Avengers Tower
July 2011
"Police report came through," Tony announced.
Everyone's attention snapped to him.
"Mott's been dealing Chitauri weaponry and other shipments for the cartels. Doesn't know which one, though; he claims there's some kind of anonymity buffer and he never knows who his buyers are. They pay and he drops off the shipments. He's just the middle man." Tony shook his head. "I don't buy that he has no clue who his buyers are, but the guy's set up nicely behind nine layers of security. We won't get in there to talk to him without causing a scene, so we've got to work with what we have."
"I could get in."
Tony stared at Loki.
The unwelcome guest stood up from the sofa and approached the table, where several Avengers sat in wary silence. "It would be a simple enough matter to wear the face of a guard or another inmate or some innocuous visitor and speak with Mr. Mott in the privacy of his cell," Loki elaborated. "No harm will come to any of the guards at the prison."
"I notice that he didn't mention the inmates," Clint muttered.
Loki smiled.
Clint glanced almost expectantly at Steve.
"No," Tony said. "Sorry, drama queen, but you're not going anywhere."
"Tony, maybe it wouldn't hurt," Steve said.
"What would we owe you in return?" Darcy asked Loki.
He shrugged gracefully. "A small favor."
"Not worth it," Darcy said instantly. "An unspecified favor–this kind of bargain's too risky."
"I agree," Bruce said.
Loki merely shrugged again and returned to his seat on the sofa. He was reading a book, but Tony couldn't make out the title.
"Anyway. Those arms shipments aren't traceable right now," Tony said in frustration. "I'll know more once they cross-examine him in trial. He's pleading guilty to smuggling charges and he said he'd come clean about everything if he gets a reduced sentence. We need that confession. His servers were trashed; I barely got anything off them."
Tony's phone rang. A second later, so did Darcy's.
"That is not a good sign," Darcy said. They answered.
"Mr. Stark?"
"Maybe," Tony said.
Steve rolled his eyes.
"I regret to inform you that Carl Mott died in transit this morning."
It took Tony a few seconds to find his voice. " What?"
"How?" Darcy demanded simultaneously.
"There was a mechanical malfunction in the transport vehicle. We're not sure precisely what went wrong, but it blew up on the street."
"Private property or public roads?" Darcy asked.
Tony plugged the ear not covered by the phone to block her out. "I assume you ID'd the bodies."
"Carl Mott is one, going by dental records and clothing. One of the drivers survived with severe injuries. The other died in the ambulance."
"Noted," Tony said, and hung up.
Darcy stabbed the 'end call' button a second later. "Mott's dead."
"How?" demanded Steve, sitting upright.
"'Mechanical malfunction,'" Tony sneered. "As if. Someone wanted him dead before he could talk."
"There's something more going on here," Clint said.
Tony rolled his eyes. "You think?"
"What can we do?" Steve asked.
"Until I know more? Nothing, except keep going after those weapons shipments. The files and papers from that case indicate he's been selling Chitauri weapons and other things for at least a month, but none of them have shown up on the market again. Right now, we're stuck."
Darcy sighed noisily. "Right now, I need to deal with the shit storm you three stirred up when an arms dealer launched SAMs in an urban area and then you killed eleven people getting inside the compound with no prior law enforcement coordination."
"What, so we're supposed to saddle ourselves with slowpokes who can barely shoot a gun?" Clint argued.
Darcy threw up her hands. "I'm not pissed at you , the stupid press can't deal with the fact that we don't do things the same way they've always been done, but next time maybe try to make it easier on all of us? Steve, you and I are doing a press conference tomorrow. I'm sending you a briefing. Someone show him how to open the files on a computer, because I don't have time."
She stormed out of the room.
"Well, that went well," Clint muttered.
Steve sighed and dropped his head into his hands.
Tony poured himself a drink.
Darcy stuck her head back through the door. "Steve," she called. "I'm... sorry I snapped at you. Frustration. Et cetera."
"You suck at apologies," Clint said with a grin.
"Noted."
"I understand," Steve said, and managed a small smile. "I learned how to open files already."
Darcy sent them all a cocky grin and left again.
"We are so dysfunctional," Tony said to no one in particular.
Avengers Tower
August 2011
"That was exhausting," Darcy muttered.
"You did well," Steve said.
Darcy grinned at him as they crossed the lobby. "So did you, big guy."
Maybe too well. As the stress of the press conference bled from her mind, Darcy realized that there was something off about Steve's manner. More collected than normal–more calculated.
"Your script was well prepared," he added.
"I know." Darcy's phone dinged and she pulled it out, scanning through a series of incoming notifications. "Oh, awesome, they're already releasing transcripts of the press conference… Damn, this guy really hates us… Derek Bord." She snorted. "That's fitting."
"Who is he?" Steve asked.
Darcy wondered vaguely how he could be this oblivious. "CNN reporter," she said.
Steve laughed lightly. Darcy kept her eyes down but added that to the growing stack of evidence labeled Steve Is Acting Weird.
He pressed the elevator call button.
Several people walked by, staring blatantly at Steve.
He glared back at them.
Darcy laughed. "Embrace it. You're a celebrity."
"I never wanted to be," Steve said.
"That's why you let them parade you around in that costume, huh?"
Darcy caught his confused look and smirked. "I've seen the pictures. Seriously? Dancing girls?"
"It was 1944," Steve protested after a pause. "I was under orders."
"I'm so glad you don't do that anymore," Darcy said. The elevator arrived and she led the way inside, pressing the button for the common room. "People who always do what they're told are boring."
"I'm so glad you don't find me boring," Steve said dryly.
"Mmmm." Darcy kept scrolling through news coverage of the press conference. She bookmarked everything that looked interesting but didn't really read or process anything she saw. Her attention was too focused on Steve.
There. In her peripheral vision–a flicker. For a bare second, Steve's tennis shoes had changed from blue to gray.
Darcy went through her memory. It wasn't perfect and it wasn't totally "photographic," but she did have good image recall, and she had only ever seen Steve in the blue shoes. And she was pretty sure she'd never hallucinated before, so either the stress was getting to her or this wasn't Steve.
"You know," she said idly, "I'm pretty sure there was a rule that you had to inform us whenever you used magic."
She looked up and met not-Steve's eyes.
His entire demeanor was sharper. It was extremely odd to see someone else's expression on Steve's face for the next three seconds, until the illusion faded away and Loki looked back at her.
"So how does that work?" Darcy asked, gesturing vaguely at him. His clothes were different, too: he wore a neat black button-down tucked into jeans, since all they'd given him were Earth clothes. "Like, is it a manipulation of the minds of people around you or a manipulation of the image you present?"
Loki frowned. "I don't follow."
"Do you change my perception of the world or change the world which I perceive?" she clarified.
"Ah. The latter. The illusion is a construct which alters the light as it hits me. It requires more effort and complexity to similarly alter other aspects of my presentation, such as olfactory or tactile contact with another person, but I am capable of such manipulations as well."
"Jane is gonna have a field day with you," Darcy said. "When are you going to start working with her?"
Loki shrugged. "She has been occupied with my scepter these last few weeks and has not yet had time for me."
"She probably forgot, honestly," Darcy said. "I'll remind her. Now why were you pretending to be Steve?"
The elevator stopped at the common room, and the doors slid open.
Steve was there, practically vibrating with anxiety. Darcy also noticed Tony at the bar but still focused intently on her and Loki. Neither of them showed any surprise at seeing the Asgardian in the elevator.
"How'd it go?" Steve asked.
"He plays a very convincing Captain America," Darcy said. "Press ate it up. I mean, it's not like anyone would even suspect that we're hiding an extraterrestrial shape-changing sociopath, so they haven't got any reason to think it was anyone other than you."
"It is unlike you to be tardy, Captain," Loki added with a smirk. "You are fortunate that I was able to take on your guise so easily."
"I'm a little disturbed by it, frankly," Steve muttered. "And don't call me that." He passed them and climbed into the elevator.
"Where you off to?" Darcy asked.
"Shower," Steve replied. "Didn't Loki tell you? I was in the gym, lost track of time."
"Ah," Darcy said.
The doors closed.
She dropped her voice so Tony couldn't hear. "And you conveniently forgot to tell me that you took over as the public face of Steve Rogers?"
Loki smiled. "I did inform you. I simply waited until after you detected my deceit. The good Captain Rogers neglected to specify when I had to reveal myself."
Darcy snorted. "I'll send out a PSA."
She glanced over at the offices. Each of the Avengers had set up an informal work station in one of the separate office-like rooms along the west wall of the common room; the glass walls of each "office" had gradually changed to reflect the person inside. Darcy's were covered in scribbled notes done in Expo ink of various colors. Tony had done something similar, except his notes were formulae and half-finished schematics, ideas jotted down for later. Steve's was sparse, with only two personal touches: a photograph of New York from the top of Avengers Tower and a sketch of a dancing monkey pinned above the computer.
Does he know how to use the computer yet?
Darcy headed straight for her office–she had to monitor the press reaction and head off any fiascos, maybe work the State Department to see if they could get her in touch with the Mexican government about the cartels. Her contacts there weren't very well placed, but Darcy would use what she had.
"Miss Lewis."
"Seriously, just call me Darcy. No one on does that anymore."
"Darcy, then," Loki corrected, still following her. "I was curious if you would take a few minutes to begin educating me on Midgardian culture?"
Darcy's steps slowed.
She had piles of work to do, cartels to track down, and a witness dead under suspicious circumstances. She didn't have time to be teaching a dangerous Asgardian about the hundreds of cultural traditions seen in America alone, not even counting the hundreds more unique to dozens of other societies around the world.
"Sure," she said. "Come on in."