A/N: Hello, there! I would like to preface this fic by saying it was written when I was wakeful and in stomach pain (at 5:30 am, mind you). I feel moderately cruel for putting Loki through something similar, but I couldn't help it. My only wish was that this turned out decently, and I suppose it did. Though, that's up to the readers. Review if you care to. :)

- Hurricane.

The first thing he became aware of was the awful burning in his gut. It had woken him from a fragile sleep; a surge of acid had curled around in his core like a renegade wave in a calm sea. Loki sat up quickly, trembling. The sensation, though unfortunate and really quite painful, was entirely new to him. He suspected that it was a side-effect of his new-found mortality: a "gift" bestowed upon him by the people he had once called family. When he thought about, he supposed that the punishment could've been much more severe than the removal of his power. The Allfather could've taken his life completely, leaving him as nothing more than a vague, unhappy memory. Though, as he was sitting wide awake in a bed at Stark manor with extreme stomach pain, he began to wish that they had killed him. It would've been kinder than letting him deal with inconveniences like this.

The pain didn't subside when he attempted to soothe it by breathing deeply, taking his mind away from the feeling. Instead, the scourging wave roared up into his throat in protest, threatening to spill out. The fallen god swallowed thickly, grimacing at the bitter, nauseating taste that the acid left behind on the back of his tongue. He heaved a sigh, running a shaky hand through the dark, tangled mess that was his hair. Impulse dictated then that he should get up and walk around, try a little harder to shift his thoughts away from his unruly, now-mortal stomach.

"Mortal…" he thought, unaware and uncaring that his thought had been spoken aloud. His stomach gave another sick lurch. Even thinking about the fact that he was now no better than any passing Midgardian made him want to vomit, made the shuddering more intense. Stifling the shivers with slight difficulty, Loki swung his long legs out of bed and meandered unsteadily to the door of his room. He swayed a little with sudden vertigo, holding onto the doorframe for support. He blinked a few times to clear away the dizziness, laying a clammy hand over the bare skin of his stomach. When he felt the faintness fade, he took a right down the adjacent hallway. It lead to the living room that his host shared with the other Avengers. The Avengers who gave him horrid, seething looks that he probably deserved; The Avengers who excluded him from everything they ever did, even though he had been their new pet for over three long months; The Avengers who, save for Thor or Stark himself, blatantly refused to speak with him. However, Loki wasn't so conceited as to believe that he warranted their attention on any level.

He just wished for something, anything that might serve as a sign that they recognized him as an individual who had been irreversibly changed. He could NOT hurt them anymore, nor did he want to. He was so far past defeated that it didn't even seem right to try and desperately reach for the old spark of ill-intended mischief that used to give his life meaning. It was like a flamboyantly coloured butterfly, flying about your field of vision. It would land quietly upon your untended sleeve, but would fly off as soon as your outstretched hand neared its delicate wings.

No. He wouldn't follow that train of thought, those images of what he used to be or could have been. He was afraid of where those would take him. They might tempt him to do something rash in a late-night fit of self-pity. Even if he was deeply ashamed to admit, the thought had already crossed his mind. After all, how much further could he fall? Did he really have anything left to lose?

STOP. Stop that right now.

He silently reprimanded himself, deciding that the large, leather couch in the living room he had ambled into was the best place for him. He sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them tightly. The acid still raged on inside his body, but he tried his very best to ignore it in favour of staring out the large picture window into the quiet night. He let his eyelids flutter shut, allowing his mind to fade until only a sentient emptiness remained; a silent awareness of himself and what had become his new existence. He didn't hear the soft tap of bare feet on expensive stone tile approaching him, and jumped when the owner of the feet spoke.

"Restless, darling?"

Stark. Anthony fucking Stark. Apparently, the Powers That Hate Loki didn't even have enough courtesy to let his reverie be interrupted by someone who might've bothered him a little less. Even his thick-headed, insensitive brother would've been more welcome to him in this vulnerable state than the egotistical, self-obsessed owner of the house that Loki now found himself abiding in.

"Go back to sleep, Stark. You'll need your beauty rest," was Loki's half-hearted attempt at a sarcastic reply. Stark was not dissuaded, deciding that sitting down next to the wakeful, upset individual formerly known as the God of Mischief was a good idea. Stupid man.

"What?" Tony asked, expression taking on the form of one who had been playfully offended, "I'm not beautiful enough for you right now? I'm deeply hurt."

Loki laughed a single, unimpressed "Heh," letting his forehead fall on the points of his knees.

"Can't you let me rot in peace? I'm not doing any harm." Tony gave no inclination that he was going to leave, only looking on curiously.

Loki sighed. " If you want to know, the only reason you find me awake is because this infernal, malfunctioning mortal body is causing me great discomfort. It feels as if my stomach has turned into a hissing, bubbling pit of acid." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded tired. Stretched. He pulled his knees in closer.

Stark gave his miserable form a once-over before replying, "I see. Hold on a sec." The billionaire got up off the couch and walked into the small kitchen space that was attached to the living room, Loki's questioning eyes following him the whole way. Tony flicked a switch on the wall, bathing the entire area in a soft white light from the bulbs above the stylish steel sink. Loki had to blink a few times to clear away the spots that the light left on his eyes, adjusting to the brightness. Stark plucked a glass from one of the cherrywood cabinets above the sink and filled it with water from the faucet. He then opened a drawer and extracted a small, blue packet. The two white tablets it contained were placed unceremoniously into the water-filled glass, fizzing wildly and happily into opaque streams of medicinal power. Tony carried the glass and its contents over to the couch and handed it to Loki with the quiet command, "Drink."

Loki eyed Tony warily, hand folded over the restless billionaire's on the glass.

"Relax," he said, looking at Loki with warm eyes, "It'll help. Trust me. I go through the same thing on a weekly basis. It happens so often that I have a stock of this shit in every room of the house."

The once-god accepted the fizzy drink, sipping lightly from it as Tony went to turn of the kitchen light, bathing them once again in near-darkness, save for the light of the half-moon. The effect of the drink was immediate: the acid waves began to subside, no longer stretching unwanted tendrils into Loki's throat. He basked in the relief, eyes closed as he inhaled and exhaled deeply. He was truly surprised when he opened his eyes to see Tony sitting next to him once more, an expression of concerned askance on his features, barely outlined in the dim light. Loki didn't know what to say; his mouth had gone dry. Stark, though he typically drove Loki to the brink of insanity with all his confidence, always seemed to have that effect on him.

"Thank you…" he decided to say at last, biting his lip nervously.

"Anytime, reindeer games," came the reply. Though Loki couldn't see it, he felt positive that the reply had been punctuated with a wink. Tony got up to leave then, but some crazy twitch of the Mischief-maker's hand caused him to reach out, catching Stark by the wrist, effectively preventing him from walking away.

"Wait," Loki gasped, tightening his hold on the Iron Man's wrist, "Why did you help me? I know how you and the rest of your…conglomeration view me. Why not let me suffer?"

It was an honest question. Loki was many things, but blind was not one of them. He believed that Stark was fully capable of having an ulterior motive for something as simple as helping to rid Loki of a stomachache. Was this notion a bit paranoid? Yes. Did he truly care? No. Was he secretly relishing the warmth of Tony's skin under his long-fingered hand? Of course he was. Tony turned towards him, smiling in the dark.

"I guess I figured that you deserve a bit of a break. I mean, you've been living under the same roof as the entire team for three months and you haven't done anything to hurt us. Yet." He paused for a moment, considering the Asgardian before him.

"Though," he said, still watching Loki, "This may have to count as an attempt on my life. Sleep deprivation is the number one killer of super-heroic rich boys."

Loki gathered the playful tone in the man's voice and decided to laugh lightly. The sound was breathy, and he regretted it as soon and he let it out. He wondered if Tony could read the desperation-tinged hesitation in it. At that very moment, he was fighting. Torn between wanting to continue on in the half-self-induced solitude he'd been dwelling in, ignoring the Iron Man and his friends until his body decayed and risking his very security in order to build new connections that might help him finally shed the shell of the Loki he used to be. His mind made up, he set the now-empty glass on the couch's end table and stood, hand still on Tony's wrist. Stark didn't waver at their proximity, bringing his eyes up to meet Loki's. He noticed how they glimmered relentlessly in the dark, a small light of that potent mischief still present when viewed away from the harsh light of day. He had only a moment to admire them before Loki's thin lips were on his. It was innocent enough, close-lipped and cautious at first. Tony didn't pull away, curious as to the taller man's intentions. The devious spark he had seen not a second previously manifested itself in the form of a warm tongue sweeping over his lower lip before Loki withdrew entirely, lingering with not a hair's width between them. Tony moved in for more contact on impulse only to be blocked by Loki's long-fingered hand over his lips. The fallen god was smiling. With feline ease, he turned on his heel, walking back in the direction of his room. All Tony could do was stare after him, at a complete loss for words.

Loki paused at his doorway, regarding the silent billionaire one last time. The smile still on his moonlit face, he closed the door, leaving Tony to his thoughts. By Hel, he had plenty of thoughts to sift through on his own without considering anyone else's. The door closed with a soft click as he released a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding. His stomach gave another lurch, this one benign and affirming in nature. His decision had given him a thrill, set things in motion. He pulled back the dark covers of his bed, understanding now that he'd probably have to deal with the consequences of the kiss in the morning. For now, however, he could return to sleep facing the window, content with the sensation of surprisingly soft lips on his own.