A/N: It's finally finished and 2015 will be the year I get my headspace back. (pfff, yeah right who am I kidding? This pairing is my drug, especially now that they're confirmed in a cutscene of Disney/Marvel's Infinity game.) Seriously, look it up. Ironman totally acknowledges it, albeit sarcastically because, well, it's IRONMAN, but still. It's enough to make me happy. You'll find it on You Tube, under the exact title "Disney Infinity 2.0 Marvel Super Heroes All Cutscenes." Jump ahead to 7:00.
Enough of my rambling. I hope you enjoy this and feel free to yell at me if you didn't. You've earned the right if you stuck with the story this long. Happy New Year! xoxo
"By whose authority are you granted passage outside the nine realms?"
Heimdall stood ever vigilant in the observatory, his gaze everywhere without movement of his eyes.
"By my own," Sif said upon approach.
"What do you hope to accomplish?"
"I don't know." She stopped at his side, her gaze hard on his profile. She had expected some resistance here, and she was ready for it. "Watch and see for yourself," she said. "I know you're curious. You too want to see what he's capable of. Otherwise," she took a step closer, "you wouldn't have allowed him to wear the All-Father's guise."
Heimdall's eyes slide to her, slowly, one brow arching.
"I will open the portal for you," he said, turning toward the platform, "but I will not keep your actions a secret from my superiors."
She could live with that. She just hoped, assuming things went better than planned, Heimdall wouldn't report *all* of her actions.
"When I call to you," she said, following him to the platform, "will you grant our re-entry into Asgard?"
"Circumstances as they are now," he replied, halting her just before the step. "I can only promise to bring you home. He is still a threat to Asgard."
Sif's shoulders dropped, and with a heavy thunk, Heimdall dropped the sword into the centerpiece. It immediately spawned snakes of lightning, branching out in every direction, hotly illuminating the runes and patterns throughout the dome. The sight helped to keep her spirits up. No matter how many times Sif had witnessed this, it never lost its magnificence.
"You may bring him in shackles," he spoke over the noise, "and I will consider it."
That, Sif knew, was not an option. Loki would not want his children to see him bound, and neither does she for that matter. It was difficult enough for her to witness.
Stone ground as the walls shifted, the observatory aligning itself for a distant galaxy. Sif physically prepared herself for the journey. Mentally, she would have to play it by ear. Moments before the distorting spectrum consumed her, she heard Heimdall say one last thing.
"Stay strong, Lady Sif."
Traveling between realms was nothing. Just a quick and exhilarating blast that always ended too soon and with great impact. But traveling outside the nine realms was different, prolonged, and disorienting. And without a reliable objective at hand, such as the brief delivery of an item or a message, the journey was daunting. Sif couldn't maintain her resolve while hurdling through celestial planes, couldn't hone her thoughts while her focus was all that was keeping her body—which was still healing from the troll attack—from dispersing through the universe. She could only wait it out, ready herself for the hard landing.
The prismatic light vanished as quickly as it dumped her into a vacant alley, the same place she and Volstagg had been deposited on their last visit. It was damp and it reeked, a repulsive and nauseating setting, which is why it was uninhabited and the ideal spot to arrive. The few seconds it took to gather oneself were a window for any fearful witness to attack, so Heimdall always dropped them in a vacated spot.
Sif rose from a couch while etched runes died away around her. The atmosphere was instantly heavy on her skin, and there was an added breeze on her leg. The split of her gown had torn to the thigh.
"Wonderful," she said, fiddling with it for only a moment before giving up. Punishment for her impulsiveness, she supposed. She was to embark on this mission dressed like a lounge singer. However, had she ventured back into the palace and retrieved her armor, she would have risked interrogation by Eir or Thor, and they might have halted her momentum. Eir would never have let her make this journey while her stitches were still fresh. And Thor...well, she wasn't sure what Thor would say but she imagined it wouldn't be encouraging. Sif hated to admit she was disappointed in Thor, and in Odin. Loki was not a lost cause.
The gown, on the other hand, just might be.
She felt foolish and self conscious as she weaved through gaudily-dressed and gaping crowds, their eyes fixed on her as if she was the one who looked ridiculous. Were a glaive and shield really that clashing with evening wear? They certainly weren't intimidating. She had to dodge every other shoulder, and swerve for children running rampant, whereas when she and Volstagg traversed these crowded streets, armored to the teeth, the inhabitants cleared a path. The arching entryway of The Collector's museum couldn't come soon enough.
His building stood like a beacon in the center of town, misleading with its height just how far away it was. When she finally arrived, she hardly recognized its street-view facade through all the scaffolding. Where there was once a sultry lounge with glaring neon and a pink-skinned woman behind a hostess's podium, there was now the florescent-lit dullness of renovation.
She stepped inside and pressed on without customary escort, an uneasy feeling growing in her. Where was the buffering nightlife? Where had the pink woman gone? Did anyone even reside here anymore? What if Tivan had moved on, and taken Loki with him? How would she find him then? Surely, Heimdall wouldn't have sent her here if Loki wasn't on the premises.
She grew more anxious as she forced open the private door in the back. Nothing was as she remembered it. There was no maze of disturbing beings imprisoned behind glass, no pillars strangled with alien vines, no winged creatures of song, boasting the perfect acoustics of the ceilings their cages dangled from. There was nothing at all familiar.
"Hello again."
...Except for that voice. She whirled to face him, raising her weapons.
"You will hardly be needing those," Tivan said as he strolled up to her. He lacked even half the charm (if one could call it that) and sophistication he had in Helheim. There was no fitted vest or regal cape, just a ruffled shirt half-tucked into loose-fitting pants, and around the inappropriately deep cut of his v-neck was a silver medallion encrusted with jewels. He looked laughably sleazy as he sipped a brightly colored cocktail.
"What happened here?" Sif holstered her weapons. He wasn't a threat. Her leather harness, on the other hand, could be. It rubbed uncomfortably on her exposed back and the forearm straps of her shield didn't feel any better.
Tivan was perplexed at her fashion sense. He eyed her curiously. "You look," he bit back a chuckle, "quite stunning."
"Where is he?" She puffed up her chest, which didn't have nearly the same effect without her breastplate.
"Is that any way to thank me for saving your life?" the ancient said. "For allowing you the opportunity to reunite with him?"
That meant he was here.
"Answer me," Sif said.
A smile spread across that tattooed mouth, one that was begging to be punched again. Sif kept her fist under control, even while he purposely delayed his response, toying with her anticipation.
"I had a feeling you would come," he said. "The noble warrior on a linear path to rescue her prince from evil. In pursuit of her happily ever after, destined to prove that once again, unconditional love will conquer all. What she doesn't anticipate, through all her daring bravado, and the humorous clichés, is what actually awaits—"
"Enough," she cut him off. "I will not ask again."
His smile lingered like a bad aftertaste, telling her everything she didn't want to hear.
"Go down this hall," he said, pointing behind her. "Make a left at the shattered tank labeled 'Howard.' Work your way past the piles of debris, minding your step not to crush any small skittering things that pass between them. I would like to keep those intact. Once you've past that, make a right into the lab. He should be there. If he's not, try that dreadful tavern across the street."
"He's not," Sif said, surprised, "he's not your prisoner?"
Tivan arched his brow. "He stays by his own will." That was a taunt if she ever heard one. "Don't say I did not warn you."
Sif did not humor him with a reaction. Simply squared her jaw and turned on the heel of Eir's pathetically flimsy flats. She aimed for the hallway he directed her to, relaxing her posture once she was out of his view. He couldn't know how nervousness was creeping up on her, how his words did affect her. Why would Loki choose to stay? Was he truly lost to his cataclysmic purpose? Should she have listened to Odin?
"Be strong," said Heimdall's voice inside her head. She pressed on.
Upon reaching the mentioned tank, she noticed its plaque read more than just 'Howard,' but 'Howard the something,' who left behind a few white feathers in his cell. She had no capacity to wonder about it and took the passage to the left.
The debris was there as described, mounds of twisted metal and tangled cables, all serving to support withered flora clinging for height and for life. Eir would pity them, compelling herself to restore them to health. Sif didn't care. She continued down the hall.
She found it peculiar to see everything in shambles. This was not the look of purposeful remodeling, but of restoration, just as Gladsheim had done post Dark Elf attack. Strange that she was once again climbing over rubble and ducking under columns moments before confronting Loki. There was an unexpected comfort in that familiarity, a challenge she was accustomed to. She clung to it.
Passing the final mound with a stronger stride, she aimed for the doorway she presumed to be the lab. Her heart pounded in a rhythm she called excitement rather than anxiousness. She could sense a strong presence, hear the hum and swish of projected screens being sifted through, and she knew she had found him.
What was she going to say? She hadn't rehearsed any lines. She never could with Loki, he would always catch her off guard, render her tongue-tied, and not in the way she preferred. She breathed deeply and rounded the threshold.
The room was lit only by electronics, cold blue illumination bleeding over hard, mechanical surfaces, speckled in red and green bulbs. And there he was, stood at the center of it all, dark, lean, without his royal cloak to hide his form. His hair hung to his shoulder blades, its midnight sheen catching the hard light. Something flared inside her.
She was reminded of the first time she'd seen his hair long like this. He was in his cell and Frigga had caught her spying on the transmission from behind a pillar.
"I can arrange a visitation to his cell for you," the Queen had said after closing the projection.
Sif stuttered, trying to play it off. "That won't be necessary."
Frigga smiled sweetly. She always saw through Sif's denial, knowing her heart long before Sif ever did.
"He needs you," the Queen said. "He has become so lost."
The memory faded and Sif took a step deeper into the lab, bolstered, making her presence known.
Loki's hands stilled mid-datasearch. She watched his shoulders lift with an inhale, listened to the creaking of his leather. "You've come to take your revenge," he said, low and soft.
She was so relieved to hear his voice that it took a moment to comprehend his words. Those cold, distant words, as if their reconciliation had never happened.
"If I were in my right mind I would," she said.
He didn't move. The sound of her voice, or maybe it was her choice of words, seemed to surprise him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.
A dozen responses queued up, all honed for a warrior's tongue and all unsuitable to speak. She had to keep this light. She had no idea what to expect or how volatile he was.
After a moment, she said, "You owe me a dance," surprising herself. "Remember how insistent you were about dancing with me at your banquet?" That was a good plan, she thought. Remind him of their time in Glasir.
"My banquet has been cancelled."
"It doesn't matter."
His shoulders sank and his hands lowered from the screens. "You should not have come."
That stung.
"You shouldn't have come either." Her tone hardened.
"I had to."
"Why?"
"Sif," he pleaded, keeping his face hidden. "Return to Asgard. Nothing you can say will—"
"I love you." There was nothing to lose at this point.
Silence hung as he hung his head. The hum of the monitors filled the room.
"Won't you look at me?" She dared a step closer. He was almost within reach.
He swiped away the screens. They had pictures of the infinity stones and streams of data, none of which she had a chance to read. What was he planning? She dreaded to wonder. His schemes always took him out of reach.
Finally, he turned and her breath caught. She knew he was ill but she'd never expected this. His eyes were sickly, red-veined and sunken into a face she hardly recognized beyond its sharp poison had taken an awful toll on his complexion, allowing it not the familiar Aesir beige or his natural blue, but a deathly gray. Wrinkles pulled heavily around his eyes and mouth, and his cheeks were more hollow than they had ever been. She opened her mouth, but words did not come.
"If I return to Asgard," he said. "I will be your enemy."
The even tone of his voice did not match his words or his haggard appearance. Sif found hope in that and watched silently as Loki took then her in. He first scanned her hair, then her bared shoulders, then the tear of her gown, then back up to her face. His eyes flashed a familiar sadness.
That was a good sign.
"You're only confirming what Odin believes of you," she said.
"Sif," he closed his eyes. "Just...go."
She didn't budge. She wouldn't accept defeat, not this soon, not without a fight. So she stood, searching deep through his layers of distortion, waiting for him to open his eyes again. When he did, she saw it, that familiar green. Despite the encroaching bleed of illness, she saw a pair of spring buds, pushing through winter's oppression.
She smiled, closing their distance and cupping his cheeks. "There you are," she whispered.
He grew fearful. "Sif, don't. You'll only make yourself—" She silenced him with a kiss.
He went rigid and attempted some of noise of protest, but his resistance was short-lived. She could feel, beneath her fingers, the fleeting tension in his body. She hummed as his mouth accepted hers and she chose not to be bothered by the unfamiliar texture of his cracked lips, or the dryness of his flesh. It was still him and he still felt right. Still smelled of leather, still tasted like winter's first snow.
His hands timidly found her waist then slide to her hips, relishing the silk of her gown. She knew he'd love it! He pulled her body flush and she hardened the kiss, nipping and tugging at his lips, her fingers properly tangling into his hair.
He then broke the kiss with a sharp inhale. Too soon.
"You shouldn't have done that," he breathed. "You'll only make yourself sick."
She shook her head, keeping their mouths close. She was through with being sick, especially when Angrboda was the cause.
She tried to reconnect the kiss but he stopped her, reacting to some kind of physical attack. She watched in curiosity as his eyes bled over with a new, natural red, and the exotic blue of his Jotun skin washed out the gray of decay. He shuddered as he always did while assuming his true form, so she slid her hands over his shoulders. The sight of him reminded her of their night by the river in Glasir and she brushed her fingers over his cheek.
"Loki?" she asked softly.
He trembled, holding his hand out to study the state of his skin. It stayed blue, despite the warmth of the room. His eyes locked onto her.
"Your magic," he said, awed.
"Is that what happened?" She blinked.
"How do you feel?" he asked urgently.
"Fine," she shrugged. "Why?"
"Something has been taken from me," he said, his mind racing. "I fear you have absorbed Angrboda's—No, wait...Odin's spell." He blinked in disbelief. "It's gone."
Sif arched her brow. "My magic overpowered Odin's?" She a hard time buying that. "What about the poison?"
Loki closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, gauging the feel of each one. "It has been subdued," he said with an odd relief.
Sif could only stare, bewildered and fascinated. An idea then struck her and she smirked, curious what else was her magic capable of.
"I can't help wonder..." she said, letting her hands glide down his chest until they found his belt line, "if I could fully cure you by—"
"Sif!" His eyes popped as she loosened a buckle. "What are you doing? We can't do this here." He seized her wrists and couldn't help but smile. She knew she could get it out of him.
"Then come home with me," she said while pressing into him. "Be with your sons and your family. The prophecies do not bind you, nor does The Collector. You are free to live a life of peace."
His smile shrank then disappeared altogether. "I will never know such a life," he said, releasing her wrists. "There is no peace while Odin lives."
She wouldn't let his body go, no matter the dark cloud that had drifted back over him. "He told us what happened on the Bifrost. He regrets it deeply. He even blamed himself for your..." She trailed off.
"For my what?" he prompted.
She had no idea how to finish that thought. How does one describe anything about Loki?
"You tell me," she said. "What is all this? What are you doing here? Why must your purpose be to such a grand scale? Can you not be satisfied with all that you already possess?"
"Satisfaction is not in my nature," he said coldly, the words further chilled by his frosty appearance. "It never will be until I have fulfilled my birthright."
She inched back, pulling her hands from him. "To destroy Asgard. And everyone you love with it?"
"The slate will be wiped clean." His crimson eyes widened. "The nine realms reborn."
"You will kill us."
"Death does not await you, Sif, only transcendence. I will lift you to heights greater than Valhalla."
Her heart sank. What did that even mean? 'Transcendence beyond Valhalla.' "You are truly ill," she said. "The destiny of our people is not yours to control."
He pulled away from her, turning his back. "I don't expect you to understand. Not right away."
She pursued. "If it is fame you seek, you will find no greater satisfaction in it than you will with your family."
He shook his head. "If family is the ultimate priority Sif, then tell me, what justice do you do our son by risking your life on the frontlines?"
She would not let him turn this around on her. "I fight for the preservation of Asgard, to protect her future generations."
"All of whom will eventually die and file into the afterlife to stagnate in revelry. Is that the fate you wish for Ollerus? Eternal inebriation in the halls of Valhalla? I certainly don't. He is destined for much greater heights and the realms reborn will take him there. And you. And my idiot brother and anyone else who has proven themselves worthy."
Sif shook her head. These were the dreams of madness. "How can you know all of this?"
"While on Midgard," he kept a straight face, "I obtained a giant bag of fortune cookies."
She fought back a smile, shooing away the image of him marveling over little white strips of paper. "Be serious, Loki."
"Because it all lines up," he continued. "The prophetic dreams of my youth, and the visions gifted me from the Tessaract. You cannot understand until you align yourself with the stones. It won't make any sense unless you are exposed to at least one. Your eyes become opened."
This conviction was familiar. "You talked this way on our journey to Lyngvi, yet you spoke not of Ragnarok then."
"I didn't realize until Odin's final confession, that Ragnarok is Asgard's ultimate redemption."
"I don't..." She sighed, bringing her hand to her forehead. "I can't."
"Bring me the Tessaract and I will show you."
"Absolutely not," she snapped.
"We'll only borrow it," he said. "We very well can't store it here to have it stolen like the Aether was."
Her eyes popped. "The Aether is gone?"
"Sadly, yes."
"Dammit, Loki!" Her hand dropped. "I knew it. I knew it was a bad idea to deliver it here."
"If you knew, why did follow through with my order?"
"Because I thought it was Odin sending us."
"Of course," he said with an eye roll. "Never question the mighty All-Father's judgement, no matter his obviously failing health."
"It was your order!"
"And you should have questioned it."
"I did!"
"Only after the fact, when it was too late."
"You will not shift the blame onto me, Silvertongue. It is your fault we lost the Aether."
His tone shifted contemplatively. "It's actually Carina's."
She grew exasperated. "Seriously, Loki? You'll blame the servant girl and not yourself?"
He didn't respond, just turned from her and slowly paced through a shift of thought. She sighed, running out of ideas. What was she thinking in coming here? He truly was lost.
"Sif," he said after a long moment. "I don't want to fight. You came all this way. Let us make the most of it." He closed their distance, surprising her by taking her hand. The feel of his Jotun skin was still strange: coarse, but alluring. "You say I owe you a dance?"
She tilted her head.
"There are places we can go on the strip," he added.
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you avoiding the issue by...asking me out?"
"Seeing how you're already dressed for the occasion," he eyed the length of her and smiled. "Yes. Why not?"
She stared a moment, contemplating. There was still so much unanswered, vast differences they had yet to resolve, but his smile was, well, it was so classically endearing. How could she say no?
Loki insisted she leave her weapons behind, saying they did nothing for the dress and were unnecessary in this community. She reluctantly obliged, figuring his magic and her fists were more than enough against any potential hostiles. They left the museum and sought out the poshest establishment Tivan could recommend, hoping for a suitable dance floor. What they found instead was an awkward crowd of interpretive dancers, moving robotically to a noise that could pass for a banshee's mating call. Was that, Sif cringed, supposed to be art? Loki wasn't impressed either, so they passed it by, settling for a lower class joint that featured a new sound known as 'Footloose,' rumored to be a gift inspired by the 'Star Lords.' Sif had no clue what that meant, but she and Loki both recognized it as modern Midgardian and agreed they weren't going to find any better. So in they went, hand in hand, hoping for the best.
Loki motioned to the bar, figuring Sif would need some liquid courage, but she refused. She didn't dare risk inebriation on a mission so delicate. Her mind needed to be clear, her objective always at the forefront no matter the ease of their 'date.' She especially couldn't risk a lapse in judgement while dancing was expected of her. Her pride was at stake. Loki was more skilled in this area, having ballroom etiquette lessons forced upon him as a young prince. She now regretted the times she had made fun of him for it.
She strode with forced confidence onto the floor, weaving around jutting hips and flourishing arms that made it look so easy. Loki tugged her into their own space and directed her into a proper stance. The evidence of his royal upbringing could be so admittedly sexy. It reminded her of past royal banquets, when she would steal glances at his performance of formalities.
Which was very distracting.
Needless to say, their first attempt across the floor did not go well. "Step with my feet not on them," he said with exasperation.
"Sorry," she barked. She was honestly trying her best but she couldn't get used to being led. Plus the inconsistent flashing of the club's lighting was making it impossible to focus on her footwork, not to mention the tempo of the music was incomprehensible. It wasn't steady and smooth like the melodies of Asgard. She was so out of her element.
"You're embarrassing me," Loki said, glancing around. "I have to live in this community."
She wanted to argue that, insisting he didn't have to live here, but she backed off. This was not the time or place. She wanted to keep things mellow, so she instead kept her eyes fixed on him, letting herself drift into the ease of admiring his looks. His pale skin illuminated with whatever color of light they were passing under, captivating her. Before they left the museum, he had cast a new disguising spell upon himself, saying he preferred not explain his change of skin color to the locals. Little did they know the difference between Odin's spell and Loki's. His skin was arguably the color it always was, but the untrained eye might not recognize a peace he now reflected from finally gaining control of his own appearance. It filed an edge that had been there for as long as she knew him, and made it impossible to pull her gaze away. He looked radiant.
"Thank the eternal," he said as the music changed. "A slow song. Can you at least manage rocking from side to side?"
The crowd around them shifted, the singles leaving the floor with rolling eyes while the couples smiled dreamily and wrapped their arms around each other.
"I'll knock you around from side to side," she teased lightly, sliding her hands over his shoulders. "Unless you put your arms around me."
He quirked his brow but did as ordered, bringing their bodies flush. His hands found the small of her back, a pleasant coolness in his touch, recalling all the right memories of him. The scoop of her dress hung low so he sneaked one hand beneath the fabric, placing it just above tacky.
Their warmth connected, swaying smoothly into the rhythm. All that was required of Sif's feet were slight turns and shifting of weight, something she could handle. The steps were simple, just like the moment. Neither spoke while time slowed around them, while the music moved in syncopation with dozens of other lovers all sharing their own moment, finding their own parallels in the lyrics. Sif closed her eyes felt every inch of where their bodies met. She was so at peace.
About halfway through the song, when the last of Loki's muscles had relaxed, he bowed his head, resting his mouth at the nape of her neck. His lips did not kiss but his hands slid hands up and crossed to her sides, arms embracing her in way that was...beyond romantic. It was more intense, needy, and possibly grateful. It reminded her of the embrace they shared on Fenrir's isle, only this time there was no storm to distract or no beastly children to tear him away. There were only the two of them. She breathed deeply and leaned her cheek against his head, his hair humid on her skin. Moments like these could sustain even the most weary soldier through a millennia of war.
The lyrics then gave way to an instrumental bridge, and she felt his breath preface words against her skin. She anticipated them.
He lifted his head enough to speak and said, quietly, "Is it too late to apologize?"
She opened her eyes. "For what?"
"For the bargain with my daughter."
Right. That. "No," she said.
He lifted his eyes to meet hers, solemnly and sincerely. "I'm sorry," he said.
She gazed at him, her internals fluttering while her body wanted to melt. He was so beautiful, and so exposed. Just for her. Impulses taking over, she clutched his neck and kissed him—needing him—until the song came to an end, dying into something unfortunately upbeat.
Parting their lips, she breathed, accepting reluctantly the dance was over yet longing for the night to continue. "Take us somewhere quiet?" she requested.
He smiled. The whirling lights caught a new twinkle in his eyes. "I know just the place."
They left the tavern and strolled arm-in-arm down the bustling thoroughfare. Sif had become less concerned with the looks people gave her dress and focused instead on ignoring the inevitable decision that faced her and Loki at the end of the night. She was too elevated to worry about anything now.
"Ollerus would love this," she said, referring to the diversity of Knowhere. There was skin, scales and fur in every color of the Bifrost.
"It gets old fast," Loki said, diverting them down an alley meant to be a shortcut. "The colors are the only thing brilliant in this colony."
A being suddenly leapt out from behind a dumpster, flinging threatening demands at them.
"A fine example stands before us," Loki added, coolly.
"What are you waiting for?" growled the stranger, brandishing a rusty knife in her three-fingered hand. "Hand over the valuables or I take 'em myself, from your corpses."
Loki rolled his eyes while Sif studied the creature. It was difficult to make out her build beneath the loose and ragged cloak, but that didn't matter. Intimidation was not something Sif would let spoil her mood.
She gestured to Loki. "After you."
"No, I insist," he said, sliding his arm off her waist and stepping back. "You enjoy attacking women more than I."
She cocked a brow, turning back to the being to gauge her threat. The only flesh she could see was a slit around her eyes, enough to see beads of sweat forming. Hardly a challenge.
"This is going to look silly in a gown," Sif noted before kicking the knife from the alien hand and twisting into an attack stance. The creature yelped and took off running, much to Sif's disappointment. That was not a duel worth regaling to her comrades.
She looked down as she felt an indecent exposure on her thigh. "Oh, rats," she griped, lowering her fists. "I've torn my dress even more."
"That's not all you've torn," Loki said, tilting his head "Did she actually land a hit on you?"
Sif noticed as Loki was commenting that there was blood soaking through her dress. "Fantastic," she said. "This is a wound from the troll attack. My stitches must have slipped."
"Good," Loki said. "I thought for a moment your skill had faltered."
"I could dispel that thought with a kick to your gut," she threatened, fussing with her dress. It was beyond help, torn and now stained. "I look a wreck," she said with defeat. The blood was spreading more, and the wound actually stung now that her adrenaline was subsiding. This was not the direction she wanted the night to go.
"Doesn't that hurt?" Loki said, giving her an odd look.
"I am fine," she lied. "Where is the nearest textile vendor?" She placed her hand over the wound and attempted walking but two steps in had her stumbling.
Loki shook his head. "Just admit you need a medic."
She tried to stand up straight but the pain was too sharp and she hissed through her teeth.
"I'm guessing," he said while offering support, "you ignored Eir's orders to avoid strenuous activity."
Relenting to accept his help, she hobbled to the closest crate, leaning against it and making a frustrated noise while curling around her wound.
"You say," she strained, "you know a medic here? I cannot make the journey back to Asgard like this." Nor can she engage in other activities.
Kneeling at her side, he drew a dagger and cut a slit in her dress. "I do know a medic," he said, spreading the fabric to view her wound. "But I doubt he'll assist us after the trick I played on him." He put his dagger away.
"Why am I not surpris—hey!" Sif protested as Loki hoisted her in his arms. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Taking care of you," he said. "Now hold on to me, shut up, and be romantic. I can sew you back up if you don't worsen the wound by struggling like a roped pig."
"Loki, really, it's noth—ow!" Her body argued with her.
"Sif," was all he needed to say while giving her a look. With those eyes. Those hypnotic eyes.
"Fine," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his shoulder.
He carried her out of the alley and back to the thoroughfare, still en route to the quiet place they set out for. They stopped only once to grab an aid kit from all-night the variety store, Sif fishing the credits from Loki's tunic while the clerk stared in bewilderment. Loki never once set her down. It became amusing after a while, the looks they got. Sif would never let this happen in Asgard, getting mistaken for some damsel in distress, but this wasn't Asgard and she had nothing to prove to these aliens. There was only one purpose in coming to Knowhere and his body felt wonderful against hers. She hardly noticed the throb of her wound, or at least she pretended not to notice, combating the pain by resting her head on his shoulder and feeling instead the throb of his pulse. She wondered if Heimdall could see them or if Loki had a cloaking spell active. Then, she decided, she didn't care either way. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into his neck, a smile stretching her cheeks.
The noises surrounding them lessened with each of Loki's purposeful steps, and soon there was nothing but the distant buzz of the nightlife. It floated up beneath them and Sif opened her eyes when she felt a breeze. Loki was taking her into a tower, like a lighthouse for space craft, perched high and isolated from the activity of the colony, somewhere near the harvested titan's left eye, she guessed. They ascended on a spiral staircase that wrapped around the outside. The view was astonishing, comparable to the view at the observatory but with an entirely new arrangement of celestial bodies. It was all so romantic.
Once at the top, Loki eased her down at the northerly window, in what would have been a beam of blinding light if the tower was still in use. There was a mat and a pillow on the floor. This was not his first time here.
"How did you know of this place?" She asked, sitting up on an elbow. He knelt by her side and drew his dagger.
"I found it the same way I found our hideaways in Alfheim," he said while cutting away more fabric of her gown. "I asked the locals where the most popular places are in town and then go the opposite way as directed."
Classic Loki, she mused, watching his hands while he attended to her wound. Her flesh stung but his cool touch was soothing, and she liked the meticulous way his long fingers moved. Her head tilted absently.
After a moment, he peered up at her. "Don't watch me," he said. "I brought you up here for the view. There is much to see out there," he glanced at it. "Alien worlds, distant galaxies, primordial secrets. One would need a billion lifetimes to explore them all."
"Sounds exhausting," Sif said while scanning the expanse. "Ollerus would love it." Her eyes fell back on him. "I wish you could see him with Fenrir. They are brothers through and through."
"That's not always a good thing," he said with an amused edge. His voice then softened. "I do hope our paths will cross again. I regret how little time we had together."
"They will." She had to believe that.
Conjuring a disinfecting spell for her wound, Loki fell silent. Sif watched in curiosity as his hands birthed emerald sparks and her breath caught when they glittered across her flesh, leaving a wake of green-lit goosebumps. After the light died, Loki began removing what was left of her old stitches. The spell must have had a numbing agent because Sif couldn't feel anything but his electric proximity to her exposed flesh. She breathed deeply.
He grew contemplative in the silence, then broke it by asking, hesitantly, "Has Ollerus forgiven me?"
Sif exhaled. "For what?"
"For lying to him about his magic."
She didn't want to think about that now. It wasn't even her place to answer such a question.
"If you come home with me," she said. "You can ask him yourself."
"Sif, please," Loki said. "I've already explained why I can't."
Her voice edged up. "I don't accept that."
"Because you don't understand."
"Because it is madness!"
So much for romance.
Loki shook his head, biting back his response, the air around them cooling. Silence now stretched like a gaping chasm. They should have placed bets for how quickly they could spoil the mood with arguing. With a sinking feeling, Sif watched as Loki dug out a needle and thread from the kit, his movements jerky, frustration obvious.
"To speak my mind," he said, "will doom our conversation to circles. I'll serve you better with this needle by sewing my own lips shut."
"Please don't do that," she said. "Your lips serve perfectly fine without words." That made him smile, and she returned the smile but impending sadness hung between them, a shared resignation. Loki was right. His philosophies would summon more argument, reminding them just how clashing they were at a very fundamental level, and that would crumble all that the night had built. Sure, there was always the option to search for middle ground, make compromises and alter perspectives, but Sif had a feeling they wouldn't get very far with that before a heated debate had their bodies entangled in the best way possible to work out differences. And then what? More avoidance of the bilgesnipe in the room while they floated back to the museum, surrendering to the inevitable goodbye.
To sync up in the manner that lovers are conventionally supposed to, one of them would have to abandon the very essence of what makes them tick, and to do that would take away a vital spark between them, therefore extinguishing what made their love unique. Sif would not bend on her convictions, nor did she wish to see Loki tamed into what Asgard expected of a prince. He was chaos and he was comfortable in that, and when he was comfortable was when he igniting her passion the most. During their journey in the wilds, when he said "you always did like me best at my worst behavior," she now realized he had been spot on. She couldn't deny that anymore. Yes, she loved him for his devotion to his children, and yes she loved him for his brilliance and his beauty, but that wasn't the core of it. She loved him for their differences. She loved him for exactly who he was, and the conflict he aroused in her heart. For how can their be war without conflict? How can The Lady Sif shine for who she was without war?
"Loki," she said, breaking the silence. "I love you."
His gaze lifted and his eyes softened as he heard all that was being spoken in her three little words. She sat up to be close to him, and he said, "I love you too, Sif," and they kissed, sweetly, sadly, accepting, with laughter and perhaps a tear. She was going to miss him to a painful degree.
And speaking of pain, her would chose then to bleed all over his lap and she had to lay back down and suffer through his hands upon her flesh which was threatening to tease her into a madness that rivaled his.
Thor couldn't settle on being relieved or incredulous at hearing the news, so he instead commented teasingly at her outfit.
"I had limited options in Knowhere," Sif griped, awkwardly adjusting her 'booty shorts,' as Tivan coined them. There was only one clothing store opened on her and Loki's walk back from the lighthouse and it catered to the locals who stayed up until sunrise. The closest ensemble she could find to her color scheme made her look like—how did Loki put it—an 'abstract peppermint candy that's sprouted legs,' whatever that meant.
"How long will you be gone?" Thor asked more seriously. She could see doubt in his eyes.
"As long as it takes," she stated softly.
He broke their gaze, turning to the banquet table and picking through the fruit. Nothing seemed appealing to him.
"You don't trust him, do you." she said. "Nor do you approve my decision."
He met her gaze again. "I trust your instincts, my friend. It is a solid plan and I admire your resilience." He forced a smile, betraying all of his conflict.
"Thor," she pleaded, moving to him and placing her hand on his forearm. "Tell me what bothers you?"
His smile softened, and he placed his hand over hers. "My father and I," he began. "We were planning on conditioning Ollerus for the throne." Sif blinked. "Now I must maintain the title until your mission is complete and postpone my return to Midgard."
"My son," Sif paused to make sure she heard him correctly. "A Lokison, has been chosen for the throne?"
"If Ollerus desires it," Thor said, "and if he continues to meet the qualifications while we train him, your son will leave his mark on history as the first Jotun blood to rule Asgard."
Sif was speechless, trying to imagine how Ollie would take this news. She had a hunch her son had caught Odin's eye but she never imagined this would happen so soon. It was wonderful news, yet, she wasn't certain they were ready for it. Ollie had only just left Glasir. He was set on exploration, unwaveringly committed to their mission.
"Sif," Thor interrupted her thoughts. "Your silence has spoken much."
She met his eyes and admitted, "He will not want it now. Not this soon."
Thor sighed. "I had a feeling."
Sif sighed too and there was a stretch of silence and telling glances. "It troubles me," she began, "to know of your unhappiness. Why can't you visit Midgard and leave the throne to the committee? They are more than capable."
"You know how Asgard values its figurehead," Thor said with an eye-rolling tone.
"Let one of the Three step up," Sif suggested but Thor shook his head.
"Worry not, my comrade. We will work something out." He forced another smile and squeezed her arm, causing her heart to sink for him. She knew how badly he missed Jane and it bothered her to know she couldn't be here for him right now. "Now," he said, "tell me where your first stop will be that I might direct Heimdall to keep a closer watch on you."
Squeezing his hand gratefully, she went on to lay out her itinerary.
(Back on Knowhere, before Sif's return to Asgard)
"Either we buy you something here," Loki said, growing exasperated, "or you go naked."
Sif cringed at the neon lit window display. The clothes they had stretched over the mannequins looked like the remains of deflated party balloons. "Well there isn't much difference between my options is there?" She resorted to fussing with her gown, trying once again to conceal the rips and stains with clever knotting. She only managed to worsen the tears.
"Give it up," Loki said while forcing her inside. The only appealing items in this shop were the tall boots, yet somehow Loki talked her into the dressing room with a number of small red things. They emerged from the shop shortly after his comment about leggy peppermint, which had been his nicest critique of everything she had tried on. He also suggested she buy the silver-winged tiara that complemented the get-up, but that was answered with a threatening glare.
"How does that vendor sleep at night," Sif growled as they strolled in the direction of the museum. "Charging so much for," glancing down her body, she shook her head, "so little."
A group of miners on their way to the early shift passed by, gawking. "You're the only one who seems to mind," Loki said with a smirk. He then snaked his hand beneath her scarlet cape, tugging her closer to him.
With every emerging ray of simulated sunlight, their time together grew shorter. The morning was inevitable so they did their best to steer conversation away from hostile topics, such as prophecies, Odin, Thor, and well, there wasn't much of anything substantial they could discuss civilly, so that limited them to friendly teases and stolen kisses, which always came too easily with Loki.
As they entered the museum, the florescent lights of the foyer were a harsh awakening. Loki trailed off from his idle chat, and Sif felt a sinking in her chest. Her departure was imminent, and she would be returning alone. They turned to face each other, one set of hands entwining, eyes meeting with a shared sadness.
"Make certain," Loki began, heavily, "to have Eir check your wound upon return. The journey may loosen my stitching. I'm hardly an expert—"
She pushed her finger to his lips, drawing closer and feeling a tightening in her throat. She couldn't speak, fearing her words might convince them they were making the wrong decision. She withdrew her hand, inching to his mouth, and he ducked to meet hers. Their lips were about to connect, when the elevator door swished open.
"I must have your body after you die."
Leave it to Tivan to spoil the moment.
"I will never die," came a familiar growl.
Sif and Loki turned in unison to see Tivan emerge from the lift with large and furry company. It was Fenrir.
"My sister is queen of the damned," boasted the wolf.
"Fenrir," Loki said, delighted. "What are you doing here?"
"Your sister," Tivan replied as the beast moved ahead of him, aiming for Loki, "has the most impressive moves."
Father and son connected as another familiar voice emerged across the room, from the gallery door. "Father!"
Sif spun around, planting a hand on her hip. "Why am I not surprised?"
Ollerus dashed across the room, doing a double take at Sif, saying, "what the Hel are you wearing, Mother?," before crashing into Loki with a hug.
"It appears," Tivan provided, eyeing Sif, "she is wearing booty shorts."
"My sons," Loki muffled through teenage limbs and fur, "I thought I would never—wait," he paused, whipping his head at Tivan. "What did you say about my daughter?"
"Let it go, darling," Sif said with a brush to his back before she wrapped her arms around Ollerus. "How did you get here?"
"Heimdall," the boy stated, proudly. He then turned to Loki. "Are you coming home, Father?"
Sif watched as Loki's smile shrank and he searched for the right words. She considered answering for him, perhaps to lighten the blow, but decided it wasn't her place to speak for him. Ollerus needed to hear it from him first.
"This is my home for now," Loki confessed and both Ollerus's and Fenrir's shoulders sank. "Lend me your ears," he said, a little brighter, "and I will explain. Perhaps you will understand better than she is capable of."
Sif huffed, about to protest when Tivan stepped up to her, pulling her aside. "Might I have a word with you?"
She glanced between the two men, making to argue but eventually agreed with a sigh, looking over her shoulder at the mismatched family while Tivan escorted her into the gallery.
"Quite the reunion we have here," he mused, stopping them at the bar. "Would you like a drink?"
"No," Sif said. "State your business."
He wiped clean a previously-used chalice, inspecting it for spots. "I see you've made him pretty again."
Sif shrugged. "My magic's kind of awesome."
"Indeed," he agreed, setting the glass down and thumbing through his liquor bottles. "And just look at how he behaves with—"
"Magic plays no part in that," she interrupted. "He loves his children by nature."
"That is not what I'm saying." He pulled a cork from his bottle of choice, holding it out for her to smell. She declined. "Since you've arrived, I've noticed a change in him, beyond the superficial." Sif's brow knitted while he poured his drink. "Walk with me," he said, guiding her towards a set of large bay doors. Sif went along with him, uncertain what he was up to but figuring it best if she gave Loki ample time to explain things to Ollie and Fenrir. Plus, she wasn't exactly in a hurry to leave now that the kids were here.
"I have a proposition for you," he said and the doors rattled open as they approached, slowly revealing a craft on the other side.
Sif ducked her head to see more of its details. "I don't understand."
Tivan waited for the doors to fully retract before explaining, swirling the contents of his drink and gazing with pride at the spaceship before him. Sif shook her head, looking at him for answers.
"I want you to help Loki collect the infinity stones," he stated, and Sif thought for a moment he was joking, until he continued. "No matter what you and your family say to him, he will not return to Asgard until he has them. His conviction is as obstinate as your love for him."
Sif arched her brow. "Why would I do this? My loyalty is to the protection of Asgard. I will not enable his convictions."
"I'm not asking you to aid him in Ragnarok, my dear, I only ask you collect the stones. In doing so, you are protecting Asgard."
She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. "We would ultimately be collecting them for you. How is that protecting Asgard?"
"Because if the stones fall in the clutches of Thanos, or even Loki's solely, Asgard's destruction is imminent."
"Who is Thanos?" Sif asked.
"The puppeteer of the attack on New York. It is only a matter of time before he comes for the Tessaract. And when he does, he'll leave a wake of destruction."
Sif narrowed her eyes. "So you expect me to believe you are the lesser of three evils that can be trusted with the stones?"
"Essentially, yes." He sipped his drink, cool and confident to an obnoxious but almost convincing degree. "Look," he continued, "you don't need to worry about what happens once we've collected them all. One mission at a time. Only concern yourself with the acquisition, and with keeping your lover in-line, which your magic is clearly apt at doing."
This sounded all wrong, but Sif hated to admit that she was starting to cave, lured by an alternative she never knew was available: procrastination of the inevitable, in the form of outer space adventure that would ultimately be for the good of Asgard. Or at the very minimum, it would allow her access to cataclysmic power, thereby keeping it out of the wrong hands. Wouldn't it? "You will trust Loki and I with this ship, to scour other worlds for these stones?"
Tivan smiled with a subtle victory. "Yes."
She stared at him, her thoughts a pendulum between Asgard, Loki, her duty, her passion. Her son. Ollerus would say go for it. No, he'd want to come. Which meant Fenrir would come too.
Her gaze dropped to Tivan's drink, and she spoke in a relenting tone, "May I have some of that?"
"Your intentions are good," Ollerus said, his golden hair splayed over dense black fur, "but you're still crazy."
Loki laughed from beside him, his head also sunken into Fenrir's side, his hands clasped over his chest. The wolf seemed to be content—with eyes closed and chin resting on front paws—to serve quietly as furniture. "At least you're more understanding than your mother," Loki said.
The three were aware of Sif and Tivan's re-entry into the room but we're too caught up in the warm reunion and prickly debate to offer them more than a glance.
"How do you justify gambling so many lives on the hope of a rebirth?" Ollerus stared in bewilderment at the ceiling, his hands doing part of the talking. "Why initiate it? Can't you just let Asgard play out its own events?"
Loki paused, losing his smile but keeping a light tone. "If I do that, then it will be annihilated by him."
Ollerus turned. "Who, Odin?"
"No," Loki met his eyes, "the Purple Hand."
Both rose and fell with Fenrir's breathing, staring in conviction, and understanding. Ollerus remembered exactly—from Loki's recount of his time with the Chitauri—just how seriously this mysterious antagonist should be taken.
"That must be a big hand," Fenrir chimed in with his humming growl. "Sounds delicious."
"If he acquires the stones," Loki continued, "and the gauntlet, he will wipe the nine realms from existence, stripping them of their magic of rebirth."
Ollerus narrowed his eyes. "You know because..."
"He told me," Loki said, growing distant. "He said if I failed him, my world would suffer the consequences."
A wash of sympathy fell over the boy's face, then it shifted to admiration. "Yet you still crossed him."
Loki arched his brow with a subtle smirk. "Of course I did."
"Well played, Father," Fenrir added.
"Thank you, Fenrir."
Ollerus shifted to another approach. "What if," he began, "what if I was king of Asgard, like you wanted me to be. Would you destroy it then?"
Loki's thumb twitched while his mind worked, and then sadness fell upon his brow. "I have abandoned that hope," he said softly.
"But what if?" Ollerus pressed.
"Then..." Loki now fumbled for a response, "then you would achieve even greater heights in your rebirth."
"Translated," Fenrir clarified, "he'd still kill you. By the gods, do I love my twisted family."
Ollerus's face twisted while he took it all in. Sif began fearing what effect this was having on him and stepped forward to intervene, but Tivan grabbed her arm, a slight shake of his head saying 'let this play out.'
"Would you fight me?" Ollerus asked in a darker voice.
"No," Loki shook his earnestly. "Surtr will consume your body in flames. Along with all the others not defeated by Jormungand, or Hela."
"Mother too?"
"Most certainly," Loki said with a glint in his eye. "I can see her now, glaive in hand, hurdling herself into the fray with a piercing war cry. She will go out in a most fantastic blaze of—"
"You bet your arse I will," Sif crossed her arms with a nod.
Ollerus caught her eye with a look of exasperation. "Mother, please tell me you two figured out a cure for him. He's talking crazy."
Sif sighed, looking to Loki who only shrugged innocently, not helping.
She and Tivan both let their gaze linger on him, noticing something new, briefly exchanging looks that acknowledged how much healthier he looked now than before they left room. Sif wouldn't have believed he could shine anymore than he had on the dance floor, but leave it to Ollerus's involvement to surprise her again.
Tivan turned with her to confide. "He has never looked so healthy," he whispered.
"Ignoring his words, it's as if he's not even poisoned anymore," Sif agreed. "Could his children...be his cure?"
"Only death, and the consumption of his heart by another will be his cure. The children merely subdue him, like you do." Tivan rubbed a hand over his mouth. "Is the boy's magic passive like your own?"
"Yes," Sif said, "Fenrir's is not, though. He uses it like Loki does."
"You know I can hear you both," Fenrir spoke with a raised volume. "My senses detect all."
"What are they talking about?" Ollerus said.
"Magic," said the wolf.
Sif laid a resolute look into Tivan. "I'll do it," she said. "I accept your mission. But only if the children can come."
"Fine," Tivan said. "I can see their strengths will be of use to you. You'll make a formidable team. Just be sure...to regularly vacuum up the fur. It is custom upholstered."
"Now what are they talking about?" Ollerus sat up. "What mission?"
"No idea," Fenrir said.
Loki peeled himself to his feet, stating, "I know." He approached Sif and Tivan, arms head out in question. "Do I not have a say in this?"
"Of course you do," Sif said to him. "But I doubt you will say no." She then called out, "Ollerus, Fenrir! How would you like to join your father and I on an intergalactic scavenger hunt?"
Ollerus blinked and Fenrir lifted his head, glaring. "Don't joke about things like that, Mother," the boy said.
"Yeah, lady," griped the wolf. "What's wrong with you, getting his hopes up like that."
"She wouldn't joke about that," Loki said to them with his eyes fixed on her.
"Your father's right," Sif said, approaching the two. "In the best interest of Asgard, I wish to obtain the infinity stones that I might keep them out of evil's clutches. And the best way to obtain them is to form proper alliances."
Sif smiled proudly while Loki walked up behind her and spun her into an embrace.
"Ew," Fenrir said when their lips met, laying his head back down.
Ollerus sprang up, jolting his parents from their kiss by wrapping his arms around them both. "I know it sounds corny," he prefaced excitedly, "but I'm just going to say it. This is a dream come true."
"Yep," Fenrir murmured. "That was corny."
Sif laughed, keeping an arm hooked around Loki while tugging her son's cheek to her lips. Her heart fluttered wildly. Never could her hopes have reached such heights as the joy she was feeling now. She knew it was only a short term solution to an unpredictable destiny, but it was enough. More than she ever imagined.
Tivan still loomed on the outskirts of the family reunion, strolling up to Fenrir. "So, about that acquisition of your hide," he said. "That is...once your spirit has departed."
"Father," Fenrir called out. "May I eat him?"
Loki peered up from his group embrace, saying, "not yet." Tivan cocked his brow at him. "He first needs to show me how to fly our craft. In the meantime, Fenrir, try to come up with a name for her."
"How about Angrboda?" Fenrir suggested flatly.
Sif and Ollerus exchanged awkward glances while Loki's face fell to his palm.
"Tact isn't one of his strong points," Ollerus noted diplomatically.
"You don't say," Loki droned.
Thor's embrace made breathing a futile ambition, and Sif relished every moment of it, pressing her cheek fondly to his scruff. They separated, keeping forearms entwined.
"I thank you, Sif, for stepping up where I had not the strength to," he said warmly. "I will miss you. All of you."
"And I you, my brother," Sif said, honored beyond words. "But fret not, we will pass through Asgard again soon enough."
He smiled. "How will we contact you until then?"
"I will provide you the hailing frequency for our ship," Sif said. "Her name is Legacy."
Thor nodded once. "That is a good name."
"It's a stupid name," Fenrir barked, his voice leaking into the cockpit as Sif entered, shaking her head. She shut the door behind her, cutting off her son's defensive remark.
"Please tell me our first stop is a short journey away," she said, flopping into Loki's lap. "Those two don't do well in confined quarters."
"They'll be fine," Loki assured lost in his star charts whose screens he had to reposition since her body blocked his view. She was still wearing her peppermint costume, sans cape. Strangely enough, it had grown on her, its oddly stretchy fabric admittedly more comfortable than leather and steel. Loki hardly minded a lap covered in bared legs either. His hand found her thigh, thumb absently petting her flesh while he plotted their course.
"How was the meeting with Thor?" he asked.
"Better than expected."
He looked at her, awaiting explanation.
"He shared with me," Sif began, "some rather...unexpected yet wonderful news. He and Odin are reserving the throne for Ollerus."
She watched as a deluge of reactions swept across Loki's features, beginning with doubt and fear, softening into disbelief and eventually spreading with joy—and of course, a conniving touch of mischief.
"Once we help," she continued, "get the travel bug out of his system, which could take a while—"
"A long while," Loki added, knowingly.
"He will be our King," Sif concluded, full of hope.
Loki responded with a kiss and she gladly accepted it, floating with their shared joy like their ship in the edges of Yggdrasil's system, awaiting coordinates, soaking in the view. They knew there would be asteroid fields ahead of them, dangerous planets with hostile creatures, philosophical clashes worsened by claustrophobia, and a vengeful and powerful being seeking to glove his purple hand in gold and gems and destroy everything they held sacred. It was going to be Sif's best mission yet, complete with adventure, danger, challenge, and most importantly, with those dearest to her. Fate may have convoluted plans for her family's destiny, but it would never diminish the beautiful simplicity of what she had right here and right now.
She would treasure it always.
Roll Credits
with music by The Lightning Seeds