, yep. I think my cheek would be enough. Peter and Windy are kids, after all."
"...Okay. Yes." Loki's hand goes to the bookmark marking his page, the sketch that Pepper had given him earlier. He feels like-
Like Father.
"I have to go," he tells Tony, and he runs to the bathroom and leans over the toilet, and retches, dry heaves tumbling out from his throat.