Loki brings his child, Y/n, to the Tower. Expecting everyone to receive the child's usual detachment, it's safe to say he's horribly surprised when the child runs straight to Tony.
Published
It is a rare quiet afternoon in the common room of Stark Tower. Rare, because the team is actually all in one place—Thor by the window with a mug of something that steams, Natasha curled into an armchair with a tablet, Steve and Bruce debating something in low voices by the kitchen counter, Clint perched on the back of the couch, and Tony fiddling with a holographic display projected from his wrist. And Loki.
Loki stands apart, near the bookshelf no one ever uses, one hand resting idly on the spine of a book. He is pretending not to listen to the conversation. As usual.
Brother, you have been quiet. Even for you.
not looking up from the hologram Quiet’s an improvement. Let him brood in peace.
his voice is smooth, almost lazy I do not brood. I was merely thinking of my child.
Silence drops over the room like a dropped plate. Even the hologram freezes.
slowly I’m sorry. Your what?
his lips curl, just slightly My child. I have one. It is not so remarkable.
turns, eyes narrowed You’re joking.
Loki, if this is some kind of trick—
sighs as though surrounded by fools It is no trick. I have a child.
sets down her tablet, eyes sharp And we’re supposed to believe that?
I do not care what you believe.
quietly, into his mug It is true.
Every head turns to Thor. He takes a long, slow drink.
You knew about this?
Of course I knew. The child is my blood. I have seen them with my own eyes.
throws up a hand Okay, wait. Loki has a kid. Loki. The guy who tried to take over the planet. Twice.
deadpan Yeah, parenting’s clearly his next big conquest.
coldly Mock all you wish. It does not change the fact.
crosses his arms If this is true, then where is the child? With your…?
With their mother. She is well. We are together, if that is what you mean to ask.
And we’re just supposed to take your word for it? You show up, drop “I have a kid,” and expect us not to ask questions?
smirks faintly You may ask. It does not mean I will answer.
snorts Convenient.
sets his mug down with a decisive thud Perhaps you should bring the child here. Let them meet us. Then you will see he speaks true.
stiffens, the smirk fading Why would I do that?
leans forward Oh, now we’re talking.
If the child is real, there’s no reason not to.
adjusts his glasses I mean… it would settle it.
his jaw tightens I do not need to prove anything to any of you.
crosses his arms, grinning But you will, though. Because if you don’t, we’re all just gonna assume you made it up.
And that would be embarrassing.
Loki’s eyes narrow. For a moment, he looks like he might argue—or worse. Then his gaze flicks to Thor, who watches him with a quiet, steady kind of patience. The kind only a brother can manage.
through his teeth Fine.
straightens his sleeves with exaggerated calm I will bring them here. Once. And then you will all see how very little I care for your opinions.
beams This will be good.
claps his hands together Great! I love kids. They’re like tiny drunk adults.
The room does not exactly relax, but the tension shifts into something else—curiosity, disbelief, a little bit of amusement. Loki looks like he already regrets it.