Archive of Our Own ^beta

2012:

Loki sits motionless in the glass cell of the helicarrier, half-buried in the fog of his own mind and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He exists at the pleasure of the mind stone, and under its influence, he couldn’t be happier.

The clunk of a heavy-duty door latch rouses him from reverie, and he watches from the corner of his eye as one of the mortals lets himself in. He recognizes the man from the archer’s threat assessment—Anthony Stark, the clever one with the motorized armor.

Stark glances around the empty hold as if to confirm he’s on his own, and then speaks into his watch, telling someone named JARVIS to lock the doors and loop the camera feeds.

Loki narrows his eyes, smug confidence fading into confusion.

With one arm stretched in front of him, Stark tilts his head forward, and a trillion tiny nanomachines pour out of his sleeve to coat the door. Loki’s eyebrows fly up as they reinforce the locks at their master’s mere thought. This is truly an impressive achievement, and not just for a mortal—no realm without magic should be this advanced. Barton’s report definitely didn’t mention this. It gives Loki pause for a moment, since it might actually interfere with his Stark Tower invasion plans.

“What are you doing?” he asks for reconnaissance.

Stark’s face is unreadable behind a pair of red shades. “What’s the matter, Reindeer Games? Never seen a turncoat before?”

Loki feels the first stirring of genuine interest since before the Void, but the brief spark of curiosity is quickly replaced again by the dull beat of the mind stone’s influence.

“Never one quite so bold, but no matter. You are no SHIELD interrogator, and it’s clear that your masters did not send you. Do you come to bargain with me?”

“Bargain, rescue, disintegrate—up to you, really.” Stark strides down the catwalk stairs and comes to a rest in front of the cell.

“I would recommend the former. I am not without mercy for those who know how to kneel and serve their betters. When I rule this planet, I will offer great rewards for loyalty.” Rising from his bench, Loki prowls up to the glass wall and presses close against it to peer down on Stark with sadistic glee. “Are you prepared to serve me, Stark?”

“Yeah, no offense, but I prefer to talk to the guy I’m making deals with. One sec.” Stark reaches into his pocket, pulls out a tiny glowing device, and activates it.

For a second, nothing happens but a low hum.

Then, like the quiet dissolution of a dispelled illusion, the ever-present thrumming melts away from inside Loki’s head, leaving silence in its wake. He blinks several times and slowly sinks to his knees, staring at his own hands, breathless and shaking.

“How did you…?” he whispers, swallowing hard against a bone-dry throat.

He has control again. The relief threatens to overwhelm him. Someone’s finally come to save him, after all this time. He hardly dares to believe it. He’d thought himself truly abandoned, but this man, this mortal—

Hope starts to well up in his chest.

He looks up at Stark, prepared to express his gratitude and awe, and his jaw drops in shock. With the influence of the mind stone gone, he has full access to his own magic again. He can see Stark’s aura in all its glorious arcs and depths, and it is absolutely soaked in time magic.

For the first time in his life, Loki finds himself at a loss for words.

Seemingly unaffected, Stark holds up the small device so Loki can see it.

“It’s like a Faraday cage for mind control. See, I had a little run-in with this big, bad sorcerer a while back. Guy tried to take over my brain, and what do you know? My arc reactor blocked it. Took me a few years to work out how to reproduce the effect on a larger scale, but now I’ve got a fifteen-foot radius of portable immunity. You need a minute?”

It takes a moment for Loki to shake off his speechless wonder and realize that Stark has asked him a question and is now frowning at the lack of response. Belatedly, it occurs to him that mortals rarely have the ability to see magic. The man is likely unaware of the cause of his distraction.

In fact, upon further reflection, it is embarrassingly obvious that the man could not have come here to save him. Time travel or not, Stark is a mortal of Midgard; his concern must of course be Midgard, and Loki—however unwilling—has until this moment been a threat to his realm. He must tread carefully here.

 “I… I must thank you. You’ve done me a great service, and I am in your debt,” Loki says with watchful deference, rising achily to his feet and giving a polite—if somewhat shaky—bow of his head against the glass. “If I might ask, you have traces of an extraordinarily powerful magic on you, and I can’t help but think you had greater purpose in coming here than merely to unshackle me. How may I return the favor?”

Stark laughs like he hasn’t just pulled off two sheer miracles in the space of a minute, eyes sharp and impressed.

“You don’t miss a beat, do you? You’re a smooth one when you’re not being fucked with by a bitchy space rock.”

“Bitchy space rock,” Loki echoes under his breath. It’s a deliberately trivializing epithet for an infinity stone, but as a way to confirm his awareness of the sceptor’s true nature, it serves its purpose.

“But no debt incurred,” Stark continues without pause. “I just thought we could have a chat. Shoot the breeze a little. Shoot other people a little less.”

“As you wish, of course,” Loki hurriedly agrees. “On the topic of… space rocks, I’ve never met a time traveler before. My understanding was that it wasn’t possible without the assistance of certain high-demand magical artefacts. But that is not the signature I see on you.”

The corner of Stark’s mouth quirks up in a smug smirk. “I’ll admit to letting the woo-woo practitioners help out a little, just this once. I had a solution for time travel, you know. Made it myself, lots of quantum physics involved. The problem was I kept branching off new timelines in the process, which sort of defeats the purpose when your goal is to change the world you come from. Had to bite my tongue and team up with this other time expert I know. Kind of a whack-job, hostile fashion accessories, unattractively cryptic. I let him wave his wand a few times so I could take over my younger self instead of doubling up. Gotta say, even with the lingering chest trauma, it’s nice to be young again. My knees feel awesome.”

Head spinning at this astounding reveal of skill and access to power, Loki carefully considers his next move. Stark is obviously a more formidable individual than SHIELD is aware of, and better connected. He could be a dangerous opponent or valuable ally. At the very least, the wisest course is probably to play on the potential for shared experiences and try to build a rapport.

It isn’t as though it’s difficult to relate to the appeal of going back in time to a point before everything went to Hel.

“Time travel is a truly a remarkable feat,” he says at last. “I imagine it must be quite the relief to undo past mistakes and avoid the pitfalls that caused you injury before. I myself might be tempted to undo my various scars in such a way.” Glancing at Stark’s now unreadable expression, he takes a risk on a subtle bid for sympathy. “But then, I’m afraid the worst of my experiences have not been solely physical in nature.”

The gamble pays off. Stark’s calculating gaze softens for just a millisecond.

“Understandable,” Stark replies, expression already shifting into a more circumspect lopsided smile. “Nightmares, phobias, memories of betrayal—they all travel back with you. The latter in particular really suck when you have to make nice with the traitors all over again, but on the other hand, it’s not the kind of foreknowledge you’d wanna give up if you had a choice, is it?”

“No, I don’t suppose so,” Loki murmurs quietly, surprised at the open admission of weaknesses. “I certainly would not choose to go back to ignorance.”

“Speaking of ignorance,” Stark redirects, “I think you have some knowledge of your own that I could sure use right now, like about the full capabilities of that scepter and the incoming Chitauri army. Am I right in thinking you might be willing to share said knowledge, given the right incentives?”

Oh, he’ll tell us where it is, a recent memory hisses. He just needs the right incentives.

Loki’s stomach drops, and the tentative hope he’d been harboring dwindles into a familiar disappointed cynicism. Despite the necessity of ingratiating himself, his mouth snaps out sharp and defensive.

“I do not require any of your ‘incentives!’”

“I—sorry, what?” Stark pulls back in confusion.

“You are already aware that I did not come here by my own volition, nor do I bear your planet any ill will,” Loki says bitterly, already backing away to the center of the cell, arms crossed tight against his chest. “Threatening me is not necessary to turn me on my former masters. I did in fact resist for a great many cycles, but there is eventually a point past which unending torture cannot be borne. There are monsters that even gods cannot stand against—”

“Yeah. Chill, I know,” Stark interrupts, eyebrows up by his hairline. “I’m here to fight that particular monster, not to copy his methods. That wasn’t what I meant. I was thinking more along the lines of breaking you out of here and making you your own personal mind-control shield. In exchange, you’d tell me everything I need to know in order to find and kill Thanos before he ever reaches Earth. You’d be free to go after that. I’ll even pay to resupply you first, if you want.”

The demand for information is expected; the suspiciously generous concessions are not. He’d hoped to negotiate something of the like, but to have it offered this early is too easy. His heart pounds. He can’t trust it.

“You wish me to believe your sinister organization of spies and liars will simply allow me to walk free after my transgressions against them?”

“Nooo, hence the part about ‘breaking you out.’ I want you to help me. I don’t have any love or loyalty left for SHIELD. As long as we can finish our set-up without the U.S. legal system stepping in to impound my bank accounts before I’m ready, I’m fully prepared to break some rules to do it. You in?”

Loki stares at him, off-footed, until his foggy memories of his last few moments of enslavement catch up to him.

“…You turned off the cameras when you entered this room.”

“Yep. And I’d bet good money we have a little over half-a-minute left before Fury and his cronies notice your ‘caged predator’ pacing is looking a little too perfect on their security screens.”

“And Thor? He will insist that I ‘face Asgardian justice.’”

“Showed him a little mocked-up footage of you breaking into a second museum while supposedly in SHIELD custody, and hinted that us ‘poor weak mortals’ may be in over our heads after all. He flew off after you on the spot. He won’t be back for a while. So whatcha think? You want to help me take on the big purple pustule?”

“All you want is information?”

“Information and more material help, if I can get it, but I’ll take what you give me.”

Material help, meaning on the battlefield. This isn’t a rescue or a change in would-be masters. It’s an offer of alliance.

Turning the proposal over in his mind, Loki swallows hard against a dry throat. Facing the Other again is a terrifying prospect, even if only by proxy. To personally anger Thanos himself would be even worse. And Loki has already lost the scepter and will soon fail to bring him the Tesseract. He knows from experience that death is an escape they will not allow him.

Even with the advantage of foreknowledge, nanites, and Stark’s mysterious magical ally, the chances are slim that he won’t be captured again.

The possibility scares him.

“The Titan is more dangerous than you expect,” he says to buy time.

Stark watches him with an uncomfortably perceptive gaze, and Loki looks away.

The scars of his thrice-broken fingers ache.

“We almost beat him in our last attempt, y’know,” Stark offers quietly once it’s become clear that Loki has no intention of expanding on his answer. “We could do it for real this time, with a solid plan and your help. But I’ve been through some fucked-up experiences of my own, and I know I’m asking a lot. I wouldn’t expect you to be there in person for the fight if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The suggestion of cowardice burns at him, but this isn’t Asgard, and Stark isn’t judging him.

He tightens his lips, and another second of silence passes.

He could run, now that he’s free of the mind stone. He could attempt to steal Stark’s protective device, and go, never settling, never returning to a place once he’s left it, running endlessly until the Other and his Chitauri army eventually catch up with him.

He could flee to Asgard, knowing their shields will be no barrier to the force Thanos will wield once he acquires all six stones. Loki could throw himself on the Allfather’s mercy, spend the rest of his days locked in a dungeon or, worse, exiled as a mortal, and wait out the inevitable end without even fighting it.

But that isn’t how he wants to die. There is only one option here. He might as well go all in.

“No,” Loki says finally. “No, I think there is nothing I would like better in this universe than to be there in person to watch the creature who tormented me writhe and perish at my hand.”

Stark’s eyebrows make another upward journey, this time in tandem with a delighted smile.

“Personal retribution! I like it. I’m on board. I’m right there with you on that one,” he laughs. He might be thinking of his own crusade of vengeance after his widely publicized time in captivity, or of his fight against Thanos in the future that was—both situations likely apply.

Either way, Loki can’t help being inexplicably warmed by the man’s reckless eagerness. Against his better judgment, the idiotically hopeful feeling starts to come back.

They’re interrupted by a clang at the door, someone attempting to use the handle and finding it locked.

“Oh. Looks like our time’s up,” Stark remarks blithely.

“Stark!” Fury snaps through the bulletproof window. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Open this door right now!"

Grinning merrily, Stark twiddles his fingers at the door in a mockery of a wave.

“You think this is funny? You’re not trained for interrogation, genius. Or are you arrogant enough to think you can keep up with that psychopath, when you couldn’t even tell your own P.A. was a plant? Back away from the cage!”

Stark shakes his head and taps his ear like he can’t hear, then gives an exaggerated shrug.

Fury swears and whirls to bark orders at his subordinates. “Find me an entrance that works, and get a hydraulic cutter up here!”

There’s a muffled rumble as of dozens of military boots pounding the catwalk grating as they run for lower levels doors.

“Now, smart guy,” Fury sneers, turning back to the window. “This is not the time for one of your egotistical plays for attention. All you’re doing is proving Romanoff right! You’re too goddamn wrapped up in yourself to be useful to anybody! Nobody wants you, because you aren’t a fucking team player!”

Turning back to Loki with a shrug, Stark explains in a loud whisper, “He really likes to pretend I’m as friendless as he is. I think it makes him feel better about being a miserable, paranoid, joyless old geezer.”

“I am going enjoy arresting you,” Fury warns with vicious satisfaction. He stomps away from the door, presumably to go shout at whatever poor bastards are manning the main computers.

“What are you planning, Stark?” the blond captain demands, replacing Fury at the window. His glower is comically stern and dripping with righteous disgust.

Stark straightens with renewed interest and calls back cheerily, “Oh, I’m making a deal with Loki. He has way better job perks than SHIELD, by the way. I’ve decided to go full super-villain.”

The captain’s mouth drops open, and there’s a sudden moment of silence where all the clanging to open the various doors comes to a dead standstill. Apparently everyone on the ship has been listening in through their linked communication devices.

Fury is the first to break the shocked silence.

“God fucking dammit! I want those doors open yesterday!” The noises at the various doors start back up as the crew redoubles their efforts, yelling at each other about battering rams, blowtorches, and so on. Stark just grins with unconcealed glee.

The voices of various faceless minions drift through the echoing space. “Is he for real? Did Stark finally go dark-side?”

“Shit. I didn’t sign up to die fighting a guy in a flying tank.”

Increasingly curious, Loki watches angry dents appear one by one in the metal of the main door where the captain is repeatedly slamming his shield against it, and then flits his eyes back to Stark’s relaxed air of spiteful enjoyment. Suddenly, it occurs to him that he’s been embarrassingly slow on the uptake. He looks at Stark in fascination.

“You’ve lived through this before. And you knew where I was heading next; you could have approached me there in perfect secrecy. You chose this location because you wanted them to catch you changing sides.”

For the first time, a hint of a sheepishness flickers behind Stark’s defiant self-assurance.

“Well… Having this chat at the Tower was the initial plan. I may have overestimated my ability to endure Cap’s self-righteous posturing at my expense a second time. And you know the appeal of a good dramatic reveal.”

Loki blinks in surprise, and his mouth starts to curve into a smile. “How petty and vindictive of you.”

“Don’t worry about it—it’s not gonna cost us anything to piss them off. I know a little something about SHIELD that’s gonna divert all of their attention as soon as I upload it, and every arrest they’ve made so far will be discredited or called into question.”

“They truly have offended you, then. Barton thought there were high odds that this ‘Avengers Initiative’ could come together.”

“Not this time, it won’t. I know better now who’s really worth teaming up with.” His tone is surprisingly sincere, and Loki goes quiet, thrown by the unexpected implication of trust.

Stark holds his gaze again. “I’m thinkin’ about blowing this joint. You with me?”

 “If you would have me, I would be honored.”

Visibly pleased, the fascinating mortal holds out his hand and begins to call forth another wave of nanites, but Loki is done passively relying on outside assistance. Despite his low magical reserves, he steps forward and draws on his seiðr enough to make a bit of a show, elegantly phasing through the cell wall to the outside in a single fluid movement.

The captain and his cohort squawk in increased alarm on the other side of the door, watching as Loki approaches Tony on the catwalk.

Stark, for his part, seems suitably impressed by Loki’s display of magical talent. He looks him up and down, eyebrows raised and smirk playing at his lips. “I always knew there was more to you than just a megalomaniacal speech and a pretty face.”

Loki eyes him back, hesitating only a second before giving into his own impulses, reveling in his newfound freedom to do so.

“I have a great many surprising talents that I only reveal when in better company than I’ve been afforded lately,” he suggests in an experimental murmur. “I have a feeling you can be very good company indeed.”

Stark’s grin widens with a delightfully wicked turn. “Oh, you better believe it, sweetheart.”

He offers his arm, as well-bred as any Asgardian nobleman. “Come away with me? I’ve got a four-hundred-dollar smörgåsbord at my place with your name on it.”

The hand hovering in front of him is rough with calluses, but the nails are perfectly manicured. Loki looks down at the proffered elbow and feels his own smile grow with anticipation. He does not yet trust Stark, but that doesn’t mean he can’t indulge in some long-needed fun.

Fury and his minions are yelling over the comms. The captain finally succeeds in punching an arm-sized hole through the metal of the reinforced door, and immediately reaches through it, grabbing and ripping at the nanites coating the interior locks.

Stark doesn’t even turn to watch, just keeps his eyes on Loki as the nanites quickly reorganize to mend every tear he makes.

“Please, allow me,” Loki says, charmed by the attention. He takes Stark’s arm—noting the way the man doesn’t falter over his vulnerability to Loki’s magic—and summons the seiðr necessary for teleportation.

At a last-second wave of Stark’s hand, the nanites blocking all exits flow back to him. The captain bursts through the door, wielding his shield dramatically, as the Widow drops from a ceiling grate just behind him.

Both are too late to do anything but watch as the two disappear in a flash of green light.