So, I'm back from Ecuador. Since Sunday night actually, but I was greatly pleased that Misha remembered to publish. Much thanks again.

Thank you to everyone who's given this a try. I maintain my feelings that it IS a fun story to write. I just hope it is as fun to read.

CHAPTER SEVEN

BLURRED LINES

"Words are a pretext. It is the inner bond that draws one person to another, not words."
―Rumi

MIDGARD

3:47 p.m.

Loki made his way down the corridor, his footsteps echoing throughout the long-deserted halls.

Midgardians had a strange judicial system in these schools. If you fought with someone, you were forced to stay after school in a classroom, doing absolutely nothing for two hours, and somehow this built character.

If you took up dancing as an elective, there was nothing wrong… and perhaps, according to the many signs that they hung around school, it may even prove beneficial for your future.

But for Loki, this neither made sense, and nor did he wish to make sense of it. By Asgardian standards, fighting ought to be rewarded, especially since neither he nor… Stark, as he came to know the boy… managed to seriously injure themselves.

But no.

This was Midgard, he reminded himself. And violence was not to be tolerated unless made against an enemy force.

"Stark was greatly oppressive," Loki mumbled, rounding the corner. But as usual, no one remembered that. All they remembered was the fist fight.

But of everything, Loki was most hurt by his brother. And the way he had elected not to stand up with him. If Thor got into the fight… Loki shuddered… even without Mjollnir, he packed a punch. He would have risked expulsion, Loki acknowledged as well, but for some reason, the younger brother of the Thunder God wished the sentiment had been extended. Even if he had to use his energies to pull the blond back… it would have felt better.

And then in Director's Fury's office.

It was a different sort of feeling. Having someone stare at you, from behind a desk, bearing your crime for not only your accomplice to see, but a handful of teachers as well.

"I am surprised to find you here," the principal had told him. "You seemed to be the quiet type."

Loki didn't answer him, but hoped it didn't come across as rude. Strange.

"He's lucky I'm not considering legal…" Stark had piped up.

"Mr. Stark," Fury shook his head tiredly, "Your father would be quite interested in your latest exploit. I had spoken to you, the last time. Why is it that you feel as though the rules are below you?"

"Rules are meant as guidelines." Loki flashed a glance at him, as he continued, "And guidelines are not set in stone. You should know by now, Director, that I just don't conform. I forge my own path."

"So you pick a fight with someone half your size?"

"Don't let that fool you! I think my bruises have bruises!"

"Which you rightly deserve."

"My father will be hearing of this."

"Of course he will. I'm writing the letter right now."

Tony rolled his eyes, and slumped backwards in the chair.

"Now Loki," Fury said, "You too will be receiving a letter for your guardians. You are new, but these rules," he motioned to Stark, "They are not made for some, and not others. Fighting is not allowed, and I hope I wouldn't see you again because of it."

Loki nodded. "Yes, sir."

Now here he was, and despite his feelings towards the boy, he couldn't help but wonder about Stark. He acted as though he ruled the place. Which probably wasn't too far off- Bruce had mentioned that his father sponsored the school and much of the town's activities.

Stark was practically a prince.

He felt someone touch his shoulder and he turned around.

"Loki," the boy said breathlessly, "I have something for you."

"Bruce," Loki murmured, "Have you run all the way from the library?"

"Doesn't matter…" He paused, and took some deep breaths. "Okay. I got this for you."

The God stared at the newspaper in his hand, with a confused expression evident.

"And this is…?"

"Your way back home."

…

Loki found Stark already in the classroom when he entered, He seemed engrossed in drawing something, and he bothered not with the courtesies. Taking a seat at the back of the class, he opened the paper and began to read:

"HOWARD STARK FINDS NORWEGIAN ARTIFACT IN THE ARCTIC SEA

Following countless expeditions to Nuuk, Howard Stark had located an artifact for which he has claimed to be searching for years. The discovery came as a surprise for many natives of the region who upon speaking to reporters said that at night, the area of the sea was aglow by a strange blue light, forcing the fish to come closer to the shore. Many are concerned by the fact that its removal would result in the decrease of fish yields.

As for Stark, he says that he wished to keep the nature of the item under covers for the time being and in the near future, there would be a press conference at his New York home. There is speculation that the artifact may be the long lost Tesseract…"

"That's my father," said a voice next to him.

Loki looked up. "You are a Howardson?"

"Uh, yes?" Tony shook his head. "I'm trying to be nice here. And you're not making it easy with your weird questions?"

"I'd rather not you try to do anything. You did enough."

"Look…" Tony began again, snatching the paper from on Loki's desk.

"Give that back," the raven haired boy growled.

"Fine. But listen."

The other pursed his lips together, fixing a look of pure loathing on Stark.

"Thank you. What I wanted to say was that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did. And I don't know what made me."

"You like being the centre of attention."

"Sometimes," Stark conceded.

Loki raised his eyebrows.

"Okay. Most of the time."

"And you prefer cold hard facts. Your Midgardian brain cannot fathom that which is not tried and tested by your standards."

"Isn't everyone?"

"No. Not everyone."

"I'm SORRY."

"I will consider your apology."

"Can we start over?"

Loki looked at the boy, wondering what to make of him. He was as direct as Bruce was shy. He talked a lot, when he ought to think. He was definitely ostentatious, while Loki himself preferred to be invisible.

"I do not know what this would entail…"

"We introduce ourselves. And promise not to fight. And perhaps, if you're good, I could invite you over for a more…" he looked around at their surroundings, "formal apology."

"Then I agree to your terms and conditions. Shall I go first?"

"No. I want to." Loki smiled at that. Predictable.

Tony extended his hand. "Hi. I'm Tony Stark. Formerly lived in New York, but moved here when my dad wished to start some new research. Sometimes I help him. Most times I'm in my room designing the best weapon ever." He help up a picture with his free hand for Loki to see.

"A suit of steel? That flies?"

"Incredible, isn't it? But not steel. It's a titanium-gold alloy."

"I see…" Loki said, clearly uncomprehending. "I am Loki, of Asgard. My father… he sent my brother and I here as castigation for seeking war against the Jotuns."

"Uh huh…" Tony said.

"You don't believe me."

"You have an active imagination."

"Or you have limited mental faculties."

Tony laughed. "Oh look. We're already becoming such good friends. Banter… check."

"I don't comprehend." Again. Understatement of the century.

"You will."

The door opened and Mr. Coulson strode in. Tony flashed a quick look at his new friend before he moved to his seat. But Loki held him back.

"What do you know of this?" he asked the brunet, pointing to the Tesseract.

Tony made a circular motion with his hand. "Later."