Chapter 2
"Doom thinks that Stark should be taken down once and for all," Victor says stubbornly.
Loki watches Osborn pinch the bridge of his nose. "And what do you think I have been doing these past few years?" Osborn inquires icily. "Developing kitchen appliances and children's toys?"
"Your water filtration system is of no use," Namor puts in unhelpfully. "The waters of Atlantis were cleaner before you installed the vile contraption."
"Hammer," Frost tells Namor.
"I see."
"Give the poor man a chance," Osborn snaps.
"Many chances," Amora says flippantly.
"Don't make me develop an anti-magic field, Enchantress."
"Watch your words, Norman Osborn," Skurge rumbles.
"Gentlemen," Loki says sharply. "And ladies," after Amora and Skurge glares at him. "Let us focus on the issue at hand. I haven't the energy to stand around all day long." His sei∂r shifts under his skin, supporting the muscles he had yet to fully use after the incident, and the energy used to maintain the spell is draining. Not for the first time, Loki curses Stark yet again.
Victor, Amora and Skurge have the decency to look like they have been found stealing the cookies from Namor's cookie jar. Osborn looks like Odin when he found out Loki stole from his metaphorical cookie jar. Frost looks as if she had actually stolen the cookies but got off scot-free.
"Doom believes the issue is of Stark and his imminent removal," Victor repeats resolutely.
"Come up with a plan then, genius," Osborn sneers.
"I am," the man replies, "a genius."
"A splendid way to compliment yourself, Doctor," Skurge mutters.
"Thank you, friend."
"How did you manage to escape?" Namor asks.
"How else, he pissed Stark off," Frost says with all certainty.
Loki gives her a pointed look, "I'd appreciate if you stayed out of my head," and she smiles sweet and low.
"I didn't look," she says, and at that Loki grins back at her, oh really now?
"You definitely took your time, Silvertongue," Amora taunts. "Have you also fallen for Stark's charms during your stay?"
"Had it been you who was compromised, Enchantress," Loki replies, "you would have taken even longer."
"So sure of your abilities?" Amora sneers.
"Sure of yours," Loki smiles sharply. "Stark has already produced a working prototype of that anti-magic field Osborn favours to threaten you with."
The room fills with silence that is almost tangible. Osborn's face is eerily similar to the time Loki poured orange juice into his cereal, instead of milk. Skurge steps in front of Amora, as if to protect her from any remaining strands of anti-magic threads dangling off Loki (non-existent, might he add) and Victor runs his fingers absently over his scar, contemplating. Namor turns to converse with Frost in low tones, who looks up briefly at Loki.
Do the calculations, Loki thinks wryly.
"That's half of the team compromised," she says softly.
"The other half makes use of Loki and Amora's enchantments," Osborn says.
"In other words," Namor states candidly, "we're screwed."
A moment's pause for who the hell taught the Atlantean prince Midgardian slang. (Frost looks a bit too smug.)
"We need a plan," Skurge finally declares.
"No shit, Sherlock," Osborn mutters. Amora shoots him a glare and lays a soothing hand on Skurge's forearm, wrist, hand; Loki doesn't know, they all look the same to him and he doubts even Frost would be able to differentiate. Frost snickers at his line of thought, he knew she was looking, and everyone starts staring accusingly at everyone in case Frost is laughing at them, because of them.
"Victor, you're the only person who is familiar with both sei∂r and technology," Loki finally says. "Can you produce a counter-measure?"
"Doom may try," Victor promises.
"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Osborn demands. "Someone who has the resources?"
"The last I checked, Hammer has little aptitude for technology," Loki retorts. "What hope has he for the delicate working of seidr?"
Osborn makes to open his mouth but Frost cuts him off first. "Gentlemen, we only need the results. Work together."
"Doom dislikes working together," Victor says. "Especially with Osborn and his lackey Hammer." Loki shoots both Osborn and Frost a self-satisfied grin.
"Then consolidate your findings after you work alone then, Doom," Frost says. "I have no care for your methods, we only need the results."
"Does this mean that this meeting is over?" Amora pipes up.
"It better be," Skurge and Namor grumbles in unison.
"Meeting adjourned then," Loki says, his concentration is waning, this is supposed to be Midgard's most resilient team of heroes. The rest are wiped out within one day by one - no discrimination here - of the Avengers. Osborn glares at him but nods his assent.
(What do you avenge? Loki had once asked. Stark smiles and keeps his answers.) Frost narrows her eyes and Loki pretends not to notice.
Victor dismantles himself into pieces - no surprises there, it was a Doombot all along - much to Osborn's distaste. Loki snaps his fingers and whisks the parts back to Doom's lab as per agreement. Frost smiles serenely at Osborn, sweeping out of the room with Namor at her heels; Amora blows him a kiss and teleports Skurge and herself back to their chambers. Osborn settles for initiating a glaring match against Loki.
Loki gives him a jaunty wave and teleports himself away.
There are only a few people who know of Loki's situation, and Loki hunts them down accordingly.
He finds Victor in the lab provided less-than-graciously by Osborn, the man really needs to learn a few lessons in caring and sharing. Victor has a mask on over his face, holding a Midgardian tool to a piece of metal of some sort and Loki chooses not to interrupt because he doesn't want sparks in his face today, thank you very much. He waits politely for Doom to notice his presence.
"Loki," Victor says a full hour later. "I was not aware of your presence."
"Well now you are," Loki quips easily. "How is it going?"
"I am attempting to produce the anti-magic field," Victor explains. "Then I will find the mechanism that produces the field and counter that."
Loki nods in agreement with the plan. "Listen, Victor," he begins almost hesitantly.
"I am listening."
"I need to ask you about something," Loki says, an amused smile crinkling his face. Victor is his very first Midgardian friend and the only one he trusts with twice the information he can trust others with. He now works as a hero and an ambassador of Latveria, much to the kingdom's content. "Do you remember what I told you about my past?"
Victor merely nods and does not repeat Loki's history for the whole of Midgard to hear, and for that Loki is grateful. "I can remember, if not all."
"I do trust you, Victor," Loki tells him. "But I'm afraid I must ask. Have you told anyone of it?"
Victor lowers his mask and looks at Loki straight in the eyes. "I have never," he swears in his native tongue. "And will never do so." Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reaches out and lightly grips Loki's shoulder. Loki closes his eyes and almost believes that it is Thor's heavy hand upon his shoulder and not his friend's metal encased limb.
"Loki," Victor says and his eyes snap open. "My friend. Has something happened while you were in captivity?"
For a brief moment, he contemplates telling Victor - but no, no need to stir things up. Victor has a tendency to engage in unnecessary theatrics.
"Nothing of importance," he finally says. Victor eyes him doubtfully but does not press.
The next person is Frost, only because he knows her tactics well - information for information, false or true both works the same. And she can see, pick up and turn over the stones in his head, with her telepathy. Arse.
"Frost," he greets as he strides into the room. He looks around for the Sub-Mariner. "Where is Namor?"
"With the Icelandic diplomats," she answers, eyes still skimming over her latest choice of a novel. "They want to negotiate an agreement over the fish population. They're not getting anywhere."
"I see." Loki takes a seat on the couch and Frost puts down her book. "You know what I want."
"Not yet," she smirks, but soon there is the familiar tingling of someone rifling through his thoughts. He dislikes the feeling but has learnt to tolerate and even control its depth over time. Frost hums low under her breath, before finally sitting back.
"Your answer," Loki prompts.
"I did not," Frost tells him. "I'm flattered by the degree of trust you have in me."
Loki smiles. "It is similar to the amount anyone else has in me. I can truly empathise."
"Lie-smith."
"Indeed."
Loki gets up from his seat, intent on finding the next person - but Frost tugs on the strings on his mind. "Odinson," she says, a hint of a warning in her tone.
He turns to look at her. Her stare is piercing.
"Like what you see?" Loki jokes weakly.
She does not laugh. "Are you compromised?"
Dark eyes and rough stubble on chin, foolish little god, Loki denies and does not think.
Frost is still waiting.
"No." He says aloud. "I'm not compromised."
Who is he convincing.
The last of those who know are Amora and Skurge, and only because they are of Asgard. He materialises in Amora's chambers, to her immense irritation and his amusement at causing wrinkles in her otherwise perfect (seiōr-ridden) face.
"Loki," Amora purrs out on the couch when she finally gets over her displeasure. Skurge hovers behind her, glaring slightly at Loki and he arches an eyebrow back. As if he'll be interested in Amora, the cow.
Skurge growls and Loki wonders if the Executioner happens to have mind-reading skills. Foolish thoughts, but entertaining.
"Enchantress," he greets in return. "Your defences are as futile as ever."
Amora's eye twitches imperceptibly, but Loki relishes the implication behind the actions nonetheless. "What brings you to my chambers, Odinson?" She asks instead. "Perhaps you wish to partake in my charms?" and at that she lifts her eyebrows, coy, not working. The amount of seiõr rolling off her body is palpable.
"Perhaps when you visit my daughter's realm," Loki says elusively. Amora catches the connotations and scowls at him. "I only ask for an answer."
"Or two," Skurge mutters.
"Or more," he agrees.
She rolls onto her back, breathing out a sigh. "Ask away, young Prince," she lilts.
Skurge would have sounded better using that tone, Loki does not say.
"Have you alerted anyone of Midgard to Asgard's situation?" he asks, straight to the point. Amora turns her head slightly towards her lover.
"Have we, darling?" she asks.
"No," Skurge affirms.
She lolls her head back to him. "We haven't," she says carelessly. "Is that all?"
"Yes," Loki says shortly and vanishes on the spot. Amora huffs at the presently vacant spot.
"Rude," she says and motions for Skurge to come over.
Loki is at a loss.
Not Victor, not Frost, and not Amora and Skurge. The only other person who could have told Stark, directly or otherwise, is himself, but he's not that stupid. Really.
He is at a loss, so he finds out about Pepper Potts instead.
It takes him several tries and several snorts of contempt from Osborn before he can get the tablet working (although in his defense, he has one word to say: Hammer); and even several more when he finds out that Pepper is a bloody nickname and not her real name. Midgardians and their peculiar customs - you don't see anyone calling Freyja a table condiment, nor the All-Father a spoon
Virginia Potts was Anthony Stark's secretary, famous for being the order in Stark's otherwise chaotic life. He finds no mention of a working relationship nor of any commitment on Stark's side of any sort - but Stark is also mentioned a fair bit as a man who delights in the company of many women of the amorous sort. Stark and Amora may get on well, Loki thinks wryly.
But something catches his eye, and he sees a familiar name.
Stane.
He hovers his finger over the word in blue letters that signifies a link to another webpage. Obadiah Stane was a hero Loki never had a chance to meet. Stane was someone he does not know.
He presses, because how much can it hurt?
Obadiah Stane had ran Stark Industries along with Stark. He had donned a metal suit and called himself the Iron Monger. Loki recognises the mask, much cleaner yet much more unfriendly. Stane had died after a few appearances in that metal suit, and the suit sans helmet is now in Osborn's possession and usage.
Stane was killed by Stark, Loki muses. He glances at the page once more before switching back to Pepper's page - and wait.
Pepper died three years ago.
Stane died three years ago, a mere few days after.
Loki leans back and considers the implication of the situation, what it could mean, what it will mean. There is a sinking feeling, a warning for him to stop thinking.
(you hold her murderer as a fallen hero, a beloved comrade, tone accusing, eyes flaring with rage, hurt)
Stark killed Stane.
Stane killed Pepper.
(Tell me then that they don't lie, Stark hisses into his ear.)
They do, Loki realises. Everyone does.
Had things gone according to predetermined script written by whomever (Loki), whenever (now), however - Loki would have spent the next few weeks or even month avoiding the rest of the Cabal.
As it is, the screen of the tablet Osborn lent him begins to fizzle and crackle with static. The web page he is on distorts into waves of black on white on grey, before finally snapping to a clear display of Anthony Stark, grinning up from his lap. Loki almost drops the tablet because.
"Hello there, darling," Stark says carelessly. "How nice of you to check up on me, I'd almost think that you cared." The man flashes a smile, all teeth, and Loki is still getting over the fact that Stark just hacked into Osborn's systems, something he oftens emphasises on 'secure'. Where is the man when you need him?
"Anyway, it's almost time for the big event of the day, and aren't you lucky? You get to have first class seats," the man continues, adjusting a microphone by his mouth. "No extra guests allowed though, aren't you a special snowflake."
"What do you want, Stark," Loki grounds out.
"It speaks!" Stark points at the screen dramatically. "Nothing much, little god. I just want an audience."
"Don't," Loki starts to snarl, but Stark is already turning away from the screen, stepping away to reveal Oscorp Towers. Enjoy the show, his mouth reads and he drops a wink in Loki's direction, before finally striding up to the glass double doors of the building, and pushing through them.
The screen flickers briefly before switching to the security feed of the lobby of Oscorp Towers, although in much clearer display. Loki should really call for Osborn, call for Victor, but mischief thrums through his body and he knows that something is about to happen. People hurry through the lobby, exchanging notes and chatter over coffee, and Loki can almost make out Hammer at the receptionist counter.
Stark walks into the lobby of Oscorp Towers, takes a single disparaging sweeping glance of his surroundings, before pulling out a gun and shooting a man on sight.
As Hammer collapses on the floor and the lobby erupts into a cacophony of screams and pure chaos, Stark looks up at the camera and brings the microphone up to his mouth, speaking clearly into it.
"Well then, ladies," grins Stark, bleeding chaos and confidence, "take me in."