Who: Bucky and Loki What: Loki’s charitable contributions to assisting the displaced When: Wednesday morning Rating: Green
Bucky still wasn’t sure about letting Loki do anything to him at all. Or really, even talking to him was probably a lapse in judgement. Strange seemed to think it was a great idea, though, and since he went to the trouble of finding out if he could even do it, and Bucky had already asked the guy, he guessed that he might as well find out what it entailed.
Initially he was thinking a new identity in the classic sense of the term. Fake documents, credentials, etc. New name, fake story. Something you could put on an employment application. The money Stark had given him wasn’t going to last forever, even if he could stretch it to last much longer than was intended. And he didn’t mind working. He’d been working his whole life, one way or another. Before the war he worked all kinds of odd jobs to help out his Ma. Bartending, putting in the occasional shift down at the docks if they needed guys.
Then he got drafted, and he went to work doing that, being a good soldier. He had a good eye and did well at shooting. He quickly rose to the level of ‘sharpshooter’ and that helped him get a promotion to Sergeant before he got sent over to Europe.
And then for ten long years his job was resisting, until they finally found a way into his head that he couldn’t control. Then his job was killing people. All things considered, it probably wasn’t much of a resume, but Bucky was a quick learner and a hard worker. Not to mention that living off of Stark’s generosity was killing him a little inside.
He sat at a table near the door, tucked up against the wall. He had a hoodie pulled up over his head, and gloves on. He felt like he was decent at blending in after all this time. He got himself a cup of coffee and a couple of potato knishes. Filling and cheap. He felt like Loki would be able to find him by some supernatural means, even if he might not know what he looked like.
Loki walked in with his own guise in place, woven so that he was wearing his false face to others, but could be seen to those who he wished to be seen by. It wasn't taxing at all. The spells he had shored up in layers to keep the other sorcerer from portalling him to Helheim only knew where was what had become mildly taxing. But he had plenty of time now to recover, and strolled into the diner with confidence, in a fine suit with a long black overcoat, hair swept back and pale blue eyes skirting over the occupants. They all seemed hopelessly mundane, until finally resting upon a man who was situated close to the door. Wise. If needed, this man could see all who entered, and afforded himself a shorter route to make an escape.
Something else tipped him off. There had been a tug at the edge of his senses, of some past darkness clinging to the man like leeches, threatening to suck the very life out of him if not for the same resolve he had seen in Agent Barton, when he told him that he had "heart." Not in the sentimental sense, but that there was some great sense of resolve that kept them motivated to keep going forward against all odds.
He seated himself across the table from Barnes, a sly smile playing over his lips. It was oh so tempting to toy with what he still considered mortal beings, but he was not about to ruin one of his last remaining refuges of protection. And even that protection was tenuous, if not for Thor.
He rested his hands together on top of the table as a show of good faith. See? Nothing up his sleeves.
"Well met, Bad Day," Loki said, his tone not unkind or cruel in the least. It was merely the acknowledgement of one person who had done wrong to another, and he doubted that any paths to prospective redemption was going to be smoothly paved. Or if it was even worth it to try, at all.
Bucky smirked at the nickname. It seemed fitting, actually. “Hi,” he said, not sure what to call the god of mischief. Your highness? No, that sounded weird, so he opted for not calling him anything. “Thanks for coming to meet me. Knish?” he offered, indicating the pair of potato-filled pastries on the plate.
It was odd, but Bucky didn’t feel particularly frightened of him. He hadn’t told Doctor Strange when or where they were meeting. Maybe he should have, but there was no such thing as absolute safety in the world. He was just going to take his chances. He’d made it this far, anyway.
"It is but a small matter," Loki again reassured Bucky, so there were no expectations of payment. There was recompense to be made, and perhaps such deeds done for others might gradually count toward that.
He was looking down at the pastry with uncertainty, brows knit together.
"Is it sweet?" he questioned. While there were honeyed desserts and plenty of fruit on Asgard, meals often tended more toward the savory end of the spectrum. Midgard's vast amount of foods and desserts was a delightful surprise. He hoped it would be the case with this, because they did look strangely appetizing.
“Nope. It’s kinda like… mashed potatoes wrapped up in dough. But it’s good. If you like mashed potatoes.” It made Bucky think of Steve’s mom’s cooking kind of. He didn’t share that. He had so many random memories firing at him all the time now that he was back in his old neighborhood, he was used to just filing them away for later inspection.
“They have pastries, too. You want me to get you something? Coffee maybe?” He was pretty sure Loki had never been there before, and Bucky was still refamiliarizing himself with all the highlights that he remembered from his youth. As much as things in Manhattan changed constantly, some things were eternal. And he didn’t think it was probably a good idea to do something as probably difficult, not to mention potentially completely imaginary, like magic on an empty stomach.
Loki looked unsure about the knish. He nodded at...all of it. His appetite wasn't as big as the average Asgardian - he wasn't brutalizing everything within range using a sword, axe or hammer - but he did have to keep his energy up, nonetheless.
"I will have a little of each, if you do not mind," he replied, while shrugging his way out of his overcoat. He nodded down at the knish. "And coffee, as well."
A certain someone now had him craving the stuff, in all of its varying forms. It wasn't that he drank it because it woke him up, but rather, he just liked the taste of it. He was leaving a clone of himself behind in the apartment, so he could fetch a mocha.
Bucky nodded and got up. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He made his way over to the counter. It wasn’t quite lunchtime yet, but there was already some midday traffic coming in. He ordered a cup of coffee, a napoleon, and a couple of pieces of baklava for the other man. He grabbed some napkins and a couple of forks, and headed back to the table. He slid the plate in front of him and put the coffee down before taking his own seat again.
“That one’s more creamy, and that one’s more sticky, but they’re both really sweet.” It was reassuring that so many things were still the same as they used to be from when he was young. He sat back with his own coffee and took another sip. There was no rush getting down to business. He felt like it was good to have a few minutes to size Loki up in person.
Just as well, because Loki was doing the same thing. It was odd that this man who had killed for a living was being so hospitable, and he supposed it wasn't purely due to his need for a new face. Loki picked up a fork and took a bite of the napoleon first, and nodded his approval. He ate slowly and was watching Bucky like he was an object of interest, a puzzle that needed some missing pieces put back into place.
It wouldn't be hard to find out what those pieces were. A touch and a spell, similar to what he had done to their Valkyrie. But it wouldn't be as interesting, and Loki liked to keep things interesting. So he finished off one pastry in silence, and didn't speak until after he had put cream and sugar in his coffee and taken one long, luxurious drink of what he now considered to be precious lifeblood.
With the utmost innocence, he took up the fork again, pointing down at the baklava with it.
"Sticky, is it?" he asked with an impish grin. "Much like the situation you surely find yourself in."
He was living under similar circumstances, but that was a common enough occurrence. It had been for the past one thousand and fifty-two years.
Bucky leaned back and cradled his coffee cup in both hands. “I figure I got a couple of days before anyone spots me and makes a connection. They were probably watching for me at the borders, not in the middle of New York.” He’d been keeping a low profile, staying in as much as possible, but eventually someone was going to recognize him and remember.
“So this thing you can do. People who know me will still recognize me?” he asked. It might not be a bad idea just to disappear completely, assume a new identity wholly, but it would be impossible to do that with the metal arm. It was something of a dead giveaway. He wasn’t sure what he was gonna do come summertime.
That could be covered up too, as long as no one touched it and noticed how cold and solid it was. The illusion might not come off it, so it was probably a good idea to claim it was a fake limb to wear long sleeves with and wear a glove on that hand. That wasn't really Loki's concern, as much as he was studying Barnes' face while he ate the baklava, to see what ways he could change things.
Between bites he said, "They will if you wish it. Others will not. Should someone use their phone to capture an image of you, then the illusion would show. You will be able to pass by, undetected."
He could have done this before being captured by the Avengers in Germany, but that was part of the plan. To get caught. This spellwork would be much more complicated.
"It is how you see me now, but others see another face." Loki sipped at his coffee, before smiling at Bucky like the cat that caught the canary. "I dare say, you would make it past the border if you were in dire need. They would never know."
It all sounded too good to be true. “And you’re willing to do this just because you’re a charitable guy?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. He didn’t trust the whole something for nothing idea. Nothing was free. “What if I knew someone else who needed the same thing? Would you help him out, too?” he asked. Might as well find out. No harm in asking.
"I will admit to a curiosity about your misdeeds in comparison to my own, but I am supposed to be making amends. This is one way of doing so, I suppose."
Loki sighed the sigh of someone who was long suffering. He wasn't really, because he was capable of getting away with a whole lot more than this. This was all child's play to someone like him.
"Send him to me," he said, lightly jabbing his fork at the pastry so it flaked and stuck together a little more. "I would do the same as I am for you. If you wish to let him know, then you may call and I will wait. It is but a small matter, and the pastries are pleasant enough."
What little indications there might have been that Bucky was becoming more comfortable with the situation evaporated the moment Loki brought up past ‘misdeeds’. He wanted to point out that he’d been brainwashed, but he hated the way that sounded, like he expected some kind of absolution. Whether or not it had been against his will, he’d committed atrocities, and he didn’t really have any right to judge the other man at all. That didn’t mean he wasn’t still wary of him.
“I’ll tell him. He can handle it on his own if he wants to. Thanks.” He took another sip of his coffee. “So how long will it last? It’s not gonna wear off when I’m not expecting it to, is it?” he asked.
Interesting. He could almost see the moment when the man went from slightly less guarded to where the fortress walls were thrown up to ward off a siege. It must be exceptionally dark and foul then. He filed that away for the moment, because it dredged up thoughts of Thanos and The Other, and those were unpleasant thoughts in their own right. He was far from worried, because he already had a spell for a different face on himself, and it wasn't even an afterthought to maintain or change at all. There was a couple small caveats for the casting of magic, in that it was still a product of the person casting it.
"It will last as long as I am not incapacitated or slain," was Loki's reply, before he paused to drink the remainder of his coffee. He was almost certain it would last even if he was no longer in this realm, which he still hoped to find a way to escape. "There should be little concern over it fading. As it is with most, I have no intention of dying."
Not in this realm.
There were countless times Bucky would have welcomed death with open arms, but not now, so he kinda understood what he meant. “All things considered, I’ll bet you’d be pretty difficult to kill.” He still had the full complement of HYDRAs research into Loki rattling around his head, so while he didn’t know the details about how his magic worked, he knew he was not of Earth, that he was the adopted brother of Thor, who had all sorts of other-wordly powers of his own.
“What if I change my mind? What if I don’t want to be disguised anymore? Say… in the unlikely event that I get pardoned or something like that?” he asked. He wasn’t holding out much hope, but really, he’d be okay with being locked up in prison. He just thought it would bother Steve too much.
"I have fallen through space itself, though I would not recommend it. Not even to those who could survive it."
It had been the most alone he had ever been, and he wished only for death to release him from the lie that was his life. It did not. The landing had been terrible, not to mention the mindset of self-loathing and anger that was all too easy to prey upon. He really needed to stop thinking such things, and so Loki shifted gears and tilted his head to one side, giving Bucky a stare that was deceptively coy.
"That is but a simple task. I would remove it," was Loki's reply. "Do you truly believe there is the possibility of pardon?"
Loki didn't think he would ever be pardoned. He was resigned to his fate, forever loathed by everyone, and only sitting there at that very moment out of his brother's good graces. He wasn't so sure about the situation for this assassin in hiding. If there was, though, that might offer some thin sliver of hope for himself.
Bucky was surprised to hear that the other man had survived falling through space. Bucky didn’t think he’d survive that. He hadn’t thought he would survive the fall from the train, though. Then again, Loki was supposedly a millennia old, too.
The question about whether he would ever be pardoned made him frown. “I don’t know. It wasn’t my choice, so an argument could be made that I was forced, but some people will never forgive me. And I don’t really blame them, so.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’d probably cost them too much money to lock me up, so who knows.”
Loki learned a long time ago that it was better, whenever possible, to look like he didn't care. It was practiced and cultivated in the royal court of Asgard, where no one was to speak out of turn, especially to the All-Father. Inwardly, though, was an entirely different story, and he had to utterly squash that part of him that felt dismay over such an answer. He would have thought it almost a type of hurt, but monsters didn't hurt. They only existed for others to vanquish and make themselves look better in contrast.
Loki might have been trying to hide it, but his watchful gaze bore the weight of every single one of those one thousand and fifty-two years. A weight that he summarized with a softly spoken, "Likewise, though our bad days differ in that I made a choice."
A poor choice, at that. He looked around and made sure that no waitresses or patrons were watching.
"I can cast the spell now," he offered, "if you are willing."
Bucky hadn’t really been thinking about Loki finding some kind of absolution. Now he could sense that the other man was feeling something like regret about the direction his life had taken maybe. He thought about Rumlow, and how he’d chosen HYDRA, though he hadn’t felt like he had much choice. “You can’t change the past, but you can change the present.” Bucky hoped he could at least not do any further harm.
“Yes. Thanks. I would appreciate it,” he said. He hoped the decision didn’t come back to bite him in the ass, but he was going to take a chance. Maybe he could make himself a life.
Those were undeniably wise words from someone that struck him as having lived for longer than most Midgardians. Loki's lips parted as though he meant to say something in return, but any insights were left hanging on the tip of his silver tongue. He felt the need to be wary now, and not give away too much. So he stopped and smiled instead, nodding his head, and leaving it at that.
Reaching out one hand, he wove his magic over Bucky's face, a shimmering veil of light moving over his hair and down over his neck. It probably tingled at first, but would feel as light as air afterward, and any one else would see a mundane human visage. Not outrageously handsome, not stupendously ugly. Normal and bland. Nothing more, nothing less.
"It is done," Loki said, drawing his hand away. Perhaps it would give the man some measure of peace. He moved to put on his overcoat. "I should depart. If you have need, then you may contact me once more."
“Likewise,” Bucky said. “Bad days gotta stick together sometimes.” He knew that everyone would probably think he was crazy, but he wasn’t sure it was his place to judge anyone else.
Loki was standing up by that point and he gave Bucky an unreadable stare. Then he suddenly smiled and nodded, and it was a little bit trouble and a little bit appreciative.
"Then I bid you farewell," he said, turning to leave, "and may the bad days be less and far between."