#myheadisbleeding

The New Management

by Pluma Desatada and DerrDoktor

It took half a year to rebuild the Bifrost, or at least a Bifrost, to take them to Asgard and back.

A week for a new arc reactor. Another to realize that the pathway Loki had cut had 'healed' while it was unused. Two weeks to try to replicate whatever Loki had done and figure out they couldn't, but also realize that the original Bifrost had left a permanent scar on the fabric of the universe. Two more weeks to move everything to New Mexico.

Tony, Bruce, and Jane wrote papers on the subject of wormholes, which were laughed at by the so-called serious academic society. The one exception was the NASA, who wanted in, which in turn meant lots and lots of red tape and supervision.

That got them nicely tied up, and then, to boot, the common public found out; talk shows got added to the delays. Because apparently the world thought that Jane and Tony creating a interstellar wormhole travel just to see their boyfriends was 'so romantic' — never mind that, by this point, they were so frustrated that their main motivation was to prove they could do it against all odds and laws of physics.

Cue three months of working with NASA engineers and experts to rebuild the portal and stabilize it, of more papers that were still not taken seriously, of S.H.I.E.L.D. hovering anxiously nearby, guns ready in case anything unexpected came through. Fast-forward another month of calibrating, testing, and Tony lobbying to be the first to jump in.

When Tony finally hopped over and came back with a dark-skinned golden-eyed dude built like a boulder and dressed in golden armor, well.

That sure shut up all the academics that had called the Stargate Project a 'pipedream', didn't it?

Asgard's Royal Bouncer called himself Heimdall, and Tony hated him instantly.

It wasn't just that the dude was physically imposing, more serious than a cancerous pancreas, as immutably stoic as the face of a cliff, and prone to staring at people without blinking, giving them the impression that they were naked and Heimdall knew all their dirty secrets. Nor was it what Tony remembered from what Loki had told him about the guy.

It was the way the asshole had told Tony to go back from whence he'd come, because mortals weren't welcome in Asgard.

Tony, by virtue of having inherited a multimillion dollar corporation when he was still in grad school, had ample experience with being talked down to and underestimated, so he had simply smiled winningly and invited the Douchekeeper over instead. As he put it, since there was no Bifrost, there was no gate to guard; therefore it wasn't like Heimdall would be skipping work by coming over for tea.

Tall, Black and Stoic accepted, and there they were, having coffee and snacks, and trading gossip.

Thor was all right, as they had all trusted he'd be, but hadn't been able to come over because there was no Bifrost. The only man able to travel without it, Loki, hadn't come over because his sentence, aside from being disowned, was to rebuild the Bifrost. Without magic, apparently, because then there would be nothing stopping him from simply skywalking — yes, that's how Heimdall called it, though he didn't understand why the mortals all laughed incredulously when he said it — and leaving Asgard stranded again.

Rebuilding a magical rainbow bridge with no magic. No wonder Loki was taking forever in coming back. And, of course, Odin wasn't gonna give Loki his magic back to make it happen faster, because that's how Odin rolls.

Then Bruce had a brilliant idea.

Three days later, Bruce, Tony, and Jane walked into Asgard, dressed to the nines and loaded with PowerPoint presentations.

Heimdall himself escorted them to the castle. People pointed at the arrogant mortals and clutched their pearls, but said mortals were too busy gaping at the spires — so tall they could only be defying gravity by magic — and at the fact that Asgard was a discworld to complain.

They met Thor on the way to see Odin, and he would have jumped on them with all the excited love of a golden retriever if Jane hadn't sent him a Look that said, quite eloquently, shut up, this is serious business. So, he toned the excitement down a bit, keeping to an exchange of soulful gazes with Jane, and an arm-clasp with Bruce and Tony.

Loki was nowhere to be seen, but Tony had waited almost six months, he could wait a few more hours. They did get to meet Frigga, however, who was beautiful and poised, and who managed to disguise her mild distaste for mortals — or anything non-Aesir, Tony couldn't tell which — with a smile. Tony only noticed because it was the exact same smile he'd seen Loki use when he had to play nice with people he thought were beneath his notice (like journalists, politicians, and telemarketers).

When they finally got to see Odin, he looked down at them from way up on the throne and asked Heimdall why he'd let Thor's chattel track mud all over the Throne Room, though not in so many words.

Tony bristled magnificently, clenching his fists so hard his nails cut into his palms, and only Bruce nudging him with his elbow stopped him from making an acid quip right back at the smug bastard. He checked with Thor, and, would you lookie that, even the Crown Prince looked annoyed.

Jane was unaffected. She was sadly too used to being looked down upon by old men with inflated senses of self-importance who thought they knew everything — thought that she was cute for trying to play at being like them, like a child wearing his or her parents' shoes — for this to be much different. She was the one to take the stand, while Bruce and Tony set up the presentation for her.

She took no prisoners. By the end of her speech about exactly how easily her team could rebuild the Bifrost, no one doubted that Asgard should hire them. And, just in case, she made it abundantly clear that she'd have no qualms travelling to another realm and offering them a semi-monopoly on instantaneous intergalactic travel.

Even Bruce and Tony were inclined to believe her, though they knew for certain she was just bluffing because none of them had any idea where other wormhole terminals might be on Earth, and so they couldn't open them.

"Damn," Bruce murmured to Tony, "now I know how she got funding for her Einstein-Rosen bridge research." A theory that was so tenuous in proof, at that point in time, that she might as well have been asking for funds to research waterproof teabags.

Tony nodded, watching her calmly answer Odin's questions or those of anyone who wanted to pose them. "Forget Loki," he breathed, "I'm gonna ask her to marry me. We can have threesomes with you — for science, of course."

Bruce snorted, knowing it for the joke it was. "'For science' is not a battle cry, Tony."

"It totally is, Dr. Jekyll, so shut you whoremouth," Tony grinned back. Then, all of a sudden, he leaned over to whisper "Science intensifies," in his ear, and reached down to grope Bruce's ass. Point made, he pulled away and winked salaciously, before joining Foster in negotiating terms with Odin.

Shaking his head, Bruce followed him. He made sure not to look into any reflective surfaces, so as not to confirm his theory that he'd gone magenta.

Earth had little need for money, so they traded Odin access to Asgard's schools and libraries, a cartful of children's toys, and the latest thrall of the castle: Loki.

The mortals learned that, when Loki's guards got tired of dealing with his smart mouth and cutting quips, they stowed the depowered ex-prince into a box in the dungeons, with the criminals and war prisoners, rather than in the slave quarters. Apparently, they'd only made that mistake once; Loki had incited a revolt within three hours, armed with foolish notions of all people being created equal, freedom of speech, rights to private property, etc..

Tony was so proud.

Until he got to actually see Loki.

"They put you in solitary confinement?! I'm gonna castrate Odin with a rusty spoon!"

Loki, standing poised and perfectly indifferent, in the way that meant he secretly was going weak at the knees and wanted to curl into a tight ball, tilted his head and rested a faintly trembling hand on the weird laser-honeycomb screen that separated him from the world. There was a huge-ass ornate cuff around the wrist, matching the one on his other hand, and the collar around his neck.

Fighting the urge to break something, Tony walked up and laid his hand over Loki's. The screen felt weird — not like glass, but not like wire-mesh either, and it buzzed, like it was woven from angry bees. He couldn't feel Loki's warmth through it.

The assholes had put Loki in solitary — in solitary! — with his mind still a broken jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. And dammit, he should have known Asgard wouldn't believe that mental illness was a thing that existed, that the mind could be injured as easily as the body! That bitter taste at the back of his throat when he and Loki had parted ways had been an omen, and he should have seen it.

Should have held on tight to Loki, and never let him go.

"Are you real, this time?" Loki asked softly, and there was more weakness in his voice than when he'd had been fresh from Thanos's mindfuckery.

"I'm real, Sir President." Tony managed a weak smile. "We have a saying on Earth, about mountains and prophets."

Loki's mouth wobbled a bit, caught between a smile and a grimace, flickering from one to the other. "Oh, Tony," he breathed, pressing his forehead to the screen, "how I've missed you."

"Mm, of course you did," the not-so-mere mortal replied, smiling blindingly. "How could you not? I mean, have you seen me?" He wanted to ooze through the screen and gather around Loki, embracing him and drawing him into his body, like an amoeba.

Loki chuckled wetly, his eyes closing, though Tony couldn't tell if it was from relief or to try to keep back tears. "Indeed. One wonders how I've managed to exist without your shining presence all this time."

Ouch. Tony swallowed hard. "Well, wonder no more. Jane, Bruce and I are gonna rebuild the Bifrost, and Odin couldn't afford us. So he offered the next best thing." He caught Loki peering at him and held his gaze. "A thrall. Tall, powerful, sassy, legs that go on forever; just how I like them."

Loki looked down, ashamed. "I fear you were shortchanged, my dear." He bit his lip, pulled his hands away from the screen, balling one briefly into a fist. The cuff caught the light, looking incongruously pretty. "Odin took from me my power, along with my name and my title."

"I couldn't care less about your title," Tony said brashly, and then added gently, "Sorry, Babe. As for your name, I figured you hate being known as 'Odin's son', so I didn't ask for that either." He shrugged, hoping desperately Loki really would forgive the oversight. For all he knew, Loki still had hope in his heart of being welcomed by Odin telling him he was proud of being Loki's dad. "I got your powers, though; he's gonna make it so only I can take off your jewelry." He gestured at the cuffs.

Loki smiled weakly, subconsciously hiding his hands behind his back. "Did you bargain for my immortality, as well?"

What?

"What." Tony's eyes widened. Fuck. Fuck, fuck — fuck it sideways with a baseball bat. "Oh, my God. No. I didn't even ask." His face crumpled, and he looked away to hide it. "Maybe I can get it in. Oh, my God. No wonder the asshole was smirking." He hit himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand. "Stupid! Downright fucking idiotic!"

"Don't beat yourself up so much," Loki's soft voice interrupted his oh-fuck-no train of thought. "I can get it back later. Just get me out of here so I can hold you."

'As if I could stop,' Tony thought, hating himself for underestimating Odin. He'd thought he tricked him so neatly... But no. Odin, the wily bastard, had tens of thousands of years out-tricking people. Tony had forgotten that, and he'd paid for that oversight with Loki's godhood. He took a deep breath. Loki was still waiting for an answer. Right. He exhaled. "You're not actually mine quite yet. I just wanted to be the one to tell you the news." He peered up at Loki, and then looked at both sides of the corridor before pressing his lips to the golden force-field. "I'll be right back," he promised.

Loki touched the spot Tony had kissed and brushed his fingers over his lips, transferring it. "Take your time. I'll wait right here," he joked, looking genuinely happy, and took a step away.

Tony grinned. "I'll be back before you know it, so don't get too cozy," he warned, and left.

The second he was out of sight and earshot of anyone, he leaned against the wall and slid down, pressing his face into his knees. He stayed in that position until he could breathe without choking, and then he stood, dusted himself, and went to look for his fellow goats.

Apparently, Odin didn't believe in doing payment up-front, or even half and half, because he decreed he would only give them Loki when the Bifrost was completed.

They'd been letting Loki out of his cell just to work on repairing the Bifrost, but now that they had the 'mortal sorcerers' doing that job, Loki was stuck in his hi-tech shoebox. There was no reason Tony couldn't be allowed inside, but, since the more time he spent repairing the rainbow bridge, the sooner he'd earn Loki's freedom, he only went there to sleep or to ask for advice.

Bruce visited, too, generally to keep Loki company during meals, and so did Jane and Thor. One day, when a sudden electromagnetic storm made it impossible to work , Tony sweet-talked the royal cook into making the closest thing to pizza as possible, and they all piled into Loki's cell to eat it.

A month of this, and Loki already looked extremely improved. He put on some much needed weight, and his color was better. He still slept fitfully, whenever he wasn't woken by his own nightmares, but he slept at least.

By the end of that month, to the amazement of Asgard, and to Tony's immense private satisfaction at making Odin swallow his superiority complex, the Bifrost was up and running again. The Observatory was not a pretty sight — it looked quite mangled, as they had tacitly agreed that function, not beauty, was the priority — but it the Bifrost worked like a dream.

Loki was led to the Observatory dressed in plain clothes and chains, looking like he'd come straight from a bondage wet dream. The chains connecting the collar and cuffs were apparently the same that Loki had been forced to wear whenever he was out of his cell, and they were ridiculously hot on him.

It put Tony in the very uncomfortable position of being simultaneously mildly aroused and sick to his stomach. How could Odin have ordered such a travesty upon a man he'd claimed as son? How dared he not only cut Loki off from his magic, but also from moving freely, leaving him both powerless and restrained in so hostile an environment?

But for all of Tony's outrage, when Loki met his apprehensive gaze — and seriously, Tony was this close to wringing his hands — Loki was smiling, looking perfectly serene. He didn't even look strained, like he was putting on a front of casualness so as not to give the asses who hated him the satisfaction of seeing him in distress. He simply grinned and sent them a little wave, completely out of place among the engraved manacles, thick chains, and armored guards escorting him.

Tony couldn't help it, he grinned back, shaking his head ruefully. 'You look great,' he mouthed at Loki, giving him two thumbs up.

Loki winked and mouthed back, 'I'm always great,' which made Tony want to run the three meters that separated them, pull him into a headlock, and ruffle his perfectly combed hair.

Odin chose that moment to make his entrance, accompanied by Frigga. Thor came in after them, all prepped to leave for Midgard, and stood by Jane.

"Farewell, my son," Odin said ceremoniously, clasping Thor around the back of his neck. He turned to Jane. "And you, Jane Foster. Already stories are being told of the woman who defied destiny and rent the stars asunder looking for her prince." He nodded, and rested his hand on her shoulder. "May you make my son a happy man while you live."

Yeah, that was Odin alright, sneaking in a low blow about Jane's mortality. Despite the fact that it'd been her research, her discoveries, he work, her drive that had enabled Asgard's only long-distance method of transportation to be rebuilt, he still looked down on her.

Thor twitched, a hand making a fist by his side, but said nothing.

Tony was bristling. He wanted to ask if his story was going to be told too, or if sundering the stars looking for a lowly thrall was too unglamorous. But Bruce stepped on his toes, and he flinched, remembering where he was. So close, Loki almost in his grasp; he wasn't about to waste all the effort with one careless potshot.

Odin moved to Tony, and the whole room held its collective breath. "Man of Iron." He offered a pebble to Tony. "As per our bargain, the thrall Loki No-Father is now your possession."

Tony's eyes flickered to Loki as he took the small stone. The ex-prince's cheeks had pinkened slightly, visible even though he was facing slightly downwards. His eyes glittered defiantly at Odin from the shadows his hair cast over his face.

"Thanks," Tony said flippantly, the sound of blood rushing in his ears too loud for him to think of a clever quip. He peered down at the stone, and saw it was engraved, and that the carvings matched the ones on Loki's manacles and collar. He swallowed. As he walked over to Loki, he couldn't help but notice some of the guards glaring at him.

What the heck was their beef?

One of them had a hand possessively on Loki's shoulder, another in the crook of his arm. Tony cleared his throat pointedly, and they pulled back slightly, puffing like angry bulls. As he leaned over to touch the key to Loki's manacles, the guard on the left growled, low enough for it not to carry. "Should you mistreat him..." he trailed off ominously, his jaw tight.

Loki rolled his eyes, definitely amused.

Tony blinked. Huh, he was getting the shovel talk from the guards holding Loki down — no, comforting him, he understood now. "I wasn't planning to," he whispered, and the key clacking on the metal of the cuffs. Sections began turning like gears, pulling back on themselves until the manacles clattered to the floor.

The guards stood back, surprised at this sudden turn of events — Tony deduced they weren't the same guards who had turned a blind eye every time Bruce told him he needed sleep, and he decided to spend the night spooning Loki — and let him do the same to the collar.

As soon as Loki was free, he thanked the guard on his left with a pat to his hand, gave a small nod to the one on his right, and took a tentative step towards Tony. He glanced at Odin out the corner of his eye and, smiling sardonically, bent his head and bowed. "Greetings, Master," he said, mockingly humble, voice carrying.

Tony's brain helpfully took the words out of context and offered another, more enticing situation in which they might be used, and he flushed slightly. After floundering for a moment, he cupped Loki's face and brushed his cheek with a thumb. "Right back atcha, Pet."

Their eyes met, and they struggled not to burst out laughing.

When they got themselves under control, Tony tossed the key on the pile of chains, showing everyone exactly what he thought of the whole bondage thing, and returned to the lineup, Loki trailing behind him with his head held high.

Bruce was chatting with Frigga, a basket in his hand. Tony didn't catch what they were talking about, because, as soon as they saw him and Loki returning, they shut up and parted.

Thor had been accosted by his friends — the ones Loki didn't like, if the sneer on his face was anything to go by — and they were now exchanging tearful goodbyes and promises to visit. Or promises to call upon each other should a chance for glorious battle present itself, Tony wasn't too clear if there was any difference to Asgardians. At any rate, they scattered when Tony and Loki joined them.

"Heimdall," Odin said, looking suddenly his age as he held tightly onto the spear, "open the Bifrost."

Heimdall obeyed, and one by one they stepped into the portal, finally going home.

They were at the airport, Tony's jet waiting to take Loki and him to Malibu for a well-deserved vacation.

Thor and Jane were going to stay in New Mexico, so Jane could continue working on her Einstein-Rosen Bridge research. The Aesir prince had helpfully brought along texts on the subject, and he was looking forward to translating them for his lady.

Bruce had been going to stay with them, but changed his mind at the last second — the soulful looks exchanged by the couple helped swayed him — and decided to seek out his old flame, Betty Ross, before returning to saving the third world countries, one pandemic at a time.

Loki was still getting used to his weaker body, but didn't seem — or at least didn't want to admit it — upset about his newfound mortality. As far as baggage went, he didn't have much on him — as he had accumulated a lot of clothing on Earth, which Tony had had transferred to Malibu — just his medals, decorations and gifts, aside from the basket Frigga had handed to Bruce.

She had told him it was a gift for Loki, and to give it to him when they were alone. Loki hadn't let it out of his sight for even a second, carrying it around whenever they left the house Tony had rented for Bruce, Jane and himself while they were working on the portal device.

He still had it even now, on his lap over the seatbelt's closure. His hands were holding it like it was full of eggs, gingerly and preciously.

Tony finished yelling his goodbyes out the jet's door and closed it behind himself. He went back inside, half-tempted to plop down on Loki's lap, only he wouldn't let go of that damned basket. Sighing, he went over to the mini-bar, got a can of Coke, and sat down next to Loki.

They took off without problem. As soon as the sign turned off, Tony undid the seatbelt, leaned towards Loki, and began whispering filthily about aaaaaalll the things he was going to do to his new 'slave' — the term was so ridiculous, applied to Loki, that it still made him giggle — when they got home.

Loki licked his lips and, for the first time since coming over the Rainbow Brigde, put the basket on the floor. "Why wait, Master?" he asked, pulling Tony onto his lap.

When they were done re-christening the jet, Tony's curiosity got the better of him. The second Loki went to the bathroom to clean up, he tiptoed to the basket and peered inside.

Three apples-shaped keepsakes, made of solid gold, met his sight. Textbook-diagram symmetrical and perfectly shaped. Simply flawless. He grabbed one, and blinked at how light it was. It couldn't… Could it be? Sure enough, when he pressed a his finger into a spot, it bruised under the pressure, like any normal apple would. Apparently, everything was golden is Asgard, even the fruit.

Shrugging, he closed the lid and returned to his seat, wondering what was so special about gold-skin apples that Loki had guarded them so jealously.

Must be an Asgardian thing. Some delicacy? Was Loki planning on making apple pie?

Suddenly hungry, he fetched some snacks, put on a movie, and sat back.

Moments later, Loki joined him, dressed again.

Grinning, squashing the slight guilt he felt for having gone through Loki's stuff, Tony put an arm around his neck and kissed his temple. What Loki didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. Besides, they had better things to do than discuss tiny invasions of privacy — like get Loki's pants off.

THE (actual) END 

End notes:

This is it, guys. The real, final end. I can hardly believe it! This fic has been in the works since the 20th of february of 2013. I just — it's been such a huge part of my life for now whole year, and now it's over. *cries* I hope you enjoyed the ride half as much as I did. 

Recap:

Dictator!Loki recruited Tony Stark's help in exchange for setting him free of prison. Tony agreed to help him design better weapons and play ambassador-to-the-masses for him. He has already delivered on the former, so now...

The New Management

by Pluma Desatada and DerrDoktor

It was fun having the limelight, but nothing beat being back up here. He hit 10,000 feet easily, waiting only then until he decided to kick into supersonic (and Jarvis had already done scans to keep him away from any other air traffic as they came and went). With a crack of sound, he punched through the sky faster than sound, parting wisps of cirrus clouds. Thanks to the specially designed helmet, Tony barely heard the resultant sonic boom, let alone the intense whistling of air rushing around his person.

"Alrighty, Jarvis, let's find my long lost buddies, yeah?" he laughed, Jarvis bringing the maps and proximity locators up into the HUD screens before his face. He played Jailbreak by AC/DC while he was at it, storming through the sky above New York.

"Lock us in buddy, I'm still rusty. My arms are getting tired," Tony admitted after they were over Rochester less than fifteen minutes later. The suit locked his stance in place, essentially keeping him aimed straight, the suit adjusting on its own. Tony loved autopilot.

"Huh. I know he can tap his shoes three times and go anywhere he wants, but what do you think, Jarv? I should probably bring Loki something back, a souvenir. I haven't been to Canada in forever."

Inside an underwater bunker in Lake Michigan, Nick Fury replayed the feed from Tony Stark's press conference, scowling. He couldn't see any blue in Stark's eyes, but he couldn't discern whether it was because of the camera of because Stark a a motherfucking moron and he had gone over to Loki's side willingly.

"Director," came Hill's voice from behind him. It sounded urgent.

"What is it, Hill?" he barked, still annoyed at having Stark on Real Power's side, because Stark may be a loose cannon, but now he was pointed in his direction.

Hill looked troubled, or at least as troubled as Hill could look, her normally stoic face lined between her brows. "We have detected an incoming unidentified object approaching us, Sir. We believe—"

"It may be Stark, yes," he finished for her, pinching the bridge of his nose to try to ward off the headache. "Get Barton and Romanov on a Quinjet to bring him in."

Hill licked her lips. "Are you authorizing the use of lethal force?"

Fury snarled. "No. Non-lethal only. For now."

Natasha was in the mess hall, eating the cardboard-tasting pre-packaged meal after a sparring session with some of the agents. She wasn't hurt, though the same couldn't be said of her sparring partners, so she took the mission when it came.

Not having watched Stark's press conference, or indeed not knowing that he was still alive at all, she didn't know what it was she and Clint would be fighting other than it was a threat, so she suited up completely before meeting Clint at the Quinjet. He was already inside.

"What are we up against?" she asked, taking her seat and strapping in.

"You'll never believe it," Clint said, standing and bouncing on the balls of his feet while they waited for lift off. When Natasha joined him, he finally settled down and strapped in as well, his compact bow folded against his leg.

He was looking at Natasha with a serious face, so she didn't think he was joking around.

"Stark." He let it sink in first. "Going in nonlethal. But, holy shit, did you see the press conference? It was like he wasn't just shoved somewhere for three damn months. Still mouthy as ever." He didn't mention the damn hickie but he figured Natasha would see it when she saw it. Wasn't anything Stark wouldn't do. Who he'd gotten the hickie from though, that was the question.

Natasha was struck dumb. "... Stark," she echoed, not sure she was hearing right. She had thought him dead. Even Pepper, whom Natasha had been helping hide from Loki and therefore talked to periodically, had thought him dead. But if Stark was compromised — if Stark was out giving press conferences... "Nonlethal, are you sure? If he's working for Loki," and, let's face it, he probably was, "he is going to end us, Quinjet or not."

"Let's uh... let's hope not. Boss's orders." Clint shrugged, as if saying 'it was as good a day to die as any'. Though, it really would suck to die at Stark's hands.

If Lady Luck had ever been inclined to favour Natasha's life, Stark would be escaping. But not giving press conferences first, if that was the case — he was irresponsible, but he wasn't an idiot. The alarms sounded, and she tried to see if it was Iron Man coming closer. "Clint, do you see anything?"

Clint perked automatically as the alarm went off, like a bird on alert. His keen eyes spotted the blip of red quicker than the monitors started pulling up Stark's trajectory towards them. "Yep. He's barreling over to us pretty fast. I sure hope he remembers how to brake," he quipped uneasily.

Iron Man cut the supersonic and saw the familiar Quinjet. His suit was blasting Guns N' Roses by the time he got within hearing distance, disengaging the cruise control and throwing his hands out before him so he didn't barrel straight through the airship.

"Aw, hey! I get a welcoming party? That's pretty sweet of you guys, I missed you too," the mechanically-boosted voice called out as he hovered a good few feet from the Quinjet's window.

Natasha grabbed the mic and turned on the external speakers. "Stark, hand yourself over. Come quietly or we'll be forced to take action," she said, as calmly as she could manage, and opened the bay door so he could come in. She knew Clint would take care of aiming the guns, she wasn't needed in the cockpit. She unbuckled the belt and, grabbing a rifle, walked down to the area near the open entrance, ready to take Stark prisoner.

"What? Not even a hello?" Stark chuckled, remembering just how official-like Natasha loved to be. He saw Clint in the windshield too, waving a hand before skirting around towards the back. "Alright, alright, if you say so," Tony laughed, cutting the volume on his soundtrack before landing, hands down at his sides (rather than up, since they both knew he had repulsors in his palms). "Though, if you ask me to strip, as much as I'd love to, 'Tasha, I'm going to have to regretfully decline," Iron Man said, before reaching up slowly and removing his helmet. He shook his hair out a bit, the unruly dark mess sticking up a bit on once side from the helmet, as he tucked the thin under one arm. "Yeah, I sort of need my suit. Also you have a gun so. Yeah. I'd like to not get shot today if that's alright with you."

"Glad to see you're all better. How was your months-long nap?" Clint called from the cockpit, looking over his shoulder before he closed the bay doors, effectively trapping the armored hero inside. He began steering the plane back to base, seeing as Tony wasn't going to be (too) difficult at the moment.

Tony scowled for a moment before it was replaced with that same, easy grin. They couldn't possibly know what he'd been through and yet he wasn't inclined to correct the Hawk either. Instead he looked the more feminine of the assassins. "Yeah. It was fun," he sniffed. "Did you do something with your hair, Miss Romanov? Love it."

Natasha resisted the urge to roll her eyes and jabbed the mouth of the rifle into the grooves formed by the connecting plates in the suit's back. This rifle shot bullets of enough caliber to shot down armored helicopters; it could also shoot a thin sheet of metal, no matter if it was gold-titanium alloy. "Do you," she deadpanned, "I shall tell my stylist she has the Tony Stark stamp of approval. She should put that in her CV."

Then she raised the rifle and, swinging it as a baseball bat, hit the side of Stark's head with the handle, knocking him out to Clint's annoyed whine of "Tasha!" She could use the excuse that she had thought he needed some cognitive recalibration, but she was pretty sure no one would complain of having Tony Stark knocked out and therefore shut up.

She handed Clint the rifle, which he took automatically, and told him to get them back to base.

He saluted her. "Yes, Ma'am, he said, rolling his eyes, and returned to the cockpit, grumbling.

Natasha started disassembling the suit with use of the manual releases. Stark was wearing just jeans and a t-shirt underneath, and it was cold here and in the jet, so she got him a blanket. He was still unconscious when they returned to base, so it was easy to carry him to an empty but monitored room to interrogate him later, and then return to move the suit to an undisclosed location with Clint's help.

She didn't like Stark, but it didn't mean she would leave his suit lying around for anyone to find when he was still a potential ally; not even Fury, who had been dying to get his hands on one for ages. Then Clint and her watched the video feed, looking as Stark woke up from his concussion and Fury strode into the room. They didn't say anything, but they both knew Stark was in for a reaming.

Damn it. Tony should have seen that coming.

The billionaire was blinking away stars as the world slowly returned to him, fuzzy and hazed. It was too bright, Tony squinting. Oh. The usual interrogation set up huh? He laughed groggily. "Well at least she was nice enough not to hit my face. I need my good looks," he chuckled and then regretted it instantly. Ugh, his head.

Nick Fury entered the small room that was Stark's new holding cell, dragging behind him a chair upon which he sat as Stark moaned into consciousness.

The familiar voice of the Director soon filled the room. "Good afternoon, Stark," he said almost placidly. "Here, have some water." He motioned to the pitcher of water and the plastic glass resting innocently on the floor between them. "No?" he asked when Tony made no motion to get them, purposely ignoring the way his agents had bound Stark's hands behind the chair. "Then tell me, Stark, what were you thinking, collaborating with an enemy?" he shouted, face twisting into a snarl.

Tony looked up at the one-eyed man slowly, finding he was bound. The feeling of restraint quickly sent adrenaline shooting through his system, panic barely masked in his eyes. He shivered a little, but he would always blame it on the cold. No, no, NO. Not again! Tony tugged at his bonds secretly, found them securely too tightly. He was going to bruise. And where the hell was his suit!?

And there was no way in hell he was accepting any sort of drink. Last time that happened, it hadn't ended... Wait. He supposed it hadn't been that bad.

The look became a small glare, Tony having to remind himself he was here to make friends. "Yeaaaah. Can we not shout? I sort of have a headache," he snarked with a small grin, wincing. "Do you guys ever watch the news? Also, before you say anything, no, I'm not Loki's bitch. And he's not the enemy. We've got bigger problems, trust me." He paused. "Why else do you think I'm here?"

So Stark was still on Loki's side, despite the hit to the head... Which meant that he was not being controlled by magic, but that he had actually been brainwashed. Maybe that's where he had been all these months, in some sort of sick brainwashing camp.

Disgusting.

But, ah, no. If this was anyone but Stark, Fury might have believed that. But not him. Not Stark, who had survived three months in Afghanistan without caving in to the torture, who instead of giving them what they wanted had engineered his own escape; not Stark, whose spirit, instead of being broken, had been tempered.

How, then, had Loki turned him into one of his minions? How? Had Stark had it in him, all along? Had he secretly been wanting to rule the world? Fury didn't think so — Stark could have done it, and he would have been bored in two days. He would never have come up with an elaborate lie of an alien army coming to destroy them (yeah riiiight). But Loki could. Loki could, and had, and he had all the world and evenStark believing that shit.

Nick Fury sighed, rubbed his temple where the cord of his eyepatch was digging into his popped vein, and then stood up and withdrew his gun. "Because an alien has brainwashed you into doing his bidding," he replied at last. He allowed Stark to see him pull back the safety, wide eyed, and shot the cement floor between Stark's legs. "So I cannot allow you to escape and aid him further. He already has many important people dancing to his fife."

He raised the gun again, planning to shoot Stark to incapacitate him at least until they overthrew Loki's little empire, and a black shadow materialised in front of him, pinning the hand with the gun to the wall and grabbing him by the throat.

Fury would recognise those eyes anywhere. (Although the last time he had seen them, they had been blue. What did that mean?)

Loki.

His blood froze in his veins.

Loki had a round of negotiations with Japan. They wanted to keep the designs, to let their scientists examine the principles behind Aegis and Framrherrlae, and they were willing to pay, even. They were proposing a pretty sweet deal, but Loki was trying to get them to understand that it was Stark's tech, not his own, and if they wanted it, they were asking the wrong person. He hadn't expected Japan to make a fuss about not being able to keep the tech; from what he had learned, the fellows were pretty tame and agreeable.

He had cut off the communication, huffing, and shouted at his secretary to get him some relaxing tea. He was very anxious about Stark and his mission, and the silly mortals making stupid demands didn't help at all.

Banner chose right that moment to send the plans for the recommended distribution of the Framrherrlae. He even explained his reasoning — a dazzling parade of complicated mathematical equations involving probabilities, military tactics and astrophysics that Loki barely understood. He may have, were he more familiar with the the numbers and symbols humans had invented to describe the universe instead of having an intuitive knowledge; he had certainly seen nothing like it before.

Hanging up, he made a mental note of learning it later, after the war. He was sure Banner and Stark would only be too happy to teach him, if only to have someone who could keep up with them when they were 'sciencing'.

The secretary came with an infusion of Linden leaves, which Loki had found to be incredibly soothing, when all at once Colonel Rhodes returned with bagels and he got a text from Jarvis. Immediately, his stomach dropped and he took out his phone to read it.

'Mr. Stark attempted a peaceful parlay and has been rendered unconscious by Miss Romanov. The suit is being disassembled.' Jarvis was clever enough to know better than to add 'Please come rescue Mr. Stark,' but it was implied in the fact that he sent the last known location of the suit — right over the Canadian border, over of Lake Ontario.

Fuming and terrified at once, Loki downed the tea in one gulp, scalding his throat, handed Rhodes the tablet with the plans Banner had made with the vague orders to look it over, opened Google Street View to Toronto, the city closest to the site of the kidnapping and, after taking a good look to situate himself, he teleported there.

He was a beam of quarks held together only by his residual sense of self travelling at the speed of light — he arrived there in scantily more than two milliseconds.

It took him nearly ten minutes to calm down enough to even attempt to find Tony with magic, and he has never been so thankful that someone had ingested some of his magical cum in his entire life. The fat layer of water suppressed the barely-there magical signature, but he found it when it flared suddenly. The contrast startled him out of his concentration, fearing the worst, but he knew where Tony was now, and he teleported there again.

He didn't wait until he was finished forming to aim the gun away from Tony's tied up form, following that up with holding that ant, Nicholas Fury, up the wall by his neck. He ought to kill him! "How dare you?" he growled, low and menacing, his whole body suffused with a golden cloak of terrible power, rising off his skin like fire, scorching everything that came in contact with it.. "He is a peace envoy, you snivelling cad," he spat, droplets of saliva hitting Fury's face and burning it, the magic in it boiling with Loki's rage.

The man hissed in pain, and Loki's eyes widened, gleeful that he was hurting this wretched worm that has been the bane of his existence for three months. The alien gripped Fury's throat even tighter. "I ought to annihilate you," he hissed, a mad glint in his eyes, "and put an end to your repugnant existence, lay waste to your gang of mangy curs."

He paid no mind to Romanov and Barton appearing in the doorway, not more than he needed to hold them and their voices at bay with a wall of corrosive magic, instead touching Fury's gun, turning it into so much smoke, and pulling his hand back, fingers extended rigidly, as though readying to cleave it right into Fury's skull.

T.B.C. on Thursday 4th of July

Scene from next chapter:

"But I'm here to tell you all... you're fighting the wrong guys."

The room exploded into a cacophony of outraged voices.

Hill yelled first, "You believe that madman?" looking at Tony like he had grown a second head.

Natasha helpfully added, "Of course he does, he's fucking him."

End notes:

So Loki basically goes super sayian when he's angry. Cool. SORRY FOR THE SHORTNESS, IT WAS A PERFECT CLIFFHANGER, COULDN'T WASTE IT!

Flames tolerated, reviews wanted, criticism craved.

The New Management

by Pluma Desatada and DerrDoktor

In the Oval Office, in the White House in Washington D.C., Loki sighed.

It was the third time in the space of five minutes. The junior politician in front of him, who had just given him the latest report, showed no reaction only by virtue of being an idiot, where he should have been quaking in his boots.

So what If Loki had been ruling this continent for a while? Humans were both unruly and surprisingly defiant. The more he squashed, the stronger they pushed back. The landmass across the oceans still hadn't been conquered, and to make matters worse, they had somehow become allied with the resistance force he was trying so hard to exterminate.

And those that were subjecting themselves to his rule willingly? Idiots. The lot of them. Loki had to deal with their daily idiocy in the form of paperwork. The bees had suddenly disappeared and now they couldn't pollinate their crops? Well, leave it to Loki to sort it out. And he couldn't delegate day-to-day ruling to because they were useless. Bureaucrats had zero initiative — they were just as mindless as a Chitauri stranded from the hivemind.

Fuck them, he thought, crushing the paper in his hands in anger. 'Why did I even come here. Should have picked Vanaheim.' He rubbed his temples to try to ease his headache, but it wasn't working. What he needed was a spokesperson assistant. Someone who could work with him and not need every wish of Loki's to be spelled out, and who held enough power over humans that they would be happy to work with him.

And he knew just the man.

Tony Stark — ex-billionaire, ex-playboy, ex-philanthropist, but still a genius, at least for however long his sanity lasted — had kept himself busy contemplating how everything had gone to shit in so little time

One moment, he'd been on top of the world, a billionaire with everything in his grasp. The next? In a cell, left to contemplate... well. How everything had gone to shit. He sighed, not even knowing how many days had passed by now. He'd taken to finding whatever lay around his cell that could make a mark and jotting down equations on the walls, if only just so he didn't forget them and to have something to do. Idle hands also weren't his thing.

He was in the middle of reciting one of the calibrations for a Mark VIII stabilizer when he heard footsteps, too absorbed to notice his visitor right away. It was probably one of Loki's mind-controlled goons bringing him his bi-daily dose of porridge anyway.

Loki walked into Stark's cell with a bottle of scotch and two glasses, taking in the room he was seeing for the first time.

Windowless walls covered floor-to-whatever-height-Stark-could-reach in hermetic scribbles and equations; a hole in the floor in a corner, the cement around it stained the typical brown-and-yellow of bodily waste; a plastic tray with no spoon and an empty bowl, evidently licked clean. Finally, Loki's eyes settled on the man himself, pale and thin and unkempt, mumbling steadily to himself curled up on the thin, uncomfortable-looking mattress on the floor.

Oops. It seemed Loki had pushed Stark out of his mind too quickly and forgotten to tell his captors to treat him as befitted a captured general of an enemy army.

Clucking his tongue in disgust, Loki unceremoniously freed the man from his chains with a wave of his hand. "Care for a drink?" he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, and swished the bottle of scotch he had nicked from Stark's own home to get his attention.

It worked like a charm; the man perked up at that and saw the offer of scotch. Tony Stark, while prideful at the best of times, couldn't help but scoot over to the man who'd captured him. "Wow. What's the special occasion?" he asked in the same tone he might've asked anyone he met on the street.

Loki felt relieved, but was careful not to show it too obviously.

'So the human isn't going to fight me on principle,' he thought, the corner of his mouth quirking into a wry little smile. 'Good to know some time in a cell will mellow out even the more recalcitrant of people, not just me.'

He casually poured a measure of the drink in one glass, then thought better of it and poured out half of that in the other one. "Apologies. I know I have not been the best of hosts," he said, passing the tumbler with less drink to Stark. It had been weeks since he had had the man tossed into this cell, and he had certainly not ordered the minions to bring him drinks. Or medical attention for the withdrawal symptoms he had surely suffered. He regretted that now. "Would you care for some ice with that?"

Tony licked his lips. He was, indeed, not in the best of shapes. Dark hollows around his eyes, hair more unkempt than usual... He was without all the facilities and primping he'd been privy to in his previous life, and the mere sight of the glass of scotch had nearly broken him.

To go cold turkey from his drinks, just like that? That'd been one of the worst things. The second, not even knowing what happened to everyone else beyond his cell.

But he was still trying to keep his old snark in place, up until the glass was offered. Reaching out and snatching the glass with trembling hands without answering Loki's question, he tossed the thing back without a care, almost choking on it. He swiped at his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, clutching the glass. "S–so... you didn't answer my question," he huffed unsteadily. "What's the special occassion, R–Reindeer Games...?" Could he even say that? He didn't even know anymore.

To lie or not to lie? A question he had been asking himself since time immemorial. He felt incredible pity for the mortal who had once stood with his head so high. Fuck. Was there anything in creation that didn't turn to shit when Loki touched it?

He hoped the narcotic he had put in the scotch would work fast, and also that the dose hadn't been too high. He had cut back upon seeing how weak Stark was, but he dearly hoped it didn't kill him anyway. "The occasion is that I need your help, Anthony Stark, and I will get it." He would take the man to a better room, more befitting his guest of honour. And maybe he could begin setting all his wrongs to rights.

The human hummed, his head feeling a little lighter. Weird. Tony sat on the ground, looking up at the prim and proper god, thinking, 'What an ass, look how clean he is,' blinking more slowly the longer he stared. "My help? Pfft, what the hell kind of help could I offer you...? Sorry buddy, I don't think..." he trailed off. 'Whoa, dizzy spell,' he thought, his hand rising reflexively as if to grab onto whatever he could. 'Oookay, that was weird'. Tony blinked down lazily at the bottom of his glass as if he might find something interesting in there. "You're out of shit... luck.." Oh God, but his body was becoming heavy and — oh! Hello ground!

Loki scrambled to catch him before the weakened mortal could fall on his face and break it. "Apologies again, Stark, but I feared you would start being difficult if I told you what I have planned for you," he crooned, tapping the mortal's nose and winking. He waited until the man was fully unresponsive before picking him up — he weighed next to nothing, and slumped over Loki like a sleeping child — and using a portal to take him to what had been Stark Tower and was now Loki's home away from home.

Loki had taken Stark's bedroom for his own, but he hadn't had the chance to use it last night and the bed was made and had fresh sheets, so Loki deposited him on it and combed the sleeping man's fringe out of his eyes gently. He then stood up. "Jarvis, I trust you have arranged a medical examination for Anthony?"

Jarvis, the construct — he had called himself an Artificial Intelligence, but Loki called it as he saw it — who ran the building, had been very helpful once Loki had explained his intentions and assured him Stark was alive and safe, way back when he had first taken Stark's building as his prize. He and Loki had become fast, if not friends, at least allies, and the AI had been utterly delighted to hear Loki was bringing Stark back into his care. "I have, Loki," he replied. "Shall I arrange for food as well?"

Oh, yes, that would be lovely. "Please do. What would I do without you, Jarvis?" Loki said wistfully as he left the room. He would have loved to stay and wait in the living room until Stark woke up so they could talk things over a meal, but the little light in his mobile phone told him he had some messages. When he unlocked the screen, he saw four emails, thirteen texts and two missed calls. With a sigh, he teleported back to the White House.

Time to deal with peasants again.

When Tony awoke, it was with a bleary recollection of... well, nothing. Except for the cell, and the usually familiar crick in his back when he woke up from sleeping on the floor. Only, he didn't feel the floor.

Brown eyes flying open, Tony sat up. It was night time outside the... window of his room? Overlooking Manhattan?

Tony patted himself. There was a bandage over his left arm — not just a bad dream, then — and his clothes had been changed into a pressed longsleeve, with the left arm rolled up to make room for the bandages, and nice pants. They probably wanted to make Tony presentable for the new leader of Earth, whoever they were.

"What... the..."

"Good afternoon, Sir. I'm glad to see you've finally woken. May I direct your attention to the nightstand?" the AI quipped from the ceiling. "I've ordered for the finest dishes from the Italian restaurant you always enjoyed, Sir. Unless you would have something else?"

So familiar.

Tony scrubbed at his hair, feeling fresh and clean and... like nothing had ever happened. "Jarvis...? Am I dead?"

"Far from it, Sir. In fact, the medical team have assessed that, despite the state of your malnutrition, everything else seems to be in a right order."

The once-billionaire groaned and moved to stand slowly, as much as he would have loved to stay in the heavenly plush feeling of his sheets... But this was real. And he knew who was behind this all now. But why bring him here? Why bring him out of his cell at all?

After the initial shock of being back, the hunger set in with a fervor, and Tony took the food with him to the couch. He ate and watched TV and ate some more. He was pretty sure he was going to throw it all up sooner or later by how fast he was eating, but he didn't care. A tear even slipped down his cheek once, Tony hunched over his long-empty tray and cradling it in his lap, watching cartoons. He laughed with reckless abandon at even the smallest of jokes, just enjoying the moment.

There was even scotch!

The rest of his afternoon and evening turned out wonderful. Tony had begun exploring his old 'home' — although it wasn't his anymore, was it? He spent a few good minutes just touching this and that just to affirm that everything was real. That he was really here. That he was somehow back outside the world beyond his walls.

Tony feeling lighter than he'd had in weeks — months? He didn't know anymore.

Loki felt his mobile buzz in his jacket and paused the conference with the UN secretary by raising his hand while he glanced at his messages. 'Sir is awake and kicking,' one said, no signature needed. Loki smiled sweetly down at it and replied, 'Please make sure he eats something. Pamper him.' before returning to discussing for what felt like the millionth time his forceful takeover and why it was in the whole planet's best interests to just let him. He promised, yet again, to give it back in more or less pristine conditions after he was done.

By the time the conference was over, three hours and thirty-nine minutes later, Loki was ready to eat a cow whole and maybe punch the incredibly annoying North Korean representative in the face, but they had agreed to sort-of work with him, even if not actually surrender the rule of their countries. As if Loki had wanted that. Yes, exactly, more humans to look after. 'All my birthday presents together could not make me happier.'

But things had ran smoothly once he had managed to get that point across, so he was in an extraordinarily good mood when he decided to pay his guest of honour a visit and appeared from the shadows in the corner right behind Stark, who was watching TV and nursing a glass of something amber. Loki hoped it was apple juice, but he wouldn't bet too much on it.

"Evening, Anthony. I hope this night finds you well," he said casually as he took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie.

A cold shiver ran down Tony's spine, and he almost dropped his tumbler of scotch right then and there, spilling the liquid all over his face and hands and choking a little. But he forced himself to breathe. If Loki wanted him dead, he would have died months (weeks?) ago. "H–hey..." he said at first with little conviction, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "So, uh. I'm guessing you're expecting a thanks for letting me out of the slammer, right?"

Loki would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy how cowed the mortal was around him at least a little bit, but then, he wasn't the god of lies for nothing, was he? He hated that side of himself, remnants from Thanos's hold over him before the Beast had smashed Loki into the ground not two floors above the one they were in right now, clearing away the last of the fog. He was trying to be better than the hateful, vengeful, cruel wretch he had once been, and it was hard work.

"I am not expecting anything from you; but gratitude, if you feel it, is appreciated," he commented, taking out a handkerchief and offering it to the mortal to wipe his face and hands.

Tony looked at it balefully, like it was something that might bite him. But he took it eventually, if just not to offend the other, dabbing almost daintily at his mouth with it.

"May I sit?" Loki enquired, and sat primly on the armchair facing the sofa without waiting for an answer. "I trust everything is to your liking so far? I left Jarvis instructions that he was to cater to your every whim, within reason." He pulled his hands into a steeple-shape and rested his fingers upon his lips, his green, green eyes boring into the mortal's.

At first, Tony said nothing, just cradling his almost empty glass and looking at warily the god, watching his movements, his eyebrow twitching when Loki sat. "Sure, why not," he groaned sarcastically. Hang on, did Loki say... "Jarvis?" he murmured, blinking at his captor. "How did you get him to... He's listening to you?"

Tony couldn't help but feel a little betrayed, a clenching in his heart. The thing birthed from his genius, his. And now Loki's, just like everything else.

"Well, I believe you did made him smart enough to be able to make his own choices in your absence, did you not?" Loki relaxed into his seat, sighing. By Auðumla's saggy tits, this day had been a nightmare. It was good to finally be home, for certain values of home, though he was sure Stark would disagree most vehemently. "I believe the technical phrase is 'kudos to you'?" His eyes bore into Stark's all the harder in the subsequent strained silence.

Tony found Loki's intense stare difficult to sit under. Just plain uncomfortable. He set his glass aside to fiddle with the handkerchief instead, trying to avoid the god's expectant eyes. Instead, he watched as Loki seemed to uncoil from the stress of the day. After a moment of shifting almost nervously his seat, Tony let his eyes drift slowly to Loki's, trying to challenge him if even just in this. "Your eyes are green. That's new."

That was defiant, right? Staring him right in the eyes long enough to note their color; which, by the way, he remembered being blue, from back when the god thought it fun to toss him out of his own window like a ragdoll.

'Ooh, observant,' Loki smiled, pleased. Very pleased indeed. He had known Stark to be smart, yes, and quick at making connections. Jarvis had sung his maker's praises easily enough. But he hadn't even begun to guess Stark was observant too. "Yes, my eyes are green. Good of you to notice."

Good that he wasn't too scared to look him in the eye. The thing Loki liked best about Stark was his spirit, and he didn't want it broken. In fact, he wanted Stark as happy and empowered as he could be. He regarded Stark carefully, noticing how his shoulders remained slumped, despite the bravado in his face and voice. 'Tread carefully, Loki,' he told himself.

"Stark, Jarvis is his own person," he said after a while, breaking the silence. "If he helped me, it was because it was in your best interest. He loves you dearly."

Tony actually straightened, a frown on his face and narrowing his gaze a little. Great. So Loki had basically sweet talked Jarvis into working with him, wasn't that wonderful? "Wait. So you're telling me Jarv thought it was best for me if I rotted in a cell?" he breathed through his nose, but Loki was right though. Jarvis knew well enough to operate in a way Tony had programmed him to. Free thought, even while he served others.

He'd just never expected Jarvis to serve the god.

Loki wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of finding himself reassuring the mortal. What had become of his life, his goals? "I am my own person now, as well," he continued seriously, looking Stark in the eye again, but this time so the man could see how there was no trace of falsehood there, "as you have just noticed."

The mortal reached up — with a steadier hand now, as he had worked to lessen the shaking over the hours he had to himself — and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Right... wait. So you're different?" Tony blinked around, noting the god's lack of wicked-pixie-stick-of-destiny. "And what does that mean exactly?"

Loki smiled cruelly, though Stark couldn't know the cruelty wasn't directed at him, or at anything on this planet. "It means I can be reasoned with. It means, dear mortal, that I have regained full use of my faculties, and that I shall use them to gain revenge." Though he didn't say on whom. He would trade the human something for that information, and watching him stew was fun in its own way.

Tony didn't like the look of that grin spreading on the other's face but he said nothing to it, pushing that distrust aside. "Revenge?" he found himself blurting, still unsure as to what Loki's goal was here.

A look around and outside had proved that not much of Manhattan looked like it had been changed, really, making the billionaire wonder whether or not Loki was actually real or some horrible figment of a coma from knocking his head around too hard in the Iron Man suit. Of course, he didn't truly believe that as much as he would have preferred it.

Tony just eyed the god warily, perched at the edge of his seat with his legs crossed under him. He needed a shave. He wanted to roll back into bed and sleep and hope he awoke into a world that didn't suck. He wanted to know why Loki let him out.

While Stark got lost in his own thoughts, Loki kicked off his shoes, which for all their elegance pinched his toes, and rested his feet on the coffee table. Excellent. Now all he lacked was a bottle of chilled ale and he was set; he already had the soft lighting and the delightful company. Noticing the enquiring glint in Stark's eyes, he answered the question the mortal couldn't bring himself to ask.

"If you care to know, Jarvis has been trying to convince me to set you free since he understood my aims," he sighed, and a bottle of chilled micro-brewed ale appeared in his hand. "He had little skill with persuasion at first, though I will say this: he is a fast learner." He smiled and sipped his drink, the bubbles bringing up the feeling of celebration in him.

And why shouldn't he celebrate? He was so close to finally getting rid of Thanos and saving the Nine Realms while he was at it. If only Stark would cooperate.

The occasion is that I need your help, Anthony Stark, and I will get it. Hadn't those been his words? Tony remembered them through a foggy echo in his mind.

"Well yeah. Jarvis is... he's something," Tony offered weakly, watching Loki's feet resting on his table. Wait. No. Not his. The man frustratingly ran his hands through the more-than-messy frump of hair on his head. "So, hang on, why are you being nice?" he asked, tired of beating around the bush. He just wanted to get straight to the point. "What are you playing at, Loki?" Tony huffed, "I liked it back in my cell, thank you very much, and I think you still liked me locked away all the same too. So what do you want?"

Well. Tony Stark hadn't been completely broken, that was for sure, even if he wanted to take back the thing about the cell as soon as he'd said it.

And there he was, at last: Stark, defiant. It was the reason Loki had chosen him, or rather, the reason why he was Loki's only way out. He was a phoenix. Loki knew Stark had thought that before, but even the mortal didn't know how true it was.

Loki sighed and reclined more comfortably — almost snuggling into his stolen chair. Ah, mortals sure liked their luxuries. "If you mean that, I am almost sure we could arrange for it. I think it is still free," he smiled challengingly.

Knowing full well Loki could just take him and throw him right back into his cell on a whim, Tony squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He scratched at his arm nervously, messing with the bandage, but didn't say anything. He didn't want to challenge or goad the god into making that a reality.

When Stark declined the opportunity to answer, Loki's smile grew larger in triumph, though not cruel. "Truthfully — and yes, I am aware of the irony of me, God of Lies, appealing to the truth — truthfully, you are more use to me free than chained. I need you to plead my case to the resistance."

Free!? Tony's eyes flew open, and had he been holding his glass to his lips at that moment, he would have sputtered and sprayed everything in expensive scotch. He stared at Loki in disbelief for about five seconds. Then, suddenly, a laugh escaped his lips, and Tony slapped his knee. "Wait, Wait... You want me to... to help you take over the rest of my world?" Tony couldn't help but shiver with nervous chuckles.

Loki's words did make Tony wonder just what the state of the world was in, after all, if there was a resistance against Loki. He felt his heart go out to them, actually.

Loki waited until he stopped patiently, having expecting something of the sort. 'Yes, little mortal, laugh at my plan,' he thought bitterly. Here he was doing his best to keep this watery rock from imminent destruction, and Stark thanked him by pointing and laughing.

If there was one thing he hated, more than being ignored, it was being laughed at.

It reminded him of his childhood home.

"Right. Sorry," Tony continued, wiping at one eye, pretending to dry tears of mirth. "Do you remember what I did before you came in and wrecked our party, Loki? I was an Avenger. Obviously I failed, but you can't really expect me to help you..."

It was with a tight smile that Loki answered, at last. "Helping me is, ultimately, helping yourself. I am on your side, Anthony, though, of course, I do not expect you to understand that any time soon." His smile tightened, and his hands clenched into fists on the armrests in frustration.

At that, Tony actually quirked a brow at the god. "You're on our side?" He frowned. He couldn't believe that, with any fiber of his being, right? Last time, if he remembered correctly, Loki had come swooping in, taken over the mind of a friend, killed another, pretty much levelled a good portion of central Manhattan, and now had taken over the world. Was he missing something? The billionaire could only sit back a little in an 'I'm listening' manner. He doubted even the Silver-Tongued One could convince him to work with him.

Loki didn't answer at first, merely watching Tony, evaluating him. Then he laughed, and it wasn't a nice sound. It was mocking and cold and cruel. "And here I chose you because you seemed smarter than anyone on you lot," he chuckled. "No, you foolish human. Of course I am not on your side." He snorted. "I just paraded around very visible, boasting of my plans of world domination to everyone who would hear, in case they had any doubt about my intention. And it was obviously a miscalculation on my part that I angered each and every one — that was how you phrased it, correct? — of the people on Midgard who could possibly stop me." He sipped his ale, darkly amused, letting that sink in.

Okay. So... Maybe he was wrong. Tony's eyes widened as he just stared, dumbfounded by the god's words. He and Bruce had commented about exactly that the night after Loki's capture, while the god was sitting pretty in the glass tank. How everything seemed to be... loose-ended, only half thought out. They hadn't been able to see past that, but it was the makings of a theory that not everything Loki did was up front... And they'd learned that later when the Hulk got involved.

"And opening exactly one small portal to let my army trickle through into a city that, while populous, is neither the political or military capital of your pathetic world was just poor planning on my part, was it not?" Loki winked. "Oh, and let us not forget how my control over the man building it was so weak that he managed to build a safeguard to turn it off when he wanted. You said you yourself, did you not? I recall now, yes. 'There is no way you can come out on top,' was it? And, oh, this is too good," he let out a bark of poisonous laughter. "I give you victory served on a platter, and you stupid, stupid mortals still manage to lose."

Tony's lips parted a little. He actually felt kind of stupid. Everything Loki said was making sense.

Why would he have given Selvig permission to build something to close the portal? Why would he piss off the most powerful of Earth's heroes? It didn't make sense. For fun? No, while he wanted to believe it, he knew that wasn't right. So then...

"So you orchestrated everything?" he felt stupid just saying that, burned by his own words being used against him. "You knew all along everything that would happen... Until we lost. But you won?"

Loki nodded, a bit uncertainly. So... Stark believed him, just like that? And here was the difference between explaining himself to someone smart and trying to persuade someone stupid. Thor, for all he purported to be his brother, had pleaded with Loki to stop lying, to stop trying to manipulate him, when Loki had raised the exact same points he had just now. But Stark was clever; he had probably seen a lot of what Loki had just used as evidence and struggled to understand it.

Something clicked in Tony's mind. "Who are you running from?" Tony tilted his head as he crossed his arms. Who could possibly have such wily, tricky guy like Loki going through all this trouble? "You know, asking for help is usually the first way to go about these things," he huffed weakly.

Loki bit his tongue at that. In fact, Stark was too clever by far, his brain exposing to him the root of the problem just as quickly as he had understood Loki's point.

"I am not used to being listened to, Stark. I have learned to coerce and cajole favours from people," just today he had done exactly that in the conference with the so-called-United Nations, "favours they have always demanded I repay. Even when my voice is the one of reason," Loki smiled bitterly, "the fact that it is mine is reason enough to turn deaf ears on me." And yet, wonders of wonder, he had actually managed to get them to listen.

He regarded Anthony consideringly. The mortal was already half-way on his side, which was a nice change, but should Loki just blurt everything out to him, no finesse, no eloquence, no rhetoric? Loki was unused to speaking plainly, preferring to speak in riddles, letting others draw their own conclusions, letting them think it was their idea, not his. "You need not concern yourself with what is coming." It would be better if Stark didn't know too much, lest he be scared. "Content yourself in the knowledge that you have not been tasked with dealing with it yourself nor will you ever have the displeasure to."

Loki's eyes grew unfocused as he remembered Thanos, and the pain and the humiliation and the subservience and the satisfaction of cheating him, looking in Stark's general direction but not seeing him.

He blinked, clearing his thoughts, and looked back at the tiny, puny mortal that held the fate of the Nine in his hands without knowing it. "Stark. I have taken you out of confinement for one reason, and one reason only: the forces of this planet cannot stand divided, or we will all fall. Your task is to be my ambassador to the resistance and get them to agree to work with me, nothing more, nothing less." He paused, looking intently at Stark. "What say you?" he asked, pinning him with his old, old eyes.

T.B.C. on Thursday 23rd of May

Scene from next chapter:

Tony couldn't possibly know the train of thought running through Loki's mind, trying to keep himself from looking like some poor, savage slob. He couldn't help it really, maybe it was how Loki was dressed or something, but he felt horribly inadequate right now. Underdressed.

So he ate as slowly as he could, somehow still managing to eat faster than Loki did. It was only when he looked up to see the god's face that his brows knitted together, Tony tilting his head in question. Had he done something wrong? Why wasn't Loki looking at him? He tried to move a little and catch the other's eye but the god wasn't having any of it.

End notes:

This fic is the result of MONTHS of rp with DerrDoktor, AKA, myheadisbleeding (on tumblr). I played Loki, she played Tony, and we juggled the rest of the characters together. We have 142k written so far, of which 100k are ready to post, so I'll be updating every monday and thursday. The projected length of this fic is between 170k and 200k.

We hope you enjoyed our baby very much. Stay tuned for more! Oh, and since the story is written already, crit won't actually affect the story, but it will make the authors better writers! So please, go ahead!

Flames tolerated, reviews wanted, criticism craved.