Everybody Wants to Rule the World // Frostiron

Seasons in the Sun // Chapter 1

    The blaring neon lights turned into a soft glow as Loki distanced himself from the club. He blended into the shadows as he strolled briskly down the streets of New York, his fully black suit not only making him look extravagant but also working as camouflage. His pockets were filled with cold hard cash and plenty of scraps of paper containing the numbers of every "straight" middle-aged man at his place from of work. Work-wise Loki was, supposedly, a bartender, but he mostly abandoned his post to taunt the club-goers. Surprisingly, this paid extremely well.

    The night was cold, freezing even, but it didn't effect the Jotun. (Unsurprisingly.)  However, it must have deterred others from taking a midnight stroll since the streets were nearly vacant. On the outside, the god looked completely confident; in fact, his aura exuberated arrogance, but upon closer inspection, Loki was a complete and total wreck. The stench of alcohol was apparent from five feet away, and his eyes had a glazed over and vacant look. His hands fidgeted nervously at the hem of his suit jacket. His mind ran unchecked. The worst topics imaginable played over and over like a broken record: the battle of New York, his imprisonment on Asgard, his mother's death, his failures. His failures. His failures.   

    Stupidly, drunkenly Loki continued down the street. In this state of mind he didn't know which direction his apartment was. Hell, he didn't know what an apartment was. What even was Midgard anyway? Lights reflected prettily in the windows of whatever large building sat in front of the drunken god. The next thing he knew he was on the doorstep.

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   Recovering from the battle of New York had been a tedious process. Specifically, dealing with the press. Everyday for months, Tony had tried to remain hidden inside Stark Tower for fear of the nosey reporters that awaited outside. Sometimes, against his will, the reporters would make their ways inside and interrogate Stark about the events. Due to the insistence of Nick Fury, Tony would turn down the interviews and remain in silence about the battle.

    The night was young and, yet again, Stark was left in solitude. As per usual, he poured himself a generous glass of whiskey and had a seat on his obscenely expensive couch and turned on his obscenely expensive flat-screen TV. As per usual, there was nothing of interest to watch. Habitually, Stark flipped to the news network. He was immediately bombarded with live footage of Stark Tower. A young reporter stood center screen looking frantic.

   "We are live at the Stark Tower in New York, New York. We are terrified to report that Loki, the Asgardian god of mischief is present today at the front steps of the tower..."

    Tony leaped to his feet, spilling some whiskey. In awe and horror, he watched the screen as cameras cut to an extreme close-up of Loki's passed out face on the doorstep of the tower. His phone didn't waste any time to start ringing off the hook. "Fuck," he muttered to himself, running to find the phone that Nick Fury would certainly soon be calling. 

    On cue, the line rang and Tony answered to Fury's abrasive tone. "What is Loki doing on your doorstep?"

    "Geez, you think if I knew he wouldn't be on my doorstep!"

    "Not the time, Stark. I'll deal with the press- try to convince them this was all a fluke. In the mean time, get Loki inside."

     Tony let out an exasperated sigh. "You're telling me to bring the god who wiped out hundreds in the Battle of New York into my living room?"

    "At the moment we don't really have any other options, so, yes."

    "What do I do then? Kill him?"

    No sooner than the words could leave Stark's mouth, Fury hung up. Muttering nervously to himself,  Stark rushed downstairs in his robe and slippers - billionaires could afford one lousy news appearance. He flung open the front doors of Stark Tower and immediately faced the cameras. "Well, dear, it seems like this poor man has passed out on my doorstep," he said weakly, acting clearly not his strong-suit. "Being the charitable man I am, I should better get him inside and help him out!"

    Tony grabbed the passed-out god by the shoulders and began trying to drag him inside. One news reporter stuck a microphone in his face. "Is this not Loki?"

    Stark chuckled nervously. "Of course not! You've got it all wrong. If anyone could recognize Loki, it would be me since y'know I defeated him. This is just an unsuspecting drunk. No need for all the "lights, camera, action"."

    Reluctantly, many of the cameras backed off, leaving Tony dragging deadweight into an elevator. Watching the limp body, he wondered if he should take Loki out right where he laid. It wouldn't be difficult. Their Asgardian problem would be over with. Yet something about offing the god in his sleep didn't seem right. If anything, it wouldn't be doing Stark any favors when it came to Loki's brother, Thor. So, when the elevator opened to Tony's own living space, he drug the god out and laid him on the aforementioned obscenely expensive couch. At least the night wasn't quite as boring.