Chapter 2
Friday
Loki trudges into the Avenger’s Tower, absolutely exhausted. It’s early--or late? 3 AM, dark in the tower, but at least Stark provided him with a room to sleep in. He has been awake all night, time hopping into various moments of Asgard’s past to piece together the materials for an antidote. He gathered enough ingredients (hopefully) for several vials of it. But it takes 24 hours to brew. He brought the ingredients to his place at the TVA, using his kitchen counter to stamp it all together and simmer. He’ll have to wait for it--time works differently at the TVA. He can’t just hop forward in time there.
Hopefully he can prevent the spread until then.
Yes, he determined that this is indeed the virus. Don’t ask what he had to do to figure that out. It wasn’t pleasant. But at least now, Loki can curb it here.
He makes sure to enchant the scepter room to alert him if anyone enters it. Stark has peppered the room with sentries as well. On top of that security, another precaution Loki took was to magick half a dozen fake scepters, all hidden throughout the room. If the Variant comes after it again, it will give Loki and Stark enough time to react.
Overkill? Possibly. But Stark was adamant about not only having the party, but of keeping Loki out of the scepter room during it. He still doesn’t trust the trickster.
The day of the party, preparation is a minimum. Mostly because Stark already owns a fully stocked bar with enough liquor to serve a gathering on Asgard.
Loki chooses to don a female form for these revels. He is less likely to be recognized, and besides, it has been too long since he has been a woman.
She magicks herself a black slit dress, flashing a smooth thigh, nails printed with black and green polish. She can’t help accenting her dark curls with a few emerald highlights.
Damn, she looks fabulous. She plans to make sure the guests take drinks from her. That’s the plan to prevent the spread of the virus--spike everyone’s drink with magic that will prevent infection. Ensure minimal damage to the humans attending. The problem is, if someone is already infected, her magic will do nothing. That’s what the antidote is for.
On her way to the bar, Loki is intercepted by the host himself. Tony gives Loki a once-over. “Do I know you?”
“I’m your bartender today, Mister Stark.” Loki surprises herself by the husky tone in her voice. The low hum of heat follows Stark’s eyes, making the gaze feel like a brush across a canvas.
“That so?” Tony taps his lips with a finger. “I don’t remember hiring you. And I definitely feel like I should have.”
Oh Hel, Stark is flirting with her. It’s so obvious, even though his tone is casual. When Tony Stark flirts, people in Kansas can lick their fingers, hold it up to the wind, and know exactly where he’s fixed his gaze.
“If I own the bar, does that mean I’m buying you all the drinks?” Tony’s lips tilt up.
Loki chuckles. “Hm, here for less than an hour and you’re already propositioning me.”
Tony blinks, nice and slow. Loki savors the seconds it takes him to realize who she is. Tony’s face deadpans once he does.
“That’s funny,” he frowns. “I’m laughing, on the inside.”
Loki gestures to her body, “Do I look fabulous enough for your gathering?”
“Your face is prettier but that doesn’t mean I won’t punch it.”
“Don’t get rattled just because you find me attractive, Stark.”
“Oh, no problem there, now that I know it’s you.”
“Hm, are the breasts not enough to seduce you?”
“It’s not about the body--I can work with anything. But you specifically?” he snorts. He gets two steps away before he loses himself in the crook of his elbow, "Hh’SHHH-eh!” He drinks in a wet sniff and points at Loki. “I’m keeping an eye on you, dust bunny.”
Loki rolls her eyes. “I quiver in fear.”
Guests start to fill the room. At first, Tony greets everyone individually, but he grows more distracted as the throng deepens.
Loki sashays through the crowd, washing the guests with charm and glamour. They all eventually allow her to ‘refill’ their drinks. She takes more than a little pleasure in this: deceit for a purpose other than mischief. Tipping dribbles of magic into each patron’s glass, ensuring their continued existence.
It’s hard not to notice Stark around the party, his voice pitching louder with every drink, pausing often to sneeze messily into his elbow. At least he’s covering them. Idiot.
Now it’s time to target the less vulnerable members of the party: the Avengers themselves. Loki’s sharp eyes skim the room, landing on Rogers leaning against a railing upstairs. He’s chatting with his foxy falcon friend. Perfect.
Loki doesn’t want to approach them at the same time. She hangs back, preening, smoothing her dress. When Rogers departs, Loki glides up to Sam, a smooth smile playing across her red lips.
“Hey there,” she pulls her tray down, bottles ricketing. “Top you off?”
Sam gives her an easy, if disinterested nod. “Sure, why not.” He holds out his tumbler and Loki pours liquor through a magic-coated finger.
“Don’t you look handsome tonight,” Loki winks at him. “Do you always radiate such charm?”
Sam chuckles, easing his elbows against the railing. “You’re nice, but I have a girlfriend.”
Liar. Loki can smell the tang of falsehoods.
“Oh?” she presses her lips into a pout.
“Yeah,” Sam dodges her gaze by taking a gulp of his drink.
“Too bad,” Loki squeezes his bicep. “Enjoy your drink~” she heads back to the bar.
Pity. She chose the wrong form to seduce him.
Stark’s friend Rhodey seems quite pleased as he regales other guests with war stories. Loki makes sure to listen intently and gives him a nice throaty laugh during the punchline.
“You’re a riot, Mister Rhodes.” It’s easy to slip magic into his cup. Parties make humans so unawares.
On to Barton, who is manspreading on an otherwise vacant couch, nose buried in a novel. Loki leans over the back of the seat, offering the bottle. “Refill?” she asks.
Barton doesn’t take his eyes off the text, hand fluttering over his empty glass. This man clearly isn’t here to mingle. It’s not his style.
Loki mixes the liquor, unable to resist adding a dash of Asgardian’s finest. Barton will enjoy that hangover tomorrow. Perhaps that was malicious, but Loki couldn’t help a bit of revenge for that arrow years ago.
A laugh bubbles up and Loki realizes she’s having fun. Ridiculous, perhaps, but this task is the perfect excuse to smother herself in chaos and mischief. It makes her feel as tipsy as if she had a drink herself.
She can’t help testing her luck with the rush of manic glee. She sidles up to Thor, who is chanting a variation of an Asgardian drinking song to a group of guests.
Loki serves them all, grinning and tossing her hair. All of them like what they see--save for her brother.
Not surprising. Thor has always been less physically lustful, his interest more geared toward the mind, not the body.
She swings her way toward Banner who clutches what looks like a soda in a glass. “Refill?” Loki asks.
Banner shakes his head, “No, sorry.”
“It’s almost empty! Just let me--”
Bruce snatches Loki’s thin wrist before she can touch the glass. “Sorry. I don’t like people touching my drinks.” He releases her and softens his words, “Bad history.”
“Ah…” Loki tries not to show her disappointment. She’ll have to come up with another way to magick him.
Back at the bar, Natasha has taken to serving drinks in a more stationary arena. Loki sets her tray down on the counter to refill the liquors.
Nat nods kindly to a guest who plucks the drink she just made for him. When he departs, she begins to wipe the counter.
She stiffens mid-reach, squeezing the cloth as her head bobs, “Hht-XSh!” her body jolts with effort. She remains clenched over the counter, nose buried in her arm.
Finally, she decides to stand, wicking a thumb under her nose as subtly as possible.
Is it spreading already? Loki was sure she had a lid on it all. But, really, it isn’t surprising. If any of them have had contact with Stark before the party, the virus would be working its way through the group. If it’s the same as when Loki had it decades ago, it moves fast and hits hard.
Loki twists her wrist, manifesting a silk handkerchief and hands it to Natasha.
The Widow quirks her brow at Loki. “Interesting choice of accessories.” She plucks the cloth and dabs at her nose. “I thought these went out of style when we discovered germs.”
Loki snorts. Not if you’re magic. She tinkles a fake laugh, “I do a lot of laundry.” She makes sure to enchant it nice and clean before taking it back from Natasha.
“Are you feeling ill?” Loki asks.
“I’m fine, ignore me,” Nat says, voice pitching lower the more she speaks. She leans her rear against the back of the counter and pulls out her phone. Her face crimps as she reads the screen. She sniffles as she types furiously, shoulders strung and hard with the weight of her task.
Loki snatches the opportunity to reach out and graze Natasha’s temple with two fingers.
The Widow’s mind resembles an in-depth to-do list, constantly ticking off tasks and filing away information for later use. But under the surface, something pulses. Loki senses the familiar spear of self-hatred. It surprises her, almost infects her thoughts, memories of a childhood in Thor’s shadow dribbling over her vision…
Loki grunts as her arm is wrenched back, Natasha instinctively defending herself. Loki has to fight the urge to retaliate in kind.
Nat pops back to reality and releases her, “Sorry. I--hpTSCH!” she barely catches her nose in her wrist. “Mn..” She lets out a throaty cough that alerts passersby.
“Hey Nat, you ok?” Maria Hill slides onto a barstool, martini glass in her forked fingers.
Nat brushes her nose with the heel of her palm. “Fine. I swear.”
“You’d say that no matter what,” Maria frowns.
“Drink?” Loki holds out a goblet filled with swirling orange liquid.
“No,” Maria says, pushing her own drink away, “Not if she’s sick.”
Natasha pinches her lips at her.
“What? I’m serious. You should rest. You’re always so worked up--”
“Actually, I will, thanks.” Natasha grabs the cocktail and turns. “I’ll be in my office.” She glides out of the bar and heads down the hall, hips swaying as she sips the drink.
Maria bites her lip as she watches Nat leave. Loki snags Maria’s drink, quickly drizzling magic into the glass. “Want to join her?”
“Yeah…” Hill mumbles, eyes still following Natasha.
Loki holds out the glass. Maria snaps out of her trance and blinks at the drink. “Um,” she plucks it by the stem, “I guess.” Her lips roll and she gives the hall a faraway stare. “I gotta…” she clips away, hurrying after Nat.
No mistaking that look in her eyes. Hopefully she will drink at least half. Loki will have to track down the Widow later. She turns to scan the room, her gaze withering as she sees the guests emptying from the party.
Loki swipes her brow, feeling sweaty and slightly shaky. The euphoria from earlier is crashing and she feels the weight of her magic pressing down on her shoulders. It’s a different kind of exhaustion, one that can only be repent with rest.
She winds her way around the party, ticking off guests who have left and letting the drapes of enchantment fall away gradually. She can keep this in check.
Something glints out of the window. A green gash of light, arcing across the black sky. A shooting star…humans do so love the romance of them.
“Dust bunny!” An arm winds around Loki’s neck and Tony grins at her, cheeks rosy and dimpled. “You,” he points at Loki with the hand curled around his tumbler, “need to relax. You’re killing the vibe, man. Lady.” He tips the drink, “Whatever you are.”
“Are you drunk?” Loki asks, but his ripe breath answers the question for her.
“You bet.”
Loki peels herself out of his grasp. “Are you mad? What about the scepter?”
“We got a whole tower full of people who kick ass for a living. Lighten up.”
“Are you not even a little concerned?”
“I’m always concerned, Mr. Bunny.” Tony takes a glug. “In fact, I--” he blinks, face popping to life. He wrenches his arm up, spilling into the crook of his elbow, “HmSHH!” his steps stutter forward and his drink sloshes over the rim, “IehGSchh-nn!”
Loki steadies him with a glare. “Lovely. Really. Now that you’ve infected the town, I believe it’s time for you to retire.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
“Well, you obviously cannot handle being responsible yourself.”
“Honestly? That’s your fault,” Tony growls.
“Excuse me? How is your imprudence my doing?”
“The portal,” Tony slurs, “I can’t…” he shunts his gaze down into his drink, staring intently as if the ice will dance.
Loki frowns, curiosity overtaking her. She reaches out, the tips of her fingers caressing Tony’s temple.
Mark 4 Mark 7 Mark 9 all in lab--
What if he’s lying--could all be a trick--
it’s gonna be ok
No it’s not--scepter--danger--do something! Do something now!
No, you’re overreacting--everything’s fine everything’s--
Loki--dangerous--liar--punch him punch him punch--
No No No--Stop thinking Stop thinking Stop thinking Stop--
Suns and Stars, even a dumptruck full of liquor can’t calm this man’s mind. No wonder he has so many vices.
Tony slaps Loki’s hand away. “Do you look both ways before getting on my fucking nerves, dust bunny?”
Loki’s lips twist in a glare. Tony finishes his drink and nods. “I gotta go. It’s VIP time.” He wanders away, gathering up the remaining guests. VIP time seems to be for Avengers only.
Loki sighs, a headache budding. Did she get everyone? Where is Romanoff? She’s certain she got every guest who left. All of this magic has left her feeling drained. She can feel the energy whirlpooling out of her.
Who is left? She ticks off her fingers, frowning.
The men are all gathered around a table, playing ‘Who can lift Thor’s hammer?’ Loki tsks. Humans. They’ll never wrap their minds around the workings of gods.
Loki winds around the room, hoping to lure someone out of the group.
“Heh-EKXSSHH-ew!!” the loud expulsion startles everyone to silence. It’s a commanding sneeze--the type that demands attention. And it came from Rogers.
“Whoa,” Steve gives his head a tiny shake. “Haven’t done that in a while.”
Loki feels her blood ice. Shit! She’s losing the advantage here. If they’ve all been in contact with the virus, her protection spell won’t do a damn thing.
“Hrrshh-eh!” Steve burrows down, spine bending, “Ehshhh-ieu! HiehSSHHK!”
“Steve, jesus, are you--” Sam throws himself onto his feet.
Steve pulls himself up and wipes his nose. “What…” his eyes gloss when he sees the blood coating his fingers.
“You have a nosebleed?” Bruce asks, alarmed.
“This…never happ--” Steve presses a palm to his forehead and groans.
Sam folds a clump of tissues under his nose. Bruce leans down and tests his forehead.
“He’s warm, not feverish yet.”
“What the hell…”
Loki hasn't moved from her statuesque position. She is startled out of her daze when Tony stomps drunkenly toward her.
“Stark, I--”
He slams her against a pillar, arm pressed to her throat.
“Tony!” someone gasps.
“Did you do this?” Tony growls.
“Why yes, I am in the habit of giving people random nosebleeds. I’m kinky like that.”
There it is. The snark. Loki can’t seem to help sliding in the sass, even when the read of the room begs for sincerity.
And she gets what she deserves. Tony punches her clean in the face.
Loki wasn’t expecting it. She lashes out with a blast of green, summoning the dregs of magic left in her. Tony is tugged away by the others, and the room goes completely still.
“What in the…”
They are all staring at Loki. Loki starts to speak but instead of his disguised voice, he sounds as he usually does.
Shit. He pats himself down, peering at his clothes and body. He’s himself again, wearing his TVA uniform. He is no longer disguised.
He looks up at the furious faces of the Avengers, feeling a slap of deja vu.
Well. Shit.