Cruel Vengeance

Avengers Tower

November 2011

“Miss Lewis, I know the Lance project has been attacked in the media, but I can assure you that my department has no intentions of manufacturing illegal weapons.”

“I believe you, Dr. Fisher,” Darcy said. “Problem is, the media doesn’t. So here’s what we’re gonna do. You have a press conference tomorrow.” She slid a folder across the table. “Study this. It’s your story. Don’t say anything more or less. If you get flustered, just stick to the script or say ‘I cannot speak to that at this time’ or something like that. Act like it’s no big deal.”

The sweaty man in the chair opposite her sat up straighter, almost offended. “Miss Lewis, it is not part of the academic’s job to concern himself with such things as press conferences,” he said. “I was under the impression that that’s what Mr. Stark pays you for.”

“Listen, Dr. Fi–Can I call you Don?”

“I’d rather that you didn’t,” he said stiffly.

Darcy beamed. “Great. So, Don, the problem is that everyone expects us to make this a big deal. Stark Industries doesn’t make weapons anymore. The Lance project isn’t making weapons. Someone wants people to think it’s making weapons to undermine this company’s credibility.” She didn’t let a hint of condescension creep into her voice–more than could be said for this dumbass–and let him stew over whether she was talking down to him or not. “If I got out there and did a press conference, it would send a message that this is a big deal. It’s not, so you’re going to get out on that stage, downplay it, follow the script I made you, and leave. Simple. Then you’re going to quietly discontinue the Lance project.”

“W-what?” he sputtered. “You can’t just–not your department–”

“Yes, it is,” Darcy said. “This is what Mr. Stark pays me for, Don. Your program’s become a liability. It will be quietly discontinued and your research work stored. In a few months, it will be quietly restarted with a different name, because Mr. Stark thinks you’ve had some interesting progress. We’ll overhaul the staff, of course, because the current Lance information shouldn’t have hit the media anyway, which smacks of  corporate espionage.” She glanced down at the information on her desktop. “I’m told you prefer research work in physiological engineering. There are limited spots in that particular department at the moment, however, so you’ll be notified of your updated employment status after the press conference.” The threat was implied: if he didn’t handle the press well, he’d have a choice of quitting or working whatever crappy clerical job Darcy could have her people find for him. “I think this sounds like an excellent plan, don’t you?”

Sweaty Donald wasn’t haughty now. In fact, he was squirming. “Yes, Miss Lewis, I–belive I do,” he said.

“Awesome.” Darcy shot him her sweetest smile. “Thanks so much for your cooperation, Don. Don’t forget your script!”

He took the folder, gave her a look that was half glare and half fear, and left the room.

This was Darcy’s technical job, the one on her tax forms and shit: head of Stark’s PR department. The last guy had left under serious pressure from alleged insider trading; even though he’d never been charged, the rumors got him kicked out unanimously by the SI board of directors. She smirked a little at the memory and spun around in his desk chair. It was a great chair, something straight out of a Poliform catalogue. Upside of working for Stark Industries. Also the hazard pay when she ended up in the middle of a death twister like that one time in Peru.

“Miss Lewis?”

Darcy looked up. “Yeah, James, what’s up?”

“I have someone to see you,” James said.

Darcy squinted at him. His eyes were curiously wide. “I thought I told you guys not to bring me people without calling up first,” she said.

“Yeah, but he’s got something very important to tell you,” James said eagerly.

“Huh.” Darcy tapped her fingers. James never did anything eagerly, and definitely not things that involved other people, which was why she had him down on floor seventeen instead of up here in her actual territory. “Okay, where is–”

James’ guest stepped around the corner.

Darcy came within an inch of facepalming. She knew that face. “James,” she said, “did my guest tell you what he’s here for?”

“It’s very important,” James repeated.

“Yeah,” Darcy muttered, “I’m sure. Thanks, James, and close the door on your way out, mmkay?”

“Okay,” James said, smiled at her visitor, and left.

Darcy hit a button. The glass walls of her office darkened until no one would be able to see in. “The hell are you doing here?”

Loki smiled. The expression was weirdly soft and kind on this face; she’d seen him wear it a few times before, when she dragged him out of the building for his ongoing education in Earth food. “Visiting a friend, of course.”

“I like your real face better,” Darcy told him. “This one doesn’t suit you. And I thought you were supposed to inform us when you do magic.”

“I did inform you,” Loki said pleasantly. “Just now.”

“You know that’s not at all what that restriction meant,” Darcy said, “but whatever. James isn’t going to wake up speaking gibberish or convinced he’s a merman, right?”

“Of course not,” Loki said. “Though he may have a headache for a few hours.”

“How kind. Why are you here?”

Loki shrugged and settled into a chair–not the one in front of her desk, which probably still had marks on it from Sweaty Don, but a spare seat in the corner. “Can I not have simply been in search of company?”

“Unlikely. You want something.”

“Perhaps it is only to watch you work,” Loki said with a smile. “I was very impressed with the way you handled that scientist.”

“Sweaty Donald,” Darcy said, nodding. “Been dealing with this Lance project mess for two months. And how did you listen in on that? This office is soundproofed and packed with jamming devices.”

“As you call it, voodoo,” Loki said, raising a hand and turning it while green light played between his fingers in a beautiful, otherworldly display.

Darcy looked away and lightened her windows. “Great. Wait, do you spy on me all the time?” She squinted at him. “Because that would be creepy and stalkerish. You’re creepy enough already.”

“This was the first time,” Loki said.

“Hmmm,” Darcy said.

Her desk chimed, and she looked down. Calendar notification. “All right, Magic Mike, if you want to stay, you get to sit there and not make noise, I’ve got a few people coming in to give me an end-of-the-day rundown and then I’m out of here.” For a blind date with Jane’s buddy Mr. Nice Guy Rory Taylor. “Capiche?”

“I understand perfectly,” Loki said.

“Right.” Darcy fired off a quick message on Sparknet, the internal messaging system of the company, calling her top aides into her office.

Shawn, Mason, and Veronica appeared in her office in seconds. “Whoa,” Veronica said, eyeing Loki. “Who’s this?”

“My new decoration,” Darcy said. “Like a painting, except he’s mobile and can get me coffee. Ignore him.” She hid a smirk, knowing full well her dismissal would irritate Loki. “I passed off the script to Dr. Fisher just now; he’ll handle the press tomorrow but I want one of you there just as a backup.”

“I can handle it,” Shawn said. “I’m free that hour.”

“Awesome. And, Veronica, nice job cleaning up that lawsuit with TerraCorp–why are you shaking your head?”

Veronica sighed noisily. “Well, they dropped the first lawsuit, as you saw, but now there’s another one. The Hammond R&D facility out in Montana? Apparently there’s an endangered bird species in the area and they want us to shut it down completely.”

“We’re testing water purifiers out there,” Mason protested. “What does that have to do with birds? That facility’s barely twenty acres!”

Veronica threw her hands up. “I know that, and it’s less than two percent of the land those birds live on. Not to mention, all that land is owned by some environmentally sensitive celebrity who’s never going to sell it, so it’s not like we could expand that facility even if we wanted to. I’d tell him to buy up rainforest or that old growth land in Northern California if he’s so concerned–”

“Guys,” Darcy interrupted. “What’s the actual content of the lawsuit?”

“Disruption of the environment,” Veronica said, and dropped a drive on the desk. Darcy drew a circle around it on the glass surface and the desktop automatically initiated a data transfer. “That’s everything the lawyers gave me. Court date is in a month and a half, so we’ve got some time to sort this out before it goes to the legal team.”

Darcy tapped her chin. “Ideas?”

The meeting took an hour. Darcy was exhilarated by the time they were done; stuff like this was her forte. People and politics and problem-solving. Even though it wasn’t exactly what she wanted to be doing (changing the world), she was still using her skill set. And enjoying herself.

“Brava,” Loki said quietly.

“Hu-oh. Yeah, I know, I’m pretty great,” Darcy agreed. She’d almost forgotten he was there. Somehow he’d dimmed his presence during the meeting, but it was back now, a constant subconscious awareness of where he was in the room. She’d seen the other Avengers react similarly and was pretty sure it had something to do with his magic.

“I can indeed see why Stark chooses to employ you in this manner,” Loki said. “This is the sort of service you perform for the Avengers?”

“Yeah. Stark pays me for this, technically, but I delegate to those three and spend about half my time in my office upstairs, dealing with things for the Avengers.”

“This is what you studied for? Business?” Loki said. “In… university.”

She’d been talking to him about how education worked on Earth. “Nah. Political science.”

“Statecraft,” he said. “Impressive.”

Darcy felt an irrational thrill of excitement at the word statecraft. That was exactly what she wanted to do.

“Yeah, well. I might’ve learned stuff geared toward government, but it works just as well here,” she said with a grin, trying to blow it off as funny.

Loki didn’t play along. “Do you regret having chosen this path?”

“What, working for Jane?” Darcy shook her head. “Never. It’s not like little old me would’ve gotten anywhere in government, anyway. I’m no one. Just a ward of the state who went to public school on the taxpayer’s dime.” Bitterness crept under those words (they weren’t hers, originally) and she forced herself to relax her grip on the arms of her chair. It didn’t deserve such treatment. “And then I wouldn’t have met Jane. I got mad skills, I’m using them, it’s cool.”

“No, it’s not,” Loki said, examining her carefully. “You are… resentful. Stifled, perhaps. Frustrated?”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me,” Darcy snapped. “So what if I wish I could do more? I don’t have an opportunity and no idea how to make one. No way in hell would I run for office, but–”

She clamped her mouth shut, but the damage was done.

Loki looked triumphant. “You do desire something more,” he said. “I thought as much. A stymied dreamer, a diplomat trapped in the business world.”

Darcy glared at him. She so did not want to talk about this.

But then again, Loki was maybe the only person who wouldn’t take it badly. Jane would be guilty, the rest of the Avengers would feel bad. Which was why she never talked about her ambitions to any of them. It wasn’t like it would help anything. She’d tell them when she got somewhere. She was slowly building a network of contacts and allies, favors owed and debts paid, in the political scene; she couldn’t not, with the Avengers dealing more and more with the government and the UN as a separate militarized entity. One day, Darcy’s plans would be in place, she’d see an opportunity, and she’d take it. But complaining or wishing didn’t get you anywhere.

It still might be nice to talk about it. And it wasn’t like Loki could use anything against her. Darcy habitually hid her dreams from people so they wouldn’t get taken away. But she wanted so badly to trust him. So she’d test him a little.

“Okay, yeah, fine,” she said. “I want to get into politics. Behind the scenes. Like a–remember that book about political structure, the one with a chapter on fixers?”

“I do,” Loki said.

“Okay. One of them.”

“It suits you,” he offered.

“I know it does, you don’t need to feed me platitudes,” she said impatiently. “I’m not looking to like boost my self-confidence.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “I am fairly sure that the word ‘like’ in this language is not a preposition.”

“There’s the asshole I know,” Darcy said, but without temper. “So yeah. A fixer. Behind the scenes, holding the power but no one knows. Not on television, not on the ballot, nowhere subject to the fickle media. Standing in the shadows.” She could see it in her head. Not a specific image, but the feeling. Of– “Quiet power, waiting in the wings while others took the credit and the medals, paparazzi and people alike unaware that they’re just puppets and I pull the strings. There’s so much shit going on in the world, you know? Employment, poverty, disease. Corruption and overreach in government, bureaucratic bloat, idiots running this country. All the countries. I could change things for the better.”

She realized her passion had crept into her voice and she was leaning forward, eyes alight and hands gesturing animatedly. Darcy abruptly dropped them into her lap and sat up straighter, smiling halfheartedly, hiding all her fire behind flippancy and humor. It was a reflex born in a period of her life she’d rather forget. “Didn’t mean to go all ranty on you.”

“I found it fascinating,” Loki said softly. His eyes were trained on her, and he’d dropped the illusion there; instead of pale blue they were his normal poison green. The intensity of his stare was intoxicating. “What of a monarchy, then? Or an empire? Should you be offered the opportunity to rule and rule alone, what would you choose?”

“I–” Darcy wanted to say no, but the words stuck in her throat. She didn’t think she could lie to him and hide it. Not Loki. And silence would basically answer his question, so she said, “My first choice would be to have a puppet ruler, honestly.”

Loki smiled.

“But.” Darcy frowned. “I mean… yeah, I’d probably take it.” She squinted at Loki. “For a decade at least. Get things on the right track. Then I’d implement a democracy. Those are better in the long run. But sometimes when things are going to shit you need one leader, you know?”

“When a starship faces demise, the captain delivers the orders and there is no confusion because there is only one authority,” Loki said, nodding. “The same principle applies to military units: in battle there is no time for votes or referendums, only orders given and followed. You must give a certain amount of improvisational space to your commanders, and choose them with care, so that they work in the parameters they are most effective, but it is the central authority that guides them all.”

“Exactly,” Darcy said. “But when everything’s going peachy, or like over long periods of time, people’s opinions can change. So I’d want to set things straight and then split power to elected representatives, make sure the system was strong, and then I’d, I don’t know, retire to an island.”

“You would not be able to walk away,” Loki said. He was mirroring her posture: leaning forward, eyes focused between them, fully engaged. “Power is addicting.” His lips quirked. “I’d know. Would it ever be enough?”

Darcy met his eyes.

“Was it ever enough for you?”

She already knew the answer. She knew why he’d tricked Thor, what happened that led to the Puente Antiguo mess.

“No,” Loki admitted. “Satisfaction is not in my nature.”

“Mine either,” Darcy said. “Why would you ever want to stop, though? Like, if you’re still steering the right way, and you can, why wouldn’t you hang on to the reins?”

Loki angled his head. “Nothing great was ever accomplished by a being without ambition,” he said.

“That’s it,” Darcy said. Her chest ached with wanting something she didn’t have.

The silence stretched.

She leaned back and grinned. “But it’s just hypothetical. No one likes monarchies much anymore. Or dictatorships.”

“Not on this planet,” Loki said.

Darcy snorted. “Right. Because it’d totally be possible for me to get an army and go a-conquering across the realms. Wouldn’t that be hilarious, a bastard kid from Midgard dragging her realm into space wars.” She looked around. “This is what I have. No sense in dreaming, right?”

But she didn’t believe that, and based on the look Loki gave her, he knew she didn’t mean it.

“Dreams are useless unless there is ambition to fuel them,” Loki said. “Which I believe you have in excess.”

Darcy wanted to kiss him. Damn her date.

Her corporate phone rang.

She actually jumped a little. Loki leaned back as well, seeming almost–surprised–before he tucked the expression away.

“Sorry,” she said. “I should… take this.”

“By all means,” he said, with a graceful wave of his hand.

Darcy took a few seconds to center herself. If her corporate phone was ringing, that meant someone down in the telecommunications department thought it was important to send right to her. “Stark Industries Press Relations Department, Darcy Lewis speaking,” she said, adopting a professional tone even though the way Loki was looking at her made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

“Darcy?”

That voice. Her whole body went cold, the glow of discussing her ambitions with someone who got it doused beneath icy water. Loki sat up intently, noting the change in her demeanor, but Darcy barely noticed. “What–who is this?” she demanded.

“It’s Ralph. Your father?”

Darcy couldn’t quite move.

His voice brought all the memories back.

She is eleven and hiding with Lizzie in a fort of blankets and pillows, whispering stories into her little sister’s ear while their parents raged around the house.

She is nine and carrying Lizzie at a painful jog through the snow.

She is thirteen and screaming until she tastes blood, screaming words back in his face, words she doesn’t mean, calculating behind her anger and fear, drawing his rage so Lizzie will stay safe.

She is fifteen and acing her classes, staying up late to do her homework by flashlight, while working three jobs to keep Lizzie in the Morris Institute.

She is sixteen and sprinting home, heart in her throat, terror like she’s never known pounding through her heart, palms bleeding from when she fell and got back up. She wants it not to be true, begs a God she doesn’t believe in for it to not be true. But it is true, and then she is standing in a graveyard on a day as gray as her mood, a dress as black as her fury, blood as red as her ambition beating through her veins. She is sixteen and on her own, sixteen and walking away from her father’s home with no regrets, a ward of the state in a system that often fails despite its good intentions for the children in its care, adrift and penniless and alone in a world that does not care. She has nothing to rely on except the fire in her belly and it’s because of him.

Hands on her face brought her back.

Darcy blinked hard and realized Loki had moved forward, crouching in front of her chair. His hands cupped her face lightly. “Darcy,” he murmured, eyes searching hers. “There you are.”

Thank you, Darcy thought but did not say. “We had an agreement,” she said into the phone, and was proud of how steady her voice was. “You never contact me and I never bother you again.”

“You’re not still holding that against me, are you?” Ralph whined.

“What are you referring to, Dad?” she snarled, and Loki’s eyes widened. His hands slipped down from her cheeks to her shoulders, and then he was simply crouching there, still almost her height, with his right hand lightly covering her left where it sat on the desk. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him to leave. Somehow Loki had become a person she trusted enough to lean on in this moment, which was a problem to figure out later. “Years of bruises? That broken arm in third grade? Two years in foster care? The drinking and your druggie friends who used to grope me in the front hall? I could keep going.”

Loki’s face was tight. His illusion was gone.

“Oh, come on, you’re exaggerating,” Ralph said, and now his voice was coaxing, wheedling. Pathetic worm. “You’re misremembering all that stuff. It wasn’t so bad, was it? We had a nice life there for a while, and–”

“What do you want, Ralph?” she snapped.

He paused. “I tracked you down,” he said instead of an answer. “I reckon any daddy’d want to know what his daughter’s up to after almost ten years. Now you’ve got some fancy high-rise job. Stark Industries, huh?” He laughed, and she remembered this: such a horrible sound. They invented the word ‘guffaw’ for Ralph’s laugh. “I hear Stark’s pretty hot for the ladies. You tappin’ that?”

Darcy’s grip tightened on the phone. “So it’s money you want.”

“Naw, I got plenty of that now,” Ralph said, his tone distinctly braggy. “I just want to see you, is that too much to ask? I’m your dad, I want to see my little girl.”

“I’m not your anything,” Darcy said. “Don’t call me again. You can go to hell.”

She got the phone an inch from her ear and heard him shout, “Darcy, wait–”

“You are under no obligation to continue this conversation,” Loki murmured, so quietly Darcy knew it’d never get through the phone.

She paused.

“What?” she snapped.

Ralph exhaled. Relieved. “Listen. Is it really too much to ask that I have a normal relationship with my only daughter?”

And that was too much.

“I’m not your only daughter,” Darcy snarled. “Remember Lizzie? Remember the kid I busted my ass for for years since you were too high or drunk or busy hitting me to ever help us? Remember how you killed her?”

Loki’s hand tightened fractionally around Darcy’s. She knew if she looked up she’d see fury on his face and wouldn’t be able to hold it together, so she kept her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Come on now,” Ralph said, “you know the accident wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t even driving!”

“You put her in that car,” Darcy told him in her coldest voice. “You were drunk and high and God knows what else and kidnapped an autistic kid from school and put her in a car with a drunk driver against her will and your buddy drove that car off a bridge and she died. The court might’ve let you off lightly but I won’t. For the last time, Ralph, fuck. Off.”

She slammed the phone down on the table, breathing hard.

Darcy realized she was shaking. She sucked air in and out through her teeth, glaring at the floor. Ralph’s voice had torn old wounds open again.

Get yourself under control you are stronger than this

Loki lifted her chin with a light touch. “Darcy,” he said.

She met his eyes.

The anger on his face mirrored her own. “It would be a simple matter to make his life a living hell,” Loki said, soft and vicious.

“I…” Darcy swallowed. “Might just take you up on that.” She breathed. In, out. In, out. The anger never went away, and neither did the grief, but she could manage them. “I bet you know,” she said. “Does it help? Revenge? Payback?”

Loki’s hand fell away from her face. “It does not take away the pain of humiliation, or of loss,” he said. “Nothing will bring back your sister. But I have always found satisfaction in reprisals for those who have hurt me or mine.”

Darcy nodded slowly. “Ask me again in a few weeks,” she said. “This probably isn’t a decision I should make right now when I’m this pissed.”

Loki half smiled. “Very wise.”

Darcy took one more breath and stood. “Okay. Shit. I’m late.”

“Have you plans tonight?” Loki said. “If you desire companionship, I could accompany you.”

Oh fuck.

Darcy wanted nothing more than to take him up on that. She could see it: sitting at a bar, a few glasses of wine down, laughing and speaking openly about things that none of her other friends got.

Which told her a few things. One, she considered Loki a friend. Two, she already cared way more than she should. And three, she didn’t want to hurt him by saying no, which led to four, that she believed Loki cared enough to be hurt by a rejection.

Fuckity.

“I… actually have a date,” Darcy said. “Jane set me up with a friend of hers for the night.” Not that I expect it to go well. “And I’m late.”

“Ah,” Loki said. Darcy thought maybe that was disappointment that flicked across his face, but she couldn’t be sure. Normally she could read people pretty damn well, but Loki was an exception. “Enjoy your date, Miss Lewis,” he said with a polite dip of his head, and drew his illusion back over his features. “I shall leave you to your preparations, then.”

She wanted to call him back. Wanted to ask him to stay, or go with her. But Darcy reminded herself how dumb that would be and bit her tongue.

“You better be right about Mr. Nice Guy, Jane,” she grumbled, collected her purse, and headed out for the night.