The plan is imperfect, but it's a plan.

Phase 1: Break into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s fortress and steal the Tesseract.
Phase 2: ?
Phase 3: Profit.

Okay, so phase two is probably 'Thor takes Loki back home', but since Tony's not directly involved in that, he's leaving it off his to-do list.

Action hour is seven pm. In preparation, Thor's back upstairs making another progress report to Asgard, and Tony's packing supplies for the road in the event that something goes awry and they're not able to return to the house after phase one. (There's a real good chance something will go awry.) So far he has a wad of cash and some clothes stuffed into a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack. A second backpack, sporting the image of Superman, he intends to fill with food. Just as soon as he works up the courage to walk into the kitchen. Where he'll be alone with Loki.

Just grow a pair already, he tells himself. Loki's chained to Thor's hammer again. He can't move. How much damage can he do?

For the sake of getting this over with, he'll pretend the answer to that question is 'not very much'. And thus he grits his teeth, leaves his bedroom, and heads toward the lion's den.

He can feel Loki's eyes on him as he makes a beeline for the cupboards. He can feel the caustic gaze prickling on the back of his neck. What's worse, he can feel words starting to push their way up from his lungs, the product of unwanted questions starting to form in his brain. Questions he needs answered. Questions he doesn't want answered. With a couple choice swears muttered under his breath, he turns around to face his demon.

Loki's perched like a towel-clad gargoyle on a bar stool in the breakfast nook, a collection of eviscerated juice boxes on the table in front of him. When Tony's eyes meet his, he picks up the nearest box and pulls the straw into his mouth with an obscene-looking flick of the tongue.

"Yeah, um, I'm packing snacks for the road," Tony says before anything worse can slip out. "Any requests? All I've seen you eat in three days is one bite of an Eggo. That's not adequate ass-kicking fuel."

"I dislike your vile Midgard 'food'," Loki answers. "Only these boxes of juice are tolerable."

"Those are nothing but sugar and artificial chemical flavoring and have no nutritional value. But if that's what you like…" There's more nutrition-free artificial chemical sugar to be had in this house. "Here," he says, tossing the box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch across the kitchen to Loki. "Though I have no idea why I'm trying to feed you when you obviously don't give a shit about not starving to death. Going forward? I'm terrible at playing dad. You're on your own. Eat whatever you want, or not."

Loki just rattles the chain that's once again attached to his ankle, attached to Thor's hammer. "I would if I could move."

"Oh right." That's almost enough to make him feel sorry for Loki. Not quite, but almost. "Well… Yeah, I'm still terrible at care of magical creatures. Thor can be in charge of feeding you."

"All Thor is fit to oversee is pointless violence and idiotic quests for little gain. He is worthy only of the least of responsibilities, and bears all the cunning of a fly." Pausing, Loki glances toward the hallway leading to the stairs. "And I am glad you have come while he is otherwise occupied. I would speak with you on certain matters without his heavy-handed interference."

Tony's stomach drops. Here it comes. "What matters?"

"This plan of yours. It's preposterous."

And there it... doesn't come. Does Loki really mean that? Of all the things he could say now that they're alone, he wants to talk about the stupid plan? Like a reasonable person? "You think so?"

"I do. It seems to me that you are much like Thor and tend to dash off into adventure head first without thought, but I am rather more meticulous about these things and prefer to apply some semblance of a structure to my actions. Your 'plan' is no plan at all."

"No, it's a legitimate plan," says Tony. "We break in, grab the Tesseract, and scram. That's part one. Then I've also thought ahead to part two, which is ditching you. Specifically, Thor uses the Tesseract to take you back to Asgard, where you never bother me or my planet again. I regain my status as the world's number one hope for clean energy. Though I may have to do so from Siberia after having been branded a threat to national security due to my association with you. Which will suck. So... You know what? I am going to tell Fury you brain-slugged me. I can stoop to being a lying coward to get my life back. And that might even work out in my favor if he decides he can no longer trust me and decides to leave me alone forever. I actually have a pretty sweet life when I'm not dealing with all the crazy crap that comes from being a superhero."

Loki just scowls at him with an expression that seems to say, How can you not be taking this seriously? Tony's seen that one more than a few times before. It's become easy to recognize over the years. "Tony Stark, I am trying to assist with your ludicrous quest."

"And I am perfectly okay with the quest being ludicrous. I don't see why we need to go into any more detail than we already have. The more details we map out, the more likely something will go wrong and we'll be thrown off track. But we can't be thrown off a track that doesn't exist. So." He claps his hands together in what he hopes will be interpreted as a gesture of finality. "Let's run with this."

The scowl stays frozen on Loki's face a couple seconds more before he finally relents and turns his attention to the Cinnamon Toast Crunch instead. "If you insist," he mutters. "It will not be my failure if this laughable effort falls apart."

"Have a little faith, will you?"

Tony's pretty sure he hears a derisive snort, but it's a little muffled by the sound of Loki digging into the cereal box so he can't be certain.

He fills the Superman backpack with whatever junk's still left in the cupboard: some Lunchables, a bag of pretzels, Slim Jims, and Loki's juice boxes, all while trying to think of what to say next. Actually, no, he knows what to say next. It's more like he's trying to think of how to say it. Without sounding like a dick. Or (worse) a whining sissy.

"So um," he says as he closes up the backpack and takes way too long fiddling with the zipper tab. "I want to... uh... talk about..."

"No you don't," Loki cuts in, already anticipating what he's about to say. "If you did, you would speak outright like a man instead of scurrying in the corner and muttering into your hands."

"I'm not... scurrying..." Tony mutters. And then realizes he's muttering and could punch himself.

"Allow me to alleviate your discomfort and complete the conversation for you. You are about to say, 'Loki, I made a terrible mistake last night,' to which I will reply, 'Are you certain, Tony Stark? Because you seemed to quite enjoy yourself.' Then you will deny willing participation in our little tryst, incorrectly citing use of magic on my part coupled with drunken lack of judgment on yours. Then I will laugh. Because I know the truth."

And he does laugh, quietly in his throat. It's accompanied by that classic demon grin he seems to like so much. The sound scratches over Tony's nerves; he sucks in a long breath to steel himself against it. It doesn't work. "And what truth do you think you know?"

Loki's smile grows. "I recall very clearly that you played the role of instigator. You kissed me. Put your hand on my cheek, just like this." With one slender finger on the line of his jaw, he repeats the gesture. "And then-"

"A mistake," Tony immediately shoots back. "I don't know why I did it. I don't know why you went along with it."

"Why does anyone do anything? Because we wanted to."

"I..." Wanted to. Why do those two words disturb him so much?

"Come here, Tony Stark," says Loki. Softly. Like he's asking for a favor.

Like he's granting one, Tony goes. He dumps the backpacks he's carrying next to the table and stuffs his hands into his pockets, tensing every muscle in his upper body. That feels a little like arming himself.

"Why do you pretend to be so opposed? Is it because I am the villain you set out to defeat? Because you desperately cling to the safety of the notion that I am 'evil'?"

"No," says Tony. "Your evil villain status is coincidental. Also your manipulative asshole status. I'm opposed to your fantasy of our imaginary romance because I have a girlfriend."

"Ah." That one syllable says it all as Loki leans forward to rest his elbows on his table and his chin in his hands. It's shorthand for the usual 'I've heard that one before' combined with a bit of 'you keep telling yourself that, buddy', all topped off with more sinister tones of 'and I'm paying close attention to what excuses you didn't give'. "Then speak, Tony Stark. I won't judge you. I've had this conversation so many times before that your insecure ramblings will be nothing new."

So many times before. Tony rubs a hand over the back of his neck. Yeah, I bet you have... Though something about that thought triggers a twinge of guilt inside. Or maybe pity. He pushes it away and, in opposition to everything that might be considered a good idea, sits down at the table across from Loki. "Look, here's the thing. I admit this was partially my fault. Mostly yours, because of your creepy sex magic and mandatory cuddling, but I'm not exactly an innocent blushing flower so let's both man up and share the blame. No more bullshit. I want to talk honestly for a minute."

He waits for a smirk or a snort or an eyeroll or any other piece of classic Loki condescension, but there's nothing. Not even a raised eyebrow. Loki stares back at him looking like he's actually listening for once.

"I made a mistake," Tony goes on. "And that is something I rarely admit, so believe me: this is a big deal. And a big mistake. If you want the whole truth, I've been feeling really shitty about a lot of things this past week. I'm in a bad place, and when I'm in a bad place, I make bad decisions. Last night I made a bad decision. An epic bad decision. The Mona Lisa of all bad decisions. As a result, I now feel even shittier. I'm in the middle of a cycle of shit."

Loki's response is surprising. "Why do you feel so terrible?" Not so much what he says, because that's a valid thing to ask, but the tone. He's not accusing. Not snarking. Not poking around for trouble. It's just a simple question, plainly asked, a little like a friend.

It's probably an act engineered to undermine Tony's defenses and get him to divulge too much detail, but what the hell. Now that this conversation has started, it'll be harder to stop than keep on going. There are too many things that need to be said. It doesn't really matter who Tony says them to as long he gets them off his chest and out of his mind. He can bore Loki with the drama of his personal life. If anyone deserves boredom and the tedious job of having to play makeshift confidante, it's Loki.

"I mentioned my girlfriend. I should probably also mention that lately things have been going..." Terrible. Disastrous. Irreconcilable. No, don't admit any of that. "...a little rough. On the outside we like to pretend that everything's perfect, like a fill-in-the-blanks romance novel about a roguish billionaire finding true love with his spirited, girl-next-door assistant. But everyone knows those books are total crap, and... I'm not a dashing literary hero. Not even a two-dimensional cardboard cutout Mr. Right. I'm a narcissistic jerk with a crippling emotional disability when it comes to taking anything seriously. And if she's a heroine, then it's in a post-modern feminist fable where she realizes her career is way more fulfilling than putting up with me. Not that we're always bad together: I'm not saying that. There are good moments. Just... A lot of fights. A lot of disappointment. I'm good at disappointing people. You want to know the last thing I said to her before running away to join S.H.I.E.L.D.'s band of Merry Men? A childish threat about moving back to Malibu and leaving her in New York. That's how we parted. Nice, huh?"

"You weave a grim tale of yourself as a lover, Tony Stark," says Loki. Still not snarky. Still unnervingly sympathetic. "So many faults in your own eyes."

Tony shrugs. "Or maybe I'm trying to highlight one of my few good points. I might be a total fuck-up when it comes to mature, responsible relationships, but at least I'm not delusional."

There's a long pause where Loki just taps his fingertips on the table, thinning his lips like he's thinking up something amazing to say. But all that comes out is, "Hm." Then, after a beat, "I suppose by telling me all this you mean to shame me for threatening the precarious balance that is your love life?"

"No." Tony shakes his head. "That's not what I mean. It would be a bonus if you did feel ashamed of yourself, since everything about you is shameful, but I'm telling you this because I want to make it clear that last night was easily the dumbest thing I've ever done. I feel shitty – phenomenally shitty – and whatever you're trying to do? I can't have any part in it. Because ever since I woke up this morning I've been praying to a God I don't even believe in that my relationship doesn't end because of you."

He almost expects some stupid 'god' comment because of that. It doesn't come. Loki's staring down at the table. Silent.

"I know it's going to end. Probably pretty soon. Again, no delusions. No use pretending there's any happily ever after coming my way. I just wish it would end for a better reason than I couldn't keep my pants on with a space terrorist in Atlantic City. I think-" The name catches in his throat. Stuck. He can't say it in front of Loki. "-she deserves better than that. A lot better."

"Somewhat late for such wishes..." Loki murmurs, his voice too soft to scan for any hint of emotion or inflection.

"Yeah," Tony agrees. "It is. But I can still own up to my failure and feel like hell for the rest of my life because of it. Wouldn't want to miss out on that."

Loki goes silent again. Whatever he's thinking (and it's obvious he's thinking from the way he fidgets and pushes cereal crumbs into patterns on the tabletop), he keeps to himself. It would be easier if he spoke. It would clear the tension if he had anything to say, some snide remark or biting comment, because right now there's just this feeling of awkward incompletion hanging in the air. The weight should be lifted after all that venting, but it isn't. Something else is still waiting in the wings.

"Do you love her?" Loki suddenly asks. One little phrase, spoken so casually, and it slams Tony like a cheap punch.

There's only one possible answer. "Yeah..." Not exactly a winning declaration, but it's concise.

Loki holds up his hands, either like he's surrendering or presenting something. Hard to say which. "Then I wish you all the best."

"I don't believe you, but thanks."

"I am being sincere. For once."

His grin doesn't look sincere, but it does look a little self-deprecating, which might be his version of sincerity. His eyes, though... those don't match. There's something hard and dark lingering just out of view behind his eyes. Not predatory, like Tony's seen before, but not safe either. Warning. Defensive. Ready to protect itself at any cost.

Tony forces himself to look away. "Yeah so. Um." He clears his throat. "Good talk? I better get back to packing now. There's a lot to do, and then I have to put my armor back in working order, and..." I'm just going to shut up now and stop pretending this isn't really awkward. Also shut up before he says something else he really regrets, like, "I'm sorry." Damn it.

"For what?" asks Loki.

"For... just generally being me and doing the fucked-up things I do, and if I let you think-"

Loki pounces almost before the words are out of Tony's mouth. "Let me think?! What am I, a wide-eyed maiden to fall heartbroken over your ill-given affections?! I am a god!" And there's the god comment. It had to come out sooner or later. "You flatter yourself to think you could be anything more than a convenient solution in a time of need!"

Now this would be an overreaction if Tony's ever seen one. "Wow. Okay. Point taken. And I... am sorry again for automatically launching into post-one-night-stand mode. Force of habit. But FYI, from experience, a snarky 'in your dreams' gets the point across way better than rabid denial."

"Why would I not deny that which I find insulting?" Loki snaps.

The smart thing to do would be to let this drop. Let Loki have the last word and just walk away. Tony even considers it: in his mind's eye, he can easily see himself standing up and leaving the room with nothing more than one last 'okay then'.

But Loki looks so righteously offended right now, so easily rattled...

Tony smiles. "Because methinks the lady doth protest too much?"

He really should've let it drop. With a snarl that's pure vicious fury, Loki lunges forward. What happens next is almost too quick to register, but Tony thinks it goes a little like this: Loki grabs him by the front of his shirt, hauls him over the table, whirls around, and slams him into the wall hard enough that sparks swim in front of his eyes. When he struggles to move, the drywall behind his shoulder blades cracks and crumbles.

"You, Tony Stark, are nothing!" Loki hisses, inches from his face. "No more than a particle of dirt clinging to the vast fabric of the universe, a tiny and momentary spark among ancient stars, of no greater importance than a flea in the ear of a dog. I suggest you silence yourself before your mouth causes you too much more trouble!"

Probably a reasonable suggestion, and Tony nods in agreement, doing his best not to grimace at the pain shooting up his back. A shower of dislodged plaster dusts his shoulders. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I am that. And I should do that." He refrains from mentioning how Loki's mouth causes him far more trouble: being a smartass doesn't really seem like the best course of action given the circumstances. Loki is not in a joking mood. Loki is in a show-puny-mortals-who's-boss mood, and has one hand twisted in the fabric of Tony's shirt and the other a quick little squeeze away from crushing his neck.

The hand tightens in warning, just a bit, as if Loki can feel what Tony's thinking. Fingertips dig into skin, probably hard enough to bruise. Loki's cold eyes stay locked in place. Tony could look away (he should look away: psycho stare isn't exactly instilling in him a great sense of safety), but when you're held up against a wall with only a madman's whim dictating whether you breathe or not, outright defiance won't help things much. The best he can hope for is to convey a sense of 'I'm not afraid of you' by staring right back, unblinking. Even though he's pretty sure his heart is pounding loud enough for Loki to hear or even feel through the thin layer of skin covering his jugular.

Loki says nothing. Tony likewise says nothing. The staring contest drags on, seconds ticking by, and slowly, slowly, Loki's icy rage fades. The hand on Tony's neck relaxes, sliding down to rest on his shoulder. Loki looks... calmer.

"Okay," Tony says. "I think we're done here?"

No answer. No reaction at all.

"Yeah we're done. I'm... I'm going to leave. So if you can just let go of me now..." He reaches up to pry at the fingers that are still clinging to his shirt, pulling Loki's hand away with a lot more ease than he was expecting. Loki puts up no resistance. Not in a cooperative way: more like a 'wait what's wrong now' kind of way. And it takes Tony a second to figure out what that 'wrong' is.

Loki's magic porn-touch is negligible compared to what it was the previous day. It's enough to make Tony's pulse race and his skin flush hot, but on top of the adrenaline rush already pounding through his system after being slammed into wall, the effect is almost lost. Even holding onto Loki's hand, searching and sensing for any hint of something more, there's nothing . So either Loki's given up on being the God of Sexual Harassment, or... "Huh. I think I've worked up an immunity to your magic."

"That's not possible," says Loki, quietly, with a slow shake of his head.

"Possible and factual. Whatever you did yesterday doesn't work any more. Look at this." He opens his hand, flattening it palm to palm against Loki's. "See? Nothing." And he lifts his other hand to Loki's arm, feeling only an echo of yesterday's shockwave as he touches bare skin. "No reaction."

Or, more accurately, no reaction on Tony's part. But Loki... It's Loki who flinches, Loki's jaw that tenses, Loki who draws in a sharp little breath through his teeth.

A puzzle piece of memory clicks neatly into place. "It affects you," Tony says. When he shifts his hand, Loki tenses again, eyes widening. Unbelievable. "The magic affects you too. What you said about transferring energy... whatever you give, you get back just the same. That's the way it works, isn't it?"

Seems that way, but just to test the theory he lays both hands out on Loki's arms. The reaction is immediate: Loki jerks back, a little nnn sound escaping his throat, and a second later he's sinking down onto his stool with his eyes closed. Definitely the way it works. How about that.

"Okay, I like this now." Tony knows he must be grinning like a moron, but what the hell. He hasn't exactly felt an abundance of control over the past couple days, so he'll take what he can get. And if he gets sudden, second-hand sex magic superpowers that make Loki sit down, shut up, and be good? All the better. "I'm immune, and you look like you're feeling it more than ever. What changed, Darth Lecherous? Karma coming back to bite you in the ass?"

"No," Loki manages through clenched teeth, "its..."

No further word on what 'it' is. Loki drops his head forward, eyes still closed, and pulls in a deep breath. Like he's steadying himself, or meditating, or preparing for something. And that might bode ill. Meditating sorcerers probably aren't the safest thing to be touching and trying to subdue with sex magic. But before Tony can convince himself to let go (because really, when else is he going to have a chance like this lord any kind of power over Loki?), Loki's hands are rising up in one smooth gesture to land on Tony's chest. Not grabbing his shirt this time, not pushing him away: just sitting there. Gently. A kind touch.

It tingles at first, spreading warmth. Loki draws another calming breath, and the feeling grows. Familiar electricity begins to surge through Tony's veins and dance across his skin, circling his entire body before settling heavily between his legs. One more breath and the magic hits a sharp spike to flood his senses and weaken his knees. He wrenches his hands away from Loki's skin, and son of a bitch it's hard as hell to break that contact with all the animal lust building up inside, but it makes no difference. Loki's touch alone is enough now. More than enough. Whatever happened before to negate it, Loki's figured out how to fix the problem and has come back swinging.

"Not so immune now, are you?" Loki purrs. He's found his voice again, no longer incapacitated, while Tony can only grunt a wordless reply. It's with a gentle smile on his lips that Loki tilts his face up, but when he opens his eyes...

Tony sees only a split-second of cold rage before the hands on his chest shove him away with the force of a shotgun blast. He lands hard on one shoulder and skids across the floor before slamming into the kitchen island. Searing pain rips down his back and arms and up through his skull as the wood of the cupboard door splits on impact. For the second time since the start of this horribly misguided conversation attempt, stars explode before his eyes and the edge of his vision clouds gray. He shakes his head to clear it; his head throbs in protest.

Loki's voice, saturated with acid wrath, rings tinny in his ears. "Do not... ever... think to try that again!"

Groaning, he rolls forward and just lets his body collapse onto the tiles, trying not to vomit as he does. No, he won't be trying that again any time soon.

Only a total idiot would try that again.

Only an asshole with a death wish would think about trying that again.

Okay but maybe if petting Loki really does make him calm down, it might be worth looking into...

He'll wait until he has a better understanding of Loki's magic before trying it again.

ooo

Answering the doorbell is not one of the things Tony would have listed as a major concern for the day. It would be classified as a minor inconvenience at best, especially in comparison to what he just had to deal with. But Girl Scouts, a weird religious cult, traveling vacuum cleaner salesmen, or even a rampaging ax murderer would be preferable to what he finds standing on the front step when he opens the door.

"Agent Romanoff." He almost adds an 'aw, fuck' to that, but opts to keep it civil. For now.

"Mr. Stark," she replies with a cool nod.

He should probably be upset to see her. Angry, even, that S.H.I.E.L.D. tracked down his secret lair so quickly. But all he can muster is a feeling of inevitable defeat. Like this had to happen sooner or later, and is he really surprised to find out it's sooner? No. The dogs were going to sniff him out eventually. And here they are. Romanoff's standing there in front of him, alone and unarmed, which means there are a couple dozen gunmen hiding down the street within shooting distance. And probably a jet circling nearby. "Where's the cavalry?" Tony asks.

"No cavalry. Just me."

Uh-huh. "Somehow I find that hard to believe. Coulson isn't up a telephone pole with a pair of binoculars?"

"Are you going to invite me in, or do we have to have this conversation in the doorway?"

Tony takes a step back and opens the door wide, gesturing with his arm to usher her into the front hall. "Of course. Where are my manners? Let's go chat in the kitchen." Where you can lock horns with Loki while I figure out what to do about you. Something about that scenario sounds oddly appealing. "After you."

Romanoff's wearing a frilly and feminine teal blouse that shows off her hair nicely, and a sleek gray skirt that shows off her ass even better. Under normal circumstances Tony might try to be a little sneakier about watching said ass sashay its way down the hall to the kitchen, but under 'I'm about to be ripped a new one' circumstances, all bets are off. It's not like he can get in much more trouble at this point, so might as well make the best of things and enjoy the view.

They round the corner into the kitchen, and if Romanoff's surprised to see Loki sitting there in the breakfast nook, she doesn't show it. Not even a hitch in her stride. Tony, on the other hand, is a little surprised, but only because Loki is wearing clothes for the first time in days. Real clothes. Seemingly out of nowhere (no, scratch that: definitely out of nowhere), he's conjured himself a perfectly tailored black suit, black shirt, and pale gray tie. He even fixed his hair, losing the guinea pig mop in favor of that sci-fi party mullet he sported back in Stuttgart. The whole look would be better completed if he were sitting in his elegant pose reading a book or newspaper or even an iPhone instead of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch box, but hey, as the song goes, two out of three ain't bad.

Romanoff ignores him as she skims along the island and over to the coffee maker. Loki ignores her right back. They appear to have a pre-arranged mutual understanding that involves each pretending the other doesn't exist, the story of which Tony might be interested in learning one day (though he suspects it might have something to do with those bizarre scars Loki had). What Romanoff doesn't ignore is Tony's wandering eye.

"Classy," is all she says to him as she starts a pot of coffee. Obviously, she expects nothing better.

"I'd ask you if you want something to drink," Tony replies, "but since that would be redundant I'll just cut to the chase and ask you why you're here."

"Wouldn't that also be redundant?" she counters. "I think we both know the answer. I won't patronize you with some long spiel about your role in assisting a highly dangerous criminal to escape from custody, and how that now makes you a wanted man."

Tony nods. "Good. Because that sounds like the kind of dull conversation I usually try to avoid."

She throws a quick smile over her shoulder, but says nothing else while the coffee brews. Once it's finished, she pours two cups and hands one to Tony.

"Aw, deliberately excluding Loki from our little coffee date? Not very friendly, Natasha."

"This is between you and me, Tony," comes her smooth reply. "No need to involve the riff-raff."

"And what exactly is between you and me? I thought I'd made it clear our passion was doomed from the start and your girlish fantasies must be left forever unfulfilled."

"You know, you're almost cute when you're trying too hard."

She reaches down into her purse, and Tony freezes. Knowing Romanoff, there's an 80% chance she's going for some kind of weapon. (Actually, make that 90%.) But no: all she pulls out is a plain old tablet, which she pushes across the island. Tony feels his shoulders relax, but only halfway. It's still Romanoff, after all and she's still up to something.

"Have a look," she tells him. "Just press play. Video's loaded."

Tony hesitates only a moment before tapping the screen. It's a news clip, dated the previous night, showing...

Well, shit.

...explosion at the Brookhaven National Laboratory, just after 2:30 this afternoon. The incident took place in one of the older facilities no longer in use, but preliminary reports indicate that several individuals were inside at the time. Emergency personnel have so far confirmed twelve injuries, three critical. Police and fire officials have yet to identify the cause of the blast, though they have speculated that an electrical surge in faulty or outdated equipment could be to blame.

There's more. The video looks like it goes on for another minute, switching over to a reporter on location. No need to watch that, though. Tony knows what happened and seeing footage of the destruction won't help anything. He stops the clip and slides the tablet back over to Romanoff.

"That wasn't me."

"Oh, I know. That was Thor. We have substantial evidence linking him to the explosion. Just like we have substantial evidence that he came here afterward."

So that's how she tracked them down. Thor's explosion drew S.H.I.E.L.D.'s attention, then he got his clumsy ass recorded flying right back to this address. Great. With a sigh, Tony rubs his forehead. This is exactly the kind of position he doesn't like to be in. The kind where he's bent over the table because somebody else screwed up. "I guess it's too much to hope that you're here to arrest Thor but leave me alone?"

Romanoff's answer is unexpected, to say the least. "Actually, no. That's exactly why I'm here. Fury is prepared to let you walk. A minimal amount of cooperation is required, debriefing and some follow-up, but after yesterday's events and the surprises we found at Brookhaven, not to mention the cleanup we had to do, our priorities have changed. We just want the Asgardians. You can go."

She says it all so effortlessly, like it might even be true. If only words could be believed as easily as they're spoken. "Okay," says Tony. "You've got my attention. Gimme the sales pitch."

"There's no sales pitch. This isn't a negotiation. I'm here to tell you what's going to happen, not dance around a compromise. And what's going to happen is that Thor and Loki will be returning to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters with me. As a show of good faith, you can follow on your own."

"And then?"

Romanoff shrugs, like what she's about to say is entirely inconsequential. "You'll have a meeting with Fury to discuss your actions over the past three days, after which you'll be free to leave and return to your girlfriend in New York."

Ah. He was wondering how long it would take her to pull the ol' dagger-to-the-heart routine. "Have you involved my girlfriend in New York in this escapade?"

"Not yet. We saw no reason to disturb her. As far as Ms. Potts is aware, you're at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters right now. Incidentally, she's called Coulson twice and he's getting tired of inventing lies about the highly classified project you're working on that makes you unavailable for outside contact."

And oh, but she knows how to twist the knife.

"Just think that over, Stark," she adds after a brief pause. "Think about what you're doing, and who you're doing it for. I believe Coulson told Ms. Potts something about your project finishing tonight. So we'll be out of excuses soon."

"Right." He lowers his head, staring down at his hands. "I understand."

"So you'll be cooperating?"

"Can I have a minute to consider the offer?"

"Of course." And just like that, she turns her attention to her coffee, blowing on the surface and taking a delicate sip.

"Can I make a phone call?"

Her lips smile over the rim of the mug. Wordlessly, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a slender black phone, sliding it over to him.

The phone Tony left on the helicarrier. Goddamnit, does she ever not think of everything?

"You're welcome," she says. "You have fifteen minutes."