This is our second story in the Per Aspara Ad Astra series. :3 The first is June 21st; if you haven't read it, you don't actually have to in order to understand this one. My goal with each story is to have something that can stand alone as well as stand with the stories in the series.

I want to say thank you to everyone who commented on June 21st (AGAIN) because you guys are what got the idea to keep exploring these two in my head and I couldn't let it go. I've got a couple of one shots in the works while I work on my long-fic, and I thought I should start off the chain with this one, because you've all been so patient.

That said, no idea when fic 3 of this series will be ready. I've got the generally idea worked out, but am still chewing over the details.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Steve has never been a fan of the cold.

It doesn't actually bother him, he usually only needs a light coat and a scarf even on the coldest of days, but it brings up a swirl of memories he'd rather move past. Everything else might be constantly changing, but the cold always stays the same.

He shoves his hands deeper in his coat pockets and wanders the streets of New York, a light dusting of snow falling from the sky. Bad memories or no, he isn't going to let it stop him from taking his daily walk out. Maybe he doesn't need it anymore, it's been five years and he has something of a handle on the city now, but it's routine and habit and a good excuse to get away for a little while and shove away those bad memories. Walking clears his head.

On his way back, he cuts through the park. There's a dad doing a magic trick, who makes a coin reappear and promptly drops it thanks to the cold. Steve pauses to watch a few minutes as the man laughs and picks it back up, and shows his children how to do the trick. It's all misdirection, but it makes him think of other magic users, ones who actually do more than misdirect.

He's still mulling over the assorted magic users in his mind when he gets back to the tower. He can hear Clint and Peter arguing loudly in the main room and bypasses around to cut through the kitchen. There's some leftover cake on the counter, from Bruce's birthday, and he stops to put it away. Licking a bit of green frosting off his thumb as he heads towards his room, his mind turns to Loki.

It has been five months since the somewhat surreal dinner-and-movie he shared with Loki. There hasn't been very much activity from the god since then; he didn't attack after the birthday, no flashy magic in the months following, nothing. And he's not gone—they catch glimpses of him at the edges of their fights, not doing much besides watching, and in security feeds of places he shouldn't be but no one can really stop him. Steve isn't sure if that's his… not fault, but because of him, or if Loki simply has other plans in the works, bigger and more complex, and simply can't spare the time to give them a little city destruction (not that he's complaining in either case, one is just more ideal than the other).

The team thinks it's the latter, the few times it comes up in meetings. It's not like they know Steve shared a birthday dinner with one of their enemies. Steve can't help but remember the way Loki smiled, brief and brilliant, and suspect, maybe, Loki is making some sort of gesture or something to say 'thank you.'

XXXXXX

It is mostly curiosity that makes Steve start looking through the SHIELD file on Loki.

There's not much there, not that that surprises him. Even if they do sometimes catch glimpses of him, Loki is very good at keeping himself out of sight when he wants. For five years' worth of encounters, it's not even that big of a file. It keeps him preoccupied for an afternoon, and out of the blizzard going on outside, but when Steve puts it away he doesn't actually know much more about the trickster than when he started.

The only thing that really sticks out is that very little of Loki's file references any of the other super villains they deal with. He ends up looking through Amora and Mephisto's files, just to see if it's a magic user thing—but no. They actually seem like they work with others more often, with files that are very nearly encyclopedias of their favoured allies. More digging reveals that most of the villains work together constantly.

Except Loki. Loki of two documented cases in five years, and one of those the Chitauri. It is… something.

Steve remembers how shocked Loki was to have anyone seek him out.

XXXXXX

When Loki attacks (and Steve is mentally kicking himself for thinking it might not happen) everyone on the team blames Peter.

It's superstitious and illogical, but even Bruce and Tony blame Peter, which says something about how rarely Loki fails to deliver when someone mentions his name in conjunction with 'man it's been ages since he attacked.' They also all slightly resent the rather talented young web slinger because currently it's only slightly less blizzard like than a freshly shaken snow globe, which is making it that much harder to coordinate. Or even see.

Loki's laughter is distinct, even in the howling of the wind.

A few things are going on:

Tony, Thor, and Peter are in the air, or trying to stay in the air, to deal with a few rather intricate ice pterodactyls that apparently can breath fire. On the ground, Hulk is going toe to toe with an ice tyrannosaurus, which simply reforms where the big guy smashes it apart, while Clint is on 'help escort civilians' duty with Natasha and Steve. Thank god for subways and basements, because the cold is absolute biting. It's like being deep in the ocean and Steve is in one of the most sour moods he's been in in a while. He's trying to stay positive, he needs to stay positive, but it doesn't help that it feels like everything is going wrong and that whatever this is, it's a distraction, that Loki's real ploy is something else, because other than hearing that laughter, no one has even laid eyes on the trickster.

Which is why Steve is considerably less surprised than he should be when things do, in fact, go wrong.

Steve has just come out of the building and back into the street when both tyrannosaurus and Hulk round the corner at full-speed. The tyrannosaurus banks sharply, sliding around much more gracefully than Steve thinks it has any right to, and charges into Hulk. Steve has a moment to reflect that today cannot get any worse as the tail slams into him and he crashes into the building. He's getting ready to start standing back up when Hulk throws the ice dinosaur at the building above Steve's head.

Everything gets a bit fuzzy for a few minutes after that. Sound of ice and concrete grate, Hulk roars, darkness. Steve crouches, covering his head. Silence descends, the howl of wind audible barely even audible, and he looks up and panics for a brief second. It is dark. Dark like ice and cold and drowning and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Doesn't inhale water so takes another. He can't stand up—immediately hits his head on something hard, something too heavy for even him to lift.

It's quiet, here. Steve realizes he's stuck underneath the building, that it collapsed. It does not ease rising memories, does not make his temper less. There are people who might be dead in this wreckage, and he's stuck underneath it. He tries pushing again, experimentally, but nothing happens. His comm is silent in his ear, and he is unsure if the layers of concrete and steel piled on top of him are causing it, or if something happened to it. In either case, it doesn't matter.

He's trapped beneath (not the ocean) a building, in the dark and cold, snow and ice under his feet and unable to stand.

Instead of panicking, he sits and leans against a smooth piece of rubble. His eyes are starting to adjust, but he still can't make anything out. He makes himself mentally go over everything as slowly and rationally as possible to put out the spark of terror that's trying to ignite. The team will get him out once things are over. He won't freeze to death. He has air. He is actually really close to the surface this time and not in a plane. He has room to stretch his legs in front of him, even if he cannot stand. It will only be a few hours, tops, before he is retrieved, and not a few decades. Even the world hasn't sped up fast enough to change drastically in a few hours.

He has mostly managed to turn panic into a low buzz of frustration when there's a sudden glow of rather familiar green light in the center of his little bubble, just a few feet away from his feet; on the other side sits Loki, full armour, helmet resting on the ground to his side. He has his staff across his lap, and he's got a tiny quirk of lips that's self-deprecating and disdainful all at once.

"Hello, Steve," his voice a low purr.

Steve's eyes narrow and his lips tighten. Irritation is going from low buzz to something else. He refuses to say anything, instead crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Loki. Loki, who is (indirectly) responsible for the building collapsing and probably a number of injured civilians. Who couldn't leave well enough alone when someone mentioned his name. And after Steve had gone to the trouble of acknowledging him, of finding out and tracking him down. After Steve put himself at risk and after Steve told him 'any time.'

Loki watches his face, his own blank to Steve's is irritated. There's a bit of curious set to his mouth, but he isn't meeting Steve's eyes. They roam over the little space Steve is trapped in, fingers tapping lightly on his staff. How utterly unconcerned he seems is rubbing Steve's irritation the wrong way, making him want to grab the god by the shoulders and shake him. Possibly punch him and see if it brings anything resembling sense to the god.

It wouldn't do much—it never does, based off the few times they'd ended up hitting him—but it sure would make Steve feel a little better right now (even if he would feel worse about it later).

"Something troubles you." Loki is still scanning over the rubble.

If he were standing right now, Steve might take a step back at the statement, or a step forward, or something. As it is, he just looks startled and irritated, and that's when Loki finally looks at him, tilts his head very slightly to the side, and adds:

"Would you like to talk about it?"

with the most infuriating smirk that Steve has ever seen in his life (which is saying something, seeing as he lives with Clint and Tony).

"Do I," Steve sputters, and then suddenly he can't help it. He's cold and trapped in a too small space in this weird green light with Loki, feeling betrayed because Loki attacked in the first place when he'd been doing so well, there are people who are dead right now, and Loki just appeared and and and—

"Do I want to talk about it?! Like it's that easy? No, I don't want to talk about it, not with you—because it's not like you'd even understand! This is your fault anyway, what the hell does it matter that I'm bothered to you? You just attacked the city again, and you hadn't, not in nearly five months, and I don't know if you're just keyed to your name or something but I thought you might not do this again!"

Loki's lips tighten slightly, eyes narrow.

"I've caused you grief."

Steve just stares.

"You are unreasonable. I told you that nothing changed."

"Yeah. Yeah you did." Steve laughs, bitter, and runs a hand through his hair. "You did, didn't you? And that's me, good ol' Steve Rogers, wanting to think that maybe you were lying, that maybe you were better than that. Because I always want to think that about people."

This time Loki looks surprised.

"It's okay. Not actually okay, but you know. It should just teach me that you won't change. You know the team jokes about how you're a natural disaster, just roll through town every few months and there's not anything we can do about it?" He's still irritated, that's not gone, but at least now he's got some measure of calm again. He's not looking at Loki, but at his hand, slowly opening and closing it into a fist. "It's hard to disagree with them. One minute just a blizzard that I can't stand to go out in, next you're attacking the city, and who knows how many people are dead or injured right now. How many people will freeze because there's no power."

There's silence for a few minutes. Steve has no real desire to add anything else; he can hear Loki's armour creak as he shifts but he keeps watching his hand. Keeps flexing it slowly, makes a perfect fist then relaxes again. Loki coughs, politely, the sort of cough that is meant to get attention, but Steve ignores him.

"No one will be injured. Or dead. And the power was out anyway."

Steve blinks and looks up at Loki, who's clearly about to leave, the shift of magic in the room making Steve's hair stand on end. Loki isn't looking at him, he's looking at his staff, there's light starting to glow in the crystal, mouth set in an unfriendly line. Everything about him screams tension and defiance, just daring Steve to say something. He should be long gone by now; Loki is fast at teleporting when he wants. It pierces through Steve's irritation and suddenly he's not quite as upset as he was.

"Wait."

The magic dies almost before Steve can finish the entire word.

"No one's dead. Or injured?" he asks.

Loki rolls his eyes, not quite looking at Steve when he nods, ever so slightly. Slight enough Steve would have missed it if he hadn't been watching for it.

"Well. I guess you're the least murderous natural disaster to ever roll through town." And now he has it. The dinosaurs were a distraction, just not the sort any of them thought. This is Loki's angle, right here—underneath a pile of rubble, out of sight and communication with the rest of his team, entirely oblivious to Steve's dislike of cold and dark and trapped, wanting to talk and not knowing how to just go up to his enemy (and, Steve knows, the only person to ever really notice him) and say "Can we hang out?"

It is, he has to admit, a bit of an odd situation.

He just wishes there were fewer destroyed buildings for it.

"Thank you," Loki says, a hint of pride in his voice. Steve does not correct him that it wasn't really a compliment.

Now it's just awkward, but it's awkward like it was for the first few minutes on Loki's birthday. Yet, even so, it seems like that's enough for Loki; the tense line of his shoulders has relaxed, he's once again drumming lightly on his staff, eyes wandering, content with silence. Steve has a feeling that maybe Loki doesn't really know how to just talk, for all his skill with deceit and manipulating people against each other.

"Do you actually want to know what's bothering me?"

"I asked, did I not?" Haughty. Steve politely doesn't point out that asking doesn't necessarily mean being interested. Considering the type of day this has been, he thinks that's being pretty generous.

"This." He waves a hand around. "I don't like cold, dark, or being buried underneath things. I really don't like them mixed together. It's not fear, just bad memories. I don't like blizzards or going out in them. I don't like feeling helpless, or that people might be getting harmed in the crossfire. People who didn't really do anything but be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I mean, until you said so, I didn't know no one is going to get hurt or killed." He pauses for a minute, decides he may as well offer a little more. Loki should know not to hurt people, but then, Loki should know a lot of things. So maybe, just maybe, if he keeps treating Loki like he's a person with emotions, the trickster will keep not hurting people. "So sorry I snapped a bit."

Loki's eyes are glittering in the green light, studying him, as if trying to figure him out. Steve just looks back patiently.

"It was not my intention to cause you distress." The words are clipped, sharp, and there it is again, that waiting on Steve to say something, to do something, to press and tear at what truth Loki does offer.

"You have weird ideas about what causes distress," Steve says with a half-smile.

They both look up then, hearing the shift of concrete above. Loki's magic hums in the air.

"Hey," Steve says, before the trickster vanishes.

Loki pauses, one hand on his helmet, the other gripping the staff. His eyes are unreadable.

"Call me next time you want to hang out, okay? You don't have to trap me under a bunch of rubble."

"Presumptuous," Loki snaps. "Why would I want to 'hang out' with you?"

Steve shrugs.

"No idea. Just saying that if you want to, call me. Less rubble, more awkward silences."

Loki considers him for a few moments. The sounds of moving concrete and distinct voices drifts down.

"Steve! You okay down there?"

Loki vanishes.

"Yeah!" Steve looks up; there's a tiny bit of light trickling down.

"Hold on! We're nearly there. Let us know if something starts looking like it's shifting the wrong way! You're comm must have broken when the building collapsed."

Steve smiles and breathes in the cold winter air. From what he can hear and the more he can see, the blizzard has stopped. Thank God. Maybe today hasn't been as terrible as he thought.

XXXXXX

Steve's out Christmas shopping about a week later when his phone chimes its friendly little text tone. A quick glance at his watch lets him know that he's running late for lunch with Bruce; Bruce usually isn't quite so on top of the time, so it's a little odd, but he doesn't think much about it. He pulls the phone out to fire a quick message back that he's about ten minutes away.

It's not actually anyone in his contacts list and he doesn't recognize the number.

Blue Gardenia at 6?

He blinks a bit. Blue Gardenia? The first thing he thinks of is a movie, an old film that he hasn't seen though it's been on his list to watch for a while now. Now the question is just if he knows anyone who would actually know the movie and also wouldn't be in his contacts list.

He keeps his phone in hand as he walks into the restaurant where he's meeting Bruce, frowning a little. It's entirely possible it's not even meant for him. He sets the phone down on the table, his shopping bags by his chair, and forgets about it for a little while.

The food has just arrived, and Steve is piling some peanut noodles onto his plate when suddenly it hits him (peanut noodles and The Maltese Falcon) and he nearly drops the serving fork in his dart for the phone. Bruce is blinking at him and he probably does look a bit weird, but, well, Steve can handle that. He makes sure he has nothing else planned before he replies.

"Nearly forgot something," Steve says, laughing, and they go back to lunch.

XXXXXX

On the desk, the phone buzzes and then stills, lighting up. One slender hand picks it up, and green eyes flick over to it idly.

Sure. :)