Summary:

Speed, retold with the marvel cast in some of the roles.

A few of Loki's recent bad days.

Notes:

I don't own the characters or situations I've put them in.

Part 2 of my 90's Movie Marathon series. I hope you enjoy!

He watched from within as the terrified passengers tried to claw their way out of the elevator. He shouldn't be enjoying it, but he was. He had given people everything, and what had that gotten him? Nothing. His fucking thumb blown off, and a shitty severance package. "So sorry about your hand."

Well, that was going to change today.

Loki was going on about four hours of sleep, three shots of espresso and a protein bar. He still cleared the stairs in no time flat.

"What cha got there, Jack, my boy?" His partner, his friend, Phil Coulson, was sweating and out of breath, but he'd made better time up 19 floors than Loki had thought he could manage. It seemed like it took a lot out of him, because he just stood there breathing heavily and clutching his side.

"Pop quiz, hot shot," Coulson wheezed from his spot leaned against the door to the stairs. "A civilian has been taken hostage, you have no clear shot, and there's a gun on a hair trigger pressed against her temple. What do you do?"

Coulson seemed altogether too pleased with his hypothetical scenario, when, honestly, the answer was simple:

"Shoot the hostage."

Coulson looked at him incredulously, obviously stunned by Loki's incredibly dispassionate, almost Spock-like display of logic. He didn't seem the least impressed, so Loki hurried to add, "Not anywhere important, man. Jeez. Somewhere fleshy. Thigh, maybe?"

"Femoral artery, dude."

Loki had just finished unscrewing the access panel so he motioned for Phil to take a look, instead of pointing out that he held several LAPD marksmanship records. The smaller man hemmed and hawed, scratched the stubble on his chin as he regarded the undercarriage of the elevator.

"Well, what is your assessment of the situation?" Phil Coulson was only ten years older than Loki was, but sometimes he acted like he was a wizened, old, kung fu master. Like Loki hadn't already dismantled countless IEDs with snipers looking to pick him off, like he hadn't almost been blown up more than a half a dozen times, like Loki was some sort of noob.

Sometimes it pissed him off, but then he remembered: he's in L.A. now. Paradise compared to his overseas deployment. But he was angling for that promotion, and part of that was the on-the-job testing, no matter how ridiculous it made him feel.

Besides, it's not every day someone plants a bomb in a busy, downtown Los Angeles office building. It's not fun, the thought that there's every chance that he'd blow himself up along with all those passengers, but, perversely, it kinda, sort of was.

Adrenaline was a rush in his veins, and his mind was crystal clear, as he puzzled out the mass of explosives and wires rigged to the brakes of the elevator. The answer Coulson was looking for was obvious, and Loki rattled it off effortlessly, as he chomped on his nicotine gum. There was more than one bomb, and the second one, cleverly hidden behind some metal plating, was too far away to reach from any angle. That one would explode in 9 minutes, according to the gold watch it was hooked up to.

"He's gonna drop 'em no matter if the higher ups give up the cash," Loki whispered and looked at Coulson. He was absolutely certain that everyone in that elevator was going to eat it, if they didn't do something. Coulson nodded and looked troubled.

"Here's where you might pass the test, Jack. A crazy terrorist has rigged a bomb on elevator to blow, and there's no stopping it. What do you do?"

Loki thought back to when they had screeched up to the lobby entrance, and he'd looked at the building "We do what Kirk did to beat the Kobayashi Maru. Let's change some parameters. Come on, we gotta get to the roof."

He sprinted towards the stairwell, and ran, flat-out, up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time, until he slammed into the door to the roof, and used his picks to open it.

There was no freaking way the little cable lift that raised and lowered the window-washer's scaffolding was rated to the weight of entire elevator, but it didn't need to hold for long. Just long enough to get the eight people inside to safety. Phil looked like he might throw up, but to his credit, he kept it together enough to deride the only plan either had come up with.

The hatch to the elevator was locked, but it was just a shitty bicycle lock, thankfully, so Loki used his heel and kicked down until it popped.

Phil was already there with the cable, "Come on, we've got less than 5 minutes."

Loki took the cable, climbed in the hatch, and hit Coulson up on the radio. "Let 'er rip."

In short order, he was hanging on to the cable, sailing down towards the only elevator not at ground level. He clicked the radio on again, "And stop! Thanks, man. Run back down to the twentieth floor and be ready to breach the doors on my mark."

Feeling like a badass, he swung over to the elevator and tried to reassure the people inside, who started yelling when they heard him banging around on the top. It seemed like a futile attempt, a hail Mary, to tie the cable to the clamp that was attached to the counter weight, but he only needed a minute or so to get everyone off.

He unscrewed the access panel and stuck his shield inside, "LAPD. I need you to step back and be real quiet." Just before he jumped, he toggled his radio, "You in position, Coulson?"

He waited for the radio to squawk, and the expected, "Affirmative."

"Ok then. 3, 2, Mark," Loki twisted his ankle landing, but there wasn't time to fuck around, so he pushed everyone out of the way and used his crowbar to get the door open. Two of the women got out before the first bomb went off. The freefall, the instant before the cable caught and held, was terrifying.

The deafening clanging and squealing as the elevator stopped, however, was possibly the sweetest moment of his life. The car shuddered and dropped a few feet as the cable or it's mooring gave way. There was only one passenger left, but she was too panicked to move. The elevator dropped another foot, and while Loki certainly sympathized with her, he didn't want to die.

He leaned over and grabbed her hand, pulled her close and grabbed Coulson's arm and levered himself out clutching the frozen blonde. No sooner than he had cleared the doors, did the elevator fall away, squeaky, clanging, and then, an explosion as the timed bomb went off.

Other cops swarmed up the stairs and took control of the scene, much to Loki's relief. "He blew early," Loki said as he slid down a wall to sit next to his superior officer.

"Common problem among middle aged men. Or so I hear," Phil grinned at him.

"I'm being serious, man. He knew. He knew we breached the elevator. How?"

"I dunno, WiFi camera?"

"But we have signal scramblers up - he shouldn't have been able to get a signal much less send one. Why didn't we realize this earlier?"

Coulson looked at Loki, before toggling his radio mic, "Pegs? We got any movement in any of the service elevators?"

Static flared briefly before she answered, "Affirmative, sir, service elevator 9 is descending, but there doesn't appear to be anyone in it, or the stairwells it opens on."

The times that Coulson made a leap of logic, and Loki could guess his thought process, based on an offhand remark or look, made their time together worth it. Made them an excellent partnership in the field. No matter how tired they were, they got to their feet and pounded down hallways and stairs.

Both of them were out of breath by the time they got to the entrance to the parking structure. It happened so fast that Loki wasn't sure how it actually happened, but Phil was held in front of a white male, about 5'8", 190lbs, white hair, blue eyes.

The man was clearly angry, spittle gathering at the corners of his mouth, as he held up a device that was clearly a detonator of some sort. "Back the fuck up, kid", he growled and waved the detonator in front of Coulson's too calm face. Phil looked at Loki, and tried to get a breath despite the hand wrapped around his neck. He squeaked the words, "Pop quiz."

Oh Jesus. Loki locked eyes with Coulson, Phil, who fed him on holidays and made his life hell most days - and shot him in the thigh.

He didn't want to go up on that stage, he didn't need the commendation, especially not for shooting his friend in the thigh, but one didn't decline an invitation masquerading as a order from the Commissioner.

"Loki 'Jack' Odinsson," and fuck, shit, son of a bitch he damned well asked them not to use his real name, but he plastered on a smile and got up to accept the new medal, a plaque and a handshake from a guy he wasn't especially fond of, the commissioner, Nick Fury. He knew from the too-firm handshake and politely neutral politicians smile that the name thing had been deliberate. Ass.

He could hear Phil, that little asshole, snickering, and also that a murmur ran through the crowd. The ceremony was being broadcast on a local public access channel, but as soon as his back was turned to the camera, Loki looked right at his friend and used his middle finger to wipe along his eyebrow.

Coulson lowered his eyelids fractionally and pursed his lips at Loki, before their captain nudged him in the back he went back to standing at as close perfect parade rest as he could on crutches.

As Loki joined the rest of the cops back in line, he couldn't help but notice all the smirking, stifled grins of his colleagues.

He'd never hear the end of this.

Last night the squad drank far, far too much tequila, all of them. Loki's intention when he went to the bar to meet up with his coworkers was to have a beer or two, and go home. Good intentions kinda went out the window when Captain Rogers handed him a shot glass, and poured him a two fingers of really exceptionally bad tequila from a bottle with no label. And then another and another, until finally, he'd lost count.

The last thing he remembered was Phil standing up, but leaning heavily against him, and raising his glass in a toast. A horrifying, awful toast.

"Let's hear it for this guy! This guy right here with the stupid fucking name, and by the way! My god, your parents must've hated your ass to saddle you with that name, dude. You know that right? You might wanna consider a chat with the shrink at the precinct. I'm just sayin'. So yeah, everyone, raise your glasses for this guy, the one who shot me in the leg two and half weeks ago. Two inches up and to the left, and we'd be having a different conversation here, but! He didn't, so he gets a medal and a toast! Thanks for leaving me fully functional, man. Cheers!"

Loki was quite sure that going in today was not going to be enjoyable, but he sucked it up, and hoofed it a few blocks, powering through his hangover with exercise and a big bottle of water.

At least he'd had enough sense to leave his truck at the bar.

Thankfully, his favorite coffee shop wasn't too far from the bar, so Loki's morning routine was hardly disrupted by the unscheduled inconvenience. He was sweating profusely and suspected he might still smell of that noxious tequila, so he'd take the opportunity to blot off in the men's room before heading out.

He greeted the regulars, most of whom ribbed him about his name, and he had to laugh, because who actually watched local public access tv? He placed his order and paid, because he wasn't the type of cop who expected freebies because of his profession. After answering some questions about the incident, he wandered into the bathroom to clean up while his order was being made.

A chorus of Bye Loki's followed him after he grabbed his coffee and egg sandwich off the counter and headed for the exit. He held open the door for Bill the bus driver, and was still smiling as he walked with Bill partway down the street.

Loki was unlocking his car when the bomb went off. He felt the shock wave and a lick of heat across his back, but all that seemed to be the matter was the ringing in his ears.

He wasn't a stranger to running towards the remnants of a blast, arm lifted to protect his face from the worst of the heat, he'd spent too much time in war zones for that, but it wasn't supposed to happen in his neighborhood - it wasn't supposed to be a nice, old man he'd had breakfast with for the last three years burning in the driver's seat.

He watched the blast from his car, which he'd parked just down the street, a place where he had a perfect view and opportunity for a quick and unnoticed getaway. He almost smiled as he made a phone call.

The idiot who'd gotten in his way a few days ago, the one who'd ruined the plan, a perfect plan he'd been planning for 2 years, stalked over to the bank of payphones.

"Whaddaya think, Jack? You think that if you pick up all of the bus drivers teeth, they'll give you another medal?"

He tried to keep calm, but really, that fucking Neanderthal had ruined what was his life's work.

Why didn't you just come after me? Jack asked, and that name was yet more unnecessary fakery, since the kids real name had been broadcast just last night, making it very easy to find out all sorts of things about him. Easy for a man like him, with his exceptional skills, even in just a few hours. He knew all about Loki 'Jack' Odinsson now. His parents, his hometown, had peeked at his school records, looked into his military career, and everything after with just a few clicks.

He laughed, "You don't get it, do you? This isn't about you, it's about me. Money owed me. 3.7 million dollars. It's my nest egg. Jack, at my age you gotta plan ahead. And you're going to help me get it."

He paused for effect, but the kid just wouldn't shut up and be respectful of his elders, so he just talked on, "Pop quiz, hotshot, there's a bomb on a bus. Once the bus reaches 50 mph, the bomb is armed. If it drops below fifty, it blows up. If you try to evacuate the passengers, the bus explodes. In fact, why don't we just say you do anything but get me my money, the bus goes ka-plooey. What do you do, Jack? Or should I call you Loki? Hmm? So. I'm waiting. What do you do?"