Even from across the George Washington Bridge, staring back at the city on a small bluff overlooking the river, Jane could still hear the explosions from the Skrull warriors tearing the streets apart looking for them. Though she knew the city was mostly abandoned, she still had to press her hand to her mouth as she saw a ten story building crumble to dust.

Tony, Natasha, and Clint were stony-faced at the sight, but Pepper looked just as shaken as she was. It was a comfort to have one other simple mortal on the team, and Jane sidled over to her friend and held her hand. Pepper gripped hers back, smiling tremulously.

Natasha turned away, returning to the job that the team was neglecting. A short length of rubber pipe hung from a car's open gas tank; she worked the pipe quickly and kept the small reserve of gas flowing into the bucket they'd scavenged.

The Palisades Parkway was littered with abandoned cars; some left because of flat tires, others because they had run out of fuel. In many cases, the keys were still in the ignition, but the doors were hanging open and the trunks were too, showing that the people inside had grabbed their supplies and kept going on foot.

Jane wondered how many of these people had survived to reach whatever safe haven they had set out looking for. Then she pushed the thought away.

It hadn't taken the group long to find a suitable vehicle, although Tony had had a long, intricate conversation with no one in particular about the virtues of choosing a hybrid car over the recent-model SUV that Natasha landed on. After ten minutes of his gabble, Natasha had flatly said, "That tin can won't hold five of us, Stark. And no one wants to sit in your lap all the way to White Plains. So shut up and find me a bucket."

Surprisingly, Tony had listened—Jane had expected a temper tantrum—and five minutes later, they were searching the surrounding vehicles for any spare gas they could find.

Now, half an hour later, they were ready to go, with a full tank of gas and five gallons to spare. Natasha took the wheel, again over Tony's protestations, but Pepper intervened this time and told him to sit in the back; the head wound he'd sustained in the subway tunnels was still bleeding slowly, and Clint—who obviously had more than basic medical training—was concerned about the lack of dilation in Tony's pupils. All the signs pointed to a concussion, so Jane and Pepper were tasked with the job of keeping him awake during the drive.

Not that any of them were capable of getting any sleep, no matter how they wanted to. Every muscle in Jane's body ached; even sitting down in the back seat of the SUV hurt. For hours, they had walked through the subway tunnels—with only the light from the arc reactor and Natasha's flashlight to guide them—crawling over wreckage where the pathways had caved in and running frantically aboveground when they had to change lines in several places.

They were all exhausted and filthy, covered in dirt and blood. It had taken them all day and through the night to walk from Manhattan, through Harlem, and then Washington Heights and over the bridge; so now, with a full day of light ahead of them they had to keep going. It wouldn't be smart to drive at night; the headlights would attract more attention than they wanted.

In the close, airless confines of the backseat of the car, Jane felt her eyes drifting closed. It was a tribute to Pepper's iron will that she was keeping up a stream of endless trivialities precisely calculated to get Tony as mad—and therefore as awake—as possible.

"And you know that the DoD is still on your schedule for the week after next—"

"No, no, no…hell no. You'd think that the DoD is all huddled away in their little panic room in Utah or something. No matter how bad they want a piece of the Iron Man tech, when will they realize that they just can't have it?"

"Well, you realize they can make things hard for our new factory in South Carolina—"

"Oh, what are they gonna do? Sic the EPA on me again? We all know how that story goes…"

Jane let the stream of gentle reminders and petulant whining (from Pepper and Tony, respectively) wash her awareness away. Though she felt guilt, even at the moment of letting her eyes closed, she knew there was nothing she could do to contribute to their present situation. She let herself fall asleep.

()()()()()()()()

They had to stop several times along the drive, and what should have taken them no more than an hour had already stretched into three. Sometimes, pileups blocked their path, and everyone had to get out to shove the cars out of the way. Once, a fragment of broken windshield punctured the front right tire, and they had to scavenge a replacement—unfortunately from a car two miles back on the road—and replace it.

Each time, Jane woke up and took her turn at guard duty, wielding a heavy tire-iron just in case of attack. It was shocking to realize that they were not afraid of attack by the Skrull, but one by fellow humans.

It was a valid concern. The road was deserted; every gas station they passed was abandoned, with clear signs of having been looted as well. They had grabbed a few candy bars from a convenience store along the way, but the sugar gave them headaches. The poor diet in the Tower had taken its toll on everyone; they had had very little fresh vegetation and almost no protein.

Jane, having had a heavier meal than the others—at least twice—and having been in captivity for less time, was in slightly better shape. But they would have to get some vitamins and protein before their health broke down completely.

Clint was driving now. Jane was taking her turn in the front seat, a machete (from somebody's trunk) lying across her lap. She would never have thought it possible for Natasha to relax enough to fall asleep, but both she and Pepper were drowsing in the back. Tony was keeping himself—and Jane and Clint—awake by mumbling "I'm Henry the Eighth I Am" under his breath.

Over and over again.

And normally even-tempered Jane found her nerves fraying. She bit her lip and turned around.

"Hey, Tony? Do you think you could give it a rest?"

He sighed, and nodded. "Sorry. It's just…trying to distract myself. Head wound and all. So…if I stop singing, you've gotta keep me awake."

She softened. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just that this whole day has been unreal. Do you think the whole country is like this? I feel like we're walking through Land of the Dead, or something."

"Bet not. Just the places around some major cities. We know that there are places in the States that haven't even been touched. Phoenix, Minneapolis, Atlanta…they're just fine. Loki hit the coastal metropolitan areas—New York, LA, Miami—and he hit them hard. But so far, he's left everything else alone."

"How does he think he can do it?" Jane asked the question that had been bothering her since the invasion had begun. "How does he think he can enslave 7 billion people?"

"All he needs to do," Clint spoke, his eyes never wavering from the road, "is destroy the military installations. Once he's gotten rid of our weapons, we won't have the means to make an organized resistance. Small pockets of people here and there will keep trying to fight…but it'll be over."

"But he doesn't want to damage the agricultural sections of the country," Tony filled in, shifting in his seat, "because then he'll starve the people he wants to control. That's why the center of the country is pretty much untouched. But he destroys our economic centers, our military centers, and we don't have the means to fight back."

Jane swallowed. "How…" she tried again, "how close do you think he's gotten?"

There was silence in the car. Then Clint spoke:

"He's getting close."

Tony said, "I think we are too."

Jane looked ahead, and saw the exit sign for White Plains, shining brilliantly in the midday sunlight. No later than 12 noon, but Jane was only thinking of whether she might be able to grab a few hours of uninterrupted rest.

()()()()()()()()

As expected, the SHIELD office was abandoned. Natasha and Clint hacked the internal security net and examined all the video feeds, scouring the rooms for any sign of friend or foe. There was nothing. The last log entry of the sentry guard showed there had been no attack on the office; merely an order that required all SHIELD personnel to assemble at the nearest headquarters in Newark, New Jersey.

At least that meant they could roam through the halls without searching every corner for possible attack. Once the door was sealed behind them—rigged with an alarm to alert them to an intruder—Natasha sent Jane, Pepper and Tony around the compound to look for supplies.

Despite knowing they were safe, Jane did not let go of her machete. She felt safer with it in her hand, the wooden handle already marked with her filthy handprints. She didn't even let it go when she came into one of the storage rooms and found a wealth of canned goods: fruits, vegetables, and meats. She found a bag and loaded everything up, including some water purification tablets that some thoughtful agent had stockpiled for a rainy day like this one.

She went back out into the hall and looked around. The corridor was deathly silent; merely a stretch of industrial drywall painted flat white. She peered into a few rooms as she passed—a kitchen, computer labs (hard drives all fried, she checked), and a rec room—but everything that might have given an indication of who exactly had lived there was gone.

She prayed that the agents who had lived here were still alive and fighting. Not…not somewhere else.

The silence was broken by muffled voices ahead of her. Jane heard Tony, Clint, Natasha…and then a voice that was deeper, richer…

She stopped walking, and dropped her machete and bag of food. She didn't hear them fall.

Thor.

Then Jane was running. Running so fast that she slammed her shoulder against the doorframe as she cornered into the communications room. She didn't feel the pain; it didn't matter.

"Thor?"

There was no power behind her voice, but everyone heard her. Surprisingly, it was Natasha who spoke first.

"We've got audio only," she said, picking up the receiver and handing it over, "we'll give you a few minutes; then I have to get back on the line with Fury. But he's been asking for you. Come on," she handed the phone to Jane, and shooed the others out of the room.

The phone in Jane's hand was suddenly a foreign object. She stared at it for a moment, as though trying to figure out what its purpose was. Slowly, she lifted it to her ear, thinking that this was all a dream, that she was going to wake up in the lab in Uppsala or her bedroom in Stark Tower to another day of alternating boredom and terror.

After so many months—it was more than half a year, for sure—of not hearing his voice…or hearing him, but being separated from him by oceans…

"Thor?"

She pressed a hand against her mouth so that she wouldn't cry when she heard his voice.

"Jane?"

She gasped. It was the release of pressure, of a tension she had known she was carrying; she just hadn't known until right now just how great that pressure had been. Every minute of every one of her days had been spent in the effort to hear his voice again…and to hear that voice say her name…

Jane put her hand over her eyes, pressing the tears back. She had cried too much over the last week. Now it was time for something else.

She started to laugh. "You have no idea," she said, laughing as she stood in self-imposed darkness, in an underground government compound at the end of the world, "how glad I am to hear your voice. I'm so sorry I wasn't there…" she swallowed her resentment, "when you came back. I wanted to be…so much. But—"

He interrupted her, voice heavy with the anger that she had suppressed in her own speech. "They would not let you remain in the path of such danger," he finished for her. "This man—Director Fury—has said as much. I knew that you had not left of your own volition, Jane," she felt a shiver up her spine every time he said that word, "I have missed you greatly."

There was a sincerity in his voice that thrilled her to her very core. Though the words were simple, she knew that he meant every one. He had been thinking of her for all those days apart, just as she had been thinking of him.

Jane gripped the phone in both hands. "When will I be able to see you?" To just hear him was torture; her brain was playing tricks on her, making her think that if she just reached out she would feel his hand grasping hers. She tangled her fingers in the cord of the phone to keep herself from trying.

"Soon," he assured her. There was a clash of voices in the background, and Jane could clearly hear the snapping command of Nick Fury asking for the phone. "I believe that is the subject of discussion," he said, his annoyance at being ordered about clear in his tone, "So we must say farewell, for now. I will come for you, Jane," he said, softly. She could almost see him, turning away from the others, speaking words that were meant only for her.

The smile on her face was so wide it was almost painful. "Deal?"

He chuckled. "One that I swear I shall not break."

She sniffled, and nodded. "Okay," she turned towards the door, jumping a little when she saw Natasha leaning against the frame, watching her with an uncharacteristically gentle expression on her face, "I'm going to give the phone back to Natasha, now. I…" what could she say? "I'll see you soon."

I've thought about you every day since you left. I worked harder for you than I ever thought it possible to work. I cried sometimes, I missed you so much. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When they saw each other, she could say those words. Right now, Jane handed over the phone and pressed her lips together so they wouldn't accidentally spill out. Natasha brushed past her and started speaking, her precise, business-as-usual voice an embarrassing contrast to the emotional vortex swirling in Jane's heart.

Out in the hallway, Jane pressed her forehead against the wall, relishing the sensation of cool drywall against her flushed face. She sighed, smiling to herself. After so long…her mind did the math—after six months, three weeks, and two days—she had finally spoken to him. She had heard affection in his voice, and longing, and for the first time since he had left she knew that he had been trying to find his way back to her.

Jane was not naïve. She rarely threw herself headlong into emotional situations. In fact, Donald—who was so great with patients—had broken up with her by calling her "emotionally frigid". At the time, the insult had been painful, and Jane had countered with a few choice words of her own. After a time, though, she had come to realize that the assessment was just.

She loved her work. She was passionate about the stars, about her theories, about being free to travel through the limitless galaxy and learn everything there was to know. Anyone who had debated her on the subjects of faster-than-light travel, wormholes, or astronomical phenomena could not call her frigid. But people…

People were messy. They were equations that she could not solve, and in most cases, were equations she had no desire to solve. People, unlike numbers, acted irrationally, unpredictably, and sometimes wouldn't be there when you needed them most. She could never predict how people would behave.

Thinking the way she did about love and people, Jane would not have been surprised—only painfully disappointed—if Thor's feelings for her had faded during their long separation.

As with most scientists, her best relationships had been with colleagues, people who did not question missing an anniversary dinner because of lab time, and could understand the value of a scholarship or grant. Even so, Jane's longest relationship had only lasted for five months, in her senior year of college.

And then there was Thor. Jane smiled wider, and shook her head, wondering how one man—even such a man—could change her so radically. But Thor had changed everything. She might not be ready to say "I love you" to him without knowing whether he felt the same way, but everything else she had wanted to say was true.

She had missed him so much…he had opened something inside her that she had not been able to close again. It physically hurt to hear him and not see him or touch him.

"Hey you," Pepper's voice was quiet, but still loud enough to reverberate down the silent hallway, "Are you all right?"

Jane turned around and slumped back against the wall, pushing long strands of hair back from her flushed face. Pepper—who had changed into some SHIELD-issue shirt and sweatpants and washed her face—looked down at her through a fringe of amber bangs, her thin lips pressed together.

The pain and exhilaration swirling in her heart made Jane giddy. She laughed, as she had laughed over the phone with Thor. She laughed because she was sick of crying.

"I'm fantastic," she said, swatting Pepper lightly on the arm, "don't be so serious. Now where can I get a shower and a change?"

Pepper smiled and shook her head. "Not quite a shower," she said, putting her arm around Jane's shoulders, "but Tony has got some water set aside for washing. There's soap, and then there are lockers with clean clothes."

"Good," Jane said, wiping her grimy hands on her pants, "because I think we're going to be getting out of here soon."

"I hope so," Pepper said, "It'll be nice to get a decent meal again. And a real shower. Or a bath."

"Mmm," Jane said, closing her eyes and sighing, "with endless hot water and lemon-lavender bubbles. But I could use a full night's sleep without being afraid of waking up in the morning."

"Yes," Pepper agreed. "You know, I've been Tony Stark's assistant for nine years now…and I've never been more tired in my life. And most people would say that living with Tony is a little like living at the end of the world."

"He's not that bad, is he?"

"Actually…" Pepper considered, "around Tony, there are usually explosions, strange men breaking into the house, incurable diseases, and men in black suits. Not unlike the end of the world, in any case."

Jane snorted. "What would he do without you?"

There was a brief pause. Then:

"He'd probably be dead."

The two women laughed all the way down the hallway.

()()()()()()()()

"Here's the situation," Natasha began, looking at the circle of faces around the table. Though they were all moderately cleaner and dressed in clothes that were neither falling apart nor bloodstained, everyone showed the strain of exhaustion.

Tony was slumped forward, leaning on his forearms, one of which Pepper rested her hand on, moving her fingers in soothing circles. The assistant herself sat ramrod straight in her chair, legs crossed, looking for all the world as though her casual attire was the fanciest business suit she owned. Still, there were dark circles under her eyes, like bruises against her pale skin.

Clint leaned back in his chair, pushed slightly away from the table, surveying them all—and the doors, the ventilation ducts above, and any other entrance or exit to the room—with his usual sharp eyes. Every so often however, he would blink slowly and leave his eyes closed for a beat too long.

Jane didn't want to speculate about her appearance. She leaned on the table like Tony, resting her head in her cupped hands, the balance of her elbows and wrists the only thing from keeping her head from drooping to her chest.

Natasha was as rigidly upright as Pepper, but her movements had lost their fluid grace. She moved in sharp angles, efficiently; every motion was calculated to spare her energy reserves.

"All SHIELD offices have been vacated," she said, "and all agents have been recalled to the mobile unit that left New York when defending the city was no longer viable. At the time, SHIELD wanted to consolidate all its assets—personnel and equipment—to plan the next move. But the helicarrier is currently en route up the coastline, because the decision has been made."

She paused, and shifted her weight to her left foot. "The plan right now is to retake New York City."

Tony snorted, "I thought they'd decided that wasn't…"viable", was it? In case you've forgotten, we abandoned the six million people who weren't able to evacuate to their fates. But now we get the go-ahead to do what we should have done in the first place?"

"We are not having this argument again," Natasha said, fixing him with her cold eyes, "the call was made; and now we're being told to go in."

Tony shoved back from the table. "This was why I never wanted in on this initiative anyway. I am not your good little soldier, I do not march to your fife; the call was a stupid one…who knows how many people died that we could have saved!"

Jane caught a shadow of movement in the corner of her eye. Clint nodded—only once, and quickly—but it was clear that not everyone in SHIELD toed the party line. Natasha did not look pleased.

"Well, now's your chance."

"Chance to do what?"

"To save them."

Tony laughed, bitterly. "I don't know what city you just came from," he scoffed, "but the one I saw looked pretty far gone. There's no point, anymore."

"There is a point, if you'd just listen," Jane knew that Natasha was exhausted, because she had never heard her lose her temper that way, "This assault on New York," the assassin rubbed her eyes with a brusque swipe of one palm, "is the last portion of a three-pronged effort to dislodge all substantial Skrull armies from the United States."

"Excuse me," Pepper said, shaking her head, "for those of us without SWAT training…what does that mean?"

"There are three Skrull armies in the country right now, all sitting in major port cities," Natasha was clearly relaying intelligence she had just gotten from SHIELD, but they all leaned forward; it was the first information about the outside world they'd gotten in weeks, "New York, Los Angeles, and Honolulu. SHIELD and the US, Canadian, and Mexican militaries—and some influential mutants in all three countries—have been coming up with an attack that will hit all these sites simultaneously."

"I had no idea we had enough resources left to manage something like that," Clint said, shaking his head.

"None of us did," Jane chimed in. All the news she had gotten while living in Sweden had been overwhelmingly negative.

"A lot of the bad news was propaganda," Natasha said, "but it seems as though we've got enough—barely—to pull this off. So, Mr. Stark," she must have been upset, to put the "Mr." back in front of Tony's name, "if you'll march to our fife one more time," her lip curled, "we can kick Loki's ass right out of this country."

"That's why he got pulled away to Italy so abruptly!" Jane cried, "The mutants in the Vatican…are they in on this plan?"

"Nightcrawler is one of the mutants that Charles Xavier helped train," the redhead nodded, "and he can move fast. He was planted in Italy to start an uprising disruptive enough to require Loki's presence."

"That still leaves a hell of a lot of Skrull for us to deal with," Tony shook his head, "not to mention the fact that Loki can move pretty fast too."

"So far, our movements in preparation for the attack have been undetected. SHIELD has loaned their cloaking technology to the US military, and various mutants in all three countries have helped destroying or misleading Skrull patrols from the remaining forces. The helicarrier is waiting twenty miles off the coast. Unless the plans are discovered, forty-eight hours from now," she concluded, "the attack begins."

There was silence around the table. Jane let out a shaky breath.

"We have to go back," she said, "we have to go back to New York."

Natasha nodded. "Clint and I are leaving tomorrow morning," she confirmed this with a glance at the archer, who gave a quick nod, "and Mr. Stark…if he deigns to join us."

"Watch it, matchstick," the man in question shot back, "I may hate the way SHIELD plays, but New York is my town…or it is, ever since Loki used my Tower as his playground. If there's action going on, I'm in. Just don't expect me to toe the party line."

"Fine," she said, "But civilians don't have any place there. Ms. Potts, Ms. Foster," she looked at the two women in turn, "you'll be much safer here. After the fighting is over, we'll send a helicopter to bring you back to the city."

"No." Jane didn't even have to think about it. "I'm not being left behind again. There are plenty of places that I can stay in the city where I'll be safe."

"Name one," Natasha challenged, "There's not a building that we can guarantee as being secure, and we can't get anyone to the helicarrier before the attack begins without compromising the entire plan. The three of us will have to get back into the city by the subway tunnels as it is, and will not have access to any supplies until after the assault begins. It's no place for either of you."

"You know I hate to say it, Pep," Tony chimed in, "but she's probably right. You'll be safer if you stay here."

"Screw safer!" Jane interrupted, talking right over Pepper's more gentle objection, "I've had it with being left out, or left behind. I'll crawl through the tunnels with you and stay there until the fight is over…but I'm coming, one way or the other. If you leave me behind," she clenched her fists, "I'll follow you. So if you're worried about me getting killed, you should just let me come with you in the first place. I'll be safer that way."

Tony laughed outright, and even Clint cracked a smile. "She's got you there," the archer said, giving Natasha a helpless shrug. The assassin herself sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"All right then, Foster. But you're going to stay out of sight during the battle. I don't even want to think about what Thor would do to the rest of us if you got hurt. And Barton?" she smiled, the sweetness of the expression slightly acidic on her face, "You're gonna teach her how to shoot. I'm not letting her go unless she can defend herself."

"Why me?" he asked, "I'm an archer…you're the marksman."

"I'm pulling rank. We have," she checked her watch, "nineteen hours until we need to get on the road. I plan to use most of those to sleep. So the sooner she learns how to hit the broadside of a barn, the sooner you can sleep."

Clint shot Jane a much less friendly look than he'd just given her. Jane gave a weak smile in return.

"Stark, you'd better turn in too," Natasha headed towards the door, "and what about you, Potts? If you're thinking about going, you'll have to train with Foster."

Pepper exchanged a quick look with Tony, who took her hand in his and squeezed, shaking his head. "I think I'll sit this one out," she said, turning to Jane. "I'm sorry. I won't be a help to anyone if I go…I'm no fighter."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Jane said, "This is probably one of those very bad ideas that everyone tells me not to act on. But I just can't sit here and wait."

"Let's get going then, Jane," Clint stood up and stretched, shaking out his arms and fingers, "The shooting range is in the subbasement."

()()()()()()()()

It took Jane a full three hours before she felt comfortable enough to load, fire, and reload the Glock 18 that Clint got her started with. The gun was comfortable in her hand, kicked less than the Magnum, and had both automatic and semi-automatic settings.

She was surprised at how much she enjoyed shooting at the paper targets on the range. Normally, she considered herself more or less a pacifist; she would never have considered keeping a handgun in her home. But in times like these…she felt confidence returning as she learned how to defend herself.

After learning the 18, it was a simple matter to pick up the Glock subcompact, a counterpart that had fewer firing options but was small enough to fit in an ankle holster. Clint wanted her to have a spare weapon, and Jane could hardly disagree. It was only the time factor—and the fact that they were both ready to collapse—that kept him from teaching her how to fire a rifle as well.

From the one stocked gun cabinet in the SHIELD office (all the others had been cleared during the evacuation), Clint outfitted her with two Glock 18s and one subcompact, plus all the attendant holsters and ammunition. There was also a Kevlar vest small enough for her to use, with pockets to hold the extra clips, and a pair of transition sunglasses that served her for safety goggles.

Jane fastened the vest comfortably across her chest and put her hands on her hips, just above her holstered pistols. "I feel a little badass, I gotta say," she said, grinning. "Thanks."

"You look badass," Clint said, smiling himself, "just make sure you pull your hair back, tight back. It's no good if you can't see where you're shooting. And Kevlar won't make you invulnerable; you make sure you stay out of the way. This is self-defense stuff only…you're not going to be in the fight."

"I know," she nodded. Anxiety, adrenaline, and excitement churned in her stomach, and she bit her lip. Was she doing the right thing? She really didn't have to be there; and what if something ended up happening…what if she messed up the plan?

"I know that look," Clint said, crossing his arms, "don't doubt yourself."

"You think this is a good idea?" she asked, hopeful for someone's approval; she couldn't quite give it to herself.

"Uh, in all honesty?" he hedged, "It's not the best idea you've ever had."

"Thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

"Wasn't meant to," he shook off her sarcasm, "It's an awful idea, and you know it as well as I do." He paused just long enough to see Jane nod, and continued, "But you know what? It's the right thing to do, and I get where you're coming from. Fury pushed you out, after you did all that work to bring Thor here. I know it wasn't your biggest motivation—saving lives, that is—but we would have been in deep trouble more than once if Thor hadn't been here. You did good, and you deserved to see him. You still do."

Her throat felt tight; she didn't speak, she just nodded, looking up at Clint through her lashes. This was more sympathy than she'd ever expected from him…but she should have known that he'd notice her tireless work and have guessed the thing that motivated her.

"But I'm serious," he turned to the gun cabinet and snapped the lock on the doors, "you stay out of the way. This is going to be a bad fight; none of us will be able to help you if you get into trouble, okay? You stay in the tunnels, and stay out of sight."

"I will," she promised. After a moment, as they left the range together, she worked up her courage and asked, "Do you think we can win?"

He looked down at her. Then, pushing the button for the elevator, he said, "I don't know."

They rode back up to the main compound in silence, each thinking of the battle ahead. Jane rested one hand on her Glock; it was solid and comforting, if a little frightening at the same time. Who could have thought seven months ago, that Jane Foster, astrophysicist, would ever need to carry a gun? In what world did that make sense?

"Get some rest, Jane," Clint said, resting a hand on her shoulder as they left the elevator. "There's still fifteen hours before we have to leave, but 'Tasha will probably have us doing push-ups in ten."

"She better not," Jane grumbled, "I know how to shoot now."

He laughed, and turned into one of the bedrooms. Jane continued down the hall into the bedroom she had staked out earlier. It was a simple thing, with nothing more than a cot, a desk, and a chest of drawers, but it also had a door that locked from the inside, and a distinct lack of evil demigods.

That was enough to put it on the level with the Ritz-Carlton.

Jane shed her vest, holsters, and guns, double-checking each one to make sure that the safeties were on. To save time in the morning, she laid out her outfit for the next day: black jeans, turtleneck, socks, and boots. She pulled on a soft tee-shirt, climbed into bed, and went to sleep.

One of the benefits of living in the apocalypse, she had found, was the ability to sleep nearly anywhere, anytime.

()()()()()()()()()

So…here's the thing. I kind of love Jane and Thor as a couple. This fic will not—and I repeat, not—end with the two of them together, but the next few chapters will have quite a bit of Jane/Thor interaction. Loki will not disappear (he'll be back soon!), but it will be clear that Jane, though maybe fascinated by him, is still firmly attracted to Thor. It's the only way this story makes any kind of logical sense with the movie canon. So just hang on…it's going to be a very emotional ride for all three parties. I hope you enjoy!