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Loki loved being a villain.
After living his whole life stifled by the prison that was Asgard, being free to do as he wished with very minimal consequences – beyond the odd scuffle with the Avengers, of course – was nothing less than utterly freeing. There were no rules for him to follow, nothing to stop him from going as far as he liked, nothing but the very few limits that he placed upon himself.
But even beyond that, even beyond the madness and the fun, being a villain also gained him recognition of a kind he hadn’t had since… since before he could remember. As well as creating the chaos that he so craved, Loki enjoyed picking up one of the morning newspapers or even just simply checking his prerelease StarkPhone to see himself featured in the headlines. People liked to know what he was doing, they were fascinated by the way he set pranks and sowed turmoil without making a long-lasting mess. He’d gained something of a reputation, and… well, loved the attention.
Sometimes, Loki had taken to walking the streets of New York in an illusionary guise, listening to the conversations of the Midgardians around him. For amongst the talk of weather, coffee, football, work, and gossip—he often heard mention of himself, and it was just those little things that gave him a thrill.
Though of course, just as with most other things that Loki found enjoyment in, his little habit went and blew up in his face.
It had seemed like a normal day, at first, and Loki had heard the tantalising whispers—people hissing out his name, wondering what he was doing. Often, discussions about him were intertwined with those of Iron Man, a combination which caused his lips to curve. He’d always loved fighting with Iron Man, and the pair of them were self-proclaimed nemeses to the point where Loki was known for attacking anyone else who tried to take the armoured Avenger down.
So, yes, they were often talked about in tandem. But somehow, today, the conversations surrounding the pair of them seemed even more numerous than usual. Upon hearing yet another group of people discussing them in rapid, almost fearful tones, Loki paused in the street to hear better—
“Run!”
Loki was almost knocked off his feet as a mortal sped past him—then two, then three, all rushing, scared, fleeing from something that Loki could not see. He cast his gaze about, but the panic was already growing, people running—
“Watch it!”
“Move!”
“You’re headin’ the wrong way, mate—”
Loki grabbed the man’s shoulder as he passed, forcing him to skid to a stop.
“What’re you playing at, let me go—”
“What is going on?” Loki demanded, using his seiðr to make the man just a little bit more compliant. Not enough to count as mind control, only just enough to get an answer without any more hassle than necessary. It was better for both of them.
“There’s a super fight,” the man said. “An Avenger and a villain—”
“No,” Loki said sharply. “If it’s the Avengers, people stay and take pictures. They don’t run—”
“Nah but this one’s bad, though. Iron Man’s alone and they’re tearing up the place, there’s explosions and shit everywhere.”
Loki felt something cold run down his spine, and from the look of increased discomfort on the man’s face, Loki thought his glare had likely sharpened.
His voice was hard as he snapped his next question – “Which villain?” – because if it was some new upstart then there wouldn’t be much point in going to watch, but if it was someone capable of giving Iron Man an actual fight—
“It’s Loki, okay? Now will you let me go!?”
Loki’s hand opened half in shock, and the man dashed away without a second glance back.
Loki?
“Impossible,” Loki spat—and then he began pushing through the crowd, forcing his way in the opposite direction, towards whatever it was they were running from.
It didn’t take him long to begin hearing the sounds of the fight—the tell-tale whirr of Iron Man’s repulsors, the blasts of explosions, the clash of metal. As the crowd began to thin, Loki needed to follow his ears, but soon enough tendrils of black smoke rising above the buildings before him led him where he needed to go.
The villain had chosen to fight right in front of Grand Central Station. What a cliche.
Amateur.
But despite having none of Loki’s taste, the villain in question really did appear to be Loki. There were a few seconds where Loki could do little else but stare in shock—for the villain facing the armoured Avenger was none other than himself. It couldn’t be, of course, that much was obvious, but it really was an incredibly convincing copy. A quick probe with his seiðr indicated that the person wasn’t Amora, nor any sorcerer Loki recognised—nor even a sorcerer at all, for that matter. Whoever it was wearing Loki’s face, they weren’t doing so through means of illusion. Regardless, they weren’t Loki.
But they were doing a rather good job of battering Iron Man into a corner.
Loki wished that he could say that the two were locked in a rather vicious battle, but that just wasn’t the case—for while the imposter-Loki had hold of a sceptre which he was using to send blast after blast of green power at Iron Man – power which Loki knew came from the staff itself, not the person – while Iron Man himself was backing off. From the numerous scorch marks around the place it was clear that Iron Man had been actively dodging, rather than fighting—for Loki was well enough acquainted with the results of repulsor blasts to recognise that not many of those had been fired.
In short, it was more than obvious that Iron Man had been holding back—but the imposter had clearly not been.
Even as Loki came onto the scene, he could see that Iron Man was holding up his hands, but not as if he were going to shoot again, more as if he were trying to fend the imposter off without—without attacking him.
Oh, Norns.
This was bad.
The suit was already looking a little worse for wear, and the torrent of words flowing from Iron Man’s faceplate struck Loki a blow that could just as well have been a knife in his heart. The imposter was taking no notice, however, raising his sceptre and preparing an attack that Loki doubted Iron Man could dodge in time—
“Stop this!” Loki shouted, heart in his throat as he hurried forward, his teeth near bared in rage—
And both fighters paused, turning to stare at him—just in time to watch as Loki clenched his fists and allowed his seiðr to roll over his body, replacing the visage of the ordinary Midgardian he had been wearing with himself.
Iron Man seemed to falter slightly. “Oh,” he said. “Okay, so that makes sense.”
And that, somehow, was not what Loki had been expecting—
But he wasn’t given a chance to contemplate it, for in that moment the Loki-who-was-not-Loki flew back into action. Darting forward, he raised the sceptre—a thing not dissimilar in shape to the one Loki had been given by Thanos, save for it producing green blasts rather than blue. And those blasts could do some serious damage, Loki knew that, he’d seen the evidence of it—
And he wasted no time in pulling back an arm before snapping it forward, flinging one of his hidden daggers directly at the imposter’s head.
The imposter snarled and spun just in time to bat the dagger away, and turned from Iron Man to glare at Loki instead. But – while taking note of the quick reflexes – Loki had already managed to close the gap, another dagger slipping down into his palm just in time for a slash at the imposter’s hauntingly familiar face.
The imposter dodged, and swung out with the sceptre, aiming for Loki’s head—
But then they were both intercepted by a solid mass of metal, a blur of red and gold as it charged between them and slammed into the imposter. The other-Loki was forced away, shoved to the ground with the wind knocked from him—and when Iron Man touched down again in front of Loki, they had half a moment to converse.
As always, Iron Man’s mask was impassive, and there was no true way to know what the man’s expression was doing underneath it.
At least, not until he spoke.
“What the hell are you doing?” Iron Man said, the word twisting into something resembling a pained snarl.
“Easy,” Loki said back—and for the first time since he had been bumped into in the street, Loki’s voice was entirely lacking any malice. “I heard that Iron Man was in a fight with Loki, but considering that I was not fighting you at the time, I thought that I had better find out what was going on. So please tell me—what exactly is going on?”
Iron Man seemed to stare for just a moment—
But before he could say another word, movement in the corner of his eye had Loki lurching forward and slamming his right shoulder into Iron Man’s left, effectively twisting him and forcing the armoured Midgardian behind him—
Just in time for Loki to catch the downward swing of the sceptre on his dagger, blocking the blow before stepping out of reach once again.
“Loki—”
“Stay back,” Loki hissed. “The whole of New York knows that I’m the only one allowed to try and kill you—and that is not me.”
He didn’t hear Stark’s reply, for he was far too busy stepping around another attack, turning in a swift spin. He used the velocity of his turn to get behind his opponent, and aimed an underhand jab at the imposter’s kidney—but that scepter came down quickly, getting just between the blade and leather. Loki snarled in frustration, and turned back the other way, locked in a dance that seemed to have no end—
For he and the imposter were impossibly, dangerously matched—
Until a repulsor blast knocked into the imposter from behind, giving Loki the upper hand.
Loki felt a swell of relief in his chest, mingled with a tinge of hope—and his lips were curled into a lethal smirk as he darted in close once again, getting inside the reach of the imposter’s scepter. Another blast from a repulsor singed their sides, and it was just enough to put the imposter off balance, just enough for Loki to snag the sceptre from that tight grip and throw it to the side—
But a twist of the imposter’s wrists sent Loki’s dagger flying—
Unperturbed, Loki slammed an elbow into the imposter’s gut, then dodged a swing aimed at his head. He ducked another punch and jammed his knee behind the imposter’s leg—but when the imposter fell, he hooked an arm around Loki’s neck and they both went down, landing on the cracked concrete.
A solid jab and a bit of a scuffle got Loki free of the hold, but he knew he wouldn’t stay that way for long. Recognising that hand to hand was certainly not his strength – and not knowing enough about his opponent to want to risk a fist fight in such close quarters – Loki quickly got to his feet and pulled at his seiðr, ready to fight with everything he had—
But then the imposter was kicking out with his feet, trying to get Loki to lose his footing. Loki narrowly avoided the attack but was forced to back off further, giving the imposter room to get back up. Now they were on even footing once again, neither with weapons, neither on the ground.
Loki’s heart was pounding, his breath coming in quick pants. He wasn’t used to being this challenged, wasn’t used to a fight with a single opponent going this long—not unless it was Iron Man, but then, many of their fights degenerated into taunts and tirades rather than actual violence. When Loki fought Iron Man, he did so for the enjoyment of the chase.
But this fight—this fight Loki needed to win—
A repulsor blast clashed against the sidewalk before him, right between himself and his reflection. Both of them froze in their tracks, turning to see that Iron Man was staring them both down, arms extended and weapons primed. His repulsors were white hot, charged to the highest setting, capable of packing a terrifying punch. While they wouldn’t kill Loki, they would certainly hurt like Hel.
The imposter, it seemed, realised the same thing.
“Wait—” he said, raising his hands—
Loki cut in quickly, knowing he couldn’t afford to let the imposter talk. “Stark—”
“Anthony, please. Don’t do this.”
At the sound of that name falling from the imposter’s lips, Loki felt his insides go cold. How did the imposter know about that?
How?
But there was no time to wonder about such things, for Iron Man was still undecided.
“You trusted me, just a moment ago,” Loki said, raising his hands in surrender. “You know that I am who I appear to be. Trust me again. Please.”
The imposter shook his head. “He’s lying to you. I am Loki, Loki of Asgard—”
“He’s the liar—”
“You know which one of us is real, trust your heart—”
“Trust your head!”
In fact, Iron Man’s head shifted, as if he were glancing back and forth between the two. There was a small question—
“J?” A moment of quiet, and then— “Ah. Okay. Fuck.”
Loki sighed. Of course he lost track of which one of us is which. And it would seem that JARVIS was also unable to tell.
In the momentary pause, the imposter started to move forward, his hands raised in a position very similar to Loki’s—but then Iron Man straightened his stance, repulsors shining at the ready.
“Don’t,” he said, the touch of machinery in his voice doing nothing to hide the ache in his tone. “Don’t.”
“There is one way to solve this without anyone getting hurt,” the imposter said, speaking a little too quickly. “Anthony, let us both go. I will return to you later, and you will not need to suffer the guilt should you choose wrong—”
“You can’t let him go, Anthony. He’s the one who attacked you, you know that he will come back—”
“Shut up, both of you,” Iron Man snapped. “I need a moment to just—I just—fuck. Okay. Tell me something that only—no wait, shit, you knew about Loki and I, and that should have been—”
“Anthony.”
Iron Man stopped, and glanced toward Loki. And, thinking about it—there were many things that Loki could have chosen to do in that moment. He could have repeated words that had before only been whispered, spilled a secret that had been shared in perfect intimacy. But this imposter seemed to know Loki and Anthony’s secret, seemed to have worked out what even the Avengers had not yet discovered. There was a chance that Iron Man would not believe the validity of anything Loki could tell him.
But perhaps… there was something Loki could show him instead, something he doubted the imposter would expect—
And so, keeping his gaze locked on the eyes of Iron Man’s faceplate, Loki tugged at his seiðr in a manner that felt entirely unnatural—and the illusion he usually lived with fell away.
Loki didn’t need to look at his own skin to know that the usual pale hue was darkening to deep blue, that his green eyes were bleeding scarlet. He knew that lines were running over his face, he knew that the air around him was turning cold—he knew, but he kept his eyes on Anthony, and he spoke with steady calm.
“My name is Loki Laufeyson, rightful heir of Jotunheim. And Anthony, I am not here to hurt you.”
Iron Man’s arms lowered slightly—
To his right, Loki heard a gasp of shock interspersed with a curse—a scrambling realisation that the game was up. But rather than give in, the imposter made one final attempt, charging forward with an ugly snarl. Loki turned but he already knew that he would not get there in time—
But not that it mattered. Before Loki had drawn his next breath, Iron Man’s palm charged and fired—and the imposter fell to the ground.
Slowly, both Loki and Iron Man took a step forward, closer to the imposter’s body. For it was, Loki realised, just a body, unmoving and empty. And… changing. As Loki watched the clothes began to shift, the hair began to dissolve, the skin began to turn—
“I didn’t think that would—” Iron Man cut himself off. “I didn’t think…”
Loki felt a twinge of unease, something that was close to sympathy. The imposter had tried to attack them, and Loki had no scruples about the end of his life, but he knew that Iron Man was more… sensitive, about such things. More caring. It was one of the things that had drawn Loki in, back at the start. But a big heart can hold a lot of pain.
He didn’t need an explanation. He understood. Stark’s repulsors had been charged enough to hurt, enough to do some serious damage—but not enough to be lethal. Not for someone with the physiology of a frost giant.
If it had hit Loki, the blast wouldn’t have been enough to kill him.
But it was enough to kill—
“A Skrull,” Loki said, eyeing the now green skin and indicative pointed ears. “Of course.”
“A what now?”
Loki sighed, and turned his gaze to the man standing beside him. “They are shapeshifters. I believe they’ve been to your planet before. Did he say what he wanted?”
“He wanted me to build him something,” Iron Man replied, his eyes still on the fallen Skrull. “He was pretending to be… well, he came into the Tower, made his demands. When I realised there was something wrong, he attacked me. We both went out the window.” Iron Man snorted, though it didn’t sound quite right. “Almost ironic, that.”
Loki glanced upward to where Avengers Tower loomed over the now rather battered train station. He supposed that explained the location.
“Well,” Loki sighed as he turned his gaze back toward Iron Man. “I am glad that you realised the truth. It was only a matter of time before you recognised me, after all.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Iron Man sounded hesitant, and Loki paused.
“Excuse me?” he asked. “I believe that we have now proven—”
“That,” he said, gesturing to the green corpse on the ground, “Only proves that he was not the real Loki. It doesn’t prove anything about you.”
“And this doesn’t?” Loki lifted his hands, showing Anthony the blue of his skin—and given the stress of the moment, he did not even flinch at the sight of it himself.
“That thing already turned into you—”
“Skrulls can only read recent memories,” Loki cut in. “I hadn’t thought about being a Jotunn in some time. But barely a minute goes by that I don’t think about you. I’m not surprised he realised our connection.”
Iron Man glanced away. “And why should I believe that?”
“Because you know me,” Loki said immediately, stepping closer. “Because I can tell you that I was born in Jotunheim, raised on Asgard. My parents were Odin and Frigga, my brother is Thor—and you are the other half of my heart. We have spent so long fighting, and even longer making up for it, making promises that neither of us have ever been able to keep. Promises that I wish I could keep, because to me, Anthony Stark… you are everything. And if you can’t see that, then…”
“Then what?”
“Then I’ll just keep trying.”
Taking a careful step forward and doing his best not to appear threatening, Loki reached up and allowed his fingers to hover over the angles of Iron Man’s helmet.
“Anthony. Let me convince you.”
There was a pause, a moment, a single aching second—
But then the gold faceplate slid open, and Loki leaned forward to draw Anthony into a kiss.
Compared to some of their embraces in the past, the kiss was hardly a soft one—Anthony’s suit was all hard lines and sharp angles, the metal unyielding and cold. But Anthony’s lips were as welcoming as always, the drag of his beard against Loki’s skin comforting in its familiarity. No, it wasn’t soft, but… it was sweet, practiced, perfect the way that every kiss with Anthony had been, regardless of the time or the place or the length or the cause. Perfect because it was them, together, as they should be. As they had been for rather a very long time.
And when their lips parted with no more ceremony than a soft exhale and a sigh…
“Loki,” Anthony breathed, meeting Loki’s still-red eyes.
“Yes,” Loki replied. “That’s me.”
Anthony laughed at that, though the sound was a little wet, and maybe a little tortured. Despite still being in his suit, he held Loki close, like he was afraid that Loki was going to disappear—and his gaze didn’t leave Loki’s face, not once. It was odd, and Loki found himself frowning.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.
“I, yeah. No. God,” Anthony said, shuddering and glancing at the fallen Skrull for a moment before turning back to Loki once again. “For a second there I thought… what if I’d—”
“Don’t,” Loki cut in, recognising where Anthony’s thoughts had headed. “You knew that wasn’t me, you saw his surprise when I revealed myself to be Jotunn.”
“But I didn’t know for sure. He had your magic.”
“No, that staff did,” Loki corrected, shaking his head. “It wasn’t him at all. He was trying to trick you, and he attacked you. You acted in self defence, Anthony, you know that.”
Anthony sighed at that, though his expression had lightened some. “I should let SHIELD know there’s a dead alien in the middle of New York.”
“You should,” Loki agreed. It would be amusing to watch Fury deal with the fallout of yet another alien appearing out of nowhere. “But that can wait a moment.” Gently, Loki cupped Anthony’s cheek, stroking the damp patch just beneath his lover’s eye. “I think… you’re still not convinced that everything has gone our way.”
“Loki,” Anthony said, glancing over Loki’s shoulder—and Loki didn’t need to look to know what he was talking about. For now that the danger had passed, people were returning for the show they normally loved, to catch a glimpse of an Avenger in action. He could hear people talking, snapping photos, and no doubt putting them on social media to claim their fame for witnessing a kiss between Iron Man and Loki—between a villain and a hero.
This was going to ruin Loki’s reputation.
But you know what?
As he shook his head and leaned in to kiss Anthony again, Loki decided that he didn’t really care.