"JARVIS, lights, thirty percent." His head is absolutely aching. pulsing behind his eyes to match the not-quite right heartbeat that twitched against the base of the reactor. There's no snappy answer from an AI that acts as if playing to Tony's fiddle is just another boring part of his daily tasks as the quirky robotic butler. "JARVIS, stop
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All right, no, he wouldn't do that either. He didn't really believe in killing, not any more, not since Afghanistan. That didn't mean he had to like the idea of--
Tony arrives home by personal jet and insane hangover, stopping off in the kitchen before he heads on up to where he knows he's being waited for.
"Please tell me that this is just a surprise party and not--"
But no. There was the containment room, there was Fury. And there was-- No one else. "We're keeping this on the hush hush."
Tony rolled his eyes. "So you came to me. That's smart. I'm going to tell everyone, accidentally or not, in about ten minutes. You know that ( ... )
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That's what does it in the end. Not the buzzing that makes his head spin every time he closes his eyes, which makes him nauseous and miserable. Not the puncture mark in his arm or his aching shoulder (tranquilliser darts, he remembers now). Not even the ignoble fact that he's being kept here... experimented on?
He's tried to think. Who it might be. Why. S.H.I.E.L.D. top the list, nevermind that Asgard has labelled him provisionally untouchable. Safe. Reformed. More or less. Or... or perhaps Victor. Victor the madman, Victor his old friend, insane but clever, wonderfully clever. And wounded. They had found a commonality of interests and they'd acted upon it. Broken things. Been fond of one another, perhaps.
But von Doom had always wanted to know ( ... )
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Settling his hands on his hips, the genius engineer turns to lean back against the desk. "Jarvis, I need all cameras shut off. I need their shielded. Anything that might be transmitting outside of Stark Tower is to be completely blacked out."
"Already done, sir." Thank god for smart AIs.
He wets his lips and turns his gaze back up towards Loki, not letting it linger. Not that he can help it, it does so anyhow. He swallows, throat dry.
"So that was fun," Tony says, crossing his arms across his reactor. He fels vulnerable, like Loki is going to stab him or pluck the reactor from his chest or-- "Christ I need a drink. Hold down the fort, I'll be home
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Going through the work room, perhaps. Discussing with Jarvis, should he prove amiable to conversation, the merits of being an artificial intelligence. Scoffing at the television.
Or all of the above. And when that grows dull he pilfers some tools and moves back to the room that was built for him to reassemble his television. It isn't just an attempt to better understand how this particular instance of the device works, though that also intrigues him, but also an attempt to understand the process. He's only rebuilding, not creating, but there's still some element of pleasure to it.
He can see how it might be addicting. How it might become an obsession. And that's an interesting conclusion. Tony Stark is an addict; that much is obvious. Loki simply hadn't been quite aware that he's addicted to so many things.
It's a problem to sleep on, now that he can sleep properly. And he does, spread out on the bed in his little cell, dreaming of things he won't ( ... )
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Though he didn't think Stark would be stupid enough to bring anyone home when there's a man who very much likes to torment him waiting there. A man waiting mirthfully in the dark, creeping forward in silence. And waiting. Letting them get along a bit. Why not? He'll interrupt when the moment is perfect, when it's most apt to be frustrating.
Doing as he is would be bad enough, funny enough, that annoyed, puppyish pout rewarding enough but since when has Loki Laufeyson ever settled for enough? He wants it all, everything, every last bit of nearly sadistic mirth he can pull out of the situation ( ... )
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He isn't sure what to say when he moves to catch up with her and realizes her delicate, snow white skin is now a devilishly beautiful blue. Or her eyes, that horrible, bloody red. He swallows and locks eyes with the goddess through the mask. Even hidden, he knows she can see right through the metal.
"We'll talk about this later, young lady," he said, an air of arrogance about him, and turns down towards where he knows three of the Avengers are being held.
He still is unsure about Hulk and Thor.
"This way."
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