Stave III: The Second of the Three Spirits

The Ghost of Christmas Present

"Oh, hey guys," Lang was wearing his coat and was pulling on gloves as he emerged from the hallway. He had a pack slung over one shoulder.

Rogers was hanging up his coat.

Loki, paused.

"Have a nice walk?" Lang asked, "I was just going…Hey," he scratched the side of his head, "Loki, do you…I'm just…I mean, I know you were just out…"

Loki turned to face the captain, who he knew to be in the habit of wearing a watch. "Would you happen to know the time?"

"Uh, yeah," Rogers said. "Just a…" he tugged up his sleeve, "Three o'clock," he said.

Recalling the Spirit's words, Loki gave a resigned nod, and re-buttoned his coat.

Lang smiled at him. "Awesome. So," he asked, as they stepped out into the cold, "got somewhere to be?" Fingering some sequence into the front of his phone, Lang slid it back into his pocket.

Loki considered lying in a bid for a shorter 'lesson'. Reluctantly, he decided against it. "No. Have we a destination?"

"Oh. Yeah," Lang answered, "a couple, actually. I've gotta pick up something form home and then I was gonna go pick up Cassie. Thought maybe I'd bring her by to meet the Avengers."

Lang was a good head shorter than Loki, but his steps were quick and lively.

"Cassie is your…daughter?" Loki guessed. He knew that he'd heard the man use the name before.

"My daughter," Lang said, "Yep."

Glancing aside at the man, Loki noticed a certain tightness about his mouth, and a quickness to his eye. Lang, he decided, was nervous. Loki turned his head to hide the shadow of a smug smile.

As he turned his head, a car rolled by them, blaring Christmas carols at top volume.

"She's eight," Lang said.

Loki watched as the car rounded a corner a hundred yards ahead of them and the unruly noise started to fade.

"You know?" Lang glanced at him with a quirk of a smile, "I think she'd like you."

Loki felt one eyebrow go up as he glanced at Lang. Possibly the man was not so unnerved by him as he'd hoped. "Truly?" he asked. Then, considering, he tipped his head, "Small females seem to have that tendency," he allowed.

"You like kids?"

Not particularly enjoying the conversation, Loki continued to watch the cars in the road. "No."

Lang laughed, "You never really know what they're are gonna think, do you?"

"I suppose not."

"They're unpredictable."

Slowly, Loki let his eyes drift shut as he felt resignation wash over him.

They arrived some twenty minutes later at the crowded building where Lang made his home, and went inside the dirty, throbbing structure with Lang all the time trying his best to excuse the place and to explain how he had come to live in it.

Loki gathered that the apartment was rented in the name of Lang's former cell-mate, Luis, and that rent – like everything else – didn't come cheap for ex-cons, so they boarded together with two others of their associates. Music pulsed through the floors and the stained plaster crumbled under the constant pounding. The broken-off bits littered the floor.

Loki didn't understand how living in such a place was better than living under a bridge, but chose to keep that to himself. It would be demeaning to acknowledge the wreck of it; his one concession to the squalor was not to breathe too deeply.

Lang rapped twice on the door with the back of his knuckles before opening it. "Hey guys," he said. "Just here to pick up a few things. Where's Luis?"

"Should be back here any time." The ebony-skinned man was sitting with his elbows on the table and the hood of his sweatshirt up. He looked Loki over without any change of expression. "'Sup Lang," he asked. His eyes slid from Loki, to Lang, who'd slung the pack from his shoulder and was moving toward a doorway. "Who's your friend?"

"Uh, Dave, this is…Loki," Lang said. "Loki, Dave. And that's Kurt." Lang gestured to a man at the table. The man did not look up from his screen, but raised one hand in a laconic wave. Lang looked at Loki, uncertainty plain on his face, then said, "…I'll be right back," and vanished around the corner.

"So," Dave drawled.

Loki turned his head to face the man at the table. He had the wire from a pair of earbuds and he was spinning it around two fingers. He eyed Loki suspiciously, "Loki, Loki?"

Loki's eyes glittered. "Loki, Prince of Asgard, Rightful King of Jotunheim, God of Mischief." He cut a mocking half-bow.

One brow crooked up on Dave's forehead. "Loki…the supervillain?" he asked, flicking his wrist to make the tiny speakers spin.

Loki felt his mouth tighten, but the other man, to one at the computer, beat him to any kind of reply.

"Yes, Dave," Kurt said, dryly, never glancing up from the screen at which he worked. "That Loki. From T.V. New York."

While it wasn't the introduction he would have chosen, it was something. Admiration began the reconfiguration of Dave's face and Loki felt some of the acid dissipate on his tongue.

"So, Loki," Dave said, straightening and resting both elbows on the table, casting off the wires as the dull little things they were, "You're a supervillain. What the hell you doing hanging around with this clown?" he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the doorway through which Lang had vanished.

"You know," Loki said, folding his arms and regarding Dave with no little amusement, "I'm hardly certain myself."

"Impulsive," Kurt hummed, almost to himself, the white light washing his face. Loki thought that his accent was not dissimilar to Wanda's.

Lang came back into the room and glanced over all of them, assuring himself that nothing was on fire, then wordlessly slung his backpack onto the counter and began rearranging things inside it.

Dave nodded at Kurt, "Yeah," he said. "Hey," to Loki, "we could use a guy like you on our next gig."

"Guys, no," Lang groaned.

Dave twisted in his chair, "Hey, he's a big kid. Let him decide for himself." Expectantly, he turned his look on Loki.

Laugh caught in the back of his throat, Loki thought that this excursion was on the short list of the best things he'd ever been coerced into doing.

Then the door opened, and all eyes were turned on the small man in the doorway. He wore a cap and an untucked shirt and carried grocery bags in both hands. "Hey guys," he said, eyes flicking uncertainly from Loki, to Dave, to Kurt and back to Loki. "What'd I miss?" Then his dark eyes slid past them and his face lit up, "Hey! Lang! My Man! Whatcha doing up here this time o'day, Bro?"

Lang had come across the room and met the little man in the middle of it. He slapped hands with him, "Hey Luis," he said.

"And what you doin' here, Tiger?" Luis eyed Loki up and down, "You dressed up real fine for somebody comin' down t'this part o'town. He you're friend, Lang?" He indicated Loki with his thumb, "You be careful out there," he shook his head, worry creasing his brow as he looked Loki over, "There's dangerous types out there, Man,"

"Dude," Dave interrupted. He was fiddling with the wires again, "you don't have to worry about him," he smirked.

"If he's a friend of Lang's…" Luis insisted. Turning on his friend, Luis gave Lang's shoulder half a slap, "You gotta teach your friend better than that."

"He is Loki of Asgard," Kurt said from behind his screen. "King of Mischeif."

One corner of Loki's mouth twitched. "God," he corrected, "of Mischief."

Luis turned on him, his eyes huge in his round face. "Wait," he said, "you're Thor's brother? The one with the horns," Luis did something with his hands by the sides of his head that Loki refused to recognize as an imitation of his helmet, "and the aliens?" Luis beamed. "That was dope, Dog! Crazy!"

Loki's grimace faded to surprise.

"Luis," Lang put a stilling hand on the little man's shoulder, "it's great to see you, Buddy, but we should go,"

"Just a second, Bro. Just a second. It's a funny story. See, that reminds me of this guy, whose sister was a friend of my cousin –"

"No, seriously, Luis," Lang opened the door and motioned Loki through it, "we have to go."

Loki followed Lang's directive.

"See ya 'round, Loki," Dave said, sinking back in his chair.

"Yes," Kurt glanced up just for a moment. "Goodbye Mischief King."

"Okay, next time, next time." Luis waved. "Don't be a stranger, Bro!" he grinned. Peering to see into the crack of the door as Lang shut it, Luis put up one thumb, "Huge fan!"

The door closed and cut off Loki's view of them. Lang stood still for one moment, with his hand on the knob. Then, shaking his head, he turned towards to the stairs. "They're…" Lang said, eyes trained on the uneven staircase, "…an acquired taste. Sorry, I…didn't actually expect any of them to be home."

"Not at all," Loki said smoothly. His lips twitched with the beginning of a smile that he coolly repressed. "Did you find what you came for?"

"Oh yeah, that was no problem," he grinned up at Loki over his shoulder, "It's just something I picked up for Cassie."

Lang stepped off the last of the narrow steps and moved past the two women who were smoking in the doorway. The music from some nearby room was pulsing in the walls and Loki noticed thin peelings of paint trembling and dropping from the ceiling onto the floor. He followed Lang from under the greedy eyes of the females into the fresh bite of the breeze without. Tipping his chin back, he took a long breath.

"She's important to you," he commented, as he followed Lang down the crowded street.

"Yeah," Lang smiled fondly. "I don't see her much, but she's –" he shrugged, "she's the reason I do what I do. I mean, the whole 'Ant Man' thing is great – don't get me wrong – but at the end of the day I do it so she can think her dad's not just another ex-con, you know?"

Lang glanced lightly over his shoulder as he spoke, his eyes alive with something Loki did not quite understand. He pressed his lips together, mm-ing some lofty kind of acknowledgement that meant nothing and turned his eyes on the street to preserve that front to which Lang was accustomed. Memory was a thing best tended to in private. Especially a memory as warped and twisted as was his.

Lang chattered obliviously, glancing at his watch, "Anywhere you want to go? Coffee? Or – something? I've got a while before I can pick up Cassie…"

And anything was better than dwelling on the disquietude that plagued his unguarded moments. Loki denied any strong opinion on the matter, then suggested a coffee shop that appeared like an oasis in the desert around the nearest corner as an easy alternative to wandering the streets in the cold.

Lang cheerfully agreed.

The shop as they entered was warm and dimly lit. The air was heady with the scent of the drink it promised, and filled with the soft chatter of spoken word as the people within clustered in their twos and threes to discuss their lives and doings. Loki slid into it as easily as any distraction. What made it stand out among the rest was the way Lang immediately stiffened in the doorway. "Oh," he said, lamely, "Maybe…a different coffee shop?"

Taking in his companion's unease, Loki frowned. He followed Lang's eyes to a small man with thinning hair, hunched alone at a stool – not unlike Stark's bar stools – that stood by the counter. There were several empty stools in his vicinity, though the place was otherwise bustling. Glancing back at Lang, Loki didn't quite bother to check his smile. "This place seems fine to me," he said. And, ignoring Lang's quiet protestations, he made his way into the shop, and over to the soft lump that was no-doubt as old acquaintance of Lang's.

Diverting briefly, watching from the tail of his eye as Lang began to relax, Loki ordered a coffee, then, drink in hand, dismissed Lang's renewed unease entirely and went to the slumped, soft little man. "Is this seat taken?" he asked coolly.

"No," the man said. His voice was thin and nasal, his body grotesque. "Have a seat." His mouth twisted into something that was like a smirk. "Pull up some chair."

Lang made a move toward the door, then paused and checked his phone. Grimacing, he pocketed the device and went grudgingly up to the smiling barista. He managed to summon up a smile in return.

The man was scrutinizing Loki with small, weasely looking eyes. "Do I know you?" he asked.

Loki settled on the stool with his coffee on the bar in front of him. "I'm afraid I do suffer some notoriety," he said, "but personally, no, I don't believe we've met."

From the corner of his eye, Loki watched as Lang hopelessly confused the young barista by turning three consecutive drink orders into pastries before finally giving up with an apologetic smile and telling her to make him anything. Anything hot.

She put in the order, glancing at Lang furtively.

"I do know you," the creature decided finally. "From TV." The man leaned forward, tiny eyes alight and brows raised as though divulging some great and thrilling secret. "You're that supervillain from a few years back who got roped into working with the goody-goodies, aren't you?"

Loki set his cup down. "I am." The coffee was hot and tasted bitter on his tongue. He had yet to understand what Thor saw in it.

To his left, he saw Lang faltering. He had his drink in both hands, and wavered between the empty seat beside Loki, and the door. His eyes lingered longingly on the door. The corner of Loki's mouth lifted in a smirk.

"I can…" the grotesque little man leaned yet nearer, "…get you a way out," he offered. He winked several times.

"Really?" Loki regarded him, hiding none of his amusement. "I'm intrigued. But I'm afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage. You seem to know who I am…"

Lang was swallowing his distaste with obvious difficulty and making his way across the coffee shop.

"The name's Dale," the man said, putting out one pallid hand. Loki ignored it. "Or at least," Dale lowered his hand, "that's what they call me in…daylight. In 'the business' they know me as…" he glanced furtively one way and then the other, "DeathRider."

Loki set his cup very slowly on the wood, taking his time to swallow the inopportune mouthful of coffee he had taken. "Really?" he asked, once he could speak.

"They do," Dale said proudly. Glancing one way and then another, he drew his stool marginally closer. "I run a Baskin Robbins joint during the day, but what I really do is something a little more private, if you understand. I'm a kind of private entrepreneur." He smoothed a flat palm across the wood. "I can't really tell all the intel unless you're in." His voice rose to something more conversational. "And there's the man who started it all!" he said. His thin mouth did not smile. "Lang. My main bro. My 'cool criminal'." Grinning, he pointed a pair of finger guns at Lang. "Is this a coincidence?" he asked Loki slyly, "or is he here to keep you in line?"

"He's with me." Loki said.

Reluctantly, Lang sat down in on the stool he'd pulled out. He shook his head, "Hey Dale." he said. "I don't –"

"Sure you know me," Dale said. "Don't pretend that you don't." He grimaced familiarly at Loki, "all of us in the know, know. Am I right?" he winked. Again.

Lang rested heavily on his elbows, looking balefully at Loki, "I don't do that anymore, Dale," he said.

"So you do know me." Dale leaned back, folding his arms and flicked Loki a knowing glance. "Knew I could get you to talk." He pivoted on his stool. "Baskin Robbins always finds out."

"I'm an Avenger now," Lang said, softly.

Loki's mouth quirked.

"Too good for us then, huh?" Dale persisted. "Goody-goody," he scoffed. "Then it will come as a blight on your soul to know that you were my moose. My inspiration."

Loki reached over to the employee side of the bar. From across the way the barista noticed and straightened from her place, slouched against the wall. Loki waved her off with a smile and took a napkin from the stack balanced on the counter.

Lang grimaced. "Your…'moose'?"

Loki reached behind Lang and plucked a pen from the cup. He scrawled 'muse' on the napkin, and slid it to Lang.

"…oh…" Scott breathed.

Dale was too caught up to have noticed. "My dream," he said, eyes closed to better envision his words, "was to start a chain of Baskin Robbins across the country, all run by ex-cons. Really a cover-up," he opened his eyes, holding one hand palm out, "of course. But you wouldn't have it, Lang," he shook his head dismally. "I had to fire you." Dale lifted his head, nodding wryly at Scott, "It broke my heart to see you go."

Loki turned on Lang, brows raised in mock sympathy with the grotesque to his right.

Lang looked from him, to Dale, and then back. "That's not…"

"But I've moved on to better and darker things," Dale slid his fingers across the bar. "Baskin Robbins?" he scoffed. "What a joke! I've found my true calling…"

Lang's eyes flicked blankly from Loki, to Dale. "Which is…?" he asked, reluctantly.

"Oh," Dale looked scathingly at Lang, "I won't be telling you. You're the one with the fuzz." He looked at Loki, "Why are we even hanging out with him, anyway?"

Loki shrugged one shoulder. "Amusement, for the most part."

Dale's mouth spread slowly into a sickly smile. He peered around Loki to get a better look at his former-employee. He sniffed haughtily. "He is a funny little man, isn't he?"

"I am not –" Lang protested. Loki quirked an eyebrow. Slouching, Lang grumbled, "…a funny little man."

Straightening, Loki glanced at his wrist, whereon there rode no watch, and said, "Regrettably, we really have got to go, as it happens," he looked at the slimy little man apologetically, "My client…"

"Say no more." Dale fished something out of his pocket. "Hhhhhhhhheere," he slid the card across the table to Loki. Tapped it twice. "When you get some time." He looked at Loki significantly. "Give us a call. We'll chat it up."

Watching Lang's face with the tail of his eye, Loki solemnly pocketed the card. "My thanks, DeathRider."

Lang choked. "What?"

"Shh!" Dale hissed, looking furtively around the room and behind him, but not one of them was taking the least notice. "Not here," he said. His beady eyes glinted with a look of supreme pleasure. He mimed a phone with one hand to the side of his head. "Call me."

Standing, Lang gave a weak smile. "Let's go," he said "We don't want to keep our – uh – client – waiting."

"Hey," Dale turned on his bench, calling them back just as they had nearly reached the door. He rested both hands on his knees. Loki watched Lang wince. "Merry Christmas," Dale said.

Loki inclined his head.

"Oh, and one more thing," Dale said. He lowered his chin, slightly, and the voice with which he next spoke was not the nasal whine he'd had until that point. "The boy is Ignorance," he said. "The girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see written that which is Doom, unless the writing be erased."

Then Dale pointed a finger gun at them, his face and his voice again – lamentably – his own. "You get what I'm saying?" he winked.

"Uhh…" Lang blinked, then settled with, "Bye."

"Wasn't talking to you, sellout," Dale drawled. "But bye."

The air slipped heavily cold along the back of Loki's throat, after the heady warmth of the coffee shop.

"He gives me the creeps," Lang shuddered, whether with cold or distaste Loki did not think it of sufficient import to discern. Probably it was a mix of both. Lang shoved his hands deeply into his jacket pockets. "You're not gonna actually call him, are you?"

"Who knows," Loki smiled. "It may be useful to be within the trust of such a one as DeathRider."

Lang chuckled. "He's an idiot," he said.

"He is indeed. If it's required of him, he may just take the bait."

"Nice." Lang eyed him appreciatively.

The technique was so elementary that Loki wanted to roll his eyes, but the compliment was still pleasant to hear, so he repressed the impulse. "Those last words," he said instead, turning his face up to the swollen underbelly of the grey clouds, "they were not his own."

"Yeah," Lang scuffed a shoe. "Probably some movie or something," he shrugged. "I don't know. He's weird."

Cassie, was a sweet, energetic child, with far more of her father in her, Loki decided, than her mother, and absolutely none at all of her painfully-stiff step-father.

Awkwardly, Lang tried to introduce them. Paxton first, then the mother. Loki came to the decision that he would suffer not a moment's misgiving if he found he must do away with the step-father. The mother, however, won a touch of respect for him by her unequivocal hostility. She would not so much as look at him when Lang attempted to introduce them. Loki was rather impressed that she allowed Lang the keeping of their child – even for the number of hours that had been required of her – with how strongly she clearly felt Lang's ineptitude as a human being to be for fraternizing with him. But, even so, leave the child she eventually did.

Cassie, eyed him with a shy, though fearless, smile. She called him 'Mr. Loki', which, after the amusement her mother's distaste had given him, almost made him laugh.

She was small enough a child yet to ride atop her father's shoulders, and Lang slung her up so they could begin the walk from their agreed upon meeting place to Avenger's Tower.

Loki had little experience with children, or with parents, and never with a parent and a child that suited each other so entirely. As they walked, Loki hung back, behind them. It was a meager time they had, hours, to spend with one you loved so completely. He had no desire to encroach upon what few moments had been granted Lang and his daughter.

Noting their easy talk and laughter from the unobtrusive pace at which he kept himself, Loki felt more a foreigner than he had in some time, at Avenger's Tower or anywhere else. It was a beautiful thing, their love, and not a thing he was part of. Turning his head with something like reverence, he watched the traffic as he walked, and the passing people. He gauged them for threat, but none came up with promising results. Musing, he recalled his mother and the first beginning steps she had taught him when his powers became apparent.

Glancing down, he watched his hand as he opened and closed it in a soft fist. Seithr sparked electrically in his veins and ran along the nerves.

Ahead of him, he heard Cassie laugh. Preoccupied with his own thoughts, Loki had no interest in disturbing their little peace. As though from far off, he wondered at it. Wondered that Lang could have fallen so far and sprung back so easily. Wondered that, even after everything – after all the time lost and in spite of a mother and foster-father who opposed them – the child could still love him so completely.

They arrived at the Tower, undisturbed, and peeled off their outer layers. Most of the occupants had returned and they were gathered in the common rooms they'd taken to frequenting, laughing and talking one to another. Their words faded to a distant hum in the space. Removed as he was, Loki didn't think to leave them.

A hand shot out from the doorway and caught Scott's arm as he made after Natasha and Cassie. "Hey-!"

"How was he?" Tony asked. His face was every ounce serious.

Scott wondered briefly if Stark even realized that grabbing people like that as they walked by was considered rude and might alarm them. He decided 'probably not' was the answer and settled with a scowl as he rubbed his arm. "Lagged behind us all the way home," he allowed. Something in his arm pinched, and he grimaced. "What did you do?"

"What does that mean?" Stark pressed. "Details, Lang. I need details. Sulking? Was he distraught?"

"Distraught?" Scott asked, then shook his head. "No. Thoughtful…I guess?"

"You guess?"
"I don't know," Scott snapped. "You go look at him."

"Perfect." Stark clapped his shoulder. "Where is he?"
"With the others."

Stark's head swiveled and he looked at Scott. "He didn't go back to his room?"

"Uhh…" Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "No?"

"Is that…" Stark put both his hands together under his chin, "Hm. Okay. Hey, Bug's Life, you do something for me? Get Wilson. Tell him I'm in the kitchen."

"Sure…why?"

Tony rolled his eyes, "Because I'm making brownies and it's his turn to lick the spoon. I need to know the instant that Reindeer Games leaves that room."

(earlier that morning -11:21 AM)

"So, to recap," Tony clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Our absent American Hero is the Ghost of Christmas Past."

Chuckles rippled among the participants. One corner of Tony's mouth spasmed toward a smile.

"Wilson," he indicated the man, "will be facilitating my efforts."

"Which means…" Scott sat on the couch with his hands on his knees and flicked brown eyes between the two of them, "…what?"

"It means I do whatever Tony wants." Sam filled in.

Tony nodded deeply. "I could really use a backrub right now."

"I think that might be above my pay grade," Sam chuckled.

"Later? I heard you say later. Too many people here. I get it. You," Tony rounded, indicating the hapless Scott, "are the Ghost of Christmas Present. Dress nice. You know. Brown Package. String."

"What do you…" Scott looked at Sam, then back at Tony, "what do you want me to do?"

"Here's the beautiful thing about my…scheme." Tony said. "I don't care what you do. Take him with you when you go to get Cassie. Keep him from sulking in his room. Talk about," Tony snorted a laugh, "Talk about how great Christmas is, or Hank Pym – because for some reason you…like? him…"

"Hank Pym is a great man."

"Uh-huh. And that means you," Tony rounded on the last person seated in the room. "You are my piece resistance. Now, talk to me. How fresh is your Nordic Lore? Because – based on my experience bandying 'Host Rights' I think dropping the right names might just get us directly to our destination, skip Go, do not collect two hundred dollars."

"I've been brushing up."

"And just in time for Christmas." Tony slapped his palms together. "Okay team. Let's make my Christmas dreams come true and just get this out of the way before Pep gets home."

Sorry about Paxton and Maggie. At the time that I first drafted this, I had only seen Ant Man once, and I really did not have a grasp of how wonderful they were going to be as characters. They are WONDERFUL characters, whom I have grossly misplayed in this chapter, and for that I apologize. Their part in this story was so little, that by the time I got to revisions, I wanted to focus more on Lang's friends, and...Dale ;)

Also, Ant Man does not take place in NYC. Artistic liberties have been taken for reasons that I assume obvious and I hope were worth it.

That line Dale said that neither Scott nor Loki knew is from A Christmas Carol. The Ghost of Christmas Present says that to Scrooge. It's a wonderful scene and possibly my favorite line in the book. I wanted to include it in some way in this chapter, and it just wasn't gonna happen naturally.