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(1)
"It's not you," Loki said, as sincerely as he was capable of being about anything. "It's me."
"You're not just saying that to be nice, are you?" the Kronan asked, which just proved that Loki was making the right decision, because clearly this creature had completely the wrong idea about who he was as a person.
"I'm just..." Loki gestured loosely with both hands. "Not in a good headspace right now. I don't think I can be the leader you need. The leader you deserve."
Miek chittered, waving its pincers.
"Steady on, Miek," Korg scolded. "He's doing his best."
Unfortunately, that was actually true. Asgard was destroyed, its people refugees, and Loki had done his best. That was rather the problem.
"It's better for both of us," Loki said, avoiding Korg's eyes.
Korg sighed. "I can't pretend I'm happy about it. The way I see it, you've done right by me. Probably one of the best leaders I've ever had." And wasn't that a sad indictment. "But you've gotta do what's best for you."
"Thank you, Korg." Loki patted the Kronan on one of its... outcroppings. "Perhaps we'll meet again some day."
He left the luxury-sized room where the Sakaaran rebels had nested (all finding a spot on the one, considerably over-sized, bed) and headed left down the corridor towards the gangway off this ship.
That had gone... tolerably well, which was disconcerting. Loki wasn't even sure what had made him go speak to the Kronan in the first place. He had originally thought to just leave. It wasn't as if any would truly miss him. Thor might sulk for a while, but knowing that Loki was still alive always seemed to considerably weaken that epic brotherly love.
(Surtur let loose to devour Asgard whole, All-Father gone and the world in flames, and Loki was still alive, still, still, still...)
Instead, a strange impulse had taken Loki to the Sakaaran rebels' quarters, and he'd... said goodbye? And Korg had... not reacted badly? The conversation had left him with a peculiar feeling. As though maybe, he'd actually done something right for a change. No doubt someone would be along soon to tell him that actually what he'd done was selfish and cruel and probably criminal in some way--
Ah, and there 'someone' was. The last remaining Valkyrie, with what was probably the last remaining bottle of alcohol from the ship's supply.
--
(2)
"Where are you going?"
Loki eyed her with some irritation, trying to assess how inebriated she might be. "What difference does it make?"
"Well, if you're scheming something that might affect the king, it makes a considerable difference." She gave him a sharp, unfriendly smile.
Loki looked at her for a moment, taking her in: her hostility, her fight-ready stance, the automatic assumption that of course Loki was up to no good. Thor had wasted no time in replacing his last group of friends, apparently.
Sif and the Warriors Three had committed treason against the All-Father; this Valkyrie had literally sold Thor into slavery; yet always, always the truth to Asgard was that Loki was not to be trusted.
Abruptly, Loki found himself no longer interested in being conciliatory. If he was leaving, he hardly needed to worry about keeping the peace. "As it happens, I'm not - but you won't believe me so I have to wonder why you even bothered to ask."
Her eyes narrowed. "You've betrayed the king before."
"As have you, and yet here we are." Loki spread his hands to indicate the ship, Asgard; the extent of Thor's tiny fractured realm. "Should I be wary that you will sell Thor, sell Asgard to the Midgardians? You could probably earn a lifetime of drink--"
"I was doing what I had to to survive," she hissed, eyes blazing and her hand flexing like she might draw her sword at any moment.
Loki found more honesty than he might like in his bitter laugh. "Indeed. It's interesting who is allowed to use that excuse, is it not? But then, the survival of a Valkyrie is a lot more appealing than that of an ungrateful monster."
The Valkyrie curled her lip in contempt; she really looked quite astonishingly like Sif when she did that. "Oh, get over yourself. If you're a monster, it's because you choose it."
Loki wasn't surprised to hear her completely miss his point. He closed the distance between them, letting the icy anger in his veins rise to the surface. "Listen well, Valkyrie. I don't like you. You don't like me. You don't want me here."
(Asgard didn't like him, didn't want him here. He didn't like Asgard, either.)
"I don't want to be around someone who constantly expects the worst from me." That, he regretted the moment it sprung from his tongue - too much truth in it for his taste. The Valkyrie's eyes focused on him, too sharp and intent.
Damn Asgard anyway for their sneering moral judgment and hypocrisy. It did none of them any good for Loki to pretend anything would change. He had thought there was need of him, and perhaps there even was, but having tasted life without such constant scorn... he found that 'being needed' was not such a good reason.
He stepped back, pasting a mocking smile on his face. "I think it's for the best we don't see each other anymore, mm? It's fairly clear that there's no future in this."
"You're insane," she muttered, but instead of hostility there was a strange, almost serious note in her voice that made him uneasy.
"The constant insults don't particularly help, either," he said coldly.
The Valkyrie sighed, and yes, here came the serious voice. "Look. Prince Loki. Yeah, we didn't start off on the best foot, but you're Thor's brother, so--"
"Listen to yourself," Loki snapped, then winced internally. No need to let them see they could get to him. He brought the mocking smile back, the patently false sincerity. "Keeping me around because I'm the brother of the one you truly want? That's no foundation for a relationship, darling. It's not fair to either of us."
Asgard had tolerated him because of Thor for long enough.
"You can't just leave," she insisted.
"Actually," said Loki, "I think you'll find I can."
He walked away, and she didn't stop him.
--
(3)
The ship was parked on the same massive continent where Odin's spirit had departed. Which nation, Loki didn't know; there were so many of them and their names and borders were in constant flux. The great conclave of representatives was held here, so it suited Asgard to be close by. Midgardians kept a close watch on the ship, and insisted people only leave for authorized meetings or to buy supplies, at least until their final destination was decided.
Loki didn't particularly care to be supervised by the little soldiers, so he cloaked himself from their sight and simply walked past the checkpoint.
He didn't really know where he wanted to go, only 'away'. Still, Midgard was a large and varied place. He would find something that piqued his interest. Hopefully.
It took longer than he expected before he felt a mage's eye on him. Perhaps the self-righteous fool had been sleeping. Loki sneered at the crude portal as it opened beneath his feet. As if he would be caught off guard the same way twice!
He kept walking, ignoring the portal and then a second attempt a moment later. The ground, Loki had already persuaded Midgard, was solid beneath his feet. There would be no falling here.
(Through the dark, through the hollow, void swallowing him inside out and no end to it...)
A third portal opened to Loki's left, this one upright and a glimpse of wood paneling on the other side. Loki reflected briefly that he had no destination yet, and this would certainly take him further from the ship that bore the remains of Asgard. Why not?
He stepped through the portal, colliding with the mage who had been about to do the same from the other side and incidentally knocking the impudent wretch to the ground.
Loki looked around, taking in the heady vibrations of so many magical objects held near each other. The sensation, more than any visual clues, made him believe this was the same place he'd been in last time. He'd seen very little of it at the time.
The Midgardian mage climbed to his feet, huffing and looking annoyed. The cloak he wore actually seemed to be aiding him. It was clearly an object of power, albeit one with poor taste in companions.
"Cloak," Loki said, inclining his head to it, then smirked at the mortal. "Mage. Thanks for the lift."
The mage puffed himself up, readying his hands for spell-casting with a dramatic flourish. "Loki of Asgard--"
"No," Loki said, hiding his wince. It would do neither him nor Asgard any good to continue that association. "I don't think that's necessary."
"Frankly, I don't care," the mage said bluntly. "You brought an alien army to this city and--"
Ah, so this was New York. It wouldn't have been Loki's first choice, but it did present some interesting options. He reflected on them while the mage listed off a series of inane threats.
"Here's my counter-offer," Loki said, when it seemed the man was finally done. "I give you one warning, then take my leave of you. I will take no action to threaten this realm, and you do not pursue me."
"You're warning me?" The mage scoffed incredulously. "I don't think you quite understand who's--"
"Thirty minutes of your worst nightmare seems fair, don't you think?" Loki said pleasantly, and pressed his palm to the mortal's forehead before he had time to properly react.
The memory was easy to dredge up; the phrase 'worst nightmare' had called something specific to mind, much as it usually did. For the mage, it was something to do with being trapped in one of those Midgardian wheeled vehicles, in the cold and dark, hands in agony.
Thirty minutes, Loki hissed, pinning the memory over the mage's consciousness like a struggling butterfly.
The cloak reared up angrily and Loki bared his teeth at it. "It is this, or you let my grudge ferment and see where it takes me. Tell me, relic, which do you think will have the better ending for your master?"
It didn't subside, but nor did it attack; that was a better result than Loki had expected, really. He nodded to it and stepped back to eye the Midgardian mage with loathing.
(Falling. Still falling. Always falling.) Loki breathed in slowly, then held it for a count of five, watching. The mage's body was trembling, eyelids flickering; the usual signs of someone trapped in their own mind.
"I had time to think, while I fell," Loki told the unhearing mage. It wasn't true but it was nice to think he might have kept his composure instead of being immediately overwhelmed by hysteria. "I just don't feel like we have that... spark."
Golden, sparking circle; portal edge after portal edge flashing past his eyes as he screamed--
The mage didn't say anything. Nothing like Korg's regretful understanding, or the Valkyrie's snide accusations.
Not that Loki cared. He was taking his vengeance, nothing more than that. And why shouldn't he? Wasn't he entitled? Didn't he deserve that much?
Was this to be his life, making enemies wherever he went?
"Sentiment," he muttered to himself, for what seemed like the thousandth time. Of all his foes sentiment must surely be the most dangerous. It was always sentiment that lured him into his greatest mistakes, made him believe things might be better, that somehow...
Loki let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. Vengeance was the domain of proper Asgardian warriors, and it had been made well and truly clear that he was not welcome among their ranks. Proper warriors attacked with sword and spear, not underhanded spells like this one. Proper warriors gathered armies and struck at the hearts of worlds with no subtlety or strategy.
Loki was not a 'proper' warrior, he'd already decided that after his little vacation in Asgard's dungeons, so why did he keep finding himself trying to act like one?
"I suppose ten minutes would be enough to get my point across," he said begrudgingly.
The cloak fluttered in... well, not in thanks, but in acknowledgement at the very least.
Loki leaned in, putting his palm to the mage's forehead again to tweak the spell embedded there. "If you love something," he murmured, "set it free."
If it didn't come back, then, well. Maybe it had been a mistake from the beginning.
--
(4)
Outside the mage's sanctum, Loki felt a different set of eyes on him. Ah, of course. He rolled his head back and addressed the air. "Heimdall."
A faint sensation like the sharpening of attention. Yes, that was Heimdall all right.
Loki gave a cold, humorless smile. "There's something I've been meaning to say to you. You see... I just don't feel like we have a relationship of equals. Perhaps because you've never liked or respected me, perhaps because of all the treason, who can say?"
People walking past on the street were casting him odd looks and subtly adjusting their courses to keep distance from him. Loki didn't pay them a lot of attention, just enough to be faintly amused by it.
"Regardless of the reasons," he continued, "I think it's fair to say that... your constant surveillance is paranoid and controlling, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would fuck. right. off."
A woman several yards away paused and then suddenly decided she needed to cross the road.
Loki's smile broadened. "I really need some space to myself. You know how it is. Or maybe you don't. The point is, we're done."
He closed his eyes and pulled a thin film of astral energy around himself, diverting the natural flow of energies to mask his aura. If there was anything Heimdall hated above all else, it was not being able to spy on anyone he liked, at any time he liked.
Loki rolled his shoulders back and stretched his spine, feeling somewhat satisfied. There was still something restless under his skin though, something that had broken open when he'd spoken to Korg and not quite... gone away, afterward.
No, that wasn't true, it was something that had been chafing longer than that. Maybe the whole time on board that ship, carrying the remains of a once mighty kingdom here to Midgard. Something aching and unresolved.
No matter. Loki was moving forward. He stepped confidently to the edge of the street to hail one of the marked vehicles.
--
(5)
The cab driver tried to strike up conversation.
Loki allowed it long enough to gather a couple of pieces of useful information, then quickly grew disinterested. The functioning of Midgard and the tides of politics, the whims of the people; those might be relevant. The driver's niece and her apparently poor choice of college subjects, not so much.
"Pablo," Loki finally interrupted, when he'd had enough. "Your concern for the girl's future speaks well of you, but she's clearly made up her mind and further pressure is just going to breed resentment. More to the point, I don't know her and I don't care."
"Well, that's a little rude," Pablo muttered, eyeing him briefly before looking back at the road.
"Don't take it personally," Loki said lightly. "It's just that, you and I, we're on different paths in life. I really need to work on myself at the moment. I can't afford to get, mm, emotionally invested."
Pablo's brow furrowed slightly. "That's... kind of a weird thing to say, man."
"I'm sure that someday, you'll make someone very happy." Loki smiled serenely. "For now, could you put the radio on?"
Pablo cast him a disturbed look, and switched the radio on without another word.
Excellent. Loki leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
--
(+1)
Pablo dropped him at the nearest library as requested, and Loki paid with a handful of the cash he'd tucked away during his... less fortunate visit. Well, that wasn't strictly accurate; it was probably fair to call several of them 'less fortunate' visits at this point. Regardless, he had sufficient of several Midgardian currencies sitting idle in his pocket dimension, which meant he wasn't under any urgent pressure to establish himself.
Pablo had even helped him sort between the pieces to find the ones that belonged to the appropriate nation. Honestly, Midgard was such a mess. Multiple currencies. They'd never be able to function on the galactic level at this rate.
The library. Loki smiled broadly as he walked inside. One of Midgard's good qualities - and there were a few, he would concede that much - was the open availability of information. It wasn't hoarded, doled out under the miserly eye of a biased overseer.
And they made excellent maps.
Loki studied one in particular, paying careful attention to his destination. It would probably serve him better to arrive a short distance from it, so his approach was visible. Regrettably, that was probably about all that he could do in terms of showing peaceful intentions.
He fixed a path marker for himself in the library, so that he could return here when he wished. With one last glance at the map, he fixed his destination in mind and cut diagonally through the air to a pleasant roadside about 180 miles north.
The smell of greenery was refreshing. After being stuck in that infernal ship for so long, and then ensconced in the fumes of that ugly, grey city, the sight of plants and trees and a genuine horizon lifted a great deal of weight from Loki's heart. He tipped his head back and inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with fresh, living air.
Oh, yes, this was much better.
Loki strolled along the verge, letting the plentiful energies around him soak into his skin. So much life, so much open space. So different from the hardened walls of Asgard's dungeons, or the Grandmaster's extravagant tower, or
(the fragments of rock floating in eternal night, the lifeless atmosphere, the barbs of that thrice-damned sceptre--)
Loki pushed those thoughts from his mind and focused on replenishing his energy while he could. It had been so, so long since he'd felt truly well.
From the roadside he turned along a long, sweeping driveway; from the driveway he approached a sleek-looking door. No doubt his arrival was detected but there was still the form of the thing, so Loki conjured a doorbell to press and smiled as the sound rung loud and clear.
The door opened. "Some people," said Tony Stark, "might consider it presumptuous, you bringing your own doorbell with you."
The only part of his armor Stark seemed to be wearing was one of the gauntlets, and even that was at his side rather than aimed and ready.
Loki smiled and hoped it came across as peaceful rather than mocking. He was a lot better at the mocking ones. "Consider it a sample of what I have to offer?"
"Doorbells," Stark said drily.
"Well," Loki ducked his head with a slight grimace. "That, and perhaps a means of warding your properties from Heimdall's prying eyes."
"I'm not really looking for anything serious right now," Stark said, leaning casually against the doorframe. "By which I mean, it's not me, it's definitely you."
All right, so perhaps Loki hadn't really thought this through, beyond the possibility of annoying Heimdall. It didn't escape his notice that the way Stark was leaning left the gauntleted hand free.
He thought about masquerading as Odin, how he'd started off determined to prove his ability before the slow, poisonous realization that people would accept any ridiculous thing out of his mouth so long as they didn't know it was him saying it. He thought about Sakaar, making farfetched claims and telling ludicrous stories (admittedly some drawing on truth) and having people applaud them instead of scorn him.
He thought about armies, and vengeance, and pride, and what a proper warrior would do. He thought about making enemies wherever he went, for the rest of his life (or until he managed to stay dead, which seemed to be unexpectedly difficult).
"That's fair," he said slowly, feeling strangely detached from himself. He saw Stark's eyebrows raise a little in surprise. "I won't trouble you any further."
He turned away, thinking vaguely that he could return to the library and choose... somewhere else. There were several different continents on this planet. Distantly he was aware of a muttering behind himself, and then Stark's voice called out, sounding exasperated.
"Hold up, Invader Zim."
Loki paused and looked over his shoulder, still feeling... peculiar. Disconnected. Even the abundant life surrounding this place didn't seem to help.
Stark stared at him for a moment then huffed and jerked his head towards the inside of the building. "Are you coming or what?"
It took a moment for the rough invitation to sink in. When it did, it was Loki's turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise. He had nothing better to do, though, so he turned fully before Stark could think better of it and followed the man inside.
"So, Thor called earlier," Stark said, in the tone of a man making a comment that was anything but idle.
Loki briefly contemplated how easy it would be to put a dagger right through the thin Midgardian fabric and into Stark's unprotected back. Frowning, he pushed that thought away... but he didn't respond to the comment, either.
"He seemed worried about you." Stark took them through another door into a room with a great deal of cushioned seating, and what was recognizably a bar. It was clearly a room for entertaining guests.
"Well, Thor is King of Asgard now," Loki drawled. "It's his duty to worry about potential threats to the Nine Realms."
Stark headed behind the bar, which incidentally put him at an angle to give Loki a particularly unimpressed look. "Somehow I think you know that's not what that call was about."
Loki sighed. Maybe coming here had been - like so many other things - a mistake. "I don't know what you expect from me. Yes, I'm sure he seemed very concerned. He often does."
And every time Loki let sentiment draw him back, it would turn around and bite him.
Stark tapped the gauntlet and it folded away into a small band encircling the mortal's wrist. "I'm-- I can't believe I'm doing this again, but: do you want something to drink? Because I'm definitely having something."
Loki looked at the array of bottles held on clear shelving behind the bar. There was a mirror behind the bottles that reflected the room: the lush and expansive seating, the bold and colorful artworks hung on the walls.
It looked like a room the Grandmaster might have had, come to think of it.
"Yes," he said, surprising himself. Then he surprised himself even more by adding, belatedly, "Thank you."
Stark blinked then seemed to shrug to himself and poured two generous portions. He nudged one across the bar, towards Loki, and then walked back out from behind it to take a seat on one of the couches.
Loki picked up the offered glass and took a mouthful. For a moment he just tasted it, savoring the chill and the bite of the Midgardian spirit. They hadn't seemed to have so many varieties, when he used to visit, in his younger days.
"I don't know how much you know about what's happened on Earth since you stopped by." Stark was sitting with his legs apart, one foot resting on the opposite knee. One arm draped along the back of the couch and the other holding his drink. "This one time, a creepy alien sceptre - you might remember it - took over an unfinished bit of software I'd written, and Thor just about broke my neck. That was fun."
It wasn't particularly difficult to see the gentle prompting for what it was. Much gentler than would be expected, given their history. But then, Stark had been unusual in that encounter, too.
"Thor tends to be impulsive when his ire is roused," Loki said as neutrally as he could manage. He moved to the couches, choosing his seat carefully. Not too distant, but not so that his host would find him uncomfortably close.
"That's one way of putting it," Stark agreed. "Friendly guy, heart of gold, but he can be a complete dick sometimes."
Stark's eyes were dark and calm, watching him. Waiting.
Loki found himself breaking eye contact first. He briefly gritted his teeth, hating the foolish, sentimental part of himself that felt like he was being disloyal to speak ill of Thor to a creature from another realm. "The first thing he said to me after I fell from the Bifrost-- It wasn't 'I'm so glad you're alive' or 'How did you survive' or even-- He, his first words were 'Where is the Tesseract?'"
"That's gotta sting," Stark observed, in that same calm, bland tone.
Loki thought about bringing up Thor leaving him for dead on Svartalfheim. Or promising him nothing more than a lifetime in that dungeon, for his cooperation. The words stuck in his throat. Instead he said, stubbornly ignoring the slight tremble in his own voice, "I certainly don't care, but it does make it somewhat difficult to take his concern at face value."
Stark tilted his head, acknowledging Loki's words. He didn't say Loki was lying, or imagining it. He didn't say Loki had provoked it. He didn't even say that a monster like Loki should be grateful Thor put up with him at all.
Loki lifted his glass and took a long, desperate drink from it, blinking rapidly as he swallowed.
"What was that thing you said before, about Heimdall?" Stark asked.
Loki turned the glass in his hands, recognizing the reprieve for what it was. "Some time ago, I found a way to hide myself from the Gatekeeper's all-seeing eye." He smiled sardonically down at the drink in his glass. "Which was, of course, considered a highly suspicious thing to do. I thought you might be interested in attempting to study it. From what I understand, you're one of this realm's foremost minds."
"And Asgard's going to be just fine with that?" Stark asked, and as bland as he tried to sound, there was no masking the undertone of eager greed in his voice. Yes, this one hungered for knowledge. Knowledge, at least, was something Loki had in no short supply.
"They're not really in a position to object." Loki smiled thinly. "Or should I say, they're not in a position to do more than object. It's possible Thor will have a great deal to say about your cowardly, untrustworthy behavior."
Stark gave a faint snort, obviously not particularly cowed by the thought of Thor's disapproval. "And what's in it for you? Let me guess, sanctuary?"
Loki flinched at the na-- the word. Not a place, not a dark cluster of shattered ground, certainly not the one time he had actually needed Heimdall's eye to find him--
If Heimdall's gaze had come across him there, in that bloodied place, the Gatekeeper had certainly kept it close to the chest. Except that Thor had arrived on Midgard knowing that Loki had an army, that they were called the Chitauri, that they--
A coughing noise caught Loki's attention, and he startled back to himself to see Stark thumping his own chest and grimacing.
"Went down the wrong way," Stark said by way of explanation.
It was patently false. Why... Stark had no reason to help him. By all rights, Stark should have shot him the moment he showed his face at the door.
Loki took another sip of his drink, disconcerted by the strange hope that he might... not make an enemy here, today.
(Sentiment.)
He glanced aside briefly, but Stark had offered him hospitality, offered him parley, and Loki...
Well. Asgard had burned, and by Loki's own hand. He had, literally, nothing to lose anymore.
"Do you have any idea what it's like," he said quietly, "to know that someone is constantly watching you, constantly-- judging you?"
Stark gave a small, bitter laugh. "You'd be surprised."
Loki managed a small smile, and shrugged one shoulder. "Well. I like the notion of thwarting him on a bit of a grander scale, if it's something your machines can duplicate."
"Hmm." Stark's eyes lost focus briefly; the look of a sorcerer thinking of spells or a smith designing new swords. Then Stark glanced at the bar, and started to rise.
Loki arched an eyebrow, and reached through that familiar diagonal space to grasp the bottle Stark wanted, so that it appeared he was drawing it from his own pocket with a flourish. All right, so he was showing off a bit, but there was no harm in a little fun, was there?
"Cute," Stark said, with the faintest hint of a smile playing about his features as he settled back into place.
"Allow me..." Loki topped up Stark's glass, and then his own, before tucking the bottle into his pocket dimension. He was curious to see how Stark would react when he realized the theft, if he realized the theft - there was no shortage of alcohol, after all.
Stark took a drink, giving Loki a considering look as he did so. After he swallowed, he said, as if musing aloud, "What else have you missed...? The Avengers had a bit of a break-up. Apparently a bunch of them are allergic to accountability. There's this new thing, set of rules, for people wanting to be vigilantes. Or, well, I guess following the rules means by definition it's the people who don't want to be vigilantes, but still want to do something. If Thor's going to run around like he did before-- ah, I guess someone at the U.N.'s probably filled him in."
The steady watchfulness of Stark's gaze told Loki that his response here was important. Presumably this break-up of the Avengers had gone... poorly. There were any number of disparaging comments he could make, but he held his tongue.
No doubt Thor hadn't appreciated being told by mortals that he wasn't to wander their realm dispensing justice as he pleased. He'd never taken that sort of thing well even as a prince - even when Odin was the one telling him - and now as Asgard's king...
Damn, if Thor angered the Midgardians enough then they might put up a fight about Asgard settling here; Loki would have to go smooth their ruffled feathers--
No. No, he wouldn't. Because being needed wasn't enough. Maybe Thor would remember there were people depending on him, and learn to hold his temper. Stranger things had surely happened.
Stark wouldn't be asking him about Thor's reaction, anyway, not with the way they had been when Stark last saw them together. Was he asking about Loki's pride? Ha, Loki had done a lot worse than bow to local laws when exploring the realms.
"I can't speak for Thor," Loki said carefully, "but I imagine he realizes that if he is to have any hope of living peacefully on Midgard then he must abide by Midgardian rules." He paused, taking in Stark's watchful expression, then added, "You seem to believe these rules reasonable enough, I'm sure your judgment is sound."
Stark looked briefly as though Loki had said something much less kind.
Loki frowned, feeling an entirely unwelcome tugging in his chest, like guilt. It was irksome, although admittedly he hadn't intended his words to hurt.
Stark took a drink, then rubbed his mouth with the back of one hand. "Yeah, well. My judgment's not worth all that much to some people."
The quarrel among the Avengers, no doubt. Loki pressed his lips together. He could feel impatience bursting in himself like fireworks. He wanted to grasp Stark's shoulders and shake the man. So they'd squabbled; what of it? Stark, from what Loki had seen, still had his Midgardian empire; still had his fame, his riches. Stark was well-regarded, not unanimously of course but certainly by enough that he needn't fear permanent isolation.
Stark's realm was still whole and intact, there was everything left--
Loki was furious, then just as quickly the rage ebbed out of him, and he was still sitting on a couch in Midgard staring blankly at the scuffed toe of Stark's nearest shoe.
"I guess you missed that my parents were murdered."
Stark's voice seemed unnaturally loud and Loki startled.
Stark smiled wryly. "Not while you were away, I mean. They've been dead for years. Car accident. That is, it was declared an accident. Turns out a famous assassin killed them, Cap-- Rogers' brainwashed best friend." The smile dropped away, leaving behind an expression that was chillingly empty. "I got to find out by watching the video footage."
The little game they were playing meant that it was Loki's turn, now. Stark had offered something up, made himself vulnerable, so Loki had to say something in return.
He raised his glass and took a long, long drink, swallowing until the last of it was gone.
It was quite clever, what Stark did, using his wounds as shields. Stark wielded them so well that they couldn't be used against him. Loki didn't think he'd be capable of the same. On the other hand, covering them only seemed to make them fester.
"I don't know how my mother died," he said abruptly.
Stark shifted, and if Loki had thought he had the man's attention before, this was... this was overwhelming. It was as though every fibre of Stark's being was focused on Loki's words.
Loki looked down, fixing his gaze on the empty glass in his hands. He forced himself not to tighten his grasp. Breaking it would hardly be taken as an indication of how he liked the drink, here.
"She was killed, I know that much." The empty glass, his hands holding it, the dark fabric of his Midgardian suit pants. "The Dark Elves-- weren't as extinct as was believed."
"That Convergence thing."
Loki wondered vaguely at Stark's knowledge but didn't care enough to press it. His mouth twisted unhappily. "A guard told me. I heard... pieces of the funeral, from the dungeon, but a lot of people died." He heard Stark hiss. "Thor-- When Thor came, he wouldn't say... whether..."
Did she suffer?
You are not my mother.
Loki couldn't sit there a moment longer. He stood and strode to the bar to put the glass down before he threw it. He didn't want to look at Stark. He ran a hand through his hair, then he turned and paced across the room restlessly.
Frigga dead. Odin... Odin spouting platitudes before his own death. Such a contrast to the last real conversation he'd had with Loki, before that one. "He called me Laufeyson."
"Thor?"
"Odin." Loki turned back, facing Stark but seeing that green field and Odin's baffling change of personality. "When he sentenced me, he made it very clear what a mistake he'd made in taking me. Then before he died he could speak of nothing but love. He lied to me, my whole life! How am I supposed to believe-- I can't even ask him, even if I thought he'd tell me the truth. Oh, but Thor ate it up! Thor..."
Loki laughed somewhat uncontrolled, clutching at the Midgardian fabric he was wearing. It would tear, probably, like everything else under his hand. He didn't know why he was still talking. "They always said I'd be the ruin of Asgard," he murmured. That liquor of Stark's was clogging his throat, making it hard to breathe, making his voice thick. "I bet they never thought Thor would give me the order. But he keeps his hands clean of it, doesn't he, and I am the one who destroyed the realm."
It felt like it broke something inside of him to say it out loud. Loki tried it again, tasting it on his tongue. "I destroyed Asgard." It sounded like he was being strangled.
Frigga was gone, Odin was gone, Asgard was gone. They'd never tell him anything. He would never have the chance to tell them, tell them he was tired of the lies and manipulation, that he was choosing to walk away, that the scraps they were willing to part with were not enough.
He found himself on his knees, and it was Stark's shirt he was clutching, Stark who was down on the floor with him and making nonsense sympathy sounds. Loki tried to laugh again and managed a wretched sob, tears running down his face.
"I can't even say goodbye," he whispered, his voice failing him. "If I could just... just one more conversation, just to..." Just to do what? What could he possibly say, what could they say, that would make any difference now?
Loki took a breath, meaning to try to pull himself together. He closed his eyes tightly and tried not to feel the sobs trapped in his chest. He pried one hand, then the other, free of Stark's clothing.
Somehow he found himself holding his arms to his chest, curling forward as a low cry of grief broke free. "Why do I still care?"
Stark's hand smoothed over his back, firm and steady. Loki's chest hurt, burned, with the ugly, wretched sobs he couldn't stop. Frigga and Odin and Asgard, and all he had left was questions that would never be answered, puzzles that would never be resolved.
He keened helplessly, and Stark just stayed there, just kept smoothing that palm down his back until Loki could get himself back under control.
Finally, Loki knelt back, wiping his face as he started to feel like he could breathe again.
Stark's own eyes were wet and reddened, but all the man said was, "So that's been building up for a while, huh?"
Loki swallowed a couple of times before trusting his voice. Deliberately lightly, he said, "And to think no one could understand why I might want to shield myself from Heimdall."
Stark gave a sputtering laugh; a startled, honest thing that warmed Loki more than it ought.
Loki gave one last wipe at his eyes, then adjusted the light that bounced off him, setting his appearance to rights. He'd wash his face properly later, but he wasn't going to sit here with the shameful evidence of his breakdown staring Stark in the face.
"Show off," Stark muttered, climbing to his feet. It was mock-resentful but it wasn't mocking; anyone on Asgard would have called Loki a cheater or a coward, but 'show off'...?
He wasn't, Loki reminded himself forcefully, on Asgard.
He rose to his own feet, rolling his shoulders back automatically as if to brace himself for whatever might come next.
"Well," said Stark, "you may as well keep that bottle." So he had realized Loki hadn't returned it to the bar. "Don't know if it'll do you any good but... I kind of have this urge to punch someone on your behalf and that makes me feel pretty weird, given your history on this planet, so I'll just make do with gifts of expensive alcohol."
Loki hesitated, disconcerted by the casual way Stark referenced their battle in the same breath as expressing protectiveness. "...Thank you?"
Stark snorted, evidently finding some bitter amusement in his reaction. "So you tried to kill me. Who hasn't, at this point?"
Stark's voice was cynical enough, but after he said it he looked away, blinking several times.
It went against the grain to see such an open target and not to strike, but Loki held his tongue. Stark was... interesting. Stark was unpredictable, chaotic. Stark had offered him hospitality not once but twice, each time knowing the danger Loki might bring.
It was possible that Loki might grow to become fond of this peculiar mortal, and instead of that thought scaring him (or perhaps in addition) he found himself curious to see what might happen.
Stark pressed thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose for a moment, then clapped both hands together sharply. "Right! You got any luggage?"
"Luggage?" Loki repeated, momentarily taken aback.
"Luggage. Bags, suitcases, belongings." Stark flashed him a quicksilver smirk. "I would have said baggage but I think we know you've got plenty of that. No worries, we can get you stuff, maybe some clothes that make you look less like you just came from grandma's funeral. Oh--" Stark's eyes widened briefly in dismay. "Crap, you didn't have a grandmother die too, did you? I mean-- shit. Foot, mouth, you two have already met."
Chaos. It was a little intoxicating.
Stark paused, a brief stillness that only emphasized the burst of motion that had come before. "Listen. I don't want you to... You can stay here, you know, while we get things figured out, but. Don't get the wrong idea." A small quirk of the lips, eyes in shadow. "I'm just not looking for a serious relationship right now."
Loki nodded slowly, aware of the wounds Stark had already shown him. And Loki himself - for all that Stark had laughed off the previous enmity between them, Loki wouldn't be anyone's first choice of person to trust. After whatever had come to pass between the Avengers... no, this was not likely to be a strong or lengthy alliance.
Loki didn't know how to express his understanding other than to match Stark's flippant tone, so he smirked back and said, "But how do you feel about casual sex?"
Stark's eyebrows went impressively high. Slowly, a broad smile crept across the man's face. He raked his eyes over Loki's body with a lecherousness that rivalled the Grandmaster's.
"Rudolph, we're going to get along just fine."
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