August, 1992

Jane had been waiting a whole month for this moment.

"Dad, look! It's Venus!" she breathed excitedly, jamming her face into the eye of her new microscope. The fuzzy outline of Venus stared back at her, so much closer than when she looked at it with her eyes. She adjusted tuning instruments on the side as if she was an expert. And if the telescopes she had obsessively looked up for weeks in her catalogues were any indication, she basically was. The telescope was easy, and absolutely magnificent. Her dad had bought it for her birthday, and she had immediately squealed with breathless astonishment, demanding its immediate use that very evening. Night had just fallen, the last streaks of color leaving the sky, and now she was gazing with a focus she only ever reserved for stars and multiplication drills. She had been staring at planets ever since she was four, but now, now she could get closer, could actually look through space and see this tiny speck in her sky from her tiny back yard. It was mind blowing.

"I know, baby, it's beautiful," he chuckled, and ruffled her hair from behind her.

"It's blue," she said seriously, reaching for her notebook she always kept with her at night, and began roughly drawing what she saw without glancing at the paper.

"Remember Janey, just because it looks blue-"

"Doesn't mean it is, I know, I know." She looked back over her shoulder at him, annoyed and amused she hadn't thought it first. He smiled fondly back at her, the light from the kitchen framing his tall shape.

For a while she remained at her new gift, her small back hunched over as she strained to recognize each dot in the sky. After a while her eyes flicked down to her rough sketches of Venus and various stars whose names she did not yet know, her small hand splaying out across her hard work.

She wished mom were here, wished mom came for her birthday, and gave her gifts, and knew how much looking at the stars meant to her.

"Thanks so much for buying this for me, Dad," she said, avoiding his eyes as a sudden emotion she couldn't describe washed over her. Embarrassed and unable to look her father in the eye, she turned back to her telescope, swinging it around to locate Polaris. For a while there was no sound behind her but the background chirping of insects at night. Then quietly, she felt her hair being lifted and parted, her dad running his fingers through her hair to softly detangle it.

"Anything for you, Janey," he said simply.

Jane felt her heart swell more than she thought her eight year old body could contain. They sat in silence for an hour more, Jane trying to locate the stars she knew while her father stood braiding her hair.

Something flashed by her field of vision through the telescope, straight down. A moment later, something struck the ground twenty feet in front of Jane, and she felt the tiny vibrations of the impact reach her. Shock won her for a moment, and then she realized what had happened. She gasped loudly, running across the backyard.

"Jane!" Her dad came right behind her as she bent down to peer into the miniature crater. Black smoke curled into her face. She waved it away impatiently, blinking through the tears to see a chunk of rock, glittering blackly in the light of the moon. It was jagged and entirely unimpressive, but Jane couldn't help how transfixed she became. This was from space, this had fallen right at her feet, for her, it was beautiful-

"Jane, don't touch that!" Her father jerked her outstretched hand away before it could touch the still smoking rock. "Honey, that thing just blasted out of the atmosphere, leave it out here until morning."

"Dad, no-"

"Jane." He fixed her with a stern look and steered her by the shoulder back to the house. "We'll get it in the morning. Pack up your telescope and let's go to bed. It will still be there. I promise."

She stuttered angrily, lost for words. It was right there! It could have Martian dust on it, or gas particles, or something alive! But her dad's hand on her shoulder was immovable and she didn't want to upset him after he had bought her something so wonderful.

The next morning, she dashed out of bed and ran barefoot across the grass to pry the black chunk from the ground and haul it to her room to poke and prod.

The rock turned out to be just a rock. At least her dad was still impressed.

Thor was an idiot and they would all perish because of it.

This was Loki's main source of anger and the only thought that throbbed in his mind as he ran beside his brother, the hallway behind them caving in on their heels. From the depths of the spaceship they were fleeing came a roar of rage so powerful the ground beneath their feet shook.

Thor laughed carelessly, his red cape their mother recently gave him to mark the start of becoming a man billowing behind him. "Come and get me, Collector!" he shouted over his shoulder. The entire ship lurched.

Loki desperately hoped the roof that was currently collapsing would pin Thor by his beloved cape.

They rounded a hallway, at the end of which stood two green beings with black orbs for eyes, clicking angrily in an unintelligible dialect and raising weapons at the brothers. Grabbing Thor by the back of his cape, Loki shoved him to the side as a burst of black energy flew where he had stood a moment ago. Green crackled underneath Loki's skin as he let the magical energy within him coalesce into something hot and tight. Before the next blast of black energy could reach them his arms shot violently forwards, and from it flowed his green energy. The black energy scattered in the charge of Loki's magic. The beings at the end of the hall hit the ground, grisly popping sounds erupting from within their bodies as their bones began to rearrange.

"Well done, brother!" Thor clapped him on the back and pushed him forward. Loki grinned despite what his stupid brother's actions had brought them to. With a firm thought and a minor hand gesture, Loki sensed where Sif and Fandral waited for them, and collapsed the hallway to his right to block the incoming creatures.

"You know, you could have at least tried to sneak into the Collector's vaults, your footsteps made more noise than a Jotunn skipping rope." He gritted out, collapsing the hallway to his left with considerable effort.

"Move," he said to Thor, who was busy admiring his stolen treasure with a foolishly greedy expression and ignoring him completely. They made it to where Thor's friends waited at the portal Loki had recently learned to create.

He felt pride swoop in his stomach that it had held up through their mission. It was a portal wedged into one of the crevices in the cliffs by Asgard's sea, in a place where space time bent and shifted irregularly. He had discovered it quite by accident when he had been hiding from Sif after dying her hair raven black. The rare look of surprise on his face to find himself suddenly in an Alfheim field, blinded as the Light Elves engaged in a magical ritual had surely made him quite a sight.

"Thor, you great fool," Sif said playfully, coming away from the warping edges of the portal to punch him in the bicep. "You were supposed to be discreet, not have the walls start caving in."

Her words were sharp but her tone was teasing; Loki suppressed a scoff at her obvious intentions. She and Thor would make a good match, if only for that reason, and the fact that they both craved battle like a bilgesnipe craved mating.

"But look at what I have stolen from that bumbling Collector!" Thor boasted loudly, holding up the burnished chalice in his hands for all to see. Fandral's eyes lit with barely contained curiosity. He began to ask, "What powers does it possess-"

A blast of black energy shot straight over Loki's head, the sizzling heat of it burning his scalp. Those cursed beings. Several things happened at once. Thor roared in pain as the energy blast hit the raised arm holding the chalice. The chalice arced through the air from the force, drawn to Loki's portal. Simultaneously, Loki's arms swung out to his sides and came straight together in front of him, drawing on that ball of energy within that he kept tightly wound. Sif screamed her battle cry but it was useless; Loki's magic thrust her and the rest of them through the portal.

He landed next to Thor on his hands and knees on the harsh rocky floor, the groans of Fandral and Sif echoing behind him. Blasts of energy flew over their heads relentlessly, scoring deep marks in the far side of the cliff wall. Loki flipped over with lightning speed, flicking his wrist to close the portal. As it got smaller he could see the ugly creatures advancing, could hear their infernal clicking, as the portal's eye shrank to the size of a coin.

It disappeared.

Leaning back on his elbows, he tried not to tremble with giddiness, a wickedly satisfying look spread on his face. Loki turned to Thor, who was oafishly trying to stand, and tenderly holding the charred part of his arm that had been hit by dark energy. He refused Sif's outstretched hand.

"Does somebody need a lesson in waiting until you've won to gloat?" he asked snidely, dusting himself off as he stood. He looked the best of the four of them, Sif and Fandral having amassed small cuts on their faces and smeared with the cliff's rocky dust. Thor's new cape was layered with grime.

"Silence, brother, this arm still has enough strength to knock you to Svartalfheim."

Loki only shook his head as Fandral triumphantly rose, holding Thor's precious chalice. Thor's arm was going to give their entire adventure away.

Frigga punished them for a year following the incident. Thor had tantrums every other week, smashing his furniture, and when that did not satisfy him, pounding his fists against the walls so forcefully that Loki's window cracked. Thor's friends all blamed Loki's magic for tempting them in the first place.

Loki paid no mind. He spent his confinement learning about the small item he had stolen from the Collector without telling Thor. The small purple stone contained in a silver orb, that no matter what means Loki employed to try to touch it, sent him flying backwards into the wall each time.

May, 1993

Jane stomped off the bus and tried not to trip through the tears. She finally let them fall as the bus drove away. Today had been awful, and her dad was probably waiting for her at home after having an earful of her teacher, her principle, and Joey Maynard's mother describe to him exactly how many times she had hit Joey in the gut and how, an hour later at recess, he had ended up completely upside down, dangling from the monkey bars by his shoelaces, screaming her name and crying. His own snot had run down into his hair after a while. Jane had been swinging innocently thirty feet away when help arrived.

The image resurfaced in her mind and made her giggle through her tears despite how much trouble she was going to be in when she got home. That had confused her teacher and principle more than anything; that all four feet and two inches of Jane Foster had managed to somehow haul a hundred pounds of stupid Joey Maynard upside down and tie him up. They kept fixing her with the teacher look that reaches in and hauls the truth up out of fourth graders like a fish on a hook, and asking her who helped her. How this was bullying and all bullies needed to "recognize their errors".

Jane had just said she worked out a lot at home. That was when they had picked up the phone and called her dad.

She looked up as her house came into view and she groaned. Her dad wasn't waiting outside for her like normal. That meant trouble. The only other times he had been in the house after school was when mom had left and grandma had died. She wiped the drying tears from her cheeks, but clung to her anger in the face of her imminent butt kicking.

He was waiting for her in the kitchen next to the phone, as if she needed the clue. She felt her anger simmer. Her dad had always treated her like an adult. She did one thing and suddenly it was this nonsense. Her backpack hit the floor a little harder than normal.

"Don't roll your eyes, Jane. This is serious." Her dad pushed away from the counter and approached her. "What were you thinking? It's not like you at all."

"I don't know!" She burst out, feeling her tears climbing up again. "He was so mean to me all the time dad," her tears reached the top and overflowed. "He made fun of my drawings of black holes. He kept saying I wasn't a normal girl like the rest of them, 'cause the other girls draw ponies and houses. Which isn't fair at all. Darcy draws someone she calls Bob Marley wearing a cape and saving the world with music and a flying poptart. He just wants to hurt my feelings because he doesn't like me."

She ran out of breath, and gazed back at her dad, not feeling sorry at all. He kneeled in front of her and took her shoulders. The lines in his face stood out like they did when he was upset.

"Janey, I'm glad you understand why Joey bullied you like he did, but that's no excuse for your actions. They can't prove that it was you who tied him upside down, but they did see you punch him. You can't punch people because they say mean things Jane."

"Dad, you don't get it. Sooner or later he would have done what I did to him."

"Then that's when you punch, Janey". Despite his serious demeanor he winked. She giggled and he wiped the tears off of her cheeks with soft eyes. His tone became serious again.

"I mean it. If someone is about to hit you, then you hit them first. That's okay, even if it gets you in trouble at school. But don't hit because of words, honey. You know so many good words from those crosswords we do together. Outsmart them if they're just throwing insults at you, okay? Don't waste all those good punches on guys like Joey."

Her shoulders slumped in his hands, and she stared at the ground as the rightness of his words set in. Her dad stood up and smoothed his hands over the front of his button down like he always did after Jane cried. "Okay?" he asked.

"Okay," she replied hoarsely, the anger she felt earlier dissipating into a cloying sense of shame that made her want to curl under her blankets. She never got in trouble at school. And now everyone would whisper. Maybe Darcy, the only one she actually liked, would start avoiding her.

"We'll talk about your punishment later. How does a grilled cheese sound, hm?" Her dad was rooting around in the cabinet for a pan, and did not see her face as anxiety bubbled in her stomach at the thought of going to school tomorrow. She struggled to breathe and red crept into the corners of her vision. She saw red

There was a colossal crashing sound, and the entire floor shook. They both jumped, and Jane screamed. Her sight cleared. Her dad ran into the living room, where the sound had come from. Jane ran after him, her heart beating unsteadily. She nearly tripped into the wall from dizziness. She paused and clutched at the door frame. In the living room, her dad's huge book case had fallen from the wall, lying face down in the middle of the floor. It had swiped the side table, and had brought a lamp, two glasses, and one of Jane's notebook down with it. Glass glittered from where it was embedded in the carpet. Books were scattered everywhere. She flicked on the light.

Her dad cursed under his breath. "Jane, don't come over here." He picked his way to the bookcase, and with a heave brought it upright again. Jane noticed how red in the face he became. He bent and picked up the nearest book, the corners of his mouth turned down at the crinkled edge of the paper and the bruised binding. Her dad really loved his books.

"Sorry, dad."

"It's alright. The house probably settled and pushed it the wrong way. That or we have a ghost." She watched from the doorway as he began to pick up more books, smoothing out the creases and putting them in their proper place. She went over and picked up strays that had fallen outside the circle of glass.

"A Wrinkle in Time" she noted as she picked up the book. It had been her favorite novel for a long time. Space time was cool. She tossed it to him.

"I bet Joey Maynard hasn't read any of this," her dad held up their dictionary. Jane bent over with laughter so hard she started tearing up.

"Joey Maynard wouldn't know a dictionary if it hit him in the face," she said when she composed herself and began tossing more stray books his way.

"So he's…ludicrous?" She smiled as he began a game they played frequently.

"More like moronic," she shot back.

"Puerile."

"Rash"

"Dense"

She struggled to come up with another synonym, digging around in her brain for something impressive. She came up short and threw up her hands.

"Ugh! Stupid. He's stupid." Her dad chuckled, swiping the last book, 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea', from the floor and sticking it on the bookcase.

"You and I are due for another crossword soon. Even Joey Maynard knows that word. Now get outta here, I gotta vacuum this up." He shooed her out of the room. She went and grabbed a banana from the kitchen and went to her bedroom, feeling lighter despite the entire situation. Her dad knew how to cheer her up. Later, he would tell her she had to go apologize to Joey tomorrow, and she would. Because she knew more words than him, and the look on his face when she outsmarted him would be better than seeing his black eye. Also her knuckles really hurt from all the punching.

But as she sat in her room chewing on her banana, her mood became uncertain as she suddenly realized something. The same red that she saw when the bookcase fell was the same red she saw when Joey had spit at her and called her a nerd no one wanted to talk to. She had felt such painful rage at the words that confirmed her deeply guarded fears. The red had crept into her sight like ivy from every angle, until it was all she saw. A second later she had felt the ground hit her nose and mulch fill her mouth. Her vision cleared as she lifted her head, and that was when she saw him dangling upside down by the shoelaces, crying like a baby and screaming. She hadn't done it…but she had. She absolutely knew it had been her, and she had no idea why.

But nobody needed to know that. It would only get her in more trouble anyway. She mentally shrugged, and turned to do the extra credit math homework.

It was gone.

He had put the orb where he usually put it, in the second drawer of his desk, enchanted to look like a battered ink well. It had been there this morning; when he didn't plan on trying to unravel its magic he checked it obsessively, paranoid that its sheer energy was attracting the mages and Odin himself. The last thing he needed was Odin realizing his debt to the Collector was still owed because of his son's slick fingers.

He tried to beat the panic into submission, feeling his magic respond to his alarm and attempting to tame the lick of it in his arms. He needed to concentrate and get it back.

He tore apart his room, the furniture flying to the ceiling upside down. It wasn't in there. He reset his furniture and slipped out of the room, trying to remember where he went during the course of the day. He slipped into a darker hallway and rested his palms against the walls. The ancient magic that intertwined with the stones of the castle itself echoed in his palms. His energy joined with it, and like extended arms, awareness of the entire castle settled on him. He could feel bodies moving through the hallways, could hear echoes of Odin talking to Frigga on a balcony, most likely about how to tame Thor's wild behavior at the taverns each night. What they didn't know was that Thor was in his bed like he should be. He just wasn't alone.

He retracted his magic away from the parts of the castle near his brother's room. Their mother would kill Thor if he had some bastard so young. He probed each section of the castle, feeling for any spike in energy, but he found none. He severed the connection and banged his fists once against the stone, cursing himself and his foolishness. If someone as remotely clever as him had picked up that orb, he was a dead man. Odin would punish him so severely for messing with that magnitude of magic he wouldn't see Vanaheim for a millennium.

But who would take it? He had told no one of the orb. He doubted anyone searched his room, but- and he hated himself for it- he had not yet mastered the spells that would alert him to an intruder in his room, and thus had no way of knowing if someone had searched that day. He was forced to make assumptions.

Thor wouldn't take it; he had no idea Loki even had it, and even if he did his pea brain wouldn't know what he was looking at. No. If Frigga or Odin had found it he would have heard about it by now. That left Thor's friends, and the servants. He dismissed the servants. They didn't dabble in magic. Thor's friends were distinct possibilities, and the only other avenue. He didn't talk to anyone else as frequently as they and his brother.

He slipped through the castle using circuitous routes, but it was unnecessary. The castle was on the brink of sleep, and evading the guards was child's play. He magicked himself from the great hall to the gardens, but it was the extent of his abilities. The effort left him paler and heaving, but he recovered well, and slipped into the streets of Asgard.

He spent the night quietly and methodically searching each room of Thor's friends, either by sneaking or through magic. Furniture was silently upended and set back in place, pockets were checked, and desks were searched from top to bottom while they snored. While checking Sif's he had been sorely tempted for a brief moment to dye her hair another color, but a sense of self-preservation won out.

After checking even in Volstagg's hairy beard, Loki was forced to admit that he had lost the orb. He managed to take himself back to the gardens before losing his temper. He swung his fists into the trunk of a massive tree whose branches hung low and enclosed him in a ring of greenery. The wood splintered and cracked beneath his knuckles and he relished the feeling. He could never keep anything; he could never just have something that was his. He was on the brink of understanding that orb, he knew it. But apparently fate had different ideas about what he should have. Why him? There was nothing his witless brother did not have.

The anger left him as abruptly as it arrived. He wrenched his hands free of the tree, and was almost sorry for the deep indents he left in the wood. He turned his back and slid down to sit against the base of the trunk. Through his back he felt the life of the tree, humming steadily as its roots burrowed slowly through the dirt below. He closed his eyes and sighed.

He sat there until he detected faint yellow light through the low hanging branches of the tree. He emerged into the early morning, the purple of the night making way for the day.

He made it to his room in time to jump into bed as his servant arrived to help him wash and dress. After he had put on his attire for the day, he glanced at the desk across the room, feeling the itch to look crawl up his back. It wasn't there; he knew it, but something within him could not ignore the irrational desire. He crossed the room and opened the drawer.

The battered ink well sat there innocently, and utter shock rendered him frozen. He stood there for a while, until his eyebrows drew together in perplexity. He reached out to pick it up, and the illusion faded at his touch to reveal the orb, looking exactly as he had left it the previous morning. He examined it from every angle and rotated it, but could not see any signs of where it had been or what had happened to it. The gem remained inside it.

Shaking his head, he gave up on the mystery. But he did not put it back in the drawer. Instead he put it in the pocket of his trousers. The only way to know if it was the orb's actions was to carry it on his person.

After the incident he carried it in his pocket every day without fail. At nights he left it under his pillow. Nothing happened.