Sigr Edda

by fina5

In Norse Mythology, the goddess Sigyn is the wife of Loki. In the MCU, she is a peasant that inadvertently gains the attention of the God of Mischief. As she falls for him over the course of a few decades, she will be forced to choose between her loyalty to Asgard and her devotion to the Allfather's traitor son. Events span from before the first Thor movie to past Endgame.

21. Avenger

Longest chapter yet (and maybe my new favorite)!

Please read, comment, and enjoy!

---

Avenger

In the spring, Sigyn, Jane, and Darcy move to the United States. After the Convergence had concluded, Jane's work in London had dried up, the gaps leading into other realms having dissipated. Darcy had insisted on New York City for their new home as her university had been there, and her final semester had required her physical presence.

With her new lottery winnings, Sigyn buys them a plush, twenty-eight-million-dollar condominium across the street from Central Park in which to live, much to Jane's repeated protests. She offers the last of them to Sigyn during the final showing of the condo, having carefully positioned them out of the real estate agent's range of hearing. Quietly, she hisses, "The monthly HOA fee is five-thousand dollars alone. That's more than most people's rent."

The two of them are standing beside a long, rectangular dining table that is big enough to comfortably seat twelve people. It is situated in the corner of the expansive room that encompasses the kitchen, living room, and dining area. Picking at a tablecloth that looks as though it is made of silk, Sigyn comments, "I have but a few years left. Why not spend all my money whilst I can?"

"Because it's not fiscally responsible," Jane tells her.

Despite the note of disapproval in her voice, Sigyn catches her looking at the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that span the outside of the building. Coming to stand directly beside her, Sigyn takes in the view, as well. From this vantage point, they can see half of the city, and there are a number of spots that she recognizes from the Battle of New York. She gazes upon Stark Tower with a certain wistfulness.

Sigyn sighs. "Honestly, Jane, you are such a damp towel sometimes."

"What," Jane asks, turning to her.

Darcy is on the other side of the room with the agent, Clara, who is showing her how the automatic drawers in the kitchen work. Nevertheless, she had managed to hear them. She shouts, "She means wet blanket!"

Clara takes the opportunity to jump in on their conversation. "Miss Jalal?" Sigyn nods at her, and she goes on. "The current owners are also offering all of the furniture and artwork for an additional quarter million, save for a few pieces, which I have detailed here." She holds up the clipboard that seems to be a permanent accessory to her person.

Sigyn looks around again, taking in the space. The floor consists of white, marble tiles, and matching pillars support the ceiling. The walls have intricately carved moldings and sport a variety of colorful art pieces and elegant fixtures. The furniture ties everything in—from the nine-piece, fur-lined living room set to the four-poster beds in each of the four bedrooms. These things aren't exactly to her taste, but surely, she can stand them for a few years. "Why not," she says. Jane quietly grumbles from beside her.

Several months later, the three of them have settled in nicely. Sigyn takes the room on the far side of the unit, it being the largest of the four bedrooms. She decorates it as best she can with the memorabilia she took from Asgard, heirlooms and trinkets strewn across every surface. To her great surprise, she unearths from her void the fae music box Loki had gifted her. After years without its music tinkling in the background, she had forgotten she still had it. Having been reunited with it, she uses it to lull herself to sleep every night.

Jane and Darcy take the next two biggest rooms, leaving the smallest one—which Sigyn begrudgingly notices is still bigger than her bedroom on Asgard had been—as the guest room, which Erik occupies whenever he is in town. Half of their living area is cluttered with scientific equipment, Jane having made it into her office. She has made it so that every time Thor uses the Bifröst, one of the screens lights up with readings of the energy surge. Sigyn has come to dread the pinging noise that accompanies it.

On Darcy's insistence, the other half of the living room houses an enormous flat-screen television, in front of which she and Jane currently sit. As she comes into the room, Sigyn notices a film playing on it and comes to sit beside Darcy on the sectional. "Which of the Star Wars movies is this? Is it one of the ones with the Princess Leia or the woman who looks like Jane?" She marvels at how realistic this one looks. The ships falling out of the sky could be real for all she can tell.

Jane speaks out of the corner of her mouth. "For the millionth time, I do not look like Natalie Portman."

"You could be twins, but I digress," replies Sigyn.

Darcy tells her, "This isn't Star Wars. It's the news."

Straightening, Sigyn feels her heart jump in her chest. "You mean to say this is actually happening?"

By way of response, Jane turns up the volume. A news anchor's voice tells them: "—three S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarriers opened fire on one another. As we've already witnessed, two of the aircrafts have crashed into the Potomac, and the third is colliding with S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters. It remains unclear what prompted this apparent mutiny—"

Sigyn speaks over the noise from the television. "How did this start?"

"I don't know," Jane says. "We turned on the TV, and this was already on, but there was someone flying around earlier."

"Tony," Sigyn ponders.

Jane shakes her head. "Someone else. This guy had some sort of mechanical wings, it looked like."

Darcy raises her hand, gesturing at the screen. "Aren't you gonna go," she asks Sigyn.

"Go," Sigyn asks, surprised by the question. She speculates as to whether she is expected to wade into every conflict that crops up on this planet.

Jane answers for her. "She couldn't possibly make it in time. This is in D.C., and the fight is basically over."

Silently, Sigyn wonders to herself if what Jane says is true. She could always turn into a wound-grouse, she figures. Those creatures are incredibly fast. She imagines she could span the entire planet in two hours as one.

Still, even if it is theoretically possible, she is not sure she should go. Being in hiding, as frustrating as it is, provides her with not insignificant benefits. Paramount among them is that Thanos does not know where to come looking for her. Were she to show up on international news, it is impossible to know whether he has agents on Earth who could relay such information to him. There are various reasons that she would rather delay him finding her. For one, she does not want to die, and for another, she does not want him to lay waste to the Earth.

She will have to stay in hiding, she decides, no matter how much the world may need her.

Thankfully, she discovers other things that require her attention. For instance, there is Darcy, who seems to be gripped with indecision over all of the big choices in her life. For small things, she always seems to have a handle on everything, confidently going about her business where other people might stumble. With applying to college for the second time, however, she runs into trouble.

Sigyn comes upon her sitting at the counter of the kitchen island, staring at the screen of her laptop. It displays a digital form that Sigyn recognizes from the weeks Darcy has spent filling it out. Redundantly, she inquires, "What is that?"

Eyes not leaving the screen, Darcy mutters, "My application for NYU. I just finished it."

Sigyn walks around her and the island, heading to the refrigerator. She takes out a bottle of iced tea. "Aren't you going to submit it?"

Darcy rubs at her eyes. "I am, but—"

"But," Sigyn prompts.

Sighing, Darcy expounds, "I already have twenty-thousand out in loans from my first degree. I can't afford two more degrees."

Recognizing the grouse as going along with her complaints regarding student debt, Sigyn tilts her head to the side, curious. "How much would it cost?"

"I don't know," Darcy answers, finally looking up from her computer to grace Sigyn with her full attention. "Depending on where I go for my doctorate, it could easily be hundreds of thousands of dollars."

Eyes narrowed, Sigyn appraises her for several long seconds. Darcy stares right back at her, suspicion shining in her eyes. After a moment's more consideration, Sigyn pulls her checkbook out of thin air.

"What're you doing," Darcy asks, though it must be obvious as Sigyn scribbles along a bank draft.

Sigyn slaps the check down in front of her. "Now, you needn't worry."

Gaping, Darcy picks it up. Eyes darting between the check and Sigyn, she exclaims, "Dude, I cannot take a million dollars from you."

"Whyever not," asks Sigyn. Insouciant, she takes a sip of tea.

"'Cause it's a million dollars," shouts Darcy.

Sigyn waves an errant hand, dismissing her. "I have about sixty of those left, so I hardly think this gift is going to break the bank."

Darcy puts the check back down. She crosses her arms. "Well, you can't make me take it."

Shrugging, Sigyn easily counters her. "I could transform myself into you and take it down to the bank myself." Darcy gapes at her again, and Sigyn takes the chance to wind her arm around the computer screen and tap the "Enter" button.

"Hey," Darcy yells, her hands flying to the keyboard. By the look on her face, Sigyn can tell that the application has been successfully submitted.

Satisfied with a job well done, she saunters away. "You're welcome."

"You're overbearing," Darcy shouts after her, though after a moment, she quietly grumbles, "But yeah, thanks."

Thor is another such person who could benefit from some friendly strong-arming. Unfortunately for him, Sigyn is in no mood to provide such assistance the next time he visits.

It has been a full year since Loki had died. Sigyn has been in a bad mood all week, trudging around the apartment and refusing to go out. On the precise anniversary of Loki's death, two days after her mother's, Thor decides to visit, and her mood takes a swift dive through the floor.

He has been moping on the sofa with Jane all day, making Sigyn feel all the worse. With all the effort it takes to get out of bed, she is angry that she has to expel any more walking around as Sarah Newman. It especially sets her teeth on edge when after snapping at him to get his feet off the coffee table, he asks her what she has to be so upset about.

After an hour of attempting to recuperate in her room, she fails to dispense with her fury and returns to the living room with a vengeance. She leans over the back of the sofa, her fiery red hair spilling over her shoulders. "You know what you should do," she asks Thor, who looks up to regard her. "Get a tattoo."

Jane and Thor peer up at her with nearly identical perplexed expressions. "What," they ask in unison.

Darcy swoops in from where she had been checking the readings on some of Jane's equipment. She perches herself on the arm of the sofa. "Ooh, yeah."

Sigyn gives a nonchalant shrug, idly remarking, "It would be a nice way to commemorate your brother."

As predicted, his interest is piqued. "Really?"

"Yeah, uh-huh, people get memorial tattoos in lots of cultures on Earth," Darcy tells him.

Jane glares at her. "Which cultures?"

Thor ignores her, his inquisitive gaze still on Sigyn. "What would the tattoo be?"

"It could be anything you like," she answers. "His likeness, a favored token of his—"

Darcy suggests, "You could keep it simple. Just put his name and 'R.I.P.'"

"'R.I.P.,'" he questions.

"Rest in peace," she clarifies.

At this, he gets up from the sofa, tossing away the blanket he'd had draped across his shoulders. "I like that." He heads off in search of his shoes, leaving Sigyn and Darcy to crack up in his wake.

Jane is quick to scold them. She gets up, too, stepping around the sofa and placing herself under Sigyn's nose. "This isn't funny."

Suppressing her laughter, Sigyn returns, "Oh, come now. It is a little funny."

Crossing her arms, Jane asks her, "How would you like it if he were tricking you into getting a tattoo?"

Sigyn holds up a finger. "For one, I do not get tricked. I do the tricking." Another finger joins the first. "For another, this is hardly a trick. I am suggesting that he get a tattoo to memorialize his brother, and that is exactly what he is doing."

Thor returns from the hall, announcing that he is ready to go. Sigyn schools her features as best she can when she turns around to face him.

When asked if she wants to join them, Jane shakes her head reprovingly. "No, I think I'll stay here."

Sigyn and Darcy boo, eliciting another glare from her. Oblivious and far more chipper than he was just a few minutes ago, Thor blithely tells her he will see her when they get back.

They walk to the closest tattoo parlor that Darcy can locate on her phone. On the way there, they only get stopped by three different people asking for a selfie with Thor, which is a record low. Once at the parlor, they wait for an artist for thirty minutes, during which time Thor picks out a font he likes.

It takes roughly an hour for the artist to inscribe the tattoo on his skin. The woman uses stencils of the letters to mark on his skin where the tattoo will go. Next, she draws careful lines down the inside of his right forearm, first writing Loki's name, and then adding "R.I.P." under it. Thor beams throughout the entire experience, and despite her intentions, Sigyn finds her reciprocal grin to be more joyous than it is mischievous.

---

There comes a time when Sigyn can no longer bury her head in the sand and ignore the world's problems. For all that she wants to keep her survival a secret, she finds herself forced to act when her old friend Tony Stark creates an intelligent robot whose dream it is to destroy the planet.

After several days of worrying despite any effort she puts into going along as though the Avengers can certainly solve the problem on their own, Sigyn is drawn back into her fretting as Darcy runs into her room. Without so much as a word, Darcy drags her out to the living room.

"What's wrong," she asks. "Has the situation with the Ultron worsened? Has he gotten access to a nuclear weapon?"

"Worse," Darcy ominously answers, pointing to the television.

The two of them watch in horror as a city rises through the sky. There seem to be gigantic thrusters on its bottom propelling it upward, and they burn a horribly bright blue, one akin to that of stars blinking out of existence. Bits and pieces fall off the edges of the city, and though they look small from the camera's vantage point, they must be entire buildings, if not neighborhoods.

"He's tryna wipe out humans the same way a meteorite wiped out the dinosaurs. Sokovia's only been rising for, like, ten minutes, but if he drops it now, it would take out billions," Darcy explains. She turns back to the screen, anxiously gnawing at her lip. "He wants it to go all the way."

And kill everyone, Sigyn surmises. "How much longer would he need for that?"

Darcy shrugs haplessly. "Five minutes? Maybe another ten?" She turns to Sigyn, a desperate, imploring expression on her face. "You have to go help."

"I can't," she replies, shaking her head. She gestures to the screen as footage of Steve punting away robots plays. "I am certain that the Avengers can handle this on their own—"

As the television shows them Steve throwing his shield at a robot and tearing it in half, Darcy points at it, bursting, "That clip has been playing on repeat for the past five minutes because the city lost connection! Who knows what the situation is like now?"

This time, Sigyn hesitates before issuing her denial. The situation does seem dire, and if the Avengers do not have the upper hand, the Earth could indeed be in grave danger. Wringing her hands, she states, "I cannot reveal myself. May I remind you, part of the reason I am in hiding on Earth is to prevent Thanos from returning!"

Her voice growing shrill with panic, Darcy shouts, "It won't matter if Thanos comes back if Ultron blows everything up!"

That, Sigyn cannot deny. There is no point in staying in hiding to protect the Earth if its people are decimated. Moreover, if everyone on Earth is dead, herself possibly included, it may tear at the prophecy itself. She cannot be killed by the Ultron if Thanos is to have her head. Perhaps, she must go to Sokovia, if only to fulfill the dreadful prognostication.

She relents. "Even so, I could not possibly get there in time! There is no animal I could change into that could fly fast enough, and I do not believe Earth has vessels swift enough either. It is not as though I have access to the Bifröst—" She draws up short, sucking in a breath.

It is Darcy's turn to grow wary. "Hold on."

"It is the only way," she responds, already marching toward the balcony to make her departure.

Darcy follows after her. "But Odin—If you're right, and he really wouldn't be so forgiving if he found out you're still alive—"

She opens the sliding glass door. "A risk I'll have to take, I'm afraid."

As they step outside, the wind strikes them, blowing their hair about their faces. Taking a moment to compose herself, she shortens the blue day dress she's wearing to her knees and summons to her form a breastplate, gauntlets, and grieves. She gives herself a cape for good measure.

She takes a deep breath before gripping the balcony's ledge and looking back at Darcy. "Here goes nothing," she says, forcing some cheer into her voice, and jumps.

After a quick descent, she lands heavy on her feet in the middle of Central Park West. Cars swerve to avoid her, and pedestrians whip out their phones on the sidewalks. She ignores all of the bustle, looking skyward and dropping the shield she has had on her mind for the last year and a half.

"Lord Heimdall," she starts, her voice cracking awkwardly. "I know I've deceived you, and thus do not deserve your help, but this is not for me. It is for the Prince Thor and the people of Earth, so please—"

Without its usual flourish of darkening the skies, the Bifröst slams into her, stealing her breath as it steals her from the planet's surface. Caught up in the bridge, she soars upward, trying to get to her destination as quickly as possible.

She arrives in what she is sure is record time, stepping out onto the Rainbow Bridge after less than a minute. She is greeting by Heimdall alone. He stands on the center platform with his hands on the hilt of his sword, which is still locked into the Bifröst's mechanism. Staring her down, he greets her with just her name.

"Lord Heimdall," she returns, giving him a nervous smile. She knows she hasn't much time to waste, but she feels as though she cannot be too curt. "I do hope you are not too conflicted in aiding me."

"Should I be," he asks, his deep voice rumbling out of his chest. "The king has forgiven your treason, so I have no duties where you are concerned."

"Alright then," she replies, a relieved breath shuddering out of her. From all that Thor had shared with Jane, she had known that Odin had posthumously granted her clemency, but that is all well and good to hear indirectly. "I need to meet the Prince Thor in a Terran city called Sokovia."

Heimdall nods to the specter of the city behind him. "Do you not want to take a moment?"

She does, though she doesn't answer as much. "Why bask in the days past when they are passed?"

"Are they," he returns cryptically.

Somewhat unsettled, she leaves the matter. "I believe the Ultron requires my attention."

"So he does," he agrees, setting his shoulders as he prepares to turn his sword for her once more. "If you are ready?"

Despite herself, she steals a second to look out at the expanse of the Rainbow Bridge, the sea on either side of it, and the city beyond it. She knows she cannot see her old home from here, but she gazes in its direction anyhow.

She takes a final, deep breath. The air is clearer here, she thinks. "I am ready."

Heimdall turns his sword in the dais, and the Bifröst sucks her up again. She's pulled backward, flying to Earth again at top speed. She braces herself before her journey ends, expecting a rough landing.

The bridge touches down in the middle of a dilapidated square, dust and rubble as far as the eye can see. Before her is amassed an army of robots, the same as those she had seen on television. Their leader looms over her, his hulking figure and glowing, red eyes adding to his intimidating effect.

She senses behind her the other Avengers, along with a few others, and she hears their murmurs of surprise. Too nervous to turn around and face her old teammates, she leaves her attention with the Ultron.

A disturbing, mechanical laugh crackles out of him. "The Goddess of Victory. And here I thought you weren't going to join the party."

Feeling impish, she shrugs a shoulder. "You never sent me my invitation."

"To be honest, I was hoping you'd skip this shindig," he discloses, calling her, "the Avenger who only ever killed one man." Her mouth settles into a frown as she recognizes the narrative the Ultron has been broadcasting all over the world for days: that since the Avengers are killers, as well as humankind at large, they deserve to be killed themselves.

He plays a recording of a statement that she recognizes as one she had said to Jane well over a year ago. Her voice echoes throughout the square, "I've never done something like that before, killing Malekith as I did, but I was so overcome with anger and a need for vengeance. I don't regret it."

Despite what the recording appears to convey, her feelings are much more mixed on the matter of her murder of Malekith. True though it may be that she does not regret it, it is not something she ever wants to do again. Nonetheless, she doesn't let her indecision show. She surmises, "You've been spying on me?"

"That was a recording I got from the Kremlin. They've been keeping tabs on you, along with a dozen other intelligence organizations," he informs her.

Humming, she replies, "As riveting as that is, I am sorry to say your intelligence is sorely lacking. I've killed not one man, but four. One Asgardian, three Dark Elves, and I'd be pleased to add whatever you are to that tally."

Ultron lets out another hollow laugh, and she can tell she has irked him. "I am no man."

She hums again, this time as though she does not believe him. "No? Your narcissism and destructive nature say otherwise."

Properly enraged, Ultron shoots a beam of energy at her from his hands. Happily, it does little to faze her, but only because she hasn't been standing in the spot in which she had appeared for the last ten seconds. Rather, she had retreated to the bombed-out sanctuary in which the other Avengers have gathered. She allows herself to be seen there now, standing beside Thor, who she spares a sheepish, probing glance. His reciprocal glare is harsh and full of ire.

From her other side, she hears Tony mutter, "We are so discussing this later."

Ultron gives a signal to the smaller robots, all of which start pouring towards them, some of them running, some of them crawling, all of them with the apparent intent to get to the dais at the center of the sanctuary.

Sigyn does her best to keep them from it like everyone else. She carves out their cores, blasts them back with shots of mystical energy, and slices off their heads with extreme prejudice. One happens to get over her head, but it is quickly overcome by a shroud of red magic emanating from a young witch she doesn't recognize, and it crumbles midair before dropping to the ground in a useless heap.

Ultron gets roped into the fight eventually, Tony, Thor, and a red man with a golden cape each blasting him with different sorts of energy. Slowly but surely, they melt him down until he relents.

He stands up, groaning, which is odd for a metal thing, she thinks. Almost shrugging, he starts, "You know, with the benefit of hindsight—" He never gets to finish, the Hulk punching him into the sky. When the Hulk turns to the other robots, growling at them, they turn and run away.

Thor calls attention to them. "They're trying to leave the city."

"We can't let 'em. Not even one," Tony says, expelling an anxious breath. "Rhodey," he calls, speaking to the Colonel James Rhodes, who she recognizes from the news. The War Machine takes this as his cue to pursue them.

When the red man heads after the robots, as well, Sigyn decides to follow suit. Turning into a dragon smaller than the wyvern she had been during the Battle of New York, she starts tearing them out of the sky alongside the two men. Some of them, she melts with her breath, and others, she bites clean through.

After a few minutes, the three of them run out of fugitive robots to hunt down, so she opts to head down and lend a hand in getting people off the floating rock. There are various small ships levitating beside the city evacuating people, and she helps as many as she can onto them. There are only a few who are shocked to see her, most too distracted to notice that a dead woman is helping them.

An old man is the last in line to board the ship at which she has stationed herself. After lifting him onto it, she makes her way over to Thor. Aware though she is that he is less than enthused to see her, she tries to engage him anyway. "Your Highness—"

He ignores her. Speaking to Steve, he inquires, "Is this the last of them?"

Steve is polite enough to nod at her. "Yeah, everyone else is on the carrier."

A silent moment passes, after which Thor seems to address no one. "Maybe not."

It must have been someone speaking in his ear, she thinks, wondering, "Who was that?"

Finally, Thor gives her his attention, though she just as soon wishes he had not. "Shut up."

"Thor, come on," Steve meddles. This prompts Thor to move his glare from her to Steve, and he steps away from them both.

Before he can get too far, however, a small ship overhead starts firing on them. They all three hit the ground as blasts reverberate around them, the spray of bullets missing them by a hair.

Looking down the path of fire, Sigyn sees Clint holding a child and bracing himself for the worst. She reaches up her arm to hold the ship back, weighing it down by the front of its underbelly. There's a blur where Clint had been standing, and after it passes, the shots come just short of hitting a young man with silver hair. Rather, they hit the ground at his feet, but leave him unscathed.

Ultron, who is surely the one flying the ship, must get frustrated, and he reverses the thrusters, turning away. As he does, Sigyn lets her grip on the plane go, and it flies off.

She gets up, calling out, "Are you alright?"

Practically unphased, Clint tucks his chin down in an affirmative nod. "We're good." He hefts the child a little higher and starts off in a jog toward the evacuation ships. The young man doesn't move, staring at her as though struck dumb.

Turning to Steve, as Thor has already wandered off, she says, "I'm going down below to see if there is anyone in the blast zone who need be evacuated." He nods, and she's off.

Soaring down to the land below, she reaches out through the astral plane and quickly surmises that there are no people close to the city. Gradually, she moves a few miles out, closer to the surrounding mountains. She comes upon a town torn up as though there had been an earthquake and finds a man trying to climb up a hillside.

"Hey," she calls out, dropping down behind the man. "You need to clear out. The city is going to blow soon."

"That's exactly why I need to get up there," he replies, still trying to pry himself up a cascade of fallen, unstable rocks. He nods his head toward a grand house standing out on the cliffside. "My family is inside."

With her hand on his shoulder, she pries him off the rock wall. "I'll go for you." She launches herself up the cliffside, landing inside the cracked-open foyer of the house. Before the battle with Ultron had commenced, she imagines it had been a great house, perhaps one belonging to a lord of some sort. Now, the sweeping archways and second-floor balconies have crumbled into unremarkable rubble, littering the halls and causing her to trip every five seconds.

Walking around, she hails, "Hello? Is anybody still here?" No response comes, but she supposes it had been drowned out by the sound of the city blowing high in the air. She speeds up her search, eager to get herself and the man outside away from danger.

Just as she is about to give up and make the man leave empty handed, she spies three figures huddled under a collapsed wall. Relieved, she rushes over, calling, "Hey, you need to get out of here. We need to—" As she nears them, she notices that two of the figures—a woman and an older man—are entirely unresponsive, their heads caved in and blood having poured down their forms. Swallowing roughly, she perfunctorily checks their pulses, unsurprised but sorrowful when she comes back with nothing.

She saves the boy between them for last. He appears relatively unharmed, albeit unconscious and covered with dust that he easily could have inhaled. When she finds his pulse, weaker than she suspects it should be, she heaves him out from under those who must have been his mother and grandfather. Drawing him into her arms, she steps away from the wreckage of his home and family, moving back under the gaping hole in the roof. As she does, she looks up, noticing in the nick of time a large chunk of earth hurtling straight towards them.

Diving out of the back of the house, she shelters them in an alcove on the mountainside while the house crumbles. It caves in before sliding down a newly formed hill, the mountain having given beneath it. She waits until the wreckage settles before moving herself, not wanting to upset the earth and get buried.

Thankfully, the wreckage missed the boy's father, but she imagines it is a small comfort to him. She finds him in much the same place she left him, weeping on the ground at the sight of his destroyed home. She calls his attention to her as she comes to stand beside him. His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of his son, who he takes from her, clutching his limp body to him.

Brushing the hair back from his son's face, the man gasps, "He—"

"He's alive," she assures him.

"My wife and father," the man goes on. Question is clear in his voice, however obvious the answer is.

Sigyn tries not to choke up as she tells him, "It was already too late."

At this, the man grows despondent once more. He holds his son tighter still and makes no move to leave. She tries to rouse him, urgently impressing how crucial it is that they get away, rocks still falling all around them. He doesn't respond until she kneels beside him, gripping him by the shoulders and demanding his name.

"Zemo," he divulges.

"Zemo," she repeats, gentling her hold on him. "A little more than a year ago, I, too, lost a parent and the love of my life to the whims of a madman. Believe me, I know how you are feeling. At first, I hardly wanted to eat, sleep, or speak to anyone, but I was not in immediate danger. You and your son are. Please let me help you."

At the end of her speech, a huge chunk of concrete nearly hits them. Luckily, she notices it just before it would have and uses telekinesis to reverse its momentum, sending it flying back.

Their near-death at the hands of stone must move Zemo. He gets up on trembling legs, holding his son across his chest. He turns to Sigyn, who gestures for him to hand the boy over. She settles him in her arms before telling Zemo to get on her back.

"You can't possibly carry us both," he protests.

"I am not arguing with you right now. Let's go," she orders. With little fanfare, he does as ordered, and she bounds off, propelling them down far out of the zone of danger. She helps them to a triage center another few miles from where Sokovia used to sit. A nurse takes the boy from her the moment they arrive, and Zemo is quick to follow after them, not sparing her a glance as he goes.

The pair of them stay on her mind as she makes her way to the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier. Once onboard, an agent directs her to a conference room. Her mind is still elsewhere as she steps into the room, so she misses Thor's heated strides over to her and doesn't notice him until his hands are fisted in her collar.

He slams her into the wall, teeth gritted and face red with anger. He speaks in a grave whisper. "You liar."

From over his shoulder, she spies various screens, all displaying videos of herself from the past year and a half. She sees herself as Zafirah Jalal and Sarah Newman, with and without Jane and Darcy, and even with Thor after their trip to the tattoo parlor. A few people still have their focus on the screens—Clint, Natasha, James, Tony, Agent Maria Hill, and the red man—while the rest look at her—the witch, the silver-haired boy, Steve, the Director Fury, and of course, Thor.

Meeting Fury's eyes, she deduces, "You showed them everything, I take it."

Ducking his head, he replies, "We'll leave you all to it." As he passes through the door, Maria at his heels, Thor drops her. She slinks away from him, happy to have some distance from his wrath.

Steve instigates the interrogation. "So, S.H.I.E.L.D. knew the whole time?"

"And didn't tell us," chips in Natasha.

Sigyn, still pondering a way to explain herself, offers, "S.H.I.E.L.D. had its own reasons."

"And what were yours," asks Steve, jumping on the weakness in her statement.

"I—" she begins before reconsidering and trying to come up with the least inflammatory way to say her piece. Something niggles in the back of her mind, but she can't put her finger on it. "There were considerations—I don't—" She pauses to search her mind more thoroughly. Her eyes cut to the witch. "Stop trying to get inside my head."

The girl straightens, surprised at having been caught. "I wasn't—"

Sigyn waves her off. "Whatever your tricks, little witch, they won't work on me."

She frowns. "I'm not a witch."

"Enough," Thor declares, silencing them both. He points at Sigyn. "You lied to me. I thought you dead. I thought it was my fault—"

Calmly, she says, "I told you it wasn't—"

Advancing on her, he shouts, "You told me as a human girl! Another trick, another lie!"

"Alright," she shouts back, unable to keep her cool. She knows she is in the wrong, but it is difficult nonetheless to be confronted like this. "I know you are angry with me. I know you are all angry with me—"

The silver-haired boy pipes up. "I'm not."

Everyone's attention swivels to him while the witch quietly hisses at him, "Shut up."

"What? She saved my life," he says. "I have to be on her side."

Shaking her head, Sigyn goes on as though she had not been interrupted. "However, I had a good reason for staying away."

Still a breath away from apoplexy, Thor barks, "What justification could you possibly have that could wash away the anguish you have caused?"

Frowning, Sigyn hesitates briefly. If she is to truly explain herself, she will have to come clean about everything, and she is not sure everyone will believe her when she does. Still, she perseveres. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but there is a prophecy. One that predicts the deaths of myself and those of half the universe."

Clint gives a laugh, but there is no humor in it. "You're right. That does sound ridiculous."

As per usual, Steve is more serious. "What're you talking about?"

"During the Battle of New York, I met with a sorcerer of your world. He revealed the prophecy to me," she explains.

"What's the prophecy," asks Tony. He looks more captivated than anyone else—save for perhaps Thor—as though he must get to the bottom of everything.

She takes a deep breath, then recites: "The Goddess of Victory, in coming to Earth, Inspires the Destroyer of Worlds to begin his search. When next they meet, death he must give her, To give to half the souls of the material plane. When next they meet, time they must bend, To let Power burn him alive." She gives everyone a chance to absorb it before continuing. "I know not what half of it means—"

"I'll tell you what it means," Tony blusters, looking around with a half-crazed look in his eye. "This 'Destroyer of Worlds,' whoever he is—"

"Thanos," she supplies. Everyone looks back at her in question. "I met him, too, in a vision. It was he who sent Loki to Earth."

"Thanos," Tony corrects, blinking wide at the additional information, his gaze having turned fully crazed. Gesticulating wildly above his head, he exclaims, "This is why we needed Ultron!"

Steve gives a single-footed stomp as he pivots to regard Tony. "Damn it, Tony, did we not just figure out why that was a bad idea!"

The rebuke seems to take the edge off of Tony's hysteria. "Okay, first, language." Steve looks away, exasperated. "And second, allow me to remind everyone that we are mad at Princess Zombie right now."

"Yes, we are," Thor agrees. "No prophecy explains why you pretended to be dead for over a year."

"Doesn't it," she rebuts, getting a little angry herself as despair creeps into her mind. "What did you expect me to do after everything that happened, knowing I was to die soon? What did you expect me to do after Loki died!" Thor looks taken aback by his brother's name, but she does not allow his ashen expression to stop her. "I didn't have any plans, he did. We were to go to Vanaheim, and he would have figured something out from there, but that never happened. I didn't know what to do, and everyone already thought I was dead, so I figured it was best not to do anything."

Thor stares down at her, silent for a long moment before storming out. Sigyn tries not to let the distress show on her face when he does. If ever there was someone to whom she owed an apology, it was Thor, and she just fucked it up.

Hours later, the Avengers end up piled into a spare Quinjet headed for New York. Sigyn doesn't protest when she gets herded onto it, and neither does anyone else. Everyone seems to be mostly over her reappearance—save for Thor, who staunchly, conspicuously ignores her—and distracted by Bruce's disappearance.

Once at the Avengers' Compound, newly built and already teeming with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, they all turn in for the night, exhausted after a long day of fighting—with both robots and each other. Tony directs her to one of the unassigned rooms, not having designed one specifically for her. Once alone in it, she is too anxious to sleep now that her secret is out to the whole world. She endeavors to lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling until daybreak.

She doesn't make it to dawn, however, a knock sounding at her door in the middle of the night. Feeling rather listless, she heaves herself up and makes her way to the door. When she pulls it open, she's surprised to see Thor on its other side. She had expected Natasha, or perhaps Pietro, who had talked her ear off during the flight here.

"Come with me," Thor grunts at her before taking off down the hall. Acquiescent, she trails after him. He leads her to what must be his room, which is decorated with intricately carved wooden furniture, fur rugs, and rich, red drapes. He gestures to the made bed. "Sit."

Despite being skeptical of his intentions, she does as ordered. From her perspective of him, he reminds her of a tutor preparing to scold a wayward child, though that image is quickly dispelled as he takes a seat beside her on the edge of the mattress. Without sparing her a glance, his hands go to his hair, fiddling with something.

"What are you doing," she asks as he struggles, disturbed by his calm and confused by his actions.

"Sharing," is all he says. Finally, he manages to free from his tangled mane that which he wanted. He presents it to her, and she gasps.

Cradled in his hand is a lock of Loki's hair, tied at either end by bands. Thor must have taken it from Loki for himself just as he had done to her for Haldana. She holds out a hand, and he gives it to her. "Why," she asks, unable to think of a more profound question, so struck by his gesture.

"He'd want you to have it," he murmurs. Gesturing to it, he proposes, "You could make a comb, and we could split it in half."

Already thinking ahead, she holds up her hands. The lock of hair rises into the space in front of them and proceeds to split itself into even halves. She produces four small, brass hair clips, two for each half. "Turn around," she says. "I'll braid it back into your hair."

He shifts slightly, showing her the back of his head. "I didn't have it braided before."

She ignores him, materializing a brush to sort out his hair, much to his displeasure. She tries to be gentle, but he grunts every time the brush gets caught. After a few minutes, his hair is straightened out enough for her to braid Loki's hair in, and she clamps either end of the braid with one of the brass clips. She repeats the same procedure with her own hair, not quite trusting him to be as precise. After she has finished, she smiles at him, saying, "Thank you."

Neither of them speaks for a moment, nor do they look at each other. Just as she is about to get up and return to her own room, Thor ventures, "About what you said earlier."

"Yes," she prompts him.

"Am I to believe you to be some frail woman who could not go on without the man she loved?" He gives her a rueful smile. "I may not know you as well as I like to believe, but I know you better than that."

She tries to give him a smile in return, but she knows it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I think I stayed in hiding because I am afraid. This is a problem from which I cannot run away and hide, yet that is exactly what I have done. I am afraid to die."

What happened with the Aether had felt like death, and she knows what is to happen with Thanos will be a lot worse. It is only natural that she run from it, she feels when she can bear to think about it.

Thor, however, is in disbelief. "You are a soldier. You face death constantly."

"This is much too different from dying in the fray of battle." With every battle, a soldier runs in thinking, I could survive this. Even in the grimmest of circumstances, she well knows, one feels as though there is a chance. "This is fate. This is something that I have been forced to contemplate, and my thoughts—" Emotion swells in her, and she breaks off with sudden, gasping breaths, tears coming to her eyes. Thor looks just as shocked as she feels, but he reacts well enough, setting a steadying hand along the curve of her spine. "I never thought—My mother and Loki—I never thought I would outlive them. Not now. Why am I still here?"

"You must not speak like this," urges Thor.

"I speak nothing but the truth," she asserts, beginning to actually cry. "I should never have learnt of this prophecy—this curse. I should never have told anyone. It should not have been like this." She takes a deep breath and releases a shuddering exhale. "I should have died suddenly, without having expected it—without having to—" She cuts herself off. "It's quite one thing to watch the people you love die whilst expecting to live a long, natural life. Thinking—knowing—you ought to go first—"

Thor stops her from going on. "Enough of this."

Her voice is still breathy when it comes out. "Of course, you don't take well to weeping women."

"I should suspect not," he replies primly.

"No," she agrees, the corners of her mouth turning up. "Your brother was the crier."

Grinning, too, he remarks, "He did cry rather a lot, didn't he?"

Her own smile dims, growing wistful. "He was always so pretty, even when he wept."

"I don't think he'd take well to you calling him pretty," he challenges, giving her a wary look.

"What would you know," she shoots back, feeling daring. "You never tried to get him into bed." As predicted, Thor looks thoroughly scandalized. Sigyn laughs heartily, and eventually, he cracks a smile again.

As her snickering winds down, she sobers and feels daring enough again to request: "I must ask of you not tell anyone in Asgard that I am alive." Despite the heartache she knows she had caused him, she cannot help but think it is still best to keep her survival a secret from everyone else. There is no reason to reopen old wounds when she shall truly be dead in another few years.

Thor matches her in somber contemplation, a grave look to him. "I told Haldana of your death and held her as she wept."

That gives her pause, thinking of her sister so far away and without her, but it doesn't break her conviction. "I can never apologize enough, but you must know, I am sorry, deeply so. I remember my own sadness when Loki pretended similarly, and I remember my anger when the truth was revealed. Of course, I'd give anything now for him to be pretending again." She leaves off there, unsure of what else to say.

"I am angry," Thor confirms, his frown not lessening in the least. "But I am willing to postpone my anger to such a time when I may send you off to sea."

Grateful, she thanks him again before rising from the bed. She tries to bid him goodnight, but he calls her back before she reaches the door.

Still seated, he says, "There is another matter." When she tips her head in acknowledgment, he goes on, "That bit in the prophecy about Thanos's search, it must be for the Infinity Stones."

She nods in recognition. "Steve recounted to Natasha and me the vision you had of them."

"I have decided to go out in search of them myself, if only to make sure that they are accounted for and not within his grasp. I leave in the morning," he informs her, standing, too. There is an inquiry written on his face—his brow raised, and his lips pursed—yet something about it looks quashed already. "I wonder if you might accompany me?"

Sigyn shakes her head. "If Thanos and I search for the stones both, we are bound to run into each other sooner rather than later."

"As I suspected," he says, sitting down once more. "Goodnight then, Sigyn."

"Goodnight, Your Highness," she murmurs, quietly shutting the door behind her.

The next morning, Sigyn waits on the grassy lawn outside of the compound for Thor and Tony, the latter having promised her a ride into the city. After ten minutes or so, they emerge from facility with Steve in tow, debating one thing or another from the sounds of it.

"You think you can find out what's going on with Thanos and the stones," Steve is in the midst of asking Thor.

"I do," confirms Thor. He taps Tony on the chest as he steps away from them. "Besides this one, there's nothing that can't be explained."

Steve laughs. "Hammer's still a mystery." He tips his chin towards Sigyn. "Maybe Sigyn can lift it?" In response, Thor looks down at Mjolnir and shrugs, making to hand it to her.

She crosses her arms. "It was Odin who enchanted it, yes?"

Thor nods. "It was."

Lips twisted, she notes, "I doubt he'd find me worthy."

Nodding again, he retracts the hammer and holds out his other hand to usher her away from Tony and Steve for a moment. He looks down at her with a certain warmth in his gaze even as he tries to appear stern. "I confess, I've changed my mind. I am to be angry with you now."

"Oh," she wonders, raising her brow in query.

"Yes, for you shall not die," he tells her, quite confident in his conviction.

Somewhat bitterly, she smiles and concludes, "You called Jane."

"She could be right," he asserts, holding up a hand as though to ward off an attack. Jane must have told him about their bitter spats about the topic. "It does say 'When next they meet' twice. That cannot be a coincidence."

She patiently counters, "It can be. It can be two events coinciding as one—"

"I trust Jane," he insists, interrupting her perfectly logical explanation.

Feeling a little stung, but joking more than anything else, she asks, "Do you not trust me?"

Smirking back, he philosophizes, "Trust a trickster?"

"You trusted Loki," she reminds him.

His lips draw into a line. "A mistake I can never make again."

His words cast a pall on her mood, and she grows serious. Glancing back at Tony for a moment, she reconsiders her course of action much as she had been doing all night after leaving Thor in his room. She ventures, "Despite my fears, I will come with you should you need me. You need only tell me so."

Thor appears to hardly contemplate her offer. "I think I can manage by myself," he asserts. Fondly enough, he clasps her on the shoulder. "Keep safe Earth for me."

She spreads her arms wide. "You speak to Earth's patron goddess."

After Thor leaves, burning a mark into the grass with the Bifröst, Tony dramatically shakes his head. "That man has no regard for lawn maintenance." He turns away and starts toward his car, a sleek, orange little thing, leaving Steve and Sigyn to follow after him. "I'm gonna miss him, though, and you're gonna miss me. There's gonna be a lot of manful tears." He holds out his hand, unlocking the car.

Graciously, Steve says, "I will miss you, Tony." The two of them smile at one another, the skin around their eyes creasing.

Sigyn groans as she walks around to the other side of the car. "Just fuck already."

Grimacing in surprise while Steve tries to hide his grin, Tony soliloquizes, "Aren't Asgardians so eloquent? I swear, every word is poetry." He locks eyes with her over the roof of the car as she slips into the passenger seat. She rolls her eyes at him before disappearing from view, leaving them to have the rest of their conversation in peace.

He gets in the car a minute later, and they are out on the open road within another few minutes. They are on the freeway by the time he asks if there is anything to which she would like to listen on the car's stereo.

Pursing her lips, she tells him, "Most of the Terran music I favor is Scandinavian, which I understand is unpopular in this country." After a moment's contemplation, she remembers, "Though I am partial to the great Toni Braxton."

Eyes blinking rapidly from under his sunglasses, he quietly mutters, "You're an odd duck, Zenobia." Louder, he says, "Friday, play us some Toni Braxton please."

"Sure thing, Mister Stark," the car says, startling Sigyn. A few seconds later, the car speaks in a different voice, one she recognizes: "Oh, I remember on the Fourth of July . . ."

It's about five hours before they arrive in New York City, Tony choosing to park directly outside of the Avengers' Tower. Almost immediately, reports swarm the car, prompting Sigyn to fathom how it is they knew he would come here. Perhaps, they wait around all day for the chance.

When he doesn't unlock her door to let her out, she turns to regard him, waiting for some inane statement or odd question. She gets both.

"What do you think of me selling this place," he inquires, pointing at the building. He taps on the steering wheel with his pinky as though nervous for her answer.

She isn't fooled for a moment. She reminds him, "This is your domicile, not mine. What do you really want to ask me?"

"I know Thor told you he'd keep you updated on his search for the stones. I'd like you to keep me updated, too," he requests, and now, she can see why he was nervous. For some reason, more than their other teammates, Tony is obsessed with providing adequate protection for the Earth. She cannot say she blames him, but still, the way he goes about it cannot be healthy. "That is, if you don't mind answering to a mortal," he adds, trying to be cheeky as always.

Thor had not promised to update her, but she sees no reason to tell him so. Giving him a wry grin, she answers only, "I do."

With that, she shoves open the door of the car, pushing out against the horde of paparazzi. Her name gets shouted about a dozen times, and she gets twice as many flashes of light to her face as people crowd her. Rather than thrust herself into the throng, she trades her natural form for a lighter, volant one. She lifts above everyone's heads as a sparrow, heading back to an apartment in which she knows she can no longer hide from the world.

---

On the second anniversary of Loki's death, Jane, Thor, Darcy, and Sigyn sit on the balcony having a late breakfast together. Thor has taken a brief respite from his quest across the universe for the stones, deciding to spend it with his girlfriend. He had asked Sigyn not to report his visit to the other Avengers, and happy to keep her own business from them, she had complied.

Jane poses a question to the group after a few too many minutes of dejected silence. "So, what should we do today?"

Staring down at his toast, just as he has been doing for the past five minutes, Thor sighs and suggests, "We could watch a movie."

"We could take a nap," Sigyn counters, her voice as glum as she has felt since she woke up in the morning. She would much rather be asleep than morbidly fantasizing about Loki's death for the remainder of the day. Then again, perhaps she would only dream of it, too.

Almost innocuously, Jane shrugs before her face pinches up in an unusual expression. Sigyn regards her with suspicion as she says, "We could celebrate the day the same way we did last year." The corner of her lips twitches after she has finished speaking, giving her away entirely.

Thor immediately perks up, a grin coming to his face as he sits up straighter. Meanwhile, her suspicions confirmed, Sigyn raises a hand, simply stating, "No."

"Yes," Thor counters.

"Absolutely not," she cries, resisting the urge to leap from her seat and get as far away from Thor as possible. It will only make him and Jane feel more justified in seeking to punish her. "I am not getting a tattoo."

Scoffing, Thor points out, "You made me get one."

"Oh, I forced you, did I," she counters, floundering now. If she has lost, she will now go down without a fight. "I tied you up, dragged you down to the parlor, and held you down?" In answer, he glares at her, unimpressed.

"Come to think of it," Jane starts as though she has had the thought for quite some time. "Didn't Darcy also suggest that you get a tattoo?"

Nodding and smiling even wider, he confirms, "Yes, she did."

"Well, I'm definitely not getting a tattoo," Darcy firmly declares, shaking her head. "I didn't even know Loki, and he tried to take over my planet."

Tipping her head to the side as if to say, That's fair, Jane suggests, "Then, you can pay for Sigyn's."

"No way," exclaims Darcy as she rears back in her seat. "Thor's was three-hundred bucks!"

"Darcy, you're a millionaire," Jane reminds her, crossing her arms.

Darcy mimics her, scrunching up her nose for good measure. "Nuh-uh, I already paid off my loans and paid for my whole first year at NYU. So, really, I'm like a nine-hundred-thousand-aire."

"The point is that you can afford it," says Thor. With a put-upon sigh, Darcy agrees well enough.

The three of them get up from the table, but Sigyn remains seated. With her hands resting on the arms of her chair, she tries to appear as imperious as possible. "I will remind you all that I am not taking part in this ridiculous excursion."

Hands on his hips, Thor tells her, "Sigyn, if you do not come with us, I will tie you up, drag you down to the parlor, and hold you down."

She tenses, but does not otherwise move. "You bluff." Thor merely smiles back at her, looking somehow menacing and innocent all at once. Unbidden, she recalls many a tale from Loki regarding his brother's brute nature: Thor wrestling him to the ground as children, refusing to let him up until he had surrendered properly, as well as Thor physically tossing him at enemies on the battlefield to gain the upper hand. Reluctant but sufficiently coerced, she grumbles, "Fine."

Once at the very same tattoo parlor as last year, they are unlucky to be seen right away, another client having canceled their appointment. The woman tattooing her—different than the one who had serviced Thor—takes her time in copying his tattoo onto a stencil as he had insisted that Sigyn get the exact same design. Sigyn sits in her assigned chair throughout the process, silently stewing but resigned to her fate all the same. A few years with a strange mark on her skin cannot be too bothersome, she supposes.

After the words have been pressed onto her skin, it takes about an hour for the artist to permanently carve them into her. It doesn't hurt very much—it mostly feels like a bug scratching at her—but she is annoyed at having to sit still for so long, especially as Thor and Jane make silly glances at one another, gleeful in the victory of their trivial prank. A large bandage is applied to cover the tattoo once it is finished, and she is instructed not to remove it for at least three hours.

Having paid a deposit when they had arrived, Darcy goes up to the register to pay the remainder under Jane's careful watch as Sigyn and Thor head outside. They stand at the edge of the pavement, watching the cars and people go by. It is only a few seconds before a little boy stops short of them, asking for autographs, which they provide.

After he runs off, Sigyn ventures, "For the record, I apologize for forcing you to get a tattoo." Thor turns to look at her, and after thinking for a moment, she amends, "Actually, I take that back. I still maintain that I did not force you. I planted the idea in your mind and convinced you to go through with it."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "You tricksters and your technicalities."

Lips twisting, she admits, "I am serious, however. I manipulated you during a moment of weakness, and I am sorry."

"It wasn't as bad as all that. I actually like the tattoo. It's nice to look down and see his name sometimes." He nudges her in the side. "Besides, now we match."

She groans in distaste. "Don't remind me, Your Highness."

Looking bemused, he tells her, "You can just call me Thor, you know." She wrinkles her nose, and he frowns. "Are we not friends?"

"We are," she grants him. "But I always addressed Loki properly over the course of our friendship."

"Why," he inquires.

She makes an uncertain sound but doesn't say anything at first. After a short while, she comes up with something to which she would not have admitted ten years ago. "I think I was trying to create distance between us and remind myself that I couldn't have him." She doesn't look at him as she says it, embarrassed by her own naked honesty.

For whatever reason, it prompts him to put an arm around her. "Worry not, Sigyn. You can have me." She grimaces at his weird phrasing. He amends, "Not like that. I am with Jane."

A laugh bursts out of her. "You're not my type anyhow. I'm not into blonds."

Thor frowns, looking genuinely offended. "Blonds are the best."

Humming noncommittally, she remarks only, "Not in my experience."

Privately, she recalls her first girlfriend, Jensen. She had fallen in love with Jensen when she was only two-hundred-seventy, bewitched by her glowing green eyes and lovely blonde hair. It had been a superficial love, and she had paid the price for such blind devotion. Jensen had left her for a man suitable for marriage only a month into their courtship. Sigyn had sworn off romance, and though that vow had only lasted twenty years or so, her acquired distaste for blonds had stuck with her. She notes with some amusement that the memory of them is almost fond now, despite all the years she had spent cursing Jensen's name.

Strangely enough, Thor seems to follow her line of thought. "Listen, do you remember, years ago, when Loki tried to ask you to that feast—the one where you almost died—"

"I do recall it," she interjects.

He stumbles over his next words. "Do you recall that when he asked, I told him that you, er—"

"That I was a flannfluga," she finishes for him, raising her brow. "Or that I thought I was, that is."

He winces. "Yes, and then everyone in Asgard found out—"

"Because you have a big mouth," she finishes for him, grinning. "I certainly remember."

Awkward, he clears his throat. "Yes, well, I do apologize. It was not my place to interfere, and the repercussions—" He trails off before adding, "I'm sorry."

"Very well. Apology accepted." She had never really blamed him, so forgiveness is easy. Besides, there is no point in creating a quarrel over it now, not when they are so far away from the repercussions his loose tongue had caused.

"Good," he says, patting her on the back. "We are perfect friends now."

"So we are," she agrees.

That night, Sigyn lies awake in bed, the lights dimmed in her room. Reverently, she traces the name written along her arm as she slowly nods off, wishing for all the world that she could pull it off of her and invoke it back to life.

---

Sigyn is in the midst of sewing up a tear in one of her dresses when her phone rings for the third time in ten minutes, the screen displaying the same unknown number as before. When she had first gotten her cellphone, Jane had explained that she was not to answer calls from unknown numbers, but given this one's persistence, she wonders if someone hasn't made a mistake that needs correcting.

Feeling only a small bit of apprehension, she takes the call. "Hello," she answers. "I believe you may have the wrong number."

"I'm not sure I do," says the man on the line, his voice gravelly and imbued with self-assuredness.

Coolly, she replies, "Are you not? I do not recognize your voice."

"No, but I recognize yours," he responds, not missing a beat. There's a spark in his tone that rankles her.

Her hand halts midair, and the thread droops from where it is being held up by the needle. Inexplicably, she recalls the grainy sound of her own voice from when Ultron had broadcast it before their fight. "Who are you," she asks.

"My name is Thaddeus Ross," he says. "I'm downstairs."

Having been hunched over her stitching, she now sits upright. "You're what?"

"It'll be the town car in front of the building," is all he says. The line goes dead.

She pulls the phone away from her ear and stares at her wallpaper—a far-off shot of Loki and her standing together from her first trip to Earth, her arm curled around his just before the Tesseract had sucked them into the Bifröst—for a long moment. When the screen goes black, and her own eyes, narrowed in suspicion, stare back at her, she decides to slake her curiosity.

In spite of her doubts, there turns out to be a sleek, black car parked outside of the building's front door, after all. As soon as she steps outside, a man exits from the driver's seat. He pulls open the door nearest to her, nodding at her as he does. Feeling somewhat foolish—she supposes this is how people get abducted and murdered—she slips into the backseat.

As she settles in, she takes note of the man on the far side of the backseat. He is thin in the way that some old men are, lanky and with skin that hangs. Once she has buckled in her seatbelt, he extends his hand. She takes it, however awkward it is to shake hands whilst seated side-by-side.

"Major Sigyn," he greets, aloof in a manner with which she is much familiar.

"You're a military man," she surmises.

His lips purse, as though impressed at her astuteness. "I am. I was a general." He pulls himself up, straightening his jacket. "But now, I'm Secretary of State."

The car starts forward, jostling them both. She doesn't allow her gaze to move from him, wanting to appear as unperturbed as is possible. "And what do you want from me, Secretary Ross?"

"To see some old friends," he replies.

The two of them are cooped up together for far longer than she could have ever expected, the car ride lasting around six hours. The meager conversation they share over its course is cryptic at best and tedious at worst. As soon as the car comes to a final stop, the parking brake set, she hops out, eager to stretch her legs.

"Oh, fuck," she gripes, catching sight of the Avengers' Compound. Gone are the countless S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had overrun the place the last time she had been here, the Compound quiet and tranquil. Looking to the driver, who has emerged from the car, too, she orders, "Take me back."

Ross glides past her, unaffected by her show of displeasure. "With me, Major."

Reluctant but loath at the thought of flying back home out of sheer stubbornness, she begrudgingly tags along. They wind through the halls of the Compound, all of which are vaguely familiar to her until they come upon a corridor that leads into a small conference room. They come in from the back of the room, the other side of which houses a large television that currently has everyone's attention. When Ross steps past the table where everyone is seated, their eyes follow him before moving farther back, landing on her and widening in surprise.

Natasha and Steve both open their mouths to say something to her, but before they can get out a word, Sigyn is stumbling back, Pietro having come up to her in the intervening second. "Hello," he greets her, as suave as his adolescence will allow.

"Hello," she says back, stepping around him. He is back in his seat beside his sister before she can take a full step.

Rather than dive into a lengthy greeting with everyone, she sends a smile around the room as she takes a seat in the only remaining chair at the far end of the table. Natasha has an amused grin on her face as she pointedly glances between Sigyn and Pietro. Sigyn politely ignores it.

On her left, a young man leans forward to address her, "Hey, how come you get to sit at the head o' the table?"

"Seniority," she says simply, responding to the mirth in his voice with some of her own. Taking a better look at him, she finds he looks familiar, but not enough to place. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

He offers his hand, which she shakes. "Sam."

"I am Sigyn," she tells him, though she doesn't get all the way through her sentence before he is ducking his head and holding up a hand.

He laughs shortly. "I know who you are."

The salutatory smile she had donned slips from her face. "Yes," she agrees, looking down the table as Ross wraps up an interminable story about some sort of sport. "Everyone does these days."

"The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt," he says. "You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives, but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some who prefer the word vigilantes."

Sigyn is taken aback by the topic of conversation, realizing abruptly that she has been brought here for a dressing-down. She doesn't let her surprise show on her face. Neither does Natasha, who asks, "And what word would you use, Mister Secretary?"

"How 'bout dangerous," he returns. "What would you call a group of U.S.-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose, and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?"

He steps to the side of the screen as it displays a moving map of this world, first zooming in on New York City. "New York," he needlessly indicates as clips from the Battle of New York appear behind him. There are some scenes she recognizes, having been there, and others she does not, likely having been on the other side of the city. The map moves to the United Kingdom. "London." Footage runs of Malekith's ship colliding with the bank of the river and pulling up the earth as it goes along. The following clip is of herself casting back the elves after having slayed Malekith, and the last is of the ship falling towards Thor, who had been kneeling on the ground with her in his arms. She looks away, her jaw clenching. More footage comes onto the screen, showing Washington D.C. and Sokovia. Finally, the presentation finishes with Lagos and a clip of a child's body with ash falling over it.

Wanda looks down at the table, prompting Steve to tell Ross, "Okay. That's enough." Ross nods to one of his companions, who Sigyn has only just noticed, and the screen goes black.

Irked at being dragged all this way to be accosted for heroics displayed by herself and her friends, Sigyn's voice is hard as she confronts Ross. "Pardon my lack of comprehension, Secretary, but how is it that these unfortunate events are our fault? Do you mean to blame us for extraterrestrial attacks? Was not the incident in Washington the fault of your government?"

He hardly appears phased at her line of questioning. "I'm not saying that the Avengers are completely to blame, but I'm also not saying that you're without fault. What happened last week—"

She recalls the events of the altercation in Lagos from what she had seen on the news. It had been a well-intentioned mission gone wrong, a spiteful man blowing it all to shit solely for the sake of revenge. "A tragic accident. A young witch yet without full control of her magic—"

"Yes, exactly," he says, interrupting her. Her teeth clack as she snaps her mouth shut. "For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate." He pauses dramatically, turning to his associate for what must be the largest book she has seen on Earth to date. "But I think we have a solution."

He hands the book off to Pietro, introducing it as "The Sokovia Accords. Approved by a hundred and seventeen countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization." Pietro passes it to Wanda, who passes it to James—or Rhodey, as she understands he likes to be called. "Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel only when and if that panel deems it necessary."

Displeased, Steve informs him, "The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we've done that."

Ross does not appear convinced. "Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now? Would you know have known where Sigyn was if I hadn't brought her here?" Sufficiently chastised, Steve looks up at him. "If I misplaced three thirty-megaton nukes, you can bet there'd be consequences."

"Did you just refer to me as a nuclear weapon," Sigyn asks him, her voice on the verge of quivering with indignation.

He hardly spares her a glance. "After what your husband did in New York, I have no problem imagining what you could do with similar motivation."

Further incensed, Sigyn's annoyed, disbelieving stare travels from Ross to Natasha. The expression Natasha dons in response warns her not to say anything she may regret.

"Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works," Ross continues, addressing all of them. "Believe me, this is the middle ground."

Rhodey places a hand atop the copy of the Accords. "So, there are contingencies?"

Ross all but ignores his question. "Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords. Talk it over."

He moves around the table, heading for the exit, though he is halted by Natasha's voice. "And if we come to a decision you don't like?"

"Then you retire," he answers, unrepentant. He catches Sigyn's eye. "I'll be waiting in the car."

A long fight ensues almost immediately after Ross leaves. The more incendiary members of the group fall into a spat straight away, though Tony is conspicuously quiet. Rhodey and Sam trade thinly veiled insults alongside shallow arguments as Pietro zips back and forth between them, picking whosever side has just unleashed the better quip. Meanwhile, everyone else crowds around Steve, peering down at the Accords from over his shoulder.

"So, let's say we agree to this thing," Sam is saying to Rhodey, his tone harsh with disapproval. "How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?"

"A hundred-seventeen countries want to sign this," Rhodey shoots back, giving him the side-eye. "A hundred and seventeen, Sam, and you're just like, 'No, that's cool. We got it.'"

Defensive, Sam crosses his arms. "How long are you gonna play both sides?"

"Yeah, how long," wonders Pietro, who suddenly appears at Sam's elbow. "Another sixty years?"

"I am not sixty years old," snipes Rhodey, looking like he wants to throttle the both of them.

From across the room, Vision decides to interject. He had read through the Accords the fastest, speed-reading and memorizing the entire thing within three minutes. "I have an equation," he announces, crossing one leg over the other.

Sigyn almost laughs at the picture he makes: his synthetic skin a motley of red and silver, covered up by a cashmere sweater and slacks. It looks out of place; an android nearly as alien as she is wearing human clothes. Though, she supposes that with all his knowledge limited to Earth, he is as Terran as everyone else in the room.

"Oh," exclaims Sam, turning his frustration onto a new opponent. "Oh, this'll clear it up."

The rest of the room turns to regard Vision, as well. "In the eight years since Mister Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate."

With the corner of one page lifted between his fingers, Steve questions, "Are you saying it's our fault?"

"I'm saying there may be a causality," Vision ameliorates. Privately, Sigyn has her doubts. Having seen other planets, she understands that potentially world-ending events tend to come along whether the residents of a given planet invite them or not. Then again, since she had first arrived, she has considered that the Earth may have something special to it.

After a spectacularly dramatic pause for effect, Vision goes on, "Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict, and conflict breeds catastrophe. Oversight—" He takes yet another lengthy pause. "Oversight is not something that can be dismissed out of hand."

Rhodey punctuates his speech with a "Boom," cutting his eyes to Sam, who looks back at him with disdain.

Sitting on Sigyn's left, Natasha speaks up. "Tony, you're being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal."

"It's 'cause he's already made up his mind," Steve responds for him.

His hand slipping from where it had been positioned over his face, rigid with stress, Tony throws out, "Boy, you know me so well." He gets up from his slouched position, treading over to the kitchen. "Actually, I'm nursing an electromagnetic headache. That's what's going on, Cap. It's just pain." He starts fiddling with some of the dishes left in the sink. "It's discomfort. Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal?" He turns back to face them all, agitation written clear across his entire person. "Am I running a bed-and-breakfast for a biker gang?"

Pulling out his phone, he places it on the counter beside him. He taps its screen, and an image of a young, human man pops up. He sighs, then says, "Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way." He rambles off a few facts about the man, all very complimentary. "He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where? Sokovia." Across from Sigyn, Wanda and Pietro both flinch, but Tony takes no notice. "He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass."

Everyone else is silent. Sigyn thinks about Zemo's family. She remembers how it felt to have failed to save them. She remembers how the man had wept with his unconscious son in his arms. Intellectually, she knows it was not her fault, but she feels differently—just as Tony likely does.

He is relentless. "There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, we're boundaryless, we're no better than the bad guys."

Steve looks ready to rebut him, but Sigyn speaks first. "I agree with Tony."

He capitalizes on her concurrence immediately. "There you have it." He starts over to the group. "You hear that, Cap? Listen to the true group elder here, a'right?"

She glares at him. "Shall I change my mind?"

"No takebacks," he rebuts.

Steve gives her an apprehensive look. "By signing this, we would be surrendering our right to choose. Surely, you can see how we might be worried about being sent out on a mission we don't agree with."

"The way I see it, it is no business of mine to decide what the people of Earth need. If they want my help at all, it should be on their terms," she states.

"Boom," Rhodey says again.

Not one to let Rhodey get a leg up, Sam interjects, "Well, that's all well and good, but you're an alien. We are the people of Earth."

Smiling indulgently, she responds, "Yes, albeit a remarkably small sample with an overt bias."

"You could say the same thing about this United Nations panel," Pietro points out.

Nodding to him, she acknowledges, "A fair point."

The boy leans back, flexing not-so-subtly. "Yeah, people say I'm wise beyond my years."

Rhodey shakes his head. "Somebody, stop him. This is just sad." Wanda smacks Pietro on the leg.

Not looking to be caught up in an awkward moment, Sigyn stands up. "I have made my decision. Ross is waiting for me."

"Hold on," Steve protests, holding up a hand. "This is a group decision."

She waves a hand. "Worry not, Captain. My decision shall not affect the rest of you. Of that, I shall make certain."

Natasha stands, too. "Lemme walk you out." She waits until they have left the room before speaking again. "So, how come you never come around?"

Sigyn nearly winces, abashed that Natasha is confronting her for being distant. Still, she owes Natasha an answer. "I am trying to keep a low profile. I'm not to know whether Thanos has agents here on Earth." Despite what she says, the conviction behind the words is no longer what it once was. After what happened in Sokovia, she is always in the news, in magazines, and on social media. Any exposure seems inevitable.

Neither accepting nor rejecting her explanation, Natasha merely hums in acknowledgment. They remain silent until they reach the Compound's exit.

As Sigyn passes over the threshold, Natasha calls, "Hey, you really think these Accords are a good idea?"

Sigyn pauses, holding the door open with one hand. She thinks about what oversight means, along with peacekeeping, which she imagines will be the main use of the Avengers for this United Nations. Asgard has extensive practice with both, them being the principal goals of the Legions of Asgard for the entirety of her time of service. She thinks about all the places she has spilled blood.

"No," she answers simply. The door clicks shut behind her.

The first few minutes of the journey back to New York City are spent in silence, Sigyn pondering how to tell Ross what she wants to do. She settles on: "I will not sign the Sokovia Accords." He makes to protest, but she holds up a hand, staying his objection. "I will not be at the beck and call of humans for whatever petty affairs you may have. The mission in Lagos, while certainly a noble effort on the part of my mortal colleagues, is not something in which I would find it worthy to involve myself."

"Alright," he says, sounding hesitant but willing to hear her out.

She stipulates, "I will, however, sign an optional protocol engaging my assistance for potentially world-ending events only."

He nods as he mulls over her proposal. Finally, he says, "That's surprisingly reasonable."

His choice of words makes her titter. "'Surprisingly,'" she echoes. "You really don't like me, do you, Secretary?"

"You're a trickster god, like Loki was," he states as if that explains it all, stern in his conviction.

She remains quiet for a moment, pursing her lips as she contemplates how to respond. "You are mistaken in believing Loki and me to be the same. True though it may be that we are both tricksters, we employ substantially disparate techniques. Loki would tell as many lies as he possibly could, and his tricks would hide in the truths you would never suspect were there. I, on the other hand, try to tell the truth as much as possible, and my tricks lie on the lies you do not believe me to be telling."

He remains grim. "All that tells me is that I shouldn't believe a word you say."

She shrugs, settling in for another long ride. "So be it. I'll try Loki's techniques on you. It should be fun."

Ross gives her a call the very next day, informing her that an optional protocol has been written up and there is to be an informal event for the Avengers to sign the Accords before it is officially ratified. She goes to sign it a few days later at the United Nation Headquarters in the city, wearing formal Terran business attire that Darcy had assured her would be appropriate.

She is quickly disabused of this notion when Natasha sees her. The other woman whistles lowly and says, "Check out the smoke show."

They stand with the rest of the Avengers and some high-ranking officials who Sigyn recognizes from the news at the bottom of a large assembly hall. There are rows and rows of tables and seats for countries' representatives. The front of the room is decorated with curious wood paneling, green marble, and gold. She is certain it is meant to be intimidating, but coming from Asgard, she finds it distinctly underwhelming.

Sigyn frowns, gesturing down her own form and explaining, "I am given to understand that humans wear these short-jacketed suits to formal events." The suit is colored a light blue, each of its three pieces the same hue, though the corset she wears is a lighter shade.

Rhodey comes to stand on her other side. He looks down at her legs. "Suits usually have pants."

"And they're usually worn over a blouse, not a sheer corset," adds Natasha.

Trying not to feel embarrassed, Sigyn gives a haughty sniff. "I should think it conservative enough." She pulls back the jacket. "Humans seem to be more liberal with dress, and the flowers cover my nipples." She taps on one of the strategically placed, embroidered blooms.

Rhodey turns away. "I am not hearing this."

"You certainly have a lot of commentary for someone who is not listening," Sigyn snipes.

Tony takes a jab at her next, walking over to meet them from where he had been speaking to Ross. "What is this, Fashion Week?" He points at her. "Hey, I'm the showstopper around here. Get with the program."

Her bashfulness peels away, and she grins, wondering if that had been his intention. "Is this how you give compliments?"

"I don't know. Ask Pepper," he answers brusquely. Briefly, he pauses as though to feign thought. "Oh, wait, you can't because we're off again." Rhodey pats him on the shoulder in sympathy.

They are distracted from any further conversation when the session is called to order. The president of the UN General Assembly, a Mister Thomson, introduces the Sokovia Accords, offering a brief overview of the document. As he reads, Ross glares down at them from where he is seated down the row from the man. Afterward, Thomson invites each of the Avengers—starting with Rhodey and finishing with Vision—to sign it.

Thomson then introduces the Optional Protocol for Extraterrestrial Confederates and invites Sigyn to sign it. At her cue, she walks forward, a dozen cameras flashing with every step she takes. When she reaches the table with the document atop it, she raises her arm to sign her name in the air. She waves her hand down to have it burn into the page.

ᛋᛁᚷᛁᚾ

Tony coughs from behind her. "Overdramatic!"

After a few more words from Thomson, the Avengers are herded around the Sokovia Accords by a photographer. The man snaps a dozen photos of them before directing Sigyn to stand aside, wanting photos only with those who had actually signed the Accords. In that same spirit, she is photographed alone with the optional protocol a minute later, at which time she tries not to smile too self-consciously.

After all the ceremony is over, the room overtaken by the din of excited voices, Natasha turns to her. "Want to get lunch? I know a killer shawerma place nearby." Shrugging, she agrees easily.

When they arrive at the familiar restaurant, they are welcomed warmly at the door, the owner ushering them to a table sitting under a rather conspicuous photograph hanging on the wall. Sigyn finds herself caught in its thrall, not remembering it having been taken it all. Indeed, in the image itself, she appears consumed in her own thoughts, her gaze distant. The rest of the Avengers smile at the camera, barring Clint, who had been in the midst of picking something out of his teeth.

The two women spend the afternoon exchanging old war stories, all the while pretending they do not see the people on the street outside and at the tables around them sneaking out their phones for a photo every few minutes.

As soon as she gets home, she throws her blazer at Darcy's head. "You're hilarious."

Three days later, a bomb blows the Sokovia Accords Summit to shit. Sigyn had decided against attending the night before. She wonders how to close to the blast she would have been.

She spends the day leaving friction lines on the floor, pacing in front of the television. She waits for a call from Ross or an announcement that the optional protocol has been activated, but nothing comes.

"You could reach out to them," Jane suggests after hours pass without Sigyn moving from the living room. "I have Tony's number somewhere around here."

"No," Sigyn says immediately. "This whole problem—We keep interfering. That is what caused this." She stops to think, gripping the back of the sofa as a thought that has been bothering her all day springs to the front of her mind. "At least, I think it is. I don't know. Something feels off."

"What do you mean," asks Jane.

Sigyn turns around to look at her. "Why would the Winter Soldier do this? Is not H.Y.D.R.A. gone?"

Jane shrugs. "Maybe he's working for somebody else now."

Unsatisfied by the answer, she shakes her head but lets the topic drop all the same. She goes back to pacing.

The call to action from the United Nations never comes, but Tony does.

The next day, Sigyn comes home from her morning run around Central Park to Tony standing in her kitchen, handing out beverages to her roommates. He doesn't acknowledge her as she treads into the room, but she can tell that he has noticed her arrival.

"I brought everyone coffee, but I had to make some guesses. Janey, you get a dark roast. Miss Lewis, a frappe with matcha." He holds out a cup to Sigyn. "You look like a blonde vanilla latte kind o' girl."

Frowning, Sigyn takes the proffered beverage from him. She takes a sip, her frown growing more severe as she notes that it is just sweet enough for her to be able to taste and enjoy it. She sets it down on the counter. The drink sloshes against its plastic lid. "What do you want, Tony? And how did you find me?"

"Little known thing called the internet," he answers, wiggling his fingers. Sigyn huffs in frustration. The damned internet, as if it does not confound her enough already. He continues, "Anyhow, I've been tasked with dealing with this whole Winter Soldier-Cap buddy-buddy nightmare, and I need some help pinning them down."

"Why don't you ask the internet to help you," she wonders.

He ignores the snipe. "I need a heavy hitter. I need you. I need you to turn into a dragon and just leave Cap on a roof somewhere while we sort this whole Barnes thing out."

She shakes her head. "This is not a potentially world-ending event, which is all that I have signed up for."

He tries to allay her concerns, "Ross has authorized me—"

Smarting at the mention of Ross—that smug, interloping bastard—she snaps, "I have no interest in trivial, mortal squabbles, and I tire of the endless barrage that is the Avengers having to clean up our own messes." From behind Tony, she sees Darcy gasp silently before going back to sipping at her drink as she watches the drama unfold. Jane tactfully turns away.

He rises to her invectives. "Says you, the one who caused the first mess that we ever had to pull out a mop for."

Her brow raises to convey her indignance as she takes in the meaning behind his words. "Are you blaming me for New York?"

"If the shoe fits," he says, shrugging.

"It doesn't," she snaps, glaring now. "Loki was more motivated by a desire to rule than anything else. Conquering Earth certainly would not have won him me."

Tony feigns thought. "Right, but who sent Loki? Thanos, the crazy guy who wanted you on my planet!"

Indignant gives way to livid. "Oh, I'm sorry that someone is rearranging the cosmos in an attempt to murder me! It must be so inconvenient for you!"

"It is," he shouts back.

Sigyn sweeps her arm out, and every doorway leading to the hallway outside of her condo opens. "Get out."

Tony looks like he wants to argue a little more, but he swallows his protests. "That's fine. I've got an appointment in Queens anyhow." He steps around her, stalking outside. She makes sure to slam every door behind him.

Darcy peels her lips away from her straw. "Tough break, dude."

Sigyn spends much of the remainder of the day in her room, moping about her encounter with Tony. A part of her had thought they were friends, but she supposes that he just wants to use her when it is convenient for him. Jane insists that she is being dramatic when she comes out for dinner, but she waves off the other woman's words.

Hours later, intuition pushes Sigyn into the living room in the middle of the night, and she finds Clint, Wanda, and Pietro waiting there for her.

"I see solicitation is in abundance on Earth," she comments, pulling the twins' attention to her. Clint had seen her as soon as she had come in, so she directs her question to him. "How did you find me?"

Unbothered by her brusque tone, he says, "You know I'm a superspy, right?" He stands up from where he had been sitting on her couch. "Come on, Cap needs our help."

"To evade Tony and the United Nations, I imagine," she surmises. "I am not interested."

"He needs our help with the Winter Soldiers," he tells her.

Face scrunched up in a mixture of confusion and exhaustion, she says, "I thought they already caught him."

"The other Winter Soldiers," he clarifies. "H.Y.D.R.A.'s elite crew for taking down world governments. Apparently, they're still around, and someone is looking for them. We need to handle them first."

Sigyn is incredulous, her tiredness sapping away. "Why did Tony not mention this?"

Clint shrugs, appearing unsurprised at the knowledge that she had already spoken to Tony about this matter. With any luck, Tony's visit had likely led Clint here. "Tony dun' know."

"Fuck," she swears. She glances over to Wanda and Pietro, who had at some point wrangled some snacks from her pantry. "Vision was right," she asserts, addressing them all. Wanda straightens from where stands beside the kitchen island. "Your planet has no shortage of problems." She turns from the group. "Let me get dressed."

"We've gotta get a move on," Clint cautions. "We need to be in Berlin by the morning, and I've got a bug waiting in the car."

She turns back, confused. "A what?"

Scott Lang, also known as the Ant-Man, is what Clint has waiting in the car. The man is incredibly talkative, expounding on the most inane topics, including science fiction movies, ice cream, and naturally, ants. She nearly shouts in relief when he falls asleep an hour into their flight to Germany.

They had boarded a small, private jet from the Teterboro Airport in New Jersey. The jet's cabin is small, its six seats situated close together. The cockpit is smaller still, Clint insisting that he requires all the space it provides to himself so as to prevent any wayward limbs knocking into the controls.

After Scott has blissfully dropped off, most of the rest of the flight is taken up by chatter from the twins. They speak mostly to each other, though she and Clint get roped in every once in a while. At one point, Wanda has been complaining about Vision being too overprotective for almost forty-five minutes.

Pietro interrupts her, groaning. "My God, can we stop hearing about Vision, please. You talk about him all the time."

She frowns. "No, I don't."

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, you do. It's always 'Vis said this, Vis did that.'" Pietro turns away, groaning again. Sigyn, too, turns away, believing the conversation to be over, but her attention is called back as he gives a theatrical gasp. "You have a crush on him."

"Don't be ridiculous," Wanda says, rolling her own eyes. Her tell is that the corner of her mouth twitches upward.

Pietro catches it, too. "You totally do. You love him."

Wanda tries to appear angry, but it is clear that she wants to laugh. "Shut up."

"She totally loves him," he confirms, turning to include Sigyn in the joke.

"Careful there," she warns. "Your sister may decide to hex you."

Laughing, he turns to his phone, evidently deciding to take her advice and leave his sister be. Wanda herself, however, sets her sights on Sigyn. She crosses the aisle to sit across from her, starting, "Do you really think I'm a witch? I mean, I don't cast spells, and no one taught me magic."

Sigyn considers her carefully. Wanda is young and certainly seems as though she could do with some guidance, but Sigyn is not sure that she could adequately provide it. "I understand you think it strange, and perhaps it is, but this is something one can tell after a while. Trust me, it is witchcraft you are practicing."

Skeptical, Wanda argues, "But my powers came from the Mind Stone."

"Perhaps," Sigyn acknowledges. "Or perhaps it merely amplified your powers."

Brow furrowed and head tilted to the side, Wanda appears displeased with her response. "If it is witchcraft, how do I learn how to control it?" How do I make sure there is not a repeat of what happened in Lagos, she doesn't say.

Sighing regretfully, Sigyn tells her, "I wish I could help you, but though there is some overlap between witchcraft and sorcery, they are different practices." Truthfully, she is hardly certain what witchcraft even entails. She had picked up a few things from Frigga over the years as her guard, but given that the queen had only been a sorceress raised by witches, those lessons had been dismal, as well.

"There's nothing you could teach me," Wanda asks, disbelief plain in her voice.

"I am sorry. If I knew of the runes used by human witches and wizards, perhaps I could teach you something. Asgardian is a runic language, so our sorcery requires it, but without that knowledge," she sighs again, shrugging, "I am afraid I can be of little help to you."

Wanda turns her head away, manifestly disappointed. Sigyn places a comforting hand on her knee. "Worry not, you will get the hang of it." Moved by the conviction in her voice, Wanda turns back. "Your magic has progressed remarkably quickly. You need only get the reins of it, and you shall only improve from there."

"How do I do that," she wonders.

Sigyn leans back in her seat again. "When Loki first started teaching me magic, he taught me things I never thought possible. Now, sometimes I think of something, and when I try it, it works." She recalls when Loki had taught her out to press images and memories into other people's minds, and she had wondered if she could do the same with sensations or emotions. She had gotten her answer a few minutes later was Loki had abruptly burst into tears. Getting back on track, she concludes, "You must trust yourself, Wanda. Let not other people's fear lead you astray."

Her face pinching up, Wanda tries at another protest. "But—"

Sigyn heads her off. "Magic is a river. At first, you stand in the shallows, dipping your toes into the stream. Then, someone shoves you in, and the currents teach you to swim."

Wanda sighs as though disappointed, though she seems to have understood the metaphor. "And you can't give me a shove?"

Regretfully, Sigyn shakes her head. "Our rivers diverged far before I dove in."

The rest of the flight is quiet, and they land at an airport in Frankfurt three hours later. From there, they take a large, white van to the Berlin airport. Sigyn experiences the drive as a small feline, content to lounge on the dashboard. After they arrive, they wait for Steve, Sam, and the Sergeant Barnes in the parking lot.

The men pull into a space across from them in a tiny blue car, prompting Clint to emerge from the van to meet Steve. He greets him as Wanda gets out of the car. "Cap."

As they shake hands, Steve assures him, "You know I wouldn't have called if I had any other choice."

"Hey, man, you're doing me a favor," Clint replies.

Addressing Wanda, Steve says, "Thanks for having my back."

"It was time to get off my ass," she says.

Looking over at the van, he asks, "How 'bout our other recruits?"

Sigyn takes this moment to hop down from the dashboard onto the passenger seat of the van, and then onto the pavement. Sam looks confused at her appearance. "What is with all the cats lately?" Stretching herself out, she lets the dark fur that covers her recede and her limbs grow out again. He nods to himself. "Right."

Clint steps away to open up the back of the van. "The Flash is asleep, but the other one's rarin' to go." He pulls open the door. "Had to put a lil' coffee in him, but he should be good."

From inside the van, Scott and Pietro both jolt awake. Pietro is quick to zip out of the van, coming to lean on his sister. Meanwhile, Scott slowly lumbers out, grumbling, "What time zone is this?"

Grumbling back, Clint pushes him towards Steve. They shake hands. "Captain America," he exclaims, clearly excited.

Far less enthused, Steve returns, "Mister Lang."

Scott laughs as he continues to emphatically shake his hand. "It's an honor."

"It's a pain," Sigyn interjects as she stretches out her re-formed limbs. After being woken up in the middle of the night and suffering through an eight-hour flight, she would prefer to handle this quickly. She turns to regard the Winter Soldier, who hangs back on the other side of the blue car. "Sergeant Barnes, where are the other Winter Soldiers?"

"I go by Bucky," is all he says.

"Bucky," she corrects, trying to stamp down her impatience.

"Don't go jumping the gun," Steve says to her, trying to steer her attention from his friend. He turns back to Scott. "We're outside the law on this one, so if you come with us, you're a wanted man."

Scott takes that surprisingly well. "Yeah, well, what else is new?" Silently, Sigyn echoes the sentiment.

"We should get moving," Bucky says.

"We got a chopper lined up," Clint notes in response.

Sirens start up, and a man's voice echoes around them, ordering an evacuation of the airport. Clearly, someone knows they are here.

"Stark," Sam says, as though Sigyn had thought aloud. Scott echoes him, a question in his voice, and Steve tells them all to suit up.

Sigyn adds a few pieces of armor to her ensemble as everyone else awkwardly shimmies into their suits. While they do so, Steve barks out orders, directing everyone to various points in the airport. It's clear that Tony is going to impede their use of the helicopter, he says, so they'll have to create a diversion and take the Quinjet as an alternative means of escape.

Steve comes up to her after everyone else has their orders. "I know you don't wanna interfere. That's why you sided with Tony and signed."

"Tony has not all of the requisite information. I do." She shrugs, expanding, "Besides, I'm a trickster. My word is garbage."

Steve tries to stifle his grin. "I want you to come in last. Tony's already agitated, and I'd prefer not to spook him."

She grins, though she doesn't think her presence would actually spook him. Still, she does not contradict Steve. "As you command, Captain." Before she can step away, he tries to hand her an earpiece. She makes a face at it.

He laughs. "Come on, Major, get with the times."

Grimacing, she slips it into her ear. It crackles disconcertingly as it settles there. "Says you."

They head their separate ways. Sigyn positions herself on the far end of the airport, setting down on the roof of one of the terminals to survey any movement. Through the earpiece, she hears the agitated conversation between Steve and Tony's team, though the sound is muffled.

She startles when Sam's voice rings clear in her ear. "We found it. The Quinjet's in Hangar Five, north runway."

"Alright, Lang," Steve says next. Sigyn sees from her vantage point as fighting breaks out, Tony's team splitting up to target different members of their team. Various muffled voices chirp in her ear from four different conversations. Small explosions ring out across the airport as the fights move along.

The largest explosion yet sounds as a truck emerges out of nowhere, flying through the air and crippling Tony's team for the moment. Her own team rounds up, heading towards the Quinjet. She hears Steve call out, "Come on," which she takes as her cue to join them on the ground. Cloaking herself in a glamour thick enough to make her invisible, she heads out.

Before she can make it to them, Vision burns a line across the concrete in their path. It narrowly misses Pietro, who had been leading the group. They all stop.

"Captain Rogers," Vision starts, levitating in the air above them. "I know you believe what you're doing is right, but for the collective good, you must surrender now." Tony's team assembles across from them as he floats down.

Sigyn comes down before anyone else can make a move, dropping the glamour as she does. She lands heavily between Steve and Wanda, neither of whom so much as flinch at her abrupt arrival.

Her appearance does, in fact, spook Tony. His face lights up with a renewed furor, and he shouts, "No, no! This is a foul!"

"Whatever is the matter, Tony," she asks, her voice deceptively sweet. "Afraid I'll leave you on a roof somewhere while we sort this whole thing out?"

Throwing up his hands, he yells, "How can you even side against us? You signed the Accords with magic. Isn't your soul bound to obey it?"

Taken aback at the odd proposition, she snorts. "Who told you such nonsense?"

Tony's frown deepens as Rhodey steps forward. "You're going to want to stand down, Major. Don't think we won't arrest you, too," he warns her.

She waves him off. "Forgive me if I'm not particularly worried, Colonel."

Sam breaks through the aside. He addresses Steve, too quiet for the other team to hear, "What do we do, Cap?"

"We fight," he answers simply, and they all start forward.

As soon as everyone is in motion, Sigyn darts up quickly, hoping to throw Vision off-balance. She slams into him midair, and her momentum sends them into the side of a plane. They hit the ground in unison, though Vision lands on his feet while she falls on her hip. She tries to get up fast enough to maintain the upper hand and throw the first punch, but he's crowding her as soon as she's standing. His arm comes out, his elbow coming for her face, but she blocks it, landing a punch with her other arm and kicking out one of his legs. As he stumbles, she rushes forward to pound him thrice in the chest and knock him down.

Once he has one knee on the ground, the stone in his head starts to glow. "I warn you," she cautions, hoping to beg him off, but he is not deterred.

A blast of yellow energy bursts out from the stone, surging towards her chest. She brings up her hand to stop it, returning fire with mystical energy. It is the longest sustained blast she has ever managed, but even with full mastery, she knows it could never compete with the Mind Stone for long.

His blast cuts through hers, slamming into her breast. She goes flying back, skidding along the ground as she tumbles to a stop. Her breastplate warped, she rips it off herself, muttering, "Fuck's sake, every time one of those stupid stones—" She cuts herself off as she clambers to her feet.

Already, Vision is engaging someone else, so she counts herself out and considers that battle lost. The other fights going on around her show no signs of stopping. Feeling impatient—she had come here for a purpose, damn it—she spies the Wakandan king and Bucky exchanging blows and decides to expedite the process.

Marching over, she latches onto the king's foot with her powers and uses telekinesis to toss him away. Bucky is startled by the interruption, straightening out of his fighting posture. "Thanks."

He almost looks as though he is about to smile, which makes Sigyn feel bad for what she is about to do. "Sorry," she says, wincing. She places her hand on his forehead and starts rooting around for his memories of the other Winter Soldiers.

She sees flashes of what looks like an underground base. There are men and women who are imbued with startling strength and driven by a disturbing lust for blood. The memories come along with the notion that they were somewhere called Siberia. The last flash is of the Winter Soldiers sleeping in strange, upright pods.

She comes out of Bucky's mind to see him on the ground, blinking wide as he clears his head. He looks up at her, shocked and a little horrified. Taking out her earpiece, she flicks it away. "Tell the Captain I'll handle things from here." Without another word, she turns into a raven and soars away.

She follows Bucky's memories to a bitterly cold landscape draped in snow. As she nears the ground, she spots a bulky transport nearby a small, rocky hill, on which she decides to land. There are tracks leading to cracked-open metal doors, so she follows them into what appears to be an old bunker. There is a rudimentary-looking metal elevator that brings her a few levels down. It leads out to concrete hallways that remind her of an older, creepier S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier. Absently, she wonders if this place was built before or after H.Y.D.R.A. infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D.

Her thoughts are diverted when she hears a gunshot ring out. Speeding up but making sure to keep quiet, she eventually comes upon a room with six yellow pods, each of which have cool mist pouring over it. Before one of the pods stands a man she vaguely recognizes, adding another bullet to a small, hand-held gun.

"Zemo," she calls out, confusion heavy in her voice.

He looks up slowly, perturbed. The gun clicks as he finishes loading it. "This is unfortunate."

"What are you doing here," she asks, hesitantly creeping closer to him. As she does, she notices that four of the six chambers have bullet holes in the glass with reciprocal, bleeding heads behind them.

This is not what she had been expecting, she thinks, but that does not mean it is anything good. It may be favorable that Zemo has decided to dispense with the Winter Soldiers, but for him to do it in secret implies that there must be some sinister purpose behind his actions. Perhaps they know something he does not want shared with the world. Regardless, she needs to put a stop to him and leave the proper authorities to deal with the remaining Winter Soldiers.

"I'm here because I made a promise," he tells her. He walks over to the next pod, and she follows close behind. "I swore to myself that I would destroy the Avengers for what they did to my family. I thought the best way to do that was to lure them here and show them the secrets they keep from each other."

"Uh-huh," Sigyn murmurs, more confused than before. Still, she tries to persuade him to stop. "This is a mistake, Zemo. Your son needs his father. Don't do this."

He chuckles bitterly. "It is already done." He aims his gun at the next Soldier.

"Stop," she orders, her voice ringing out in the room. "You must understand, I cannot allow you to continue."

He doesn't look at her. "I didn't want to involve you."

"I am rather sick of the villains of this planet excluding me," she snaps, failing to keep her temper in check in this already-tense situation. She steps in front of him, challenging, "So, why don't you give me your best shot?"

The muscles in his cheek twitch. "Alright," says Zemo. He shoots her point-blank in the forehead.

She is out before she can so much as blink. She neither hears the shot ring out, nor feels herself hit the ground, but when she opens her eyes, she finds herself already lying down. Halfway submerged in a still pool of water—untarnished by her small movements as she shifts on the ground—she looks around, recognizing the endless white void.

This place, if it is indeed a place, is different this time, she notices. She is starting out on the floor, for one, but for another, the sky is different. Last time, she doesn't think there was a sky, but now, she peers up at a starry expanse that seems to go on forever, replete with nebulas, galaxies, and superclusters. Oddly enough, it doesn't reflect on the water, and there is no horizon.

Much like last time, she cannot feel anything. Nevertheless, she groans as her chest plate—the one she recalls having ripped off herself earlier—digs into her stomach as she makes to sit up. She mutters, "This place agai—"

Suddenly awake, Sigyn gasps, her body convulsing as she rolls onto her side. She finds herself lying in a pool of what she can only imagine is her own blood, though vomit soon joins the mix. Sweat has broken out and cooled all over her body, and her head throbs as though it has been split by something. Blindly, she reaches up to rub at her forehead only to inhale sharply as her fingers come in contact with the crumpled bullet still lodged there. She throws up again.

Afterwards, she takes deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Sensations flash across her mind: the feeling of pain, the taste of blood, the sound of water dripping somewhere, the sight of the dim corner into which she has doubtlessly been dragged, and the scent of sick. The last one befuddles her, so she inhales again, though she soon regrets it. The smell turns her stomach, and she dry-heaves, nothing left in her to come out. All throughout her convulsing, bewilderment grips her. She wonders why it is that she can smell again.

So swept up in her musings is she that it takes her a moment to notice the pool of blood extending into a curved path, one likely created by Zemo dragging her. Her hand on the wall, she heaves herself up and follows the trail of blood on unsteady feet. Her march back to the cavern that housed the Winter Soldiers—all of whom are dead now, bullets lodged in each and every one of their heads—is slowed by a deep-set exhaustion that grips her bones. She notices considerable debris that had not been here earlier, and she wonders how much time has passed and who else was or is still here. Curious, she reaches out to the astral plane, but her mind protests so sharply that she stops once she has the nearest person within her sight: Tony. Zeroing in on him, she stumbles through the bunker until she finds him.

She ends up in a lower level of the base, one that leads out into the snowy terrain outside. Tony has his arm raised threateningly as she turns the corner, so she holds up her hand, grousing, "Not now. I've already been shot once today."

He visibly relaxes, but the alarm remains on his face as he takes her in. She imagines she looks something like a walking corpse, what with the bullet in her forehead and the blood she can feel having run down her face. Rather redundantly, he remarks, "I thought bullets couldn't pierce your skin."

She goes to sit by him, her body and mouth both making creaking sounds as she settles onto the cold floor. "I thought so, too."

He reaches out, using his suit to analyze the bullet. A mechanical humming noise sounds, and he pulls back. "This is pure steel. He must've had them special-made for the Soldiers." He glances up at her, and dismay colors his voice. "It was able to go through your flesh but not your skull."

"Relax, I'm practically invulnerable, at least on this planet," she sighs.

"If he'd shot you through the neck, you'd be dead," he points out. "Today, it's a steel bullet. One day, it'll be vibranium, and it won't matter where it hits you."

"Aren't you painfully pessimistic today," she remarks.

"Yeah, well," he sighs. "I've had a bad day."

Her head throbs again as she recalls what Zemo had said earlier. "The secret Zemo revealed, what—"

"I don't want to talk about it," he practically shouts, flexing his hand as though to ward off the desire to strangle someone. "I need—" he cuts himself off, prompting her to give him an inquisitive look. "I need Pepper."

"So, call her," she suggests. "She will understand."

He shakes his head, looking miserable. "She's been screening my calls."

It takes some effort and a lot of shimmering, her head screaming at her in retribution, but eventually, her phone appears in her hand. "Call her."

Rather than taking the proffered peace offering—they had fought on opposing sides of a civil war today, for Borr's sake—he merely stares at it with distaste. "Listen, it's a nice gesture and all, but I don't like to be handed things." Squinting at him, confused, she slowly sets the phone on the ground. "Thanks."

"You're weird," she informs him.

"I think you mean, 'You're welcome,'" he jokingly corrects. She responds with a glare, but he pays it no mind. "It's okay. Learning curve."

She considers the conversation ended as he begins to tap on the screen, likely inputting Pepper's phone number. She leaves him to his call and makes the long trek back outside, her steps slow and laborious all the way through the bunker. Once outside, she falls against the rocky wall beside the bunker door, letting the cold seep into her skin and ground her.

As snow blows around her, she notices that she is not alone. Not twenty feet away, Zemo is being arrested with the Wakandan king nearby. She almost breathes a sigh of relief until she notices who it is that is doing the arresting.

Ross starts over to her as soon as he spies her. A curse leaves her mouth but gets lost in the wind before it reaches him, though he certainly wouldn't have heard it over his own raucous voice anyhow. "I'm glad to see you're not dead, as I'd been led to believe, but unfortunately, you still violated the Accords less than a weekafter signing them."

She doesn't move from her slumped position. "Your point being?"

Laughing shortly in apparent disbelief, he tells her, "My point being you're under arrest."

Sigyn laughs, too. "No, I am not."

"Oh? And why is that," he questions.

Smooth as she can manage with the killer migraine she has, she tells him, "Because you don't want the entire world to find out about the Winter Soldiers."

Ross looks as though he cannot believe what he is hearing. "You're threatening to leak classified information that you only uncovered because you broke international law? You're blackmailing the U.S. government?"

"You should count this as a victory, Secretary Ross. You were right. You can't trust a trickster." With some effort, she pushes herself off the wall. "I told you I would involve myself in potentially world-ending events, such as one that might topple world governments. If you want to direct me on such matters, you need to be the one to inform me of them." She walks past him without another word, intent on getting stitched up and going home.

A week later, she gets a box from Tony in the mail. In it is her phone, a pair of square-rimmed, orange-tinted spectacles, and a note that reads, "Phone's tapped. I'd use the glasses if I were you."

Curious, she puts on the glasses. "Hello, Sigyn," chirps a strange voice. "I am A Super Trustworthy, Ridiculously Intelligent Device, but you can call me A.S.T.R.I.D."

She startles. "What the shit—"

---

Over the next several weeks, her wound heals, the skin fusing itself back together and the discoloration slowly fading. Jane and Darcy had both been horrified to have heard what had happened, though their reactions to the injury had been far less visceral than Tony's, having been spared seeing it in all its gory glory.

Thor, on the other hand, even being the latest of her friends to witness the wound, has the most overblown reaction. He bursts into the bathroom as she works on pulling out her stitches, Jane having ratted her out. She screams, swatting at him as she berates him for nearly making her tear up her freshly healed flesh. She finishes removing the stitches and rebandaging the wound after kicking him out.

She comes out just as their dinner for the evening is being delivered, lucky enough to overhear Darcy, Jane, and Thor as they plot against her. "So," Jane is saying, "when we set up the food, we'll put the wasabi next to her."

"Why, again," asks Thor.

Darcy explains, "Because she always eats so much of it because she could barely taste it before, but now, it'll totally kill her."

Palpably distressed, he nearly shouts, "It will?"

"Not literally," Jane assures him. "She'll probably just need a glass of milk. Maybe there'll be a few tears. It's just a light-hearted prank."

At dinner, Sigyn makes sure to only take a little wasabi, silently delighting in Jane and Darcy's eager-turned-miffed expressions. Thor's countenance remains moody no matter what is happening. She resolves to not let his pouting bother her. What does it matter that she had not bothered to tell him about Zemo? He had been off-planet anyhow.

Later that night, Sigyn overhears another conversation between Jane and Thor, this one sans Darcy.

"—the wound over her brow," Thor is saying, sounding as though he is in the midst of a rant.

Jane speaks up. "It's healed. She's fine."

His voice booms. "And what of when it is not fine? What of when it is Thanos, and he splits her skull open for good!"

Sigyn starts from where she is standing behind the wall leading from the bedrooms. Sometimes, she forgets that he actually likes her or gives a shit about what happens to her, so accustomed as she is to the two of them barely interacting, operating on opposite sides of Loki's life.

But Loki is dead now, she thinks, so they are left with each other.

Jane tries to head him off. "Thor—"

He barrels past her protests, frustration leaking into his voice. "I can't find any of the stones. I don't know which of them he has. I don't know what he is doing. How can I solve anything if I have nothing with which to work?"

"I don't think it matters," she sighs, her voice laden with resignation. "I don't think you can stop him."

He sounds angrier still. "You said you thought she could survive—that the prophecy was misleading."

"Maybe it is," she concedes, though her tone bears little faith. "But Sigyn met Thanos. He believes he's going to kill her."

"That does not mean he will succeed," he insists.

"She's not invincible," she counters.

Sigyn almost reveals her presence then, seeking to agree with Jane and lay this topic to rest, but Thor's next words ground her in place and steal her breath. "Loki would want me to save her."

Jane, too, seems to have had her words plundered. A long moment elapses before she says, "I think he'd understand if you couldn't."

He is as obstinate as ever. "You didn't know my brother."

Sigyn finally steps out from the hall, calling their attention to her. "She's right. He wouldn't blame you, nor would I. You can't save everyone." She takes a deep breath before continuing. "Sometimes, you lose."

He hardly looks swayed, his displeasure clear on his face. "I have lost enough."

"This is why I did not want to tell anyone. It is hard to watch someone die," she says gently.

That strikes a chord with him. He points at her, beginning to march toward the balcony. "You are not dying. I'm going back out to look for the stones." Without another word to either of them, he wrenches open one of the glass doors and summons Mjolnir, taking off a second later.

Once the sight of him has disappeared, Jane breaks the silence between them, sighing, "You were right. It would have been better if he'd never found out."

Shrugging, Sigyn starts on the same path Thor had taken. "I had to help fight Ultron." She reaches the open door, intent on following him. She needs to speak with him before he leaves.

"Did you," Jane asks, keeping her. "The Avengers might have been able to handle it without you."

Sigyn turns back. "Is that a risk you would be willing to take if you were in my position?"

Jane stares into the middle-distance. "I don't know. I'm not a hero." Privately, Sigyn wonders if what Jane says is true considering everything that happened with the Dark Elves. The woman had risked life and limb to save the Nine Realms.

She leaves her musings unspoken as she departs, turning into a bird and flitting down to the spot in Central Park that Thor always uses to summon the Bifröst. She almost misses him, arriving just as he turns his face to the sky to call on Heimdall.

"Just a moment," she says. He looks down to find her crouched outside of the Bifröst's imprint on the ground, having just retaken her own form. She stretches out her legs as she stands, rolling her ankles when one of them twinges.

"What," he barks, apparently not in the mood for any delays.

She winces, feeling already as though this conversation is not going to go well. "I have an uncomfortable question." Impatient, he gestures at her to get on with it, so she does. "Why are you so upset at the prospect of me dying? Is it that—" She breaks off, the thunderous look on his face intimidating enough, yet she forces herself to finish. "Is it that you are replacing Loki with me and do not wish to mourn for him again?"

His lips drawn, he is silent for a long time, so long that she almost thinks that he is going to leave without saying anything, but then he speaks. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I care for you?"

She lies without thinking. "It isn't, it's only—" Cutting herself short once more, she tries again. "It was like this with Loki, too, at first. It was all so unbelievable, our friendship."

"How do you mean," he asks, his brow furrowed.

She rolls her eyes. "Come now, be not obtuse." He stares at her expectantly. "I am a lord's bastard. You are a prince. It's ridiculous! You should not even know that I exist."

"Too bad you do exist, then," he says, hiding a grin. She endeavors to hide hers, too.

He turns back one last time before he goes. "Do you really think Loki would understand if I couldn't save you?"

"I don't know. He was a dick," she supposes.

Thor nods. "That, he was."

From then on, he drops in less and less often with longer stretches of time between each visit. Jane feels his absence the most. No longer are the days when he would stay with her for months on end, the two of them emersed in one another. At the time, Sigyn remembers finding their exorbitant intimacy annoying, but now, watching Jane mope about and miss him, she recalls those days more fondly.

One night, Jane bursts into the condo alone. This is odd only because Thor had promised he would return sometime this month. Today is November Thirtieth. "What is wrong with Asgardian men?"

"I could pen a treatise addressing that very question," Sigyn calls out from where she and Darcy are seated in front of the television, watching Grey's Anatomy.

Jane comes to a stop in front of her. "When you and Loki were dating—"

Interrupting, she clarifies, "I'd not say we were ever dating. We went on a date, and he committed treason the next day."

"Fine. Guys you dated before him," she amends.

Sigyn reminds her, "I only dated women before Loki."

Frustrated, Jane stresses, "As a member of society, based on your observations—" Sigyn nods, encouraging her to make her point. Darcy mutes the television. "Are they all so flaky? Thor didn't show up this month either."

Sigyn considers, "Well, over the course of our friendship, Loki was always very attentive. We would meet for meals, go for strolls—"

"So, you were dating," surmises Darcy, her tone flat.

"In my defense, I was at first a clueless lesbian, and then an obstinate bisexual," she responds, using some of the fun terms she has learned during her time on Earth.

Jane blows over their little sidebar. "Okay, but Loki was still a prince like Thor. He must have had to cancel at the last minute sometimes."

Sigyn nods. "You're right, he would."

"Okay, so, did he just say, 'Raincheck, see ya next time?'" Her voice drops out as she delivers the line, trying but failing to sound sufficiently masculine.

Eyes narrowed, Sigyn answers, "I am unfamiliar with this raincheck of which you speak, but he would usually send me flowers or jewelry to make up for it."

"Wow," Darcy exhales, her voice a bit dreamy. Sigyn cuts her a warning glance.

Looking very nearly devastated—her brow peaked and her chin wobbling—Jane ponders, "So, what is it, then? Is it me?"

Immediately, Darcy states, firm, "No."

Sigyn is less decisive. "Well," she hedges, prompting both women to look at her, Darcy with a warning glance of her own. "Perhaps, as you are a mortal and he a god, he feels as though he need not woo you any further. For what mortal would ever sever ties with a god?" Jane sits down heavily. "Of course, that does not mean you are the problem. The fault lies with him. As they say, men are trash." After thinking for a moment, she amends her statement, "No, men are dogs. Men are vermin. Men are pests. Which is it," she asks, turning to Darcy.

"Literally all of them," she tells her.

Pursing her lips, she turns back to Jane. "That says it all, does it not?"

Jane hardly seems pleased with her assessment. She stands abruptly before stomping off. "Well, maybe I thought this one wasn't trash," she shouts, slamming her bedroom door closed after her. Sigyn and Darcy trade anxious looks, each knowing this development does not bode well.

Sure enough, things come to a head between Thor and Jane the next time he is on Earth.

Sigyn takes notice when he arrives, the pinging noise from Jane's equipment alerting her, so she quickly retreats to her room, not wanting to be in the way when he gets to the condo. She expects, at the very least, a loud argument between the two of them.

What she hears, though, louder than any yelling could be, is thunder. It roars across the sky, shaking the city and complimenting the bright streaks of lightning that produce it. After a particularly resounding crack, she takes it upon herself to interfere.

She finds Thor outside on the balcony, talking to Jane. The younger woman is in the midst of speaking when she opens the door. "—be mean."

He replies, accompanied by another clap of thunder, "You expect me to be courteous?"

"What is with all the thunder," Sigyn shouts at him. His head snaps up to regard her, not having noticed her presence. "You're scaring the mortals."

Thor points an accusatory finger. "Jane is breaking up with me!" With his other hand, he holds up a crumpled, yellow piece of paper. "And she tried to do it with a note!"

"Oh." Jane looks over at her, looking morose. "Well, ah—Oh, yes, Darcy?" Turning tail, she darts back inside. Thankfully, no one bothers to point out that Darcy is at a lecture right now.

Once safe in her room again, she decides to take a shower, figuring that by the time she has finished, the break-up will have taken effect and whatever pieces that need picking up will have settled. She scrubs her body clean first. After she has shampoo in her hair, she steps out of the shower stall and slips into a robe. She has just grabbed her brush and started moving it in small circles over her scalp when the door to her room suddenly opens and closes again.

Thor is pacing the length of her room, steam practically rolling off him. She tries to make a lighthearted quip. "So, you get me in the divorce? Shit draw."

He stops and crinkles his nose at her. "What are you doing?"

"Exfoliating my scalp," she answers. He looks at her as though she has grown a second head, so she crinkles her nose in return. When it becomes apparent that he is not going to leave, she sets down her brush and sighs, "Just sit down."

He drops onto the edge of her bed—which is not what she meant, there is a chair in the corner of the room for a reason—and she pads over, sitting beside him. She pats his knee. "It's alright. It had to end some time."

"Did it," he counters, recalcitrant.

"All good things come to a close," she says, regurgitating the age-old line. "Were you hoping it would end with her?"

Uncomfortable at the thought of Jane dying, he does not answer. They sit in silence for a long moment, one that stretches far enough to leave her wondering if she can slip away and finish her shower. She gives up on the thought when he asks, "Do you think you'll ever fall in love again?"

Unable to help herself, she snorts, "No."

He looks down at her, surprised. "You sound so sure of yourself."

Spreading her arms, she pronounces, "That is the beauty of death. It is very final."

He winces. "For once, can you be not so morbid?"

"Very well," she supposes, sighing overdramatically. Composing herself, she ventures, "You know, after I fell in love with Loki, I was not sure that I had ever been in love before."

"Really," he wonders.

She shakes her head. "The notion was very quaint, though the feeling behind it was real. Everything before him seemed to pale in comparison. That feeling, I know, will never come again."

She had not been looking at him as she spoke, staring instead at the fae music box on her dresser. She peers over at him when she hears his breath hitch, however. His eyes are glistening, though he is blinking enough to keep any tears at bay.

She tries to encourage him. "Do you want to cry it out?"

He sniffs conspicuously. "Please. I am a man."

Rolling her eyes, she offers, "Come on, I will cry with you."

Disbelief painting his voice, he skeptically intones, "You're going to cry on command."

"I can," she asserts.

"You cannot," he argues. Concentrating for a second and digging her nails into her palm, she summons the requisite emotion to burst into tears. A sob rips out of her, and he gasps, "You witch!"

Her weeping breaks off into laughter. "Come on," she encourages again as a tear sweeps over her lashes and glides down her cheek.

He puffs up his chest, looking as though he is preparing himself for a brutal experience, or perhaps trying to intimidate her. "You swear not to breathe a word of this."

A little sad from the forced tears, she warbles, "Who have I to tell?"

He lets a few tears drop, and his breath hitches a few times. Ever dutiful, she pretends not to notice.

---

Several months after Thor has gone, Sigyn's phone rings with an unknown number while she is standing in line at the supermarket one evening. A little disconcerted given that most of her calls go through the glasses Tony gave her—which currently rest on the bridge of her nose—these days, she answers it after a moment's consideration.

Before she can say a word, Natasha's voice speaks into her ear. "You remember what I told you about the Red Room? About how I took out the head honcho before I defected to S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Yes," she answers haltingly, taken off guard. The woman has been on the run for over a year now. Why, she wonders, is she calling her now, and about this? "Natasha, what is going on? Where are you?"

"Turns out, I was wrong," Natasha continues, ignoring her questions. From what Sigyn can hear through the phone, it sounds as though Natasha is rushing through something. There is rustling, fumbling, and the occasional grunt of effort. "Dreykov survived, and the Red Room is still around."

"Okay," Sigyn says. She reasons that Natasha must be taking a second shot at the operation. "What do you need?"

"I need one of the big ones. I need you," Natasha tells her.

Her phone beeps to signal that she is receiving another call. She pulls back to see who it is. As expected, the name Thaddeus Ross is emblazoned bright across the screen. "Natasha, all of my calls are monitored."

"I know. I'm counting on it," she mutters. Something that sounds like a gun clicksin the background. "57.404129 latitude, 47.469254 longitude. Thirty-thousand feet in the air. One hour. Will you be there?"

Sigyn recalls everything Natasha had told her about the Red Room when they'd had lunch after signing the Sokovia Accords. She had not gone into any great detail, but Sigyn had gotten the gist. Natasha had spent her whole life there until she had summoned the courage to escape, breaking free of the blood and torture that had consumed her life. Even if Natasha no longer finds herself trapped under the Red Room's influence, it cannot be a mistake to free anyone who is.

"You know I will," she assures her. Natasha ends the call, and after taking half a second to compose herself, she answers Ross's call.

Once more, the person on the other side of the line speaks first. "You are not to go to that site," orders Ross.

Sigyn muscles her way out of the throng of people in the store, abandoning her groceries and heading outside. Once there, she responds, "The Red Room presents endless possibilities of potentially world-ending events. I told you to be the one to bring such things to my attention."

"The Red Room is gone. It has been for years," he denies, irritation clear in his voice. "Do not go to that site. I will have you arrested. Damn you and your consequences."

Her Terran clothes shift into her usual dress and armor. She hears a few people gasp and a few phone cameras snap. "Will you be there," she wonders.

Ross's answer is succinct. "I will be there to arrest Natasha Romanoff, yes."

"Then, I promise you'll not see me there." She tosses her phone away, and it vanishes before it can hit the ground. She calls, "A.S.T.R.I.D., did you hear those coordinates?"

"Yes, ma'am," the device chirps.

"Show me," she requests. Instantly, the image of an empty, grassy field appears within the glass. It zooms out to show the surrounding area—wider fields, forests, and cities—until the line defining the country of Russia blinks red before her eyes. The next thing she sees is a clear visual of the path she would need to take to get to the specified site. If she turns into a wound-grouse, she expects she could be there in an hour.

She makes the transformation. In under a minute, the sight of New York City disappears behind her, the Atlantic Ocean stretching to the horizon. She cannot afford to be late.

It is a perilous hour of flying at break-neck speeds. Never has she pushed herself this far before, the longest she has ever before flown as a wound-grouse being the one time she had circled Asgard in under two minutes on a dare from Loki. She arrives at what must be the Red Room—a massive cylindrical structure with nine arms floating amidst the clouds—just as the Sun crests over the horizon. She staggers back into her original form, out of breath and aching, her lungs burning, her arms sore, and her neck stiff.

She creeps on board using the structure's landing pad, taking the form of one of the guards to disguise herself as she navigates the halls. She uses the astral plane to home in on Natasha, locating her in the floor above her. Once she finds the room Natasha is in, she nudges the door open quietly. She sees Natasha on the far side of the room, which appears to be some sort of office—what must be the administrative hub of this place—getting up from a crouched position with blood dripping from her nose. An older man, Dreykov, Sigyn presumes, is standing at a desk, tapping at something with his fingers and projecting an image onto the wall opposite to him.

"Look at them," he tells Natasha. She looks to the wall to see a map of the Earth, so focused on it that she misses Sigyn standing in the doorway. What he says next snares Sigyn's attention, too. "These girls were trash. They are thrown out into the street. I recycle the trash, and I give them purpose. I give them a life." On the wall, the pictures of hundreds, if not thousands, of young girls have taken up the screen.

Dreykov continues as the screen flashes to images of explosions as big as cities. "It's my network of widows that helped me control the scales of power. One command, the oil and stock markets crumble. One command, and a quarter of the planet will starve. My widows can start and end wars. They can make and break kings."

So, this is where the name Black Widow comes from, Sigyn realizes. She wonders why Natasha has kept it all these years.

"You control all that from here," Natasha asks him.

He ignores her question. "And with you, an Avenger under my control," he drawls, taking a seat, "I can finally come out of the shadows, using the only natural resource that the world has too much of." The screen flashes back to the photographs from before. "Girls."

That final word resonates deep within Sigyn, lighting a fire in her core. Enraged, she steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her with enough force to make it shudder. Dreykov startles, standing once more and darting his eyes between her and Natasha, who looks as though she had known Sigyn had been here the whole time.

Dispelling a harsh breath, Sigyn allows her fury to cool slightly before speaking. "Natasha was the first woman I met on Earth. At first, I thought, 'Perhaps Midgard is not so bad. Perhaps the girls here have a chance to do what they wish. To be strong, powerful." She lets her gaze bore into Dreykov and starts a menacing stroll over to him. "I see now I was wrong, and it is worse than I could have possibly fathomed. For every strong woman, there are a thousand subjugated by manipulative, psychopathic men like you."

Despite her approach, he appears unbothered. He looks to Natasha, telling her, "You called the wrong god."

"No, I didn't," she coolly responds.

Practically gleeful, he shouts, "She's a woman! She'll be just as susceptible to the pheromones as you are." Sigyn stops, tilting her head to the side in question, and he explains, "There is a pheromonal lock. Smelling my pheromones prevents you from committing violence against me." She wrinkles her nose, disturbed.

"Too bad that when that alien attacked her in London, she lost her sense of smell," Natasha tells him, running the pad of her finger over the space between her eyebrows. "Severed the nerve."

At this, Dreykov begins to look worried, and as much as she hates to ruin it, Sigyn corrects her, "Actually, my olfaction returned after Zemo shot me."

Natasha hisses "what" as Dreykov laughs.

"However, let us not forget that I am an alien," she points out, the implication that human pheromones are not likely to have an effect on her clear in her statement. She advances on Dreykov again.

Before she can reach him, an explosion rings out, rocking the ship, and they all stumble. Dreykov uses the momentary distraction to go for his gun, which he levels at Sigyn.

She laughs. "Surely, you know that will not work on me."

"Helmut Zemo shot you with a specially made steel bullet. It struck your skull hard enough not to break through the bone, but to give you enough blunt force trauma to knock you out," he states. Sigyn narrows her eyes, curious as to how he gleaned this information. He must read her curiosity on her face, telling her, "I know because he contracted one of my suppliers." Holding up his own weapon, he shares, "The bullets I have are made of vibranium."

Holding up her hands, she curses Tony's apparent clairvoyance. "Hold on now. Let's not be hasty," she says for show, waiting for Dreykov's grip to slacken enough for her to be able to summon it to her own hand. Once it graces her palm, she smiles and stows it away.

In what she imagines is a last-ditch effort to protect himself, Dreykov dives for a tablet on his desk. Sigyn stops his arm before he can reach it, the limb quivering from the conflicting forces. She flicks her wrist, picking him up from the ground and flinging him across the room. He slams into the opposite wall with a grunt before sliding into the floor with a groan.

"What do you think," she asks Natasha. "Do the pheromones work?"

Natasha hustles to the other side of the desk. "I think that counts as committing violence." She picks up a ring from the desk and moves it along some sort of pad. A small terminal emerges from the desk's surface, and she inserts a disc into its port.

With her eyes on the screen as girls' pictures flash in quick succession, she says to Dreykov, "You took my childhood. You took my choices and tried to break me, but you're never gonna do that to anybody ever again."

More explosions sound off, causing metal to creak and dust to fly. After another minute, the screen reports that the data transfer Natasha had initiated is complete. She takes the disc back out and hands it to Sigyn. "Put this in your void-thingy."

Almost laughing at her choice in terminology, Sigyn does as ordered. She asks, "Is that it?"

"Not quite," Natasha says. She turns to Dreykov, who is lying on his side, watching them through the cracked lens of his spectacles. "I need you to finish the job."

Unease prickling over her skin, Sigyn realizes why it is that Natasha really called her here. Evidently, she could have done everything else by herself. "What?"

"You're the only one who can," she reasons, firm. "Besides, I've tried before, and that didn't exactly work out."

Sigyn is just as steady in her response. "I don't kill."

"You killed that alien guy," she argues.

Sigyn frowns. "That was different. He killed my mother."

She nods in Dreykov's direction. "He killed mine."

"You girls are pathetic," he calls out, garnering their full attention. "All this deliberation, this moral-dilemma pussyfooting." He zeroes in on Natasha. "What happened to you? This is not how I raised you."

Silence reigns for several seconds, Natasha staring down at the man with her contempt for him written across her face. At last, she comes to a decision, squaring her shoulders and turning to Sigyn. "Alright, you gonna help me out, then?"

Hearing the implication in her voice, she urges, "Brace yourself." Natasha inhales quickly just before Sigyn flicks her solidly on the forehead.

Natasha rears back a little, hissing and shaking her head. Once her eyes have focused again, no longer foggy from the flash of pain, she takes a whiff of the air. "Yup," she surmises, likely unable to smell anything. She pulls out her gun and says to Dreykov, "Anything else you wanna say?"

Just as Dreykov opens his mouth to speak, Natasha shoots him twice: first in the chest, then between the eyes. His glasses split in half from the force of the grazing bullet. Sigyn does not look away from his final moments. She may be averse to killing, but she is not unused to it.

As Natasha goes over to check his pulse, another woman enters the room. She is younger than Natasha, with blonde hair and brown eyes. "Natasha, I freed the widows. Melina says we have to—" She breaks off as she notices Sigyn, her mouth gaping in shock. "Holy shit, it's one of the gods from space."

Another blast roars from nearby, and one of the walls begins to crumble. "We need to go," Natasha says, heading for the door.

The other woman complains, "That's what I came here to say."

They make it down to the landing pad and board a plane manned by two other strangers: an older woman with dark hair and a portly man in a ridiculous costume. After the three of them are strapped in, they take off, trying to fly out of the falling wreckage of the Red Room.

The blonde shouts at her from where she is seated on the other side of the cabin. "I'm Yelena, Natasha's little sister."

"Oh," Sigyn blurts, surprised. Natasha had told her that she did not have any family. She wonders if the other two are her parents.

Yelena doesn't give her any time to think of a better response. "Can you tell me if you use ibuprofen after a fight?"

Confused at the out-of-place question, she yells, "I don't know what that is."

"I knew it," Yelena yells to Natasha, who rolls her eyes from beside Sigyn.

Any further conversation is hindered as debris suddenly strikes the plane, taking out one of the wings. Sigyn clenches her teeth as the plane spins out of control, plummeting toward the ground. She stretches out an arm to take control of the craft and slow its descent, but by the time she has a solid grip on the hull, they crash into something else, and she loses focus.

They hit the ground a few seconds later, skidding across the soft earth beneath them. When the plane finally comes to a stop, they are tilted with the broken wing digging into the ground and forcing them to climb out of the plane through the busted cockpit windshield.

An hour past dawn now, the Sun sheds a warm light across the landscape, illuminating blades of grass and shards of glass alike. As Sigyn trudges away from the plane, she gazes in the star's direction, taking in its glow. So focused on it is she that she almost misses the train of vehicles that appear beneath its light.

"Shit," she curses, whipping around. A whistle directs her to Natasha, who stands apart from her family as they board another plane—much like the one they had crashed in—its doors open to reveal a crowd of young women. The other widows, she presumes. One stands out among them: a woman in a bulky blue suit.

"That'll be Ross," Natasha says once she reaches her side, her eyes on the head vehicle.

Sigyn nods. "I have an idea." She waves an arm in front of them as Ross's car rolls up, stopping roughly thirty feet away. "Make not a sound."

A dozen other cars pull up, each of them depositing a slew of soldiers. Out of the head vehicle comes Ross, who peers through the wreckage, hoping to catch sight of them. Once the soldiers have spread out per his instructions, she pushes Natasha towards one of the unmanned vehicles.

The soldiers' eyes pass through them as they move towards their destination. Natasha appears spooked by the ordeal, likely accustomed to having to move in the shadows in order to go unnoticed.

They linger by their chosen mode of escape until Ross announces that the operation is a bust. As soon as the soldiers move to return to the cars, Sigyn mimics their clothing for herself and Natasha, drops the glamour that had made them invisible, and rushes into their car. Natasha takes the wheel, and they are the first to peel out of the field.

As Natasha drives at the head of the convoy that had been sent out to capture them, she remarks, "I have to say, that was the easiest escape I've ever managed."

Looking through the rearview mirror, Sigyn catches sight of Ross in the car behind them. He is shouting at his inferiors, and she delights in the thought she and her driving companion are the topic of conversation. "I wouldn't say you managed it, but alright," she says.

"Ouch," says Natasha, and they both laugh.

Sigyn catches sight of the plane with the other widows and Natasha's family as it rises through the sky ahead of them. "So, that was your family," she ventures, pointing up at the plane. She recalls Yelena, and how she had reminded her of another blonde woman. "My sister doesn't look much like me either."

Natasha's voice is rankled when she speaks. "We're not really related. They're—" She cuts herself off, taking a deep breath before starting again. "Melina's not so bad—she went through the same crap we did—but Alexei, he was distant and cruel and let me and Yelena be trafficked back into the Red Room." Her voice dies again, and Sigyn almost thinks the conversation has died along with it. "He was the closest thing I ever had to a father."

"I think a girl's father is often the first man to betray her," Sigyn remarks, feeling philosophical. She sees Natasha nod thoughtfully in her periphery. Thinking of Andor, she admits, "My father tried to kill me when I was a babe."

Natasha's head snaps over to her, and the car swerves a little. "You're kidding."

Gesturing to her neck, Sigyn removes the ever-present glamour that covers her scar. "I am almost certain it was him, though I suppose, I'll never truly know for sure."

After cutting a few glances at the old wound in between keeping her eyes on the road, Natasha asks, "Are you trying to one-up me right now?"

"No," Sigyn exclaims, an entirely inappropriate giggle escaping from her. "No, I am serious."

Grinning, Natasha hums as though she does not quite believe her. Sigyn once more insists that she is telling the truth. "Okay, okay. I believe you," she relents. She shakes her head. "Wow. So much childhood trauma to go around. It probably shouldn't always fall to us to save the world."

"Probably not," Sigyn agrees wryly.

Natasha drops her off in a city called Moscow after the convoy splits up, making her hand over the disc from Dreykov's computer before she gets out of the car. Sigyn only lets her go after she informs her that she intends to track down the other Avengers who are on the run. From there, after consulting a travel agent, Sigyn catches a train to Rome and thereafter boards a fantastically large boat heading to New York.

Standing on the deck of the ship as it sets out to sea, she slips her glasses on for the first time in two days. Immediately, A.S.T.R.I.D. announces an incoming call from Jane. "Where have you been, you lunatic," the woman shouts at her as soon as she answers.

"I have been violating the Sokovia Accords," she answers, unconcerned. An older man a few feet away waves at her, admiring the form of the Dabur Amla Hair Oil model who she had copied. She flips him off.

"Please tell me you're using your glasses and not your phone," Jane says.

"I will be home in sixteen days," she tells her instead of answering.

Jane sighs. "Fine, but Darcy wants you to know that she's upset that you never got her Everything but the Bagel seasoning."

Snorting, Sigyn drawls, "Well, you tell her that I am so devastated by my own failure that I intend to throw myself overboard."

While docked in Cannes, Sigyn spends a few hours astral projecting herself into the condo so as to fool Ross, who had dropped in for a surprise visit in an attempt to catch her out. The rest of the trip is smooth sailing, however, and by the end, she concludes that it was a good idea to take the long way home, even if it had cost her almost three-thousand dollars.

---

"Remind me again that which we are meant to do," Sigyn says to Tony, who is currently sitting across from her in his limousine.

A few days ago, he had gotten a call about a commemorative plaque being installed at the site where the Avengers had first assembled during the Battle of New York. Much to her displeasure, he had agreed not only to his own appearance, but to hers, as well. The excuse he had later given her had been that she has to come because they are the only two of the original Avengers left who are not outlaws, retired, off-planet, or missing-in-action.

He takes a sip of champagne, explaining, "We smile for the cameras. We cut a ribbon. We look pretty. It's a piece of cake, I do it all the time."

As advertised, there are certainly a lot of pictures, many of which are taken before the plaque is even unveiled. By the time they finally begin the ceremony, her cheek muscles are burning.

The mayor of New York City, a greying man whose name she cannot quite remember—she thinks it might be Will or Phil—starts them off with a lengthy speech. He takes a tour of the history of the Avengers, including everyone's personal history, their various highlights, the Accords, and of course, the Battle of New York.

"Because of their courageous efforts that day," he goes on. "We have a new historical, cultural monument. Let this memorial salute not only the Avengers, but the people of this city, and their fighting spirit." With that, he steps to the side, making way for the photographers, who take yet more pictures of her and Tony. As instructed, they cut the red ribbon held up in front of the covered plaque with gigantic, golden scissors.

When the drape is pulled off, she finds that the plaque is bigger than she had expected. Taller than it is long, it displays the seal of New York City and the Avengers symbol. Underneath, each of their names is listed, going from Steve Rogers to Tony Stark to Thor Odinson to Sigyn—

"—Odinson," she yells, her outrage tearing at her throat. "What the fuck? This is not my name."

"Hey, hey, chill out," Tony urges, trying to subdue her as every camera in the vicinity flashes.

The mayor tries to laugh it off, but she can see the stress lines forming around his eyes. "I'm sure we just assumed—"

"'Assumed,'" she parrots, stepping forward. "Did it not occur to you to inquire?"

At this point, Tony resorts to crowding her in order to push her back. Under his breath, he says, "Alright, mellow out. People don't exactly love being threatened by Amazons."

"Amazon? I thought that was a rainforest," she remarks. Unwilling to be side-tracked, she shakes her head so as to clear it. "Regardless, I threaten no one. I am simply expressing my discontent in being misrepresented. My name is Sigyn. Just Sigyn."

He points out, "Everyone still thinks you and Loki were married—"

The reminder causes her to shout, "Even if we had been, that would not make me his father's son!" She steps around him, shoving a finger in the mayor's face. "Listen well, Mayor of New York City, I want this rectified."

The man gapes like a fish, his mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out. Tony pulls her away before anything more can be said. "Alright, thank you for having us." He drags her back to the limousine. "You're welcome for the plaque; wouldn't be here if we hadn't saved the city."

Once back in the car, he grumbles, "Well, that could've gone better." She shoots him a sullen glare. Manifestly trying to lighten the mood, he inquires, "You're still coming to Pepper's fitting next week, right?"

A few months back, Sigyn had been invited to what Tony had called a pre-engagement-party-soirée, at which she had been inducted into the bridal party. Contrary to the title of bridesmaid, however, she has come to learn that she hasn't any actual responsibilities as to the bride. Her role, as Tony's incredibly intense friend-slash-employee Happy had made painstakingly clear to her, was to show up and look pretty in photographs, but not so pretty as to upstage Pepper. She had agreed, thinking the task easy enough.

Annoyed, she replies, "I would not have learned how to respond-if-you-please if I did not intend to honor my commitments."

Heaving a very put-upon sigh, he says, "Okay, I know you heard it in French, and now you're just reading it back, which is why I'm hearing it wrong, but you need to say R.S.V.P."

She shakes her head. "That just sounds like a bunch of letters."

"It is," he acknowledges. "But it makes sense in English."

"And if I need to R.S.V.P. to a French person," she asks cheekily.

He leans back in his seat. "You let me know when that happens."

A few weeks after the incident with the plaque—which had warranted her face being slapped onto the covers of a variety of gossip rags—it is New Year's Eve. Jane, Darcy, and Sigyn arrange for a party to be held at the condo. Most of the invitees are friends of Jane or Darcy. Sigyn had invited Tony and Pepper, but they are hosting their own party on the western coast of the country. She had also invited Rhodey, but he had just ignored her. He is still angry about the Accords, she supposes.

She spends the night as Sarah Newman, not wanting too much attention from the party guests. Erik occupies her for most of the night, asking her a myriad of questions about Vanaheim after she accidently lets it slip that she is a quarter Vanir. At midnight, he gives her a peck on the cheek.

She wanders over to Darcy sometime after that. She immediately notices that the other woman's lipstick is smeared rather magnificently. "I see you are enjoying the newly-born eighteenth year of this millennium," she says in greeting.

Clearly a little tipsy, Darcy sways lightly in place. "The nineteenth, actually. You know, because you start counting at zero," she corrects.

The words strike a chord in her, and she finds herself transported back to her first time on Earth.

On the first day of the nineteenth year of this millennium, Yao had said to her during the Battle of New York, having spirited her into his abode. You will return to this dwelling to meet its new inhabitant.

"Fuck," she swears, grabbing Darcy by the shoulders. Darcy's eyes blow wide as she stares up at her. "It is the first day of the nineteenth year of this millennium."

"I know. I just said that," Darcy slurs.

Sigyn departs from the party in the next moment, not content to wait until daybreak. She takes the subway to the Brooklyn and walks the few blocks from the train to Bleecker Street. There are surprisingly few people on the street for a night of revelry in New York City. She imagines most are in their apartments celebrating the new year whilst she embarks on the tail end of a cryptic message a magical old man gave her almost six years ago.

At last, she comes upon 177A Bleecker Street, an address that must have been set in her subconscious since her return to New York nearly four years prior, her mind subconsciously learning the route here. The building looks to not have changed at all since her last visit, however brief it had been. With everything that has changed in her life since then, this fact alone unsettles her. Nonetheless, she raises her fist to tap lightly at the door, albeit cautiously.

Rather abruptly, she finds herself in what must the foyer of the house, standing before a tall mortal with peculiarly trimmed facial hair and a long, red cape. Taking half a moment to compose herself, she clears her throat and greets him. "Hello. I take it you are Yao's successor."

"I am," he replies. "I take it you're Sigyn?"

"I am," she replies, letting drop her mortal persona. Somewhat nervously, she anticipates whatever is to come next.

"I've been waiting a long time to meet you." He steps forward until they are nearly toe-to-toe. "I'm interested to finally discover why it was so important that we meet." He proceeds to stare at her as though waiting for an answer.

Disconcerted, she stumbles over her words. "I—You mean, you don't know?"

He is equally taken aback. "No, I—You don't know?"

"No," she almost shouts, on the verge of being outraged.

"Oh, for God's sake," he moans, stepping back. "What are we supposed to do? What's the point of all this?"

"I am certain that I do not know," she blusters, following after him. "Are telling me you have no knowledge of my prophecy?"

He throws her a backwards glance. "You have a prophecy about you? Not odd for a demigod, I suppose."

"You truly know nothing," she realizes. Her upset must show in her voice, for he slows his retreat. "I have been squatting on this planet for five years because your predecessor told me that I am to die, and you know nothing?"

He stops, hesitating before bridging, "Look, I'll ask around, alright? Someone ought to know something."

She points a commanding finger at him. "See that you do. I will be back." She heads back towards the door but stops before she reaches it. "I did not catch your name."

He extends his hand. "Doctor Stephen Strange."

Reflexively, she responds, "I am Sigyn."

"I already know who you are," he reminds her, his tone more than a little condescending.

Vexed, she drops his hand and finally makes it to the door. She mutters, "Yes, everyone fucking does these days." As door shuts, she yells behind her. "I will be back!"

When she gets back to the subway station, she discovers that the line she needs to get home has stopped operating for the night. She ends up walking the tracks all the way there, not in the mood to go back above ground and deal with anyone who may recognize her. Once home, she is pleased to see that the party has wrapped up. As she quietly pads over to her room, she sees that Darcy and Erik are passed out on adjacent sofas, Erik's head hanging off the side of the loveseat.

After a brief shower to rid her of the grime of the New York subway system, she crawls into bed, hoping for a few hours of sleep before she has to face the new day. Her head hits the pillow, and she dreams of Ragnarök.

---

End of Part Three

---

Next up, Thor Ragnarok!

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