TONY

Coffee at the little diner on the corner had turned into coffee and pie, when the pretty thing of a waitress had recommended it. Sweet girl, I'd done a job for her old man once.

My reprieve in the blue seating booth was an opportunity to think over who might be willing to sing about what Doom had been up to as of late. I had a few acquaintances who owed me one (or more) in mind, but the picture would get clearer once Steve came through, which knowing Steve, I didn't doubt he would.

The caffeine wasn't doing as much as I would have preferred to combat my sleep deprivation, but I was used to that.

I had vaguely known (as I got into bed the night before) the gravity of what I'd volunteered to do only minutes previous. I was regret-less, as most people assume I always am, but the danger ahead wasn't as abstract to me as I would have liked.

The soft, silent presence of someone in the other room was soothing, but the reason for it kept my wheels turning.

The absence of someone beside me was paled by thoughts of what was to come.

I widdled away more time than I should have in my seat, but the coffee was strong, the pie was sweet, and the view was cute and blond.

I tore myself away from the comfort of my booth once I'd finished my second cup a', and made off to be back in relative time for Peter's arrival. There wasn't much harm if he arrived before I did, I had Pepper around for a reason.

I hoped Loki's memory was better than his timing, and that he'd have something worthwhile to tell me when I returned, but I knew getting cornered in a warehouse and shot at weren't the prime conditions for memorization.

Upon returning to my waiting room, I found Pepper typing silently away at her Underwood type writer, Loki across from her on the L-backed couch, simply lounging, eyes closed. I wondered if he had fallen asleep. The click clacking of Pep's work is surprisingly soothing.

"Welcome back, Tony." Pepper said without dragging her eyes up to meet mine. "Mr. Parker isn't here yet, and Detective Rogers didn't ring."

Loki righted himself at the sound with a pleasant expression.

"I made both the lists you asked for. I left them on your desk."

"Dillinger."

I deposited my hat on the rack and slipped into my office.

"Heya, boss man." Said the young man perched on my desk, with a tip of his hat.

It wasn't worth wondering exactly how he ended up in my office without Pepper taking notice. That was why I needed him, after all.

"Peter." I answered as I closed the door behind me.

"Who wants all this stuff?" Peter asked as he peered at the paper he'd picked up and swung his legs off my desk.

"I do."

"Really? You didn't even write it."

I settled into my chair and shoved him the rest of the way into the proper piece of furniture.

"That doesn't mean I don't want it."

"Mm. All I know is, you don't usually send me to upscale apartment buildings to nab sweaters and button downs. I don't mean to pry, it's just curious."

We all know what curiosity does.

"Don't be. I'm not paying you to be curious."

Peter frowned, but didn't appear legitimately deterred. The buoyancy of youth can grate on a man's nerves in the morning.

"Sorry." He rubbed the back of his head. "But, I'd kill to know why you need a book called Andvӧkur. Sounds Germanic, but that's all I've got."

"Let's just say I'm bettering myself, and leave it at that, Pete."

"Whatever you say, Tony." He said with a capitulating shrug.

"I expect I'll just come home and it'll all be here?"

"You bet. Unless there was anything you needed to know about this place."

"Nothing specific, but if you see something that doesn't seem right, then I need to know about it."

Peter nodded obediently.

"I'll keep an eye out."

I retrieved the envelope encasing his payment and slid it to him, same amount as always. His fees depend on the matter of the job, but I've been known to pay up more than it's worth. Peter needs the money, needed it even more back then, and he's a good kid. Smart like you wouldn't believe, and sweet in a way that avoided being too irritating. He would make a terrible PI though; he often can't seem to slow his tongue when he should.

"Thanks. It's always a pleasure. Except for that time with the guard dogs, of course." The young man joked.

I'd seen him well reimbursed for that incident.

"It's mutual. Now, I expect to let you out the front door. No shimmying out a window."

"Oh, right, of course."

I showed him out of my office, and settled back in at my desk with Loki's mnemonic scribblings, except, as it turned out, they weren't really scribblings. It was no wonder Peter had immediately realized that list wasn't in my hand. His rememberings, which I assumed were to be the normal chicken scratch of jottings down, were meticulous. The penmanship was neat, although uncommon, and abnormally small. A few of the names rang a bell right off the bat—Nobody I was overly familiar with, but it gave me a starting point, something to ask about.

I knew just who I wanted to see.

I parked the car across the street from the brick building. I didn't bother finding somewhere out of sight. There wasn't much reason for these particular contacts to be wary of me. At least, I hoped they knew better than to try and avoid me, because if they did they were Hellishly hard to catch up to.

The building was nicer on the inside than on the out, upscale once you crossed the thresh hold.

The elevator seemed a far more pleasant choice than the stairs, seeing as the skin stretched around my sternum had been tenderized.

I was prompted to ponder the handiness of elevator operators as we ascended. They're immensely grateful for keeping track of somebody's comings and goings.

When I rapped my knuckles against the wood of their door, I was treated to the muffled sound of familial mumblings. I leaned against the frame and waited. A shadow crossed the strip of light beneath the door, and then the door swung open to reveal a woman, statuesque and togged to the bricks. I couldn't help but start from the bottom up.

One hand was braced against the door frame, and the other on a well accentuated hip.

"Pietro," She called without breaking eye contact, "Tony Stark is here."

A man practically hurled himself into their sitting room, sliding briefly on a heel.

"Tony? What's going one? What're you doing here?"

"A guy can't visit?"

"I supposed that is my cue to invite you in?" The woman asked, brushing a loose lock of scarlet hair behind her ear, with perturbed resignation.

"I would sincerely hope so, Wanda."

She answered by turning and walking in, and I followed close behind."

Wanda dropped herself onto the arm of an aqua leather chair, while Pietro remained standing, watching me with restless countenance.

"What's going on, Tony?" He asked, face in a curious half-frown. The benign expression was sharpened on the jagged angles of his face.

"This place is awfully ritzy. I wonder how you manage to keep up with the cost." It was all chrome, leather, and color. If I was honest with myself, I had certainly payed more for what was in mine, but that wasn't the point.

"It's not that much." Pietro insisted.

"Now, six months ago, when daddy was still willing to pay the bills, I would have agreed with you." Despite the glass house, sometimes stones need to be thrown.

The comment made Pietro clench his jaw, and Wanda crossed her arms defensively.

"I work now. A normal job."

"It's not as if we have forgotten how to survive without him." Wanda added.

"Well, what do you do?"

"That's none of your business."

"Fine." I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Then, lets get down to what my business is."

Wanda cocked an eyebrow in question.

"Doom."

"We've never had anything to do with him." Pietro snapped.

"Did I suggest otherwise?"

"What about Doom?" Wanda asked.

"Anything."

"A small noise of frustration died in Pietro's throat.

"What do you mean, anything?"

"I mean, I want to know everything you know about him, in case somewhere in that head of yours, is something I don't know already."

"Alright." Wanda acquiesced. "But I think you will be disappointed to find we don't know much."

"I'm a big boy, I can handle a little disappointment. Try me."


STEVE

I yawned into my fist and signed the paper in front of me. It had been a long day. We'd been told to double back on all our paper work to check for mistakes from then on out.

They never talk about how much paperwork is involved in being a detective. It had been an adjustment, to say the least. The task was easier with help, but Barton had long since tipped his hat over his eyes and leaned back at his desk. I was doing my darnedest not to be overly resentful.

Effectively lost between stacks of bureaucracy at its most frustrating, I didn't hear anyone approach until they spoke.

"Detective Rogers?"

I looked up to find Elizabeth standing across from my desk, pale arms burdened with bursting folders. He grip on the load seemed tenuous.

"Miss Ross, do you need help with that?" I stood and she let me heft them out of her grasp. "Where are we taking these?"

"Nowhere. These are for you, actually. It's everything we've got on Doom."

My mood brightened at the information.

"Oh, thanks. You shouldn't have had to lug it all up here, I would have come and gotten it."

"I know." She smiled. "But it really wasn't any trouble."

"Well, I appreciate it."

I not so gracefully deposited my load onto the desk top, while Barton straightened in his chair, and got busy joining the living.

"Who had them?"

"Detective Hill checked it all in about an hour ago."

"Hill?"

"Mhm."

My mind stuttered on the information. Why would she need them? She was a good detective, I knew that well enough, and I knew how hard a worker she had to be, but she was a nice woman, and I really hoped she wasn't being put to work on anything too dangerous. If there's one thing Doom was, heck, if there's one thing Doom is, it's dangerous.

"I'd better go back. Not really supposed to wander off." She told me amicably. I couldn't resist smiling back at her.

"Of course. Thanks for your trouble."

Barton's smirk was practically a physical sensation as she turned to leave with a small wave, and a nod that bobbed her blond hair.

"She's not rationed, you know."

I gave him a discouraging frown.

"First of all, you have no reason to know that. Second, what does it matter?"

"I gave her a ride home one, she's chatty. And it matters, because she's a real bright young thing, and she'd go with you if you asked. Getting laid would do you good."

I dropped the top most folder in front of me and flipped it open. Spending time with Tony had me well trained that the best way to dissuade someone's interest in your personal life, was not to deny anything scandalous, but to ignore it completely.

My partner stood and came to peer over my shoulder intrusively.

"What is that, anyway?"

"Just informing myself." It was the truth.

"About Victor Von Doom?"

"Yes."

"...Why? This is what Stark called about, am I right?"

"You're being nosy."

He gave me an infuriatingly knowing look, but returned to his desk.

Seeing as there was so much to cover, and I didn't want any more inquiries about my research, I went about packing them below my desk, for later consumption.

It looked like my day would be longer than I'd thought.


TONY

Pietro and Wanda hadn't had much to tell me that I hadn't gleaned from my years on the job, in that, they were right. But I wasn't going to admit that to them, and I didn't leave discouraged. I had kept them talking for a good while, and there were a few tid bits of information worth pursuing. I had the names of three minor associates, and the address of a Genoshan smuggler in my pocket.

I drove for home, figuring it would be best to know if Steve had called, then I planned on to pop back out for lunch. Maybe I would call someone, and make it a date. Loki would manage fine back at the house. There was food, and entertainment, and Pepper could handle any urgent questions.

As I wated for a light to change, drumming my fingers against the wheel, I meditated on the familiarity of the smuggler's name. I had heard it before. Where, I wasn't sure, but I knew it would come to me.

I meant to stick my head into the office only briefly. Steve had yet to call, as it turned out, and Peter yet to do his drop off. I had tucked myself in at my desk to see if I could find the name in papers from old cases, but I made the mistake of resting my head on my arms.

The room had grown in shadows when I opened my eyes. The loss of time unnerved me. The feeling that valuable hours had been stolen (although I knew I had only planned to spend the lunch hour, and probably the afternoon frivolously) permeated the air. As I felt the unpleasant tang of sleep fade from my tongue, I realized I had no patience for rifling through papers that I had probably never layed eyes on before (Pep, always better at keeping records than I). Upon jerking open my button drawer by its metallic handle, I discovered an empty bottle, much to my disappointment. I needed a drink, one where I didn't spend the time wondering about being watched. A new lounge, only 20 minutes away, had opened up, and I'd only been once.

I returned late, though to my credit, earlier than the night before (although that hadn't really been my fault, had it). The clarity of the night allowed for the moon to illuminate the streets, and it didn't suit me well.

The lights were on, and the door left unlocked. I made a not to remind Pepper to not leave it so when she was alone working after dark. I knew she probably wouldn't listen.

"Rogers called." My faithful secretary informed me when I entered.

"What did he have to say?"

"He'll be visiting in the morning." She had stood and begun to gather her purse.

I stood away from her station, knowing I smelled of booze and perfume.

"You should go home to your husband."

"I plan to. he's picking me up. Unless you think I should just walk home." She said with an end of the work day smile.

"You should go upstairs. Sleep."

"I plan to."

A car horn sounded, and she looked to the window.

"Goodnight tony." Pepper slid her purse over her shoulder and stepped through the door when I pulled it open.

I didn't watch her walk to the car.

I gladly climbed the stairs, eye lids heavy. I needed some quality shut eye.

An unexpectedly pleasant sight greeted me once I made my way to the sitting room. Loki was stretched out on my sofa, once knee bent up to help support a book.

"Welcome home."

I hadn't heard that one in a while.

"Hey. What have you gotten up to? Staying out of trouble?" I dropped down into an adjacant arm chair, leather smooth against my palms.

"I read your books, mostly. It is hard to get in to trouble when one reads. Then, that Peter of yours brought my things, so I put them away,"

My eyes were captured by his fluffy patterned sweater. It didn't look quite right on him.

"I trust he got everything you needed."

"He did."

"Mm." I let my head fall against the chair's back.

"Tony?" The questioning tone held subtle amusement.

"yah?"

"I think .you are, 'sauced', as they say."

"No." I turned my head to meet his eyes.

"No?" He looked genuinely surprised at the denial. "You smell like gin."

"I also smell like lilacs."

"Your point?"

"That doesn't make me a gardener."

"Ah. So you are saying you aren't a drunk."

"Not when it counts." I smirked.

My client's lips turned up in response. They were nice lips, still are as a matter of fact.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"Like the food here?"

"Here, in your house," He cocked his head in question, "or, here in America?"

"Either." I shrugged. I'm a man who only puts so much effort into small talk.

"It is satisfactory. There are certainly dishes I miss." He paused. "Although, you have very fine cakes."

"Cakes? You don't look like a guy who eats a lot of cake."

"My height does my a great service, as do my clothes. It's a slimming effect."

"Your giant sweater makes you look less slim, and more like an abnormally lengthy sheep."

Loki gave a short laugh.

"Should I be insulted?"

"That really depends how you feel about sheep."

"Actually, Tony, you said it, not I. I would suggest that it therefore really depends how you feel about sheep."

"I was always a fan."

"well then, I shall not be insulted." He said with a vaguely playful expression.

"Tomorrow morning, a friend of mine is coming over." I figured that was best information given ahead of time, especially with his professed aversion to police involvement.

"The friend whose perfume does not make you a gardener?" He asked, face innocent.

"Hah. No." Wouldn't Steve love that comparison. "Steve Rogers, I'd mentioned him. He has access to information that'll hurry this right along."

"Oh."

"Don't worry, that is as far as involvement with the cops will go."

"I believe you. Should you go to bed?"

"That's not a very subtle way to tell me to scram."

"That was not what was intended. You look tired. You need your rest.""

Ain't that the truth.

"You planning on burning the midnight oil?" Somehow, I could imagine him hovering in my living room all night with whatever book of interest he'd managed to find amongst my shelves.

"No. I will probably just finish my chapter, then go to bed."

"Alright," I said, pushing off the chair to rise, "I'd say make yourself at home, but it looks like you've already done that."

"Your home is very comfortable."

I doubted that. I've often chosen form over function.

"Night. Don't pass out on my couch, I won't tiptoe around you in the morning."

"I won't. Good night."

I stretched my sore spine before crossing the room, then paused at the doorway to the hall.

"How do you say that in your language?"

"Goodnight?"

"Yah."

"Góða nótt."

I nodded to myself and left the room.

Slipping into my silk night clothes was heavenly.

I must have fallen asleep quickly, because the last thing I remember was thinking it wasn't so bad to come home to someone.

A/N:

For the record, traditional Icelandic sweaters are pretty fabulous.

Comments are always appreciated.