Pawn to Queen
A gift fic for tricksterkat209
This fic borrows elements from the comics, after Jane has been diagnosed with cancer and has also become the Goddess of Thunder with the power of Mjolnir. In the comics, Mjolnir purges toxins from Jane's system every time she transforms into Thor, rendering the radiation from her chemotherapy useless.
()()()
"There is no need for you to keep doing this, Jane."
"Your father sent an army after me, Thor. Mjolnir's power was the only reason I got out of that alive. Mjolnir," she corrected herself, a rare smile showing beneath the half helm that had concealed her identity for so long, "and you. Please thank your mother also for coming to my aid."
"I shall," he said, "but please, I have no right to that name any longer. It rightfully belongs to you."
"So it does," Jane agreed, sadly. She spun the mighty hammer in one hand, listening to its odd, metallic song. The smile faded and her lips fell into straight, solemn lines. "You know that I would rather it had stayed with you, do you not?"
"It seeks a worthy wielder," he sidestepped the question, "You deserve to be Thor. I have never known a more worthy woman than you. Yet I would not have you suffer. It pains you, does it not? I have heard…your disease…" he could not speak. Jane winced at the anguish in his eyes, glad that he could not see it.
"Who told you?" she asked, sharp and dry.
"Why does it matter?"
"It matters," she shot back, "I need to know who I can trust. There are only so many people who know my identity now, Odinson. If I cannot count on any one of those few to keep my secrets, then I need to know."
"Why will you not let me help you? Jane, if you continue along this path, if you continue to use the power of Thor…you will surely die."
"Yes," she said, stopping herself before she succumbed either to the urge to lash out in sarcastic anger or to reach out, take his hand, and comfort him.
Jane's choice to forego any magical treatment for the cancer that was—even then—ravaging her system had hurt him unspeakably. He had sat by her bedside after bouts of chemotherapy, tending her weaknesses when she could barely lift her head except to vomit into the bedpan he held ready. He had even arranged for her to become an ambassador to Asgard so that the All-Father could not, in good conscience, refuse her access to Aesir medical techniques.
Any one of those treatments would likely have cured her instantly.
Thor—and she would still call him Thor, if only in the privacy of her mind—had never understood what pride, what anger, made her hold on to the dignity of Midgardian treatments for the disease. He might consider Odin's many spiteful slights as unimportant in view of saving her life, but Jane would be damned if she give that man the satisfaction of rescuing her after the multitude of times he would gladly have seen her die.
Whether Odin succeeded in killing her first as Thor, or whether the cancer got her slowly, Jane was certain now that she would die rather than go hat-in-hand to him for help.
"Is that all you have to say? You have resigned yourself to death?"
"Have you ever known me resigned to anything?" she smirked, but it too, faded quick as a summer sunset. "Why must we always tread the same ground every time we meet? You would have me keep my life at the expense of my pride; I tell you I will not do it. We cannot both have our way."
"We could," he insisted. "Thor's power could be held by another. If you still refuse Asgard's help for your cancer, you could at least resume treatments on Midgard. Once your life is out of danger, then—if you wished to—you might take up Mjolnir once more."
"I am Thor," she said. It was so hard to keep her hands where they were, calm and still, at her sides. Thor's love for her bled from him, visible in every expression and obvious in every word. Jane had never been loved by anyone quite as she was by him. It was overpowering, overwhelming…like standing on a beach, watching the towering, cresting wall of a tsunami approach. It was knowing there was no way she could get to safety unless she sprouted wings and soared above it.
But now Jane could fly.
"I am Thor," she repeated, gently. "Whether at first I chose to be willingly matters not. Now I do choose. I choose to be Thor; to defend the innocent, to fight for my planet and my friends. And even should another be found who is worthy, I will not give this up. If I were willing to lay down the power, I would not have been allowed to take it up at all.
"I am Thor, and I will be Thor…even if it kills me."
As Jane spoke, she saw each word as though it landed on him as a whip, breaking the skin and leaving him bleeding from dozens of wounds. In the face of such agony, surely he would leave, turn away, retreat for his own good.
Yet he did not. His eyes widened, brilliant, so blue the sky itself could not rival them, and the pure awe in his face reminded Jane of a saint's clear gaze.
"Tell me what I may do to help you," he said. If he had gone to his knees before her, he could have been no more worshipful. "Tell me how I may ease your burden, your pain."
"I feel no pain," she lied. Was it the mask that veiled the truth, or her own skill at self-deception? Every time she took up Mjolnir and left Jane Foster behind to assume the strength of Thor, she felt the cancer rejoice. The strength she drew to fight her enemies was the only thing that allowed her to fight the dizziness, the perpetual aching, the nausea, the headaches so blinding she could have begged for death.
Every bone in her body seemed afire, even then.
Thor did not question her lie. He only nodded, and subsided into silence.
"There is no pain," she said again, wishing, willing it were true, "but there is a burden; one you well know. I will always need your help to bear it, Odinson. Stand beside me, fight with me…that is all I ask of you."
Then he did go to his knees, hands fumbling for the hilt of his weapon. Not for an instant does he break gaze with her. The mighty war hammer he used in pale imitation of Mjolnir cracked the stone beneath him as he dropped it by his feet.
Thor bent his head over the hilt and swore, by the roots and branches of Yggdrasil, to remain always bound in fealty to her.
It was simple, then, to place one hand on the rich gold of his hair. The feel of it, of him—the same sensation which once had driven Jane wild with desire—now stirred Jane-as-Thor with nothing but appreciation for his service. Her hand on his head meant nothing but acknowledgement, gratitude, and benediction, all in a simple gesture from a time long before Jane's. But it belonged to her, now. She had become a goddess, and she would honor her faithful.
"Rise," she commanded him, as naturally as though she had always stood thus above him. When he did stand, something between them still lent the illusion that she was somehow higher than he, though his huge frame had always dwarfed hers and still did. "Before I return to Midgard, I would have one more service from you."
"Anything," was his simple reply. It was a single word, but it promised galaxies. Jane might have asked for the greatest treasure in Asgard's deepest vault, the farthest star in Yggdrasil's reach, the head of the All-Father himself, and he would have delivered it to her.
She wanted nothing so grand. Thor she might be, and Thor she would remain, but she would never forget that inside she was still Jane Foster.
And Jane Foster had never quite stopped loving Thor.
It was difficult to be Jane Foster without relinquishing the protection of her power, especially after trying so hard to hide her identity behind lightning and steel. But she looked up at him as she had, once. Her smile—while not quite as sweet and innocent as it had been—still charmed him effortlessly.
"Make me forget," she breathed, rising on her toes. A deep shudder trembled through him at her whisper. "For just a little while…make me forget."
He did not speak; he barely even nodded to acknowledge her desire. His whole body surged around her, winding her in warmth and strength to bolster her weakened body. Without effort he lifted her to him, and as they kissed Jane's tears rained down behind her helm. It was a pleasure too sharp for joy, edged with the knowledge of both their pains, to which there was no solution and for which there could be no salvation.
Yet Thor would not stop, not while his promise remained unfulfilled. Their embrace went on, and as it did, Jane did forget.
For just a little while.