Brought To Justice: Chapter 4
Odin gives Loki a choice when he is brought back to Asgard: imprisonment, or execution. When Loki chooses the latter, Odin increases his punishment twofold, and Loki is sent back to Midgard in order to repay his debt. Bound by his own magic and forced to obey whatever order Steve Rogers lays out for him, Loki is forced to attempt a redemption he neither wants nor deserves.
Ao3 link. Steve Rogers/Loki. Slowburn. 25k. Rated M. WIP.
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June 3rd, 2012
âCâmere,â Tony murmurs, and Pepper leans in, smiling as she leans her hands against the table between them, her breath warm and scented with coffee where she puts her mouth over his. Pepper kisses him, and Tony tastes the caramel shot she took in her drink, cupping her cheek and smiling at her with all the warmth in the world. Itâs a great morning, the sun shining brightly in through the window, and in front of him Tony has a spread of folders, all focused on the Avengers Initiative.
SHIELD has been into him today, with Fury talking to him about taking over the Initiative from SHIELD⊠Fury had been more than reluctant to let Tony just take up the Initiative for the team, but with Steve pushing it through, itâs down to him, now.
And CoulsonâŠ
Heâd sent flowers to the cellist, offered to fly her in, but sheâd said no. Poor girl.
âHowâs business?â Tony asks, his hands on Pepperâs hips, and she smiles at him, her lips plump and glossy. Sheâs using some kind of new stuff â gloss, lipstick, Tony doesnât know â and it makes her even more beautiful than usual.
âHowâs heroism?â she replies, and Tony groans, gesturing to the folders.
âItâs a lot like business.â Pepper laughs, patting his cheek and taking up her own spread of folders, her coffee in her hand. âYou got meetings?â
âUntil four. How about you?â
âIâm driving out to X-Mansion today, probably gonna take the wunderkind with me. And I think Clint and Nat are coming, too,â Tony murmurs, running his palm over his beard as he thinks about it. Pepper frowns, tilting her head slightly.
âClint and Nat? Why?â
âI think âcause thereâs space in the car,â Tony says, and Pepper lets out a short, huffed laugh before he continues, âI dunno. Theyâre kinda up in the air at the moment â they donât want to take their normal jobs âcause theyâre both into the routine of the Avengers thing, I think. Neither of âem has ever been part of a team like this one before, and theyâre excited to get into it.â
âThatâs good,â Pepper says, and Tony nods his head, slowly.
âYeah,â he agrees. âYeah, it is. Iâm just worried about two hours in a car with Loki on one side and them on the other.â
âHeâs not going to say anything,â Pepper murmurs, and Tony sighs.
âItâs the silence Iâm dreading.â Pepper pats his shoulder, leans and presses a kiss to his head, and then she walks away, running to catch her eight oâclock. Tony sighs, pushing his meeting notes together, and he glances at his phone.
Henry McCoy, 07:25
Mr Stark, youâre new to running a heroes team. Please, donât worry about the meeting at all â weâll talk you through it and get you up to speed, and we even have some resources from older iterations of the Avengers. None of us is expecting you to have the whole world planned to the letter.
Theyâre not expecting to see Loki exactly either, Tony thinks, but hey. Coming from a guy whoâs worked on and off with Magneto, Loki almost seems like a walk in the park.
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âSo you can speak any language, pretty much ever, and read any language, but you canât sign?â Barton demands, and Loki stares at him from the other side of the limousine. Why, precisely, Stark insisted on this method of travel, Loki is uncertain â it strikes him as mildly obscene, particularly when theyâre going to a boarding school of all places, but then, Loki doubts Stark has spent much time in a normal automobile.
âWhy would I be able to speak any Midgardian sign languages?â Loki asks, arching his eyebrows. âItâs called the Allspeak, Mr Barton, not the Allsign.â All of them are rather dressed up for this occasion: Romanov wears a black dress that clings to the lines of her waist and chest, accentuating an easy hourglass figure; Stark wears a pressed suit, and Barton wears a purple shirt that has a collar and everything. Loki hadnât known the man had it in him. Loki himself wears a lilac shirt tucked into white trousers, a floral tie around his neck, and Stark had groaned when he had seen the outfit, but then complimented Loki thrice, so he would guess itâs fine enough.
âYeah, but if itâs magicââ
âWhat about languages with clicks and whistles?â Romanov breaks in.
âThey translate just fine. Some words donât, of course â words for specific fruits or vegetables, materials, et cetera. But the Allspeak⊠It translates the meaning more so than it rewrites the words as Iâm hearing them. When I hear any of you speak, I hear English, but the meaning is translated in my own head, I suppose. Which means I can still be aware of connotations, names, et cetera â itâs a sort of telepathic magic. If someone talks about, say, finar in the Fon System, even though Iâm not familiar with finar itself, I would get the impression of the scent, the sight, of the grain.â
âIf thatâs the case, then you should be able to understand sign languages just fine,â Romanov says, slowly. âLoads of languages include gestures as part of them, and if itâs a telepathic element, an impression, then sign language should be no different.â
Loki brings his index finger up to his chin, then brings it outward: True.
Barton nearly yells, burying his face in his hands and letting out a garbled sound of frustration, and when Loki grins, he shows all of his teeth, laughing. Romanov is shaking her head, letting out short chuckles, and Loki glances to Stark. Stark is looking between the three of him, his lips quirked into a smile between his obscene patches of sculpted facial hair.
âYou spoke ASL this whole time, huh?â
âItâs called the Allspeak,â Loki says, not unreasonably, and Barton groans incoherently in his direction. Loki had been worried the journey would be much more uncomfortable than it is, but Romanov has been making polite, measured conversation with Loki, and it is Barton that has brought the levity in the situation with his humorous over-reactions.
âWhy do you lie?â Barton demands. âThereâs no reason to! We donât speak sign language in front of you anyway, so we wouldnât risk it â there was nothing to gain! You just, you just lied, for no reason!â
âI didnât lie for no reason,â Loki replies. âI lied so you could enjoy unravelling my deception. Through logic alone.â
âBut thatâsâ Why that? We could just play a game!â Loki clucks his tongue, disapproving, and Barton looks askance to Romanov, now speechless, but Romanov just smiles, shoving the archer in the side.
âI donât play games.â Loki leans back in his seat, turning to look at Stark once more, and Stark leans in toward him.
âHere,â he says, holding something out, and Loki takes it, staring down at it. Itâs a mobile telephone, much like Starkâs own, and Loki stares down at his reflection in the polished, black glass. âSo your cell number is on the card stuck to the back, and this is yours now. Itâs charged, and Iâll give you the charger when youâre back at the building â itâs a pretty standard smartphone, texting, calls, internet, camera. I think you should start an Instagram or something.â
âInstagram?â Loki repeats, and he frowns, staring at the screen. âMr Stark, that hardly seems very secretive.â
âWell, weâre ironing out your paperwork now. Soon, SWORD is gonna give you your alien-on-earth papers, and youâre gonna be a real, fake citizen of the US of A. Besides, Loki,â Stark murmurs quietly, âItâll look better if youâre⊠You know. Integrating. Itâs great to do like, Wikipedia stuffââ
âSo many of the articles are so badly writtenââ
âItâs a community encyclopaedia, your highness, I donât know what you expect,â Stark says, shaking his hand for Loki to close his mouth, and Loki does, feeling the weight of the phone in his hand. âBut you know, even just Facebook, or Twitter⊠Shit, even if you made some kinda weird blogging site or something.â
âIf thereâs some sort of injunction,â Loki murmurs, holding the phone in his hand, âYou want there to be tangible, documentable proof that Iâm accepting my place on Earth.â It makes complete sense to Loki, and yet the social media of Earth⊠It is not something he is entirely comfortable focusing upon, not something he thinks he would be naturally inclined to. Perhaps merely something private â that is an option, isnât it?
âExactly. Itâs not an order â me and Steve talked about it, and weâre not gonna like, make you do social media or anything. Hell, Cap wonât even let me give him a phone yet. But you need to make some kinda presence. Loki, thereâs a reason weâre taking you with us to the Mansion â people are gonna find out eventually that youâre one of us now, and we canât really risk trying to keep it a secret.â Loki draws his thumb over the phoneâs smooth, cool touch screen, and he looks at the screen that comes up.
âIâm going to have to take this apart,â Loki murmurs. âMake some improvements.â
âI slaved over that phone for you, Lokiââ
âInteresting choice of words.â Starkâs eyes widen, his lips parting for a second, and Loki smiles before pointing out, âI did it to the laptop.â Something changes in Starkâs expression, some sort of irritation bubbling to the top â he doesnât like the implication that he may not be the most competent engineer in the room, Loki thinks, and it might amuse him were it not so patronising.
âYou took my laptop apart?â Stark asks, lowly, and Loki raises his eyebrows.
âYou said it was my laptop,â he says mildly, and Stark presses his lips together, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning away from him.
âLook, Loki, no offence, but youâre not exactly an engineer. You canâtââ Loki turns away from Stark, looking to Romanov and Barton. He meets Romanovâs gaze, looking into her deep eyes.
âIs this mansplaining?â Loki asks. Beside him, Stark splutters, irritated and indignant, but Romanov just slowly nods her head. The limousine comes to a stop, revealing the open grounds of the manor, and Loki reaches for the door, sliding out. âRead my file, Stark,â Loki advises, and he holds the door open for Barton and Romanov.
It is a beautiful summerâs day, shining down upon the green grasses and the gravel road, and when Loki looks up to the windows of the mansion, he can see that the children who are meant to be in their classes are all pressed up, looking down to see what the visitors might possibly be here for.
When Stark exits the vehicle, many of them get very excited indeed, hopping up and down, and Loki smiles slightly, pushing the limousine closed. There are a group of people gathered before the doors of the house: Charles Xavier, Ororo Munroe, Henry McCoy and Scott Summers. Loki recognizes them all, at a glance.
âProfessor Xavier,â Stark says, taking a few steps toward the houseâs doors, and Xavier, an older gentleman in a wheelchair, shakes Starkâs hand. Loki has read about him and these marvellous X-Men, of course, and he looks at Xavier where he sits in his wheelchair, looking anything but infirm. His eyes are alight with intelligence, and Loki is almost wary to come forward and shake the manâs hand himself, so he hangs back as Romanov and Barton step up, with Stark introducing them. âWhat, you shy?â
âNo,â Loki says, and he steps forward, coming away from the car and coming closer. As he does, he can see the beast-like blue figureâs yellow eyes widen, see Munroeâs expression turn cold, but Xavierâs remains quietly paternal, a slight smile on his face.
âLoki, isnât it?â
âIndeed, Professor Xavier,â Loki says politely, putting out his hand to shake: the others make no movement to reach for his hand as they did for the others, but Loki says nothing.
âHow are you settling in?â Loki can feel the impact of his telepathic energy against his magic. I wouldnât advise that, Loki presses onto the air itself, and Xavierâs lips quirk into a deeper smile, his old face a map of wrinkles, showing the years that have passed him by. The depths of Lokiâs mind are not easy for telepaths to grasp at, as a rule, so full to the brim are the banks of Lokiâs memories, so strongly felt are his emotions, and he feels Xavier draw back.
Wouldnât you? he replies.
âQuite well, thank you,â Loki says aloud. âOf course, I have a debt to repay.â
âYouâre damned right,â says Summers, and Loki looks at him. The sun shines off the plastic-rimmed glasses he wears over his dangerous gaze, as Medusa with her bloodied blindfold, and Loki smiles, wanly, before giving a polite bow.
The others begin to make their way inside, Xavier moving up the ramp at the side of the trio of steps as the others move up into the house, but McCoy remains. He steps forward, and he puts out his right hand to shake: the hand is brightly blue, the palm rubbery and soft, and the back of his hand is thick with fur. Loki takes it, surprised, and shakes it well. McCoyâs hand is warm, surprisingly so, but Lokiâs impassive expression as he surveys McCoyâs waistcoat and patterned trousers must unsettle him somewhat.
âWhat? Never seen a man like me before?â Loki looks at him for a long few moments, then allows the glamour over his skin to fall. Of course, he keeps the eternal masking over the scars on his mouth, his eyes, and around his neck, but he feels the tingle over his flesh as his skin turns as blue as McCoyâs own, showing the rough indentations on his skin, the redness of his eyes.
âIâve seen something like him,â Loki replies, aware that his Jötunn voice has a breathier, raspier element to it, as the tongue itself is longer than that of the Ăsir, and thicker. McCoyâs yellow eyes flit downward, taking Loki in from head to foot, and then he smiles, genuinely. He has sharp teeth, Loki can see, feline in their make-up.
âWelcome,â McCoy murmurs, nodding toward the steps, and Loki falls into step beside him. McCoy does not wear shoes, instead leaving his fur-covered, hand-like feet to tread upon the ground. As feline as McCoyâs face is, his hands and feet resemble â in shape â the chimpanzee, and Loki notes this with curiosity, resisting the natural urge to reach out with his magic and feel for McCoyâs biology. âStark didnât tell me you were coming.â
âThis is something of a trial run, if my information is correct,â Loki murmurs, walking alongside McCoy into the house. âMy⊠Service to the Avengers is not yet public knowledge.â A few children pass them by, peering up at Loki and McCoy with evident curiosity, but none of them stop to speak, and of course, none of them recognizes Loki.
âThe people are going to hate it,â McCoy says outright, turning left and coming down a corridor, and Loki nods his head, slowly. âWhat was it? Mind control? Debt? Villainy?â Loki inhales, slowly, and then says,
âDesperation.â McCoy hums.
âYes, thatâll about do it,â he says. The man has a pleasant voice, sounding like a kindly, American academic, and Loki doesnât say anything when he realises they are going down corridors they oughtnât â when he realises the others are on the other side of mansion, some way away. McCoy leads him down a set of stairs, then opens the door inward, revealing⊠Quarters.
Loki glances about the humble living room, and when McCoy gestures for him to take a seat at the dining table, Loki does. There are windows allowing in bright light despite the fact that this level of the mansion is subterranean, and when McCoy holds up a kettle, Loki nods his head to the offer of coffee.
âYou know why youâre here?â McCoy asks, lowly, as he presses the mug toward Lokiâs hands. He knows, instinctively perhaps, that Loki doesnât take sugar or milk, or perhaps he simply doesnât care.
âYou donât want me near the children,â Loki murmurs. âI understand. I didnât realize Stark hadnât told you until I exited his ridiculous limousine.â He brings the steaming brew up to his lips, and he feels it settle on his tongue, bitter and dark. Itâs a rich blend, Moroccan in its origin, and he lets out a quiet sigh. He doesnât often drink coffee, unwilling to allow himself the treat every day as many of the Avengers seem to â the caffeine content is simply not something Loki is used to, and he prefers to stay away from even the mildest of chemical imbalances.
(âI didnât realise you were gonna be so⊠Fastidious,â Rogers had said, paging through the list Barton had compiled of things Loki refused to eat, and Loki had stood there, embarrassed, until he realised every refusal was being taken into account, and added to a file to keep him from being served that which he wouldnât eat.
âSo youâve said before,â Loki had replied. He had known not what else to say.)
âYou have children?â McCoy asks, and Loki inclines his head. It is strange, to look down at his hands and see that his fingers are blue, his fingernails hard and silver-tipped, circular markings coming down even to his wrists and the backs of his hands.
âI used to,â he says. âYouâve read the mythology, I take it, Doctor McCoy?â
âWe read all sorts to the children here,â McCoy answers, finally settling down at the table himself, and he puts a set of biscuits upon the table, but all of them are sugary-sweet, and Loki politely keeps his hands to himself. âIâve read a few versions of most of the worldâs myths at this point.â
âSome of it is more correct, some of it is less so,â Loki says. âSix children. All mine. I wouldnât hurt them, Doctor McCoy â but then, my assurances donât mean much.â
âYou know the death toll for New York, Loki?â McCoy asks.
âThousands,â Loki murmurs.
âYou feel guilty?â Loki smiles, looking at McCoy and examining him, his head tilting to the side. McCoy is a kindly gentleman, from what Loki has learned in reading about him â kind, and warm, and firm, when needs be.
âThe blame is upon me, Doctor McCoy,â Loki says delicately. The coffee is hot in his throat, so strange in this skin he is ill-used to, and he feels it bubbling in his belly, at odds with the natural homeostasis of the Jötunn form. âThe deaths that occurred, occurred. The horrors I caused, I have caused. This link with the Avengers⊠I believe Captain Rogers has called it a rehabilitation. I will do what I can.â
âYou think people will forgive you?â McCoy asks.
âNo,â Loki replies. âNot unless the peoples of this planet are more foolish than once I thought.â McCoy opens his mouth to go on, but there is a knock at his door, and McCoy moves to open it, standing in the doorway.
âProfessor Xavier said to come get you,â says a quiet voice. âAnd the other guy. Who is he?â
âThank you, Mr Jenkins,â McCoy replies mildly.
âYeah butââ
âGoodbye, Harry,â McCoy murmurs, and he turns to look to Loki. âWe shouldââ Loki stands, and the light bleeds from his body all at once, leaving him entirely invisible. âOh. That is convenient.â
âI do try,â Loki replies, and he sets his mug down on the ground. McCoy touches his shoulder as he comes closer, rather surprising Loki with how comfortable he is navigating invisibility. âYou believe in redemption, Doctor McCoy?â
âIâm afraid I do,â he replies quietly, and allows Loki to follow him out into the hallway.
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Tony taps his nail against the desk. He sits with Clint on his right, Natasha to his left: across the table, Scott Summers stares him down. âYou wanna tell me where my guy is?â
âHenry has taken him aside,â Xavier says, quietly. âI thought weâd discuss a few things without him in the room. For example â why is he here?â
âHeâs one of us now,â Tony says breezily. âWhat, you got a problem?â
âWith someone who killed a thousand people in three days? Yeah,â Munroe says, smacking her palm against the table. âWe have a problem.â
âIsnât your guysâ whole thing about rehabilitating super villains?â Clint asks, arching his eyebrows and looking smoothly between Summers, Munroe and Xavier. ââCause no offence, I know he doesnât live here, but Magnetoââ
âThatâs complicated, and you know it,â Summers says, bitingly. Tony knows without knowing that he says it just to protect Xavier, whose lips are quirked into an infuriatingly knowing smile.
âThis is complicated too,â Tony replies. Xavier looks at him for a long few moments, and Tony wonders if this, this is what telepathy feels like, if Xavier is reading his mind right now and it doesnât feel like anything at all. âHe wonât hurt anybody â he canât. Thereâs, uh, a Harry Potter life debt situation kinda going on. Magic, shmagic, whatever. But Loki isnât why weâre here: weâre here to talk about sharing resources, and mobilising teams. And I want him here, at this table, or weâre leaving right now.â
âHave one of the students collect Hank, Scott,â Xavier says mildly. âHeâs in his quarters.â
âYou can send a message, Prof, justââ
âScott,â Xavier says delicately, and Summers turns on his heel, stalking from the room and out into the corridor, the door slamming behind him. Xavier wheels over to the table, leaning back in his chair to look at Tony from across the table, and he says, âWeâre more than willing to share resources with you. Itâs useful for there to be a network between teams. Is this new initiative still headed by SHIELD?â Tony frowns, looking between Xavier and Munroe, but both of their expressions are completely impassive, and he slowly shakes his head.
âNo,â Tony says. âNo, theyâre not. The initiative is under my management now, and Captain Rogers is gonna lead the team in the field.â Xavier and Munroe share a small glance, and then Xavier nods, setting out a few files upon the table.
âVery well,â he says. âLet us negotiate, then.â Tony frowns, trying to put the SHIELD thing into context in his head, but it doesnât come.
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âJesus Christ,â Clint says beside him, and Tony turns to look at Clint at first, then follows his gaze. Beside Henry McCoy, thereâs a tall man with shining black hair, loosely tied at the nape of his neck, and his skin is soft blue, his eyes thick with a protective, red lens. There are even horns growing from beneath his hair, just beginning, and it isnât until Tonyâs gaze drops lower, taking in the white pants, the tie decorated with flowers, that he realises what heâs looking at â who heâs looking at.
âMy apologies,â Loki says, his skin already turning back to pale white as he takes his seat beside Natasha, his hands neatly folded in his lap. âDoctor McCoy and I were bonding over our shared aesthetics.â
âColour schemes,â Xavier says warmly, seeming full of humour. âWhat a thing to bond over.â
They return to negotiations, discussions. Loki remains in place, utterly silent, and doesnât say a word for the rest of the time theyâre there.
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âBest that I take on the Jötunn form, whilst I am here,â Loki murmurs in Starkâs ear, and Stark turns to glance at him. Is it fear on his face, Loki wonders? Is it disgust? Throughout the discussions, Loki had remained quiet, and despite Starkâs words â that the word must get out somehow, that Lokiâs status cannot remain secret, he feels vulnerable, and uncomfortable, with showing his face about children who might know to be frightened of him. It is weak of him, perhaps. Certainly, it is.
âThatâ Thatâs real?â Stark asks.
âThatâs what I look like, yes,â Loki murmurs. âFor a shapeshifter, Mr Stark, the reality of oneâs true form is ever debatable, but that is my base form, if you will. It unnerves you⊠You thought the Jötnar were as the Ăsir and Vanir, outwardly resembling humanity.â Lokiâs illusion bleeds away once again, leaving him as what he is, with some small adjustments. âI hate to disappoint you.â
âItâs not that,â Stark murmurs. âItâs not that you look like an alien, justâ You said you didnât know you were a Jotunn, not until a few years ago. So, what, you didnât know you looked like that?â
âOdinâs magic sealed it from my knowledge,â Loki murmurs. âI knew so much as suspected.â There is disgust on Starkâs face, now, curling his lip and twisting his nose, and he puts his hand on Lokiâs shoulder: his hand is warm.
âYou take whatever form you want,â he murmurs, tone firm. âAnd Odinâ God, what a fucking monster.â He spits out the words, astounding venom crossing over his lips, and Loki finds himself staring at him for the longest few moments, astonished. Never has someone criticized Odin so freely to him, so easily â and with such languageâŠ
âThank you,â he murmurs, and he follows Stark as they make their way into the main part of the building, taking the seats in the living room. Stark takes a seat in a winged armchair, ever needing to put across control, and Loki settles on the lefthand arm, his back straight, one ankle crossed over the other. Romanov is speaking with two younger mutants Loki recognizes not â an extremely tall man, seemingly crafted of steel, and a smaller, dark haired girl that leans against him as they speak â and Barton is speaking in rapid, easy sign with Xavier, who is nodding and speaking occasionally. Even Stark looks at home in the strange room, lazily sending a few texts before engaging McCoy in conversation, and Loki stands, quietly excusing himself before moving outside.
His hands in his pockets, Loki takes a slow, easy walk down the path of the Westchester grounds, reaching up and drawing the ribbon out of his hair, so that it settles loosely on his shoulders, brushing against his upper arms.
(âYou donât braid it,â Rogers had said. âIsnât that a big thing, for vikings?â Loki had considered correcting him, but Rogers had a little smirk on his face, and it was plain he was jesting.
âI never liked braiding my hair,â Loki had replied. âThe Jötnar donât, you know. It is considered bad for the growth and shine of oneâs hair to tie it up in knots, and they hate the idea of looking like the Ăsir in any way.â
âHuh,â Rogers had murmured, and then nodded his head.)
Loki rolls the shirt sleeves up to his elbow, feeling the heat of the waning sun on his skin. They had arrived some time past one oâclock, and it is now late in the day â the traffic had been rather bad today, and he supposes it will be somewhat better on the way back⊠He hopes, at least. He walks at least a mile over the lightly sloping fields of green, green grass, and it feels⊠Freeing.
When he reaches the treeline, Loki stops, glancing over the grounds the X-Mansion is settled on, farther up the hill. Paths run off in each direction, and Loki knows there are miles upon miles of grounds for the young children to play on, and for X-Men to train upon, but he hardly wishes to explore. He had merely wished to be outside.
There is something cathartic about being out in the dying sun, feeling the evening breeze upon his skin: Loki smells summer blooms and wild fruits on the air, and the scent of freshly mowed grass is thick in his nose and upon his tongue. Being here, amongst nature, is so much more comfortable than the bustling cities of New York, and for a second â a bare second, that is all he will allow himself â Loki  lets himself imagine he is back in Asgard, out at the edge of the great wood in which he and Thor had played as children.
There is a vibration in his pocket, and Loki removes the phone.
UNKNOWN NUMBER, 19:16
its tony. u okay?
LOKI, 19:16
Yes. I am out upon the grounds â my apologies, I merely needed the air.
UNKNOWN NUMBER, 19:18
dw abt it. We r heading out in like, t-10
LOKI, 19:18
Very well. Iâll begin my return.
Out here, in Westchester County, there is hardly any worry about being seen, and so to speed his promenade he takes upon the air, his footsteps touching upon it as easily as they might ground or stair. Loki has Skywalked since he was a child, and it is his most basic, intrinsic magic, even before his illusions and his shapeshifting â strange, that this should equally be the magic he finds the most exciting.
He climbs the invisible stairway up into the air, until he is surveying the X-Mansionâs sprawling grounds from far above, taking the birdâs eye view. The grounds are beautiful, and Loki even sees a lake on the other sideâ
(âSkywalking, huh? Whatâs that?â
âLike flight, but more controlled. I walk upon the air, as it were.â
âHuh.â Rogers had murmured, and made a note on the page.)
He begins his descent, and when he comes into sight of the entrance hall, everyone is gathered on the steps once more.
âYou can fly?â Summers barks out.
âAs well as you can see, I should wager,â Loki replies. âI might not see your eyes, Mr Summers, but that does not mean I disbelieve their existence.â
âWhat the Hell is that supposed to mean?â
âSuch a pleasure to meet you, Mr Summers,â Loki says, taking Summers by the left shoulder and forcing his hand into his, shaking it firmly. Summers seems surprised at having someone come so easily into his space, leaning back, but loosely shaking Lokiâs hand nonetheless. Munroe is watching him, her dark eyes focused on him, and Loki gives a low and princely bow, his posture perfect â isnât it always? To think, that there is so much royalty to be found in this strange city, and yetâ
Perhaps she embraces her blood. Perhaps not. Who is to say?
âA pleasure to meet you, your highness,â he murmurs, and Munroeâs lip twitches before she offers him her hand. He takes it, feeling the warmth of it, and most of all, feeling the storm within her â her energy is not dissimilar to Thorâs, and for a second, Lokiâs very heart leaps in his chest.
âGood to meet you too,â Munroe murmurs. âYou going to be good?â
âIâm going to try,â Loki says.
âTony tells me youâre going to make a Facebook,â McCoy murmurs, taking Lokiâs hand in each of his own, and he says, âYou should add me.â
âShould I?â Loki asks, surprised by how so insignificant a gesture should mean to him, and he inclines his head. âI will, Doctor McCoy.â
âCall me Hank.â
âHenry,â Loki assents, and McCoyâs laugh is low and resonant. His hands are so warm on Lokiâs own, and yet it is nothing to the genuine warmth the other man radiates, wave by wave, easily. âThank you,â he says, surprised by the genuine feeling in his own words, and Henry pats him on the shoulder before turning and making his way into the house.
We should have a talk, says a voice at the edge of Lokiâs mind, and he turns to Xavier, meeting his gaze. You sure you donât wish to stay the night?
Is that a proposition? Loki replies, and he moves, snakelike, toward Xavierâs chair, leaning and putting one hand over each of Xavierâs, his head tilting.
âHey!â Summers says, but Xavier laughs, and he reaches up, patting Lokiâs cheek. Henry is already drawing Summers away, clucking his tongue and shaking his head: for an old man, growing infirm in his age, Xavier doesnât seem upset by Lokiâs mockery.
âYou know very well what it was,â Xavier replies, and Loki chuckles himself, leaning back and standing properly before Xavier.
âI do,â Loki says. âYou are hungry for knowledge, Professor, that you do not have. You have touched the minds of ancients and immortals alike, and yet you crave more. Easily might I comprehend a feeling I have long-since nursed within me. You know as well as I do what would happen if I gave you what you wanted â your mind would turn to slurry, and bleed from those ears as liquid.â
We should have a talk regardless, Xavier says, his lips smiling, and unmoving. Youâll give Henry your phone number? Loki nods his head, slowly, and he reaches out, taking Xavierâs hand once more.
You and Henry share a fatal flaw, Loki thinks, even as he turns away from Xavier and holds the door open for Barton, Romanov and Stark, allowing each of them to get in before himself. Xavierâs gaze remains on Loki, his intelligent eyes unblinking.
Oh?
You know the truth, and yet you choose to hope instead. Why is that? Loki slips into the limousine, closing the door shut behind him, and yet he feels Xavierâs presence there beside him nonetheless, feels his energy, hears his voice.
Because weâre human, Loki. Will you join us in that, I wonder? Loki closes off his mind, the energy at the edge of it clouding over, and he looks out of the frosted glass of the window as the Westchester countryside passes them by.
âDid you get what you needed?â he asks, looking at Stark, and Stark nods his head.
âDid you?â The question confuses him, annoys him, and so he ignores it. Stark lets him.
-----âȘ-âȘ-âȘ-ⶠ-âȘ-âȘ-âȘ-----
âMay I?â
The words play in Steveâs head like a litany, and he feels the heat in his arms as he brings himself down to the ground again and again, pushing up and away from it. Jesus Christ, itâs been two fucking months of being alive again, and his girl is dying in a hospital bed, stuck with IVs, dying of old age; all of Steveâs friends are dead, and the city itself is different around him, and he says May I?
Heâs in the same boat as you, you know, says a low voice in the back of his head, a voice of reason: it sounds like Abraham Erskine, accent and everything, and Steve feels a burning nausea settle in the belly. No? You donât think so? Alone in a foreign city, deaths behind him, regrets?
Our situations arenât the same.
No, they arenât. You can choose to leave: he canât. Steve jumps up from the ground, and he begins to rail punches down on the steel-reinforced punching bag Nick Fury had sent over: heâs replaced the chain twice today already, and soon, heâll need to replace it again. Steve punches it again and again and again, feeling the sick burn in his knuckles, feeling the bile in the back of his throat.
Lokiâs lips, freezing cold against Steveâs own, and Steve remembering the cold again, the ice! He punches the bag so hard that the casement bursts, and bent steel cuts the back of his fingers to the bone, making him hiss out a sound and come away from the punching bag, reaching for some kitchen towel to stem the bleeding.
He shakes his head, walking up the stairs toward the main halls, and itâs just as Tonyâs returning from Westchester.
âWhatâd you do to your hand?â Tony asks, and Steve just groans, shaking his head.
âGot a bit aggressive with that punching bag. Punched straight through the steel. Loki!â he calls down the hall, gripping his torn fingers a little tighter and ignoring the pain. âHow were the X-Men?â
âThey were great,â Tony admits, shrugging his shoulders. âA little, uh, apprehensive about him at first, butâ You havenât met Henry McCoy, but the guyâs got a soft spot for people like Loki. And XavierâŠâ
âI know Xavier,â Steve says lowly, and he turns to Loki, who is looking at him with uncertainty on his marble features. âCan you heal this?â Loki looks down at Steveâs hand, and for a second Steve thinks heâs going to try to refuse, say something like I can, and try to walk away, but he takes Steveâs hand in his palm, magic tingling over his flesh and repairing the cuts.
âYou should let me make a punching bag,â Loki says softly. âOne you can use â one I could use. It would take me some time, but Iââ
âDo it,â Steve says, nodding his head. âThat everything?â A shadow passes over Lokiâs face. Turning on his heel, he walks away without another word, and Steve watches him go, his lips pressed together. Tony is staring at him like he just kicked a damn puppy, and Steve says, âWhat?â
âSteve,â Tony says, âYou canât just do that. You didnât even thank the guy.â
âIâm not gonna have this conversation right now,â Steve says, crumpling up the towel and throwing it into the trashcan at the side of the kitchen. âTell me about the meeting.â Tony seems hesitant, as if he wants to chew Steve out for not wanting Loki near him right now, but he backs down, and he talks shop.
Itâs great stuff, all of it, even if Steve doesnât trust Charles Xavier, but Tony seems unwilling to ask about that either, and Steve wonders if heâs really that much more perceptive than his father, or if he trusts Steve that little. They talk for an hour or so, and Steve knows thereâs a lot more to go over, but for nowâŠ
The X-Men are gonna give them resources, government contacts, links to other superhero teams, even trade-offs when teams donât work out. Itâs all good, and yet⊠It doesnât feel like enough. As Steve walks away, he thinks about the punching bag downstairs, thinks of the blood on the leather.
Heâs knocking on Lokiâs door before he knows it, and the door opens. Loki looks at him, his expression completely impassive, expectantly. After a long pause, he says, âNo orders, Captain?â
âWhat happened to Steve?â he asks, and Loki moves to shut the door in his face, but Steveâs hand catches it before he can close it shut. âCan I come in?â
âI donât know,â Loki says archly. âItâs hardly my decision, is it? Mr Stark owns what paltry possessions I might foolishly lay claim to, and you possess me. Why should you ask me such a question as can you when you know that you can?â Loki walks away from Steve, moving into his rooms, and Steve shuts the door behind him as he follows Loki in.
âThatâs what it was about, huh?â Steve asks, âWhat, you try to mount a seduction so that Iâll order you around less? That what you want?â
âNo,â Loki says. He says it emphatically, singularly, and says nothing else.
âDid you think I wanted it? Was your magic trying to get you to anticipate someââ
âNo.â Loki is holding his hands in front of him, and his thumb and forefinger rub into the muscle packed onto his slim hands, the anxious movement serving to send blood flush into the pale skin.
âDidââ
âPlease,â Loki says. âStop it. I was wrong to make such an advance: you soundly rejected it. Let us move on.â He looks like an animal, trapped in a cage, and Steve takes a slow, careful step forward: Loki steps away from him. Steve takes another step forward, and another, until Loki is backed right against the fake window of his bedroom, and he is trying to keep his gaze on the ground, trying to ignore Steveâs stare, until Steve pushes him in the chest and Loki has to look up.
âYou canât do that,â Steve says, very quietly, and then says, âDo you know why? Do you need me to tell you why?â Steve doesnât wait for Loki to reply, and he says, âBecause you canât really say yes, or no, to me. Because if you donât want something, you couldnât say no.â
âSo?â
âWhat the Hell do you mean, so? You want me to make you do things you donât wanna do?â
âYou already do,â Loki says. âWhatâs the difference?â Steve stares at him, stares at him, and he sees only genuine confusion, bafflement, hurt in Lokiâs face, and Christ, thatâs just not normal. He turns away, putting his hand on his head, and he swallows the bile that rises all the faster in his throat.
âTheyâre different, Loki,â Steve murmurs. âMe making you save lives, be an Avenger â thatâs for a greater good. Iâm not ordering you around because I like it, or because I want it: Iâm doing it because itâs what I have to do. âI donât want to order you toâŠâ he trails off, shaking his head.
âI believe the point is that youâre not ordering me,â Loki murmurs. âOthers in your position would jump at the chance toââ
âYeah, well others arenât in my position,â Steve snaps, and Loki stares at him. His fingernails are digging the meat of his hand, now, so deeply they leave crescent marks in the skin, and Steve reaches out to pull his hands apart before he can draw blood. Loki lets him, his wrists limp in Steveâs hands. âDonât hurt yourself,â Steve murmurs. âDonât do that, Loki.â
âCaptain Rogersââ
âLoki,â Steve interrupts him, emphatically. âYou can call me Steve, if you want.â Lokiâs Adamâs Apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.
âCaptain Rogers,â Loki continues in the smallest of voices. âTheyâre all just so young. But youââ
âWhat?â Lokiâs lips part, his eyes shining for the barest second, and then the illusion comes right back, and Loki pulls his arms protectively over his chest. âWhat?â
âI donât belong here,â Loki murmurs. âMuch as you are unwilling to admit it, Captain Rogers, nor do you. They waited until they needed you, and they broke you out of that ice, to use you as a tool â as much as me.â Steve sets his jaw, staring down at Loki. Itâs surprisingly perceptive, some of the shit he says, and especially given that itâs coming out now, when Steve knows he isnât saying it to manipulate him. âHow does it feel?â
âShitty,â Steve replies. âHow about yourself?â
âMuch the same.â
âI can walk away, Loki,â Steve murmurs. âYou canât.â Loki laughs, shaking his head.
âOf course you canât. Just because there isnât magic binding you doesnât mean you truly have a choice. You are in the debt of a Cold War operative who has yet to realise his war is over; you are in the lap of a new century. You are a soldier for a country that no longer exists, not as it once did. If you think you have any more choice than I do, you are a fool as much as you are a patriot.â It should piss Steve off, to hear Loki talk like this, to hear him take him to pieces just to lay him out with labels on the page, like a diagram in Lokiâs stupid notebook, and yet⊠âAnd even if you had a choice before, you donât any more. Here I am: your final shackle.â Loki reaches up, and his hand touches Steveâs cheek. His hand is freezing cold, as if a statue has touched him, but before Steve can say anything, Loki draws his hand away, and Steveâs face is cool on one side, flushed with heat on the other.
âItâs different, Loki,â he repeats.
âI believe you,â Loki says, and he begins to undo his tie. âGood nightâ Steven.â
âNobody calls me that.â
âI do,â Loki replies evenly, and Steve stares at him for a second, then smiles, grimly. âMr Stark says Iâll get my papers this week.â
âSo?â
âI donât know what name to write on the form.â
âLoki?â
âThey want a surname. I have two to choose from: Odinson, Laufeyson. Which brush do I tar myself with?â Steve frowns, pressing his lips together, then takes a few steps back, moving toward the door.
âPick something new. Itâs your name, after all.â
âReally? I believe someone informed me my name belonged to him.â Heâs asking me permission, Steve realizes, all at once, and he feels guilt churn in his chest â hasnât he got enough guilt to deal with? Does he really need more?
âSounds like he was just pissed heâd been backed into a corner,â Steve replies. âReal dick, that guy.â
âOh, I agree,â Loki says, carefully undoing the cuffs of his shirt. âGood night, Steven.â
âGood night, Loki,â Steve replies, and he pulls the door shut behind him â and promptly presses his face against the cool wood, smelling the varnish, smelling the new paint, now dried against the door. He takes out the phone heâd taken from Pepper that morning, and he types in a text.
Steve Rogers, 21:43
You wanna go for a drink?
Sam, 21:43
Thought youâd never ask.
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