Viral Paradox

Friday:

Loki’s head cracks against the solid floor, wind gusting from his lungs as he skids on his back. He blinks stars from his vision and lifts his head.
At first he is convinced the last 24 hours were a dream--he never left Stark’s party. Guests mill about, music trickles through invisible speakers, the tinkle of glasses, bursts of laughter all collide together.
Friday. He’s been sent back to Friday.
Loki pushes himself up and winces. He’s sore and the gash on his cheek trickles blood. He brushes magic across it, stemming the flow.
He slides into a nook away from roaming eyes and palms the tempad. His fingers hover over the button when he hears the thunder of his brother’s laugh.
He freezes, the memory of this night electric in his mind. The shooting star. Thor coming to his defense.
Oh. OH. Well then.
Loki replaces the tempad and follows the sound of Thor’s voice. He keeps to the shadows, preying on opportunities. He watches for Thor, ignoring the pulsing in his temple.
There he is, golden hair haloing his head, jaw so square it could mark blueprints, his expression in that gray area of sarcastic and goofy. He is mingling with Stark and having a competition about who’s girlfriend is better. Figures. Thor has to win at everything.
The group fizzles and Thor is left alone to mosey. He wanders toward the window, muttering about his lover, peering out as if searching for her.
He’s alone and no one is nearby. It’s now or never.
Loki glides up behind him and drums his fingers across Thor’s shoulder.
Thor turns and shock lights his eyes like a lantern. His jaw moves but Loki laces fingers across his mouth. He presses a free finger to his own lips. “Shhh…”
Thor wrenches away, grasping Loki’s wrist and snarling. “What the Hel--”
“Did you miss me?” Loki croons.
Thor’s eyes gleam. “I should have known,” he releases Loki. “You were always good at slithering out of trouble.”
“You have no idea.”
“Are you here for the scepter?” Thor flexes, “You will not get it.”
“Oddly,” Loki smirks, “That question has multiple answers.” He tamps down a wave of dizziness, squeezing his eyes shut and drinking in a breath as if through a straw.
Thor’s lips rub together. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Likely everything,” Loki quips.
“I am in no mood for games.”
“Are you ever?”
Thor fists Loki’s shirt and pulls him close, “I will not allow you to harm these people, Loki.”
Loki sputters his lips, bursting with a maniacal giggle. I was just in this situation!
He disentangles himself from Thor’s grasp and ducks away. Thank the Stars it’s dark. Thor hasn’t noticed his injuries.
“You and your associates certainly like to manhandle me.”
“They know you’re here?”
“Only Stark. At least for now. They will all find out soon.”
“What are you scheming?”
“Truly?” Loki brushes his hair back, “Not a damn thing.”
A light flashes outside the window, illuminating the two of them. Loki leans away, but Thor’s eyes are already widening, taking in the bruise purpling under his eye, the gash across his jaw, the state of his disheveled, grimy clothes.
“What--” Thor’s words are mere breath. He flows toward Loki, “in the Nine Realms,” his palm cups Loki’s chin, “happened to you?!” he jerks Loki’s head to the side, inspecting the damage.
Loki wrenches away, batting Thor’s hand. “Nothing to concern yourself over,” he snaps.
“Loki…those injuries…” Thor’s muscles are tight, his eyes livid. “How did you…”
“You’ll find out soon. Tonight, the Avengers will learn I am here, and they will attempt to attack me. I need you to convince them to stay their hands.”
Thor’s jaw clenches, eyes glassy.
“Stark is going to punch the bartender. All will be explained once this happens. But I…” Loki blinks, jaw hinged open with the tail end of the word, morphing into a groan of an inhale. “Hhht--” his knuckles creep toward his nose, “Hdt-ZZSH!” His fingers close around his mouth, “NgSH!”
“Are you ill?” Thor’s voice climbs higher.
Loki scrubs his nose, “Of course, you damn fool. I--HiESZZH!” he stutters forward and Thor wings out an arm to steady him.
Hm. Suppose Loki does get him sick after all…
“Hey, Point Break!”
Thor releases Loki who instinctively melds into the shadows.
Tony thumbs the sitting area, “Come on. It’s VIP hour,” he calls, and, in typical Tony fashion, walks away without waiting for an answer.
Thor turns back toward Loki but the trickster is gone.

Future (TVA)

Loki never thought he’d be happy about a runt of a room within such a massive building. It isn’t even an important room! But when he steps through the portal and the tepid air hits his skin, relief ripples his face and he throws himself into the chair at his desk.
He scrubs a palm over his face and empties his lungs, leaning his head back against the pressure drumming in his head. His face feels thick and cloudy, movement is starting to grow sluggish. He presses his palms to his eyes and moans.
Footsteps tap toward him and he straightens. Mobius stands at the doorway.
Loki’s palm flies up, “Stop.”
Mobius freezes midstep. “What--”
Loki pulls the palm to his face and presses his nose into it. “H-h-Hegssxt!”
“Ah. Caught it, huh?”
Loki massages his forehead. “Obviously,” his voice cracks as it edges into a hitch, “Hhh--ih-EXSZZHH! ISZZHH-iehh!”
“Damn, you’ve got it bad.”
Loki thunks his forehead onto the desk and groans dramatically.
“Are you going to be able to go back?”
“Ng…do I have a choice?”
“I mean, we are time travelers. You could get well and then pop back.”
Loki flaps a hand in the air. “I’ll just get sick again--and that will come with more risks. Best to get it…ehhh…heih..HGXSST! *sndf* Get it done now.” He didn’t move when he sneezed and the desk is now dewy with mist.
Mobius tsks, “Now you’re gonna have to disinfect that.”
“I’ll get to it later.”
Mobius bobs forward, then stops himself again. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, as if itching to inch inside. “If…if you need anything…”
“I’ll be fine,” Loki lifts his head and coughs, the sound raking through his chest. His hair tangles in his face, and it tugs Mobius like a magnet. Loki’s always making sure his hair never covers his magnificent face.
Loki heaves himself out of the chair. “I have to take the antidotes to the Avengers.”
“They all have it?”
“Most of them.”
“Do you have enough for everyone?”
“Hopefully,” Loki measures six vials total. He mentally tallies it out. Stark, Rogers, Banner, Romanoff, Thor, and himself. Yes, that should do it.
He secures the vials in a pouch and preps the tempad.
“Loki,” Mobius calls, “You could rest first.” He juts his chin toward the bedroom. “Take a nap. Then go.”
A smile ghosts Loki’s lips, “Worried after my health, Mobius?”
“I just don’t look forward to doing the paperwork if you bite it in the past.”
“Yes, well, the longer I wait, the worse I’ll get. And I can’t take a dose myself until I’m certain no one else needs it.”
“That’s big of you.”
Loki shrugs, “I also hate paperwork.” He straightens his tie and steps back in time.

Sunday

It’s early when Loki arrives. He makes a beeline for the kitchen to mix one of the antidotes into a beverage. He finds tiny boxes of packaged tea. How very human.
Once the drink is prepared, Loki seeks out Stark. He will need the antidote most.
Tony isn’t difficult to find--Loki needs only to follow the sounds of coughing and complaining. He’s in a bedroom and while the door is ajar, Loki isn’t sure how to approach. He taps knuckles to the wood.
“Stark?” he calls.
The door swings open with Bruce standing on the other side. “Loki, where have you been?”
“Ahm, shopping,” Loki says. He steps inside and sees Tony propped up in what is clearly an uncomfortable position to improve cough and drainage. And it doesn’t seem to be helping. Coughs keep ripping from his chest, each one leaving him more raw and brittle than before.
Loki passes the mug of tea to him, granting him a quizzical look.
“Loki is giving me tea,” Tony squints at him. “Is it spiked?”
Loki forces his face to remain smooth.
Tony sniffs it. “I don’t know how good of an idea it is to accept anything from you. But you bartended my party and nobody died.”
Loki sighs dramatically, swaying his shoulders. “Drink it or don’t, Stark. I care not,” he lies.
It works. Tony brings it to his lips and drinks. “Mm? What kind of tea is this?”
“It is of Asgard. It will…soothe you.”
“Think I need soothing, then?”
“You…hhh--” Loki smushes his nose into his palm, pulling himself away from Tony, “HXssszzh!” his lids flutter and he shakes his head with a sniffle.
“You don’t look so hot yourself, dust bunny.”
Loki frowns. “You’re one to talk. Shall I grab your walker?”
Bruce jumps in. “Wait, now Loki is getting this too?”
“Like that, wouldn’t you? Me, catching a human illness.”
Now they’re both looking at him suspiciously. Tony breaks first, body jarring forward as coughs clang around in his throat, each one shaking the mug of tea. It sloshes over the rim and Loki jerks forward.
“Don’t spill that!”
“Relax,” Tony wheezes, “it’s just a…hhhh…” his knuckles whiten around the mug, “Hdt’SHHH-gh!” another slosh causes Loki to glare at him. Tony tries to sniffle but his nose is too blocked. “Fine, I’ll just chug it.” He tips the drink into his mouth, gasping before he’s done.
“Loki,” Bruce tugs his arm, pulling him to the side. “Do you mind if I take some samples from you?”
“What? Are you insane?”
“Calm down, it’d just be blood.”
“Hah, no. I think not.”
Bruce narrows his eyes. “I just want to figure out--”
Loki silences him with a hand, “You are not getting the blood of a god. You cannot handle it. I do not trust you with it. End of conversation.”
Bruce and Tony share a look, Tony mouthing ‘Wooooow’.
Loki rolls his eyes and points at Tony. “Finish your tea.”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Eugh,” Loki saunters away, attempting to hunt more of them down. Where is everyone? Shouldn’t a place this vast and mazelike have a map of some sort?
It turns out to be a simple matter of following the voices of women arguing to find his next target. The door is completely shut this time, so Loki gives the wood a severe knock.
“Romanoff?”
The door clips open and Maria Hill peers out with one accusatory eye in the crack.
“Fuck off, Loki.”
“I’m not here for mischief.”
Nat rumbles something behind her. It’s impossible to make out, her throat coarse as if she were gargling sandpaper.
Maria hurries to her side. Through the door crack, Loki can barely see them. Maria grabs a washcloth from a bowl and wrings it out before holding it to Natasha’s face.
The Widow smacks her arm away. “I can handle it. HHeeehSHhh--!”
“You know, Nat, accepting help doesn’t make you weak. You let Barton help you all the time,” a tinge of jealousy pricks her words.
“That’s different. We’re combat partners. I’d never ask him to tuck me in bed.” Her throat barks with a chorus of coughs, ending in a bristly, “HiYehh-KSSHH’IT-eu!”
“You’re not going to fight or sneak your way out of this cold. Let me help.”
Natasha glowers but she lays back and lets Maria spread the cloth over her eyes and sinuses before returning to Loki.
Her face is a swathe of rage and worry. “Look, I don’t care what you’re here for. You need to leave.”
Loki holds up the fizzy vial, “Have her drink this.”
Maria squints in suspicion. “What is it?”
“It will help.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Very well,” Loki twirls the vial between two fingers. ”Suffer well, then.”
A chorus of expulsions mangle Nat’s throat, leaving her gasping and panting. Maria pales, eyes skipping from her to the vial.
“It will really help?”
Loki presses a hand to his heart, “I swear on my godhood.”
“Pfff, yeah, ok.” She frowns, “Will it make her sleepy?”
“Sleepy?”
“Yeah. She won’t rest. Will this make her lay the fuck down?”
Loki’s fingers spark to life and he taps the vial, magic shivering into the liquid. “It will now.”
Maria blinks, as if she isn’t sure whether that makes it better or worse. “Uh, thanks…I guess…”
Loki is already leaving. He trusts Hill will do what must be done. She may not trust Loki, but love is a powerful motivator.
Now he needs to find Rogers. The Captain was hit swiftly, and his illness has progressed so vigorously, Loki can practically sense it hovering at his door.
He pauses before entering, stretching his shoulder, working his sore muscles back to life. Rest will come for him soon. Once this is taken care of, he can rest until worlds end.
Loki tucks the next vial into his inner coat pocket and grabs the handle. He eases the door open. It’s almost pitch black inside. Loki flicks his fingers and several small buds of green light allow him sight.
Steve is splayed out on the bed, white sweat-soaked sheets tangled around his sculpted body. He’s shirtless, skin shiny, the sheets nearly transparent like a sandwich wrapper. He’s face down on a pillow, arm slung out, breaths shallow and thick.
“Rogers,” Loki murmurs.
Steve groans, twisting the sheets as he rolls over. His eyes are glazed with fever, his skin pink and hot. He looks gaunt, shoulders shaking as he squints wearily at Loki.
Steve drinks in a liquid sniff, throat tight and whiny. “Bucky?”
Loki’s brow pinches, “Ahm…”
Steve’s arm flies out, fingers coiling into Loki’s shirt. He tugs, Loki feels the inhuman strength of his pull, “B-Buck,” he coughs, “I had…this dream…”
Loki isn’t quite sure what to do. Stars, this guy got hit with a truck by the virus. He tries to pry Steve’s fingers open but when he hears the sobs, he stills.
“I’m so sorry,” Steven whimpers, breaths coming sharp and fast. “I’m so--hnn--sorry…”
Loki feels a pull in his chest. He recognizes the emotion in those words. He eases himself onto the mattress. “Shhh…” he croons, “It will be alright, Rogers,” he murmurs, “You must drink this.” He uncorks the vial and brings it to Steve’s parched lips.
The second the liquid touches his tongue, Steve’s eyes fly open. He thrashes, caught in a flashback. He knocks the vial from Loki’s hand and it shatters onto the floor.
“F--!” Loki bites off the curse as he leaps up to avoid becoming Steve’s next target. The Captain calms down and folds himself into a crooked crescent moon.
Loki sighs. Well, so much for the easy way. He flicks his wrist, summoning the spilled liquid from the floor and arcing it toward Steve.
“I apologize for this,” he whispers as he takes Steve’s jaw and squeezes his lips apart. He manipulates the antidote down his throat, taking caution so he doesn’t choke. The instant it’s done, Loki careens backwards as Steve sputters, expecting another dazed attack.
But Steve merely coughs, pressing his nose deep into his pillow. His shoulders thicken with a deep inhale, “Hrshh-eh! Hmf-SHH-eh!”
Loki backpedals toward the door, toes sliding across the wood. Mission accomplished. Now, escape before--
“Buck…”
I could still leave. Just keep going--out the door and--
“Please…” Steve snuffles, arm crawling about the bed, searching.
Damn. It really sucks, this empathy thing.
Loki seats himself back on the mattress. “I’m here.”
“S-sing to me,” Steve begs.
Loki makes a surprised noise in his throat. How is this man so soft? After the hells he’s experienced, what shield protects his heart?
“Please, Buck? Like you used to..”
“Oh, ahm,” Loki twists his lips, thinking. “Alright…”

Tra le onde dell’oceano
Richiami al tuo se svelato
Oltre il cielo puro e limpido
Riveli il tuono in me
In un eco di tempesta il tuo
Intenso divenire
La mia fonte di tormento
Passione vera lo ti trovero

Loki sings verse after verse, each word making Steve sink into sleep. Once the Captain is snoring, at least half an hour later, Loki stands.
He manages to slip out and close the door without waking Steve. Thank the Stars because he “Hhh,” needs to, S-”hhh--” neeze.
He grabs the collar of his shirt and jerks it up like a shield, aiming his nose down into it, “Hgx’TSZZ!”
Someone pats his back, muttering a quick, “Bless you” as they pass down the hall.
“Thank--” Loki turns to see empty air where the passerby was. He doesn’t have long to be confused as Pepper Potts turns the corner and marches up to him. Her face is drawn, ponytail swinging behind her.
“Miss Potts, I must thank you for--”
“Did you give Tony the antidote?”
Loki’s face flickers, dumbstruck. “Excuse me?”
“The antidote, Loki. Tony’s sick. Did you give it to him?”
“How do you know about…”
Pepper touches fingers to her lips. “Oh, uhm…” her features trickle into uncertainty and she takes a step backwards. “Nevermind. Sorry.” She pivots away but Loki grabs her arm.
“Potts, what--”
“Loki!” Thor’s voice calls from the other side of the hall. Pepper uses the opportunity to slip from Loki’s grasp and scurry away.
Loki calls out after her but his brother is swiftly approaching. His blue eyes fixate on Loki’s cheek and he nods. “I suppose we have caught up to each other, no?”
“Ah, yes,” Loki brushes the gash with his thumb, “The party. Apologies for that. But I have something for you.” He reaches into his pocket, hunting the pouch.
But his fingers find only the cloth of his pocket.
“No…” Loki plunges his hand into every sleeve on his person. “No, no, no no.”
They’re gone. Where--
“Loki…”
Loki turns his head up, lips pinched in annoyance. “Yes?”
“Where have you been? I feared…”
The crackle of a voice turns all attention to the speakers. Banner announces he needs to speak with anyone able to gather in the common room.
Thor frowns at him. “Why do I have a feeling this involves you, brother?”
Because it very likely does.
In the common room, Maria, Barton, Thor, even Stark, who is improving nicely, are all standing there, milling about as Banner gives his presentation. Rogers and Romanoff must not have recovered enough yet.
“I have information I need to share,” Bruce says. “I’ve been experimenting with this virus. I started because I thought it was strange for it to affect Steve. To affect me.”
Heads turn, everyone thinking similarly--Banner is ill?
Loki attempts to slink away but Thor grabs him by the neck of his collar. “Did you have something to do with this?”
Loki bites his lip, but Bruce continues talking.
“Something seemed wrong with this, and after I noticed that Loki was sick too, I ran some tests with DNA from myself, Steve, Tony, and Thor.”
Loki curses under his breath. Damn Thor. Why would he offer up Asgardian blood so easily?
“The virus is from Asgard.”
Collective intakes of air, a few swears, and all eyes zoom to Thor and Loki.
“I knew not of this,” Thor says. “Loki fell ill after Stark. I assumed…”
“Maybe he traveled into the past and gave it to us.”
Loki sputters, “Impossible. I wasn’t in this timeline until last Thursday. That’s when I first saw Stark, and he was already ill with the virus. I had to drain my powers just to prevent it from spreading through your party.”
Bruce needles him with a look. “So you knew what this was? The whole time?”
They’re all staring at him. Their gazes are white hot, making his neck flush. Loki opens his mouth to explain but all that comes out is a hiss of air. “Hhh-TSZZH! EXgSHT!” They erupt out of him, misting the palm he clamped over his mouth.
“Well said, dust bunny.”
Thor strides forward. “Did you truly know? That we were infecting humans?”
“We got it from them!” Loki spits.
“Are we sure it was him?”
“Who else would it have been?”
“They’re both Asgardian.”
“Loki knew though!”
They all pin eyes on him again. Loki opens his arms, “Look, yes, I did know. But I’ve been administering an antidote to you all. So, really, you should be thanking me--”
“Hah! Classic,” Barton sneers.
Thor’s eyes crimp, “It is not so simple, Loki. These people trusted you.”
“And I did good by them! I saved their lives!” Loki steps toward Tony, desperation clawing his hands. “Stark, tell them--tell them I mean well.”
Tony peers at Loki, his hollow cheeks twitching, gears grinding in his mind. He flicks his gaze toward the group, then back to Loki. He leans into him, breath warming Loki’s ear.
“Is this it?”
Loki jerks back, brow creased. “Is this what?”
Tony’s lips thin. He looks down, fingers brushing something unseen in his jacket. He looks back at Loki, a steely look in his eyes. He claps Loki on the shoulder and nods. “Good luck, dust bunny.”
Loki goldfishes, “Wait, what?”
Tony strides away, Pepper following him. Loki spins his gaze, hoping someone will defend him this time.
No one does.
Bruce shakes his head. “Loki. You should leave.”
“You’re serious?”
A round of nods.
“Don’t send me away. I need to be here to protect the scepter. To protect…”...you!
Barton scoffs. “I think we can handle it ourselves.”
Flames burn in Loki’s gut. Anger is so much easier than despair. “Very well,” he snaps, slamming the buttons on the tempad. “I will leave you to your deaths.”
Barton waves a sarcastic goodbye. And that’s that.