It was one of those rare and wonderful occasions when everything fell perfectly into place, as though the four winds and the very ground beneath her feet swelled and moved to her favor. Her joints were loose, her muscles warm, and her coordination at its peak. For the first time in weeks, her limbs moved in perfect harmony, and she was able to show what centuries of training could do in a pure spectacle of her strength.

She had chosen a wooden practice staff as her weapon in lieu of her more burdensome swords, and as it swung through the air, she was able to track the position of both ends and remained keenly aware of her opponents, predicting each of their steps accurately. It appeared her mind was also at its sharpest and was finally clear of the dark storm clouds that had been following her as of late.

Two steps to the right and the momentum from a missed swing left Fandral vulnerable and off balance. She swung at the back of his knees and grounded him. Volstagg came from her rear, using his typical overhead strike to infuse the added power of gravity into his swing. Faster than the untrained eye could track, she pushed the end of her staff into his stomach to stutter his step forward and then hit him on the back. His great weight turned against him, he fell to the ground with a loud thud. Hogan, the more calculated one, came cautiously into her strike range, but she parried his first throw and used his misguided inertia to elude the aim of his mace. A subsequent blow in the weak spot of his armor staggered him; another two careful strikes and he was down as well.

She smiled and laughed heartily as she caught her breath. The sight of her three friends sprawled on the grassy field around her lifted her spirits, and though it had winded her, she had succeeded without knocking a single black hair out of place.

"This is a vast improvement over last week," Hogan said, sitting up and wiping his forehead.

"A rare compliment - I'm honored," she said with a cocky grin, characteristic of the one normally present under Fandral's mustache. She walked over to Volstagg and offered her hand to assist him to his feet. "Are you certain you weren't being overly gentle for my sake?"

Volstagg groaned as he rose. "My Lady," he started breathlessly, "if I were to patronize you in some way, I surely would choose a venue and method far less painful than this."

She chuckled. "Your point is taken."

Fandral remained silent as he sat on the grassy hill, but she could see his uncertain stare from a distance. Their conversation during the previous night had revealed his worry for her, but although she deeply cared for him, his unwelcome intrusion into this area of her life caused her irritation. "Does this victory alleviate your doubt?" she asked, walking up to him. "Have I proven myself capable to you once more?"

His brow furrowed deeply in confusion. "I have been concerned for you, but I've never doubted you."

She smiled sadly. "I think you did," she answered, "when I told you I was the one who neglected to secure Loki's mask."

He sighed. "That wasn't doubt in you or your skill - not as much as it was fear that he had manipulated you somehow," he explained. "But the argument is redundant."

"How so?"

"Thor has decided you were correct and the Allfather agreed. Loki's mask is to be removed. They both seemed pleased with the idea that it would free us for other duties. In fact, Thor wants to meet with you tomorrow about a lengthy mission off world."

Sif blinked in surprise, but at the same time, apprehension built in her stomach as she wondered if Thor would follow through on his original threat to reassign her for long term due to her unpleasant interaction with Jane. Despite how hurt she had been by his words, she hadn't thought he would ever go through with it, but on the other hand, he had been acting very unexpectedly since his time on Earth. "Did he say what it might be?"

Fandral shook his head negatively. He took a deep breath, preparing to return to their previous topic. "I'm sorry if I've unnecessarily intruded on your life, Sif," he said. "I shouldn't get so involved in your personal affairs, but in honesty, I don't understand what has happened. It bothers me that Thor may have chosen poorly when he became fixated on Midgard. If I had someone like you waiting on Asgard, I would never look anywhere else."

"You forget yet again that this was all spurred by my own choices," she argued loudly. "It hurts me to think one of my closest friends believes me to be helpless when I have worked hard my entire life to prove that I am not."

He nodded in understanding. "Then for that, I am sorry as well."

Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled softly, allowing their conversation to end there. There was more to be said, but in the midst of the other two, it was not the venue for it. "Thank you," she said simply.

He stood and cleared the dirt from his armor as she excused herself for water. As she left his earshot, Volstagg limped over to his friend and turned his back towards her for the sake of discretion. "It seems our lady has found her spark once more," he said. "She is back at full strength - and I would have expected her to be more despondent today after her exclusion from Thor's table."

"I expected the same," Fandral admitted, "but this wouldn't be the first time I've underestimated her."

Volstagg nodded with a smile. "Perhaps she has found help from one we do not know. Good counsel can cure much."

Fandral scoffed. "Where would she have gone outside of her closest companions?"

"We are close - too close, perhaps, to provide a good ear, and she may have apprehension about speaking negatively about her prince to those who are also in his circle," he argued. Fandral scratched his beard in consideration and Volstagg continued. "Perhaps she has a female friend with whom to share this kind of trouble with, or someone of much greater intimacy."

Fandral inferred his meaning and scoffed. "A lover?" he asked. "No - I could tell, if it were true."

Volstagg raised an eyebrow at his friend's reaction. "Why not? If one man could cause her pride such harm, surely another could fix it."

Fandral twisted his lips. "Well, you're right about that," he said. His eyes landed on her form and he watched her carefully as she wiped the sweat from her neck.

"I know that look, Friend," Volstagg started. "I have seen it in your eye often, but never directed down a path that was so sure to lead to destruction and pain. Let it from your mind; I will beg for this, if I must."

"Why should I?" he asked in a self-assured tone. "Maybe it's time to pursue quality over quantity, and I stand as much of a chance as any man to turn her attention from Thor."

Volstagg chuckled uneasily. "You jest with me," he argued. "She would never cross such a line with you - and it would cause you nothing but grief should Thor ever come to his senses."

"You have no confidence in me?"

"Not in this endeavor," Volstagg answered firmly. "Forget this."

Fandral's normally cocky smile fell as he seemed to take his friend's words to heart. "You really believe this would lead down a treacherous path?"

Volstagg nodded. "In truth, I feel sorry for whomever Sif may take into her heart; he will always live in Thor's shadow, and no matter how she loves him, she will throw him aside for her prince at a moment's notice. It's not a situation I would hope for my friend; it is one I would not wish on my enemy."

Frandral crossed his arms. "You are wise, Volstagg," he said sincerely, "and I will weigh your words with care."

Volstagg put his hand on the other man's shoulder and patted overenthusiastically, causing Fandral to wince. "See that you do. There are none in Yggdrasil that can compete with the wielder of Mjolnir and son of Odin."

Thor had missed her presence in the short time since he'd seen her, and so his heart lifted when Sif walked into his hall without a note of anger on her features. If she felt it, she hid it well from him. Yet still, her eyes lacked the flame and her lips, the smile she normally displayed when she saw him. As he thought back to Jane, it was a costly price, but it was one he felt was worth paying.

"You wanted to see me - about a mission?" she asked, hoping her latter words served to imply her desire to skip unnecessary and unpleasant topics.

"I anticipate you'll accept it," Thor stated, grateful for this conversational maneuver and the opportunity to avoid discussing too much as well, "but so you are warned - it may prove a challenge to one of your least-favored skillsets."

Her curiosity piqued, she crossed her arms and knit her brow. "What sort of skillset?"

"Jotunheim is in ruin - even more so than it was after the last great war. Their planet is falling in pieces. The Bifrost's exposure has done irreparable damage, but since news arrived of Laufey's demise here in Asgard, they've adamantly refused help of any sort. They are stubborn fools - and it will lead to their destruction."

"We've caused them great harm. I can't blame them for some cynicism," she said.

"Cynicism has little value when their planet is collapsing underneath them," he argued. "We'd hoped to send a liaison to convince the of this fact."

She waited in silence for him to continue, but when he didn't, she understood his point. "Me?" she asked in surprise.

He nodded. "This position requires strength of heart, mind, and body - but concurrently requires one with a gentle façade, one who would not seem threatening to them."

"I thought I gave them plenty of reason to feel threatened by me during our last visit."

He chuckled softly. "You did, but they won't soon admit this about a lone, Asgardian woman," he said. "My father and I could not step foot on Jotun soil without causing chaos. You're the highest member of court I can trust with this task who won't get themselves killed if they were to react poorly to our offer."

"And once I talk them into accepting help…"

"You will need to supervise delivery of supplies. We would ask you to return to help them propagate them into their own systems."

"That will take some time; a long time, I imagine, to even begin to convince them to accept. Is there any other reason for sending me that has remained unspoken?" she said.

He lowered his head, understanding what she might have gathered from his order. "I've tried and failed to adequately apologize for some of my words that night. I never should have implied…" He interrupted himself with a groan of frustration. "You can refuse, Sif. You may also accept and come home whenever you'd like. Odin has granted you use of the temporary portal device. You can call for help or return to us at the first sign of trouble. We will have the ability of opening the portal from our side as well. If their stubbornness, or yours, should outlast your supplies, I will come for you myself."

She twisted her lips as she considered her choices. "I don't believe that will be necessary," she said, picking up on a tone of worry in his voice she appreciated less than normal.

"If you decide to go, do not react rashly. We are no friends of Jotunheim and I would wager they will not let us forget our… my trespass against them or Loki's treachery. They will likely test your patience several times before progress is made," he advised. He took a soft breath and continued. "I regret sending you alone. It was Odin's suggestion, meant to minimize the threat of your presence, but if it weren't for my father's insistence, I would secure company for you."

"I can handle myself," she answered.

"I know," he said unusually quietly, "but nonetheless, be careful. We have little advice to offer to you, as we remain sorely ignorant of their ways - and I don't know what you should expect."

She nodded, understanding his careful words. They both remained quiet for a moment, a tension present within their silence that hadn't often been there, even in the midst of their original parting so many years before. A question poised itself on her tongue, and despite her discomfort, it begged an answer, preventing her from ending this conversation just yet. "Why is Asgard pursuing such forgiveness from Jotunheim? I would not have thought Odin as one who would go to such lengths to make amends with our enemies - especially those who so steadfastly oppose us, even now."

Thor smiled wryly. "I'm afraid I don't have the answer you may desire. In truth, I'm unsure of his reason myself," he answered sincerely. "I do know that my father has pursued peace with Jotunheim for many years. Even his decision to take Loki from their world so many years ago was spurred by his hope that he would find a bridge between our people. Evidently, he sees some potential in them for reason and peace - though such qualities are beyond my own sight."

Sif's thoughts ventured back to the man whose bed she had recently shared. His body interlocked with hers in a very pleasing manner, but it was still the body of a Jotun. If the king was right, perhaps their nature was not of the bitter, vile creatures she had known in her own experience. A small part of her, a part that she feared to acknowledge, was relieved, for it meant there was a chance Loki wasn't completely the monster she had been raised to fear and hate.

"I know little about them myself. What I know has come from fairytales told to scare children into obedience," she said with regret. "I hope my bias does not interfere with the king's objective."

"It is doubtful there is any in Asgard who would feel differently. You share this disadvantage with us all."

Sif shifted uncomfortably, and a small sense of sympathy rose in her heart for Loki. He had always pursued greatness and used trickery and schemes to get his own way, but it was not difficult to imagine the cause behind the increase in his efforts on Earth and the bitterness behind such actions once he'd discovered the truth. Heritage and blood were the currency of the realm. To have discovered such a truth of one's own origins would easily throw most people into a desperate fugue. The motivations of this odd man were beginning to become a little clearer to her, even though they still caused her great anger.

"I am no diplomat," Sif argued, "and it will take a miracle to convince them of our intentions, no matter how true they may be."

"But I trust you - if you are up for this challenge." She nodded in simple reply. He smiled in relief, not necessarily for the task itself, but that she would accept his words despite their recent trouble. "Then I will need you to leave soon with our initial terms. The longer we wait, the more we foster their hatred and distrust."

She nodded. "Give me some time to smith my weapons and gather my things."

"Thank you - for accepting," he said. His eyes met the ground, wishing he had something to add that wouldn't drive their discussion back to Jane or the distance that had grown between them.

"Is there anything else you would like to address with me?"

He thought for a moment, debating on whether or not it was safe to go further down this path, despite what she'd implied earlier. "No," he said hesitantly.

She bit her lip and looked away. "I will return to you when I'm ready."

Their parting was strange and awkward for two who were normally quite comfortable with each other. Both knew there was much more to be said, and both felt as though they'd left their conversation on an ellipsis, interrupting an argument that should have been finished and a thought that needed to be expressed. Despite this congruent feeling, their silence persisted and she left.

Cold and darkness surrounded him, sinking through his multiple layers clothing and his skin down to his very bones. He felt as though he had never known warmth, as though he had been bitterly frozen for an eternity without hope of seeing the light of sun again.

Red eyes, fiery as magma set in icy, blue skin followed him wherever he wandered, watching him skeptically as though they suspected him of a great wrong he had not yet committed. He had seen such eyes before, but never had they contained such hate and anger. Their stares cut through him like the cold - as many daggers piercing his skin at once. Never before had he felt so miserable; rest, warmth, and the comfort of food would ameliorate his misery, but they seemed impossibly distant luxuries he would never again enjoy.

The images of this cruel, but familiar world faded to nothingness as Loki returned to a state of consciousness. The darkness dissolved to twilight, the cold lessened its bite. The barren wastes of Jotunheim returned to the shape of his own chambers and the many useless layers of coats disappeared. He was back in Asgard, in the comfort of his room, staring up at the ceiling in great confusion.

He wondered if it were a dream at all; if it was, it was not his own, nor were the robes he wore. Though the images and sensations were quickly leaving his immediate memory, they felt genuine, not like the shadows and blurry figures that appeared in sleep. If it were real, it was a small mystery to him what the effect was, whose perception he was viewing it through, or why it was occurring, though it was still a consequence he had not expected.

He rose from his bed and dressed in a loose robe, walking to his front door. As he reached for his doorknob, his fingertips began to burn as his energy drained from his body, pulled from his core, down his arm, towards the area closest to the enchanted boundary established around his apartment. He tolerated the pain long enough to quickly open his door, but he dared not cross the threshold, lest he lose his faculties and all of his strength. The court magicians had grown cleverer after his first breakthrough in the prison; despite his distance from the edge of their enchantment, he was already growing lightheaded.

"Guards," he called.

The Einherjar, tending their fire from a hundred paces away, approached cautiously with their hands on the hilts of their swords. He had never opened his door to them before and his sudden request for attention made them suspicious of his intent and motivation. "What is it?" one of the two asked, still unwilling to come closer than what was necessary.

The fear in the eyes of the guards entertained Loki tremendously and he didn't hide the satisfied smirk that spread across his lips. At the same time, their lack of formal language stung nearly as much as the enchantments. Odin had not disowned him, least not in any public or official terms, yet it seemed Asgard's distrust of him had worked towards that purpose anyway. He was still a prince, but Asgard did not seem to want to regard him as such.

He put his thoughts behind him for that moment and hid his insult from the Einherjar. "Where is the Lady Sif? I have not seen her in some time."

The guards looked at each other questioningly. After some hesitation, one finally answered, "Do you still require the warriors' attendance? With the removal of your mask, you are able to meet your own needs."

Loki's lips twitched downwardly at the disrespect and the avoidance of his question. "That isn't what I asked."

Discomfort showed in the eyes of both guards. "She is off world."

"Why?"

"It is by the prince's order; that is no longer your business," said the other guard.

He chuckled lowly. "I have not yet tested my power against the extent of my new binds. Such disrespect is tempting to me," he said. "I've been wondering how long I would remain conscience after stepping through this door."

"The purpose of her mission, we do not know," spoke the original guard. Loki could tell he was attempting to defuse the situation, but it served his purpose. "She was called quickly and for something of importance. This is the limit of our knowledge."

He shifted his weight and leaned against his door as he considered the guard's words. "I suppose it is," he said quietly. Accepting the second guard's response, he went back inside and shut his door behind him.

The guard's words matched his theory and his thoughts regarding the reason of his strange vision. A strange feeling of relief also washed over him, though it was dulled with heavy denial. A small voice of worry had begun to bare seed within his mind. She had not graced him with her presence in quite a while and he began to wonder if she was yet another in his life who would break their promises.

His uneasiness was borne as much from his distrust of her word as it was the fact that he missed her and hated himself for it. He missed her skin, her lips, and her breath in his ear and across his cheek. He would almost go so far as to admit he missed her scathing glances and the half-moon marks she left in the soft flesh of his back and shoulders when she became too consumed with her own fervency. She'd been with him only the total length of two nights, but the promise of her welcomed touch in the midst of this season of darkness was monopolizing his thoughts and would not leave him at peace.

For better or worse, she had become his one source of real company. Without her, he was becoming more aware of how isolated he remained, despite the comforts of home. He had not felt so alone since he fought for his survival upon the barren moon he had been trapped on after his journey down the abyss. At this point, he would almost welcome other company, such of that of Thor or his other "caretakers," as they would provide exercise for his voice and his mind, and would give him something to think about beyond his own four walls and the porcelain skin of one he wished to touch again.

At the very least, he had discovered the reason for her absence. With this knowledge, his anger and impatience ebbed. Although he would shortly be reminded of the fickle whims of his partner and the temporary nature of their understood agreement, it did not yet have to end.

Sif shivered in the cold near her small, dying fire. Jotunheim had no wood or coal to use to feed and strengthen it, and her supply of oil ran out with the birth of this last flame. She tightened the layers of coats around her shoulders as flurries of snow began to fall harder and soak through her hood to her scalp. She felt as though she would never be warm again, but she reminded herself that the portal would soon open to the light of Asgard. She only hoped her greeting would be warmer than the frozen crust of the broken planet on which she currently resided.

The last flicker of flame disappeared into smoke just as the Jotuns left her fireside negotiation table and she wasted no time activating the device. The familiar buzz of dark energy filled the air as the portal back to her home reopened, grabbing her and throwing her through the black vastness of space in a haze of violent, blue power. The blurred image of Thor within the halls of Asgard appeared suddenly as she resisted the dizziness that swarmed her head.

She fought the cold that filled her body and forced uneasy words from her frozen lips. She could already smell the sweet scent in the air of her home and could feel the temperature had warmed significantly from what it had felt like just moments before, but it was still difficult to speak. "They have accepted our offer," she said with a low bow. Without hesitation, Thor smiled and held out his hand to help her up.

The rubber soles of her boots squeaked against the polished stone floor as she stood. Inertia carried her forward, but her numb limbs could not correct for it as quickly as she needed to. She stumbled back towards the ground, but instead of the impact unforgiving stone, she felt the strong security of his arms holding her.

"You're freezing," Thor observed, "I can feel it emanating from you." Her outer cloaks were covered with frost, and even the tips of her hair seemed to shine with ice.

She shuddered in his arms, but quickly worked her way free of his grasp. "I spent weeks on Jotunheim and I still failed to acclimate. It is a miserable place."

"Why didn't you return sooner?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to answer, but just as she began to speak, the sound of Gungnir echoing across the hollow hall interrupted her. Odin approached, and in respect, she stopped her speech and bowed to him.

"Were you successful?" he asked. "Is that why you have returned?"

She calculated her answer; even in her silence, her jaw shook as her body fought to warm up. Water dripped from her cloaks to the floor as warm sunlight from the windows began to defrost the material, but it was obvious her body had yet to return to its normal temperature.

"Even if you weren't successful, it was good for you to come back," Thor interjected. "There are not many who could tolerate the eternal darkness and cold of the Jotun planet for long."

Her brow softened with his compliment, but as was proper, she replied to the king first. "The Jotuns are a remarkably obstinate people. They made a game of our offer and pretended as though they would accept our help one moment only to reject it at the next turn. I tried to remain patient, but I tested our truce when they demanded I beg." Thor shifted his weight in discomfort, and she continued. "They made other demands I refused," she added hesitantly, lowering her eyes to the floor, "but I will not speak of those in detail."

Thor huffed in anger and crossed his arms. "I knew the risk. I should have sent a company with you."

"I was able to cope with it," she argued, "and they did not go as far as to try and harm me."

"Why didn't you convey this trouble earlier?"

"You would have begged my return - and I don't like to fail. In any case, it would have hurt our reputation in their eyes and this effort would have been for naught," she answered.

He scratched his chin. "Perhaps."

"Your Highness," she said, addressing the king again, "they knew the state of my own supplies. It wasn't until I ate my last meal and lit my last fire - until I would be forced to return for the sake of my own survival - did they accept."

Odin nodded and smiled approvingly. "Then it was good that you met stubbornness with stubbornness. You have shown them Asgard's strength in a way they did not expect."

The king's approval meant much to her; it warmed her heart and brought sensation back to her frozen limbs. He paid her a great honor by saying these words within earshot of his son, though he was likely unaware of this.

"It is hoped this will inspire the Jotuns to take further help from us and establish a lasting peace. They are a strong race. If we could make them allies, it would be of interest to ensure their survival," Odin said.

"Allfather, their world crumbles more every day. The planet's core is nearly hollow and the damage cause by the Bifrost has only worsened their condition. It is irreparable. I'm not a pessimist, but I cannot see what we can do to lengthen their survival. Though I'm reticent to share my opinion of such matters, I fear their demise is imminent."

"You're right," the king responded, "as it stands, we cannot save them. One care package may not seem adequate, but it is a beginning. Do not undermine your own victory with cynicism. If they were willing to accept our aid once, they will do so again. Eventually, perhaps they will allow us to help them relocate to safer grounds."

"I have thought them monsters my entire life and fought against them willfully and without hesitation. I still find them to be vile and vulgar in their nature, but I sympathize with their circumstances and I find myself hoping you're correct," she said. She tightened her coats around her despite the warm air and the light of the star; the mere memory of the world she had just left had caused a shudder down her spine. Her body had yet to warm up and she could think of nothing but a hot bath in front of a strong, roaring fire.

"It will be a difficult effort," the king started, "and if you would be willing, I will charge you with this responsibility."

Despite the questionable motive for Thor's decision to send her to Jotunheim in the first place, she could not hide her smile or the pride that suddenly swelled within her chest. "Even the offer is a great honor to me."

He nodded. "That pleases me to hear. We will give them some time to work through the supplies they've already been afforded. I will call for you when we are ready to move again."

She bowed at his exit.

"Are you really prepared for this?" the prince asked. "You look as though you were taken from the brink of death. Jotunheim's environment has surely affected you."

"Judge not my health by my appearance. I fared well enough to repeat my tour and would do so gladly if the king requested so."

Thor ran his fingers through his hair in thought. "I know you well, Sif. Stop working so hard to hide every slight imperfection from me." He took her hand in his, an expression he hadn't made in quite some time. As her features changed to sadness, he dropped it, remembering their new places in each other's lives. "Get some rest," he gently ordered, and left her in the empty hall alone.

It drove him near to madness to surrender to the whims of another. He hated the feeling of losing control, but the softness of her skin easily weakened his resolve and beckoned him to submission. He fought against her search for that power as she shifted her weight; she managed to turn him over despite his stubbornness, but as her hips came to rest on his and the lovely smirk of self-satisfaction crossed her blushing lips, he leaned back, gladly allowing her this temporary victory.

She looked down at him dangerously, her brown eyes adopting an impish glint to which he'd rarely been privileged. He tried to commit the moment to his memory, to remember the look of thirst on her slender face and the enjoyment of her body. For a brief moment, he found himself cursing whatever night they decided would be their last. Regardless of his other unfortunate circumstances, this development was certainly one to which he could grow accustomed.

As he rested his dark head down on the soft pillows of his bed, his eyes began searching and examining her form slowly. Curiosity filled his expression and mixed with desire and a semblance of tenderness that looked almost foreign on his hard features. Her breath hitched in her throat as his simple stare caused her a different form of pleasure than that which his flesh afforded her.

His smile suddenly grew to match her own diabolical expression and he abruptly turned them over once again; she'd had enough control, he impatiently decided. She gasped and frowned at his insistence, but as his weight covered her once more, her silent complaint was forgotten. Heat imbued her, searing every inch of her skin with pleasant licks of flame as his hands and lips moved across her skin, melting the ice that had seemed so permanently frozen in her veins just hours before.

Time stopped and her lungs faltered; his name left her throat in a strange mix of whisper and scream. Euphoria became discomfort as she dug her fingernails into his arm, fighting to hang on for a moment longer. Just as she nearly pierced his skin, he collapsed, resting his body on hers as he fought to regain his breath.

He was uncomfortably warm and heavy atop of her, but she didn't move to push him away or convey her discomfort. Absentmindedly, she gently combed her fingers through his dark hair, sighing as her heart rate began to slow. He moaned when her nails raked his scalp and caused his skin to rise, and kissed her sternum softly, working his way up to her neck and jaw line before meeting her lips once again. She smiled against his mouth. She had missed his unique taste, and in the cold of Jotunheim, she found herself desiring the heat of his hands and the warmth of his weight.

He leaned up from her and looked crookedly at her lips as though he had never witnessed or seen a smile so odd on her features before. He had seemed pleased enough with a smirk when they were enjoying their playful struggle, but he was discomforted by her soft and genuine expression. She straightened her smile and hid her complacency from him. Her actions confused him even more, but he said nothing, daring not to compromise the evening by questioning her confusing habits and the strange way she still acted towards him.

Loki parted from her and rolled over, laying on his back as he stared at the ceiling over him. The rest of the evening had not been such a mystery. She hadn't come to him in her armor as she had previously under the guise of attending to him as a guard would a prisoner. Instead, she wore plain clothes under a simple cloak, and all elements were easily removable in their hurry to unite. She had also entered his chambers via an open window in the common room, avoiding the trifle lies and alibi she would have had to create had she appeared to the sentries in front of his house.

For the first time, she was direct with him, but her boldness in claiming what she wanted was a trait he had always admired in her. He could not deny the unidentifiable pleasure it created in him to know he was the object she sought after. The moment she stepped into his common room, he knew what she desired; he dropped the book he'd been reading and rose from his seat to meet her. The flames of his nearby fire reflected in her eyes to reveal a spark he'd rarely seen; any question or coy comment he had on his tongue died as her lips curled into a mischievous grin sharp enough to rival his own. He took full advantage of her mood.

There was no argument, no discussion, and no games from either of them. Both understood what she was there for, and both silently agreed to avoid muddling the issue by speaking. There was pure clarity between them. Perhaps this was why they seemed to move together with greater harmony than they had before, or maybe their long absence from one another simply created the illusion of it.

When she cooled down and the sweat on her brow began to dry, she turned towards him onto her side. He was angled slightly away from her, exposing part of his back. Hesitantly and cautiously, she lightly traced one of the scars from his flogging with her index finger, examining the way his ribs showed through his skin, and the tone of his muscle across his abdomen. He wasn't as brawny as the type of man she was used to seeing, but the clearly defined lines of muscle revealed the great strength he did possess despite his thinner frame.

His hand found hers and he gently pulled it from his side to prevent her from continuing. She wasn't sure if it was the sensation that bothered him or if he felt insecure about the scars themselves, but as he pulled her hand from his side, he held it for a moment in his own. This was a rare and surprising show of tenderness, and was quite possibly a meaningless measure that he hadn't noticed he was making, but for reasons she didn't understand, she suddenly felt the urge to pull her hand away.

Oblivious to her sudden confusion, he inhaled slowly, preparing the question that had been on his mind, and the one that would help confirm his earlier theory. "Where have you been?"

She looked up to meet his stare, but she hesitated to answer. "I was on a mission."

"I could've inferred that," he said dryly, "but where?"

She bit her lip, her cynicism of his motives returning as her heartbeat slowed and her mind cleared. "I don't believe the Allfather would be pleased with me for revealing such information to you," she answered abruptly.

He raised an eyebrow at her curtness. "I'm not asking for the finer details. There is a limit to the number of places you could have gone within his power. I could guess…"

"Why do you want to know so badly?" she asked skeptically, disappointed that whatever had been between them a moment before was now apparently gone. "What relevance is it to your circumstances?"

He moved closer to her and kissed her shoulder lightly, sensing her tension. "I only wish to know what has stolen you from me for such a length of time without warning. I confess - I was beginning to doubt your word that I would have you again." She narrowed her eyes in further suspicion; the sweeter his honeyed words tasted, the more likely they were hiding some bitter motive. "Where did they send Gallant Sif this time?" She sighed and rolled on her back again, remaining silent. "Was it Jotunheim?"

She looked at him sharply, confirming his theory. "How did you…?"

He smirked. "I have still have my own sources for information and despite my idleness, I like to remain aware of the movements of those in power in Asgard."

"I'd like to know what - or who - those sources are," she said.

He would not tell her. As inadvertent as his experience had been in the presence of her waking mind, she would simply see it as another intrusion. He wagered the connection would fade over time anyway and it was not worth inspiring her wrath. "I will keep my secrets and you can keep yours."

She lowered her eyes, having no counterpoint for such a statement. "What have you done in these weeks?" she asked, purposefully changing the topic. "Is there anything I should report?"

"Really?" he asked with a wry chuckle. "You want to do this now?" He sighed in frustration, his expression taking a sour turn when her silence confirmed her response. "Nothing. I've read through my library again, experimented with potions…" She leaned up and stared at him as though he'd just confessed to a crime. "Don't be so concerned. The court magicians took all of my interesting ingredients long before I was moved back into my chambers." She relaxed her shoulders and laid back down. "Speaking of potions, did you…?"

"Of course I did," she answered quickly.

"So defensive…" he said, " but I'm sure we both want to avoid any little accidents. That would be quite the scandal for a Lady of Asgard."

She ignored his last statement. "Is there anything else?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Do you mean to ask if I managed to procure a method of escape and gather enough dark energy to summon my allies? No, unfortunately. Will this interrogation end soon?"

"I'm only doing my duty…" she started.

"You're underdressed then," he said sharply, looking down at her nude form with perplexity and anger, a much different reaction than he had shown just a short time before. "Perhaps you should leave and return with your armor if you want to question me further." The words stung even before they left his mouth and he regretted them instantly. To antagonize her when she was accompanied by her colleagues was one thing, but to do so from his bed would only drive her from it, something he very much wanted to avoid.

She bit her lip, holding back a reply that would escalate the issue. It was clear she had taken his comment exactly as he feared she would. "I think you're right," she said lowly. "My blood is still chilled from my mission anyway, and my own quarters would be warmer than the air here." She pulled off the thin sheet and climbed out of his bed, grabbing her cloak from the floor.

He cursed under his breath and stood from his bed as well. "Wait," he said. She uncertainly paused as he opened the chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out a very thick, large blanket, one she was sure he hadn't owned the last time she had been there. He unfolded it, meeting her eyes as he wrapped it around her shoulders. "Don't tell me you've run out of energy for me so early," he said, attempting to regain his playful tone. He smiled in his usual style, but as his lips twitched, they betrayed the lack of confidence in his words. This was a side of him she hadn't seen since he was an awkward adolescent, and it stirred something within her she very much did not want to feel. "Stay a little longer; I will warm you even more."

She looked unsure of herself and hesitant towards his offer. As the light of the night sky flooded in through the window, her expression changed to one of curiosity. He sighed in anger and impatience. He was in rare form; he had no more sweet words to utter in the attempt to convince her to stay and it was as frustrating to him as having his hands bound. "What is it?" he snapped.

Unfazed by his tone, she replied, "The blue in your eyes has faded during this time. I can see the return of your natural color."

He scoffed at her randomness. "What you're referring to is not my natural color, but the result of Odin's illusion," he said, "and of course the blue would fade. It has been long since I was exposed to the Tesseract's power or that of my ally's."

"I am glad to hear that. I think you're better with green eyes."

For some reason, her comment irked him. Perhaps because it indirectly commented on his loss of power and his relative impotence, or perhaps it was because her appreciation was towards an illusion of Odin's design. He lost his patience once more, and again said something he quickly regretted. "And I preferred you with blond hair, but not everything can be what we want."

He visibly flinched as soon as he realized the full implication of what he had said. He expected her to be angry, to leave him and possibly never return in the role in which he liked her best. What he didn't expect, however, was the smile that slowly spread across her lips, or the soft, sincere laugh that rose from her chest in reaction to his self-scorning. He looked at her quizzically, utterly bewildered by her reaction to what should have been an insult and a reminder of a great pain he'd caused her long ago.

She reached up and placed and hand on his cool cheek. "You're not very good with this at times. Even your silver tongue has failed you."

He knew to what she was referring. His speechcraft seemed to oddly suffer in her presence in the midst of this new dynamic. In some ways, he felt again to be that same small boy who had failed repeatedly to garner her attention and admiration. "No," he answered honestly, "but my tongue has other skills to compensate."

She scoffed at his audacity and laughed lightly, cursing the blood that resurged through her body at his mere suggestion. He leaned down and kissed her firmly. Relief washed over him as she returned the gesture. The blanket slipped from her shoulders, unnoticed to the floor and he pulled her back towards the bed.