"Loki?" Stark knocked and began sliding the door open before waiting for an answer. He knew the regal voice would have told him to shuffle off and go do some maths (though it would surely have been more eloquently put), and he simply did not deal well with refusal. So as not to risk being shunned, he found that being imposing generally worked quite well. It caught most off-guard, in any case, and that usually gave him the few minutes needed to argue and eventually get his way.

This technique did, however, have its flaws. Mainly, it did not leave any room for manoeuvres or backing away. So when Stark did step into the room, he knew that even if he had spent a decade living with gods and mutants under his roof he would never have been prepared for what his eyes beheld.

The limp body on the floor should have a been enough of a trigger for a person with normal sensibilities to want to leave immediately. Stark, however, took in the position of every single object in the room, from the countless books piled around the immaculately made bed to the full-length mirror at the feet of Loki's lithe body. It is, however, what moved within the mirror that made him stop, and wish he lived a different life. He was becoming weary of incongruous situations and yet... They were the only things keeping him holding onto dear life, giving him a reason to continue to use the suit, searching for better things to do with himself than drowning alcohol.

From the depths of the looking-glass, he took in the perfect image of Loki, sitting cross-legged on the floor as if reflecting reality. He blinked, and looked again at the fallen body to assure himself that he wasn't dreaming. His hand came up to his chest, tapping the reactor embedded into his chest, thoughts racing at an incomprehensible speed. The Loki in the mirror looked chagrined even with his eyes closed, a soft scowl smeared on his lips and brows knitting slightly together. He seemed to nod once, then twice, and Stark stayed frozen in the very same position since he had first entered the room.

An obvious reaction should have been to call Thor, a voice told him gently, yet another (stronger) part of him kept his mouth glued shut. Adrenaline poked him awake from his stupor, pushing one foot after the other towards the god's body and bending his knees to the ground. Before he could stop himself, one hand was running through raven hair, down towards the neck to check for a pulse. There was none, the engineer realised as his eyes widened, grasping tighter and hoping he was sorely mistaken. Nothing.

"Jarvis?" he called out, feeling his voice rip through his throat. "Why didn't you tell me our guest died?"

"Sir? I beg your pardon, but Mr Laufeyson's scan shows him as very much alive. Healthier than you, one might add."

The dark man's hands began grasping for every main vein and artery he could remember that might give him a sense of life within the god's body. What were the chances Jarvis' scans were wrong? His mind fumbled with a series of programmes he knew had been installed in the A.I., all of them self-sustaining and most self-adjusting. Statistics were in Loki's favour, and he breathed a sigh of relief whilst running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"How is that even possible? I can't feel one goddamn pulse, Jarvis."

"Well, sir, if my scans are correct, you are not actually touching him at this moment." Silence. "He's a few inches to the North of your position." Stark lifted his head, and came face to face with Loki's mirror image. Viridian eyes flashed wide open as the engineer grazed the glass surface with a shaking hand, making him lose his balance and fall back, another hand still gripping the white neck. The moment it took for him to regain his dignity was enough to miss a dark shadow passing behind Loki, pearl-grey curls whipping in the wind as they disappeared into the fog. It was also the time needed for the limp body on the floor to stir. Stretch. Awaken.

Stark's gaze lifted as the lifeless body before him sat slowly and regally. Though it was more emaciated than the last time he had set eyes upon it, it still held all the elegance he remembered. Frozen to the floor, the engineer couldn't but stare as the human god crossed his arms and scrutinised him right back.

Silence reigned for the entirety of five minutes. Emerald and amber connected continuously, neither daring to word the questions banging about inside their brains. From one side there was doubt, trust in shambles as he tried to comprehend what the situation could possibly mean for his safety and that of his friends and loved ones. From the other, the doubts stemmed from different roots, not quite sure how to explain away the odd situation nor why the genius engineer had thought he could enter his room uninvited. The silence only deepened when, due to a discreet shift in light (one Stark attributed to his AI), both men realised the singularly odd position they found themselves in.

Barely a foot separated their noses from touching, the human's hands still frozen upon the god's neck, as if clutching for a pulse. Though the god's position had shifted, the human had not found the strength (nor will, when he bothered to think about) to loosen his grip from the mesh of veins and tendons. The contact had become all the more soothing when he had felt a steady rush of blood begin to flow through it, following a rhythmic series of pulses. A gentle cough resounded against the engineer's hand, and he was jolted back from his stupor. The words coming from his vocal cords were raspy, slow.

"I thought you were dead."

"I was."

The answer was cold, short, calculating. Doubts still echoed in the back of his eyes, loud enough for the engineer to see them and finally shift his gait an entire couple of feet back. The accuracy of the answer was enough to strike a man down, but Stark was a scientist. He required explanation when a puzzle was set before him.

"Sorry, didn't catch that. I thought I heard you say you were dead?" Sinewy limbs picked themselves up from the floor, stretching limber arms over his head. He shrugged, then nodded, internally wondering how much he could reveal. Tan fingers scratched gently at the patch of hair under his lips and he looked up quizzically at the man over him. He stretched out his legs before him, waking up the dormant muscles and sighing. "Are you okay?"

The question was genuine. It was even delivered with feeling. The god had only been testimony to that when questions of the like were voiced by his brother's distinct baritone. Yet there was an undertone, an insistence on the last syllable of the last word that reflected a sentiment the god could not for the life of him (and the years were numerous) comprehend. For some unexplainable reason, the genius that sat on the floor, looking up at him with a child's gaze (a mixture of curiosity, keenness and care) actually wanted to know if he was okay.

"I am perfectly alright," the regal tone was back in his voice before he could actively suppress it. But then again, so were the following words, slipping off his tongue easily. "I excuse myself, but I had simply received a message."

Silence.

The gears turning inside the engineer's brain were almost audible.

"A... message," a tone of incredulity settled itself on his voice, not quite turning it robotic.

"As I see it, I'm a prisoner in this house, Mr Stark. I believe I must explain myself as I have been caught doing something that may be perceived as a threat, thus removing the few privileges I may have acquired." He paused, stalking his way to a pile of heavy volumes and sitting himself down upon it. The makeshift chair barely stirred at the movement, as if the god's weight added no more to it than a few extra pages. "I urgently needed to make contact with my daughter."

As if on queue, Tony raised and eyebrow at the word uttered. "You have a daughter? I thought gods had things pretty wrapped up on pre-marital sex." An odd noise was emitted from the norse god's throat, remarkably resembling a snort. How one made a snort gracious was beyond Tony Stark.

"For someone who seems to be so well read, Mr Stark, the basics of mythology seem to be well beyond your capabilities and expertises."

"I'm offended, Loki. Mythology is right up my alley. I am the modern myth after all." Another snort. Stark was beginning to like the noise. It reminded him that he was capable of amusing a god. "But go on, I interrupted you. And I don't think I've processed the fact that I'm openly speaking to a zombie as if it were casual friday."

"I'm not undead, you bore of a man. How lacking of imagination must one be to believe there may only be two states to one's life?" The sigh that followed was one of derision. "I'm simply no longer dead. Speaking to my daughter has a price." He picked up a small vial from the floor by his feet, and tossed it to the engineer who pinched it out of the air. An acrid smell overpowered his senses as he took in the lingering yellow layer of liquid left on the glass' interior. Poison. Anything with that odour and colour was nature's way of saying, "Keep back. Save yourself."

"I thought your lot had a pretty strong motto about suicide too."

"Oh, Norns, your tendency to impose Judeo-christian values upon others is quite wearing. Somehow, your spirit has even managed to contaminate the East, and they were so close to evolving to something better." He added as an after thought, "Or at least more interesting. Monotheism really ended all of our fun." The eye roll he offered the human was positively cocky.

"Well, someone seems to have been reading up on our world history."

"One cannot mean to rule over a realm without comprehending its internal workings. Humanity seems easy enough to understand on paper, Mr Stark. If only you weren't so... unpredictable."

"Unpredictable? Interesting. People generally go with volatile." The god's gaze captured amber eyes – a smile came over his face radiating gently. And tried as he might, his answer coming out in a drawl simply wasn't enough to cover the light-heartedness of the comment.

"So egocentric… One might confuse you for an Aesir."

"What, like Thor?" the mechanic snorted. "Unlikely. But in any case, you seem to be manipulating the conversation exactly the way you wanted to – get on with the story, or I'll just have to call big brother."

"You were the one interrupting my explanations with unseemly questions concerning my progeny. Nevertheless, I understand I must continue. As I was saying, I was contacting my daughter, which required an inconvenient sacrifice. One she provided, mercifully in the form of poison. Hela, as she is called, still possesses her powers. Limited as they are in this realm and dimension, taking my life by her means still bring me to her domain. She delivered me to my own body when we finished... conversing."

"So why didn't you just stay there? You were free."

"No. I was dead. Death is not freedom, Mr. Stark, as my daughter could so aptly show you. To be free, one must be. When one is dead, one no longer is." The engineer looked over the god, science and magic personified staring each other down.

"You can't have been. Jarvis scanned you. You were there." Tony pointed towards the mirror. Loki lifted an eyebrow, gazing thoughtfully at the mirror.

"It seems as if your technology pierces through some sorts of magic, Mr Stark. To me, that seems nothing if not impressive." He gave the ceiling an approving nod, as if acknowledging the AI's presence. "This body was dead. Jarvis did not detect it. What he detected was my imprint, what is left of us when we go to Helheim. He must have registered my existence differently than yours, if what he took into consideration was not my heart beat and body temperatures."

Tony hesitated, "Not possible. I would know."

"Have you ever asked?" the god smirked. "It seems to me that humans often undermine their own inventions, Mr Stark. The theory of relativity, for example, seems to have run amok despite initial good intentions. I would not be surprised if your own technology ran ahead of you."

"I... Uhm..." Tony's eyebrows stitched together. "Jarvis?"

"Sir?" the AI's voice was somehow tinted with smugness.

"You've got some 'splaining to do."

"I shall, sir. I do not think, however, that this is best situation to do it." The mechanic sighed. To say the situation was overwhelming was to say the least.

"Fair enough," he lowered his gaze momentarily, lifting it suddenly to face the god. "So what was the message?"

Taken aback by the sudden change in subject, the reply came quickly and evasively, "The message was irrelevant, as the matter has been settled."

"What was the message, Loki? You have a second chance here." Loki bit down on his lower lip, jutting his jaw forward.

"It has been settled. I am going to help her. As I have always done." Tony's heart began thumping wildly. The tone in Loki's voice had darkened, and somehow the temperature in the room had lowered. "Her realm is still under threat. One does not meddle with the Land of the Dead, Mr Stark. Not while it is under my daughter's protection." The resolve in his hardened eyes dared Tony to reply. Somehow, the engineer had forgotten that the god had little magic, it seemed as if he had grown even taller, and regained the muscles he had lost over the weeks of confinement. The words were out of his lips before he could control himself.

"What do you propose to do?"