Sol's Notes: I apologize for the delay between chapters. Thank you again for all the support!

.5.

Jane somehow slept that night.

In the morning, she resolved not to think of what Loki had said. She resolved not to think of the way he'd touched her. She resolved not to remember the way that, as he had asked her that oh-so-unwelcome question, his pale eyes had darkened with something terrifying, something oddly compelling. She forced herself to forget the way the veneer of an arrogant, exiled prince had given way to a stranger lying concealed beneath. And she tried so very, very hard to banish the memory of the emotions she'd felt in those tense, suspended moments—

Of them all, fear was not the greatest. Curiosity was, a wisp of odd, frayed longing that had unraveled so very quickly in light of everything else. But she'd felt it all the same.

That particular recollection, Jane knew, had the power to undo her. So she shuttled it away and locked it up tight in the furthest recesses of her mind. In time it would fade just like every other awful, unwanted memory she had.

She prayed that would be fast enough.

.x.

Loki was still sick, though it seemed he had slept. She'd heard his quiet coughs in the late hours as she willed her mind to rest. He was far more familiar to her that morning than he had been the night previous, greeting her with thinly veiled contempt. He was cold. He was mocking. He was normal, and she was absurdly grateful for it.

He helped himself to food throughout the day. The rest he spent sleeping. On her way to her own room at one point, she glanced into the guest room to see Loki asleep on his back. A book lay open on his chest. Jane paused in the door, torn between surprise and irritation.

She hadn't given him permission to take books from her small library in the living room. She had always loved to read. Life before her relocation here had often been far too hectic to allow for reading as a pastime. Besides, she'd had her work to keep her occupied. After changing her name and moving north, however, she'd found she had an abundance of time on her hands. She still worked, yes, but not the way she used to. The theories and equations that had so transfixed her thoughts in the years prior had soured somehow. She could still appreciate the beauty of astrophysics. But she knew now that behind its magic lay things better left undisturbed. She'd begun accumulating books after the move, ordering them online or buying them wherever she could find them in Woodrill. They allowed her an escape from dark thoughts that haunted her still. They were a reprieve, and seeing Loki with one of them irked her. Ending her contemplation, she shook her head and moved past the door to his room. Let him read. It kept him busy and out of her way.

She was mildly surprised when, later on that evening, she emerged from her office to find the kitchen clean. She knew Loki had eaten; she'd heard him moving about in the kitchen. That he cleaned up after himself was both surprising and disconcerting. Like almost everything else to do with him, she stopped thinking about it. Instead she opened the fridge and brought out a container of leftovers. A small, quiet cough and movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked up to see Loki seated on the couch in the living room, head bent over the book in his lap. She considered him for a moment before shrugging and going about heating her dinner.

.x.

Days passed. Loki and Jane settled into an uneasy routine. When he'd fully recovered from his illness he began rising before she did. In the mornings she would find him either seated at her kitchen table or before the fire. Always he was reading. She had no idea what book it was that had caught his attention until one morning when he'd glanced up at her as she entered the room. That in itself was somewhat unusual; he'd become very adept at pretending she didn't exist at all. Jane wasn't entirely sure which Loki she preferred—the confrontational, needling one that had first arrived here or the coldly indifferent one that had come into creation after that night in her office.

She met his glance with one of her own. "Morning," she muttered, knowing she'd be met with silence as she had every other morning for some time now.

Loki inclined his head in mute greeting. As she went about making her morning drink—a cup of strong orange rooibos tea with a teaspoon of honey mixed in—she became increasingly aware of the fact that he was watching her. Unnerved by his silent observation, she stirred the honey into her tea with more force than was needed, the spoon clanging against the cup. She finally turned to look at him, snapping, "Yes?"

Her obvious ire prompted him to smile. Her eyes narrowed. Huffing out a sigh, she grabbed her cup and began to turn.

"I expected your library to house only the most trivial pieces of literature. I will admit I was wrong."

Jane closed her eyes for a moment, hating the way he always waited to speak until she was on the verge of leaving a room. Slowly turning back around, she raised an eyebrow in question.

"This," he told her, turning the book he'd been reading around and shoving it across the table in her direction, "is proving to be a most intriguing read."

Jane's eyes dropped to the book title, her brows shooting up in recognition. "Tigana."

"To be written by a mortal it is most impressive, considering the intrinsic limitations of imagination and comprehension of the human mind."

"It's fiction," Jane said, the conversation feeling more than a little surreal to her. "Fantasy."

"Yes."

Jane stared at him, inexplicably perplexed. Loki did not discuss fantasy novels. Loki did not read fantasy novels.

"There are characters within this story that I admire—"

"Alberico and Brandin," Jane said with a sudden rush of insight, cutting him off.

He nodded. "Indeed. I find them both … interesting. Two capable, formidable leaders in their own right, brothers in sorcery and conquest if in nothing else. And to make them adversaries, as well … it is a concept that suitably intrigues. Both are superior to any other character in the book, though Alberico's ambitions blinded him early to treachery."

Jane's eyebrows couldn't rise any higher. Standing in her kitchen, talking about the fictional works of Guy Gavriel Kay and listening to Loki deride the arrogant ambitions of a fictional villain …

"You think Brandin is better?" Her question lilted at the end as she struggled to control her mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"He is the more capable of the two."

"That's debatable. And besides, he laid waste to Tigana because of emotion," she argued.

"Because of loss," Loki corrected. "Loss is a powerful motivator."

She knew with a chill that he was speaking from experience, recalling the death of his mother, Frigga. She debated ending the conversation there but after a small hesitation proceeded, genuinely interested in seeing where the conversation would lead. "He still acted out of emotion."

Loki's shrug was slight, a simple roll of the shoulders. "But he did not let it conquer him. He did what needed to be done and did not dwell on what he had lost. He did not let it cripple him."

Jane knew he was speaking about more than just Brandin's actions in the novel. The parallels had become blindingly obvious during the course of this conversation. She knew from experience that speaking of what had transpired in Loki's past would lead to a surge of bitter anger. Opting to tread carefully through a minefield of possible replies, she settled with referring back to the novel. "Don't write Alberico out just yet. He might surprise you."

"It's already apparent Brandin will be the one to emerge victorious. He is not hindered by the fetters of emotion as is Alberico."

Jane laughed. She couldn't help it. As the sound escaped her mouth, the expression on Loki's face altered into one of cool reserve.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," she said, and took a moment to be astounded by the fact that she actually meant it. "And after you finish the book, let me know if you still feel that way about Brandin. I'm curious."

She paused on her way out of the kitchen, glancing back at him. He'd taken the book in hand again and had flipped it open to a marked page. "If you like that one, I have more by the same author."

She knew his slight nod was the only acknowledgment she'd get. Shrugging, still mildly amused by the conversation that had just transpired, she made her way to the office.

.x.

The baton, which she had previously come to think of as a kind of lifeline, went with her most places. Sometimes, however, she forgot about it, her mind dwelling on other things of importance. Because of what had happened in the office that one night she made sure it was always with her while she worked. More often than not she forgot it there, although she was always certain to bring it to bed with her. Her forgetfulness regarding the weapon bothered her. It wasn't that she saw Loki as being no longer dangerous; she did. It was that, when he was quiet and absorbed with reading, he presented less of a visual threat. When she saw him sitting before the fire with the book open across his knees she was lulled into a sense of false security. The more days that passed in this manner, the more inclined she was to let ease her guard. Sometimes her vigilance lapsed. When it happened she would berate herself. Loki was a deceiver. He might still see her as a victim, but she would not be one. Not anymore.

Every night when she went to bed, she made sure to lock the door.

.x.

The weather held fair for weeks, or as close to fair as it could get during winter this close to the Canadian Rockies. Every morning dawned bright and clear. The temperature remained just below freezing. Jane preferred it this way. She didn't have to suit up in layers like she did on colder days and it was actually pleasant to take walks outdoors.

Being as she couldn't wish Loki into non-existence, Jane began to spend more and more time on her work. She was in frequent contact with Bruce through email; he'd expressed interest in what she was doing even though astrophysics wasn't his field of expertise. She submitted her progress every Friday to S.H.I.E.L.D, uploading her documents into their secure cloud storage. Things began to feel familiar to her again, the way they had prior to Malekith and the series of calamitous events that had followed. In some ways she welcomed this familiarity. In other ways she didn't; it still hurt to be reminded of Erik and the time Before.

Loki had taken to spending time outdoors. Donning the gear she'd purchased from him, he often left the house for hours at a time. Jane never followed him, though she did stand at the living room window one day and watch as he vanished into the woods on the edges of the yard. She suspected he was returning to the site of his arrival. Sometimes she wondered if he would simply leave and not return.

It bothered her that she was conflicted on that particular issue.

He always came back. And they would resume their precarious balance around each other, she always vigilant and suspicious, he always coolly detached with an air of smug superiority. It was walking on eggshells taken to an entirely new level. Sometimes she contemplated goading him into an explosive rage simply to do something with all the tension that was ever present between them. She found herself wishing at unexpected intervals that he would bring up the book or the weather or simply something to discuss. Living with someone this silent and closed off was like living with a ghost—a ghost with a penchant for striking, unexpected and lightning-swift, at the weakest spots in your armor. And so when she was around him she throttled the urge to speak or goad him to anger. He was dangerous, and even if it was utterly unnerving to live this way, a silent and shuttered Loki was better than one riled to action by fury.

.x.

On a day some four weeks after Loki's arrival, Jane had decided to take some time off from her work. It was another beautiful day and the sun glinting off the snow through the window had been an invitation she couldn't refuse. Loki had left the house a couple of hours earlier on one of his daily sojourns. Jane shut her laptop, stood up, locked her hands together behind her head and stretched. Feeling oddly cheerful this day for unknown reasons, she donned her boots, a lined jacket and gloves before leaving the house.

Outside, she paused on the steps and deliberated what to do. Eventually she wandered towards the woodshed. When the weather was this nice there was no real need for a fire, though Loki started one every night. Still, when the weather inevitably turned colder she'd need fuel for the stove, so she grabbed the splitting axe from where its blade was wedged in a stump and began chopping.

Splitting wood was hard work. It wasn't long before she was sweating, and she paused to take her jacket off and drape it over the large stump she wasn't using as a wood block. In her hooded sweatshirt she was still comfortably warm. Holding the axe loosely in one hand, she reached up with the other to shield her eyes from the glare of the midday sun as she scanned the yard. There was no sign of Loki. Just as well. She started to work again, loosing herself in the rhythm of the axe swing, gathering up the split pieces, arranging them in the wheelbarrow, and placing a new piece on the block. Sometime later her shoulders and upper back began to burn from the exertion and she decided to halt.

She glanced up and across the yard. The driveway to her house wound in an S shape out to the main road. Bordering the driveway on one side was a field belonging to a neighbor, or as close to a neighbor as could be in this rural area. Standing close to the fence on the neighbor's side was a small group of horses. Jane smiled. The animals wandered this way every now and then. At first she'd been curious but hesitant to approach them; large animals were not something she was familiar with. Her curiosity had won out and she'd gone to see them the second time they'd appeared at the fence on a day in late autumn. There were four, all of them comfortable around a human presence. She'd grabbed handfuls of quack grass growing nearby and fed them all, delighting in their snuffling and the way they sniffed her pockets as though suspecting treats were hidden away there.

She wedged the axe into the chopping block and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it back on as she made her way across the yard to the horses. Two watched her come, ears pricked forward and heads hanging over the fence. The other two were disinterested, pawing in the snow for whatever remnants of grass they could find. She murmured to them as she approached, holding out her hands for inspection as she came to a halt.

She was not at all familiar with horse breeds, but she knew these were appaloosas from the assortment of white blankets and spots they all bore on their hindquarters. They had their winter coats, the hair of their hide thick and fluffy. The two at the fence slowly and thoroughly sniffed her hands, seeking out anything edible. Gradually reaching the realization that she'd come empty handed, one of the horses turned and wandered away from the fence, back toward the other two. The one that remained was persistent, blowing air into her face as she reached up to run her fingers through its thick, tangled forelock.

She heard Loki approach, then, his footsteps in the snow loud as they followed the trail she'd made. She half-turned to watch, her hand sliding down the horse's neck. She had time to notice before he reached her that winter appeared to agree with him; he seemed utterly at ease in his snowy surroundings, moving without hindrance through the deep snow. There was some color in his face from exposure to the slight wind and his eyes as they moved from her to the animal were bright and focused. It troubled her no small amount to know that even in exile, even made mortal, Loki had an undeniable, imperious presence which commanded attention.

"These are not mounts bred for war," he remarked as he came to a stop near her. The horse, sensing the possibility of a new source for food, shifted its weight and took a step in Loki's direction. He held out one hand for inspection, just as Jane had done.

"I don't think they've been bred for much of anything." She watched as the horse moved closer to Loki, nudging at his coat pockets with its nose and feeling a little displeased that the animal was as willing to accept his company as it was hers. It was often said animals were deeply perceptive about the nature of people. Couldn't this one sense that Loki was constrained chaos in motion?

"These are not well bred, true," he said, passing a hand down the horse's neck. Jane was surprised to see that he wore a faint expression of pleasure. "They are nothing compared to those of Asgard."

"Everything on Earth is nothing compared to Asgard," she reminded him wryly.

He glanced at her, smiling crookedly. "You are learning."

The horse, having deduced that neither human had anything on their persons that was even remotely edible, turned and ambled through the snow towards the others. Jane turned as it departed, heading back in the direction of the yard. Loki caught up with her quickly, pacing himself to match her stride.

"Have you finished the book?" She asked him, speaking only to break the silence.

"I have not. Such is the depth and detail of description that it makes for slow reading."

"Good reading, though."

"Yes." They'd reached the driveway and altered their path in the direction of the house. The sun had sunk low on the horizon and around them the impending shadows of dusk had crept forth to mar the snow.

She surprised herself by asking, "Where do you go? When you walk?"

He looked at her sidelong. "Through the forest."

"Back to where you, uh, landed?"

"On occasion."

"Why?"

They stood now at the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door. She was seized by an inexplicable, senseless need to know why he did what he did. His expression as he looked at her now was unreadable. Gone was the earlier hint of contentment. She read the warning that gathered in his eyes, clouding them, but heedlessly went on to speak.

"The way back isn't out there."

His eyes narrowed. "I have already grasped that obvious fact."

"Loki …" She hesitated, torn between warring factions in her mind. She didn't want to care. She had not wanted this. But the possibility that loomed before them both was an awful one, a phantom of unpleasant future which bound them together. It was something she had dwelt on for quite some time now and it needed to be voiced. "You need to … have you considered that maybe there isn't a way back? That there won't be a way back?"

His laughter, hard and cold and merciless, startled her. "Is that what you tell yourself, Jane, as you count the days and nights since last you saw Thor?"

The words were as pointed and hurtful as a slap. "This isn't about Thor," she snapped.

"Oh, but it is! Tell me that every time you look at me, every time you are aware of me, that you aren't thinking of—longing for—my brother! I am a reminder of what you cannot have, of what you could never have!"

The truth in his words was a bitter knife. Jane exhaled slowly, working hard to keep control of her emotions. She strongly regretted saying anything; she should have kept her mouth shut. "You're a reminder," she said in a low, strained voice, "of how very fucked up things are in this universe."

His smile was abrupt, a baring of teeth both contemptuous and cutting. "No." He stepped closer, invading her personal space. She held herself upright, refusing to give way to his calculated intimidation. "I am a reminder of failure—Thor's failure to rule and protect Asgard as he should have. And a reminder of your insignificance, your inability to be anything but this. If you were anything more, Jane, you'd be in Asgard ruling alongside my brother at this very moment. You think my efforts are why he has been absent so long from your world? Look deeper and you'll find that you already know the hard truth. My brother has already forsaken you, but it pains him to dwell on it. Think! Why if for no other reason would he send me to you without seeking your aid in person first? It is too difficult. My brother, always the warrior, is utterly artless in anything that does not involve him swinging his hammer with glorious abandon."

She hated him. She hated the way tears suddenly blurred her vision or the way she had to struggle to breathe past the knot in her chest. Hated too that everything he'd just said was only just an echo of thoughts she'd already had. Thor had been distant. Thor had been away for too long. Thor had left her in the hands of his enemies. She'd told herself it was because of strife in Asgard, but was that the truth …?

Loki lies, Thor had told her more than once. And so she told herself now. But Loki's words resonated so strongly with her own suspicions that all she could think was that it had to be true. Thor, if he'd ever loved her, loved her no more.

No more than you ever loved him, whispered an insidious voice that had lain coiled in the darkest recesses of her mind, waiting for the right moment to strike.

She was struggling not to cry. She blinked furiously, swallowed hard, and whirled around. She would not do this. She would not sit here and listen to his vitriol, the poisonous words Loki couldn't unleash on anyone but her because of the ruthless irony of his circumstance. But Loki was not so easily ignored. He followed her up the stairs, his voice a biting whip at her back. "I ensured my brother was kept busy as I ruled, but there were always opportunities, always chances he could have taken to leave, to come here to you. How long has it been, Jane, since you've been held in his tender, loving embrace?"

She wrenched the door open and tried to slam it in his face. He was too quick, catching it with both hands. A furious hiss left her as he crossed the threshold and she wheeled away, kicking off her boots and throwing her jacket down. She stopped, steeling herself. Slowly, she turned back around. He was watching her with an expression that was entirely vindictive in its pleasure.

"It's a reminder to you, too," she said quietly, her words threaded with an iron certainty, "of your failures. Of your losses. You're no ruler, Loki. If my hopes for a life with Thor were foolish, what were your hopes of being the king when you're not even Asgardian?"

She thought, fleetingly, of the baton where it lay on her desk in the office as he leapt at her. Seizing her by her upper arms, he twisted and slammed her hard into the wall. His fury was evident in every taut line of his face, in every harsh breath he took, in the enmity that was startlingly clear within the icy depths of his eyes.

She had crossed the line that should never have been crossed, but it was too late for anything else now. He could hurt her. He may even be able to kill her. All this she knew; she'd entered a state of terrifying hyper-awareness. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her breath came quick and unevenly. Despite all of it, she looked him square in the eye and spoke again.

"Frost giant," she said, disdain and fear making each word tremulous.

He made a sound that was pure, unadulterated rage and jerked her forward only to slam her back again. Jane gave a muted cry of mingled pain and panic. His fingers tightened around her arms with bruising force. Jane, recalling in the midst of her terror the core of who she was and not who she had been, surged against him, pushing herself away from the wall. She writhed in his grip, stomping down on his feet, fighting as though possessed. He shoved her back again and pinned her there even as she continued to fight.

"Go on, hurt me," she urged with self-destructive abandon. "Kill me, Loki! What happens to you then? You'll only last so long in this world before someone catches up with you. How will that end if you have no powers here?"

As the words left her mouth she surged hard to one side. His hand fell away from one arm and she strained against his hold on the other. Her vision had narrowed—all she could see was the cold brutal fire of his eyes. She lifted her free arm with the intent to deliver a blow to his face—imagined it, channeled all she felt into it—

He caught her hand. They grappled. His fingers on her skin again, struggling to entrap her, brushing against the nubs that had been her fingers—

And suddenly he stilled.

His eyes were no longer focused with lethal intensity upon her face. Instead they had found her injured hand, trapped by his own. Several expressions crossed his face in fleeting succession, too swiftly for her to identify them all. He moved his gaze back to hers. Long heartbeats passed. Jane realized with a kind of numb detachment that she was trembling. She jerked her hand out of his, but it was he that backed away.

"I—"

But he broke off, swallowing hard whatever words it was he had intended to say. In the stark, absolute silence that had fallen between them they stared at each other for a string of moments suspended in time.

When time snapped back into flow, he tore his eyes from hers and left.

.x.