*GASP*

I cannot believe I just wrote the second chapter this quickly. It normally takes me FOREVER to write mult-chaps. And update them.

Thank you Loki! I wuv you. ^.^

I also love you gais for reading and reviewing so willingly :D

And look, look! This chapter is a bit longer! It'll probably flucuate though, depending on how much caffeine I've had when I write ;) Or how clear my ideas are o.0

Please let me know how you gais like it so far. And prepare for the hint of creepiness I mentioned earlier. :D

Enjoy!


It was in the seventh month of pregnancy that the pain became too much.

It was also the month she began to think she was losing her mind.

Sleeping became a hassle. Struggling and kicking within her womb, her abnormally strong daughter kept Jane on her toes and wincing in pain wherever she went.

It was like a battle. Her child's Asgaardian blood already seemed to crave it.

The girl had been mostly quiet and calm up until the sixth month, when the kicking suddenly started up, followed by the slight punches, followed by the rolling in position at least once every four or five hours.

The activity was accompanied by discomfort when the child struck her from within.

And back pain….lots and lots of back pain.

The doctors (SHIELD appointed—"the best", Coulson had assured her) insisted all was normal. The girl's activity was a bit higher than others, but nothing to be concerned of. The back pain was due to her small frame reacting to the weight on her abdomen—again, nothing to worry about. Her daughter was healthy, and strong (they could not stress strong enough). Everything would be fine, but her pain was something she would have to deal with.

After the sixth month passed into the seventh, things got worse. She tossed and turned, struggled to find a comfortable position. She used electric heating pads and took the allowed amount of painkillers when it was too much to bear.

Nothing helped.

And that's when the dreams started. And the 'ghost' came.


It was late one night when she first noticed it.

Through gritted teeth, soft hisses spilled between them as she shifted to her side and rubbed the round balloon that was her stomach. Her eyes grew heavy, her sight, a haze. Her senses dulled and she felt she would nearly find sleep in the early morning hours despite the aching in her back.

Then she would try to shift, only slightly.

And the sharp pain would hit her again.

"Damn!" Jane pursed her lips and scolded herself. She did not like to curse, and did not want her daughter to hear such language from her even in the womb.

But God, the pain….

She slammed her eyes shut. Commanded them to remain so. Begged relief to come and allow her sleep.

And then it did.

Her eyes shot open when she thought she felt something brush against her lower back.

It was soft, barely noticeable—almost as if her nightshirt had simply shifted against her skin a bit.

Then the warmth came.

Slight at first, and then growing. And deepening. And seeping into her skin. Coiling around her strained muscles, it seemed to wrap her entire lower back in heat and bring instant relief.

Her muscles relaxed. Her body settled.

Her mind acknowledged the confusion but could not concentrate on it.

Jane gazed half-lidded at the window in her room. The soft moonlight outside seemed surreal. Sleep was too close for her to concern herself with what had just occurred.

The warmth faded when her consciousness did.

She awoke the next morning and knew it had just been a dream.

Except it happened again, in the exact same manner, three nights in a row.


By the fourth night, Jane decided to abandon her current research in favor of going to bed early.

She took her normal position on her side. Faced the window as always.

Waited.

Her voice found her nearly thirty minutes later when her daughter kicked her. Her gasp was loud enough to snap her from the lulling doze she had been falling into.

Jane rolled to the other side.

Recognized the pain shooting into her back.

She closed her eyes and tried to will it away. It was almost an hour before she normally sought sleep. She was exhausted, but still awake.

And still very much aching.

She breathed deep, trying to relax herself. Settle her own muscles and yet remain alert just in case….

Fingers brushed her back.

Fingers.

She knew she felt them.

The familiar heat immediately followed.

Her back stopped hurting.

Jane kept her eyes closed and prayed. Not to God, but to Heimdall.

"Tell Thor my house is haunted!" Was her first thought.

She bit her lip and despite her fear, wanted to laugh at herself.

Of all the things Jane had experienced since meeting Thor, ghosts—somehow- -seemed farfetched.

Her breathing was hitched. The warmth suddenly disappeared.

Jane chalked it up to nerves.

There was no heating-pad fairy sneaking into her room every night to heal her aching back.

And there were no ghosts.

She was nervous about having her super-powerful baby. And raising it by herself (with Darcy as the self-proclaimed "Auntie" and the assorted Avengers swearing to be at her right hand whenever she needed them).

She sighed into the darkness.

There was no-one in her home.

She was alone.


On the fifth night, the fingers returned.

In the form of a hand.

Instantly hot, it practically shot quick-soothing heat into her rigid muscles and her body responded by relaxing like a limp noodle.

Jane's eyes went wide. Her breaths came out short and terrified.

A tear formed in the corner of her eye when, for just a split moment in time, she thought maybe, somehow, it was Thor finding a way to lessen her agony from across the universe.

That thought was replaced by the fact that the hand that pressed into her was quite a bit smaller than Thor's. Thor had gigantic hands.

And the very idea was almost as ridiculous as ghosts and fairies.

Jane silently willed her limp body to regain strength.

Bolting upright in bed, she turned and looked across the room. In the mild white light from her window, she saw nothing. Tentatively, her hand reached out and felt the air near the side of her bed.

She felt no warmth.

Everything seemed completely normal.

The tear that had formed suddenly rolled free down her cheek, dripped hot off of her skin and landed on her resting hand.

Jane decided she was losing her grip on reality.

The stress was driving her mad.

In the midst of her fear, her confusion, and her utter loneliness, she found her voice and spoke to the absolute nothing in her room.

"Please stop."

Jane had to chuckle tiredly and sardonically at herself. She was asking no-one to stop doing something that she was just imagining anyway.

She fell back against the pillows, cradled her abdomen, and slept propped up slightly on her back.

Jane knowingly ignored the fact that the warmth did not return to soothe her pain the following night.

Or the next night.

Or the next.

Or the next….


Humor and Drama and Sweetness and CREEPINESS. Anyone else feel like they were watching a horror movie? ;) I did, and I wrote it! :D