This took way longer than I thought it would to write...so thank you for your patience.

I really appreciated your feedback as well! You guys are awesome. I know some of y'all haven't been crazy big on the Asgard chapters...so I just wanted to acknowledge that I hear ya. The old format hasn't disappeared but it has been a few years and the story is kind of evolving. I'm really excited to give Darcy's character a bit more growth. So I really hope you enjoy some of the stuff that comes next.

Gotta warn you this one is a little bit on the darker side...I'm gonna follow it up with some fluff though in the next chapter :) Hopefully lol

Bit of a violence warning..not sexual but still could not be your cup of tea. I guess it's slightly similar to the levels in "Frank?" but I think we delve more into the emotional toll of it this time.

Enjoy!

Part III: Darcy Lewis, Girl Wonder

Darcy woke up in her apartment. She didn't remember the night before. She didn't remember the day before, or the one before that either. It was dark, and she was staring at her clock – staring hard – but couldn't seem to make out what the numbers on its face were reflecting back at her. They were distorted. Blurry. She tried to shake off the odd feeling that had settled over her but couldn't.

Standing, she hissed when her toes hit the floor. The room was ice to the touch. Everything around her felt…wrong somehow.

The hallway was dark as Darcy made her way into it. Blue emergency lights glowed up at her from the ground. She closed the door to her quarters – careful not to make any noise – and made her way to the common area, bypassing the elevator for the stairs.

The chill was more pervasive in the stairwell. A layer of gooseflesh stood abrasively on her arms. Her nose burned with every updraft of cold air from the floors below. Her fingers turned a bright shade of red. Her hands, in some places, had no color at all. Her blood wasn't circulating properly. Darcy brought her arms to wrap around her torso, and tucked her hands in her armpits, in a desperate attempt to stay warm. The distance between her quarters and the living area had grown exponentially longer overnight. She paused. It felt as though she had been climbing the stairs for a significant amount of time, but suddenly Darcy couldn't quite remember if her quarters were above or below the common room. She'd been climbing upward, but had she meant to go down? Darcy looked up at the stretch of stairs that expanded above her, down at the maze of those she'd already climbed. She looked at her feet only to find that they were bare once more. She looked up. Forward. There was a door in front of her.

Reaching out her hand, she pushed the door watching as it swung open.

A fire was going in the fireplace. It crackled at her a warm greeting. There was a low murmur coming from the television and the clink of dishes from the kitchen.

Without realizing it, she made her way to the cooktop island where she and the others had shared so many evenings.

She could have sworn someone had been in there, but the room was empty. Darcy leaned forward on the island, coming to rest on her forearms, while she watched the show that whoever had been there neglected to turn off.

It was Jarvis who interrupted her after a period of time, to ask her if she was able to make out just what it was that she was watching. She smiled wide at her friend's sudden appearance.

"Of course, J. It's—" She paused, her breath caught somewhere in her throat. She stared at the television, questioning.

In front of her, the screen was distorted. The faces of the characters in the show were blobs of light and color made into the vaguely correct shapes. The voices were rumblings of sound that when pieced together appeared a lot like conversation but made little sense to the human ear.

Darcy felt something scald her foot then. She looked down, absently, to find a dark puddle was forming around her. She was holding a pot of coffee in her hand. There was a mug sitting on the counter. And it overflowed with the coffee she poured. She watched it stream steadily across the surface she had been leaning on and fall toward the floor.

It flowed. It scalded her frozen feet. Then it was cold. And her whole body shook.

"This isn't real," Darcy said and dropped the coffee pot.

"No, Miss Lewis," Jarvis cut in gravely. "I believe you are having a most unsavory dream."


A gasp ripped its way out of Darcy when she woke; she shot up and threw her comforter back violently before looking around.

The sun had long since risen and was glowing brightly through the window to greet her.

She hesitated a moment before her toes hit the ground, only relaxing when the floor did not appear to be the ice she'd walked on the night before.

She felt good. Her brain was a little foggy, but it wasn't often that she could say she felt light – like a weight had been lifted off her chest. She looked down at her boobs just to make sure they were still there. They were. Strictly a mental thing then.

She brushed off her weird dream. Stranger things had been dreamt before. Frankly, Darcy was just glad that this one didn't end with an inordinate amount of cold sweat or an accidental groping of the Winter Soldier.

She showered. Brushed her teeth. Dressed up nicer than usual. Made her way out the door.

The mark of a good day is being late for work and not feeling bothered to care about it.

Jane looked up when Darcy walked in. First sign that Darcy was late. Jane studied her. Darcy smiled and didn't care. Jane huffed. Darcy sighed contentedly into her coffee.

When she finally caught a good look at Jane's face, something in it, something looking back at her, made her catch her breath. Alarmed, she set her coffee down abruptly on her desk and opened her mouth to ask Jane what was wrong. Before she could blink, though, her friend's face had smoothed over and Janie was back to work as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Hot coffee dripped from Darcy's desk to her foot. She hissed, jerked away. Grabbing up a pile of napkins, she dabbed frantically at the stream of coffee that had sloshed out of her mug.

As they worked, there was something frigid between them that made Darcy second guess everything she said and did that day. She couldn't figure out what had happened to make Jane so…unlike Jane.

Still, Darcy shook it off when midday rolled around. Deciding to grab some lunch, she glanced at her friend. Jane didn't seem to be at a place for a break and Darcy decided it would be a bad idea to bully one out of her. Maybe they just needed an hour of space to recalibrate their moods.


When Darcy woke the next day, she was exhausted. It took all her effort to heave herself out of bed and walk out the door. Without being careful, she could have easily slid onto the floor and slept there for eternity, with her face pressed down on the soft carpet.

Dragging her feet to the elevator proved a herculean task. And everything inside her burned with something unidentifiable. It crawled through her body and occupied her mind. Every breath burned its way past her nostrils and down her throat. She bit back the urge to cry.

Thor was in the kitchen.

He had just topped off a bag of chips and was chomping into his second of three sandwiches when she dropped down next to him at the table. She reached into the fruit bowl in the center and delicately selected an apple, accepting his offer of toast which he pulled from a plate of toast he'd set next to his sandwiches. She looked at her food solemnly and wondered if she'd be able to keep anything down.

Recalling the day before, in the lab with Jane and the ugly twist of her face, Darcy pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and let herself slump. She remembered coming back to find their workspace empty. The oddity of her friend's absence had given her pause.

She remembered finding her with Tony and Bruce in the latter's office. The hush that fell over them when she walked in. The stares.

"Is Jane upset about something?" Darcy asked Thor as she picked at the crust on her bread.

His face furrowed as he chewed. That's what she liked about Thor; he always took the time to thoroughly process her questions. Nothing was too simple, and everything deserved attention.

He put down his sandwich with a frown and leveled her with an impassive gaze.

"I believe she finds it quite challenging to work with someone who is highly incompetent in her field of work," he said.

Then he picked up his sandwich and took another bite, completely unperturbed by the gaping woman sitting next to him.

Darcy looked briefly at the slice of toast he'd given her and then slid out of her chair. She was going back to bed.


When Darcy woke from her nap, it was to the angry gurgle of stomach acid rising from her gut.

Grumbling, she threw back her blankets for what felt like the millionth time and decided she needed to eat food. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

She stopped short upon entering the common area, to find that the early morning sun was rising through the window. And all the residents were gathered for some kind of group breakfast.

"Umm…" Darcy stared at the scene perplexed. "It can't be morning."

"But it can." Bucky grinned though there was something wrong with that too. She couldn't pinpoint what it was that made her take a second glance at him. That was the thing about master assassins...they were too hard to read.

He held her gaze a bit too long.

She looked away.

Her entrance had changed the vibe in the room – made things awkward, stopped some conversations, earned more looks than normal.

"Well," Pepper said politely. "I'm sure we can find you a chair…"

Darcy opened her mouth.

"I thought this was a team thing," Rhodey interjected, waving around a piece of bacon. "That's why Tony forced me to come up here at the crack of dawn…because we had to get this out of the way before she—"

He fell silent at Pepper's death glare. Steve cleared his throat.

"Take my chair, Darcy."

He stood and held it out for her. He did not return her smile when she thanked him.

The acid in Darcy's stomach had made its way to her throat now. Her insides were on fire again. She fidgeted in her seat, shrinking under the weight of the silence that had settled over the others.

It stretched and stretched and then a small squeak of alarm sounded to her left.

"Oops!" Jane gasped and the milk jug she was holding thudded on the table and started gushing out over the surface. It sloshed and gurgled as it poured out its contents. Jane and the others just stared – their faces blank.

Darcy hopped up and dodged around the motionless Avengers.

"Honestly, does no one know how to clean up after themselves around here?" Darcy screeched at them before snatching up the jug and throwing a towel down on top of the spill.

Steve looked at her from where he stood behind her now empty chair. His eyes were impossibly stern. And he directed them only at Darcy.

"We have other things on our plates, Miss Lewis," He said. There was no evidence of friendship behind it. Only Captain America. And not a very kind version of him at that. And somehow, she'd done something to upset him too. She gritted her teeth and continued to mop up the spilled milk from the table.

Tony walked in then.

"Whoa there, short stack," he hovered behind her and his tone was annoyed. "Is this how you pay me back for letting you live here for free?"

"Me?" Darcy screeched and looked at him like he was totally out of line. "Jane's the one that spilled. I'm cleaning up her mess."

"The Lady Jane has done nothing to earn your scorn, Lady Darcy," Thor said. He had a defensive air about him. "If you are unhappy with her, I would advise you take your grievances elsewhere."

The acid overwhelmed her then and she clawed at her throat. The urge to heave all over the table was too much to resist. From somewhere above herself, Darcy saw the spilled milk combine with the yellow and green mucus of her stomach lining and digestive fluids. She watched the affectless faces of her friends, and the occasional distortion of Jane's face into something truly ugly.

She watched her body wracked with pain and nerves, and then the green and yellow turned to red. When Darcy's mind went blank, the colors were gone. She felt no pain. But she had broken into a cold sweat, and her body felt like lead.


These occurrences happened again and again at an incalculable rate. And Darcy's body began to wear down from the strain of it. She couldn't remember the details exactly – just that they were happening, and she could feel in her bones that she wouldn't be able to take it forever. Her stomach had completely rejected her attempts at sustaining herself, and her body seemed to be rejecting her soul right along with it.

Her insides were on fire and sometimes she could swear she was hearing voices. Seeing lights. Feeling brushes along her cheeks, pressure on her hands. She couldn't tell when she was asleep and when she was awake but oftentimes, she was disrupted by a bright, warm light that washed over her face when she was at her lowest.

She didn't know what was happening with her friends. With Jane, her sister, she was just so confused. But the throbbing in her hands reminded her that she's had them clenched into anxious fists since her nightmare all those days ago. Her brain felt like it was melting, her eyes felt like sandpaper and her skin screamed at even the gentlest of touches.

Her eyes opened to her bedroom; it was the middle of the night. There was a shadow in the corner with the face of Natasha Romanov. Darcy sat up, propping her body against her headboard, and wrapping herself tightly in her covers.

Natasha stepped forward. She was silent. And the moonlight filtering through the window couldn't catch her eyes.

"Where would you go?" The Widow murmured.

Darcy took a moment to find her voice.

"Go?"

"You can't stay here forever. The people around you have outpaced you," Natasha shrugged. "When Tony shows you the door. When Jane finds an assistant that understands what she's doing. When Thor realizes that you are no more than a child playing with a taser, not his lightning sister…where will you go?"

"I—" Darcy wrung her hands nervously. She'd thought these things to herself before, in her darkest moments, but she hadn't prepared herself for the possibility that someone else would say those things out loud to her. That someone would reflect her deepest anxieties back at her, openly. Natasha Romanov does not pull her punches. "I don't know. I haven't thought—"

"No. You haven't thought." She didn't wait for Darcy to respond. "What will you do? What do you have to show for the last few years of your life?"

Darcy thought back to the time she had spent being carted around by Jane and SHIELD and Thor. She thought about her unfinished degree. Thought about the million pop tarts she had toasted. The million cups of coffee poured. She thought about adding arbitrary commas to important pieces of science literature that Jane produced. That Bruce produced. Hell, even the occasional one from Tony. What did Darcy have to point to?

"You've never said anything like this to me before…" Darcy trailed off as she studied the woman at the foot of her bed.

The moonlight hit Natasha's teeth as her lips pulled back in an ugly smile.

"Everything happens in its own time."

"What's been going on with all of you? This isn't you. Why the sudden change in attitude? I don't deserve this, Nat," Darcy's voice shook but she meant what she said.

"There comes a time that every little bird has to leave its nest."

"You're not my parents, this isn't an outgrowing the nest kind of issue…"

"Isn't it? Have you not become stagnant? Complacent? Dependent?"

Darcy opened her mouth in indignation before pausing to process Natasha's words.

"I'm not content with my life," Darcy told her. "But I'm making do with what I've got."

"And what happens when what you've got is gone? Hmm?"

"Is that what's happening?"

The pang in her chest was dulled by the surreal nature of the last few days. Even now as she sat here with Natasha in the middle of the night, Darcy couldn't tell if the time that passed had been in minutes or hours. The acid was back, and her skin was beginning to burn all over again.

Natasha cocked her head. Darcy continued.

"Am I being pushed out? You uproot my life, you control where I go, when I go, who I go with and how safe I am at every step…you determine my job and my fitness levels and my internet connection and my secure phone. You tell me to move to Norway, I go to Norway. You say New York, I go to New York. But now that my life has been completely superseded by everyone else's wants and needs. Now. Now you tell me that I have fulfilled my purpose and am no longer of use? Now you tell me that you've lost all of the value and respect you supposedly had for me, and that I best be on my way? Really? What the fuck is going on?"

There was a rustling in the corner of the dark room. Darcy looked toward the noise, but Natasha didn't. Her face, still cloaked in shadow, was completely smooth.

"Fury," Darcy hissed for the kitten to stop making a fuss in the corner.

The noise got louder. Darcy threw back her covers and quickly stood from the bed. The furry mass in the corner was rifling through a pile of dirty laundry.

"Fury," She hissed again and reached down to snag the kitten up into her arms. But when her hand touched the scruff of his neck, he turned, and Darcy screamed. The animal in front of her wasn't Fury. It was bigger and uglier. And Darcy couldn't for the life of her fathom how a groundhog had made its way into her home.

She stumbled away from the animal, whipping her head around to look at Natasha in shock, but the older woman had gone.

In the darkness, the Widow's voice echoed throughout the room.

"You will always be weaker, Darcy. You will always be flawed. You will always be less than the rest of us. It's a wonder that you've made it this far at all…"

Darcy's eyes struggled to focus in the darkness, looking for a figure that was no longer there. The groundhog was snuffling angrily in the corner. And Darcy's heart was hammering in her chest.

The burning sensation on her skin pricked her eyes with unshed tears. She bit the inside of her cheek until blood pooled in her mouth.

"I will always be weaker," She nodded grimly in agreement. And she felt the ghost touch of a forehead against hers, smelled the fresh linen scent of Pop's shirt, reached up to clutch at the dog tags that always hung around her neck, but found that they weren't there this time.

"But you forgot a pivotal detail," she said to the empty room. "In every fucked-up scenario I've been forced into since Thor fell out of the sky, in every moment of weakness, and every flaw, and despite everyone else being stronger and smarter and faster than me, I have never failed to survive."

She picked up the groundhog and stared long and hard at its face. When she held it in the moonlight, it too was an ugly thing – distorted and out of focus.

"This. Isn't. Real."

As if the room had taken a breath, the shadows around her contracted and expanded, swallowing the moonlight. Darkness consumed her whole.


When the darkness receded, she was face down on a sparring mat. Her arms were twisted behind her back. Her ponytail was falling out. Her cheek was squished up awkwardly due to how she was pressed, and Clint Barton was not waiting patiently for her to make her next move. The first breath she took was a frenzied gasp. And it was followed rapidly by another. And another. And Darcy couldn't keep her air. She gasped. Gasped for air that never properly filled her lungs.

Clint's every move was a blur of practiced efficiency, speed, strength. The muscles and tendons in his arms and neck bulged under his effort.

She thought she'd been sleeping. But by the looks of things in the mirror, they'd been at this for some time.

She tried to shake his hold on her wrists. She couldn't twist her torso without him breaking her arms and couldn't throw her head back to hit him without jarring her neck.

Darcy grunted as the pressure increased on her back.

"Time out, Clint." Her voice was muffled.

Clint didn't listen.

His weight bared down on her oppressively. He pulled her arm into another awkward angle and forced her face harder into the mat. Darcy couldn't breathe. She felt a tendon pop unnaturally. His other hand was anchoring her to the ground. It was situated between her shoulder blades – directly above her spine.

And it hurt.

It fucking hurt.

Darcy tried to rationalize. But spots of black and electric blue were floating around her vision, and her brain felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. He either hadn't heard her call for a time-out or...no he had not heard her.

Definitely not.

He was hurting her, and he had no idea.

He needed to know, but Darcy was choking on her own shock.

He doesn't know. He needs to know. He doesn't know.

Her panic looped continuously at the forefront of her mind.

Of course, he knows, a voice whispered to her then. And it was an ugly voice too. He's an assassin. He's an Avenger. He knows exactly how much strength to use and when, Darcy. He knows.

She closed her eyes tight. Shoved the panic down by sheer force of will. When she opened them again, she zeroed in on the mirror. Still somehow unable to process what was happening.

Darcy could see Clint – should maybe have focused more of her attention on him than she did. And she would have focused on her assailant…if it weren't for the other thing she saw. Because it wasn't Clint's ugly sneer that attracted her attention. What was reflected back at her, in this wall of mirrors, wasn't the very real threat he suddenly posed to her, or the unnatural way her arms looked when twisted in that position. The thing that she couldn't look away from – the thing that stopped her breath from fully expanding in her chest – was her own face.

Her face was…

It was wrong.

Somehow.

She squinted. Tried to look harder at her reflection, but the longer she looked, the more it twisted.

The person looking back at her was not someone she recognized. The reflection's mouth moved without stopping, as though it was talking to her.

She blinked at it, winced at the tearing sensation in her shoulder muscles and the flood of pain, but the thing she saw looking back at her in the mirror…it didn't blink, didn't wince. It didn't change. Just kept staring back at her, mouth moving, as her supposed friend tried to break her into tiny pieces.

Then there was a light. And it was so unlike the too bright artificial lights in the gym.

This light was familiar to Darcy for she had relished in its warmth during her long sleep. It flashed over her face and she closed her eyes. Sighing into the sensation once again.

The light disappeared.

Clint applied more pressure. The black spots floating around her multiplied and she struggled to take another gasping breath. Darcy was being crushed.

Clint was crushing Darcy.

He growled something at her, but she could no longer make out his words. She stared at her reflection. It was a hateful thing. Though she couldn't make out the details, the longer she looked at it the more certain she was that it was not the whole picture of herself. The mouth was moving angrily at her and she wondered if maybe it was shouting. If it too was hurling ugly things at her, as her friends had been doing since she woke up in this place.

The warm light returned. It washed over Darcy, and she squinted at its intensity before closing her eyes, opening them again when it was gone. She began to thrash against Clint's grip. Something tore in her back, and by the way it stalled the breath in her lungs, she reckoned it was something important.

Her arms burned to break free from an unbreakable grasp.

She opened her mouth to scream back at the ugly, distorted version of herself in the mirror. Stretched her mouth open in a horrible scream, just like the mirror did. She bared her teeth and hurled ugly words back at that bastardization of herself. All the while she thrashed wildly – anything to break free from an impossible hold.

When the light flashed over her again, she refused to close her eyes. She kept them wide open as she stared at herself in the mirror.

And then behind her reflection…

In the glass mirrors of the gym, a million little crystals shot out in all directions across the ground. And beneath the crystals formed a rich red soil.

And above them…

an impossible sky with no sun and two moons.

The pain was real.

She fought for every breath of air.

And something, she feared, really had cracked inside of her. But that ugly version of Clint was gone. The firm – now comforting – hand on her back was that of the Witch of Fensalir, the Blue Lady of Vanaheim, her friend with kind eyes and a face that reflected honestly back at her.


One lesson the Lady Darcy had yet to learn, Volstagg thought to himself, was the art of allowing others to carry her through hardship when she was not capable of carrying herself.

He had crouched some distance away, sharpening his blades while the Blue Lady did her best to assess the damage done to the girl. He'd long since rolled up his sleeves so that he could better forget they were stained with her blood.

The deep runic scars that the crystals had burned into her skin had stained his own attire with the same symbols. And he grieved at what he'd seen written there.

Volstagg had watched countless men die – brothers and enemies alike. He was hardened to pain and suffering as much as anyone could be while still maintaining a sense of their own soul. But he did not like to see anyone suffer.

He refused to look behind him, at the rolling valley he'd climbed out of with the mortal girl hemorrhaging in his arms. He thought to the words the valley had carved into her body. So harmless, a word. He laughed darkly to himself. No other weapon was so powerful as a word. Words incapacitated the soul.

Volstagg didn't know what it was to be mortal, but he could imagine that the young one in front of him had to be incredibly brave to exist in the universe as such a being.


Darcy drifted in and out for a time, caught somewhere between exhaustion and desperation. She needed to find Jane and she wanted off the damn planet.

The Witch had plied her with potion after nasty potion. This for pain. This for bleeding. This for nutrition. This for burns. On and on. Darcy drank them all obediently. She could physically feel them take effect. She felt like shit, for sure, but it was like the magic in the potions was quickly stitching together all the broken pieces inside of her. Maybe not permanently, but enough to get the ball rolling. Her voice, though, she had yet to recover.

Her pin was missing from her hair. She'd turned to the Witch desperately, but was told that it would come back to her when she was ready. Darcy didn't know what that meant, but later she looked closer at the cuts on her body. She recognized them for what they were. She wondered what exactly the others were reading in the runes written on her skin.

Siff had barely looked at her since she'd been awake, electing instead to keep her eye on the harmless-looking valley they'd left behind. Volstagg, however…Volstagg watched her with a father's eyes. The disparity between them all seemed clearer now. And Darcy felt incredibly inconsequential next to her Asgardian companions. She swallowed down the feeling.

After a full day of healing and a night of fitful rest, Darcy insisted through a series of angry gestures that they needed to get the show on the road. She silenced every protest with a look and heaved herself bodily off the ground.

Before she could blink, a pair of impossibly strong arms had scooped her off her feet and situated her high in Sleipnir's saddle. Volstagg had a firm hand on the small of her back and a stern face that told her to think carefully about how she chose her battles.

"We will allow you to continue your search for the Lady Jane, if only because it is the only way we can safely take our leave of this forsaken place." Siff's voice had an air of finality and resentment that Darcy didn't know what to do with.

"Save your breath, child," the Witch reminded her when Darcy opened her mouth to ask a question. "You must allow your vocal cords to repair themselves without stressing the wounds."

It was laughably easy to get to the base of Frigga's Sorrow after the ordeal in the Valley of the Crystals. They'd traveled an unremarkable time through a cropping of trees, in the long shadow of the Asgardian Range. The mountains were so tall, and the group of travelers so close to their destination, that when Darcy looked up she could see only a wall of sediment and no peak.

They broke through the tree line just as dusk's blue haze settled over them. They paused.

The grass had been disturbed a small distance ahead, and Siff held up a firm hand for them to stay where they were as she moved forward to investigate.

A flood of emotion waved over her face; Darcy could see it even from far away. She watched as Siff locked that feeling away tight. She watched the cogs turning in the older woman's head as she processed and decided how to react.

"What's wrong?" Darcy whispered.

Siff looked up at her before sliding her eyes past Darcy to the Witch.

"The Lady Jane… is not here," Siff said aloud though her eyes were conveying more to her elder.

Volstagg huffed. "Well, where in bloody Yggdrasil is she?"

Siff leveled him with a glare, gesturing to the pattern in the dirt. An understanding silence fell over the man on her right.

"What's going on? How do you know Jane isn't here?" Darcy's voice croaked at them from her place astride the gentle horse. They heard her though the sound that escaped was no louder than the breeze that passed through the trees.

"She is well, child."

The Witch's voice was solemn. Darcy's head whipped in her direction, staring at her incredulously before fumbling to get down to the ground. She brushed off Volstagg's anxious hands and Siff's stern rebuke. The Witch held up a hand and both gave the girl room.

She felt her wounded insides tug uncomfortably as she strode over to the spot where Siff stood. And Darcy idly wondered what would happen if the potions didn't hold her together until they got back to the city. What she saw there in the grass made her breath catch in her chest, and the memory of acid settled in her belly.

The pattern in the grass was perfectly round and lined with a series of familiar markings. If that weren't enough of a giveaway, the patch had been singed by lightning and flattened by the god of thunder's heavy tread.

Jane wasn't here. Darcy had taken too long – had been too late to save her best friend. Thor, of course, had been better. More capable.

And here she had been, on a fool's mission to save someone who didn't need her to do the saving.

There was relief. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered a weight lifting off of her shoulders. But without that last fleeting purpose, the drive to save Jane, Darcy gave way to exhaustion and laid down next to the place her friends had last stood.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, and Siff turned her slightly so they could look each other in the eye.

"Are you well, my lady?"

Darcy felt as though there would never be enough energy to recover her body again, that this must be how she was going to die. The adrenaline, the drive, was completely gone. She wanted to whine at Siff. Cry. Throw a tantrum. But that would be childish, and it took too much energy.

Later, in the silent moments before sleeping and waking, Darcy would ruminate on the hole in her gut. That left-behind feeling that she had experienced once before, in London, when everything was falling apart and Thor took only Jane to safety. When Thor left her in ignorance to deal with the chaos alone. It was that stuck feeling, like she was waiting for more. That same hole was there inside her now, though Darcy was too tired to do anything with it. Her friend was safe, and if Thor had failed, Darcy would have been there to do what needed to be done. She would find a way to be content with that. To love that about herself. But now...

She mouthed the word tired up at the older woman, and the warrior pursed her lips. She bowed her head briefly before her gaze snapped up to look at the trees.

Volstagg appeared then. Behind him, the Witch.

Volstagg's hand was tense on the pommel of his sword. Siff's was the same. The Witch, though, was watching Darcy.

Darcy held her gaze for a while, seeking solace there, before turning her head to see what the other two were so fixated on.

A wall of Einherjar had emerged from the trees. Golden horned helmets shining brightly despite the falling darkness. Their weapons were drawn, and they were mounted tall on angry steeds.

It felt like she was watching it all happen from somewhere above herself. She wondered if she should be worried but was too tired to care.

"Darcy Lewis, of Midgard," A stern voice called out from the regiment of soldiers. "By order of Odin, Allfather, King of Asgard and Protector of the Nine Realms, you are hereby under arrest."

"Arrest?" Siff hissed at her comrades. Her grip tightened reflexively on her sword. "For what crime?"

"This mortal entered the realm illegally by way of Bifrost, absconded His Royal Highness Prince Loki's steed, intruded upon the Warrior's Keep and is suspected in the sudden disappearance of Her Majesty, Queen Frigga," the soldier replied haughtily.

Hearing it all spelled out in such a way was more amusing than she had anticipated. As Siff questioned the intentions of the regiment, Darcy couldn't help laughter that wheezed out of her body as she lay there on the ground. A stray tear slipped out the corner of her eye and down the side of her face.

There was a commotion above her. She zoned it out. Darcy wondered if Heimdall had gotten in trouble. If Brunhilde was okay. She thought about little Eira and how sad she would be at the state of her new mortal friend. Darcy hoped that she wouldn't see Eira. She didn't want the little girl to learn any more life lessons on her behalf. The yelling had gotten louder. A sword had been drawn and another had been drawn in response. More angry words. The weapons were lowered. And then a new boot, foreign to Darcy, stepped into her peripheral vision.

She saw the horns of the helmet before the face of the soldier. Darcy recognized his face, but her memories seemed so far away now. He moved to grab her, his face a mask of dutiful contempt. It was the Witch who told him quite calmly that it would be in his best interest to not lay his hands upon the girl.

He drew back and scowled at the Witch.

"You dare threaten a soldier of the realm? Who are you, Witch—" he spat. "To defy the King?"

The Witch drew back her hood and pulled herself to her full height. Long golden locks fell down below her hips. She did not say a word, simply stood there and watched as a look of disbelief crossed the young Einherjar's face.

The Witch waited patiently at the uncertain rumblings coming from the wall of men at the leader's back, the gasps, the curses. And then Darcy watched in awe as every Asgardian in the clearing, except Siff and Volstagg, knelt in the grass and bowed their heads.

The man, who had spoken so contemptuously moments before, had too sunken to the ground. He removed his helmet.

"My Queen, I beg your forgiveness. I did not know."

The Witch, no, the Queen, Darcy mentally corrected herself, spread her hands out peaceably in front of her, and commanded them all to rise.

"Let this be a lesson to all, including yourself, Gosta son of Gudbrand that we may better treat those with whom we are not familiar."

His face flushed at her reprimand, but he nodded, his eyes digging a shame-filled hole in the ground.

"Yes, my Queen." He hesitated before looking back up at her then. "I am to follow the King's orders, your majesty. Am I not?"

Darcy thought he sounded as young as she felt in that moment. Though she couldn't see her, Frigga's lips were set in a hard line.

"You will accompany me and my guest back to the castle where we will meet the king. You must do as you are ordered, Gosta, but you must do so with grace."


Thor and Jane broke the sound barrier when they landed back on Earth. They shook the foundations of Avenger's Tower but did not wait this time for the building to settle.

Jane was kicking and thrashing against his hold. When he finally released her, she turned and slapped him across the face.

"What the fuck was that?" She screamed, completely unaffected by the red handprint she left there. "We have to go back for Darcy!"

Thor looked sadly down at Jane, doing his best to keep her still despite her anger. He was having little success.

"Jane, please take care. Your ribs may well have fractured in your fall."

He was most likely correct in his assumptions. Her breath was coming out in short little huffs even as she laid into him for misleading her, for leaving her best friend on a foreign planet to die god knows what kind of horrible death.

They'd attracted a crowd, but Thor ignored them. Jane yelled and though he felt the sting of every word, he gave up trying to reason with her in favor of gesturing desperately at Dr. Helen Cho.

"Dr. Foster," Dr. Cho said in concern, stepping forward with her hands held out to the smaller woman.

"What?!" Jane shrieked before realizing that it wasn't Thor who was speaking. She cleared her throat, embarrassed.

"Dr. Cho," She croaked, wincing a little at the pain in her ribs.

"May I give you a quick check-up?" Cho asked. Her face was kind. Jane hesitated, before turning her glare back on Thor. He sighed.

"I assure you, Jane," He said. "Now that you are safe in the care of Dr. Cho, I will not rest until Darcy comes home."

She studied him for a moment, before consenting to care. Thor helped her onto a gurney, informing the other woman of Jane's suspected injuries. Jane insisted once more that he return for the friend he had abandoned. He wanted to follow her but knew she was in better hands than his own.

The rest of the team was scattered around the common area, having abandoned their work at his arrival. They watched him but didn't say a word. One silent question screaming at him from every corner of the room. Where the hell was Darcy?

He turned back to the helipad, raised his hammer to the sky, and called to Heimdall once more to open the Bifrost and bring him home.

But there was no rush of noise this time. No flash of light. No sound of silence at his departure because no one answered his call. Not once. Not twice. Heimdall did not respond. For the second time in his long life, Thor was unable to go home. This time, he left a million broken promises in his wake.


Too many days had passed since Thor and Jane had returned from Asgard. And the same amount of time had passed since the love of his life had spoken to him. Rubbing his eyes with a tired hand, Thor figured that he could not really blame her.

Idly, he wondered if Odin would make his exile permanent this time. Then he thought of Loki, alone in that cell. He could imagine the betrayal his brother must feel, knowing it appeared as though he had used him for help in finding Jane and then disappeared before aiding him in a path to freedom. To redemption. Thor had not been able to save Darcy, nor had he kept his word to his brother. Failure was not a familiar companion to the future king, but he held it close to him now.

The helipad was cold, and though Thor often claimed to be made of more durable stuff than his Midgardian friends, the wind that prickled his skin made him long to go inside, curl up with Jane and sit beside a fire.

He couldn't do that, though.

He thought back to the day he found Jane – relived the relief at seeing her alive, and the surge of panic when he realized she was not yet safe.

"Darcy isn't here, Thor." She could feel the panic bubbling up in her chest then, and a sudden urge to vomit. "You mean she's not at the tower?"

He was silent.

"We have to find her," She forced herself to stand, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ribs. "What are you waiting for, whatever you did to find me… we have to do that with her."

Thor studied her, looked away once more, and nodded.

"Aye," he said. "I will find her. But first…"

He gripped her waist and spun Mjolnir. Jane buried her face in his shoulder at the force of the wind as they flew past the great castle of Asgard, the gawking commoners and the stern faced Einherjar. Jane had a feeling that more than one thing had gone wrong in Asgard since she arrived.

They landed next to Heimdall who she had only met once briefly, during the incident with the Aether. She gave him an awkward smile and he gave her a solemn nod.

"Heimdall, there is another. The Lady Darcy—"

"Aye, Your Highness," Heimdall interrupted him then. "She is in my gaze as we speak, but first I must inform you that the King is on his way here, now. And I fear that, should you delay, the Lady Jane will not be given leave to return to Midgard any time in the near future."

Jane opened her mouth to ask what the hell he meant by that. Thor looked torn before he nodded at his old friend in a silent request.

"Wait, what is happening?" Jane asked as Thor moved her further into the observatory. "We have to find Darcy. What does he mean I won't be able to go home? Thor, stop, what are we do—"

But she didn't get to finish her sentence before she was cut off by a flash of brilliant light, the rush of deafening noise.

All had been silent when the king entered Heimdall's observatory just moments later.

Although Heimdall could not reopen the Bifrost for him, he had been able to lend Thor his eyes. When Thor blinked, it was as though he was standing on the dais in his friend's place. Odin and the regiment of Einherjar stood before him. Thor watched as Heimdall confessed the events of the last couple of days to his king.

Odin's good eye had twitched, and a blood vessel became more prominent in his forehead as he suppressed his rage. He waved his hand behind him at the Einherjar. They bowed before turning and leaving with their orders. Odin's parting words were for them to throw the mortal girl in the dungeons, to let her waste her fleeting life away for her crimes.

Thor had felt the weight of his own exile settle over him. His mother, missing. And Darcy? Condemned to the dungeons where Odin kept his prisoners of war.

Heimdall had bowed to his king after several thwarted attempts at rectifying and providing more detailed information about the situation. When Odin had gone, Heimdall told Thor what his father hadn't bothered to listen to. Lady Darcy was held firmly in his gaze, under the care of Volstagg and Siff. And the queen had disappeared from his view by way of her own magic; he concluded she was not an immediate cause for concern.

Then Heimdall regretfully told him that he could no longer communicate with Thor so long as he was held in contempt of the crown.

Every day since then, Thor would kneel on the helipad and call for Heimdall to find Darcy and bring her home.

As the evening fell over Thor, he caught a motion out of the corner of his eye.

"Food's on," Steve's voice cut the silence.

"I will abstain," Thor said after a beat.

"Not an option."

Thor's shoulders tensed, but the man remained silent.

"Come inside, Thor, you're no use to Darcy dead on the helipad."

"I abandoned her."

"You made a difficult decision," Steve contested. "It's not the one Jane would have made, but here we have it."

"And you?" Thor looked at him then. "Would you have made that call?"

Steve crouched beside him, letting out a long breath.

"You've led armies, don't tell me you've never had to make a tough decision before," He gave his friend an incredulous look.

"This isn't battle," Thor countered. "Not war. Two mortals in my charge and I chose to save only one. A lesser man could have done more."

Steve shook his head.

"I don't know what I would've done in that situation, but I do understand why you made the call you did. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same."

"My father has ordered her arrest."

Steve's eyebrows drew together, and his lips pressed into a hard line.

"He has," He acquiesced. "And if I could get on a spaceship right now and fly up there to bring her home, I would. Just like I know you would."

Another gust of arctic wind.

"Come inside, Thor." It was not a request.

Thor stood when his captain clapped him on the shoulder.

"We'll figure something out," Steve continued, leading the older man in from the cold. "Natasha and Clint are working with Fury on possible terms for negotiation. Fury's apparently got one hell of a space mediator. He didn't elaborate..." Steve scratched his head.

Thor opened his mouth to argue that Asgard doesn't negotiate with Midgard, but Steve interrupted.

"And Tony's working on a suit that would be compatible with the ERBSimulator while Jane tries to stabilize it. Darcy is coming home. Not even the Allfather is gonna stop that from happening."


Frigga, Queen of Asgard, Blue Lady of Vanaheim, Witch of Fensalir, and Goddess of Motherhood, played many roles in her long life. She'd enacted her duties under each title in every realm under her care and prided herself equally in each of them. There was one role, however, that she had played more frequently as of late, and that was the role of angry wife to an emotionally stunted, botheration of a husband.

Upon their arrival at the gates of the castle, she ordered Siff ahead of the group to fetch a team of healers for the mortal girl. Then she quietly released Volstagg to check on his family, waving away his reluctance to leave Darcy's side. The girl would be quite safe under the care of the crown.

Darcy had dozed in and out for much of the journey. The regiment of Einherjar had kept a professional distance between themselves and their prisoner, though more than one soldier had looked down on the sleeping girl curiously, wondering just what it was that the Valley of Crystals had done to her, and how in the Hel she had survived.

A line of guards stood at attention as the group entered the inner keep. Rows and rows of enthralled spectators had gathered. Children climbed over one another to catch a glimpse of the half-dead mortal who rode Prince Loki's horse beside their Queen.

There was a rumbling throughout the people of Asgard, whispers and shouts, laughter, and gasps of alarm. Vendors were calling out the prices of their wares. And the smell of fresh-baked pastry wafted over the hungry travelers. Everyone had worn their best clothes. Frigga kept her face composed as she had done countless times before, but she couldn't fight the wave of exasperation she felt at the spectacle of her people. You would think there was a festival going, if not for the gravely injured girl they were falling all over themselves to see.

On the far end of the long walk through the kingdom, on a ceremonial platform that overlooked the whole of the City of Asgard, stood Odin with his staff gripped tight in an obstinate fist.

Now...she loved her husband.

He was a good king and the other half of her whole. He was her confidant and her equal, and occasionally he was a good father to her sons. But as she moved ahead to meet him, and she saw the hardened look in his eye, Frigga had to bite down the urge to kill him with his own staff for the betterment of her country and her people.

He opened his mouth to greet her.

She breezed past him and gestured for Sleipnir to follow. The guards stopped at their king, waiting for his order. And he looked upon them sternly, an air of pride about him despite his wife's dismissal.

He scowled at the horse that carried his prisoner up the steps of the platform, trotting past him into the castle. It was a complete disregard of decorum. Loki had too heavy an influence on the beast, Odin grumbled internally as he thought darkly of his youngest son and his assortment of tricks.

A hush fell over the crowd, as they waited for their king's address. He looked over them all, felt a heavy sense of duty settle in place before he nodded. He lifted his staff up before bringing it back down heavily to the ground – the sound it made reverberated throughout the kingdom.

"All is well," He said, and the crowd cheered. He turned his back to the festivities of the day and followed his wife, his son's horse, and the human intruder into the halls of his home.

There was a stubbornness in his chest and an aching in his temples. It had been a long couple of days, but this day was gearing up to be even longer.


The first thing she heard when she came back to herself was the trickling of water in a fountain some distance away, and the trilling of birds. Her eyes felt lazy, her skin warm and soft under the rays of light filtering through the window.

When Darcy opened her eyes, for the first time in days she felt rested. Reaching up to wipe the sleep from her face, she looked around in wonder. The room they'd left her in was amazeballs – ten out of ten – absolutely breathtaking. The ceilings vaulted high above her, carved entirely out of marble. She watched the walls like they were telling her a story through intricately detailed symbols and painted figures from ancient epics. The dark posts of the bed she laid in were tall above her and she noted they held up four sets of sheer green curtains.

The walls to her left were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves that teemed with ancient-looking leather-bound texts. There was a pair of daggers sitting on a polished dark wood desk, and a pair of freshly polished boots sitting on the ground beneath them.

To her right, Darcy noticed that the doors to a large balcony were open, and if she were able to look down over the balcony's edge, she would find herself staring down at a small courtyard with a fountain and a garden below. A light breeze flowed off the sea and into the room, filling it with fresh air.

There was a muffled shouting coming through the wall behind her and Darcy wondered vaguely where she was.

"She awakes," A deep voice rumbled gently from above her head, just out of her line of sight.

Darcy jumped slightly and turned. Sitting in a chair, in the corner of the room, with one foot kicked up casually on the side of her bed, and a leather-bound book lying open in his lap was Heimdall.

Torn between relief at seeing her oldish friend, and annoyance at the shit he let her walk into, Darcy said the first thing that popped into her mind upon seeing him.

"You could've warned me about the human eating plants, you dick."

He let out a deep belly laugh at her look of disgust and then grimaced along with the girl remembering the digestive goo that had covered her body after she'd been liberated from the plant's clutches.

"Yes," Heimdall conceded. "I suppose I should have warned you of that, in the very least."

"Speaking of which..." Darcy trailed off as she held up her hands to study them. "Is there any way to like check the damage that was done by that stuff? I'm not gonna start melting like they just carted me out of Chernobyl, or anything, am I?"

Her eyes had flitted deftly past the runic scars that littered her body as she studied for other signs of injury. She felt oddly okay. A little stiff in the back and a bit pinched around the front of her ribs. But at least while she was laying down, Darcy felt way better than death. And that was really saying something.

"There is, and the healers have run all the necessary tests," He said.

"And...?"

"And they were able to reverse the effects that the plant had on your body's accelerated decay..."

She nodded with a small bubble of relief in her chest. Lately, Darcy found herself in a constant state of realizing she was stressed out only after learning that there was one less thing to be stressed about. Constantly discovering anxiety after she was relieved of it.

"Knowing Oydis, the healer in charge of your care, she will be on her way to check in on you shortly."

The shouting in the other room had not only continued but had gotten louder. Darcy looked at Heimdall in alarm, but he appeared for all the world unbothered.

"Heimdall, don't you have to watch the Bifrost or something? You don't have to stay here with me..."

"The King has ordered the Bifrost closed until further notice, no one in or out until he wills it so."

At this, he looked remorseful but honest. He did not agree with the Allfather's decision, but he would do as was asked of him.

"Oh—" Darcy stuttered a bit trying to find the words to say. "Am I still under—"

But before Darcy could finish asking if she was under arrest, the giant pair of double doors across the room burst open and a flurry of people entered the room. There were four women in total. One of whom heaved with her a large metal contraption. Another who carried a very heavy-looking bag. The third had with her a hologram chart that Darcy could not read without her pin, which the Queen had yet to return to her. The woman in front though, Oydis, Darcy assumed, had free hands and eyes that were keenly fixed on Darcy.

"Four fractured ribs, one punctured lung – the other lung half full of river water – one herniated disc, acid erosion of the stomach lining and esophagus, one ruptured spleen, and bleeding in the liver and kidneys."

Her voice was stern and loud as the surefooted head healer came to stand at Darcy's bedside. She stared incredulously and reproachfully down at the human girl.

"And not to mention the third-degree burns caused by the crystals, that apparently—" She lifted one of the bandages on Darcy's shoulder to take a look at the scars there. "Apparently spell out some incredibly nasty words...which I can only assume the valley took from your subconscious and tried quite literally to kill you with. Never let us say that Asgard has no sense of humor. If you had not nearly died, I might laugh."

From the look on her face, Darcy seriously doubted the woman found anything funny ever. She fixed her patient with a glare, and Darcy knew that Oydis was more than a quick study. She averted her eyes under the weight of it. The younger girl cleared her throat uncomfortably. There was a beeping sound, and the metal thing came to life; four small drones lifted from their outlets and began to zoom around Darcy's body, making happy little noises as they initiated a series of scans. The results of which were projected on the larger machine they had come with.

"Luckily for you, child," Oydis said. "The Queen administered enough potion to hold you together internally until you were placed under my care. Ribs heal. Tissue heals though it may still carry the scars," She waved her hand up and down the exposed parts of Darcy's skin and continued. "The river water has been cleared of your lungs. You're quite lucky you did not drown on dry land. The hemorrhaging has stopped with no small amount of effort. And though we have quite easily stitched together your bones, you will keep them in a brace until I say otherwise. I have a feeling about you, young lady, but I would like to hear your take."

She gestured for the woman with the chart to step forward and take notes, placed her hands on her hips, and looked Darcy up and down as if she were a naughty child.

"Are you a troublesome patient? Or will you allow me to do my job?"

Darcy's eyes were wide as she stared at her team of terrifying healers. She opened and closed her mouth a couple times like a gaping fish, before clearing her throat and nodding yes. She watched Oydis open her mouth for another lecture and realized that she had not answered the question.

"Wait, wait. Yes. Yes, I will let you do your job. No trouble from me. Me? Trouble who? What?" Darcy coughed and stuttered a bit.

Heimdall cleared his throat, and Darcy looked at him only to find he was hiding a smirk behind the book he had been pretending to read.

"Heimdall, seer of all, do not think that I cannot see your smirk you great fool," Oydis scowled at him. Darcy was surprised and amused to see the great man looking properly chastised for once.

"Why in the Hel you would let this mortal go off on her own in this savage place is beyond me—" Oydis cut off her own rant with a series of grumbles that she kept under her breath before the girl with the bag came forward then and approached Darcy with a vial of liquid silver potion.

"It is medicine, Lady Darcy," The girl said softly with a kind smile. "To balance the acid in your stomach and bolster your stomach lining. Quite flavorless, this one, I promise you."

Darcy took the drink gratefully, having felt the burning begin in her gut once again. She caught Oydis's satisfied nod over the younger healer's head, laughing internally as the older woman straightened her shoulders and allowed herself to relax into her job. Content that the lectures had finished for the time being.

The group of healers finished up their tests, administered a series of medicines. Oydis tucked the blankets tightly around Darcy, effectively swaddling her for a mid-afternoon nap. After which, she straightened her spine, clenched her jaw, and set her shoulders, marching to the small side door attached Darcy's room to the room with the fighting couple.

The head healer brought a great fist down on the door and steeled herself as it was thrown open and she was faced with the imposing figure of her king.

"Oydis, this is a private matter. I am not to be disturbed."

"His Majesty has an entire kingdom at his disposal," Oydis said evenly. "Perhaps my king could take his displeasure someplace where I am not trying to heal an anomalous mortal back from death's door."

Odin fumbled for a moment before a hand came to rest on his arm, moving him slightly out of the way. The Queen looked at Oydis regretfully.

"Our apologies, we will take your counsel into consideration."

The healer bowed and made her leave. The younger healers quickly scurried out the doors as well.

"Welp, I would bow or curtsey or something but..." Darcy nodded her head down at the straitjacket of blankets the healers left her wrapped up in. "I've been burritoed."

Odin fixed her with a long-suffering look before striding out the door. Frigga looked down at the girl with a sad smile, before gesturing to Heimdall.

"My queen," He acknowledged with a bowed head.

"I trust you will be ready?" She asked him.

"As the crown wills it, I am yours to command," He said. She studied him astutely for a second before catching herself and shooting Darcy a forced smile.

"You are not to leave her unattended," She said before turning and following her husband out the door.


Darcy had napped off the events of the afternoon, waking again in the twilight hours. Heimdall was speaking quietly to someone on the balcony, but the doors were cracked, and Darcy could not see who.

"There were other ways, other paths..." The voice murmured.

Heimdall interrupted.

"It was her path to choose," He said.

"How could she choose? In ignorance, she—"

"The Norns had spoken. Both myself and our queen had read the omens. They called on the girl to walk the path—"

"Path to what, Heimdall?" The voice was louder now, impatient. "What could possibly have come from this, but shame? But pain? I do not know how she survived, but I will carry the weight of her suffering with me still. Forever. It was my duty to—"

"We cannot know what the Norns have in store for Darcy Lewis. It was your duty to walk with her through the challenges that laid ahead of her, but the choice was never yours to make. Lady Siff, your interference would have upset the order of the universe. Surely you can see—"

Darcy's eyes had widened at the revelation. She listened, her breath loud in her ears, for what the pair would say next. Despite being the subject of the conversation, she knew it would end if they learned she could hear them.

"Aye," Siff reluctantly conceded his point. "But you should have seen her, Heimdall...She was..."

"I did see," He said simply. Darcy could see him reach a hand across, and she imagined it was resting comfortingly on Siff's shoulder. "I would never have wished it on her. I take little peace in the notion that it was I who sent her on a journey that almost ended in the most gruesome of deaths imaginable. But I would do it again because I must believe there is more to come. The Norns work in mysterious ways, and I have a feeling that things have only just begun for the girl."

They fell silent after that and Darcy mulled over what she had heard. What could fate possibly have in store for her? The whole thing sounded absurd, and since all this started, she had half a mind to brush Heimdall off. Tell him he was looney tunes. But there was a small part of her that maybe wondered if there was something there. Maybe it was hubris. Some deep desire to be important to the universe in some way.

Pop's voice in her head told her that every living being was important to the universe. If that weren't the case, there would have been no reason for some things to exist at all. Why create the irrelevant? Darcy agreed with him logically, but that did nothing to combat the growing feelings of insignificance she had developed in the shadow of her adopted family. There was no resentment or blame in her heart for them. She loved Jane for her genius. Loved Thor for his humor and his shockingly genuine kindness. And though his abandonment hurt, and she feared what would happen between now and the next time she saw him, she didn't blame Thor. Not really. She could go down the list of all the people she loved and tell you exactly why she loved them and why they were important.

Only now, after the events in the valley, could Darcy see that the only person she couldn't do that for was herself. She had been able to once, to see and love herself clearly, but that was before. The world had gotten smaller somehow. And someone had filled it with giants. And Darcy, caught in the rubble of other people's battles, coped by making herself smaller and smaller until one day she feared she would disappear beneath it all completely.


After days of on and off fighting, the Queen checked the King. She watched as he realized his own defeat and dropped, heavy, onto his golden throne.

Odin released a long-suffering breath.

"Will I have to battle your army, as well?" She asked him primly, though she knew his answer.

"My army is yours, my wife. And I command them at your will...equal to my own."

She smiled internally at the victory though a tired part of her acknowledged it was hard-won.

"I would ask you to show the girl a parting kindness," She continued. "She is the only mortal in living memory to survive such an ordeal—" She cut herself off and raised an eyebrow at him when she saw his good eye roll upward in annoyance. At her look, Odin straightened and nodded placatingly.

"Oydis has declared her fit for travel by way of Bifrost."

Odin's head snapped up.

"When?" He hissed.

Frigga smiled but remained silent.

"If she has been well enough to travel by way of Bifrost, she has been well enough to serve her sentence in the dungeons!" His face, hot with renewed anger, became a bright shade of red. The energy of magic radiating from Frigga calmed him very quickly though and he inhaled and exhaled his rage right back out of his body for fear he would be on the receiving end of more of her words.

She gave a terse nod at him before continuing.

"As my husband has pardoned the child, there will be no more talk of dungeons or those ridiculous crimes you sought to charge her with."

Odin grumbled.

"And as my son, your heir, Thor, had not been expressly forbidden from escorting Lady Jane Foster home to Midgard, he has not been found in contempt of the crown. The declaration of treason against him will be lifted, will it not?"

"It is as you say, my wife."

"Good."


Darcy's last day on Asgard saw her wrapped up in Brunhilde's strong, teary embrace. Volstagg behind her wasn't much better. Darcy thanked the blubbering couple profusely for their kindness and generosity and squeezed Volstagg as hard as her healing arms could squeeze him, keenly aware that he was the one who had carried her body to safety when she had been so close to death's door.

With her skin the way it was, she had turned down their offer of a final meal with them and their children. She still didn't want Eira to see her in her current state, knowing that the girl could read. Darcy still wasn't sure what she would see there in the runes.

Siff came to collect her for the queen. The older woman had been less than chatty since the day they entered the valley. At first, Darcy hadn't known what to make of it, but now, having overheard the conversation between the older woman and Heimdall, Darcy knew that her friend just needed time. It was hard, she supposed, for someone as powerful as Siff to be forced to sit, impotent, and wait for an outcome she could not control as she had done on their journey.

As they made their way down the castle steps onto a platform that overlooked the city, Darcy was hit by a wave of warm light that washed its way over her skin. The wind that whipped off the sea caressed her face as it passed her by. If you overlooked the acid-spitting squirrels and giant death bees, Darcy could see how this place would be good for her mind. She had felt lighter since they'd gotten back from the journey, and she couldn't put her finger exactly on what caused that feeling to resonate with her so much now after all the shit she had been through at the hands of a whole damn planet.

Sleipnir was saddled and waiting for her. Next to him was a beautiful white mare, with a long natural mane and tail, and no saddle. Beside the mare was Queen Frigga in a beautiful though practical looking gown.

They stopped when they reached her. Darcy fidgeted as silence fell among the three women. Siff and Frigga seemed perfectly content to say nothing, and Darcy could swear they were making fun of her as her eyes began to flit awkwardly around. She bounced a few times on the balls of her feet, ignoring the strain in her back and the tug in her belly. She had an abundance of nervous energy after spending so much time in bed with only Oydis to keep her company.

"So," Darcy coughed. "That's—that's a cool dress."

Darcy, who had changed back into her Midgardian clothes, gestured awkwardly at Frigga before shoving her hands back into her pockets.

Frigga's eyes were alight with amusement at the mortal girl. Siff showed her blessed mercy.

"It's a personal favorite of mine as well," she agreed. Her voice was light and tinged a bit with envy.

"Thank you. It's my favorite too," the queen said before shoving her hands into the fabric and holding it out in front of her a bit to get their attention. "It has pockets."

Siff gasped and leaned forward to get a closer look at the layers of fabric. "It does?!" She asked before demanding to know who had made it.

Darcy blinked at the scene they made before shaking her head.

The sound of a staff clicking across the pavement called Darcy away from her musings to Odin as he made his way to the group of women. He halted beside his wife. His face, stern.

Siff bowed to her king, and Darcy flailed a bit before dropping quickly into a hybrid curtsy-bow that had Siff stifling a smirk.

Odin let out a long sigh as he looked down on the human. Darcy saw Frigga discreetly reach under his sleeve and pinch the skin on his wrist.

"Darcy Lewis, you are hereby pardoned for your crimes. Leave here and seek freedom in the mortal realm. Fate will not look kindly upon your actions again," He said and pulled his lips up in an unnatural looking smile.

The queen's face was carefully blank, but Darcy imagined that internally the older woman was burying her face in her hands and screaming. How this man maintained a kingdom and ruled over nine realms with this level of emotional constipation, Darcy did not know.

She grimaced but thanked him nonetheless.

"Did you not mention to me that you wished to speak a parting kindness to our guest?" Frigga asked him with a smile full of teeth.

He coughed.

"Yes, I believe I included a bit about seeking freedom among the mortals..." He looked at his wife defiantly.

She stared hard at him for a moment, before setting her jaw and turning to face Darcy. If Odin was smart, he'd know to be nervous at the look he'd just received. Darcy just shrugged, desperate for the exchange to end.

"Okie Dokie," She said, clapping her hands. "Thanks, Your Majesty...for those kind words. But umm we have a prior engagement...of sorts..."

She widened her eyes at the Queen and jerked her head awkwardly at the horses.

"Yes, Darcy is correct," Frigga took her not-so-subtle hint and turned to her husband. "We must meet Heimdall."

The queen bid Odin a brief farewell and smiled at Siff before mounting her horse. Odin watched with thinning patience as Darcy and Siff squeezed the life out of each other.

King and warrior stood tall on the platform as the two women departed, making their way to the gates of the city and the rainbow bridge beyond.

Odin turned to Siff.

"Are you not meant to be on the Nornheim patrol this afternoon?"

Siff pulled herself to attention.

"Yes, Your Majesty," She said, turning to face him. "I was to join them after seeing to Lady Darcy's departure."

"And has she not departed?" He raised an eyebrow at Siff.

"Yes, sir." She bowed and walked briskly away to join her unit.

Odin felt incredibly old. He watched as his wife and the human fell away from view. Then he returned to the throne.


They dismounted at the entrance to Heimdall's observatory. But before they entered, Frigga pulled her aside. Taking a bronze cuff off her wrist, she clasped it gently around Darcy's own.

"It is a simple charm – a shield of sorts," Frigga said quietly. "The scars on your body have yet to heal, and I fear the scars in your mind are even deeper, dear girl. I encourage you to reveal yourself to the world as you are, without shame, but I understand that such things can take time. So long as this cuff is on your wrist, the world will only see your body as it was before."

Darcy looked down and could no longer see the runes on her skin. She looked normal. She itched, though, head to toe from all the healing, and her insides still ached something fierce. She felt in her soul that she could sleep for days, but still never enough to feel rested.

Frigga pulled the confiscated pin out of her hair and folded it in Darcy's hands.

"This pin is yours, Darcy. Wear it wisely. I do hope that you will wait to do so until you have secured a mind healer as Oydis discussed with you..." Frigga's voice was gentle but there was a stern edge to it.

Frigga was so familiar in that moment; Darcy's own mother came to mind. A deep ache blossomed in her chest. Darcy wanted to go home.

Sliding the pin into the front pocket of her jeans, she made sure it was secured tightly to the denim. When Darcy made to thank her, Frigga waved it off.

"Save your thanks. It is a privilege to know you and call you friend."

The younger girl's lip wobbled. Frigga took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the entrance, leading her inside.

When they entered, a great booming voice called out from the dais.

"Darcy Lewis." Heimdall's voice was loud and the ground vibrated a bit beneath her feet. His eyes were bright and impossible to look at for most. But she held his gaze. His smile was one of triumph. "Girl Wonder."


Darcy Lewis broke the sound barrier when she landed back on earth. She shook the foundation of Avenger's tower with the force of her arrival. And though she was injured, and tired and human still, she landed on both feet.

Behind her was Frigga. And before her, kneeling on the ground, was Thor.

He looked up in disbelief at the rush of deafening noise. The flash of brilliant light. Disbelief turned to awe as Darcy and his mother appeared before him. The three of them, frozen in the silence the Bifrost had left in its wake, stared at each other. The atmosphere shifted, recalibrated, and then it began to rain.

With one hand wrapped tightly around the bronze cuff on her wrist, Darcy couldn't help but feel exposed. At any moment, she worried, Frigga's magic would fail and the whole world would see the nasty words that had been burned into her skin. But the magic didn't fail. It wouldn't. Darcy set her shoulders and grounded herself in that knowledge. Unwilling to lose herself to doubt now, not after everything else.

Sound once again returned to the world. Wind whistled. Cars honked. Sirens blared. And thousands of pedestrian voices carried themselves up the tower from the street.

Thor stood.

Frigga rested a strong hand on Darcy's shoulder.

Past the thick paned glass that lined the tower, past the common room, and down the stairs, Darcy could practically hear the giants scrambling to meet her. Memories of the valley still fresh in her mind, she still felt incredibly small.

She blinked and then suddenly found herself wrapped in a strong embrace. One arm holding Darcy tightly to him, Thor reached out to wrap the other around Frigga. Darcy looked away when he buried his face in his mother's shoulder and cried.

A crowd had gathered just as Darcy imagined it would. But she chose not to look too closely at who all were there. A nervous pit had burrowed into her stomach and she winced at the burning memory of acid there. Darcy wasn't sure if she was ready for whatever came next, but she'd start with that moment. That day. And then she'd get through the next day too. And then the day after that.

For now, at least, Darcy was content to be home.