A/N: First, I'd like to apologise for taking so long to update. I never meant to take so long with this. A lot of little things got in the way. Thank you to everyone still reading though, and to everyone who fav'ed/commented (I'm sure I got back to everyone, but I apologise if I missed you out).

Chapter 7

When Thor had read over the 'climate' section in Jane's papers, he had skimmed it not knowing how the numbers translated into something he understood. They seemed extremely high and he had no clue as to how the humidity levels shown on the page would feel in reality. As it played out the figures meant very hot and the air? Suffocating. He was thankful that their residence for this stay had climate control. It was uncomfortable in their chambers, but not unbearable. The heat was easier to deal with, it felt like winter on Muspelheim. The humidity was far worse. It made the air heavy, horrid to breathe, and made the experience of this new city miserable. He dealt with it better than Steve, though, who in turn coped better than their pilot. The captain's hairline was dotted with perspiration, his shirt damp, but their pilot was awash with sweat as soon as he stepped off the craft.

Rogers sighed, leaning back into his seat and watching the local S.H.I.E.L.D. men bustle about. "I hope we find Loki soon, but if he's here I hope he appears at night."

Thor turned to his friend, small frown in place. "Why?"

Steve gave him a small smile. "Ever run around in a skin-tight suit in this weather? I did a mission in Egypt three months back - I thought my suit was going to melt onto me."

Thor shared his smile briefly before it dropped. "I had hoped that this would be quicker. I find myself doing more sitting and waiting than anything useful."

"It's all part of the process - waiting is half the job. Can't act until we have a target, can't have a target until something comes up. If Loki stays under the radar, then we won't have anything to follow. We just have to follow this storm lead and see if it is a dead end."

"I cannot abide being idle."

Steve gave him a sympathetic smile as he leaned forward, resting his arms on this thighs with his hands clasped. "I know, but we can't avoid it. Did you sleep last night?"

"I am not tired." Not entirely true, but he doubted very much that he could manage sleep.

"Have you slept since you arrived on Earth?"

"My body can last for several days without sleep."

His friend frowned. "That doesn't mean you should, go get some sleep while you can."

"I am not tired."

"We're not doing anything now - take the opportunity. If we find Loki, we need you at the top of your game." He rushed on before Thor could object, seeing his expression. "I know you're not tired, but if we have to wait anyway, you may as well do it lying down. If you don't sleep, then it won't do you any harm and you'll be more comfortable than sitting around here. If we find anything, I'll come get you, asleep or not. I promise. Just lie down for an hour or two."

Thor nearly refused, but stopped himself just in time. If it was only for an hour, then he saw no harm in that - perhaps it would even calm his mind. The Captain was an honest man - he would hold as true to his word as he would his honour.

Thor stood. "If you find anything…"

Steve nodded. "Anything at all."

(&)

Bruce hadn't been surprised in the least when he entered the entrance hall of the suite the next morning and found the woman from last night waiting for him, hands clasped in front of her in a new suit. At least, it didn't look rumpled and slept in so he assumed it was new, but it looked just like the one she wore yesterday. She smiled when she saw him.

"Mr Banner, I didn't think you would get up early."

Now that had to be a lie, but still, he smiled back. "Must be the jet lag." She nodded in sympathy. "What are you doing here, Miss…?"

"Mochizuki," she said, bowing ever so slightly from habit. "Emiri Mochizuki, but you can call me Emily."

Bruce offered her a smile. "Thanks, Emily. What are you doing here? It's not even six."

"I am meeting with Ms. Kurosawa. Do you like breakfast?"

Bruce kept his smile in place. "It's a little early. Who's Ms. Kurosawa?"

Her eyes drifted over his shoulder to down the hallway where he could hear Tony's door opening. Looking round, he saw his friend step out of the room looking rather sullen. His hands were shoved into his pockets, ear piece translator and shades in place. Beside him was who he could only assume was Ms Kurosawa. Bruce cleared his throat to stop himself from chuckling; the pair had clearly seen straight through Tony's plan. He could see why Kurosawa was sent to collect his friend. Ms. Mochizuki had a demure air about her; Kurosawa did not. She stood straight, an inch or so above Tony, and walked beside the billionaire with a confidence that said she didn't take any rubbish from anyone. She was attractive, though differently to Emily: more curves and softer features. There was a sense of easy control that Bruce associated with Pepper, but she lacked the sunny disposition Tony's love had. Her eyes were locked on her smart phone, which seemed to hold an excessive number of cute charms that would seem to suit a preteen more than this businesslike woman.

As they stopped beside him, Tony turned to Bruce. "Captured you, too?"

"Morning, Tony," was his simple reply.

Kurosawa lifted her light brown eyes from her phone to Bruce and said in a flawless Canadian accent, "Mr. Banner, I assume."

"That's me."

"I'm Marina Kurosawa. I was supposed to meet you at the airport yesterday. We must have missed each other." Her tone said the exact opposite.

"Must have. It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise. I'll be one of your escorts. As we're all awake, we may as well get started."

"What? No breakfast?" Tony demanded. "You know, it's bad to miss breakfast. I might collapse and die in the middle of the day."

"I'm sure you can survive until we reach the Tokyo Headquarters." She swept a hand towards the door. "Our car awaits."

For a moment no one moved, waiting for someone else to be the first. Mochizuki broke first. "I will show way." She led them towards the door and down into the corridor. Stopping himself from sighing, Bruce followed after her. This was going to be a very long day.

(&)

Sven was bored. Perhaps he shouldn't be, but he was. Old Sam was in his clingy mood, as he tended to be when they moved to a new place, so the boy had nothing to do but sit next to the vagabond

and watch people. That in itself could be interesting and he was learning more about…well, everything, each day. Sometimes he would watch them and try to guess who would give them money and the little details in their lives. Who were they? What were they doing? This would lead into him making up stories about the people who bustled down the street. Even this had grown boring, though. People stared at him more than ever today, and there were more children about as well. Sam had pulled him closer twice, muttering about 'faceless men' taking him away, and it just made Sven too nervous to move away. So, here he sat, next to Old Sam on the street outside a dining house.

Sven brought his knees up to the warmth of his chest, hiding them under the smelly old shirt, and rested his chin on top. His arms wrapped around them, hoping to keep out some of the chill. He wasn't sure why, but he felt wrong. It was something that constantly drifted around the back of his head, but occasionally it forced its way to the front and reminded him that he was wrong. A small voice from deep in his mind whispered that it was because he wasn't himself. If he wasn't himself, though, who was he?

True, he forgot the strangest things. Perhaps it was that his memory stretched back only a few days, but there was something more. He just didn't feel like this was who he was. Perhaps if he went away from his guardian… He sighed. No, that wouldn't work. Sam made him nervous, but he was scared to leave the old man. The beggar looked after him and he was so pleased when he made Sam happy. The thought of leaving the mendicant, forever, terrified him. So much could happen. Demons could get him, like Sam's little girl, or the Faceless Men may catch him and steal his face away like they'd done with the real Sven.

"Hello, little boy."

He blinked at the strange voice. Her words sounded more like his than any of the others he'd heard in this city. Looking up, he saw a senior woman crouching down beside him. Her long grey hair was pulled back into a ponytail, keeping the locks from her deeply lined face. However, she had beautiful eyes that sparkled with joy… and something else. Behind her was a not-so-happy boy who looked the same age as him. Sven looked to Sam, who frowned at the woman but said nothing. He turned back and gave her his own shy smile.

"What's your name?"

"Sven," he replied, not thinking about whether it was right to do so.

She tapped his bare foot. "Don't you have any shoes or socks?"

His gaze drifted down to his toes, and he wriggled them. He'd never really thought about it, but everyone else seemed to have something on their feet, just not him. He pulled out his naked leg a little, staring at it. He flicked his eyes back up and shook his head.

She reached down and wiggled his left big toe. "You must be cold?"

He giggled, warming to the woman. She reminded him of someone he had long forgotten and it gave voice to his words.

"A little."

"I may be able to help you there." She reached into a bag.

"Gran! They're mine!" The boy cried in outrage, his accent strongly local.

"Hush! I'll buy you new clothes. You should help those less fortunate than you, or would you not like to go ice skating this evening?" Her voice was soft and firm, not unkind but not allowing for any arguing. The boy looked put out, but didn't argue anymore. She rummaged in the bag and pulled out a pair of stiff, blue trousers. "They might be a little big, but you look about the same size as my grandson. Here are some socks. I'm afraid I don't have shoes, though." She placed them in the growing pile in his hands. "I don't have any more T-shirts either, that was our next stop, but this sweater should keep you a little warm." On top she placed a thick, navy-blue hooded top.

The other boy opened his mouth, but his grandmother squeezed his hand. "You wanted to go ice skating?" The child's mouth snapped closed and he suddenly seemed very interested in the sky.

Sven barely paid any attention to him, too caught up in the pile in his hands. He looked up into the smiling face, back to the clothes and then back to her. Was she giving them to him? No one had ever given anything to him before, except Old Sam - but that was money to buy food and drinks. He'd never been gifted with anything like this. Was it normal? It couldn't be, if this was the first time that it had happened.

"For me?" he finally managed.

"Of course. Little boys can't be running round in just an oversized shirt. You need to wear clothes."

Sven could scarcely believe it. Proper clothes. People gave him money and even a packet of crisps and water once, but he knew for certain that this was very different.

Before he had time to say anything, she stood and started to walk away with her grandchild.

"Thank you," he shouted as his manners finally kicked in. She turned around and smiled again. He wanted to say more, but found the words lost to him. It was more annoying than it should be.

Sam grinned as well. "Ya a migh'y fine la'y."

He watched her walk down the street, throwing back glances. Near the end she reached into her small leather bag and pulled something out. She pressed it and held it to her ear. Shrugging it away, he grinned down at the new clothes. His clothes.

(&)

"Why are we here?" Bruce asked.

"For coffee," Tony replied as if this went without saying.

"If I wanted coffee then I wouldn't go to Starbucks," he took a sip of his Americano, letting it confirm his words.

"But this isn't any old Starbucks, this is the busiest Starbucks store in the world, at one of the busiest crossings at rush hour. You can't go to Tokyo and not go to the Shibuya crosswalk. Seriously, have you never played tourist before?"

He could believe the busy part on both fronts. He wasn't sure how Tony had done it, but he'd managed to get them two window bar seats with a prime view of the famous scramble crossing. While Bruce liked to think that he had reserved the place, he suspected that some poor intern from Stark Industries Japan had been forced to sit here all day. Trying not to think too hard on it, he just put it down to Tony being Tony Stark and therefore being able to get seats anywhere. Below them, the pedestrian lights turned green and what Bruce estimated to be over five hundred people surged across. It was something that Tony probably found more entertaining than he did, though he had grumbled about the number of people when they were down there themselves. Yes, it was impressive, but only passingly so. It was just a crossing.

He watched a group of schoolgirls briefly stop in the crowd to take a photo before running back to the sidewalk. They weren't the only ones either. Several tourists posed dramatically in the centre while their friends took photos, the more creative ones from inside the coffee house.

Directly across from them was Shibuya Station, several storeys high, and above it was the Tokyu building. He had no idea what Tokyu was, though - it could be part of the station or the shopping mall. Before it was a green bus and a statue of a dog, which the exit was apparently named after. God knows why. He didn't stop to read the information. This wasn't a leisure trip.

"We're not here as tourists. We're supposed to be looking for someone."

"Guy likes to make a scene, what better place to do it. We'll see him a mile off. Not exactly short, is he. Relax, have a muffin," and one was pushed in front of him.

"I'm not sure S.H.I.E.L.D. would agree with you giving them the slip to drink coffee and watch people cross a-several roads."

"Mr Banner is right."

They spun round, Tony more casually than Bruce, to see Ms Kurosawa with her quieter shadow next to her, wearing an expression that was a little too restrained to be a glare. Bruce noticed that the second floor was practically empty now, tourists and businessmen being turned away with cups and cameras in hand.

"Four hours and thirty-seven minutes," Tony said, glancing at his phone. "S.H.I.E.L.D. must be so disappointed."

Kurosawa looked less than impressed. "You should know that Director Fury has personally given me permission to put you on a leash."

"Kinky. I think I'll pass - been there, done that," which was more information than Bruce EVER wanted to know, "but thanks for closing the store for us. Do you guys do birthdays as well?"

"We need to-" Kurosawa started.

"To what?" Tony interrupted. "Meeting came down to 'we're working on it'. If we're sitting around waiting, I'm doing it with a coffee and a view."

"You're supposed to be on standby."

"We are." Tony's foot tapped against the case at his feet that contained his Iron Man suit. "Just with coffee. Not like you can't contact me."

"We tried to, and we were put straight through to J.A.R.V.I.S."

"And if it was important he would have told me. Wasn't important, didn't tell me."

Bruce hated to admit it, but Tony did have a fair point, though he suspected that J.A.R.V.I.S. had told him and he'd simply chosen to ignore it.

"If we have nothing to act on," Bruce started to negotiate, "then we would probably be more useful on the streets. Tony's right, if Loki wants to make a dramatic comeback in Japan, then this would be the perfect place. The guy isn't exactly shy." He glanced back at the square below, his eye catching a commercial on the screen to his left that was better suited to a Acid trip than an advert.

"The intention was for you to help with the analysis," Kurosawa argued.

"Not my area of expertise," Tony brushed her off.

"And here I thought you could do anything," the woman was trying to bait him.

"Can do, yes. Want to do, no."

"This is like dealing with a child," she muttered.

"A genius child," Tony corrected.

Bruce felt he should step in before the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent really did put Tony in a collar. "All the team is doing is going through readings and finding ones that match the Tesseract and the Bifrost Storms-"

"-which Jane already did," Tony cut in. "And can I just remind everyone how well that went when I tried to get involved."

Bruce continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "-and looking for unusually activity that might point us in Loki's direction. Am I right?"

"In short," Kurosawa said.

"I don't see how we would be much use there if you already have plenty of people working on it as well as a computer. Tony has a short attention span anyway, he'd last five minutes before starting work on a new suit."

"Or hacking into the S.H.I.E.L.D. database," Tony helpfully supplied. "Is Phase Two still going ahead or has it been replaced by something else?"

There was a minute of silence, during which Emiri Mochizuki looked between the three of them. Eventually Kurosawa pulled up a stool next to them. "You are staying in my line of sight at all times. No more running away."

"We understand," Bruce replied before Tony could. While he couldn't deny the childish thrill that came from losing their minders, they weren't eleven anymore and they had serious work to do.

(&)

Sven was far too shy to change in front of people, it really didn't seem like the appropriate thing to do, so he rushed off into the restaurant they were sat outside to change in the toilets. It took longer than it should have and he was relieved that no one was there to see it. It was all because of his patchy mind. He knew where the trousers went on his body, but for some reason his mind wouldn't connect it with how to put them on. It was stupid because when he finally managed it after several minutes of struggling it had been so obvious. The hooded top had been easier, as well as the socks. Emerging from the cubicle, he dropped Old Sam's shirt by the sinks and stood back to admire himself in the mirror. He smiled, feeling and looking better than he had for a long time.

He picked up the shirt again and got a whiff of the smell. It was horrendous, and with no small amount of horror he realised that he couldn't be much better. Rising up on tiptoes, he filled the sink with water and removed the sweater. He scrambled up to reach the soap and squirted some into his hands, then scrubbed his arms and torso, rinsing his face as well. He drained the water and was about to move on to his hair when a man walked in. He shot Sven a strange look and the boy froze.

"I…er…got dirty. Spilled my drink."

The man grunted and went about his business. The child waited until he left, slowing filling the sink again with water in the meantime. As soon as the man was gone he tried pulling himself up so he could wash his hair. It half worked - enough for now. He quickly dried himself before pulling his top back on. Grabbing Old Sam's shirt and squeezing a generous amount of soap onto it, he pushed it into the basin, watching the water rush over it and pushing the air pockets back under. It took what felt like an eternity to rinse it enough to get the soap suds out, and even longer to wring it out so that it didn't drip everywhere. People came and went, and each time his excuse came easier to his lips. He soon discovered that the hand dryer would do little for the shirt - it was far too large and his arms were too short and quick to tire. It didn't matter, he was rapidly growing bored with his task anyway.

Sven looked back in the mirror, at his cleaner skin, damp hair and new clothes and for the first time, he felt that little chunk of him that felt so wrong dissipate. It was only by a little, but he felt more…right.

Grabbing the shirt, he ran down the stairs in his newly yellow sock-clad feet, eager to show Old Sam the improved Sven. He barely noticed that more people were flittering around the restaurant. He shot through the doors, looking to the right for his protector, and froze. Standing over Sam were two men. Their dark hair was covered with black hats, each with a chequered band. They both wore exactly the same uniform: black trousers and a white shirt with a chunky black vest over the top. A word was written in large white letters on the front of the vest. Sven felt a jolt of fear run through him and he ducked back into the restaurant doorway. He bit his lip, unsure of what to do. Were these the Faceless Men that Old Sam always spoke of? They didn't look faceless, but then not everything the elderly beggar said made sense, if any of it. Plucking up his courage he peeked around the corner, trying to stay as hidden as he possibly could, and strained to catch what they were saying. Sam's gruff tone was the first one he caught.

"Go 'way." He emphasised his words with a wave of his hand.

The strangers didn't appear to be moved. "We've had several concerned people caal wor. A've seen yee aroond Sam, yiv nivvor had a bairn."

Sven frowned, not understanding what these men were looking for. Sam couldn't have stolen something, he had gotten so angry when he thought Sven had. So what were they looking for?

"Ol' Sam go' na boi. Ya see boi? Go 'way!"

Sven could have sworn his heart stopped beating. They were looking for him. They were here to take him away and steal his face. Turn him into nothing.

The talking man crossed his arms over his chest. "Wuh telt you; wuh hev tuh investigate the claims. This isn't a stra doog, yee cannit just find a bairn an' tek him wi' yee. Wuh gan tek him somewheor he gan hev a canny warm cot evarry neet, three canny meals an' gan tuh schyeul."

Sven suddenly ducked out of view. His breath came out short and harsh while his legs shook until they could barely hold his weight, forcing him to slide to the ground. They definitely wanted to take him away. He had no idea what they wanted to do to him, but it didn't sound good. Sam was right, they would take him away and do horrid things to him. They may even return him… It scared him, no, it terrified him and he wasn't entirely sure why some of those thoughts frightened him so much. He could hear his own breath coming out far too loudly. The men would hear him, they must be able to. Every instinct screamed at him that he couldn't be found, that he had to be hidden. Something in the depths of his mind urged him to stay hidden, stay out of sight so no one would ever find him. He just wanted these strange men to go away so that he could crawl into Sam's lap. Even if it was smelly and unnerving, at least he would be safer there. Go away. Go away. Go away, go away goaway goawaygoawaygoaway…

"Ya see boi?" His protector's gruff near-shout broke through his panic.

"Na, bu-"

"See! No boi. No boi lef' Demons too' ma boi. Ma beau'ifu' Sven. 'E were won'iful boi, ma Sven. No mor' boi then ya came and too' ma Gemma 'way. Won' be ma gal n' mor'. Faceless Man now."

"Winnet it be canny tuh give yor bairn back tuh eez parents? See the' winnet feel leek yee."

"Too' ma Gemma 'way. Won' be ma gal no mor'. Too' 'er 'way. Too' 'er face. Rip 'er 'part and too' her soul. She no Gemma now. 'N' ma poor, poor Sven," The vagabond's voice broke into sobs.

"Winnet git any sense yeut iv him neeo," a new voice said. Must be the second man.

"Yas reet," the first man said, "but sta close by an' see if the bairn comes back on eez ahn."

He knew he was the 'bairn', whatever that was…probably an urchin, he was certain of that much, which meant they were going to wait for him. He turned his head enough to see the two men stepping back, crossing to the other side of the road. They turned round on the other side and stood there, watching Old Sam. No! Go away! He didn't want to go with them. He had to get away, hide until they went. He found his legs again, fear spurring him back into action, and he ducked back into the restaurant. The farther away he got, the better. Maybe he could go back upstairs to the toilets and stay in there. Then he spotted the side entrance. He glanced back to see if anyone had followed him in, and sped forward. His newly covered feet slid a little on the floor and he nearly fell over in front of the second door. The entrance opened of its own accord and he poked his head out. Less people out here, and none of them looked like his searchers. He stepped out completely and took his first few tentative steps. Still no Faceless Men. No one even gave him a second look, not even the kind that he usually got.

He felt a small smile tug his lips when he realised that his new clothes were like a disguise that made him look normal. He could move around unnoticed, no bad looks. He could go anywhere he wanted and no one would think twice about it. It wasn't as if he could go back yet anyway. With the strangers out of sight, the danger was pushed out of mind. All he had to was choose a direction and follow it.

He chose left.

(&)

Sven eventually found his way to a market. It was fascinating, the number of stalls all under one roof, the movement, the energy, the bustle. It only took him a minute or so to realise that it was at the end of the tunnel that Sven had spent his first night with Sam in. He'd never been inside, so he ducked in excitedly to explore. There was everything from fireplaces to flowers to clothes to food. It was the latter that drew him in. He looked round the stalls and his stomach rumbled, letting him know that it demanded sustenance. The wares here were so much more appetising than anything Old Sam pulled out of the bins. If only the man would be willing to spend his money on this rather than his foul smelling 'booze'.

His eyes fell on the fresh fruit shop and his feet followed his gaze. He stopped by a pile of bright red apples, large and oh-so-tempting. Another tug at his hollow belly and his mouth started to water. He wanted one so badly, but he had no money. Instead all he could do was look on forlornly, eyes wide, and hope that maybe someone would be kind enough to give him one.

A boy walked by him wearing a hooded sweater, just like him, but the older boy's was pulled up and over his face. He stopped by the oranges eyes sweeping over to the shop keeper, who was busy running things through the counting machine. Swinging a bag off his shoulders, he unzipped it and looked around. When he caught sight of his little watcher, the older boy smirked, and Sven could see all of his face. Grey-blue eyes and red hair that seemed almost brown. There was a slight dusting of freckles across his nose. He lifted a finger to his lips, indicating that Sven should remain silent. He checked the vendor once more before he started to pick up oranges and drop them into his bag.

Sven gawked. Was he really just going to steal them? Old Sam may take from bins, but that was different, nobody wanted that food. These were supposed to be paid for. It was tempting, though, to follow this boy's example and take a couple of those wonderful red apples. Maybe the older child was hungry and without money as well. Sven could understand that. After all, he was starving and he was sure that the owner would hardly miss a couple of apples that were 40 pence.

As the teenage picked up his fifth orange he was spotted. The shopkeeper cried out in outrage and the boy took off. He stepped out of his booth and took several steps to follow the thief who was quickly disappearing into the masses. Everyone was distracted by the scene. Sven couldn't resist any longer. He snatched two apples from the pile and slipped round the corner into another aisle. The wild urge to run was pulled back by something stronger telling him not to, that it would only draw attention to himself, and then he really would get caught. He didn't rein in the urge completely. Instead he was stuck between a walk and a jog until he reached the edge of the market and was out into the mid-afternoon sun.

He fumbled with the pocket on the front of his top and managed to get an apple inside to give to Sam later. Excitement from his steal still tingling through his blood, he grasped his prize in his both hands. Grinning, he took a large bite. His teeth broke the skin and immediately juice started running into his mouth. He revelled in the sweetness, the freshness, how it crunched and, most of all, how delicious it was. It felt as if it was the most divine thing he had ever had in his entire life.

Walking down the street, the cool air biting his cheeks, munching happily on an apple while wearing new, clean clothes, he had a feeling that this was the most like himself he had been for a while.

(&)

Despite tossing and turning for what felt like hours, Thor did manage to get some sleep. He awoke when the sun had set and the rush of the city had dimmed. The activity in the next room seemed quieter as well. He could only hear three people moving about and muttering now. He frowned, pushing himself up. Was everyone gone? Why? Had they found something? Steve had given his word that he would wake him if anything should happen. His comrade was an honourable man and would never give an oath if he intended to break it. Despite knowing this, Thor couldn't help the bubble of anger and indignation at the thought of betrayal. He thought he knew Steve, but he could be mistaken, he had misjudged people, people close to him, in the past.

There was only one way to find out. He swung his feet to the floor, letting the anger bubble under the surface. He would stride in and find out for himself. If he had misjudged his friend then there would be-

Steve's muffled voice filtered through the door, asking whether any progress had been made. Thor halted in his tracks, catching the answer telling him it was much the same as it was when they first arrived. He breathed out, letting go of his anger, and guilt rushed in to replace it. It was shameful of him to think so little of his friend, who had never given him any reason to doubt him. However, neither had Loki before his coronation. Thor ran a hand over his face and through his hair. It wouldn't do him any good to follow that trail right now. He turned away from the door, to the windows, unsure if he could face Steve after thinking the worst of him. Just another minute to himself. A minute to wash away the sleepy paranoia.

He stopped by the window, gazing down to the city below. To him it looked much like any other in this realm. Strange. Foreign. Never quite asleep. Yet, unlike any other city in Midgard, this is where his brother hid. At least, he hoped that his brother was here. The familiar itch returned, the urge to go out and look high and low, to roam the streets and ask the locals questions. However, it would seem that task was assigned to some of S.H.E.I.L.D.'s many men. It was an uncomfortable position. He wasn't used to sitting back during his hunts. He drove forward until he hit a wall or his duties pulled him back. He never had a thread to follow and done nothing. It gave him time to think and contemplate the near future and he wasn't sure he liked it. It forced him to face the reality that he had no idea what he would say and do if-when he saw Loki again. He had justified it months ago by saying his brother was if he wrote the perfect speech to lure his brother home, Loki would throw something at him that would derail the whole thing, or twist it around to mean something different. Thor no longer knew his brother well enough to even guess at his reaction. Now that the younger Odinson, and he was that no matter what Loki said, had been missing for over a year for unknown reasons, Thor wasn't certain what reception he would receive when they finally found him. He hoped to find his brother a changed man, that whatever else may have occurred over the last year and a half, time had cooled Loki's anger.

He would not walk into battle on this dream though. If Loki had changed, then so much the better, but to count on that was foolishness. Whatever had happened, Loki was hiding now. Though Loki may not be hiding from them, it was safer not to assume he would be happy to see him and his friends. He would enter the encounter with a cynical mind and react to the circumstances that unfolded. Planning ahead never been his strength, not that that had worked with Loki up to this point, but what else could he do?

He wished he had something to distract him from thoughts that just took him round in circles. He wanted to have faith in Loki while always holding him at arms' length. He took a deep breath and slowly released it. Turning away from the window, he stepped towards the door. He should relieve Steve; the man would surely appreciate the respite.

A/N: Thank you again to everyone still reading this. :) The next chapter should be up next week. After that... It depends in part on how quickly I can find a new beta reader. :( Which is a tricky business. Especially as I'm looking for someone with very good/excellent grammar. Well, fingers crossed.

Thank you to my good friend for stepping in and beta reading this chapter.