The week Ultron decided to throw a tantrum was a very busy one for Gwen, and not just because of the obvious.
Luckily for the Rats all their information was offline, and thus inaccessible to the new villain, but there was still the problem of evil robots trying to kill everything. Ben called back his muscle to protect his own lot, leaving the girls (and James) with half a dozen guns and whatever other weapons they could lay their hands on to defend themselves.
They stowed away underground and barricaded the countless entrances to the basement, which lasted all of two days before one of Ultron's ragdoll bodies decided to tear it down.
"How the hell d'you kill a robot?" Bobby roared, as they sprinted down the corridors followed by what sounded like three of the irregular metal humanoids.
"Go for the head!"
"Isn't that zombies?"
"Only one way to find out!" Gwen yelled, staggering to a halt and turning to face their attackers. "Come on, Tin Man, show us what you got!"
A throaty, metallic chuckle echoed down the passageway. "Trapped like rats," the robot sneered, "how very sweet."
"Oh, you do not appreciate the irony of the situation right now," Gwen muttered, loading shells into the sawn-off shotgun she was carrying.
"You've trapped yourselves, ladies," he continued, the three bodies lumbering forward. "Nobody will hear you screaming down here… nobody to come and save y-"
A deafening shot echoed around the corridor, and Gwen lowered her smoking gun.
"We don't need saving, you misogynist prick," she said, "and apparently, the headshot rule is universal."
"Boss," said Bobby, "there are still two more of them."
Gwen cocked the shotgun. "Not for much longer."
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The Rats (and James) were cleaning up the damage done by Ultron when a red-faced man turned up on their doorstep, demanding to talk to the boss.
"That's me," said Gwen, raising her hand. "Come on through."
She led him into her office, which was miraculously unscathed, and dropped Algernon on the desk.
"Mae Harris," the man said without prelude, "thirty-one years old, five foot eight with-"
"Hold up," said Gwen, "gimme your name first."
He hesitated. "John Hughes."
"And now your real name," she said, shuffling the papers on her desk.
"Why does it matter?"
"That depends," she said slowly, "on what your name is. But I ain't gonna help you if I don't know it, sir, so I suggest you tell me."
"Aaron Harris," he muttered, and Gwen raised an eyebrow.
"I assume Mae is your wife," she said, and Harris nodded. "Well, we don't do personal. Sorry."
"You don't understand," Harris pressed, "she took our daughter."
Gwen's hands froze over the file she was about to pick up. "And I assume she has a very good reason for that," she said slowly.
"I don't give a damn what reason she has!" Harris snapped, banging his fist on the desk. Gwen's only response was to carefully transfer Algernon into her pocket. "Are you even listening to me?"
"Mr Harris," Gwen said calmly, "your breath stinks of alcohol and your knuckles are bruised." She stood up. "Even if the Rats were to engage in personal business, there is no way in hell I would hand your family back over to you. Now get out of my office."
"Are you insinuating I beat my wife?"
She cocked her head to one side. "Well, yeah. I thought that was obvious." She stood up and leaned against her desk with her arms splayed to either side. "You are an unpleasant little man, Aaron Harris, and I hope you never see your family again. Now get. The hell. Out."
"You bitch," Harris snarled, and kicked a chair as he turned away. He barely made it two steps before a piece of lead piping connected to the back of his head and he staggered, only to be spun round and kicked onto his backside by Gwen.
"I've had a very long few days, and you do not get to call me that and walk away," she spat and kicked him again in the face, sending him sprawling back on the floor. He laughed through a mouthful of blood, limbs splayed about him.
"Why not?" he leered, "it's what you are, it's what you all are. You and her both, filthy sluts- AARGH!"
She had driven the heel of her stiletto boot through the palm of his hand.
"You disgust me," she said, and as she twisted her foot he howled in pain again. Two of Ben's hired muscle burst into the room and took in the scene.
"Ma'am?"
"Don't kill him," she said, and as she removed her heel blood spurted from the hole it had created. "I want him to be alive to know he lost to a woman. And let the girls have a go first."
Gwen had not got where she was today by being a good person.
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"Mouse," said a familiar, smooth voice later that evening, "why are there bloodstains over your floor?"
"Because I have had enough of sexism this week," she muttered, and Loki raised an eyebrow. "I just… it's been a long one. Thor's already gone back to Asgard, so I didn't get a chance to tell you about Sokovia…"
"He did mention Ultron to me," Loki said, "what happened?"
"I'll pick you up a newspaper on the way to dinner," she said brusquely.
"Pardon?"
"Dinner. I need a break, and you can laugh at me as I try and figure out how fancy cutlery works," she told him, "you don't get any say in the matter, but I suggest changing your face so people don't freak out. We're gonna do the Ritz."
"Gwen," he said levelly, "I am not going to dinner with you."
She laid a hand on his shoulder- the same hand that had wielded the lead pipe. "For once in your life," she said, "mingle with the proles, posh boy. For me."
A/N updating just before I leave for a friend's 18th. If you don't hear from me again, I've either died from alcohol poisoning or fallen down the hill the pub's on and into a ditch, and am now stuck. These are the only two possible outcomes.