Sorry I took so long to update. Anyways here's the chappie, enjoy and let me know what you think. If there's anything you wanna ask or say, let me know.

Anotherscribe

Chapter 12

"You don't have to come," Raven repeated to Loki as they entered the tattoo parlor.

She had mentioned since last year how she planned on getting more tattoos, Henry wasn't one for them though hers had grown on him like her short hair. How can you be a prodigy and look like a hoodlum? Was his favorite comment.

"I'm curious," he took in the environment like a drug den. "I never saw anyone get a tattoo before. Brogan's convinced it's something painful while Nate says otherwise. I want to see for myself."

"It all depends where you're putting it and your personal tolerance for pain. I know men who scream like pigs when they got their first tatt."

Raven had five tattoos. Her mother's name on her right hand with her date of birth, a red feather dissolving into birds on the left side of her neck, the dragon in the center of her back and F Holes on the back of her neck, and the sun and starry night on her left foot. Loki had gotten used to them. Against his will he regarded them like tiger stripes, or leopard spots, savage and beautiful, a part of her.

It didn't slip by him how his affection grew for her, how he broke his unspoken rules for her, he wasn't that careless. He told her that he had a brother, how he was estranged from her family, how his parents favored his brother over him. The last part he never intended to tell her, incase Thor had mentioned him to her, in that moment it was set in stone he was going to keep her. Until then it was a fleeting thought, a wish in the heat of the moment, now he was determined to keep her for himself.

At her birthday party, she mentioned her plans to add to her dragon tattoo at her back. Unknown to him the dragon was incomplete, it lacked color in certain places, some background and wings. She wanted to wait since after a back tattoo, the skin would be quite tender. Not to mention she was indecisive about what background to get, since the original artist who gave it to her had passed away. At the surprise party, Loki had the rare opportunity to meet her friends, not just Brogan's whom were mutually Raven's also. They certainly knew how precious she was. All them greeted her as a sister, in some instances a mother or daughter. Some welcomed him, recognizing him from Brogan's party, while other observed curious at his lack of tattoos, and polished manners.

It was quite the spectacle. They all danced and behaved like ramped jesters. They played loud music, clearingthe floor of someone's house, he forgot whose, and they danced. He never saw Raven dance, being the guest of honor it was her duty to have the most fun. At one point they treated the floor like a runway as a loud obnoxious song played and they pranced like show horses for all to marvel and cheer. They drank and laugh, and encouraged any debauchery they could. It was almost wilder than Thor's celebrations.

They all embraced who Raven was, she was hardly the weak outcast she portrayed for her family. With them she was the rebel, the spitfire, the wild child, a party girl. They exchanged stories and caught up on time passed. The stories gave insight to a side of Raven Loki rarely witnessed, a more Tony Stark quality to her. Not one of them mentioned the Starks or the Avengers, whom had called in earlier that morning to congratulate her.

But someone even more important did.

Marshall Helms called Raven's cellphone, and her demeanor was outstanding. Loki watched as her face lit up in a way he never saw, not even Tony got this reaction from her. It was childish at best, she twirled and speaking quickly trying to rattle of her whole month into less then five minutes. As she spoke people interjected shouting greetings and well wishes into the phone. It dawned on him Marshall knew her friends and Tony did not, he was her father while Tony was the "other father". Curious.

He had met the man before, briefly at a culinary festival Raven had dragged him to. The Galway Oyster Festival. The exchange although short was branded into his memory.

Marshall Helms had aged less gracefully than Tony Stark. Deep set wrinkles from a hard life Loki would never fully understand, a full head of white hair with narrow eyes glowering with contained kindness. He had a cane with him, Raven said he had a leg injury in his youth that got worse with age. He had sized up Loki with understandable acceptance, giving her a fatherly beckon of his head.

"So you're my daughter's new boyfriend? How's that treating you?" He was bemused at Loki's presence.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, she travels for work, she's impulsive and she loves to go out. You must be exhausted."

He seemed less affectionate than Stark who hovered around Raven. Raven was the one that hovered around him, holding his arm as though he would leave her. Much like a little girl.

"She does keep on the move."

He had ushered Raven to speak to his wife, a dainty woman equally cool as her husband. But no less affectionate with Raven whose cheeks she littered with pale red kisses. Marshall exposed a rare smile at the pair lost in their own conversation. From what Loki observed, he was not naïve about Raven's sex life. Or what his daughter was. Stark painted an image of his daughter, and refused to let it be shaken.

"She tells me you're a freelance writer something or the other. You must be quite a lad if you can put up with her schedule for this long... Don't fret," he added waving his hand, "she only tells me the good things, and I suggest you get used to me if she ever plans to take you to California."

"She talks to you about me?" Loki wondered what Raven told him.

"Well, to my wife more than me, we know all their names. And just for a warning," his voice had lowered to an impressive growl. His eyes never leaving Raven who was talking to Emily Helms, her unofficial stepmother. "You hurt my daughter, I'll guarantee you'll be moving back to London in a body bag. Without any help from the fathead Stark."

He was certainly more protective than Stark.

Loki didn't expect Helms and Stark to be adversaries, nor that Raven favored Marshall over Stark. One would think a child would favor the parent who could spoil her more. And judging by her presents, she didn't like to be spoiled. His was by far the most expensive thing at her birthday party. She asked him not to spend so much money on her since Christmas. He took her advice, and didn't get her anything with diamonds this time. For her birthday he bought her a John Hardy bracelet, he had no head for designers, but to women he was prestigious. And she adored reptiles. The bracelet was pure silver, in the shape of a dragon with a eighteen carat gold ring attached to its tail where the mouth latched onto. Many of the women gawked with open and contained envy, while some men mumbled to themselves as though he had knelt on one knee and proposed marriage. It made him wonder about her other lovers. He hated to admit it but jealousy was creeping into him, the more he cared for the girl.

She knew it was valuable but her friends had no extent of how valuable it was. The fact she was wearing it now made him swell with pride, she was fond of it though she fussed at how precious it was. He wished she wore his other presents. She told him, that's what you get for buying me expensive presents, I can hardly wear them anywhere.

She wore it now as she was getting her tattoo done. She laid on the table while a man colored in her dragon adding on around it, shading in scales, teeth and spines. She and tattoo artist made jokes and light conversation while Loki observed Raven in one of her many elements. Many stories slipped out of her lips when she became comfortable like this.

"Well, what do you think?" She showed him her back. "Cool right?"

From what he saw going on around him there were worse things she could have gotten branded in her skin. He smiled at her, he too like reptiles.

"I like it."

She smiled admiring her new, more vibrant asian styled dragon in a mirror. He always did have a fondness for reptiles. Raven turned to Loki, "Maybe you should get one next time." She grabbed his wrist, "Right here, something small and hipster."

"In your dreams," he pulled her close for a light peck.

Why would she endure such drastic alterations for a "personal statement"? He bothered him, what made this tattoo so important? She remarked how old it was and how long she remained in the chair in Manchester getting it done. He hated being left in the dark. The way she cared for it, rubbing soothing ointment on it. She had come over to his place for dinner, and all that time he watched her. The way the tattoo needed caring for.

In his bathroom he decided to get the answer from the source. "What makes this tattoo so special?" He asked.

"I guess I've always liked dragons. They're this symbol of strength and survival, not to mention it looks badass. It was the biggest tattoo I ever got, it was to symbolize how I became strong through my pain and... Well," she rubbed her head, "I guess I just wanted something to show I survived grieving my mother. I originally wanted a phoenix, you know the whole rising from my ashes thing, but I decided at the last minute to get a dragon. I thought of Daenerys Stormborn, who lost her mother and took back what was rightfully hers, through fire and blood... It felt right."

"You keep talking about your mother," Loki wanted the mystery solved, she wasn't going to tell him the whole story unless he pulled it from her. "I know you said she was murdered... Whenever you talk about her you have this look of sadness in your eyes. I want to understand."

There was that flicker again, this time it there was hidden rage, like a cornered animal about to bite. She angrily threw down her tube of ointment on the sink counter.

She let her loose T-shirt rolled down her back. "It's nothing to talk about, it'll spoil the night."

"We've been together for a year Raven. I don't complain that I have yet to visit your family, either sides, and you've only told Marshall about me. I can't bear not knowing why you can't sleep some nights, what gives you nightmares. I want to understand."

"Henry... You wouldn't understand... You wouldn't..." He stared impatiently, steadfast not backing down from it. Raven had seen that look too many times, to know he wasn't going to drop it. Instead of fighting she gave in. "Fine, what do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Fine," she sneered. "My mother was murdered when I was four years old. She was beaten to death by her boyfriend when he was in drunken rage." She saw his reflection in the mirror. He didn't expect it to be someone so close to her. "I used to call him Papa when I was little... He killed my mother because he found out her dirty little secret, that she slept with Tony Stark and I wasn't his daughter.

"What?" His voice had shrank but Raven did not hear the faint shudder. The horrified look of deja vu. Your only birthright was to die. You were left out on a rock in the snow to die as a baby. I should have left you there, so you wouldn't be here to hate me.

"The only reason she died was because she tried to protect me," her voice became unrecognizably old and bitter. "He and I were home alone that night and I guess he got sick of seeing my face because he tried to kill me... Like an unwanted dog, drowning me in the bathtub. She could have run back for help, but she didn't, she got him off me somehow and pulled me out the tub. It the last act of love was going to get for awhile."

Raven seemed to drift away as though she was there again. Cold and wet hung over the tub rim like a dishcloth. Her life changing for the worst.

"It was the last thing I remember, her face, the tears, Harris taking her outside, closing the door... then her screams. She begged for me, she begged him to let her go to make sure I was okay, he told her, I hope she dies. Over and over. I think I saw her blood running into the bathroom under the door, sometimes I think it was my imagination running wild but there had to blood... She didn't have an open coffin funeral, too disfigured beyond recognition, I heard people say.

"Did you know he told me he was sorry? Harris. When they made me take the stand against him, as a witness for shock value I guess. He had the guts to tell me he was sorry, how he didn't mean it, that he loved me. But that's not quite true now is it?" She added with a dark scoff. "It took me four therapists to help me to function normally, four therapists in twenty years, and they still talk to me like I'm some lost cause. I suppose it's true to an extent, it's funny how therapists, the shitty ones, use soft adjectives for your condition yet they tell your family the worst things. She's damaged, she's not like other children so you can't love her like you would your son, she doesn't love normally.

"It's like they want you to be fucked up, they expect you to be, and then when you doing something fucked up, they want to scream, you should know better. But didn't you already mark me as a liability, am I not playing the role you braced the world for?"

Raven lifted her eyes, focusing back into the present and she saw that Henry had averted his eyes and his entire body from her. He was pressed to the door frame hand pressed tightly to his mouth, silvery eyes like lightning in a rainstorm. He let out a long suffering sigh, Raven wanted to comfort him but her feet remained planted by the sink.

"He tried to kill you because you weren't his... How long did you know?"

"I always knew." The vile news was so engraved into her, it barely made her flinch anymore. "Everyone assumed I was too traumatized to hear anything, so I learned a lot of dirty secrets before the right time... If there ever was one. He only found out because my godmother told him. Ironically she tried relinquishing her rights to me after my mother was buried. She was going to put me into foster care, since Ireland doesn't have any orphanages. If not for Marshall I may have ended up being lost in the foster system, or tossed in some mental home for troubled kids."

"She told him that Tony was your father and he decided to kill you, just like that?"

"Now you see why I had so many therapists." She shrugged, long over the obvious blunder of her fate.

"Did they help?"

She gave a twisted, morose smile. "Only with hiding it, the pain, and smothering the rage. Otherwise, I don't feel any difference, and I feel my family doesn't either, or at least they pretend. Since I talk to them like they're idiots to ease their worries."

Henry came closer to her, watching her reflection as she fidgeted with her greasy fingers. "Why?" He softly demanded.

"People with an overabundance of happiness can never understand the bleak emptiness of a personal tragedy. When you act out your pain they accuse you of throwing this away faux sacredness. Asking why do you have to be this way? Sometimes," she touched her chest while staring at her hands, "I wish I could rip the pain out my chest, and it'd be this physical, pulsing bloody ball and ask them how else can I live with this." She glared at her hands like they cradled all her pain, in a physical meshy ball of blood. "They always want to fix it, cover it in band-aids and bandages, saying we can make you better but the only way anyone can do that is if they turn back time and change history.

"They hate to hear things like that, being a part of the problem and not the solution. Things that make them feel useless and small in your world. Knowing their happiness sickens you to the point of madness because it was unfairly taken from you. They will never understand."

"And Marshall, you love him more, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she said with startling sincerity. "He wanted me when I was nothing but a shell of a human being. He saw something in me that needed love when I wasn't able to feel anything but fear and hurt. Why wouldn't I love him more? He could have turned his back on me and I would have never known. I don't remember knowing him before she died. He doesn't expect me to be a well-rounded sane woman, he expects me to function with a degree of normalcy and support myself. I can tell him my about my boyfriends because when they go he never asks why, and if I cry he holds me until I stop. He loves me because I'm strong, and Tony loves me because I'm eccentric. I love Tony dearly but Marshall loved me better. I can scare Tony, I can't scare Marshall if I tried."

"You scare him?"

"You seriously believe a girl with my mental problems didn't have episodes growing up? Shame on you," she hollowly joked wagging her finger at his reflection.

"I had no idea you suffered -"

"Don't you dare pity me," she snapped like a viper. She argued with his reflection. "I've outgrown it and the time to pity me has long expired. I've fought by myself to get this far, it isn't perfect but I'm still here, and that is nothing to pity me for."

"I'm not pitying you," Loki and Raven's reflections stood side by side. "I just never expected this from you, that's all. It must not be easy for you, to pretend," he averted his eyes, writhing under his skin. "I can understand the sentiment. When I was a young man, I was told my birth father discarded me as a baby... Sadly the home I was taken into wasn't much an improvement."

"Abusive?" She deadpanned. He never liked mincing words. "Or were you treated differently, because you were different?"

There was immeasurable fury in his eyes but Raven boldly stared back at it. If the glass had cracked she would have continued to stare at the fragmented reflection.

"Yes," he gritted out, "because I was different."

"Makes you feel like shit, doesn't it?" She muttered more to herself. "You can jump through a thousand hoops it won't matter unless you change, and sometimes you can't even do that right... You would think with history like this repeating itself, parents would understand that children can't be moulded into what they want... Not without a price."

"He loves your brother more doesn't he?" Loki threw in her face. It almost sounded like a taunt, like he wanted her to cry. Too bad Raven had shed her tears a long ago.

"He denies it of course," Raven said. "Who couldn't love Van more? So sweet, so likeable... so effortless to love. Of course he loves him more, don't fathers always want sons to pass on their family name, to model after themselves? Of course he loves Van more than me, he loves her mother and can barely remember mine. He can't even admit that I'm a spitting image of her."

"And you don't care?" On edge from her heartless dissection he wanted to level the ground. He wanted her to break but Raven was beyond broken.

"I have another father who loves me. He would have given me his last name if he had the chance to. Why should I ruin their little charade, if Tony wants to pretend he loves me and Van equally, I'll let him. He wants to think I treat him and Marshall equally, I'll let him. He wants to pretend he's fixed me, I'll let him."

Henry's reflection trembled, fighting to throw fire at her unable to fling the first ball. Raven recognized the struggle not to rage, the brewing hate in his clench jaw. She had stared at her own face as self-loathing slithered under her skin like some alien parasite from a cheesy science fiction movie. She knew the fight like she did the alphabet. She went behind him, and hugged him, she let her own melancholy fizzle out and poured love through her hands hoping his tight armor would let it in. He was going to shove her off, but he rethought the action in mid-motion pressing his fists on the sink counter as if they were the only thing holding him upright.

Raven had been to too many therapists not to see the signs of a psychological blunder. Not to see pain in someone else's eyes, like a song from a broken music box. She lapped her hand around his stomach, imagining her embrace may force out his discord from his stomach like expired food, or simmer it into an elixir for indigestion.

"Henry, is your expiration date over too?" He didn't reply but she knew he heard. "Henry, I'm so sorry your father threw you away. I'm so sorry, no one in the world deserves that. This isn't pity or degrading trivialization. I am genuinely sorry you had to hear someone tell you that, and that they couldn't have told you in much better way. I'm so sorry. He had no idea what he threw away and someone should rip his balls off and make him eat them raw and bloody. Fucking asshole... No offense," she added, just in case.

Henry turned around facing her, no longer addressing her reflection. "No one ever apologized for that. And for your information, he is dead." Her eyes widened. "He never knew I was his son, and I don't care if he knew or not."

"He shouldn't. He had no right to even look at you."

A strange smile spread across his face evaporating the discord. "You think so?"

"Any man who hurts an innocent child is lower than shit," she rested her head on his heart. "Only cowards pick on people smaller than them."

He dipped down to kiss her, full of passion most she ever felt from him. She had no opportunity to over think it because he had picked her up by her thighs setting her down on the sink counter. He was going to...

"My back," she reminded him in the midst of loud kisses. As his hands pulling down her shorts."Henry, my..."

"I don't want anything," he dipped his fingers between her legs, rubbing through the fabric. "Tell me what happened to him, Harris?"

He was asking her this now?

"He... He... got shot in the courtroom during the trial. I heard the shot but I didn't see it."

Henry, buried in the crook of her neck growled, "He deserved worse than death." His teeth grazed her skin making her leap against his hands.

When had her neck been this sensitive? Her neck had never been a weak spot, only after she started romping with Henry did her neck become a kill switch. Her skin burned, a heat so intense it felt like the slightest flick would send her off a cliff. It was like the best masturbation session on speed, heightened beyond words.

There was time to question because everything to hit fast forward. She was wet and he was revving up her engines like she was refusing to start. This was getting weird, and intense. Asking such morbid questions while his fingers were nestled and working between her legs. Her skin was hot like fever and his fingers were dialing up the thermostat. He was gentle with her, teetering on the edge of heavenly bliss. The sparks were maddening.

"No one is ever going to hurt you again," he breached her and she clutched his shoulders trying to put out this impossible fire. "Do you hear me, no one is ever going to hurt you like that again... I'll kill them myself."

"Henry," she murmured delirious. "Henry."

"Shh," he began to pump his fingers in and out of her, "enough talking. Focus on my hand between your legs."