Author's note: In reply to Nightalp who wondered how Loki could still have his Jotun form when he's supposed to be mortal – actually, Loki is only mortal in the sense that he no longer has any powers or magic or special healing abilities, so for all intents and purposes he's basically a mortal, but his life span hasn't been changed. The part regarding that was expanded a little bit upon back during Thor's visit. ^^

His fingers clatter mechanically against the keyboard as he watches the data flitter by on the screen. Just some routine business to take care off, which is probably a good thing, given his currently distracted state of mind.

Right now, it's kind of hard to stop thinking about how Loki had done his little magic trick yesterday, turning into that smurf-blue version of himself right before Tony's very eyes. Just the white cap had been missing, and the picture would have been complete.

Then again, he supposes that smurfs don't actually have red eyes. Not to mention that they're not nearly as… attractive.

Sure, he already knew that Loki wasn't human, but he had still never expected the guy to have that hidden beneath. Granted, apart from the upgraded colour scheme, there hadn't been much of a difference, just some bumps and ridges across the god's forehead, like he had some dinosaur DNA or something. Weird.

Not to mention, that was probably the first time they had talked for more than ten seconds about a topic that could be considered really personal for Loki, about what his life was like before Stuff Happened. He still remembers the words Loki had spoken, frost giants are the sworn enemies of the Aesir. And he can't help but wonder what that must be like, finding out you belong to the very kind that you've grown up to fear and hate. That everyone else has grown up to fear and hate. It's not a comfortable thought. People have no doubt gone off the deep end for less.

Loki had sounded so bitter when he had spoken of Asgard and of Thor. Not that it had been an obvious in-your-face kind of bitterness, but the way it had slowly crept into his voice and wrapped itself around the words had been unmistakable nonetheless. And there had been jealousy there as well, jealousy towards Thor; that much had soon become clear too.

Well, he supposes with a brother like that, it would be kind of hard not to be jealous, but still…

Back there, Loki had reminded him of someone having gone through life desperate for approval, but believing it's out of his reach because his sibling is standing in the way, blocking him out. That's gotta suck, no matter whether it's mostly in Loki's head or not. He supposes the jury is still out on that, though.

Of course, Tony's never had any brothers or sisters of his own – and growing up, he didn't wish for any either – so he's never had to deal with the joys of sibling rivalry. And he's kind of glad for that. Trying to gain the attention and approval of his aloof father had been difficult enough, without having a sibling around to share in the parental good graces as well.

Still, Tony likes Thor. But he can imagine that growing up with the guy as a brother might not be easy on the self image, not even when you're a god yourself.

However, there's another thing he noticed yesterday regarding Loki – or at least thinks he picked up on – that is more disturbing than mere sibling rivalry or jealousy. As Loki transformed, he was pretty sure he picked up on a certain vibe of self-loathing from the god regarding his Jotun form. It was nothing Loki had said out loud or even hinted at, but Tony still read it into the way he had tensed as he shifted into his natural appearance, how he had kept his eyes downcast, not meeting with Tony's gaze. As if he was ashamed, as if he feared what Tony's reaction would be. As if he thought Tony would not approve, or say something demeaning or disdainful.

He's not sure exactly what kind of reaction Loki had expected from him, only that it wasn't a positive one. And perhaps that's why he had so casually shrugged it off, as if it was an everyday occurrence for him to have people in his tower change colours like a bunch of chameleons.

Sure, compared to everything else that Loki is – god, alien, fairyland sorcerer – it's a rather minor thing in comparison, but it had been unexpected nevertheless, seeing him transform like that. Perhaps not shocking, but definitely whoa-worthy.

But noticing Loki's tense posture and downcast eyes had kept at bay his reflexive, more intense reaction wanting to spill forth. So instead, he'd pushed it back down, making himself act as if it was no big deal in any way. He had a feeling that Loki would take much better to a toned down, casual reaction like that.

Well, not that the god is likely to care much about what Tony might think in such matters, but still.

And when Loki had finally raised his eyes to look at him, he had spotted something in there that had tugged at his heartstrings. He's not quite sure exactly what, and perhaps it was a mixture of several things – a fervent wish for acceptance, amazement that someone had reacted so casually to his Jotun form, whatever – but there had been something there. As if Loki wanted someone to accept him, to accept the skin he was wearing. Even if that someone was just Tony.

Oh well.

At least he's finished with his little routine debug now, so maybe he should go get Loki something to eat. The guy is probably starting to get a bit hungry, after all.

Giving the keyboard a final few taps, he shuts down the monitor and heads for the stairs.

He's glad when Tony shows up in the doorframe, balancing a tray in one hand, while his other pushes the door open. His stomach has been growling for a little while now, so the food is a welcome distraction.

Yes. The food.

"So," Tony says as he puts the tray down onto the bedside table, "no instant-smurf act today? I'm disappointed. I was kind of expecting you to be blue already when I stepped in here."

Loki doesn't even know what a 'smurf' is, even though he supposes it's some kind of Midgardian animal, but it's not hard to infer that Tony is talking about his Jotun form.

"I am more used to my Aesir appearance, so that's why I don't normally revert into my other form," he says in reply as Tony fiddles with the books on the table, shoving things aside to make room for the tray. Well, more comfortable with is really closer to the truth, but it doesn't matter.

Tony doesn't reply to that, but a few seconds later, the man is sitting on the edge of Loki's bed, gesturing at his forehead. "Figure we might as well get that thing changed while we're at it," he says, hand going for one of the fresh pads littering the little table.

The procedure is no different from those other few times that Tony has plastered a new pad over his cut. Apart from one thing, he realizes; there actually is a significant difference that is standing out in his mind. Because it's actually the first time that Tony is doing this since learning about his Jotun heritage. And Loki could think of several people back in Asgard who he's sure wouldn't even want to touch him at all, should they have found out about his true nature, be it out of fear, aversion, or animosity.

And yet, Tony is acting as if nothing has changed, as if everything is as before. And of course, to Tony it is not such a momentous thing, since his Midgardian culture doesn't come with a pre-prepared box for frost giants in which his mind can conveniently stick him, with all the less than pleasant connotations that follow.

But despite being aware of this, everything inside of him is screaming that Tony should be wary, cautious, reluctant, something, now that the man knows.

However, there is nothing in his demeanour – nor in his touch – that suggests that anything is different from yesterday. The fingers are still moving over his temple and forehead as unperturbed as before. And he's glad of that – glad that nothing has changed because of his revelation, glad that there is actually someone who won't be reluctant to bestow a simple touch upon him because of who he is.

So that's why he's closing his eyes as the fingers briefly move across his skin, even feeling a vague sense of disappointment as they're removed.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that I don't have to wrap your head in a bandage or anything, or you would really have looked like a smurf back there," Tony says as he throws the wrapping paper onto the table and stands back up.

And Loki still has no idea what a smurf looks like or what kind of animal it is – apart from apparently being blue-skinned – but he's hoping it's not some kind of pest or vermin or the like, at least.

Perhaps he'll find out some day. He will be here for the duration, after all.

"Well then, enjoy your food," Tony says somewhere above him, obviously preparing to take his leave.

Loki feels another little sting of disappointment at that. He had been hoping Tony would be interested in another game of Hnefatafl, but it doesn't seem like it. Hopefully, the man hasn't grown bored of it yet.

And even though he's hungry and the food next to him smells really tempting, making his stomach do a little twist, he would still have preferred to play another game rather than eating. Longingly, his eyes drift towards the board lying folded up on the bedside table, balancing precariously on the edge. He'd really like to play again, but if Tony doesn't want to…

Then there's the rough scraping sound of a chair being pulled across the floor and when Loki looks up, Tony is sitting next to the bed, head cocked to his side.

"So, you're up for another game, Rudolph?"

Another lost game of Hnefatafl, but that's alright; at least he thinks he's getting better. If nothing else, their games are taking longer to finish now, so that should probably count in his favour.

Truth be told, he hadn't really been planning on staying for that – he had other things to take care of, after all – but he hadn't failed to notice how Loki's eyes had wistfully been drifting towards the board as Tony was about to leave, and the unspoken wish in those green eyes was hard to miss. So he had offered. It would be unkind and selfish to turn down such a simple wish from someone lying all injured in bed, right? Even if that wish hadn't actually been spoken out loud.

And Tony might be a vain, self-centred, narcissistic playboy, but he's still a Nice Guy at heart. Yup, that's him, Tony Stark. Doing the Right Thing and all.

Though, a part of him is starting to get a little bit concerned on his own behalf, because as he had changed the pad on Loki's forehead, he had almost believed that the god was leaning ever-so-slightly, ever-so-minutely into his touch, even if it had only been for a second.

He winces at the memory. He probably should stop spending so much time at Loki's bedside, given how it's obviously making his deluded brain twist reality into all sorts of harebrained scenarios it gets off on imagining. But in the end, it's nothing but a futile dream, a whimsical flight of fancy that will never amount to anything.

Perhaps it would be a good idea to cut down on his Loki time before his wishful brain starts to twist things into something much less innocent than that.

And, worse, before he'll actually start to believe in it too.

Chapter inspired by Potkanka who wondered whether Tony at all picked up on Loki's self-loathing regarding his Jotun form. I guess that's the answer right there. ^^

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