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batsutousaiTitle: What Would You Do?
Fandom: Marvel (movie 'verse)
Author: Batsutousai
Beta: Runic
Rating: M/R
Pairings: Tony Stark/Loki, post-Loki/Svaðilfari
Warnings: AU-Human/Marvel fusion, stripper and strip clubs, Lady Loki, past abuse (child and spousal), transsexual character, canon-typical violence
Summary: Running from a marriage-gone-wrong, Loki Larsen has to find a way to survive life as an illegal alien in New York City with her younger brother and four-year-old son. When Tony Stark discovers her secret, is that the end of everything, or is it the start of something far better?
Disclaim Her: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Marvel. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Title and idea both from the City High song What Would You Do? Which I first heard via Bastille's cover.
I'm off and on about this song. On one hand, it's not a bad message. On the other hand, once you're toeing the poverty line, it's really hard to climb above it. (The plethora of male singers also makes my male privilege radar go insane, which doesn't help.)
Loki's last name and Sleipnir's age went through so many revisions while I was working on this, it's kind of pathetic. If I missed fixing anything following one of the changes, I apologise. (After this fic hit the 10K mark, I kind of stopped caring about anything beyond making the damn thing end, tbh. ^.^" )
Loki couldn't say, the next morning, shivering on Býleistr's lumpy couch with her son tucked up against her side in the least ratty of the blankets, what had been the last straw. The ache of bruises across the left side of her face and upper arm suggested it was them, but she had a vague recollection of Sva storming towards Sleipnir with a raised hand, and the mere suggestion shot ice through her veins, terror and fury in equal measure.
She shuddered, too obvious to have been caused by the chill the dying heater couldn't quite fight back. Sleipnir shifted at her side and she gently ran a hand through his ash-blond hair, soothing his troubled sleep.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Býleistr appeared in the doorway, chest bare in a way that, for Loki – who had helped her younger sibling through most of puberty, before the hormone treatments and surgeries turned him into a male – was beyond odd. She ignored it, though, offering the other a weak smile. "Morning, Lester," she whispered, ever aware of the small body curled against her side.
Býleistr – Lester to anyone outside of Loki's own head – inclined his head. "You look like shit, Lo'," he informed her bluntly.
Loki resisted the urge to touch the ache across her cheek. "Your couch is unbelievably miserable to sleep on," she retorted, stepping carefully around the elephant in the room.
Býleistr flashed her a sharp smile that she knew he'd stolen from her. "The brat seems to be managing."
Loki glanced down at her son and soothed her fingers through his hair again. "He's four; crashing on uncomfortable surfaces is part of his charm."
"You say charm, I say–"
"Language!" Loki hissed, not needing her brother to finish the sentence to know it was nothing she wanted said around Sleipnir. Asleep or no. "Don't make me find a bar of soap."
Býleistr's eyes sparkled. "None in the apartment. You'll have to run down to the store down the block. By the time you get back, the kid and I'll be long gone."
"Teaching him all the worst curse words, I'm sure," Loki muttered, unbothered by the hollow threat. After the two of them ran away from home when Loki was seventeen, stowing away on a ship and stealing what scraps they could while the crew were asleep or on duty, they were all the other had left; Býleistr would no sooner run off with Sleipnir, than Loki would go to another for help when she was at her lowest.
Býleistr covered his mouth, attempting to silence the weird little giggle-snort that had counted for his laughter since he caught the flu their second month in America.
Sleipnir shifted and his small hands clutched in Loki's shirt. "Mamma..." he mumbled.
Býleistr's laughter immediately ceased as Loki twisted awkwardly and kissed her son's forehead. "Hush, sweet one. Mamma's right here."
Sleipnir's eyes cracked open and he peered up at her. "Okay, Mamma?"
"Mamma is fine. Do you remember where we are?"
Sleipnir opened his eyes a little wider, taking in the bruising marring her face, then peered around her at where Býleistr was standing in the doorway. "Uncle Lester!" he realized and made a valiant effort to shove away the blanket.
Loki helped unwrap her son and hop over her so he could run to his uncle. Býleistr caught him in a hug and twirled him around. Sleipnir let out a screech of glee and clung on tight, every hint of last night's terrors vanished. Loki was grateful.
"Let's get you through the bathroom before Mamma takes it over," Býleistr suggested to the boy, pitching his voice low, as though in an attempt to keep Loki from hearing the plan.
Sleipnir peeked back at where Loki was sitting on the couch. His smile flickered and he leaned closer to his uncle to whisper something in his ear. Býleistr's bright smile softened. "Absolutely. Bathroom first, though. Mamma probably wants a shower."
"Mamma likes showers," Sleipnir said sagely.
"Mamma has always been fond of showers," Býleistr confided as he carried the boy from the room.
Loki took the moment of silence to sigh and run a hand through the wreck of her hair. She and Býleistr probably needed to discuss the future, which wouldn't be easy with a child running around. Sleipnir always took a nap around noon, though, and Býleistr, she knew, had called in at his construction work the night before, citing family illness. They could talk then.
Loki also needed to find a time to go back to her home and pick up as much of her and Sleipnir's things as she could while Sva was at work. She didn't want to take Sleipnir back to the house, not after everything, but that meant Býleistr would have to remain with him. Which was fine, but it would mean she was on her own.
"I'll make do," she whispered as the sound of a flushing toilet echoed through the apartment.
"Mamma!" Sleipnir shouted as he skidded to a stop in the living room doorway.
Loki was immediately on her feet, half afraid he'd fall over, but he caught himself on the doorway and grinned at her, though it faltered as he saw her again. "My turn?" Loki asked, pushing away the moment's fear.
Sleipnir blinked, then nodded. "Yeah!" He gave her a stern look. "Stay out of the kitchen."
Loki raised an eyebrow. "The kitchen, hm? What are you and Uncle Lester up to?"
She started forward, only to find him latching onto her legs. "Nope! Shower!" he called up.
Loki laughed and ruffled his hair. "As you please, then. Don't let Uncle Lester burn down the apartment."
Sleipnir's eyes went wide and he made a beeline for the kitchen, shouting, "Uncle Lester! Uncle Lester, don't burn it!"
Býleistr let out an indignant, "Loki!" making Loki laugh hard enough her face hurt; Býleistr was plenty capable in the kitchen any more, she knew, but she could hardly pass up a chance to torment him about his childhood failures.
As ordered, she took her shower. Býleistr's apartment's heater might not have worked, but the building water heater was running just fine, and Loki made a valiant attempt to empty it before she felt human enough to turn the water off and wrap herself up in the clothing that had magically replaced what she'd slept in. The shirt was a little tight across the chest, but Býleistr and she had always been of a size, and Loki was hardly in a position to complain about a little tightness.
Breakfast was awaiting her: Chocolate chip pancakes drowned in enough syrup to rot out at least half the teeth of a normal person, bacon a little too crispy at the edges, and freshly brewed coffee in the mug she'd given Býleistr when he'd started his treatments, the one that said "No. 1 Bro" in the most gaudy shade of red she could find in the shop. Býleistr always made Loki use that mug for the same reason that Loki had bought it for him; they both hated red.
Loki was suitably grateful for the food, praised Sleipnir for keeping his uncle from burning anything, and ignored any heckling from Býleistr's corner.
It all felt remarkably normal, and Loki quickly stopped feeling the way her bruises pulled every time she smiled.
Býleistr had a kindly neighbor whom he trusted to keep an eye on Sleipnir, and Loki trusted his judgment enough to leave her son behind while she and her brother returned to her former home to collect any essentials.
Sva was at work, thankfully, though his anger clearly hadn't stopped once Loki had grabbed Sleipnir and run. The television had been smashed in, and at least half of the good plates and bowls were strewn across the floor in pieces.
"What did you ever see in this man?" Býleistr growled as Loki pulled out a couple of bags for him to stuff with whatever items she handed him.
"He was settled enough to care for me, cover whatever costs the shelter couldn't for your treatments, and he–"
"Called you beautiful." Býleistr sighed. "I know, Lo'." He shoved a handful of shirts into a bag a little too roughly, the accent they'd both worked so hard to lose coming out full force as he continued, "How did it all go so wrong? We got away from Faðir, found a way to fix me, you found a kind husband who didn't care that you have no papers, and Sleipnir..."
"Sleipnir," Loki agreed quietly, handing over a pile of skirts. A child had been the last thing her husband had wanted. After the second month of screaming waking them both in the middle of the night, Sva had begun making a stop at the local bar and drinking himself to sleep, leaving Loki to take care of their son in the night, while his father slept like the dead. By the time Sleipnir had begun sleeping through the night, Sva had grown to depend on his alcohol too much, and he didn't care to seek help.
Býleistr's mouth was pressed in a tight line as he silently continued packing the things Loki handed him. Loki, likewise, didn't speak.
It was only when they moved to Sleipnir's room that the man said, "We'll get you a job. Mrs. Grey is more than capable of watching Sleipnir during the day, and we can, between the two of us, provide well enough for three."
"Even without papers?" Loki whispered, running her fingers along some of Sleipnir's baby things before passing them by; unnecessary clutter.
"I've been managing," Býleistr pointed out gently. Out of the corner of her eye, Loki thought she saw Sleipnir's favorite teddy bear – the one he refused to have anything to do with, on account of the arm Sva had torn off, not even after Loki had fixed it – vanish into one of the bags.
Loki shook her head. "Providing for an adult is nothing like providing for a child, Lester," she insisted. "For one, he is constantly outgrowing clothing–"
"So we'll look for donations. Ask the neighbors and our co-workers. We can keep an eye on the Salvation Army around the way, too, watch for deals." Býleistr touched Loki's shoulder, catching her attention. "We'll manage, Loki," he promised, conviction a solid weight to his words. "We always manage, you and me."
Loki swallowed against a lump in her throat and turned to pull her brother into a tight hug, drawing strength from his impossible faith. She hoped – prayed to any god who would listen, even her accursed namesake – he would prove to be right.
Once upon a time, Loki's natural beauty – though she hadn't felt so beautiful at the time, dressed in a ragged dress two sizes too big on her everywhere but across her breasts, which had been far too large, given how thin the rest of her was – had been the thing to buy her and Býleistr a new life. Now, however, trying to find a job as a construction or daytime worker, that same beauty – furthered by seven year's good eating and proper healthcare – was destroying their every dream. No one wanted to hire a woman who looked so breakable, and Býleistr's assurances that Loki was stronger than she looked fell on deaf ears.
Loki tried finding a waitressing or retail job, but no one would hire her without the proper paperwork. Not even the kindly old man who owned the corner shop down the block would take her, for all that he was perpetually in need of a second set of hands.
"I should just look for another husband," Loki whispered to Býleistr one night, the two of them bundled around the sleeping Sleipnir, trying to all three keep warm against the winter's chill by sharing Býleistr's bed. "Marriage is all I'm good for, it seems."
Býleistr immediately shook his head. "Forget the legal hoops, I'm not going to let you find another bastard to abuse you and Sleipnir any time soon."
"Then what?" Loki whispered, turning away to hide the burn of tears in her eyes. "You can't support all three of us alone, Lester."
Býleistr was quiet for a long moment before, uncertainly, offering, "Greg, one of the other workers, said his wife dances at this club. It's a bit... Well, it's edging on a strip club."
Loki glanced back at him. "But it pays?"
"Yeah. Pretty well, from what he was saying."
Loki offered a helpless, broken smile. "When needs must..."
"I don't like it, Lo'," Býleistr insisted. "It could be dangerous. You could get hurt."
Loki looked away, weighing his words, then turned back and met her brother's shadowed eyes, determination coursing through her. "When has a little danger ever stopped me, Býleistr?"
Her brother grimaced at the use of his birth name, then sighed. "When indeed," he murmured.
And that was pretty much the end of that.
Býleistr's co-worker – or the man's wife – had been lying when he said it was 'edging' on a strip club. The place was a strip club, but bikini-style. The proprietor had been a little uncertain upon discovering that Loki had experience with neither pole dancing, nor lap dancing, but he was willing to give the woman a chance once she swore she was a quick study. It helped that the wife of Býleistr's co-worker – Betty – had put in a good word for her.
Loki paid for the good word by handing over a tenth of her earnings for the first month, but Betty hadn't fibbed about how well it paid, and the leftover money was plenty enough to cover what fees Býleistr's paychecks couldn't, as well as keep some money aside for Christmas presents or new clothing for Sleipnir or whatever emergency popped up first.
Loki found a couple of regulars, and their kindness paid for Sleipnir catching a nasty cold from the lack of working heater, as well as the repairs Býleistr's landlord couldn't be assed to make. Býleistr cheerfully took the cost out their rent the next month, after checking with the lawyer in employ of the construction company he worked for to make sure he was entitled.
In all, they were managing. Býleistr would occasionally make a face when Loki's job was referenced, approving even less once he'd found out it was a strip club, but he never tried suggesting she find something else.
That said, Loki did occasionally look through the classifieds in the papers left in the back room of the club, watching for a job that she could apply for that wouldn't care that she was an illegal alien.
"Why even bother?" Betty asked one night, her southern accent so thick, Loki sometimes had trouble understanding her.
Loki didn't look up from the paper. "I want my son to be able to tell people what his mamma does for a living without someone thinking I shouldn't be allowed to take care of him."
"Nothin' shameful 'bout bein' a dancer."
Loki shook her head. "Maybe not, but the law doesn't always think that way."
Betty sighed and capped the lipstick she was always borrowing from Loki. "Ain't that the truth," she murmured before reaching around and slipping the lipstick between Loki's breasts.
It was a testament to how desensitized she'd become to the job that Loki's only reaction was so snarl, "Do you want the lipstick to warp?! Christ, Betty," and toss the lipstick towards her small vanity, uncaring as it clattered noisily against the smudged mirror.
"Relax, Loki," Betty ordered as she flounced away. "It's not like ya' can't afford another!"
Loki scowled and refused to offer a response to that, beyond burying her nose even further into the paper.
For New Years, Loki was invited with two other dancers – not Betty, she'd been pleased to note, until she found out the other woman had begged off because she had her own plans – to a private party hosted by, the proprietor assured them, a real high-paying client.
"He asked for the best, and you girls are it," he informed them, grin wide and a little greedy.
"Yeah, yeah," Louise, one of the other women, said, waving a negligent hand. "What're the rules?"
Rules? Loki wondered with a sinking sensation.
"He wants topless, no pasties, but you get to keep your bottoms," the proprietor explained. "Expect lap dance requests and, knowing this client, he'll want to take at least one of you to bed. It's at your discretion whether you're willing to accommodate him or not. I would suggest you do." His eyebrows bounced up and down over his eyes, a familiar dance that Loki was honestly beginning to hate.
Sarah, the other woman, rolled her eyes and wiggled long, fire engine-red nails at him. "Stop fuckin' around, boss. Who's the pretty-boy dealer, then?"
He laughed, belly-deep and loud enough to catch the eyes of the two women getting the bar on the other side of the room ready for opening. "Tony Stark."
Sarah and Louise both whistled while Loki's eyes went wide. She'd applied for a no-name position in the New York office before Býleistr had told her about the club. She'd never heard back from them, honestly hadn't expected to, at that point. It would figure that she would finally get into the building – rumor was Stark lived on the top floor – as a 'dancer'.
One of the bouncers called out the ten minute warning from by the doors and the four of them stood. "The car will pick you up here half an hour before opening on the thirty-first. Don't plan to get home until late on the first," the proprietor told the three women before they could hurry to finish getting ready.
Loki and the other two murmured their understanding and fled.
"You don't look like you're having fun," a voice said from behind Loki.
She turned away from the view – she'd been unable to keep herself from looking towards where she lived with Býleistr and Sleipnir, given that one of walls of windows faced in the right direction – and choked to find herself face-to-face with her host. "Mr. Stark!" she managed. "I– No, no this is– I'm having plenty of fu–"
Stark just shook his head and stepped around her to look out the window himself. When she turned to watch him, she saw he was looking towards her neighborhood, as though tracing her line of sight. "I always look up anyone I let into my building," he told her, quietly enough that, with the thrumming music Sarah and Louise were still dancing to for Stark's guests, Loki was the only one who could hear him. "You caught my eye, Mrs. Svensson."
"I don't–" Loki coughed. "That's not...my name."
Stark glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "No? Are you saying the only trace I could find of you doesn't exist?"
Loki looked away, towards her home, shame a burn in her chest. "We're going through a divorce." A little lie; Sva hadn't contacted her again since she'd run out, and her lack of legal status kept her from filing for a divorce. It had been hard enough for him to tie them together without raising too many eyebrows; she had a sinking feeling their marriage would never be abolished.
Then again, if Loki didn't exist, she could hardly be married, could she?
Stark nodded and looked back towards the city. "So it's not your husband you're longing for. Your son?"
Loki wrapped her arms around herself, glad she'd been able to get away with keeping her shirt – unlike her co-workers, who had quickly stripped down to just their bikini bottoms – but still feeling naked in spite of the added protection. "He's with his uncle."
Stark hummed. "What's your name?"
Loki glanced at him and found him watching her, phone in his hands, and took a moment to consider the pros of running. And, what? Hope Stark wouldn't hunt them down and tear them apart anyway? Býleistr had been right, this was a dangerous job. Too dangerous, maybe.
"Loki Larsen," she whispered. "Originally Laufeysdóttir."
Stark's typing was silent, the annoying clicking sound that too many touch screens implemented silenced. After a moment, he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow and a wry smile. "You realize you and your sister are presumed dead."
"Good," Loki spat, the vitriol in her voice surprising even her. She quickly looked away, out across the city to where her little family sat, watching the festivities on their outdated television. Býleistr would have been walking slowly around the apartment with the antenna while Sleipnir shouted out how clear the picture was. Sometimes, Sleipnir and Loki would make Býleistr keep walking around long after they'd found the perfect spot, just to make him grumble when they finally called him back in.
Stark scattered her thoughts to ask, "And where is Býle– No, I'm going to butcher her name. Your sister."
Loki paused a beat before correcting, "Brother."
"Ah. The uncle watching your son." The screen of his phone shifted under his fingers. "Lester. Works in construction." He looked back towards Loki's home, and a glance at the screen of the phone showed a small map of the city, a red dot on top of the building Loki lived in.
Loki hugged herself tighter and forced herself to ask, "What do you intend to do with all this information, Mr. Stark?"
The billionaire considered that for a moment before pasting on the most shit-eating grin Loki had ever seen and asking, "Want a romp between my sheets?"
"No."
Stark threw his head back and laughed, loud enough to catch the attention of the others. Loki had a brief moment where she shrank under the heavy gazes of the two generals and the colonel Stark counted as his guests. But then she drew months of experience in the club around her like a shroud and purred, "So rude, Mr. Stark, keeping me from your guests." She tutted at him, then sauntered over to her two co-workers, resigning herself to never knowing Stark's answer to her question until it was too late.
In the early morning light of the new year, when Loki rifled through her purse to find her apartment keys, she found one of the napkins they'd had with the food bar Stark had provided, words scrawled across it in handwriting that was almost worse than Sleipnir's attempts:
'Good luck, Ms. Larsen. Your secret's safe with me.'
Two days later, a large envelope was awaiting Loki at work. She frowned at it in confusion, even as she ripped it open. The first sheet had her letting out a quiet noise of disbelief.
Betty poked her head around Loki's shoulder. "Your husband finally file for divorce, then?" she asked of the paper. "Took him long 'nough."
"I-I guess so," Loki stuttered. But, if this had been from Sva, it would have been delivered to the apartment. He couldn't possibly have known about her job. And wouldn't it have been...thinner?
Loki waited until Betty left before flipping through the rest of the papers. There was the expected paperwork for the divorce, as well as some paperwork to change Loki's last name back to Larsen. All things that needed her signature to finish legalizing them, all perfectly in order, otherwise.
At the very bottom of the pile were two envelopes. One had Loki's name on it, the other her brother's legal name. Loki opened hers and her eyes went wide to find a copy of her actual birth certificate – something she'd been required to leave behind when she and Býleistr fled – as well as the paperwork necessary to make her a United States citizen, backdated six years.
"Oh my God," she breathed, awed and a little disbelieving.
Býleistr's envelope held the same items, his birth certificate and documentation for citizenship. Security in paper form for both of them. There was no question in her mind as to who had left the packet.
"Loki!" Betty called, warning in advance of her approach.
Loki hurriedly shoved the papers back into their envelopes and turned to greet Betty with a smile that was so much wider than she usually managed. Betty blinked at her, approach slowing. "What is it, Betty?"
"We're opened," Betty said, regaining herself and flashing Loki a smile back. "One of your gentlemen is lookin' for ya."
"Of course," Loki agreed, standing.
Betty sighed and stepped forward. She held Loki in place with a hand on her shoulder while she leaned around and picked up Loki's lipstick. "You look near a fright, girlie. He'll wait half a mo' for you to dress up for him."
Loki laughed and took the offered makeup. "I don't know about that. You know how men can be."
They shared a mean little smile, then Betty turned to go back to the floor while Loki turned to do her face up.
Loki honestly thought that was the last she'd ever hear from Tony Stark.
..
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Date: 5/11/13 03:18 (UTC)*goes to Part 2*