Author's note: Merry Christmas, dear readers! :D Hope you're all enjoying the holidays!
Just want to comment on a couple of things mentioned by a reader (Jaquelinelittle) who left a review without being logged in:
Loki was sentenced to slavery as punishment for trying to enslave humanity, not primarily because of any crimes committed directly against Asgard. Hence the name of the story, Poetic Justice. ;)
As for why Loki didn't choose a death sentence instead – well, he doesn't want to die, simple as that. (Plus, we wouldn't have a story if he had picked that option. ;) )
But there will be more on both of these things later in the story, so I'll leave it at that for now. :)
The work on his new and hopefully improved suit isn't going too well. There's a glitch in there somewhere, and he can't seem to find it despite having run numerous lengthy tests.
Annoyed, he taps his fingers against the tabletop as his eyes scroll down the screen, trying to find a pattern in the anomaly reports in front of him. But his brain isn't willing to cooperate today, and no sensible interpretation of the data is forthcoming.
Sighing, he turns the instruments off. The screen beeps sadly before shutting itself off. Better deal with this tomorrow when he's rested and his brain's working morale has improved.
Closing the door to his workshop behind him, he heads out to the living room, deciding that plonking his body down on the coach and watching a movie sounds like an excellent idea. It's too late in the day to get anything useful done anyway, and there is a slight throbbing somewhere behind his right temple, and his futile attempts to rub it away have so far proven unfruitful.
No, what he needs right now is some relaxation. Then the headache should let off.
As he steps into the living room, one hand still rubbing light circles around his temple, there is a figure clad in black and green standing at the bookshelf, his back to the door. Tony almost yelps in surprise at the unexpected sight, and then frowns.
Alright, so he did give Loki permission to roam around freely in certain sections of the tower (he figured that a restless god of mischief locked into a room all day would have far too much time on his hands to invent new plans for world domination) under strict and constant surveillance of Jarvis, so it's not like Tony should be surprised to see him around. He just didn't expect to run into him here in his own living room. For some reason, it annoys him.
Loki turns quickly at the sound of Tony's footsteps. There's a guilty look on his face, as if Tony has just caught him doing something expressly impermissible.
A book is clutched in the god's hands, but he quickly puts it back into the empty slot on the shelf as he notices Tony eyeing his reading material.
The prickle of annoyance turns into a sharp sting of irritation, seeing Loki standing there putting his long fingers onto Tony's stuff, even if it's just his books. Not that he's told the god he can't read them, but still…
"What you're reading there, Rudolph?" he asks, feeling a slight note of satisfaction as Loki takes a step back when Tony takes one in his direction. The book that the god just put back sticks out a little from the otherwise symmetrical line, and his eyes sweep over the title printed with big blocky letters across the slightly dented back.
The poetic Edda. Huh. He had no idea he had that one in his collection, but it doesn't surprise him one bit that the god went for that particular book. Loki's vanity would succumb without a fight to the temptation that is the chance to read tales of his own exploits.
So perhaps Tony has just had a bad day, or maybe it's his headache getting to him, but Coulson's almost-murderer and Earth's would-be-conqueror unexpectedly being here annoys him. It's like a blotch on a white piece of paper, a fly in a glass of brandy, a crack in a mirror. The god's tall and brooding presence makes Tony uncomfortable, to say nothing of the memories it drags up, of that time when Loki last showed up in his tower and the events that transpired afterwards. Mostly, the utter terror of falling to his death, only to be saved by his Iron Man suit in the nick of time when his nose was inches from scratching the pavement. It's all too firmly ingrained in his memory.
Of course, Loki never offered an apology for that the next time they came face to face, merely asked for – requested – a drink.
Arrogant, conceited, and self-important, like a true god.
Tony's mood takes a definite downturn. There is still resentment and anger inside of him, and so what if it's petty and he's being conceited as well, but he decides then and there that he wants an apology. He deserves one.
Maybe Loki is sensing Tony's gloomy mood, or perhaps it's showing on his face, but either way, Loki takes another step back, putting some distance between himself and Tony. Even if it might just be an instinctive reflex, it gives Tony a small sting of satisfaction seeing the god's reaction, like a deer retreating before an attacking lion. A turning of tables, and now it's Tony that's managed to put the fear of the devil into Loki, not the other way around.
But what's first and foremost on Tony's mind right now is one thing – he wants an apology. Even if Loki doesn't mean it, even if he would do it all again if he could get away with it, Tony still wants one.
Narrowing his eyes, he nails the god before him with a smouldering look. Time for Loki's humility lesson of the day.
"So," he says, trying to sound flippant and indifferent, like the matter isn't at all important, just a spur-of-the-moment idea. "Come to think of it, you never did say you were sorry for smashing my window into pieces using my body as a battering ram. So I think it's only fair that you offer me an apology for that."
In the stillness, Loki's sharp intake of breath is clearly audible.
Not used to apologizing, are you? Never had to swallow you pride and ask someone for forgiveness before? Well guess what, buddy, you're going to do it right here and now.
He can almost feel Loki's aversion shifting the air, like a barometer sensing a drop in pressure, and it makes it all the sweeter. Only one little detail is tarnishing the moment, though – Loki is taller than him, still looking down on Tony from several inches up.
Luckily there's an easy way to rectify that.
"And to show how sincerely sorry you are, you will get down on your knees before you apologize," he hears his own voice say, like it's not actually him, but someone else speaking those words through his mouth.
And damn, where did all that just come from?
Bu it's the same feeling as before, just after Loki's arrival when he put that shock stick under the god's chin – a giddy feeling of triumph that makes Tony oddly light-headed and not quite like his usual self. Like a heated flood of power is rushing through his veins, as if his bloodstream has been replaced by a strange mixture of alcohol and molten lava. And he does recognize it from another time as well, from a place very far away from here.
Afghanistan. The time when he blasted that terrorist cave into oblivion, taking his tormentors with it in a blaze of fury. The rush as he watched it all burn was intoxicating, a fusion of power and revenge for injustices suffered, oddly saccharine and bitter at the same time, but potent enough to make his blood boil and banish all traces of rational thought from his head.
He pushes the memories away, not wanting to think about that right now.
This time, Loki is quicker to obey his order to kneel. For some reason, Tony is almost disappointed.
But the sight is pleasing, nonetheless. Tony is the top dog now, while Loki has been reduced to one of those little lap dog breeds whose name he's forgotten, but that fits snugly into the purses of old ladies.
"Well?" Tony prods when he thinks the silence has gone on for too long.
And Tony can see how Loki's jaws are chewing on air, like the words have been stuck to his throat with super glue. After a little while of this, Loki finally mumbles something mostly inaudible to the floor.
Not good enough, pal.
Closing the distance between them with two quick steps, Tony reaches down and grabs a fistful of black hair, tilting Loki's down turned face up and forcing the god to look him in the eyes.
"Now I didn't quite catch that. Let's do it once again, and a bit louder this time," he says pleasantly, as if he's asking the god to pass the table salt.
Loki's face is pale and he looks more haggard than Tony remembers ever seeing him before. Though the god is trying to conceal it, there is a clear streak of fear across those pallid features, mixed with what looks suspiciously like… resignation, is it?
The tip of a tongue darts out to wet dry lips, and shoulders sag as a breath of air is expelled. Then:
"I'm… sorry for throwing you out the window."
And there it is, the coveted apology in all its glory, spoken by a kneeling and powerless god on the floor of Tony Stark's living room.
Perhaps it would have been satisfying if Loki hadn't been looking so uncharacteristically resigned, like he's had all the fight beaten out of him with a pointy stick.
Tony lets go of Loki's hair as he feels the surge of giddiness dwindle and then die inside of him.
There is a bitter, unpleasant taste in his mouth. Slightly metallic, but mostly just acidic and tangy.
So this is what humiliation, what defeat tastes like.
Only a few heartbeats ago, Tony walked out and left him there on the floor after having received his apology, rather than hanging around to gloat, to watch Loki stew in his miserable patheticness.
His pride is broken and mauled, but there was no way he could have refused to give Tony what he wanted. Because he's a slave, because he's powerless, because Tony controls his life now, because he still has the threat of death-by-torture in Asgard hanging over his head, because… because of a million things.
Of course, he knew already when Odin read out the sentence that the defenestration incident would come back to bite him in the ass. Tony is still – understandably – pissed about it. At least the man settled for an apology this time, rather than deciding to beat the living daylights out of him. This time.
The day had started on an acceptable note, though – given the circumstances – as Tony was busy with his own work and Loki was free to wander around in designated parts of the tower, eventually finding his way into the living room with the bookshelves lining the far end wall. That he spotted the Edda was pure coincidence, but curiosity got the better of him, so he removed the book from its place on the shelf to have a look. It turned out to be a rather interesting read, seeing the myths of Asgard out of the eyes of the humans – some of it true to facts, other parts very much freely interpreted. But it was a welcome distraction, making him almost forget about his current position, if only for a little while.
Then Tony had entered the scene and reminded him of his place – at the very bottom of the ladder, without anything even resembling control over his own life. A slave thrown at the mercy of one of his worst enemies, to be ordered around as his master sees fit.
He supposes he should be relieved that at least the man wasn't upset about having caught Loki flipping through one of his books. Back in Asgard, a slave making private use of his master's property without express permission would have been whipped.
The book is still standing there in the bookshelf, red letters on gold, but even if Tony didn't seem to care about his faux-pas, Loki's desire to read the Edda is gone.
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