I actually wrote this around six months ago but I guess I was originally envisioning it as part of something bigger. Re-reading it, however, I figure it's self-contained enough I can post as is.
Title: A Secret Well Kept
Fandom: DC TV
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 989
Characters: Len, Mick, some Lisa
Summary: Another variation of Mick-stumbling-on-Len-in-a-skirt.
The first time Mick had seen Len in a skirt was an accident. Restlessness and close scrutiny from Lewis caused Mick to branch out a bit, working without Len for the first time since they'd met up outside of juvie but the job fell through and he'd heard through the grapevine that Lewis had to bug out and lay low for a bit. So Mick decided to drop in on the Snarts for the first time in two weeks.
The two had been watching some ridiculous thing on tv with Len putting braids in Lisa's hair and Len was wearing a skirt.
Nothing flashy or frilly, just a dark gray skirt that wouldn't have been out of place on an office worker and Len looking mortified at being caught. Mick laughed it off- he knew Lisa always liked having things to her specifications and that Len would do whatever he could to please her when it was possible. Besides, she was 11 now. She was not only entirely aware of this fact but she was now old enough to take advantage of it for her own amusement.
"Your secret is safe with me," he told Len with a huge grin, finding the entire thing hilarious. "No one else needs to know how much you're willing to suffer to keep Lisa happy."
Len laughed like something painful was caught in his throat and, off to the side, Lisa was glaring at Mick. "Yeah. Thanks, buddy." Mick offered to take them out to dinner and Len had excused himself to change. Lisa glared at Mick the entire time they waited and Mick thought it was because he'd interrupted their sibling time.
He didn't really get it until Lisa barged into his apartment and demanded he watch a movie with her because Len was too busy to and she'd absolutely die if she was the last person in her class to see it.
With a title like The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, Mick popped it in, expecting some kind of boring princess Disney type shit and ended up being very, incredibly wrong. Despite all of Lisa's non-pointed commentary- "Aren't their dresses amazing?" "Why don't you drive a car like that?" "I wonder how you'd look with a make-over." -Mick knew there was a specific reason for her making him watch the movie. It wasn't until Tick was standing in front of his son, visibly uncomfortable in typical men's attire, that the reason struck him like a blow between the eyes. He sat silent, lost in thought, for the rest of the movie and that must have satisfied Lisa because she announced she was taking over his bed for the night, threw a spare blanket at him, kissed his cheek and bounced off to Mick's room.
It took the better part of a month before Mick figured out a way to broach the subject and had the courage to do so. He caught Len before the younger man was about to dive into a new heist- before a crew was hired, when he'd just started an outline and was beginning to make a list of things he needed to research. Once Len got into planning, it could take months before Mick would have the chance to say it and he wasn't about to distract Len in the middle of a job.
Len was standing there, hand tapping against a stack of papers he was just about to sit and read through when Mick got his attention. Mick cleared his throat and, as he always did when in doubt, went for it. "Are you a woman?"
The irritated crease vanished from Len's forehead, replaced by confusion. "What?"
"You know. A trans..." Mick waved a hand vaguely, "whatever it is."
"No. Why would you think that?"
"You like to wear skirts, right?" Len's expression shuttered and Mick hurried on because if he gave Len the chance, Len would shut down the conversation entirely and Mick wasn't sure Len would ever come back. "'Cause if you do and if you think you're a woman," he saw a hard look flash over Len's expression and backtracked quickly, "sorry- if you are a woman, than me saying you were wearing a skirt because Lisa forced you into it is pretty shitty. And I don't wanna make you feel like you gotta pretend around me. I don't want you to think you gotta be scared of me. You're my partner," he said, a little uncertain as to how this was going to end, "that kinda stuff isn't gonna change that."
"Mick..." Len sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm not a woman, I just like to wear skirts some times. And I'm not a cross dresser," he added quickly, "at least not in the sexual sense."
"But... why would- I don't-"
"I just... I like skirts like," Len paused as he thought, "like you like wearing suspenders instead of belts sometimes. They're comfortable, I like how they look and sometimes I feel like wearing them instead of pants." Then his expression went hard. "I'm not a woman and you better not treat me like one when you see me in a skirt."
Mick's eyebrows jumped, unexpectedly happy with this. "Does that mean you're gonna wear them around me? Not hiding when you do, I mean."
If he didn't know better, Mick could've sworn Len was blushing. "I could, I guess. I'm not planning on it but if it happens, it happens."
"Sure. Whatever. Clothes is clothes."
They both nodded a little awkwardly but fell back into their normal routine quickly afterward. When Mick got back to the apartment a few days later to find Len had fallen asleep on top of his blueprints with a skirt around his waist, Mick ignored the weird flutter of joy that came with it and just picked Len up to lay him out on the couch, just like always.
This may become something more, but right now I’m just using it as a warm up exercise. There is a plan to make it more.
The first time Newt meets Percival Graves it’s his brother Theseus’ fault. Newt was returning to the manor from the forest that was part of their grounds. A Lot of neat magical plants grew deep in the woods, and he was able to study the creatures that resided there. It was mostly smaller forest creatures, like pixies and gnomes, but He occasionally found a unicorn wandering through the trees.
He enters the house with an armful of freshly caught leaping toadstools, the things still trying to squirm away. Newt wishes he had brought a sack to contain them. He hurries to his case where he can put them away but stops when he sees the case is on its side, cover open. He feels his irritation rise.
“Theseus!” he shouts as he descends the ladder. “I swear, if you are harassing my creatures… again… “ His shouting trails off as he makes his way out of the shed, and comes face to face with a stranger. A very harassed, guilty looking stranger. The man’s one nice clothing is in a disarray, his tie only holding together by a few threads, vest rumpled, shirt untucked, hair full of feathers and a small scratch on his cheek. He's standing there frozen in place, looking like a kid caught flying his parents broom.
Newt startles when one of his young occamy pops its head out of the man’s vest and squawks excitedly at Newt. The creatures makes a leap for newt, who drops his toadstools to catch her as her wings aren't quite ready yet. He catches her with one arm and with a snap of his wrist his wand drops into the other, arm raised to point it at the intruder. He glares at the intruder.
“Who are you? Why are you trying to steal my creatures?” newt barks, and the man throws his arms up in surrender.
“I’m not! This isn’t what it looks like.” Newt is surprised with the American accent that come out of the intruders mouth. It only causes him to be more suspicious. “I’m an auror with MACUSA-”
“How did you get in here?” What was an auror from MACUSA doing here?
The stranger opens his mouth to reply when a laughing Theseus comes tumbling in from the savanna biome. His laughter drops off when he catches sight of the scene in front of him.
“Newt! You’re back early,” Theseus also looks guilty, and rightly so. Newt turns and points his wand at this brother, a flick of his wrist throwing a Jinx at Theseus wordlessly. His brother doesn't have time to do much more than squawk in indignation before his once ginger hair and beard turn a lively shade of fuschia.
“Newt!” he shouts, reaching up to touch his hair. “Why do you always go for the hair!”
The stranger besides him snorts but quickly shuts up when Newt points his wand at him again.
“Ah Newt, this is Percival Graves, he’s an auror with MACUSA.”
Newt sighed and lowered his wand, slipping it back into his sleeve. He relaxed his tense posture, finally looking at the Occamy who was now coiled around his arm, feathers ruffled when she realized her mum was upset.
“It’s alright dear, everything's fine.” he cooed, and she relaxed her grip enough that newt could pull her off to cradle in his cupped palms.
“Mr.Graves, a word of advice, don't listen to my brother.” Graves slowly relaxed, hand falling back to his sides.
“Oi!”
“Duly noted,” graves said with a nod, a glint of amusement shining in his eyes newt noted. He also noted that the man was rather handsome, now that he was no longer a threat. Newt turned away to return the occamy to her nest.
“Now get out of my case!” he called over his shoulder, getting a salute from his brother and a sarcastic ‘yes, sir!’.
What haunted Steve about those strange couple of days wasn’t the invasion, the unimaginable destruction, or even the many deaths he witnessed; he had seen all those things before, in another life. It was the brokenness, the shear pain of the aggressor.
He had assumed when he first saw him in Germany, and from what SHIELD had told him, that Loki was evil, akin to Hitler and the many would-be rulers of Earth before him. Only out to conquer for the fun, to make life fit their vision of how it should be. Black and white, as simple as that.
He couldn’t have been more wrong.
Steve had always given people second chances, the benefit of the doubt. Loki’s initial impression was a bit harder to overcome than most, but certain thoughts were getting harder and harder to ignore.
Steve had seen many abhorrent, cruel men, and their eyes were always the same. Icy, tinged with the cruel pleasures they got from their work, and then blackness, an unsettling nothingness that seemed to swallow even the brightest of spirits. These men were beyond egotistical of the destruction they wrought, and cared for none, especially those who got in their way. Steve detested men like this, as they threatened all he believed in. All they brought was pain.
Loki’s eyes, from any outside observer, appeared this way. They were dark green, almost black, and they glinted like rough, uncut emeralds that night he fought Loki in that courtyard.
Every time Steve closed his eyes after that night, he could see Loki’s staring back. But they weren’t full of malice or evil like he thought he remembered; instead, all he could see was anguish and shattered desire, and his eyes pleaded with him for release from this madness.
Even with all that Thor had mentioned about Loki as his brother, it took Steve several sleepless nights before he finally realized what had been perplexing him about Loki. Everything he had seen, the darkness in his eyes, was a shallow façade, a mask attempting to hide whatever lay beneath that Loki didn’t want the world to see.
Emotion and sentiment are unfortunately seen as weakness when you refuse to be hurt by anyone else.
Steve had always worn his heart on his sleeve, even before the serum. He had been told that was his greatest strength and he should never change who he was. Steve doesn’t break promises. He also knew though that not everyone had that level of faith put in them. He doubts Loki ever did.
He dwelled on Loki constantly, possibly more than healthy, but even after the revelation, he couldn’t get those haunting eyes out of his mind. Steve knew it was a silly, naive idea, but he couldn’t help but think that perhaps there was some way to splinter and destroy the shell that Loki has created for himself. A way to show him that he doesn’t have to lash out or cause destruction to be seen and heard, that someone can believe in him.
Curling up in his bed in the early hours of the morning, Steve attempted to relax enough to actually get some sleep after a fairly tedious fight had robbed him of most of his strength.
Rolling to the other side of the bed, he briefly opened his eyes to glance at the clock on his nightstand and closed them again. After a beat, his mind processed what he had seen, and a shock ran through his body. Steve threw off his covers, diving for his shield that was resting against the wall.
Holding it defensively, he peered over the top of the shield to face the figure of Loki bathed in the faint, but eerily green light of his alarm clock.
“I… but. Wha—what are you doing here?” Steve was felt ready to collapse and could barely process what was happening. One big fight was enough to wear him out. He wasn’t ready for a second one.
“My, my. Aren’t you articulate.” Loki glanced around the room casually. “Not as impressive as I would expect for a mortal of your status in this…” Loki gestured to the general area around him. “…society.”
Steve stared at him with his mouth open. “Am I dreaming?” he muttered, almost to himself.
Loki grinned. “Perhaps. You can never really tell, can you?” Loki paused, pulling open a desk drawer near him and studying its contents. “For instance, why would I just show up in the Stark Tower? I believe I am expected to be imprisoned in back in Asgard?”
Steve nodded slowly, his eyes glued to the god currently wandering his bedroom. “You were brought back there by Thor not too long ago. You can’t be here. We would have been informed of your escape.”
“Undoubtedly. So there is no possibility of me currently being present in this pathetic realm. Therefore, you must be dreaming.” Loki smirked as another copy of himself appeared to Steve’s right, who began opening his closet.
“I could never just send you off with a duplicate,” Loki drawled as he picked up a baseball from the top of the desk and began levitating it several inches above his hand. “Thor has never fallen for that one. Multiple times.”
“ENOUGH!” Steve threw his shield which knocked off the first Loki, before flying towards the one to his right, which shuddered and disappeared.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Loki,” Steve said slowly, glaring at him from across the bed, as he caught his shield. “I’m going to assume for the time being you are just a dream. You’re not… you.”
Loki’s smile dissolved into a thin line. “And how would you have any idea what I’m like?” Who I am?”
“I just—“ Steve hesitated, staring straight into his eyes. “I just do.”
“You may think you have some idea, soldier, but I assure you, you do not.” Loki slowly moved around the bed until he was several feet away from Steve.
Steve had only pulled on a worn pair of pajama pants before collapsing into bed earlier that night. He had bags under his eyes, and was teetering slightly, but still holding his shield in front of him. He accessed Loki’s state. Real or not, this Loki did not seem to pose much of a threat. He was only eyeing his stuff and as anyone knew, he kept nothing of importance in his room. If this Loki was real or wanted to be an actual menace, he would have appeared in a more useful part of Stark Tower. Sighing heavily, he dropped his shield and sat down on the bed.
“I’m sorry.”
Loki just stared at him, confusion etched throughout his face.
Steve felt unsure of how to start. He finally decided on the direct route, which had always served him best. “If you’re just part of a dream, you know this, but if not… I’ve been thinking about you a lot for the past couple of weeks. Which sounds weird. But not thinking about you completely. Your eyes, really.”
Loki’s mouth twitched up in the corner, still bemused. “Is this some jest? I’ll have you know, this is not your strength. I’d stick to wars.”
Steve continued if Loki had not said anything. “I am sure Thor is most aware of this of anyone, but you, I imagine, refuse to listen to him. Brothers can be that way, from what I hear.”
Loki turned away from Steve at the mention of Thor’s name. He had now moved to the window, running his long fingers across the expensive fabric of the drapes.
Steve looked down at his bare feet, watching his toes curl around the plush carpet as his stomach clenched. He needed to find the right words. For some reason in his mind, telling this Loki what he had concluded about him was vital. Loki needed to hear these words from someone.
“They call you the Trickster. And you live up to that name. You’ve tricked everyone. Stark thinks you’re plain evil. Bruce calls you crazy. And you may be some of these things but they’re a front, to hide how you are truly feeling because you won’t even allow yourself to feel it.”
Steve’s voice cracked on the last word as he looked up. “I—“
There was no one by the window. He glanced around his dark room, and seeing it empty, Steve shook his head. He rested his hands on his face and rubbed his eyes, as the adrenaline of the moment faded away, and fatigue settled back in. He still couldn’t tell if his lack of sleep had caused an unusual hallucination or he had scared Loki off.
Lying back down on his bed, Steve closed his eyes.
“I—I can help you,” Steve whispered to the shadowy room. “If you ever want it.”
