A/N: Back from the dead...er, the void known as school finals. It was a harrowing experience, but my grades are much happier for them, so onward we go! Also (as schoolwork kept me from doing so earlier) Happy Holidays and Merry (sadly, belated) Christmas and (also, sadly belated) Happy New Year!

Concerning the new kitty's name: The name Toini (according to the mighty internet, and not because it sounds a bit like Tony, no matter what shipping from the fandom may otherwise say, no offense meant. Any and all picking up on said name similarity will be used for comedic purposes!) is of Finnish origins, and one of the meanings was "invaluable". Mr. Bag-of-cats may or may not be projecting a little when he picked it because he knows that the best thing for all of them is to make the newest fuzzy member of the apartment feel loved and cared for (once again I feel the urge to facepalm at the sheer massive dysfunction that it must have been to grow up in the house of Odin), but it made the kitty happy, so it's all fine and dandy.

NOTE #1: I'm well aware that the timespan taken to get the new cat even a little friendly, much less being a cuddly fluffball, would be, in reality, unrealistic and much more than a little ludicrous. However, this takes place in a universe where aliens exist, there's a literal Rainbow Bridge as an intergalactic teleporter, and my favorite Norse god, various misdeeds and all, is now playing house with a pair of adorable fuzzies when not plotting chaos, causing some kind of variously-scaled calamity, or trying to figure out why Odin ever thought it would be a good idea to raise a Frost Giant in an actively Frost Giant-hating household. Logic flew out the window with a certain genius billionaire playboy philanthropist an Age and a half ago!

NOTE #2: This chapter contains kitty bonding, poking fun of Thor's apparent love of poptarts (fanon or canon, it will be exploited mercilessly), destroying part of Tony's insanely huge Avenger's tower, Loki's general willful ignorance of the laws of Midgardian physics and/or of being dead (or rather, being thought to be dead), and of course, starts off with potential feels. Lots and lots of feels.

DISCLAIMER: As usual, anything marketable/copyright in this story is NOT owned by me and is shown here for entertainment purposes ONLY.

There was a distinctly chaotic air in the little flat during the next several months. Loki found the tiniest member of the household was initially very shy, hiding under the armchair or bed when frightened, darting into any shadowy corners at the slightest of noises, and prone to climbing the drapes and hiding up atop the bookshelves, cupboards, and bedposts when in an overly skittish mood. It was only by staying calm, exercising a great deal of patience, and offering liberal amounts of milk and fish (if he had enhanced them with several dietary supplements that his neighbors had recommended, no one was any the wiser) that he was even able to keep track of his tiny new charge at all during the first weeks (the idea of using tracking spells was considered, then discarded, as it left a sour taste in his mouth, the idea uncomfortably reminiscent of the shackles and collar he had worn during his sentencing to ensure escape was impossible).

Adelram's influence did not go amiss either, as the older cat seemed to have decided to take the littlest housemate under his wing (so to speak), and to show all the various lovely ways one could endear oneself to their caretaker, including bringing back little "gifts" of caught small prey (the park nearby supplied a steady stream of noisy crickets for first hunting attempts), hopping into the god's lap to demand petting and praise, and to curl close whenever nightmares emerged. Thankfully for said caretaker's hands, the tiny feline was not particularly prone to scratching like most younglings when approached, and instead the kitten chose to either try to hide, or to claw up the nearest set of fabrics out of instinctive fear (the drapes suffered dearly for this, but it was nothing a good mending spell couldn't repair). Calming down slowly became easier when the tiny ball of fluff learned that, no matter how many yards of drapery were ripped by too-small claws or how many times the underside of the armchair or bed was sought for refuge, there was never an attempt of eviction from the little apartment. Any damage was repaired with a simple hand wave and a little bit of magic, and shaking was soothed by Adelram sidling over and unceremoniously wrapping himself around the much smaller body rather like an odd, furry blanket, and a saucer of something warm and tasty carefully held out by hands that, in another life, knew knife-work better than the quiet preparation of milk on the stovetop.

Loki, on the other hand, compared the experience to be somewhat akin to learning how to work with a particularly fascinating and complex spell: the risks were, as always, present, but the potential reward would be quite enriching if successful. Adelram already had gained a sizable foothold in the smaller cat's trust by a steady stream of cuddles and quiet teaching in the ways of being a happy housecat, along with the inevitable benefit of simply being the same species.

Somehow, however, the idea of shapeshifting to earn the little one's trust felt like cheating, and while that normally would be untroubling, here it simply seemed wrong.

For now, though, he had managed to gain at least a sizable victory in itself: the little creature now was tolerant enough of his presence that he could now offer her food or occasional gentle ear-rubs or back-scratches using the very tips of his fingers, so long as she wasn't in a worrying mood. Sleeping patterns had been well-established enough for her to curl up at the end of the bed now to nose under the blankets in a little makeshift nest of fabric, though he had a feeling Adelram would be wearing her down towards sleeping closer to keep warm (her coat was somewhat thin, and the long tail, despite its unusual length, could only cover so much at a time). Every so often, she would approach, then simply stare at him for a long while, before curling into a ball and peeping out at him from beneath that long, strange tail.

It would have been difficult to discern whether or not his new housecat was of the female or the male persuasion without the aid of a bath (those had been left to the feline's own devices to do via a thorough licking, as he had a feeling trying to clean up the kitten manually would just make the poor creature even more distrustful and upset, and possibly soak his kitchenette with soapsuds and warm water). Instead, he'd gone to a much less water damage-prone route, and chosen to do an aura examination, the spell simple enough and noninvasive that there would be no panic.

It was interesting, at least in hindsight, to see his new housemate's own tiny aura, as, apart from his own and that of Adelram, he rarely gave more than cursory attention to the energy readings of others unless he deemed it either too important or too interesting to fully ignore. While his older cat had a soft, welcoming aura reminiscent of warm, gentle sunshine, a vague sense of regalia at odds with his sweet, slightly chubby features, and with a faint hint of rain and crackling ozone (a reminder, Loki had once decided, of their original meeting in an awful downpour, as later that same night there had been an absolutely terrible thunderstorm and he'd covered their apartment in a soundproofing spell so his new pet would be able to stop hiding under the nearest bit of furniture), the new one had a bizarrely mixed aura. Her's (as said aura had shown his magic upon first contact) was spotty, cautious optimism mixed with faint (but thankfully rising) hope and a thick overlying coat of slowly-receding distrust. The whole thing reminded him of a well-worn patchwork scarf, held together by sheer will to live rather than any real connective threads anymore, woven through with something not quite-remembered, something that conjured up images of lonely bones and fur like spun night sky.

A name had come to him as he'd finished reading the aura, and her little, almost inquisitive mewl as she'd looked up at him had cemented it.

You are valued, he thought as he looked at her, do not forget that.

He reached out a single thin finger and stroked a long, languid touch down the tiny head, marveling silently.

Toini purred.

Adelram's responding rumble sounded suspiciously like contentment.

As the god looked out upon the little scene of his apartment, a faint, but definite grin appeared.

"It's always good to end a pleasant day with a little chaos, don't you think?", he murmured softly, reaching out to stroke Adelram's head as well.

The answering purrs from his two housemates were all the confirmation he could ever want.

Tony Stark was many things: billionaire, playboy philanthropist, the genius who had invented the Iron Man armor and the world's first self-policing and self-evolving A.I...

Today, however, Tony Stark was the victim of a horrible, horrible crime, a First-World problem of the utmost non-importance and yet extreme importance.

"Are you certain, friend Stark, that you have no knowledge of the fate of my beloved poptarts?"

Tony stared at the wide, impossibly blue eyes of the tall Asgardian standing before him, and felt sweat trickle down his temples as he tried to think of an answer that wouldn't end in being struck by lightning. After all, Pepper said she would kill him if he missed the business meeting tomorrow.

"Uh, look, Point Break, I don't know what exactly happened to your frosted snack drugs, but you do know I can just buy you more, right? There's no need to go all Spanish Inquisition on me here!"

"I do not understand the reference of which you speak, but Lady Darcy assured me that you hold the knowledge of what happened to my most beloved of Midgardian foods, and I want to know why!"

Dammit, Darcy, this is revenge for not giving you the new Starkphone model, isn't it?

"I mean it, Thor, I don't know what happened to them! Ask Darcy if she saw someone else take them!"

"Anthony," he growled warningly, Mjolnir flaring with lightning. "If you are lying about this..."

"I'm not!"

Thor, for a small, split second, looked as if he thought Tony was indeed lying, and Mjolnir shot out a small strike of lightning. Tony shouted in anger and surprise as the toaster on the counter exploded in a burst of white-hot energy.

"Dammit, Thor, I just replaced that after Clint shot the last one during target practice!"

Thor, ignoring the inventor's slurs as he examined the charred brick-like mass that was once the toaster, asked sharply, "Then do you have an idea of who might be responsible?"

"Like I'd know or tell you after I just told you I didn't and you destroyed my toaster!", came the angered hiss as Tony stared at the once-beautiful piece of kitchen equipment. "This thing made me toast that was never burnt, never too brittle, AND it toasted me science equations on both sides! It took me two hours to build this thing while trying to keep Dum-E from helping..."

Thor blinked, evidently nonplussed by the barrage of words. "You still have not answered my question, friend Stark."

Tony, still staring at the mess of his kitchen, stared at the ruined toaster as the tower's sprinkler system doused water on everything, and felt his eye begin to twitch.