The amount of trauma Gwen's body had been through meant that chronic pain was now a constant part of her life. That was what had started her off on drugs, a stupid attempt at self-medication, and she had finished with them hurting more than when she started. The heroin had been what made her tooth fall out, although if anyone asked she said it was a punch to the face, not to mention leaving her with the ability to catch any cold circulating in the state and the occasional twinge of arthritis in her left knee, of all places.

In addition to this, where Lucy had pressed against her spine during pregnancy she had damaged one of the vertebrae, and now her right thigh was completely numb save for aching in the hip whenever it got cold. She still got ghost pains along her c-section scar, and real pains in the various stitches that had went along with it. She was sure that whoever stabbed her had left some shrapnel in the wound, the messy bastard, so that played her up some nights as well.

She had had years to learn to manage it until all of this was just quiet white noise, but it did mean that waking up some mornings was a bloody nightmare.

"Morning, miss." The strong smell of coffee made her open her eyes to the unimpressive visage of her gangly Geordie stood by her bed.

"Be gentle with me, James," she moaned softly, and whimpered as she propped herself up on one elbow. "It's thunderstorming outside, ain't it?"

"How did you know, miss?"

"I'm actually magic." In reality, her hip was giving her the jip, as it always did in bad weather. It was a surprisingly efficient barometer, in fact. A rare fortunate side effect of her formerly 90% narcotics diet. "Do I have any meetings today?"

"One with the barons at nine tonight, miss."

"Well, that'll be a lark," she said sarcastically, "sat in a leaky warehouse with a couple dozen egotistical megalomaniacs who all want me to work for them for free."

"At least you have some experience with egotistical megalomaniacs, miss."

"I guess you're right. This ain't my first rodeo, after all." She sipped her coffee and grimaced.

"I was actually talking about Mr Loki, miss, but that works too."

She momentarily forgot the aches and pains as she hooted with laughter. "Oh, man, I'm so telling him you said that."

"Please don't, miss. I'd like my head to stay attached to my shoulders, if it's all the same to you."

When he left her to it she showered until she felt normal again, then dressed in her usual serviceable black, filled Algernon's food bowl and went downstairs, where one of the Rats was cooking bacon.

"Who's out?" she asked Ella, the chef.

"Everyone except us five." The Rats had grown to two dozen since their inception. "We're gonna watch Paul Newman films and moon over his pretty face while Bobby doesn't have control of the TV, wanna join us?"

As tempting as the offer was, Gwen had filing to do. "I'll pass, thanks. I've got work."

"You're boring."

"Ugh, don't remind me." She stomped back upstairs into a room filled with rows of metal filing cabinets, and one paper-covered table in the middle. The sight was almost disparaging enough to convince her to convert to digital. Almost.

James came and roused her at about eight, when the thunder and lightning had increased to apocalyptic amounts and the other Rats had returned from their tags looking like drowned, uh, rats. She hailed a cab at the first opportunity and got out a block before the old shipment warehouse the crime bosses were all meeting in, swearing profusely as the heavens opened unto her.

"Mouse," one of them said as she stomped through the impromptu security, "y'look ravishing."

"Anyone got a towel?" she asked, to no avail. "Did I miss anything?"

"Nah, we were just getting started." She took her place at one end of the U-shaped cluster of tables, a few seats down from Ben, who winked at her. She raised a hand in response, took off her hoodie and wrung it out to one side as the meeting began.

She liked that, after having been a part of the dark side of New York for so long, she finally had a say in how it was ran. And unlike the others, most of which had inherited their positions one way or another, she had created hers for herself and as such nobody was there to take it away from her. Because of how she had started, she was often the voice of the homeless, the ones without gangs to protect them in the meetings, and for some reason these big, powerful men listened to her, a 5'3 English girl with a pet mouse on her shoulder.

Perhaps it was because she had known many of them beforehand, and thus gained their trust. Perhaps it was because she had proved her worth with the Rats, with the opposition she had killed. Perhaps they were aware that she would rather everyone had a fair share of power except for the people in the room, and she was smart enough and ruthless enough to make that happen.

Sometimes Gwen wondered why she hadn't, but then she realised the chaos that would ensue both in the underworld and topside if the crime families were to disappear. They were a necessary evil to maintain order (dammit, now she was starting to sound like Loki) and besides, she could gradually erode their power from the inside. That, and if she refused to be a part of it herself, who would speak up for the voiceless?

"Mouse!"

"Hm? Oh, sorry. What's the damage?"

"Too much," said Martoni from the head of the table with his usual grim expression. "We got supplies down there, but the authorities won't go near it. We're all those people've got, and even us going in there is risky with O'Finley controlling all the entrances, along with every other part of it. Two of mine are dead already."

O'Finley had broken away from the syndicate six months previously, and was now controlling a downtown area of Brooklyn with blockades and ransoms. Not only was the area valuable to the other crime barons, but O'Finley had effectively taken the entire district hostage so that everyone was forced to pay his tolls.

"We don't need to take out everyone," some guy reasoned, "his men haven't been loyal since he left the syndicate and took the district, it was a step too far for them. We just need to checkmate him, and they'll let the area go."

"I can take him out," she said, and Martoni raised an eyebrow.

"You sure about that, kid? He ain't some low life tagger, he was one of us. He'll have protection."

"He'll be expecting your offences," she explained, "but not mine. He left before I became public knowledge, remember? My Rats having been getting in and out of there without a second glance, he doesn't suspect a thing. All you need to do is tell me his base."

"You'll send a Rat in?"

She shook her head. "Too dangerous, I'll go myself."

Martoni half-smiled. "That's not normally how we do things around here, ma'am."

One of the barons' secondaries had repeatedly called her pet names- sugar, babe, etc- for the entirety of her first meeting. He was currently residing somewhere in the bottom of the Atlantic, with two lumps of concrete tied to his feet.

"They're not just my employees, they're my wards. And I can handle it," she said, with more confidence than she was feeling. "Trust me."

"No," another one said, "she's not been around half a year and we trust her with this?"

"Plus, if we lose her we lose the Rats."

"I can vouch for her," Ben spoke up, and Gwen smiled behind her hand. "She says she can do something, she'll do better. Learnt that from experience."

"I'm really, really good at not dying," she told the syndicate, to a low rumble of laughter. "Give me his last known address and two weeks."

"Why do you care?" someone asked. "You don't normally get a stick in this kinda stuff."

"Because there's civilians involved, now."

Martoni inclined his head. "See my man for details at the end of the meeting."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"You won't be thanking me when O'Finley's yanking out your fingernails one by one since he found you snooping. I want him gone, Mouse. He's a blemish on my record."

"Yes, sir." She might not give a damn about Loki's authority, but Martoni's was immediate and nigh-on tangible. She respected him because she knew he would not hesitate in killing her himself, since unlike Loki he had no honour. If she tried to take him down, there would be no mercy, no kneeling; just the thud of her body hitting the floor.

Self-preservation was knowing when to pick and choose your battles.

And I've picked the wrong one, she thought, what did I have to go and open my big bloody mouth for? Vain, that's my problem. And now O'Finley's gonna give me the manicure from hell. I'm gonna die. Idiot.

%

"What?!"

"Relax!" she said airily, waving a hand as she sorted through the bag of stuff she had nicked from her various travels, and that which Loki had occasionally brought from Asgard: the Knowhere man's watch, a pretty Asgardian ring, some weird fruit thing… "It'll be fine…"

"You just told me you were going to die!" Loki said. "That does not fall in with the definition of fine." His eyes moved to her hands, which were poking the fruit curiously. "Don't eat that, it's poisonous."

"O-kay." She carefully wrapped it up in a tissue and put it in her bedside drawer. "I was being melodramatic."

"I am beginning to think this 'live fast die young' concept was a bad idea."

"That had nothing to do with it," she told him, "this was part of my natural recklessness and idiocy."

"Oh, well that makes me feel so much better," he snapped.

"Sarcasm is the-"

"Don't say it!" He pursed his lips. "Be serious. How likely are you to survive this?"

"Uh… fifty fifty," she estimated, "forty/sixty for, if you were to put a bet on it."

"I wouldn't. I'm coming with you."

"My darling psychopath," she said sweetly, "no. I dug myself this hole and besides, isn't there a Jotunn resurgence going on or something? Not to mention all the Infinity Stones palaver."

"Yes," he said slowly, "I am amazed you even took note of that."

"As am I. It's a stealth mission, posh boy, it'll be easier on my own. And besides, if you want to bolster your ego some you can still say you helped me with it."

"And how did I do that, exactly?"

She took the swaddled fruit out of the drawer and tossed it into the air. "Poisonous, huh?" she asked, catching it with nimble fingers. To her relief, he began to smile wickedly. "Is it painful?"

"Exceedingly. If there were any survivors, they would most likely describe it as like acid."

"His screams'll be music to my ears, then."

"You are worryingly sadistic sometimes, mouse."

"Only to people who deserve it. How much'll it take to kill a grown man?"

"Only a few drops of the juice," he told her, and laughed as she blanched.

"I am going to wash my hands," she said, "right now."

"Probably wise."

The conversation had cheered Gwen up a little, but Loki's expression when he thought she wasn't looking unsettled her again. There was annoyance that she hadn't allowed him to come along for the ride, she knew that would be there, but it seemed stronger than she supposed it would be - that, and perhaps a little of the recklessness she had felt that day as well. Surely he wasn't jealous of her embarking on this hare-brained scheme, was he?

She dismissed the thought as it came; she had always found it difficult to read Loki, the god of lies was good at withholding his true emotions. She was just projecting onto him that was all- and besides, what could he possibly do while ruling as Odin? He wouldn't do anything to endanger his home, Thor too even if he wouldn't admit it. At least as king he was bound from doing anything rash, like trying to take over another planet on behalf of an intergalactic heavyweight. He would be fine.

And still she worried… no, she had her own problems. Like trying to survive a suicide mission.

A/N so the whole alternating-POV-per-chapter thing I had going on sort of... disintegrates for the next couple instalments. Whoops.