Gwen hated being a maid with every fibre of her being. Every aspect of it clashed with what she felt she ought to be doing, and good god, the Avengers were terrible at cleaning up after themselves- and she was sure half of them did it on purpose. At least with Loki it was only one god's worth of ego, whereas in the tower there was an entire team of it.
Her one ally was Jarvis, the British disembodied voice who ran anything to do with Stark. The AI was lucky enough not to have deep emotions, so he didn't get pissed off like Gwen- or Annie, as she was known there- did, which meant he was always there to talk her out of punching something. Or someone, for that matter.
There were just two positives to this- she now knew more about Thor than she had ever wanted to, and she was getting paid a living wage. She was very excited to tell James the valet this, who had inadvertently become her friend.
"I'm very happy for you miss," he said earnestly as he changed the sheets on the bed. "At least one of us isn't having money problems, miss."
"What's the matter, James?"
"My roommate's just moved out, miss, and I can't afford the rent on my own. But don't you worry, miss, I'm sure I'll think of something."
"You don't need to," she told him, "I'll bunk with you, if you want."
"Really, miss? I would've thought you'd be happy here, miss, what with Mr Warwickson paying for everything."
"Exactly," she replied, "I ain't self-sufficient and I don't like it. Where d'you live?"
"Just round the corner, miss, it's easier than commuting every day. I work late most days so you'd probably see me less than you do now, miss-"
"Am I interrupting something?" said an icy voice, "or should I leave and let the both of you continue playing happy families?"
James straightened with a jolt. "Sorry, sir, didn't see you there, sir."
"I'm thinking about moving in with Jamesie-boy here," Gwen told Loki, "figured it'd be easier for everyone."
"Leave us, James."
"Yessir. I'll be up later with dinner-"
"NOW!"
James disappeared with a small yelp, and disappeared through the door.
Gwen folded her arms. "What was that for?" she demanded.
"Haven't you ever heard of gratitude?" he asked her, cyan eyes cold. His glamour had been slowly fading back into his ordinary form around James, gradual enough for the valet not to recognise him when he eventually wouldn't need it at all.
"Oh, don't be such a pissbaby. At least this way you don't have to play for this place, or much else now I'm earning."
"In a job you hate," he pointed out.
"Which you want me to do!" It was like dealing with a stroppy kid. "There is no logical problem with this arrangement, and all I can think of is that you're jealous."
"Oh, don't flatter yourself," he snapped, and she huffed.
"Look, he'll barely be around and it's bound to attract much less attention than here, it'll make me seem more legit and we're not gonna get complaints from the lobby that our arguing is disturbing the other guests anymore." This latter point had occurred enough times for them both to consider it quite a serious problem, and Gwen guessed from him scowling instead of him smirking that he agreed.
"Fine," he muttered, "but I refuse to set foot in your home if it becomes a hovel."
"Oright princess, whatever you say." She had said the jealousy thing just to tease him, but in reality she suspected he didn't like having someone else call the shots. "Posh boy, you know it's a good idea."
He glared moodily into a corner and didn't answer.
"Jeez, I feel sorry for your poor mother," she joked, and winced as she remembered what had actually happened to Frigga. "Sorry. That just… slipped out."
He shook his head and laughed shortly as something occurred to him. "I still don't fully understand why I haven't killed you yet."
"I'll take that as me being forgiven, then."
%
She went and bought a new rucksack to put all her stuff in, and James was surprised at her one bag when she turned up on his doorstep with Algernon on her shoulder. To keep it in proportion with their new lodgings, she had bought him a smaller cage that would sit in a corner of her bedroom- that excited her too. For the first time in almost a decade, she would have her own bedroom, and she wouldn't be too scared to sleep in it.
Aside from her own room there was James' room, a bathroom, a kitchen-diner and a tiny lounge with a couple of threadbare sofas and a TV.
"It isn't much, miss, but it's home," James said in an apologetic tone.
"It's lovely. And you can stop calling me 'miss' now, James."
"Yes, miss."
She sighed heavily. "Downstairs looked pretty empty on my way in."
James nodded. "Man who owns the building made the rent a lot higher for the ground floor, miss, since it's got access to the basement which is bloody enormous, pardon my French. Goes on for blocks, apparently, used to be part of the underground railroad. Links to the subway too, miss, and it's got proper plumbing and electricity and all that."
"I can understand why he wants to hold onto it, then."
"I'll show you if you like, miss."
Downstairs, which was accessed by a separate door, had another little bathroom and a few rooms that connected to each other in odd ways that put Gwen in mind of a burrow. They had to walk through three to find where the door to the basement had been plaster-boarded shut- "but if you knock on it, miss, you can hear that it's hollow."
"And none of the crime capos know about this?" She whistled through her teeth. "Cor. This is a valuable asset, this is."
"I hope they don't find out about it, miss. I don't want the mafia as my neighbour, if that's all right with you."
She shut herself in her new room and sat on the floor, creating a small arena with her legs for Algernon to run around in. There was another reason for her settling a little, one she hadn't told Loki. Living in a flat would be more respectable than a hotel room which a mysterious someone else paid for, people would be more likely to trust her. And in order to achieve what she wanted, coming across as trustworthy would be a massive help.
She was going to get her daughter back.
"James!" she yelled, "I'm going out!"
"Okay, miss!"
Algernon rode in her breast pocket as she strolled through the backstreets around her and James' apartment, getting her bearings and looking for escape routes. She was having a perfectly decent time until she heard the vaguely familiar footsteps behind her.
She led her and her follower into a shadowy side-alley, then spun around with her knife held tightly in one hand. "Make it easier for yourself and step forward," she called out, and a bulky man with several tattoos and gold teeth emerged from the shadows. "Oh, it's you."
"Nice to see you too, Mel," he said, as she tucked her knife back into her pocket. "How's Algernon?"
"Getting fat. What d'you want, Ben?"
"Was wondering where you got to," he said, "you vanished without a trace, remember?"
"Did not," she said petulantly, "I sent a message back to the girls at St Jude's."
"Yeah, and it wasn't exactly detailed. What happened?"
"I got a client. He's a bigshot, Ben, I couldn't let him pass."
"Do I know his name?"
"Probably, though I ain't telling you it."
Ben chuckled. "Fair enough. I need someone finding, Mel."
"Like I said, I got a client. Too busy for two." Not to mention the kid's in the picture now.
"Don't care," said Ben, "this guy thinks he can cheek me and get away with it."
"Dumb guy."
"Yeah. Well, can you find him?"
"Undoubtedly," she said, "if I had the time, which I don't."
"C'mon, Pinky," he moaned, and the use of her old pet name made Gwen smile. "Make a deal with one of the St Jude's girls or somethin'."
"I don't…" she tailed off. "Actually, that isn't a half-bad idea. I'll send word out when I know the tag's fixed."
"How will you find me?" Ben asked, as she began to walk away.
"I always do!"
She heard his wheezy chuckle as she rounded the corner, on her way to St Jude's women's refuge. Ben wouldn't be the last person to track her down now that he had a vague idea of where she was, and requests for her to tag someone would start to come in thick and fast again. Everyone knew she was one of the best taggers in New York, and the only one never to have been discovered, so perhaps, instead of turning most of her jobs down, she could take advantage of her rep and… outsource.
%
St Jude's would take any woman off the streets, which was unusual, but they also thought they could discipline their girls' bad habits out of them. This obviously didn't work, and Gwen shimmied up the drain pipe and through the window with the broken latch into the kitchen that housed the clique of girls she used to fall in with.
"Sophie!" one of them exclaimed, dropping her mug in the sink. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Not important," she said, "listen, you lot've all tagged people before, right?"
"Not very well," another girl, this one with a red Mohawk, shrugged. "Why?"
"I'll tell you how to do it right, and you do jobs for me, yeah?"
The first woman raised a heavily pierced eyebrow. "What's in it for us?"
"A home," she said, "beds and food and showers, whenever you want 'em. Money too, once we're established enough. And I'll make sure you're safe. It'll be a damn sight better than any shelter in NYC."
"Doesn't sound very legit," said someone. "Where'd you get the money for buying this place to stay?"
"I didn't," she said, "not yet. But I know someone who can get it for me." She looked round at the sceptical faces. "I know it sounds like bullshit, but trust me, yeah? If I get the place, I'll send you the address and if anyone's interested, they meet me there next Sunday noon."
"You want us all to break the law for you?" one asked.
"Don't count as breaking the law if nobody finds out you're tagging 'em," she pointed out. "And when I'm done with you, they won't be able to. C'mon, when have I ever messed any of you about before?"
A loud babbling of several people speaking at once rose from the cluster of girls, and Gwen waved her hands.
"Alright, alright, I get it. Just trust me this once, okay? I swear on Algernon's life."
"You're that serious about this?" asked the Mohawk girl, and Gwen nodded. "Well… maybe I'll think about it."
Gwen nodded. So much for trustworthiness, she thought, but points for initiative.
A/N so most of the directors being considered for Ragnarok were, like, comedy directors. And I don't think he's in the running anymore but Reuben Fleischer was being considered, aka the director of Zombieland, aka the greatest film ever, of all time. I WILL SELL MY SOUL FOR THAT MAN TO DIRECT THE NEXT THOR FILM