Fucked
Tony sighed heavily over the rim of his coffee cup, his head beginning to throb with the dull ache of another migraine. He hadn't slept in 96 hours and it didn't seem to be coming anytime soon. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the cold steel of his working desk and shut his eyes in a futile attempt to stop the pain. The sheer pain of being conscious was ripping his mind apart. The lack of sleep wasn't helping his work, nor was it really hurting it, he just felt stagnant. Another tinker toy just wasn't enough to lull this dull ache that rose and told him he was empty and incomplete. The was something broken, shattered and missing from him and he didn't know what it was. He was still his same old self in the manner that he was still a genius, but the rest was dwindling. It was hard to maintain a playboy status when utterly everyone bored you and you had driven the one woman who had ever meant anything real to you away. another sigh left his weary body as his thoughts consumed him, but wouldn't allow him to rest. He sat up and pressed the warm mug to his forehead, holding it in both hands and stared into the void. "Fuck," he whispered under his breath.
"Sir, may i suggest you leave the lab for this evening and perhaps indulge in a meal?" JARVIS spoke from the recess speakers above. Tony weakly nodded and rose from his stool in a half-hearted manner. What did it matter anyways? In the lab, on his couch, in his bed, he'd be empty and alone and awake no matter where he actually was physically. His mind would be off analyzing every mistake, breaking down the impossibilities his eyes had witness, still trying to console himself. Months had passed and he still wasn't together enough to let it go. That's why Pepper had finally given up and moved on. That's why he hadn't donned the suit in four months. He just couldn't accept what had happened to him, why he had survived. It was something he had never questioned before, but now it plagued every corner of his mind. Afghanistan, Obadiah, palladium poisoning, Vanko, the Chitauri, Loki... how had he survived any of that? He didn't deserve to be alive.
He left the lab and went to his living room, barely gazing at the sunrise greying the sky outside his windows. Plopping ungracefully on the couch, he stared into the bland-colored carpet and cursed himself silently. He'd never been this low in his life. He'd never been this sober in his life either. Four months and he couldn't even look at the expensive bottles of scotch without wincing a little and immediately recounting every detail of that day, that horrible fucking day that never ceased to bring the terror to his mind. If only he could drink to forget, but it was the very thing that made him remember so vividly. The nonchalance he'd taken when Loki stood before him in his own tower, acting as if he was in control only to be thrown into free-fall moments later. and since that moment, he hadn't been able to regain that control. The control that was so integral to his being and guided everything he did. The control that he'd spent most of his life wresting from Howard's cold, dead fingers. He had lost it, completely lost it with no sense of how it had left or how to regain it. It wasn't just denied or prohibited, it was stolen, violently taken and ripped from his core.
The cool blue glow of the arc reactor danced before him over the taut flesh of his forearms as he sank his head back into his palms. It was useless trying to figure it out now, it was pointless to feel this way. He had been lucky, he survived the fall from the window, the Chitauri invasion, and the collapsing wormhole all in a single day. He should be praising some higher power, giving big ups to The Almighty, and doing snoopy dances, but somewhere in the whole encounter he had lost the very will to be himself and recklessly celebrate his escape from near death. And why the fuck was that?
"I don't even fucking know," he grumbled and laid back against the cushions.
"I'm sorry, sir?" the AI called overhead and Tony just waved a dismissive hand, too tired to explain that he had finally crossed over into the insanity that had been beckoning all his life. That was the trouble with genius, it always manifested itself with madness.
"Stark," a whisper of a voice called out to him, and surely he must be insane when the voice in his head actually took on real tangible sound. Or maybe....."JARVIS?" Tony yelled but was met with silence, he called out again only to be met with a sinister chuckle coming from directly behind him. Shit. Quickly, he stood from the couch and turned toward the voice only to wish he'd ignored the sound completely.
"What the--" Tony started, but was immediately cut off be the 6'2" god that was leaning over the back of his couch, sans armor, with a toying expression in his eyes.
"Spare me your imprudent obscenities, Stark, I have little patience for your lip this night," he said. Tony scowled, but kept his timely "fuck you, Rudolph" to himself. "Ah, see. You do still have a sense of self-preservation. Now sit, I have need of your skills," the god replied cryptically, his green eyes flashing over the engineer's face. Tony complied, watching as Loki stalked almost predatory towards him and towered over him in the darkened livingroom. It would be a lie to say that Tony wasn't intrigued, honestly how often did a god of Norse legend appear in one's home after being imprisoned in another realm not four months ago. And how often did said foreign deity require mortal help? He was interested, no doubt.
"And what can I do for the horned goblin of Asgard?" he grimaced wryly, avoiding the emerald gaze that scrutinized him coldly. He heard the exasperated sigh escape Loki and that made him smirk in his old familiar way. "Do not ever again besmirch my being by comparing me to something so base and low as a goblin, Stark, or you will pay very dearly for such a slight," Loki warned, catching Tony's jaw in his long fingers and leveled his eyes on the engineer's large brown gaze. Tony swallowed thickly and nodded out of reflex.
"Good, you might live up to your title of mortal genius after all. Now, as for the assistance I require from you. I want you to create a device that hampers my magical aura without actually restricting my magical abilities. I have tried to prefect a spell on several occasions, but the side-effects are undesirable. You will create a mechanism that will mask my magical signature and I will allow you this opportunity to gain intimate knowledge about my spectral faculties," the god stated simply, his fingers trailing over the inventor's throat before dropping away entirely. He felt the reverberating shudder of Tony's body responding to his touch and took in the way his breathing shortened with a keen interest. The effect he was having on the mortal was both unexpected and beneficial in this circumstance.
"You want anything else? My soul and firstborn?" Tony barked in a broken voice. Loki smiled wolfishly, looking more ghastly in the dark than Tony could have possibly remembered.
"I am already in possession of your soul, Anthony, or hadn't you noticed?" the god chuckled deep and dark, making Tony's eye widen in shock.
"What the hell does that mean?" he asks coldly, ignoring the bitter realization searing in his gut. There was no way that was possible. Loki could not have his fucking soul, that was just sheer madness.
"You pathetic, naive, simple mortal. Did you think I merely wished to control your mind that day I flung you from your tower? What benefit is granted to me in having a mindless 'genius'. I mean to have you highly motivated while allied to my purpose. I hold your soul , Stark. That ensures that not only that you will comply eagerly, but that you will do so in a timely fashion knowing I can destroy you on a whim should you dare to displease me and make me wait. So, Anthony Edward Stark, what have you to say?"
Tony gritted his teeth until it physically hurt. He couldn't refuse, but he damned sure wasn't just going to bend over and cater to Loki under any circumstances. His hard brown eyes squared on Loki's like a petulant child trying not to cry while he's being punished. "How much fucking time do I get?" he spat venomously.
"I'll be generous and give you three weeks from tomorrow," Loki smiled ever-so serenely in Tony's face.
"Fine."
"Until tomorrow then, my dearest engineer," Loki purrs and vanishes from sight, leaving Tony once again utterly alone in his home. Tony scowled into the vacant air in front of him, wishing he had had the will to argue with Loki just a little bit more. But what he said frightened him beyond belief and he couldn't bare the thought of a socio-psychopathic fallen demi-god having his cold, spindly fingers on his soul. He was Tony Stark and shit like that did not happen to him. He knew in that moment before he finally fell blissfully asleep for the first time in months that he was completely fucked. But boy did it feel good to sleep without nightmares again.