Cruel Vengeance

Avengers Tower

November 2011

Loki decided to calm his mind by cooking.

It wasn’t so different from spellcasting, or studying, and it engaged his hands as well as his mind. He’d often used a private corner of the palace kitchens in his childhood to settle himself when he needed an escape from Thor and his pack of warriors-in-training.

“Who’s making foo–oh what the hell,” Clint said, skidding to a stop in the doorway. “I thought you were a prince or something, how do you know how to cook?”

Loki narrowed his eyes. What are you doing in the kitchens, you mestagg? the other children jeered in his mind.

“How I choose to spend my time is not your prerogative,” he said stiffly. He would not stand for another set of warrior-people to use him as their performing festival creature or source of entertainment. If that’s what this became–

“Whoa, chill, it’s cool,” Clint said, sliding onto a bar stool. “I can’t cook to save my life. Tasha says it’s because I’m too impatient.”

“There is a certain degree of patience required,” Loki agreed, speaking slowly. He’d paused midway between the refrigerator and the heating device they called an “oven,” peering at Clint. Searching for any sign of mockery.

He found none.

“So what’re you making?” Clint asked.

Loki hesitated.

“I am attempting to approximate a dish from Vanaheim,” he said at last. “The plants that grow on this planet are not quite the same, and it is proving more difficult than I expected.”

“More than I could do,” Clint said. “Smells amazing.”

“I… am glad you approve,” Loki said.

“You’re so awkward,” Clint muttered. “Hey, where’s Darcy?”

Loki’s hands hesitated the barest fraction of a second over the pot on the stove. He cursed himself for it and hoped Clint would not notice. “Dr. Foster has arranged for Darcy to have an evening with a friend of hers,” he said.

“Oooh, blind date. Yeah, those suck,” Clint said.

“They ‘suck’,” Loki repeated, narrowing his eyes. He could imagine multiple possible interpretations of that statement, and none of them appealed to him. His familiar knee-jerk rage came hissing to life.

“Yeah, they can go pretty badly if the person setting you up doesn’t pick well–hold up, where are you going?”

“To ensure that Miss Lewis’ date does not harm her,” Loki said in his most reasonable voice.

Clint jumped off the stool and got in his way. “Stop. Seriously. That’s way overreactive. I meant… she just might not have fun, okay? It’s not like he’s going to… beat her up behind a Dumpster or something. Well. It’s possible. But not likely. Jane knows this guy. And she’s smart enough to watch her drinks. And she has a Taser. She’ll be fine.”

Fool, Loki thought. Making incorrect assumptions, rash decisions, and here you are looking the idiot in front of Clint. You may as well create fire letters above your head spelling out “I Care About Darcy Lewis”. “Taser,” he mused. “The lightning weapon with which she disabled Thor, no?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, and relaxed when Loki returned to the kitchenette space. “She always carries it, and a knife. I’ve been teaching her how to use them both. No worries, Mime.”

“Mime?” Loki repeated incredulously. Allspeak translated the word as a mummer’s farce played on one of Asgard’s holidays. “That is far worse than… ‘Gravity Man,’ or those other foolish monikers.”

“That’s cold,” Clint said, not looking overly concerned. “Hey, are you making enough food for all of us?”

Loki examined the various pans simmering or baking on the stove and in the oven. “I expect that the final product will be more than adequate in quantity.” Perhaps a meal with the Avengers–whoever was in the tower tonight–would distract him from the fact that Darcy was out in the city with another man. From the glimpse into her past that she’d given him that afternoon.

It made his blood boil with rage just to think of it. Between Darcy’s facial expressions, her words, those of the man on the phone (who he’d been able to hear quite clearly), and the heavy subtext of the conversation, Loki had pieced together that her childhood had been far less than idyllic, and that the man who had made it so was still alive.

He was already considering which workings would be most appropriately cruel to lay on Darcy’s father as penance for what he’d done.

But he would wait for Darcy’s request. It was her grievance to forgive or resent.

“Hey. Loki. Did that pot murder your mom or something? Because you’re glaring. And kind of… sparking,” Clint said.

Loki blinked and looked down, away from the pot to which his gaze had fixated.

Green sparks were indeed spitting from his hands.

“My apologies,” Loki said smoothly, but inside, he was shaken. It had been a long, long time since anyone got beneath his skin enough to cause his seidr to react unconsciously like that. Not a good sign.

So much for my resolution to restrict any attachment to these Midgardians. To Lady Darcy.

Hissing from the stove caught his attention.

“The meal is ready for consumption,” Loki said.

“Awesome, I’ll message the others. Jane and Bruce are here tonight… Maybe Steve, definitely Tony…” Clint trailed off, tapping away at his StarkPhone.

Loki reached out with hands and seidr to shift food from pots into bowls and platters ready to be laid out along the table. It was automatic, and he only realized halfway through that almost all the Avengers’ meals were entirely informal, on the occasions when they made a point of dining together.

It was of no consequence, he decided. They were eating Vanir dishes, and they might as well be presented with their meal in the fashion that it would be offered on Vanaheim.

Rogers was the first in the door. He hesitated, blinked in surprise. “That’s… a lot of food,” he said slowly.

Loki didn’t look at him. Best to appear casual, though in truth he was not entirely sure how to proceed with this. Behave as though things are as usual and they will behave as such as well, he admonished himself, and poured himself a glass of the amber liquor called Scotch of which he had grown rather fond. “You have been introducing me to an astonishing variety of Midgardian cuisine,” he said. “In return, I offer a meal such as you may be served on Vanaheim in a formal setting, though it is but an approximation. Midgardian spices and food products are not quite the same.”

Stark arrived halfway through his explanation. “Smells like a party for my taste buds,” he said, sticking a finger into a sauce in the center of the long glass table.

He froze right after he tasted the sauce. “Wait a second, am I going to drop dead of seizures if I eat this?”

“I would not dream of poisoning my esteemed hosts,” Loki said with a hint of a cunning smile. He inserted the precise quantity of sarcasm into his tone to suggest he was joking, but not enough to be entirely clear, so they would remain on edge. He swept his amusement from his face when Rogers and Clint both looked faintly alarmed.

“Right,” Stark muttered. “I totally trust you.”

“I’m so glad I happened to fall in with a gathering of Midgardians who appreciate sarcasm,” Loki remarked, taking his usual place at the table. Most of the Avengers tended to subconsciously congregate near the end with the windows; he typically chose a seat that would allow them to give him space if they chose. “This life would be horribly boring, otherwise.”

“Boring,” Clint scoffed, sitting down to his right. “Right. My life is so easy and simple and uneventful, says the deposed prince from outer space eating around a table with some of the weirdest people this realm’s ever produced.”

“Precisely,” Loki said.

It should not be this easy to relax in their company.

Jane and Bruce arrived a few moments later, arguing animatedly over something so technical even Allspeak struggled to accurately translate.

“Is this everyone?” Stark asked. “Sam, Natasha?”

“Natasha and Bucky are showering up,” Clint said. “She texted me and said not to wait. They spent the afternoon beating each other to a pulp in the training rooms.”

“Of course they did,” Jane muttered. “Why you jock people never stop hitting each other I do not understand–”

“We don’t get your science obsession either,” Clint objected.

“Don’t disrespect the science,” Stark said, pointing a fork at Clint. His mouth was already full of food. “Our “science obsessions” keep you employed right now, Legolas, and they made that fancy peashooter of yours too.”

“Hey!” Clint said.

“Sam’s at home tonight,” Rogers said. “He had to work at the VA today and it ran long.”

Loki hmmm’d noncommittally and tasted his meal. He’d done a passable job imitating the balance of flavors and textures the Vanir were so proud of in their unique branch of cuisine, given the ingredients he had to work with, but it was woefully simple. He wondered what Darcy would’ve thou–

Loki shut that thought down before it could form.

“This is… really good,” Rogers said. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome,” Loki said. “It is the least I could do. You have introduced me to the wonders of pizza.”

“If only all peace treaties were that simple,” Bruce muttered.

“The end of the Yllvr–Trytan wars can be largely attributed to their emperors’ mutual appreciation for soup made in the skull of bilgesnipe,” Loki said without thinking, and then froze and withdrew behind a distant expression. That was precisely the kind of comment that would’ve gotten him mocked and scorned on Asgard, sent him retreating from the dining hall with slurs that translated to nerd and stupid useless scholar chasing behind–

There was a pause.

“Huh,” Rogers said. “I’ve… never heard of those empires. What… uh, realm are they from?”

“What care of it is yours?” he said frostily.

“You brought it up,” Stark said when Rogers looked offended and even Jane paused.

Clint leaned forward. “Loki, we’re not making fun of you,” he said. “Just so you know.”

Loki looked at him. He was most familiar with Clint (Bruce being the possible exception) of the people at this table. He knew Clint’s instincts were excellent, and that there had evidently been no mockery intended earlier, either.

“I… apologize… for my reaction,” he said, choosing his words carefully. He hated allowing himself to be this vulnerable. “My experience has been that–that speaking of such topics during meals is not of interest for people trained in combat.”

“Thor’s really an ass,” Clint said. Despite his flippant words, Loki detected real anger under the surface, and smiled internally. Thor would face much more significant consequences than he would expect should he ever deign to return to Midgard.

“I will not disagree,” Loki said. “You are… truly curious?”

“Using food to end a war?” Clint said. “Hell yeah, I can get behind that.”

“Ah… well,” Loki said. “In that case… The conflict between the Yllvr people and the Trytans lasted centuries…”

Dinner was surprisingly pleasant. He even managed, temporarily, to take his mind off of Darcy. Loki had known it, of course, but discussing the Yllvr-Trytan war and several other similar conflicts in other realms proved that Rogers’ mind was agile and clever. He had military experience and Loki found himself enjoying their conversation of tactics and strategy. Stark and Jane were more interested in the technologies developed by other cultures, while Bruce asked sharp questions about other biologies. Even Natasha and Barnes had arrived, though they seemed tired and didn’t speak much. Loki found himself answering their queries with pleasure, growing increasingly engaged as the time slipped by.

“Give me a break,” Clint said, laughing. “Fire on their wings?”

“Yes,” Loki said with a smile. “Secretions of volatile, viscous liquids which react with the air. It is a stress reflex, although some organisms have been known to gain conscious control over the ability.”

“Fascinating,” Bruce said. “What I wouldn’t give to study them.”

Loki paused.

It would not be especially difficult to create a portal and introduce Bruce to the fire-winged hrya of Vanaheim. Voidwalking was difficult for nonmages, and there was no precedent, to the best of Loki’s knowledge, for Midgardians taking portals. It wouldn’t be too difficult, however, to test with small portals that merely traveled across Midgard, or to craft a working that would shield Bruce from the worst effects of the journey.

“If you are serious in your interest…” he said slowly. “It would be possible to arrange one such journey.”

Bruce sat up straight, eyes electric. “Are you serious?”

“I’m always serious,” Loki said in a flat voice, eliciting a laugh from Clint and an appreciative snort from Stark.

“Yes,” Bruce said. “Absolutely. If it’s possible, yes.”

“It’s absolutely possible,” Loki said. “Some preparation would be necessary, of course, to ensure you would survive the journey and the environment of Vanaheim–I do not know whether the atmosphere, for example, can be processed by Midgardian bodies–but yes.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, leaning forward. It was the most alive Loki had seen him all evening. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

A favor given is a favor owed, Loki thought, but kept that to himself. It would only deflate the value of his offer; earning Bruce’s goodwill was important.

And so was Rogers’ good opinion. Loki glanced up the table at Rogers, silhouetted against the dark sky and brilliant lights of the nighttime city. Rogers was quite simple to read, and Loki detected a distinct air of wistfulness to his face. Barnes’ too.

“Rogers,” he said. “And Barnes. Should you wish to join us, you are welcome to do so.”

Rogers blinked. “Really?”

“I would not say it if I was not prepared for you to accept my offer,” Loki said.

In truth, he couldn’t quite tell exactly why he was making it. Even the promise of gaining their goodwill was not enough, from a purely objective stance, since they hadn’t known such a journey would be possible in the first place.

I have grown comfortable with them, Loki realized. Even to like them in a way I have not liked anyone for centuries. Even Rogers, who appeared rigid, was simply unsure of himself a large part of the time and wielded his soldierly stoicism as a defense.

“Sure,” Rogers said. “I… yeah. I’d like that.”

“Let’s make it a vacation,” Stark said, leaning forward and grinning infectiously. He only got more gregarious with every drink he consumed. “We can all go. Free tickets to see giant burning moth-things.”

“I never said it would be free for you,” Loki said with a sharp smile.

“Hoooo, he got you there!” Clint laughed, swatting Rogers’ arm. “Tasha! You coming on our realm-hopping cruise?”

“The Loki Cruise Line?” Natasha said. “Five star, I assume.”

“Continuous magical protection from all offrealm threats,” Loki said with a nod, keeping his face solemn. “Although I must say, this trip shall have to wait until… until Asgard no longer desires my death or imprisonment.”

Rogers and Stark shared a glance that was laden with subtext. Loki saw it, and saw Clint and Natasha notice it as well, and registered that neither of them showed surprise or confusion.

How interesting.

Loki resisted the urge to persuade them to tell him what they meant; it would be a simple matter to do so and then wipe their minds of the incident afterward. But there were some lines one did not cross, as a mage, with those one considered friends and allies, so Loki resolved to investigate later using less invasive means.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Clint said, and downed the last of his beer. “I’m off to bed. You need sleep too, Tony, that meeting with TerraCorp is tomorrow at nine and I gotta be there. Since technically I’m your bodyguard.”

“You do an excellent job guarding my body,” Stark said with a perfectly straight face.

“Ahhh, come on, man, you know sleeping with the boss is a terrible plan,” Clint said, laughing. “Seriously. No more of that-” he snatched Stark’s glass of liquor- “and you need to go sleep.”

“Yes, Mother,” Stark grumbled, but he did as Clint ordered with relatively good cheer, bidding the other Avengers good night. They were mostly sprawled out on sofas and armchairs now, rather than on the table; Barnes appeared to be half-asleep with his head on Natasha’s shoulder.

“We should go, too,” Natasha said, shaking him gently awake. “Zima.”

Barnes sat up, instantly alert. Soldier training. “Mmm?”

“Bed?” Natasha asked.

He nodded once and stood with her. “Loki,” he said, a goofy little smile hovering on his face. “Remind me to bring popcorn for the Stark-versus-fire-moths show, because that’s going to be entertaining.”

So there is a sense of humor in there. Barnes was recovering, and this was a good sign of it. Loki glanced at Steve and saw the hope and happiness written all over him.

“I shall certainly do so,” Loki said. “And extra for myself.”

Barnes’ grin got a little larger, and he left with Natasha. Bruce and Jane followed soon after, claiming exhaustion, though Loki noticed they both took the elevator down to the labs rather than up to the floors on which the Avengers lived.

Rogers tapped the coffee table thoughtfully, twice, drank the last of his beer, and rose. “I’m off too. Are you waiting for Darcy?” he asked.

Loki almost lied. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“Huh.” Rogers was examining him closely. “She’s been helping you a lot, right? With… adjusting?”

“She has.”

Rogers paused. “Don’t hurt her, Loki.”

He didn’t think Rogers was referring to blows. “I have no intention of doing so,” Loki replied, injecting as much sincerity into his voice as possible.

Rogers nodded once and headed for the door.

Loki watched him go, Scotch in hand.

Rogers paused by the stairs leading up. “Oh,” he said, “and you can call me Steve. If you want.”

He waited, but when Loki said no more, he left the room.

Interesting.

Loki refilled his glass and went to stand by the windows. Darcy would have to come through here; the elevators from the lower floors went no higher than this story. And he had all the patience that over a thousand years of life could foster. It was not his natural reaction–Loki was unfortunately prone to rash decisions, and knew it–but patience was necessary for all the best plans.

So he would wait.

And in the meantime, he would enjoy the view of the city below.

It was beautiful, in a sharp-edged way. There was none of Asgard’s stately, sweeping architecture and golden light, no sense of millennia of tradition seeping from the earth. New York was bustling and bright and cutting-edge, the embodiment of Midgardian ambition and flux. The antithesis of everything stifling about the realm of Loki’s childhood.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the glass of the bay windows. It was cool and comfortingly solid against his skin.

When the doors swished open, Loki was slow to react. By the time he turned around, Darcy was halfway into the room, looking exhausted and vulnerable and terrifyingly appealing in the muted glow of the city.

“Loki?” she said uncertainly.