Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ebony Maw had regularly envisioned what many mortals would regard as the end of the universe. Stars collapsed into themselves, civilisations crumbled beneath the weight of their own ambitions, entire worlds perished in the indifferent passage of cosmic time. The universe was ancient beyond comprehension, magnificent beyond description, and yet so profoundly flawed that its beauty seemed almost an insult to the suffering it contained. Countless species were left to claw their way towards prosperity, only to be devoured by the very abundance they had sought. It was a universe without restraint, without balance, without purpose.

And then, above it all, there was Thanos. Maw had envisioned his master standing at the culmination of all things, a solitary figure against the boundless splendour of a universe finally brought into harmony. He had imagined the great celestial machinery of existence turning at last towards its proper equilibrium, the endless suffering of creation brought to an end by the one being who possessed the wisdom to recognise its cause. Where others had seen tragedy, he had perceived necessity; where others had despaired at the suffering of countless worlds, he had understood the terrible mercy required to prevent it. He would be the architect of a new cosmic order, the instrument of a universal correction. His purpose transcended the petty ambitions of kings and the transient dominion of empires. It was a beautiful vision. It was an inevitable one.

And Maw had been privileged to serve it. In his master's design, he had found something approaching the divine: the certainty that his existence possessed meaning beyond itself, that every sacrifice made in Thanos's service brought the universe one step closer to its fulfilment. The stars would not remember his name, nor would the worlds that survived the great correction know of the hands that had laboured to bring it about. It did not matter. His master's work would endure. The universe would be brought to its knees. The suffering would end. And Thanos would stand above it all, eternal in the magnitude of what he had accomplished.

And now there was Ebony Maw, staring at a very dead Thanos.

His master lay amid the wreckage of the Statesman, beneath the broken remains of the great vessel. Twisted metal surrounded the great Titan's body. Dust settled upon his golden armour, and dark blood stained the ruined floor beneath him. His enormous hand lay open at his side, empty and motionless. Beyond the shattered walls, the universe continued as it always had. Somewhere, worlds continued to suffer. Somewhere, civilisations continued to devour themselves. The stars burned on, indifferent to the death of the one who had intended to save them.

Maw could not reconcile the sight with the magnitude of the purpose left unfulfilled. Thanos had seemed as immutable as the laws of nature, as certain as the passage of time. He did not belong among the dead. He did not belong beneath the rubble.

And yet there he lay.

The Gauntlet lay idle in his lifeless hand, the Power Stone still glowing feebly. The great design stood unfinished, its fulfilment suspended somewhere beyond reach. Maw had given himself entirely to the certainty of his master's success. What was a servant without a master? What was devotion without its object, faith without its fulfilment?

Something moved in the darkness.

Proxima Midnight emerged from the wreckage, followed by Corvus Glaive and Cull Obsidian. Their faces were drawn with confusion, their movements unsteady. They looked upon the ruined chamber, upon the devastation that surrounded them, and finally upon their master.

Maw's hands had curled into fists, his nails pressing into his palms. An emptiness so profound seemed to have swallowed every other sensation, leaving something cold and terrible in its place.

His master was dead. The purpose was unfulfilled. And somewhere in the vastness of creation, those responsible were still alive. Loki. The Asgardians. The Midgardians who would offer the prince sanctuary, permitting him to hide amongst them while the universe continued to suffer for their defiance. Maw's grief demanded an explanation. His guilt demanded punishment. He could not bear the thought that the universe might simply continue as though nothing had happened, that his master's death might pass unanswered while those responsible carried on drawing breath.

He lifted his gaze towards the shattered windows, towards the blackness beyond them, where distant stars burned with their familiar, indifferent light. Somewhere out there lay the prince who had robbed the universe of its future. For the first time, the universe seemed not magnificent, nor mysterious, nor even cruel. It seemed simply wrong: a vast and senseless expanse in which the most consequential being to have ever existed could be extinguished without so much as a tremor passing through the stars.

If the universe would not fulfil its purpose, then Maw would make it answer for that failure. Maw knelt before his wounded master and pulled the Gauntlet from his arm, eyeing the power stone.

"Follow the Asgardians. We are going to Earth."

His voice was quiet. There would be time for grief, time to contemplate the magnitude of what had been lost. But not yet. For now, there was only the unfinished work of his master, and the knowledge that somewhere among the stars, the guilty continued to draw breath.

Maw turned towards the others.

"Prepare my ship."

—

Day three. Huh.

Loki was beginning to suspect that Midgardian time operated according to some strange, incomprehensible principle which meant that three days could feel like three weeks, or perhaps three centuries, depending on how many people happened to be shouting at him at any given moment. Already, he had experienced several arguments, one rather spectacular collapse, an alarming number of conversations about his well-being, and more strawberry Pop-Tarts than he cared to admit.

Well, his new… acquaintances had seen him eat very few of them, whether in the kitchen or the medical room  Not that he was going to admit that he and Thor had finished the box together last night. Regardless, day three. What a peculiar little thing.

He was in the kitchen again, which was becoming a very deeply established habit. Loki had still not formally declared it his favourite room in the Tower, naturally. Such declarations were for people who enjoyed making themselves vulnerable to mockery, and he had quite enough of that without volunteering additional material. Nevertheless, there was something about the kitchen which made it remarkably easy to exist in. Of course, there was the novelty that nobody minded him being there.

He stood beside the island in a comfortable pair of dark trousers and a loose shirt, nursing a mug of tea while Wanda occupied the opposite side of the counter. Vision was seated nearby, reading something on a tablet with the sort of extraordinary concentration that suggested the fate of the universe might depend upon whatever article he had found. Loki thought he was peculiar. The morning sun poured through the enormous windows, brightening the polished surfaces and warming the air without quite making the room unbearable.

And Loki was feeling rather good, actually. Not good in the grand, sweeping sense of the word, perhaps, but good enough that he had spent the better part of the last ten minutes watching Wanda prepare breakfast without feeling the need to invent an excuse for his presence. His shoulders were loose. His thoughts had stopped chasing one another in increasingly frantic circles. Even the prospect of encountering Rogers again seemed, for the moment, a problem for some distant and unfortunate future version of himself.

He took another sip of tea. Oh, this was nice. He ought to have been suspicious.

Wanda glanced at him over her shoulder. “You're awfully quiet this morning.”

“Am I?”

Wanda laughed, turning back to the stove. “Yeah. You are. Would you like some breakfast?”

“Desperately.”

She gestured towards the plates. “Then help yourself.”

Loki did, taking a piece of toast and settling against the counter once more. He chewed slowly, not to announce just how hungry he really was. So nonchalant.

Wanda glanced over at him. “Would you like some more?”

Loki cocked his head. “More…?”

“Toast.” She gestured towards the plate. “Help yourself.”

He looked at the plate, then back at her. “Oh. Are you sure?”

Wanda blinked. “Of course?”

“I mean, I…” He glanced at the toast again, faintly bewildered. “You don't mind?”

“Loki, it's toast.”

Loki gesticulated wildly at his plate, half-stuttering, “Yes, I'm aware of what it is.”

“Then take some!”

He hesitated for another moment, apparently attempting to locate the hidden catch in this extraordinary arrangement.  “I can just…” He gestured vaguely towards the plate. “I. Okay.”

He took another piece. Wanda watched him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher before turning back to the stove, mercifully without making any further comment. Loki stared down at his toast. Vision lowered his tablet.

“Have either of you seen Thor this morning?”

Loki nearly choked on his tea. Wanda’s expression gave a small change - a slight lift of the eyebrows, the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. The sort of expression that, in a less observant person, might have passed entirely unnoticed. Unfortunately, Loki was exceptionally observant.

“Oh,” Wanda said.

Vision looked between them. “Oh?”

“Nothing.”

“Your response suggests otherwise.”

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

Loki slowly lowered his mug. “No,” he replied, with all the dignity of a prince who had absolutely no intention of behaving himself. “I haven't seen my brother. Though I can make a rather educated guess as to his whereabouts.”

Vision tilted his head. “Can you?”

“Indeed.”

“And where might that be?”

Loki took a leisurely bite of toast. “Somewhere with Dr Banner, I imagine.”

Wanda made a small noise which she attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to disguise as a cough. Vision considered this information with the grave seriousness of a man receiving a military briefing. “Ah.” There was a brief, awkward pause before he asked, “Do you believe they are conducting scientific research?”

Wanda turned away from the stove. Loki stared at him for a moment before a laugh burst out of him, sudden and entirely involuntary. He clapped a hand over his mouth, trying rather unsuccessfully to smother it, and hastily set his mug down before he could drop it. His shoulders shook as he leaned against the counter, muffling another helpless snort into his palm. Then he caught himself, pressing his lips together as though that might somehow undo the noise he had just made.

“Vision,” Wanda managed, sounding scandalised and delighted in equal measure.

“What?” Vision looked genuinely perplexed. “Dr Banner is a scientist. Thor has expressed considerable interest in his work. It seemed a reasonable assumption.”

“Of course,” Loki wheezed. “Of course it did.”

“Is it not?”

“Oh, it is. Perfectly reasonable. Entirely scientific. I am certain they are engaged in the most rigorous experiments imaginable.”

Wanda had to put down the spatula, on the verge of snapping much like Loki. Vision looked from one to the other. “I feel I am missing some context.”

Wanda finally turned around, leaning back against the counter with a grin. “They're probably just spending time together.”

Vision set his tablet down. “Is that supposed to be amusing?”

“Because,” Wanda explained patiently, “Thor has been spending a lot of time with Bruce lately.”

“Which he is perfectly entitled to do, they’re living together - we’re all living together, they have the right to spend time with one another, whatever is so amusing?” Vision replied.

Wanda's laughter became entirely unmanageable. Loki was rather pleased with himself. It had been some time since he had enjoyed a conversation which did not require him to weigh every word before allowing it to leave his mouth. He laughed, too, a sound that escaped him before he could think better of it. And then, almost at once, he caught himself. Loki lowered his gaze to his plate, suddenly rather interested in the way the light fell across its surface. Had that been too much? Had he carried the joke too far, made himself too comfortable, forgotten himself in the company of people who had no particular reason to tolerate him beyond the rather extraordinary circumstances of his arrival? 

Oh for Valhalla’s sake…

He reached for another piece of toast.

“Well,” he added, “if Thor wishes to spend every waking hour in Dr Banner's company, who am I to interfere? I am a deeply supportive brother.”

“That's very generous of you,” Wanda said.

“I thought so.”

Vision picked up his tablet again, satisfied that the matter had been resolved to his standards. “I shall make a note to ask Dr Banner whether their research is progressing.”

“Vision!” Loki nearly dropped his toast as Wanda buried her face in her hands. And Vision, entirely untroubled by the chaos he had unleashed, returned to his reading.

The morning continued like that for a while. Not for very long, in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps two hours, from somewhere around eight until ten, though Loki had never been particularly inclined to measure a pleasant morning by the clock. The sunlight crept gradually across the kitchen floor. They discussed nothing of any real importance, topics that were all terribly ordinary.

Loki found that he rather liked ordinary. Or, well, he thought he did. He liked the sound of Wanda laughing, and the way Vision could say something so catastrophically ridiculous with that signature straight-faced sincerity of his. He liked that nobody seemed to require him to be anything in particular, that he could sit with his tea and his toast and his thoughts without having to turn himself into a performance for somebody else's benefit.

He was still getting used to it, of course. There were moments when the conversation lulled and he became painfully aware of himself again. The unfamiliarity of it all sat somewhere beneath his ribs, not quite uncomfortable enough to spoil things, but not quite comfortable enough to ignore. When Wanda asked whether he wanted another cup of tea, he nearly said no out of habit, but he agreed, even with the hesitation. Embarrassingly, that little interaction made him infinitely proud of himself.

For a little while, the Tower was simply a place where he could drink tea in the morning sun, make fun of his brother, and listen to his new… acquaintances talk.

Wanda had put the television, mounted high in the corner of the kitchen, on as background noise. The presenter’s voice had grown steadily more insistent, and even through the kitchen’s conversation, Loki could make out the occasional swell of noise from outside. A chant, perhaps. Several voices shouting over one another. The sort of thing one might reasonably expect to hear outside a government building, or a particularly unpopular theatre production. Well, Avengers Tower was certainly an unpopular landmark that morning. After a little while, Loki began to notice that the chanting from outside sounded pretty similar to the yelling projected through the television.

He glanced towards the screen.

Ah.

There, filling the television, was a rather unflattering shot of Avengers Tower, its gleaming façade rising above the crowd gathered behind the barriers outside. The camera panned slowly across the protestors, catching a sea of scowling faces, raised fists, and hastily painted signs.

“Stark is harbouring a threat!” someone shouted, their voice briefly rising above the general din. Another protester held a placard demanding that Loki be made to answer for his crimes, whilst a few others bellowed, “No sanctuary for aliens!” to enthusiastic agreement from the people around them. Wow, insulting. They clearly weren’t referring to Thor, either.

The camera lingered on a group gathered near the entrance, their voices overlapping in an angry, indistinguishable roar, then the footage cut to a live shot outside the Tower, where Tony Stark had apparently decided to face the situation himself.

He stood in front of the tower’s entrance, surrounded by security personnel who looked increasingly eager to escort him back inside. Microphones were thrust towards him from every direction. Tony, for his part, seemed determined to answer them regardless, gesturing with one hand as he attempted to make himself heard above the noise.

Loki watched, his expression growing steadily more sour. The whole affair was quite galling, so sheerly absurd it was almost impressive. The crowd had found a way to force Tony to try and answer for Loki's existence, as though the man had personally manufactured him in some basement laboratory and unleashed him upon an unsuspecting world. All Tony had done was offer Loki, his brother and Heimdall shelter. Wasn’t he supposed to be well regarded for his philanthropy? Loki took another sip of tea, then discovered that he no longer particularly wanted it.

Outside, the chanting rose again. His name carried faintly through the glass, followed by another swell of voices that made the kitchen seem rather smaller than it had a moment ago. He looked back at the screen. Tony was still there, still surrounded, still trying to deal with the mess whilst half a dozen people seemed determined to make it worse.

“Oh, do shut up,” Loki muttered, although it was unclear whether he meant the crowd, the television, or the entire situation. He set his mug down and pushed away from the counter.

“Are you all right?” Wanda asked, watching him.

“Ihavetogotothebathroom.” Loki blurted out in one rapid string of words. He offered her a thin, perfectly serviceable smile and made for the door before she could ask anything further. 

The noise followed him out of the kitchen, growing fainter as he moved down the corridor. The Tower's walls were thick, the doors well insulated, and the distant commotion of the street had dwindled to little more than a memory. However the shouting persisted even louder in his head, each voice blurring into the next, the occasional sharp cry of his name rising above the rest. Loki. Loki. Loki. He could still see the placards, the cameras, the ring of people pressing towards Tony, even clearer in his mind than it was on the screen.

He shut the bathroom door behind him, letting out a heavy sigh. He stumbled to the sink, staring at his reflection when that bright idea popped back into his head. His brain presented it as a great idea, setting it on a NO TOUCHING glass pedestal and daring him not to lunge for it like a starving mortal. The urge seemed reasonable until the shame arrived, and the raw, hot sting of his skin dragged him out of that adrenaline rush and back to reality. 

It’s not like falling into that habit again fixed what was happening with the crowd outside, either. He gripped the edge of the counter and stared down at the basin, waiting for the worst of the feeling to pass. The words came back, bitterly familiar, taunting him as they always did when he tried very hard not to think about how easily he'd been drawn in all over again.

Well done.

—

By half past ten, Tony had been outside Avengers Tower for long enough to wish that he had just accepted his fate and passed away that one time he tried to put the Hulk to sleep.

The crowd had grown considerably since he'd first appeared at the entrance an hour or so ago. What had begun as a gathering of protesters behind the security barriers had gradually swollen into a much larger spectacle, with reporters arriving from every direction and camera crews jostling for a clear view of the building. Placards bobbed above the crowd, some bearing Loki's name, others condemning Tony himself for allowing the “alien” to remain inside. Every few seconds, someone started a chant, only for another voice to rise above it with a question or an accusation.

The security team had established a perimeter around the entrance, but it did very little to keep the noise at bay. He could also feel the cameras tracking him whenever he moved, hungry for the slightest indication that he might lose his temper and say something that could be replayed on the evening news for the next two weeks with a suitably ominous headline. 

Still, he couldn't exactly complain about people wanting answers. New York had been invaded by aliens just over half a decade ago, attacked by superpowered maniacs, and generally subjected to more than its fair share of world-ending nonsense. The public had every right to be concerned about Loki staying in Avengers Tower, not to mention the fugitives (which, for now, was regarded by the public as rumours, but it wouldn’t be long until they found out that Tony was harbouring them, too), and Tony wasn't so self-absorbed that he couldn't understand why Loki's presence might make a few people nervous.

What irritated him was the assumption that shouting at him would somehow make the situation clearer. Or that he could be bullied into handing over someone who, for the moment, was under his protection - which was the best option that anybody had. He'd been trying to explain that distinction for the better part of twenty minutes, but he was getting absolutely nowhere.

Tony had just opened his mouth to answer another question when FRIDAY interrupted through his earpiece.

“Sir, you have an incoming call from Secretary Ross’s office.”

Tony kept smiling at the reporter in front of him, all teeth and no warmth. “Tell Secretary Ross I’m busy.”

“His office has called three times.”

“Then they’re getting their money’s worth out of the phone system.”

“Sir.”

“FRIDAY, sweetheart, I am currently being yelled at by approximately two hundred people who appear to believe that I privatized the concept of a public safety hazard, much like I did with world peace. I am not taking a call.”

“Understood. I’ll inform him you’re unavailable.”

“Love you.”

“I am aware, sir.”

Tony turned back towards the crowd just in time for someone to shout another question at him. He lifted both hands as a reporter thrust a microphone towards him. “Mr Stark, can you confirm whether Loki is currently residing in Avengers Tower?”

There it was again. Tony's smile tightened. “I could b-”

“Are you harbouring him?”

“Harbouring is a very dramatic word. Makes it sound like I’ve got a secret underground pirate cove. Which, for the record, I don’t. The insurance premiums alone would be-”

“Mr Stark, this is a serious matter.”

“Oh, I know. You should see my face.”

The reporter did not appear amused. Tony could practically hear Pepper telling him to stop antagonising the press. Pepper would also have pointed out that he was doing a spectacularly poor job of calming the situation down, and that perhaps making jokes about underground pirate coves wasn't the ideal way to reassure the public that he was taking the matter seriously. Well, Pepper wasn’t the one standing on the pavement with a microphone shoved under her chin.

His earpiece clicked. “Sir, a representative from the Department of Defense has arrived at the eastern perimeter. They’re requesting an immediate conversation.”

Tony closed his eyes. “Of course they are.”

“Would you like me to have them escorted inside?”

“No. If I leave, the nice people with the cameras will decide I've fled the scene of the crime, and then we'll have another three hours of this.” He opened his eyes again. “Put them on the guest list. Tell them I'll be with them shortly.”

“Sir, the representative has indicated that the matter is urgent.”

“Everything is urgent when the government wants something from me. It's practically their love language.”

A security officer approached him, murmured something about the crowd pressing against the barriers, and Tony nodded. He took a step backwards, raising his voice one last time in an attempt to make himself heard.

“Look, you all make up a very attractive angry mob. But standing out here screaming at me isn't going to give you any answers. If you have concerns, there are channels for those, and I am not going to stand here and have a two-hundred-person debate about the security arrangements of a private residence.”

Someone shouted that it wasn't just a private residence. Tony pointed at them. “Excellent! We're making progress.”

The security officer gave him a look. “Sir.”

“Right. Yes. Going inside. Love that for me.”

He let himself be guided towards the entrance, still smiling for the cameras, still waving to the crowd as though this were one of his charity events, ever the philanthropist, and not an increasingly hostile public spectacle. The doors slid shut behind him, and the relief he felt from the sudden reduction in noise was nothing short of breathtaking.

“FRIDAY, get me the details on that government representative. And find out exactly what they want. And- how did they even get inside?”

“The representative has requested a meeting at the earliest possible opportunity, sir. Secretary Ross’s office has also sent a formal request for an explanation concerning the presence of the Asgardian prince in Avengers Tower.”

Tony stopped walking. “The earliest possible opportunity. Lovely. And here I was hoping they'd send flowers.” He resumed walking towards the lifts, already dreading the paperwork. “And Ross wants an explanation?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony stared at the ceiling. “Fantastic. Wonderful. I'll explain it to him in a PowerPoint. Slide one: sometimes people need somewhere to sleep.”

“Would you like me to prepare the presentation?”

“No, FRIDAY.”

“Understood.”

He headed for the lifts, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He had a meeting to survive, a crowd to placate… What he did not have was the patience to deal with any of it before lunch. And, somewhere upstairs, he had a rather infuriating Asgardian who was probably drinking all his tea.

The thought made him smile despite himself. He hoped Loki was having a better morning than he was… He wasn’t quite sure as to why he cared, but it was amusing nonetheless.

—

Loki was clearing out his room. He held out his palm, and a neatly folded shirt vanished in a brief shimmer of green. His book went next, followed by this and that. It was rather satisfying, actually. There was something comforting about knowing that he could leave - the beauty of free will. The ability to simply go, without permission or explanation, without waiting for someone else to decide whether he was allowed to. Realistically, what was anybody going to do about it? Thor would come after him, of course.

He could picture it rather easily: Thor discovering the empty room, asking a dozen increasingly frantic questions, then setting off in pursuit with all the subtlety of a thunderstorm. There would be shouting, recriminations. Thor would demand to know why Loki hadn't simply spoken to him, as though speaking had ever been the difficult part. Loki could hardly tell him the truth - that he had watched Stark endure the consequences of offering him a place to sleep and found himself unable to bear it, that staying somewhere he had been welcomed had somehow become more frightening than returning to a world that had most certainly hated him.

It was ridiculous. He knew that Thor would never ask him to leave. That Stark hadn't asked him to leave. That nobody in the Tower had actually told him he was unwanted, besides, perhaps, Rogers.

Loki folded another shirt. It doesn't matter.

He could invent a reason later. He needed air, perhaps, or space, or time to think. Something sufficiently plausible to satisfy them both, provided neither looked too closely. He could let them think him selfish. And wasn't that the best part of it all? After everything that had happened, after everything he had supposedly learnt, he was still doing precisely what he had always done. Running, scheming. Coward.

How very like you.

The thought came with familiar, almost addictive venom. There was comfort in being disappointed in oneself; it was easier than accepting gratitude, affection, or the terrifying possibility that Thor might actually mean it when he said he wanted his brother around. Loki could pretend he was sparing them trouble. It would not make it true.

His fingers curled around the shirt. He could stop. Put everything back, walk downstairs, let Thor find him at lunch. He could endure whatever dreadful conversation his brother had planned, tease him about Banner, and stay in the Tower. He could let Stark decide for himself whether Loki was worth the trouble. He knew all of this. He simply couldn't seem to make himself do it. So he folded the shirt and stored it away with the rest.

They would understand. Maybe.

Loki told himself these things as he continued packing, because the alternative was to stop moving long enough to realise that he didn't actually want to leave. He stood, straightened his shirt, and took one last look around the room. 

He stepped into the corridor, and promptly walked straight into Tony Stark.

“Oh-!” Stark stumbled backwards, catching himself against the wall. Loki’s heart did a double-take in his chest and he lurched away from the man before him, feeling like he’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar - though hadn’t he? But he recovered quickly enough to glare at him.

“Must you lurk about corners like some particularly inept assassin?”

Tony stared at him. “I was… walking down my own hallway. Not my fault you can’t… What are you doing?”

“...Cleaning?”

“Uh…” Tony opened his mouth, apparently decided against whatever he'd been about to say, and rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. I was actually looking for you.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Yeah, well, it's been a rough morning for both of us.”

Loki's expression shifted, ever so slightly. Downstairs, he knew, the crowd would still be there. Loki had no desire to prolong the conversation, he folded his arms. “If this concerns the events outside, I assure you that I have no intention of making matters more difficult for you.”

Tony's eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh.”

“I merely intend to leave.”

Tony looked at him. Then he looked at the open bedroom door. Then, very slowly, he looked back at Loki. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Loki's shoulders stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”

Tony pointed towards the bedroom. “Tell me you're not being serious.”

Loki held his gaze for a long moment. Then he turned, with all the dignity he could muster, and walked back into the room. He heard Tony follow.

“Loki.”

“How observant you are, Stark.”

“Are you actually leaving?”

Loki bent to retrieve the book he had left on the table, more to give himself something to do than because the book required his attention. “I had thought it prudent.”

“Prudent.” Tony repeated the word as though he were testing it for structural weaknesses. “Right. And this has absolutely nothing to do with the two hundred people outside who spent the morning shouting my name and yours like they're conducting a seance?”

Loki placed the book back on the table. “I have absolutely no idea what you mean.”

“Sure. And I'm the Queen of England.”

“I am afraid I don't follow. I could’ve sworn that she passed.”

“Funny that.”

Loki's jaw tightened. He looked away, towards the bare wardrobe and the empty bedside table, willing the conversation to end before Stark could begin poking at the parts of him he had no right to examine. It was a pity, really, that Stark had never possessed the slightest instinct for leaving well enough alone.

“The situation is hardly difficult to understand,” Loki said coldly. “They are angry because I am here. They are angry with you because you have allowed me to remain here. You have spent the morning answering for a decision that was yours to make, and I see no reason why you should continue to suffer the consequences of it.”

Tony stared at him. For once, he did not immediately produce a joke. Then Stark exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand over his face. “Okay. First of all, I'm not suffering. I don’t… really care about the press. Second, I make a lot of decisions people don't like. You should see the emails I get about the coffee machine. And those weapons of mass destruction that I used to get paid for building.”

“Stark.”

“And third, you don't get to decide that the solution to my problems is for you to leave without even asking me whether I want you to.”

Loki's expression went very still. “You have no obligation to keep me here.”

“No, I don't.”

Loki blinked, thrown by the immediate agreement. Tony shrugged. “I'm not holding you hostage. If you want to leave, that's your decision. But I'm not going to stand here and pretend you've made it because you've suddenly developed an overwhelming desire to see the world, become a tourist. You’re too full of yourself for tourism.”

“I don't know what you're implying.”

“I'm implying that you're trying to fix…” he gesticulated dramatically, “This? And I'm telling you that you can stop. You know what happens if you leave right now?” 

“I imagine I would be outside.”

“Gold star. Very good. But think about it. The entire news cycle is currently revolving around the fact that you might be staying here. There are cameras outside the building, government officials asking questions, and approximately forty-seven journalists who would sell their own kidneys for a photograph of you walking out the front door.” Loki's expression darkened. “If you disappear immediately after all of that, what do you think they'll assume? That I threw you out? That you escaped? That I've lost control of the situation?”

“I fail to see why I should concern myself with what they assume.”

“Because those assumptions have consequences, Loki. For me, for the Tower, I’ll have it even worse if you leave. I’ll end up having more problems on my hands!” Tony paused, frowning at him. “And besides, the last thing I need is some guy with hair halfway down his nec-”

“Excuse me?”

Tony stopped. Loki had turned back to him, his expression one of such exquisite affront that Tony briefly wondered whether he'd accidentally stepped on a landmine. “What?”

“Some guy?”

Tony glanced at Loki's face. Then at her hair, which spilled and coiled loosely around her waist. Then back at her face. Loki's features had softened, the sharp angles of her jaw giving way to a more delicate shape, her cheekbones subtly altered. Her shoulders were narrower, her waist drawn in beneath the loose shirt she wore, and even her height seemed fractionally different. The transformation was seamless, with no shimmer of green magic to accompany it,  “Oh. Oh, for- sorry. Girl. Right. Sorry, girl with hair halfway down her- ”

Loki's eyes narrowed, biting back an amused laugh. “I beg your pardon?” Before Tony could respond, the transformation reversed all in the space of a breath, with Loki wearing the exact same expression of icy disdain. 

“Okay, hang on.” Tony pointed at him, though the incredulous look on his face was rapidly giving way to a grin. “Stop flip-flopping your gender for, like, two seconds!” 

“Goodness, Stark, you’re making a lot of mistakes, aren’t you?” Loki teased, “What year is it here, twenty-twenty-six?”

Tony stared at him. Loki stared back, perfectly composed, looking for all the world as though he had not just derailed an entire argument over a pronoun. Tony dragged a hand down his face. “Stop being a nuisance.”

“I identify as an inconvenience.”

“I wish I could do that…”

“...What does that mean??????”

Tony pointed at him. “You’re clearly trying to dodge the conversation, stop changing the subject-” He broke off, shaking his head. “You can't just vanish and expect everyone to interpret it the way you want them to. Not if you really think leaving is going to fix things. You think I wanted any of this? The protesters, the government breathing down my neck, people conspiring about and figuring out the deal with the figitives fugitives - it’s a whole mess. But I’m dealing with it, Loki. You don’t have to make that decision for me. ”

It was, admittedly, a rather pathetic argument. Tony could hear that much himself. We're stuck with you was hardly the sort of thing one said to persuade someone to stay, particularly someone who seemed to regard every offered kindness as a trap with particularly elaborate furnishings.

But the alternative was admitting that he didn't want Loki to go. Which was ridiculous, frankly. He'd known the man for three days, if he ignored the version of Loki that kept trying to throw him off of a building and conquer the planet. That was hardly enough time to become attached to someone. And yet, somewhere between the first awkward breakfast and adjusting the tower’s central heating system, Tony had started to enjoy having him around. Not that he'd be telling him that. Tony had enough problems without announcing that he'd apparently developed a fondness for the universe's most infuriatingly well-spoken public enemy. So, practical considerations, the general administrative nightmare of explaining to the government why an Asgardian prince had walked out of Avengers Tower unsupervised. It was a good story to tell himself, provided he ignored the fact that it didn't explain why the thought of Loki leaving sat so unpleasantly in his chest. 

Tony studied him for a moment, then glanced at the conspicuously empty wardrobe.

“Look,” he continued, “I'm not asking you to stay forever. You said those… those Asgardians would be arriving in a month? Probably three weeks or so by now- I'm not asking you to be grateful, or to like me, or to make yourself comfortable before you're ready. I'm asking you to just… just stick around.”

Loki looked down at his hands. “... I will. I wasn’t thinking properly. I apologise for the hassle.”

“Hm.” Tony glanced towards the door, then back at him. “Come on. Let's get you something to eat. Then we can deal with the fact that half the city thinks I'm running an intergalactic criminal sanctuary.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “You aren't?”

Tony stopped. He looked at Loki for a long moment. “I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that.”

“Wise.”

“Thanks.”

—

After depositing Loki in the relative safety of the kitchen, Tony finally allowed himself to breathe. This lasted approximately four seconds.

“FRIDAY, tell me the government representative has gone home.”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

“Tell me he’s been struck by lightning.”

“No, sir.”

“Shame. I’m sure Thor could arrange something.”

He didn’t necessarily want to put off another government meeting. Otherwise, he’d probably be put on their watch list for real this time, and most definitely as hostile, because officials only seemed capable of thinking in black and white. The lift doors opened onto the residential floor. Tony made his way down the corridor, loosened his tie, and pushed open the door to his suite.

Ah.

Nick Fury was standing beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands clasped behind his back, looking out over Manhattan as though he owned the skyline.

Tony stopped in the doorway. Fury continued looking at the skyline.

Tony looked at Fury. Fury looked at Tony. “Do you ever knock?” Tony asked.

“Do you ever answer? Phone calls?”

“Give me a break.”

Fury turned from the window. “Stark.”

“Fury.” Tony shut the door behind him. “I'd offer you a drink, but I have a feeling you've already helped yourself to whatever you wanted.”

“Coffee would be fine.”

“Wonderful. I’m not making you any,” He joked, going over to the coffee machine on the opposite side of the room. Tony then crossed over and dropped into an armchair, gesturing vaguely towards the other one. “So. To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you come to tell me that the military would like to blow up my building, or ahm… are they doing it?”

“That depends on what you intend to do with your guest.”

“Loki isn't a guest in the sense you're implying,” Tony said. “He's a person staying in my building. Sleeping in a bed. Eating food.”

“I'm aware.”

“Are you? Because I was under the impression that the last time someone tried to contain him in a tank, it went rather spectacularly.”

“And you believe the Tower is safer?”

Tony leaned back in his chair. “I believe the tank has already established itself as a poor long-term accommodation solution. The tower, on the other hand-”

“You're forgetting the resident Asgardian.”

“I'm trying not to make him sound like a fire hazard. It's a delicate balance. It’s funny how he seems to have stopped conquering the world when we - I - stopped trying to put him in a tank.”

Fury's expression remained unchanged.

“Correlation doesn't equal causation, Stark,” he said, “but, aside from that… I agree with your assessment.”

Tony blinked, any retorts withering away in an instant. He had not prepared himself for agreement. “I'm sorry,” Tony said. “Could you repeat that? I think I may have suffered an - ahm… temporary auditory malfunction.”

“Keeping Loki here is the safest option available to us.”

Tony sat up a little. “Us?”

“Earth.”

“Ah.”

Fury moved away from the window and took the opposite armchair without waiting for an invitation. “The military is concerned about the presence of an extraterrestrial individual with a demonstrated capacity for destruction. S.H.I.E.L.D. has similar concerns. Neither organisation is particularly fond of uncertainty, and neither will be pleased to discover that you've decided to shelter him.”

“I'm touched that you think they'll wait for a formal invitation before making my life miserable.”

“They're already considering their options.”

“Which presumably includes turning my home into a crater.”

“If necessary.” Fury held his gaze. “I'm prepared to argue against that course of action. I'll make it clear that removing Loki from your custody by force would be dangerous, counterproductive, and unlikely to achieve anything except another disaster. I'll also make the case that keeping him here, under controlled conditions, is preferable to provoking him into defending himself.”

“Controlled conditions,” Tony repeated. “You make it sound as though I've put him in a laboratory.”

“Have you?”

“No, Fury. He's got a bedroom. It's a very nice bedroom, actually. There's a wardrobe and everything. I haven't even charged him rent.”

“I can see that.”

Tony went still. Fury's gaze shifted briefly towards the ceiling. For one awful moment, Tony considered the possibility that the man had been watching the footage of him arguing with Loki about pronouns. “Please tell me,” Tony said slowly, “that you aren't about to reveal you've spent the last three days watching my security cameras.”

“Three days,” Fury confirmed. 

“Three. Days.”

“Your security system is comprehensive.”

“Thank you. I designed it.”

“You also left several camera feeds accessible through the Tower's internal network.”

Tony's mouth fell open. “That is an outright lie.”

“Is it?”

“Yes!”

“You forget that I’m Nick Fury.”

Tony sat back, looking briefly towards the ceiling as though appealing to a higher power. Unfortunately, the only higher power available was FRIDAY. “Right,” he muttered. “Great. Brilliant. Love that my home has become a reality television programme for the world's least entertaining audience.”

“I've seen enough to know that you intend to keep Loki here. You even confirmed it, just now.”

“I do.”

“And that you intend to allow the surviving Asgardians to settle on Earth when they arrive.”

Tony's expression softened, though the suspicion remained. “I don’t plan on keeping them here, if that’s what you’re worried about. I assumed it would be up to Thor to handle their arrival.”

“In three weeks.”

“Assuming everything goes smoothly.” Fury leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. 

Tony studied him carefully. “You’re acting as if you want a deal here-”

“Heimdall.”

The name landed between them with all the subtlety of a dropped anvil. Tony's shoulders stiffened. “I- what??? No??”

“You haven't heard the proposal.”

“I can’t just hand over an Asgardian??”

“Heimdall possesses capabilities that would be invaluable to Earth. His ability to observe events across the Nine Realms, to monitor activity beyond our own planet, to facilitate travel through the Bifrost…”

“I know what he can do, Fury.”

“Then you understand why I want him available to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Available.” Tony gave a humourless laugh. “That's a lovely word. Does it come with a uniform? A badge? Perhaps a little desk in your office where he can keep an eye on the universe between coffee breaks?”

“Don't be difficult.”

“Don't be creepy.”

Fury's expression hardened. “I'm not asking you to hand him over in chains. I'm asking for his cooperation. His assistance as an asset to Earth's security.”

Tony looked away for a moment. He could see the logic. Heimdall could warn Earth of threats no human intelligence agency could hope to detect, potentially saving millions of lives. But he wasn't a piece of equipment for Fury to requisition, and Tony had no right to make that decision on his behalf. 

“Heimdall is recovering,” he said at last.

“I know his condition.”

“Then you know this conversation is premature- it’s his decision. Ask him.”

“I'm willing to wait until he's recovered.”

“How generous.”

“But I expect you to understand what I'm offering you in the meantime.”

“I can't just promise you Heimdall,” Tony said.

Fury regarded him for a long moment. “Then you understand the position you've put yourself in.”

Tony's jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said. “I do.” Tony, really, just wanted to protect the Asgardians. Aside from the international diplomacy benefits, he really couldn’t begin to explain why this was. Whatever this newfound penchant for the Asgardians was, he was too stubborn to give it up.

“So,” Tony said, forcing some of his usual levity back into his voice, “just to recap: you're going to stop the military from blowing up my building, provided I eventually persuade a recovering Asgardian to become your intergalactic security camera.”

“That's a crude description.”

“It's an accurate one.”

Fury stood. “I'll expect you to speak to Heimdall when he's ready.”

“I'll speak to him. I won't make promises on his behalf.”

“See that you do,” Fury said, then left. Tony remained standing in the middle of his suite, listening to the door click shut. He glanced towards the ceiling.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, sir? Would you like me to disable the cameras in your private quarters?”

Tony considered it. Then he thought about the very real possibility that Fury would simply find another way to watch him, and sighed. “No. Just… flag any security breaches.”

“I'll see what I can do, sir.”

“Thanks.”

Tony turned towards the door, intending to find something to eat and perhaps pretend that he hadn't just agreed to spend the next three weeks negotiating the future of an entire civilisation. Then he remembered Loki, or, more specifically, the fact that the man- the woman- the liquid???? had been packing his things less than probably half an hour ago, entirely prepared to disappear rather than risk being unwanted.

Tony exhaled through his nose.

“FRIDAY, remind me to have a word with Loki about the concept of staying put.”

“Would you like me to schedule that, sir?”

“No. Don’t worry about it.”

“Understood.”

Tony headed for the door. He'd deal with Fury's demands later. For now, he had a potentially self-exiled Asgardian to keep from making any more catastrophically bad decisions. Apparently, that was his job now.

—

Loki was still in the kitchen for some time after Stark had dropped him off. The kitchen was empty, given that Wanda and Vision had left, the afternoon sunlight spilling across the counters and the city glittering beyond the windows. Loki helped himself to a glass of water and settled at the island, where he discovered a plate of sandwiches beneath a rather unnecessary covering of cling film.

He considered them for a moment before deciding that, having been invited to stay in the Tower, he was probably permitted to eat its food without requesting written authorisation.

He had just taken his first bite when footsteps sounded in the corridor.

“There you are!” Thor announced, entering the kitchen with the sort of enthusiasm generally reserved for returning from war.

Loki glanced up from his lunch. “Oh, good. You've remembered you have a brother.”

“Of course I have!”

“I was beginning to suspect Dr Banner had kidnapped you.”

Bruce made a small noise into his drink, emerging from behind him. Thor ignored them both. “We were checking on Heimdall. He's doing much better.”

“We?” Loki's expression brightened with immediate, appalling interest.

Thor stopped. Bruce suddenly seemed fascinated by his lunch. “Yes! He is here with me! We saw him together.”

“Loki, I will throw you out of a window. Stop it.”

“And deprive my brother of your company? How selfish.”

Bruce put his drink down. “For the record, I was checking on Heimdall's recovery. Thor just happened to be there.”

“How fortunate for you both,” Loki said.

“I'm going to eat somewhere else,” Bruce announced.

“No, no,” Loki replied pleasantly. “Please stay.”

Thor seized a sandwich from the plate and pointed it at his brother. “What is the problem here, sorry?” How oblivious.

“So,” Loki said, once Bruce had settled back into his seat and Thor had finished stealing food from the communal plate, “how is Heimdall, really?”

“He’s a lot better,” Thor answered, his expression sobering a little. “He still needs rest, but he might be back in good health any day now.”

“Sounds like him.”

“He will be well.”

Loki nodded, turning his sandwich over in his hands before taking another bite. He hadn't realised quite how much he had needed to hear that until Thor said it. There were so few familiar things left in the universe that he could bear to think about without feeling the ground shift beneath him. Heimdall, stubborn and watchful and perpetually unimpressed with him, was one of them.

The conversation wandered from there. They spoke of food, of the Tower, of the peculiarities of Midgardian customs. Loki hadn't intended to stay for long. He had meant to eat and then swiftly return to his room. Instead, the afternoon slipped by around them. And, frankly, Loki was having a rather pleasant afternoon. This was, in itself, suspicious: Bruce laughing at his remarks. Bruce asking curious questions about his magic. It was nice.

He was having a nice time with his brother and with…

His what?

Loki’s smile faltered. Bruce was still laughing at something Thor had said, quite unaware that Loki had just encountered a rather significant problem.

His...

Was Bruce his friend?

They spent time together. Bruce spoke to him without the particular strain of someone addressing a bomb that had recently acquired cheekbones. He listened when Loki spoke, and Loki had discovered that he rather enjoyed listening to Bruce in return. They had even begun to develop something resembling a routine, in the kitchen. Surely that constituted… friendship.

Then again, Loki had never been particularly good at determining where he stood with people. He stood behind Thor amongst Thor’s friends, not with him and his friends. He could, of course, simply continue enjoying himself and allow the matter to resolve naturally. Or he could ask.

“Banner?”

Bruce turned towards him. “Hm?”

“Are we friends?”

Thor stopped speaking. Bruce blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Loki, having now committed himself to the question, pursued in the face of embarrassment and lifted his chin a fraction. “I should like to know. It seems rather embarrassing to have been enjoying your company under a false impression.”

“No, no, I heard you.” Bruce looked briefly at Thor, who was staring at Loki with an expression of such delight that Loki immediately regretted having been born. “I just- yeah. Yeah, of course we are.”

“Of course?”

“Yeah.”

Loki studied him, apparently searching for some indication that Bruce was humoring him. “You seem remarkably certain.”

“Well, I like hanging out with you.”

“How very discerning of you.”

“And I like talking to you. And you’re funny. And you have nice little… magic tricks” Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking rather bashful. “So, yeah,” he continued. “We're friends.”

Loki looked down at his glass. “Oh,” he said. It was a very small word for something that seemed to have taken up an unreasonable amount of space in his chest. Thor made a strangled noise beside them. Loki turned on him immediately. “What?”

“Nothing!”

“You're making a noise.”

“I am allowed to make noises!”

“Then perhaps you might make a less irritating one. Mind, you always make irritating noises. Whenever you open your mouth.”

Thor pressed his lips together, visibly fighting a smile. “I am simply very happy that you have made a friend.”

“I have had friends before-” Huh. Did he? Or did Thor just have friends, and was Loki always next to him? Heimdall was a good friend. But did Loki ever establish that friendship between them, or was he always standing behind Thor while Thor did it for him? 

Both Thor and Bruce went quiet. Bruce, mercifully, only nudged the plate of sandwiches a little closer to him. “Well,” he said, “you've got one now.”

Loki stared at him. Then, very carefully, he picked up another sandwich. “I had friends to begin with- ugh. Good,” he said, with tremendous dignity. “That is good to know.”

Thor's arm came down around his shoulders. “Brother-”

“Touch me and I shall break your fingers.” Thor removed his arm, Bruce snorted into his drink, and Loki found that he was smiling again.

—

It had maybe been three full days since Thanos had died. The Q-ships had turned their faces towards Earth. Beyond the vast windows of the command deck, the stars stretched into pale rivers of light, distant galaxies wheeling in the eternal dark. The ship passed through them without ceremony, its engines bending the silence of the void to their will.

The escape pods had long since been emptied. Maw had located and intercepted them, and their hollow shells now drifted somewhere in the great abyss of the universe, abandoned to the merciless dark. Their occupants were confined in the bellies of the Black Order's ships, far from the great windows and the cold splendour of the stars. They had been stripped of whatever weapons they possessed, deprived of food and water, and left in the stifling heat of the lower decks. The wounded lay among those who could still stand. The old huddled beside the young. Those who had tried to fight had been made examples of. And Maw made an effort to ensure it was hot.

Ebony Maw stood before the window, his hands folded behind his back. He had spent the better part of the last few days contemplating the death of his master. He had spent longer still contemplating the prince who had brought it about.

Loki Odinson - Loki Laufeyson had escaped him.

The thought possessed an unpleasant finality. The prince had slipped through the fingers of destiny itself. Thanos was dead. The great design had been interrupted. Yet the universe continued to turn, indifferent to the loss of the hand that had intended to shape it. Perhaps, then, the universe had simply provided another means. Perhaps it was Maw’s turn.

“How long until Earth?” Maw asked.

“Two hours,” Proxima Midnight answered. She stood beside the central navigation display, her spear resting against her shoulder. “Less, if we increase our speed.”

“Do so.”

Corvus Glaive glanced towards the procession of escape pods on the display. “And the prince? We have not located him.”

“No.”

“He may have fled beyond the reach of his people.”

“He may have done many things.” Maw's gaze remained fixed upon the distant lights. “But he has not abandoned them.”

He could not have, not after everything. Loki had destroyed the future Thanos had laboured to bring into being. He had taken from the universe its promised salvation, or its promised catastrophe, depending upon the wisdom of the observer. And in doing so, he had revealed something Maw found considerably more useful than the prince's treachery: there were still things in this universe for which Loki Odinson would willingly surrender his own freedom. 

How very mortal of him. “We need not search for him,” Maw continued. “He will come to us.”

Cull Obsidian shifted his weight, the metal beneath his feet groaning. “How can you be certain?”

Maw turned from the window. “He knows what I  am capable of.”

Back at the Tower, Vision was reading. Or, at least, he had been holding the same book open for the better part of ten minutes, which Wanda suspected was not quite the same thing. She sat cross-legged on their bed, watching him over her knees.

“Have you finished that chapter yet?”

Vision glanced up. “I beg your pardon?”

“The chapter.”

“I am reading it.”

“You've been on the same page since I came in.”

“I find the subject matter particularly deserving of consideration.”

“Mm-hm.” He gave her a small, affronted look. Wanda smiled and reached across the bed to take his hand.

For a while, there was nothing else to say. The room was quiet, the late afternoon light spilling across the floor. A calm end to the day. Then Vision suddenly stiffened up. His fingers tightened around hers, and the faint, familiar warmth of his touch changed. His attention had turned inward, towards something she could neither see nor hear.

“Vision?” He did not answer immediately. Somewhere beyond the Tower, beyond the city and the curve of the Earth, something had entered the range of his awareness. A presence he recognised not through sight or sound, but through the peculiar signature of the Mind Stone embedded in his forehead. The sensation was distant, almost imperceptible. And growing closer.

“An energy signature,” he said at last. His voice had lost its casual warmth. “The Power Stone.”

Wanda sat up, “Wh... how close?”

“I cannot be certain yet.” Vision set the book aside. “But it is approaching Earth. I will inform Stark immediately-” Vision began to rise, but Wanda caught his hand before he could get to his feet.

“Wait.” He turned back to her. “There's something else you should do first.”

His brow furrowed. “Wanda, if the Stone is approaching…”

“You need to speak to Loki.”

Vision glanced at her. “Loki?”

“He came here with Thor. Whatever happened before they arrived, he might know something about what's out there. I overheard that argument he had with the others… He’s the best option.”

“I am not certain he would recognise the energy signature.”

“Neither are we. But it's worth asking, isn't it?”

“I am not certain he would be forthcoming.”

“Have you asked him?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?” Wanda squeezed his hand. “Vision, he's been here for three days. He's had quite enough people looking at him like he's about to do something terrible. You don't have to treat him like a suspect just because he might know something.”

“I would not wish to make him feel interrogated.”

“Then don't interrogate him. Talk to him.”

“And if he refuses to answer?”

“Then we'll work with what we have.” She paused. “But if there's something he can tell us, I'd rather we heard it from him than found out the hard way.”

Vision considered this. “He may not know anything useful.”

“Maybe not. But he was probably there, and we definitely weren't.”

“That is a reasonable distinction.”

“I thought so.”

He gave her a small smile. “You generally do.”

“Because I'm generally right.”

“An interpretation of events with which I suspect you will never permit me to disagree.”

She laughed, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead before rising. “Vision?” He paused at the door. “Just give him a chance to tell you what he knows. And give him a chance to be a person while you're at it.”

His expression softened. “I shall endeavour to do both.”

Then he left, heading to find Loki. Wanda watched him go, her thoughts returning to the strange energy signature drawing closer to Earth. They had so little to work with. A Stone they had believed safely beyond their reach, an unfamiliar signal approaching their planet, and a man from another world who might understand more of it than any of them. She could only hope Loki would be willing to talk.

—

Loki enjoyed that the Tower was near silent at night, if he ignored the muted clatter of machinery several floors below. The common rooms had emptied, the lights had dimmed, and the city beyond the windows had settled into a glittering sprawl beneath the darkness.

Loki had had a rather nice day.

He had eaten three meals, made Bruce laugh sufficiently hard that he had nearly choked on his drink, and had gained plus one friend. He had even, against his better judgement, admitted to himself that he was beginning to enjoy the Tower.

It was terribly inconvenient. He ought to have been miserable. There were any number of reasons for it. He was stranded on a foreign planet, surrounded by mortals who had every reason to distrust him, mortals who looked down on him like a rabid animal, avoiding him like a disease, with an uncertain future and a brother who seemed determined to make up for every year they had spent apart by occupying every available inch of his personal space. If only Rogers had the nerve to tell Loki to his face that he hated him, perhaps he was even more cowardly than the prince was, always beating around the bush.

And yet, Loki had laughed today.

Properly, too. Not the sharp, calculated sort of laughter that had served him so well in court, nor the thin, derisive amusement of his. He had laughed because something was funny, and because the people around him had wanted him there to hear it. Part of him wished he could stop thinking about that, for he believed somewhere, in the depths of his being, that he deserved anything but the nice thing.

Thor was already in bed when Loki returned to their room, his blankets tangled around his legs and one arm flung over his head. 

“You are aware,” Loki said, removing his outer clothes, “that the bed is not an entire kingdom to be conquered.”

Thor opened one eye, and spoke in a half yawn. “There you are!”

“Astute.”

“I was beginning to think you had found some excuse to avoid me.”

Loki clambered to his bunk, finding himself staring at the ceiling. He had been doing that rather a lot lately. “Thor?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think they are all right?”

“...The Asgardians?” Thor asked.

“Unless you have acquired some other population of people for whom you are responsible.”

Thor turned onto his side. Even on the upper bunk, Loki could see the familiar furrow between his brows through some arbitrary sixth sense. “They are all right,” he said.

“You cannot possibly know that.”

“I know that they escaped the Statesman. I know that the pods were sent out before the ship was destroyed. Heimdall saw to it that as many as possible were launched- we could ask Heimdall if you’re so concerned.”

“And the pods are hardly palaces, are they? Some of those aboard will have been injured. And… I don’t want to bother Heimdall. He’s still recovering.”

“I know.”

“Then you will forgive me if I find your assurances somewhat lacking.”

Thor was quiet for a moment. “We did everything we could.”

Loki turned his face towards the ceiling again. “Yes. I know.” It was the trouble with Thor. He was so infuriatingly sincere that arguing with him could become much like an exercise in kicking at a wall. Loki knew his brother had done everything he could. He knew Thor would have torn the ship apart with his bare hands if it meant saving a single additional life.

“Loki. They will come,” Thor said. “We will find them. We will bring them home.”

Home. Loki swallowed. “Home? You know they won’t all fit in this tower..”

Thor stared at him. “What? No, I didn't mean…”

“Unless Stark has considerably more rooms than I have been led to believe.”

“Loki.” Thor gave an exasperated huff. “We will find them somewhere to live. A settlement, perhaps. Somewhere along the coast. There are plenty of lovely places on Midgard, and I'm sure we can find somewhere they might like.”

“Oh… Right.” Funny how the mention of home immediately made him think of the tower. “I was merely considering the practical implications of our situation.”

“Of course.”

“And if you continue to patronise me, I shall consider the practical implications of strangling you in your sleep.”

Thor laughed in response to his retort, the sound warm and familiar in the dark. “There you are.”

“You… already said that.” Loki frowned. “Where else would I be?”

“Nowhere.” Thor settled more comfortably into his own bunk, “I'm glad you're here.”

Loki had absolutely no idea what to do with that, so he did what he had always done when faced with Thor's unbearable sincerity. “You're being sentimental. It's late.”

“Yes, well. Try not to let it ruin your evening.”

“I shall endeavour to endure.”

Thor's laughter faded into a yawn. 

“I know you're worried, you always are,” Thor continued, quieter now. “Even when you pretended otherwise.” Loki had no answer to that. Fortunately, Thor seemed to recognise the danger of pressing the matter. He rolled onto his side, tugging his blankets up to his shoulders. “Get some sleep, brother.”

“I shall.”

“Good.”

Within minutes, Thor was asleep. It was an extraordinary talent, really. The ability to say something devastatingly sincere, turn over, and begin snoring as though he had not just left Loki with enough to think about for the next century.

Loki stared at the ceiling.

Home.

He rather wished Thor hadn't said it. The room was dark. The city lights cast pale reflections against the ceiling, and there was the half-steady rhythm of Thor's heavy breathing.

He had had a nice day. He had made a friend. He ought to have been grateful, he was grateful. So why did he feel as though he were waiting for something terrible to happen?

Loki shut his eyes. When he was alone, with nothing to distract him and with only darkness for his company, his thoughts had a dreadful habit of wandering back to the worst of his memories. The room's familiar shapes began to blur at the edges. Heat pooled beneath his clothes, despite the cooling unit still whirring incessantly in the corner. He could hear it, knew what it was, knew where he was - but his body had already carried him somewhere else. The air pressed against him, thick and stagnant, and the phantom stench of scorched metal filled his nose. For one sickening instant, the Tower fell away, and he was back in those chambers. The darkness behind his eyelids threatened to become a searing, incandescent expanse. Somewhere in the back of his mind, alarms began to shriek, and he could feel that old, awful sensation of falling. 

Loki reached blindly into the darkness, searching for something solid, something real, to bind himself back to reality. His fingers struck a cold, familiar surface. 

The Tesseract. 

Instinct closed his hand around it, and blue light spilled between his trembling fingers, painting the sheets in an eerie, glacial glow.

If he weren't so proud, he would admit that he wanted to cry.

A knock sounded at the door. Loki flinched so violently that the Tesseract slipped from his grasp. It struck the floor with a sharp, unnatural crack of blue light and skidded beneath the far side of the bed.

“Loki?”

Huh… Vision's voice.

For one dreadful second, Loki could not remember where he was. Then the room returned around him: the bed, the window, the dim lights of the city. Thor was still asleep underneath him, snoring embarrassingly loud.

Loki dragged in a breath. There was another knock. “I know you are awake,” Vision called gently from the other side. “I apologise for the hour, but I need to speak with you.”

Loki stared at the door with shaking hands. He curled them into fists beneath the blankets, pressing his nails into his palms until the sensation gave him something to concentrate on. He forced his breathing to slow, forced his expression into something approaching composure, and tried not to look towards the place where the Tesseract had disappeared.

“Loki?” Vision asked again.

Loki swallowed. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there. His heart was still racing. His skin felt clammy, his throat tight, and the room seemed altogether too small. This was going to be embarrassing…

“What is it, Vision?” he managed, climbing down from his bunk with legs unsteady beneath him. He forced himself to cross the room and opened the door.

“Loki,” Vision stood on the other side, his expression gentle and concerned. “Something is happening.”