When he crawls back to consciousness, Natasha is in his room, leaning against his dresser. She looks down at him as he blinks whiskey-induced, black-out sleep from his eyes. Blinking makes his head pound. He sits up and feels worse, but he doesn't think he can lay down again because he's not in his bed, and his floor isn't that comfortable. At least he's wearing pants. Not that Natasha hasn't seen him without pants before. It's his house. They've all seen him without pants at one point.

"I think three days of being continuously hammered is probably enough," she says, pursing her lips in a decidedly Steve-esque look of disappointment, and holds out a mug, waggling it a bit like she would a treat to a dog.

It takes him a moment to realize the room smells like coffee. When he does, the waggling works. He holds out his hand and grabs at the air. "Gimme. Please."

"Steve is really worried," she replies. "You didn't show up for pancakes this morning."

"Today's Friday?" Tony asks blearily and struggles to his feet. The room is like a tilt-a-whirl, but he manages to steady himself against the bedpost. He's somewhat upset that he missed pancakes, but he doesn't think he could eat them right now, and throwing up Captain America's pancakes would be sacrilegious. "Please give me the coffee. I'll do anything."

She holds the mug close to her chest and raises a brow. "For a price."

Tony groans. "What price?"

Natasha cocks her head to the side. "Should we talk about what's going on with you?"

No, Tony thinks. He doesn't want to talk about it. He hasn't had much of a chance to really process it in his drunken state, anyway, so he isn't sure what he can shed light on. Instead, because he hates himself, he says, "Are you giving me a choice?"

She shrugs delicately.

Tony huffs. "What are we talking about, then? Newest fashions? Boys? Should I break out the nail polish? You're not in your sleepover clothes, which totally isn't fair."

Tony knows immediately that he's walked into a trap by the way Natasha's eyes glint. She doesn't need to smile. He can see the predatory glee at his folly clearly enough.

"Yes, let's talk about boys," she says and bites briefly, thoughtfully, at her bottom lip. "He hasn't come back, either, you know. Thor has no idea where he is, and Coulson is pissed that he's off the grid. He was at least giving us notice before. So, tell me, what really happened on the roof?"

"Are you asking as a friend, or are you asking as a SHIELD puppet?" Tony deadpans.

Natasha snorts. "A little bit of both, but mostly as a friend. I haven't seen you lose yourself in the bottle this badly since… well." She gives a noncommittal wave of her hand. She knows better than to bring up his massive failure with Pepper.

Tony grins nastily. "Are we friends? Friends trust each other."

"I trust you enough," she says seriously. "As much as I can trust someone unpredictable like you."

Tony considers it, then nods. "I can't fault that. Feeling's mutual."

Her lip quirks, just barely. "So, are you going to tell me what really happened on the roof?"

Tony sits on the bed and runs a hand over his face and through his hair. "I turned him into a smurf with my super awesome magic EMP, and I don't think he was too pleased by it."

"We both know that's not it, not entirely," Natasha says, almost sympathetically, and walks over to him with the mug extended.

He takes it and gulps several mouthfuls of coffee, happy to wash the stale taste of day-old whiskey from his mouth. He looks up at her closed-off face and sighs. No reason to lie now. The Widow could pull truths from the God of Lies. Tony is too hungover to function at that standard. "Things kind of… started. Between us."

She nods, once, expression not budging. "I figured as much. I can tell the difference between manic bonding and flirting."

Tony can't help but snort. "Did everyone figure it out, or are you the only perceptive one?" His eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. "Does Steve know? If Steve's figured it out, I might be impressed, or I might throw myself off the roof because I really don't want to have that conversation with the golden boy."

She looks like she might smile again, but it's fleeting. "Things started. And?"

Tony stares into his mug. "And they ended. Very fast, as per the normal Tony Stark relationship guidelines."

"Was it more than just sex?"

He can't help the start the blunt question evicts from him. He almost spills coffee on himself. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You always go all in," Natasha says, like that explains it.

And Tony tries not to fidget, because it does, it does explain it. He doesn't blame Loki for forging an alliance to get to safety— he'd have done the same thing— and he doesn't doubt that the god would have played Amora like a violin if she hadn't played him first. But everything after, everything involving him and the Avengers and SHIELD, is a clusterfuck. They took him on, even after he tried to kill them all, and with time, they stopped seeing him as an enemy.

And Tony started seeing him as something more.

The self-admission makes his chest tighten. Natasha is right, he always goes all in, and it makes sense that what started out as flirting and lust began fermenting very quickly into something more. He doesn't know how to coast. It's why he has fast cars, and quick fucks, and flashy suits: he only knows how to speed forward.

And then Amora's soliloquy hit the breaks and sent Tony spinning out of control. Even if Loki didn't plan to feed the blond bimbo any information, even if he had developed some loyalty to the Avengers, he loitered around for months after his arrival, all the while knowing he was magically programmed to tell her everything.

Too much is up in the air, and the only person who can answer his questions is gone because Tony, sparked by rage and a stab of betrayal, decided to strip the God of Mischief like he stripped Tony Stark, except it was never a fair fight. Loki pressed a hand to his chest and saw through him, saw what made him tick. It was intimate. It was the spark of something, because he thinks Loki, all lies and masks and tricks, is the same. He wants speed, and a challenge, and raw passion.

Tony didn't give him any of that on the roof. He just shredded Loki's Aesir disguise and left him raw and bleeding.

He feels like a dick, and he hates himself a little bit more than usual.

Natasha must see the way he's crumbling under the weight of it all, because she pushes away from the bedpost and pats his shoulder. "Take a shower. You smell like a dive bar."

He flicks her off. "Thanks for the coffee, master assassin."

Her stoic facade breaks and she smiles at him, all teeth and dimples. It makes Tony a little nervous, because he thinks this might be the face Natasha offers before she slits someone's throat or terrorizes Clint, but she leaves without throwing any knives in his direction.

When she's gone, Tony says, "Jarvis, is Thor still in the tower?"

"Yes, sir. According to SHIELD intel, he will be departing for Asgard at oh-six-hundred tomorrow morning with the prisoners Amora the Enchantress and Skurge the Executioner in tow."

"Tell him to meet me at the rooftop bar in an hour."

Tony feels more human after a shower, three more cups of coffee, and a blueberry muffin labeled with Clint's initials. He makes his way upstairs and settles at the bar, itching for a drink but ignoring the nagging desire even though he thinks this conversation would probably be easier with a few shots to dull his nerves.

Thor's footsteps are unmistakable, as loud and thunderous as the rest of him. Tony turns on the stool to offer the God of Thunder a toothy smile. Thor returns it, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It's odd to him, how Thor looks so much older when he smiles, but his liar of a brother seems ageless when his lips spread in a grin.

Tony ignores the tug behind his reactor.

"Tony Stark, I am glad to see you more yourself," Thor says, clasping Tony's hand in a bone-bending grip.

Tony's smile strains and he tugs at his hand, trying to get it back before Thor crushes his livelihood. "You obviously don't know me very well if you think being drunk out of my mind is somehow quintessentially not me."

"I know you are fond of drink," Thor states seriously, "but it has not been often as of late that you indulge to such a point."

"Touché," Tony says with a shrug and gestures to the stool next to him. "Sit. Do you want anything?"

"I thank you, but no." Thor settles heavily onto the stool and rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward until he's slightly too close to Tony. He stares Tony in the eye. "Tell me, Tony Stark, what has befallen you and my brother."

Tony huffs out a breathy laugh. "Right to the point, huh? Can't we dance around it a bit? A little tango, maybe a waltz?"

Thor's forehead creases. "Is it not why you have asked to speak with me? To discuss my brother? You said you did not wish to, that morning on the roof, but I believe otherwise."

Tony swallows and forces his snark aside. It doesn't work well on Thor. "Natasha says you don't know where he's gone."

"I do not," Thor replies, expression darkening. "I have heard naught from him since Amora's appearance and capture."

Tony clears his throat. "How can I find him?"

Thor looks mildly bewildered by that. Tony gets the feeling he's been asked that question a lot back home, but probably not with the same gravelly tone. Thor stares at him for almost half a minute before he finally shakes his head. "I do not know. I have never been adept at locating my brother, especially when he does not wish to be found. He is much more skilled than I in the art of deception and travel through the realms. It was no surprise that I could not sense him, when I thought him dead though he was not."

Tony bites back the sigh that threatens to escape and absently drums his fingers against the arc reactor, muttering, "Well, shit."

"Why did you prevent him from taking vengeance upon Amora?" Thor questions. "I am gladdened by your decision to do so, as I would not see Loki commit murder, even if it is deserved."

Tony turns away from Thor slightly, so he can lean back against the bar. He stares out the window, the replacement of the one he was thrown through years earlier. "I didn't do it to stop him from killing her," he admits. "Maybe I did, a little, but it's not the real reason. Honestly, I used the pulse because I wanted to piss him off."

He doesn't have to look at Thor to know the god has stiffened. He can sense it in the air, can almost feel the spark of electricity hum again his still and tug at his hair. He isn't sure if the thick layer of clouds outside are darkening, but he thinks they are. Thor's going to call Mjolnir to him and bash Tony's skull in if he doesn't tread carefully.

"I regret it," he says quietly. "Kind of. I think someone needed to take him down a notch—I saw that look on his face, the one he gets before he loses it—but I was a little emotional. Maybe it was my time of the month." He looks at Thor out of the corner of his eye. "Also, I didn't know he would change colors. Why did he turn blue?"

Thor's voice is low and strained. "He is Aesir by name, but Jotun by blood. I have mentioned that he is adopted."

"He's mentioned that word before. Jotun. What does it mean?"

"Giant. He is a frost giant of Jotunheim. They are creatures of ice and darkness."

Tony closes his eyes and presses his knuckles against his eyelids until he sees stars. He remembers the night in his bedroom, when Loki sneered something about disgrace relating to his heritage. He thinks about all the times his contempt rose to the surface when Thor called him "brother." If Loki has any baggage, Tony is pretty sure that's it, and he managed to just rip it open and let it all fall out. "Yup. Definitely pissed him off, then."

"Testy," Thor scoffs angrily. "Why did you do such a thing out of anger?"

"He stayed here even though he was compromised," Tony states, finally turning towards Thor again. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Thor looks completely nonplussed. "Loki is many things, but compromised is not one of them. Even if he were imbued by Amora's magic, he would play her game his own way. I trust he would be even more determined to ruin her. Loki has never played fair, and he does not lay down for a fight even if he has been bested in the beginning."

Tony shakes his head. "I can't trust it. I showed him a lot of tech that could do a lot of bad things if it gets into the wrong hands. He knows the layout of our goddamned headquarters. He had access to Jarvis and classified information."

Thor blinks and tilts his head, staring at Tony like he's the dumbest person he's ever met. "Had he given the Enchantress any information, Tony Stark, she hardly would have come searching for him."

Tony doesn't like caves, for obvious reasons, but he would crawl into one at the moment if it was available for rent. He feels a cold sweat prickle the back of his neck and his forehead.

"You did not think of such a thing?" Thor ventures.

If there was a wound, and salt, and maybe some hydrochloric acid, Tony would have that wound and Thor would be rubbing all of it in with his gigantic hands. "Okay, I know it must be nice for you to be the smartest person in the room for once, but come on."

Thor just raises an eyebrow. "It is not like you to overlook such important points." The god pauses, and then asks, gently, "Has something more befallen you and my brother, Tony Stark?"

Tony twitches. He's pretty sure a few parts of his brain just spontaneously combusted.

Thor claps a hand on Tony's shoulder so roughly he almost topples off the stool, but he manages to catch himself on the edge of the bar. He turns to the Thunderer, who is staring down at him with a small smile.

"You do not need to say any more," Thor says. "I trust I do not need to know the details of your relationship with my brother, though I can very well judge them by your perception of Loki's actions."

"I'm not asking for your permission to take him to prom," Tony starts, but Thor's fingers tighten on his shoulder, so he shuts up.

"I saw evidence of it in him, before the Enchantress made her stand, evidence of something akin to contentment. Loki will never be as I am, happy with peace, but if he can find contentment, I will be gladdened. As such, I will not stand in your way, Tony Stark, though if you injure him again where it is not warranted, bodily or mentally, I will bring you pain."

Tony blinks at him. He cannot believe this conversation is even happening. "How do you say things like that to friends while smiling?"

"Much practice," Thor booms heartily, his eyes creasing in the corners as he smiles.

Tony slides off of his stool and walks around to the other side of the bar. "I need a drink."

Thor glances at the window, lips pursing. "It is still very early for drink."

"Replay the conversation you and I just had," Tony says, grabbing a very expensive bottle of Scotch and a glass. "Replay it again, just in case, and tell me I don't deserve a goddamned drink."

Thor just grins and watches him.

Two weeks later, the Avengers minus Thor, who is lucky enough to be in Asgard when robotic hell breaks loose, are sprawled around the common living room, the coffee table laden with greasy pizzas, beers, and various appetizers. They're all bruised and tired after two full days of ridding New York City of it's most recent infestation of Doom Bots.

Tony sits down between Steve and Natasha, glass of whiskey in hand. "I'm starving. Pass the pepperoni."

Steve sniffs and sighs. "Your liver is going to shut down if you keep going like this."

"I bet he can make an arc reactor to keep it powered if that happens," Clint says thoughtfully, then shoves a whole mozzarella stick into his mouth.

"That is not how the arc reactor works, idiot," Tony says, rolling has eyes as Natasha hands him a greasy slice of pizza.

Steve ignores the banter, eyes still glued to Tony's face. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Tony's surprised, really, that it's taken Steve so long to realize how much alcohol Tony had been consuming. It wasn't up to par with his three-day bender post Amora, but it was still ramped up compared to the months before it. The rest of the team has noticed; Tony just isn't sure if any of them besides Natasha have put the pieces together to answer the "why?" question.

And then Clint mumbles, through a mouthful of cheese, "A broken heart will do that to you."

Question answered, Tony thinks warily as he watches Natasha rolls her eyes and jab the archer in the ribs with her elbow. Tony offers her a high five, which she takes with a bland smile.

Clint coughs and then glares at Natasha. "What? It's true, isn't it? The time frame works!"

Steve frowns, his forehead creasing, and Tony just watches his pure, thawed brain put it all together. "What time frame? A broken heart over who?"

They all stare at him for a minute. Steve's eyes widen, and Tony pinpoints the exact second he figures it out. His cheeks turn pink and his mouth opens and closes like a fish.

"There we go!" Tony says, and thumps Steve on the back.

"You for…him…?" Steve sputters. He looks around.

Tony actually snorts into his pizza, and then Bruce stands, digging in his pocket, and leans over to hand Natasha a bill. She smiles sweetly and tucks it into her bra.

Tony narrows his eyes. "You all figured it out?" he asks, then turns his glare on Natasha. "On their own?"

Natasha shrugs. "I didn't say a word. I swear. You are a bit see-through, though. Obvious moping."

Tony huffs and leans back against the couch cushions. "Then it's totally not fair. This is my midlife crisis. If you were going to put bets down on when Capsicle would figure it out, I should have been included."

"You for Loki?" Steve blurts out, his ears as red as beets now.

Tony swallows a mouthful of pepperoni and just smiles his PR smile. "Cap, the world's changed since you were a dashing young lad."

"Where did he go, anyway?" Bruce asks tentatively. "He hasn't been back since the thing with Amora and Skurge."

Tony shrugs. He's starting to feel his stomach twist and his chest tighten. He hates that his answer of "Not sure" is true.

"Let's just start the movie," Natasha says with a tone that negates any possible arguments.

Tony knows the assassin isn't in that much of a rush to start the movie because she almost always hates Clint's choices, and it's his turn to dictate what's on the TV. She's perceptive, though— has to be in her line of work— and Tony has no doubt that she's noticed the way he's starting to fidget, the way he's tilting his glass back and forth so the ice clinks together.

He plans to buy her an expensive Russian vodka to show his thanks. A really, really expensive bottle.

"What are we watching?" Bruce asks, settling back against the cushions.

"The Fast and the Furious," Clint replies, and the entire group, minus Steve, groans.

"We watch that every damned time you get to pick for movie night!" Tony exclaims. "I vote we oust him. All in agreement, say—"

"Aye," Natasha says before he can finish. Clint looks at her with wide eyes.

"Not you, too," he whispers. She hits him in the face with a throw pillow.

The movie starts, and Tony says, "Jarvis, dim the lights to movie mode."

They're about two minutes into the first car chase when Steve mutters, "Seriously? Loki?"

Tony downs the rest of the scotch in his glass.

Days, weeks, and months pass. Any of Tony's worries are pushed to the back burner, overlaid by new projects, Avengers missions, and black-tie events Pepper all but forces him to go to. He has no reason to wonder about how to bring up feelings to a god, or how his ex-girlfriend/ current CEO will feel about him moving on, or how his team will respond to him courting someone who once mind-controlled one of their team and tried to kill them.

It doesn't matter because Loki just doesn't come back.