Author's Note: Good time of day wherever you are! ;) Thank you for taking interest in this story! =) You're amazing!
Just so you know, you don't have to have read Append first to understand this (it would certainly help), but just know that Hela wasn't banished before the first Thor and Thor and Loki grew up with her as an older sister. Also, Wanda and Pietro aren't Avengers because Age of Ultron didn't happen, and during the fight with Thanos, Odin and Frigga were killed.
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors!
Summary: Fear is a powerful master. It bends and breaks people. Fear can make someone take drastic actions they otherwise wouldn't have considered. A year after the war with Thanos, well after things have settled, the U.N. calls a meeting requiring enhanced beings to gather together; but not with the intent to co-exist in peace.
Pairings: Jane/Thor, Pepper/Tony
Rated for: Minor violence, PTSD, implied/referenced torture, possible gore (nothing extensive), any further needed warnings will be posted at the top of chapters. No smut, no slash, no non-con, no incest, nothing else inappropriate. Language is all K.
For your information, this story is cross-posted on Archive of our Own under the pen name of "GalaxyThreads".
Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)
"So you feel entitled to a sense of control,
And make decisions that you think are your own,
You are a stranger here, why have you come?"
- Who Are You Really, Mikky Ekko
Chapter One:
July 28, 2019
The sound of the slap is sharp, stinging and seems to swallow the silence in the room as if through a surprised inhale.
This does not deter him, and beyond the slight sting in his hand, he can't quite feel the burn as well as he should.
Perhaps he does not care to.
It does not bother him either way.
Instead, he leans forward on the desk, resting his palms flat against the metallic surface and stares at the man across from him. The black hair is slick with sweat and his eyes are shadowed heavily from the sleep deprivation he's been forced with. It has not torn the answers from him, the man's lips remain sealed as if sewn that way. The green is dulled, but fiery with defiance.
Given enough time, it, too, will be quenched.
They just need to wait.
And he has all the patience he needs.
"Do you suppose this to be a game?" The man questions the other, furrowing his brows. He keeps his fingers lax, despite his first instinct to clench them tightly into fists. Across the table, the raven-haired man tightly clenches his jaw, his tongue wiping at the blood present on his lips clean.
Prisoner XV says nothing.
And he expects nothing less.
Prisoner XV has said very little in the period of time they have held him; and though most men would have at least asked for at least water at his point (begged), Prisoner XV refuses to converse with them. It must be a struggle. These prisons are not built for comfort. Prisoner XV has been here for days, and yet, still nothing.
He is determined to get the dehydrated, exhausted man to spit and whether it will be by force or other methods, that is simply up to the man across from him.
He sighs with disappointment and takes the seat on the other side of the desk. Prisoner XV's green eyes follow him, but the expression in them is hard to determine. Perhaps annoyance, vague wariness? No, that's not it. Exhaustion? Yes, exhaustion would be the label he firmly presses into it. Prisoner XV is tired. It's held in his stance, his gaze and the way his hands are lax against the restraints they're bound in. His wrists are lifted towards the ceiling from shackles hanging from them, and his shoulders must be screaming at him. Yet still, Prisoner XV says nothing. Curious.
"This needn't get unpleasant Mr. Odinson." He assures and gives a thin smile to back up his words.
Establish trust. Find a common ground.
Prisoner XV rocks his hands slightly, palms twisting to ease the tension of his wrists. It, as he and the prisoner are aware, does not ease the burden. He still is silent, watching. His stare is unpleasant and gives off the impression that the Asgardian can see everything about him as if it were presented on the table like cards, and what Prisoner XV does gather, he is not impressed with.
This is not working. He is losing.
Alright.
Time to change tactics.
He leans back in the chair and releases a slight breath, "Perhaps we've been going about this all wrong, Mr. Odinson. You need more incentive—what's in this for you? Yes. I can see that. We only want the location of where you sent them and then you can leave. You can just walk away from all of this. Just the location. Nothing more."
Still nothing.
Yes.
Alright.
"No then?" His patience is slipping, his superiors are counting on him to find this, "Life hangs between your hands, I'll have you recall, Mr. Odinson. Where are they?"
Prisoner XV's eyes narrow minutely before he leans forward slightly, his sharp chin jutting out defiantly. He wets his lips, though his voice is hoarse when he speaks: "Take it from my corpse, Agent."
"Ooh," The man murmurs under his breath and tilts his head towards Prisoner XV, "are you certain that you want to be making that offer? We are more than capable of doing so."
Prisoner XV stares at him for a second, green eyes dulled before he opens his mouth to respond. He feels more than accomplished than he cares to admit that he's managed to get Prisoner XV to continue to speak. Prisoner XV shifts forward, the chains creaking against the weight of his adjusted position. His face is blank, but his voice holds a promise through his venom. "There is nothing you or your organization can do to compel me into speaking the location, Agent."
He smirks. "Well, Prince Loki, I wouldn't say that, we'll find something. We always do. We're going to find New Asgard, and whether or not you tell us where it went is going to determine how much mercy they get. Tell me, how much more death do you want to be responsible for?"
000o000
July 7th, 2019
The water is sloshing around her boots, soaking the bottom of her dark skirt and freezing her toes. It's bitter, but she can't say she cares much for it. As far as she is concerned, her toes may gather frostbite.
In her long existence, Hela can't remember a time where she has had to guide this before. She has never had a reason to; and she is beginning to understand that it was a mercy. Her chest is compressed, but empty. Her entire being aches in a way that she doesn't think she will ever fully understand.
Hela releases a breath through her nose, trying to gather herself, and tips her head down to stare at the wad of paper present in her fingers. It's white, pristine and looks undamaged save the thin rip on the first letter of the sixteen present. They're bound together with leather that's tied into a thin knot on the top.
She presses her lips together and leans forward to rest the final stack into the ship among the dozens of other pieces of paper. Drawings, notes—no part of the wood is bare, and she supposes she can draw comfort from this fact. But it doesn't change what happened. It doesn't make her parents any less dead than they were at the start of this month. It doesn't make the feeling of half her family being torn from them. Brutally.
Hela releases the leather and backs up from the water to the sand, stopping when she reaches where her siblings stand and looks up around them. The beach is covered with people, as expected. They dot from one side of the coast to the other, faces shrouded with open grief that she doubts looks different from her own. Children stand huddled next to their parents, siblings grouped together and others share their grief openly.
She envies them.
She is not allowed to show such instability.
She bites at her tongue heavily to ground herself and looks up towards Thor. Her brother meets her gaze with his own and wordlessly hands her the bow and arrow. Her lips are thinned tightly, to the point it's nearly painful, but she forces herself to ignore the sensation, briefly catching Jane's, from her position next to Thor, eye. The astrophysicist moves to take Thor's hand once more as soon as his fingers are free from the wood and she briefly sees Thor tighten the grip.
Hela turns.
Loki meets her eyes with a grimace and lifts up his right hand, fire dancing dully between his fingers. He takes a step forward and dips his hands into the small bowl of oil resting in the sand. As it's lit, Hela sees others dot among the beach, gathering more light than the bottled stars held into many hands. Nearly everyone holds one, a way to remember what was lost.
With a slight dip of her head towards General Tyr, the ships are shoved from off of the harbor, pushed towards the horizon; carried by the waves gently.
Hela eases her teeth's death grip and notes distantly that the inside of her cheek is bleeding, but wets her lips and forces the words from her lips: "Towards the sky, so do I see my father. Look to the horizon, for there do I see my mother, my sisters and my brothers. To the earth, there do I see the line of my people back to the beginning. So do they call me. They bid me take my place among them in the halls of Valhalla; where the brave shall live forever."
She dips the arrow into the burning oil and watches the head light immediately. The fire cackles in her ears and casts a glow onto the white sand. She exhales through her teeth before drawing the weapon up and pulling the drawstring back to her face. The boat for her parents is marked with thin gold inklings, but it's nearly impossible to make out in the dark. After a moment, she locates it among the others and releases the arrow.
It sails through the air for a few seconds before landing on the wood quietly. The boat begins to burn and Hela lowers the bow, moving to take her position beside Loki and Thor.
Other arrows follow her's, landing among the other boats and setting the horizon aflame. The bottled stars follow the arrows, lifting towards the sky to take their places among the galaxy. It's impossible to see through the thick musk of the sky reminding her almost tauntingly that this is not Asgard, even as much as she tries to pretend otherwise.
She blows a breath out through her teeth and turns her head slightly when Loki's hand rests on her shoulder. His expression is lifted with inquiry and sympathy and she gives a weak smile in response, resting her hand on his upper back for comfort then grab Thor's other hand between a tight grip as they turn to watch the burning ships together.
One year, three months and two days and they have finally sent their dead off in peace.
She can hardly believe that it has been such a long, but short time, since Thanos's attack on Asgard.
Since their Realm's destruction.
Their rebirth.
The ships sail slowly to the horizon. Once they have departed beyond what they can see, Hela slips from Loki and Thor's grip and moves to bury the oil with sand. Loki shifts forward to assist her, and Thor is not far behind.
"Thank you." Hela says and meets her siblings gaze. Both give short nods.
"The hour grows late," Thor avers quietly, "I'm taking Jane back to the hotel she rented in the city, it isn't too far. I'll be back in about an hour." Hela chances a glance back to where Thor's betrothed is standing, talking quietly with the Avengers. It's well past sunset, but on Asgard funerals were always held beyond the twin sun's disappearance in the sky to represent new life when the light graces them in the morning again.
Most of the non-Asgardians invited had to rent from hotels. Asgard never really had need of such arrangements before, everyone who wasn't staying with family typically stayed as a guest in the palace. They didn't erect a palace when Resumption—New Asgard—was built-her request.
Hela nods to Thor's comment. "Text me when you get there;" she requests, "drive safe."
"I will." He says and gives a tight smile then lightly gives Loki's shoulder a squeeze before scampering off to Jane again.
Hela blows out a slight breath and digs her fingers through the sand. She's going to have to find her phone before Thor gets to the hotel. At the moment, she has no idea where it is. Tony gave it to her as a gift eight—nine?—months ago. The technology is fairly simplistic to what Asgard's used to be, but there are parts that are completely ingenious. She, however, is not known for being very organized; she can lose pretty much anything given opportunity. Loki hates it.
Car keys are a nightmare.
She flicks her gaze to her youngest sibling. "Are you going to retire for the night?" She questions. His gaze is slightly distant and he nearly jolts at the sound of her voice.
He thins his lips and gives his head a slight shake. "No, I don't have any plans to at the moment. I can finish clean-up here if you want to go home."
Sleeping would be nice.
Alas.
Hela bites on her inner lip to stop herself from saying something stupid. Loki is watching her face carefully and she keeps herself composed with effort. All she really wants to do is find somewhere where no one will watch her so she can properly mourn the death of her stepmother and father. Her people. Thanos took so much from them.
"No," Hela disagrees, "I can handle it." She rises to her feet and brushes as much sand as she can from her skirt offering her hand to her brother. After a moment, he takes it and she pulls him to his feet. Loki's eyes are rimmed with exhaustion and his short hair is sticking every which way. Thor recently trimmed it for him after Loki chopped off most of Thor's per his request.
The clothing he's wearing is formal, but the helmet he started with is missing. This isn't Asgard, not anymore, but they tried to do what they could for the funeral to seem...wonted. Formal attire, the pyres, and releasing the stars—anything they could duplicate on Midgard. It's still not authentic.
"If it's all the same to you then, Heimdall offered to go over the star charts with me again." Loki's voice is quiet, but hopeful. She hesitates. He's grappling for an excuse to escape this situation and though she herself would be more than happy to, she can't tell if Loki's lying or not. He and Heimdall have been compiling a chart of Asgard's stars; what they had was lost on Asgard, but with Heimdall's gaze and Loki's vivid memory, they've made progress. If he really will go talk with Heimdall, she'd be happy to let him go, but isolation has always been one of Loki's (and Thor, though he'd never admit it) less healthy coping mechanisms.
Their mother used to worry over it.
Hela finds herself doing the same.
Loki's gaze is desperate and she feels herself crack. "I saw him near Madame Eir." She offers in answer. His shoulders slump with relief and he nods, slipping away from her side to promptly disappear in the crowd of Asgardians slowly moving back towards their homes.
General Tyr steps into pace with her. "The people are grateful for this." He says in way of greeting. She doesn't expect much less from him.
She meets his gaze. "I wish we could have done more."
They should have been able to burn bodies, possessions—something. Instead they burned paper.
"The letters were enough," he promises, pulling his helmet off of his head. Ragged curly hair slips down his back. "We have had time to adjust to this loss already. It is merely a way of closure."
Yes.
It has been more than a year now.
She nods, "All the same."
He gives an affirmative grunt. "Yes. This has heavily affected us, but we will move on, we will conquer. We always do. Asgard is not a place—"
"—it is a people." She finishes the mantra by habit. It's something that Thor blurted out at one of the curia regis—the elite council members of Asgard—meetings towards the beginning of Resumption's construction. It has stuck with them. She has seen it almost everywhere. Homes, shops, streets—it doesn't matter. It is a saying of hope, and there is nothing anyone can do to take it from them. They are a people, united once more through their losses.
Tyr gives a faint smile. "Yes. You did well, my Queen, thank you for this." Tyr's eldest son was lost in the battle against Thanos, his wife was nearly killed from infection afterwards, if not for Eir, they would have left letters for her as well. Letters to burn on their boats, because they had nothing else. There is nothing else from Asgard save themselves and their memories.
She gives a curt nod, trying to bite back her discomfort. She greatly wishes to hide among her pile of blankets and not move for several days. She is not given that opportunity. She has a country to run and just because she grieves doesn't mean she gets to stop.
Tyr gives her shoulder a friendly pat before leaving her company.
She wanders through the quickly dispersing crowd for a few more minutes, offering responses to those who speak with her, before she reaches where the Avengers and Stephan are standing, talking amongst themselves.
"Hey," Natasha says when Hela gets close enough to hear her. The redhead's lips are pursed with sympathy and Hela bites back frustration at it. She doesn't want the ex-assassins pity.
"Thank you for coming." Her words are curt, but she doesn't really care to stop it.
"Yeah," Steve assures and rests a hand on her shoulder. She shifts uncomfortably under the grip. His mouth parts and Hela can nearly hear the stream of assurances about to pour out that everything will be fine. It will, yes, but not right now and she doesn't exactly want to be told so. She wiggles from his grip, stopping the speech before it can break air.
"Are you staying the night?" She questions them. She shifts on her feet discontent, but does her best to hide it. Over the last year or so she has grown closer to the team of misfits, but she never quite...clicked like Thor. Their acquaintance has grown from formal, at least, but Hela has never really had any talent for making friends. Or having them.
Steve shakes his head, then says despite this: "No, we can get back to the Tower in about two hours."
At her quizzical expression, Bruce appends: "We took a Quinjet."
Ah.
"We offered for Jane, but..." Steve shrugs, "she wanted to stay for a few days."
Yes, Thor told her.
Hela nods. Good. That's good. Yeah. Norns, she needs to get some sleep. Her head feels fuzzy and she has to keep righting her position when she leans without her consent...Maybe she'll grab some food as well. When was the last time she ate? When was the last time anyone in her family ate? They typically try to have one meal together a day, but since the funeral was coming up she's hardly seen either of them.
"Wow," Tony says suddenly, drawing her from her thoughts, "okay, yeah, I thought that Frostbite and One-Eyed were exaggerating about the helmet-thingy." His hands lift next to his head to mimic something, "It was hard to see in the dark from far away, but um. Okay."
What?
Hela lifts her hand to her helmet almost subconsciously, feeling the threads of the familiar black spider legs. She doesn't wear it as often anymore, just for formal occasions like this or when it is expected of her. She'd almost forgotten she was wearing it to be honest, the weight is familiar and comfortable to the point that she ignored it.
Pepper smacks her husbands arm. "Tony." She chides.
Tony rubs the spot and looks at her, "What? Tell me you weren't thinking it."
"I'm not going to say anything—I can't believe you said that right now." She hisses.
"What's wrong with right now?" He looks flabbergasted.
"Tony." Pepper draws out a breath, resting a hand on her large stomach where their child is growing and shakes her head with annoyance. "Timing."
Tony pauses, then makes an "o" shape with his mouth, turning back to her and shrugs helplessly. "Oops. Sorry?"
Hela stares at him for another second before a smile spreads up her lips for the first time in what must be days and she lets out a laugh. She shakes her head with fondness then lightly punches Tony's arm. "You're hopeless."
"I know." Tony admits and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, but she can see him trying to hide a smile.
Hela smirks lightly and turns back to the rest of the Avengers. "I have things I must attend to—" she needs to find her mobile. The last place she can remember using it is in her office at the Great Hall, the gathering place for the curia regis. It's what has become of the throne room of Asgard, but is now a also an adjoined building. "—but I wish you safe travels."
They give nods or sounds of the affirmative. The team begins to move up the path towards the city, but Tony pauses and looks back at her, "Just so you know, Natasha speeds. It doesn't matter what vehicle she's in. We can get here pretty quickly." Tony looks exasperated for a second, then rolls his eyes at himself, "What I'm trying to say is that if you need us, we'll be here."
She nods, burying a rouse of sentiment for the company. Those idiots.
Tony nods awkwardly and lightly pats her arm with hesitation, "Yeah, um. I gotta go kick Peter's butt—he's grounded again, teenagers, I swear—so wish me luck with my parenting endeavors." Tony shakes his head with fondness and Hela nods quietly, watching him scamper off towards his wife and team. She's never had the opportunity to become a mother, though it's always privately been a longing of her's.
Peter Parker is Pepper and Tony's adopted teenage son. His parents died when he was very young and he was taken in by his aunt and uncle until his uncle died in brutal robbery and his aunt was later killed in a car crash. Tony found him homeless and helped him get on his feet before he and Pepper adopted him some months later. At the moment, it's been roughly five months since everything was finalized. Although Tony hasn't said anything, she's also aware of his adopted sons' double life as Spider-Man.
Very few things escape Heimdall's gaze when he's looking.
Mobile.
She needs to get the mobile.
Hela draws her crown back and feels her hair tumble down her back before she draws her cloak around her shoulders and tugs the hood over her head. Now she looks like nothing more but the other mourning Asgardians, and it is a relief. Being queen is exhausting on it's best days and tear-inducing on others.
She is much better than she was when she picked up the crown from her father nearly a century ago, but she still feels like a young kit just learning how to stand. Awkward. Unsteady.
Hela releases a deep breath through her nose and moves forward through the streets, keeping her head low. No one pays her a second glance, and she is relieved. She does not have a desire to be queen at the moment.
After quickly passing through the Main Square and slipping pasts the empty shops, she reaches the Great Hall. It's perched at the end of the Main Square and a spiraling building of two stories. Sorcery is the only way they've managed to capture the building styles Asgard used to have, and she's grateful for it.
The building is dark and frankly she isn't expecting much more than that.
She shoves a set of keys into the lock and twists it pushing the door open. A warmer draft immediately greets her and she releases a breath in relief. She's never been one for cold weather. Office. She's looking for the mobile. Thor has probably texted her that he's made it by now. It's been nearly forty minutes since he left.
Hela presses her lips together and moves through the halls then climbs one of the flight of stairs leading to the second level, quickly working through the empty space until she reaches the door to her office. She shoves another of the many keys into the lock and pushes the door open.
Electricity is something they mastered well before her birth, but how they use it was always different than Midgard. She flicks on the light for the room. There's a desk in the center with a couch shoved towards the side—that Loki or Thor will usually crash on at least once a month—and a bookshelf with hastily written texts from surviving scholars as well as volumes from Midgard.
Mobile.
Hela forces herself to focus and takes the steps needed to reach the desk, shaking off her hood as she begins to dig through the papers. She spots the familiar black device and breathes a sigh of relief picking it up before she stills.
Someone else is in the room.
She was too distracted earlier to recognize what the humming meant, but now she can place it easily. Their life is steady. Depending their intent, it probably won't be for long.
Hela summons a dagger into her sleeve and turns throwing the weapon in a wide ark, letting her gaze fall towards the intruder as her body braces for attack. The weapon lands with a sharp thunk in the wall next to the intruder's head.
Director Fury meets her stare calmly from his position on a chair pulled into the room for political discussions. His weight is evenly dispersed on his feet and he looks relaxed save the slight tightness around his eyes. Almost as if he was expecting her to nearly take his head off. Norns, this organization.
Hela swears under her breath and moves forward to grab the dagger. "What on the Norns name are you doing in here?" She demands sharply, pulling the weapon from the wall and backs up spinning it between her fingers.
"The door was unlocked." Director Fury says simply.
No, it wasn't.
Hela raises an eyebrow with disbelief. "Yes, I'm certain. You broke into a public building, Director; I may not be fully yet accustomed to your politics, but that seems quite illegal."
"It is." Director Fury agrees, shifting forwards. "I wanted to speak with you, Your Majesty."
"I have a phone," she says irritably, "call me."
"Forgive me for being skeptical, but it doesn't seem to be the fastest way to reach you." The director points out and Hela bites at her tongue with embarrassment. No, probably not.
Her shoulders slump.
"Alright," she agrees evenly, "what is it that you wanted to speak over, Nicholas?"
Director Fury rises to his feet and takes several steps forward until they're about three feet apart and digs a hand through his coat to where a pocket rests, tugging a wad of paper out. A very thick letter, she realizes after a second. "It's from the U.N.." Director Fury says as she pulls it from his grip.
She meets his gaze, wary.
"You haven't done anything wrong," he reassures, "but this is mandatory. I would have gotten this out to you sooner if I'd known what was happening."
Hela rests the dagger on the desk and leans against the wood, folding her arms across her chest, "What's in the letter that warranted this visit?"
Director Fury hesitates, "I'm not under obligation to say, and to be frank with you, I don't know much. Only enough. You should prepare for a trip overseas, more details are in that." He points to the letter, "Word of advice: don't try to fight this."
Hela arches her eyebrow up further, but can't help the cold coil of dread slowly curling into her stomach. "I'll bare that in mind, Director."
Director Fury nods and turns to exit, but pauses looking back at her. "Give my condolences to your brothers. I'm sorry for your loss, Your Majesty." He says softly. Hela nods once and Director Fury exits the room disappearing down the hall. She doesn't hear the door open and assumes he left the way he came in.
She shakes her head slightly and sighs under her breath, lifting up the letter. After a second, she breaks the seal and opens the flap taking the thick wad of papers out from within. She thins her lips and rests the envelope on the desk, unfolding the papers.
The first page is a formal invitation, but reading between the lines she can see the obvious demands, to a gathered meeting in New York City. The U.N. wants to discuss something, but the subject is void from the letter despite how many times she reads and re-reads it. The second page is an invitation for Thor, and the third for Loki.
Hela bites her irritation at this. She has little desire to be dragged into a meeting that she has no background on, but has even less to tug her siblings along with her. This also means that she will have to place regency on the curia regis. Typically, despite his official position as High Commander, Hela would give it to Thor, but since he's also being pulled along with her, she can't.
She sets the invitations next to the envelope before flicking through the remaining papers. One has directions, means of travel—as if she hasn't been living on Midgard for more than a year, she knows what a plane is, thank you; she did live with Tony Stark for four months—and number to call in case assistance is needed.
Another has information for hotel rooms in the city, rented for a week, starting on Friday, four days from now. How long do they expect them to be there? Hela would think a meeting would take a little less than six hours at the most, what do they plan on doing? What do they so desperately need to talk about?
Director Fury's insistence that this is "mandatory" is suddenly stark.
Hela bites out a breath and rests the remaining papers next to their brethren and buries her palms into her eyes. She can't say no to this. This isn't Asgard. Rules run differently here. She doesn't want to deal with this. Not at the moment, perhaps ever. Just no.
After a second, she gathers herself as much as she can and digs her hands through her skirt, grabbing her mobile from her pocket, flicking the screen. There's a few notifications from various apps, but she opens the texting to read through Thor's:
Made it to the hotel.
And about ten minutes later:
On my way home.
That was roughly twenty minutes ago, which means that he still has little distance to drive before he makes it back to Resumption. Hela flicks her gaze to the clock on the side of the screen. One ten. It's getting late, but not to the point that she's tired yet. She's always been more of a night owl than an early riser. Given a choice, she typically wouldn't move until ten or noon. Neither Thor or Loki carry the same trait.
Hela glances back at the desk and plays with her fingers for a second before turning off the phone and taking a seat beginning to shuffle through some paperwork. She can either remain awake staring up at the ceiling as she attempts to bury the ache in her chest or she can immerse herself into this and ignore sleep and the pain altogether.
Hela picks up a pen and turns on the desk light beginning to dig through the heavier documents she's been putting off for weeks.
000o000
By the time she returns to her, Thor, and Loki's shared house, it's well past four in the morning. Her limbs feel strangely dry and her eyes raw and painful. Thor's car is parked in front and Hela takes some relief at the sight.
She's very tired.
Staying up was perhaps not her greatest idea.
Hela twists the key into the lock, making sure that the papers she took home are still gathered together in the folder, before she shoves the door open. It's silent as it does so and Hela immediately spots a light on in the distance. A quiet curse escapes her lips of its own accord. She swears, if one of her siblings is awake now…
She closes the door quietly and longs for the moment she can get out of the formal attire. She's never been one for dresses. She silently treads past the small sitting room and into the kitchen. The light is beyond this room to the living room where two couches are present. Their home is mostly kept in order by Loki's annoyance with messes, but the space has become a community disaster. Books, papers, Thor's artwork in progress, Loki's spells, her weapons in the middle of craft—their present on the shelves in the room and across the coffee table. The floor, by way of unspoken agreement, is devoid of the projects.
On Asgard, their family's chambers was joined by a large open room like this and it, too, was one of the messiest parts of the castle because no servants were permitted inside. It's habit and something almost normal.
Hela rests the folder on the table and silently rests her keys beside them before she slips across the room to the sitting room, a retort on her tongue for who of her siblings is present, but stops.
Her voice dies before it can air and her gaze softens.
The coffee table is shoved up against the fireplace and the space it usually rests is occupied by Thor and Loki. Loki is resting on his stomach, head buried on his folded arms. Thor's head is resting on Loki's back, using the space like a pillow, and the rest of him is sprawled out across the floor and tucked next to Loki. Both of them have blankets that are twisted around their limbs awkwardly, but it's clear from the relaxed expressions on their faces the discomfort of their positions doesn't bother them.
They're out of their formal propaganda and she's assuming that they've been here for a while.
They used to share a bed when they were very young and as they've gotten older they draw comfort from occasionally doing this. Hela shakes her head with slight exasperation and releases a breath deciding to leave them there. She adjusts the blankets over their bare feet then backs up to turn off the lamp one of the two left on.
The room is immediately bathed in darkness and she waits a second for her eyes to adjust before moving from the room to slip down the hall and open the door to her room. After a few minutes of struggling, she manages to get the dress off without damaging it (she's not above cutting her way out) and is more than happy when she slips into a loose T-shirt and pants.
Tomorrow she will deal with the mess that Director Fury brought, she'll scrap together what remains of control and reign Resumption into some sort of order. But now?
Now she is going to sleep.
Hela gratefully crawls into bed after ponytailing her hair; asleep before her head hits the pillow.
Author's Note: I would love to hear feedback if you're willing and comfortable to offer it! =)
On a completely unrelated note, has anyone else edited more than 135K in less than a week? Because it is mind numbingly painful. Haha. XD Background: I re-wrote most of "Append" before I posted this. So. Yep. Anyway.
I got a lot of requests for Infinity War aftermath and I was like "haha! Sounds nice, but no", then I sat down one afternoon, and plotted out an entire story in less than an hour-which like never happens for me, it usually takes days, if not weeks. I'm rambling. Sorry about that.
Depending on how many people want to read this will determine the when the next update is. I've got a lot of projects running right now and life is kind of beating me up with a baseball bat, but I'll definitely have something out before the end of March. Fingers crossed. XD
You're all amazing, don't you dare forget that! :D