"I'd rather regret the things I've done than regret the things I haven't done."

–Lucille Ball

Before even the first hour had passed, Freyja's mind was clouded and she could no longer think straight. Her thoughts were jumbled and incoherent, a stark contrast to her usually carefully ordered mind, but she couldn't find it in herself to mind. There was something relaxing in the fog created by the liquor. It allowed her troubles to float away and be forgotten, if only for the moment.

Tony sat on a stool next to her, sipping carefully at his scotch while steadily refilling her glass. He had made sure to stay sober, though he had gone through an appletini and a shot of bourbon just to keep up appearances. He didn't need to, which he quickly realized, as she was too distracted to pay attention. She didn't even say a word as he poured her another shot of peach Schnapps.

"How peculiar for a drink to taste of fruit as this one does," she mused, downing the plastic cup's contents.

He laughed, "I have a drink for every flavor you can think of. Name one and I'll point you to the bottle. Given that it's on Earth, of course."

She looked at him in disbelief, a giggle escaping her as she suggested, "Peppermint?"

He stood up and brought a bottle from the shelves, presenting it to her with a dramatic bow, "Here you have it, my Lady."

"I don't believe you."

"Taste it yourself," he said, filling her glass. "Then you can apologize for ever doubting me."

She took a tentative sip, smiling at the taste, "Incredible! I love peppermint. It reminds me of Asgard."

Tony sat up suddenly, "Why's that."

"I used to sneak out of the palace with a friend on full moons," she told him, smiling wide with eyes that were light years away. "We would drink peppermint tea, watch the stars, and share stories from our cultures."

"A friend?" Tony asked, slumping slightly on his stool in disappointment.

"Well, we were friends in the beginning. Our relationship grew stronger with time," she sighed. "But my father did not approve, however, and we were forced to continue our affair in secrecy. It's funny how blind to the obvious most can be."

"Affair?" he asked, becoming steadily more interested. "One of you was married?"

She choked on her drink, "By Sophossentia, what would lead you to assume such a preposterous idea? I do not consort in such ways with married men and women. Neither of us was married, though he was a widower. I never met her personally…"

"Why didn't your father approve of this guy?"

"It was because of what Realm he hailed from. The Vanir do not marry outside of Vanaheim and Asgard due to complications in their children."

"Where was he from?" he asked, pouring more into her glass in the hope of finding out more.

She started giggling suddenly, one hand reaching up to cover her smile while the other gently clasped his shoulder, "Thor spoke true when he said you were sly. I am not so foolish as to give you exactly what you want. But I shall play your little game. In the end, it matters not where he was from. His birthplace would offer you no clues as to who he is."

"Was he a peasant? A thief?"

"No, no. He is of noble blood, if not noble birth," she said with a wry smile.

"Noble blood, but not birth," Tony muttered, trying to work out exactly what she was saying. "A disgraced lord?"

She giggled again, looking thoroughly amused at his expense, "You think yourself wise, Tony Stark. I admit, you are knowledgeable, but you lack in wisdom. No definite answers will pass my lips. I do not trust you enough with such information."

"You can trust me."

"The only people who know of our relationship are myself, him, and Thor. Do you truly believe I would give such a secret to you?"

"If you trust Thor, you can trust me," he assured her. "I can keep a secret better than he can."

"I didn't choose to tell him. He happened across us one afternoon," she slurred. "He actually wasn't as surprised as I had expected, and vowed to never speak of it. I trust the word of my friend over that of a stranger."

Tony huffed in irritation, swallowing down the last of his scotch.

She examined Tony as if she couldn't quite see him, "I do not understand why you are so adamant on this subject, much less why you are so frustrated with failure. Do you truly believe you are more perceptive than I am elusive?"

"Anything can be answered if you have the right amount of stubbornness," he told her. "And what do you mean 'elusive'? Are you lying to me?"

"I cannot lie, but I will not answer with complete honesty, either," she informed him, sighing as she traced the rim of the glass with a finger. "I tire of having him nameless. Let us call him 'Leif'."

Tony raised an eyebrow, "Leif? Is that an actual name where you're from?"

"Of course not," she laughed. "It is, however, common in Asgard. Leif means 'beloved one', so I suppose I see the appeal."

"Alright. Did Thor know 'Leif' well?"

"They knew each other very well, but were not as close as they should have been. I always saw them as opposites, but more akin to two sides of a coin than opposite without similarities."

He nodded, trying to figure out what she meant by 'should have been', "What do you mean? Were they family or something?"

"They are not related by blood."

"Okay. He's still alive, right?"

"Of course."

"What does he look like?"

"His appearance is a façade, made by his own mind to hide the truth. What he looks like depends on whether you choose to believe the lie or look beyond to reality."

"That doesn't tell me anything," he protested, pouring more into the plastic glass.

She raised the cup to her lips, another teasing smile hiding behind the rim, "In truth, it tells you more than you would imagine."

"You said he wasn't married at the time, but were you his only girlfriend?"

"That word baffles me; it does fit the use you give it. But, yes, I was his only lover at the time."

"And Leif was your only boyfriend?"

"Not entirely. I suppose the answer to that question lies in how you look at the circumstances. My father had been lining up suitors for my hand for nearly two years, and I had to appear as though I was considering them, at the very least. But he was the only man I was truly in love with."

"What about his personality? What was he like?"

"He was intelligent, perceptive, loyal, caring, a bit temperamental at times, but he calmed easily. But that was before, millennia before now, and much has likely changed in both of us."

"So he's different now?"

"From the little I have seen in Thor's memories, I have determined as much. Could I have expected any differently? Time changes everyone. So tell me, Stark, have you determined who it is I speak of?"

He looked baffled, "Are you kidding? I barely know a handful of the people in Asgard, and half of those are from the mythology. How am I supposed to guess who this guy is if all I know is based on your ridiculous answers?"

Her words stretched as she yawned, "You are supposed to guess because, knowing Thor, he has already given you his name unintentionally."

"So I've heard his name before?"

"Most probably."

Tony mentally went through every time he and Thor had spoken of Asgard and the people within it. It had come up a handful of times, sometimes mentioned in passing when related to something else they had been talking about, but it was difficult to recall the exact words. He scrambled for any name or unusual word Thor might have said in those conversations, but nothing came to mind.

"Can't you give me another hint?"

"Alright…He only showed his true self, his true emotions, to me. To everyone else, he was a chameleon, taking on whatever role was demanded of him. It made people call him a liar but, like me, he never told a true lie. He simply never told the full truth. He was a true silver tongue."

"How is that supposed to be helpful?"

"You are an intelligent man," she remarked. "You should be able to find the answer to such simple riddles."

She got off of her barstool shakily, her hand reaching for the counter as she wobbled on her feet, "Tell me when you have an answer. But do not let it anger you if you cannot find your answer, for I have bested many men before."

"Hold on! I need a better hint than that," he exclaimed, reaching out to grab her shoulder. "You can't-"

The second his fingers brushed against her shirt, she began to fall towards the floor. He reached out to grab her, moving quickly in an awkward tangle of limbs as he caught her, and sighed irritably. This was not what he had been hoping for. Sure, she had gotten drunk within a few drinks, but she hadn't been much more unguarded than she was while sober. And now he had to drag her to her room.

She was lighter than he had expected, he guessed she couldn't weigh more than a hundred pounds, and he wondered how that was possible when he'd found out the hard way that Asgardians weighed exponentially more than most humans. Perhaps that was why her people had sought out mental and spiritual strength, he thought. Either way, it made carrying Freyja to her room much easier.

He thought of everything she had told him, trying to pick out anything that was significant. She had painted a vague silhouette, making a man of broad strokes of color like a van Gogh painting, of her mysterious lover. That was just it. She had made a body, but had not provided a face. He grit his teeth in frustration as he laid her across the mattress.

Meanwhile, Freyja's head swam in and out of various memories. Most were broken and jumbled into incoherent chaos, but one stood out like a flame in darkness. The last conversation she had with her father before she refused to speak to him again. It had been the day she truly gave up hope in her family, the day she had turned away and never looked back.

Her father was tall, even by Vaniric standards, and had the same blue-black skin, pale silvery eyes, sharply angular features, and long black hair, which was pulled back at the nape of his neck with a leather tie, that was standard among their kind. Freyja had always found it strange that her eyes were electric blue while the rest of her people shared the same iridescent silver shade that marked them in any form. But she was too busy examining how his features were now contorted in a stubborn glare, his reaction to whatever she had just told him.

"I will not repeat myself again, Freyja. You are forbidden to see the boy again!"

"Why?" she yelled at him, her fists clenched at her sides as she refused to give in to him. "Give me one good reason besides his blood! He is not like his people, he is different! If you only met him, you would approve!"

He matched her in volume when he replied, though his tone carried no inflection, "I am your father and you will do as you're told! You will marry Odr or Thor or any of your suitors and you will not object! What in the name of Sophossentia do you find wrong with them?"

She was not hindered by his use of the name of their deity, though she knew most would be. It may have intimidated the others, but she did not care, for she was tired of living under her father's every whim.

"I feel no such love towards them."

"You believe love has anything to do with marriage? Love is an emotion for the other Realms, not for us."

"Oh, do tell me what emotions are allowed," she scoffed. "Ever since the end of the war, we have extracted negative emotions and crushed any others we feel. We have turned ourselves into stone out of the belief that we will find tranquility and enlightenment in our apathy. We haven't become wiser, we've become statues! The reason we have not progressed further is because we feel no passion. When we smother our passion, we have no drive! No ambition!"

"Passion is for the foolish."

"And indifference for the ignorant!" she shouted at him.

"Your time with the Asgardian has corrupted you!"

"It has awakened me to the truth! We hide from our emotions because we are afraid of the damage we caused in our anger. But we have made ourselves empty. We are not living anymore, Father, we're simply existing!"

He scowled at her, the first sign of any emotion he had shown her in a very long time, "Would you rather be dead?"

"I'd rather experience life for one day and die the next than live the hollow life you want for me. Do you not wish for me to be happy?"

"Why wouldn't you be happy with one of your suitors?"

"Because I am not happy in their presence now. I will not live my life simply being content! I will not become the vacant automaton you wish me to be!"

"Why is it you must be so stubborn?"

"I am stubborn because I know that this lifestyle we have chosen is wrong. Sophossentia gave us emotions when He created us, why should we extinguish them? The only reason you allowed this to go so far is because you were hurt by your own infidelity!"

"You dare-"

She cut him off, unable to keep from driving the knife further as he had done to her for so long, "You were forced into a lackluster marriage so you found the love you craved elsewhere. Your affair with my mother was what killed both her and your wife! You attempt to blame me for everything that has gone wrong in your life solely because you're afraid to admit that no one is to blame but you!"

"Silence!"

The shout caused her to step back in surprise, automatically putting more distance between them. It was a foolish move, as she knew he could still reach her if he wanted to punish her, but one she could not stop.

"It is not your place to speak of such!" he snapped.

"But it is the truth and it deserves to be told as such rather than in whispered rumors," she reasoned. "Does Freyr even know?"

"You will not tell your brother of this!"

She nodded, setting her jaw stubbornly as she spoke, "You're right, he should not hear this from me. You should be the one to tell him."

Her words seemed to catch him by surprise, as he sat back into his throne, his face paling slightly, "He does not need to know what is not important."

"But he deserves to know the truth! We need to stop running from the truths we don't approve of. How can we call ourselves wise if we shun the shadows that dance among light? You cannot claim to understand the world if you ignore half of it."

"Enough of this nonsense! You will forget about the boy, you will marry a man I approve of, you will be content with the life I have chosen for you, and you will thank me for it! This discussion is over."

She paused, a sad edge shining in her eyes as she realized what she had to do, "You're right. This discussion is over.

"I will not marry any of my suitors and I will not hide from what I feel. As I am illegitimate, and therefore not fully of noble blood, your laws have no control over me. I have no more strength to withstand your rulings over my life. If you cannot accept me for how I am, then I have no place in this family."

She slipped the solid gold ring, the one that identified her as the king's daughter, off her hand and let it fall to the floor. It rang against the metal floor, the echo speaking louder than her words, but the two never took their eyes off each other. The first ring was quickly followed by the star-emblazoned silver band that marked her as Queen Van's daughter, an identity she had never owned to begin with.

"I will not trouble you any longer," she told him, giving a stiff bow. "May Sophossentia ensure your safety and prosperity. Farewell, King Njord."

She turned swiftly and walked out, feeling his skeptical gaze on her as she left the room. Despite the tense argument, Freyja felt the waves of sadness rush over her at the idea that their relationship had ended this way. Though she hated him for all that he had done, for all the misery he had caused to her and her brother, she knew a part of her would always love him. Part of her hoped against hope that he would come out and call her back. She hoped he would apologize.

As she reached the end of the hall, she realized he wasn't going to. He had rejected her, accepted her denouncement of their ties, and had not cared. Tears blinded her sight as she continued on her way.

The memory blurred there, leaving her with only a brief recollection of the kindness of her father's servant. A flash of the necklace that was usually around her neck, an apology from the man who was more a father to her than her own blood, and a sense of the slightest hope to dull the pain was all she was given before the recollection seemed to slow once more. It took no time for her to fall into the familiar rhythm of it once more.

"Heimdall," she whispered up to the sky. "Please open the Bifrost."

And then she was back in the Observatory at the edge of Asgard with a flash of color and the familiar wave of dizziness.

"Thank you, Heimdall," she breathed, ignoring the lingering energy sickness, as he watched her sadly.

She all but ran the rest of the way to the palace, desperately fighting back the tears that threatened to choke her. Her chambers were empty, as usual, and she was able to cope with her sorrow in silence. Her brother had come shortly after and had begged to be let in. So she let him enter, breaking down and telling him everything she knew. And she had been surprised and relieved at his easy forgiveness.

That night, she cried in the arms of the man she wasn't allowed to be with. His embrace holding her close, as if afraid she would break if he let her go, regardless of how strong he knew she could be. As she drowned herself in her misery, one thought circled her mind. It taunted her, rubbing salt in her fresh wounds.

Her father could have stopped her from leaving, could have accepted her feelings. But he didn't. He had let her leave without a second glance. He hadn't thought her worthwhile. In the end, it was as she had always expected: he didn't care.

Just like everything else.

Freyja woke up with a start, unable to rid her mind of the traces of her memory. Her eyes burned as tears sprang up in her eyes. She shook her head and stared at the light to stop them, refusing to leave her room crying. It was moments like this, when the recollections that haunted her were unpleasant, that she wished her kind was capable of dreaming like the other species.

On top of the loathsome memory, she had a headache that felt as if an axe were cleaving her head in two. It served her right, she supposed, for drinking so much the previous night. She shuffled out of bed and into the living room of the penthouse.

Tony was standing behind the bar with a coke, looking oddly cheerful for a man up at this hour. He examined her as she walked towards him, taking in her bedraggled appearance, and took another swig of his soda to hide his smile.

"You okay?"

"No," she groaned, Vaniric accent slipping in over her Asgardian one. "I have a terrible headache and everything is far too bright, far too loud. Next time you plan on drinking, I will simply take water."

"It's called a hangover, and when you said you couldn't hold liquor, I didn't realize you meant that you get drunk within two glasses," he laughed. "I have some Tylenol and coffee if you want."

She eyed the small pill in his hand, "I don't believe your medicines will do much good. I'll go meditate."

He raised his eyebrows, but simply told her, "Suit yourself."

She opened the door outside with the flick of her wrist, silver mist pouring from her palm, and walked out onto the balcony. She sat cross-legged in her usual spot on the metal overhang and closed her eyes.

Clearing her mind seemed impossible, nothing could get rid of the pounding headache and, with it, the foreign emotion that clouded her mind. She sighed, trying to think of a name for it. Was it agitation? She wouldn't know if someone told her as much. After all, she had never experienced such. Perhaps she should ask Thor to let her experience a few of his memories of when he felt agitated. That would at least give her a sense of what it was.

She couldn't think of another solution. Although she knew the emotion had to be anger or irritation, she didn't know the difference between the two. The truth behind the sensations was impossible for her to find.

No longer able to meditate, she summoned up the courage to check on Loki once more. She felt responsible for him in more than one way, even though he was older than her by a few months – years in human time. This time, now that she knew where he was, it took her a few meager seconds to find him.

He was no longer bound in any form, the gag taken off of his mouth. He was also awake and staring at the floor from his bench. Before she could pull away, he stiffened, and she knew it was too late.

He looked up, incredulity clear on his face, "Freyja?"