Avengers 1. Chapter 1

_The Nine Kingdoms, once a magical realm of sorcerers and knights fighting dragons, has slowly been taken over by technology, though not all of the kingdoms are okay with that. __Any remotely magical object has become greatly sought-after as magic fades from the world. And as tensions rise between the kingdoms, famous inventor Tony Stark finds himself caught up in the middle, pursued. He will end up turning to someone long thought dead in order to survive._

_I just can't resist. I have to do a fantasy AU for all my fandoms. XD My first foray into Marvel, my newest love. Well, new as in "the last year or so". Rating may go up later? Maybe? We'll see.  
_

* * *

"Hey, Dummy. Pass the screwdriver, would you?" Tony set the wrench aside, wiping his face with a dirty enough hand that he was probably making the situation worse. After patiently waiting for ten seconds or so, he pushed the protective goggles to his forehead and looked up. "Dummy?" The robot arm, lantern light gleaming off its burnished surface, was hanging limply. Tony refrained from making the obvious joke about that. "Oh. Hey, Bruce, could you wind Dummy up?"

"Or I could just hand you the screwdriver," Tony's assistant said, doing just that with an amused look. But he still moved to Dummy's side and started rotating the crank sticking out of its back.

Tony slid his goggles back down and resumed tinkering with the engine, getting lost in the familiar actions, in the _clank_ of metal on metal and squeak of reluctant screws turning. The air was thick with grease and sweat, old comforting scents. Working on his own projects helped calm him between actual jobs. Not that most of the work he did was particularly difficult or stressful, and really, he was looking forward to the next time somebody hired his talents for a challenging project. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he had checked the mail, maybe he had some new work available. Or he could just finish up with his engine, and then work a bit on his special project.

"Steve back yet?" Tony asked.

"No," Bruce said, tapping at Dummy as it jerked to life, "your boytoy isn't back."

"Don't call him that!" Tony managed to refrain himself from chucking the screwdriver at Bruce's head. The poor man had been around Clint too long, apparently. "I hired him for a reason. Not to ogle him."

"Because all inventors need a country bumpkin who knows nothing about what they do as an assistant."

"I was specifically looking for somebody strong. As you well know." Just because Tony Stark was famous for having a new women – or man – in his bed every night (which was not at all true, not _every_ night) didn't mean that was all he saw in an attractive person. He had no current plans on sleeping with anybody who worked for him.

Steve did return soon enough, and Tony couldn't help giving Bruce a 'told-you-so' look over all of the sheets of metal and other gizmos Steve carried in his muscular arms. "Where do you want these?" Steve asked, looking around at the workshop. It was in its usually sorry state, every available surface covered in assorted parts and tools, the floor and tables as oil-stained as the inventor that used them.

"Just toss them in the corner," Tony said with a shrug. "Did you check the mail?"

Steve looked down at his fully-loaded arms. "Um, no." He carefully set everything down in a corner as instructed, beside a bushel of pipes Tony couldn't even remember why he had purchased. Steve returned upstairs, the faint sound of his voice drifting down to the workshop as he presumably chatted with Tony's bodyguards before getting on with his task.

"Don't you ever check this?" Steve wondered as he returned. The stack of mail in his arms rivaled the materials he had carried before. "You could have missed something important!"

"Probably." Tony finally tossed his goggles aside and straightened up. "Anything good?"

"Aren't all jobs good?"

Tony deserved a metal. He hadn't thrown anything at Bruce earlier, and he didn't roll his eyes at Steve now. "I'll have to get you trained up if you're going to continue being my assistant."

Steve quickly sorted through the mail, looking for any work requests, setting everything else precariously atop a haphazard stack of what used to be wheels. "Oh, look at this!" His baby blue eyes lit up. "You've been invited to the palace in Asgard!"

"How about that," Tony said, rubbing his chin. "Not often the likes of them consort with us mere mortals. Does it say why?"

Steve scanned the contents of the letter, flipping it over but finding nothing on the reverse side. "No. Just that they wish to discuss a job for you in person."

"Hope I remember how to curtsey." Tony nodded. "Okay, that one can go in the keep pile." How strange. What could Asgardians want from Tony? He almost never got work outside Midgard. Modern technology, so deeply ingrained into Midgardian life, just hadn't caught on as well in the other kingdoms, where magic remained popular. Tony hated magic, he'd take gadgets and gizmos any day. But maybe, with the gradually increasing unrest between Asgard and Jotunheim, they were looking for any edge they could get. And though Midgard tried to remain neutral in its neighbors' scuffles, they were located right in-between the Aesir and Jotun kingdoms, and the two armies did not care to go around.

"That's the only important looking one," Steve said, holding up the rest of the letters. "Some want to discuss everything in person, some included all the details."

"Sounds good. One of you make arrangements, train tickets for me and Natasha and Clint." A rich and famous inventor like him never went anywhere without his bodyguards. Not since... well, not since he was the vulnerable young son of a rich and famous inventor. "See if any of the other 'in person' requests are on the way, otherwise I'll deal with them later." Or ignore them, that sounded good. He couldn't be expected to see _everybody_ who requested his presence.

Bruce took the letters from Steve and scanned them over quickly. "This Isabella Somerset and Ezra Donally would definitely be out of the way, but Lucas Loughrey would be on the way to Asgard."

"Sounds good. Book it." Tony swept one last look over his workshop, observed all the necessary clean-up, and shrugged. He headed for the stairs.

"Are you actually leaving for the night?" Bruce said, sounding mildly surprised.

"I am if I have a vacation soon."

"This is a work trip," Steve said, corners of his mouth curved in the usual Disapproving Frown.

"Work trip, vacation, close enough..." Tony stretched, wincing at the crackles his back made. "I think I'll start with a bath." He chose to ignore his assistants muttering thanks to their deities of choice.

"You're running your own this time," Bruce said. "You didn't hire me to be your butler."

"Yeah, yeah." Tony finally headed upstairs, leaving his assistants to deal with the ever-present mess however they wanted. That's what assistants were for, right? Out of habit, he started shedding clothes as he strode down the hallway, and was stripped to the waist by the time he reached the bathroom.

He paused to look at himself in the large mirror propped in the corner, running fingers through his oily hair. The ever-present medallion hanging from a thin silver chain around his neck cast its soft white-blue glow, like his own personal moon. He toyed with it, also an old habit, sending shadows dancing around the room. He had been forced to wear it for half his life, and was more or less used to its constant presence. He was always attempting to replace it with an improved version, but he honestly wasn't sure he could manage. He finally turned on the lamp to drown out its light before starting to fill the copper bathtub with water. Soon enough he had sunk to his neck in steamy water, medallion carefully slung over the side.

The relaxing water and lack of sleep did their work, and soon he was dozing. Really, it was a wonder he hadn't drowned yet.

* * *

"How do I look?" Tony asked, buttoning up the leather vest over his ridiculously expensive cream shirt.

"Presentable," Steve said, sounding insultingly surprised.

"Of course I do, I've always cleaned up nicely." He snatched a long coat from its hook and slid it on. "You have the tickets?"

With a nod, Steve held up the three train tickets. No... four. "Are you coming?" A smirk tugged at his lips. "I'm pretty sure I said me, Clint and Natasha."

"I thought I should go, too." Steve looked perfectly serious and all business.

"You want to see Asgard," Tony corrected.

"Yes," Steve said, and Tony had to laugh at the blunt honesty. Sometimes he was almost too honest and straight-laced, it had taken the two of them a few weeks to get used to each other and stop bickering. The burly farmboy had actually been in town to join the army when Tony found and recruited him instead. He had been in the market for a new assistant ever since a very expensive, and very heavy piece of equipment had been dropped and broken. Tony and Bruce were fairly strong, but...

"I'm sure Bruce can manage on his own," Tony said.

Steve smiled, and fetched a small top hat, which he perched on Tony's head. "There."

"I don't think I need to look like a total upper-class twit..."

"You're always an upper-class twit," Clint said as the bodyguards joined them. Clint Tony had hired after his former bodyguard had run off to marry Tony's former assistant. And Natasha... well, a rival had hired _her_ to kill Tony, Clint had stopped her, and... all in all, it had been a very interesting weekend.

"Not good," Tony said, shaking his head. "You've insulted me better than that while talking in your sleep."

Clint shrugged. "I work with what I've got."

"Heh, that's what-"

"Can we get going?" Natasha said, shouldering her small bag. She strode out the front door, leaving the remaining trio to hurriedly grab their things and follow.

As they passed through the courtyard, Tony noticed there was something waiting in the mailbox. "Didn't you get everything out of there?"

"Mail's delivered every day," Steve said, and sometimes Tony couldn't tell when the man was insulting him or genuinely trying to be helpful.

"Whatever." Tony grabbed the single letter. It was... very fancy, with dainty handwriting. "Huh." He turned it over. "Huh." The others were staring at him expectantly. "Well now I've been invited to Alfheim." He lifted his eyes to meet their confused stares. "I don't know, either." At least Asgard was a kingdom of warriors, not as magical as some of their neighbors. The elven kingdoms, though, they were all about the magic. The trains ran through them, but that was about it, and Tony was pretty sure even that had taken some fancy finagling.

Great. Tony _hated_ magic.

"Well." Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "Hope you remember how to curtsey."

"Hey, I used that joke yesterday!"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Come on. Concentrate on one trip at a time."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve said, as if he had been the one being addressed.

They resumed their journey, finally reaching the threshold of Tony's property. The other three chatted amongst themselves, too preoccupied (or maybe unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth) to comment on Tony's silence. He was too lost in thought, mind was abuzz with just what in the world he had done to catch the attention of the royalty of two different kingdoms.


	2. Chapter 2

The door was opened after the fourth knock, and Tony strolled on in without waiting for an invitation. He gave the room he found himself in a quick once-over, noting with approval how it managed to be both clean and completely cluttered at the same time. It was an organized sort of clutter. The place smelled musty, like a library, but it appeared free of dust. Then he turned to the home's occupant – still standing by the door, watching him with raised eyebrows – and offered one of his charming grins. The fellow was a tall bastard, slender and long-legged. All he needed was blond hair and big boobs and he would be one of Tony's usual companions.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Tony Stark. But hey, you already knew that. And you're Lucas. So let's get down to business, do you have some schematics drawn up?" No time for chitchat when a foreign king was waiting for him. He looked around the room again, at the stacks of books and scrolls, shelves of figurines and other knickknacks, glass jars of what looked like junk – buttons and beads and the like. And there was a half-empty bowl of stew waiting on a small table. "Oh, did I interrupt lunch?"

Lucas was giving him a baffled look. "Do not worry about it." He glanced around, as if surprised by his own home. "You are here alone? Someone as well-known as you?"

"Nope." Tony picked up a random book. It looked dreadfully boring. "Well, I'm in here alone. Except you. But no, I've got people here, they're outside, we can talk in private. But if you make a move that looks shady to them, you'll get an arrow somewhere unpleasant. So!" He dropped the book and looked around some more, inspecting any available papers to see if they were plans of some sort. "The job?"

"You get right to the point," Lucas mused. Luke. Tony decided to think of him as Luke. He strode closer with a grace that reminded Tony of a dancer he had once known. Hopefully Luke wasn't as much of an asshole as that guy had been. "What I want..." He trailed off, making a displeased face. "You look ridiculous." He reached out to snatch the top hat off Tony's head. "There. Now then, the medallion you wear..."

"Oh, whoa, hold on." Tony held his hands up as he backed away, shaking his head. "Come on. I thought everybody knew the answer to that. No, I can't-"

"Replicate it," Luke finished for him. "It's your father's design, it died with him." His lips twitched. "I know the story."

"Oh yeah?" Tony fingered the familiar shape through his clothes. It had been almost a year since somebody had asked him to make one.

Luke clasped his hands behind him, eyes raising toward the ceiling as he recited. "An accident in your father's workshop, an explosion. You don't talk much about it, nobody is really sure whose experiment blew up, but it is assumed to be your father's since he was the one who died immediately, with you badly injured. But somebody was able to find the device your father had invented, the medallion that miraculously healed you once it was placed around your neck. Does that sound about right?"

"That's about it," Tony said, wary.

"The plans for it never found, assumed to be lost in the explosion as well..."

"Yup. So are we done here?" Tony jerked a thumb toward the door. "I have places to be."

"It's a lie," Luke said, and _that_ left Tony speechless. "The medallion's origins, that is." He paused, as if waiting for a reaction, but seemed mostly amused when he got none. "Your father didn't create it, it is of magic origin. The magic you so often claim to hate."

"You're going to have to get to the point _really_ quickly," Tony said once he found his voice. "Because those arrows I mentioned? In unpleasant places? Still a possibility. Where did you hear that nonsense?"

"Word is slowly starting to spread among those who are familiar with the workings of magic. And the only reason it is slow, and not a raging inferno of rumor in the more magically inclined kingdoms, is because everybody who knows wants to keep it to themselves. They want this power for themselves."

Tony gripped tighter at the medallion, surely leaving a nice round indentation on his chest. "They do, huh?"

"Oh yes." Luke actually looked grim. "Thanks to your efforts, and those of your forebears, magic is fading from the land due to disuse. What was once plentiful is now a struggle to find. Once powerful mages can no longer draw upon magic on their own as they could only a few hundred years ago, requiring magical talismans for even the simplest of spells."

"Huh." Tony hadn't really known that. He didn't look into the workings of magic too much. "How does that even make sense? Magic actually disappearing because people don't use it... Where was magic before people started using it?" Luke just shrugged, but Tony hadn't really expected an answer. Magic had been used by people since before recorded history. "Well, whatever. So mages will come after me now that they're finding out the truth about this thing." Okay, so maybe he shouldn't have just admitted that Luke was right about its origins. He didn't act surprised or pleased by the confirmation, though, so it probably didn't matter. He already assumed he was right.

"I can almost guarantee it. I know here in Midgard, most are unaware of what goes on in the other kingdoms, content in their neutrality. Likely aware of the growing hostility between Asgard and Jotunheim, but not much else. Did you know the elven kingdoms are almost always on the brink of war, too? Alfheim and Svartalfheim despise each other. And elves rely heavily on magic, if anyone from either kingdom knew about your medallion..."

"I knew they didn't like each other," Tony said. "I'm not an idiot."

"You are working on a non-magical replacement?" Luke asked.

"Of course! I've been trying to replace the stupid thing for the last couple decades."

"That is my job for you. Work harder, make that your top priority. And when you have successfully-"

"You want it," Tony interrupted. "Now how stupid do you think I am? I'm not giving this to you once I don't need it anymore." Yeah, what a surprise, the complete stranger didn't care about Tony's well-being and just wanted the shiny magical talisman for himself.

"I would keep it out of unfriendly hands," Luke said, expression hardening. "If you do not replace it and keep it someplace safe – and I can keep it safe, believe me – somebody else will come for it. You have wards in place to prevent its theft, I imagine, but that won't stop everybody. It will be taken, you will die, and something very bad will happen to at least one of the kingdoms. Tensions are rising, if a mage – particularly a dark elf – were to get a hold of that..."

"And I can trust you," Tony said, raising an eyebrow. It was almost but not quite a question.

Luke bared his teeth in what could generously be called a smile. "I've asked nicely, haven't I? Don't expect such courtesy from anybody else."

"Well this is all kind of ridiculous." Tony tried very hard to ignore the part of his brain that was reminding him about how all of a sudden he was being invited to all sorts of previously uninterested kingdoms. Including the elves, magical bastards. "So no. I've got no reason to trust you over anybody else, asking nicely or not, and let's be honest. I don't know a thing about magic, I'm not going to be able to replicate it, I'm stuck with this. So it's a moot point. Even if I believed your whole story. Now I've got to get going." Asgard he could trust. They weren't really known for their magic users, and they were big on honor. It would be a hot day in Jotunheim before an Asgardian tried to take Tony's medallion by force.

"Wait," Luke said just as Tony began to turn toward the door. "That wasn't the only task I had for you."

Uh huh. Tony turned back toward him, forcing a smile, still a little unnerved. He wasn't used to work discussions involving implied threats to his life. Casual conversations, flirting, those he was used to involving threats to his life, though not usually serious. "No, huh?"

Luke shook his head. "I want a cat."

Of all the things Tony had expected him to say, that was probably among the bottom ten. "A... cat."

"A mechanical cat," Luke clarified. Just in case Tony may have thought he was supposed to retrieve or build a live animal for him. "And I would like you to deliver it to me. To explain how it works and how you made it."

Wow, that didn't at all seem like an excuse to see Tony again. Maybe after formulating a new convincing argument. Tony ran a hand down his face. "Sure, whatever. One mechanical cat, coming up. We can discuss the price-"

"Bring it to me, and let me know what you want for it. I care not."

"Uh huh." Well he sure didn't seem rich. But Tony supposed not everybody had to show off their wealth like he did. On the other hand, those books probably weren't cheap. "All right, I'll bring it by once it's ready." Was it smart to return? Probably not.

"Thank you," Luke said with a polite nod of his head.

It wasn't until after Tony had left the house behind and rejoined his companions that he realized he had never gotten his hat back. Oh well...

"Well?" Steve said, nodding toward the house they were leaving behind. There wasn't much else around, the strange fellow lived in the middle of nowhere.

"Hot, but crazy," was Tony's verdict.

Clint snickered. "I think he was asking about the guy you just met, not everyone you've slept with."

Steve was starting to look offended for Tony, but Tony just laughed. "Fair enough. But hey, the job's easy. A mechanical pet, no problem. That's all he wanted."

"Asgard now?" Steve said.

Tony nodded. "Back to the train station."


	3. Chapter 3

_Fun fact about a steampunk book I read recently. Okay, so I have quite a few (and just about all of them are gay/lesbian). One of the last ones I read, the secondary main character, love interest of the main main character, sounds like he looks like Loki from the way he's described. Seriously, it describes Loki to a T. The book doesn't say anything about his accent, but the character is from London, so... yeah. It entertained me, anyway. And it was published in 2012, so hmmm._

* * *

"I do love traveling in style." Sprawled on one of the plush couches, Clint started to reach for a piece of fruit from the basket, then changed his mind and grabbed a bottle of wine instead. Natasha promptly yanked it out of his grasp and replaced it in its bucket. "Hey! Tony's drinking."

"He's not working right now," she said, smoothing a hand down her skirt. Being a skilled death-dealer who was most at home in tight trousers, Natasha really should have looked ridiculous in a nice dress, complete with bustle and corset. Or at least out of place. But no, she looked perfectly at home, and Tony had a feeling she was no less deadly.

"That's not fair. We're technically always working if we're around him..."

Tony was pretty much ignoring them, sitting near the window and watching the scenery stream past, drink in hand. He was trying very hard to get back into excited-about-foreign-kingdom mode, and forget all about the nutjob he had visited. Because really? Of course the whole thing was a stupid story to get Tony's medallion. There was probably some truth to the tale – the best lies involved just enough truth, after all – and the whole bit about magic fading and mages needing talismans could very well be true. Why else would Luke want Tony's medallion? But others willing to take it by force, killing Tony for it (because even if they managed to take it without killing him, he would still die without it, of course), well... If the first part was true, that could certainly be true as well. Tony was terrible at cheering himself up, really. Because it made a lot of sense that if his medallion was even remotely coveted by magic-users, there would be those who wanted badly enough to kill him over it. And if nobody actually wanted it that badly, why did Luke want it?

Or maybe his whole story was a lie, and he merely wanted the medallion for the same reason anyone else would: for its healing properties, which even Tony didn't fully understand. There were only maybe two other people out there who even knew the full extent of its abilities, but the whole world knew it was impressive enough. Everyone wanted it, it had nothing to do with magic, they'd just accepted many years ago that he couldn't safely take it off, nor could he replicate it. (For all he knew, there _were_ people that had tried to kill him for it. His bodyguards didn't exactly divulge all the details of their work, even to him)

Except... why had he been invited to Alfheim?

It was time to stop thinking about all that. Back to looking forward to Asgard, and its golden palace and big burly warriors and hot warrior women. They probably wanted some sort of fancy weapon, or armor, or training dummy that fought back. He had visions of feasting halls, tables about to break under piles of food and foaming flagons. Serving wenches about to pop out of their low-cut tops leaning over to refill his drink. Natasha rolling her eyes as Clint undoubtedly did something unprofessional, Steve blushing. Tony could practically hear the cheerful, drink-fueled singing...

"So what do I need to do?" Steve said, finally jerking Tony out of his thoughts, both morbid and pleasant. Steve looked earnest, and almost a little worried. "When we get there, I mean."

"Just follow our lead," Clint said, stretching his arms over his head. "Keep quiet, and look intimidating. Flash some muscle. They _love_ the strong warrior type there. They think Midgardians are all puny weaklings, you'll impress them without having to do anything."

"Okay." Steve still didn't look sure. "I've never been around royalty before."

"You'll be fine," Natasha said. "Clint actually gave fairly good advice. Be respectful, let us do the talking unless you're asked a question-"

"And whatever you do, don't mention _you-know-what_," Clint said, making a face. Natasha and Tony nodded in agreement.

Steve nodded, too. "Of course." He looked at each of them in turn. "Actually, I don't know what." And gee, that wasn't at all surprising.

"You know..." Clint checked on their compartment's door, as if making sure no Asgardians were listening in. "Him."

Steve shook his head. "I really don't know."

"Don't you have gossip down on the farm!?"

"Of course." Steve's expression hardened. He took implied insults to his home seriously. Even, apparently, over something as silly as gossip. "But foreign rulers aren't something we talk about."

"But it's so much more interesting than anything that happens here!"

"It's true," Tony said. "They live for thousands of years. If they didn't have extra drama, they'd get bored pretty quickly." He patted Steve's knee. "They're talking about the second prince."

"The second prince?" Steve blinked. "I thought there was just one. I always thought it was strange that people who have such long lives only had one kid. Though even two seems strange..."

"We've still got time to kill." Tony settled back in his seat, getting comfortable. "So. The king, Odin, he used to be married to somebody else a really really long time ago. Did you know that?"

Steve shook his head. "That also doesn't surprise me for long-lived people..."

Tony nodded. "His first wife was the prince's mother. Thor's, I mean. The prince you've heard of. But while their son was still very young, the queen was charged with adultery. Their marriage was dissolved, and she was locked up. It was an arrestable offense back then." He smirked. "Lucky for her. It used to be an executable offense before that."

"Juicy story, huh?" Clint nudged Steve.

Tony continued. "So the king quickly remarried, to Frigga, the current queen. And she got pregnant almost right away. And so the second prince, Loki, was born. And for almost a thousand years they were a big happy family. Sort of. Anyway. A few hundred years ago, Loki learned the horrible truth." He paused for dramatic effect. "Neither Odin nor Frigga were his parents. Thor was still his half-brother, but I doubt that was much comfort... He was the result of the first queen's affair. After being imprisoned, she was found pregnant from her illicit lover. So Odin had some sort of glamor cast on his new wife to make her appear pregnant, and when the child was born, they pretended he was theirs."

"I can see how that would be upsetting," Steve said with a frown. "But what happened to him? Was it really _that_ bad?"

"It's that bad when the queen's lover was the king of a hated enemy. She'd slept with King Laufey of Jotunheim."

"She _did_?" Now that caused the desired reaction! Steve's eyes bugged from his head. "But Jotuns are so... and she would be..." He gestured vaguely with his hands. "How is that even possible?"

"Best not to think about it," Natasha said.

Tony nodded. "Just don't. So all of that was too much for the poor younger prince to handle, and he went nuts."

"You forgot the part where he was a skilled mage," Clint said.

"I was getting to that! Yeah, he was a skilled mage, and back then magic was more common." Tony flinched at that, though the others didn't notice, or just assumed he was thinking about the story. _But it was never common there. He was an anomaly. And half-Jotun._ "In a fit of self-loathing rage, he launched a nasty spell at Jotunheim. Or tried to. It would have probably leveled the whole kingdom if he hadn't been stopped in time."

"And he murdered his real father," Clint added.

"Oh, right. He did that first. Which I would have told you about in order, if Clint hadn't interrupted me to bring up the magic."

"What happened to him?" Steve asked, wide-eyed as a child being told a ghost story.

Tony paused again. He was such a good storyteller. "King Odin stripped him of his magic and banished him. He can't return to Asgard – or Jotunheim, obviously – on pain of death."

"And what happened after that?" Steve really was like a curious child.

"Dead," Clint said with a shrug.

"Really?"

"Yup. A prince used to a cushy palace life, who relies on magic, tossed out into the wilderness while still half mad? He wouldn't have lasted a century."

"That's what everyone says," Tony agreed. "Nobody's heard from him in a long time, and there've been all sorts of rumors about finding his body."

"Wow." Steve straightened up in his seat. "Okay. I won't mention him when we're there."

"Good boy. Nothing brings down a party like mentioning dead relatives."

"Party?" Steve's eyebrows shot up. "There's going to be a party? I thought you were just discussing work!"

"It's Asgard," Tony said with a shrug. "Of course there will be a party. They probably have a feast when the royal dog has puppies. If they have a dog."

"Be sure to do a good job, whatever it is they want you for," Clint said to Tony. "Maybe we'll be invited to stay there." He winked at Steve. "I'll find some nice Asgardian ladies to introduce you to." He laughed at Steve's embarrassed spluttering.

"Hey, don't listen to him." Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder. Okay, so if that happened, Tony wasn't going to stop Clint. And might, in fact, just help him. But Steve didn't need to know that. "Look outside!" As one, they all turned to their compartment's window, where the countryside they had been passing through finally made way for buildings. The archaic designs and rosy gold colors certainly seemed to imply that they were crossing into Asgard. Steve practically plastered himself against the window, and Tony tried to act like he wasn't as interested in the scenery.

Occasional houses soon became many buildings crammed together, and plenty of people going about their business in the roads. They did not look all that different from Midgardians, maybe a bit taller, the men more muscular. Steve really would feel right at home. Children occasionally waved at the passing train, or even chased after it briefly, laughing. (And how strange to think that these kids could very well be as old as Tony!)

"This looks like a nice place," Steve said.

Tony nodded. "Sure does." He squinted as his eyes were briefly assaulted by the sunlight glaring off the domed roof of what looked like an observatory.

They spent the rest of the journey in relative silence, watching Asgard as it grew more opulent the closer they came to the palace. There was, quite conveniently, a train station very close to the palace's front gate, in fact. When they finally stepped out, they were greeted by an entourage of guards, and a large blond fellow who could only be the crown prince. Behind Tony, Clint quietly said something that sounded like "What service."

"Tony Stark," the bearded, caped fellow said with a wide smile. Tony nodded, even though he hadn't really been prompted for a response. Everybody knew who he was, after all. "Thank you for coming. It has been far too long since we have had Midgardian guests." He stepped closer, and Tony forced himself not to shrink back as warning bells rang in his head. _That fucking Luke has me all paranoid now. I should make his cat self-destruct in his face._ Thor didn't seem to notice, and simply clapped Tony on the shoulder.

"Thanks for the invite," Tony said, all smooth and charming. "I wasn't expecting you to greet us yourself." He bowed slightly, and his companions quickly followed suit.

"Come," Prince Thor said, waving off their obeisance. "There are rooms for you, you can make use of the bath house, and there will be a feast later."

Clint and Natasha murmured to each other about rooms and a feast. Steve muttered something about the bath house.

Before Tony could say anything further, Thor put an arm around him and they turned to the palace. "And then we can talk weapons."

Weapons. Right. Tony let out a breath, trying hard to ignore the relief that relaxed his muscles. Of course a non-magical kingdom contemplating war with its long-time enemy would want some new weapons.

A kingdom contemplating war would also be interested in powerful healing... _Fucking Luke!_ Tony had worn that thing for two decades without much worry. He was going to kill that bastard, he really was.


	4. Chapter 4

_Know what's sad? Going back to re-read one of the only original novels you've finished, and realizing that you've written at least three fanfics that are longer. Three times longer in one case. Oh, me... It's quite possibly even sadder when you write slash fanfics of your own work for your personal amusement._

* * *

Tony was not the kind of person who could easily say no to public nudity. So when some Asgardians had invited him to the baths, he had agreed, tired of being paranoid about his medallion. As Luke had guessed, there were wards on it to prevent theft, and he doubted a group of unarmed naked men were going to attempt his murder. Clint was there as well, naked but obviously not unarmed. The baths were gender segregated – not that that would keep Natasha out if she really wanted to be there – and Steve had politely refused, preferring the private tub in his room.

And so Tony sat in the steaming water with a circle of young men who seemed excited to meet him. It was nice, being popular even so far from home. They occasionally glanced at the glowing circle of light that hung from his neck, but didn't seem to particularly care about it.

"Did you invent clocks?" one asked, blue eyes sparkling. "There's a big clock tower outside my window."

"No, that wasn't me," Tony said with a laugh. "That was before my time."

"How about the trains?" a man with biceps that should have been illegal said.

"Also before my time. But I have tinkered on them and made some improvements here and there." And repaired them when necessary, but people who rode the trains did not always care to hear about them breaking down.

"All these new things before your time," another man chuckled. "You're so young,"

"Now there's something I don't hear a lot back home." Tony shifted around in his seat, sending ripples sloshing against the side of the bath. Yeah, sometimes he did wish he had been born a hundred, even fifty years sooner, to invent all the big important gadgets nobody could live without. Someday, though. Someday he would put past inventions to shame. Maybe his special project... "My specialties are robotics and weapons. Which is why I'm here, to make weapons."

"What, like... pistols?" The blue-eyed man made a face.

"I don't know." Tony's father's contribution to the world of weapons was slowly catching on in Midgard, but the other kingdoms had nothing but disdain so far. Even Clint refused to turn in his bow for something new, though Natasha was growing fond of them. She just complained about their size, and needled Tony about coming up with a smaller design. Which Tony would work on someday, he really would, when he didn't have various commissioned and personal projects going on.

"Can you picture our prince with a weapon like that?" a redhead chuckled, nudging the fellow beside him. "Jotuns would laugh him off the battlefield."

"I'm sure it's something else," Tony said. "Something big." He had visions of being asked to create a weapon – something big and bladed like an axe or broadsword, or maybe something blunt like the hammer the prince was famous for – as big as a man. And being asked to make it easy to lift. And explode upon impact without harming the wielder.

Tony lounged in the water until his toes started to wrinkle and he mused that it was probably about time to actually meet with the prince. He splashed his way out of the bath, watching Clint expectantly until the other man shrugged. With a sigh, Tony fetched his own towel. Bodyguards could be so stingy with performing other duties...

"Okay," he said, running the towel over his limbs. "I'll head back and get ready."

Clint was already slipping into a robe. "Sounds good." Apparently deciding to be useful, he tossed a robe to Tony. "I've seen enough of your dick for one day."

"No such thing," Tony said as he pulled the robe on. "There's never enough." He waved goodbye to his new friends and left the baths behind. Being a genius and all with rather good attention to detail, he made his way through the vast palace to the rooms he had been assigned without once having to ask for directions. It was like his own apartment, large room dominated by a sinfully big and plush bed, assorted furniture that included a bar, adjoining sitting and bathrooms, it was _nice_. The bed especially screamed for more use than just sleep. But for now he needed to concentrate on work. He padded over to the closet that had already been stocked with what clothes he had packed for the trip by a servant.

Tony dressed in the nicest outfit he had brought, a fine suit all in black apart from the red vest. He studied himself in the mirror, turning to the sides, frowning, wondering what was missing. Oh right, a hat. His hat was stolen. Ah well. He squeezed out something that smelled vaguely citrusy from a bottle he'd found in the bathroom, and combed it into his hair, slicking it back. Now he looked professional and ready to entertain royalty. Though he _had_ entertained royalty before, if one counted the lovely young lady who claimed to be distantly related to the royal family of... somewhere. He hadn't really been paying attention.

Deciding that he looked presentable enough, Tony sauntered out of his room, met with Clint and Natasha, located Steve in his room, and the group headed for the arranged meeting place. Which thankfully was not the throne room, but a more simple (if anything in the kingdom could be described as _simple_) room that looked to be some sort of war room, what with the large table and maps. Only Prince Thor sat waiting for them, and he stood politely as they walked in.

"Hi." Tony waved. Then he remembered himself and bowed. "Um. Thanks for the rooms, they're great."

Thor actually looked relieved at Tony's words. "You are sure? I worried they would not be adequate. I know Midgard is no longer technically a kingdom, even if it is still referred to as such out of tradition, but I have been told you are practically royalty."

"Me?" Tony barked a startled laugh. "Oh, no, I'm not..." Wait, why was he protesting again? He had more wealth and fame than most of those who were actually in power! "Well, close enough. Yes, the rooms are definitely good enough."

Thor smiled, either not noticing or not caring about the others' eyerolls. "I'm glad."

Everyone seated themselves at the table. There weren't any papers. Why did nobody present him with ideas or schematics anymore? "So," Tony said. "You wanted weapons? For your upcoming war?"

"With Jotunheim," Thor said with a nod.

"Your countrymen seem more amused than anything at the thought of you with firearms..."

The prince gave a hearty laugh. "No, nothing like that. Our weapons are actually quite effective against our enemies, but we could use every edge we can get. Anything that can exploit their weaknesses."

"And what are those?" Tony thought back to everything he had learned about the Jotuns. They were really big, and blue, and had their own special icy magic, and... that was about it, really.

"Heat. They cannot tolerate heat."

"Makes sense." Tony scratched at his chin. "I take it you want something a bit more advanced than lighting arrows on fire." He smiled to himself. "Yes, self-heating weapons. Shouldn't be difficult, I'm good at making things that get hot. That's why I have burn kits in my workshop!" He didn't need to look at his companions, he could _feel_ their smirks.

"I think he would prefer to only have the business end heat," Natasha said.

"Thanks. I was planning on burning the wielder, too." Tony snorted. "Quiet, I'm thinking."

"So you think it can be done?" Thor said, giving Tony the mental image of an eager puppy. A puppy with enormous biceps. "So that even flesh wounds could be debilitating to them?"

"Oh, sure."

Clint cleared his throat. "And could I maybe have some of those arrows? Assuming you're making arrows?"

"Sure, sure," Tony said in his 'Quiet, daddy's thinking' voice. He had the idea to work with, he did not need anything else. Thor attempted to engage him in conversation a few times before giving up with a baffled expression at Tony's muttering about exothermic reactions, and instead started discussing the matter of cost with Steve. Afterward, Tony was only vaguely aware of returning to his room and tugging out some papers to sketch on. It wasn't the most exciting job in the world, but he immersed himself anyway.

It was only when a servant tapped politely on the door and suggested breakfast that Tony realized he had been working all night (and if anyone asked, he would insist that of _course_ he had spent the entire time on Thor's project). He decided to forgo breakfast in favor of a nap, freshened up, then finally emerged from his room. He really needed something with a lot of caffeine in it. Rubbing at his eyes, Tony meandered through the halls, making his way back toward the room where the feast was held their first night. If there was no coffee or really strong tea to be found there, then the kitchens couldn't be far.

It wasn't until he had almost run into her in the hall that Tony realized who the woman in gold was (or that she was even there). Mainly because he hadn't been paying attention, even somebody who had never seen her before would realize she was a queen. Everything about her screamed 'regal' and 'somebody to respect'. Tony was bowing before he even had to remind himself to do so.

"Tony Stark," she said with a polite bob of her head. "I have heard much about you."

"All terrible, I'm sure," Tony said, smiling wryly. He considered apologizing for not noticing her and nearly plowing into her, but decided to pretend it hadn't happened unless she brought it up.

"Not all of it." Queen Frigga tilted her head to the side, her own smile growing sad, and Tony felt a flicker of panic. What had he done _now_?

"You okay? Your Majesty?" He tried a charming smile. That usually cheered women up. To his even greater shock, she reached up to run a couple of fingers through his hair. Okay, so now a married queen who was about a couple thousand years older than him was flirting with him? Not okay, definitely not okay. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it.

"You remind me of somebody."

Oh. That was okay, then. Tony let out a breath. "My hair?"

She nodded. "And your eyes. Not the color, but the look in them."

"Well, I can't do anything about my eyes, but..." Tony reached up with both hands to scrunch his hair up while she smiled. "There! No more sad hair."

"Oh, hey, what's going on here?" Clint, appearing from out of nowhere, stormed closer. "Bad Tony!"

"What?" He blinked, turning to confront his bodyguard. "What did _I_ do?"

Clint eyed him, hands on his hips. "Hands off. She's taken."

And Tony had thought _she_ was hitting on _him_. "Shut up, Barton, I'm capable of talking to women without ulterior motives."

"I actually was looking for you," Frigga said, drawing their attention back to her. "I want to give you this." She reached into some inner part of her dress and withdrew a small velvet bag, which she deposited in Tony's hands.

"What is it?" He gave the bag a curious shake, hearing an unmistakable jingle. "Money?" Tony gave the queen a puzzled look. "Are you hiring me, too?" It had to be something juicy if she wanted to discuss it in private. Well, it was nothing new, he had been asked by housewives in the past to build... okay. No. No no. He was going to stop that line of thought right there regarding the queen.

"Not exactly..." Frigga let out a sigh. "That's to encourage you to work on other projects first."

That surprised a laugh out of Tony. "Really? You're paying me to _not_ finish this job quickly?"

"If they get their hands on some shiny new toys, they will want to try them out." Frigga shook her head, her expression somewhere between genuinely worried and long-suffering mother. "Tensions are high, but we are not actively at war yet. I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

"Makes sense." Tony didn't have a problem with that. Although somebody else might... "I don't really want to be in deep sh- trouble with your son and the rest of Asgard because I'm taking my sweet time, though."

Frigga favored him with a smile. "Worry not. If they wonder what is taking so long, I will tell them the truth."

And Tony believed her, despite the fact that her lying to people had had rather disastrous results in the past. But perhaps she had learned from her mistake. "All right. I'll get to their weapons... eventually. When I feel like it." He casually observed his fingernails, picking at one, demonstrating how little he cared about getting to his new job right away. The queen laughed.

"Thank you, Tony Stark. Enjoy the rest of your stay in our kingdom." She swept off as Tony and Clint said their goodbyes.

"Well that's a first," Clint said as they resumed their exploration. "Being paid to not work. That's the best job ever."

"I know." Tony looked down at the bag of coins. "Let's go buy something fun."

They spent some of the money on a big lunch, souvenirs for everyone, and a new hat for Tony. A black top hat with a dark red band around it, and decorated with a gold chain. He _had_ fancied the red hat with the slender feather, but Clint had repeatedly informed him that feathered hats, feathered anything was out of the question.

On a couple different occasions, groups of Asgardians crowded close to Tony, bubbling over with excitement, asking him about his work, and even asking for autographs. And when they ran into Steve, also being admired by a group of appreciative locals, that just made Tony's day. The poor thing looked almost in a panic, face red.

"I think he likes all the attention," Clint said, and Tony agreed with a laugh, most of his earlier worries forgotten. As they watched, a small boy asked Steve for an autograph – Tony had no idea _why_ – and Steve looked immensely flustered as he scribbled on a piece of paper.

"Hey, Muscles. I hate to tear you away from your fans," Tony said, sidling closer, "but we're not here for much longer so let's go do something fun!"

"What, drinking?" Steve said with a frown.

"Drinking, hooking you up with a local, you know." Tony grinned. "Fun stuff."

Steve groaned, but he followed after the other two men without too much actual hesitation or protest.


	5. Chapter 5

_I hope nobody minds that Rhodey has been moved from Air Force to Army. Since, y'know, this world doesn't have an Air Force. Yet. Can't you just see him at the helm of a dirigible or something? Tony should get on inventing that._

_This is really more of an interludey chapter. Don't run away just yet, more shall happen soon!_

* * *

The work surface was covered in small metal parts, in springs and gears, nuts and bolts, ratchets and screwdrivers. It rather looked like a clock had thrown up on the room. Tony sat in the midst of it, hair spiked with oil, goggles pushed to his forehead, tongue poking out as he studied his project.

They had been home for a week, and Tony had been hard at work ever since, surviving off a less than healthy amount of fuel and sleep as per the usual. Bruce had recently shown up and was watching him with a critical eye, brows raised.

"That's the worst looking weapon I've ever seen," he commented, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, like he needed to make sure they were working properly. Next he would probably take them off and clean them to double-check.

"You think so? I don't know." Tony smirked over his shoulder. "Looks fine to me." He turned back to what he had constructed so far – it looked a great deal like a metal cat head. Imagine that. "This will instill terror in Frost Giants everywhere. They won't stand a chance."

After returning home, Tony had not said a word to Bruce about the cat job, solely for the reaction he was currently getting. Yes, there it was, Bruce was looking at Tony like he'd finally gone off the deep end. "I'm going to just go over here and work on something useful."

"Knock yourself out." Tony lifted up a small piece of metal. "Several of these hooked together would make a great moveable tail, don't you think?"

Bruce gave him an indulgent smile. "Of course, Tony." He looked down, starting to clear off a space on a table, then looked up again. "That's for a child, right?"

"Nope. Adult." Tony huffed. "It's not a toy, it's a state-of-the-art simulated pet."

"Sorry."

They returned to their own tasks, working in companionable silence. Moments like that were Tony's favorites – no bickering, no snark, not even friendly chatter. Just working in mutual comfortable quiet. It was peaceful. And as much as Tony enjoyed a project that really put his brain to work, sometimes it was nice being able to turn his mind off and just enjoy the creation process.

But peaceful moments never lasted. This time, it was one big blond entering the workshop. Tony pointedly did not look up at Steve, pretending to be more focused on his work than he actually was.

"Here's your mail." Steve the messenger boy held up a few letters. He stood there, patiently waiting, as Tony continued to stare intently at the scattered parts on the table. "Tony?"

"He's still mad at you," Bruce said helpfully.

"Oh, for..." Steve rolled his eyes. "Just because I decided not to do anything with that Asgardian woman besides buy her a drink..." Still Tony ignored him. "And you left with her after I turned her down!"

"Dummy, pass that ratchet," Tony said, holding a hand out.

"I think you need to pick someone up at a bar soon," Bruce told Steve, "if you ever want him to speak to you again."

"Actually, the silent treatment from Tony might just be a blessing in disguise." Tony gave a soft snort, while Steve flipped through the mail. "No new work... Though when are we going to Alfheim? Have you forgotten about that already?"

"Bruce?" Tony said. "Let Steve know that I have not forgotten. I'm just getting caught up first." Right. That was why he was avoiding that job.

Bruce chuckled. "Stop that. Tell him yourself."

"Whatever. No new work?" He finally looked up, tugging his goggles off. "So what is there?"

"Nothing good-"

"Then why did you bring it down here?"

"You didn't let me finish," Steve said patiently. "Nothing good, except for a letter from James."

"James," Tony repeated blankly.

Bruce looked amused. "You only know one James."

"Oh, James. Hey, a letter from Rhodey!" Tony grinned broadly. He missed his childhood friend, but their time together was sparse ever since he joined the army a couple decades ago. Not long before the accident, in fact... But he was still there by the time Tony woke up. Good ol' Rhodey. "What's he say?"

Steve looked exasperated. Probably at being made to read a lazy genius' mail for him. "That he's visiting in a few weeks."

"A few weeks from now, or a few weeks from when he wrote the letter? When's it dated?"

"Read it for yourself, Tony."

"Fine." Tony waved a hand. "Dummy, grab the letter for me, would you?"

Steve deftly avoided the robot arm, stepping around it to hand the letter to Tony. "Do we need to start cleaning the place up?"

"We?" Bruce looked up from whatever plans he had started perusing. "We're assistants to an inventor. It's bad enough we let him talk us into tidying up the work area disaster zone for him. We do not clean his house for guests."

"It looks fine the way it is, anyway," Tony said. Like he needed to clean for his oldest friend. Cleaning was for visits from mothers-in-law, which Tony happily did not have.

"That's because you don't live up there," Steve said. "You live down here."

"Exactly!"

"I wasn't saying that's a good thing..."

Ahh, it was mother henning time. Deciding to nip _that_ in the bud, Tony finally stood. "Let's go out and grab a bite to eat."

Steve blinked in surprise. He must have had a speech all prepared involving getting nourishment into growing inventors. "Oh. All right."

So Tony spared some time to make himself presentable. When he told his bodyguards of his plans, Clint chuckled.

"Go to that little tea house down the road," he said. (Tony felt he could go out for a bite to eat with his big burly friend without a couple bodyguards hovering over him.)

"I think you've mistaken me for an old lady," Tony said in a scandalized voice. "A tea house. Have you lost your mind?"

"Just trust me." Clint winked. Tony turned to Steve, and did a double take at the blush coloring his face. That was all the encouragement Tony needed. A cute waitress, maybe?

"Tea house it is." Tony sighed. "This had better be entertaining. Me sipping tea is going to be on the front page of the papers tomorrow..."

It was a fairly nice day out. Partly cloudy, not too hot, not too cold. While Tony looked – if he did say so himself – quite dashing in black and red and gold that matched his new hat, Steve looked every inch the farmboy in a plain white shirt and beige trousers with matching suspenders. He got a lot of stares, but it didn't take a genius to see that they were more appreciative than judgmental. The fact that Steve's shirt was just a little too tight across his chest probably had something to do with it. Tony gave a mental snort. He had nice muscles, too! He just didn't show them off with tight clothes, he had a big round glowy disc hanging against his chest.

They walked down the road, past the facades of tall narrow houses that lined the river, roads occasionally connected by a bridge. A small steamboat drifted by, and when Steve turned to watch it pass he almost ran into a group of children as they ran in front of him. They laughed, chasing after their toy, a wheeled robot that Tony mused he probably had a hand in designing.

"So this tea place," Tony said, drawing Steve's attention away from the boat. "Does it serve alcohol?"

"Of course not," Steve said.

"Coffee, then?"

"They serve tea, Tony."

He made a face. "What's the point?"

Steve sighed. "There's food, too." Oh good. They mostly walked in silence after that, just people-watching as they strolled along.

Their destination looked no different from surrounding houses, aside from the sign out front and the copper tea pot that walked around on spindly little legs. Tony probably had a hand in designing that, too. He must have been drunk.

The interior was cozy and girly, the tea sweet, and the food best described as miniature. But Steve blushed every time the blonde waitress stopped at their table, so it wasn't a total loss. Tony did not do anything about it, though. He had learned from his mistake in Asgard. He'd give Steve time before he started shoving them together.

* * *

_I have no idea how getting Steve laid became a sidequest to this story... XD_


	6. Chapter 6

"It is _early_. Why is it early? Why does early happen?" Tony stared down into his steaming cup of coffee as if the situation were its fault. He had managed to mechanically dress himself, but otherwise looked like a tousled mess. His hair was probably a lost cause. He found it hard to care; he had been told on more than one occasion that his just-rolled-out-of-bed look was exceptionally sexy.

"You make no sense," Natasha said, her expression telling him just how concerned she was about his sleepy state. "You're up all hours of the night working, yet you complain if you have to be up early..."

"There is a big difference between still being up at dawn, and waking up at dawn. I can't believe I have to explain that." Tony yawned, jaw cracking. "I am never letting you plan my trips again." It was such a coincidence, once he said the cat was ready to be delivered, how all of his employees suddenly had other places to be. He would bet a vast amount of money Clint and Natasha had played some sort of game, loser having to accompany Tony. It was amazing how little interested they were in travel if it did not involve exotic foreign kingdoms.

Not that he was really sure why he was going, either. Of all the jobs he had lined up that he should finish...

Well, Tony had a few more things to do before leaving, so wallowing in self-pity could wait. He left his cup behind on the table; the coffee wasn't doing much good, anyway. Maybe Natasha had a point, and he'd have been better off if he just hadn't gone to bed at all.

He spent a few minutes puttering around his workshop, making sure everything was safely tucked away until he returned. He tossed a tarp over his personal project and locked its room, he wound up Dummy's crank and gave it a pat, and he made a half-hearted attempt to tidy up. That too was a lost cause, so he returned upstairs.

"Ready?" Tony said. As if Natasha were ever anything else. She gave a single nod and led the way outside, and Tony hurried to catch up, grabbing his hat and cat on the way.

Dawn was just starting to paint the sky, casting a rosy golden glow on the city. Steve probably would have appreciated it. Well, Steve was a farmboy, he was probably always up with the sun. They crossed the threshold of his property to the mostly deserted streets; sane people were still in bed. Or, in the case of people like Tony, just going to bed. At least they were able to make good time walking to the train station, with nobody to get in the way or clamor for Tony's attention.

Tony settled happily into his private compartment, setting the cat down beside him. Natasha sat across from him, looking deceptively relaxed.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" Natasha said, as Tony turned to the window. "After all that complaining..."

"Why?" Tony gave her a puzzled look. "I'm awake now." She just snorted, and he returned to the window, watching the world wake up and go about its business. It only took a few minutes for him to drum his fingers against the armrest, to Natasha's annoyance, and a half hour for him to start fine-tuning the already finished cat.

"You should have brought one of the weapons to work on," Natasha said. "You are going to finish those eventually, aren't you?"

"Eventually," Tony said with a shrug. He had promised to take his time, so he was taking his time. He had other things to think about. Like Rhodey visiting soon! And convincing Steve to do something with that waitress, and getting Natasha to laugh. Clint he didn't have any current plots for, so he also needed to come up with one. Plenty to do.

And a dull train ride later, Tony found himself back at the isolated house. He started toward it, then changed his mind and stepped back, handing his hat to Natasha. "Keep that safe for me." _Then_ he approached the house.

The door was unlocked for whatever reason, so Tony let himself in. The interior looked much the same as it had last time, maybe some of the clutter had been rearranged slightly. And instead of an unfinished lunch, an empty teacup sat on the table. A gramophone he would swear was not there last time was playing softly from atop a stack of books.

"Hello?" Tony gently set the cat down. "Look what I brought. Are you here? Because if I have to wait for you, I can't guarantee your booze stash will remain untouched." He peered around at the stacks of books and random junk. "Do you have a booze stash?"

Luke padded out from whatever section of the small house he had been holed up in. He was dressed in black trousers and shirt, green vest halfway buttoned up and his feet bare.

"Did I interrupt you getting dressed this time?" Tony grinned. "Are you alone?"

"Yes, I'm alone," Luke said, sounding annoyed. "Not everybody devotes all of their free time to drinking and sex, you know." He finished buttoning himself up. "And I do have a booze stash. You couldn't handle what I drink."

"That sounds like a challenge." Tony gestured to the coppery cat at his feet. "Anyway, there you go." He hunkered down to turn a crank on its back, and the cat looked up, eyes blinking. Its linked tail twitched as it walked stiffly over to its new master.

"Clever," Luke murmured, kneeling down to examine it.

"Nah, it was simple," Tony said. "For me. So, money?"

"What do you want for it?" And when Tony suggested a price, Luke did not bother with negotiating. He fetched a pouch, counted its contents, and handed it over.

"Okay, well..." Tony pocketed the money, shrugging. "You wanted to know about the cat? There isn't much to say. Just turn the crank to get it going. It'll run itself out after a bit, no off switch. Um..."

"Have you thought about what we discussed?" Luke said softly, tapping the cat on the nose and watching its eyes follow him.

"Not really," Tony lied. "Because it's not happening. I'm not giving it to you."

"I could help." He lifted his eyes, meeting Tony's gaze.

"Help what? Make a mechanical replacement? What do you know about it?"

"You know about mechanics. I know about magic." He stood in one graceful motion. "Regardless of whether you succeed by inventing a replacement, or simply finding a way to safely remove the medallion, if you had an assistant who understood its magical qualities..."

Tony swallowed. Okay, _that_ was a little tempting. And Luke must have seen in his eyes that he was not immediately against the idea.

"You shouldn't _need_ that forever," Luke continued, stepping closer. "Whatever wounds it saved you from... they should have healed, yes? If I helped you, we could find a way... You might not even need to create a mundane version."

"But the end result is the same," Tony said. "You want the medallion."

"The world would be much better off with that in my possession than in the hands of those that seek it."

Tony wanted to say no. He really did. But if he was offering _help_ with the magical aspects that were beyond Tony's understanding... He hesitated, wondering what to say. Luke just watched impassively. "I don't know," he finally said. "I guess I'll think about it."

"Don't leave just yet," Luke murmured.

"Now what?"

"This cat does not speak."

Tony groaned. "You want a speaking cat."

"Yes. I would like one that meows and purrs."

Of course he did. And if Tony didn't agree to his request for the medallion next time, maybe he'd request a cat that hovered rather than walked. "Sure." Or one that attacked intruders with various hidden weapons.

"Thank you. I'll see you then. And do think about it, like you said."

"Uh huh." He wished the thought of not needing the medallion at all wasn't so enticing. "Enjoy your cat."

So Tony left the house behind again, with another silly project lined up. He rejoined Natasha, who fell in behind him with only a wry glance. Tony liked that about her; she didn't always feel the need to make sarcastic comments like the males he worked with. She returned the hat she had kept safe and he perched it atop his head.

"More work," he said as the pair walked back to the train station.

"Another cat?" Natasha said.

"Yeah. Were you listening?"

"No. Just a guess."

"He looks like a cat person," Tony said. "Though if that were the case, he'd have an actual cat... Allergies, maybe?" He wasn't about to tell anyone that Luke wasn't _actually_ interested in the mechanical cats he kept ordering. Well, he had seemed sort of pleased by it, so all was not lost.

The train was already waiting for them at the station, so the pair walked a little faster. Not many people lingered outside, having presumably already gotten aboard. Those who were crowded closer to Tony, excited, and he signed a few autographs while Natasha tapped her foot and sighed. One young lady in particular was an enthusiastic fan, and Tony was disappointed to find out she was just there seeing a friend off and would not be on the train herself.

As the final whistle sounded, Natasha nudged Tony before hurrying to the train, stepping up into the waiting entrance. Tony followed after her with a wave to his fans as they wandered off. Just as he crossed the threshold, though, he felt his hat blow off his head. With an annoyed sigh, he turned to watch it land neatly on the ground.

He knew it was a bad idea. He knew it even as he stepped down from the train (there had been no wind!), but still he went, because that was his hat! He'd bought it in Asgard, with money from the queen, he wasn't about to lose another hat, and it would only take a second to grab it...

He knew it was a bad idea. As his hand closed on the hat, somebody grabbed him from behind and stabbed him.


	7. Chapter 7

He was vaguely aware of the activity around him, even as his consciousness dimmed, as his life spilled onto the hard ground beneath him. There was a voice talking, shouting, probably making demands, but it was unintelligible. He could not tell if it was because of the whole dying thing, or if the assailant was actually speaking another language. He also heard the unmistakable sound of the train pulling away, and that was not good at all, but he supposed it no longer mattered. Was there anybody else at all around? Somebody who worked for the railroad, at least? Nobody seemed to be rushing to his aid or calling for help, no screams of alarm; his attacker had planned this well.

Hands pawed at his neck, at the collar of his shirt, and ah. There it was. Of course.

Tony was not about to go down without a fight. As the owner of the hands went for his medallion, he blindly lashed out, ignoring the pain that flared through him. He opened his eyes, focusing on his attacker, on the ethereally exotic features and pointed ears. Tony kneed him in the balls and attempted a weak punch in the face. The elf stumbled away, but Tony's strength was spent and he flopped back to the ground, eyes sliding shut.

He grunted when he was backhanded across the face, though he was surprised the knife hadn't made a comeback. For some reason, he found himself hoping Natasha wouldn't be too hard on herself for their boss getting killed on her watch. Surely they would all realize it was his own stupid fault. Hopefully they all found more work and significant others and happiness.

There was another grunt, and that one wasn't from him. Then a strangled cry that cut off abruptly, and a thud. It all sounded very final. The hands returned, starting to feel around his wound instead of clawing at his neck for the medallion. He hissed, but was unable to fight back anymore. The hands were gentle, though, and Tony decided his attacker was definitely the one who had bit the dust. There was only one person his savior could be.

"Thanks, Nat," Tony said – or attempted to say – before consciousness finally slipped away.

* * *

He dreamed of home. Not the fancy dwelling he currently ignored in favor of the basement workshop, but the cozy house he grew up in. His real home. Wonderful aromas emanated from the kitchen where his mother was fixing dinner. He was playing with his best friend Rhodey (Jimmy. He was Jimmy to everybody else back then, they scoffed at a child being addressed by his last name. "Rhodey" wouldn't catch on with everybody else until adulthood, but Tony had always called him that), they were goofing around and occasionally trying to swipe something from the kitchen before being shooed out by a laughing Maria.

His father was down where he always was. This house had a workshop too, of course. Tony could hear the telltale sounds of tinkering, of metal on metal, of curses when something didn't go Howard's way. Tony wondered if he should see if he could help. Sometimes he could never be sure if his help was wanted. He would venture into the workshop, see what had frustrated his father so, boost himself up on a box so that his small hands could reach, and fix the problem. And Howard would thank him, and he _seemed_ happy enough, he always said how proud he was of his brilliant son, but a part of him always looked annoyed.

So Tony didn't help, he continued playing with Rhodey. Because once they were adults, Rhodey would become a military man, and they would not see each other often. And he wandered into the kitchen to laugh with Maria, she too would be gone soon, the illness was probably already eating away at her.

And then he was in the workshop with Howard. He was a man now, able to reach the table without the help of a box. His father did not seem quite so annoyed by Tony's help, now that he was an adult rather than a child prodigy. They worked together all the time.

Tony still could not remember what it was they had been working on that day. He was frequently asked, but he honestly could not recall. Much of that day had been blocked from his normally exceptional memory. Except for the moment it happened, that was etched permanently into his memory; turning to pick up a screwdriver, his father's muttered curse, sudden noise and light and pain and Tony was flung across the room and into the wall and darkness. When next he opened his eyes, many hours had passed, and Rhodey was there, and everybody was relieved they didn't lose all of what remained of the Stark family, and there was a glowing medallion around his neck.

So he continued his life, plagued by survivor's guilt and drowning himself in work. He made friends, he lost friends, he made new friends. Life went on, as it always did.

* * *

Consciousness returned gradually. Tony slowly became aware of the fact that he was laying on something soft. A bed, he figured. Until he shifted slightly, bumping into the hard leather beside him, and changed that assumption to a couch. He frowned to himself. Natasha had managed to bring him all the way home, and dumped him on the couch instead of his room? A hotel room or hospital made even less sense for him to be on the couch.

He decided that Natasha must know somebody in the area, and they were laying low in that person's house. That decided, Tony took a moment to simply appreciate the fact that he was alive. Very sore and wrapped in bandages, but alive. Would wonders never cease, _nothing_ could keep him down. He tried to sit up, but a flare of pain stilled him. With a groan, Tony flopped his arm over the side of the couch, and his fingers banged into something with a metallic clang. It moved slightly, and he ran his hand over it. A very very familiar shape. A cat's head.

"Oh..." Tony finally cracked his eyes open. Yes, yes indeed, the room of organized chaos that was rapidly becoming a familiar sight. "Oh." Okay, that was interesting. So apparently it had not been Natasha at all. Unless she was the one who brought him here. That could be, it was the closest house inhabited by somebody at least somewhat... friendly. No need to think that creepy stalker had followed him to the train station, even if it had turned out useful in the end.

He closed his eyes again, covering them with a hand. His day just kept getting better and better. And then he heard footsteps approach and he lowered his hand to face his rescuer.

"Ah, you're awake. Good." Luke set a tray of something down on the small table. "It was getting rather dull, saying 'I told you so' to an unconscious man."

"You're too kind." Tony made another heroic attempt to sit up, groaning. Luke busied himself with arranging what looked like two sets of lunch. "You saved me." There was obviously no trace of Natasha, so he finally let go of that dream.

"Yes, and with your bodyguards doing such magnificent jobs, too."

"Hey, I was the one who jumped out of the train at the last second!" Tony felt the need to come to Natasha's defense. "No, I mean... why?"

His expression was unreadable as he poured... something from a bottle into a cup of tea. "Well why do you think?"

"You have made no secret of what you want," Tony said flatly. "Getting rid of the crazy elf I can understand. Why save me though? You just had to let me die, and help yourself."

Luke raised an elegant eyebrow. "Are you so cynical, you assume everybody is willing to kill, or allow someone to die, to achieve what they want?"

"You're the one saying everyone and their mother is after me to murder me and steal my medallion. And they almost did!" Tony winced slightly as his enthusiasm sent another flash of pain through him. Luke handed over the tea, which hopefully held some sort of painkiller.

"Well I am not like them," Luke said softly. "Not..." He trailed off, stirring his own cup of tea, eyes distant.

"Not anymore?" Tony finished for him, but Luke did not answer. "You're Loki, aren't you?" And the only reaction _that_ got from the other man was a quirk of his lips. "Well you weren't exactly being the master of disguise. Surely there was a better name you could have picked, for one thing."

"I was not exactly trying my hardest to hide." Loki smirked at him. "It is Asgard I am forbidden entry; here I am allowed. I like my privacy, but I am not trying to be the master of disguise."

"And you still have an Asgard accent. Haven't you been here for a few centuries?"

"Yes," he said, and did not elaborate.

"And now I am even more confused about your helpfulness."

"Ah." Loki pushed a bowl of soup closer to Tony. "Yes, of course. Why would I save you, when I once committed patricide, attempted fratricide and genocide?"

Tony curiously picked the bowl up. "The thought crossed my mind." The soup was creamy, and had a lot of vegetables in it. It smelled pretty good.

"That is not who I am anymore. I've been here alone for, as you said, a few centuries, without all of the... everything in Asgard. I am not happy with my actions during that period of madness."

"Oh, good, redemption."

"Most of my actions," Loki conceded.

"Well that's-wait, fratricide?" Tony blinked. He hadn't heard that part of the story. "Really?"

Loki shrugged slightly, averting his gaze. "Attempted. You would understand if you were there."

"Of course." Tony sighed, torn between finishing his soup, laying back and getting some more rest, and asking the billion questions racing through his head. "So wait, wait wait. Why do you really want my medallion?" Loki was in the midst of eating, but made an inquisitive noise. "You can't do magic, right? Didn't it get sealed away? I mean, I don't know how much of the stories I've heard are true, but..."

"That was true." Loki turned back to Tony, smirking slightly. "I could no longer use magic. I could, however, access it through magical artifacts. And I watched as your technology stole magic from the world, and all other mages were reduced to my level. It was cathartic."

"Ahh, you can do magic!"

"Not much. Eat."

"Oh, right." Tony picked the bowl up and tried a sip. It wasn't bad cooking, for a psycho prince, so he dug in.

"I only have a small token," Loki continued. "It can only handle so much. I was able to use it to keep you alive with a minor healing spell. And right now, it is keeping us safe." It was Tony's turn to hum a question around a mouthful of soup. "This house is currently invisible. Sort of, it would be difficult to explain to someone not magically inclined. It is also preventing entry, should somebody manage to spot it." He hesitated a long moment before adding, "I would recommend you stay here for a while."

Tony choked on his current mouthful. "_What?_" He grimaced. "Ow..."

"Lay back, you imbecile." Loki took the half-finished bowl away from Tony. "You need to recover, anyway. And I would highly recommend hiding for some time, until this hunt for you dies down. You were going to agree to my assistance, anyway, we may as well start that now."

"I was not..." Tony groaned as he shifted back against the cushions. "We will talk about this when I'm better." He was just getting comfortable and ready to resume sleep when his eyes shot open. "Shit!"

"Now what?" Loki said, weary.

"Everyone's going to think I'm dead!"

"Most likely." He shrugged, as if that were no big deal. "Kidnapped, at first, since there is no body."

"And technically that is true." He grinned to show he wasn't being serious. Not really. Sort of.

Loki ignored him. "Though when you don't return, I'm sure everybody will assume you dead. That is for the better, don't you think?"

"No! I have friends, fans, the world loves me. I don't want to fake my death." Loki rolled his eyes. Oh good, Tony had missed that, how lucky _everybody he knew_ did that at his every word. "Okay, no, I'm not going to let my friends think I'm dead. I'll send them a letter."

"Are you serious?" Loki rubbed his forehead. "There are those who _want you dead_, and you want to risk yourself to send a letter to your friends?"

"Yes." Loki met his eyes, and they engaged in an epic staring showdown. And yeah, that probably wasn't the best idea, with those stupidly hypnotic green eyes.

Miraculously, Loki looked away first with a huff of annoyance. "I'll send them a message."

"A message from me," Tony said. "If _you_ send a message, they'll think you're the attacker!"

Loki gave him a withering look. "Of course from you. But not now. They'll survive, thinking you're dead for a while."

"Whatever." Tony once again attempted sleep, but that lasted about ten seconds. "Doesn't it seem awfully coincidental, me just _happening_ to get attacked not far from your home, and you just _happened_ to be nearby to save me?"

Loki inclined his head, lips pursed. "You're right," he said after a moment's consideration. "That does seem coincidental."

"Well that doesn't..." Tony trailed off as Loki left the room. "Answer my question," he finished to himself. "I guess technically it does."

So apparently he was stuck there for a while. He supposed he should be looking on the bright side, since he wasn't dead, but it was hard to not focus on how life seemed to hate him.


	8. Chapter 8

Tony quickly sat up when he heard the door creak open. He didn't grimace in pain, so he considered that a win. Loki had barely crossed the threshold into his home before Tony verbally pounced on him. "For the love of all that is good in this world, you have got to let me up."

"Does it look like there is a spell on you keeping you on the couch?" Loki said as he set down a bag of whatever he had purchased onto the table. "Are you not a grown man? You're welcome to disobey my orders if you wish."

So Tony moved to stand, and Loki sent him a death glare that by all rights should have turned him into a smoking crater. Tony lay back.

"It has been a day since you were stabbed," Loki said with an exasperated look. "You're lucky to be alive. Just rest, until you are healed." He scowled down at Tony's chest, where the medallion was hidden beneath his shirt. "Apparently it is not interested in healing new wounds."

"Nope." Tony let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't like laying still."

"Truly? You hid it well." Loki rummaged through his bag, tugging out various food products.

Tony was not sulking, he firmly told himself. He did not sulk. "You were a lot nicer when you were trying to convince me to cooperate."

"I was a lot nicer when you were not whining at me like a child. It's only been a day."

"This was your idea." Tony folded his arms. "I do not like being bored. If you don't want me to go anywhere, get me something to do."

"Can you sew?"

"Get me something real to do." Tony groaned at the thought of all his ongoing projects, tucked safely and far away in his workshop. "So many people are waiting for their gadgets..."

"You're missing the point of playing dead," Loki told him with a pointed look.

"I didn't want to play dead. And I wasn't going to reveal myself right away, I just wanted to work on some of my projects."

Loki went silent all of a sudden, straightening up with a faraway look in his eyes. Tony mentally backpedaled, wondering just what he had said that could be construed as upsetting. "I wasn't trying to insult your home, you know. I'd be bored to death if I were bedridden in my own home, unless somebody brought me some of my work."

Loki ignored him for another moment, before suddenly seeming to notice him again. "You were hired by Asgard, yes?"

Oh, right. That. "Well, yes."

Loki kept his face carefully neutral. "How was it there?"

"Oh, nice," Tony said, wondering what was safe to say. "Big. Opulent. As were the inhabitants." Well that was nothing Loki wouldn't know. "The people were nice. I was surprised how many were fans. They wanted to do things with me, and get my autograph, just like people here, it was fun."

Loki just nodded thoughtfully. "Dare I ask what they wanted?"

"Better weapons," Tony said with a shrug.

"Ah. I should have known." He smirked slightly, then resumed emptying his bag, carrying some groceries to the small kitchen nook. "I had to restock," he added as Tony watched him. "I don't normally have company."

"Shocking." Tony chuckled. "You cook all right for a single guy, though." Every once in a while, it occurred to Tony how surreal the whole situation was. He was _chatting idly _with the infamous and supposedly dead psycho prince of Asgard. And the crazy bastard didn't seem to mind. A few centuries of peace and meditation, or whatever he'd been doing, really must have done the trick. And because his mouth hadn't gotten him in too much trouble yet, Tony decided to try something riskier. "Your mother misses you."

Loki stiffened, though his back was to Tony so who knew what was going on with his face. A long moment passed, and Tony started to think there would be no response, before Loki finally spoke up. "Oh?" he said softly. "She said that?"

"Well, no," Tony admitted, "but it was obvious. Actually, she said I reminded her of you."

"Now that I really find hard to believe..."

Tony chuckled. "She was mainly talking about my hair. She didn't mention you directly, but I had my hair slicked back at the time, like you always have it... I didn't have much choice at the time. Somebody had stolen my hat, I had to do something. And anyway, she looked sad."

"That's kind of a leap to conclusion, assuming it was to me she referred." Loki turned away from the groceries, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter.

"She also said my eyes reminded her of someone. Though not the color."

"Your eyes are nothing like mine. She spoke of somebody else." Loki dumped the empty bags on the low table near Tony. "What do you want for lunch?"

"A nice steak," Tony said, and Loki eyed him. "Or a sandwich, whatever." He restlessly drummed his fingers against the side of the couch that had become his tomb. Loki moved around the small kitchen, pulling out ingredients. "You know, if you want to cook faster, I could make-"

"No."

Tony snorted. "Be that way. Keep simmering soup for an hour while you starve, I don't care."

He lay back with a small sigh, wondering for the millionth time what his friends were up to. Or the rest of the world, Loki seemed reluctant to inform him of the reaction to Tony's apparent kidnapping or death or whatever they believed happened. His friends, at least, were probably in a panic, and not working at all. Steve was likely not visiting his waitress like he was supposed to. When Rhodey arrived, he would make it his mission to find Tony. Wouldn't it be funny if he did stumble upon them, despite the magic that supposedly kept them hidden? Rhodey versus Loki... it would almost be worth it to watch.

Tony just wanted to let his friends at least know he was okay, but Loki still wanted to wait. Hopefully he had not forgotten about his promise to send them a note one of these days...

Tony was lost to his musings while Loki fixed up a quick lunch, and they mostly ate in silence. And after they were done, Loki seated himself beside Tony with a serious look on his face, looking pointedly at his chest with a question in his eyes.

"Yeah, fine." Tony reached down his shirt and withdrew his medallion, its soft blue glow bathing Loki's features. "Let's get to work."

Loki made a hum of agreement as he curled long fingers around the magical object, turning it over to inspect the less luminescent back. "And it absolutely cannot be removed, hmm?"

"Stop that line of thought right there," Tony said with a frown. "I'll tuck it back."

"And however would I retrieve it then?" Loki shook his head. "I am only asking. Any wounds should have healed..."

"Well I still can't remove it. That's just how the thing works. It saved me from nasty injuries, and I'm stuck with it, and that's why we're here."

Loki pursed his lips as he stared down at the medallion, eyes roving over it. Then he closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath, as if meditating. Unsure of what he was supposed to be doing, Tony just waited while Loki did... whatever. But after several long, silent moments, Loki shook his head with a sigh.

"Can you use it?" Tony suddenly wondered. "For magic?"

"Not while you're wearing it." Loki stood, wiping his hands on his pants. "This is not going to be easy."

"Did you find anything out about it?" Tony gripped the medallion, not exactly feeling euphoric considering Loki's less than thrilled expression.

"Nothing useful."

"You want to poke it some more?"

"Not right now."

Okay. So he spent like ten seconds checking the thing out. Helpful. "So now what?"

"Now you rest some more."

Tony made an aggravated noise that was close to a growl. "I'm fine!"

"Rest for tonight, at least. Do I need to remind you again about the severe wound you suffered yesterday? That I was only able to offer minor magical help for?"

"It feels like more than minor..." Tony prodded at the bandages, jerking his hand away when Loki looked like he was ready to smack him. "So thanks?" Had he even thanked Loki for saving him yet?

"I have things to do," Loki said, which reminded Tony of another thousand questions Tony had. Like what did the long-ago-disgraced prince _do_ for a living?

Instead of inquiring about that, Tony said, "You didn't have anything to do with the attack, did you?" That question had been lurking in the back of his mind all day.

Loki just snorted, not looking offended or surprised by the question. "Of course not. After you left, I had a bad feeling, so I followed you."

"Huh." Weird, but whatever.

Loki left, then, without another word. Now what? Back to being bored, that was what. Tony groaned again. He eyed the stacks of books, wondering if he should have asked for one. They did not look very interesting, but better than nothing, probably. Whatever, he could get up and grab a book on his own. Maybe a few. He reached for one of the discarded grocery bags, but paused when he realized it wasn't empty. Curious, Tony tugged the bag closer to inspect it.

His eyes widened at the sight of the tools and gadgets the bag held.


	9. Chapter 9

Loki jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath, instinctively slamming a hand onto the nightstand to silence the alarm clock he'd swear he didn't set the night before. His hand merely smacked onto the nightstand, and he finally cracked an eye open to investigate. The ringing never stopped.

It was coming from the floor. Scowling, he scooted closer to the edge of the bed and peered down.

There was his alarm clock. On the floor. Walking. It was walking on little metal legs.

"I will kill him," he muttered before burying his face in the pillow. He should have known his nice gesture would backfire. But lucky for him, the world already believed something terrible had happened to Tony Stark, so they wouldn't be surprised when they found his mangled corpse.

Loki finally rolled out of bed, not especially surprised when the shrill little alarm clock started hurrying away from him. How he must look, he mused as he went after the cursed timepiece, chasing after an inanimate object, wearing nothing but the shorts he had been forced to sleep in due to his sudden houseguest's presence.

Soon enough he snagged the clock up and hit the button to turn the obnoxious ringing off, then dumped it onto his nightstand. Had that ridiculous man actually _sneaked into his room_ while he slept to steal his alarm clock? Loki ran a hand down his face. But of course. Tony had not wished to be here at all. He was going to do everything possible to make Loki regret it.

Or that was just the way he was. Either way. Great.

Not that he hadn't played similar tricks on Thor when they were younger, albeit with magic instead of gadgets.

Loki grabbed a robe, sliding into it as he stalked out of his bedroom. His frown deepened at the sight of Tony asleep kneeling on the floor, head pillowed on his folded arms on the coffee table. Parts and tools were scattered around him, along with a dissected pocketwatch. The only reason Loki could come up with for the interest in upgrading timepieces was the lack of other machines to tinker with. Loki didn't exactly care to keep up-to-date with the latest technology. He would likely have to buy some broken-down junk for Tony to repair, just to keep him away from Loki's things.

Tony snuffled softly in his sleep, and Loki found himself cracking a smile before he caught himself and frowned again. Just a few centuries ago, he probably _would_ have just disposed of Tony and taken his medallion, no matter how obnoxiously likable he was. It was amazing what so many long years spent alone could do for a person's disposition and desire for company.

It would have been so much _easier_ to just take what he wanted. So much power, right at his fingertips, kept just out of reach by one man's life. Part of him had considered doing just that, before he actually met Tony. He had not had a fully formed plan in mind when he sent out a job request to the inventor, just that he somehow needed that medallion, to gain its power, to keep it from others. It wasn't until Tony was actually in his home that Loki had settled on a mutually beneficial arrangement. He wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe he _had_ seen something of himself in Tony. He had denied it to Tony, but in truth he did not doubt that Frigga had been referring to Loki when she told Tony he reminded her of someone.

Of course, if they remained unsuccessful, killing him very well might be the only option. The Dark Elves had supposedly discovered a source of great power, that would aid them in their ongoing war – likely ending in the destruction of a kingdom or two. And the Light Elves would do anything to stop them, do anything to get their hands on their own power source. And the Dark Elves would do anything to stop _them – _ not to mention the rumor that uncovering their vast magical artifact would itself require magic, necessitating the recovery of a smaller artifact... Basically, Loki really needed to get that cursed medallion off of Tony before somebody else did. He would prefer to keep him alive, but... that just might not be an option in the end.

He would have to venture out to do a bit more spying around soon; Loki was eager to discover more about this mysterious powerful magic source that had supposedly been located. To discover if the rumors were true that it needed magic to be uncovered. And, of course, to make sure their enemies still believed Tony dead and his medallion lost.

Oh how he just wanted to take the blasted thing and be done with it; keeping that man alive was way too much work.

On the other hand, after a few decidedly dull centuries...

He turned his attention back to Tony, sleeping so peacefully in such an uncomfortable looking position. Loki owed him for his rude awakening, he supposed. He was out of practice, he had not pulled a prank in so long, not since before his life had been systematically ruined after one unfortunate discovery. Of course, most of his tricks had relied upon magic, and his sole, sad little magical crystal was currently occupied.

As he started considering his options, though, Tony started to wake. Loki rolled his eyes at the fact that he had even been considering pranking him like a child. Such a short time together, and Tony was already bringing out the worst in him. Before the inventor's eyes fully opened, Loki remembered how he was dressed, and jerked his robe closed, quickly tying it.

"Ow." The first thing Tony did upon fully waking was rub the back of his neck. Loki felt no sympathy.

"Serves you right."

Tony's head jerked up, and he stared at Loki. "Were you watching me sleep?"

Loki snorted. "Plotting your murder. What are you doing with all my clocks?"

"Upgrading them." He poked at some watch guts. "They were terribly out of date."

"So this is living with you?"

"Yup." And Tony actually grinned. "Enjoy." He picked up a screwdriver, idly twirling it between his fingers as he transferred himself up to the couch. "You did provide me with tools, what did you expect?"

Loki honestly had no idea. He must have been out of his mind to pursue this situation in the first place. A residue of the madness that had claimed him centuries ago. Instead of answering, Loki settled down on the couch beside Tony, reaching for his shirt. Tony opened his mouth, and Loki quickly cut off whatever stupid or inappropriate comment he had been about to make. "I am checking on your wound."

"Oh, it's fine," Tony said with a wave of his hand. "Your magic did the trick."

To Loki's surprise, the wound _wasn't_ that bad, for having only been inflicted a couple days ago. Maybe he had underestimated how much magic he could channel through his little crystal... Or maybe humans' fragile bodies were as easy to heal as they were to injure.

"I suppose you want to check out the goods?" Tony grinned at Loki's raised eyebrow, and tapped his medallion.

"Don't you want to eat or... get up first?"

Tony shrugged. "I've woken up in worse positions, I'm fine. Just get it over with."

Loki gave a shrug of his own took the glowing disc in hand. He concentrated, trying to seep his mind into it, to see _how_ it worked. He had just as much luck as he had yesterday. It felt like a caged animal, something powerful waiting to be released, but he couldn't see _how_. He couldn't see what made it work, what kept Tony alive, why it could not be removed after healing someone. It was maddening, holding such a powerful artifact in his hands and being at a loss.

He lost himself in the medallion, digging his mind deeper, but it was like exploring a rock for all he was discovering. But Loki was nothing if not patient, he did not let frustration get the better of him. This was only his second attempt at understanding the medallion, he would not panic at a lack of success just yet. He would keep trying, keep digging deeper, until he had a better understanding of how it worked and Tony could replicate it with technology.

He was unaware of how much time passed while he mentally pushed at the medallion, before a hand was shaking him and Loki blinked back to awareness. "What?" he said, voiced tinged with annoyance at being interrupted.

"I'm starting to regret letting you do this first thing," Tony said. "I'm hungry, I have to pee, and you've been sitting there all creepily still for about an hour."

"Oh." Loki slowly backed away, letting Tony rise. He did so with a groan, rubbing at his back and limbs.

"Yeah. We're definitely not doing that right away anymore. You just spent a few minutes at it yesterday, I didn't think it was going to be all in-depth this time..."

As Tony carefully departed, presumably to use the restroom, it occurred to Loki that he had not seen the state of his kitchen since gifting Tony with tools. "My kitchen had better be untouched!"

By some miracle, it was. After they ate, Tony's restless nature again manifested, and he started looking for something else to upgrade. When his eyes landed on the cat he had built, Loki quickly snatched it away. "Leave my things alone. Tell me what you need to build something, I'll add it to my shopping list..."

That made Tony grin. "I thought you'd never ask. I'll write out a list. And you can add clothes to that..."

"I left you some clothes," Loki said, indicating the neatly folded pile stacked on a side table.

"They're your clothes. Your clothes would not fit me."

Loki shrugged. "I told you to take up sewing, did I not?"

Tony gave him a flat stare. "Yeah, rooming with you is wonderful..."


	10. Chapter 10

It almost felt like home nowadays. Tony was surrounded by machinery, tools, random bits and parts, the gears in his head turning faster than those adorning his contraptions. He was a greasy mess, taking turns working on another mechanical cat for Loki, and his new medallion. It wasn't a _working_ medallion, not yet, Loki was still... researching. But Tony figured he may as well get started, and was creating the base.

How he missed the outdoors. It was funny, not long ago he _had_ spent all his time indoors, working, creating. His friends sometimes felt the need to force him outside when he became too engrossed in a project. But now, after at least a month confined to a single house, knowing he couldn't leave, he craved nothing more than the great outdoors. He was able to get a little fix at least. Loki had assured him they were safe and unseen right outside, but not more than a few feet. And so Tony spent some time enjoying the fresh air, pressed against the house wall.

While Tony tinkered, Loki was out snooping, as usual. He really didn't seem to work. Tony had asked a time or two, but just got a mysterious little smile/smirk in response. The only thing Tony could figure was even a banished, disgraced prince was given enough money to last a lifetime (and since he likely still had a couple millennia left in him, that would be a lot of money...)

Well Tony wouldn't ask if that were the case. It was an unspoken rule between them – they didn't ask about the past. They talked about what they were up to in the present, Tony talked about his friends, they planned for the future, they bickered. But Loki never spoke of his old life, or what he had been doing in the centuries between his banishment and when he met Tony. And Tony didn't ask. Nor did he offer too many insights into his own past. He wasn't entirely sure why even, he wasn't shy, maybe he was just taking a cue from Loki. Maybe he would, when Loki returned home. Tony had plenty of entertaining stories to share.

He had just settled on the time he had dismantled his father's watch (something Loki could sympathize with) and used the parts to make earrings for his mother (she had loved them so much his father didn't have the heart to punish him, though he was especially grumpy for a week) when Loki returned, and Tony had just opened his mouth to regale him with the tale, when Loki interrupted him.

"Frost Giants..." he hissed.

Tony blinked. "What? What about them?" Now there was an aspect of Loki's past Tony had figured would never come up.

Loki turned to look at the messy inventor, a deep scowl on his face that didn't seem to actually be directed at Tony. "You can include them in the list of those seeking you and your medallion."

Tony dropped his screwdriver with a groan. "So basically... Midgard and Asgard are about the only kingdoms _not_ after me..." Great. Now he'd never get to stop playing dead.

"It seems that way."

"Though they're looking for me, too, but in a nice, wanting to find me alive way."

"Indeed."

"Great... Jotuns are after me." Tony scratched his goatee. "Any idea why? Same as the others, they just want the medallion for its power?"

Loki slowly shook his head. "I don't know. It's likely."

"Because they're always plotting war with Asgard..." He hesitated, remembering too late there were certain things he tried not to mention, but there was no reaction. "And Asgard hired me to build them weapons! The Jotuns might want to kill me just for that, to stop me at any cost."

Loki raised an elegant eyebrow, lips tugging into an amused smirk. "There's nothing wrong with your ego."

Tony just grinned. "All right, so there's even more people after me. Does this change anything?"

"Not really." Loki dropped onto his couch with a sigh, but not before making sure it was safe and free of random painful metal bits. "Frost Giants stand out a _bit_ more than elves, and aren't especially welcome here, you shouldn't have to worry about them too much. As long as you stay out of Jotunheim."

"There go my summer plans then." Tony grabbed his screwdriver again, turning back to the assorted parts of mechanical cat.

"You don't have to continue making that, you know," Loki said without looking at him.

"Yeah, I know, it was a ruse to get me here." Tony gestured toward the first cat. It was sitting near a bookshelf, wearing Tony's hat, the one Loki had stolen during their first meeting. "Then give me that one to take apart and tinker with."

"Forget it." Loki leveled a glare at him, and Tony raised his hands defensively. Once assured his metal cat was safe, Loki picked up the new medallion, turning it over in his hands. "If you need to start a new identity, you could try your hand at being a jeweler," he mused.

"You already made that joke."

"Did I?"

Tony nodded absently. "Soon after I started making it. I think we'd been drinking."

"Ah..."

"Have I told you the story about my mother's favorite earrings?"

Loki gave him a look that almost seemed like surprise. "No."

So Tony regaled his roommate with the tale as he worked, laughing at all the appropriate places, though Loki remained quiet throughout. Even after Tony's story came to its conclusion, Loki just stared thoughtfully into space. "You okay, there?" Was Loki simply allergic to the act of sharing too much info?

"I have a similar tale," Loki said, voice as faraway as his gaze. "Minus the stealing from my father and earning his wrath, but I did make my mother's favorite earrings."

Tony froze, setting down his tools and focusing all his attention to Loki sharing about his family.

"It was the first hunting trip my brother and I went on together. The beast came quite close to being the victor, but obviously we won in the end. Thor had the fur made into a coat for her, and I had the tusks carved into earrings."

Tony tried to remember noticing any earrings when he met Frigga, but couldn't recall. And hey, congratulations to Loki for still calling them mother and brother and so on.

Sometimes Tony really wondered what it would have been like to know Loki a few centuries earlier, closer to when it all went rather scary.

"I have not told you about my first visit to Midgard," Loki said, surprising Tony out of resuming his work again.

"No, you haven't." Apparently Tony should have started sharing about his past sooner.

So Loki spun his tale, and Tony mostly forgot about working while he listened. He was often guilty of that while listening to the other. It was something about his voice, Tony got lost listening to it. Loki spoke about visiting Midgard on horseback, no public transportation available in those days. Mages were common then, as were beasts now extinct and heard of only in legends. Midgard was ruled by a king and queen, who lived in a vast palace that rivaled the one that still stood in Asgard. Loki and his family had stayed in that palace for a few weeks, befriending the Midgardian royal children. Nothing especially exciting happened during their visit, but just hearing about what his kingdom was like so long ago from a firsthand account was fascinating. Tony should convince more Asgardians to tell stories.

"I think I will forgo examining your medallion today," Loki said abruptly after cutting off his story. Tony jerked back to full consciousness, from the lull he had fallen into. "I have a constant headache from doing that every day."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Fine by Tony, sitting there quietly for an hour or two while Loki sat inches away from him, perfectly still and creepy, was not the funnest activity in the world. "I still have a few things I want to-"

"Shh." Loki's expression had grown suddenly intent, and he tilted his head, listening.

"What?"

"Shut up." He slowly crept closer to the nearest window. As Tony watched in confusion, he suddenly heard it. A whir of machinery, the thud of footsteps, and his heart leaped into his throat. What was going on? Tony quickly joined Loki at the window.

He saw nothing outside, but the mechanical sounds were growing louder. And then, a few small trees slammed to the ground, and a large machine stomped into view. It was familiar, looking vaguely like a giant scorpion, steam pouring out of the upraised "tail", its body made of various cobbled-together parts of dull gold or copper color. In the front were a few large gun barrels, and it walked on spindly legs.

"What is that?" Loki said in a low voice, staring at the contraption.

"A scorpion," Tony said, for they had indeed been uncreatively named after the critter they resembled. "They've been used for defense by the military for a long time. They have big guns... that's where my father got the idea for small, personal-sized pistols. But they don't _move_. Since when can they move?"

Loki snorted softly. "I thought you were in favor of giving _everything_ legs to walk on."

"Well sure. But still..."

"My magic protection is still intact. Whoever's in there can't see us."

Tony swallowed thickly. "Does this mean _Midgard_ is after me, too? My own people?"

"I don't know."

The scorpion came to a stop with another hiss of escaping steam. Even with Loki's assurance, Tony still held his breath, waiting for whoever was inside to fire upon the house. The small door on its back opened and a head poked out, peering around. Tony felt a small flicker of relief at the dusky skin and pointed ears. A dark elf, not one of his own countrymen.

"Elves hate machinery," he muttered.

Loki nodded. "Apparently they are making exceptions."

"Desperate times and all that."

"They know you're here somewhere."

"Yeah..."

The elf spent another moment looking about, before returning into the machine's belly. The scorpion jerked back to life, mercifully passing their house. Tony finally remembered to breathe as the last mechanical footstep and hiss of steam faded into the distance.

"What do we do now?" Tony said, turning so that his back was to the wall, running a shaking hand down his face.

"Nothing." Loki was still staring out the window. "If they had access to magic strong enough to find us despite my protective wards, they would not need your medallion so desperately."

"Can't we sneak off somewhere else, and put up a new ward?"

"No. We stay here."

"Okay..." Tony heaved a breath. "What now?"

"Whatever it was you said you were going to do before that thing showed up." Loki finally left the window and strode toward the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"Making tea."

"Oh, of course." Everyone had their own method of soothing their nerves. Tony's was creating, of course, so he returned to his tools and threw himself back into his work. When confronted by a giant deadly scorpion, work on your cute little kitty cat.


End file.

Avengers, Adventure, Romance