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He asked via email.
The council meeting had finally ended, chairs scraping across the linoleum as Asgardians and Midgardians rushed out, equals in their pursuit of dinner after a four hour session on waste management.
One Midgardian moved against the crowd, approaching Loki. She slid a folded piece of paper across the table. “We guessed this is meant for you.”
He reached for it, and her hand snapped back to her side. “Guessed?” Loki asked, but she’d already hurried off.
From: [email protected]
hey maleficent-
i owe you a drink. Stark Tower or whatever its called now. penthouse. friday 8pm
be there or get off my planet.
Sent from my iPhone.
“To the point.”
“Rude,” Loki said, referring both to the note and to his nosy brother; Thor was leaning over to read his correspondence. Loki folded the paper shut and eyed him. Thor’s lack of surprise was telling. “Did you set this up?” he accused.
“No! Stark did,” Thor said.
“What does he want?”
“The pleasure of your company?” Valkyrie’s voice cut in from behind him. She’d stolen the paper. Loki snatched it back, this time using magic to hide it away from prying eyes and hands.
“I am good company,” Loki insisted.
“I don’t know,” Thor said, and Loki kicked him under the table. Hard. “What he wants! I don’t know what he wants. He asked if you were still ‘almonds and cashews.’”
“What?”
“‘Nuts,’ apparently.”
Loki paused. “I see.”
“Didn’t you attack him and try to take over this world?” Valkyrie asked. “Bring a knife.”
“Don’t bring a knife,” Thor said. “But, Loki…you must apologize.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
The temperature in the council room chilled. Thor had made it three weeks on Midgard without asserting his kingly authority over Loki. Granted, it was two weeks longer than Loki had expected.
So this would be his future on Earth - a parade of forced apologies. What was he supposed to say, I’m sorry your planet had weak defenses? I’m sorry your Midgardian building materials couldn’t hold up to some mild combat?
“No.” Loki spoke plainly, firmly. No, he would not beg at his brother’s command, groveling for forgiveness at Stark’s iron boots, looking up at his smug smile behind atrocious facial hair.
“Loki.” Thor stood, so Loki stood as well. “We are refugees on Mid- on Earth. If your ego-”
“What ego?” Loki said, ignoring Valkyrie’s unamused grumblings.
Thor’s jaw clenched. His hand opened, an old reflex to call for his judgmental hammer, and closed in an empty fist. He quickly busied himself adjusting his belt instead. “We can’t afford Stark’s ire.”
Loki hummed. “Is his ire as overpriced as his technology?”
“Enough,” Valkyrie interrupted, the sword she carried now drawn, pointed at him. She used it as emphasis, and started waving it around as she spoke with a casualness not befitting a weapon of war. “If you’re going to put every New Asgardian at risk by pissing off some billionaire, don’t bother coming back. We’ll put you on a ship back to Sakaar.” Her eyes were firm.
Loki matched her gaze. “Prepare a ship.”
“No! We won’t, Loki - ” Thor called out, but Loki was gone.
***
Loki brought a knife. Hidden, of course, for propriety. But the chance the industrious Midgardian was unarmed, or, unarmored? Minimal.
His drink was waiting for him when he arrived at exactly eight PM; some brown liquor on ice set next to an empty black leather chair. Stark was seated on the matching couch, drink in hand.
“Hello, Stark,” Loki said. Stark gave only a nod, motioning to the chair next to him.
Stark had matured since they’d last met: some hard lines in his face where they used to be soft. Stark’s fashion sense had not. Had he purposefully underdressed for their meeting? Was the pair of red painted lips and a tongue on his shirt a subtle insult to Loki's “silver-tongued” moniker? Was ‘The Rolling Stones’ a mockery of the fact that Loki had lost both the Mind and Space stones in his failed attack?
Or perhaps, as his mother had once told him, “If you hunt for insults, you’ll find them.” At the time, he’d been insulted.
Perhaps, Stark only liked music. And underdressing.
They were alone, no evidence of caped magicians or vengeful archers hiding in dark corners. Loki’s gaze caught on a certain repaired indentation in the floor. The replaced flooring was a shade lighter than its surroundings: a subtle monument to his failure, his weakness. He quickly looked anywhere else.
Renovations had taken place, new furniture, lighting.
New windows.
Now, fortified with metal.
Loki sat and lifted the drink. The chances Stark had found a poison that worked on Frost Giants were slim; the chances of finding one with no tells even lower. The drink was clear, no residue, smelled fine.
“It’s poisoned,” Stark said flatly.
Loki held back a retort. He offered a tight, humoring smile before taking the first sip. It was better than he expected. Bold, but refined.
Stark’s gaze was sharp, scanning Loki like he was some machine to dismantle. His eyes lingered on Loki’s dark grey suit, narrowing slightly. Loki had skipped both a tie and waistcoat, hoping to project something a bit softer, more forgivable than his usual attire. He shifted in his seat, wishing he’d worn armor instead.
“Thank you for the drink.” Loki paused. “I suppose I made a bit of an impression.”
“Yeah, on my floor.” Stark sipped his drink, his eyes sliding to that specific spot on the floor.
Loki set his glass down abruptly, the drink threatening to splash over the edge. So Stark had truly invited him here to mock him. He prepared an excuse to leave, something diplomatic and believable, but Stark continued. “Honestly, I was gearing up to blast you back into space, but Thor and the big guy were pretty strong advocates.”
Loki's excuse died in his mouth.
Thor, he expected. But the Hulk? It was hard to believe that the events on the ship had been enough to earn the beast’s favor.
More intriguing, though, was the effort it must have taken Stark to acquire this endorsement. The beast had vanished the moment they landed, hiding in some remote, off-grid corner of the world to work it out with Banner. A small, vain part of Loki found the interest behind Stark's scrutiny flattering.
Loki picked his glass back up. “Thor didn’t tell you I’m ‘nuts’?” Loki asked.
“He said you like a variety of nuts. It’s what I get for trying to joke with Asgardians. Forgot you guys doth prefer thine words of old.”
“Maybe we just prefer funnier jokes.”
“Sure you do. Anyway, if they’re both Team Loki, who am I to say you can’t change?” Stark said. Humbly phrased, for a man who'd clearly appointed himself arbiter. There was still a cool, assessing caution to him.
Well. Who was to say Stark couldn’t be assessed too. “And have the years changed you?" Loki asked.
Stark looked away. "Not really. Left my girlfriend for a suit of armor, sold the tower, lost half the team over a couple signatures." Stark delivered the list like he was recounting recent weather events.
“So I’ve read.” Loki took a long, slow sip of his scotch to cover a smile. The great Iron Man, alone in a tower. It seemed that perhaps Loki had been invited not only as a threat to assess, but also as the only child left on the playground. "I hope it was a strapping suit of armor."
“It was.” Stark gave him a curious look, one that hinted at something dangerous. “You want to see?”
Stark stood, and pulled a glowing triangle out of his back pocket. With a press of it to his chest, metal crawled across his clothes and skin, spreading into a full red and gold suit.
With a burst of power, Stark flew into the air, hovering in the room. Loki had to admit that the man’s technological prowess was impressive. Flight, power, strength that could rival an Asgardian, all housed in a triangle smaller than a book.
In the six years that had passed, Stark’s hands had not been idle.
“I don’t suppose your suit can refill my drink?” Loki said, raising his empty glass.
Stark landed. “Oh, it can.” Stark’s arm shot towards him. Loki jolted, almost dropping his drink, but it slowed. It was only Stark’s suit stretching out past his hand, doubling his reach. Stark looked far too smug at Loki’s reaction. The metal crawled around Loki’s glass. The suit was strange, tickling his hand as it retreated to its normal length. On instinct, Loki closed his fist around the last piece. Stark didn't react as he walked to the kitchen. Loki opened his palm, but the bit of metal was frozen, edges jagged where it had separated. He sent magic into it to explore, curious to see if he could find the source of this strange technology that acted so alive one moment, but it was truly just metal, microscopic wires, engineering. The thing giving it life was Stark.
“That’s ten thousand dollars you’re holding.” Loki looked up. Stark handed him his new drink. “Kidding. It’s a million. I’ll trade you.”
The suit absorbed Loki’s piece, immediately becoming impossible to differentiate from the rest.
“Impressive, Stark.”
Stark smiled. It was tight, and quick, but there.
“What else?”
Loki’s drink slowly drained as Stark showed off the capabilities of his suit, its weaponry. He lit up as he explained it all: “Nanotech" as Stark called it. ‘Ay eye,’ other technology Loki only half-understood, despite Stark’s detailed explanations and his patience with Loki’s questions. Loki was happy to indulge, partially as attention was off his own moral assessment, but also as he knew firsthand how weeks of work could be waved off as only a party trick. Stark’s efforts here deserved some attention.
Eventually, Stark had shown off enough, removed the suit and grabbed another drink, settling back on the couch. He left the housing unit on his chest. The blue glow was subtle, but seemed to bring a little life into his face.
“So if your exalted Avengers split, and you sold this tower, why are we here?” Loki asked.
“I rented it. I’m rebranding.”
“To what?”
“Irony man.”
Loki stood and stepped away from Stark to hide an amused smile. He gazed out the long-repaired window. “You’ll have to rebrand to Poor Man soon if you have to rent penthouse apartments to land every joke.”
Stark joined him at the window. “A good joke’s worth more than some things I’ve wasted money on.”
“Seriously, Stark, why return?”
Stark hesitated. The distant sirens and horns of the city, mostly muted by the glass, carried in through an open doorway to the deck. “I can't avoid it all by avoiding a building.”
“What do you mean?”
Stark reached out to run his hand along the iron frame of the window and cleared his throat. “After… There was this thing in Russia. A fight. I sold this building to get away from the memories. Your attack, Ultron. Rogers. Everything was tied here.” Loki watched Stark’s hand inspect the construction.
"I can understand that."
“But that didn’t end the nightmares. Guess those don’t care about property lines.”
“So, you realized you can’t run away from what troubles you.”
“Can’t run away, can’t run towards. There’s nothing I can do, it’s just . . . here.” Stark’s hand stilled on the window. He stared ahead into his reflection. He closed his eyes, and shook his head with a sharp exhale, almost a laugh. Loki sensed a moment of openness ending and rushed to say the words that had been at the back of his mind all evening, the ones Valkyrie had not so gently threatened him to say.
“I’m supposed to apologize,” he said tightly.
“Supposed to?” A hint of a smile pulled at Stark’s face.
“For what it’s worth, Stark, I don’t dream of inhabiting your nightmares.” And that was as close as he was going to get. Loki made quick work of the rest of his drink, enjoying the distracting burn of alcohol.
“Maybe I’ll make it in yours and we’ll be even,” Stark said.
“An eye for an eye?”
“Actually, I take it back, we can’t have you following your family’s legacy. People will think you're copying Thor.”
“Thank you for your concern over my vision.”
Stark laughed. “It’s top of the list, pal. You’d miss out on your front row view of People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive 2005. And 2011. And 2012.”
“Oh 2012, of course, that must’ve been voted on before I threw you out the window. I was doing the world a service, taking you off your pedestal. Ending your monopoly.”
“You bastard, the scars aren’t still there.” Stark, smiling, turned towards the dark window to check his reflection.
“Let me see.” Loki grabbed his jaw, turning and tilting it up. Behind slightly graying facial hair was a face that, annoyingly, did justify those covers. Loki played at looking for scars, tilting his face this way and that, before meeting Stark’s wide eyes. “Damn. Still in the running for 2018." He smirked. “Although, I could throw you out the window again to up my chances, I plan to add my name to the hat this year.”
Stark had stilled under his grip.
A cold dread filled Loki, that he’d gone too far, ruined whatever fragile rapport they had between them. Loki released Stark, who stepped back unevenly.
“Ha. Yeah, we’ll see.” Stark turned away quickly, grabbing his drink and finishing it in one swig. He walked over to place it in the sink, not looking at Loki as he moved around in the kitchen.
“I’m - maybe that was a poor joke to make. By the window.” While holding Stark’s face.
“Oh no, you’re fine. Honestly, thank you. This is going better than I’d imagined.”
“What do you mean?”
Stark walked back to him. “I’m trying this thing - it’s the real reason I rented this out. Go back to the place, make a new memory. Like rewiring a broken circuit, but leaving the old wires there." Stark paused, doubting his metaphor. "I don’t know, I’m just trying to get a new perspective. And I’m definitely getting a new one on you, Reindeer Games.” There was a strange gleam in his eye.
"Then… I'm glad I could help," Loki said.
"Actually, there's something else that would help." Stark held a hand behind his back.
"What's that?"
"You'll think I'm crazy."
"You're worried about my judgement?"
"Nope, just stating a fact," Stark said. "I want to play catch.”
"Catch?"
Stark revealed his hand, a baseball, and tossed it at Loki. He caught it and looked at the ball more closely, but it was truly just a ball - old, dirty, with ink-scrawl across it.
“What-” Loki started, but with a look up, Stark had stepped towards him. The nanosuit on his chest was glowing, its blue light steady and strong. Up close, the craftsmanship, the details that contained all that power were inviting.
“Want to try it out?” Stark said. Loki looked up. He was serious. “Go ahead.” He puffed his chest forward.
Loki reached out, slowly, expecting some trap: An alarm to blare, a contingent of his leftover Avengers to appear as soon as he put a hand on him. But Stark was unnervingly still, holding his breath as Loki approached. Loki’s fingers brushed against the smooth edge of the unit, where the metal met Stark’s cotton shirt. Loki tugged. The nanites started to release their grip on the shirt. A shudder rolled through Stark's body, and his arm flew up, knocking Loki’s hand away. Stark stepped back, his hand covered his chest, gripping the unit.
“Buy me dinner first.”
Heat rose up the back of Loki’s neck, and he bit his tongue. The gall of this man, puffing out his chest like some mating bird one moment, swatting him away the next. If he hadn’t wanted Loki to grab it, why even offer.
Stark pulled the unit off his shirt, and shoved it, hard enough to force a breath of air from Loki, onto Loki’s chest. Nanites gripped into his shirt. “Here.”
The unit was heavier than Loki expected, and still warm from Stark. “How does ‘Catch’ help?”
“You’ll see.”
“Stark,” Loki warned.
Stark pressed something on the unit, and the suit spread across Loki’s chest. It was a strange pressure, not too tight, but impossible to ignore as it spread down his limbs. When it crawled up his neck, his pulse rose, darkness briefly covering his vision before lighting up again, his vision filled with blue letters and numbers.
“Welcome, Loki. Probation protocol enabled, weapons systems unavailable.” A woman’s voice rang from all around, emanating from the helmet itself.
“Get this cursed- oh.” As soon as Loki had started speaking, the helmet retracted.
“It reads your nervous system.” Stark said, which was an explanation Loki did not particularly like. Stark took the baseball from Loki’s hand, and motioned for Loki to turn his palms down. “Now try hovering, palms down, feet together.”
Loki followed orders, and the repulsors turned on. He hovered, and before Stark could over-explain like Loki was some schoolchild, Loki flew out and onto the deck. He overshot slightly, coming to a halt halfway to the next building. He turned back carefully.
Stark had followed him out to the deck. “Ready?” he said, baseball in hand. He threw it, sailing off down an avenue, sinking towards the street.
Loki burst after it. The helmet automatically reformed, bluish lines, numbers, and letters appearing again.
“Hello again, Lok-”
“Cease with your interference!” He demanded, and the voice listened, shutting down the lights and silencing itself so he could focus on his mission. The white dot between himself and the asphalt below quickly grew bigger, until it was within his reach.
As his hand came forward to grab the ball, the repulsor cut out.
His other palm kept pushing, meaning all that thrust was suddenly only on one side of him. The suit swung him around it like a door on a hinge. Glass and metal, the dark sky flew past his vision as he careened sideways towards a building. He threw his arms forward, managing to steady himself before crashing, although the blast of white light into an office window drew the eyes of some young well-dressed bankers away from their screens.
He looked down. The ball bounced off the roof of a car.
He dove, landing with a concrete splitting crack on the sidewalk. New Yorkers gasped, raising their phones and holding them towards Loki like some strange offering. He looked past them, the ball had come to a stop in the street.
Weaving his way through the crowd, he stepped out into the street and grabbed it. He smiled to himself as he raised it.
“Iron Man! The bus!” He looked up in time to see the bright headlights upon him, and was nearly deafened by a horn.
He jumped, repulsors firing at his feet, but he was just barely too slow. An iron boot caught on the front of the bus, throwing him into a tailspin. He crashed into a nearby building wall, landing in a crumpled heap on the sidewalk. Two New Yorkers rushed to help him up before he could discourage them. He was grateful for the helmet, now covering his embarrassment.
The ball had gone flying as well, and three boys tussled over it, knees and elbows flying. A smaller arm, armored in multicolored bracelets, slipped in underneath them and snatched it away. She rushed towards Loki before the boys could notice.
Her eyes were shining with excitement, a rather proud smile on her face. “Here you go, Mr. Stark.” In a small hand with butterflies painted on the nails, she held out the ball to Loki.
“Thank you,” he said, voice robotic through the suit.
He flew up, away from the crowd, aware now of how he needed to adjust his weight against the imbalance. Once he was high enough, the mask came off, cooling his face in the breeze for his ascent. Below, the people were still waving up at him.
Loki was familiar with donning masks, but even masquerading as his father, the king of all realms, he’d never quite felt the reverence Stark’s presence could conjure.
Stark was waiting at the edge of his deck. He’d been watching.
“You drop the ball?” Stark asked.
“Of course not.” Loki said, which was technically true, not catching was different than dropping, after all. Loki showed the ball. He threw it up in the air, catching it easily in the other hand, balancing the blasted armor with his feet only. It was still a challenge, but Stark needn’t know that, lest his pride in his own abilities be inflated any further.
Stark huffed. “Sure you didn’t,” he muttered. He clenched his fists, closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Loki was about to ask what was wrong when he relaxed and looked up, as bold and determined as ever.
“Okay, Yogi Berra. Catch!”
And Tony Stark fell.
Loki’s heart stopped. He threw the ball towards the building to free his hands. He ignored the sound of glass shattering and dove down sharply, heart pounding in his chest. Every second counted. Tony was facing towards the ground, limbs spread. Reaching out for him, Loki wrapped his arms under Tony’s and lifted, shifting power to his feet so they would begin to stabilize. It wasn’t the most graceful catch, but Tony was safe.
“You absolute imbecile! You could’ve warned me!” Loki yelled into Tony’s ear. Tony just laughed.
“I said 'catch'. Besides, if I’d warned you earlier, I’d barely be five feet off the building. Look around.”
Loki looked. The ground was distant, cars still tiny bugs far below. They had only fallen three stories. He cursed and flew back up to the deck. He put Tony down gently, if a bit awkwardly, trying once again to mind the repulsors while maintaining balance. Once Tony was settled, Loki turned off the repulsors of the suit. He miscalculated his distance from the deck, and fell as he attempted to land. He sat up and clawed at the thing on his chest, swearing as he tried to get the nanoparticles to retract.
“Here-“ Tony knelt down, pressing a hand to the housing unit. The nanoparticles retreated, crawling across Loki’s skin. As they left his chest open, Loki could feel his heart beating rapidly under Tony’s fingers. He pulled away and finished removing the unit on his own, offering it back.
Tony hesitated, half-reaching to Loki’s hand, before pointing beside him. “Ground’s fine,” he said quietly.
Loki acquiesced, placing the unit on the ground. “How could you be so blindly confident I’d catch you. If I’d - “
"Oh, I wasn't." Tony rolled up his sleeves, revealing two watches. With a quick hand signal, his hands were covered by red metal. Loki grabbed for one, flipping it over. Sure enough, it appeared to be a full, working hand, jets and all, although thinner and less detailed than the full suit had been.
"You tricked me."
"I did."
“This tiny thing's enough to support you?" Loki raised Tony's hand, shaking it for emphasis.
"It's not the size that matters, it's the skill."
Loki hummed, adjusting his grip on Tony's wrist. "Let's test yours." And with a litheness developed over one thousand years of combat training, he flipped Tony over the edge of the building.
Tony Stark fell.
His expression was marvelous, shock and rage burning hot in his eyes as he met Loki’s between his limb-flailing attempts to right himself. To Loki's delight, the man’s shouts echoed across the city.
Loki grabbed the discarded housing unit and placed it back on his chest, in case Tony had overestimated his engineering, and stood. But the man steadied himself before long, flying up with only his hands. He deposited himself less than gracefully on the deck next to Loki.
He looked up accusingly, chest heaving, and Loki offered a hand. Tony slapped it away. The metal stung.
"It seems you're right." Loki said as Tony stood, coming a few inches short of him. "Size doesn't matter."
“Noted,” Tony snapped. His gaze fell to the blue glow on Loki’s chest. His jaw unclenched.
“This is your ‘rewiring’?” Loki asked. “Surely you could think of an alternative to throwing yourself off a building.”
Tony took the housing unit off of Loki’s chest, placing it back on his own. “I had to know I could trust you, if we're going to exist on this planet together.”
“I don’t have any more plans of world domination.”
“That’s a shame, I was looking forward to an easy fight.”
“I’m not easy.” Loki stepped into his space, one last attempt - half-hearted - at intimidation. One he knew would fail. One Tony only chuckled at, his breath finally returning to normal.
Loki looked at the brave, fearful, stupid, genius of a man. A man who’d let him into his home despite a history that was barely hidden behind a couple of recent good deeds. Granted, Tony had his own past which Loki cast no judgement on.
“I am-” Loki’s voice caught. There was something guarded still, a tightening around Tony’s eyes.
The words Loki had meant to say were knives carving in his throat. Hot blood ran down and pooled heavily in his stomach at the sincerity. He turned from Tony, back to the building, and coughed. The sickening weight stayed.
The window had shattered, the baseball sat innocently in the penthouse. The reinforcements still stood, metal crisscrossing empty space, while thousands of glass shards littered the deck.
“The window,” Loki managed. “I’m sorry, Stark.” A pitiful apology, he knew. But it was all he could do. Something heavier held those other words down: the specifics, the promises he was supposed to offer to not repeat, to mend and move forward, and Loki couldn’t get them out.
Tony, however, seemed content with it, uninterested in shoving his hand down Loki’s throat to claw out the words that wouldn’t come. Tony offered a hand to shake. “I don’t speak for all of New York, but we’re good in my book.” Loki took it, grabbing his forearm instead. Tony frowned slightly, but said nothing, gripping Loki's forearm as well. “It wasn’t you so much that was haunting me. But the army. The wormhole.” Tony looked up towards where the wormhole had opened years ago, eyes lost. “I had a vision that something is still coming, and we’re not ready.”
Thanos.
Loki told himself, on quiet nights when he couldn’t quite continue pretending all was well, that Thanos had forgotten him: the failed lieutenant who had cost him two stones.
The Chitauri ship, Loki would refuse to claim fault for. He had enough targets on his back. That one was all on Tony.
Tony was still gazing up towards that empty place in the sky, Loki’s arm still tight in his grip. A hard line between his eyebrows: Unwilling or unable to relax, still trapped in that fight.
Loki pulled at Tony's arm, dragging the Midgardian out of his memories and making him stumble a half-step closer to Loki. “You’re right.”
Tony’s eyes lit up. “You believe me.”
“You threw a pebble at a warlord’s army, of course he’s not defeated.” Loki let go of his arm.
“An atom bomb is a pebble?”
“Fine, a boulder. Still. Your world is in danger. Only now, I won’t be leading his army - Thanos will take the helm.”
“Thanos.” Tony tested the unfamiliar name, saying it far too lightly. “He’s worse than you?”
Loki gritted his teeth. “Unfortunately. And with your group broken, Asgard fallen, there’s little that stands between him, and his target. You, Stark, are doomed.” Tony’s eyes narrowed at Loki. “And me, I suppose.”
It took half a second to sink in. “Fuck me.” Tony rubbed his face, turning away from Loki to face the dark city. “Okay. Great. Awesome. Just what I wanted to hear. I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I want sushi.” He pulled out his phone - some holographic device - the subtlest shake to his hands.
Loki hesitated, unsure. He might have overestimated Tony’s constitution. Or maybe threatening him with doom was less motivational than Loki had hoped.
Like approaching a spooked horse, he moved to Tony’s side, easing into his vision, although Tony still refused to look up. His entire focus, outwardly, at least, on his mission for sushi.
“It may not be much consolation, given your team defeated me, but I can stand with you for what comes next. I have to stand.”
“Why?” Tony didn’t raise his gaze from his screen, but his thumb did hover over the order button.
“Only selfish reasons, I promise. What few people I have left I don’t intend to lose, and they just so happen to be on this world. Ergo,” Loki gestured between them. “we are … ‘mates of a team’.”
“Teammates?” Tony turned to him.
“If we must be. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not one of your military propaganda pieces. I’m not your fellow Avenger.”
“Was I offering you a suit?”
“Please don’t.”
Tony put his phone away. Interestingly, Tony pulled another device from his pocket - another phone, smaller and older. He did nothing with it, only looked at it, thinking.
Tony pocketed the second phone. “Well. Thanks for the heads up.” Tony didn’t look at him.
Loki heard the dismissal. He waited, in part out of disbelief. “And what’s this, ‘thanks, let the real hero handle it?’”
“No, just forget it.”
“Then what, ‘I only work with leather-clad, or star-ornamented allies?’ If that’s so, I assure you my leath-”
“Do you trust me?” Tony rushed it out.
“What?”
“My calls, my judgment. If we’re going to work together.” It was an absurd question, coming from the great savior of New York. Who wouldn’t trust him? Loki was the one where trust was always in question, for reason. But Tony appeared sincere in his question. Intensely sincere, and Loki was under the impression there might be an open wound under that t-shirt.
An idea struck Loki, and he walked backwards, towards the edge, hands behind his back. He gathered his focus, flicked his wrist, and looked Tony in the eye.
“You tell me.” He winked.
And Loki fell.
He’d timed it perfectly, falling backwards into an open portal that deposited him back up onto the deck, just in time to see Tony heroically dive off after him, suit still forming on his body.
Loki moved to the edge and watched Tony race to catch his too-rapidly descending illusion that was always just out of reach. He was faster than Loki expected. About halfway down the building, Loki dispelled it, the illusion shifting into a thousand leaves that scattered in the wind-tunnel of skyscrapers.
Tony turned quickly, agile in his full suit, and shot back up to Loki.
“You-”
“I do,” Loki said quietly. “But you’ll have to take my word for it.”
And with that, Loki disappeared.
***
“LOKI!” Thor burst through the doors to the dining hall, a repurposed gymnasium, interrupting not only Loki’s breakfast, but that of the other New Asgardians as well.
“Can I help you?”
Thor slammed down a newspaper on the table, and there Loki was on the front page, throwing Tony Stark off the side of a building, a rather excited look in his eyes. There was a heated one in the billionaire’s too, as he met the gaze of the architect of his descent. The Midgardian photographer was quite skilled at capturing a moment.
Local God Throws Billionaire Off Building - Is Now a Good Time to Invest in Stark Industries?
Pulling out his knife, Loki used the blade to flick the paper back towards Thor. “I apologized.”
***
He asked via a wax-sealed letter, delivered unseen to Tony’s workbench. FRIDAY pulled the feeds, but static had replaced the video.
The letter was handwritten, a neat cursive in a dark green ink, almost black.
Dear Tony Stark,
Thank you for your hospitality. I’d like to take the opportunity to extend my own invitation. If you’d be so inclined, I’d like to take you to dinner at a little place up north.
Friday, 8 PM. 76.1918° N, 108.6660° E. I believe you’re familiar.
While I sincerely hope you will be there, in the event you choose not to attend, I will have no ill intentions towards you or your continued presence on this planet.
Dress warmly.
Regards,
Loki
Tony exhaled through his nose. “Bitch.”