Cate: I am wondering what is going on with mama Frigga and the others in Asgard.

asterisk blue: "What the HELL is that doing in my home?!" "Darcy the Wise said it was good for relaxing." "Never again. NEVER AGAIN."

Wherein there are surprises. (Drama/Humor. PG-13.)

I started trying to write specifically to the dialogue of the second prompt, but it kind of went sideways. Um… sorry.

Surprise has given way to denial which has given way to confusion which has given way to a warrior's fury. In any other circumstances the outcome of this progression would lead to someone's untimely death, but unfortunately, one cannot face a liege of the Realm Eternal in combat without dire consequences.

Besides, even if Sif won, Thor would kill her himself for raising a weapon against his mother.

Sif has tried to see the Queen every day since Thor was banished and the All-Father fell to the Odinsleep.

She is never given audience.

In spite of logic, threats, and yes, begging, Heimdall will not disobey his Queen's orders, not even to rescue he who should rightfully be king. So Sif comes and she waits outside the throne room where Volstagg and Fandral and even Hogun have since forsaken their cause. (We have not abandoned Thor, Hogun tried to excuse himself, but this path to his aid has been barred. We must find another way. They, too, will one day pay for their disloyalty.)

There is no other way. The Queen must be convinced to yield.

(If someone had told Sif she would one day need to plead Thor's case to Frigga, she would have had the person's tongue for speaking such absurd falsehoods.)

So used is she to her daily ritual of solitude, when the guard opens the door Sif she nearly strikes him down in shock. "The Queen will see you," he says formally.

At last.

Once inside Sif is quick to kneel, even though the sight of Frigga upon the throne is a disconcerting one. "My Queen," she murmurs. "Thank you for granting me this audience."

"It has been a long time in coming, Lady Sif." Frigga's voice is as warm as ever, and it fills Sif with hope. "Do not think I have failed to note your patience. Nor your loyalty."

"Then you know why I am here, my Queen."

"Yes. To beg my sons' return to Asgard."

Sif pauses minutely before nodding in affirmation. In truth, she cares only for the return of one son. There are traitors in the house of Odin, said Laufey, and Sif has her own opinions on just who that traitor is. But there is no chance, none, that Frigga will bend for Thor and not Loki. Sif will have to plead for them both.

(And if Loki is a traitor, well… one does not slay the enemy two blades'-lengths away when the enemy before you is swinging for your neck. Sif's suspicions will hold until a better time.)

"I was present in Jotunheim," Sif says, still on one knee. "What transpired there was foolish, dangerous, and against the express will of Odin, our King."

"Yes," agrees Frigga, her placid face a mask, "it was."

"I have known your children since I was a child myself, my Queen. I know as well as any of their flaws. Mistakes were made — by all of us — and punishment no doubt ought be dealt. But the All-Father—" here Sif swallows, because this is dangerous ground "—I feel the All-Father was too hasty. Banishment is surely too harsh a sentence."

The Queen smiles, sadly. "I felt the same. The absence of my sons is a daily knife in my breast."

"Then surely you will bring them home."

"I will not."

Dashed hope is a painful thing. "But why?" Sif cries, standing. "You sit upon the throne, you hold Gungnir! You can undo your sons' banishment with a single order to Heimdall!"

"I can. But, again, I will not." Frigga stands as well, looking down at Sif, and Sif suddenly feels a girl again, masking endless insecurity with boldness and golden hair. (The loss of the latter she will never forgive Loki for, never.) "There is a purpose to everything the All-Father does. I confess that I did not understand his reasons, at first. But I have come to see that even in this there is wisdom."

"No. There can be no wisdom in Thor's banishment."

"Nor in Loki's, I assume you mean to say."

Sif bites her tongue. "Yes," she answers after a moment, the tang of blood in her mouth. "Nor in Loki's."

The briefly severe look that crossed Frigga's features softens. "There are none who love Thor and Loki more than myself," she says gently. "But I am not so selfish as to demand their presence at my side while they learn so much in their present positions. Now stop haunting my door, Lady Sif, and be satisfied that no harm will come to my children while I draw breath."

"They learn," Sif says, blank with disbelief. "On Midgard. Surely you are in jest, my Queen."

But Frigga only smiles. "It would seem," she replies, "that Midgard is full of surprises."

Nick Fury doesn't like surprises. They are near the top of his list of most hated things, and that particular list is really fucking long.

By the way, rapidly climbing the ladder of that list is the entire state of New Mexico, a place which, until a few months ago, Fury had no strong opinion on one way or another. But considering the godforsaken place seems to be a breeding ground for surprises, he's starting to develop what one could perhaps refer to as an antipathy.

He throws the latest file report from Puente Antiguo aside and pinches his nose.

When Nick Fury has an antipathy, people get shot.

The presence of the artifact in the desert wasn't so bad. Fury eats stranger things than that for breakfast each day. But when research and surveillance alike confirmed the presence of what are, in fact, two interstellar beings considered to be Norse Gods… that was another thing.

At least the subjects seemed non-hostile and largely powerless. This was good for Fury, in that he was busy enough with Tony Fucking Stark (the man's actual middle name, as far as S.H.I.E.L.D. is concerned, they've got it on his file and everything) that he could leave the escapades of two culture-shocked and, by all reports, extremely sex-starved aliens in Coulson's capable hands. So to speak.

But it took the World Security Council all of six minutes to get word of the presence of aliens — as though aliens in New Mexico were weird — and then all of the sudden they wanted Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S. moved to front-list priority. Like Nick Fury didn't have enough other things going on (see aforementioned Stark, Tony Fucking — and the less said about what happened in Harlem, the better).

So now Fury's got Selvig and a team of scientists stuck under the sand poking at a blue cube of unlimited power, trying to make it do things, because nothing bad has ever happened to humanity when people go around opening mythological boxes. He's got the Triskelion demanding twenty reams of cross-referenced interviews about a street fight between the New Mexico subjects and two agents in some back alley of Albuquerque. He's got a hammer in a rock putting off unidentifiable readings and spikes of bizarre energy coming out of a meaningless astrophysicist's laboratory. And he's got a bad feeling in his gut.

That being said, the weapons Pierce has commissioned from the cube derivatives are pretty impressive.

But Fury would just feel better if the subjects in Puento Antiguo would stop doing such weird shit. For one day. Just no weird shit for one fucking day.

Did he mention he doesn't like surprises?

"Well," says Darcy, "that was a surprise."

Thor nods, still rubbing the smoke from his eyes. Even Loki seems mildly impressed.

And all three of them have the decency to look sheepish — yes, Loki too — when Jane discovers them in the 'kitchen' with the melted remains of twenty cinnamon-scented candles, two bags of marshmallows, and what's left of their stove.

For a moment she can't say anything. The only indication she's having any reaction at all, really, is the slight tremble of the flashlight in her hand. Then she says: "Those were our last candles, you know."

"Yup," says Darcy. "They were sacrificed in the name of morale."

"Morale."

"Darcy Lewis thought we would all benefit from s'mores," Thor tells Jane. "But we've exhausted our supply of kindling for the rooftop fire."

"So you tried to make s'mores in the oven. With candles. At midnight."

"I saw it on Bill Nye when I was a kid," explains Darcy.

"The fire was contained quickly," adds Thor.

Jane just looks at Loki, who shrugs. "I was awake," he says. "And I like s'mores."

No electricity. No candles. No stove. Soon to be no batteries. And now no marshmallows.

"First thing in the morning," Jane tells them, "you are all getting jobs."