Jane returns to the rooms after Erik is safely home. She opens the door to music. Silhouetted in the evening light, she can't help but stare at her husband. His eyes are closed, she does not know if he is aware she is back. She does not want to interrupt, so she walks quietly around the outside of the room until she is beside him.
"Hello, Jane."
"Hey. Don't stop playing. It's beautiful."
"Thank you."
"I've never actually been up close to a harp before."
He smiles, his cheek resting on the wood, "Then I invite you to linger."
She rests her hands on his shoulders, "I plan to. It's calming. And as much as I loved having Erik here, it's nice to be alone with you again."
"Yes, yes it is."
"So how did you come to learn to play the harp? It doesn't seem like an Odin thing."
He laughs, "No, no, he can't play. Both Thor and I were expected to try instruments and be musical. Princes must be well-rounded. So we both tried many things. Thor found a talent for the flute and horns. It is not so well developed, as he never wanted to practice, but it could be, should he ever apply himself to study. I delighted in string instruments. But the harp I discovered entirely on accident. It was stored in one of Odin's annexes- family treasures that are not for the vault. I asked about it and he granted I could have lessons. He brought it to the nursery and found a teacher. It was his mother's instrument, and likely in the family far longer."
"So...this is like a five thousand year old harp."
"Oh no, far older. Likely ten."
"I'm still not used to this long life thing."
He stops playing and turns to face her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close so he can rest his head and hand against her stomach, "My love, you have been here such a short time. And it will all seem so much more strange when the little one arrives."
"We won't have hundreds of years in diapers, will we?" She runs her fingers through his hair.
"No. Our children age at about the same pace for the first few years, and then it slows. I believe your equivalent of a ten year old child is fifty years. We reach five hundred and appear as Midgard's fifteen year olds. That is when we are considered of age to go to war."
"Wow. That's young. My country didn't allow soldiers until eighteen. Child soldiers were considered a bad thing."
"I suppose the lengths of our lives makes things different."
"Maybe."
"You hesitate."
"I'm thinking about our own child going off to fight so young."
Loki kisses her belly, the bump so slight it cannot yet be seen; he can feel it, though, "I hope for times of peace for at least a few long centuries after these past few years. We have had far too much strife."
"Is it over, though? Or is there still going to be something with Thanos?"
He sighs, "Likely. But I am choosing to ignore it while I can."
"I guess I worry about a lot...must be a habit from being short-lived."
"No, all of us worry. I just worry to myself in the middle of a sleepless night, not in front of others."
"You do know you can wake me, right? If you need somebody to talk to, or just need to cuddle?"
"Thank you, dear lady."
They hold one another in silence, warmed by the evening light. Jane strokes his hair. He listens to the sounds of her breathing and her heartbeat, entranced with wonder at the work her body is doing, growing their child.
"You're going to be an amazing dad, Loki. I love you."
He stands, folds her in his arms, and kisses her.
