Chapter Text
The atmosphere in Stark’s bar is taught, tension tighter than Hawkeye’s bowstring. Speaking of the archer, Loki can feel the man’s heated gaze burning into his back. If it wasn’t for Thor’s often misguided loyalty, he would worry about that. Having an enemy stood, armed, somewhere behind him. His former sibling has always been good with the visible, obvious threats however, so for now he chooses to believe that Thor will protect him.
Not that his protection means much. Not if – when – the Chitauri catch up with him. He can feel that giddy laughter building up again. He recognises it now as panic, but he can’t give in to it. He must stay in control, must make these heroes understand. Yes, heroes. That is what the world needs.
But he has never been a hero, even when he tried. That was always Thor’s job in Asgard, and he has seen for himself how effective the Midgardian versions are. He was never meant to be a hero, and yet here he is. A voice whispers in his mind ‘you are nothing.’ He ignores it, as best he can.
He turns to Thor. What feels a lifetime ago, when he was dragged back to Asgard in chains it had always been his plan to speak to Thor. It was a good plan and he implemented it now. The others gathered around him had no reason to listen to him, to trust him. Thor didn’t either, not really, but they had a shared history. And Thor still clung to the fiction that they were brothers. He could use that, he would.
‘Brother…’
He hates for a second the bright note of hope when Thor responds. ‘Loki?’
‘They are coming, and there are so many. More than this world can manage on its own. You must raise the armies of Asgard.’
‘WHO are coming? Your Chitauri friends?’
Loki bites back a bitter laugh. There is no time for this now.
‘Oh yes. Truly my FRIENDS. Is this how you treat your friends Fury? If so I pity your enemies.’
He gestures at himself, still clothed only in a stolen, tattered robe and nothing else. His energy has been spent getting here, with nothing to spare for healing. He knows that he is bruised and battered, and that his current state is nothing he can hide from them. Which could be a weakness; it’s certainly something he hates. But he has learnt to turn every weakness to strength. Now, if it is something he can’t hide it is also something they can’t deny or ignore.
It was no friend, no ally that left him in such a state.
‘If they aren’t your friends, why did they rescue you?’
‘They didn’t.’
‘They didn’t? Loki, I saw them!’
‘Yes brother. Well done. I didn’t say they didn’t come to Asgard and take me from my cell. I said they didn’t rescue me.’
Loki closed his eyes, frustrated. He didn’t need them to trust him, or to like him. Only to believe him. How could he make them understand? Biting his lip, he shivered and pulled the loathsome robe around him. With a sigh, he opened his eyes again and turned to Fury.
‘They gave me an army, in exchange for the tesseract. That was the deal. Now, I’m sure you remember how that all worked out.’
‘You failed.’
‘Yes. I failed.’ His voice is quiet and cold, calm and controlled now. ‘They do not reward failure, but it is not their place to punish a god.’
‘So… What? You’re here now to help us out as revenge? Some kind of petty pay back?’
Loki lets the lie slip from his lips with a smile. ‘Oh, yes. And I can tell you everything. How many they are, when and how they are coming.’
‘And we should just trust you?’
‘Oh, I don’t know that you SHOULD. But you can, for now.’
‘For now.’
He can feel all of their eyes upon him. They are teetering, on the brink of realising just what he has to offer. It is almost, but not quite enough. For all that their life spans are short; these mortals have learned to think about something more long term than each immediate moment. He has given them motives they can believe, but not anything that they can trust. He sighs again.
‘Fine. Stick me in a prison, if you think you can keep me there. I’d rather face your idea of justice than theirs.’
‘You’ll come quietly? As our prisoner?’
He closes his eyes. ‘Yes. On one condition.’
The captain exchanges a hopeful glance with Thor, whilst Fury narrows his eye once more. Stark is mixing himself another drink, face unreadable. Natasha is sat near Hawkeye, keeping an eye on her friend as well as their soon to be prisoner. It is Banner, the quiet doctor who asks.
‘What condition?’
‘A bath and something to wear.’
Fury nods, slowly.
‘It’s a deal Loki. You come with us and we stick you in another nice cage where we can keep an eye on you. You’ll get your bath and some clean clothes, but then you tell us everything.’
The unspoken threat, of violence and pain if he lies to them doesn’t scare Loki. The only lies he has told today were the ones designed to make them listen. Besides, for all their imagination, he does not think these heroes – even the practical, pragmatic SHIELD director – would have it in them to treat him as the Chitauri had.
He lets them take him away, following Fury as the others surround him. Careful to avoid their touch and they are careful not to touch him, his earlier threat not forgotten. An old fashioned tin bath full of steaming hot water is carried into the cell they have prepared. One built for him this time, not another. It is much like the last, and thought he cannot help a nervous swallow at the thought of entering captivity once more, he is thankful that it is all light and open.
Though, as he watches them close and lock the door behind him he realises that there is nowhere to hide here. He has his bath, and some loose, cotton garments to wear after it. But he has been given no privacy, or even the illusion of it. Turning his back, he slides the robe off his body and climbs into the tub. He is too long for it and must bend his limbs awkwardly to fit, but the warmth slowly seeps into this limbs and he could cry with relief.
When he risks a glance over his shoulder, the room around his cell has been abandoned. He knows that there will be cameras watching, but he appreciates the gesture. He pours water over his head, soaking his hair and letting it run down his face. He tells himself that it is only water and not tears which dampens his cheeks.
Afterwards, he curls up in his new, clean clothing, sitting on the floor far from the filthy tub of water. It is Thor who comes to take it away, who has no doubt argued and pleaded for the right to be allowed in the room with his brother. Loki can’t bring himself to look up and meet his eyes, not right now. He is too tired. Instead he simply asks if they are going to question him now, his voice soft and worn.
Thor stares at him, his eyes brimming with tears of sorrow.
‘Brother? What…What did they do to you?’
‘What matters Thor is what they will do when they get here. Try not to lose your focus.’
He ignores whatever Thor says next, any attempts to talk to him. Finally, the thunder god turns away. Loki rests his head against the cool glass like wall, closing his eyes as he listens to the scraping and sloshing sounds of Thor removing his bath. Sometime later he opens his eyes. All of the Avengers are gathered on the other side of the glass. It is time.