There is falling, endless falling. The stars are converging together. Nebulas smear into each other like paint under a knife. The universe has turned inside out. There is no end in sight, just blinding color and light.
Your Word
Can you see her?
Yes.
How is she?
The desert wind rustles the sparse greenery and sweeps the remaining petals into the sky. Upwards they fly, into the evening purple and red of the setting sun. Pink clouds swirl and coalesce into a darkening net.
Jane Foster shuts her eyes and misses the sun as it touches the horizon. It descends but her eyelids remain sealed. She knows she is missing what she came out into the outskirts for. The desire is gone. More tears stream down her face.
She searches for you.
She sits on a dark boulder with a woven blanket draped around her. The stars are out. Her hands tug on the ends of the blanket. The fabric hugging her shoulder tightens.
Her hair is wiry, her skin pale. Her fingernails are chipped, picked down to the bed.
Jane gags. She has lost control of her breathing.
"Remember, the box. Box-breathing jane," she scowls at her herself.
Jane inhales for four seconds.
She gags again as she attempts to stifle a cry.
She is unsuccessful.
"Just breathe!" She screams at herself, wiping the wetness off of her hot face.
Jane inhales again for four seconds. She holds it in for two seconds before wailing.
Jane covers her face with both hands and screams. "I hate you!"
The wind has picked up and lifts the blanket off of her back. Jane frantically reaches for the ends but that too is unsuccessful. She watches helplessly as the fabric slides out from between her fingers. It soon disappears into the darkness of the coming night.
"I'm cold," she whimpers.
She wipes more tears and steadies her breathing. Her face is damp now but drier than it had been all evening.
"Get back to lab girl, you can do this."
Jane slides off of the boulder and lands with both boots touching the dirt. The wind is stronger now, sending sheets of dust in her direction. Jane shields her eyes with her arm and marches towards the silhouette of her car. Her forgotten picnic basket rolls off the boulder and crashes against smaller rocks. An unopened bottle of wine explodes, spilling red streams out through the gaps of the woven wicker.
Her fingertips finally touch car door but a strong gust of wind sends her stumbling backwards. Dust temporarily blinds her.
Jane wipes her dust-covered tears away and gets back up. A thought suddenly occurred to her. She reaches out against the wind with an outstretched hand and pushes forward.
"Thor?"
Jane performed the same ritual for twelve months but had never experienced another anomaly like Thor of Asgard. Every night for almost three-hundred days she lifted her chin up towards the stars and waited. Every night her smile grew weaker. She returned to the same boulder yet he never returned to her. Yet she felt strongly for that strange wind. The same wind tossing her aside she imagined to be the God of Thunder gently laying her down on her bed.
Jane pushed forward with both hands reaching into the wind.
She imagined Thor planting a soft kiss on her neck. The same fantasy that she replayed in her head over and over again was real to her, almost hyper-real. The smell of desert flowers was his smell. The texture of the smooth stone was his hands. Even the wind, when it behaved, was his voice whispering into her ear.
I give you my word. I will return for you. Those were his words, she reminded herself.
She reminded herself when she sat alone on the boulder and when she laid beneath her sheets at night. When the desert was at its hottest, she would whisper in a feverish pant. Give me your word.
Suddenly, a blinding light appeared directly in front of her and a smile stretched across her face. A thunderous roar filled the desert.
"You came back," Jane gasped as she pushed harder against the wind.
Then there was complete whiteness followed by absolute darkness.
Jane was upside down, or she felt was upside down. Her whole existence was throbbing and not in the good way. She oriented herself by focusing on each body part: behind her head was a pillow, underneath her back was a soft couch, her feet rested over two cushions atop a footstool. She flexed each of her digits and then touched her face. Gauze was wrapped around her head. She tried to move each muscle at once and winced.
"How's your head?"
Jane heard a voice but her response was delayed.
"You don't have to answer. I have tea for you."
Jane opened one eye and then the other.
She wasn't looking at Thor, no. The person she was sitting in front was much too lean to be the God of Thunder. As her eyes readjusted to the morning light she got a clearer view of who that voice belonged to. It was a man a few years older than she was. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a fine shadow. Her vision grew sharper. He wore a plain white shirt and turtle shell glasses.
Who's this loser, she wondered to herself. Her inner thoughts always stayed that way.
"I'm Jóhann," the man smiled.
"I'm-" she paused before answering anything else. A part of her was suspect of this strange man and another part was still reeling from the sudden burst of pain swelling across her body.
"You're Jane Foster."
"Doctor-"
"My apologies, Doctor."
"You looked at my stuff?" Jane became irate.
"I had to find out who I hit."
"That's a pretty lousy reason to look through- I'm sorry did you say hit?"
Jo slowly nodded.
Jane glanced around and noticed the upscale residence that she was sitting in. They were in an open-concept loft and he was sitting on a very expensive looking coffee table staring at her.
She blinked several times before accepting the fact that the man most certainly looked like Thor, a much skinnier and geekier Thor.
"Who did you say you were?"
He smiled. "I'm Doctor Jóhann but you can call me Jo."
Warning: This story is about mental health and will possibly dive into territories that may be uncomfortable for some readers.