"Not going to sleep, my arse." Sif stood over Loki's sleeping body, jabbing her toe into his ribs, a spot she knew him to be ticklish. Yeah, it was a rude thing to do but they had a big day ahead of them and they needed to get moving. The sooner she could meet Fenrir, the less time she would have to get anxious about it.

Loki squirmed then jerked awake into a sitting position, a small shank readied in his white-knuckled fist. His teeth were bared beneath a disheveled splay of hair.

Sif snorted at the sight. "Good thing I wasn't depending on you to keep me safe while I slept."

Reality dawned slowly onto Loki. He squinted at the harsh morning rays that beamed unmercifully around Sif's silhouette. Huffing, he pushed his hair out of his face and put his weapon away. "Since when do you depend on anyone for your safety?" His voice was as scraggly as the few remaining strands still hanging over his slitted eyes.

"Since...never." Wow, did he just compliment her? He must still be half asleep.

Sif squatted at his side, jiggling a small plate of nuts and fruits in front of him, making them dance wildly. Loki watched the chaotic little foods, brow furrowed.

"Eat these," Sif ordered. She set the plate on his lap then lightly swiped the lingering strings of hair off of his groggy face, revealing fully the sheer weight of his irritated squint. She countered it with a smirk. "They'll put hair on your chest."

Loki eyes followed hers as she rose from his side, his expression unchanging. "You seem to have confused which generation of Laufeyson I am."

Sif smiled over her shoulder then she began kicking apart the now smoldering logs of the spent campfire. It was weird to think of Ollerus as related to King Laufey, so she didn't dwell on it for long. She watched as Loki shifted to sit crossed-legged, adjusting the plate to the center of his lap. "I hope breakfast is to your liking," she said. "The salmon berries in particular are one of Ollie's favorites."

Loki sampled a couple of the tiny orange fruits, nodding thoughtfully as his jaw worked. "Did you pick these this morning?" He cast his glance around the camp, noticing how both steeds were already saddled and packed.

"I did," Sif replied, tossing a smoking log into the creek.

"I see you're still a morning pers—hey!" Loki jerked his plate away as Sleipnir's muzzle pushed into his lap. "No! My breakfast!"

Sif chuckled as she watched Loki's lanky body all but disappear beneath eight insistent legs, his voice straining. "She picked these for me, not you!" His long arm stretched out in whichever direction would hold the plate farthest from hungry horse lips.

A couple calling clicks was all it took to rescue the squirming prince. Both Sleipnir and Fylla—Sif's pegasus—came trotting over to eagerly claim the bunches of grass garnished with berries, which Sif offered in each flattened palm. Her hands were licked clean in an instant and she then presented two buckets full of the same delicacy. The brisk morning air quickly filled with a duet of hefty munching and happy tail swishes.

Loki righted himself into his prior sitting pose and quickly finished his breakfast before it could be interrupted again. "You must have awoken early to do all of this." He spoke between chews and swallows, abandoning all of his usual table manners.

"I awoke from a rather...vivid dream just before dawn." Sif bent over to retrieve Sleipnir's now empty bucket, the steed moving on to drink from the creek. "I couldn't fall back to sleep so I figured it wouldn't hurt to get an early start." She joined Sleipnir at the water's edge, cleaning the bucket out.

Loki rose from his makeshift bed of fur blankets and leather clothing, still wearing only his linen tunic, leather pants and silken, designer socks, which were soaked and dirty from having apparently been walked around in all night.

"What did you dream about?" Loki asked, now standing on the opposite side of Sleipnir fetching a clean pair of socks from his pack.

Sif looked up at him, surprised he would ask. "I only remember bits and pieces now."

"Tell me," Loki insisted.

She stood up, shaking excess water from the bucket. "Fenrir was in it." Loki eyes lit up. "He was...chanting. And there was this big storm creating massive waves in the lake." She laughed a little as she tied the bucket to Sleipnir's saddle, her dream sounding ridiculous now that it was put into words.

"What else?" Loki pressed.

Sif dropped her smile, her brow knitting as Loki's humorless eyes impaled her. "There was an ever-present cackling." She squinted as she recalled the details. "The voice was that of a young girl's."

Loki's eyes glossed over as he worked his mind intensely. He then returned to his bed, urgently, peeling off his dirty socks with a couple unbalanced hops and hastily strapping on his jerkin, buckling only the needed straps to keep it on his body.

Sif shook her head and shrugged. It was still too early to try and translate Lokisms. She retrieved the second bucket for cleaning, Fylla bobbing her head gratefully at her, stretching her wings in satisfaction of a full belly. Sif gave her muzzle a brief stroke before returning to the stream.

Loki was upon her again, kneeling at her crouching side with that same adamant stare. "Anything else? Were we in it?"

Sif gave him an odd look. "What does it matter?"

"Tell me."

"Yes." Sif raised her voice. "Probably. I know I was there watching it all happen."

"What about me?" He glanced down briefly to buckle his boots.

Sif shook her head slightly. "Loki, it was just a dream." She finished cleaning the bucket and rose to shake it out. Loki rose with her.

"It's never just a dream."

"You're starting to sound like Eir." She turned to head for the campsite. "She's forever trying to analyze and interpre—"

Loki spun her back around and grabbed her arms tightly. "You must tell me. What was my role?"

"Back off!" She tore out of his grip and shoved him back a pace. "I don't know your role. I don't remember seeing you at all!"

Loki just stood, staring, looking victimized and not speaking a word.

Sif sighed, her conscience now pinging her. She didn't have to shove him that hard. She tore her gaze away and began repositioning her layered silver shoulder armor, which his grip had shifted.

Loki turned away, crouching down and to began rolling up his fur blankets. Sif couldn't read him, couldn't fully see his face as he rolled his bedding up into neat and compact bundles. She wasn't entirely sure what just happened between them or what she should say next, but she had to say something.

"What happened to you?" Sif finally spoke, her voice softer than before. "In that...cheetah space. What did they do to you?"

Loki blinked, flattening his mouth into an almost smile. "I think you mean Chitauri Space."

"Whatever." Sif rolled her eyes.

"Do you even know what a cheetah is?" Loki laughed, looking over at her.

"I don't care, Loki. Talk to me." His moods were like a damned pendulum.

Loki's smile slowly backed down. He stood up and strapped his bedding onto Sleipnir's pack. "What did Thor tell you?"

"He said they they hurt you. Threatened you. Forced you to wage war on Midgard."

Loki lowered his gaze, thoughtfully. "That would be an easier truth for Asgard to swallow." His voice darkened. "That their prince was compromised by outside forces, and not by my own alleged family."

Sif studied him, particularly the creases forming around his eyes. "What really happened?" she asked.

Loki straightened his posture, prepping himself for memories of...what?

"The alliance was my idea." He spoke with an unexpected pride. "I made them need me. They possessed the power of the Tesseract, but I was the one in control. I chose to be a war lord rather than a prisoner."

Sif shook her head, wincing. Sometimes she wondered if she even wanted to hear his truths. "You didn't have to be either. Frigga had found you. Thor, all of us, we would have come for you."

"You would have been fools to involve yourself with them. You have no idea the power they wield." Loki's tone then lifted to something dry and sarcastic. "But your sentiment is noted."

"Do you even care that Thor still loves you?" Sif said. "After all you've done to hurt him, after all the counter arguments he gets from his friends, both of Asgard and Midgard, he still had hope for you."

Loki dropped his gaze to his hands, his thumb repeatedly smoothing over a strap on the saddle. That was a telltale sign that Sif was finally going to get the answers she wanted. That thumb in particular always went into fidget mode when the guarded prince was confronted with feelings he didn't want.

Sif intended to squeeze this moment for all that she could. "Say something."

She watched intently as Loki stilled his hand, knowing he gave himself away with its involuntary action. He kept his gaze down, balling his hand into a fist, his lips pinching then spreading into that wide grin, then pinching again, tighter than before. He seemed to be building up the courage to speak.

"Do you..." When he spoke, it was soft, and oddly timid. He lifted his eyes to meet hers, putting a glinting vulnerability on full display, solely for her. "Do you have hope for me?"

Sif felt each and every one of her internal organs flutter, some in unison, some taking turns, and some flat out battling each other out of utter disbelief. Even while vulnerable, he could catch her off guard, turn the conversation on its head, and just completely force her into a position she wasn't ready to be in. It wasn't a new question to her, but it was one she always asked herself in the privacy of her own mind, where she could make up answers that suited her mood and deny the ones that came with the Trojan horse of hope.

How dare he. How dare he put her in this position. To speak the plain truth. To expose her own weaknesses. Oh, why couldn't words be delivered with the swing of a sword.

She breathed deeply and walked a few steps toward him, meeting his gaze with a reserved tenderness. "I'm here aren't I?"

Loki smiled, softy, gradually. They lingered with locked gazes for a stretched moment until Loki moved, closing the distance between them. Without hesitation, he brushed the backs of his fingers over her hairline then placed a sweet kiss on her cheek. She inhaled sharply. The kiss was brief but long enough to savor the contrast of his cool lips with his warm breath. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out as the moment was already over, ending too soon. "Thank you," was all he said.

"We should get moving," was Sif's fumbling response, turning to hide the pink that was heating her cheeks. She winced, cursing internally. She could have just said 'you're welcome.'

Or she could have kissed him back.