Chapter Text
You're not sure WHAT you thought you'd be doing with your B.A. in English, but pedaling through the dangerous streets of New York wasn't the goal.
Neither was coming home every day smelling like gasoline and fried food, but when bills are due, bills are due.
The one highlight of your job is you occasionally get sent on deliveries to Stark Industries. It's rife with important-looking people and some dressed in what you could only describe as tactical gear. It's fun to think about what secret missions or world-saving heists these people are working at on any given day.
It's also fun to play Spot-the-Avenger.
So far, you've gotten within twenty feet of Captain America, seen Iron Man flying up to his personal landing strip near the top of the building twice, and are pretty sure you caught a glimpse of Thor's cape as he left the lobby.
It's been almost five years since the attack on New York, and the city has essentially returned to normal. There's a few memorials and statues that have been added here and there, but, in true New Yorker fashion, life goes on.
Today you're delivering quite a few food bags from a local catering company. You lock up your bike at the rack out front and lug the bags inside, the plastic pinching your fingers to nearly cut off circulation.
When you inquire at the desk for a "Lygari," the receptionist looks confused as she searches her database. You see her brow tightening with each click and start to wonder if maybe your boss wrote the name down wrong. It does sound pretty foreign.
"Delivery woman," a voice calls out. The tone is commanding and nearly imperial, reaching your ears and demanding attention. You turn, curious if they're referring to you. You find the speaker quickly enough.
A woman is slowly making her way from the elevators. She's tall - crazy tall - and the four inch leather boots that cover her knees aren't exactly lessening that effect. Her hair is black and curly, flowing in loose tendrils nearly to her waist. She's dressed in a hunter green almost tunic-looking dress with a wide brown belt at her waist. It clings to her form, accentuating every one of her generous curves.
She's one of those types of beauties that make you choke on air, and that sets every nerve in your body into meltdown. In other words, you suddenly find yourself in a fully incapacitating bi-panic.
"M-me?" you ask, dumbly, as she's clearly crossing the lobby towards you. As she steps within your personal space, you finally get a look at her features. Sharp jaw, piercing green eyes, high cheekbones, full lips. You don't even think she's wearing makeup and that both irritates and impresses you.
"Obviously. Don't be daft," she growls. Her voice has some sort of accent - you think British - and it only adds to your flustered state.
"You're… Lygari?" you ask, tentatively, wondering if you should ask for ID. You don't usually have to.
Her lips quirk slightly before she rolls her eyes. "Certainly."
You laugh, awkwardly, and hold out the bags that have turned your fingers purple. She glances down, sniffs once, and turns away from you. She starts across the lobby, heading back towards the elevator.
"Uh…ma'am?" you call after her, still awkwardly holding the bags up. She sends you a displeased, nearly regal look over a shoulder.
"Follow, mortal. I will not be bearing the load like some common wench."
Confused and astounded at the vocabulary, you share a quizzical look with the receptionist. She just shrugs, looking as baffled as you are. She makes a gesture that seems to say You might as well do what she says.
You've never been beyond the lobby of Stark Industries before, so climbing into the elevator with the Amazonian Queen of Sexiness is a very new experience. As the doors slide shut behind you, you're surprised to see that there's only about ten floors listed, though you're certain by the Tower's height alone that cannot be right. You're even more surprised when the woman foregoes the ten floor buttons entirely, pressing her hand to a flat part of the wall above the buttons. A panel lights up, beeps, and a scottish-accented female voice fills the elevator.
"Where to, Miss Laufeyson?"
"Main common area," the woman replies, sounding bored. You wonder if you should ask questions. Your nerves are at an all-time high and it's no longer solely due to being in a small enclosed space with an attractive person.
You feel the elevator pick up speed. At one point, you get the sensation that it's no longer going vertically, but moving in random directions. You have to steady yourself when it suddenly stops without warning and the doors open.
You quietly follow the woman into a warmly-lit, well-decorated sitting room. It's large and expansive, yet cozy. Against the far wall is an open kitchen the size of which you've only seen when picking up orders from restaurants in Midtown.
"FRIDAY, inform the others that the food is here," the woman (Lygari? Ms. Laufeyson?) sighs. Every word she speaks sounds like she'd rather be anywhere else. You're not certain why. She snaps her fingers, and though you are slightly irked at the gesture, you give her your attention.
She waves vaguely towards the kitchen as she sinks onto one of the plush couches decorating the wide room. "Set it over there."
This is all far out of your job description, but you're too stunned at this turn of events to comment yet. Instead, you try to start up friendly smalltalk, since she barely spoke to you in the elevator.
"Is this your apartment, miss? It's very nice."
She scoffs, not looking at you. "Hardly."
As you set your bags down on the counter in the kitchen, you catch a glimpse out one of the windows. The room you're in is high . Nearly top-of-the-tower high. Just where are you?
You don't unpack the food - again, not your job - and start heading back towards the elevator. You hesitate behind the couch, doubting highly that this woman will be giving you a tip. You deserve a decent one, for going above and beyond.
Before you can decide whether or not to ask her, however, you hear voices coming down the hall. Naturally, you turn at the sound, and your jaw hits the floor.
Captain America, laughing, elbows the Falcon as they cross the threshold. Behind them, a hunched-over Tony Stark is glaring at a tablet in his hands. For a moment, they don't notice you. Then, it seems, all at once, they register that you're standing awkwardly in between the seating area and the kitchen.
They blink, glancing between you and the lady, their conversation dying. Awkwardly, you hold up a hand and wave at three of the fucking Avengers.
"H-Hi?"
Tony steps forward, glaring at the woman on the couch. "How many times are we going through this, Reindeer Games? You can't just bring people into the compound!"
She turns slightly, brow furrowed. She glances between you and the three men. "You were the one who sent me on a servant's errand. I wasn't about to carry the packages as well."
Captain-freaking-America steps forward with a warm smile. "Hi there, Steve Rogers," he says, sticking out a hand. You take it almost too eagerly, pumping it faster than he can.
"Uh, yeah… I know… Captain, hi?" Your eyes flick to the Falcon as he steps to you as well, attempting a reassuring smile.
"Sam Wilson."
You sputter out your own name in response, shaking hands for several moments too long. You're starstruck, unsure of what to say now. Why are you here ?
"Sorry, kid," Tony - Iron Man - says as he turns back from the couch. "You didn't have to come all the way up here. She's just used to being waited on hand-and-foot where she comes from."
He fishes in his back pocket for his wallet, then pulls out several bills, pressing them into your hand. "That should cover it, right?"
You look down automatically. Tony has pressed five one-hundred dollar bills into your palm.
"U-Uh, sorry, Mr. Stark. The order's already been paid for, I just deliver…"
"Nah, that's the tip. You keep that."
Your eyes bug. That's more than you make in a week. You look back at him in alarm.
"I can't accept this - that's too generous…?"
He shrugs, then gives you a wink. "Consider it payment for not slugging Her Royal Highness over here."
"As if she could harm me," sneers the woman.
"Now I kinda want to give her another hundred just to try," Tony snarks back. The woman scowls at him, then turns it on you. You look away.
"Uh… enjoy your lunch," you say, awkwardly. You feel like you've already overstayed your welcome. As you shuffle back towards the elevator, you remember the weird hand-scanner thing the lady had to use. "Do I need to do anything to…?"
Before you finish your statement, you hear a whoosh and thud somewhere outside the windows. No one else seems bothered by the sound, and before you can start to ask your question again, another familiar Avenger sweeps into the room, cape billowing gallantly out behind him.
Your bi-panic sets back in as the God of Thunder greets his teammates in the kitchen. You hear him jokingly complain that they didn't include him in their lunch plans. As you're debating whether to interrupt a literal god, he finally catches sight of you, a broad welcoming grin spreading across his features. You weren't sure he could be more handsome, but that sends you into a state in which you suddenly find the room spinning.
"Ah, and who might you be, fair maiden?"
"I, uh, I carried the food." You point at the woman; she's now watching you with a peculiar look of interest at your stammered speech. "She made me."
Thor steps across the room, long legs carrying him much faster than yours ever could. He frowns down at the woman on the couch, arms crossing. "We've talked about this, sister. You cannot treat the good people of Midgard as your personal servants."
The woman - Thor's sister? - shoots to her feet, rage coloring her features. "Well perhaps if you weren't keeping me locked away in this damnable tower, I'd have more time to adjust to this miserable planet."
"The agreement we made said you were not to be released until you'd proven your trustworthiness!"
"And how in the bloody blazes am I to do that while locked away?"
"Whoa! Hey!" you find yourself interrupting, as you skitter forward. Your head is still spinning and your moves are slightly uncoordinated. It's probably not the best idea to physically put yourself between a god and… whatever Lygari Laufeyson is, but you can't help but feel like you caused this fight. Also, as she's the only other female in a room of very powerful dudes , a sort of implied sisterhood pushes you to defend her. "There's no need to be mad at her. It's my fault, I could've said no when she told me to come up."
Thor's expression gentles at your interruption. He opens his mouth to say something, but a new voice cuts him off, coming from directly behind you.
"I do not need you to defend me, little mortal."
Confused about the new masculine voice, you whirl around.
Standing where the woman once was, is now a familiar man. You've seen his likeness in the dozens of pop-up museums around the city detailing the Battle of New York of five years ago. He no longer wears the golden helmet, and his attire is now a more masculine tunic similar to the dress the lady was wearing.
Loki.
You suddenly realize you haven't taken a breath in quite some time. Your head is still whirling, your heart pounding in your ears. Then, something that's never occurred to you before happens.
You faint.