Welcome back, loves! Thank you so much for returning for chapter 3! Finally, we get some long-awaited interaction...or at least, by six degrees of separation. I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks so much for reading and for those review and/or add this story to their list of favorites! You guys are always such a huge encouragement.


"Well, something's not right," says Jane. "That much is obvious."

Coulson raises his eyebrows at her. Jane cannot help but hide a snort as she leafs through the statistics that he has given her. She paces back to the drawing board and pins the paper back onto the whiteboard with a magnet.

"Yes, we know," says Coulson. "That's why we brought you in here in the first place."

"Of course you would," Jane says. "Because I'm not allowed to exercise my knowledge in astrophysics until SHIELD needs me to, right?"

Coulson's mild smile does not change. "I take it our compensation still hasn't softened you up after all these years."

"I had the panic attack of seeing all my life's work being shipped off in your metal vans," Jane says. "I'm not softening up at all."

She turns back to the Hubble photos of the outer rings of galaxy. In all seriousness, there is something certainly amiss in the universe. The stars are misaligned, their colors changing faster than the light years should allow them. The imbalanced levels of cosmic rays being measured are beyond natural progression. She frowns at the data before clicking a ballpoint pen and circling on the paper.

"Look at this," she says. "The star is changing temperature at an alarmingly fast rate, and what's odd is that we're not only measuring that live time but we're seeing it. We shouldn't be noticing anything for another—I don't know—five hundred million years. Not to mention that this star ought to be dead by now—it shouldn't be changing anything."

As unsettling as it should be, Jane feels herself going giddy at this revelation. It was an anomaly, a freak of nature, but it does not ward her off from their contradictions but instead entice her curiosity.

"And—wait, look at this," she says. She points to a telephoto. It is hard to pick out what is what in the paper that is nearly entirely black, but her eyes have been strained enough to see the dust particles of white in the night. "Where Cassiopeia is supposed to be—there are new stars in the way, where her chair is supposed to be."

She sucks in a quick breath. Are the births of new stars finally coming to light? She turns eagerly to Thor, her enthusiasm overflowing and desperate to fill something else. Thor isn't even looking at her—he stands by the window. One hand is pressed against the window, as if to press palms with the rain greasing the glass. He stands stock still, as if trying to search for something in the London streets.

"But we can't be that lucky," says Jane. "I mean, it's not adding up to what we're seeing in the data."

"We have reasons to believe that this isn't natural, Ms. Foster," Coulson says, tapping her shoulder to recall her attention.

"Yeah," she says. She tries not to frown curiously at Thor, who looks as if he has not heard a single word. "Yeah—I mean, definitely. Look at the sheer amount of rays you're measuring—that's as much as if you had a supernova right where the sun is supposed to be. What's this?"

She points to the jagged lines measuring the levels of an unlabeled ray. Coulson pulls down the paper from the whiteboard and hands it to her. She takes it greedily, searching for answers in the untapped potential.

"It looks like it's close to gamma rays," says Coulson. "But not entirely."

"It looks like it's more than gamma rays," she says. "Thor?"

Thor lifts his head as if he has just been caught dozing. Jane doesn't know whether to feel concerned or frustrated. Thor has been tugged back and forth by SHIELD—he won't say what it is that troubles Earth, or himself, and Jane can't tell if she can no longer read him as well or if she never was able to.

"Can you look at this, Thor?" Jane says. "It looks—I mean, I'm no expert at it, but I remember you saying—or Dr. Banner's studies said it—that magic involves gamma rays."

"What are you suggesting?" Thor says.

Jane holds out the paper to him. He peels himself away from the window and takes the paper. He takes one look at the sheet before shaking his head, handing it back.

"I'm afraid I can only tell you about magic if I see and feel it," Thor says. "I never grasped the theory. That was always—not my strength."

That was always Loki's strength, is what Jane knows is on the tip of Thor's tongue.

"It doesn't look like a natural occurrence," Jane says. "What if it's something going on in the the other realms?"

Thor purses his lips. "That was a thought of mine," he says, "when we were called here. But the Nine Realms ought to be in peace—at least, they have no reason to battle amongst themselves, much less with each other. Something of this degree would be something between Realms, if not beyond it."

"What are the possibilities that it's beyond it?" says Coulson. "I don't think any of those Chitauri friends of ours claim loyalty to any of those Norse planets of yours."

"They oughtn't to be visible from Midgard," says Thor. "Unless they've moved inward in Yggdrasil."

"Whatever it is, it's moving insanely close to us," Jane says.

"Thor, I just want to get this out," Coulson says. "If this is another one of your alien relatives coming to attack us to resolve their parental issues—"

"It's not," Thor says.

His voice is like a heavy boulder that came to crush this conversation into fine dust. Coulson says nothing else, instead buying time to pin the paper back onto the board with a magnet. Jane casts a sidelong glance at Thor. She never wondered until now if Thor ever spoke about Loki's death to SHIELD.

"I'll return to Asgard to find out what this irregularity is for you," says Thor. "If there is something truly amiss and unnatural, Heimdall would see it, and if it is anything to fight off, Midgard is under Asgard's protection. I shall see to it that it will not be harmed."

"You're going to go back?" says Jane.

"It has been on my mind," says Thor. "Not just to make sure the Nine Realms are at peace, but because Asgard had been under siege until I last left it. I want to know if there has been recovery—if there is anything I can do for my home."

Jane wishes she doesn't feel so crestfallen by this. Thor has every right and reason to be worried, homesick even. But she cannot help but always worry that the next time she sees him disappear in a flood of rushing light will be the last time she sees him, without her even knowing.

"Thank you, Thor," says Coulson. "Now, Ms. Foster, if you could look at these data for me…"

Thor retreats from the room to leave Jane and Coulson. The moment Thor closes the door behind him, Coulson turns fully to Jane.

"I've got to ask," Coulson says. "What's he doing back?"

Jane's bottom jaw twitches.

"If you dragged me to your stupid headquarters saying you wanted my expertise only to gossip with me, you've duped the wrong person," Jane says.

"Not in the slightest," Coulson says. "But while you're here, you're also the only person that may know."

"You're not going to try to kick him out, are you?" says Jane. "Because frankly, even if you want to, it isn't like you're going to have a lot of say in that, if you know what I mean."

"We were just under the impression that he was going to be king of his home planet sooner rather than later," says Coulson. He gathers the data into a neat manila folder. "Most kings don't take vacation days."

Jane hesitates. She casts a glance at the door that Thor had just walked through. She knows the answer, but it isn't hers to tell.

"Why don't you just ask him yourself?" Jane says. "You'd get a straighter answer."

"Would we?" says Coulson.

"Do you think Thor would ever be a liar?" says Jane.

"No," says Coulson. "I suppose that's more down Loki's alley than Thor's."

For a moment, Jane still can hear Thor's scream of anguish in those ash mountains. She tries not to look away.

"That might not be the best thing to say," she says.

"Something wrong with Thor?" says Coulson.

Jane digs out her wallet and pulls out one of her plain business cards, handing it to Coulson. Coulson takes it, frowning quizzically.

"What's this for?" he says.

"I thought you might need it," Jane says. "Just so you can read it and it says I'm a professional astrophysicist researcher, not a gossiper you can go to when you want to dig into Thor's personal matters."

Coulson's smile doesn't faze, but his eyebrow twitches. Nevertheless, he pockets the business card and hands Jane the folder of data.

"If you don't mind," he says, "look over these for us. There's probably much more happening that we can't even see."

She takes the gesture of appeasement, her eyebrow twitching.

"Might take me a while," says Jane. "I have to prepare for a lecture I'm giving to the University of London in two weeks on neutrino astronomy. This might have to take the back burner and all."

Which is a lie, because knowing her she is probably going to scour through the data, if not collect her own, about this strange occurrence because by God was this curious. She leaves the room to search for Thor. She finds him waiting for her on the ground floor, lost in his thoughts as he watches blankly the people that pass him by, not paying attention as some newer agents stare at him in awe and intimidation. She runs forward toward him, placing a hand on his arm. He jerks slightly at her touch.

"You okay?" she says.

"Yes," he says.

There was a time she believed his calmness and composure. That was until she caught him shaking his sleep, and now she isn't sure how to believe anything he says when it is about himself.

"Let's go," she says.

He follows her without protest. He puts a hand on her other shoulder as if to keep her steps steady, as if she is weak and hurt and in need of support, except she is perfectly fine and wondering if he is still in a battlefield in his mind.

"Thor, when are you going back?" she says. "To Asgard."

"As soon as possible," says Thor. "I do not know how Asgard fares after Malekith's attack, even after all this time. And if there really is a threat coming to Midgard, it is better to stop it in its tracks than let it crash into Earth."

"Okay," says Jane.

Maybe this trip back home, even if it may be stressful, will be good for him. He has lost his mother and brother, and Jane for all she is cannot fill the hole that was once his home. His life went from having everything to losing everything, and she wonders how much more Thor has to suffer in his next five thousand years.

She wonders, briefly, before she tries to bury the thought under layers and layers of other less intimidating truths, if she will just be another drop in the ocean of loss he will have to endure.

"You will be all right for the next week or so, will you?" says Thor.

"Thor, I went through two years without you," says Jane.

"Perhaps," Thor says. He gives a crooked smile. "Though Darcy tells me you coped in an interesting manner."

Jane's face burns. "Shut up and go back home for a month if you have to. At least just tell me if it'll take you a year."

He squeezes her shoulder. For a moment Jane wonders if she should tell Thor what Coulson was trying to find out from her—warn him just in case Coulson does drill him later, catch him off guard—bring up Loki again. Or maybe Coulson never will, and has enough tact to keep silence, in which case it is better to instead stay silent.

"Truly, though," says Thor. "If you are ever in need of help—if you are ever in dire trouble, and I am not with you, Heimdall can hear you from here. Call for him and—"

"I'm not going to call up the Heimdall line for you just because I need help or something," says Jane.

"But if there is ever anything—"

"Listen," Jane says. "That's sweet of you, Thor. That's really, really sweet. But Asgard probably needs you—" And as much as she might tell herself she needs Thor, in all truthfulness Asgard needs him more. "—and it isn't like there isn't anyone on Earth who isn't capable of helping me out if there really is anything wrong."

"Jane—"

"I'm serious," she says.

Thor gazes at her with a strange sadness she cannot place a name over. Jane doesn't know whether to be somewhat affronted if not slightly concerned that Thor thinks she needs to constantly be protected, or saddened that Thor feels this constant need to protect someone or something—and hopes he doesn't feel like he has failed already.

"All right," he says.

She reaches to her shoulder and squeezes his hand. After all, a week, she reasons with herself, is hardly anything compared to two years. It's hardly enough time to worry.


When Loki wakes, he cannot stop shaking.

He doesn't know if it is because his bones ache, or if because when he woke up he woke up laughing.

He is cold—painfully, in a way that stings his fingers, and slightly out of breath. He can still feel the remnants of a dusty laugh in his lungs, forcing him to cough.

He doesn't remember what it was that he dreamt, only the emotion that it left behind bottled in his chest. He can only feel how so damn painful it is, right behind his heart, and he wonders if that is physical or metaphorical. It makes him laugh even harder, or it would have if he isn't already breathless.

He closes his eyes again and tries to remember where he is. Where he last was. He thinks he remembers dark shadows. Twisting words. His invisible shield growing heavy.

He takes too sharp of a breath and his chest aches. He holds his breath for as long as possible to keep his chest from moving, from hurting.

When he keeps his eyes closed long enough, he thinks he can see faces beneath his eyelids, meaning in the darkness.

He knows he recognizes Frigga somewhere in that emptiness.

For a moment, Thor's face briefly flits through his mind too.

Loki laughs at himself again.

That brother of his is dead, because he is dead, so why does he keep dreaming of him? The last chance Loki had to taking arms with Thor are long wasted and gone, as dead and gone as he will be. There is no point in remembering.

He tells himself—loudly, in his head—that he is not on Midgard because of Thor.

He is hidden within the folds of reality, neither here nor there, hiding. A shield of invisibility from Heimdall's and everyone's sight is growing too heavy for him to uphold. He can barely tell where he is in regards to Midgard—maybe above an ocean, or on a mountain, even. Maybe alone.

He wraps a new visage around himself—the image of a young, unnoticeably impeccable man with burning red hair and sharp Midgardian attire until traces of himself are stowed from view—before he stretches open the folds of reality and falls into place on Midgard.

The air is jarring—it stabs Loki in the lungs and each breath sends shivers down his body. He takes a step and has to lean against a wall to keep himself from falling. The skin on his chest prickles.

He curses his magic for the fifth time this month—and hates himself for cursing it. To think that the one thing he once took so much pride in, the one thing that has at least remained steadfast and loyal to him when nothing else did, even himself, is what is robbing him of his proper end. Forcing him to endure this—this, whatever it is, because if it is not dying then it certainly is not living.

When Loki catches his breath again, he raises his head. He does not recognize this place—not New York City or Stuttgard, then, if anything. It is chilly here—he is glad of his choice in jacket and scarf. The streets are mildly crowded enough that none of the mortals really notice his sudden appearance, much less his faint one.

He tries hard not to ask himself, what am I doing here?

He doesn't want to be ashamed of his answer.

Loki lifts his chin and pushes away the weakness. He has lasted this long, and if fate was as kind to him as it has been in the past, he will have to endure much longer.

Well, Loki, he thinks. What is your grand scheme now?

He grins to himself, because for once he does not bother to think of one.

Not until he finds a loose thread in someone's plan, someone's design—tug at it until he lets it unravel, and see it disperse. Until he changes the world irrevocably as if to say here I am! because if he must die slowly then he must not spend the time idly, wasting.

He raises his head, cranes his neck to look further. The streets are peppered with people. Human faces—nothing very significant or distinguishable, very little worth looking at. But he walks on light feet, as if he is trying to sneak up on someone, surprise them, even though he knows no one and cares for no one here.

He sees a tall figure with longer blond hair and his heart jumps.

He opens his mouth, trying to choke out a sound.

The figure turns. Whoever it is, they are absolutely unrecognizable.

Loki closes his mouth—pretends that he is yawning. Something in his chest drops, like a heavy stone tied to his insides. He doesn't know what he was even expecting.

No, he knows what it is that he wants. But it's a pitiful, needless want. He is not on Midgard to dwell on that—on him.

Then why are you on Midgard in the first place?

Because where else does he have to go?

It takes him a moment for him to realize that he is wandering in a university.

At least, he presumes. Odin had preferred that Thor and Loki had private tutors, but the other nobles their age attended something like a university. The area is full of mostly young people, carrying books and odd devices whose screen changes at their touch. A proper breeding place for conditioned minds, undoubtedly.

He cannot help but smile. If he poses as a tutor without anyone suspecting otherwise, think of all the influence he can impose on them. He stows the idea away—tempting, but pointless. Midgardian minds, however expansive they may or may not be, can only last for so long. It is not so much influence as it is a bare brush upon this world.

Except, he thinks with a wry smile, it isn't worth contemplating. At this rate, these mortals around him will last longer than he and whatever influences, ideas, thoughts, and memories of his ever will. He is not one to talk about permanence.

"Excuse me?"

Loki walks on, aimlessly.

"Hey—sorry, wait—"

He feels a hand upon his arm. He jerks suddenly and turns around, ready to glare down whoever thought it necessary to bother him.

He feels the blood rush from his head.

She is standing before him, toting a large messenger bag of God knows what. She had touched his arm and stopped him in his steps and she has reminded him why, why, why he should have never come to Earth, never left Asgard, why he should have just waited to snuff it on some abandoned moon where he wouldn't have to be reminded.

He almost blurts out her name, until he forces himself to choke on it.

"Sorry," Jane Foster says. She is breathless, her hair tied back and her eyeliner smudged. "Sorry—I'm looking for the Alumni Hall. Can you help me?"

Loki realizes that he is not breathing. He sucks in a sharp breath, his head spinning. He thinks to back away, because if Jane is here—if Jane is at this very place then would Thor—?

At the thought of seeing Thor—seeing Thor—he feels that scar on his chest burn until it feels as if fire is consuming his entire body.

"I'm afraid not," Loki finds himself saying. He is glad for his ability to say complete rubbish when his mind has promptly switched off. "I don't know this place well myself."

"Oh, are you a freshman?" says Jane.

Loki nods. He has no idea what that is.

"Sorry, then," Jane says. She runs a worried hand over her forehead, glancing around. "I'm just…wow, I definitely knew where it was only a week ago when I was meeting with the headmaster, but now…"

Loki is tied to the spot with stone roots. He urges himself to lift his feet, to keep walking, to leave her, but he cannot. Suddenly all those times he swore to himself that Loki of Asgard is dead, that the past is gone and cut off from him, are completely reduced to ashes.

"—just remember it being somewhere on this side of campus." She is still talking and he didn't even realize it. Loki clears his throat.

"Are you visiting?" he says, because he thinks it might be too obvious if he upright asks what the hell she is doing here, wherever they are. Because of all the universities in all the realms, they both just have to walk into the same one.

"I'm speaking. I'm a guest speaker," she says. And under a breath, she says, "But I'm also an idiot."

Well, that much isn't hard to figure out. He ought to walk away right now, walk and pretend he never saw her, pretend he never recognized her because he shouldn't, that part of him is long dead twice now, but instead, he says—

"Oh, I remember. The professor had mentioned that earlier."

Jane's eyes light up, and he knows immediately that was a wrong answer.

"You're in the lecture?" she says. "That's great! Are you into astrophysics then?"

If Jane is an idiot, then Loki is a fool, which he has long already known by now. Why is he not gone already?

"I think it an interesting study," says Loki.

"It's fascinating," Jane says. "Oh, I really hope you enjoy it." Her eyes wander and she lets out a sigh of relief. "Oh thank God, it's over there. I can't believe I missed it. I have to get there early to prepare, so—so I'll see you later? I'm Jane Foster by the way."

She holds out her hand. Loki nearly gives a small bow out of habit. He has no idea how to respond in a way that doesn't scream that he has no idea why she is holding out her hand.

"Th—my name is Thaniel," says Loki. He does not know where this name comes from.

He takes her hand—it seems the logical thing to do. When she shakes it, he cannot help but question the point of it.

"I'll see you later then, okay?" she says.

She waves and hurries off to whatever direction this Alumni Hall is. Loki is just seconds away from ripping off this façade, ripping a passageway out of Midgard to anywhere else but here—Niflheim, Jotunheim, anywhere—but before he can flee, before he can forfeit, he asks himself something that makes his blood go still.

Would Thor be there?

He shouldn't care. Watching Jane's retreating back, he should not care if Thor will be at her lecture today or surfing the stars near Alfheim or alive or dead or anything at all. Because Thor thinks he is dead and it is going to stay that way until that lie is truth, and it should not affect Loki that this will be so.

Would he see Thor if he went?

Don't, he urges himself. Don't you dare. In a week's time, a month's, a year, it will not matter.

(Would he see his brother again if he tried?)

An hour and a half later, Loki finds himself in the back of a lecture hall, digging his nails into his arms as if that could discipline him after making this decision.

He is barely listening to Jane as she speaks—for a Midgardian scientist, she's not too far from the point as she describes the theories and the physics of the stars. Some points are hazy in accuracy, but one needs to actually behold the stars to understand it in full. But her words are familiar, as if he is recalling an old story read to him before bedtime. They make him think of Asgard, and he flinches.

He searches the lecture room for a familiar blond head. When he realizes what he is doing, he doesn't try to stop himself.

She's still speaking, something about radioactive decay. This feels like a dream. He had hoped he would never see her again.

(Thor isn't here)

She's drawing on the board now. He wonders if she would even know where Thor is. If Thor is with her or with his human companions that he is so fond of. If Thor is on Midgard at all. If they share a home together by now, or he had escorted her here, or—

Loki doesn't care.

These months of whatever this is—life before death, purgatory, condemnation before final peace—are not to be spent wondering about a brother who no longer exists. After a thousand years of life, Loki has no time to let the past slowly dwindle when there is a universe to disturb, a mad titan to defy.

(It's all right, he remembers Thor saying, and it felt as if the pain was powerless when he heard those words)

He doesn't realize his hands are shaking until his nails rap against the table. A student casts a glance at him. Loki pulls his hands off the table and onto his lap.

"Even though it's still in its infancy," says Jane. He forgets she is speaking, and not a figment of his conflict. "The measuring of neutrino detectors can reveal the nuclear reactions in our stars, and in due time in the future, we can get a wondrous view of our universe. Any questions?"

She isn't exactly charismatic, for Loki's tastes. Obviously Thor has not fallen for her charming tongue, or at least, not when she uses it for speaking.

He pictures himself standing and asking, where is my brother? But he doesn't know if he wants to know the answer, if he would even dare to ask.

She answers questions fluidly, easily addressing the concerns and curiosities of the students. Loki, because he loves to push his luck, raises his hand. Her eyes land on him and they brighten with recognition. He knows his disguise holds true, because no one ever looks upon him like that with so much pleased eagerness.

He asks a question. It is generic, and he already knows the answer (the answer is, no). She readily launches into a long explanation of how the answer is, maybe, in the future, in due time, it is possible. She says something encouraging—a new generation of scientists will use neutrino astronomy to search for potentially life-bearing solar systems beyond the galaxies, there is nothing stopping them—as if she's trying to keep afloat a student's dreams of discovering Valhalla with photons. Somehow, mortals and their limited time think anything is possible if they're not alive to doubt it a century down the line.

The professor thanks Jane and dismisses the class. A gaggle of students hang behind to talk longer with Jane, towering over her short stature. Loki remains seated, trying to breathe steadily.

He should leave. He doesn't. He feels as if he is waiting—the way his stomach churns and curdles, the way his skin feels tight that any movement might rip it—but he doesn't know what he is waiting for. Perhaps for Jane to lift her eyes to him again and stop in mid-sentence. For the doors to open and a certain someone comes to walk Jane back home. For some familiarity that Loki does not want to find, and yet he sits there holding his breath for it to happen.

A wave of lightheadedness washes over him. He closes his eyes and rests his fist against his forehead. He can almost feel his skin paling underneath his visage, so sickly it blushes grey.

He unconsciously puts a hand to his chest and grimaces. He can feel the faint, unfamiliar magic thrumming under his fingertips. It feels like a maggot, sucking him dry, foreign, parasitic, and his fingers are hungry to dig deep and rip it out, if only they could. If only he could, he would just topple dead as he should right here in this lecture hall, and if his visage disappears—if Jane looks up again and sees the man who by rights should have been dead several months ago freshly deceased in her hall—he wouldn't care. He'd be too busy in Hel, or Valhalla, to care.

(Except she would run to Thor with a story on her lips, and Thor would be so, so angry—)

Loki opens his eyes and stands up. He should have never come to Midgard to reopen wounds (not wounds, he is not hurt, he is not affected—). He only has Norns know how much time left and if he wants to ruin Thanos' ploy, if he wants to twist the world the way he wants just because he wants it that way, he cannot dawdle here and wait to be reluctantly found. He moves toward the door, only to stumble to a stop when Jane reaches it at the same time as he.

"Hi, Thaniel," she says. She grins. "How'd you like it? Was it interesting?"

"Certainly," he says with ease. He hates her. This disguise is growing weary, and he wants to leave now, and he hates her. "You did a great job. Thank you for speaking."

"Thank you for listening," she says. "I only saw five people dozing off this time—that's two less than my last lecture! Oh—" She blushes and gives a nervous chuckle. "I mean—I'm not trying to criticize your classmates or be sarcastic. I'm actually really thankful for that."

He hides a snort. She looks up at him with a far too cheery disposition.

"Do you think you'd ever consider going into neutrino astronomy?" she says. "Or astrophysics as an official major?"

He almost says no, just to spite her. But then she might remember him more clearly for being that one student who doesn't. He needs to be as bland and as inconspicuous as possible, so he can run from this place, and regret later for coming.

(and regret later for not staying)

"Perhaps," he says. "It's interesting. I'd like to study it."

"I actually dabble in that in my research," says Jane. "Sometimes I have internships too. Well—my only position is right now taken up, but you know, I can actually broaden it. It isn't like Darcy does any actual research."

"Sorry?" says Loki.

"I'd love to help you figure out what you want to do with your college career and stuff if you're considering astrophysics," says Jane. "You know, be a resource, answer questions—like the professors. How about we meet up for coffee? I've got some connections, you know—networking. You're a freshman, but you can start early."

"I—"

This is the opposite of what Loki wants. But she's already reaching into her messenger bag and pulling out a small rectangle of thick paper.

"Here's my business card—for my phone number," she says. "But how about this coming Friday at, say, noon?"

"Perhaps," says Loki.

He doesn't understand why he doesn't just say no. Nevertheless, Jane grins as he gingerly takes the business card.

"Thank you," he says uncertainly.

"Of course," she says. "I love to see more people getting into the field." She checks her watch and jumps. "Oh, I have to run. I'll see you Friday then—that cute one on Southampton Road, how about? Free State or something. You know that one, right? I'm not native here."

"Mm," Loki says.

"Great," Jane says. "Okay, I really need to run. I've got to meet somebody."

She waves at him and rushes out the door. Loki wonders for half a moment if that somebody is Thor.

He hates her. Hates her for insisting. Hates himself for not resisting. He needs to leave.

But where would he go?

He feels the grey seeping through his skin—spider web veins as if his blood is paling. He doesn't have the time to sit around with Thor's mortal for a cup of coffee, whatever that is. He doesn't have time.

He realizes this is the closest he has come to Thor in all these months, because of her.

He looks down at the stiff business card. In a swift motion, he crumples it in his hand.