Apologies for the delay with this. I've had lots of inspiration, but all for stories much further down the timeline, and I really didn't want to start mixing things up at this stage. This isn't quite as long as I would've liked but I hurt my wrist this evening, and it's getting too painful to type anymore, so I've had to call it quits.

Thanks again to all those lovely people that are following this story. Reviews especially, are greatly appreciated.

Merrick x

The Fine Line Between...

Harry straightened his aching back, pushing his damp hair out of his eyes.

"How did I let Dalan talk me into this?"

The armoury of the palace was a carefully guarded vault, set out almost like a museum, holding a small number of key historic artefacts. The armoury of the palace barracks however, was a very different matter. While the weapons of the existing guard were ordered and well kept, there were huge stashes of old and used weaponry in storage, which needed to be cleared out to generate more space. This was a huge job, that everyone knew needed to be done, and no-one wanted to do; but in their last inspection of the barracks, both Thor and Loki had thrown their hands up in horror, and the order had been given. Sort this out. Now. And in a moment of weakness Harry had found himself volunteering to help Dalan out. A decision he was rapidly coming to regret.

Two piles of broken weapons were building up. One for those that were worth repairing, and another for those that were beyond salvage. These would be returned to the great forges for melting down and re-use. Occasionally something interesting would turn up, but not very often. They had been at it for hours, the supper hour was approaching and Harry had had enough.

When raised voices were heard next door, it was a welcome distraction. Fandral, Harry and the two other men at arms helping them paused, listening intently. Dalan, his head in a large crate at the back of the room took a little longer to catch on...

"I grow tired of this. I have nothing further to say to you." The voice was only too familiar to them all...

A hand struck a wooden surface, possibly the guardroom table.

"Oh no Loki – you will stay and hear me out. You will not walk away from this..."

There was a moment's silence. Harry and Fandral's eyes met. When it came, Loki's voice was ice cold... "Lady Sif, if I have to remind you what I can and cannot do – I promise you that it will not be a lesson to your liking."

Harry dropped the armful of weapons unceremoniously and strode out of the door.

Sif was standing in the centre of the guardroom, legs braced, fists clenched, face flushed with fury. Loki, typically, was leaning against the doorframe, looking bored, and faintly irritated, but the frenetic tapping of a single long finger against the dagger at his belt betrayed his agitation clearly to Harry. He had known Loki for over six months now, and was becoming fluent in the subtle tells that betrayed his moods.

This was not good. Hermione aside, no-one could rile the normally inscrutable Loki up as quickly as Sif, and this was neither the time nor the place for a brawl.

"Sif. Just the person, I need a word. Walk with me..." Taking Sif firmly by the elbow, Harry flashed Loki a warning glance, and steered her out, Loki stepped aside to let them pass, turning to return to the palace, and no doubt to Hermione. At least she would calm him down. Now to deal with Sif.

Who was now busy transferring her fury from Loki to Harry...

Whoops...

"What the Hel do you think you're doing mortal? Who asked you to interfere?" Sif was really riled up now. It was a good thing they were in public. Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that she would have little hesitation in using the sword at her hip if she could be certain there would be no witnesses.

"You know Sif, I'm getting really tired of "mortal". I rather hoped we were past that..."

"That was before you decided that you had a right to interfere in my affairs. Or perhaps it was your beloved brother you were trying to protect."

Harry sighed. "Sif, the guardroom of the palace barracks is not the place to brawl with the King's brother. Fandral, Dalan and two of the men at arms were with me in the back storage vault. They would have heard every word"

"Do you think I care for the opinion of common men at arms? He insulted me."

Harry could feel his temper rising. She was impossible. Brilliantly, stubbornly, insufferably – gorgeously, impossible. After six months, his fascination with her was as overwhelming as ever, blinding him to the charm of other, simpler, more amenable women. Over the months he had slowly made progress, but it was always one step forward, two steps back, sometimes three or four steps back, but he hadn't stopped trying. Now, suddenly, they were back to the hated mortal. Back to square one.

"You may not care for the opinion of a common man at arms Lady Sif, but I'm damn sure that you'll care what Thor thinks. He'd be delighted to hear how you've been shrieking like a common fishwife at the Lord Chancellor of Asgard in front of anyone that cares to listen..."

Gods she was fast, Harry rubbed his stinging cheek ruefully. Given her superior strength he supposed he should be grateful that she hadn't broken his jaw. Aware of the amused glances of Dalan and Fandral who had followed them out of the guardroom, Harry shot them a furious glare – you really are not helping – and set off in hot pursuit of his quarry.

He finally caught her in one of the palace corridors.

"You really cannot take a hint can you?"

"Sif, you have to stop this. Loki is here to stay now, and nothing you can do is going to change that. You cannot win this. Don't try to make Thor choose Sif. You will lose. He is Thor's brother, whatever his blood. Thor loves him..."

"Do you?"

"What? Yes Sif I do. He is the nearest thing I have to a brother of my own."

"Are you sure. Such things are not unknown... Loki has lived for over a thousand years. You would not be his first male lover."

"He is my best friend's husband Sif, and beside – I don't swing that way..."

"Really Harry. What is it that mortal poet of yours says methinks you do protest too much...?"

He'd been patient. Really really patient with her. He'd courted her, teased her, charmed her out of her darker moods. He'd put up with her sniping and snarking, for those occasional golden moments of connection between them. And no matter how hard she pushed him, he'd never pushed her, no matter how desperately he'd wanted to. And all he'd achieved was making her wonder whether he was more interested in Loki...

Enough...

Ah – to hell with it. What had he got to lose? Other than his head – or possibly some even more treasured parts of his anatomy...

He kissed her...

It wasn't a gentle kiss. There was nothing tender, loving or erotic in it. It was a battle of wills, of lips and teeth, vicious and intense. Her body slammed back against the wall with a force that would have injured a more fragile, mortal woman, his hands gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise even her...

When it changed, Harry wasn't sure, only that the lips beneath his suddenly softened, parted, and his senses slipped and reeled. No submissive maiden this, she still gave as good as she got, their tongues and lips dueling for supremacy, neither willing to surrender control to the other. But now her hands were tangled in his hair, his slipping from her shoulders to pull her body hard against his, and things were slowing down. Softening into something infinitely better, deeper, more heated... The need to breathe was becoming an issue, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care.

Eventually they were forced to separate, both breathing heavily, his forehead resting against hers, bodies still locked together.

"Sif" Harry's voice was ragged.

"Your chambers or mine?"

He was familiar with her chamber, it was luxurious by common standards but...

"Mine, I have the bigger bed"

She nodded, eyes hazy. "Sounds good. Yours then"

Harry gathered his distracted thoughts. Now was not the time to splinch either of them. "Hold tight"

Sif absolutely did not squeal when he apparated them...

ooo0ooo

Harry woke just after dawn the following morning. Sif was silently searching the room for her clothes, which were, like Harry's, scattered across the floor. The remains of a late night supper lay on a side table.

Harry winced as he stretched, feeling the pull of several bruises and bites, not to mention some very pleasurable aches in some muscles that hadn't seen much action recently. Not that he hadn't marked Sif too, he could see that even at a distance, it was just that she would be healed by the end of the day and he wouldn't. He smiled lazily. It had been an incredible night...

"You're leaving?"

"Yes. I have to. I'm not risking bumping into anyone that matters on the way back."

"Come back to bed"

Sif sighed and perched on the edge of the mattress. "Harry, you know this was just..."

"Just sex right." His sigh matched hers. "But you have to admit..." his hand slid around the back of her neck, as he kissed her, until she melted against him with a small needy moan "... you have to admit that we are very good together. Now, please come back to bed, and I promise to apparate you directly back into your room later. No-one will ever be any the wiser..."

Sif couldn't suppress a smile. There was something about this cocky mortal that got under her skin. And he was right. The previous night had been one of the best she could remember, and she certainly wasn't averse to the idea of staying a little longer.

After all, it was just sex – right?