A/N: So sorry it's been so long. School got hectic and then I got sort of artistically side tracked. Chapter six will be much quicker in coming.

The first thing I was consciously aware of was a warm hand on my shoulder- the second was the way my face had sunk into my pillow as I slept. It took me a second longer to feel the hands gentle rocking, and a few more to comprehend the soft sound of "Tony. Tony, wake up."

I grumbled something in response that even I probably couldn't translate. My sleep addled brain had no trouble identifying the man trying to (gently) jostle me awake.

"C'mon, Tony, it's time to wake up, buddy."

"Steve. What time is it?"

"Nine thirty."

I let out a petulant groan.

"Then it's not time to wake up."

Steve chuckled, and I couldn't bring myself to resent it. "You knew I was coming over."

"That doesn't mean I can't be grumpy about it." I felt the bed sink under Steve's shifting weight.

"That is, in fact, what that means. Now come on." He patted me on a blanket covered leg. "Up and at 'em, unless you want me to confiscate your comforter."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, much to my own chagrin, adjusted to the brightness of the room. "I have a gun in my bedside table. I will shoot you if you so much as reach for my blankets."

"You can barely open your eyes, I'm pretty sure I could take you." I propped myself begrudgingly against my pillows, because I would rather be warm and upright than cold and flat. "Good man," Steve said with a supportive pat to my shoulder.

Steve repositioned himself beside me, leaning against the head board, while I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and ran my fingers through my disheveled hair. Our years of friendship were the only thing that prevented my vanity from kicking into gear.

"I had expected him to be blond."

"What?" I asked through a yawn.

"That client of yours, I thought he would be blond."

"Oh." I snickered. "And why did you assume that?"

"Well, you said Icelandic. They're usually blond, right?"

I was far too groggy to care about the likelihood of raven haired Icelanders. "I assure you, I wouldn't know."

Steve remained quiet, looking oddly displeased.

"Look," I started, confused as to his stern face, "maybe it's bottle black, what does it matter?"

"It doesn't, really. I was just saying, because it surprised me when we met."

I chose to move on, not all that interested on Steve's ruminations on hair color. "So, you've been properly introduced?"

"Yes. Miss Potts was kind enough to handle that, since you couldn't be bothered."

"Good," I ignored the jibe because I wasn't in the least bit ashamed of catching a little shut eye.

"He calls her Pepper, you know. They're already on a first name basis."

"And?"

"And don't you think that's taking some unearned liberties?" Steve urged, clearly disapproving.

"He wants to be on a first name basis with everyone. It's a cultural thing." I dismissed the observation with a wave of my hand. "And you could call her Pepper, too, if that's what this is about."

"It's not. I'm just saying it's odd."

"Fine. Pass me my clothes, will you?" I gestured vaguely to the dresser. Steve graciously stood and went to work rifling through my drawers.

"Apperently, you've also decided to let him live with you," he said inquisitively as he held up a pair of slacks.

"Not those. Yes, he's staying here for a bit."

"You just met him, and now he lives here?"

"No, I just met him, and now he's my guest, because otherwise he's going to get himself shot to Hell."

"Things just seem to have gotten awfully familiar, very quickly."

"Aww, is somebody suffering from the green-eyed monster?" I teased. "Don't worry, Stevie, you'll always be my best girl."

Steve held up a shirt with a glare, but it was softer than it could have been. I threw back the creamy blankets and slipped out, away from the comfort of bed.

"So, do you have something for me, or are we just going to chit chat about how much you dislike Loki?"

Steve looked genuinely offended while I dug through my clothes. "I don't dislike him. I've got no reason to hold this situation against him. He seemed very friendly. It's you being irresponsible I'm worried about."

"Well, that aside, what did you find out?" I urged him away from the current topic as I began to dress.

"Plenty, but it's all pretty, ah, vague. If it wasn't, the guy would be behind bars already," Steve said, returning to sit on the edge of my bed.

"Spill it then."

"Well, for starters, we're pretty sure he's got the harbors all wrapped around his finger. He can get whatever he wants in or out. He probably gets paid to let shipping businesses go about theirs in peace."

That explained the warehouse down by the dock. That Genoshan smuggler was sure to come in handy.

"What's he bringing in, drugs?"

"No. At least, we're pretty sure it's not drugs. Contraband, we think his ties with the black market are strong. It's probably mostly Latverian wares, I mean, he practically owns the place. More than just the crime there, it would seem. The government is probably in his pocket."

"America. I need to know about what he's up to here."

"All the usual unpleasantness: extortion, money laundering most likely. The man has a legitimate business, how he uses it, we don't know for sure."

I nodded as I finished buttoning my shirt.

"What else? No- don't care about what. Who, who would sell him out?"

"That's harder to say. He's not a man you cross. Your best bet is going to be people he's crossed, and have nothing to lose but an enemy. Wilson Fisk would be a good place to start."

"He's not really the type I'd like to get acquainted with. An underling, though, that might work well. What did Doom do to Fisk?"

"Don't know." Steve shrugged. "Like I said, if we had specifics, we would have busted up his operations already, or passed up what we've got to the people who could, at the very least."

I decided to try for an option I doubted he'd be open to, but it would have been useful to make my own assessment of the facts. "So, can I see those files?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm not bringing you official records."

"You've already given me official information."

"You know full well that it's different."

"Fine," I sighed. "What else?"

"You might head over to the Baxter Building, see if Mr. Richards will see you. Have you met?"

"We have, actually. Smart man, nice looking wife." The Storms have very attractive genes.

"When did you meet?"

"We used to run in the same circles."

Steve nodded, allowing the conversation's turn to pass on without incident.

"If Fisk and Richards are dead ends, I'd suggest you get down to the loading docks and do some first hand sniffing around."

"Not a bad idea. I'm going to have to go down there no matter what, either way."

"Two birds then," Steve added pleasantly. Steve almost always says things pleasantly.

"That's how I'll always have it, if I can help it." I wiped the last bit of sleep from my eye. "I'm going to wash up real quick. Do you want to grab breakfast?"

"I'd love to, but I probably shouldn't. I've already taken extra time out this morning. Things are insane right now, but most nights I'd be happy to grab a bite, or a beer."

"You know I'm busy nights if I can help it. But sure, if you can't skip out for a simple lunch anytime soon, we can try for after work."

"Pepper took down some more specific information for you," he told me as he stood.

"Good. It's not fair to tell me things early in the morning."

Steve laughed and shook his head. "We're like three hours past early morning."

"This is my house, and if I say it's early, it's early."

"Whatever you say, Tony. I'll leave you to powder your nose," Steve teased, I imagined probably in retaliation for earlier.

"Hey, I have to look my best." I would have objected, had I been more unaware of my vanity, but I wasn't.

"Stay out of trouble."

"I'll do my best. Thanks, by the way, for the information."

"I would say 'anytime', but, well, you know."

"I do."

Steve left me with a few words of encouragement and a few more of warning, but those words weren't the ones on my mind as I brushed my teeth, and washed my face. Frankly, I had more to go on than I do in a lot of my cases, so I felt silly steeling myself so thoroughly for difficulty, but then again, it wasn't the information that made that one difficult, it was what the repercussions of getting it might be.

I spent even longer making myself presentable than usual before I exited the bathroom.

I found Loki sitting quietly on the edge of my bed, fiddling absently with the embroidered edge of my comforter.

"Good morning, Tony," he greeted me, looking up with a small smile. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but I was hoping to talk to you, and you left the house rather quickly yesterday morning, so I wanted to make sure I would catch you."

"Don't worry about it. As a rule, I don't leave anything out that I wouldn't want seen by whoever cares to look. Uh, what did you want to talk about?"

"Well, I was hoping you would include me in this process," he explained. "Not only for my own peace of mind, of course, but also because I am sure I could be of use. I'm smarter than my current situation might lead you to believe."

"You want to help?" Clients taking part in their own cases is, as a general rule, a bad idea.

"I do." He nodded. "I understand that it would be unwise for me to just go gallivanting around, but, I can be put to better use doing.. pretty much anything other than sitting around here all day. Not that I don't appreciate your hospitality. Providing me with all that you have is truly lovely; I just though you could use me."

"Fine, but you're going to stay in today. I'll make you a list of names. See if any of them jog your memory, if your job ever brought you in contact with them."

"I'd be happy to."

I probably would have asked him to anyhow, and if it kept him out of my (and harm's) way, it would be a good thing. "Good." I moved to grab my wallet from the bedside and gun from the drawer, but he stayed seated, bent with his elbows on his knees. "Is there something else you need?"

"No."

"Then don't get too cozy. I'm heading out."

"Ah, of course," he said politely, but did not seem in the least abashed as he stood. He followed fast on my heels as I left my bedroom, and he shut the door gently behind us. "Who are you seeing?"

"A few people. Haven't made up my mind on the specifics just yet," I answered noncommittally as my feet hit the stairs.

"How long do you think you'll be?"

"Long as it takes. Earlier than last night if I can swing it that way."

"I see." He took my evasiveness better than most do when getting to know me.

When we reached the waiting room, I fished what I had gotten from Pietro (well, Wanda gave me much more straightforward answers than her brother did, but he didn't actively work against progress and that was both a positive and a recent development).

"Here." I handed it to Pep. "Just consolidate this with any names Steve gave you, and make a copy for Loki. I just want the originals."

"Good morning to you too, and I'll get right on that."

It didn't take much time for her to bang out copy of the names, and I used the time to gather a few things from my office, coffee among the most important.

Loki's last few questions delayed me on my way put the door, and stepping out onto the street, I was reminded of why I'd never gotten hitched.

I spread out all the papers I'd so far acquired in the passenger seat of my Cadillac. I had a packed day ahead of me. I needed to talk to as many people as possible (before it got around that somebody was asking questions), and find out if the list Loki made from memory had anything in common with what Steve had given to Pepper. Not being a man made to do paperwork, I decided maybe I'd come back for lunch and do that part a little later.

First things first: I needed a word with a certain scientist across town.

I pulled in down the street from the Baxter Building, bemoaning the last sip of my coffee. I swept my papers together and piled them lazily into the glove compartment before I got out. As I entered, I mentally prepared myself for the arbitrary dance of 'No, I don't have an appointment, Yes, you should send me up anyway. No, I'm sure he'll want to see me," that I was about to do with Richards' secretary.

"How can I help you?" she asked politely as I approached her station.

"I'm here to see Reed Richards."

"Oh," she said with a frown. "I don't believe Mr. Richards has any appointments this morning."

"I know. I didn't make one, but he'll see me."

Her expression turned from half heartedly apologetic to wary and put off surprisingly quickly.

"Just tell him that Tony Stark is here to see him," I said with a convincing smile.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," she replied, not looking sorry at all, "but like I said, no appointments today. He's not here."

"When will he be back?"

"He should be home tomorrow. Would you like to make an appointment?"

"No. Is Ben Grimm here?"

"No."

"Susan Storm?"

"No." I sighed, Coming back the next day wasn't appealing, and it didn't fit into my plans in the least.

"Mr. Storm is here. I could find out if he'll see you."

As fun as Johnny is, I knew he wouldn't have the information I wanted. Trying to get useful information out of that guy that's time sensitive feels a whole lot like beating your head against a wall. "No, but give him a message. Tell him I was here, and that his brother-in-law needs to call me as soon as he can, do you understand?"

She gave a small nod and jotted something down.

"Now, if you wouldn't mind, doll face."

"Pardon?"

"I want you to tell him now," I reasserted.

"I'm supposed to stay here."

"If I'm not mistaken, you aren't a guard. Relaying messages is your job." She pursed her lips and testily stood. "Thank you." I received a petulant glare in response.

I waited to see her get on the elevator before I left. I clambered into my car, not particularly discouraged, but with a definite lack of enthusiasm. I rifled through my glove compartment until I pulled free the (now crumpled) sheet of paper with the names and addresses I'd gotten from the Maximoff twins. If Doom made a lot of his business out of the ship yards, smugglers were a great place to start. The address I had been given was in a neighborhood that, although I was not overly familiar with it, wasn't too far from the Baxter Building. Walking seemed easier than driving.

It was on a sweet little side street I hadn't previously realized was non-residential. Both sides were lined with shops and a few restaurants (which would come in handy for my purpose). The address I was looking for turned out to be an antique shop set between a bookstore and a pharmacy. It had a quaint look about it, not the sort of place I would have looked twice at. I was able to take the time to examine the place more closely, since it apparently didn't open before one on Sundays.

There was no way I was making the walk back to my car just for the wait. I decided to settle in at the little place across the street for an early lunch to pass the time. It looked like it might have something I enjoyed, and more importantly, it had a large pane of glass that overlooked the antique store. The restaurant was wholesome and brightly colored- not my kind of place, but good for my purposes. I hunkered down by the convenient window and waited to order. If the Genoshan's name was familiar to me for a reason, like I'd thought, the vantage point would give me the opportunity to make sure our acquaintance hadn't been an overly negative one, before he saw me.

A gangly young man took my order of some long sandwich they supposedly specialized in, and I returned my attention (what I had of it for staring at an empty street) back outside. I stared semi-absently at the road while I waited, trying to let my mind stay away from the more fatalistic ideas about my current case. The sidewalk was mostly clear of people. Most people were probably at church.

My eyes lazily followed a tan car that drove leisurely past. I glanced to my watch. Time was moving too slowly. I'm not a sit around and wait type of guy.

The stringy teen brought me my food with a smile. The smile did his face a great service.

I continued to stare half heartedly across the street when the tan car passed—again? That didn't sit well with me. I leaned towards the window and tried to peer down the street see what it did. The car pulled up in front of a store that looked very, very closed. I waited to see who would step out, but no one did.

Not good.

I tried to tell myself not to jump to conclusions, but I'd already had somebody watching me two nights before, and although I had initially suspected Loki, he hadn't been wearing what they had been wearing. I waited.

Ten minutes, I told myself. Ten minutes, and if they don't either drive away or get out of the car, I'm getting out of here.

The ten minutes dragged and I kept a near constant eye on my watch. At the five minute mark, I had my sandwich wrapped and paid the check. When ten minutes passed, and nothing had changed, I stood as casually as I could, slipped on my jacket, and picked up my uneaten lunch. I stepped out of the restaurant purposefully not looking in the car's direction, and in doing so, nearly collided with some big, tall, blond fella'. He looked like I'd surprised him, so I muttered an apology and an 'excuse me' as I walked back the way I had come. The smuggler would have to wait.

I found myself wishing I had driven, or was at the least, somewhere more crowded. I walked the first few blocks without looking back. Eventually, I rounded a corner and settled onto the bottom of a stoop. If the car was following me, it would wait long enough so I wouldn't be aware of it, then come. Maybe it I waited I'd get a better view of the driver when the car rounded the corner. I spent a solid fifteen waiting, but it didn't come.

Maybe it's paranoia after all? Either way, I knew I should head back to the car to be safe. I could go over the notes back home, grill Loki while I was there, and then head back to the antique place after one when it would actually be open.

I was grateful to reach my car, despite my lock of evidence of danger. To my own embarrassment, I sighed in relief as I pressed the key into the ignition.