Author's note: Okay, so now it's time for what you've all been waiting for since the previous chapter – Tony's confrontation with those Jehovah's witnesses coming to visit!

Alright, just kidding, but for a while I was really tempted to actually have it be a couple of them standing there, and then have the doorbell ring again in the next scene as the *real* visitor showed up a little later. But I figured that would just be mean… ;)

So, here we go, mysterious visitor about to be revealed… ^^

The papers for today are sorted and Loki sits at his usual spot at the bay window sill, fingers absent-mindedly trailing the white plaster, picking at a thin crack in the material. A small splinter breaks loose and falls on his lap, but he doesn't bother brushing it off.

Outside, the dull grey clouds hang ominously in the sky, heavy with rain waiting to fall, and there's not even the weakest hint of a ray of sun breaking through. Just a vast expanse of colourless sky stretching out to the far edges of the horizon.

And still, that sky beckons to him, tugs at him, despite its empty dreariness.

If only…

But that is impossible, of course. He knows that. And yet…

He's brought out of his musings by the faint sound of voices drifting through the crack of the closed door, and he tenses. To his knowledge, Tony has never entertained guests in the tower for as long as Loki has been here, so it is with nervous apprehension that he cocks his ears, trying to decipher the hum of spoken words floating in the air. His eyes narrow. Perhaps one of Tony's Avenger friends has stopped by for a visit, a prospect that Loki doesn't cherish much at all.

He can discern Tony's familiar voice from the murmur, but that of his counterpart is louder, more insistent and even more familiar. And it's a voice that he thought he'd never hear again – hoped he'd never hear again – and yet, here it is, drawing nearer by the sounds of it, as he can hear the accompanying footsteps too, as if someone is almost running, making a desperate dash for something in the mad hopes that it won't be too late but fearing that it might be.

With a loud bang, the door is flung open with such force that it flies loose from its hinges, and there, in the suddenly door-less entrance, with red cape billowing behind him and scraggly blond hair flowing over his shoulders stands the muscular, bulky shape of someone all-too well-known, hammer clasped into a tight, knuckle-whitening grasp.

Yes, one can always count on Thor to make a dramatic entrance.

"Brother!" is, quite predictably, the first word out of the man's mouth, breathed rather than spoken, as the hammer slips out of his grasp and he fixes Loki with a granite-hard gaze, as if daring him to not really be there, to only be a figment of the imagination about to evaporate into thin air the moment Thor moves at all.

Thor. Such a well-known, familiar sight. And so utterly unwelcome.

For a brief moment, the two of them only stand frozen at their respective spots, like a couple of statues staring at each other, unyielding and immovable. Thor is the first to snap out of the momentary petrifaction as he takes a step forward, arms slightly up and outwards as if preparing for an embrace, and Loki can feel a wave of swirling anger, resentment and bitterness welling up inside of him at that.

So rather than reciprocating the exuberant joy that is so ridiculously obvious in Thor's eyes, Loki draws himself up and tightens his jaw, trying to muster up all the regal grace that is no longer his to claim, and throws the Thunderer the most disdainful gaze he can manage. Like he is looking at a crawling insect and not the man who still has the gall to call himself his brother.

"So, have you finally come here to gloat at my shame and humiliation, Thor?" he says, the words like daggers, sharp and meant to wound.

The vapid smile on Thor's face falters slightly, but not entirely. And the venomous words aren't enough to stop him from covering the distance between them with a few quick steps, to grasp Loki's shoulders in a crushing grip. It's not an embrace, at least, but the intimacy of the touch still feels like a foul perversion, and he twists, trying to avoid the unwelcome hands that have planted themselves firmly on his body.

However, the grip is too strong, and he doesn't want to embarrass himself with futile struggle – his physical strength was inferior to Thor's even when he was still equipped with godly powers and will certainly be as nothing now – so he settles for curling his lips in abject distaste.

If Thor is perceptive enough to at all notice the expression on Loki's face, he doesn't let it deter him. The hands remain on his shoulders, ever snug and comfortable, tightening even further as they give him a little shake and Loki winces, both from the pain and from the unwanted proximity.

And when Thor speaks, it is as if Loki's daggers of words went right by him or through him, unacknowledged and forgotten.

"Brother," he repeats himself, as if to ascertain himself that the figure standing before him slightly squirming under his grasp is indeed the same person as the one he has grown up with, "there are no words to express my joy at seeing you alive and well!" The fingers dig further into Loki's flesh, a gesture radiating worry and relief at the same time.

Loki snorts. "The "alive" part I can't argue with, though the "well" part is another thing entirely. Perhaps you have not yet been enlightened as to how things are standing," the effort to speak out loud the words that will broadcast his shame is harder than he expected, but he pushes on, "but, thanks to the just and ever wise ruling of your father, my powers have been sealed off and I have been reduced to the station of a slave, property of your good friend Tony Stark."

He sounds more bitter than he had intended to and he curses himself inwardly for this show of weakness, for inadvertently admitting that the situation is getting to him. But there is something about Thor, something about his presence here, that just makes all that resentment simmering inside of him come roaring to the surface with full force.

However, Thor, who always wears his emotions like a second skin, doesn't even bat an eyelash at his angry tirade, but merely nods.

"I know of your situation already, Loki, and the sentence that preceded it," he says solemnly, looking into Loki's narrowed eyes with his own open pools of concern that he makes no attempt to hide, un-warrior-like as it is. "I found out what had transpired on my recent return to Asgard. And hearing of your sentence, finding out that you were indeed still alive, is the reason I quickly made my way back to Midgard again. Too see you."

So his powers and most everything else have been wrenched away from him, but he still has one weapon left – his words.

So he takes aim and fires, intention to hurt. "Well, dear brother," the word is spit out like an insult, "if you had bothered sticking around for my trial and my sentence, you would have known of my fate long ago. But instead, you chose to saunter off to Midgard and that little wench of yours, rather than subjecting yourself to a tedious wait for Odin's decision." He attempts a mocking smile, but it is more a bearing of teeth than anything else. "But I suppose you couldn't be bothered with that, when the prospect of cavorting with her was so much more tempting than being in the presence of the traitor and monster you still pretend is your brother?"

The wounded look on Thor's face is one he's seen so many times before, reminiscent of a wet puppy that someone has kicked one too many times. And there is an inkling of guilt in those guileless eyes, a flicker showing that Loki's words have hit their mark.

However, when Thor speaks there is a note of tense anger in his voice, the affront of someone unjustly accused of deeds most foul and treacherous. "It was not like that!" he all but shouts. "You misconstrue and twist the facts yet again to your own ends, without knowing the whole truth."

"But you did leave, didn't you." Loki lets the statement – for it is a statement, not a question – hang in the air like an invisible barrier between them, invisible, but impenetrable all the same. The pang of betrayal shouldn't hurt, after all, because betrayals from people you don't care about shouldn't have that effect.

Thor clenches his fists and looks away for a few seconds, and Loki is certain that if there had been anything within punching distance, it would by now be pulverised into fine dust through the force of one of the Thunderer's mighty blows.

"Eventually, I did." The admission is thrown out against the invisible barrier that Loki's accusation has constructed, like a chisel trying to hack away at those high-wrought iron walls. Thor's forehead is creased, with worry, with anger, with self-accusation – and Loki can't help but to feel a tiny amount of satisfaction at the latter, but the wrinkles marring his brow smooth themselves out as the Thunderer gets his feelings under his rein once more.

"However, as you awaited your trial in your cell, I went to see the Allfather on your behalf, to entreat him, to beseech him to show mercy in his sentencing. To remind him that despite all your misdeeds, you were still his son." Thor's voice trails off, and Loki takes the opportunity to deal out yet another jab.

"And were you dim-witted enough to believe for even a second that Odin would let himself be swayed by such trifling circumstances? Really, Thor. You should know by now that the Allfather is not a sentimental fool like you, or he wouldn't be sitting on the throne of Asgard."

The look on Thor's face changes to strangely sad, but unrepentant nevertheless. "As doomed an effort as it might have been, how could I not have tried, brother? Even if I would have been forced to travel to the deepest pits of Nifelheim to plead your case to Hela herself, I would have done it! Anything that could have saved you from being executed would have been worth the effort, no matter how small the chances of success."

Loki crosses his arms in front of his chest, limbs a make-shift shield. Perhaps it's another barrier that he's putting up between himself and Thor if his words should falter; he's not even sure himself.

"And do tell me," he enquires disdainfully, "what did the Allfather say to you? Did he at all listen to your pleas and entreaties? Or did he for once close his ears to you, his dear son, who was always so quick to earn his favour and good graces?"

The downcast eyes avoiding his are answer enough, as if Loki didn't already know. Thor shifts his weight between his feet for a few times before he replies, as if the soles of his feet have been burnt, making it impossible to find a tolerable position.

"He told me to expect no clemency, no lenience on behalf of lineage. That you would be judged as harshly as any other Asgardian guilty of the same crimes," he says softly.

"And you think the ruling is fair and just, don't you?"

"No matter how much the consequences might grieve me, even I can understand that neither the laws of Asgard nor the Council would allow a king to play favourites in a trial like this," Thor replies, sounding weary. "A ruler of Asgard can't show leniency to those who have committed crimes of that magnitude since it would only encourage further attempts from others. Surely you can see that?" There is a hidden plea in there, like Thor wants Loki to understand, if only a little, even if it's naught but the tiniest inkling of comprehension.

And of course, Loki understands. He wouldn't have held Odin for any less. Had expected nothing else – a punishment of a criminal that will not dishearten others from following in his footsteps is useless. Examples have to be set, of course. Every ruler knows that. He wouldn't have acted any differently, had he been king.

It wouldn't have irked him so much if it hadn't been for the fact that when Thor had gone off to Jotunheim on his ill-considered quest, his punishment had been a few days in Midgard without his godly powers. Not a life-time of slavery.

"Really. Then do tell me, Thor, what was your punishment after your little excursion to Jotunheim?"

Thor looks distinctly uncomfortable. "Your crimes were not solely aimed at another realm, Loki. You committed treason against Asgard as well. The Allfather and the Council could not let that pass so easily."

He might even have accepted that, on some level, if he could have believed that was the only reason. But he has no doubt that his being a frost giant and a monster made sure that he got a much harsher punishment than Thor would ever have gotten. But his heritage is too sore a point to bring up, so instead he tries another angle to get at Thor.

"So when your father chose not to listen to your pleas, you decided to seek out the comforts of your Midgardian companion instead? Rather than wasting your time with a tedious trial?" Loki says, letting his words coil into a barbed whip that mercilessly lashes out.

Thor shakes his head, his mop of blond hair swirling from the sharp movements. "No, that's not what happened. In the end, Father got so incensed with my endless entreaties that he commanded me to leave Asgard at once and forbade me to return until your trial was over." Another flash of guilt passes over the chiselled face, but then disappears as quickly as it came. "I had no choice but to leave for Midgard, where I admit I sought solace in the arms of my beloved Jane. What else could I have done, brother? My grief was much too strong and heavy to bear on my own, certain as I was that your sentence would be execution."

And Loki can't deny that it was the one punishment he had held for most likely himself.

It seems that Thor is suddenly standing closer to him, like he has abridged the physical gap between them without even moving. Intending to rectify that, Loki takes a step back, retreating from Thor's hulking form, lest he remain within reaching distance from the man who calls himself his brother.

"And yet you do not show up here until now," he accuses. "Surely your brotherly concern about my welfare should have hastened your steps a bit more. But for someone who claims concern, you sure seem to have been in no hurry."

"Loki, please." Thor's voice is exasperated, weary. Perhaps he is tired of having to defend himself from the barrage of accusations that Loki has been throwing his way, or maybe it's his guilty conscience for not being here sooner that's wearing on him. Either way is fine with Loki.

"You have to understand, I was certain you would be executed for your crimes," Thor continues, pleading now. "So I lingered here in Midgard before finally mustering up enough strength to return to Asgard to hear of the completion of your sentence. I was convinced that what would await me on my return would be your cold funeral pyre and I was not prepared to face it. If I had known the truth… I would have been here much earlier, I swear it by the Nine Realms."

The answer is strangely… acceptable. Not that it matters, of course, because the man giving it is Thor, and Thor is not his brother, never was and never could be. But still.

"And when I upon my return home found out about your sentence, I was overjoyed, and I wasted no time in…"

The hiss of anger leaving Loki's lips is feral in its wrath, like the growling of a wounded animal. "Overjoyed, you say? Well, I'm delighted that someone can find it in them to be happy about my current situation as a slave! That I, a former prince of Asgard, has now been reduced to being the property of a mortal! Tell me, did you celebrate when you found out?" He gestures angrily at the clothes he's wearing, t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing like his usual Asgardian apparel. "Does it give you satisfaction, seeing me like this?" The rage is welling up within him like a pool of molten, bubbling lava, hot and sizzling, and he makes no effort to contain it.

But Thor stands his ground, unaffected by the other man's wrath like a slab of rock impervious to the onslaught of rough weather and lapping waves.

"As much as it saddens me, the truth is that you brought this onto yourself, brother," he says simply, so infuriatingly simply, like only Thor knows how to, "You brought war to Midgard. You caused the death of innocent people. You led an alien army to this realm to conquer and destroy. You tried to put Midgard under your rule and enslave its inhabitants." Thor's stare is hard, unrelenting, and Loki can sense the tell-tale tingling of electricity in the air. "Be grateful a worse fate did not befall you."

And of course Loki knows that Thor has a point, even he can see that, he just doesn't want to hear it.

So instead, he turns his back to the thunder god, rage abating as it is replaced with ice-cold indifference. "Go, Thor," he says in a low voice, "Get out. Leave me. I have no wish to talk to you." A denial, a rejection as clear as any.

He expects Thor to protest, that the oaf will continue with his inane blabbering, but for once, he does not.

Instead, he can hear the footsteps of Thor walking towards the empty doorframe, and then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the other man stopping briefly, turning around to face him once more. "I will speak to you later, brother, once you have calmed yourself." And then, the Thunderer turns on his heel and walks out, leaving Loki alone to simmer in anger and resentment.

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