Work Text:
Tony Stark stomped out of the elevator and into the sumptuous living room of the penthouse of Stark Tower, slinging the white dinner jacket over whatever surface happened to be closest before nearly ripping the bow tie off and throwing it into some corner for the cleaning bots to handle later.
[Earlier that day...]
“Tony, you have to attend this charity ball. Not only is S.I. the single biggest corporate backer, but you haven't made a single public appearance as anything other than Iron Man in months. Not to mention how you've managed to weasel out of the last SEVENTEEN publicity events and if you aren't there tonight then the board of directors is going to call for a vote of no confidence at next week's meeting. Now, I've had JARVIS go over the official guest list twice and I've personally reviewed it myself. There won't be anyone attending that you can't handle. Just show up, TRY not to drink too much, make a short speech, and then you can go back to sulking in your workshop or whatever you've been doing to hide.”
The inventor had crumpled up the virtual message screen and thrown it at the digital dustbin target as hard as possible, but being nothing more than a clever bit of light projection, there was no satisfying thud accompanying the action. He was also going to have to figure out how Pepper had managed to override JARVIS' protocols to even send that message.
Most importantly, he was not hiding. Not at all. He was just extremely busy working on... On... He glanced at the holoscreens hanging in midair all around him. Each one was displaying something entirely different, in various stages of completion, and the timestamps for the last save on all of them were dated hours ago. They hadn't even been automatically updated, which meant that he hadn't actually touched them in hours.
Tony scrubbed at his eyes, feeling them gritty at the corners and with that tellingly dry feeling that comes of staring at nothing without blinking for ages. Just as the air around him was littered with screens, so was the work table covered with various tools and partially-assembled mechanical bits, take-out containers (some of which still contained food), and coffee cups of every level between bone dry and full but ice cold.
“JARVIS,” he managed to croak out after several attempts. “Time?”
“Good morning, Sir,” came the cultured and distinctly disapproving voice of his A.I. “It is currently eight forty-three in the morning. You have been in the lab in excess of seventy-five hours and Miss Potts has made all arrangements pertaining to tonight's charity ball.”
Stark managed to locate a half-full cup of lukewarm coffee in the midst of the mess on the table and gulped it down, wincing at the taste.
“Aren't you supposed to not let me stay in here that long? I thought that was one of those things Pepper made me agree to ages ago.” Plonking the empty cup on the table, he rubbed at the mother of all kinks in his neck.
“You are correct, Sir. However, you disabled all of the programs relating to such at the forty-eight hour mark and muted me at the sixty hour mark.” If the machine intelligence were actually capable of emotions, Tony was sure it would be incredibly pissed-off right now.
He hummed, only half aware of what the A.I. was saying. Something about a ball, what ball, it's not like he was playing around, Pepper would kill him if she knew how long he'd been in... Then everything clicked.
“Oh shit. JARVIS! How did Pepper get that message through? I thought I had everything locked out!”
“You did. However, Miss Potts was extremely concerned about your lace of communication with the outside world. She utilized an old backdoor program in order to force her video message through the system.” Now the mechanical voice sounded positively smug.
“And just where in the hell did she learn about that program, may I ask?”
Tony stared at the ceiling, even though he, of all people, was aware that JARVIS' “consciousness” wasn't located remotely near the area. He just needed something to glare at right now.
“I really couldn't say, Sir. However, if you leave the lab now, you can still obtain enough sleep to be functional in time for the ball. It would be inadvisable to ignore Miss Potts' message or give the S.I. board of directors more fuel for a no confidence vote.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” The man ran his hands through his hair, feeling them come away greasier than a fried egg. Gross. “Save it, shut it down, have the boys clean this up and don't let them break anything.”
“Very well, Sir.” There were excited chirps from a corner of the large room as DUM-E, YOU, and Butterfingers left their docking stations (apparently he'd banished them sometime during his work marathon) and set to work cleaning up their creator's mess. “Shall I start the shower for you?”
“Sound great, Jay, thanks.” Pushing himself to his feet took longer than it really should have and would have been completely embarrassing if anyone had been there to watch as the weird kind of hopping shamble caused by both legs being asleep at the same time is an indignity no-one can ever live down. He threw himself into the elevator and was sped up to his private floor. He started dropping clothes left and right as soon as the crossed the threshold of the master bedroom and all but crashed into the steaming shower. Somehow he actually managed to get clean without having to engage his brain, and fell upon the bed, still-dripping from not having bothered to towel off, and was asleep within seconds.
JARVIS managed to wake him up at the proscribed time by the expedient method of blaring some saccharine tween pop music at a volume level that actually caused the entire floor to vibrate. Rolling out of the still slightly damp bed, he threw on some boxers and left the room.
Tony was sure the squeaky, auto-tuned falsetto of some boy whose testicles had yet to descend was going to be stuck in his head all night, given the instant headache it caused, but along with the full pot of perfectly made coffee waiting on the counter in the kitchen were a couple of quality painkillers. Next to that was the suit he was expected to wear, carefully laid across the counter so as not to wrinkle the designer piece.
He popped the pills and washed them down with a couple gulps of scalding liquid caffeine, only barely managing not to cough or choke from the burn. Pepper would have killed him if he spit coffee on the suitably extravagant formal wear.
Having some time to kill before Happy would arrive to drive him to the event, he quickly vetoed the idea of returning to the lab, knowing that JARVIS would probably have him locked out “for his own good.” He decided to take another shower simply because he could, then spent half an hour sorting though messages on his phone. When he couldn't delay it any longer, he picked the suit off the counter and wandered into the bedroom to change. He added in a couple of fitting, and fittingly high-class accessories to prove that he was capable of dressing himself. Just as he finished giving the outfit a final check in the mirror, JARVIS spoke up to tell him Happy was waiting with the car.
[A short drive later...]
Triple-checked guest list. Nothing he couldn't handle. What a gigantic fucking crock.
If Pepper didn't already handle the overwhelming majority of the paperwork and other day-to-day business of S.I., Tony would find a way to give her more. Or cut her access to some of the perks. Or at least leave her a nasty voicemail.
Okay, no, he wouldn't really do any of that. It was because of Pep's amazing management ability that he could play with any project that came to mind, hold on to the biggest company in America, if not the world, and still run around as Iron Man. Frankly, he wouldn't even be alive without her, and he'd much rather re-live every terrible event from the course of his entire life than take some kind of petty revenge on her.
It was just really annoying that between her and JARVIS they seemed to miss the fact that there were a couple of former one-night stands in attendance, all of whom were exceptionally clingy while professing their undying love for an apparently single again Tony Stark. Then that was that reporter Chrissy something. Cathy? Charlene? Whatever, she'd had it out for him for years. The only thing that differentiated her from the rest of the fuck 'em and forget 'ems was a press pass and her undying hatred for not being the first to ever break a single story about him.
The real icing on the shit cake that was his night was found in the form of one Justin Hammer, CEO of Hammer Industries, schmoozing into the place in a cloud of Chanel Platinum Égoïste that was choking the very expensive looking escorts he had on each arm. Whatever they were being paid wasn't enough to put up with the Hammeroid, and the cheap bastard had probably called in some kind of favor to get ladies of that caliber anyhow.
Of course, musty Justin wasted no time in oozing up to Tony, all gigantic fake smiles and “Oh we're such great friends,” badly composed banter. The brazen and blunt way he dismissed his “babes” would have been justification for a nice sock on the jaw if they hadn't looked so relived to get away from him.
Curiously, one of the ladies have given Tony a good once-over before vacating the immediate radius of Hammer's cologne cloud. Not in the “you look like a good fuck” kind of way either. This was more like an assessment of vital statistics, skills, and worthiness without the slightest bit of sexiness involved.
Tony, of course, was only happy to giver her a thorough inspection in return. Taller than him, even if she didn't have those killer heels on (which made her tower over that obnoxious little dwarf), long black hair with a gunmetal blue sheen to it in the light, breasts perfectly sized to her lithe proportions, the kind of hourglass figure only obtainable by winning the genetic lottery, and her eyes were...
That was the point at which Tony nearly choked on his vodka tonic. Her eyes were a shade of green so brilliant as to be unnatural. Something about them combined with the angularity of her face, not severe but not very forgiving, and the aura she was radiating set something to frantically clawing at Tony's brain for attention. But before any mental connections could be made she whirled around and stalked off towards the bar to join her likewise rejected companion, hopefully to charge up a large number of drinks on Hammer's account.
Hammer kept trying to suck up to Tony in some vain attempt to make people around them notice and think that the incompetent little dweeb was anywhere near Stark's level. The inventor, while trying to find a way out that didn't involve ending up in jail for assault, kept feeling eyes on him, and would notice the raven-haired escort watching him openly from a seat at the bar.
Eventually Tony managed to fob the little fop off on a couple of nouveau riche entrepreneurs looking to align themselves with some big name tech companies. Their loss if they actually wanted to get involved with Hammer; it wasn't Tony's problem if they felt like pouring their money down that particular drain. He had more important opportunities, in the form of legs forever and absinthe green eyes, to investigate.
He sauntered over to the bar, patented Stark swagger making heads turn along the way, and leaned his elbows on the polished wood next to her.
“Another vodka tonic for me and another round of the lady's for her,” he said to the bartender.
While the young man turned away in order to prepare the drinks, the lady looked at Tony, or more precisely down at Tony.
“And what makes you so certain that I have any intention of accepting a drink from you, Mr. Stark?” Her voice was velvety and lush as it fell from her full lips.
“Because you already know my name and therefore my reputation, you managed to hang around Justin “Mayonnaise” Hammer for more than two minutes without putting the heel of one of those Louboutins through what passes for his brain, and you're the only person who who looks at me like you're thinking about something other that screwing me. Literally or otherwise.” Tony's lips quirked up in a smirk.
“Mayonnaise?”
“Rich, thick, oily, and smelling slightly of eggs.”
At that the woman laughed, a throaty sound, that completely bypassed Stark's good sense and went directly to his groin.
“That would be an accurate assessment, yes,” she said, switching her now empty glass for the full one the bartender placed in front of her.
Tony picked up his drink and took a sip from it. “So, you know my name; care to give me yours or shall I just call you Beautiful all night?”
She snorted, slightly amused at the obvious attempt at hitting on her.
“What, pray tell, makes the notorious playboy Tony Stark think he's worthy of possessing this knowledge?” she purred, looking over the rim of her glass at him.
Whether it was from the reflection of the ballroom's lights on the drink or the candles placed along the bar, he couldn't tell, but Tony swore he saw something gold sparkle in her eyes. He was struck again by an odd sense of familiarity, almost assured that he had seen eyes like that before. Along with the feeling came something threatening that sent icy tendrils wrapping around his chest. He shook his head, trying to clear the jumble of impressions.
“Listen, even I know how dammed cliched this sounds, but have we met before? I'm not even trying to pick you up right now and this nagging feeling is bugging the hell out of me.” The inventor scrutinized her face but she seemed unfazed to be the center of such a searching look. In fact, the woman seemed almost pleased.
“I'm certain I've never met you in this manner before, Mr. Stark. Perhaps you've seen me around at similar events? Surely you must have figured out my occupation by now.”
“Yes, and you have to require a pretty large retainer for someone like Hammer to be able to bring you along to something like this. I'm guessing your company comes highly recommended. And doesn't include any... amenities.”
“You guess correctly, though this is not my main job. As for certain particular services,” she leveled him a look that would have felled a lesser man, “they are not available at ANY cost.”
Tony held his hands up placatingly. “Fair enough and I wasn't asking for anything like that. Just wanted to make sure that that little dweeb wasn't getting anything well and truly beyond his level.”
“What would you say his level is, Mr. Stark?”
“Tony, please. As for that cretin, lower than whale shit and sinking fast. Pardon my language, of course.”
The woman didn't look offended at all. “Of course, Tony.” His name rolled off her tongue like rain from a rooftop. “I find myself rather amused by and enjoying your assessments of Mr. Hammer. Care to tell me more?” she asked, leaning towards Tony slightly and causing the black silk of her dress to pull tighter against her breasts.
The engineer slid into the free seat next to her and proceeded to spend a pleasant hour in deep conversation with the woman whose name, as it turned out, was Loren.
“Like the actress Sophie Loren, but as a given name.” Normally Tony would have forgotten it as soon as she said it, but something about the way she spoke with that lilting accent kept all her words fresh in her mind.
Loren, as she had said earlier, did not do the escort work as her main job, but in order to create income so that she could continue to attend drama classes at Julliard. Stark assured he she could easily have a career in film, but she laughed him off and informed him that her main passion was the stage with period pieces being the closest to her heart.
They talked a bit about the theater scene, Tony's knowledge surprising her – she hadn't expected the superhero to have much time for such activities, but he'd learned to actually pay attention to the plays and occasional musicals that Pepper would drag him to. Of course, it was mostly due to more of S.I.'s charity work, but Tony had found he'd actually enjoyed some of the shows, even when bar service wasn't available.
Things had gone along pleasantly, and then it was time for Tony's speech. He had pretty much forgotten that he even had to give one and had likewise missed the repeated call from the small podium at the other end of the room until Loren had elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Tony used that as an excuse to gently seize her by that same elbow and have her walk arm-in-arm with him over to the tiny stage.
Along the way he muttered about having no clue what charity the ball was being held for and even less of an idea what he was supposed to say. Loren helpfully supplied him with the information by whispering it in his ear along the way, the soft graze of her lips was electrifying enough that he completely missed what she had to say. She hissed the facts into his ear again and this time the danger sense that had been coming and going all night made sure he paid attention to the words.
He stumbled up the steps to the small podium, not minding the smattering of smug and wry looks from the audience who no doubt attributed his lace of grace to being drunk. In actually Tony was stone cold sober; his difficulty walking came from the fact that Loren's lips on his ear followed immediately by her cold and sibilant reiteration into same left him with a rather pressing matter pressing against the front of his suit pants. So he was still turned on by sex with a side of danger, no big deal. Well, okay, big deal, but that would have to wait to be taken care of, hopefully with some assistance from the dark-haired vixen.
Some minutes later Tony walked off the stage to a thunderous applause and much better control over his libido. Few things were as effective a boner killer as a public speech, even for Tony Stark. Around the room the scattered members of the press were still furiously taking notes and calling in preliminary headlines. Tony shoved all that aside in his search for one tall, green-eyed woman, wondering how she'd so effectively managed to disappear into the crowd.
Orbiting the room a few times did not reveal her and Tony was looking very closely. He didn't want to head towards the extensive line outside the ladies room because he wasn't stalking her per se, rather that he wanted to hear her reaction to his speech. And if he was going to invite her to tell him in detail over a drink in his penthouse, then so much the better.
When a short continued search still failed to reveal any sign of Loren, the inventor wandered outside the the patio that had been set aside as a smoking area.
Farthest away from the rest of the people idling about were a sloppy drunk Hammer, Loren, and the other woman Hammer had hired as an escort. Hammer was pawing at the ladies, or trying to in Loren's case, as she was effectively evading his hands, and the other woman looked on the verge of tears. Loren herself appeared to be about five seconds from snapping Hammer's neck. Justin was in the middle of a verbal tirade over how much it was costing him to have their services and growing louder and louder about the fact that he believed renting their company for the night meant that he was also entitled to the “full service package.” The other woman, whose name, Tony gathered from Loren's attempts to calm her, was Susan and she was trying to tactfully explain that they weren't those kind of escorts and that he'd known it when he retained their services.
Justin, having had enough of not getting his way, yelled, “I'll do whatever I want with whores like you!”
The fist Loren aimed at Hammer's face was just barely prevented from connecting with its target, having been stopped by being covered gently, though firmly, by the hand of Tony Stark.
“Justin,” growled Stark, “you have exactly twenty seconds to get the hell out of here or else..”
“Or else what, Tony? Or else the great Tony Stark is gonna hit me? Or is that Iron Man? Oh! Even better, you're going to call your little band of super friends to come kick my ass? I paid for these sluts and-”
No one saw the blow that knocked Hammer over the iron balustrade and into the expensive landscaping on the other side. Susan was in tears and Tony was sure he hadn't even felt Loren move, given that he still had her right hand covered with his own. Yet there was something about her, in the icy way she was staring down as the crumpled and unmoving mass of the hack weapons maker, that clued Tony to the fact that she knew the cause.
More than that, it was the nagging sense of familiarity that he'd seen that exact look before. That haughty, regal, better-than-you attitude combined with scantily concealed rage. If her hair was shorter, her lips less full, her face a little more lean she'd look just like...
“Loki...” The word was out of Tony's mouth before he could stop himself. If Loren had heard him, she didn't react at all, absorbed as she was in staring daggers at Hammer's prone form.
He gingerly let go of her hand, trying to ignore the stinging sensation in his palm – stopping her had been a lot of effort and he had the feeling the only reason he'd managed it was because she was aware that it was him intervening.
The lack of contact seemed to snap her back to the present. Loren turned and wrapped an arm around the now openly crying Susan, pressing her into her side and cradling the shorter woman's head. Tony stood there, feeling utterly useless while Loren stroked Susan's hair and softly spoke soothing words to her until she had calmed down into the sniffling and hiccuping state that follows a good cry.
Green eyes met Tony's brown ones over the top of Susan's head.
“...” Tony found himself unable to speak. The resemblance to Loki was not just uncanny, but completely impossible. The mad god was supposed to be locked up on Asgard or something, not running around free on Earth and certainly not as a woman! It was just one of those eerie coincidences. It had to be. Just stress and shock and not enough sleep or caffeine. Because Loki couldn't be here, it was preposterous.
Loren closed her eyes and sighed heavily, sounding far more weary than the night's events merited.
“It's her first night on this job, “she said, tipping her chin slightly towards Susan. “The company we work for made it clear that there are instances where clients may try to push the boundaries of the employment contract. Normally there would be a guard assigned, especially with high profile clients who think they can get away with such transgressions simply because of their fame. Unfortunately, it seems that Mr. Hammer, “ and here she spit the name with such derision it was a wonder the words didn't burn the very air, “has somehow convinced someone that a guard wasn't necessary tonight.”
Given her tone, it was crystal clear that she intended to find the someone in question herself, and Tony would have felt sorry for the bastard that was going to be on the receiving end of her wrath if the asshole didn't so richly deserve it.
“I can help you with that, he offered. “S.I.'s got plenty of resources as well as the best contract lawyers on the planet. I can have that guy in jail within an hour.”
Loren looked like she was considering his offer, but Susan grabbed her hand and shook her head frantically.
“I d-d-do... don't want any trouble. I-I just st-arted this job and I really need the money! Please, Mr. Stark, I can't lose this! I can't!” stuttered Susan.
“Hush love, it's all right.” Loren tilted Susan's face up to hers and brushed an errant lock of hair back. “I'll take care of everything.”
“But Mr. Hammer..” Susan trailed off uncertainly.
“Everything,” replied Loren, with total conviction.
Tony cleared his throat awkwardly. “I have a driver, at least let me get you two home safe.”
Loren spoke for the both of them, “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'm afraid we must decline. We need to return to the agency and report this, and then I will see Susan home myself. I'm sure you can understand that it is not advisable for clients, or potential ones, to know where we live because of situations just such as this.”
He nodded at her words seeing the wisdom in them while filing away the bit about “potential clients” for later.
It was at that moment the charity function's hired temporary security finally made their appearance. After some rather impolite questioning on their excessive delay, Tony started explaining the situation while one of the security personnel carefully hopped over the railing and tried to rouse the unconscious Hammer.
When Tony had finished his telling of events, the guard that had been taking notes turned to find that both Loren and Susan has disappeared. Stark was dumbfounded, wondering how they had managed to slip away unnoticed. None of the other guests that had borne witness to the incident had noticed them depart, but all present had remembered the women, especially Loren, and had corroborated Tony's story.
For his part, Tony was absolutely livid as he pulled his StarkPhone from his jacket pocket and called Happy to bring the car around. The entire day had just been one damn thing after another and just when he thought the situation was finally improving, there was that little shitstain Hammer getting plastered and acting like the overgrown and over-moneyed fratboy douchebag he is. Not only that, but the moment of almost panic-inducing confusion when he thought Loren might be Loki in disguise... He shook his head, wincing at his train of thought.
As Tony exited the ballroom and walked down the drive, Happy took one look at him and knew better than to even say a single word. He simply shut the door after Tony, got into the driver's seat, and got them back to the tower as fast as he could. Pulling the car into the private garage, Tony practically leapt from the vehicle before it had fully come to a stop and made his way into the elevator that would take him directly to the penthouse floor.
[Back in the present...]
Tony had an internal debate lasting an entire half a second before deciding that a drink was in order, so he walked over to the always fully-stocked bar and, grabbing the decanter of scotch and a tumbler, poured a couple fingers of the heady liquid into the glass and downed it in a few gulps.
“Drop the lights, Jay,” he said as he walked to the bank of windows with the bottle in one hand and the empty glass in the other.
The A.I. dutifully lowered the lighting in the room, leaving just the scattered accent lights on. The room immediately filled with deep shadows that were only emphasized by the dim lights and the ambient glow of the city filtering in this high up.
Stark rubbed at his eyes with the back of the hand that was holding the empty glass. Most of what had happened could just be chalked up to being another day in the life of “genius, playboy, philanthropist” Tony Stark. So what the hell was bugging him so badly? And what was that feeling he'd gotten from Loren all evening? It couldn't have been Loki, SHE couldn't have been Loki, yet the feeling he'd had in her presence was all but identical to the way he'd felt bantering with the Asgardian in this very room months ago. That arrogance and pride, a not insignificant amount of sexual tension (not that he was overly opposed to the idea of jumping into bed with a man, much less the enemy of the world), and the ever-present atmosphere of danger like a bomb that needed just the slightest jostling in order to trigger a massive explosion.
Turning away from the window, Tony made his way to the piano waiting at the side of the room, mostly cloaked in shadows. The only reason there still was a piano had been Pepper's insistence that it be replaced every time it was destroyed in an accident. Steinway probably kept one ready for him by now, given the regularity with which they would be reduced to a mass of splinters and wire.
Why she made him get another one every time was beyond him; he only played the thing once in a blue moon. Like tonight. Tonight seemed like a good time to get lost in the simple physicality of playing. Music and savage beasts and all that poetic bullshit, Tony just wanted some noise that would keep him from thinking too much and his usual fare wasn't going to cut it.
Taking a seat on the piano bench, he poured another round and drank it just as quickly, the pleasant burn of the liquid sitting warmly in his stomach. He set the glass and bottle on top of the piano so as to be within easy reach, ignoring Pepper's phantom voice in his head as she complained about scratching the instrument.
He flexed his fingers then started picking out random melodies to warm up. It had been months since he last played anything other than a few erratic notes simply because he'd near the instrument at the time. Every once in a while Pepper, or one of the Avengers if they happened to be there, would ask him to play though he almost always talked his way out of doing so. Not from embarrassment or a lack of ability, rather because playing almost always brought up any number of painful memories from his childhood that were better left in the past. That very reason was why he hardly played unless he was in an emotionally charged state.
Thing was, as his fingers danced along the keys, he couldn't really figure out why he was in an emotional state or what was the cause. Sure, it had been a crap day and worse night, but those things weren't by any means unusual in his life. Whatever was eating at him was older than just tonight.
Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift while the drifting noted from the piano filled the room, shifting the emptiness into cloying sounds of sadness. The night rolled backwards through his memory: Loren looking like the very definition of rage, Hammer being a dickless wonder, the speech, Loren talking and laughing, walking in to find a pile of faces he didn't want to see, less than restful sleep, the message from Pepper, however many hours he ad spent in the workshop before that trying to forget... Trying to forget...
Green eyes. Poisonous, mischievous, rage-filled, tormented green eyes, the ones he saw almost constantly whenever he stopped trying to forget them. Loki's eyes...
His hands faltered on the keys, the notes stuttering out in a jarring, discordant clamor.
The one thing that kept coming back, over and over. The one he tried to hide from the most. The thing he kept denying that kept clawing at him for months. The utterly inescapable fact.
The very last thing he would ever admit to openly. But for right now, for this moment where the only other presence was a machine that would later be instructed to delete all evidence, he could say it in the open.
“Loki...” For the second time that day he spoke the god's name, his voice barely more than a whisper that disappeared, swallowed up by the shadows. Tony inhaled sharply, hands poised over the keys.
“Crucify my love,
If my love is blind;
Crucify my love,
If it sets me free;
Never know, never trust...”
He continued on, singing and playing the song to the empty room. Words of heartbreak and unrequited love spilling out like blood, the melody an elegy of pain with the power to pull one in and drag them along.
“Crucify my love,
If it should be that way...”
The last words and notes faded into silence. Tony heaved a deep sigh, closed the cover on the keys, and scrubbed distractedly at his tired eyes. Not bothering with the glass, he gulped a good portion of the remaining scotch directly from the bottle, staring at nothing and everything in the room.
Wearily, moving like a man twice his age, he rose from the bench and started towards the elevator, bottle still clutched in his hand. It was early for him to be heading to bed on a normal night, and this one was far from normal. Hopefully between the rest of the bottle and the sleeping pills kept in his bathroom he'd be able to not only fall asleep, but just for once without seeing Loki the moment he closed his eyes.
After the man had left the room, the shadows seemed to grow darker, as if darkness could multiply itself, and slowly coalesced into the form of a tall, lithely built man. Aristocratic features on an aquiline face, ebony tresses that appeared to be part of the darkness, emerald irises preternaturally bright even in the near total darkness, the dim light making it hard to tell if the clothing the stranger wore had any color to it or if it, like his hair, seemed to be formed of the dark as well.
He strode forward, absolutely silent, and sat carefully upon the bench in front of the piano. His alabaster hands, nearly luminescent in the murky confines of the room, eased up the cover and settled upon the piano keys, so pale as to be almost indistinguishable except when the passed over or pressed a black key.
The man played, note-for-note, everything Tony Stark had just played before departing, even down to the way the notes had lapsed when he'd been overcome by whatever had been going on in his head. Yet the music seemed oddly muted, as though something was preventing the sounds from forming properly in the air past a certain radius; it wasn't filling the room as Tony's playing had, but rather seemed to be confined to the area immediately surrounding the instrument.
When he reached the moment where Tony began to sing, he stayed silent, but mouthed the words to the empty room. Fat, glistening tears rolled down his face, unnoticed and unregarded.
Before the final note had even trailed off he was already on his feet, closing the lid of the piano.
Loki looked around the room and waved a hand to banish all the artificial lights left on in the wake of Tony's departure before disappearing into the shadows.