We said our dreams would carry us (and if they don’t fly, we will run). / The Avengers
Title: We said our dreams would carry us (and if they don’t fly, we will run).
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Avengers
Prompt: Written for this prompt (So either Steve works at a supermarket because AU or because SHIELD thought a 'normal' job might help him adjust to 21st century life. And every night, just before closing Loki turns up buying increasingly odd combinations of items).
Summary: Loki tells himself he wants his own apartment and a high-paying position at Shaw's law firm. What he really wants is much different. (Loki/Steve)
A/N: Small crossover with X-men: First Class. Title from Santigold’s Disparate Youth. Also, there was once a hospital called Manhattan General, but it merged with Beth Israel Hospital in 1964. (I couldn’t think of a better name. Sorry. :<)
Loki had always thought that being a gay man would save him from cohabitating with a pregnant woman.
Of course, he had not factored in Thor (brother and roommate, as neither of them earn enough to pay for individual city rents). Thor, who fell in love with/married Jane Foster; Thor, who did not think to get his own apartment before procreating; Thor, who winces every time he sees Loki’s monthly credit card statement (which is now cluttered with charges for chocolate bars, mangos, anchovies, or whatever Jane, now six months along, had been craving at the time).
Today, Jane’s text says I am frying up zucchini patties! But we are out of zucchini, immediately followed by, If the store has a pharmacy, could you pick up some hand lotion, too? Loki makes a mental note of the request before setting his phone down and turning back to his latest array of case notes. Something about embezzling funds from a charity. Small potatoes.
Small potatoes that he has no interest in pursuing. Besides, it has always been Loki’s opinion that anyone who is stupid enough to get caught embezzling deserves their licks.
“I won’t tattle if you leave early,” Erik says from across the room. “You might as well. For all you complain about living with Jane and Thor, you’re always the first out of this office.”
“Phil is the first out of this office,” Loki corrects. “I merely follow his lead.”
“Phil left ten minutes ago.”
It should concern Loki that Erik is so knowledgeable about his co-workers’ comings and goings, but it’s not as though Loki doesn’t employ a few questionable tactics of his own.
“You ought to have married Jane yourself, considering all you do for her,” Erik adds, dumping a pile of papers into the recycle bin by his desk. “I’ve never seen you so chained to someone.”
“Have you ever lived with a pregnant woman?”
The question prompts Erik to glance up, his normally stern expression relaxing into rare, mild amusement. Initially, Loki had been reluctant to share an office, though that eventually changed when he learned that Erik (one of the few at Shaw & Associates that Loki can call a friend) would be his cohort. They’re near the same age, have an equal amount of work experience, and value the privacy of others. All in all, they manage a peaceful coexistence.
“I haven’t,” Erik finally concedes.
“Then don’t judge me. I appease Jane for my own personal welfare. In any case, I won’t be making all these grocery runs after the baby is born.”
“Perhaps not groceries. But diapers, formula, baby food-”
“You’ve made your point,” Loki snaps. Erik’s prediction is unsettling on a number of levels, because it implies that Loki, Jane, and Thor will still be living together a year from now. But what can he do? Between Thor’s construction job, Jane’s adjunct teaching position, and Loki’s place at the law firm, they just manage to scrape by month to month. It seems like every day Loki vows to move out, and every day Thor shoots him a wounded look, like he can’t imagine living without his dear sibling-who, conveniently, pays the rent while Thor covers utilities and medical insurance.
Erik spares him further conjecture when he grimaces at his last pile of documents. He unceremoniously tosses them into his To Be Shredded box.
Loki studies his own desk. It could certainly use a bit of organization (the sticky notes have gotten out of hand; they make his side of the office look like a rainbow), but he’s so sick of being here that he immediately discards the notion. He decisively grabs his briefcase, coat, and scarf, and nods goodbye to Erik.
“Don’t forget our meeting with Stane at 10:00 tomorrow,” Erik says.
Loki makes a face but nods in acknowledgement. Obadiah Stane has accused Tony Stark of skimming from hundreds of employee pensions; naturally, Stark turned right back around and blamed Stane, so on and so forth, etcetera. It’s the sort of case that can put any low-level lawyer on the map. Loki tells himself that he and Erik are lucky to be included in this one-but that doesn’t mean he has to like Stane, or that he doesn’t feel a bit sorry for Stark.
He scans the hallway and makes a stealthy beeline for the side exit. The front door is off limits for anyone who wishes to avoid Shaw’s sharp eye, and while it’s true that Loki is an adult and has every right to leave when he wants, there’s an unwritten rule cautioning against anyone who doesn’t put 100% of their time (and heart, if indeed lawyers have those) into the firm. This means Loki must resort to taking the long route to freedom.
Outside, the October air is brisk and biting. Loki loves it.
Before Thor and Jane were married, Loki used to head straight for the subway and take the first train home, eager for peace and quiet. But nowadays, he’s usually required to make a pit stop at Xavier’s first. Xavier’s is a small organic grocers two blocks down from Shaw and Associates; it’s an odd little market, storing produce in quaint wood crates and stacking canned goods on mismatching shelves, but it’s clean, organized, and affordable. Loki is even willing to ignore the fact Clint, one of the employees, has an alarming tendency to juggle produce as he stocks it (Loki once watched him juggle three oranges and a can of olives, stopping only when a young family walked in and gave him a strange look).
And then there’s Steve Rogers.
It says a lot about Loki’s pathetic life that his conversations with Steve are the highlight of his day. Loki’s career in criminal defense has left him numb and hard-hearted, and most of his interactions are either in the office or in a courtroom, where he is constantly bombarded with hostility from co-workers, clients, judges, and juries. But then he drags himself into Xavier’s, dead on his feet and zombie-eyed, and watches Steve (in his humble plaid shirt and brown shoes) open the door for elderly shoppers, or help a young mother reach a tall shelf, or dutifully mop the floor despite being off the clock.
Today the store seems empty; not even Clint is juggling the new shipment of red apples. Loki moves towards the produce and bags two pounds of zucchini and snatches a bottle of vanilla-scented (does Jane like vanilla? Would she prefer another scent? Christ, he is married to that woman) lotion from the corner, where Charles furnishes a small variety of health products. Steve glances up from behind the register when he hears Loki approach. His automatic polite smile seems to transform into a more genuine expression.
“You look happy,” Steve comments. “Having a good day?”
Loki wisely doesn’t mention that this is the good part of his day.
“Good enough,” he answers, setting the basket onto the counter. It isn’t until a millisecond later that he realizes how suggestive phallic-shaped vegetables and lotion look in tandem. Horrified, Loki blindly grabs a magazine from the nearby display and tosses it on top of the zucchini. He closes his eyes when he sees it’s a copy of People. Worse, Steve has paused to examine the glossy cover.
“It’s for Jane,” Loki lies.
“I would’ve thought Jane would be too intellectual for something like this,” Steve remarks. “But I guess we all have our guilty pleasures.”
Just as in a courtroom, Loki latches onto the small inference and quickly turns it around on Steve, whose fluster might help him forget about the People situation. Besides, he can’t pass up an opportunity to fish for some of Steve’s interests.
“I assume that includes you. One wonders what Steve Rogers’ guilty pleasures are.”
His quasi-flirtatious tone causes Steve’s face to flare pink.
“Do old movies count? Because that’s as far as I’m taking this conversation.”
Old movies. Others might be disappointed by such a benign revelation, but the characteristic answer leaves Loki nothing short of pleased. He leans against the counter.
“If we’re speaking in the vein of Hitchcock, then ‘Rear Window’ is a favorite of mine. I’ve always marveled that most of the drama takes place in a single room, and yet I never get bored.”
“Me, too. Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly are the best of the best. And if you go further back, ‘The Philadelphia Story’ is always at the top of my list.”
“This entire conversation makes me think you have no respect for modern cinema,” Loki observes. He wouldn’t blame Steve if that were the case. After being forced to watch the Transformers trilogy, Loki might have to join Steve’s side. The first was alright, but Revenge of the Fallen was just plain awful. And don’t even get him started on Battleship.
“Some aren’t bad. The Star Trek reboot was really good. And ‘Inception’ was phenomenal.” Steve laughs, as though embarrassed, and confesses, “I actually saw it twice.” He glances up at Loki, who is watching him with what he hopes is bland disinterest. “What about you? What do you do for fun?”
I visit this store, Loki thinks. His single guilty pleasure is to see Steve and, if he’s lucky, exchange conversations much like this one. The rest of his time is spent at the office, or helping Thor prepare the nursery. Just last weekend they assembled the crib, only to take it apart and start over when they realized Thor had misread the instructions.
“Christ almighty,” comes Clint’s bored voice from above, “you two should just make out and get it over with. I can’t stand the tension.”
A career’s worth of angry lawsuits has taught Loki to stay cool and calm no matter the situation, but he can’t help the way his heart freezes at the unexpected remark. He looks up to find Clint sitting on one of the wood beams that crisscross the ceiling.
“What are you doing up there?” Steve demands. “I thought you were out buying Christmas lights.”
“Just got back,” Clint replies, holding up a strand of white lights as evidence. He seems so comfortable with heights that Loki imagines he was a bird in a past life. “You were too busy making eyes at each other to notice my heralded return. I’m gonna go ahead and hang them, if that’s cool.” He pauses. “Should I have bought mistletoe for you two lovebirds? Because I can pick some up.”
Steve, already embarrassed at the making eyes comment, flushes at the mere implication of mistletoe. He makes quick change of Loki’s twenty dollar bill and then slides the bag over to him.
“Just hang them, please,” he stiffly demands, keeping his gaze focused on the cash register. Loki thinks the lack of eye contact should be a deterrent, but the truth is Steve’s long eyelashes would be enough to keep his attention-if said attention weren’t so creepy on his end. He grabs the bag. They’ll have to finish their conversation another time.
He leaves just as Charles, proprietor, rolls in from the storeroom. Charles, who has always been frighteningly perceptive, takes one look at Steve before frowning up at Clint.
“What did you do?” he demands.
“Me? Why do you always think it’s me? Maybe it was Steve!”
Loki ducks out of the store, leaving the argument behind. He dares to glance through the large storefront window as he hurries down the sidewalk; Steve is watching him. When Steve realizes he’s been caught, he turns and hustles into the stockroom under the pretense of working. Loki isn’t sure whether to be glad or unhappy about this. On one hand, Steve does seem receptive to friendship with Loki, which, if Loki is lucky, could lead to more. On the other hand, the world is polluted with morons like Clint Barton who complicate these situations with ill-timed and inappropriate remarks.
Loki sullenly rides the subway home, and his mood is no better when he gives Jane the bag of zucchini and damn hand lotion. She happily accepts the offerings and moves towards the food processor, where the blade has already been prepped for use.
He slouches at the table and watches her work. Law is mentally and emotionally draining, and the awkward situation at the grocery store is a supplemental stressor. Loki hopes she doesn’t notice.
“I’m going to ask you what the matter is,” Jane says, out of nowhere, “and you are going to tell me the truth. No funny stuff.”
“I hardly think it’s any of your business,” Loki retorts, feeling short. “Thor is your husband, not me. Go to him if you feel like being a bother.”
“A bother?” Jane crosses her arms above her round stomach. “What’s got you in such a bad mood?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could it be I’m sick of being your errand boy?”
Jane’s arms fall to her sides, and Loki despises himself now more than ever. He dares to look up at her. When he sees she isn’t preparing to clobber him with a frying pan, Loki reaches out, gently tugs on her wrist, and pulls her over so she can stand next to him. When Jane’s close enough, he kisses her belly.
“That’s not what I meant to say at all,” he apologizes. “I’m sorry. Poison my dinner. I won’t blame you.”
“It’s all right if you feel that way,” Jane finally says. For all her excitement about impending motherhood, there’s an underlying tone of sadness when she adds, “I know it’s unfair that you’re stuck to me and this baby. I never planned it to be quite like this, but next semester I’ll be a full-time professor at the college. Maybe then Thor and I can find a place of our own and let you get on with your life.” She hesitates before asking, “Is this really what’s got you all riled up? Is it a case at work? Is it Shaw?”
It usually requires a unique combination of factors (inebriation, threat of bodily harm, etc.) to pull the truth out of Loki, but Jane deserves it after his nasty, ill-aimed comment.
“I’ve met someone,” he grudgingly admits. “You’d think two months is enough time to approach him, but...”
“But what?” she presses. “He’s taken? He’s not interested? If it’s because Thor and I are here, if we’re stopping you from bringing him home-”
“No,” Loki cuts in. He can hardly fathom “bringing him home”. His body lights up just from thinking about it, his head filling with images of what it might be like to have Steve alone. Better yet, Steve seems like the sort who would take his time, and enjoy kissing before anything else, and refuse to cut and run afterwards. “No, it’s-he is... a very good person. Doesn’t even litter. And if he ever found out who I work for, and how I make my paycheck, he’d be out the door in a second.”
“I know I’ve said this before, but have you ever thought about opening your own firm? Thor always brags about how well you did in your environmental law classes. Quit the criminal defense circuit and do something for the EPA, or a civil rights group. Do something that lets you sleep at night.”
“Yes, I’ll just leave the most well-paying firm in the city and start saving the world. Meanwhile, we go hungry.”
“Well-paying for Shaw and his cronies, maybe. You’re still holed up in that little cubby with Erik.”
“I’ll be one of those cronies eventually. Someone has to make sure my niece has a college fund.”
“I’m not letting you pay for my daughter’s education.”
“Try to stop me. Thor won’t be able to, anyway. Not on his wages.” He pauses. “Do you ever wish Thor had a degree? Any kind of college education?”
“My parents asked me the same thing. Thor loves me and this baby, and that’s what I consider the most valuable. Besides, does Mr. Doesn’t Even Litter have a degree?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you care one way or the other?”
“No,” Loki answers, without the slightest doubt.
“There you go. Now, I have just one more question.” She holds up the copy of People. “Why in the world did you buy this trash?”
---
Jane does Loki the favor-or what she thinks is a favor-of not texting for three days. It makes Loki feel all the worse for insinuating that she was a burden to him, when that is not the case at all. On the fourth day, he can’t take her well-intended reprieve for another moment. Twenty minutes before 5:00, Loki texts her demanding a shopping list. He doesn’t care what it is. He’s even willing to foray into the world of feminine hygiene products if it means proving that he is invested in his sister-in-law’s health and happiness.
Oh, god, thank you, she quickly writes back. Pick up some sparkling white grape juice and vanilla ice cream. The baby wants floats.
All in all, the request is less disgusting than its predecessors. Hell, the combination is even a little intriguing. He might try one for himself, if Jane doesn’t gobble it all in one go.
“Groceries,” Erik guesses. His fingers have been flying over his computer keyboard for the past half-hour. “I certainly hope it’s not anchovies and green apples again.”
“Don’t remind me. My kitchen reeked of fish for a day afterwards.”
Erik laughs and, for the first time since lunch, leans back in his chair. Phil darts by their office window, clutching his briefcase in one hand and his laptop in the other. The building might as well be on fire judging by his eagerness to be elsewhere.
“4:45,” Erik notes, checking his fine silver watch. “He’s leaving fifteen minutes later than usual. I wonder how long Shaw’s going to keep him around?”
“Not long, I don’t think. Coulson believes in justice.”
“So did we, once. Law school taught us how to put criminals in jail, but real life taught us how to keep them out,” Erik mutters. He, like Loki, doesn’t share Shaw’s win-at-all-costs mentality, but his systematic and driven nature helps him deal with the ethical complications. Loki once fancied himself similarly detached, until he realized he would be an uncle. He dreads the day his niece asks What do you do for a living? and Loki answers, Well, darling, I legally screw people over.
“May I walk with you? We’ve been cooped inside all day. My legs could do with a stretch.”
“Under the condition we take the side exit. I don’t want the Ice Queen to report that we’ve escaped our desks.”
Emma Frost, Shaw’s personal assistant, never misses a thing that transpires in their office. Fortunately, not even her cold eyes can see all the way to the side door.
Loki and Erik carefully make their great escape. They narrowly avoid running into Janos “Riptide” Quested (haha, yes, because he “washed away the prosecution,” Loki got it already), but reach the outside world without any further incidents. Erik bundles up; Loki leaves his scarf loose. The chilly wind is refreshing.
“You’re going to die of pneumonia before the baby’s born,” Erik grumbles, giving Loki’s unbuttoned coat the stink-eye.
“If I did, you’d have the office to yourself.”
“Until Shaw replaced you with a stuffy, obnoxious Harvard suit. Jesus, think about what you’re saying.”
They maintain a merciless exchange until Loki reaches Xavier’s and pulls open the door. Erik peers around, interested in the novel space, while Loki debates between two brands of ice-cream and staves off a heart attack when he sees the price of juice. He buys two bottles regardless.
“Loki,” Charles greets him, sounding pleased when he sees Loki approach with his arms full of sweet things. “You’ve not been in all week. I was afraid Clint had run you off.”
“Please. When you grow up with someone as annoying as Thor, Clint hardly ranks.”
“I’ll be sure he knows you said that,” Charles remarks, grinning. His grin lessens when his eyes fall on Erik. “I see you brought someone with you today.”
“Erik Lehnsherr,” Loki idly informs him, scanning the candy display. Better stock up on Jane’s favorite chocolate bars while he’s thinking about it. “Fellow work drone. He followed me here like a lost dog.”
Erik jabs his elbow into Loki’s side; Loki responds with a jab of his own.
Charles eyes them before announcing, “I was just about to take my break,” and then, louder: “Steve, would you mind the register for a bit?”
Loki shoots him a dark look. Charles returns it with an expression that couldn’t melt butter.
Steve ducks in from the stockroom, realizing too late that Loki is there. The resulting smile is both sweet and uncertain, and it says a lot about him that he takes Charles’ place without a moment’s hesitation. He seems willing to forget the awkwardness of their last interaction if Loki is. Charles (that little devil) disappears to the front of the store; Erik (that little traitor) takes the hint and does the same.
“Sparkling floats?” Steve guesses as he bags the juice and ice-cream. “Those actually sound good.”
“Jane demands them. I’ve seen her eat so many strange combinations that nothing fazes me anymore.”
He watches Steve ring up the total. The cash drawer pops out, and it’s testament to Steve’s distraction that he miscounts Loki’s change twice. He finally settles on the correct amount and then meets Loki’s eyes.
“I hope Clint didn’t offend you last time,” Steve begins. He hands Loki a few dollars and coins. “He should never have suggested that you date men. I know some people find that insulting.”
“And are you one of those people?”
Steve shakes his head.
“No. I’m-” He clears his throat. “No.”
It isn’t exactly a declaration of interest in men, but at least Loki knows that, should he ask Steve on a date, Steve won’t run him off with a pitchfork.
The silence between them is strange. Usually they have no problem filling the space with conversation, but Steve isn’t talkative today, and Loki isn’t sure how to change that. In any case, he’s painfully aware that Erik is somewhere close by, no doubt listening in. One can’t work for Shaw without a natural desire to know everything about everyone, everywhere.
“I’ll see you later,” Loki finally says.
“Sure. Tell Jane I said hello.”
Loki acknowledges Steve’s request with a quick nod before taking the direct route to the door. Erik, who’d been conversing with Charles near the cereal aisle, bids him a hasty farewell and falls in step with Loki.
“You’re pathetic,” Erik states. His tone offers no room for argument.
“I’m well aware, thank you.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me. You were like a besotted puppy, and Mr. Blue Eyes was worse.” Erik sounds disgruntled. “It’s no wonder you never stay late at the office. Are you two seeing each other?”
“Seeing-? No, absolutely not.”
“Then just how long has this nonexistent romance been going on? One month? Two?” Erik pauses, disbelieving. “Three?”
“I will kill you, and it will be justified.”
“Answer me this: what’s stopping you? You’re plenty confident in the courtroom. Dating isn’t different.”
But there is a difference. Loki doesn’t care what strangers think of him, so naturally his confidence is off the scale-but he cares tremendously about Steve’s opinion, and that hinders his personal confidence to the point it’s practically trailing behind him.
“You are,” Erik enunciates, like Loki didn’t hear him the first time, “pathetic.”
---
November marches on. Thanksgiving comes and goes, complete with the holiday parades and a meal Jane labors over for nearly two days. Meanwhile, Loki and Erik organize Stane’s case, though it’s clear from the beginning that they will be not be arguing his innocence. (He has none.) Rather, they will assist him in shifting the blame to Stark, who will take the brunt of the fallout if a jury can be convinced he knew about Stane’s actions. For Loki, it’s painfully clear that Stark-who looks more wrinkled, more hungover, more hopeless every time his lawyer, Pepper Potts, calls a meeting-was oblivious to the whole scheme. Some days, shame chokes Loki into silence.
By December, the only bright points of the day are Steve (who has begun wearing his leather jacket indoors as well, and it smells so distinct, so much like him, that Loki can hardly bear it) and Jane, who is nearly incandescent as her due date nears.
Even now, a month in advance, Loki’s sleep is restless with anxiety and anticipation. He often dreams about the baby; sometimes she cries in the dream, and the sound will wake him. The resulting silence of his bedroom is deafening.
It’s a Wednesday when Jane (for the first time since the Great “Tired of Being Your Errand Boy” Catastrophe of 2012) neglects to text him. Loki would call and check with her under normal circumstances, but he knows Jane has been tired lately, napping during odd parts of the day. After a brief internal debate, Loki decides not to call and risk waking her. Rather, he chooses to stop by Xavier’s and purchase every bottle of pomegranate juice on the shelf (that’s all Jane has been craving lately; morning sickness has become “all day sickness,” and she has lost most of her appetite). He’s pretty sure she polished off the last glass yesterday.
Loki waits for Phil to leave. When the man hurries past, aiming for the side exit, Loki immediately gathers his things to follow suit-only to falter when he spots Riptide loitering around the spare copier. He sets his briefcase back down and considers his options. He could wait it out, but Riptide’s holding quite a large folder, meaning he might be there all afternoon. Why isn’t Darcy doing the copying? She’s the intern. That’s what interns are for.
“Shall I run interference?” Erik asks. Loki glances over, where Erik, too, has spotted the problem.
“I owe you,” Loki says by way of accepting the offer. Erik grins; Loki has never noticed how shark-like his expression is.
“Quite the opposite. I love an opportunity to hone in on my acting skills. They’re vital for the courtroom.”
He watches Erik stand, brush the invisible lint from his crisp, white shirt, and stride out of their office with every bit of confidence at his disposal.
“Afternoon, Rip,” he calls out, casual as you please. He leans against the wall on Riptide’s left side, forcing Riptide to turn his back towards the exit. “I heard you won the nuclear plant suit. I could hardly believe it. You played the odds tremendously.”
Loki has to hand it to Erik: the man could lay it on thick. He waits for Riptide’s attention to focus fully on Erik before making a break for it. He resorts to tiptoeing down the carpeted hallway, and he holds his breath as he pushes the door open. It tends to squeak if opened all the way, so he gives himself just enough room to squeeze through before carefully closing it behind him. He feels like a child who has victoriously stolen cookies from right beneath his mother’s nose.
Xavier’s is pleasantly warm, and Clint is already juggling four glass jars of pickles (an imminent lawsuit, to be sure) while Steve restocks the candy display. He leaves the chocolate bars where they are when Loki places six bottles of juice at the register.
“Jane?” Steve guesses.
“Jane,” Loki confirms.
Whatever conversation might have followed is interrupted by Loki’s cell phone. Annoyed (and wishing, not for the first time, that he could throw the damn thing into the Hudson River), Loki fishes the phone out of his pocket. Thor’s name is scrolling across the screen.
“Thor,” he answers, “what-”
“It’s Jane, she called me from the hospital, her water broke, I’m on my way there now!”
“Right now?” Loki clarifies. “Her due date isn’t until late January.”
“They’ve taken her to Manhattan General. I know you’re working, but-”
“Manhattan General, got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Steve’s expression is grim as Loki turns and, with barely a wave goodbye, bolts from the store.
Manhattan General is four miles north. Loki takes a cab most of the way, until the last half-mile, when the traffic becomes too congested for them to get anywhere. Loki hands over a wad of bills, hurriedly thanks the driver, and makes the rest of the way on foot. The snow is ruining his shoes and briefcase, but he doesn’t care.
The elevator ride is perhaps the longest he’s ever endured, and it takes a remarkable amount of time to navigate the maternity wing. He spots his brother’s unmistakable bulk sitting on one of the small couches lining the hallway. Loki, winded from the jog, hurries over.
Thor looks up. There are stress lines around his eyes.
“The nurse told me Jane is fine, but the baby is underweight. They’ll have to do a C-section.”
“Her obstetrician said the baby was developing perfectly. There weren’t supposed to be any complications.”
“I know. I know that. I’m-I don’t know what to do. They said we can only wait.”
Loki plops down next to Thor, disbelieving. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“C-sections are common,” he states, as though trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “It’s actually a preferred method among some women. It can be... safer. For Jane and the baby.”
Thor nods, acknowledging Loki’s words without answering. They sit in silence for nearly an hour. The sun is set by then, and Loki watches the traffic for want of anything better to do. He looks over at Thor, who has stretched over the small couch and fallen into an uneasy doze. Loki hadn’t realized just how many hours Thor was pulling on the construction site, trying to save up for impending parenthood.
Loki checks his watch. 6:30 and no word yet. He sets his briefcase and scarf by Thor and wanders towards the elevator. His system could use a bit of caffeine, and he can’t stand this terrible waiting game. A jaunt to the cafeteria might do him some good.
The hospital is busy, that much is certain. The only upside is that the Starbucks is still open, meaning Loki won’t have to resort to the hospital’s custom swill. He picks up a few packages of Pop-Tarts along with two regular coffees. Thor will want a snack, if anxiety hasn’t completely barred his appetite.
The way back is more of an obstacle course than anything else, but he does eventually reach the slightly quieter maternity ward. In fact, the only person in the corridor is Thor, still comatose on the minuscule couch, and another man perched on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs situated by the window. Loki stops walking. He knows that gold hair and brown jacket.
Steve shoots out of the chair when he hears Loki’s shoes against the tile floor.
“Hi,” he carefully says, like he isn’t sure of his welcome, and then holds up a brown paper bag. “I brought some sandwiches, in case you two were hungry.”
“You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Loki argues, taking the bag. He hadn’t felt hungry before, but the word ‘sandwich’ makes him think twice. He hasn’t really eaten since that morning, when he’d stuffed a half-warmed bagel in his mouth and rushed out the door.
Steve shrugs, but he isn’t good at faking nonchalance.
“It was on my way home. I thought I’d come in, see if you were pacing the halls with Thor,” Steve replies, keeping his voice quiet so as to not wake the man in question.
“He did enough pacing for the both of us,” Loki admits. “I’m glad he’s asleep.”
“How are things going? Have the doctors said anything?”
“Only that Jane will need a C-section.” Loki runs a hand through his hair. He must look absolutely terrible. “And that the baby will be slightly underweight.”
Steve makes a move to touch Loki’s hand, but aborts it at the last moment and wipes his palm against his knee, as if that’s what he’d intended to do the whole time.
“Can I do anything to help?” he finally asks. “When my friend Peggy had her baby, Bucky and me were here for hours. I know how stressful this can be.”
Loki shakes his head and sits back down. Steve crouches in front of him, pulling a pen and a Xavier business card from his shirt pocket. He turns it over and scrawls something on the back.
“I’m sure you think it’s weird, having the grocery guy come see you at the hospital,” Steve says, sounding embarrassed. “But this is my cell number if you or your family need anything. A ride, groceries, whatever I can do. Okay?”
Loki takes the card and stares at the line of numbers. Even in his haste, Steve’s handwriting is clean and legible.
“Alright,” he promises, and he knows Steve is sincere. His mouth feels dry when he adds, “You should let me buy you dinner sometime.”
“Loki, you don’t have to worry about returning favors-”
“No. I would like to. I’ve been meaning to ask for nearly three months.”
Steve’s smile is relieved as he squeezes Loki’s hand. He knows. He must know how Loki feels about him. Everyone else does, so why wouldn’t he?
“In that case, yes. Maybe after Jane’s settled down with the baby. No rush.”
No rush. Part of Loki wants to rush: he’d been in a rush to get from beneath his father’s thumb, a rush to get through law school, a rush to climb the professional ladder-but a larger part of him is tired. He wants to rest for a bit. He wants to see the baby, who will be beautiful, and he wants the four of them to stay together despite the numerous times he’s claimed otherwise. Loneliness molds people like Shaw, who has no familial connections to reign in his selfishness. Without Thor and Jane, Loki fears he might become like that, too. So rich, so well known, and nothing worthwhile to show for it.
“No rush,” Loki echoes. Steve smiles and leans over to kiss the corner of Loki’s mouth. Loki can smell that marvelous leather jacket, and knows the gesture is meant to be both a comfort and a bookmark, something they can pick back up when Loki’s life has calmed. The fact Steve wants to pick back up leaves Loki lightheaded.
“Call,” Steve tells him, standing. “At least to tell me about the baby.”
Loki nods, and watches Steve make his way down the corridor, where he turns to give Loki one last wave before steering towards the elevators. Loki doesn’t shock easily, but this whole day has left him off-balance. He thinks now might be the time to come to terms with some of it, since he obviously isn’t going anywhere else, but that plan falls through when he looks back at Thor-whose eyes are half-open.
“You know,” Thor says, his voice scratchy from sleep, “Jane said that you had found someone, but she swore me to secrecy. I’d hoped you would eventually tell me on your own.”
“I wasn’t sure,” Loki admits, since there’s no point in denying it now. “About him or me.”
“He acts fairly sure.” Thor pauses. “I’m glad for you. He seems like a good man.”
Thor sits up and wipes his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. Loki moves to the empty spot beside him, wrapping his arm around Thor’s gigantic shoulders. He keeps Steve’s card in his breast pocket, close to his heart, and waits with Thor until the early hours of morning, when a nurse finally steps out to see them.
---
They name her Bethany.
At five pounds and four ounces, Bethany is a “late preterm infant,” but Doctor Banner reassures them that she will grow into a healthy child. How could she not? Thor is her father. Thor, who is so tall and broad and loud, but who grows quiet when he sees his daughter in the NICU. Usually Loki would scoff at the blatant sentimentalism, but he simply stands next to his brother and watches tiny, tiny Bethany sleep. Her little fingers are wrinkled and curled into a fist. She can breathe on her own, and feed on her own. For him, that is enough.
“There will be a lot of babysitting in your future,” Thor finally says.
Truthfully, Loki can’t wait.
Erik covers for Loki on Thursday and Friday; on Monday, Loki returns to the firm and gives Shaw his four-weeks notice.
He wishes, of course, that he could simply toss everything in a cardboard box, shoot Shaw the bird, and stomp out of his building forever-but Loki isn’t stupid. He can’t afford to burn his professional bridges, and he knows that gossip spreads through Manhattan like wildfire. One bad word and not even the slimiest, down-and-out firm will touch him with a ten foot pole.
At the same time, he can’t afford to work here a moment longer than necessary. One day Bethany will be old enough to ask her uncle what he does at work, and he wants to tell her he does good things. Even if it’s driving a cab, or manning a cash register, or picking up people’s garbage. He doesn’t want to be like Stane or Shaw or Emma Frost. He wants to have a family who loves him. At the very least, he wants to have a family who can stand him.
He smiles through his exit interview. He tells Shaw it was a privilege to work here, that he learned so much, that he’s so sorry he can’t stay. Shaw buys the BS easily, because Loki had been a low-level employee, only five years out of law school, and Shaw had never really cared about him one way or the other. Loki views this as a plus. The less of a stir he causes now, the more employable he will be in the future.
On his last day, the only people he says goodbye to are Erik, Phil, and Darcy. This time, he uses the front exit, and doesn’t give a damn about who sees him leave.
---
One year later.
Thor isn’t kidding when he says there will be a lot of babysitting in your future.
They reach an agreement where Loki babysits every other weekend. Jane and Thor go out for dinner or a movie (not without calling a dozen times in the course of an evening, anxious to hear Bethany’s unintelligible baby talk); Steve spends those nights cooking Loki a meal and feeding Bethany soft vegetables and little noodles. On the weekends that Thor and Jane stay home, Loki will spend his time at Steve’s apartment. He pays Steve back by ravishing him in bed, or letting Steve ravish him, or whatever they’re in the mood for. Sometimes they just watch an old movie and fall asleep. Those nights are fine, too.
When it comes to Steve, Loki will take anything he can get.
This is a no-Bethany weekend, and the bed is a wreck. As Loki had guessed (or perhaps hoped), Steve is extremely affectionate after the fact, pressing kisses onto Loki’s throat and shoulders. Loki isn’t comfortable verbalizing how much he enjoys this part, but he encourages the behavior through touches and sighs.
Steve laughs quietly at Loki’s lethargic state. He kisses his neck one last time and says, smiling, “You know, I never saw myself dating a lawyer. I wonder if they make good husbands?” He strokes Loki’s hipbone with his thumb. “What do you think?”
“About lawyers?” Loki drowsily asks. Steve, combined with long hours at the Law Offices of Odinson and Lehnsherr, has worn him out.
“About getting married.”
“I think it’s something best discussed at another time,” and his exhausted brain approves the open-ended, diplomatic answer-but when he wakes the next morning, greeted by the smell of coffee and eggs, Loki replays the brief exchange in his head and then bolts out of bed. He yanks on some clothes, trips over Steve’s ridiculous comforter, rights himself, and hurries towards the kitchen, where he can hear Steve rooting around for plates.
The word yes sits light and eager on the tip of his tongue.
FIN.
Rating: PG
Fandom: The Avengers
Prompt: Written for this prompt (So either Steve works at a supermarket because AU or because SHIELD thought a 'normal' job might help him adjust to 21st century life. And every night, just before closing Loki turns up buying increasingly odd combinations of items).
Summary: Loki tells himself he wants his own apartment and a high-paying position at Shaw's law firm. What he really wants is much different. (Loki/Steve)
A/N: Small crossover with X-men: First Class. Title from Santigold’s Disparate Youth. Also, there was once a hospital called Manhattan General, but it merged with Beth Israel Hospital in 1964. (I couldn’t think of a better name. Sorry. :<)
Loki had always thought that being a gay man would save him from cohabitating with a pregnant woman.
Of course, he had not factored in Thor (brother and roommate, as neither of them earn enough to pay for individual city rents). Thor, who fell in love with/married Jane Foster; Thor, who did not think to get his own apartment before procreating; Thor, who winces every time he sees Loki’s monthly credit card statement (which is now cluttered with charges for chocolate bars, mangos, anchovies, or whatever Jane, now six months along, had been craving at the time).
Today, Jane’s text says I am frying up zucchini patties! But we are out of zucchini, immediately followed by, If the store has a pharmacy, could you pick up some hand lotion, too? Loki makes a mental note of the request before setting his phone down and turning back to his latest array of case notes. Something about embezzling funds from a charity. Small potatoes.
Small potatoes that he has no interest in pursuing. Besides, it has always been Loki’s opinion that anyone who is stupid enough to get caught embezzling deserves their licks.
“I won’t tattle if you leave early,” Erik says from across the room. “You might as well. For all you complain about living with Jane and Thor, you’re always the first out of this office.”
“Phil is the first out of this office,” Loki corrects. “I merely follow his lead.”
“Phil left ten minutes ago.”
It should concern Loki that Erik is so knowledgeable about his co-workers’ comings and goings, but it’s not as though Loki doesn’t employ a few questionable tactics of his own.
“You ought to have married Jane yourself, considering all you do for her,” Erik adds, dumping a pile of papers into the recycle bin by his desk. “I’ve never seen you so chained to someone.”
“Have you ever lived with a pregnant woman?”
The question prompts Erik to glance up, his normally stern expression relaxing into rare, mild amusement. Initially, Loki had been reluctant to share an office, though that eventually changed when he learned that Erik (one of the few at Shaw & Associates that Loki can call a friend) would be his cohort. They’re near the same age, have an equal amount of work experience, and value the privacy of others. All in all, they manage a peaceful coexistence.
“I haven’t,” Erik finally concedes.
“Then don’t judge me. I appease Jane for my own personal welfare. In any case, I won’t be making all these grocery runs after the baby is born.”
“Perhaps not groceries. But diapers, formula, baby food-”
“You’ve made your point,” Loki snaps. Erik’s prediction is unsettling on a number of levels, because it implies that Loki, Jane, and Thor will still be living together a year from now. But what can he do? Between Thor’s construction job, Jane’s adjunct teaching position, and Loki’s place at the law firm, they just manage to scrape by month to month. It seems like every day Loki vows to move out, and every day Thor shoots him a wounded look, like he can’t imagine living without his dear sibling-who, conveniently, pays the rent while Thor covers utilities and medical insurance.
Erik spares him further conjecture when he grimaces at his last pile of documents. He unceremoniously tosses them into his To Be Shredded box.
Loki studies his own desk. It could certainly use a bit of organization (the sticky notes have gotten out of hand; they make his side of the office look like a rainbow), but he’s so sick of being here that he immediately discards the notion. He decisively grabs his briefcase, coat, and scarf, and nods goodbye to Erik.
“Don’t forget our meeting with Stane at 10:00 tomorrow,” Erik says.
Loki makes a face but nods in acknowledgement. Obadiah Stane has accused Tony Stark of skimming from hundreds of employee pensions; naturally, Stark turned right back around and blamed Stane, so on and so forth, etcetera. It’s the sort of case that can put any low-level lawyer on the map. Loki tells himself that he and Erik are lucky to be included in this one-but that doesn’t mean he has to like Stane, or that he doesn’t feel a bit sorry for Stark.
He scans the hallway and makes a stealthy beeline for the side exit. The front door is off limits for anyone who wishes to avoid Shaw’s sharp eye, and while it’s true that Loki is an adult and has every right to leave when he wants, there’s an unwritten rule cautioning against anyone who doesn’t put 100% of their time (and heart, if indeed lawyers have those) into the firm. This means Loki must resort to taking the long route to freedom.
Outside, the October air is brisk and biting. Loki loves it.
Before Thor and Jane were married, Loki used to head straight for the subway and take the first train home, eager for peace and quiet. But nowadays, he’s usually required to make a pit stop at Xavier’s first. Xavier’s is a small organic grocers two blocks down from Shaw and Associates; it’s an odd little market, storing produce in quaint wood crates and stacking canned goods on mismatching shelves, but it’s clean, organized, and affordable. Loki is even willing to ignore the fact Clint, one of the employees, has an alarming tendency to juggle produce as he stocks it (Loki once watched him juggle three oranges and a can of olives, stopping only when a young family walked in and gave him a strange look).
And then there’s Steve Rogers.
It says a lot about Loki’s pathetic life that his conversations with Steve are the highlight of his day. Loki’s career in criminal defense has left him numb and hard-hearted, and most of his interactions are either in the office or in a courtroom, where he is constantly bombarded with hostility from co-workers, clients, judges, and juries. But then he drags himself into Xavier’s, dead on his feet and zombie-eyed, and watches Steve (in his humble plaid shirt and brown shoes) open the door for elderly shoppers, or help a young mother reach a tall shelf, or dutifully mop the floor despite being off the clock.
Today the store seems empty; not even Clint is juggling the new shipment of red apples. Loki moves towards the produce and bags two pounds of zucchini and snatches a bottle of vanilla-scented (does Jane like vanilla? Would she prefer another scent? Christ, he is married to that woman) lotion from the corner, where Charles furnishes a small variety of health products. Steve glances up from behind the register when he hears Loki approach. His automatic polite smile seems to transform into a more genuine expression.
“You look happy,” Steve comments. “Having a good day?”
Loki wisely doesn’t mention that this is the good part of his day.
“Good enough,” he answers, setting the basket onto the counter. It isn’t until a millisecond later that he realizes how suggestive phallic-shaped vegetables and lotion look in tandem. Horrified, Loki blindly grabs a magazine from the nearby display and tosses it on top of the zucchini. He closes his eyes when he sees it’s a copy of People. Worse, Steve has paused to examine the glossy cover.
“It’s for Jane,” Loki lies.
“I would’ve thought Jane would be too intellectual for something like this,” Steve remarks. “But I guess we all have our guilty pleasures.”
Just as in a courtroom, Loki latches onto the small inference and quickly turns it around on Steve, whose fluster might help him forget about the People situation. Besides, he can’t pass up an opportunity to fish for some of Steve’s interests.
“I assume that includes you. One wonders what Steve Rogers’ guilty pleasures are.”
His quasi-flirtatious tone causes Steve’s face to flare pink.
“Do old movies count? Because that’s as far as I’m taking this conversation.”
Old movies. Others might be disappointed by such a benign revelation, but the characteristic answer leaves Loki nothing short of pleased. He leans against the counter.
“If we’re speaking in the vein of Hitchcock, then ‘Rear Window’ is a favorite of mine. I’ve always marveled that most of the drama takes place in a single room, and yet I never get bored.”
“Me, too. Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly are the best of the best. And if you go further back, ‘The Philadelphia Story’ is always at the top of my list.”
“This entire conversation makes me think you have no respect for modern cinema,” Loki observes. He wouldn’t blame Steve if that were the case. After being forced to watch the Transformers trilogy, Loki might have to join Steve’s side. The first was alright, but Revenge of the Fallen was just plain awful. And don’t even get him started on Battleship.
“Some aren’t bad. The Star Trek reboot was really good. And ‘Inception’ was phenomenal.” Steve laughs, as though embarrassed, and confesses, “I actually saw it twice.” He glances up at Loki, who is watching him with what he hopes is bland disinterest. “What about you? What do you do for fun?”
I visit this store, Loki thinks. His single guilty pleasure is to see Steve and, if he’s lucky, exchange conversations much like this one. The rest of his time is spent at the office, or helping Thor prepare the nursery. Just last weekend they assembled the crib, only to take it apart and start over when they realized Thor had misread the instructions.
“Christ almighty,” comes Clint’s bored voice from above, “you two should just make out and get it over with. I can’t stand the tension.”
A career’s worth of angry lawsuits has taught Loki to stay cool and calm no matter the situation, but he can’t help the way his heart freezes at the unexpected remark. He looks up to find Clint sitting on one of the wood beams that crisscross the ceiling.
“What are you doing up there?” Steve demands. “I thought you were out buying Christmas lights.”
“Just got back,” Clint replies, holding up a strand of white lights as evidence. He seems so comfortable with heights that Loki imagines he was a bird in a past life. “You were too busy making eyes at each other to notice my heralded return. I’m gonna go ahead and hang them, if that’s cool.” He pauses. “Should I have bought mistletoe for you two lovebirds? Because I can pick some up.”
Steve, already embarrassed at the making eyes comment, flushes at the mere implication of mistletoe. He makes quick change of Loki’s twenty dollar bill and then slides the bag over to him.
“Just hang them, please,” he stiffly demands, keeping his gaze focused on the cash register. Loki thinks the lack of eye contact should be a deterrent, but the truth is Steve’s long eyelashes would be enough to keep his attention-if said attention weren’t so creepy on his end. He grabs the bag. They’ll have to finish their conversation another time.
He leaves just as Charles, proprietor, rolls in from the storeroom. Charles, who has always been frighteningly perceptive, takes one look at Steve before frowning up at Clint.
“What did you do?” he demands.
“Me? Why do you always think it’s me? Maybe it was Steve!”
Loki ducks out of the store, leaving the argument behind. He dares to glance through the large storefront window as he hurries down the sidewalk; Steve is watching him. When Steve realizes he’s been caught, he turns and hustles into the stockroom under the pretense of working. Loki isn’t sure whether to be glad or unhappy about this. On one hand, Steve does seem receptive to friendship with Loki, which, if Loki is lucky, could lead to more. On the other hand, the world is polluted with morons like Clint Barton who complicate these situations with ill-timed and inappropriate remarks.
Loki sullenly rides the subway home, and his mood is no better when he gives Jane the bag of zucchini and damn hand lotion. She happily accepts the offerings and moves towards the food processor, where the blade has already been prepped for use.
He slouches at the table and watches her work. Law is mentally and emotionally draining, and the awkward situation at the grocery store is a supplemental stressor. Loki hopes she doesn’t notice.
“I’m going to ask you what the matter is,” Jane says, out of nowhere, “and you are going to tell me the truth. No funny stuff.”
“I hardly think it’s any of your business,” Loki retorts, feeling short. “Thor is your husband, not me. Go to him if you feel like being a bother.”
“A bother?” Jane crosses her arms above her round stomach. “What’s got you in such a bad mood?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could it be I’m sick of being your errand boy?”
Jane’s arms fall to her sides, and Loki despises himself now more than ever. He dares to look up at her. When he sees she isn’t preparing to clobber him with a frying pan, Loki reaches out, gently tugs on her wrist, and pulls her over so she can stand next to him. When Jane’s close enough, he kisses her belly.
“That’s not what I meant to say at all,” he apologizes. “I’m sorry. Poison my dinner. I won’t blame you.”
“It’s all right if you feel that way,” Jane finally says. For all her excitement about impending motherhood, there’s an underlying tone of sadness when she adds, “I know it’s unfair that you’re stuck to me and this baby. I never planned it to be quite like this, but next semester I’ll be a full-time professor at the college. Maybe then Thor and I can find a place of our own and let you get on with your life.” She hesitates before asking, “Is this really what’s got you all riled up? Is it a case at work? Is it Shaw?”
It usually requires a unique combination of factors (inebriation, threat of bodily harm, etc.) to pull the truth out of Loki, but Jane deserves it after his nasty, ill-aimed comment.
“I’ve met someone,” he grudgingly admits. “You’d think two months is enough time to approach him, but...”
“But what?” she presses. “He’s taken? He’s not interested? If it’s because Thor and I are here, if we’re stopping you from bringing him home-”
“No,” Loki cuts in. He can hardly fathom “bringing him home”. His body lights up just from thinking about it, his head filling with images of what it might be like to have Steve alone. Better yet, Steve seems like the sort who would take his time, and enjoy kissing before anything else, and refuse to cut and run afterwards. “No, it’s-he is... a very good person. Doesn’t even litter. And if he ever found out who I work for, and how I make my paycheck, he’d be out the door in a second.”
“I know I’ve said this before, but have you ever thought about opening your own firm? Thor always brags about how well you did in your environmental law classes. Quit the criminal defense circuit and do something for the EPA, or a civil rights group. Do something that lets you sleep at night.”
“Yes, I’ll just leave the most well-paying firm in the city and start saving the world. Meanwhile, we go hungry.”
“Well-paying for Shaw and his cronies, maybe. You’re still holed up in that little cubby with Erik.”
“I’ll be one of those cronies eventually. Someone has to make sure my niece has a college fund.”
“I’m not letting you pay for my daughter’s education.”
“Try to stop me. Thor won’t be able to, anyway. Not on his wages.” He pauses. “Do you ever wish Thor had a degree? Any kind of college education?”
“My parents asked me the same thing. Thor loves me and this baby, and that’s what I consider the most valuable. Besides, does Mr. Doesn’t Even Litter have a degree?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you care one way or the other?”
“No,” Loki answers, without the slightest doubt.
“There you go. Now, I have just one more question.” She holds up the copy of People. “Why in the world did you buy this trash?”
---
Jane does Loki the favor-or what she thinks is a favor-of not texting for three days. It makes Loki feel all the worse for insinuating that she was a burden to him, when that is not the case at all. On the fourth day, he can’t take her well-intended reprieve for another moment. Twenty minutes before 5:00, Loki texts her demanding a shopping list. He doesn’t care what it is. He’s even willing to foray into the world of feminine hygiene products if it means proving that he is invested in his sister-in-law’s health and happiness.
Oh, god, thank you, she quickly writes back. Pick up some sparkling white grape juice and vanilla ice cream. The baby wants floats.
All in all, the request is less disgusting than its predecessors. Hell, the combination is even a little intriguing. He might try one for himself, if Jane doesn’t gobble it all in one go.
“Groceries,” Erik guesses. His fingers have been flying over his computer keyboard for the past half-hour. “I certainly hope it’s not anchovies and green apples again.”
“Don’t remind me. My kitchen reeked of fish for a day afterwards.”
Erik laughs and, for the first time since lunch, leans back in his chair. Phil darts by their office window, clutching his briefcase in one hand and his laptop in the other. The building might as well be on fire judging by his eagerness to be elsewhere.
“4:45,” Erik notes, checking his fine silver watch. “He’s leaving fifteen minutes later than usual. I wonder how long Shaw’s going to keep him around?”
“Not long, I don’t think. Coulson believes in justice.”
“So did we, once. Law school taught us how to put criminals in jail, but real life taught us how to keep them out,” Erik mutters. He, like Loki, doesn’t share Shaw’s win-at-all-costs mentality, but his systematic and driven nature helps him deal with the ethical complications. Loki once fancied himself similarly detached, until he realized he would be an uncle. He dreads the day his niece asks What do you do for a living? and Loki answers, Well, darling, I legally screw people over.
“May I walk with you? We’ve been cooped inside all day. My legs could do with a stretch.”
“Under the condition we take the side exit. I don’t want the Ice Queen to report that we’ve escaped our desks.”
Emma Frost, Shaw’s personal assistant, never misses a thing that transpires in their office. Fortunately, not even her cold eyes can see all the way to the side door.
Loki and Erik carefully make their great escape. They narrowly avoid running into Janos “Riptide” Quested (haha, yes, because he “washed away the prosecution,” Loki got it already), but reach the outside world without any further incidents. Erik bundles up; Loki leaves his scarf loose. The chilly wind is refreshing.
“You’re going to die of pneumonia before the baby’s born,” Erik grumbles, giving Loki’s unbuttoned coat the stink-eye.
“If I did, you’d have the office to yourself.”
“Until Shaw replaced you with a stuffy, obnoxious Harvard suit. Jesus, think about what you’re saying.”
They maintain a merciless exchange until Loki reaches Xavier’s and pulls open the door. Erik peers around, interested in the novel space, while Loki debates between two brands of ice-cream and staves off a heart attack when he sees the price of juice. He buys two bottles regardless.
“Loki,” Charles greets him, sounding pleased when he sees Loki approach with his arms full of sweet things. “You’ve not been in all week. I was afraid Clint had run you off.”
“Please. When you grow up with someone as annoying as Thor, Clint hardly ranks.”
“I’ll be sure he knows you said that,” Charles remarks, grinning. His grin lessens when his eyes fall on Erik. “I see you brought someone with you today.”
“Erik Lehnsherr,” Loki idly informs him, scanning the candy display. Better stock up on Jane’s favorite chocolate bars while he’s thinking about it. “Fellow work drone. He followed me here like a lost dog.”
Erik jabs his elbow into Loki’s side; Loki responds with a jab of his own.
Charles eyes them before announcing, “I was just about to take my break,” and then, louder: “Steve, would you mind the register for a bit?”
Loki shoots him a dark look. Charles returns it with an expression that couldn’t melt butter.
Steve ducks in from the stockroom, realizing too late that Loki is there. The resulting smile is both sweet and uncertain, and it says a lot about him that he takes Charles’ place without a moment’s hesitation. He seems willing to forget the awkwardness of their last interaction if Loki is. Charles (that little devil) disappears to the front of the store; Erik (that little traitor) takes the hint and does the same.
“Sparkling floats?” Steve guesses as he bags the juice and ice-cream. “Those actually sound good.”
“Jane demands them. I’ve seen her eat so many strange combinations that nothing fazes me anymore.”
He watches Steve ring up the total. The cash drawer pops out, and it’s testament to Steve’s distraction that he miscounts Loki’s change twice. He finally settles on the correct amount and then meets Loki’s eyes.
“I hope Clint didn’t offend you last time,” Steve begins. He hands Loki a few dollars and coins. “He should never have suggested that you date men. I know some people find that insulting.”
“And are you one of those people?”
Steve shakes his head.
“No. I’m-” He clears his throat. “No.”
It isn’t exactly a declaration of interest in men, but at least Loki knows that, should he ask Steve on a date, Steve won’t run him off with a pitchfork.
The silence between them is strange. Usually they have no problem filling the space with conversation, but Steve isn’t talkative today, and Loki isn’t sure how to change that. In any case, he’s painfully aware that Erik is somewhere close by, no doubt listening in. One can’t work for Shaw without a natural desire to know everything about everyone, everywhere.
“I’ll see you later,” Loki finally says.
“Sure. Tell Jane I said hello.”
Loki acknowledges Steve’s request with a quick nod before taking the direct route to the door. Erik, who’d been conversing with Charles near the cereal aisle, bids him a hasty farewell and falls in step with Loki.
“You’re pathetic,” Erik states. His tone offers no room for argument.
“I’m well aware, thank you.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me. You were like a besotted puppy, and Mr. Blue Eyes was worse.” Erik sounds disgruntled. “It’s no wonder you never stay late at the office. Are you two seeing each other?”
“Seeing-? No, absolutely not.”
“Then just how long has this nonexistent romance been going on? One month? Two?” Erik pauses, disbelieving. “Three?”
“I will kill you, and it will be justified.”
“Answer me this: what’s stopping you? You’re plenty confident in the courtroom. Dating isn’t different.”
But there is a difference. Loki doesn’t care what strangers think of him, so naturally his confidence is off the scale-but he cares tremendously about Steve’s opinion, and that hinders his personal confidence to the point it’s practically trailing behind him.
“You are,” Erik enunciates, like Loki didn’t hear him the first time, “pathetic.”
---
November marches on. Thanksgiving comes and goes, complete with the holiday parades and a meal Jane labors over for nearly two days. Meanwhile, Loki and Erik organize Stane’s case, though it’s clear from the beginning that they will be not be arguing his innocence. (He has none.) Rather, they will assist him in shifting the blame to Stark, who will take the brunt of the fallout if a jury can be convinced he knew about Stane’s actions. For Loki, it’s painfully clear that Stark-who looks more wrinkled, more hungover, more hopeless every time his lawyer, Pepper Potts, calls a meeting-was oblivious to the whole scheme. Some days, shame chokes Loki into silence.
By December, the only bright points of the day are Steve (who has begun wearing his leather jacket indoors as well, and it smells so distinct, so much like him, that Loki can hardly bear it) and Jane, who is nearly incandescent as her due date nears.
Even now, a month in advance, Loki’s sleep is restless with anxiety and anticipation. He often dreams about the baby; sometimes she cries in the dream, and the sound will wake him. The resulting silence of his bedroom is deafening.
It’s a Wednesday when Jane (for the first time since the Great “Tired of Being Your Errand Boy” Catastrophe of 2012) neglects to text him. Loki would call and check with her under normal circumstances, but he knows Jane has been tired lately, napping during odd parts of the day. After a brief internal debate, Loki decides not to call and risk waking her. Rather, he chooses to stop by Xavier’s and purchase every bottle of pomegranate juice on the shelf (that’s all Jane has been craving lately; morning sickness has become “all day sickness,” and she has lost most of her appetite). He’s pretty sure she polished off the last glass yesterday.
Loki waits for Phil to leave. When the man hurries past, aiming for the side exit, Loki immediately gathers his things to follow suit-only to falter when he spots Riptide loitering around the spare copier. He sets his briefcase back down and considers his options. He could wait it out, but Riptide’s holding quite a large folder, meaning he might be there all afternoon. Why isn’t Darcy doing the copying? She’s the intern. That’s what interns are for.
“Shall I run interference?” Erik asks. Loki glances over, where Erik, too, has spotted the problem.
“I owe you,” Loki says by way of accepting the offer. Erik grins; Loki has never noticed how shark-like his expression is.
“Quite the opposite. I love an opportunity to hone in on my acting skills. They’re vital for the courtroom.”
He watches Erik stand, brush the invisible lint from his crisp, white shirt, and stride out of their office with every bit of confidence at his disposal.
“Afternoon, Rip,” he calls out, casual as you please. He leans against the wall on Riptide’s left side, forcing Riptide to turn his back towards the exit. “I heard you won the nuclear plant suit. I could hardly believe it. You played the odds tremendously.”
Loki has to hand it to Erik: the man could lay it on thick. He waits for Riptide’s attention to focus fully on Erik before making a break for it. He resorts to tiptoeing down the carpeted hallway, and he holds his breath as he pushes the door open. It tends to squeak if opened all the way, so he gives himself just enough room to squeeze through before carefully closing it behind him. He feels like a child who has victoriously stolen cookies from right beneath his mother’s nose.
Xavier’s is pleasantly warm, and Clint is already juggling four glass jars of pickles (an imminent lawsuit, to be sure) while Steve restocks the candy display. He leaves the chocolate bars where they are when Loki places six bottles of juice at the register.
“Jane?” Steve guesses.
“Jane,” Loki confirms.
Whatever conversation might have followed is interrupted by Loki’s cell phone. Annoyed (and wishing, not for the first time, that he could throw the damn thing into the Hudson River), Loki fishes the phone out of his pocket. Thor’s name is scrolling across the screen.
“Thor,” he answers, “what-”
“It’s Jane, she called me from the hospital, her water broke, I’m on my way there now!”
“Right now?” Loki clarifies. “Her due date isn’t until late January.”
“They’ve taken her to Manhattan General. I know you’re working, but-”
“Manhattan General, got it. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Steve’s expression is grim as Loki turns and, with barely a wave goodbye, bolts from the store.
Manhattan General is four miles north. Loki takes a cab most of the way, until the last half-mile, when the traffic becomes too congested for them to get anywhere. Loki hands over a wad of bills, hurriedly thanks the driver, and makes the rest of the way on foot. The snow is ruining his shoes and briefcase, but he doesn’t care.
The elevator ride is perhaps the longest he’s ever endured, and it takes a remarkable amount of time to navigate the maternity wing. He spots his brother’s unmistakable bulk sitting on one of the small couches lining the hallway. Loki, winded from the jog, hurries over.
Thor looks up. There are stress lines around his eyes.
“The nurse told me Jane is fine, but the baby is underweight. They’ll have to do a C-section.”
“Her obstetrician said the baby was developing perfectly. There weren’t supposed to be any complications.”
“I know. I know that. I’m-I don’t know what to do. They said we can only wait.”
Loki plops down next to Thor, disbelieving. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“C-sections are common,” he states, as though trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “It’s actually a preferred method among some women. It can be... safer. For Jane and the baby.”
Thor nods, acknowledging Loki’s words without answering. They sit in silence for nearly an hour. The sun is set by then, and Loki watches the traffic for want of anything better to do. He looks over at Thor, who has stretched over the small couch and fallen into an uneasy doze. Loki hadn’t realized just how many hours Thor was pulling on the construction site, trying to save up for impending parenthood.
Loki checks his watch. 6:30 and no word yet. He sets his briefcase and scarf by Thor and wanders towards the elevator. His system could use a bit of caffeine, and he can’t stand this terrible waiting game. A jaunt to the cafeteria might do him some good.
The hospital is busy, that much is certain. The only upside is that the Starbucks is still open, meaning Loki won’t have to resort to the hospital’s custom swill. He picks up a few packages of Pop-Tarts along with two regular coffees. Thor will want a snack, if anxiety hasn’t completely barred his appetite.
The way back is more of an obstacle course than anything else, but he does eventually reach the slightly quieter maternity ward. In fact, the only person in the corridor is Thor, still comatose on the minuscule couch, and another man perched on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs situated by the window. Loki stops walking. He knows that gold hair and brown jacket.
Steve shoots out of the chair when he hears Loki’s shoes against the tile floor.
“Hi,” he carefully says, like he isn’t sure of his welcome, and then holds up a brown paper bag. “I brought some sandwiches, in case you two were hungry.”
“You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Loki argues, taking the bag. He hadn’t felt hungry before, but the word ‘sandwich’ makes him think twice. He hasn’t really eaten since that morning, when he’d stuffed a half-warmed bagel in his mouth and rushed out the door.
Steve shrugs, but he isn’t good at faking nonchalance.
“It was on my way home. I thought I’d come in, see if you were pacing the halls with Thor,” Steve replies, keeping his voice quiet so as to not wake the man in question.
“He did enough pacing for the both of us,” Loki admits. “I’m glad he’s asleep.”
“How are things going? Have the doctors said anything?”
“Only that Jane will need a C-section.” Loki runs a hand through his hair. He must look absolutely terrible. “And that the baby will be slightly underweight.”
Steve makes a move to touch Loki’s hand, but aborts it at the last moment and wipes his palm against his knee, as if that’s what he’d intended to do the whole time.
“Can I do anything to help?” he finally asks. “When my friend Peggy had her baby, Bucky and me were here for hours. I know how stressful this can be.”
Loki shakes his head and sits back down. Steve crouches in front of him, pulling a pen and a Xavier business card from his shirt pocket. He turns it over and scrawls something on the back.
“I’m sure you think it’s weird, having the grocery guy come see you at the hospital,” Steve says, sounding embarrassed. “But this is my cell number if you or your family need anything. A ride, groceries, whatever I can do. Okay?”
Loki takes the card and stares at the line of numbers. Even in his haste, Steve’s handwriting is clean and legible.
“Alright,” he promises, and he knows Steve is sincere. His mouth feels dry when he adds, “You should let me buy you dinner sometime.”
“Loki, you don’t have to worry about returning favors-”
“No. I would like to. I’ve been meaning to ask for nearly three months.”
Steve’s smile is relieved as he squeezes Loki’s hand. He knows. He must know how Loki feels about him. Everyone else does, so why wouldn’t he?
“In that case, yes. Maybe after Jane’s settled down with the baby. No rush.”
No rush. Part of Loki wants to rush: he’d been in a rush to get from beneath his father’s thumb, a rush to get through law school, a rush to climb the professional ladder-but a larger part of him is tired. He wants to rest for a bit. He wants to see the baby, who will be beautiful, and he wants the four of them to stay together despite the numerous times he’s claimed otherwise. Loneliness molds people like Shaw, who has no familial connections to reign in his selfishness. Without Thor and Jane, Loki fears he might become like that, too. So rich, so well known, and nothing worthwhile to show for it.
“No rush,” Loki echoes. Steve smiles and leans over to kiss the corner of Loki’s mouth. Loki can smell that marvelous leather jacket, and knows the gesture is meant to be both a comfort and a bookmark, something they can pick back up when Loki’s life has calmed. The fact Steve wants to pick back up leaves Loki lightheaded.
“Call,” Steve tells him, standing. “At least to tell me about the baby.”
Loki nods, and watches Steve make his way down the corridor, where he turns to give Loki one last wave before steering towards the elevators. Loki doesn’t shock easily, but this whole day has left him off-balance. He thinks now might be the time to come to terms with some of it, since he obviously isn’t going anywhere else, but that plan falls through when he looks back at Thor-whose eyes are half-open.
“You know,” Thor says, his voice scratchy from sleep, “Jane said that you had found someone, but she swore me to secrecy. I’d hoped you would eventually tell me on your own.”
“I wasn’t sure,” Loki admits, since there’s no point in denying it now. “About him or me.”
“He acts fairly sure.” Thor pauses. “I’m glad for you. He seems like a good man.”
Thor sits up and wipes his tired eyes with the palms of his hands. Loki moves to the empty spot beside him, wrapping his arm around Thor’s gigantic shoulders. He keeps Steve’s card in his breast pocket, close to his heart, and waits with Thor until the early hours of morning, when a nurse finally steps out to see them.
---
They name her Bethany.
At five pounds and four ounces, Bethany is a “late preterm infant,” but Doctor Banner reassures them that she will grow into a healthy child. How could she not? Thor is her father. Thor, who is so tall and broad and loud, but who grows quiet when he sees his daughter in the NICU. Usually Loki would scoff at the blatant sentimentalism, but he simply stands next to his brother and watches tiny, tiny Bethany sleep. Her little fingers are wrinkled and curled into a fist. She can breathe on her own, and feed on her own. For him, that is enough.
“There will be a lot of babysitting in your future,” Thor finally says.
Truthfully, Loki can’t wait.
Erik covers for Loki on Thursday and Friday; on Monday, Loki returns to the firm and gives Shaw his four-weeks notice.
He wishes, of course, that he could simply toss everything in a cardboard box, shoot Shaw the bird, and stomp out of his building forever-but Loki isn’t stupid. He can’t afford to burn his professional bridges, and he knows that gossip spreads through Manhattan like wildfire. One bad word and not even the slimiest, down-and-out firm will touch him with a ten foot pole.
At the same time, he can’t afford to work here a moment longer than necessary. One day Bethany will be old enough to ask her uncle what he does at work, and he wants to tell her he does good things. Even if it’s driving a cab, or manning a cash register, or picking up people’s garbage. He doesn’t want to be like Stane or Shaw or Emma Frost. He wants to have a family who loves him. At the very least, he wants to have a family who can stand him.
He smiles through his exit interview. He tells Shaw it was a privilege to work here, that he learned so much, that he’s so sorry he can’t stay. Shaw buys the BS easily, because Loki had been a low-level employee, only five years out of law school, and Shaw had never really cared about him one way or the other. Loki views this as a plus. The less of a stir he causes now, the more employable he will be in the future.
On his last day, the only people he says goodbye to are Erik, Phil, and Darcy. This time, he uses the front exit, and doesn’t give a damn about who sees him leave.
---
One year later.
Thor isn’t kidding when he says there will be a lot of babysitting in your future.
They reach an agreement where Loki babysits every other weekend. Jane and Thor go out for dinner or a movie (not without calling a dozen times in the course of an evening, anxious to hear Bethany’s unintelligible baby talk); Steve spends those nights cooking Loki a meal and feeding Bethany soft vegetables and little noodles. On the weekends that Thor and Jane stay home, Loki will spend his time at Steve’s apartment. He pays Steve back by ravishing him in bed, or letting Steve ravish him, or whatever they’re in the mood for. Sometimes they just watch an old movie and fall asleep. Those nights are fine, too.
When it comes to Steve, Loki will take anything he can get.
This is a no-Bethany weekend, and the bed is a wreck. As Loki had guessed (or perhaps hoped), Steve is extremely affectionate after the fact, pressing kisses onto Loki’s throat and shoulders. Loki isn’t comfortable verbalizing how much he enjoys this part, but he encourages the behavior through touches and sighs.
Steve laughs quietly at Loki’s lethargic state. He kisses his neck one last time and says, smiling, “You know, I never saw myself dating a lawyer. I wonder if they make good husbands?” He strokes Loki’s hipbone with his thumb. “What do you think?”
“About lawyers?” Loki drowsily asks. Steve, combined with long hours at the Law Offices of Odinson and Lehnsherr, has worn him out.
“About getting married.”
“I think it’s something best discussed at another time,” and his exhausted brain approves the open-ended, diplomatic answer-but when he wakes the next morning, greeted by the smell of coffee and eggs, Loki replays the brief exchange in his head and then bolts out of bed. He yanks on some clothes, trips over Steve’s ridiculous comforter, rights himself, and hurries towards the kitchen, where he can hear Steve rooting around for plates.
The word yes sits light and eager on the tip of his tongue.
FIN.