Chapter 8
"What the fuck is he doing here," Clint spits the words out like he has chewed something bitter and hard.
Stark lounges on the sofa, his expression of mock surprise. "And I thought you liked me, Barton," he says carelessly. "Or are you only putting up with me because of Romanov?"
"I liked you up to the moment you invited a certain homicidal Norse God to stay in the same fucking tower you live in," Clint snarls back. "He killed Phil when he wasn't armed, Stark, you want him to murder all of us in our sleep too?"
"He killed Phil because he needed to get to Thor - "
"And now he's making up reasons for him too! What better way to run a criminal ring," Clint sneers, "than to invite the bastard to breathe down our necks?"
"He won't," Stark says calmly.
"Did he give you his word," Clint mocks. "Did you forget something? God of Lies? He may be on the good side, but he's also a fucking good liar."
(No one wants to remind Clint of the time Loki shifted into Natasha and managed to trick the archer into being… affectionate. It's a combination of this and Phil's death that makes the man hate the Norse God with a burning passion.)
"As much as I acknowledge your intelligence, Katniss, you're not the one making plans," Stark says. "Or at least, I'm not paying you to make them."
"Well I'm telling you that this one is an idiotic," Clint starts to say, but Natasha cuts him off.
"So pay us ore," she says coolly, and all eyes turn to her on the armchair. Clint looks affronted. Stark looks amused and expectant. "Pay us more, and we'll keep our mouths shut."
"I always liked you, Romanov," Stark says, grinning. "How much?"
"I'll settle on the price with Hawkeye and tell you later," she says. "But if he wants to kill someone first, it better be you and not us."
"Settled," Stark picks himself up and sweeps out of the room. "Call me when you know what you want."
(The answer to that has always been simple - money. If favours can't burn off the red in her ledger, then the digits in a bank account definitely could.)
There are some bonds she won't break for money, but those are few and rare. She would betray Stark in a heartbeat, but as circumstances are, Stark has enough money and more for her to take and take and take.)
"Nat," Clint starts to say.
"You saw how he killed Phil," Clint says, grasping for reasons that Natasha completely agrees with, every single one of them. Loki in the Tower compromises all of them. Only money makes her stay.
(But perhaps that too is a lie - there is somewhat of a burgeoning affection of sorts for Steve, for Thor, for Bruce and for Stark. Still, Natasha is adept at lying to herself, and nothing changes.)
"I saw," she says. "But we can just stay out of conflict. Loki should know to avoid you too - so there's no need to pick fights."
Clint draws closer, helpless, and if someone else saw it would be compared to a moth drawn to a flame for what Clint is about to say next. "I'm just worried for you."
That shuts her off from Clint quickly enough - Clint Barton, well-meaning Clint who is so hopelessly in love with her -
But she doesn't love him back, the way he wants her to.
"I don't need you to worry for me," she tells him coldly. "I can do that for myself." She watches as the affection in his eyes is crushed underneath the heel of her refusal - and perhaps she'd feel bad, if she hadn't learnt to compress and ignore.
"Right," Clint says, after he remembers how to speak again. "I'm, I'm sorry."
"I'm going to negotiate with Stark," she informs him, and leaves him alone.
(She feels nothing, because she simply doesn't - but for him it hurts every single time. If the pain does not dissuade him, nothing will.)
(Natasha - no, Natalia knows nothing of love.)
He meets someone in the kitchen.
It's a surprise, and even more so when he doesn't recognise the man. The man probably recognises him though, looking at the way he is trying not to fidget. They stare at each other, locked in an impasse.
"Hello," Loki finally says.
"Hey there," the man says back just as warily.
"I don't suppose you know where I can store my food," Loki tries. Casual is always a good start to approach strangers, he finds. If not, he could always disappear in a puff of smoke. That also always got him some nice expressions of shock.
(He doesn't really have food to keep, but who here would care if he eats it or not?)
"Oh. I think you can use those cupboards over there," and the man gestures towards his right. Loki nods in thanks, and walks over to an empty cupboard where he summons several snacks he has grown fond of on Midgard to put inside. He takes his time, pretending to not notice the eyes on his back.
"I don't believe I got your name?" Loki says casually to the tin of Toblerones in his hand.
"Bruce Banner," he introduces himself, as Loki turns around. He seems less wary, for some reason. "You're Loki."
I know my name, thank you very much. "You're the Bruce with an acid trap on his floor," he says instead.
Bruce's expression turns to bemusement. "Did Tony tell you that?" he says. "I don't actually, but I do have chemicals in there that are rather explosive. I'd rather people not mess around with them."
"I see," Loki says politely. "Could I ask what you're using them for?"
"Research," Bruce says vaguely, his eyes flicking to Loki's side. "I mainly study, uh, physics. And radiology. Gamma radiation, to be exact."
It was not very exact, but Loki is not here to be suspicious of everyone in the Tower. "That's an interesting field of study."
"No more interesting than astronomy would be to the average person," the other man replies, slightly self-deprecating.
"To the right people it might just be," Loki returns, and with the tentative smile returned, perhaps he has gained himself a new friend.
“Brother.”
Loki breathes out. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, that Thor would approach him after his outburst. He had been running on emotion at the time, and had chastised himself afterwards.
(After he had finally accepted that this was Odin’s way of saying, you’re not coming home until Thor does.)
“Yes?” He finally says, keeping wariness out of his voice. He has yet to come up with a new plan - now that he is as good as exiled like his brother, what would he do?
Attempt to convince Thor to return home, as he has done before, for there is nothing else to be done.
Or. Or live up to his name as the God of Mischief. Bring mayhem upon this world, and Ragnarok upon the rest. Harbringer, destroyer, the monikers and the future that the Nords of this world’s past had predicted he will bring.
That way lies madness. He knows better. Everyone expects him to do what the Norns themselves see, spinning their thread at the roots of Yggdrasil.
He will not succumb to their expectations.
“Brother,” Thor says again, taking a seat across from Loki. Loki smiles.
“Repetition does not become you, Thor,” he says, a weak attempt at diverting the topic at hand, whatever it is.
“It does not,” his not-brother agrees, a shocking occurrence. He sits, and Loki looks up to find a stranger in Thor’s body.
But the expressions he wears are clearly Thor’s.This is no imposter. Loki wishes it was.
“You said that you will not be king,” the golden haired god says bluntly.
“I will not,” Loki confirms. He holds Thor’s gaze, lets him sees the truth in his eyes should he happen to choose to believe in Loki’s nature as others dictate him to be.
“Loki,” he breathes. “What makes you believe so?”
The laugh that forces itself out from his throat is harsh and bitter. “What makes me not believe it? Odin has always favoured you, Thor. As ignorant to others as you can be, you will have to be as blind as Hodr to not see his love for you.”
“Ignorant,” Thor says. “You say the most displeasing things.”
“The most displeasing things are the truth.”
“Not all truths are true.”
“Careful there, Thor. Your mighty mind may be unable to explain the contradictory statement you have made.”
Thor’s countenance twists into something displeased. Loki waits for him to rise to violence.
He does not.
“You are swifter in mind, and cunning,” Thor lists off. “You are skilled in diplomacy. I have also heard of your prowess in bed,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
“That a convincing case does not build,” Loki murmurs.
“I am exiled, and you are the next in line,” the god tries once more.
“Yet I am here on Midgard, sitting across you without Asgard’s crown on my head,” the other god returns immediately. Thor looks suitably confused. “Do you not see why I am here, Thor? Odin wants you back. The path you are proceeding down is not the iridescent bridge to our golden home - no, at this rate Niflheim lies at the end of your destructive path.”
“You lie,” Thor accuses so easily. Yet that is Loki's title, and Loki smiles, mirthless.
“I do not.”
“The only destruction that will be wrought will be upon those who deserve it.”
“And who are you to decide who deserves your wrath?”
“I am a god,” Thor says, forceful. “And you are one too, Loki. Why do you fight for the mortals of this world if you are here for me?”
Loki regards Thor silently, for a moment. “Because they are defenseless,” he answers quietly. “And I cannot persuade you from your chosen path. Obstinance is a strong trait of yours, brother mine.”
Thor stands and Loki stands with him. “Tony did not talk to you,” he says, realisation in his tone.
“He did, but not in the way you envisioned,” Loki says. He smiles wryly. “Go back to your floor, Thor, that gilded room, the mockery of a place you call home. As long as I am staying here, I will not obstruct you and your friends from wreaking havoc upon the city.”
“Are you dismissing me,” the god demands, and Loki laughs again, sharp.
“Yes,” he admits, “because look at us, two fallen gods. You have no authority over me, nor I over you. Think on my words, Thor, if you can think - whether this path will lead you back into Odin’s favour, or ever further away.”
Thor turns and storms away, and with overwhelming calm and just that little bit of spite and triumph, Loki watches him go.