Ancients

In Which Loki is a Little Out of It

It wasn't that hard.

Really, it wasn't.

There were just a lot of people.

And many of them wished to speak with him. He reckoned a good number of them also wished to punch him, and he couldn't say he blamed them, really.

He wanted to punch him too.

Loki sipped his drink numbly, a neutral sort of look on his face that dipped into smile territory every time his hand shook someone else's. He vaguely recognised that Tony was introducing him to people. There was some CEO in a shimmery dress like, eight necklaces on-honestly, how can a person need more than one? She's only got the one neck-and her wife, who had no necklaces at all.

Is that it, did she steal them from her? Is that why she's-

"Hello? Earth to Loki?"

"Mmm? Sorry, er-what?"

The glass was plucked from his hand.

"Are you okay? You seem a bit out of it."

"Out of what."

Tony frowned.

"Out of...touch. Is something wrong?"

"Nope. I'm perfectly fine."

The engineer rolled his eyes, scrubbing a hand through his goatee.

"Yeah okay. Why don't you call it a night, I'll tell them you were tired from...training. Or something."

Loki licked his lips.

"Hm. Erm-okay. If you say so."

He most certainly did not train.

"Yes, I do. I'll see you back at home."

"Yeah. Night, darling."

"Mhmm."

Tony pretended his heart hadn't skipped a beat.

I mean, it wasn't even a whole beat. It was like, half of one. He was just caught off-guard. Besides, his heart was even screwier than his liver. It skipped beats for fun, Loki inadvertently calling him pet names had nothing to do with it.

Absolutely nothing at all.

He squeezed his eyes, sipped his drink-which was literally just tonic water. God, he hated being sober-and turned back to the minister of defense of some European country he'd forgotten the name of to explain why he wasn't planning to blow anyone up, he promises .

- - -

Meanwhile, Loki had transported himself back to the compound.

Except he got the location a little bit off, so he wasn't so much in the compound as he was on top of it.

"Shit..." he muttered. Loki walked around looking for the roof access door, found it and blew the lock open with a little green shower of sparks.

The handle was hot and he swore, decided to give it a second to cool off. He undid his tie and was wrapping it around his hand in a sort of oven mit situation when he saw something move out of the corner of his eye. There was a woman standing on the edge of the roof, staring up at the sky.

"Hello? He-oh, fuck."

The pin he'd had on his tie fell in a clatter and he stooped to pick it up. When he looked round again, she was gone.

Loki shrugged hazily, opened the door and thundered down the staircase and down the hall to his bedroom, dress shoes slapping the floor obnoxiously. He'd have hexed the feet of whoever was making that noise but they were his own, and he sort of needed them.

Grumbling to himself, Loki fell into his room and kicked off his shoes carelessly, heading to the small kitchen. He poured himself a cup of stale coffee from earlier that day, chucked it back and collapsed onto the sofa, where he sat for a good hour, just staring at the carpet.

"Remember what he did to Manhattan? Are you sure he should be here, Tony?"

"It wasn't his fault, Robert. He was under mind control."

"But he was still the one who did it, wasn't he?"

"I'm sorry, how much money did your company make that day, patching up the survivors?"

Loki gulped. He wasn't sure why. It just seemed like the appropriate thing to do. He did it again, only this time some sort of thing got stuck in his throat. He was sure it was one of those 'emotion' things, and it was beginning to get on his nerves.

"Thank god we were on vacation-he took out our whole house!"

"You lost your house, my daughter lost her legs!"

The thing in his throat put pressure on his larynx and it ached.

Not gonna cry, I'm not-we said we were done with the crying thing, come on it's been three hundred years-

Too late.

The bubble burst, he sobbed into his hands. The pain flowed from him like a popped stress ball, coating everything he was in a thin layer of emotion he failed to contain. The feeling faded and was quickly replaced by a sort of angry hunger, he jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes, scrunching his hair.

Loki knew what might happen. He stood, unsteady on his long, narrow feet. They carried him dutifully to the bathroom where he turned on the shower and stripped shakily. He hung up his suit on the dry cleaning hook and stepped under the spray. It was cold; he hardly noticed.

That is, until the shaking started. He realised he should probably do something about it so he cranked up the heat until his skin turned pink and itchy. Loki scratched at his skin, leaving bright red stripes. He smiled and washed his hair as if everything were completely normal.

Then, with a great heaving sigh he summoned a dagger.

It glinted mischievously in the light, as did all his weapons. He made them magically glinty. It was a little thing, he was proud of it. But it looked so inviting.

He turned it in his hand, braced himself against the wall and plunged it into his stomach.