Freeway, Chapter Three

[et2brute]

The Stone Series:  Part III
Freeway
Chapter Three
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The overcast daylight filters in around them, catching on the deep, bold colors of their clothing. Thor's armor gleams bright and pristine, as sharp as a bit of white paint picking out the highlights in a storm-gray sea. Steve's glad to see him whole.

Face pale against the glossy black of his hair, Loki's not half the hungry shadow he was last time Steve saw him.

"Well," Tony says, a reassuring presence at Steve's back. His eyes are unreadable as he takes them in. "Let's get this show on the road."

They gather in the dining room. Tony fidgets restlessly in his chair, slouching and taking up as much space as he possibly can. He's watching Loki carefully from under his eyelashes. When Steve sees the Iron Man bracelets, his fingers itch for his shield.

Loki's hunched forward with his hands flat in front of him, and Thor keeps glancing at him edgewise. Like he's maybe afraid his brother'll disappear. His body language is almost the full opposite of Tony's, tight and restricted, too big for the space he's been given. It's something Steve can empathize with.

When Natasha drifts in, wordless and soundless, Steve only notices 'cause Loki looks up. Her hair's wet, brushed back from her carefully neutral face. The fluffy yellow robe she's wearing doesn't do a damn thing to lessen her air of menace.

"Good to see everybody," Tony mentions lightly, careless and irreverent of the tension in the room. But it seems to break the ice some.

"My heart is glad that you are well," Thor says earnestly, learning forward. "You fought valiantly against the mind-forger."

By the time Steve's internal dialogue catches up, Tony's saying, "Same here, big guy. We were pretty worried for a minute there."

"It was merely a flesh wound," Thor scoffs, easy and proud. "We are well-constructed on Asgard." But Steve notices the tightness around Loki's eyes, the way they flash over Thor's chest and abdomen. Like he remembers seeing his brother in pieces. Like it meant something to him.

Something deep and inky and dark curls inside of Steve, spreads and stains everything it touches. He carefully turns his mind from the ghost remnants of Bucky falling to his death, from the last time he saw Howard's face. He tucks away Peggy's voice and the sharp static of the radio cutting out, even though it never really leaves him.

Tony's peeking surreptitiously into the hall, and Steve wonders where Bruce is. Then he realizes Tony's probably worried most about Pepper walking in on a volatile situation. He's pretty sure she's still upstairs in her office, though: a princess in a tower, surrounded by knights but inches from the dragon.

Steve feels a pang and leans slightly away from Tony, gets some space to himself. It doesn't help. Nothing helps.

"Right, well," Tony says, sitting up just a bit straighter. "I can see that. In fact, one might make the observation that Loki doesn't appear to have been punished at all." His voice is totally colorless, but the way the fingers of his left hand skim over the bracelet on his right wrist doesn't escape Steve.

"He was imprisoned for long weeks while our father deliberated on what was to be done," Thor begins solemnly. Then he explains Odin's express commands, and Tony goes tense at Steve's side

Natasha stays deathly quiet, her arms crossed over her narrow ribs.

The way Thor's sitting-well. Steve knows about shields. He knows the exact curve of Thor's spine, how you can only protect something the best way you know. Steve thinks, What choice do we have?

"So let me get this straight," someone says, and Natasha jerks suddenly toward the doorway. Something hot and angry flashes in her eyes as Clint steps outta the hall.

"I left you in medical restraints," she hisses. Clint ignores her. He's not roughed up like she was earlier, and he's not wearing his SHIELD blacks. But there's a gauze pad on his left eye, white bandages wrapped around his head. Not a hint of tenderness in the steely lines of his hands. Steve wonders where he puts it, his humanity. If it's a thing he's learned to turn off.

"Loki's punishment for his crimes," Clint says steadily, "is to help you help us protect Earth?"

"I will defend your planet to my final breath," Thor says soberly. "Loki has many trespasses for which to answer, but he is possessed also of great power and high cunning. The lives he may yet save-"

"Don't mean a damn thing against what he's done." Clint cuts a silhouette Steve doesn't recognize, the edges blocky and hard and cast all wrong. Complicated and dangerous. Incongruously, Natasha's face has gone thoughtful.

Thor looks desperately unhappy, but Loki's voice is soft. "No. But it does not have to."

All eyes fix on him.

"I am not here for atonement, Agent Barton. That is not a thing I could hope to achieve in this world." He looks up from the table, meets Clint's visible eye. "But is it not more favorable that a life be spared, even by the workings of my own hand, if the alternative is another life lost?"

"Unless you decide to go on a killing spree. Again." Natasha's voice is chilly and measured. "I don't know how we could possibly trust you, but I can accept your argument in theory. I would certainly prefer to fight beside you, rather than against you."

Clint looks at her, stunned, but Thor says hastily, "I will take full responsibility for his future actions."

"And if it means putting him down?" Clint asks, taut as a strung arrow. Hundreds of pounds of pressure on one thin line. Steve can't begin to fathom how it must be, facing someone after he's-rummaged around in your mind. Picked and chosen and rearranged, defiled every special piece of you.

Clint doesn't even blink.

"It will not come to that," Thor says heavily, face clouding. With a faint, sad heat in his chest, Steve wonders if Thor's ever given up on anyone in his whole life. If it's something he's capable of: choosing not to forgive.

"But if it did," Natasha presses, and Thor stares at them helplessly.

"Yes," Loki answers. He doesn't look at his brother. "If it came to that, Thor would-as you say-put me down."

Tony's been listening intently, oddly quiet, and Steve's eyes catch on the edges of his elbows, the curl of his strong, calloused hands. The faint blue glow beneath his gray t-shirt, a constant reminder of his frailty and his strength.

"Speaking of trust issues," Tony volunteers cheerfully, "What exactly has changed here?" He's finally got his body language reined in, solid and unmoving. The sudden weight of his eyes sets off something deep in Steve's gut, even though it's not directed at him.

"Odin-Allfather-," Thor starts again, but Tony shakes his head.

"I'm picking up what you're putting down," Tony says evenly. "You babysit Loki here on Earth, Odin doesn't have to cut his head off back in Asgard. Right. I get it." He pauses briefly. "But Natasha's entirely correct. What's stopping him from slitting our throats while we sleep?"

Clint's come up behind Natasha. He doesn't touch her chair or her shoulder, but he stands very close to her. She doesn't lean into him, but she doesn't lean away.

Steve clears his throat. "You got anything to say for yourself, Loki, now's the time."

Loki glances sideways at Thor, a quick cut of his eyes, there and back. At length he says, "I will not apologize. It would be worth less than nothing to all of you, were I to do so. Suffice to say, I make a terrible enemy." He looks down at the table, pinched and miserable. Honest: "It would not be impossible for you to defeat me a second time. Nor worth your trouble, not when I could be-of use to you. My considerable power to do with as you will."

"Those are all fine, reasonable, conditional things," Tony says. "Now tell me why I should risk my life, Loki." He learns forward on his elbows, eyes hard. "We've established this isn't about redemption, or the people you've killed, or the damage you've caused. You don't regret killing Agent Coulson."

When Tony's eyes go rough and brittle and sharp, Steve touches his knee under the table. It eases the harsh strokes of tension composing the shape of his body.

"Your Agent Coulson aimed a very large weapon at me," Loki says coldly.

"It was battle," Thor adds unhappily, "not murder." The sorrow is plain on his broad, sincere face. But there's trepidation too, as if he's being tricked into telling lies on his brother's behalf. Probably happened a lot when they were kids.

Natasha's hands are white where they curl around the table's edge. "He was one of ours," Clint says.

"I am well aware," Loki studies him, brow furrowing. "Agent Barton, what has happened to render you half-blind?"

"Shut up," Clint says, slapping a hand down on the table. He's gotta reach past Natasha to do it, and she doesn't even flinch. Steve does, though.

"Barton," Tony says sharply. It's a question and a demand. Clint grimaces.

"It's only the one eye," he admits. "It's not an issue."

"You are no longer a perfect shot," Loki continues softly. "You have lost the most valuable part of yourself." He doesn't sound cruel. He sounds curious, which is almost worse.

"Loki," Thor hisses as Clint tightens his hand into a fist, "I do not believe it wise to-"

Steve cuts in. "You're not the kinda guy to do anything without thinking five moves ahead. So you may as well show your cards."

Loki looks at him, and Steve looks back. There's no trace of the power-hungry maniac from before. There's not even the lost, listless shell he'd shared meals with on the helicarrier. When he promised Thor he'd take care of his brother.

Right now there's only intellect, aimless and withdrawn. Without passion or direction.

Loki's face creases with displeasure. "I am tired of fighting Thor," he finally murmurs. "Thor fights for you. I would rather-fight beside him. Wherever he chooses go to. Whatever cause he might support." He casts his eyes skyward. "I find I no longer have the stomach for this-this game of chase, for hunting each other through all the realms. I would rather have done. I would rather remain by his side."

Thor goes utterly still.

Quietly, Steve thinks: I know that want. To lay down arms, to have done. To remain by someone's side instead of at their throat. At their feet.

"I think I'm okay with that," Tony says slowly. Steve can't read his expression or his voice. "Even after he threw me out a window-my own window-I'm still okay with that."

"And your eye, Barton," Loki adds gently. "I mean to say-as I know you," There are worlds of meaning in that simple word: know. "So can I repair you."

Maybe you're punished for the bad you do, Steve thinks. Maybe you're rewarded for the good.

Maybe you can learn to do better, next time around.

'Cause he's thinking about it-the super-charged green smell of marijuana, a pair of glasses flickering in watery television light-Steve hunts down Bruce.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he says uneasily as Bruce sits up. The hair on his chest seems darker and coarser in the dim room. It makes Steve feel kinda bare beneath his clothes.

"It's fine," Bruce says sleepily. "Did I miss anything?"

Steve passes him two styrofoam containers and tells him.

"Hmm," Bruce says around mouthfuls. Then he asks, "JARVIS? Where's Tony right now?"

"In the master bedroom with Miss Potts," JARVIS replies readily, and Steve's stomach drops, "discussing travel arrangements."

"Where's he sending her?" Bruce asks lightly.

"Malibu for the time being, Doctor Banner."

Bruce picks apart a bread roll. "She'll be safe enough there."

"Indeed," JARVIS says.

"He's sending Pepper away?" Steve asks, heart stuttering in his chest.

"He sends her away twice a week," Bruce replies. "Well, she sends herself. One of Stark Industries' major branches is out of the Malibu area. It makes sense for her to stay put for awhile, just until we're all reasonably sure Loki's a non-threat."

"Won't that be," Steve fishes for what he's trying to say. "Hard for them?"

"Not any harder than usual." Bruce slides outta bed unselfconsciously, pulls on a pair of trousers and a black t-shirt. If Steve looks close, he can pick out Hawkeye's emblem in dark, washed-out purple. "They're pretty busy people."

"Oh," Steve says.

"Tony's not," Bruce starts. He pauses as he gathers up the empty containers. "Tony doesn't always think about her. He tries to. He loves her. But there's a lot going on in his head." He follows Steve outta his bedroom and closes the door behind them.

"Pepper's a sure thing," he explains. "She's safe, she's devoted to Tony, she runs his company. There's nothing to fix, so Tony isn't preoccupied with her. I'm not excusing him," he adds firmly. "It's just how he operates. So when he's working in his lab, he's not thinking about her. When he's with me, he's preoccupied with me." Bruce looks kinda unhappy and kinda fond. Maybe wistful. Steve feels like maybe Bruce is a sure thing, too. "They've never let me feel like a third wheel. Not once. But I do try to make myself scarce sometimes." He chews his lip. "Except..."

"Except?" Steve feels a flicker of guilt at his own preoccupation.

"When it isn't me, it's Clint or Natasha. Whoever's out on a mission. Sometimes it's both of them, but there's less of that now." He pauses. "He isn't exactly impressed with how Doctor Foster handles a crisis. But he did make an effort to keep tabs on Thor."

Steve wonders why Jane didn't bother with a phone call, then, if that's the case. Then he wonders if she even knows Thor's here.

When they get to the stairs, Bruce ushers Steve down first. "He worries about you, too, Steve." Steve cranes his head back sharply, looks up over his shoulder. Bruce is just a few steps above. "He thinks you spend too much time alone."

"Fury thinks that," Steve says, turning away and getting a grip on the railing. He can't keep the bitterness outta his voice.

Bruce touches his shoulder lightly. "We all think that." He lets his hand fall. "Anyway, my point is-getting Pepper somewhere else would have been my first priority. So I'm glad it was his. I'm glad he was thinking about her."

The main floor opens up, bright and inviting. For the first time, Steve realizes all the lights are off upstairs. He and Bruce've been talking in the dark for the last half hour, and Steve didn't even notice. He wonders if Bruce did.

Tony's still upstairs with Pepper. Bruce is in the kitchen picking over the rest of the leftovers, and Thor and Loki retired to one of the spare rooms right after supper.

What Steve means to do is go out into the night air, breathe deep, and ride his bike home. Take some time to himself, get a plan of action straightened out in his head regarding wayward Asgardian princes.

What he doesn't mean to do is eavesdrop.

"Natasha, the guy was crawling around in my head. How can you even think-"

"It's no different than what I would have done. What I have done," Natasha corrects quietly.

"There are oceans of difference. There are whole solar systems of difference. The guy killed Coulson, for god's sake."

"I would have killed Coulson," she says without inflection, "in another life."

"This isn't about you," Clint says roughly.

From just outside the den, a few short yards away from the front door and freedom, Steve can't see them. He doesn't know what they're doing in the silence, and he can't make himself move.

"If it's about you," she says at last, voice gentle as Steve's ever heard it, "it's about me."

"Then how can you be okay with this?" Clint asks wretchedly.

Natasha takes a breath. "If Loki can't wipe out the red on his ledger," she asks, "then what am I doing here?"

"Nat," Clint says, "Don't."

Someone touches Steve's elbow. It's Tony. Looks like he's been here for a while.

Steve's shame must show on his face, but Tony doesn't say a word. Just leads Steve out the back door by his wrist.

"That's on them," Tony says, voice low and kinda worn. "I can't pretend to understand their particular mechanics, so. I try not to interfere."

"Right," Steve says. He carefully ignores the bit of oil on Tony's mouth.

They're out by Steve's motorcycle. It's almost full dark now, the driveway illuminated by a single porch light. Seems an awfully long way to the street.

"I'm taking Pepper to the airport when she's done packing," Tony ventures. "If you want to-you know," he glances at Steve with a crooked twist to his lips. "Just. You can stay over." He clears his throat. "You should stay over. Here. Tonight. Considering present circumstances"

"If it's all the same, I'm just gonna head home."

Tony purses his lips. Eventually he hazards, "If you're mad about the pot." It sounds like a bad word, way he says it.

"It's not that," Steve assures him. It's even true, 'cause it did make Bruce relax a little. Steve figures that's worth a couple naps, maybe. "Just a different way of handling things than I'm used to." Then, 'cause he can't fucking help it, he reaches over and smooths his thumb over Tony's lower lip. Tries not to lose himself as those eyes go dark, as Tony moves into him with his whole goddamn body.

But Steve lets his hand fall, steps away. Wipes the tiny smear of oil off on his pants, glances meaningfully at his bike. "Well. Let me know if there's trouble."

"Look," Tony snaps, "I don't know if you've noticed? But I'm getting some pretty fucked up signals here, Cap. So I'd appreciate a conversation about this." He clears his throat. "Us."

"There's nothing to talk about," Steve tells him. He hasn't forgotten. It was over lunch at an outdoor cafe, and it was sunny, and Steve had said it wouldn't an issue. Except it's gonna be if Tony keeps bringing it up, jesus christ.

"You go right on telling yourself that," Tony says. "But it'll to be pretty hard to avoid this when everyone's living together, so I'd suggest you get the fuck over yourself, Rogers. The Tower's almost-"

Steve goes still. "Living together?" He interrupts. "You and Bruce and Pepper? And Thor and Loki?"

"And Clint," Tony says firmly, "and Natasha." He looks impatient, but he also looks wary. It's incomprehensible.

Probably 'cause he spends all his time with robots, Steve thinks wildly. He's got no idea how to talk to real people.

But then Tony's eyes lighten with understanding. "And you, Cap," he clarifies quietly.

"What?" Steve asks. Tony's so close, the smell of him twisting together with the memory what comes next. It almost overtakes him.

"Top ten floors, Avengers-land. Also Hulk-proof. Mostly."

"Tony," Steve says desperately, "I-,"

"Not to mention a fantastic gym. State-of-the-art. Really, Steve, you'll love it, lots of things for you to try and break."

"I have an apartment," he tries.

"Yeah, but it's terrible and I hate it," Tony insists. He's backed Steve up against his motorcycle at some point. Trapped him in the hot cage of his arms. "I think it's something we all need. Living together. You're-"

"Christ, could you back the hell off," Steve snarls. "What, you gonna just move me in next to your-next to Pepper?"

He lets go of Steve. He backs the hell off.

"Look," Tony says, impatient but determined. He takes a breath. "So Bruce, right? Bruce who turns into a monster and sometimes kills people on accident? We keep him close, since that's best for everybody. Non-negotiable."

Steve opens his mouth to say something, 'cause this is completely outta the blue. He's getting conversational vertigo.

"No, listen," Tony says. "It's also best for Bruce, because he needs to be reminded that he's a fucking human being. I can't have him wishing he were dead, I can't fucking handle it." His voice frays around the edges. "So we can't ever let him forget he has people now. Durable, understanding people."

"Tony-"

"Shut up. He has me and he has Pepper, and I hope to hell he has you. Bruce is a fucking suicide, Steve."

There's something on Tony's face that Steve's never seen before, something kinda like quiet fear and quiet fury, kinda like grief. It's not the closed-and-boarded no-man's-land like when Coulson died. This is mourning for the living.

Tony says, "He pulled the fucking trigger."

Says, "It just didn't take."

Steve's caught off-guard, sometimes, how Tony can be such a damn saint it blindsides you. He's usually so obnoxious, outright dismissive of anyone who can't keep his attention. But then you turn around and find him sorting out something like this.

"If Clint and Natasha weren't staying here, they'd be kept like goddamn hamsters in little boxes at SHIELD HQ. They'd be living out of motels and-and fucking helicarriers." He frowns, the lines standing out around his mouth. He looks so tired. "And it's not like Thor has anywhere else to go, especially if he's hauling his crazy brother around. I don't think Jane could comfortably accommodate two Norse gods." Tony smiles humorlessly. "I'd sooner move her here with us, wouldn't be too terrible having another scientist in the lab, but her research is in New Mexico anyway and-"

"What if we can't make it work?" Steve sounds loud to his own ears. Only way to get a word in edgewise, though. "If this destroys the little bit of teamwork we've managed to scrape together? People need room to breathe, Tony."

What's living with you gonna do to me, Steve thinks. I can't even deal with you now.

"There will be so much space," Tony says hastily. "Floors and floors of space. Huge apartments just full of space. Private bathrooms, all with lots and lots of space." He licks his lips. "The kitchen is communal but you can always order in if you feel like a hermit, and did I mention the enormous and catastrophically high-tech health and wellness facility? It's seriously going to be the best gym on the planet."

Steve thinks about sitting alone for hours in his small bedroom, lost. Steady, unabating depression closing in around him like an isolation chamber.

When you feel like that, you don't wanna be around other people.

Steve thinks about Bruce, sleepy and brilliant. Keeping a careful eye on his made family. Steve's not a Hulk, he's just a super-soldier. No one's adopted him. Something like putting a bullet in his mouth would probably take.

"So it's not just about you," Tony says, bringing Steve back to the present, to this conversation that makes his lungs burn and his stomach flip. "I know it's difficult here. Different. I know your world's-changed a lot." He glances up, and Steve feels pinned beneath that heavy gaze. Suspended.

It might not be so bad. And-well, durable workout equipment's not something to spit at.

"Okay," Steve allows, 'cause it's as good a way as any to bow outta this conversation. He throws a leg over his motorcycle and fishes around for his helmet. Tony picks it up off the grass, but he doesn't hand it over. Droplets of water from the damp lawn have pebbled over the surface, glinting in the mansion's soft light.

"Wait. There are other things on the table here, Steve."

"We just talked about moving in together." Steve's exhausted. It settles heavily on his shoulders, cuts in around his eyes. "Anything else can wait 'til tomorrow." Steve revs the engine. The sound is absolutely blissful.

"Look," Tony says seriously, "I'm not gonna leave you alone here, okay? You most of all."

"You don't-," Steve says, but then his helmet's clattering to the pavement and the engine's sputtering out. Tony's got a hand hooked around the back of his neck.

He tastes like pizza and olives and oregano. He tastes like scotch, which means it wasn't a glass of soda he'd been drinking at supper. He tastes warm and insistent.

All the fight goes outta Steve. He wants to follow Tony back inside, go to bed with him. Wants it to be okay, but wants to have him even though it's not.

Eventually, Tony picks up the helmet and presses it back into Steve's hands. He's flushed and half-shy. Looks good on him.

"Call me," he says firmly, and lets Steve go.

But Steve wants no part of this damn charade. There's nothing to talk about, 'cause it's already so clear: Tony's got Pepper, and he wants Steve, too. So the only thing to say is Tony's just not a very good person. Steve doesn't wanna have that conversation.

The next day, Loki's hurling vicious little bursts of lightning that melt every chunk of metal they come into contact with. He's got his teeth bared, his hands twisting violently, his eyes promising vile, ugly things. So he's more or less settling in.

Iron Man's bursting up through the air in a bright streak before Steve can stop him, attacking from a distance with small clusters of missiles. To his right, Thor's slamming his hammer into the areas of Magento's scrapped-together shields that Loki's weakened. Clint stakes out a clear shot with two sharp, whole eyes, but the arrows keep getting pulled apart before ever reaching their target.

The problem's that Magneto keeps tearing up more bits of the city as he goes, breaking buildings down to their base parts. Steve's sick with worry 'cause Iron Man shouldn't be here, and Loki's doing just as much damage to the Lower East Side as their enemy.

"You need to pull back," Bruce says over the comm. He's a mile out in the jet as backup, just in case they can't reign Loki in. Far as Steve knows, Widow's still piloting. "You have to stop him or get him out of the city proper. You've already levelled two buildings, someone's going to get hurt."

"Candycane," Iron Man growls in Steve's ear, "Cherry pie. Sugar-bottom. This is a bit more difficult than it looks from the peanut gallery."

"Said no scientist ever," Bruce shoots back.

"Goddamn it," Tony says. But he's clever, so he figures something out pretty fast.

It only takes the one shot. Clint refuses to be called 'Pebbles'.

"I'm fine with Goliath," he compromises.

"That metaphor doesn't even make sense!" Tony complains.

"But it sounds better. Maybe I turn other people into Goliath."

"Shut up, Barton."

Steve catches Fury before the debrief. "Sir. Why was Magneto attacking the city?"

"Does every lunatic in a cape need a reason to give me a headache?" Fury stalks over to the rest of the team, hands behind his back.

"His vitals are fine, he's just unconscious," Bruce says, straightening. Natasha, who's been hovering close behind him since they landed, falls back a step or two. With JARVIS doing a full scan of Magneto's body, they're able to get all the metal off him.

"Are we handing him over to SHIELD," Steve asks anyone, "or are we waiting 'til he wakes up so we can question him?"

Fury looks hard at Steve. "SHIELD can handle routine questioning, Rogers."

"Make sure you ask what he's got his people doing every time he's out here playing kick-the-can with us." 'Cause that's gotta be the case, if Magneto's so high-profile. Taking on the Avengers alone is just as good as serving himself up on a platter.

Iron Man looks up sharply and swears. Then he turns away from them, which usually means he's barking commands at JARVIS.

"We could see if Professor X can shed some light," Clint says. He's still playing with his handful of rough cement stones. The sling Loki fashioned from someone's shower curtain hangs from his belt.

"They aren't in each other's pockets," Fury says angrily, scrubbing his palm back over his scalp. He's surveying the damage. Place looks like a warzone, and Steve's seen enough of those to know.

"It's political," Tony says a moment later, turning back to the group. "There have been attacks on organizations with known anti-mutant sentiment. They just weren't on the books as hate crimes." He pauses. "Or attacks. Only one case was flagged as possible arson, but the rest were chalked up to business-as-usual. I just love this city," Tony sighs. "Our police force hasn't grown lazy or dependant at all, falling for hella obvious misdirection while Magneto's other mutants pick off corporate assholes."

Steve ignores the sarcasm and asks, "Anti-mutant sentiment?"

"It's like racism," Tony explains, "except the people you provoke and belittle and protest against have a vast array of powers, and many of them aren't very forgiving."

Uneasily, Steve thinks about considerate telepaths.

"It's a known issue," Fury says. "There are people in high places who lobby for anti-mutant legislation. We do what we can to put pressure on them politically."

"Why does this man yet live?" Loki asks. "Is it not in our interest to kill him?"

"Actually," Bruce sighs, "it really isn't. The mutant situation is complicated. On one hand, no, it isn't okay to pass laws that would make the use of mutant abilities illegal-"

"Especially since some of those abilities," Natasha elaborates, "are as automatic as breathing."

"-but militant sects, like Magneto's, aren't doing their cause any favors. He's essentially a domestic terrorist."

Fury goes to unload something from a military SUV. It glitters painfully in the sunlight, so much clearer and cleaner and more colorless than ice. It looks like a glass coffin.

Steve turns away, looks at anything else. He catches sight of Loki, whose eyes are half-closed in concentration.

"Captain," Loki says quietly, snapping his gaze over Steve's. "The director is willfully misleading you."

"What?" Steve asks, voice low. He starts to turn, but Loki strides forward and catches his wrist. Tony drops outta his conversation with Bruce. This, more than anything, calls the attention of the rest of the group. "You saying he's lying?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Tony says, come up close on Steve's left.

"Not directly," Loki clarifies. "But he withholds much. Of this I am certain."

Clint shoots a quick look at Natasha. The filtered sunlight of the overcast day glows bluer in one eye than the other. "It's pretty standard for SHIELD to skimp on mission intel. We get enough to accomplish mission objectives, further details as needed."

"Yeah," Iron Man cuts in, "but 'further details' sometimes includes 'building weapons' and 'bombing New York'. One heroic jaunt to the other side of the galaxy was more than enough for this space cowboy."

Natasha locks eyes with Steve, then Bruce. Eventually she asks Loki, "Do you have the ability to find out?"

Clint shoots Natasha an unreadable look, mouth tight. Bruce looks small and strained next to Thor's wary bulk.

"I am afraid you will have to specify, Agent Romanoff," is Loki's blank reply. His eyes are fixed on Fury's distant back as the man gestures impatiently at SHIELD personnel. "Do you ask me to simply pluck secrets from his mind like so many jewels? Do you ask me to enslave him fully, as I did your companions?"

"Jesus," Clint growls harshly, but Natasha tilts her head and asks, "Can you?"

Loki hesitates.

"It's a simple question," Iron Man points out. He probably means to sound encouraging.

Loki explains, "During the Chitauri invasion, I used many abilities which were not my own." His lips go thin and white. "Some small traces remain."

"Brother," Thor says gently, "if you were to recover the truth, it would greatly assist us."

Loki glances at his palms, then at the sky. His face is still, but his hands are tight and anxious. At length he says, "So be it. If you will excuse me."

He withdraws, but not outta sight. Closes his eyes, tilts back his head.

And-Steve'll never do it justice, telling the story later. People didn't flicker in the forties. But something happens where there's less of Loki, somehow. Where he fades, where color leaches from his face and his hair and his clothing in strange pulses. For a moment, Steve swears he can see right through his body to the rubble just beyond.

Then, all at once, he's back. Ashen, with heavy bruises beneath his eyes. Thor rushes over to him anxiously.

"Huh," Tony murmurs. "Not an afternoon kinda guy? Looks like he needs a nap. I could use a nap. I would actually, right this moment, love nothing so much as-"

"Tony," Steve says under his breath, quieting him. Loki is waving his brother away, distracted. Thor's fidgeting, sharp, worried eyes seeking Loki's in vain. Loki simply stares straight ahead.

"Your confrontations with this Magneto have been orchestrated," he says firmly as they approach. "Publicly, you are on display battling a known terrorist. They are making a show of you." He slowly rotates one wrist, picks at a scab near his thumb. "Privately, SHIELD is sanctioning the execution of individuals who have the resources to hinder this-mutant equality movement." He pauses thoughtfully. "It is not a poorly conceived plan."

"Is is cowardly," Thor huffs, arms crossed. "Base trickery. They must be confronted in the open field. They must be shown the error of their ways before the eyes of the people."

"It is diplomacy," Loki corrects, slanting a green glare at his brother. There's no heat to it, though. Just exhaustion. "Extricating the harmful elements so the whole might flourish." He purses his lips. "Yet another reason among dozens why the throne should pass to me."

"A kingdom cannot be ruled by lies, brother. Odin-"

"Is as tricky as they come," Loki sighs.

"Right, awesome, some god says it's okay for our government to murder private citizens for the greater good." Iron Man rounds on Clint and Natasha. "Did you know about this?"

There's a muscle twitching in Bruce's jaw, a steady flash. Steve can feel the heat rolling off him in waves. "Doctor Banner," he says quietly. It feels strange, familiar, 'til he remembers this has happened before.

"Okay," Bruce whispers so only Steve can hear. "I'm okay."

"We follow orders," Natasha's saying calmly. Clint looks unhappy, rolls a cement pebble between his thumb and forefinger.

"That a yes, then?" Steve asks them, and Clint looks up.

"Like I said," Clint answers. "They only gave us enough to get the job done. We have no preliminary assessment, no ongoing-investigation notes, no summary of related incidents. Fury just told us to take care of Magneto." The lines between his eyebrows are sharp and deep as he meets Steve's eyes. "SHIELD tells us just as much as they tell you, these days."

Natasha's studying Fury quietly, utterly without expression. Gives a guy chills to look at her, sometimes. For all the wrong reasons.

"We're gonna play this one by ear," Steve says firmly. "If the SHIELD's actively working with mutant terrorist cells, Magneto'll probably be outta custody pretty soon. I figure we don't let on we know anything. Have a game plan for next time he attacks."

"Since we do report to Fury," Natasha tells him, "you should keep us out of this for the time being. We can't tell him what we don't know."

Clint looks unhappy, but nods. "She's right."

"I'm always right." Natasha glances at Bruce speculatively. "Keep in mind that we aren't the only ones following orders. If this involves the Council, Fury's hands are tied."

Steve takes them in, Tony's anger and Thor's frustration and Loki's cold eyes. Bruce with his heart only just this side of caged, Clint with a tight jaw and Natasha fierce and distant. "That reminds me," Steve says.

He covers the fifteen or so yards to Fury, comes up and stands quietly beside him. Together, they watch as Magneto's glass cage is loaded onto the transport vehicle. Without his costume, he looks like an old man who's fallen asleep. They've bound his wrists and ankles with zip-ties.

"I'm officially requesting singular command of agents Romanoff and Barton," Steve says without preamble.

There's a pause while Fury gives two junior agents a sharp look. They scurry away. "Why should I honor this request, Rogers? They're two of my best."

"Not anymore, they're not," Steve says curtly. "They're two of mine."

"Anything in particular that's brought this up?"

Steve tilts his head back, firms his jaw. "Agent Romanoff's active-duty condition last night was not acceptable. She shoulda been hospitalized."

"I needed her take on Loki. No one's a better read than she is."

"You didn't need her as bad as she needed someone to stitch her up," Steve bites out. "We had Thor and Bruce. Interrogation coulda waited 'til morning."

"Even if I agree, which I'm not sure that I do, the Council won't approve the transfer if they get wind of it. Which they will," Fury points out evenly. "They don't think I have enough control over the Initiative as is."

"Your agents are no good for undercover work anymore," Steve says. "Their faces are known. Tell the Council they got no reason to turn me down. Tell them I insist."

"Are you prepared to tell them that yourself, soldier?"

"Yes." Steve doesn't hesitate for a second.

Fury lets out a long-suffering breath. "I'll see what I can do. If they refuse?"

"Then I want override clearance. I wanna be able to pull either of them off SHIELD missions at my own discretion." Steve clears his throat. "I want full disclosure, and I want the final say on what constitutes a medical emergency. And whether or not they get checked into a hospital."

Fury's silent for awhile, but not as long as Steve might've expected. "I'll take a look at their paperwork."

It's mid-afternoon by the time they're done for the day. There was a suspiciously cut-and-dry debrief, some deflective speculation, and-paperwork, at the end. Agent transfer paperwork. Steve gets the impression that Fury's trying to sneak it under the radar with the mission report.

After, Tony hooks one of Iron Man's fingers around Steve's shield, draws him up short. "I think the Professor X angle is still a good idea. He'd have some insight on how to handle this sanctioned-terrorism crap."

"I'll ask him," Steve says stiffly. So Tony knows about his therapy sessions after all. He tries to keep his face blank.

"Let me know what you find out," Tony says. "We'll compare notes." He must be preoccupied, 'cause he doesn't even invite Steve back to the Manor with the rest of the team.

Later that night, Steve does some research. He uses Google. Joins a couple online forums, gets a feel for the mutant rights movement. Philosophies and methods.

The following Monday, when he sees Charles, the man's handsome face seems twice as lined and half as sure as Steve remembers.

"Your garden's starting to sprout." Charles smiles, but it's obvious he's gotta work at it. "There are a few new weeds, though."

"Sir," Steve says. Like last time, his stress and worry bleed out with the heat of the sun, and the dark knot of troubles loosens and dissipates. But he holds on to his question, and after about twenty minutes the weeds are taken care of.

"Professor," he asks. Charles looks up from a book. He hasn't been interrupted once, by students or otherwise.

"Yes, Steven?" He marks his page, settles the text on his lap. Gives Steve his full attention, 'cause he's exactly that kinda person. Half the healing is meeting someone's eyes, Steve thinks absurdly. Then he realizes it might not be his thought at all, might be Charles supplying a subtle answer to a subtle question. It makes him feel strange. But it comforts him, too.

"About Magneto," he starts.

Charles' face ages even further. "I think we would be more comfortable in my study."

"Erik Lensherr is a man of rare strength and sincerity," Charles says. "Despite my own gifts, I have never felt so powerful, nor so connected to a greater vision, as when I stood shoulder to shoulder with that man." There are shadows around his eyes. There is loss and grief and steely resolve. There is resignation many decades old that aches even now.

"His presence bolsters you. He is a whetstone. He brings all things into his sharp focus."

Steve thinks about being in someone's pocket. His stomach goes cold.

What Steve learns, in Charles Xavier's study, is a how couple of extraordinary people can move mountains. Between them they've got ambition, empathy. Charisma. A clear vision of everything wrong with the world they live in. They can fix things. All they gotta do is stay together.

But it's hard to build a hospital when your partner wants a crematorium. When you can't make the foundations work, 'cause making peace means letting go of vengeance. When, for one of you, peace was never an option at all.

Steve learns you can try to heal the infection, clean the wound. Or you can just cut out the dead and dying tissue. What he learns is neither of these men are right, 'cause you can't just kill everyone who thinks different than you. But you can't let them continue to poison the minds of others, either, 'cause then the wound will never close. Eventually, the infection spreads and destroys everything.

In the end, Steve doesn't ask Charles what to do. He figures it's the question Charles has been asking himself for the last fifty years.

Phone's ringing off the hook when Steve gets back from his workout.

"Why didn't you answer your cell?" Tony demands.

"I was at the gym," Steve says. "Why are you calling at seven in the morning?"

"Thought I'd do you a favor," Tony says flippantly, "since you never actually call me. I know you know how." He pauses. "You're welcome."

Steve shifts the phone to his shoulder, rifles through his bag for a towel. "I'm just about to jump in the shower, Tony."

There's a beat of silence. Then Tony asks, "Are you busy later?"

It's Tuesday. Steve's schedule is devastatingly free. "Why?"

"Have dinner with me," Tony says. "I'll pick you up. Seven?"

"Tony-"

"To compare notes," Tony says.

"Fine." Brief trickles of sweat shiver down Steve's spine, collect in the creases of his chest and belly, under his arms. He thinks about cool water on his face and back. He closes his eyes and sees blue.

"Dress sharp," Tony orders, and hangs up.

Steve answers the door at seven-fifteen. "You're late."

Tony studies him critically. "You look good," he says, even though he's the one in the flashy getup: rich, supple gray with teal and silver accents. Cufflinks that may or may not be set with diamonds. Goatee perfectly trimmed. Not that it matters, silk or engine grease or armor all beat to hell. He's Tony, and Steve is Steve. Nothing changes.

"Had some help," Steve admits. He picked up his suit late this morning, balking a bit at the sales associate's strong-armed enthusiasm. Fashion trends, prices. But it's not like Steve hasn't got the money for a suit, these days.

"Excellent tailoring," Tony says, reaching out and smoothing his hand over the ivory fabric. Steve thought it was a bit over-the-top, maybe. He's used to seeing black and brown, maybe dark blue. But he kinda likes the color against his forest green shirt, his matte-charcoal tie and shoes. "Stellar cut."

There's a brief second where Tony looks like he wants to say something else, but Steve sorta edges him toward the door. "Shoulders," Steve says.

"Waist, too." Tony's voice is soft as his hand falls to Steve's lower back.

Steve makes a neutral sound of acknowledgement, caught up in the warmth of Tony's palm on his spine. How it soaks in through three layers of clothing.

"So about Loki," Tony mentions lightly when they get outside. He's parked his sharp little sports car on the curb, left her running. He goes around to the passenger side, and Steve doesn't realize Tony's opened the door for him 'til he's already sitting down.

He doesn't know what to do with this. So he simply waits for Tony to continue.

"I know we've only had him for a few days." Tony pulls the car out into traffic. "But what Natasha said. About red on her ledger. And that freaky shit Loki did where he, y'know, wasn't all there for a minute or two. To find out about Magneto and SHIELD?"

Steve glances at the speedometer and firmly reminds himself that he jumps outta planes and buildings. Rides a motorcycle. Has been known to hang off trains going at full speed. He wonders if Tony even knows how fast he's going, or if it's just another thing he doesn't think about. Like with Pepper.

If maybe it's a thing he does think about, like Bruce, but isn't particularly concerned with, like the Hulk.

Steve gets a feeling in his gut, like he's just a player on a stage. How Tony sees everyone that way, maybe. It's not a nice thought.

"It has to mean something," Tony murmurs, squinting at a stoplight. Steve doesn't know why anyone would wear sunglasses on an overcast day. "Being part of our team."

"It does," Steve says. Maybe it didn't, at first. But it does now.

"Right. And Loki fixed Clint's eye. I didn't watch him do it, but Loki said he could, and now Clint can see. They're even mostly getting along." Tony says. "Loki's interested in the arc reactor, too. I told him we could trade, his magic super science for my arc technology."

Tony leaves the car with the valet, holds the door for Steve and ushers him inside.

The restaurant's in a hotel, has the kinda angular, whimsical architecture Steve's still trying to get used to. Lavish furnishings, seven- and ten-course meals, waiters you hardly notice. The ceilings are so high and the lamps are so low that he looks up into faraway darkness.

After they've ordered drinks, Tony volunteers, "I hacked SHIELD's latest server encryptions earlier this afternoon."

Steve assumes servers, like many things in the twenty-first century, run on electricity.

"You find anything?" Steve asks at length.

"Loki's file," Steve glances over at him, notices the dark shadows beneath his sunglasses. Wonders if Tony got any sleep at all last night, if he's eaten today. Figures at least food's next on the list.

Tony picks at his cuticles. "I found a pool of directives, different options for how SHIELD plans to handle him. Officially." His face twists. "One of them in particular stood out."

Steve listens, chewing his food. It's excellent-Tony ordered for him, didn't even ask, but Steve would've been pretty lost with the menu. Expensive French food seems to be a theme of the future-present. When he glances up, Tony's watching him quietly.

"What Loki said." He pushes something unidentifiable around on his plate. "Wanting to stay with Thor. Not wanting to fight him." His eyes are bright. He looks so young. "Do you believe him?"

"I do," Steve says, blood rushing in his wrists, slinking around in his chest.

"Why?"

"People get tired of fighting, Tony," Steve says. "You get tired of fighting against people who try to fight for you."

Tony takes a drink of his wine, long and deep. Then he says, "They're considering lockup, torture. Learn what they can from him, then break him down to his base parts to see how he ticks."

Steve's jaw goes tight. He doesn't realize he's curled his hand into a tight fist 'til Tony reaches forward, covers it soothingly with his own. "The actual wording is something like, 'Thorough and exhaustive examination of subject,' but it's SHIELD, and it's government, and there isn't anything else that can mean."

"I didn't promise Thor I'd keep his brother safe," Steve says angrily, "just so SHIELD can kill him behind our backs."

Tony's eyes glow in the dim light. The way the shadows cut around his face, catch gleaming copper and dusky charcoal in his dark, dark hair, moves through Steve like a spirit. He wants to paint Tony, just like this. Layer the rich washes, give it contrast and depth. Give it some softness, too. Capture it in perfect balance, so he'll always have it.

"I've made billions off sanctioned murder," Tony murmurs, shoulders bowed in a sharp line as he hunches forward. "Clint's a sniper, and Bruce has killed people horribly-accidentally, but horribly-and everything Natasha said about herself? Red ledgers, Coulson? It's all true."

"Tony-"

"Look," he goes on, "We can absolutely vilify Loki. He's done some terrible shit. But he's not a sociopath. He's just a fucking mess like the rest of us." He squeezes Steve's hand and then lets him go. "The only one of us with a clean slate is you, Cap."

Nobody's got a clean slate, Steve thinks with a tightness in his belly. Sometimes you don't even know who you're hurting 'til after the fact.

Their waiter serves dessert. Steve's throat is tight when he asks, "What'd you do with the files?" He takes a bite of his chocolate-and-coffee mousse cake. Tony called it tiramisu.

"I deleted them. I deleted all of them except the one about integrating him into the Avengers." Tony picks at his plate, drinks more wine. Eventually he says, "If he's going to be part of our team, he's part of our team. We can't-it isn't," he fumbles, and Steve looks up, looks him over. "If Fury lets Loki join the Avengers just to-pacify Thor. To get Loki's trust. So it makes it easier, when the time comes, to. Trap him."

"We won't let that happen," Steve says. "To be honest, I'm more concerned about what he said about magic doors." You haven't made a lot of friends, Loki, he remembers. He frowns. "Feels like we're gonna have another fight on our hands at some point."

"Isn't this some bull," Tony laughs harshly, "talking about defending this goddamn egomaniacal space-age Hitler."

"It's their methods," Steve sighs.

"SHIELD has this bad habit," Tony agrees, "of going about things exactly the wrong way."

Steve'll be damned if he lets liars and killers run the show. The Avengers are his. It's gotta mean something, being a part of them. So the Avengers are his, they'd be his even if he didn't like Tony at all, if he didn't get along with Natasha, if he couldn't deal with Thor and if Bruce wasn't his friend.

He's starting to understand, a little, what Clint meant. About family.

Steve doesn't notice 'til Tony's fumbling with the pen, paying the bill. Clumsily waving Steve off when Steve tries to put in for it, pay his share.

Then he counts back and does the math. Figures how many glasses were his outta those two and a half bottles of wine Tony'd tossed back like water. Comes up with maybe three.

Tony's drunk.

"Elevator," Tony says, hand warm on Steve's arm as Steve steadies him, leads him through the lobby. "C'mon, c'mon, got something to show you."

Wordlessly, Steve bundles Tony into the elevator. He activates it with a room card, fingers unsteady over the buttons. They're going to the top floor.

"You feeling okay?" Steve asks, glancing out into the night as the city falls away beneath them. The elevator's on the outside of the building, all glass so Steve can see for miles. The sun set maybe an hour ago, and New York is a cradle of bright, multicolored stars in a bottomless black abyss.

"Perfect," Tony answers, leaning back against the glass. "Never better." He's flushed, his tie come loose. He closes his eyes, but when the elevator stops, he looks over and smiles at Steve. He's so fucking gorgeous it's a punch in the stomach, and Steve looks away.

Tony leads him to a hotel suite. There're two levels, a kinda lower lounge area and an open, upstairs bedroom. Like the ride up, it's got a hell of a view, floor to ceiling windows and no other buildings to block the distant streets and the far-off bay.

"Okay, so," Tony says, warm and close. "Don't, uh. Don't go anywhere, 'kay?"

"What?" Steve wrinkles his brow.

"You wouldn't be the first date to slip out on me soon as I've got my head turned," Tony jokes. Only it doesn't sound all that funny.

He disappears into the bathroom. Steve stays by the window, looks up at the empty sky. Thinks about light pollution, how it blots out the constellations he grew up with as a kid. How people keep their stars on the streets now.

When Tony gets back, he comes up from behind and slips his arms around Steve's waist. Presses his cheek into the back of Steve's neck.

"Thought you had something to show me," Steve says. Tony's arms tighten.

"I lied," he replies. "I want to talk." His hands fan open, spread over Steve's chest and belly in slow circles.

Steve turns around, catches cold fingers, pins them in place. "This ain't happening, Tony."

"I know what it means." Tony's slurring a little, but his eyes are bright and sure. "To follow someone around, hassle them about eating. Check on them, make sure they're okay when they're spending too much time alone. I know what it means," and here his palm flattens, hot and steady, over Steve's heart. "Having your pulse go crooked and haywire because some idiot's almost gotten himself killed." He brings his and Steve's hands to his mouth, kisses Steve's knuckles. Then he steps back.

Steve watches him, aching.

"I know, Steve. I do." He searches Steve's face. "But I'm starting to think you don't."

"I can't do this, Tony," Steve says. He can hear the roughness of his own words, the way they hitch and fall.

"You want to," Tony says. His tongue darts out, wets his mouth. His eyes never leave Steve's.

"I do," Steve finally admits. The world seems a thousand miles away in all directions. "But I'm telling you no."

Tony, soft and drunk and sweet. Earnest like Steve rarely sees him. Hands hot and dry, skating up Steve's forearms. Tony, carefully asking, "Are you?"

Steve thinks about the things you want, the things you're willing to pay for. Tony smooths his thumb over the pulse just inside Steve's elbow.

Steve doesn't say anything more. But he gets a hand in Tony's hair, drags him forward, kisses him 'til he can't breathe. 'Til everything in his world narrows down to one fine point: the taste of wine, the pliable heat of Tony's limbs. The slow rush as Tony fumbles outta his clothes and the cool, five-star hotel room sheets.

Tony's arc reactor spilling out, chasing away the shadows and staining everything with the color that means home.

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