Chapter Text
Tony had a bad feeling about this.
He and Steve had been summoned to Fury’s office outside of any real crisis, “for a chat.” “Chat” almost always meant “reaming,” so the director’s calm tone and almost … awkwardness as he talked to them across his desk really didn’t bode well.
Tony and Steve looked at each other quickly and with increasing frequency as Fury carefully spelled out the background: A dialogue between Nick and Odin in which the one-eyed bastard Thor called father (as opposed to their own dear one-eyed bastard) strengthened their alliance by wedding one of Asgard’s “finest” to one of Midgard’s.
Were it not for the reactor, Tony’s heart would have stuttered when Fury’s narrative began to suggest that he himself would get the honor of selecting the finest of Midgard.
This was not going to go well.
“And so Odin proposed an alliance between his son and one of my … well … “
“No, wait—no.” Tony rubbed his eyes. “I don’t like where this is going. Nick, you don’t have any kids.” He resisted looking at Cap this time, but he could feel Cap’s eyes boring into him, could see the man’s bewilderment. He was two steps behind Tony, which means his heart was just now starting to pound.
“He suggested an alternative choice might be someone of value to our culture—someone who has what we ‘Midgardians’ consider power.”
Tony let out a breath. “Then Jane Foster. She’s brilliant, has fucking theories named after her, and Thor actually likes her.” He added desperately, “She has her own show on PBS, for God’s sake! She’s the Big Bird of nerdy scientists!”
Fury shook his head. “Nope. Not gonna happen. First-born son. Apparently Thor’s gotta stick with his own—good of the kingdom and all that—”
Tony’s jaw dropped. If not Thor, then-- “Wait. … No—that fucker is supposed to be in prison—” From the corner of his eye, he could see that Steve had made this one connection just as Tony did. The man was turning a weird shade of pink.
“And he has been, but this is part of his fucking redemption arc, Stark,” Fury sing-songed snidely—yeah, he didn’t agree with all this bullshit, either, but … “This is a mutually beneficial agreement, is how I see it. Someone to keep an eye on Loki, to connect him to our planet in a not-psychotically-murderous way, and a connection to Asgard to keep Thor around to fight what amounts to an insane number of bad guys we keep turning up for some goddamned reason. Yeah,” he sighed. “I know it makes no fucking sense, but you try telling that to the fucking All-Father. He’s convinced it will do Loki some good, and I’m willing to give anything a try to keep our planet on that guy’s good side, you got me?”
“You’re willing?!” Tony shook his head. “No—Nick, no, no, no…”
“Sir,” Steve finally cut in. “I’ll admit I’m a little lost—sorry, Tony. But, sir, do you mean that—you’re going to marry some poor girl to Loki—”
Tony cut in. “No, Steve, you’re not hearing what this fine man—” Here, he wagged an angry finger at Fury. “—what this leader of our people is saying—”
Fury leaned back in his chair, and Tony could detect—just a bit—a satisfied smile. Evil fucking bastard.
“You’re catching on, Mr. Stark.”
“It’s gotta be the equivalent to one of Fury’s children, which, in the delusional world of Asgard, and because this guy hasn’t actually spawned, means an Avenger.”
Fury leaned forward in his chair, lacing his fingers together on the surface of his desk. The glint in his eye was unmistakable.
Steve kept trying. “But, sir—that’s not really fair to Natasha, is it?”
Oh, Cap, Tony thought. So adorably naive. He watched Fury's head turn in his direction, eyebrows raised.
“Would you care to explain it to him, Stark?”
Tony slumped. “Natasha’s not in here, Steve. If they wanted Natasha for this, Nick here wouldn’t be talking to …” Here he waggled his hand between the two of them.
The Mexican stand-off of glances was getting old. And Steve was darkening from pink to red as he finally, painfully caught on. Tony shut his eyes. “Which one of us does he want?” he gritted out, praying for a coin toss. At least then the odds were fifty-fifty—hell, he could maybe even rig a coin toss, given a few moments alone with a quarter.
“Congratulations, Tony,” Fury said, finally offering a flat-out grin as he leaned back in his chair. “You made quite an impression on the God of Mischief. Loki asked for you special. And Odin wants his baby boy to get what he wants.”
Oh, Christ. He hid his face in his hands, heard his own voice muffled as he asked, “Why even have Steve here, Nick? To humiliate me?”
“In case you fainted.” Tony couldn’t see Nick Fury, hiding behind his own hands, but he could hear that the man’s smile was even bigger. “Because I ain’t carrying your ass out.”
Fuck.
“Just—” Tony breathed behind his hands, unwilling to look up. “Yeah, okay. Just … just tell me I’m not the girl, Nick.”
This time, the old bastard chuckled.