A/N: Okay, you guys are the BEST. Thank you so much for the reviews, you really restored my confidence. So, no more whining on my part, woo-hoo!
Anyway—this is a pretty short chapter, but the next one is close to done so it should be up pretty quickly.
Loki departed from Stark Tower with as much anger roiling in his belly as he'd felt in many an age. So much of that dangerous emotion had been tamed within him through the therapeutic methods of his healer on Asgard, and more was kept in check with the draught he took once a year on the eve of the first winter moon. But, there was always a trace of it simmering within his soul, and damn it to Hel, Tony Stark had a way of bringing it out of him like no other.
He teleported himself to what was known as the Midgardian state of New Mexico, appearing on an isolated butte a little over a mile from the home of Jane Foster. He sat cross-legged on the rocky ground there, the lonely dark making him feel small, yet oddly safe. He stared up into the star-peppered sky and forced himself to take some peace from it so he could examine what, exactly, it was that had upset him so.
Tony Stark was an ass. He knew that about him; he knew he could expect some sort of absurd nonsense to spew forth from his lips at any given time, so why was he so surprised? Why was he so disturbed to find that he was still no closer to winning the foolish human's trust than he'd been when he first came to apologize to him?
Perhaps doing so was simply an impossibility, given Stark's past experiences. Perhaps the trust had been driven out of him in a cave in Afghanistan...
Loki fumed about that for a bit, but as he calmed, another painful thought occurred to him.
Perhaps he was simply such a poor excuse for an Æsir that he would never again be worthy of anyone's trust, if indeed he ever had been to begin with.
Of course, trusting others was a luxury he himself had long ago learned to do without.
Loki had had many lovers in his life, both male and female. The first, one of his mother's handmaidens, had taught him the joys of physical pleasure, as well as an equally valuable lesson—the folly of ever trusting anyone offering him friendship, kindness, or affection under the guise of caring for him.
The girl had been beautiful and sweet, and young Loki had been quite taken with her, quite flattered and pleased that she chose him over his powerfully-built, golden-haired brother, who had women of all ages and social classes hanging on him at every turn. Loki had dared to hope that something strong and lasting would come of their dalliance, for even though the Æsir were not permitted to marry someone of common stock, it was perfectly acceptable for them to have a lifetime union with one, in addition to or instead of a spouse.
But, Loki eventually discovered that the girl wanted not him, but to influence his use of magic in order to take revenge on a previous lover. The realization had infuriated him, causing him to demand that his mother dismiss her immediately, but Frigga had wisely taken him aside and gently questioned him until she learned the truth. She'd explained to him that the girl had hurt him deeply, and it was that pain that was fueling his anger. But Loki hadn't cared about reasons at the time, and he'd vowed never to allow another to take away his pride and self-respect in that way.
After that, he'd learned to cast a skeptical eye on anyone ill-advised enough to woo him. He'd learned to use his power, his pretty face, and his silver tongue to get whatever he wanted, and to then leave his lovers behind long before they had the chance to do the same to him. He gave only what pleased him, or was absolutely necessary to win whatever prize it was he desired.
In time, he'd hardened his heart again and again until it was crusted over with solid rock, until no one could gain entrance.
And, now, stupidly, he'd just begun to let Tony Stark chip away at it, only to find once again that his very nature, the essence of who he was, was nothing more than a trifling diversion to the man, a carnival amusement tied to suspicion and distrust.
By the gods, he'd never again step foot in Tony Stark's presence. Not by his own volition, anyway. The man could go fuck himself with a rusty railroad spike for all he cared, no matter how kind he'd been to him, no matter how intelligent and funny he might be to converse with, no matter how much Loki had liked being held in his strong arms, liked being touched and caressed by his gentle hands...
He let out a shaky breath, rubbed his eyes and brushed his hair away from his face, and wondered if Thor was in the odd little house on wheels that Jane Foster inexplicably chose to inhabit. For all their differences, Thor was the one person in the world he could still count on to receive him with some degree of pleasure and the one person who would allow him to keep company with him for an entire evening, assuming his lady friend was not present. He looked toward the yellow lights of the little abode and decided to take a chance.
He walked there; moving his limbs felt good, and it gave him more time to think, to let his tempest of emotions settle into a sort of numbness in the pit of his stomach. As he approached, he saw his brother sitting outside, tending a small fire in a makeshift pit. Thor looked up and saw him; a huge grin crossed his handsome face.
"Loki! My brother, how good it is to see you! Come, join me here by the fire and tell me what you've been up to as of late." He rose and wrapped Loki in a strangling embrace, which Loki didn't really mind, but he pulled away as quickly as possible in pretended annoyance and gave his brother a curt nod.
"Thor." Loki took a seat in a flimsy looking "lawn chair," as they were apparently called, stretching his legs out before him. "Where is your woman?"
"She's doing something known as 'field work' tonight and will not return until the morrow. So, you are free to 'hang out' with me for the entire night!" Thor's happy booming voice filled the night air and Loki rolled his eyes.
"Thank you for the kind invitation, but that will not be necessary. I simply wished to pass a few moments in the relative safety of this forsaken land to collect my thoughts."
Thor nodded understandingly and clamped a large hand on his brother's shoulder before asking, "Would you care for food or drink? I have beer... and leftover chicken wings from my dinner. They are quite spicy, you might enjoy them."
"No, I want for nothing—just silence," Loki answered pointedly.
"You seem troubled," Thor observed, disregarding Loki's subtle request. "What's wrong?"
Loki was tempted to unload the pain in his heart onto his brother, but in spite of Stark's idiocy, he didn't want to reveal the nature of their relationship just yet, so he simply said, "I'm very tired, brother, that's all."
Thor sat back in his chair and joined Loki in staring up at the sky. "Beautiful, isn't it? So different from the view in Asgard..." Thor instantly felt bad. He knew Loki missed his home and it always made him sad to speak of it. But Loki just nodded.
"Yes. The universe is so vast... It's strange not to have a place in it." His words held no tinge of bitterness, just a bit of wistfulness.
"How do you spend your time, Loki?" Thor asked gently. It was a question he had wondered many times, but had always feared to ask.
"I travel among—and beyond—the nine realms. I find a form pleasing to the indigenous populace wherever I go and assume it for a time; I learn their culture and customs, and find food and drink as I may. It is a blessing to have been allowed to keep my magic—I can conjure local currency as necessary. When I tire of the deception, I move on."
Thor realized he was staring at his brother with pity; for all of Loki's tendency toward mayhem and mischief, he had always had a focus, a purpose in life. Now, he sounded so adrift, so lonely, that it hurt Thor in his soul. "Do you not befriend the beings you discover?"
Loki laughed. "That is rarely an option. Aside from Asgard and Midgard, the other realms are typically very insular and most are thinly populated; a stranger attempting to curry favor would be looked upon with utmost suspicion. No, the chance of getting myself into trouble is too great—and you know what Odin will do if I create a disturbance anywhere in the universe."
Thor turned away and went back to his sky-gazing, letting Loki's words waft around in his brain. Thor wasn't stupid; he was a master of battle strategy, quick to size up an opponent's strengths and weaknesses, but he hadn't had much practice in the kinder art of offering guidance to those struggling with psychological and emotional turmoil. Still, he longed to help his brother.
The two sat silently for a long time. Loki was just about to rise to his feet, happy to have had a brief respite, but just then Thor said, "Loki? I may have a proposition for you..." and after a moment's hesitation, Loki stayed to listen to him.
Okay, so, the last time it happened? Tony was pretty sure that that was the last time it would ever happen, and he was almost right.
Loki's parting words—I'm done—were about as final as anything Tony had ever heard in his life, and while he spent quite a bit of time talking to the air again, he didn't get one single vibe that the hot dude from Asgard was listening to anything that he said.
Or that he even wanted to.
In fact, after chewing on the problem for over a week, Tony was feeling less and less hopeful that Loki would ever give him a chance to plead his case, and he spent his time alternating between gut-wrenching despair and righteous anger over that all-too-likely possibility.
On the one hand, Tony really was nuts about the guy. He liked everything about him—his looks, his brain (well, apart from that unfortunate insanity thing of course, but he really did seem to be doing just fine in the not-wanting-to-subjugate-the-human-species-anymore department, so Tony was willing to call that a win), his wit, and that weird something underneath it all, that kind of lost-in-the-funhouse vulnerability that got Tony feeling all protective and caring and worried and stuff.
The bizarre fact that Loki could turn himself into an incredibly hot babe at will was deliciously kinky as well, but Tony knew that was just icing on an already mind-blowingly wonderful cake, and that he was one damn lucky bastard to have him in his life at all.
But, on the other hand, what the hell was the matter with the temperamental little shit, anyway? Was it really that hard to cut him some slack, just because he'd asked one unbelievably stupid question? I mean, isn't that the key to a good relationship—slack-cutting? ...Uh-oh. Relationship? Did I really just think "Loki" and "relationship" in the same thought bubble? he wondered.
The idea was really scary, but after stewing over it for a couple more days, he decided he kind of liked it.
Which would have been just peachy, if only he could ever have the opportunity to be in the same room with the demented little bastard in order to pursue such a thing. And, it was beginning to look as if he wouldn't. Ever.
No, he knew he'd have to do some world-class groveling to get Loki to forgive him, and the only way to do that was to get him to talk to him, and that was...
Not happening.
So, somehow he'd have to get a message to Thor and talk him into mediating for him, all without actually explaining to the God of Thunder that his new bestest buddy, Tony "Man of Iron" Stark, had been repeatedly playing hide-the-salami with his mentally ill little brother.
And, eventually, he came up with some thoughts on how to go about doing that. He even figured out just what to say, too.
But, the entire problem was rendered moot one evening when he blithely walked into his living room after a long day of meetings, ready to lose himself in some football and vodka, only to find Thor standing there, bearing a beaten and bloody Loki in his arms.