Symbiotic
…and so the stress of endless dreams did take their toll.
It was to be a small station, for Jane had experienced the acute pain of the aether, the loss of Thor once more, the guilt that Frigga had perished in her defense.
What the dreams were about, Jane wouldn't say. Darcy and Erik both attempted to gain an interview, but she would see no one; no one entered her trailer, nor did she attempt to leave it.
She sat at her meager table in the ramshackle dwelling, stirring the coffee she had made hours previous, staring into the still air of close atmosphere and paltry oxygen.
No reprieve nor deep breaths of any sort…
She hardly took any notice of the state. Her eyes held fear, sunken and dark; her skin sallow and wan…she appeared to have lost weight, and she shook with the ferocity of a leaf dangling its last in a November breeze.
Cold…so very cold…she should go outside…warm in the New Mexican desert…dry, arid, clear…
Jane closed her eyes…
The blast of Svartalfheim was swift, swirling grey and brown in the vast landscape…
Her eyes flew open and her breath was quick.
How could she sleep when all she ever saw when she closed her eyes was that dreaded place? All she could hear was Frigga's last gasp…? All she could feel was…
…was…
A tear escaped her eye, and she got up, unsteady, unready, unnerved…
Jane poured herself some water.
He was dead. Dead, she was certain of it. She had seen him die.
Gulping with fervor, she steadied herself. How could she be dreaming about a murderer? A miscreant?
The glass was set on the counter, and Jane Foster decided to go out. She had been holed up in her house/trailer now for weeks.
She went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and her hair…she looked at herself in the glass. Terrible.
Jane put some sunglasses on and left without preamble.
Though nothing of consequence was to be gained from a short walk in Puente Antiguo, it did Jane good to see that she wasn't the only person on Earth.
Earth, not Midgard.
The paltry attempts that Erik and Darcy offered were nothing to Jane, not now.
She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans.
She wasn't like this…this wasn't who she was. She was stronger than these weeks suggested.
With unfettered resolve newly found, she headed back to the trailer…
And she spent the day cleaning, bathing…tomorrow she would do some grocery shopping and go to the lab.
Though hardly exhaustive work, Jane was after a few hours thus, and she decided to lay down (a very smallish voice in her head told her that it was folly to do so, that he might infiltrate her dreams…but she was too tired to argue).
Jane's Asgardian gown whipped about, her head swam with the intoxicating mindlessness of the aether. She watched Thor, Loki…
Loki…
Just then, the thing happened, and he was run through with a spear.
And Jane, not Thor, ran to his side, holding him as he lay dying…
"I am a fool…" he muttered.
"No…" she attempted to quell his mental anguish, and brushed his cheek. "Loki…why did you do it?"
"Do what?" he swallowed.
"Save my life?"
He smiled at her, shaking the life from his body. "Don't you know, Jane Foster?"
She shook her head.
"You don't remember…?" his eyes searched hers.
"Remember…?"
At that, he breathed his last.
"Loki!" she yelled, grasping his shoulders. "Loki!"
"Loki…!" and she woke.
She shook.
And the puzzle of the dream never ceases to confound her, upset her, make her mad…
…and she brewed some coffee once more.