AN: In hindsight, I should probably have a warning somewhere for profanity. There is a lot of it, and I didn't even realize ^^; oops.
Laughter was ricocheting and booming out of the tower windows with the same warmth as candelight as the Avengers, all draped over some piece of furniture and generally lacking in any sort of dignity, toasted their victory with Asgardian mead. They didn't really get how it was there – other than Loki had magicked it away from Magical Spacey Land, as Tony dubbed it – nor if it was really safe – because a drink potent enough to knock gods and super soldiers on their asses was maybe too much for mere mortals – but they didn't really care. It was sweet and hot and intoxicating, and all who drank of it were pretty far gone (except Thor, but they assumed that it would take a barrel of even this swill to get the thunderer tipsy).
"Where'd the rum go?" Clint whined, sprawled against the couch.
"Mead, my friend," Thor corrected, taking a swig of his own drink.
It was an awful lot like rum – hot and searing with an almost fruity sweetness – but Tony didn't really think that mattered to anyone present. Aside from Thor and Banner, they were all on the wasted side of sober, though Tony had more or less of a handle on himself; enough years of alcoholism may rot one's liver, but it also gave him damned good tolerance. Clint, however, was morphing slowly into sad, pleading puppy dog eyes at the sight of his empty glass and no visible refill, and that was a little more than Tony could handle.
"Take it easy, Feathers," Tony yawned, standing to stroll back to the bar where the mostly-full bottle of mead stood.
Thor's face tightened slightly at this epithet, and suddenly, the clear glass of golden liquor was very intriguing indeed. Though Tony's gaze slid briefly over this reaction as he poured two more glasses of mead, he let it go; they often teased Thor about his seemingly blind attachment to his brother, but Thor was not nearly the fool he often played, and whatever thoughts were darkening those eyes, Tony simply didn't want to know. The low rumble of distant thunder may have dissuaded him as well; there was nothing wrong with Manhattan getting the occasional rain shower, anyway.
Glancing out the window to check on those looming clouds, Tony started at a familiar shape out on the balcony. Loki was leaning against the railing in normal, guy-on-the-street clothes – and fuck if Tony hadn't gotten used to that yet; millennia-old Asgardian gods were not supposed to go about wearing jeans and t-shirts no matter how hard they tried to convince Thor – and that really shouldn't have bothered him, but Tony was still feeling a lingering guilt over the whole Loki dying saving him earlier in the day. It didn't really matter that he'd just snap-crackle-popped back to life, because Tony had been under that building listening to Loki's ribs splinter and shatter with each shift of the rubble, and he couldn't get that horrific popcorn sound out of his ears.
"Hey, Bambi – come on in and stop being so emo," he called around the door.
Loki glanced over his shoulder with faint amusement at this call, but his gaze returned to the darkened city without any reply. Just go inside. The fucker's not worth it, but Tony really couldn't get that popcorn sound out of his ears. Moseying over towards the deity, he leaned his hip against the rail and cocked an eyebrow. After a few moments of intense, eyebrow-quirked staring, Loki glanced over, and his own brow lifted to crinkle his forehead quizzically.
"I never said thanks – y'know, for keeping that building from crushing me," he explained.
A nod and Loki's gaze returned to the city.
"Thor would have my head if I let one of you die," he shrugged.
And there's the arrogant ass… Tony mused, a flicker of familiar irritation shimmying through him.
"Thor might think you're the greatest thing since JARVIS, but I doubt even he would hold you to protecting all of us all the time," he snorted.
Amusement flickered through Loki's eyes though his steady green gaze didn't shift. Either he had way better sight than Tony and was enjoying some kind of show through the windows across the street or he was just being rude – Tony wasn't really sure which was more likely.
"I killed a bilgesnipe before I was of an age to bear arms; rescuing a few mortals every now in then is hardly a stretch of my abilities," he replied dryly.
Tony started to open his mouth with some jackass response before – wait. Waait.
"Hold up. A bilgesnipe? Aren't those the things Thor has a hard time with now?" he demanded, incredulous.
Loki hummed absently, a brief nod his only real response. The guy was generally quiet – when he wasn't snarking – but Tony couldn't help wondering how many centuries back in thought he was buried tonight.
"Puh-lease. You're Thor's little brother – remember, the one who Thor still teases about being a bookworm?" Tony remarked.
There was a familiar stiffening of Loki's body, though a slow breath from the lean man caused his body to relax once more. It didn't take oversensitive Captain Spangles to recognize a sore spot.
"Of course," the god replied evenly.
Silence reigned for a few more moments as Tony scrutinized Loki's face and tried to gauge whether or not he was lying. Of course, he's lying. He's the fucking God of Lies. It took way too much focus to keep his eyes from flicking down to where, in his suit, the database would be. Instead, he scrunched his eyes shut and tried to remember everything he'd ever read or heard about Loki as well as his own experience fighting with – and against – the god.
"You really killed one when you were a little kid?" he finally asked.
"It was threatening Thor," Loki shrugged.
Tony didn't bother stifling his laughter at that, because of course Thor's crazy little brother would be able to kill some horrific beast out of some insane brotherly protectiveness. It wasn't like Loki himself had tried to kill Thor a dozen times at least. Loki scowled plainly at Tony's mirth.
"How old were you?" he asked, "Just out of curiosity."
A low humming again sounded as Loki undoubtedly ran the calculations through his mind.
"About the equivalent of a Midgardian seven year old or so; it's hard to be exact," he offered after a minute or so.
"Seven?" Tony breathed, "Fuck. So you really weren't trying with the whole alien invasion thing, were you?"
"Mmm. No," Loki replied, "I'm not sure I've 'really tried' with much recently. Aside from kil-"
He cut himself off abruptly, jaw clenching as he let his fingers fiddle with themselves. Tony stared, sifting through the possible endings to that sentence – 'killing people'? 'kilt wearing'? 'kiln fired pottery'? Somehow, he was pretty sure that the first was the most accurate though he couldn't keep the image of a thoroughly Scottish Loki dancing through his mind. Maybe Thor…
"So, what can you do now?" he inquired instead of pressing for the end to that sentence.
It was no hidden fact that Tony was terrible at empathy, and anyway, fact gathering on a potential future enemy was far more worthwhile than trying to get answers out of the Trickster. Anyway, if Loki had that much power as a little kid, there was no telling how much of a help – or danger – he could be now.
Unfortunately, the Asgardian wasn't feeling overly helpful; he gave another shrug and was quiet for a bit longer. Tony was just getting ready to leave with some witty comment apropos of nothing, when Loki finally spoke.
"I…bound most of my magic away," he explained cautiously, "so experimenting…hasn't exactly been an option."
Bound?
"You what?" Tony demanded.
Loki's green glaze flitted briefly to the mechanic's face, and Tony was startled by the brief rawness of his expression. Doubt, fear, hatred, hope – all of them raced across his pale features in a rush almost too fast to be read. There was only a fraction of a moment for Tony to realize that he maybe (really) should have just gone back with the mead and not popped out here for an undoubtedly disturbing 'heart-to-heart.'
"There are…certain prophecies that I will more or less bring about the destruction of all nine realms," Loki started in a too-even tone, "That I will be the helmsmen of Nilheim's ships to bring ruin to the Realm Eternal and any good man who stands in our way. Suffice it to say, I have no desire for those prophecies to become reality."
Holy jesusfuck. Well, that was one way to tell someone that you could kick their ass – probably while in a coma with both hands cut off.
"To be fair, I need my hands to direct my seidr," Loki chuckled with a thin smirk, and Tony winced as he realized he'd said that last bit aloud.
"Haha. Yeah. Okay. So you can like destroy everything," Tony laughed – and if it was a little manic, well he'd just found out that maybe Thor's 'weaker little brother' was not quite what they thought.
"Presumably," Loki agreed.
"And Thor? Does he…?" Tony queried, passing a glass to Loki so he had a free hand to run back through his hair.
"…sort of," Loki started uncertainly, "He has the basic idea of seidr and knows well the prophecies, but he does not quite comprehend the vagaries in dealing with magic."
"So he knows you're supposed to cause the apocalypse but he didn't get that taking over Earth was just like taking a nap?" Tony demanded, not even bothering to hide his disbelief.
The god had fallen quiet again, and Tony realized with no small amount of surprise that Loki had actually been talking. Not just in his brief, courteous way generally reserved for the Avengers – he'd been explaining and admitting things that Tony didn't think anyone else – at least anyone nearby – knew.
"So…your wife?" he prompted hesitantly, ready to back out of this one if Loki seemed the slightest unwilling, "I – uh I did some reading up. She sounds…amazing?"
His voice lilted upwards uncertainly, worried on Loki's taking of that sentence. Sure, Thor had explained the Allspeak with a lot of hand waving and mumbo jumbo, but he seemed to miss intentions as much as anyone else. Well…no. He understood when jokes were made even if he didn't get them, and he knew when people were hurting despite not understanding why. Intentions Thor got just fine.
"Worry not, Stark; I am no so protective of my wife as that," Loki chuckled, making Tony wonder once again if the god wasn't also a telepath, "and yes, though your 'myths' are not entirely accurate, Sigyn is nothing less than a wonder."
A grin snuck over Tony's lips at the warmth and happiness that spilled through Loki's voice at this a little bit ridiculous statement, but it was also the first time he'd seen the mischievous god relax even a little bit in front of them. Every once in a while, he'd caught Loki without his frosty sheen – and that was a really bad analogy wasn't it? – but he was always guarded. It was a nice change to have him open up.
"Does she know about your whole save-the-world phase?" Tony queried with a teasing lilt.
"Of course," Loki snorted, "We may not see each other physically but we do keep in touch."
"Um…right. No. That made no sense whatsoever," Tony pointed out bluntly, "What are you, like inter-realm skyping? I don't really think that works."
An eyebrow twitched in puzzlement as Loki glanced over.
"Astral projection," he replied slowly, as if that were so simple a babe could have deduced it.
Which, maybe in Loki's family, they can.
"Lokes, that might make a lot of sense to you, but to your average genius, it means zip," Tony sighed.
"Ah. Of course," Loki hummed again, taking a sip of the mead and mulling over an explanation.
He was silent for a long moment, fingers tapping idly at the balcony rail, but Tony just waited. Sure, he wasn't used to sitting still for too long, but in the pursuit of new information, he could wait an eternity. So long as there was good scotch waiting with him.
"It is…akin to your – what is it… FaceTime? – as an image is passed through the astral plane. Through it, one can influence another's dreams or, in the case of Sigyn and I, meet together and converse without physically departing from one realm," Loki explained cautiously.
"Huh. Think we could rig something up to get ahold of Thor when he's up in Asgard?" Tony suggested.
Loki inclined his head slightly, once again thinking.
"I imagine so, yes," he agreed after a moment.
"Great! To the lab!" Tony announced, clapping Loki's thin shoulder and raising his glass like Lady Liberty's torch.
It was certainly testament to his years with Thor that Loki managed to swallow his mead without coughing and simply shook his head slightly in resignation. Drunken men were drunken men whether on Midgard or the Realm Eternal – and one certainty was that they'd always have some harebrained scheme to attend to while inebriated. Of course, he couldn't just let them do something stupid without supervision.
"JARVIS, pump the tunes!" Tony called cheerily as he trotted to the elevator with a half-smiling Loki in his wake.