"So this is it, huh…" Thor looks to his left, sees her smirk and then turns back to staring out into the blackness of space. Brunnhilde settles on the arm of his throne and stares too, drink in hand. She's swapped her armor, settled for a robe lent to her from one of the women on the spaceship. There's no battle to be won, no people to be sold for money. It took longer than she expected, but her attachment to her identity as a warrior was one that no longer defined how she viewed herself, "How long have you been up here, Your Majesty?"

He smiles when he hears his title roll off her tongue. The first time she'd addressed him as such, she was being sarcastic and it was before she electrocuted him unconscious.

"Hours." Thor replies, fingers scratching the leather of the seat idly. It's just something he says as example, there is no sunrise or sunset, no time in space. He's pensive, growing more and more weary as they get closer to reaching earth and the distance winds down. There's no portal to be opened that would speed the process, no bi-frost — they've still got several long months before the journey is over.

She hands over her drink and watches him down it. They both know sharing was a big step for her in the beginning.

"If you don't think it's a good idea-"

"There's nowhere else." Thor speaks over her, not meaning to be rude, but does any way. He glances at her, giving her a silent apology when he notes the agitated look on her face. (She's grown to be an irreplaceable companion. Someone with her own hurt and pain, with stories she's not ready to share with him yet. But it works. He knew so little about his life that it's nice to have someone who can sympathize with that internal conflict.) She exhales patiently and the glance is no longer enough. "I'm sorry."

Despite his frustrations, Brunnhilde's found that he's irrevocably good. And it took her a while to reconcile that someone without a horrible bone in their body could love her after all the bad she's done. (Not that he loves her, yet… but the potential is there and she'd truly be blind if she couldn't see that.) Even if she was simply trying to forget where they come from, the trauma Hela left in her wake branded her — left her alone and trying to cope. Thor can't heal her, she'll do that on her own. But in his own way, he mitigates some of the struggle. In turn, she comes to find him on days he withdraws.

She stays because Asgard deserves better than to be thrown away simply for their first king being a liar and user.

She still thinks of the Valkyrior, her sisters in arms, her love sacrificing herself to spare her. She still drinks to numb the pain. She can't talk about it without feeling as if the spaceship beneath her feet will crumble. And It's real, her life is real, not a nightmare to run from. Sakaar had grown to be her escape — far away — but she didn't need to get away, she needed to face the past head on. She can't run from it. The history's branded on the outside of her forearm. It's a mark she won't ever erase from her life. She can't. Watching Asgard burn left a scar on her heart. The world of her birth, she hadn't realized how freeing but sad the moment would be.

The people still mourn, and she finds herself mourning with them. They knew of her sacrifices, hadn't ever expected to see her. She shies away from the adoration they throw at her. It amuses Loki to no end, her discomfort with being recognized. He's seen the past that floats around in her head, she's sacrificed more than anyone should have to. So why not accept the adoration? Because she doesn't want it. And she hates it when things are about her... tonight is not about her. (She still hasn't forgiven Loki for forcing those memories back to the forefront of her mind, but she figures there will be times in the future to exact that revenge.)

She remembers the look of acceptance on the King's face when she admitted it to him. He wasn't shocked in the slightest. He doesn't quite understand it but he's more than okay with not comprehending every single one of her motivations.

"If they love you, they'll accept you and your people." She tells Thor, her hand settling at his shoulder.

"Our people." He grabs her hand, fingers wrapping around her wrist. She offers a comfort they both know she'd never accept; tables ever to turn, but it's there. Their fingers lace together, and he stares down at the floor, index and thumb of his other hand at his lips as he thinks. "I've thought of this coming to be… wondered what I could be as king." He starts, words flowing from his brain to her ears. "It's here now. And I've put my people on a spaceship with no idea how it will work out… headed to a world where my brother tried to enslave the entire population." He snorts almost bitterly.

They don't have any other options. In a year's time, they'll run out of food. They could stop on other planets that foster life, but that would only help for so long. He won't be his father or his sister, he won't force life from those other planets to preserve the people of Asgard. They'd seen too much violence already. He doesn't want any part in unnecessary bloodshed.

"I've said my piece." She lowers her head, as if to stifle a sound from her throat, her hair falls to hang over her shoulders. She understands the apprehension, the responsibility he feels to those who trust him to maneuver intelligently through the journey. She knows what the pressure of such a burden feels like from her time as a Valkyrie. The former warrior also knows how crushing defeat can be.

"Would you leave?" Thor asks suddenly, "If you felt I am making the wrong choice?"

"No." She's adamant, giving his hand a squeeze. But she has thought of leaving, of packing a little pod and flying off somewhere to drink and eventually die alone. But she's tired of pitying herself and running. She'd made that decision the moment she went and found him and Banner in the streets of Sakaar. She wants to live. She wants to be free from her pain. The former warrior of the Valkyrior clears her throat. "I wouldn't lie to you either." She's uncomfortable with the tension between them, a flame of honestly sparked that she isn't prepared for.

He quirks his brow, an amused inflection in the sound of his voice. "Wouldn't?" He rubs his bottom lip idly, studying her.

"Won't." She corrects and settles on the arm of the chair.

They ignore the promise that was just made.

Thor glances up at her as the train of her robe settles down the sides of the makeshift throne. She looks like she's certain of herself. That confidence rolls from her in waves. She's an enigma to him and while he doesn't know just how broken his father's actions and decisions has left her heart, her ability to still appear self assured and steadfast is nothing short of impressive. She'd make a fine Queen, he thinks — a woman much more intelligent than him and even if she doesn't see it; someone who would rule with compassion and mercy for those not as strong as she is.

"Don't think about it so much." Their joined hands settle in her lap, her hair is like a curtain that covers her face and hides that she's smiling at their entwined fingers. Her voice is calm but he can still feel the energy of the moment. She's trying to be there for him, not other motivation for being with him in the quiet room of the observation deck.

She's replays their every interaction recently, both of them dancing around one another in the few weeks since he brought Ragnarok to be. He's settled into his role as king, and she's been more than happy to give him that space while she's done her best to find where she fits. They aren't at war, there are no other Valkyries for her to spend her day honing her skills at combat with. So she thinks of him.

For his part, Thor has done the same — the endless days that float leave a lot of time for him to sit around and get lost in his own head. He's made Heimdall promise to tell him what he sees if it's worrisome. His friend and confidant vows to do so. Bruce is Bruce again. As it turns out, the Hulk hadn't taken over. They try and keep him as calm as possible while they barrel through space. And Loki hides. The god of mischief would never admit to avoiding all reminders of the mess he's caused in such small bursts of time, but that's what Thor's little brother does. And he sulks. But the new King has an inkling that Loki is hiding things from them all. Heimdall would tell him the truth of the matter if he really believed Thor wants to know. (As the king, he's been hit with some hard truths, that there are things he just doesn't want to deal with. Loki's misbehaving being one bullet point on the list; an asterisk attached for emphasis.)

"Will you sit here all night?" His companion asks, cutting through his thoughts. She won't voice that the very real chance he'll say yes worries her.

He sighs and nods. "The thought did occur to me, yes." He's actually quite bored in his new role; unfulfilled, being the word he'd use if ever asked — however everyone knows better. "You are suggesting otherwise?"

"You could come to bed…" she whispers, lifting his hand to drop a kiss to the ball of his thumb. She'd awoken to an empty bed, his side had gone cold. She looks out the large window, head tilted to the side. "Though looking at this view, it is extraordinarily beautiful… and daunting." The unknown...

"That it is…" Thor hums, looking at her. "Not unlike you."

She laughs, "I'm daunting?"

"And extraordinary." He smiles at her smoothly. Now that he's spent some time with her, talking to her, complimenting her, has become easier. They both remember when he couldn't get a sentence out without sounding like an idiot. In the weeks before this moment, they've connected through tragedy. It's easy to be near her, comfortable. There are things he doesn't know, but he won't push to learn. Oversharing tends to be his problem. But she's a good listener.

She cups his face and drops a kiss to his cheek. "Come to bed."

He smiles to himself and wipes his hands on his knees. He's at her side after what seems like two strides. Their hands swing between them idly until he takes hers again, folding their fingers together before dropping a kiss to the top of her hand. "Thank you."

"What for?" She doesn't know what she's done for him. Everything she's done leading to the confrontation with Hela, was for herself. That much she's told him. Fleeing to Sakaar, that was because she couldn't handle the constant reminder of her failure. She ran.

"For staying."

"Me?... Abandon you?" She held her hand to her chest, pretending to be scandalized. "Your Majesty, I'm offended."

He shakes his head good naturedly, laughing as she smirks up at him. He's happy to be in her company. He bucks her shoulder, laughing as she stumbles and glares at him.

She disentangles her hand from his and throws herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Thor doesn't even stumble. He chuckles and takes hold of her forearms, carrying her weight on his back. They're giggling like teenagers — though that time is centuries past — but neither cares too much for appearances. Brunnhilde left that concern behind long ago.

The Valkyrie buries her face in the crook of his neck, smiling like an idiot. When she became such mush where her relationship with him is concerned, she doesn't know. Maybe it's just tonight. She can sense the stress rolling off him. But either way, she feels differently about him. He's not some lug who doesn't know the weight of their people's lives he carries on his shoulders. He's younger than her, but he's lived a life chockful of experience that makes him the man — god or otherwise — that he is. She's respected him since she'd seen his dedication to righting the wrongs Odin left behind.

His bedroom chamber was fit for the grandmaster, decorated with such purpose in mind. But the shelves are empty; he doesn't have many things, mostly on purpose.

Brunnhilde slips from her robes, settles into his bed as he watches from the doorway. His eyes trail her form as he sits at the table at the center of the room. He kicks off his shoes and removes his armor — that he wears purely out of habit —and drops it to the side. Her smile is hidden by the sheets pulled up to her nose. With a yawn, he stretches and she watches the rippling of his muscles. He's the picture of perfection, and he does know it. Rolling her eyes, she teases him, "Fishing for compliments, my King?"

With a snort, he walks to his side of the oversized bed, ripping the covers away from her. He plops into the bed, wrangles her close as she shrieks. Laughter bounces off the walls, and he's reminded that despite all the mess, she makes him happy. In times like these, when he's feeling insecure in who he is as a ruler, she'll be there. Exhaling as his tiredness hits him like a truck, he gives her a sound kiss on her full lips, and draws her closer. Skin on skin that brings a comfort they need and don't have to talk about.

"You did the right thing." She tells him, wanting to ease his doubts. (Heimdall reassured him just as they watched Asgard go down in flames, but it didn't take long for her to realize it would take more than that.) She traces her thumb along the bottom of his eye patch as he closes his good eye and breathes the moment in.

Tomorrow will be like today, long and monotonous as they all pretend there's nothing to fear. Thor will spend the day hoping for something to do, but will likely end up sitting in his throne once the lights on the ship dim, replaying every decision he's made. He tucks her beneath his body, his face pressed to her chest, listening to the beat of her heart. She examines his hands, sliding her own down his palm. She smiles at the difference in the sizes. He brings her hand to his mouth, kissing her knuckle before wrapping his arm around her. Brunnhilde runs her fingers through his growing hair, and it's not before long that he's breathing evenly, fast asleep.

She closes her eyes, hoping to get some more sleep as well. They deserve some peace, Odin knows they've earned it.

A/N: I loved Ragnarok. And I loved Thor and Valkyrie in it as well. Can you tell?... I mean, I know this was subtle. *snorts*

Thanks for reading!