Wooing The Trickster. Chapter 15.

[teofse]

 

Title: Wooing The Trickster.
Author: Teofse
Rating: G
Pairing: Loki/Tony
Genre: Slash. Romance.
Word Count: 8951
Warnings: None. Unbetaed.
Disclaimer: Don't own these characters. No money is being made out of this work.
Summary: “Get ready to be swept off your feet, Loki of Asgard, because my fucking heart has finally found its match, and I'm afraid it's you.”

Wooing The Trickster. Chapter 15.

 

If there was something that a life miss-spent becoming such a profitable target for the yellow press that at least half the 'papzs' in the world regularly followed him around like the craziest, creepiest and most gossipy shadows anyone could have -while writing article upon article about anything, everything and absolutely everyone Tony cared to 'do' at any given time- had taught him it was that a stalker, any stalker, invariably upped the ante after being caught spying by the object of his obsession for the very first time.

Loki, bless his poor innocent soul when it came to dealing with weird nutters of the stalking kind, was too busy being relieved by the lack of made-in-Asgard 'official' repercussions to their mind-blowing BJ encounter to realize that lack of news didn't necessarily equate to good news in this particular situation. On the contrary, lack of news whenever a stalker was involved almost always meant one thing and one thing only: the bastard had found a better way to hide.

Bearing in mind that Tony happened to be a security expert of the genius billionaire variety, with world-renowned prowess in designing cutting edge technology in offense/defense military gear and tactics, no less, it was only a matter of time before he managed to catch himself one of those bloody birds; snaring it fair and square with the help of his latest -and totally uber-cool- 'toy'. The thing was absolutely huge and had the temper of a badly rattled wild bear, but then Tony supposed he'd have been right mad too, if he'd spent century after century flying around the realms like a feathered cross between James Bond and Mata Hari without encountering anyone with enough balls to make a grab for him, only to end up being imprisoned by some lowly midgardian 'argr' inventor in a cage so cheap that it didn't even have the decency to drip with purple diamonds.

“Cut the crap, Bird-brain, I don't care which one of the two you are, but hear this and hear it well: I've got you now, and I'm not letting you go until either your bastard of an owner grants me an audience or you help me find a way to get that blasted bracelet off Loki's wrist, whichever happens first.”

The crow blinked at him in what looked like genuine, open-beaked, shock for a second or two before cawing so scornfully that Tony would have kissed his own ass in awed reverence to his amazing foresight in predicting such snotty behavior, if he hadn't been much more interested in riling this feathered scumbag to the point of 'magical' retaliation.
“You can huff and puff all you want, Heckle, but I'm not gonna bother with the good host act, so all your tantrums will fall on deaf ears, capisce? Nobody else is gonna hear you screech either, Babychick, because I happen to have made the cage you're inhabiting right now with my very own hands, you see? And you wanna know the best part? I made it just for you, Sweetheart.”

Contemptuous, beady black eyes stared into his own unblinkingly, bored condescension pouring loud and clear from each and every inch of the creature who was trying its very best not to appear at all frazzled by the news that it was currently standing right in the middle of THE most high tech prison ever build by a 'midgardian', because there was no way in hell that someone had beat him to the punch when it came to making sure his little 'friend' stayed exactly where he wanted it. He was Tony bloody Stark, the former Merchant of Death himself, and he'd been so thoroughly pissed off since this overgrown turkey and its flea-infested evil twin had ruined the sweet memory of his 'first time' with Loki that he'd worked his ass off to make sure they got what they deserved, with bells on.

“You know exactly what that means, don't you, pal?” Tony smiled at the little shit with the kind of cruel smile that would have frozen Rogers all the way down to his uber-pious bollocks, if he'd seen it. The poor bastard still believed in all that crap about how good guys didn't really need to dirty their little hands with the unpleasantness of war, since they were the good guys and all. Tony knew better than most exactly how huge a pile of stinky BS that entire concept actually was, because he'd been on the other side of the trenches, and he knew exactly how fast and how loud anyone would 'sing' when given 'proper' incentives. No soldier alive would bother asking nicely for an enemy's cooperation because they knew they'd get nothing for their trouble save a thick gob of spit sliding down their cheek in the next second. Heroes aren't the only dudes who know how to be tough, after all. And baddies often think they're heroes too, in their dark, twisted, little minds.

The bird stood ramrod straight, subtly angling its enormous head left and right in an effort to check out it's new domain without appearing to do so. Tony was mightily impressed with the sheer balls of the thing. It was trying its very best to appear unfazed, and it probably would have gotten away with it, if Tony hadn't spotted the slight ruffling of its tail feathers as it failed to find a door or hadn't been scanning the flow of data coming into his virtual screens directly from the sensors located on every square inch of that cage like a hawk intent on discovering its desired prey's weak spot before diving in for the kill.
“Yep. You know exactly what it means. I can see it clear as water in your tiny, creepy, eyes and I'd bet you can see it in mine, too. There's no way out of this cage, Birdie. No way at all. This thing is anti-magic, anti-mega-strong-godly-beast, anti-tantrum-from-hell, and anti-everything else I could have possibly imagined, and trust me, I can imagine plenty of shit when I really, really, try.”

The blasted buzzard cawed as dismissively as any self-respecting feather-ball could possibly caw, and Tony could have sworn it rolled it's glassy eyeballs while smiling evilly at him a second before it played right into his hands and pounded the floor of the cage with one vicious-looking claw, releasing such a powerful blast of golden-colored magic inside the cramped cubicle that the entirety of Tony's cutting edge, Vibranium glass little prison shook as if it was made out of paper. For a second there the usually self-assured engineer honestly believed his 'bird jail' was gonna explode in a giant, six million dollar worth, dusty cloud of utter failure; leaving him to face a closer encounter with a gruesome-death-by-rabid-crow than he ever wanted to have.

But then his tech, his precious, crazy expensive and abso-fucking-lutely glorious tech actually managed to hold its ground against the ancient chicken from hell and Tony whooped so loudly he hurt his own throat and danced a little victorious jive right in front of his peeved guest's gobsmacked face, just because he could.
“Didn't think 'midgardian' science could hold a candle to your magic mumbo jumbo, eh, Mcduck? Well, now you know better.” Tony laughed at the huffy sort of bird-growl he got for his trouble and decided he had absolutely no reason to curve his smugness for the sake of this beast's sensibilities, since it hadn't given a shit about Loki's own, after all. “If that was your attempt to free yourself, my dear pigeon, let me point out the obvious: you've just failed. Rather epically, I must add. You see, the only way out of there is through me, and I'm not feeling all that inclined to set you free just yet. So I'd say you're fucked, buddy. And not in the fun way.”

The feather ball launched itself against the wall closest to Tony, clawing at it so viciously that the inventor didn't have a single doubt that the nasty thing wouldn't hesitate in goring him to death -and probably beyond it- if he gave it half the chance.
“Tut, tut, Tweety. That's not very friendly of you, is it?” Tony asked with a smirk, tapping playfully on the glass and feeling the purest form of vindictive satisfaction when the bird glared venomously at him, snapping its beak savagely with a thoroughly outraged caw.

“All preliminary scans of your guest's magical outburst are now complete, Sir.” J.A.R.V.I.S informed him at that moment, not only cutting his entertainment short, but also managing to sound both crisply disapproving and uber efficient at the very same time.

“Don't get your knickers in a twist, Jay. I'm not doing anything so horrible to the little bastard. And its giving me as bad as its getting, in case you haven't noticed.”

“I'm more worried about what it'll 'give you' once its out of that cage, if you manage to rile it any further. That is no ordinary crow, after all.”

Tony's easy, devil-may-care attitude vanished in a flash, leaving him as hard-eyed and tight-lipped as Nick Fury on Valentine's day.
“True. The beast is a spy. A nasty little spook of the worst kind. One whose actions ruined what would have been a pretty perfect first time for both myself and Loki.”

“Sir...”

“I hate it, Sweet-chip. I just—hate it!  We haven't managed to recover the lighthearted serenity this creature's master stole from us that day. I hate the hunted look that darkens the Reindeer's green eyes whenever he crosses in front of a window nowadays. I hate watching him check out the sky above him every single fucking time he goes outside. But what I hate even more is knowing that, even though he's taken every precaution he can, he'd have never managed to spot this feathered piece of shit in a million fucking years.”

“Young Mr. Odinson is safe and sound. He's still sleeping on the living room's couch, exactly where you left him. Your 'guest' can not currently hurt him.”

Tony laughed, despite himself, relieved that his A.I understood how bloody worried he'd been about what these two flying monkeys had been sent down here to 'do' to Loki, even though he'd never once mentioned his worries out loud. The Bluebell just assumed that daddy dearest had been trying to unnerve him, making it obvious that he'd found a way to get eyes on them, despite Loki's daring act of defiance. Tony, on the other hand, had been a megalomaniac bastard himself for long enough to understand other megalomaniac bastards' thought processes rather well. Odin hadn't sent the beasts to 'spy' on his son just to prove a point. Why would he, when the only thing he needed to do in order to get as much freshly-baked info on his youngest kid as he wanted was to call his precious Thor back to Asgard and ask him, point blank, how Loki was doing?  No. Daddy dearest hadn't sent his feathered minions to get a visual on Frosty. He'd sent them to do what none of his macho warriors had managed so far: he'd sent his crows to drag the Trickster 'home'. Tony was so sure of it that he'd been unable to sleep more than three hours at a stretch in the last two fucking weeks. He'd become so paranoid that he'd devised an entire range of new tech just to help him keep his precious Blueberry exactly where the god wanted to be. He could now probably track him all the way to hell and back, if he needed to. And he'd worked his ass off on a brand new suit that could -at least in theory- allow him to get up there and kick alien ass left and right, if any of those viking assholes ever managed to get their dirty paws on the Reindeer and made a run for it.

“What about the little shit's evil twin?  That one is still out there, Jay. It could pounce on sex-on-legs at any given time, nab him before I manage to get my suit on. I don't know what I'd do if they take Loki by force. I don't think I can survive the horror of knowing I failed him so completely.”

“But you haven't failed him, Sir. Young Mr. Odinson is just a lift ride away. He's right here, in the tower, and we both know that every inch square within a hundred miles of the building's air space is being carefully monitored as we speak. I doubt that even a half-starved mosquito could get past the new security system without raising a billion alarms. Your beloved is safer than England's own crown jewels right now, and you know it.”

“Call me a paranoid mother hen all you want, Awesome-O, but don't expect me to rest on my laurels until I've put the fear of Stark on this flying, living, breathing, feather duster and its warrior pals from hell. I wouldn't mind a shot at the Big Bad, himself, if we are talking ideal here, but we'll have to start somewhere and this flea-bag is the best we've got for now.”

The crow huffed with outrage and banged its beak viciously on the cage's wall. Tony stared down at it without bothering to hide how readily he'd chop it into tiny, little, pieces and bake it for dinner if it gave him a single excuse to do so, and ended up chuckling darkly when the beast took a cautious step backwards, looking thoroughly intimidated for the first time since Tony had trapped him.
“Ah…  So not only are you cleverer than you look, but you also understand every word out of my mouth and every expression on my face, don't you, Bird-brain?  Where is your friend, then?  When is the Cyclops planning to send the meaner warriors down here?  He'll have to get rid of Thor first, won't he?  Because we all know that hell will definitely freeze over before Big, Blonde and Thunderous allows a single royal guard to disregard Loki's station long enough to take him home against his will.”

The crow's feathers ruffled with enough disdain to make Tony shake his head, but the beast's lack of anxious twitching was all he needed to confirm that its partner in crime must be safe and sound back home. Probably already informing the Allfather of who, exactly, had been bold enough to make a grab for his missing minion, and carrying orders to and fro to deploy whatever contingency plan they had devised in case the abduction-by-magic-bird failed as epically as it had.
“If you think your master has the smallest intention of saving you then you aren't as clever as I first thought you were, Tweets. Look at Frosty, feather ball, why don't you?  That old bastard loves his younger kid enough to put us all through the wringer just because I have a slightly unsavory reputation, and yet he's never -not once- bothered to come down here to try and sort things out. What are the chances he'll do for you what he hasn't done for Loki, eh?”

The bird had the actual balls to turn its back on him, giving him the kind of cold shoulder that seasoned marines wouldn't dare to give him even after all this time of being one of the 'good' guys. Tony was reluctantly impressed. And frustrated. And determined to put the most giant fucking spanner he could get his oil-stained paws on in these assholes' let's-grab-ourselves-a-Reindeer plans.
“Oh, I see… Odin must have already told you that he'll send something else to get you all home, if you failed to retrieve Loki. You, guys, were his 'subtle' plan, weren't you?   And you think he's gonna rainbow-bridge something bigger and meaner down here as soon as it can be arranged, is that it?  He's throwing his worst at me next, yeah?   Something that will teach me a lesson.”

The crow's massive black head cocked to the side even as it cooed gleefully, clearly convinced that he'd managed to intimidate the crazy 'midgardian' bastard who held it prisoner. Tony kind of liked the bloody bird, even if it was so dammed smug that he couldn't wait to hit it with the sort of punch he hoped would not only shut it up with shock, but also serve as the pretty strong message Tony needed to ram down the gullet of the creature's one-eyed master: This was his turf and this was his godfriend. NOBODY was gonna get hold of Loki on Tony's watch. Not even the king of Asgard.

“Do you know why it took me so long to build your cage, Mcduck?   I mean, I realize you know nothing about this planet's construction schedules and, to be honest, two miserable weeks to get this kind of work of art done is like supersonic speed down here for anybody else, but then…   I'm not just anyone, Birddie, I'm Anthony Edward Stark, you know?  And down here that means I'm the Living, Breathing, Fucking GOD of Building Stuff, so…   not to boast or anything, but I could have wrapped this pretty box up in a bow and all within twelve hours of your first visit, if I just wanted to trap you. Or kill you. And boy, you've got no idea of how dammed tempted I was to go for that. But then I realized that sending you home in a tagged bag wasn't going to help Loki in the long term, so I settled on a different plan altogether. One I like much better because I'm pretty darned sure you're gonna hate it.”

The beast became totally rigid from tail feathers to inky head and Tony had the pleasure of watching it shake slightly as the truth sank in its brain. Its slow turn around towards him made the crow look like a soldier about to face its executioner.
“Loki said that you and your twin are more than just pets. He said you're some sort of creepy extension of the old Cyclops himself. That, in order to create the perfect little spies, the old-man 'connected' his own consciousness to yours, allowing you to know some of the stuff he knows. That's why you understand me, isn't it?   You're using your master's knowledge of the translate-all-languages thingy he uses to communicate with others. In short, you allowed the king of Asgard to mess with your head and in exchange he gave you some of his knowledge, some of his magic.
“Now that obviously doesn't mean the same to you as it does to me, because I can see by the look of befuddled confusion on your face that you're kind of not getting why I'm so damned grateful that you, guys, have that particular set up, so let me explain it to you in the simplest terms possible: you, my dear feather duster, and the little magic trick you just pulled to get out of that cage, are the key I'm gonna use to map what your master's magic looks like when he is casting an unlocking spell and, once I've done that, I'm gonna copy that sequence and use it to crack open the lock on the Reindeer's evil shackle. But I'm not planning to stop there, oh no. I'm going to use all this data to learn everything there is to know about Odin's particular brand of magic, and I swear on my precious science that I'm not gonna rest until I've found a way to make sure that it'll never, ever again, manage to affect Loki.”

Shocked beady eyes stared at him as if he'd gone off his rocker and that vicious-looking beak hung open in thunderstruck appraisal of what the crow clearly thought to be a raving lunatic. Tony grinned from ear to ear and rubbed his hands almost maniacally, praying to every scientist ever born to back him up on this one, because if there was ever a time for their craft to expose some decrepit old fart's claim to being a bona fide god for the huge fucking lie it had to be then that time had finally arrived, and he had every intention of being the scientist in charge of dethroning this particular deity. Losing this battle of wits wasn't on the cards at all.

“I take it the scanning is all done by now. Isn't it, Jay?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you've run the comparison between Frosty's own magic and his dad's?”

“The signature of their power is not a match, Sir. They are as different from one another as two sets of fingerprints.”

Tony could have wept with joy at the news. He would have done it, too, if he hadn't had a pretty riveted bird to cower into submission.
“Excellent, Sweet Cables. Now I want you to run both Odin's and Loki's data through one of our copies of the Buttercup's bracelet, try to separate both signals, if at all possible. Isolate anything that doesn't look like either and then hit the Allfather's side of the Reindeer's trinket with an exact copy of the spell our feathered friend so generously provided us with. Let's show Bird-brain here how we, 'midgardians', do 'magic'.”

“Certainly, Sir. The master copy of the selected data will be fully operational in eleven minutes and thirty seven seconds.”

“Excellent, Budd. Give me a five second heads up when you're ready.” Tony grinned from ear to ear, despite the spine-crawling terror that had seized him out of nowhere. His suddenly twitchy hand drummed an uneven staccato across the messy surface of his work table until a wayward knuckle hit the screen of his personal tablet, bringing to life the feed from the camera closest to Loki. Anxious amber-colored eyes drank in the lovely image of the slumbering Liesmith and Tony's heart thudded painfully as he attempted to trace the contours of his god's slender figure with a trembling fingertip.

“You will be safe. I'm going to set you free, gorgeous. And then I'm gonna help you find a way to live your life in your own terms.”

A loud thud coming from the cage startled Tony out of his moody thoughts and he lifted narrowed eyes to glare at the bloody crow. The bird wasn't even looking at him, though. It was literally plastered against the closest wall to Tony's desk, vicious claw so desperately extended towards the tablet in Tony's hand that the gesture looked way too much like longing adoration for the playboy's comfort.
“You love him too… Or is it your master who is looking at him right through you?   Does Odin really see what you see, bird?   Would he care to see his son safe and sound, sleeping in peace far from him?”

The crow's head tilted just so, beady black eyes zeroing on him with such 'human' intensity replacing the mindless animal pride the bird had shown him so far that Tony knew without a single shred of doubt that the Allfather himself was right there, gazing at him from within the very eyes of his magical 'pet':
“Here, take a good look at him, and then find a way to twist what you're seeing with your own dammed eyes, Your Highness. Go on, look at your son sleeping so trustingly on my couch and try to sell yourself the whopper that he has no place by my side, I dare you!”

“Five seconds, Sir.”

Tony inhaled sharply, distracted from his tirade by J.A.R.V.I.S' intervention and turned his back on the crow, pulling the tablet's screen against his chest for good measure.
“OK, then, Awesome-O. Let's get this ball rolling: Five. Four. Three. Two. Go!”

The modified laser beam he'd set up on a rotating frame right above the first replica of Loki's bracelet emitted a bright pulse of golden energy that literally pulverized the lock, the cuff and the fake jelly arm both were attached to. Tony stumbled forwards, forcing himself to examine the damage while mumbling under his breath that it was alright. This was NOT his Bluebell's arm, and he wasn't letting this 'key' anywhere near the Smurf until he was dammed sure the magic would affect the cuff's lock and the cuff's lock only.

“The good news is that the 'magic' definitely affected the shackle, Sir.”

Tony stared at the mess of orange jelly and melted gold that was currently occupying the first testing receptacle he'd set up with somber eyes. He kept frantically reminding himself that he wasn't really looking at the gruesome remains of Loki's own arm, but the tightness in his chest and the dryness in his throat were unmistakable signs that his stern self-pep-talk wasn't working in the slightest.
“You mean it decimated not only the lock but everything that surrounded it too, don't you, Jeeves?”

“As first times go it wasn't among your worst, if I may say so myself.”

“But I'm not playing for shits and giggles, Sweet-chip. That could have been Loki's arm. Shit. It could have been his whole body.”

“Sir...”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity Fuck. This is hopeless!”

“It's the only plan we've got. And the science is sound. You've never been the kind of man who gives up on the first try.”

“Loki's safety is NOT a game, Jay, and we both know that half my science is built on pure, unadulterated, BS and a reckless man's wild dreams. I don' mind gambling with my own hide, but I can not put him at risk. I can not.”

“Where does that leave us, then?   He is already at risk. His ability to self-heal is deteriorating by the week, his magic has begun to change and his basic needs are aligning with those of the captain or the Hulk. He sleeps more often, eats more regularly and his body reacts to physical integrity cues more like a superhuman's than a God's. The bracelet is affecting his health and you know it, just as you know that he's trying to hide it, Sir. Despite young Mr. Odinson's claims to the contrary the Allfather's punishment does not involve only pain.”

“I know. I know. I fucking KNOW all that. You don't have to keep reminding me, OK?” Tony growled, whirling around in frustration, right hand cradling the tablet that held Loki's image against his pounding heart while his left one jerked upwards to pull his hair out in a string of vicious tugs that didn't do a bloody thing to calm his fraying nerves.

His gaze fell upon the crow, frustrated amber tangled with devastated blackness in a battle that he'd never thought he'd win. The bird's unblinking stare lowered towards his tightly held tablet, looking at it so intently that Tony began to entertain the fanciful notion that the beast could see Loki's slumbering form right through the sleek metal case that protected the device.
“That spell is killing him, and you know it. It might not happen today or even tomorrow. Hell, it might not happen in my lifetime, judging by the data I've collected so far, but the Reindeer is gonna die all the same if you don't help me undo the damage your fucking manacle is inflicting. Are you really cool with offing your own kid over a 'temporary' affair with a flawed 'midgardian'?   Come on, man, get your head out of your own ass. How can a three decade mistake, tops, be that big a deal for a dude who should live thousands of years?   You'll lose Loki altogether if you keep opposing his relationship with me, but you'll get him back, safe and sound, once I start pushing daisies, if you pull a one-eighty right about now.”

The bird's proud stance seemed to crumble as it flattened it's dark head against the wall of the cage. Its inky-black gaze turned obsidian bright with the weight of the thousand regrets it could not voice. Razor-sharp claws scrapped across the glass, pulling from it a god-awful screech that made every single hair in Tony's body stand on end.
“You can't help me, can you?   Are you even here, inside this minion of yours, or am I just losing my mind?   How can you not set him free, if you're here, for goodness sake?   Aren't you supposed to be fucking all-powerful and so on?”

“Sir, your 'guest' is currently emitting some sort of raw energy. It is invisible to your eye, but every sensor on the cage's frame is picking up the same signal.”

“WTF?  Scan it, Jay. Scan it right now!  Compare it to everything 'magical' we already have and make a master copy of it, if it looks wildly different.” He barked, dropping his tablet on the desk before taking a couple of steps towards the cage, and placing white-knuckled hands against the clear glass wall in an effort to feel what his eyes couldn't see. He'd sort of expected whatever magic was being performed inside to zap the glass under his palms as soon as he touched it or something at least mildly unpleasant, but he couldn't feel a single thing besides the cool Vibranium mesh he had created. The crow looked right at him, fierce black eyes glaring with so much frustrated rage and heartbreaking impotence that he felt all that emotion touch his very heart with ghostly fingertips.
“You are too far away, aren't you, Allfather?  You can't use this bird of yours to help me help Loki because the beast is just that: a beast. You sent it here to drag your son back home. Pre-programmed its claws with a spell that would have rendered Loki unable to escape them, but other than the duty it was commanded to perform your flying monkey can only stare, caw and defend itself when cornered...”

“The foreign energy has begun to dissipate from the cage, Sir. I've scanned and compared it to everything we have in our 'magical' database and the only thing that's even remotely similar is Dr. Strange's telepathic spell.”

Tony shook his head left and right, feeling suddenly lightheaded, and he stumbled a couple of steps backwards until the back of his knees hit the hard edge of his wheelie chair.
“So that wasn't some previously unheard of awesome insight power of mine coming to the fore, then. It was the old fart's way of telling me that he can't help. Not because he doesn't want to, mind, but because he's too far away. Shit. That leaves just the two of us to clean up daddy's mess, Jeeves.”

“You could always try to convince young Mr. Odinson to go home with his brother for a day or so. Both our guest's current behavior and the fact that the Allfather has never stopped sending down guards to 'invite' his son back to Asgard, lead me to believe that there is at least a 99.76% chance that the king is actively trying to remove the Trickster's cuff.”

“The Cyclops' intentions are irrelevant here, Mighty-cables. The Reindeer doesn't want to go home and I'm not planning to force him. He's gone through a lot of trouble to launch this rebellion of his. Standing up to his father when it comes to us means a lot to Loki and I'm not gonna betray him by suggesting he gives it up, just because that will solve our problems a hell of a lot faster. We'll have to find a way to help him win without forcing him to surrender. We can not let him lose, Jay. Nothing of mine ever loses, OK?”

“Of course not, Sir. Losing is for losers, and Justin Hammer. Tony Stark is the Living, Breathing, Fucking GOD of Building Stuff, after all.”

Tony laughed under his breath, feeling suddenly a lot more confident about his chances of achieving the nearly impossible than he was a mere second ago.
“Run that test again at 10% of the initial power and let's increase the juice a further 10% with every subsequent run. I have a feeling the bird was too pissed off when he tried to open the cage, so he kind of… overfed… the spell.”

“10% it is, then, Sir.” J.A.R.V.I.S said before firing up the laser beam at the second replica of Loki's golden bracelet. Tony couldn't bear to look at the mock up, so he picked up his tablet once again and stared at his slumbering godfriend with ever-growing adoration, tracing the tiny, pale features of Loki's image with his calloused fingertips.

“The lock shows no signs of damage at 10% power, Sir.”

“Keep going until you get something solid, Jay. I don't think I can stomach watching another of those fake arms blow up, so just give me a heads up me when you hit the danger threshold and I'll take it from there.”

Loki shifted at that moment in the couch two floors away. Even asleep he curled his wounded arm way too carefully against his jumper-covered belly as he tucked his long legs against the couch's armrest and buried his gorgeous face in a velvety green cushion. Tony's breath caught in his chest as he sat on his wheelie chair and gazed quietly into the screen, wishing he could be up there with every cell in his body. He wanted to spoon his Bluebell as he dozed the evening away, so innocently unaware that Tony knew a lot more than he wanted him to know. That Tony was way too overprotective to miss the little signs everyone else seemed to have always missed when it came to Loki because there was absolutely nothing in this world, or any other, more important to Anthony Edward Stark than the Liesmith of Asgard.
“You're so used to looking after yourself that you didn't even think to let me know how bad your dad's punishment really is, eh, sweetheart?   I'd bet you're not keeping me in the dark to be mean. You're just trying to protect me, aren't you?   You're convinced I can't help you and whatever is gonna happen will take place after I'm gone, so you're keeping quiet about it. The thing is… I see you, babe. I see you like nobody else in your life has ever bothered to see you, and that means that your smoke and mirror tricks are just that: smoke and mirrors.
“I shouldn't have stopped researching that bloody bracelet when you pulled your 'I want to be a warrior' stunt. I shouldn't have tried to settle for your rebellion when what you deserve is full, unfettered, freedom. I don't care that I'd probably be long gone by the time things come to a head. You're taking this risk for me and that's your choice, I accept that. But now I'm choosing to save you, gorgeous, and that… that's the one goal I'll achieve, if it's the last thing I do.”

Table Of Contents

Chapter 14

 

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