A/N: I decided I needed to write an AU based off of old, classic, film noir detective stories. The kind that begins with a woman in trouble (who may or may not, herself, be trouble) showing up at the detective's office while a cheesy dramatic monologue happens. So I started writing this.

I kicked my heels up on the mahogany desk and took a swig from my glass to celebrate a job well done. It had been on the tougher end for one of my cases, but I'd cracked it, like I always did. I was looking forward to something nice and easy, like chasing down some drug store cowboy and proving he'd been stepping out on his girl. It's not like I was strapped for cash, so I was free to take the type of jobs I wanted to keep myself pleasantly occupied.

The intercom buzzed, Pepper's voice materializing on the other end of the line.

"There's someone here to see you, Tony."

Pepper, she was the best secretary I could have asked for, and I knew it. She'd stuck with me through the most ill conceived of my adventures and always managed to keep her head on straight. There had been something there once, romantically that is, but I know for certain that a smart gal like her would be better off with a better guy; the kind of man who wasn't going to run off and get himself shot, or take to the bottle when things got rough. She'd even gone and gotten herself hitched, but didn't run off to play house like so many dames would. She was loyal to her core.

"I don't remember having any appointments..."

"That's because you didn't, but they say it's urgent."

I ran a hand over my neck and then pressed a finger back against the button. What could the harm be in receiving someone? I could always turn them down, after all.

"Send 'im in." I decided, much to my later regret. "Oh, and Pep? Could ya' be a doll and get me a cup of coffee?"

"No, Tony; and I'm sending him through."

The click clacking of hard soled shoes heralded my guests' arrival.

The moment he walked in, I knew that trouble had found me.

The man was tall, but no where near bulky—Well dressed in a close fitting suit and meticulously put together—Coal black hair slicked back.

"Have a seat." I gestured to the leather chair opposite the desk, something deep in my stomach telling me that something about this was a mistake. After nearly getting shot to Hell, I needed to be taking a well earned break, not whatever it was I was doing just then.

"Thank you." The man said, voice low and airily accented. He folded pale, pink hands across each other in his lap as he sat.

"Mr. Stark," The man began deferentially, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

I wasn't sure what it was, other than experience, that had me so unnerved. This man didn't have a hair out of place. If it was anything readily visible, it was the eyes, this particular pair a deep forest green, and sharp in a way that nothing could cover.

"Thanks. Planning on introducing yourself?"

"Yes, of course." The man held out a hand. "My name is Loki Laufeyson, and I need your help."

Of course he does.

"Loki Laufeyson. That's one I haven't heard before." I said as I accepted the outstretched hand.

"What is it, Norwegian?"

The man's handshake wasn't particularly firm, but it was passable.

"I'm Icelandic, actually."

"You're an immigrant, then?"

"I am."

I nodded to myself, trying to take an extra minute to size him up.

"So why exactly do you think I'm the man to help you?"

"They say you're the best at what you do." Loki answered with an earnest expression.

"Well, I can't argue with that. What's so urgent?"

"I'm afraid I've found myself in quite a bit of trouble, Mr. Stark." Loki said almost shyly as he shifted one long leg over the other and adjusted his white sleeve cuff.

"What kind of trouble?" I took a drink and wondered whether 'trouble' was indicative of the potential client being in a bit of an embarrassing pickle, or in scalding hot water.

"I..." He paused, thin lips slightly open, staring down at his lap, "...Saw something I shouldn't have seen."

I sat up straighter in my seat.

Sounds more like hot water.

Loki looked up to make hard eye contact and leaned forward.

"Do you know who Victor Von Doom is, Mr. Stark?"

shit.

"Ive been alive more than three seconds. I know who Victor Von Doom is."

"Good. Then you know what kind of a man he is."

"I do. He's not the kind of man I want to spend my weekend screwing with. If he's who you're in deep with, I'm going to have to stop you right there."

I didn't need to go getting involved in Doom's web of terror. I had better things to do then go searching for a chance to wind up eaten by fish.

"I have no one else to turn to." He pleaded, brow furrowed in upset.

Now, just for the record, I know I'm a sucker for a pretty face looking to in-debt themselves to me, but I am not in fact, an idiot.

"Mr. S-"

"Listen kid, I'm not just turning you out to weather the storm. This is a job for the cops, not a guy who had planned on finding a pretty girl and a nice, cold, bottle of scotch and dedicating the next forty eight hours to them."

Loki shook his head fervently. "No. You must realize that the police can't be trusted. Doom has his hands in everything."

I paused, knowing the man was mostly right, then pulled a small notepad from my desk and began to scribble on it.

"I'm going to give you a number and a name.. Detective Steve Rogers. He's a good cop, and a good man. Better than me. He'll make sure nothing happens to you. He's trustworthy."

Loki looked crest fallen. He swallowed, his adams apple bobbing pronouncedly. Green eyes flitted back and forth, as if searching for words.

"Maybe so, but if the police could take him down, they would have already. But they've been after him for years, and what do they have to show for it?"

"Look, he's the head of the Latverian mob, what d-"

"Mr. Stark," Loki urged, "He wants me dead! If you don't help me, I am going to wind up just how he wants me. Please, I need your help. I can pay, of course."

I groaned and ran a hand over my beard. This 'Loki' was practically wringing his hands, leaned in as far as the desk would let him. His bright, hooded eyes were wide and glistening, and I doubted the guy just had watery eyes.

Tears were not usually a good look on a man, but much to my chagrin, I had to admit that on Loki, it was strangely endearing.

Having just received dual lectures from Pepper and Steve, it was fresh on my mind that it was not worth the danger to accept dangerous cases because thick eye lashes get batted my way.

"I'm sorry. But if you're that scared, you'll call that number."

Turning my potential client away had been more taxing than I was used to. The man was genial when he left, but clearly not at ease with going. I cursed my conscience inwardly and wished this particular man hadn't looked so very in need of rescue. I'd never met a man who wore helpless quite so well without just looking pathetic.

I shook my head. Well chiseled cheek bones and a face it would be a shame to see cut up should not make me want to steal a case like this out from under the police and put myself in harms way needlessly, but it did.

I needed a stiff drink and a pliant bird-Needed to kick back. And if I called Steve in the morning to see if the guy had called him, where was the harm in that?

I tucked my hands into my suit pockets to protect them from the slight chill that always permeated the streets down by the water.

I breathed in the salty air and directed my attention to following the familiar path to my favorite drinking hole. My shoulders dropped as I was bathed in the glow leaking from the windows of the small bar. I pushed open the wooden door beneath the large sign reading: Banner's Pub, causing the small bells on the door to jingle.

No one looked up as I entered, but the well known bartender. Banner's was the type of pub where people minded their own business, which, considering the man's real career, made a whole lot of sense.

I slid onto my usual high stool at the bar and didn't bother to flag down the bartender.

The pretty brunette finished chatting with some customer whose tongue was loose with drink, and then reached beneath the bar for two large glass bottles, mixed the contents together to form one amber concoction and slid it down the bar to me.

"Thanks Betty." I said quietly with a two fingered salute.

She gave me a small smile in return.

The night wasn't looking great in terms of potential conquests, but at least Betty knew how to mix a good drink.

As the night stretched on and the establishment began to quiet, Betty wandered over to me, leaning up against her side of the bar.

"Hey Tony, how's it going?"

"It's going. Where's Bruce tonight?" Like I even have to ask.

"Out on the job." Her limbs lost their casual lack of tension, briefly but noticeably.

"Hey, at least you're not stuck with some boring 9 to 5 suit." I said in an attempt at levity.

"Boring 9 to 5 suits don't come home with blood on their collars." Betty said in a whisper, leaning in closer.

"At least it's not lipstick?"

Betty laughed unenthusiastically.

"Sorry Ton', you don't want to hear me air our dirty laundry."

"Don't worry about it, Doll. You're too pretty to have to be polite." I smiled, probably looking awfully smarmy.

Betty looked amused as she wiped down the stained wood of the bar.

"Don't look now." She said calmly, not looking away from the movement of her hand. "And when I say don't look now, I mean don't do that thing people always do when someone tells them not to look, but someone is watching you."

"I'm guessing you don't mean the good kind of watching, huh?"

Betty just rolled her eyes.

"Where?"

"My 2 o'clock, in the red booth closest to the door. Wide brimmed hat, trench coat."

"Well, that's not very original of them." I downed the last sip of my drink. "You've got a weird skill set, babe."

"My husband is Bruce Banner. How would I not pick up a couple of things?" She refilled my glass.

"So, how long they been here?"

"About a minute less than you have."

I heard the bell on the door jingle and turned with a smile and a friendly wave.

"Hey, Alan!"

The man who had just entered waved back with an uncertain smile before wandering off to find a seat.

"...You don't know that man, do you?"

"Nope. Never seen him before in my life. But I got a clear view of my secret admirer. Or the brim of his hat, at least."

I swirled my glass in self approval.

"Clever."

"How much would it cost me to get you to do last call now?"

"Owing me a favor of my choosing, when I choose it, no questions asked, no telling Bruce."

"Deal."

Much to the disappointment of the entire room, Betty, being the helpful woman she is, announced last call. One by one the patron's drifted out into the city night.

I listened to the repetition of the tintinnabulation and stared into my glass.

Eventually, Betty spoke.

"He took off."

"How likely do you think it is that he's waiting for me?"

"Pretty damn." She shrugged her thin shoulders. "Should I let you out the back?"

"That'd be great, Doll, thanks."

I finished my glass, because I don't waste good liquor, and then let Betty lead me behind the bar, through the back room, and out a door to the small alley behind the pub.

"Give my regards to Banner." I said as I stepped backwards onto the pavement.

"Will do."

Betty let the door fall closed as I walked out into the awaiting dark.

Everything I'd had to drink came rushing through my system with a vengeance as the cold air hit skin, an unpleasant jolt to my intoxicated system.

I made my way opposite from home, having decided to take a long detour in the interests of both avoiding my pursuer and gaining my bearings.

I buttoned my dress shirt all the way up to the neck. It was a small comfort against the sharp wind as I made my way out of the maze of back allies, crossed the empty street and made haste toward the boardwalk.

A brusque pace and the intrusive aroma of salt was good for bringing some order back to my head.

A noise tugged at the edge of my thoughts as I came to the edge of the pier that the tide didn't quite reach. I ran my hands against my legs to warm them and looked out towards the water.

My moment of silent contemplation was harshly interrupted by a loud clattering from below and a strangled yelp. I pressed my hand to the gun beneath my jacket and listened.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.