A Dime Among Pennies / The Avengers
Title: A Dime Among Pennies
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Avengers
Prompt: Written from this prompt (Messing with time line, so Steve is just an average horrendously shy (VIRGIN) man who works with SHIELD. Desperately trying to keep his head down and not get noticed. Thor somehow gets Loki to join the team, Steve gets noticed).
Summary: Steve doesn’t believe in the Avengers, because they don’t believe in him. Loki is the exception.
A/N: SPOILERS for The Avengers. Also, this AU places events and characters from Captain America in modern times.
Loki’s decision to join the Avengers Initiative is the biggest gossip to hit S.H.I.E.L.D. since that time Steve accidentally shot Barton in the knee. (All Steve had done was pick up a mechanized bow and arrow prototype. Fury later forbade him from getting close to any prototype ever again. There was even an agency-wide memo.)
Netting Loki’s cooperation is top-priority, Presidential-briefing, paperwork-in-triplicate business, and Steve thought Phil would be ecstatic over adding a sixth member to the team. There’s no one who believes more in heroes, in the Avengers, in Fury’s idea to bring together a group of remarkable people-but the way Phil frowns at Loki’s file, like he’s trying to decode it, gives Steve pause. He and Phil Coulson have been friends since Steve was first hired on as an aircraft designer, so he can read Phil’s doubts as easily as he can read a blueprint.
“Coffee any good today?” Steve asks, even as he pours himself a cup.
“Is it ever?” Phil retorts, eyes glued to his computer tablet. Steve sits across from him and discerns the upside-down photo of a dark-haired, scowling man. Though Steve has never met Loki (and probably never will, beyond passing one another in the halls), there’s no way such strange clothing can belong to anyone other than an Asgard prince.
After a moment, Phil swipes his finger across the screen and brings up a page of text. The more he reads, the less happy he seems.
“Tell me, math whiz, what are the odds we found the Tesseract the same time Loki showed up waving a white flag?”
Definitely not happy. Phil only poses theoretical questions when he’s frustrated.
“The odds aren’t what I’d call favorable,” Steve carefully replies, “but if Thor isn’t worried, we should probably trust Loki is here for the right reasons.”
“Yes, because Thor has always been on Loki’s wavelength. I hate to break it to you, but the only thing those two share is an aversion to barber shops.”
Steve takes a sip of his coffee-bitter, why is it always bitter-and considers Phil’s words. Steve doesn’t interact with the team very often, so what he knows of Thor is gleaned through Phil’s accounts and the single occasion Steve shared an elevator with the demigod. (It was a long ride. Thor had punched nearly every button before realizing he only needed to press #4. On the plus side, Steve took advantage of the surprise trip to the basement level, where S.H.I.E.L.D. stores both ammunition and office supplies. He’d been meaning to pick up a printer cartridge, which are questionably located next to A.H.D.s-advanced handheld detonation devices, or grenades.)
“Thor did say Loki was adopted. It would make sense that they aren’t alike,” Steve points out. “Besides, if Director Fury gave it the green light, then I’m sure he has good reason. Maybe Loki can keep Doom and Red Skull in check.”
“I’m getting heartburn just thinking about this,” Phil complains as he gathers his coffee and tablet. Steve doesn’t fault him. From what he can tell, the formation of the Avengers directly correlates with Phil’s skyrocketing ibuprofen intake. “Thai, eight o’clock?”
Steve salutes him with his coffee. “You bet.”
“Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make sure Clint hasn’t permanently maimed anyone since this morning.” He shoots Steve a significant look. “He still hasn’t forgiven you for the Knee Incident.”
“That was a year ago. What’s it going to take?”
“Your firstborn, maybe? I don’t know. Whatever it is better not require any medical forms,” Phil declares as he strides out the door.
Once he’s gone, the breakroom echoes with silence. Steve contemplates his coffee and wishes, idly, that he had more than one friend to seek out. Then again, he was lucky to have Phil at all-it wasn’t like anyone else at HQ was lining up to know Steve better, even after six years on the job. Maybe some of it was his fault. Steve didn't go out of his way to meet people; he kept to himself, losing hours inside his small, remote office on the third level, where he drafted new plane designs by hand before reconstructing them on the computer. He trusted his own brain more than microchips and hard drives, earning him Tony’s Stark’s contempt-a feeling Steve returned in equal measure.
He refills his coffee despite the poor flavor and heads for the elevator, already thinking of the revisions Fury had requested for Steve’s latest plane. More leg room, he’d written. Thor is seven goddamn feet tall. And add a sixth seat for Loki.
“Could you hold that, please?” Steve calls, hurrying over to the elevator when he notices the doors are about to close. A second later, he wishes he’d simply taken the stairs. Colonel Phillips is inside, grim and impatient as ever, but it’s too late to back out. With a sense of resignation, Steve nods his thanks and joins Phillips. The doors close with a cheerful chime.
“Third floor, I assume,” Phillips grunts.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
The Colonel has always made Steve nervous. He’s stone-faced and unapproachable, head of the Howling Commandos, a secondary team under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s umbrella. Steve likes them. They’re rowdy, loud, and not half as aloof as the Avengers; they would probably accept an arrow to the knee with raucous laughter and a chorus of good aim, Rogers!
When the silence grows too heavy, Steve blurts, “Congratulations on last week’s mission in Italy, sir. I understand the Commandos took out one of Red Skull’s fortresses.”
“Yes, they did.”
Steve focuses on the illuminated numbers lining the top of the doors.
“I’ll see you at tomorrow’s meeting,” he politely adds, when they finally reach Phillips’ floor. The Colonel hmms and marches off, leaving Steve to ride the rest of the way in silence. He walks to his office, situated at the very end of a half-forgotten corridor, where no one can hear him play Nat King Cole on MP3.
He doesn’t speak to or see another soul until eight, when he meets Phil for dinner.
---
The following day, Steve attends a meeting with the team that is meant to smooth out the plane’s final changes, but will most likely give Stark an excuse to pick apart Steve’s presentation. It’s such a regular occurrence that Steve’s not fazed by it. He straightens his shirt and uploads the schematics so they’ll be viewable in the meeting room, and walks in just as the team-sans Stark, thankfully-is situating themselves around the table. Romanoff ignores him (he doesn’t take offense, since she ignores everyone); Banner is deep into reading of his own, and Thor is watching Phil navigate his trusty tablet computer. He seems both fascinated and confused by the device.
“This is good stuff, Steve,” Phil says, studying the plans with quick swipes of his finger. “The only thing this baby needs are cup holders.”
“Are cup holders an option?” Thor asks, perking up. Steve is saved the trouble of answering when Fury and Stark walk in, trailed by... ah. Loki. Fury is ignoring Stark’s dialogue, sliding into a chair at the end of the table. Stark, put out by the obvious disregard, makes a face but plops next to Bruce, leaving Loki the chair across from Steve’s. Steve courteously pulls out the chair and gestures for Loki to take it. Barton rolls his eyes.
“What, you got a crush on him already? The dude’s suped up with magic. He can manage his own damn furniture.”
Steve feels the tips of his ears burn. Barton really hasn’t gotten over the Knee Incident of 2011 (or so Phil calls it), choosing the worst times to embarrass Steve as revenge. Loki meets Steve’s gaze from across the table but says nothing.
“Glad to see everyone could take time from their busy schedules to meet today,” Fury deadpans. “Rogers, let’s make this quick.”
Steve brings up the schematics on the main screen and launches into the changes without pause, going over the new math regarding cabin space and the additional weight of a sixth passenger. Banner cuts in with a few soft, well-considered questions; Barton and Romanoff seem disinterested unless firepower is mentioned. Fury nods at all the right times, but Steve can’t tell if he’s even listening.
“So that’s about it,” he concludes, once the changes have been covered in detail. “Any questions?”
Stark raises his hand. Fantastic.
“Mister Stark,” he politely acknowledges.
“Yes, I have a question. Could you tell me why Stark Industries wasn’t assigned to this project? Because I could’ve-”
“If there’s nothing else pertinent,” Steve barrels on, “I’ll leave the plans here, if you’d like to review them further.”
Fury grunts.
“That won’t be necessary. They’ve been approved and Engineering should have copies by morning.” He brings up a new screen, already preparing for their next item of business. “You’re dismissed.”
It’s a curt goodbye, but Steve feels pleased regardless. He quietly collects his things and gives Phil a small wave, exiting the room without another word. He catches Loki’s eye again just as he’s shutting the door. He tries to smile, but it gets stuck awkwardly on his face, like a teenage boy hoping to win over a pretty girl.
The rest of the day stretches on. He receives a few texts from Phil, fields e-mails from Engineering, and loses track of time when Phillips sends specs for a new type of parachute. Steve begins sketching out preliminary designs, all while calculating just how many chutes the Howling Commandos go through in a year.
Steve’s concentration lapses when he hears a knock at his door. He turns down Tuxedo Junction and listens again; over half a decade has seen only a handful of visitors (mostly Phil) in Steve Rogers’ office, so it takes him by surprise. There’s a small pause before the knock comes again.
“Come in,” Steve calls. Though he’s not sure who to expect, he’s especially surprised to see Loki walk through a moment later.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Loki pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Please speak up if you would prefer I go.”
Steve glances down at his dozen parachute ideas. He quickly shakes his head.
“No, no, come in. I was just doodling, really.”
Loki closes the door behind him and peers around the room with interest. Finally, he gestures towards the single chair Steve keeps for theoretical guests.
“May I sit?” he asks.
Steve has the presence of mind to make sure he hasn’t used the chair as a temporary bookcase, and is relieved to see it’s fit for human habitation.
“Sure, of course. Can I get you something? I have-” He checks his drawer. Three bottles of water, a can of soda, and some cracker packs. “-water, solidified Dr. Pepper, and cheese crackers.”
“No, thank you,” Loki declines. He glances around the office again, and Steve is struck with a momentary bout of embarrassment. It’s not like the other offices around here-there’s no modern deco furniture or high-tech gadgetry. It’s old stuff he bought second hand or acquired from his grandfather’s estate after his passing. Wooden airplane models dangle from the ceiling, and old posters hang from the wall, mostly WWII memorabilia he’s collected over the years. His furniture is built from oak, not glass and metal, and his lamps cast a yellow hue rather than the fluorescent lights installed around HQ.
“Your office is far removed from the others. Is there any particular reason for that?”
“Not that I know of. I guess they stuck me wherever they could.”
“A government entity with extravagant monetary resources ‘stuck you wherever they could’?”
Steve can understand the skepticism, but it’s better than believing your own boss went out of his way to place you in the middle of nowhere.
“Can I help you, Mister... Loki?” Steve asks, veering the conversation in another direction. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be formally introduced at the meeting.”
“That’s why I came to you,” Loki replies, seemingly transfixed by the old tin toys Steve keeps on his desk. Most of them are, appropriately, airplanes and helicopters. “During my week here, I have been met with egoism, indifference, fear, or all three. You treated me with courtesy and respect. It was a refreshing change.”
Steve feels his ears burn again.
“I’m sorry you’ve not felt welcome. Maybe I could show you around or something. Have you been given a tour of the facilities?”
Loki spins a miniature tin propeller with his finger.
“Yes, it’s all very quaint. Your security systems are particularly adorable.”
“That’s probably not something you should tell Director Fury,” Steve suggests, somewhat emboldened by Loki’s resulting grin. He glances at his wall clock-analog, not digital. It’s nearly dinner time. He takes a breath and asks, “Are you hungry? Do you like Thai?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”
“Well, there’s a good place downtown, if you have clearance to leave headquarters.”
As it turns out, Loki does like Thai, and snow, and the big, cinnamon-sweet pretzels they buy from a street vendor. Steve doesn’t get home until midnight, his face red from laughter and cold, and he doesn’t even care that Loki never showed his clearance.
---
When the Avengers Initiative was first developed, Steve used to daydream about being an active part.
But that was before the Avengers actually assembled, and Steve’s vision of a selfless team, motivated by justice and principle, was replaced with the reality of who the heroes truly were: a group of fiercely independent, stubborn adrenaline junkies who had no desire for compromise. We’re a timebomb, Banner once confessed, and Steve doesn’t doubt it.
Fortunately, Loki brings something new to the table. There’s no question that Loki, too, is prideful, but it’s a vice that doesn’t cloud his judgement. Loki is quiet but not shy; pensive but not dumb; graceful in battle but not any less ruthless than Black Widow or Hawkeye. (Steve even thinks Loki would follow orders, if the team could decide which one of them should be in charge.) Better yet, he doesn’t care that Steve is an old-fashioned, solitary paper-pusher-he actually seems to appreciate these traits, if one considers their evenings together have become a ritual on the nights Phil has to work late (or, alternatively, has a date with his Lady Cellist Friend). Loki can discuss math, or gleefully spill the latest team drama, or sit with Steve in companionable silence. Barton makes snide note about this, asking when the wedding will be. Loki retaliates by turning Barton’s uniform a bright purple, but he doesn’t escalate things beyond that. (Phil is the most relieved out of all of them. Escalation equals paperwork, he says. Always remember that.)
“How did you come to design planes in the first place?” Loki asks one night as they exit a little Italian bistro just a few blocks from Steve’s apartment. “You’re clever enough to fight anyone who might challenge you. Perhaps Phillips could move you from behind the desk and into the Howling Commando unit.”
“Not in this lifetime. I have the worst case of asthma ever documented by modern medicine,” Steve lightly replies. It’s not like he hasn’t considered it before. “The army would never accept me, so I went into engineering. Designing better machines seemed like the second best way to help all the soldiers overseas.”
“The Colonel personally recruited you during college, did he not?”
It doesn’t surprise Steve that Loki knows this. He’s long since accepted Loki makes it his business to know everything about everything.
“That’s right. He visited our graduating class with a sheet of parameters, told everyone to design a basic aircraft in an hour, and promised one of us would have a job by the end of the day. Thing was, he kept changing the specs every ten minutes. It was a test to see if we could compensate for all the changes without having to scrap the whole plan.” The memory of surly Colonel Phillips looming in the classroom corner makes Steve grin and shake his head. The man certainly didn’t coddle anyone. “Fifteen minutes before time was called, our room lost power. All the computers went down. He said, ‘What’s the holdup? Get back to work.’”
“I assume your ability to work without technology was the deciding factor,” Loki surmises. His voice sounds equally pleased and sly when he adds, “That was clever on his part.”
They stop at a crosswalk, where a bright orange hand tells them to stay put. Steve is feeling happy and relaxed, glad to be walking around after a day at his desk, and he feels confident enough to turn the tables and pose his own question.
“What about you? How did you come to be an Avenger?”
Loki’s quiet for so long that Steve’s good mood starts to dissipate; he thinks I blew it, I shouldn’t have gone there, but Loki finally exhales, the breath coming out in a white puff. It’s March and still extremely chilly, but Loki doesn’t seem to notice it. Steve, for his part, is bundled up in a heavy coat.
“I made a decision in anger. I drew a map and then gave it away, and now I must remain here until the mistake is rectified.”
The hand disappears and the sign flashes WALK; they cross, but Steve reaches out to touch Loki’s waist once they reach the other side. The street lamps make Loki’s normally pale face sickly and haunted. His eyes seem like empty sockets even at close range.
“You’ve never lied to me before. I hope you don’t start now,” Steve says. “What was the mistake?”
“Steve.”
“I’m not a hero like you and the others, but contingency plans are somewhat of a specialty. I can help you if you’re honest with me.”
Loki stares at him. The wind kicks up his black hair and lifts it from his shoulders while his lips form a thin slash. Strangely, his expression doesn’t suggest anger-it’s more like resignation, the face of someone who has tried counting his options, only to find there are none. Tell me, math whiz, Phil had said, what are the odds we found the Tesseract the same time Loki showed up waving a white flag?
“You are as much a hero as anyone else,” Loki tacitly replies. “And your integrity far exceeds my own. Do not place me on a pedestal.”
Steve tightens his grip. Loki is dancing around the question, and that sounds every alarm in Steve’s head.
“What,” he repeats, “was the mistake? You can trust me. I want to help you fix this.”
For a moment-a second-Loki’s expression crumbles, his shoulders drooping into a gentle slump, tired from carrying an invisible burden that he seems to have brought upon himself-
-and then Steve is alone on the sidewalk, staring at the empty space where Loki had been. Part of him is angry that Loki can’t discuss his problems like a rational person, but he also knows that Loki won’t be pushed into anything. Just because Loki is his friend doesn’t mean he’s going to allow Steve to drag out the truth.
Steve goes to his empty apartment and tries to sleep, but every car horn and footstep jerks him awake. He curls up, restless, chilled by the implications of all the things Loki left unsaid.
---
Within the month, Red Skull makes a play for Germany. He decrees that humanity was meant to be ruled, an old man stands against him, and Loki arrives just in time to save the man’s life by engaging Red Skull in hand-to-hand. It should be a victory, but the team returns in a mess, arguing over who was to blame for letting the villain slip away from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. They’re still sniping when they arrive to the basement level for a restock of ammo, across from where Steve is grabbing a new pack of paper.
Barton spots him and snarls, “Careful not to touch anything, huh? I only got the two knees.”
Steve is unfazed by the remark; his childhood taught him how to deal with bad situations like this, the kind where no one really wins-not even the bullies.
“Good job in Germany,” Steve compliments him. “Everyone says you all saved a lot of lives.”
“Excuse me, why are you here? Can someone tell me why he’s here? Shouldn’t you be sucking on an inhaler somewhere?” Stark demands, because he has no brain/mouth filter, and Steve’s already dreading the vague, apologetic e-mail Stark will send when he realizes he’s been a Grade-A jerk. Steve grinds his teeth but sees Loki hovering in the background, and thinks not worth it. Loki deals with the fighting on a daily basis, and Steve wants to be a cut above that. He wants to be a comfort Loki seeks out, not another problem to add to the pile.
Phillips and Fury stand by an ammunition box, a perpetual look of displeasure written all over their faces. It only deepens when Stark says, “Yeah, I thought so,” and Romanoff snaps, “Leave him alone, Tony.”
They dissolve into an argument again, sans Loki, whose eyes follow Steve as he takes the paper and moves towards the door, already forgotten by everyone else in the room-
“Live!” he hears Phillips bellow. “Get down!”
Time halts when Steve realizes a standard A.H.D. has escaped its restocking carton and rolled across the floor. He wants to demand who in God’s name left it out of the blast-proof container; he wants to know how it became live in the first place; he wants to yell someone do something about this, but the group is startled into a defensive mode, swooping for cover behind whatever is closest-and Steve’s there, right next to it, and the only thing he can do is drop himself on the small, cheerfully blinking ball. His heart seizes and blood roars past his ears as he waits and waits and waits.
He only opens his eyes again when he hears heavy footsteps-Loki’s-approach. The silence is enough to make Steve wish he could bury himself for the next hundred years.
“Is this a test?” he croaks out. Phillips and Fury watch, unmoved. Loki gently slides his hand beneath Steve’s frozen, prone body, and drags out the A.H.D. It’s a dud. Steve feels stupid for not realizing it before. Loki tosses the dummy to Stark, who grimaces and fumbles the catch.
Shaken and humiliated, Steve reconstructs the scene in his head as he stomps up the stairs; it seems obvious-now, of course, after the fact-that the Colonel had thrown the A.H.D. Who else could it have been? Phillips had been situated right next to the case, within reach of any number of grenades. The only question was what the hell he’d been trying to prove.
For once in his life, Steve is utterly thankful for his little office in the middle of nowhere. He slips into his chair and doesn’t move until a few minutes later, when Loki (who, much like Phil, forwent knocking after the initial visit) sets the forgotten ream of paper on Steve’s desk. He sits in his usual chair opposite of Steve and gives him an expectant look.
“They’ll never let me live this down,” Steve finally mutters. “There’s nothing more heroic than jumping on a dead bomb.”
“No one knew it was dead. That was the point of the exercise.”
“You knew Phillips was going to do that?”
Loki grins; as always, the expression makes him look like a shark.
“I gave him the idea. It was an experiment.”
“You put me through that horse and pony show to prove a theory? Jesus, Loki-”
“Don’t you see this was a gift? Cut the power, and you will design a plane regardless. Toss a bomb, and you will not hesitate to give your life. Not everyone can pass those tests with such flying colors, but you have done so both times. Why do you underestimate yourself?”
Steve... isn’t sure. He’s never been anyone special, just a scrawny kid from Brooklyn who could draw planes and helicopters, and then he grew up and learned the math that would make those planes and helicopters fly. That doesn’t make him different than anyone else. It doesn’t make him better.
“It is a gift,” Loki repeats. “I wanted you to have it, and I wanted everyone to see it. At the very least, it will spare you Stark and Barton’s commentary.”
And at the end of the day, when it’s all said and done, that is a gift worth having.
---
Steve and Loki spend too much time together. Everyone knows that, but no one knows why-not even Steve. He can’t explain how Loki fills up his empty spaces, and vice-versa.
Everyone knows, but Phil is the only one who complains.
Everyone knows, but Barton quits with the wedding references.
Everyone knows, but Stark stops with the virgin jokes.
Everyone knows, but Loki pulls away when Steve tries to kiss him in the middle of April.
His rejection is not accompanied with an explanation. It’s just as well Steve doesn’t want to know.
---
Weeks later, when the portal opens over Manhattan, Steve remembers the half-conversation he and Loki shared on a dark sidewalk in March. I made a decision in anger. I drew a map and then gave it away, and now I must remain here until the mistake is rectified.
He looks over to where Loki watches “Chitauri” soldiers stream through the portal; the stricken expression on his face is all the proof Steve needs.
I drew a map.
Loki moves towards him. There’s something wild about him, more so now than before: his eyes are fever-bright, like his body has already primed itself for the great battle heading their way.
“‘A decision in anger,” Steve echoes. “You led these things here, you told them how to reach us-”
“To the place my brother has sworn to protect, yes. I knew it was a mistake the moment I disclosed the route. I came here to protect you, all of you. It was wrong, and I am going to fix it.” He stops short, gripping Steve’s shoulders and clutching hard, forgetful of his strength. Steve doesn’t let on that it hurts. He doesn’t let on that Loki’s secrecy hurts more. “You asked to help me. Forgive what I’ve done, right now, and that will be all the help I need.”
I drew a map and then gave it away.
Forgiveness isn’t in the cards right now, and even if it were, it’s not Steve’s place to grant it. He turns away and inputs his comm ID into the nearest console; when it connects, all he can hear is the sound of explosions and arguing. Even now, even at a do-or-die time like this, the team can’t muster enough sense to agree on one damn thing. He looks back over, but Loki has disappeared to join the firefight.
Steve leans into the mic and says, “Hawkeye, have the police station their men in every nearby building, and get a perimeter all the way down to 39th. Black Widow, hitch a ride on the first flying thing you see and head for Stark Tower. Do whatever it takes to close the portal. Stark, I show the Commandos en route to your position. You get as many Chitauri soldiers out of the air as you can; the HCs’ll provide backup.”
“Um, not to be an ass, and I really mean that, but since when do you order us around?” Hawkeye asks.
“Since you can’t do it for yourselves. Hey, is Hulk there? Because if he is, tell him to smash everything. Go to town.”
The siege is not as costly as it could have been. For once in their lives, the team manages to work as a unit, fending off the Chitauri soldiers while Loki and Thor combine their considerable magic to prevent a colossal, dragon-esque ship from coming through the portal. Steve watches and listens from HQ, daring to think that maybe Loki’s mistake can be washed away-but then he spots a new blip on the radar, a small, single dot that makes him go cold.
“You guys have an inbound,” he announces. “Can anyone get a visual?”
“I see him. Looks like Uncle Sam has come to the rescue,” Iron Man replies. “It’s not like our guys at Washington to send just one bird, though. Kinda cheap.” He pauses. “It’s carrying something.”
Steve grips the edge of the control board. He knows. He knows what it is. There’s only one thing it can be.
“Jesus Christ, that’s the-is that a nuke?” Stark has never sounded scared before, but there’s a disbelieving tinge to his voice borne from fear. “Can anyone confirm?”
“I can,” Loki answers. Steve’s head jerks up. “It would appear to be a bomb of the atomic variety. The pilot kindly informed me of this before I insisted he eject.”
“Loki,” Steve says. He feels small and useless here, all safely squirreled away at HQ. He imagines another life for himself, where he could be a hero, too. Someone who makes a real difference, who can call himself an Avenger. He watches the plane move further across the radar, carrying a bomb Loki has effectively hijacked.
“Steve,” Loki finally acknowledges. A silence follows that makes Steve panic, thinking they’ve lost the audio connection. He closes his eyes when he hears Loki say, “Save your sentiments, Steve Rogers. I never take roads without knowing my way back,” and then he flies the jet, bomb and all, directly into the portal, where a group of Chitauri warships won’t know what hit them. The portal closes in his wake.
Steve is aware of Phillips hovering in the doorway. The Colonel turns and walks away, the sound of his shoes fading down the corridor. It’s one of the few kindnesses he’s ever bestowed on Steve, and one of the few Steve, motionless over the mic, would ever ask for.
---
Steve waits. A week, then two, then a month. He knows Loki will return because he’s too clever not to find a way.
---
Loki does, in fact, show up at the start of June.
When Steve first sees him in the hangar, he stops short. He must have just gotten back, because Romanoff is giving him a one-armed hug and Thor is booming with congratulations, patting Loki on the shoulder with a giant hand. Loki, for his part, is laughing. He’s laughing, so obviously happy to be here that he’s willing to forgo the usual ‘stop it, you’re embarrassing yourselves’ routine. Barton is hiding his own disbelief by acting cool and dialing Stark to spread the news.
Loki is too preoccupied to notice Steve, and that’s fine. Their time apart has given Steve time to think about their friendship-more, he’d hoped-objectively. Even if he loved Loki, and even if Loki loved him, Steve isn’t sure how he could handle Loki’s natural reticence. Even now, he’s impishly smug and secretive over how he managed to return in one piece (“Only idiots crash nukes without an exit strategy,” is all he cops to).
He turns and heads back to his office. Either Loki will find him sooner, or Steve will find him later. It’s possible one of the Avengers will even call and let him know. His relationship with the team has improved astronomically-Barton has gone so far as to offer Steve archery lessons-in the weeks since New York fell under attack; both Banner and Romanoff try, in their own way, to keep him in the loop.
But when he unlocks his office door and hits the lights, Loki is already standing near his desk, fiddling with one of the tin airplane toys.
“That was fast,” Steve remarks.
“I knew you were there, but what I want to say did not seem appropriate for the hangar,” Loki replies. He sets the plane down. Steve wonders how much it will take to drag the truth out of Loki. Would the effort be worth the reward? Would the truth be partial or whole? Did Steve have a hope in heck of succeeding at all? Steve certainly doesn’t subscribe to defeatism, but he doesn’t want to be a sucker, either.
“And what’s that? What do you want to say?”
Loki tiredly slides into his usual chair and then waves Steve over, snatching Steve’s hand the minute he’s in range. He presses his forehead against Steve’s knuckles.
Loki looks up. For the first time, Steve discerns the dark circles beneath his eyes, the filth in his limp hair, the ashen pallor of his face. The road back must have been an endless series of struggles.
But Loki traveled it, because this is where he wants to be.
“You asked to help me, once,” Loki murmurs, an echo from a battle that lives in Steve’s memories. “Forgive what I’ve done, right now, and that will be all the help I need.”
“Forgiveness from me isn’t worth much. I can’t change anything for you.”
“I am not asking you change things. I am only asking for a chance to try again.”
And that... well. That’s something within Steve’s ability to give.
He takes his free hand and smooths out the worst of Loki’s hair; he uses the other to squeeze Loki's cold fingers, but what he means, of course, is yes.
FIN.
Oliver Wendell Holmes once attended a meeting in which he was the shortest man present.
"Dr. Holmes," quipped a friend, "I should think you'd feel rather small among us big fellows."
"I do," retorted Holmes. "I feel like a dime among a lot of pennies."
-Author Unknown
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Avengers
Prompt: Written from this prompt (Messing with time line, so Steve is just an average horrendously shy (VIRGIN) man who works with SHIELD. Desperately trying to keep his head down and not get noticed. Thor somehow gets Loki to join the team, Steve gets noticed).
Summary: Steve doesn’t believe in the Avengers, because they don’t believe in him. Loki is the exception.
A/N: SPOILERS for The Avengers. Also, this AU places events and characters from Captain America in modern times.
Loki’s decision to join the Avengers Initiative is the biggest gossip to hit S.H.I.E.L.D. since that time Steve accidentally shot Barton in the knee. (All Steve had done was pick up a mechanized bow and arrow prototype. Fury later forbade him from getting close to any prototype ever again. There was even an agency-wide memo.)
Netting Loki’s cooperation is top-priority, Presidential-briefing, paperwork-in-triplicate business, and Steve thought Phil would be ecstatic over adding a sixth member to the team. There’s no one who believes more in heroes, in the Avengers, in Fury’s idea to bring together a group of remarkable people-but the way Phil frowns at Loki’s file, like he’s trying to decode it, gives Steve pause. He and Phil Coulson have been friends since Steve was first hired on as an aircraft designer, so he can read Phil’s doubts as easily as he can read a blueprint.
“Coffee any good today?” Steve asks, even as he pours himself a cup.
“Is it ever?” Phil retorts, eyes glued to his computer tablet. Steve sits across from him and discerns the upside-down photo of a dark-haired, scowling man. Though Steve has never met Loki (and probably never will, beyond passing one another in the halls), there’s no way such strange clothing can belong to anyone other than an Asgard prince.
After a moment, Phil swipes his finger across the screen and brings up a page of text. The more he reads, the less happy he seems.
“Tell me, math whiz, what are the odds we found the Tesseract the same time Loki showed up waving a white flag?”
Definitely not happy. Phil only poses theoretical questions when he’s frustrated.
“The odds aren’t what I’d call favorable,” Steve carefully replies, “but if Thor isn’t worried, we should probably trust Loki is here for the right reasons.”
“Yes, because Thor has always been on Loki’s wavelength. I hate to break it to you, but the only thing those two share is an aversion to barber shops.”
Steve takes a sip of his coffee-bitter, why is it always bitter-and considers Phil’s words. Steve doesn’t interact with the team very often, so what he knows of Thor is gleaned through Phil’s accounts and the single occasion Steve shared an elevator with the demigod. (It was a long ride. Thor had punched nearly every button before realizing he only needed to press #4. On the plus side, Steve took advantage of the surprise trip to the basement level, where S.H.I.E.L.D. stores both ammunition and office supplies. He’d been meaning to pick up a printer cartridge, which are questionably located next to A.H.D.s-advanced handheld detonation devices, or grenades.)
“Thor did say Loki was adopted. It would make sense that they aren’t alike,” Steve points out. “Besides, if Director Fury gave it the green light, then I’m sure he has good reason. Maybe Loki can keep Doom and Red Skull in check.”
“I’m getting heartburn just thinking about this,” Phil complains as he gathers his coffee and tablet. Steve doesn’t fault him. From what he can tell, the formation of the Avengers directly correlates with Phil’s skyrocketing ibuprofen intake. “Thai, eight o’clock?”
Steve salutes him with his coffee. “You bet.”
“Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make sure Clint hasn’t permanently maimed anyone since this morning.” He shoots Steve a significant look. “He still hasn’t forgiven you for the Knee Incident.”
“That was a year ago. What’s it going to take?”
“Your firstborn, maybe? I don’t know. Whatever it is better not require any medical forms,” Phil declares as he strides out the door.
Once he’s gone, the breakroom echoes with silence. Steve contemplates his coffee and wishes, idly, that he had more than one friend to seek out. Then again, he was lucky to have Phil at all-it wasn’t like anyone else at HQ was lining up to know Steve better, even after six years on the job. Maybe some of it was his fault. Steve didn't go out of his way to meet people; he kept to himself, losing hours inside his small, remote office on the third level, where he drafted new plane designs by hand before reconstructing them on the computer. He trusted his own brain more than microchips and hard drives, earning him Tony’s Stark’s contempt-a feeling Steve returned in equal measure.
He refills his coffee despite the poor flavor and heads for the elevator, already thinking of the revisions Fury had requested for Steve’s latest plane. More leg room, he’d written. Thor is seven goddamn feet tall. And add a sixth seat for Loki.
“Could you hold that, please?” Steve calls, hurrying over to the elevator when he notices the doors are about to close. A second later, he wishes he’d simply taken the stairs. Colonel Phillips is inside, grim and impatient as ever, but it’s too late to back out. With a sense of resignation, Steve nods his thanks and joins Phillips. The doors close with a cheerful chime.
“Third floor, I assume,” Phillips grunts.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
The Colonel has always made Steve nervous. He’s stone-faced and unapproachable, head of the Howling Commandos, a secondary team under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s umbrella. Steve likes them. They’re rowdy, loud, and not half as aloof as the Avengers; they would probably accept an arrow to the knee with raucous laughter and a chorus of good aim, Rogers!
When the silence grows too heavy, Steve blurts, “Congratulations on last week’s mission in Italy, sir. I understand the Commandos took out one of Red Skull’s fortresses.”
“Yes, they did.”
Steve focuses on the illuminated numbers lining the top of the doors.
“I’ll see you at tomorrow’s meeting,” he politely adds, when they finally reach Phillips’ floor. The Colonel hmms and marches off, leaving Steve to ride the rest of the way in silence. He walks to his office, situated at the very end of a half-forgotten corridor, where no one can hear him play Nat King Cole on MP3.
He doesn’t speak to or see another soul until eight, when he meets Phil for dinner.
---
The following day, Steve attends a meeting with the team that is meant to smooth out the plane’s final changes, but will most likely give Stark an excuse to pick apart Steve’s presentation. It’s such a regular occurrence that Steve’s not fazed by it. He straightens his shirt and uploads the schematics so they’ll be viewable in the meeting room, and walks in just as the team-sans Stark, thankfully-is situating themselves around the table. Romanoff ignores him (he doesn’t take offense, since she ignores everyone); Banner is deep into reading of his own, and Thor is watching Phil navigate his trusty tablet computer. He seems both fascinated and confused by the device.
“This is good stuff, Steve,” Phil says, studying the plans with quick swipes of his finger. “The only thing this baby needs are cup holders.”
“Are cup holders an option?” Thor asks, perking up. Steve is saved the trouble of answering when Fury and Stark walk in, trailed by... ah. Loki. Fury is ignoring Stark’s dialogue, sliding into a chair at the end of the table. Stark, put out by the obvious disregard, makes a face but plops next to Bruce, leaving Loki the chair across from Steve’s. Steve courteously pulls out the chair and gestures for Loki to take it. Barton rolls his eyes.
“What, you got a crush on him already? The dude’s suped up with magic. He can manage his own damn furniture.”
Steve feels the tips of his ears burn. Barton really hasn’t gotten over the Knee Incident of 2011 (or so Phil calls it), choosing the worst times to embarrass Steve as revenge. Loki meets Steve’s gaze from across the table but says nothing.
“Glad to see everyone could take time from their busy schedules to meet today,” Fury deadpans. “Rogers, let’s make this quick.”
Steve brings up the schematics on the main screen and launches into the changes without pause, going over the new math regarding cabin space and the additional weight of a sixth passenger. Banner cuts in with a few soft, well-considered questions; Barton and Romanoff seem disinterested unless firepower is mentioned. Fury nods at all the right times, but Steve can’t tell if he’s even listening.
“So that’s about it,” he concludes, once the changes have been covered in detail. “Any questions?”
Stark raises his hand. Fantastic.
“Mister Stark,” he politely acknowledges.
“Yes, I have a question. Could you tell me why Stark Industries wasn’t assigned to this project? Because I could’ve-”
“If there’s nothing else pertinent,” Steve barrels on, “I’ll leave the plans here, if you’d like to review them further.”
Fury grunts.
“That won’t be necessary. They’ve been approved and Engineering should have copies by morning.” He brings up a new screen, already preparing for their next item of business. “You’re dismissed.”
It’s a curt goodbye, but Steve feels pleased regardless. He quietly collects his things and gives Phil a small wave, exiting the room without another word. He catches Loki’s eye again just as he’s shutting the door. He tries to smile, but it gets stuck awkwardly on his face, like a teenage boy hoping to win over a pretty girl.
The rest of the day stretches on. He receives a few texts from Phil, fields e-mails from Engineering, and loses track of time when Phillips sends specs for a new type of parachute. Steve begins sketching out preliminary designs, all while calculating just how many chutes the Howling Commandos go through in a year.
Steve’s concentration lapses when he hears a knock at his door. He turns down Tuxedo Junction and listens again; over half a decade has seen only a handful of visitors (mostly Phil) in Steve Rogers’ office, so it takes him by surprise. There’s a small pause before the knock comes again.
“Come in,” Steve calls. Though he’s not sure who to expect, he’s especially surprised to see Loki walk through a moment later.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Loki pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “Please speak up if you would prefer I go.”
Steve glances down at his dozen parachute ideas. He quickly shakes his head.
“No, no, come in. I was just doodling, really.”
Loki closes the door behind him and peers around the room with interest. Finally, he gestures towards the single chair Steve keeps for theoretical guests.
“May I sit?” he asks.
Steve has the presence of mind to make sure he hasn’t used the chair as a temporary bookcase, and is relieved to see it’s fit for human habitation.
“Sure, of course. Can I get you something? I have-” He checks his drawer. Three bottles of water, a can of soda, and some cracker packs. “-water, solidified Dr. Pepper, and cheese crackers.”
“No, thank you,” Loki declines. He glances around the office again, and Steve is struck with a momentary bout of embarrassment. It’s not like the other offices around here-there’s no modern deco furniture or high-tech gadgetry. It’s old stuff he bought second hand or acquired from his grandfather’s estate after his passing. Wooden airplane models dangle from the ceiling, and old posters hang from the wall, mostly WWII memorabilia he’s collected over the years. His furniture is built from oak, not glass and metal, and his lamps cast a yellow hue rather than the fluorescent lights installed around HQ.
“Your office is far removed from the others. Is there any particular reason for that?”
“Not that I know of. I guess they stuck me wherever they could.”
“A government entity with extravagant monetary resources ‘stuck you wherever they could’?”
Steve can understand the skepticism, but it’s better than believing your own boss went out of his way to place you in the middle of nowhere.
“Can I help you, Mister... Loki?” Steve asks, veering the conversation in another direction. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be formally introduced at the meeting.”
“That’s why I came to you,” Loki replies, seemingly transfixed by the old tin toys Steve keeps on his desk. Most of them are, appropriately, airplanes and helicopters. “During my week here, I have been met with egoism, indifference, fear, or all three. You treated me with courtesy and respect. It was a refreshing change.”
Steve feels his ears burn again.
“I’m sorry you’ve not felt welcome. Maybe I could show you around or something. Have you been given a tour of the facilities?”
Loki spins a miniature tin propeller with his finger.
“Yes, it’s all very quaint. Your security systems are particularly adorable.”
“That’s probably not something you should tell Director Fury,” Steve suggests, somewhat emboldened by Loki’s resulting grin. He glances at his wall clock-analog, not digital. It’s nearly dinner time. He takes a breath and asks, “Are you hungry? Do you like Thai?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”
“Well, there’s a good place downtown, if you have clearance to leave headquarters.”
As it turns out, Loki does like Thai, and snow, and the big, cinnamon-sweet pretzels they buy from a street vendor. Steve doesn’t get home until midnight, his face red from laughter and cold, and he doesn’t even care that Loki never showed his clearance.
---
When the Avengers Initiative was first developed, Steve used to daydream about being an active part.
But that was before the Avengers actually assembled, and Steve’s vision of a selfless team, motivated by justice and principle, was replaced with the reality of who the heroes truly were: a group of fiercely independent, stubborn adrenaline junkies who had no desire for compromise. We’re a timebomb, Banner once confessed, and Steve doesn’t doubt it.
Fortunately, Loki brings something new to the table. There’s no question that Loki, too, is prideful, but it’s a vice that doesn’t cloud his judgement. Loki is quiet but not shy; pensive but not dumb; graceful in battle but not any less ruthless than Black Widow or Hawkeye. (Steve even thinks Loki would follow orders, if the team could decide which one of them should be in charge.) Better yet, he doesn’t care that Steve is an old-fashioned, solitary paper-pusher-he actually seems to appreciate these traits, if one considers their evenings together have become a ritual on the nights Phil has to work late (or, alternatively, has a date with his Lady Cellist Friend). Loki can discuss math, or gleefully spill the latest team drama, or sit with Steve in companionable silence. Barton makes snide note about this, asking when the wedding will be. Loki retaliates by turning Barton’s uniform a bright purple, but he doesn’t escalate things beyond that. (Phil is the most relieved out of all of them. Escalation equals paperwork, he says. Always remember that.)
“How did you come to design planes in the first place?” Loki asks one night as they exit a little Italian bistro just a few blocks from Steve’s apartment. “You’re clever enough to fight anyone who might challenge you. Perhaps Phillips could move you from behind the desk and into the Howling Commando unit.”
“Not in this lifetime. I have the worst case of asthma ever documented by modern medicine,” Steve lightly replies. It’s not like he hasn’t considered it before. “The army would never accept me, so I went into engineering. Designing better machines seemed like the second best way to help all the soldiers overseas.”
“The Colonel personally recruited you during college, did he not?”
It doesn’t surprise Steve that Loki knows this. He’s long since accepted Loki makes it his business to know everything about everything.
“That’s right. He visited our graduating class with a sheet of parameters, told everyone to design a basic aircraft in an hour, and promised one of us would have a job by the end of the day. Thing was, he kept changing the specs every ten minutes. It was a test to see if we could compensate for all the changes without having to scrap the whole plan.” The memory of surly Colonel Phillips looming in the classroom corner makes Steve grin and shake his head. The man certainly didn’t coddle anyone. “Fifteen minutes before time was called, our room lost power. All the computers went down. He said, ‘What’s the holdup? Get back to work.’”
“I assume your ability to work without technology was the deciding factor,” Loki surmises. His voice sounds equally pleased and sly when he adds, “That was clever on his part.”
They stop at a crosswalk, where a bright orange hand tells them to stay put. Steve is feeling happy and relaxed, glad to be walking around after a day at his desk, and he feels confident enough to turn the tables and pose his own question.
“What about you? How did you come to be an Avenger?”
Loki’s quiet for so long that Steve’s good mood starts to dissipate; he thinks I blew it, I shouldn’t have gone there, but Loki finally exhales, the breath coming out in a white puff. It’s March and still extremely chilly, but Loki doesn’t seem to notice it. Steve, for his part, is bundled up in a heavy coat.
“I made a decision in anger. I drew a map and then gave it away, and now I must remain here until the mistake is rectified.”
The hand disappears and the sign flashes WALK; they cross, but Steve reaches out to touch Loki’s waist once they reach the other side. The street lamps make Loki’s normally pale face sickly and haunted. His eyes seem like empty sockets even at close range.
“You’ve never lied to me before. I hope you don’t start now,” Steve says. “What was the mistake?”
“Steve.”
“I’m not a hero like you and the others, but contingency plans are somewhat of a specialty. I can help you if you’re honest with me.”
Loki stares at him. The wind kicks up his black hair and lifts it from his shoulders while his lips form a thin slash. Strangely, his expression doesn’t suggest anger-it’s more like resignation, the face of someone who has tried counting his options, only to find there are none. Tell me, math whiz, Phil had said, what are the odds we found the Tesseract the same time Loki showed up waving a white flag?
“You are as much a hero as anyone else,” Loki tacitly replies. “And your integrity far exceeds my own. Do not place me on a pedestal.”
Steve tightens his grip. Loki is dancing around the question, and that sounds every alarm in Steve’s head.
“What,” he repeats, “was the mistake? You can trust me. I want to help you fix this.”
For a moment-a second-Loki’s expression crumbles, his shoulders drooping into a gentle slump, tired from carrying an invisible burden that he seems to have brought upon himself-
-and then Steve is alone on the sidewalk, staring at the empty space where Loki had been. Part of him is angry that Loki can’t discuss his problems like a rational person, but he also knows that Loki won’t be pushed into anything. Just because Loki is his friend doesn’t mean he’s going to allow Steve to drag out the truth.
Steve goes to his empty apartment and tries to sleep, but every car horn and footstep jerks him awake. He curls up, restless, chilled by the implications of all the things Loki left unsaid.
---
Within the month, Red Skull makes a play for Germany. He decrees that humanity was meant to be ruled, an old man stands against him, and Loki arrives just in time to save the man’s life by engaging Red Skull in hand-to-hand. It should be a victory, but the team returns in a mess, arguing over who was to blame for letting the villain slip away from S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. They’re still sniping when they arrive to the basement level for a restock of ammo, across from where Steve is grabbing a new pack of paper.
Barton spots him and snarls, “Careful not to touch anything, huh? I only got the two knees.”
Steve is unfazed by the remark; his childhood taught him how to deal with bad situations like this, the kind where no one really wins-not even the bullies.
“Good job in Germany,” Steve compliments him. “Everyone says you all saved a lot of lives.”
“Excuse me, why are you here? Can someone tell me why he’s here? Shouldn’t you be sucking on an inhaler somewhere?” Stark demands, because he has no brain/mouth filter, and Steve’s already dreading the vague, apologetic e-mail Stark will send when he realizes he’s been a Grade-A jerk. Steve grinds his teeth but sees Loki hovering in the background, and thinks not worth it. Loki deals with the fighting on a daily basis, and Steve wants to be a cut above that. He wants to be a comfort Loki seeks out, not another problem to add to the pile.
Phillips and Fury stand by an ammunition box, a perpetual look of displeasure written all over their faces. It only deepens when Stark says, “Yeah, I thought so,” and Romanoff snaps, “Leave him alone, Tony.”
They dissolve into an argument again, sans Loki, whose eyes follow Steve as he takes the paper and moves towards the door, already forgotten by everyone else in the room-
“Live!” he hears Phillips bellow. “Get down!”
Time halts when Steve realizes a standard A.H.D. has escaped its restocking carton and rolled across the floor. He wants to demand who in God’s name left it out of the blast-proof container; he wants to know how it became live in the first place; he wants to yell someone do something about this, but the group is startled into a defensive mode, swooping for cover behind whatever is closest-and Steve’s there, right next to it, and the only thing he can do is drop himself on the small, cheerfully blinking ball. His heart seizes and blood roars past his ears as he waits and waits and waits.
He only opens his eyes again when he hears heavy footsteps-Loki’s-approach. The silence is enough to make Steve wish he could bury himself for the next hundred years.
“Is this a test?” he croaks out. Phillips and Fury watch, unmoved. Loki gently slides his hand beneath Steve’s frozen, prone body, and drags out the A.H.D. It’s a dud. Steve feels stupid for not realizing it before. Loki tosses the dummy to Stark, who grimaces and fumbles the catch.
Shaken and humiliated, Steve reconstructs the scene in his head as he stomps up the stairs; it seems obvious-now, of course, after the fact-that the Colonel had thrown the A.H.D. Who else could it have been? Phillips had been situated right next to the case, within reach of any number of grenades. The only question was what the hell he’d been trying to prove.
For once in his life, Steve is utterly thankful for his little office in the middle of nowhere. He slips into his chair and doesn’t move until a few minutes later, when Loki (who, much like Phil, forwent knocking after the initial visit) sets the forgotten ream of paper on Steve’s desk. He sits in his usual chair opposite of Steve and gives him an expectant look.
“They’ll never let me live this down,” Steve finally mutters. “There’s nothing more heroic than jumping on a dead bomb.”
“No one knew it was dead. That was the point of the exercise.”
“You knew Phillips was going to do that?”
Loki grins; as always, the expression makes him look like a shark.
“I gave him the idea. It was an experiment.”
“You put me through that horse and pony show to prove a theory? Jesus, Loki-”
“Don’t you see this was a gift? Cut the power, and you will design a plane regardless. Toss a bomb, and you will not hesitate to give your life. Not everyone can pass those tests with such flying colors, but you have done so both times. Why do you underestimate yourself?”
Steve... isn’t sure. He’s never been anyone special, just a scrawny kid from Brooklyn who could draw planes and helicopters, and then he grew up and learned the math that would make those planes and helicopters fly. That doesn’t make him different than anyone else. It doesn’t make him better.
“It is a gift,” Loki repeats. “I wanted you to have it, and I wanted everyone to see it. At the very least, it will spare you Stark and Barton’s commentary.”
And at the end of the day, when it’s all said and done, that is a gift worth having.
---
Steve and Loki spend too much time together. Everyone knows that, but no one knows why-not even Steve. He can’t explain how Loki fills up his empty spaces, and vice-versa.
Everyone knows, but Phil is the only one who complains.
Everyone knows, but Barton quits with the wedding references.
Everyone knows, but Stark stops with the virgin jokes.
Everyone knows, but Loki pulls away when Steve tries to kiss him in the middle of April.
His rejection is not accompanied with an explanation. It’s just as well Steve doesn’t want to know.
---
Weeks later, when the portal opens over Manhattan, Steve remembers the half-conversation he and Loki shared on a dark sidewalk in March. I made a decision in anger. I drew a map and then gave it away, and now I must remain here until the mistake is rectified.
He looks over to where Loki watches “Chitauri” soldiers stream through the portal; the stricken expression on his face is all the proof Steve needs.
I drew a map.
Loki moves towards him. There’s something wild about him, more so now than before: his eyes are fever-bright, like his body has already primed itself for the great battle heading their way.
“‘A decision in anger,” Steve echoes. “You led these things here, you told them how to reach us-”
“To the place my brother has sworn to protect, yes. I knew it was a mistake the moment I disclosed the route. I came here to protect you, all of you. It was wrong, and I am going to fix it.” He stops short, gripping Steve’s shoulders and clutching hard, forgetful of his strength. Steve doesn’t let on that it hurts. He doesn’t let on that Loki’s secrecy hurts more. “You asked to help me. Forgive what I’ve done, right now, and that will be all the help I need.”
I drew a map and then gave it away.
Forgiveness isn’t in the cards right now, and even if it were, it’s not Steve’s place to grant it. He turns away and inputs his comm ID into the nearest console; when it connects, all he can hear is the sound of explosions and arguing. Even now, even at a do-or-die time like this, the team can’t muster enough sense to agree on one damn thing. He looks back over, but Loki has disappeared to join the firefight.
Steve leans into the mic and says, “Hawkeye, have the police station their men in every nearby building, and get a perimeter all the way down to 39th. Black Widow, hitch a ride on the first flying thing you see and head for Stark Tower. Do whatever it takes to close the portal. Stark, I show the Commandos en route to your position. You get as many Chitauri soldiers out of the air as you can; the HCs’ll provide backup.”
“Um, not to be an ass, and I really mean that, but since when do you order us around?” Hawkeye asks.
“Since you can’t do it for yourselves. Hey, is Hulk there? Because if he is, tell him to smash everything. Go to town.”
The siege is not as costly as it could have been. For once in their lives, the team manages to work as a unit, fending off the Chitauri soldiers while Loki and Thor combine their considerable magic to prevent a colossal, dragon-esque ship from coming through the portal. Steve watches and listens from HQ, daring to think that maybe Loki’s mistake can be washed away-but then he spots a new blip on the radar, a small, single dot that makes him go cold.
“You guys have an inbound,” he announces. “Can anyone get a visual?”
“I see him. Looks like Uncle Sam has come to the rescue,” Iron Man replies. “It’s not like our guys at Washington to send just one bird, though. Kinda cheap.” He pauses. “It’s carrying something.”
Steve grips the edge of the control board. He knows. He knows what it is. There’s only one thing it can be.
“Jesus Christ, that’s the-is that a nuke?” Stark has never sounded scared before, but there’s a disbelieving tinge to his voice borne from fear. “Can anyone confirm?”
“I can,” Loki answers. Steve’s head jerks up. “It would appear to be a bomb of the atomic variety. The pilot kindly informed me of this before I insisted he eject.”
“Loki,” Steve says. He feels small and useless here, all safely squirreled away at HQ. He imagines another life for himself, where he could be a hero, too. Someone who makes a real difference, who can call himself an Avenger. He watches the plane move further across the radar, carrying a bomb Loki has effectively hijacked.
“Steve,” Loki finally acknowledges. A silence follows that makes Steve panic, thinking they’ve lost the audio connection. He closes his eyes when he hears Loki say, “Save your sentiments, Steve Rogers. I never take roads without knowing my way back,” and then he flies the jet, bomb and all, directly into the portal, where a group of Chitauri warships won’t know what hit them. The portal closes in his wake.
Steve is aware of Phillips hovering in the doorway. The Colonel turns and walks away, the sound of his shoes fading down the corridor. It’s one of the few kindnesses he’s ever bestowed on Steve, and one of the few Steve, motionless over the mic, would ever ask for.
---
Steve waits. A week, then two, then a month. He knows Loki will return because he’s too clever not to find a way.
---
Loki does, in fact, show up at the start of June.
When Steve first sees him in the hangar, he stops short. He must have just gotten back, because Romanoff is giving him a one-armed hug and Thor is booming with congratulations, patting Loki on the shoulder with a giant hand. Loki, for his part, is laughing. He’s laughing, so obviously happy to be here that he’s willing to forgo the usual ‘stop it, you’re embarrassing yourselves’ routine. Barton is hiding his own disbelief by acting cool and dialing Stark to spread the news.
Loki is too preoccupied to notice Steve, and that’s fine. Their time apart has given Steve time to think about their friendship-more, he’d hoped-objectively. Even if he loved Loki, and even if Loki loved him, Steve isn’t sure how he could handle Loki’s natural reticence. Even now, he’s impishly smug and secretive over how he managed to return in one piece (“Only idiots crash nukes without an exit strategy,” is all he cops to).
He turns and heads back to his office. Either Loki will find him sooner, or Steve will find him later. It’s possible one of the Avengers will even call and let him know. His relationship with the team has improved astronomically-Barton has gone so far as to offer Steve archery lessons-in the weeks since New York fell under attack; both Banner and Romanoff try, in their own way, to keep him in the loop.
But when he unlocks his office door and hits the lights, Loki is already standing near his desk, fiddling with one of the tin airplane toys.
“That was fast,” Steve remarks.
“I knew you were there, but what I want to say did not seem appropriate for the hangar,” Loki replies. He sets the plane down. Steve wonders how much it will take to drag the truth out of Loki. Would the effort be worth the reward? Would the truth be partial or whole? Did Steve have a hope in heck of succeeding at all? Steve certainly doesn’t subscribe to defeatism, but he doesn’t want to be a sucker, either.
“And what’s that? What do you want to say?”
Loki tiredly slides into his usual chair and then waves Steve over, snatching Steve’s hand the minute he’s in range. He presses his forehead against Steve’s knuckles.
Loki looks up. For the first time, Steve discerns the dark circles beneath his eyes, the filth in his limp hair, the ashen pallor of his face. The road back must have been an endless series of struggles.
But Loki traveled it, because this is where he wants to be.
“You asked to help me, once,” Loki murmurs, an echo from a battle that lives in Steve’s memories. “Forgive what I’ve done, right now, and that will be all the help I need.”
“Forgiveness from me isn’t worth much. I can’t change anything for you.”
“I am not asking you change things. I am only asking for a chance to try again.”
And that... well. That’s something within Steve’s ability to give.
He takes his free hand and smooths out the worst of Loki’s hair; he uses the other to squeeze Loki's cold fingers, but what he means, of course, is yes.
FIN.
Oliver Wendell Holmes once attended a meeting in which he was the shortest man present.
"Dr. Holmes," quipped a friend, "I should think you'd feel rather small among us big fellows."
"I do," retorted Holmes. "I feel like a dime among a lot of pennies."
-Author Unknown