Chapter Text
The mission itself was the most mundane assignment Randal had been given in years – overseeing the relocation of an asset. He had a regular sedan, a set of apartment keys, and a single sidearm that was there mostly because he would have felt naked without it.
On paper, it was almost laughably ordinary. Boring. Others would laugh he was getting retirement jobs.
The asset, however, made Randal more on edge than that one operation where he had ended up dangling beneath a helicopter over a mountain range in the middle of nowhere, preparing to jump onto a narrow ledge.
Somebody get him back to that damned helicopter…
The longer he thought about his current situation, the more appealing dangling over a cliff became. At least helicopters came with ejection seats sometimes, unlike his car.
Meanwhile, his passenger appeared entirely at ease, idly tapping his fingers against the door as the city drifted by outside. He had even fastened his seatbelt without argument. Well, almost. There had been a quiet scoff and something muttered about ‘fragile mortals’ but that hardly counted.
He had managed to keep a perfectly professional expression while Fury briefed him. Now that they were alone, the panic was making up for lost time.
“What have you done to get on Director Fury’s bad side?”
Randal's eyes left the road for a split second. Loki was still gazing out the window, fingers lazily drumming against the glass, looking so absurdly ordinary.
“What?” Randal asked, still processing the question.
“He must consider you expendable.”
Loki was making small talk with him – again – but this time there was no Hulk-proof glass between them. Only the center console with a bottle of water sitting innocently in the cup holder.
“What are you talking about?”
“It is quite apparent the Director trusts me considerably less than he pretends,” Loki said, finally turning his head. “And yet he leaves you alone in a confined space with an individual he officially considers an escaped terrorist.”
Randal instinctively rubbed the shoulder that had troubled him every other week until a Loki had barged into his room those months ago and repaired it in under a minute. Not a single spike of pain since then but the habit remained.
“I asked you to keep the villainy to a minimum,” he said, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “This is the opposite.”
“You asked for no world-conquering, which I’m not,” Loki corrected, sounding faintly amused. “I’m simply making a conversation. So how is it with dear Director?”
“I suppose I was assigned because of our... history,” Randal said. “If that's what we're calling it.”
“History,” Loki echoed thoughtfully. “Tell me, were you curious enough to indulge me with conversation of your own accord, or did Director Fury encourage you after I complained about solitary confinement?”
Randal hesitated. Then decided better not lie to the God of Lies over something this harmless. “We got permission to engage, not an order.”
“And where is the other one?” Loki asked after a moment. “Jason, if memory serves.”
“That's classified,” Randal replied automatically. Loki looked at him with a very unimpressed expression. Fine, maybe it was a cliché spy answer. “He’s overseas. Assignment.”
Loki accepted the answer with a small nod and returned his attention to the passing streets.
The silence that followed was considerably less strained than before. The initial panic shifted into shock, and that his training taught him how to handle efficiently. It was still surreal, but at least he no longer expected to get magic-murdered every time Loki shifted in his seat.
“So,” Randal said, “where exactly are we going? What's the address?”
Loki frowned. “The address?”
“The hotel,” Randal clarified. “Fury said you've been staying in one. We drive there, you collect your things, check out, and then we take you to the safe house.”
“I do not know the address.”
Randal blinked. “You... don't know where you live?”
“I have never found your mortal methods of navigation particularly useful,” Loki said with a dismissive wave. “I simply arrive where I intend to.”
A damned alien wizard.
“So how exactly are we supposed to get there?”
“I could be there with a single thought,” Loki scoffed. “You ought to ask your Director why he insists upon this elaborate performance.”
Randal somehow managed to get them to the hotel in one piece, despite Loki's directions invariably coming a turn too late. And there they were, stopped in front of one of the most prestigious hotels in Manhattan.
As a kid, Randal had liked to linger outside the St. Regis, imagining himself as one of the impeccably dressed guests heading out for an afternoon stroll. As an adult, he had long since accepted it was the sort of place that belonged beyond his pay grade.
A valet appeared before the car had even come to a full stop, opening Loki's door first with polished efficiency before making his way around to Randal's side. Randal handed over the keys with an awkward nod, trying not to look as out of place as he suddenly felt.
Well.
It fit. Loki was a literal prince. A space prince. Or perhaps an ex-prince by now.
But he was also a wizard, a murderer, an alien, a terrorist, and – according to the newest information Fury had shared – a torture victim. Allegedly. The Director himself wasn't entirely convinced yet.
Randal was struggling to fit all those labels onto the same person.
Loki stepped out as though he had lived there for years, adjusted the cuffs of his suit, and headed for the entrance without the slightest hesitation. Randal hurried after him, irrationally convinced that if he fell too far behind, somebody would stop him.
The doorman inclined his head and held the door open.
“Royal treatment,” Randal muttered.
Loki either didn't hear him or chose not to acknowledge the comment.
They headed for the elevators. Along the way, Loki offered a polite nod to a middle-aged couple dressed for some gala – the man in a tailored black tuxedo, the woman in a dark emerald evening gown draped beneath a cream-coloured shawl. They returned the gesture with courteous smiles before their attention shifted to Randal. Their expressions faltered for the briefest moment.
Apparently, he was the one who looked out of place.
And not the literal alien, who had almost demolished this very hotel not so long ago.
The elevator carried them to the top floor, where thick carpets muffled every footstep and framed artwork lined the corridor between polished wooden doors.
Loki stopped before one of the suites and unlocked it.
The room beyond was spacious. Large windows overlooked Manhattan, sunlight spilling across dark wooden floors and understated furniture. There were remarkably few personal belongings. A neatly folded coat rested over the back of a chair, several books lay stacked on the bedside table, and little else suggested anyone had been living there.
Randal drifted toward the windows almost despite himself.
The city stretched endlessly in every direction. The Avengers Tower dominated the skyline, its glass façade catching the afternoon sun, while a patch of green marked the edge of Central Park beyond the sea of buildings.
“You seem rather captivated by the accommodations,” Loki observed as he loosened his cuffs. “I dread to imagine what sort of establishment Director Fury has prepared for me if this impresses you so.”
Randal folded his arms. “Just pack.”
Loki sighed with theatrical disappointment.“Very well. But let it be known that if your Director intends to house me in some dreadful little hovel, I shall consider our agreement open to renegotiation.”
Before Randal could answer, green light flowed through the room.
He instinctively flinched as the coat vanished first, followed by the books, then the handful of other possessions, each dissolving into shimmering motes before disappearing without a trace.
“I did not mean to startle you,” Loki said with a smile.
That, was most definitely a lie.
The apartment was smaller than the suite at the hotel, though considerably more lived in. Bookshelves lined one wall, the kitchen showed actual signs of use, and the furniture had been chosen for comfort instead of prestige. The location was convenient as well, only a short distance from the hotel.
There were at least two poorly hidden camers, but for now, Loki ignored them.
Agent Randal continued explaining something about the plumbing beneath the sink, followed by an unexpectedly passionate lecture on the importance of keeping the windows shut during heavy rain.
It was a perfectly adequate place to stay. Once he dealt with the surveillance.
For the time being, he could indulge Director Fury's peace of mind. Loki was quite certain at least one of the neighbouring apartments had been quietly occupied by SHIELD personnel, but it was not as though he intended to do anything that required secrecy.
He simply valued a measure of privacy and sincerely hoped Fury's people possessed enough decency not to peer through the windows.
As for being followed whenever he left, a short teleportation around the nearest corner would solve that problem well enough.
“You're not even listening to me.”
“Astute observation,” Loki admitted with a faint roll of his eyes. “I have travelled this planet for months. I have become adequately acquainted with your mysterious household appliances.”
Agent Randal looked thoroughly unimpressed.
Still, most of the tension had finally drained from him. The clearest sign of that was the pistol now lying unattended on the dining table while its owner struggled with a stubborn curtain that refused to slide properly along the rail.
“Fine,” Randal muttered. “Just magic away the fire before you burn the kitchen down.”
After one particularly determined tug, the curtain finally surrendered.
“Now something important, so actually listen,” he continued. “Don't let anyone see you using magic. If somebody thinks you look even remotely like the guy who flattened half the city, walk away. And tomorrow you need to be at Headquarters by—”
The phone in Loki's pocket began to ring.
“Is that Director Fury?” Randal asked.
Loki glanced at the screen. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No.”
“Telemarketers shouldn't have that number yet,” Randal said, frowning. “Unless Mister I've mastered your silly mortal world somehow failed at basic internet safety.”
Loki regarded him with mild confusion. “Agent, are you quite well? You appear to be speaking complete nonsense.”
“Just give it here,” Randal said, holding out his hand. “I'll block the number.”
Loki stepped neatly out of reach. “My apologies,” he said. “But I intend to answer.”
“Loki, there is no—”
He accepted the call. “Hello.”
“Have you forgotten how to use that thing?” Stark's voice greeted him immediately. “What took you so long? Though it's good to hear Nickie didn't throw you into some underground dungeon. Either the meeting went well or SHIELD seriously sucks at searching their prisoners. So? How's life treating you, Merlin?”
Looking Agent Randal directly in the eye, Loki replied, “All is well, Stark. We have reached an acceptable agreement.”
Randal froze. His mouth opened slightly.
“I have been assigned a rather talkative chaperone,” Loki continued pleasantly. “He has proven tolerable thus far. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“Wanted to make sure you weren't chained to a radiator somewhere.” Stark paused only long enough to inhale. “Also, you should come by sometime. I've made some progress regarding our favourite small genius and figured you'd want an update. Plus, maybe you could show me a bit more magic. Ideally while standing in front of every sensor I own. Totally optional, though. I'm big on boundaries now.”
Randal was still staring.
“I shall consider the first proposal,” Loki said. “The second, I decline. If you'll forgive me, I ought to finish dismissing my chaperone.”
“Preferably not permanently,” Stark replied. “Remember, murder is bad.”
“Keeps slipping my mind.”
Stark burst into laughter. “Kisses, Merlin. Stop by soon.”
“Farewell, Stark.”
Loki ended the call.
“What were you saying, Agent?”
Randal continued staring at him for another few seconds before slowly rubbing a hand down his face. “I...” he exhaled. “You know what? I'm not even going to ask.”
“A wise decision.”
“I've had enough surprises for one day.” Randal reached for the pistol on the table, holstered it, then picked up his jacket. “Main entrance tomorrow. Don't teleport into the building, don't give the security guys a reason to shoot, and be there by eleven.”
Without waiting for a reply, he let himself out, quietly closing the door behind him. Loki lingered for another moment, listening until Agent Randal's footsteps faded into the corridor.
Only once the apartment had fallen silent did Loki allow himself a slow exhale. Then he teleported to the nearest library.He should be able to sufficiently master mortal’s biology by eleven.
“He didn’t seem to notice the cameras, sir.”
“They gave us about six hours of footage,” Fury said. “Only because the bastard teleported the moment you left. Once he came back, he disabled every camera in the apartment and burned out the wiring while he was at it.”
Fury hadn’t expected the surveillance to last. The cameras had been a test. He wanted to know whether Loki would tolerate being watched, ignore it entirely, or tear the apartment apart in a fit of rage. Instead, Loki had acknowledged every camera with a brief glance before disabling them one by one.
Very considerate of their local ex-psychopath.
“Stark called him,” Agent Randal continued.
Fury had seen as much on the recordings. “How much of the conversation did you catch?”
Randal shook his head. “Not much. Honestly... I was too busy trying to process the fact they were chatting like old friends. By the time I thought to ask him to put it on speaker, the moment had passed. I doubt he would've agreed anyway.”
“The conversation?”
“Friendly.” Randal frowned. “Mostly Stark talking.”
Fury grunted. “How surprising.”
He had no intention of trying to separate Stark from Loki. That would only guarantee Stark’s interest to spike into unbearable levels. Better to let him satisfy his curiosity and intervene only if Stark suddenly developed an interest in planetary conquest. Or Loki gave them a reason to consider him an active threat again.
“Tech Division is still working on countermeasures,” Fury said. “They're making progress, but they're working with damn little. Stay with him while he's on base. I don't expect him to hurt Coulson or anybody else, but keep the stun device on you anyway.”
“Yes, sir.”
Their accidental discovery inside the MRI scanner remained the most promising lead they had. One particular frequency generated by the machine caused Loki immediate pain while registering as nothing more than unpleasant noise to human ears. They had witnessed it twice: first during the initial scan, when Loki had visibly struggled to hide his discomfort, and again when he removed the protective earplugs Doctor Fenner had insisted upon and nearly doubled over.
Despite the agreement they had reached, Fury would sleep better once S.H.I.E.L.D. possessed a reliable means of stopping and containing Loki if things ever went sideways. Until then, half of Tech Division could work themselves into the ground for all he cared. If they could hand him something that reliably neutralized Loki like the Asgardian cuffs had done, the overtime budget would be the least of his concerns.
“He asked for anything?” Fury asked.
“No, sir.”
The moment Fury revealed Coulson's condition, the balance of the negotiation had shifted. Loki could have demanded almost anything before agreeing to help, and Fury would have agreed to a lot more than he was comfortable with.
And yet…
Loki made no demands.
To some degree, he had even been cooperative.
Fortunately, Fury had spent enough years taking in gifted, dangerous people who had lost their footing and pointing them toward something useful. Loki, however, would be the most difficult case by far. He possessed enough power to ignore almost any leverage Fury could realistically apply, carried the baggage of recent coercion, and had a history that gave everyone around him good reason to distrust him.
If there was a direction to steer him, Fury had yet to find it. But until he did, he intended to keep watching very closely.