It was now rather obvious to Loki that his body was intent on betraying him in every way possible. Oh, the stabbing pain in his gut had subsided to a hot, dull ache, and the cuts and bruises all over his body had faded, leaving nothing but little jabbing reminders when he inadvertently touched them, and the seam where the torn flesh of his side had knit back together now just felt itchy and tight. He'd managed to dress himself and crawl back into Starks's bed, settling on what he absurdly had come to think of as "his" side, without assistance. And, his mind was clearing, his memory of the battle on Trondheim—and what came after—coming back in full force.

But, he still felt lethargic and fragile, still felt as if any sudden movement might rip his insides apart. Stark was right, he couldn't trust his body to support him in the event of an attack. And, his magic...

That above all was the most puzzling thing, and the most disturbing.

It wasn't gone. Far from it. Instead, it felt heavy, cloying, like a huge feather pillow being held to his face. When he'd tried to conjure his clothing, instead of the expected crackle of energy coursing through his body, he'd felt a dull "thunk," as if he'd tried to roll a boulder out of his path. And, nothing had happened, as he'd pulled back the moment his seidr resisted, but he wasn't sure what would have resulted if he'd allowed it to go on.

Perhaps he'd have produced a full-sized space-rhinoceros, as Tony called it, to be deposited in the middle of of the billionaire's bath chamber. A smile tugged at his lips at the thought, but then a little shiver of distress went through him. Who knew what might happen, with him in this state? He'd never experienced anything like it before. Never heard of it happening to anyone else either, although he had a vague memory of one of Frigga's handmaidens laughing about how her seidr had gone haywire when she was expecting a baby. Loki rolled his eyes.

It's a bloody good thing men can't get pregnant, he thought with some amusement. I'd make a wretched parent.

He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep—he was past simple exhaustion, well into some sort of physical systems breakdown that was only just beginning to repair itself—but his limbs were restless and he hurt too much to toss and turn as they commanded him to do. He thought of asking JARVIS to send Tony up to amuse him, but of course that would be incredibly rude. Not that he cared. But he had a feeling he was going to be stuck in the halls of Stark Tower for a while during his recovery, and he supposed it would behoove him to stay in his host's good graces for as long as possible.

And, anyway, Stark was probably napping himself, having spent the night in that uncomfortable chair. Loki remembered coming to consciousness in the night and finding Tony sitting right beside him, holding his hand. His stomach dipped at the memory—he'd seen Odin like that once, sitting up into the early morning hours beside Frigga. He'd been very small at the time, and it was only much later that he'd learned Frigga had had a miscarriage, but to his boyish eyes, it had seemed like the most romantic thing in the world, staying up with your love when they weren't feeling well.

He wondered what had been in Tony's head when he took his hand.

He shoved the thought aside and gave up on sleep. He tentatively imagined the television set coming on, but felt that same resistance and hastily canceled the image in his mind, worried that the damn thing might blow up. He grinned at that mental image—oh, that would definitely irritate the billionaire, especially considering that Loki would have not one clue as to how to repair it, even if his magic was behaving properly.

Instead, he found the television remote and took a moment to study it. He understood perfectly well how that worked, and he'd seen both Tony and Thor use one, but he'd never had occasion to do so himself. He had a surge of frustration when he punched a few buttons with no result. Then, he turned it around, and rolled his eyes at his own stupidity when the device sprang to life.

Loki contentedly "channel surfed," as it was apparently called, for a long while, amazed at the vapidness of what the mortals apparently considered to be entertainment. He eventually came across the station that Thor had introduced him to, TV Land. He watched an old episode of Leave it to Beaver, amused and bewildered by the insipid Midgardian version of a family with two brothers—he could rather see Thor as Wally, but young Theodore was far too guileless and inept for him to identify with him in the least—and then at the station break it was announced that the next show would be something called "Bewitched." Loki liked the sound of that title, wondering what it could possibly refer to, given the staunch disregard given to magic and witchery by this realm.

But, he was intrigued to discover that the show featured yet another "typical" American family, only in this one, the wife was a beautiful blonde witch. He was instantly disgusted at the basic premise—for some unfathomable reason, Samantha was not to use her magical talents under any circumstances, although, of course, she used them all the time, thus constantly bringing dishonor and humiliation to her fool of a husband—but Loki loved seeing the Midgardian notions about witchcraft played out in a production intended for family viewing. "Such hypocrites," he thought, shaking his head.

He watched for a while, and had nearly slipped into sleep when he realized that, in this particular episode, Samantha's magic wasn't working. His curiosity was piqued, and he roused himself, soon drawn into the story. He chuckled in amusement each time Samantha attempted to cast a spell, only for it to go comically wrong. The source of the problem turned out to be exposure to an exotic flower, but his brow knit as that led to another thought—could there have been some sort of poison on the horn of the beast that gored him? He mulled that over, shaking his head as he rejected the notion. No, his magic had worked well enough to keep him alive and to mend his open wounds; surely any poisonous effects would have been instantaneous. Still, it was something to explore if his seidr continued to malfunction.

The show ended, and Loki clicked off the TV. He felt a little better and found the strength to pull himself out of bed and pad barefoot to the window seat, carrying a couple of extra pillows with him. He settled in cozily, resting his head against the cool glass. It was nice to be out of bed in a chamber so high above the ground, and he was glad to watch the sprawling city bustling along on its way to a full recovery from the destruction he himself had wrought upon it.

Tony puttered in his workshop for a few hours, but he found it hard to concentrate. He kept bugging JARVIS with questions like, "What's Loki doing?" and "What's he doing now?" and "What do you mean, he's doing nothing? He's breathing, right? Wait—he is breathing, right?" and "Does he look okay to you?" and "Is he asleep?" and "I wonder why he's not asleep," and "Has he said anything?" and "Are you sure he hasn't said anything?" and "Do you think he wants something to drink?" and "Oh, he's watching TV? What's he watching? Does he like it? You think he'd like to watch a movie instead?" He thought he heard an actual note of exasperation in JARVIS' AI voice when he suggested that perhaps Tony ought to go check on Loki, himself.

"No, man, I'm too busy." Tony picked up a random screwdriver and waved it in the general direction of the security camera. "See? I'm swamped, I don't have time to go playing nursemaid to an alien god. That's what I have you for, isn't it?"

"Of course, sir. It's just that, you seem very concerned about your guest's well-being, and since my observations don't seem to have satisfied your curiosity, perhaps you should go take a look at him yourself."

"Yeah, well, I'm up to my ears here in work." Tony gestured at nothing in particular, frowning. "You sure he hasn't said anything? Hasn't, you know, asked for me or anything?"

"Quite sure, sir."

"Well, good, that's good. He's probably fine, then. Although... I bet he's hungry. Do you think he's hungry?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. Shall I ask him?"

"Nah, don't bother, he's got to be hungry. I mean, I'm hungry. What do you think he could eat?"

"Given the nature of his injuries, perhaps something gentle on the stomach such as soup would be best."

Tony brightened. "Soup! Sure. Listen, have a couple of orders of chicken noodle delivered asap and let me know when it gets here. I'll take it up to him myself."

"Yes, sir."

"Great. That'll give me time to... get some more work done down here." Tony very efficiently put the screwdriver back on his work table, lining it up neatly with several other recently unused tools, and then he turned to head up to his living quarters to find something soothing for Loki to drink and maybe to see if he'd like to watch a movie with him.

Tony carried a tray with bowls of hot soup and cold drinks to his bedroom and lightly rapped on the door before opening it and swiveling to set the tray on the nightstand. But, Loki wasn't in the bed.

Tony felt an irrational moment of panic—all he needed was for Loki to go roaming around Stark Tower, injured and with bad juju going on—but he caught sight of a hand combing through dark hair, and then he saw Loki sitting by the window.

"Oh, there you are. What're you doing out of bed?" Tony brought the tray over to the lounging area and set it on a coffee table.

"I couldn't bear to lie there another minute. My legs feel like they're made of lead."

"I brought you some soup."

Loki hadn't bothered to turn to look when Tony came in, but now he gave the tray an interested glance. "Soup? What sort?"

"Chicken noodle. The best in town. Hungry?"

"I am, a bit." He took the proffered bowl from Tony, tipped his head in thanks, and then took a tentative spoonful. He nodded. "Very nice. Easy to digest. Reminds me of a concoction my mother used to make for Thor and I when we were small."

Tony gave him an amused grin. "Your mom is, what, like, queen of Asgard? And she used to make you guys soup?"

"Oh, we had servants to prepare meals, but she enjoyed cooking for us. Said she liked making sure her boys were properly nourished while going about the business of leveling the palace on a daily basis." He had a sad smile on his face and looked to be miles away.

"She must be a good mom."

Loki nodded firmly. "Yes. She never... distinguished between Thor and I. We were both her sons." He took a deep breath and a pained look crossed his face. Tony wasn't sure whether it came from the effects of his recent injury, or from a long ago hurt of a different sort.

They fell silent for a while, concentrating on the soup and their own thoughts. When they were nearly finished, Tony spoke up. "So, I've still got a ton of stuff to do, but I was thinking—maybe we could watch a movie later. We could order in and eat and watch in bed, have our own personal slumber party in our jammies. What do you think?"

Loki frowned slightly. "Well, that brings up a question. I can't go anywhere until I regain proper use of my magic, so I'll have to stay another night or two, at least. But, I'll not depose you from your own bed, and I'm sure you don't care to sleep beside me when I'm not well enough to provide you with sexual diversion. Where would you have me pass the night? Anything will do, I'm accustomed to far less hospitable accommodations that this, I can assure you."

Loki scraped up the last spoonful noodles and popped it in his mouth before looking up to see Tony staring at him with an aggrieved expression on his face. "What?" he asked.

"You're a trip, you know that?" Tony huffed. "You really think the only reason I'd want to spend the night with you is for sex?"

"Given our history, it's really the only explanation that makes sense," Loki said reasonably.

"For your information, I've been waiting a long time—a damned long time—to sleep with you. I mean, I've done some really cool things in my life, my bucket list is shorter than most, but one thing I've always wanted to do is to fall asleep beside a goddamned space alien god of mischief, and, sure, I've come this close," he said, holding up his pinched thumb and forefinger, "...on a couple of occasions, but, hmm, somehow it never worked out, and gee, whose fault is that, I wonder? So, yeah. If you think I'm going to miss out on my chance to take advantage of your feeble state to hold you, and like, cuddle under the covers with you, and maybe even wake up in the friggin' morning with you, you're crazy. Sorry, no offense, that was... insensitive. Really sorry, don't disappear." Tony was blinking a bit rapidly by now.

"As I believe I mentioned earlier, I couldn't if I wanted to," Loki said dryly. "And, I still don't want to. Although, I'm not much of a cuddler. But, the rest of it... sounds fine. The movie, and such, I mean. And, waking up together. That would be—pleasant, I think." He looked down into his mostly empty soup bowl and idly poked at a scrap of chicken with his spoon.

"In the interest of full disclosure, I do have pretty aggressive morning farts," Tony admitted bravely.

Loki broke into a full-on grin. "Well. I daresay you'd have to go some to rival a few of my previous bedmates. And, that's just the women."

Tony cracked up. "Well, I'll let you be the judge of that. Okay. I'll be back around dinner time. Be thinking of what you want to order, and look at the pay-per-view channels and pick a movie. Anything else you need in the meantime?"

"No, I have all I need."

Tony began striding to the door, when he heard Loki say, "Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"You were wrong."

"About what?"

"When you said I haven't been trying. I have been trying. I suppose it's difficult to tell, but... I do expect too much, you were right about that. It's just that, every time I've cared for someone, they've disappointed me. And, it's not even their fault, usually. I just want so much for things to be a certain way, and when they're not, it hurts. Because, in truth, the fault usually lies with me." He shrugged. "I'm sorry for running away before. I won't do it again, even when I'm able."

Tony came back to his side, leaned down and took his face in his hands. He gave him a warm, lingering kiss. "That's the best news I've had in a long time."

"I doubt it. You'll be begging me to leave before long."

"Probably. I'm looking forward to getting to that point, though."

Loki chuckled, but then grimaced and clutched his side. "Bloody hell, Stark. don't make me laugh, it hurts."

"Then, get your ass back in bed and rest. Come on, I'll help you." Tony gave Loki an arm and they made their way to the bed. Loki slowly eased himself down, and Tony covered him up before pressing a kiss on his cheek. "There. Now, stay put and I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Oh, and about the disappearing act? I forgive you."

Loki raised tired eyes to his. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Thank you. And I forgive you, too."

Tony sighed elaborately. "For what?"

"For being an ass. On numerous occasions."

"Well, I hope I built up some credit over the last day or so, 'cause that shit's congenital with me."

"Mm. Well, I suppose we both have some issues to work on."

"There you go—Loki, master of the understatement." Tony gave him another kiss and a wink goodbye, and then headed back to his lab, where, miraculously, he managed to work for over two full hours before asking JARVIS what Loki was doing.