As the last of the green flames flickered out, he and Bruce were left staring at the scorch marks and ash that were all that were left of the man that had volunteered to test the "cure." Never mind that he had been one of the ones to take part in the attack or that he had volunteered to be dosed with Extremis in the first place. He had taken the opportunity and run with it…and now he was dead and Sigyn was gone.

There was a cold feeling that was spreading through him. Bruce hadn't said anything. What was there to say? She'd been right that they had wasted the man's life, but he wasn't going to quibble over how the man had died when he had been one of the individuals to take part in the attack. He'd been offered a choice and he'd made the agreement on the chance that he would be set free…with conditions. No need to worry about that now.

He was dead and Sigyn was gone. So little time left. How long had it been since the spells had been cast?

"A week, sir," Jarvis answered. Three weeks left, then.

So…three weeks left and Sigyn had disagreed with his methods of testing the hypothesis. He looked at the scorch marks and ash that were the remnants of a human life. The cold spreading through him solidified. His stomach turned. He'd been wrong. He couldn't do this…wouldn't…not again. How many people had he reduced to scorch marks and ash with his own weapons? Yinsen had been right, so long ago, that he had potential, but what of the other lives he had ended? Afghanistan and scars. A carefully balanced life between memory and making things better. Savingpeople because someone had saved him. Pepper.

He turned and walked out of the lab. Bruce might have said something, but he only heard the echo of words distantly. Pepper would know the question, maybe even understand what he was missing.

When the spell released them into one of his secret places, he realized she was too quiet, too still. Sigyn hadn't released her grip on his wrist and had leaned into him so that her head rested on his shoulder. He studied the tired expression she wore, drank in the silence that pressed in.

He remembered, too well, that the human had looked to her with questions while they fought Amora's spell. He remembered, too well, what he had done himself in the pursuit of knowledge. Had she seen too much of those times in that moment, in that wasted life? Her grip was still strong, but he didn't move to break it.

The silence stretched until she said, "I like them, these humans, but I can't-" her eyes closed and the expression crossed into pained. "Tony and Jane and Darcy are brilliant. Bruce is steady when he isn't raging. Steve is too honorable, but his intentions can be trusted. Clint is wary and secretive, but holds to a line he doesn't cross. I understand Natasha means well, but doesn't always express it in a manner anyone else understands. Am I investing too much into them?" She was frowning and watching the way that her fingers flexed against his chainmail.

There were words he could give her, an easily crafted lie to set her unease aside, but…

The warmth of her body against his was something he hadn't known for close to two hundred years. The brush of her hair against his hand, the smoothness of her skin, the turn of her eyes as she studied him, the tilt of her smile as she smiled at him, the way she accented her words. It was something he had missed, had only recalled in memory when it paled to the real thing and he had left her among enemies after he had rescued her from the Abyss.

Oh, the reasons he had left her had seemed important, had seemed right, but…

How many times had she figured out the easily crafted lies and been furious for them later? How many times had he left her, hurting and words cut too short? She'd always been there, even when Narvi and Vali had died, when she hadn't been sure that love would survive that hurt.

"Loki?" she asked softly, her gaze flicking to his.

He could remember the ache that had settled in his heart at Odin's words and Thor's refusal to help him. This human, this once-enemy of his, had been placed in a similar situation. It was something he could understand.

"That is an answer that you must give yourself," he said, rotating his wrist and loosening her grip on him. "The…friendship…you have with them is your own."

There was silence between them as she let go of his wrist and wrapped her arms around herself. She studied the floor for a long time before she shrugged out of his embrace and made for the books he had stored in that particular room. He watched her pick a tome out at random and settle at the desk.

However much it hurt to have her withdraw like that, he understood the mood. He understood that she was working through something, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And it didn't mean that he had to stay there to witness it.

She felt the coiling snap of power when he cast the spell, but she didn't look up, didn't know what she might have said had he still been there. The book was set aside, unread. There wasn't anything in it that would settle the questions that had been brought so abruptly forward that evening. Nor was there anything that would quell the quiet ache that spread through her as she considered the actions that had hurt Loki.

Hours later, after she had stared blindly at the wall until her eyes hurt and then paced and tried to pick apart the emotions that had dulled through the time, she had settled on the bed and dozed. She wasn't sure when he had returned, but when she next stirred out an almost-dream, he was seated at the desk, angled a little away from her with his legs stretched before him and ankles crossed. The armor had been discarded in favor of black slacks and a green shirt that held the barest hint of gold around the cuffs. There was a book held loosely in his lap, but he was slanting her a cool look, something that was almost a question.

Studying the way that he studied her, she realized…it didn't matter. Whatever had unsettled her about how Tony had carried out his tests, it didn't matter. Loki wasn't part of that and hadn't deserved the way she had turned from him. She was aware of the cloth of blankets beneath her fingers as she rose from the bed, just as she was aware of the number of steps that took her to him and the way that his features slowly thawed into something tired.

Had it truly only been weeks since she had first woken in the Tower? As an immortal, she was used to long periods of quiet broken only by the strange effects of Loki's newest project or latest scheme. She knew the pace of battle and the frantic weave of healing when warriors were in her care, but those moments were far between. Earth. Midgard. The Avengers. Mortals. They were a never ending movement and it jarred her to think of it sometimes.

Loki set aside the book he hadn't been reading-the same one she had grabbed earlier-and held up a hand when she was within reach. Her fingers threaded through his before she dropped into his lap and curled around their joined fingers.

"When we're done with Amora, we are taking more than a few weeks for us," she told him. His free hand went around her waist and he tucked her head under his chin. There was silence between them for a long moment before she said, voice soft, "I'm sorry. You-"

"I know," he said, tone oddly gentle. They were silent again. Then, "Do you want to know my thoughts on the matter?"

She gave a muffled laugh. "Yes."

"You have always and will always seek the company of those who have the intellectual capacity to keep pace with you. There are very few of intellectual capacity on Asgard with broad enough interests to occupy your conversation. Stark and the beast are mortal, but are more than capable of keeping pace with you," Loki said.

There was something in his tone that had her uncurling and leaning back to look at him. A shadow had settled across his features, something half-hungry and half-angry. "Loki," she began, but he was turning away, unthreading his fingers from hers, and gently ushering her to stand as her rose. He was withdrawing.

She seized two handfuls of his shirt and yanked him towards her, her mouth slanting over his before he registered what she was doing. Then, he was responding in kind. Cloth fluttered gently to the floor as clothes were discarded or ripped. Questions that would need answers were shoved to the side, something to be looked at later. Now, right now, what they needed was each other.

Somewhere between bitten back sighs and tangled sheets and skin sliding against skin, he realized how foolish they had both been. Remnants of the spell, perhaps, but foolish on their parts nevertheless.