Orange. Blue. Purple. Pink. White. She tried to catch all the colors of the setting sun as it fell. If she could somehow catch something of beauty, all of it, as it descended from existence, then maybe her absence at his death would be forgiven. Death. The word caught in her chest as it pulsed unbidden through her mind. Death. Her hands tightened on the balcony railing. Dead. She gazed down at the whitening knuckles, and the bulging veins in her forearms that Loki had once told her made her look like a man. Loki was dead. She had missed the ending of the most beautiful, glorious sunset her eyes had ever seen, and the last thing she'd ever said to Loki was a threat. What made matters worse; they had both known in that moment that she'd meant it.

"Sif."

Sif turned suddenly around, pulled out of her grieving mind to face Eir. Her mother, with her soft face and graying hair, opened her arms to encompass her daughter. Sif hesitated a moment and wondered whether her mind's deepest thoughts would be safe with the woman whom she so resembled. Or would she be judged, reviled for having loved such an unbalanced madman?

As Sif looked into Eir's bright hazel eyes, the eyes they both shared, all doubt was erased. This was her mother she was thinking of. She was the definition of her name. Mercy. She was the one person Sif had always gone to when her mind was beginning to fray at the edges, save for only two others, one of whom was now dead. She propelled herself into Eir's arms. Arms which held her steady, despite their age and acquiring softness. Sif would seek comfort in her mother, this much was true, but she would never, ever cry. That was weak. And she could not afford to be weak. She had begun to think that the solace of fresh tears would never be allowed to her again.

A gentle knock echoed on the bed chamber door, and Sif rose cautiously to open it. There were only two people who ever called on her this time of night. She silently reminded herself that the hand belonging to the caller could never be attached to the body she so longed to see. She braced herself as she opened the door, looking up into the fallen face of a large, muscular man with thick golden hair and twinkling blue eyes. At least, they seemed to be twinkling. No, glistening seemed to be the more correct term. Sif rushed him in without a second thought.

"Thor," Sif said hurriedly, thinking rapidly of a way to distract him from whatever he was about to say. She did not think she would bear to see him cry. "Thor, I'm so…"

"Jane's gone," he said quietly, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. "I sent her back to London. She's going to stay there and continue her work. I told her I'd return, but I'm truly afraid that I will not be able to face her again."

Sif quietly let out a relieved sigh. Jane. That stubborn, useless lump of a woman that Thor had fallen for two years before. She could definitely handle this. It was widely known by all of her friends that Sif had not liked Jane from their first meeting. They all had thought it was jealousy over her relationship with Thor. But unknown to anyone but herself, was her true reason. She was jealous of her fragility. The way Jane could stand there, and be as delicate and innocent looking as a lily. The way her profile was unassuming, unintimidating. The way that men looked at her and felt a need to protect her.

Nobody felt they needed to protect Sif. She was strong, muscular, a warrior. Beautiful, yes, but incredibly intimidating. As a child she'd been stubborn and hardheaded. She could hold her own better than most men. But she wished for once to be protected. She wanted to know what it felt like to be weak. But according to everyone she knew, she had no weaknesses. Loki had understood her that way; in the time before he'd gone mad with jealousy, he'd always understood what it was like to be looked at as something one is not. Maybe he'd still known it, even as he was dying. Thor had told everyone that Loki had died with honor, saving Thor from one of Malakith's Dark beasts. It seemed he'd attempted to show everyone what he really was, aside from a Frost Giant. Sif tried to take comfort in that.

"Thor," she said, taking one of his large calloused hands and gently leading him to sit on her bed. He sat with a thud, rocking the bedframe. "Please, tell me what is troubling you, brother?"

The son of the King looked at her with swimming, piercing blue eyes. "It was my fault. I used him. He was my brother. My brother!"

Thor slammed a massive fist against his leg, shaking the bed again. "What have I done? What have I done…?"

The golden haired warrior put his face in his hands, shaking his head wildly. Sif, desperately afraid of seeing tears, hastily wrapped her arms around man. She buried her face in his broad shoulder, stroking his hair and attempting to calm him.

"It was no fault of yours," she said calmly, her gentle hands rhythmically stroking his hair. "You gave him a choice, and he made it himself. You said it yourself; he died with honor. He died for you."

Thor shook his head, which was cradled against her chest. "That is not so."

"Of course it is," Sif comforted, pressing her face against the man's golden mop and sighing. "He loved you…"

Thor sat up abruptly, cutting her off. "It was not for me!" he snapped, and then immediately looked apologetic for the outburst. He hung his head low, and Sif cradled him again. His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.

"Loki did not die for me," he said, shaking his head slowly. "He told me that himself. And I do not think that it was all truly for honor. I think it was for our mother, and for Jane."

Sif's mind blanched. The name seemed to have sucked the breath from her lungs. Jane? Jane? A black hole was beginning to open up in her mind and chest. She struggled to compose herself as she imagined Loki, lying with Jane as he had with her, in a time before jealousy and war and Frost Giants and the Dark Elves.

"That cannot be," she said softly, flailing desperately through her mind for something to quell her grief and anger. "That is not true. For the Queen, I do not doubt, but for—"

"I want it so desperately to be false," Thor said, his rich voice on the verge of cracking. "But I cannot convince myself that—"

Sif jumped up from the bed, releasing Thor, pointing a finger at him. "It is not true!" she cried, flames burning her vision and causing her eyes to water. "Don't you dare say that! Loki was many things, but he would never, never…" she lost her concentration in her hate and dismay.

Sif turned away quickly, blinking furiously to hide her tears. Jane had the protection of everyone in Asgard, but she could not have the one thing Sif had always had to herself. She could not have pulled Loki away from her. She could not, she could not, she could not…

"Sif…?" Thor called softly and cautiously out to her, and she heard the creak of her bedframe as he stood. She barely felt the warmth of his rough, calloused hands as he slowly turned her to face him.

"Sif," he said, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. "I do not believe that Jane would ever have taken up with Loki. It is not in her nature. They'd seen each other but once, and Loki's demise came shortly after. What I confess is that my brother, in the short time that we spent in that dark place, came to care for Jane in a way I thought he'd only cared about himself. He was many things, my brother, but not an adulterer."

Sif's breath slowed slightly, and she pushed her hair from her face. She looked up into Thor's sharp blue eyes, and saw grief and jealousy and every other brand of pain that she felt in herself. The urge to embrace the man before her suddenly surfaced. She wanted to somehow physically pull the pain out of the Prince's large frame, throwing it from them both. The urge was so strong she had already put her hand up to caress his face, feeling the soft golden stubble beneath her fingers. Thor closed his eyes and placed his hand over hers, sighing softly. Their faces inched closer together, until Sif could feel the heat of his body against her chest through her nightgown.

Thor's eyes opened suddenly, and he jerked himself back from her, very slightly. Sif pulled back as well, her eyes downcast.

"Goodnight, dear sister," Thor mumbled gently, leaving the room with a softness that belied his large figure.

"Goodnight." said Sif, latching the door shut behind her, blinking back tears of anger.